The Official Unofficial Files of Project Arcana

Hiatus...?Dead? Should we...call time of death? No no no. Nope. Wrangling time.

2008-10-11T06:41:18Z

Wow, okay so this place is...dead? I'm beginning to feel like I've lost ya as a friend m_buggie. Just noticing how nothing has been commented upon and no prods have been dagged my way as far as writing. Fuck I've had so many good ideas! Composition I class is whats doing this. I'm just BARELY struggling through college. I have two papers due tuesday as is, my comments are both half written although that 59% I made on my previous comp. writing paper due to stupid shit doesn't help esteem, but then again college isn't for pussies so I'll just have to keep trying.

I hope to GOD I can make one ginormous art/writing post here soon SERIOUSLY. I know I keep saying that, but trust me. I'm still in this 100% and we've garnished some fans on campus. Its been called 'one of the most wicked animated storyline plots heard of' and guess what? I live in Harrod/Horrid/IgorHarold Hall, a known artists hive. The people I know here are AMAZING, finding kids who are intelligent and pretty enlightened again is like not even living in AR. I love it and they have loved the entire series idea as a whole. Only thing I see as a hamper would be how much writing is being done per episode. Not that I mind no, but I'll bet that if we didn't do this much, we'd be on a forth installment at least and I'd be polishing out graphic storyline pages. I can do that now---I have learned how. Oh yes.

It is serious food for thought. If I have to stop everything to post some of the latest P.A layout work--I WILL. I will dig out my scanner and hook it to this laptop. I finally worked out a lot of the imperfections in my work. This living with artists thing is the good and awesome kind of hell where I'm reigning as a sadistic henchman and doing all of the owning.

Also if you must know--I haven't played games including "wow", since school began. Sad but true, I don't have time for it.

I miss this all terribly.

Well squish

2008-09-01T04:48:59Z

Sorry I've been so inactive lately but you know why. And thats just nicking the iceberg on the noggin. I haven't gotten a chance to finish this huge pile of P.A art I did due to having to do artwork for some extra cash. Also, carrying 1000.00 bucks around on your person is totally unnerving. I've been in attack mode ever since I pulled it out, and I really should go open up an account here.

So anyways, thats whats new on my front aside from being shrieked awake by a baby every night.

College ain't going too well. I blow on our first assignment and I've already ruined eight bucks worth of foam board. Yay spending money! On op of that, hurricane Gus should be here tomorrow night (monday night). We're to expect 50-70 MPH sustained winds, torrential rain, and possible tornadoes---if it doesn't strengthen from a cat 3 that is. If cat. 3 flies up the scale I'll probably be typing to our dear comm from a boat made of corpses. LOL

Anyhoo, wanted to update ya'll. You need "Nutshell" by Alice in Chains if you don't have it already because this song IS Project. Pinky promise. Its up there alongside Boulevard and Zombie. I just don't have a fileshare yet. Its my page song on myspace if you're brave enough though.

We chase misprinted lies
We face the path of time
And yet I fight
And yet I fight
This battle all alone
No one to cry to
No place to call home

Oooh...Oooh...
Oooh...Oooh...

My gift of self is raped
My privacy is raked
And yet I find
And yet I find
Repeating in my head
If I can't be my own
I'd feel better dead

Oooh...Oooh...
Oooh...Oooh...

Drugs - The Military Way

2008-08-26T14:54:07Z

An LJ buddy, theartisan7 just pointed this out to me:

Future wars 'to be fought with mind drugs' Future wars could see opponents attacking each other's minds, according to a report for the US military.

By Jon Swaine
Last Updated: 6:22PM BST 14 Aug 2008

It is thought that some US soldiers are already taking drugs prescribed for narcolepsy in an attempt to combat fatigue Photo: EPA
Landmines releasing brain-altering chemicals, scanners reading soldiers' minds and devices boosting eyesight and hearing could all one figure in arsenals, suggests the study.

Sophisticated drugs, designed for dementia patients but also allowing troops to stay awake and alert for several days are expected to be developed, according to the report. It is thought that some US soldiers are already taking drugs prescribed for narcolepsy in an attempt to combat fatigue.

As well as those physically and mentally boosting one's own troops, substances could also be developed to deplete an opponents' forces, it says.

"How can we disrupt the enemy's motivation to fight?" It asks. "Is there a way to make the enemy obey our commands?" Research shows that "drugs can be utilized to achieve abnormal, diseased, or disordered psychology" among one's enemy, it concludes.

Research is particularly encouraging in the area of functional neuroimaging, or understanding the relationships between brain activity and actions, the report says, raising hopes that scanners able to read the intentions or memories of soldiers could soon be developed.

Some military chiefs and law enforcement officials hope that a new generation of polygraphs, or lie detectors, which spot lie-telling by observing changes in brain activity, can be built.

"Pharmacological landmines," which release drugs to incapacitate soldiers upon their contact with them, could also be developed, according to the report's authors.

The report, which was commissioned by the Defense Intelligence Agency, contained the work of scientists asked to examine how better understanding of how the human mind works was likely to affect the development of technology.

It finds that "great progress has been made" in neuroscience over the last decade, and that continuing advances offered the prospect of a dramatic impact on military equipment and the way in which wars are fought.

It also explains that the concept of torture could be transformed in the future. "It is possible that some day there could be a technique developed to extract information from a prisoner that does not have any lasting side effects," it states. One technique being developed involves the delivery of electrical pulses into a suspect's brain and delay their ability to lie by interfering with its neurons.

Research into "distributed human-machine systems", including robots and military hardware controlled by an operator's mind, is another particular area for optimism among researchers, according to the report. It says significant progress has already been made and that prospects for use of the field are "limited only by the creative imagination."

Jonathan Moreno, a bioethicist and the author of 'Mind Wars: Brain Research and National Defense', said "It's too early to know which, if any, of these technologies is going to be practical. But it's important for us to get ahead of the curve. Soldiers are always on the cutting edge of new technologies.

How crazy is that? I'll see if I can get the article link from her. Dude. DUDE. Fucking crazy. Discussion required, yes?

On Caroline

2008-08-17T16:07:20Z

I woke up this morning ~~and got myself a gun~~ and had the strangest idea pop into my head: what if one of Caroline's modifications involved nematocysts or something? The the agent called The Lovers could kill a person with a kiss. But maybe it requires the addiction of a chemical found in her lipstick to work? Or something. I don't know, I just woke up and wanted to blurt that out. Just a thought.

Motorcycle Engineering?

2008-08-06T16:28:02Z

Dude, I just had the most random thought ever: what if the wheels on Shinigami weren't wheels but spheres? Do you know what I mean? Do you see where I'm going with this? Ball bearings or something. What do you think?

Music stuff

2008-08-01T15:14:44Z

EDIT:

Color coded for our enjoyment. :D One BIG question though: What DOES currency look like in the 2080's?! O_o;;; Should I just wing it?

How in the WORLD do you upload musica to LJ?

You need the song "The Red Room" by Shining. <---This song RIGHT here riyachan and I decided should be the song for the cumshot scene in Noli, OR a Marquis torturing scene. Because holy SHIT is this saxophone going crazy along with the crazy drums and bass guitar. :O :O :O

And, why haven't we added "My Immortal" by those ball-imbibers "Evanescence"? I hate them as much as the next person, but this I remembered, is the only song I can tolerate by them. It is a -GOOD-, in fact -THE- only good song I've heard by them. Although her voice still makes me go "e____e"!!!! occasionally worse than that guy Yoko Onno. Amy Lee: STOP WAILING. Gain some tone to your --good-- voice. It is good, you just need to put a goddamn leash on that thing or take some seizure medicine, so you don't end up annoying peoples ears.

OKAY, PROJECT MUSIC POAST DONE

=D?

I'll probably post the lineart in this post later, for the recently completed Morgan/Mommy Morgan pic. Adding to the pile of stuff I'm working on! Clappy.

((I've probably said this before but------Morgan song if there ever was one: "Scream of the Butterfly"!!!!!!!!! O_o Get it NOW if you don't have it mich. Acid Bath. Scream of the Butterfly. ))

Been Doing Some More Thinking

2008-07-29T16:12:32Z

Just a few thoughts:

On Nowhere and America in General - I know we've discussed this in passing before but I'd really like to take the tone somewhere between the Wild West and Gotham City. Does that make sense? I hope it does. Because after World War III the country got thrown back a ways and the only era I can think of with the right levels of lawlessness/individual struggle would be the West or possibly the dawn of Industrialism. I don't know. History's been buzzing through my mind and I'm drawing from inspiration; but please feel free to remind me that we're tackling the future in this, not the past. I don't know, as with all things, this requires further discussion.
As for Nowhere, I'm thinking of changing its history a little. In the original draft of how Nowhere came to be, New York City said, "to hell with you," and split off on its own. I'm not sure if that's plausible anymore. I mean, I like the idea of it but the finances for that kind of a project are just too astronomical for it to be realistic. So that leaves us with natural disaster, enemy artillery, or other things we haven't thought of yet. Or possibly a combination? Perhaps it happened over the course of two decades and not all at once? Bit by bit the city was cut off until it became its own archipelago? We'll see.

On the Majors - You know, we really ought to put our heads together and come up with a comprehensive list of the Major agents (or the ones we've got on record, in any case) and detail the modification/enhancements that Dr. French gave them. Obviously we're not going to get every Major with Project Arcana since only about half of them have been so much as alluded to in the material but we should plot stuff out for the folks we do have stats for. I already have basic dossiers for Hina (Judgment), Dahlia (Death), Seven (The Chariot), Yoshimo (The Devil), Morgan (The Magician), Igor (Justice), Edward (The Hierophant), Nick (The Sun), Shinji (The Moon), Jacob (Strength), Caroline (The Lovers), Molly (The Tower), Bob (The Hanged Man), Lex (The High Priestess), and Caleb (The Hermit). I should post those at some point, shouldn't I?

