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    1. Nevermind 10 yrs ago

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Edit: it says Full Name twice.
@AmazinglyVivid Don't worry about it was just checking
@Hexaflexagon Okay, sorry about that.
Things had gone tits up. The team was pinned down. Madran wasn't entirely sure how the situation had devolved this way, but it had, and now they were knee-deep in shit. Madran was a short distance from Nik and the others, stuck in his own individual firefight after being separated due to a short duel with a Vorcha that ended with the Vorcha's head separated from it's body. He could get back to the group in less than a minute, but that would require turning around and running - something that would make the rest of the group very vulnerable to being hit very hard, as Madran was providing some cover from his position. He wasn't willing to do that, even if it meant he might get trapped here for some time. He was confident that he would be okay, though. Madran Deltis would not die this day.

He'd been picking off brawlers for quite a while, they were flooding in in good numbers, so it wasn't incredibly hard to get a few of them down - but it was hard to protect himself considering the amount of them. He turned to see a brawler running at him - then an explosion mere meters ahead of him.

Madran fell back in the daze of the bang. His ears rang. For a good 20 seconds he was deaf. He held his head in agony and waited for his senses to return to him. Trip mines. Wonderful. Madran noted to himself to keep further away from the bastards in future. But he didn't have too much time to make mental notes, as another brawler had arrived to give him trouble. Madran grabbed it by the back of it's head, proceeding to smash it's face in to the wall twice before dropping it's lifeless corpse to the floor. These were lambs to the slaughter. Easy kills. But the mercenaries knew that. They were willing to sacrifice the lives of a few grunts if it meant that they'd take their enemies down.

Another merc arrived close to Madran - bad idea, Madran thought, smirking to himself. He was skilled in close-combat. But, apparently, so was the mercenary in question, who hit Madran's face hard with the butt of his gun when the Turian made an attempt to disarm him, before flipping Madran over on to the floor. Madran spat blood and wiped his mouth, taking half a second to breath before being forced to roll over an dodge a close range shot coming from the mercenary. He reached for his pistol that was close to him on the floor, but the mercenary kicked it out of the way. Luckily, Madran had good reflexes, and he grabbed the mercenary's leg from under him, forcing him to fall over on to the floor and drop his gun - which Madran promptly retrieved and shot at him with.

Once he had got securely back on his feet, Madran took a more covered position and continued to target enemies. Most of his shots were having very little impact on the enemy as their armour was significantly hard to penetrate, but he continued to shoot nonetheless, providing his comrades with suppressing fire. Just as he was about to shoot again, his radio began to buzz.

"Team leader is hit, I repeat, team leader is hit. Nik is down, say again, Nik is down..." he heard over his com.

"Fuckers," Madran mumbled to himself under his breath as he made his way cautiously towards where Nik was. "This day just gets better and better."



Several days ago...

Nik was briefing the team - giving them a short recap on their target: Qiyrloc Sirn. Big bastard. But as anyone worth their salt knew, the big bastards hit the ground the hardest. It wasn't necessarily the guy himself that would be the problem. Granted, Krogan's aren't easy to kill, but he wasn't just any run of the mill Krogan. He also happened to have a very strong mercenary outfit at his command - and anyone who started quarrel with Qiyrloc Sirn was likely to see the full potency of their force.

Madran didn't need to listen to Nik's brief. He'd read in to this guy. He knew what he was up against. But he listened nonetheless, and remained silent. He was known to be quite an outspoken and lawless individual, but he knew when it was productive to interrupt people, and when it was productive to hold his tongue. Now was the latter of the two. Madran respected the Drell, and, although Madran didn't see himself as an employee or a lackey, he knew that Nik was the leader of the group. A group like this was a well oiled machine - everyone who had a flamboyant personality had to tone it down and take their role, or else it would all go to shit. Luckily, Madran, despite perhaps being the most flamboyant of the group in his lifestyle, knew exactly how to do that. It was crunch time, and he acknowledged that whole heartedly.

Once he had loaded his guns and checked that his armour was all in the condition he required it to be, he simply sat still and waited for further instruction. The transport shuttle swerved, and so to did it's passengers, but this did not phase him. Most people assumed, when they met him, that he was just some dick who knew how to string a few sentences together with wit and intricacy, but he could do more than that. He knew how to use a gun, and use it good. Of course, that would be no good to him if he acted like his usual self on the battlefield - but as soon as he set foot on that shuttle he switched on his serious side and let go of any light-hearted thoughts he was holding.

"This is our stop." Nik announced as the shuttle doors split open.

Madran cracked a wry smile. He was a man of style, so it was only natural he would enter in style. He followed the Drell and proceeded into uncertainty.
What's the status on this?
@Nevermind hasn't posted yet.


Very sorry for the delay. Will be done very soon.
Sorry for my absence. A lot has been going on IRL. Working on a post. Probably won't be done tonight (GMT) as I'm pretty tired but should be up in the next 24h.
((**This post will be edited with Phoebas' dialogue and stuff. Wanted to get it up so people could make their posts started, so apologies to Phoebas.**))

He had scarcely finished his coffee when he noticed him. The man holding the sign was one very similar in appearance to the man that had handed Jamie the letter that had started this whole thing. Sharp suit. Sunglasses. Emotionless face. It wasn't the same guy, but it might as well have been, because not only did he look very similar, but he acted almost identically as well. Stood with the same posture. He looked the part, as did the man who had met with Jamie earlier. It amused Jamie, in a strange way, that these men looked exactly as what government men looked like in his head, yet they were so clearly opposed to the government.

Jamie caught Hannah's attention and pointed at him. "That's the guy." he told her before getting out of his seat and approaching the man, a little hesitant, but having no desire to remain in this airport for much longer. The whole reason he and Hannah had gone to the cafe was because they didn't like people staring at them. Wherever they were going, it was probably less populated - and hopefully with more trustworthy people.

"Excuse me," Jamie said as he approached the man, who did not flinch. Jamie couldn't see for the man's sunglasses, but he guessed that the man had already been looking at him. This unnerved Jamie for a moment, but he continued nonetheless. "We're the 'Smith family'." He said with confidence.

The man nodded slowly. "Mr. Vaughn thanks you for accepting his invitation."

"Mr. Vaughn?" Jamie asked, connecting the dots in his head that 'Mr. Vaughn' was most likely the 'WV' that had sent him his letter, but still seeking further information.

"Mr. Vaughn is the man who invited you here."

"Who is he?" Jamie continued.

"Listen... this isn't a Q&A," The man replied. His tone was no-nonsense. "I'm just here to take you to Mr. Vaughn. Are you coming?

Jamie waited for Hannah's approval before the two followed the man outside of the airport, where he took them to a helicopter, which Jamie took a seat on reluctantly. Part of him felt like this could be a ruse and the chopper could just be flying to some test facility, but his gut told him that they were going to safety.

It was quite a while before they reached their destination - a fairly small island. The only building on it was a large mansion. This calmed any previous fears that Jamie had. The chopper landed on one of several helipads not far from the entrance of the building and Jamie climbed out of the passenger seat and observed the surroundings. The island was beautiful, exactly what he saw in his mind when he thought of a Caribbean island. The mansion ahead of him was very large and lavish, larger than any house he had been this close to. Outside of it were pools, chairs and tables. It looked like a hotel resort, not a home for one man.

The suited man guided them in to the main hall of the mansion - a very