Progression art

2008-07-29T05:38:05Z

I've been working on these pieces simultaneously for a bit now ((I'm NOT including the redux of seven that we discussed a while ago in this post because I want you to see it finished ))

AND its taking a while. Mostly cause I can't seem to think up any other ways of decorating them.

Webhamsters.

Morgan and George (( I have a more dynamic idea for this one for a later date. )) I have to fix that ugly fucking foot. =\ I'm liking how the city is turning out though.

Eddy. I'm not sure what I'm doing here. Just playing I suppose.

Janet! portrait. :3 I dig how this one is turning out but I want it to be more complex than just a 3/4th portrait. I was thinking about turning into a mini-story panel of maybe Janet explaining some of Igors odd mannerisms to the viewer but, I'm not sure. We'll see what happens.

And this again. As soon as I figure out what objects I want to decorate this piece with, I'll post and convert it to out BG in red-style.

The 50 Sentence Project

2008-07-28T22:27:47Z

I know these have already been posted but those entries are somewhat scattered. So here they are again: Project Arcana in 50 Sentences, Set #1...

Project Arcana

Theme Set – Epsilon

#01 – Motion
Seven moved in and dispatched of the guards in a single, smooth motion, snapping one neck and slitting the other before vanishing back into the darkness like a lethal phantom carried by the wind.

#02 – Cool
As Hina popped her own dislocated knee back into place with only the slightest of flinches Dahlia watched, awe-struck, and murmured absently, “You’re so cool,” before flushing with embarrassment and pursing her lips shut; but Hina simply looked up and – quite surprisingly – smiled with a blush of her own while mumbling in response, “Thanks, you were pretty cool yourself back there.”

#03 – Young
Morgan thrashed wildly as the Lab scientists did their best to strap him to the gurney and he hissed, “How could you?” with despair, to which Yoshimo replied in a mildly patronizing voice, “Don’t worry, Morgan, you’re young. Your recovery time should be minimal.”

#04 – Last
There are days when Edward takes a look around and feels like the last sane person on the face of the earth…of course, what Edward doesn’t realize is that he isn’t exactly sane, himself.

#05 – Wrong
Life had been difficult for Dahlia after what happened to Hina, Morgan knew that, but for some reason he was more concerned about her today than usual; and as he opened the door to her quarters after having knocked for ten minutes, he knew something was terribly wrong even before he caught sight of the blood.

#06 – Gentle
It never ceases to amaze Seven, as he watches Igor lovingly tend to the potted flowering plants on the windowsill, how someone capable of ripping a man’s throat out in a single stroke could be so gentle and caring.

#07 – One
Igor is a man of few words but when he does choose to speak he proves that sometimes one single word can be more powerful and carry more meaning than the most grandiloquent speeches.

#08 – Thousand
Yoshimo isn’t sure why but when Morgan presents him with the origami crane all he can think about is the old fairytale of how folding a thousand paper cranes will make your wish come true.

#09 – King
“I thought it would be in your best interest,” Yoshimo tried to explain as he stood alongside the boy’s bed in Headquarters’ ICU but Morgan looked away, muttering in a wounded voice, “Yeah, right, and I’m the King of Alba Britannia.”

#10 – Learn
Morgan furrows his brow as he regards the instrument that Dahlia has presented him with, saying, “But I don’t know how to play the guitar,” which only spurs her to grin and respond, “Well then I guess you’d better learn.”

#11 – Blur
It all happened in such a blur, the last thing that Jacob remembered was the explosion sending broken iron support beams in all directions.

#12 – Wait
Ideally speaking there are other matters that Seven would rather be tending to instead of working for the Project but at the end of the day he knows the time for his vengeance will come eventually, he just has to wait for that opportune moment.

#13 – Change
When Edward gave his consent to Dr. French for the surgery to replace his damaged arm with a new prototype prosthetic, St. Bastard smiled warmly and told the young man, “You’ve made an excellent choice, my boy, this will change everything.”

#14 – Command
St. Bastard had always told him that he was destined for a position of authority but Seven had never believed it until the day he gave his first command and two dozen agents obediently leaped into action like their lives depended on it.

#15 – Hold
Igor awoke from the nightmare with a tortured howl, bolting upright in his bed and wishing someone was there to hold him until the terror passed but knowing that no such person existed.

#16 – Need
Hina knows that if word of their relationship ever leaked out it would not only be a scandal but they would both face disciplinary action; however, as she looks into the amethyst eyes that wink back at her with affectionate mischief, Hina knows that she needs Dahlia just as much as she needs air and water.

#17 – Vision
St. Bastard is a man of great vision, but then again so was Stalin.

#18 – Attention
Morgan says he doesn’t do such things for the attention, but the fact of the matter is that it made him smile when his brand new tongue piercing created a fuss.

#19 – Soul
“I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry about what happened,” Caroline said tearfully as she stood by Jacob’s bedside in Headquarters’ ICU but, no matter how many times she apologized for the accident, Jacob’s eyes remained dull and unfocused – glazed over as if his soul had long since left his body.

#20 – Picture
There is a single photograph that Seven keeps locked away and, while no one has seen it or even knows it exists, that picture holds all of Seven’s reasons for joining Project Arcana in the first place.

#21 – Fool
Dahlia sobbed in the darkness of her quarters, hating herself for being fool enough to fall in love and Hina for never returning from that mission.

#22 – Mad
Not believing it when his one dear friend stepped between Morgan and the gun’s barrel, Edward snarled with contempt and hurt, “Have you gone mad, Seven?”

#23 – Child
When the man sees who’s holding the Widowmaker to his head, he opens his mouth to exclaim, “You’re just a child,” but the words die in his throat as the trigger is pulled by an emerald-eyed assassin who was almost the same age as his son.

#24 – Now
“It’s only a matter of time before they come for us,” Seven declared gravely to Igor and Morgan but he could tell from the determination in their eyes that there was no going back for any of them now.

#25 – Shadow
Morgan moved stealthily through the corridor with both guns drawn, gliding by the targets like a shadow on the wall and leaving nothing but corpses in his wake.

#26 – Goodbye
Hina and Dahlia never said “goodbye” because the word had always felt too final, which only made it hurt more the day Dahlia realized Hina wasn’t coming back and she’d never gotten a chance to say that exact word to her lover.

#27 – Hide
It fills Igor with dread every time Dr. French appears at the door to his quarters but what hurts even more is the knowledge that there wasn’t a single place on the face of the planet where he could hide from the sadistic man of science.

#28 – Fortune
Jacob let out an impressed whistle upon seeing the new onyx and ivory chess set, saying, “This must have cost a fortune,” but Edward only gave a faint shrug and a half-smile because money was of no consequence to him.

#29 – Safe
“Don’t worry about a thing,” Yoshimo whispered as he brushed auburn bangs out of jade green eyes, “I promise I’ll keep you safe, little one.”

#30 – Ghost
There are times when Morgan’s temper takes such a hold of him that he becomes some preternatural being which exists only to destroy, and it is at those times that the youth feels like a ghost in his own skin.

#31 – Book
Every now and then Seven and Igor can be found in the library, seated across from each other in their favorite chairs and wholly engrossed in whatever book they’ve stuck their noses into; they both consider it to be a pleasant way of spending time together regardless of the fact that words are rarely exchanged – none need be.

#32 – Eye
Jacob happened to glance over at Morgan during the mission and immediately regretted it because the wild look in the boy’s eyes put ice crystals in his blood – it was cold and cruel enough to kill an ox at fifty paces.

#33 – Never
In the solitude of his quarters Igor pulls off his heavy steel-toed boots and looks forlornly at the mangled appendages that are his feet, thinking to himself how he never asked for any of this.

#34 – Sing
While neither of them will readily admit it, there are times when Morgan and Dahlia take refuge in her living room, crank the music up, and just sing and dance like they don’t have a care in the world.

#35 – Sudden
At first Jacob thought a bullet had grazed his hand, that was how sharp and hot the pain was, but then he looked down to see the spider bite and all of a sudden he had the slightly panicked realization that a gunshot would have been preferable to the venom of an azure mortis.

#36 – Stop
Morgan tried his best not to cry but there was just no way for him to stop the ache in his heart whenever he thought of Dahlia and Hina.

#37 – Time
As Morgan’s eyelids fluttered and crimson coated his lips with every cough Seven looked down and remembered the last time he held a dying boy in his arms, hoping fiercely that things would turn out differently this time.

#38 – Wash
Jacob held his shaking hands beneath the running water for the fifth time, feeling like a failure for being so emotional about his first kill; but the blood, the blood just wouldn’t wash away no matter how he tried.

#39 – Torn
Dahlia’s eyes lost focus as she stared down at the wounds she had torn into her flesh by her own hand and, as the blood came flowing out like a levee-broken dam, she prayed that Hina would be on the other side waiting for her.

#40 – History
Igor’s flesh is a collection of scars, each with its own history and tale that more often than not he would rather forget.

#41 – Power
St. Bastard stroked his chin thoughtfully as he observed another Ace practice session and wondered how long it would be until the power struggle between Edward and Yoshimo became too glaring to overlook.

#42 – Bother
Yoshimo tried not to let it bother him when he heard something had gone wrong with Operation Obsidian, but then he saw The Magician was listed as being wounded in action and close to death…and lost it.

#43 – God
Edward’s eyes take on a zealous gleam when Hina challenges him about St. Bastard, and a chill travels the length of her spine when he flexes his new arm and utters in a low voice, “He isn’t playing God, he has become God.”

#44 – Wall
Dahlia’s back pressed up against the wall and the world seemed to disintegrate as Hina leaned in, cupping her cheek, and claimed her mouth with a passion neither of them had realized the strength of.

#45 – Naked
They lay together in the dark of the tent still charged from the adrenaline of battle, two naked bodies trying frantically to become one, to feel love, to know that they are alive and that they are more than just Death and Judgment.

#46 – Drive
Dahlia glanced over her shoulder at the crimson nightmare in the backseat with tears in her eyes, about to say something, but Seven just looked up at her as he cradled Morgan’s bleeding form and growled, “Drive!”

#47 – Harm
Igor knows the Hippocratic Oath and, as he lies on a table in the Lab for what is to be his final surgery of this latest procedure, finds it painfully ironic that Dr. French pays absolutely no heed to Hippocrates’ words, “First, do no harm…”

#48 – Precious
Through the drugs and the liquor Morgan danced in the flashing lights of the downtown club like an undulating serpent heralding temptation in the garden and, as the music spoke of letting precious things break, he could almost let himself forget that when morning came he would be back at Headquarters awaiting another mission.

#49 – Hunger
Seven and Edward once discussed the various reasons for their strained interactions with Yoshimo and they both agreed on one thing: there was a disconcerting sense of hunger in his eyes.

#50 – Believe
St. Bastard’s face went blank when the news finally reached him and, when the dossiers of the three rebelling Aces were handed to him, all he could do was shake his head and mutter, “I can’t believe it…”

Needless to say, this set deals with the cast of characters featured in the Project Arcana story "Obsidian" as well as events prior to Seven, Igor, and Morgan's resignation from the Shadow Sector.

Recruitment Station Now Open

2008-07-23T21:54:55Z

Okay, so, for what it's worth: the Project Arcana Recruitment Station is now open. It's still missing a few links and I need to give the comm a once-over to see if there's anything important that I forgot to include in the "Project Arcana for Dummies" area but I think everything's good (enough) for now. The entry is linked in the side panel of this comm as well as at the top of my LJ. Feel free to repost it as necessary.
Here's hoping to fresh blood and a reinvigoration of old blood.

Spotlight on - St. Bastard and His Empire

2008-07-20T23:44:11Z

Moniker: St. Bastard
Birth Name: Ignatius Maximillian Primus
Mother’s Name: Stella Elspeth Primus (maiden name Svensson)
Father’s Name: Alistair Vincent Primus
Sibling(s): none
Birthday: May 6, 2018
Age: 64 years old
Height: 5’ 11 ½”
Weight: 183 lbs.
Eyes: light brown
Hair: gray, straight, short
Ethnic Descent: Nordic
Rank: Founder and CEO of PrimeCorp, Founder and Head of Project Arcana, Founder and Head of the Shadow Sector, Founder and Head of Project Harbinger, prominent figure in the realm of international business, prominent figure in the realm of black ops for hire
Status: active

~x~x~

In St. Bastard we trust.

~x~x~

~x~x~

On the Matter of PrimeCorp

First off, put yourself in the frame of mind of a bureaucracy. In the end, that is a large part of what PrimeCorp is and that is an aspect of the smoke and mirrors operation they have going on to conceal the goings-on behind the scenes.

As far as the people of Nowhere are concerned, Mr. Ignatius Primus isn't such a bad guy. Sure, he's a rich fat cat but he created a lot of jobs in an otherwise dying city with the construction and maintenance of the PrimeCorp flagship building. He gives to charity. There's a hall at the Museum of Natural History named after him and he regularly sponsors events at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. So while no one really likes Mr. Primus it's hard to find a solid reason to hate him...at least, as far as the public eye is concerned.

PrimeCorp pumps a lot of money into Nowhere. You can't really blame folks for being willing to look the other way when that strange compound appeared.

You see, he took his time building up Shadow Sector Headquarters. People are more likely to ask questions when something as large as that springs up in a short period of time but when a few years pass and it seems like nothing's happening, folks tend to lose interest.

But first, a history lesson.

~

On PrimeCorp's Secret Projects

PrimeCorp was founded in 2045 and its flagship building took three and a half years to be constructed, officially opening in 2049. The location itself houses nothing shady, it is strictly business with a smattering of pleasure. The upper floors hold fancy restaurants and private clubs (of the wood-paneling variety, not the mirror-ball sort) that the upper echelons of Nowhere society can spend their time if they have the money to do so.

Project Harbinger had been initiated in 2045 and was centered in and around Elsewhere, MA. Its name was known only to those who were somehow involved with its funding or operations. The general public had no knowledge of its existence and this remains true today.

The parents of Ivan Desmond Edgarson-Sloan (AKA the IDES of March Killer) were among the original "shareholders" of Project Harbinger and thus he knows of it. That is also how he knows that PrimeCorp receives certain substances from Project Harbinger. What he does not know is that Project Harbinger is a clandestine off-shoot of PrimeCorp. Very few people are privy to that information.

Project Arcana was initiated in 2048 and shared facilities with Project Harbinger for its first few years of existence. It was at this time that Mr. Primus began using his moniker of St. Bastard within the confines of Projects Arcana and Harbinger. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, he was still Mr. Primus. But on official dispatches within the Projects he was referred to as St. Bastard.

Late in 2049 St. Bastard began what he referred to as his "mercenary super-group." They were based out of a nondescript building in Nowhere, NY. These mercenaries were given drug enhancements and their progress was monitored in preparation for possible recruitment to Project Arcana.

During this time Mr. Primus began to withdraw from the public light and spent more time in his St. Bastard persona. PrimeCorp continued to be a success and, with some convincing, the business journals tentatively accepted the fact that Mr. Primus was a private man and did not like having his picture taken. Interviews were conducted through phone communications only.

In 2051 Dr. French was appointed to head of the Project Arcana Lab and everything changed. At Dr. French's behest, Project Harbinger was relocated to California and Project Arcana took over the Elsewhere, MA location. Nearly all of St. Bastard's "super-group" mercenaries were signed on to Project Arcana and received medical attention in both Elsewhere, MA and Nowhere, NY.

In 2052 Dr. French convinced St. Bastard to move Project Arcana to Nowhere, NY. Construction began on what would eventually become Shadow Sector Headquarters. Lab work continued in Elsewhere but smaller installations were created to serve as intermediate facilities while the move was being made.

The underground levels of the Nowhere headquarters were created first (constructed by trusted outside companies, not local Nowhere contractors) and Project Arcana slowly transferred its Lab to that location.

The Shadow Sector Headquarters was completed and (un)officially opened in 2062. Project Arcana completely moved to Nowhere and all other sites, including the Elsewhere lab, were destroyed.

The general public did raise certain questions about what the strange massive, guarded compound was but St. Bastard paid off newspapers and local law enforcement to help him gloss the issue over. When asked about what he thought of the structure rivaling his PrimeCorp flagship building, Mr. Primus responded, "unless it is the headquarters of a business competitor, I don't care what it was."

~

On PrimeCorp and the Shadow Sector

From that point on the name of the Shadow Sector was murmured in certain circles. It was rumored to be composed of unbeatable mercenaries who did the bidding of their master. Who was this master? The enigmatic St. Bastard, second cousin to Santa Claus and Harvey the rabbit. Did he exist? Perhaps. Most likely. But one thing was certain, if you had the money, power, and right connections he could help you out...for a price.

There was something strangely vampiric about St. Bastard and his Shadow Sector. They were guns for hire but for some reason they always seemed to grow stronger than their employers.

By 2068, a new face of the Shadow Sector appeared. Project Arcana had given birth to its finest creations and they would come to rule the world of black ops. The Shadow Sector was divided into two divisions of agents: Minors and Majors. Minors were the mercenaries that had always been in St. Bastard's employ. The Majors? They were the scions of Project Arcana. And with the addition of the Majors to his roster, St. Bastard and the Shadow Sector became the vanguard in black ops.

The name Project Arcana itself was known only within the Shadow Sector.

There have been rumors that Mr. Primus and St. Bastard struck some kind of devil's bargain so that they might both achieve greater power and influence. When questioned about this connection Mr. Primus has laughed and said, "I have tea with St. Bastard every third Friday of the month, and right after that I go and play tennis with the Tooth Fairy. Be reasonable, I am a businessman, come back when you have a question of actual importance to ask me."

It has been whispered that the Shadow Sector does favors for PrimeCorp, as PrimeCorp's competitors always seem to meet tragic fates.

It is said that Mr. Primus is the most powerful person in the world...but if you are in the right circles, one might argue that the title goes to St. Bastard, instead.

It is said that the truth of these matters is unknown, but the reality of the situation is that the truth is more shocking than the public could have ever imagined.

~x~x~

St. Bastard was created by m_buggie.

Spotlight on - Edward

2008-07-20T23:24:25Z

Moniker: Edward
Birth Name: Edward Montgomery Lancaster IV
Mother’s Name: Catherine Vendela Lancaster (maiden name Gustafson)
Father’s Name: Edward Sylvester Lancaster III
Sibling(s): Margarethe Lancaster (older sister)
Birthday: March 13, 2051
Age: 31 years old
Height: 6’
Weight: 180 lbs. (cybernetic arm included)
Eyes: light blue
Hair: blond, curly, short
Ethnic Descent: English Scandinavian American
Rank: Major agent
Tarot Card: The Hierophant
Status: active

~x~x~

The golden boy with blood-stained hands.

~x~x~

~x~x~

Edward was such a good boy, no one can quite figure out what went wrong.

He was always so prim, so proper and refined, making it a point not to forget a single “please” or “thank you” in everyday conversation. He brushed his teeth and went to bed on time. There was never any problem in getting him to study or complete his homework because he eagerly drank in whatever knowledge he could gain access to. Endless praise and glorification washed over him, the perfect son and heir to the Lancaster domain.

His family wasn’t just rich – they had old world wealth and prestige. The Lancaster bloodline could be traced back to various members of European royalty and growing up Edward was every bit the little prince…except for the occasional outburst.

Not much is known about Edward’s childhood since the Lancasters were secretive about all aspects of their private lives, but there were whispers of the young master’s problems with his temper. Books were hurled between shoulder blades, violins smashed to pieces against faces, and more than a few vases were shattered and used as slashing weapons by vicious little fingers. When he stabbed one of the household cooks with a paring knife for being refused his favorite kind of ice cream, it was decided that things had gotten entirely out of hand and outside aide was necessary. Doctors were called in to try and remedy the situation. Medications were prescribed and hours ticked away on therapists’ couches.

When Edward was a teenager the family was ready to breathe a sigh of relief that he had finally grown out of his violent tantrum phase. Things were fine until he turned eighteen and killed his sister’s dog because he said it barked too much. Then he killed his sister. Needless to say, the Lancasters were quite upset. More doctors were called in and Edward found himself removed from the estate and brought to some far-off institution.

His father had a very influential and wealthy friend who promised to take care of everything. And thus, Edward fell into the care of St. Bastard. The rest, as they say, is history.

Edward returned to his family estate three years later, for all intents and purposes, cured. He assumed his rightful position of heir to their little empire and functioned quite normally for a whole year. Then one day he killed both his parents and burned the estate to the ground. Every last penny of the Lancaster’s assets, every square mile of their property, was handed over to the control of St. Bastard. And through it all, Edward smiled from his master’s side, ever loyal.

Edward underwent genetic engineering like his contemporaries – Seven, Igor, and Morgan – but also received additional, more mechanical, modifications. His left arm was entirely removed and replaced with a cybernetic limb that allowed him easier interface with computer systems of all kinds. It was widely rumored that St. Bastard himself was the original cause of Edward’s amputated limb and that the enhanced prosthetic was the old man’s manner of rewarding loyalty. And Edward was loyal.

He never questioned what the scientists did to him, accepting and perhaps even welcoming it in his own way. Knowing that there had been previous subjects experimented upon who met failure and grisly fates only solidified the idea that had been planted in his head from the day he was born: he was superior in all ways. While not as physically active as Seven, Igor, or Morgan he did receive rudimentary training in black ops. He found it all rather tedious. He found the others tedious.

It was clear from their first interactions that there would be little or no friendship between Edward and the other young men. In his eyes, Igor and Morgan were dreadfully inferior to him. The former being a lumbering imbecile and the latter was a pixie of a sociopath – how could one such as Edward be expected to associate with such characters? Only Seven was viewed as a possible equal, but even then they could never see eye to eye in the end and threats of bodily harm were exchanged. Edward found it bothersome, aggravating. Why someone with as much potential as Seven chose to accept the company of infidels like Igor and Morgan baffled Edward. It confused him. He didn’t like things that confused him and he most certainly didn’t like them. They were rogues.

So it was no surprise then that when the Fall came Edward turned against his “brethren.” When they bit that hand that fed them, Edward bit back. St. Bastard was his life, his father and teacher and reason for breathing…his master. He stared at the unholy trinity across that warehouse floor, their first real battlefield, and vowed to destroy every last one of them for betraying Saint Bastard after everything that he had done for the ingrates. Igor, that hideous and stupid waste of flesh. Morgan, the bipolar schizophrenic little bastard. And yes, even Seven, who was capable of such glory at the side of St. Bastard and Edward but chose rebellion instead. They would all be eradicated.

If the master bids it so, then so it shall be done.

Edward could have been a good man. He can even pass himself off as one as long as you ignore the cold glint in his pale robin’s egg eyes and the sharp edge to his voice, not to mention the condescending words that pour from his thin lips so easily. His features are chiseled and there is a certain austere sense of handsomeness about him, the legacy of his ancestors showing through. Curly blond hair is cut short and neat, occasionally tastefully slicked back but usually not. He wears no jewelry, which he deems tacky – another point of contention between himself and that fiend Morgan. To say he was smartly dressed would be an understatement, as his suits are always finely tailored and of the most expensive fabric.

Looking at Edward, one gets the impression that he should be at Oxford discussing the finer points of Vermeer and not methodically planning the demise of his former associates. But that’s precisely what he’s doing. And one of these days he’s going to get them.

~x~x~

~x~x~

Edward was created and is RPed by m_buggie.

Spotlight on - The Marquis

2008-07-19T13:36:33Z

Note - As written by kilderok

Moniker: The Marquis
Birth Name: Sadie Lynn Hawkins
Mother’s Name: Rosalene Lynn Hawkins (maiden name Adams)
Father’s Name: Grayson Lincoln Hawkins
Sibling(s): none
Birthday: unknown month, unknown day, 2029
Age: 53 years old
Height: 5’ 10”
Weight: 173 lbs.
Eyes: medium brown
Hair: white (prematurely), wavy, waist-length
Ethnic Descent: English French German American
Position: leader of the Nowhere crime underworld, owner and operator of The Velvet Clam, owner of The Jewel Box, co-owner of Boomstick, prominent figure of the Nowhere red light district
Status: active

~x~x~

Black leather high-heels clacked sharply upon a drenched, filthy sidewalk. It was 12:30 A.M, quite early in the night for those shoes to be striding along so quickly. Normally this was time to relax and smoke. But your feet would sprint, too, if you were hungry for blood and a banquet was awaiting you in your den.

~x~x~

~x~x~

The Marquis loves anything flashy: silk, crushed velvet, Victorian dresses, 17th Century-style pantaloons, extremely vintage male clothing, cabaret style/burlesque house costume clothes, and gaudy jewelry. Her hair is quite long and usually arranged like a powdered wig. She has a gap in her two front teeth, a mole above the right corner of her mouth, and a mild lisp in connection with her Southern drawl (having a Louisiana ring to it). She also has a manic disposition.

A typical evening for The Marquis goes as such:

She strides through the red doors of The Velvet Clam, her home base, her calling in life. A middle-aged woman dressed to the gills in gaudy jewelry and silk, with hair wrapped up so majestically into an elaborate 17th Century form, grabs a black whip equipped with an array of fishhooks on the ends of its three lashes and heads for a small black door hidden in the back of the club. Heading down several corridors twisting and turning, her relaxed expression turns quickly into a menacing grin as she draws closer to her prey. The classic stylings of the late 20th Century band Cradle of Filth blaring overhead in a deafening discord, coupled with the eerie glow of pale purple lighting, draws her into a trance unlike any high that could be attained by her many clients’ candy raver drugs. The best things, like life, truly are free: adrenaline pulsing through her like a deluge.

The woman, gilded in her sadistic glory, bursts into her padded love chamber. Awaiting her is a man in a business suit, gagged and horror-struck, struggling before her presence in a weak attempt to escape his chain restraints. Her accomplices, draped in the shadows cast behind the doomed, look upwards at their mother hen.

"It’s show time, boys!" The Marquis exclaims in a sweet, however gruff, bayou drawl. She glares at her prey seated in front of her. Her eyes fade from a warmer brown to a steely black, a toothy grin forming across her wrinkled face. She cracks her hook-whip. Then she laughs as the man pisses his pants and lets out a muffled scream.

It’s no secret that the Marquis, owner and head of the top-notch lesbian hang named The Velvet Clam – named for a favored phrase out of one of her rare novels written by her idol, The Marquis de Sade – is a butch lesbian. Although one of the very quirks about her lifestyle is that, on top of being a butch lesbian and dressing and acting much in the manner of her idol, she also acts like a very feminine homosexual man. In short, she dresses and looks male, even at times sporting her favorite fourteen inch thruster, but she acts much like a gay man. She has a Southern drawl, a slow manner of speech, and she can spin tales like no other person that Seven, Igor, and Morgan know. She has a gap in her teeth, wears gaudy red lipstick, and her hair is arranged in the manner of a powdered wig. She has a large brown mole on the right side of her face and she usually sports a heavy, musky perfume.

While she acts quite sweet and motherly/fatherly towards her "boys," she hides a rather vicious, sadomasochistic disposition underneath. When it comes right down to it she can be an outright monster, as violent and unforgiving as a mafia hitman and as cruel as Beelzebub. She would, of course, never harm Seven, Igor, and Morgan as she considers them both her right hand men – and to a lesser extent her honorary offspring – but anyone captured by her boys and brought in for questioning will know fear like they've never felt fear before. In fact, the Marquis relishes causing full grown tough guys to soil themselves in her presence. She’s a very well known figure in the Nowhere criminal underground, her name spoken in hushed whispers and making the hair on the necks of those who are against her stand on end. Those who are brought to her by Seven, Igor, and Morgan know the end is near when they see her powdered countenance stride in so confidently with her weapons of torture.

~x~x~

~x~x~

Born Sadie Lynn Hawkins, the Marquis was a typical Southern girl. Forced to fit in and do what regular girls did, she never really felt true to herself. At age 14 she finally came out to her parents, telling them of how she has already had her outings with other girls her age and older: about how she took advantage of them, screwing them with household objects and beating them until they cried, begged for more.

Naturally, her parents were shocked and outraged; they threw her out on the street a week later after taking her to therapy for sexually confused teens. Of course, any parent knows their kid is really, truly gay when they take them to therapy and their kid bites their therapist’s ear off and makes him suck on it, telling him things like, "I'm going to fuck your slut-cunt daughter someday you know, and she'll like it." Okay, so Sadie wasn't a regular lesbian, it is true. Not all gays are as violent as she was. In fact, MOST gays are, in all senses, regular people going about their lives, going to their regular jobs and their markets with the only difference being that they prefer their own gender.

Not only did Sadie prefer her own gender but she absolutely creamed her knickers at the idea of slut-fucking each one of them at the same time, beating them to a pulp, and then doing them with a strap-on in rows of sometimes as many as ten. So it’s no surprise that her most treasured author is the Marquis de Sade, from whence her underground personality is derived. She likes to think of herself as a sort of showman, putting on elaborate fuck-shows and live lesbian BDSM porno plays at her establishment, The Velvet Clam. But underneath her violent, sexual side, beats the heart of a mother.

In fact, one would be shocked upon entering her house as it’s fashioned much like a typical country bayou abode, complete with gaudy olive green walls, kitty cat embroideries and chicken decor.

At age 27, the Marquis was shaken when she was attacked by a rather large man and forced into intercourse – some fucker that got off on the idea of dominating a butch. She was impregnated and her motherly side kept her from making the decision of abortion. Nearly nine months later she gave birth to triplets; a sad thing, really, for not only did she conceive but she delivered a litter. She gave the three girls up for adoption and sent them to differing cities. The idea of her daughters someday possibly being her clients made her nervous. She liked to do certainly obscene things but the idea of fucking her own daughters with a strap-on when they became older gave her the shivers. She took this event in her life well however – all things considered – and went about her business. At age 35, she gave birth to another creature, her calling in life and current occupation.

The Velvet Clam was established by her 36th birthday and since then things have been on the up an up. She became a notable figure in Nowhere’s underground community, becoming somewhat rich and very popular. It was about this time that she adopted the style of the Marquis de Sade and it has been the same ever since. Although, just for kicks, she sometimes dresses like a Victorian bride or French courtesan in a similar vein to Mary Antoinette.

The Marquis met Seven, Igor, and Morgan quite by accident, it seems. After a few small-time assignments the boys proved their worth to her by eliminating the IDES of March serial killer, who had been murdering red light denizens for a year before the three former black ops agents stepped in. Operating as a sort of caretaker, she helped the boys located and set up various safe houses throughout Nowhere, knowing the city and all of its hidden passageways like the back of her slightly liver-spotted hand.

She also comes in handy as a very good interrogator. The boys, being far too impatient for interrogation tactics, know exactly where to bring their captive if they want some answers. After all, what they do depends on tactics and careful planning just as much as bloodthirsty killing. After the Marquis sucks the information out of her prey that the boys were looking for – using some of the most crude, industrial, torture methods – they leave their captive with her, giving the Marquis what she enjoys most: a healthy "treat" to beat upon until its heart stops. Theirs is a unique arrangement but it works for both parties involved.

Perhaps her greatest treasure in life is her lovely, sleek, black sphinx cat, Sodmoy. Her pet and number two right ‘till the end, this cat is her most loyal subject. His black, naked flesh is immaculate due to her keeping him in show health and feeding him only the finest foods – occasionally allowing him to sip red wines. This little three-year-old sphinx lives a cat’s dream. Perhaps his biggest fan is none other than the mute Igor, who holds a fondness for the cat equal to that of its owner. Sometimes the best company you can keep is not that of a human but that of an animal. Sodmoy is a people’s cat indeed, being the first to greet the boys at the door of The Velvet Clam and the last to wish to see them leave.
Sodmoy also seems to hold a fetish mirroring his master’s! During an interrogation, the feline, if in the room, will hiss, spat, and claw at the captive’s heels. He is also one hundred percent gay, keeping a harem of male cats outside of The Clam for his own pleasure. "Strange begets strange," so the saying goes and one must observe its truth.

~x~x~

~x~x~

The Marquis was created and is RPed by kilderok.

Spotlight on - Igor

2008-07-18T05:59:09Z

Note - As written by kilderok

Moniker: Igor
Birth Name: Igor Xavier Harold
Mother’s Name: Xenia Svetlana Harold (maiden name Arakeylan)
Father’s Name: Robert Alvin Tommsfield Harold II
Sibling(s): none
Birthday: December 18, 2048
Age: 33 years old
Height: 6’ 3 ¾”
Weight: 180 lbs.
Eyes: light hazel/amber
Hair: light brown, shaggy, mid-back length
Ethnic Descent: Russian English American
Rank: Major agent – rogue
Tarot Card: Justice
Status: active

~x~x~

He watched her, a random bystander, a woman and mother of two young toddlers, bustle about the autumn park square. She tended to her young with the care of an immaculate – never letting them out of her sight, carefully observing those who shared the vicinity of the small park. Who she did not see, however, was the very tall and frail man wearing a stained prairie duster coat who stood within the shadows of a nearby decaying elm.

Funny she did not see him, being as watchful as she was. He stood in deep thought, staring. He still could not equate just what he did wrong to be deprived of loving parents in his life. Loving parents like that vigilant woman with her two giggling toddlers. His face grew dark, his frown then becoming a more somber grimace upon is gaunt face.

~x~x~

~x~x~

His style of dress can be described as reserved. He favors ties in solid colors and pressed white button-up shirts. Suspenders are a common accessory to his slacks. His appearance is somewhat clean and dishevled at the same time.

He has bad vision and issues with his eyes. He has multiple bodily scars, among which are: one from right shoulder clavicle to spleen and one across the shoulder blades on his back. His laughter is raspy and usually heard only while in his chemical lab. He has very sensitive toes, which were victim of past mutilation during his forced transformation. His has a body tempertature of 88 degrees Farenheit. He is quite fond of the Marquis’ cat, Sodmoy.

Meet Igor Harold, child abuse victim and chemistry savant. This man of nearly six and a half feet tall, despite his rather forboding appearance, is actually quite a friendly, if not practically mute, individual. He wears a pair of bi-focal glasses, his only real sensory flaw being his profoundly poor vision. Without his glasses he is practically blind, seeing the world only in blotches of color and smears of shadow. He grows exceedingly defensive if he is knocked devoid of his glasses, going into a feral mode that he can only be snapped out of by the coaxing of his “brothers.”

After he was rescued at the age of fourteen from nine years of his father's monsterous abuse Igor was placed in a boarding home for abandoned and mistreated children with “special needs.” However, once he struggled through the painful process of literation after a life of almost never being allowed to speak – let alone read – he showed his observants that he was not only capable of understanding and retaining knowledge, but he was also able to understand certain subjects on a level much higher than many normal people of his own age.

Delving into biochemistry and at sixteen years of age, Igor was unstoppable. Without a clear ability for speech his social life was all but dead, leaving him with reading and study as his only real pastimes. But the future of this poor untapped youth was soon to be determined by a one man and his company...PrimeCorp. And quite a lot would change, indeed.

While on a visit to said corporation at the age of twenty – Igor Harold's one chance to possibly make something of his budding experience in biochemistry – his escorts from the boarding home were killed off by St. Bastard’s Shadow Sector henchmen. He was abducted as an experiment; a choice made by St. Bastard because of Igor’s ambigious existence to the world, his intelligence, and near inability to speak his mind. He was, in short, a perfect drone.

Being locked in a cage for most of one’s life can make the idea of once again being imprisoned a daunting concept. When Igor awoke in his new cell he had to be subdued with numbing and trancifying drugs injected on a “many times a day” basis in order to keep him cooperative.

PrimeCorp went through the motions of sending out a letter to his old boarding home stating that he had been accepted with the company to further his studies there and that he would, from now on, be housed “on campus.” In truth, the letter was only received by state officials from a beaurucratically red-taped address while the boarding home, including all residents and employees, was destroyed. With the tying up any loose strings, genetic alteration soon followed.

Twenty-seven tweaking surgeries and four years later, a new creature was formed out of old clay. One that could, within reasonable time, regenerate lost body parts. His cells are all, when viewed under a microscope, metastisized much in the same manner of cancer.
During testing on Igor's regenerative abilities scientists cut off his toes at various lengths. The regeneration process was not quite perfected yet, as well as being terribly painful, and his new toes grew back cell by cell in a malformed, half finished state...some, not at all. However, his regeneration was eventually perfected and, as such, he can be a very difficult person to kill. His feet are very sensitive targets for enemies, however, being mutilated and deformed yet no one beyond the scientists at the Lab know this little fact about Igor...not even his “brothers” Seven and Morgan know about it. Although, just for safety measures, on missions Igor wears steel-toed boots.

Igor’s human teeth fell out after the 19th surgery, growing back in as a set of forty short and sharp incisors. His diet and food preference was also genetically altered in connection to this surgery, making him primarily carnivorous, biologically speaking. Through various procedures his blood type had been mutated into that of an ectotherm. In layman's terms (as Igor would say) this means that he is cold-blooded much like a reptile. He constantly complains to himself about how cold the city of Nowhere can be. Even on some days in the summertime you won't catch him without his jacket.

Despite his naturally solitary dispostion Igor gets along quite well with Seven and Morgan, whom he considers his brothers. When actually speaking their names he avoids pronouncing them fully, calling them “Sev” and “Morg” to avoid slipping up on that tricky n-sound at the end of both their names. He secretly scares himself into thinking that they dislike like this “mangling” of their names but is re-assured when he reminds himself that they know it’s not his fault that he can't speak too fluently.

Igor frequently uses a small notepad to voice his opinion to Seven and Morgan in full sentence. He constantly reminds them that he's not stupid and is very much capable of rational thought and communication.

Alphabetic letters that are confused in Igor’s linguistic ability are as follows: n, th, h, r, and c, when pronounced like a “k”. He isn't certain, but he thinks that Seven and Morgan wish to teach him how to speak someday.

Although he's the oldest of the trio Seven and Morgan sometimes unintentionally condescend and treat Igor like a little brother. He's fiercely loyal to his “family,” nonetheless, and will defend them ‘till his last breath if need be. He reserves a fear in the back of his mind about the day that he might witness either Seven or Morgan’s death and sometimes it can be understandably troubling.

Igor’s weapon of choice is his own body but he will use anything he can get a hold of, much in the fashion of his own father. His teeth, being razor sharp, are more than capable of killing and his claws, at a length of three to four inches, can pierce human flesh with ease. He reserves a fondness for his home-grown attic science lab, keeping highly toxic, explosive, and caustic chemicals and formulas at hand should he ever need to become “creative” in execution. His treasure, enclosed within a thin metal box which he keeps in a briefcase, is a vial containing a particularly slow killing strain of noma – a flesh-eating fungus that he plans to someday force upon that man’s facial orifices. That man...Dr. French...who caused him and his brethren such pain. And after he had thought his childhood ordeal was over...

~x~x~

~x~x~

Igor POV

“My father, rather should I say, my 'captor,' used to beat me savagely. He kept me in a small enclosure in our basement: a sheer oddity in a droll, picture perfect suburban neighborhood, indeed. Of course, nobody knew about it, save for captor and captive.

“My mother had died while giving birth to my flesh and, psychologically speaking, my captor placed his suffering, his loss, entirely on my existence. Never mind my loss. Never mind the fact that his son would grow up never knowing what it is like to have a mother. I was the little demon man-child that killed his fuck toy. And he was pissed.

“While I was kept in that enclosure, that 8x6 foot hell hole, he wailed on me on a nearly daily basis. From age five ‘till age fourteen I was forced to endure beatings with any available object the malefactor could produce until I was heavily bruised, broken, and lay crying in a heap. He would occasionally allow me to heal for a few days to a few weeks so I wouldn't be able to die, or so I perceived. He could then further punish me for my 'misdeed' once I was in better shape.

“He was very much a 'kook' despite all of this anyways. How he and my mother became a pair, I'll never know. Perhaps she was a wicked monster as well, perhaps I was actually lucky that she had succumbed. You see, not only was my father a sociopath by standards set by local head-doctors but he was also heavily involved in Santeria, an African-based religion similar to Voodoo, originating in Cuba and Brazil, which combines the worship of traditional Yoruban deities with the worship of Roman Catholic saints. He would conduct rituals down in the basement where I was caged, sometimes even going into spastic trances during which he would cut his chest and chant.

“Moron. Imagine how traumatizing it must have been for a seven-year-old child to witness the only adult he had ever truly remembered laying eyes on – save for a deaf aunt and uncle who mysteriously died when he turned five – killing chickens and mice, boiling them to death, and listening to their screams as he dismembered them in a 'ritual.' Although, beatings aside, one real true horror of my childhood was knowing the daily pains of starvation.

“I was fed very little, mind you. In fact that rather unfortunate neglect is why you see this horrid looking man before you today. It caused me to decay; my eyebrows fell out from lack of nutrition and my hair thinned impeccably. I grew emaciated, my body feeding off of the calcium that my bones held in order to maintain proper blood calcium levels. I suffered many vitamin deficiencies and, when I was rescued, doctors marveled at how I had managed to survive that long. The pain could be more excruciating at times than even the worst beating; my head would spin and my would stomach cringe and I would be forced to vomit out the acid my stomach produced. This caused understandable tooth decay and so, along with starvation and atrophied muscle that never got any exercise, my teeth shot me full of excruciating dolor, as well.

“When I reached puberty I didn't develop like a regular male adolescent. The same holds true today as I am now an adult and, due to my excessive mistreatment, my body will never be truly like any healthy human being’s. I am forcibly ugly, eternally gaunt in appearance, thanks to my long term starvation; and I reserve the inability to grow little if any body hair to this day.

“But it is, in fact, that very grotesque appearance that helps me survive in today's world. People usually either turn away from me, flee from my presence, or underestimate me. Being the cold-blooded, pallid, frail individual that I am, my enemies believe me to be weak and unstable; easily thwarted. But that’s when I rip out their tracheae and prove them otherwise.

“I don't talk much, I am afraid, mainly because being so isolated as I was I had little social interaction...save for those rude comments that were shouted at me while my captor, my father, beat me in increasingly more lavish and creative ways...

“In rare conversation outside of my bretheren I constantly await being hit, waiting for a voice to raise in decibel and for a pipe, a bat, or a fist to land a blow. But I'm a man now. The only difference is that a blow thrown my way at this point in time would only result in a savage beating to the aggressor from me...and possibly death, if it was warranted.

“Scientifically, if a child is not subjected to speech enough they will not develop the means to use it. This holds true in my case, upon a cranial scan issued by my doctors the ridges around the part of my encephalon* that controls verbal speech were practically smooth where they should have been deeply furrowed. Whereas I have a solid grip on writing out the English language, I have little ability to actually speak it. Transference from inner monologue to verbal speech is a daunting task for me to perform, as much as it would be for a person without learning beyond an eighth grade math level to perform feats of college-level calculus.

“Doctors say that there is something blocking my ability to form words verbally. Understandable, considering the majority of actual verbal exclamation in life on my part was in either moans or screams. I can speak, but it is very limited. And I have such trouble pronouncing certain letters and combination letter sounds...and long words. I'd just as soon not speak at all, rather than stumble about my words and feel like an ament** in front of my brothers. How embarrassing.”

*Encephalon: Greek for "in the head," essentially meaning "brain"
**Ament: a person with severely deficient mental capacity

~x~x~

~x~x~

Igor was created and is RPed by kilderok.

Spotlight on - Seven

2008-07-18T05:37:45Z

Note - Partially written by remycognac

Moniker: Seven
Birth Name: Sasha Oberon Stryker
Mother’s Name: Alessandra Stryker (maiden name Giovanni)
Father’s Name: Nikolaus Stryker
Sibling(s): Sven Stryker (younger brother)
Birthday: October 27, 2055
Age: 27 years old
Height: 5’ 11”
Weight: 171 lbs.
Eyes: pale blue/gray
Hair: black, straight, short
Ethnic Descent: German Italian American
Rank: Major agent – rogue
Tarot Card: The Chariot
Status: active

~x~x~

The force that drives and the tie that binds.

~x~x~

~x~x~

At first glance it is Seven’s wardrobe which sets him apart. On your average day, Seven may be seen wearing a fine tailored import Italian suit, commonly in black, of solid color or in a pin-striped pattern. He chooses neutral colored and patterned ties to go with his suits and is strict about wearing pressed white button-up dress shirts. If he's in the mood, a tailored vest is added to the ensemble. For shoes he may opt for black Italian leather or the antique saddle shoe style of the early 1900s.

Physically there is nothing disproportionate about his features. Seven has a finely pronounced nose, not overly large, but enough to show a bit of refinement. His jaw is also pronounced and may have something of a square set when clenched. High-set cheek bones frame his medium-length face. His lips are of medium size – enough so that when he has something to say people will take notice, but not enough to stand out. His facial movement never gives away any emotion. His hair line features a widow's peak and Seven favors a swept, slicked back hairstyle.

Overall, Seven gives off the aura of a gentleman: possessed of grace and a somewhat athletic build. He is quiet, calm and collected…and one of the deadliest men one could ever cross paths with.

Seven is a bit of an enigma. He never says much, never stands out… it is almost as if he is trying to fade into the background. That is his job, anyway. He is an assassin of sorts, after all. He doesn't need any sort of recognition.

Seven nods quietly to himself while sitting in a stuffy, black leather desk chair, drinking a glass of soda in his private quarters. He is seen doing this quite often... sipping on soda from a fine crystal glass as though it were scotch or chardonnay and thinking quietly. That, or methodically plotting the next courses of action.

He considers himself to be a watcher; or rather perhaps some sort of judge, jury, and executioner. Unfortunately – so he thinks – he has a sense of morality which keeps him from becoming... say... someone like his "brother" Morgan. While he, himself, will kill at will if he thinks the situation or person warrants the action, or if he is hired to do so... Morgan is another story.

Seven lets out a small sigh and touches his forehead slightly. He quietly asks to nobody in particular, "What am I going to do about him?" But deep down he knows he really doesn't want to do anything about Morgan. He's perfect as is…aside from the little "outbursts"... if you'd call them that.

He then lets his thoughts drift to his other "brother," Igor. While Igor may be the oldest Seven has his doubts of Igor being able to function properly on his own. Seven watches him, day after day, and he feels as if he is watching a broken man. Which, for the most part, is true in his eyes.

Seven smiles. Regardless, they are his family, and that is fine. Nobody is perfect. Circumstances dictate. They are all in the same predicament... escapees from some mad man. The less said about that, the better. He would keep his personal business to himself.

The same is also directed towards a small frame sitting on an oak writing desk. A picture lies in the frame and it is nothing anyone has ever had a chance to set their eyes upon, including Morgan and Igor. In the photo are a man appearing to be Seven and another young man that seems to be a bit younger, having the same features as the man standing next to him. Around the two young gentlemen is a lush willow tree and a roaming old fashioned castle, seen only in parts of the European continent. The pair is smiling.

The smile on Seven's face disappears as he gets up from his chair and moves towards the desk and the picture sitting there. He gently picks up the black frame and decidedly stares at the photo contained within. That was once upon a time. The man in the picture is Sasha and the younger man standing next to him is his true brother.

How long ago was it... when all this started? Must have been ten years ago. His brother was killed due to mysterious circumstances. It was at that time that he met the man that would make him what he is today. All willingly, of course; much like everything he decides to do it was by his choice alone.

Seven brought his thoughts back to the present... to the situation at hand... why he is here now. Again, by choice. Moral Choices, that man, many factors…his mind settles on the most prominent factor that brought him here.

The man in question is one who calls himself a "saint," though is in reality far from it. While once Seven may have had some ounce of belief in that man, said figure had changed and became something else. At least, Seven thought of it that way.

Seven sighs once more and decides to drop all thoughts for the time being. Enough of that for one evening; it is time to get back at the task at hand, he believes.

And, without much of a sound, he returns to the black leather chair, and resumes his careful plotting.

~x~x~

~x~x~

Sasha Oberon Stryker was born to Alessandra Giovanni and Nikolaus Stryker in the city of Elsewhere, Massachusetts. He had one brother, Sven, who was two years younger.

Nikolaus Stryker was a partner in the law firm of Stryker & Bateman, which Nikolaus had founded with his old college friend Adrian Bateman. Stryker & Bateman did some work with PrimeCorp and St. Bastard had his eye on the firm as a possible acquisition. After all, one can never have too many good attorneys in the cutthroat business world. St. Bastard also had his eye on young Sven, whom he thought would make an excellent addition to Project Arcana.

Something went wrong with Sven’s abduction and the boy was accidentally killed. What’s worse was that Sasha arrived just in time to hold his brother as he died. The event would scar Sasha for life and send his family into turmoil.

Nikolaus attempted to seek justice for his young son’s murder but St. Bastard used his power to quell all investigations. The case was eventually abandoned for lack of evidence. Stryker & Bateman went bankrupt, having been run into the ground with all Nikolaus’ efforts to pursue justice on Sven’s behalf.

Sasha became embittered by the system’s failure to bring his brother’s murderers to justice and began seeking other means of retribution. It was only a matter of time before whispers of the Shadow Sector reached his ears and he willfully sought out the means to take vengeance into his own hands. St. Bastard recognized the opportunity before him and welcomed Sasha into Project Arcana with open arms. Sasha changed his name to Seven, partly in honor of his fallen brother. Seven never had any idea that St. Bastard was behind the kidnapping attempt that ended his brother’s life.

Alessandra Giovanni and Nikolaus Stryker were killed in a car accident soon afterwards, leaving Seven alone in the world, a ghost with no family and a dead name.

~x~x~

~x~x~

Seven was created by remycognac and is RPed by m_buggie.

Spotlight on - Morgan

2008-07-18T05:09:31Z

Moniker: Morgan
Birth Name: Morgan Thomas MacKenzie
Mother’s Name: Tabitha Tsukiyo MacKenzie (maiden name Hakubi)
Father’s Name: Daniel Alan MacKenzie
Sibling(s): none
Birthday: May 24, 2057
Age: 25 years old
Height: 5’ 7”
Weight: 142 lbs.
Eyes: vivid green/amber
Hair: auburn, straight, shoulder-length
Ethnic Descent: Scottish Japanese American
Rank: Major agent – rogue
Tarot Card: The Magician
Status: active

~x~x~

He's a shattered mirror, little pieces of himself everywhere, reflections of some greater self that never could stay whole.

~x~x~

~x~x~

If a butterfly flaps its wings in Shanghai and in Central Park you get rain instead of sunshine, that’s Morgan: chaos, carefully organized chaos.

One look at him and you’d never in your wildest dreams suspect that while he’s smiling and telling you a dirty joke about a priest walking into a bar he’s already figured at least four exits from the location and a dozen ways to end your life without a fuss. It’s what he does; he’s a killer and a thief after all. But with charm like that you’d probably never see it coming when he slits your throat or fires a bullet into your chest. You might even lie there thinking what a nice young man he was as the blood pools around you and he makes off with whatever it was that he came for. He’s that good. Unsurprising when you take into consideration how much of his genetic code has been altered.

Morgan is not what you would refer to as a physically imposing person.

He’s short, for starters, or shorter than most men in any case. While his facial features aren’t delicate they don’t exactly fit the description of masculine, either. His nose points upward at the tip a little in an elfin sort of way. His eyes are large, and when he wants to they can look right through you. They’re remarkable, his eyes: emerald green with amber cores beneath lashes that make most girls jealous. His Cupid’s bow lips are expressive whether they are smirking or sneering. He’s got hair that looks like it came out of a shampoo commercial, too. Thick, straight, auburn hair that comes down to his shoulders; it’s usually in some state of disarray, though, and his wild bangs are constantly slipping into his face even with the ponytail.

There’s a certain androgyny to him, much like his name – he saunters the line between male and female. He’s slender, too, still reminiscent of a teenager despite his quarter century age.

Which isn’t to say he’s scrawny, not at all; Morgan’s muscled like a cat, all smooth lines with wiry strength hidden underneath. He’s quick on his feet, agile, and his strikes carry more impact than you would think someone of his size was capable of. That’s Morgan in a nutshell, too: so strong for one so small. The statement is trite, of course, and he would laugh at anyone who said it to his face but that doesn’t make it any less truthful.

He laughs at a lot of things, some say too much. He can’t help it though, he’s just that kind of a guy…that, and he’s crazy. There’s another person behind the eyes of Morgan who is called Scythe.

It’s a subtle change but you can notice when it happens, there’s a dark veil that slips over his eyes and a cold gleam that appears in them. His lips twist and for the first time you realize that you should be very afraid for your life right now. Scythe only comes out to play for missions, though. Usually he’s kept safely tucked away at the back of Morgan’s head, a sleeping tiger, pulled out only for assignments or when the young man loses that fiery temper of his.

Few people have seen the face of Scythe and lived to tell about it, something Morgan has no problem with. He can feel it when that switch flicks and when it does his laughter can freeze your blood, because he is Scythe and Scythe is he and they are all together.

Igor and Seven are very important to Morgan, seeing as how they are the only family he has. He’s an orphan and has been from a young age. He doesn’t even remember his parents and secretly suspects sometimes that maybe he never had any and was born in a lab somewhere. He grew up a ward of the state, shunted from one foster home to another because he was too much for anyone to handle. When he ran away at the age of eight, no one really bothered to look for him.

Growing up on the streets, you pick things up quickly and it wasn’t long before the kid was breaking and entering like a professional. He’d rob you blind before you could blink. He’d also slit your throat before you realized he had a weapon. It was no surprise that St. Bastard chose him for Project Arcana.

He was thirteen when Dr. French first strapped him to that lab table, still hissing and spitting despite the sedatives they’d pumped into him. They tinkered around with his DNA, modified his physiology, and found that he was one of the few subjects who were resilient enough to tolerate the experiments. They gave him black ops training to go with his new genetic code and physical modification and Morgan took to it like a duck to water. He could calculate how much and what kind of explosives were needed to blow a desk up leaving minimal traces before he could legally drink. Not that he wasn’t drinking and smoking before that age anyway.

And oh, how he drinks and smokes; he parties with all the intensity that he takes on missions. There’s something hedonistically decadent about him. He likes black leather and silver jewelry. There are three piercings in his right ear and two in his left, plus a tongue ring and a belly ring. Large black wings are tattooed on his back, stretching from his shoulders down to his hips. Adrenaline is one of his favorite drugs and he’s at home straddling his motorcycle. Strippers have applauded his dancing skills.

Sexual orientation? That’s anybody’s guess. Morgan can flirt with anyone – male, female, and whatever’s in between – without ever actually getting involved…bisexual and asexual at the same time. Whether he has ever had a lover, or even kissed another person, remains a debate.

That’s Morgan for you, hiding in plain sight, an open book of a mystery. Just look at his scars…or rather, try to. Very few of them are visible when he’s clothed but to catch a glimpse gets you wondering how in the hell he is still alive. The most prominent scar is on his belly, a jagged curve arcing from ribcage to hipbone. Another scar streaks across his left thigh. He’s got a clean one on his left lower arm, vertical, trailing up about three inches on one side beginning at the wrist. His large watch or other articles of clothing usually obstruct that scar but occasionally his fingers find it when he’s in a state of deep thought, tracing the mark the way some people absently pet their cats. It’s the one scar he’s never said anything to Igor or Seven about, and the one they don’t inquire after.

With his fingerless gloves and combat boots, studded belt and corset-laced bracelet, Morgan sits on the roof with the wind going through his long hair and a wicked spark in the eyes he hides behind sunglasses. As his fingers tap out a rhythm on the .42 Hyper-Magnum Widowmakers strapped to either hip, a whistled tune escapes his lips. It’s nothing personal so you shouldn’t really be offended. He can’t help it. He’s just a kid from the street who grew up to be a killing machine.

~x~x~

~x~x~

Morgan is schizophrenic. "Schizophrenia" has, however, found itself to be something of a catch-all term for a multitude of different disorders and sub-disorders. And for all the advancements in science and medicine there is still a haze about abnormal psychology. The more we discover about the human brain the less we actually know about what makes it tick and how the mind functions. Paradox? Quite. But that is Morgan, as well. Paradox.

Psychological instability may be attributed to some biological predisposition due to Morgan's mother. Tabitha Hakubi was a brilliant but severely troubled young woman of Scottish and Japanese descent. In the age of Neo-Imperialism she held radical political ideals in favor of Socialism, becoming an active figure in student activities during her years at the University of Oxford. It was at Oxford that she first encountered Daniel MacKenzie, the promising son of the MacKenzie clan.

Despite his family’s disapproval, Daniel courted and wed Tabitha in 2054 – only a single year after their first meeting. The pair became inseparable and Daniel more deeply involved himself with Tabitha’s pro-Socialism activities, particularly with a group known as the Quincy Faction. This did not bode well with the MacKenzies, who were an old aristocratic family fallen out of favor and trying to reestablish themselves in the Alba Britannic political scene.

Daniel and Tabitha had one child, a son, in 2057. They named him Morgan and for a short time there was peace and joy in the MacKenzie family.

It all came tumbling down in 2058 when Daniel MacKenzie was assassinated at a Quincy Faction rally. It was widely rumored that the bullet was meant for Tabitha but Daniel sacrificed himself to save his wife. Other sources claimed that Daniel was targeted to eliminate the MacKenzie clan’s influence from the pro-Socialism scene. Either way, Daniel’s death changed everything for his family.

After Daniel’s assassination Tabitha was cast out of favor with the influential Alba Britannic clan. The MacKenzie clan claimed custody of Morgan but Tabitha would not surrender her infant son and fled New Edinburgh for America. It was in Nowhere, NY that the young woman’s dark secrets were finally revealed in all their horrible glory. Without her husband to anchor and protect her, Tabitha’s chemical imbalances and emotional issues ran rampant. It became clear that she was a bi-polar alcoholic, drug addict, chain smoker with a penchant for breakdowns, self-injury, and "hearing voices." Tabitha became a party girl and often stripped or trafficked drugs to support herself and her child.

Tabitha was murdered in 2060 when Morgan was three years old, under mysterious circumstances. Morgan was discovered by the Nowhere Police Department in an abandoned East Island apartment with no identification. He said his name was Morgan. Beyond that, he could not say.

Morgan became a ward of the state and was circulated among foster homes and orphanages, never really settling in anywhere due to the violent behavior he was already displaying. In 2063, at the age of six, Morgan was placed in the Maxwell Church of St. Michael the Archangel Orphanage where, under the eyes of Father Caleb and Sister Abigail, he had the closest thing to a normal life that he would ever have.

There was an adoption attempt in 2065 when he was eight years old but Morgan lashed out at his new family upon removal from the church orphanage and ran away. After having been a thorn in the system's side for years there was little effort made to track him down.

By the time Morgan was forcibly recruited in 2070 by St. Bastard and The Project at the age of thirteen, his social skills were strained, at best. While naturally exuberant and charming, he was also morbidly cynical and pushed away human contact as readily as he sought it out. With the onset of puberty coupled with The Project's tinkering, the future for Morgan proved to be even darker.

Abandonment issues and separation anxiety plague him but they are constantly covered up by his street-tough survival facade. He has chemical imbalances that Dr. French claims to have cured but the symptoms persist. Morgan's ethics are twisted and he has a very individual view of what is right and wrong. That having been said, he is not a bad person. He simply does not see anything wrong with robbery, murder, etc. He will kill anyone without batting an eyelash – with the exception of children under the age of thirteen.

Morgan is both callous and emotional; seeking attention and affection but distrustful of interaction. Once he bonds with a person and views them as a friend he is fiercely loyal and will respond to any betrayal with complete and utter devastation.

Morgan's personality disorder is unique. From the age of five he was lying about his name, coming up with alternate personas and identities. Occasionally he would refer to himself in the third person.

The Project's influence seemed to calm his violent nature but only in the sense that it was disassociated from his everyday self in the form of "mission mode." This seemed to curb a good portion of Morgan's behavioral problems until the age of eighteen, when the young man found himself less and less in control of his darker side.

After the disaster of Operation Obsidian in 2076, Morgan was nearly killed and lay in a coma for two and a half months. Upon his awakening, Scythe was "born." Scythe is the manifestation of Morgan's violence, a pure and (semi?)sentient form of "mission mode."

Scythe is Morgan and Morgan is Scythe, but not. Morgan is the dominant self and is completely coherent of when Scythe is in control, remaining passive while his other side wreaks havoc. Morgan can rein Scythe in, but with difficulty because when Scythe is at full strength it is debatable which personality is dominant. Scythe is incapable of being a separate entity, however, and Morgan always wins the internal power struggle.

~x~x~

~x~x~

Morgan was created and is RPed by m_buggie.

A Matter of Eyewear (but not really)

2008-07-17T20:09:06Z

Can't forget about this saga, now can I?

Winter of Discontent - Twenty-fifth Turn

Tuesday, January 17, 2081 – 16:07 hours
Morgan

Edward didn’t actually need eyeglasses.

He wasn’t like Igor, whose eyes were so fucked up that he couldn’t see more than a few inches past the tip of his nose without them. His vision was perfect and always had been, as far as I knew, but he wore them anyway; had a dozen different frames that he alternated depending on his mood and what he was wearing.

Seven explained to me once how Edward’s use of eyeglasses was tied into the direct data interface function supported by his cybernetic arm and whatever other technical shit was hard-wired to his spinal cord. Something to do with optical implants being able to project layers of information on to the inner surface of the lenses for Edward to scroll through. I don’t know. I was only half paying attention to what Seven had been saying at the time. All I knew was that Edward didn’t actually need glasses in the traditional sense but he wore them anyway.

Edward was wearing his aviator-style frames when he appeared at Seven’s door, dressed in white athletics gear with a tennis racket bag slung over one shoulder. He looked like he belonged at a Westchester country club and not the middle of Shadow Sector Headquarters.

“Good afternoon, Seven,” he said. “I thought I might drop by and invite you to a tennis match but by the looks of it your time is already being occupied.”

Those misleadingly open robin’s egg blue eyes of Edward’s peered over Seven’s shoulder at me and Igor, judging us with distaste. Our lines of vision met and locked for a split second before the undiluted rancor between us became too much and we both looked away.

Fucking Edward. Always hated him, always will.

“My apologies, Edward,” Seven replied. “Tennis will have to wait until after this mission briefing.”

Edward nodded. “Yes, of course. If I had known you were in a mission briefing then I wouldn’t have come to call.” He paused. “Although I will admit to being surprised that you aren’t using the conference room for such a thing.”

“Shinji already had it booked.”

“Ah, of course. He does have Operation Revenant coming up, doesn’t he?”

Seven nodded, shifting his weight between feet without making any effort to move out of the doorway and allow Edward entrance. I silently cheered that. If I could’ve built a clubhouse and posted a sign at the door which read “No Edwards Allowed” then I totally would have. Hell, I was tempted to post the damn sign on my own door…not that Edward ever turned up at my quarters, but that wasn’t the point.

“Don’t think me ungrateful for your visit, Edward,” Seven stated coolly, “but I should be returning to the work at hand.”

Edward nodded, getting the message. “Then I’ll take up no more of your time, Seven.”

They chatted for another couple of minutes, saying farewell and inquiring after upcoming chess games. When Seven finally closed the door and locked it I waited until he turned around to roll my eyes.

“You know, Sev,” I said, “if I were you I would’ve just told him to fuck off.”

'Round and 'round we go, where we'll stop, nobody knows...

In The End

2008-07-17T18:46:06Z

Now this tale is truly done.

Obsidian - Epilogue

To: St. Bastard
From: Dr. French
Re: Operation Obsidian After Action Report
Date: August 26, 2076
Time: 09:00 hours

Sir, it is my regret to inform you that while the continued muscular atrophy of Major agent code named Strength has slowed to a near stop, he remains devoid of any and all brainwave activity. Dr. Hwan and I have not ceased our endeavors to find a method of either reversing or alleviating the situation but we caution you that, should Major agent code named Strength not recover in a year’s time, alternate courses of action be considered. Four months have passed since Operation Obsidian and his condition is not likely to improve as more time elapses.

Major agent code named The Magician is faring much more positively, however. The deep laceration to his abdomen has completely healed and the injury will not affect his performance in future missions.

I feel it is my duty to inform you that he bears more than a mere physical scar from Operation Obsidian, however. As you know, Major agent code named The Magician has been exhibiting various psychological instabilities (i.e. bi-polar disorder and schizophrenia) since his recruitment in 2070; the symptoms of which have gradually intensified with the passage of time. The consequences of resuscitating Major agent code named The Magician from the fatal wound he incurred during Operation Obsidian were not immediately clear in April of this year, as he immediately lapsed into a coma and remained such until last month, but have made themselves known recently.

Major agent code named The Magician is suffering from a unique case of Dissociative Identity Disorder coupled with a relapse of his ongoing case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He has created an identity within himself dubbed “Scythe” who takes on the personified role of the id within his mental landscape. Dr. Hwan and I are further researching the matter but do not expect this turn of events to hinder Major agent code named The Magician’s mission performance any more than his previously existed psychological instabilities did.

As you are aware, Major agent code named The Devil successfully completed his period of behavioral modification and reconditioning and was released back into the general population in June of this year. He has not had a relapse and I recommend him to be cleared for Ace-level missions as of today.

On a related note, Major agent code named The Lovers also successfully completed her period of behavioral modification and reconditioning and was also released back into the general population in June of this year. While she has not had a relapse I do express some concern for her standing among the other Major agents. I recommend her to be assigned solo missions during the next twelve months for her own well-being.

Hope you had a nice ride.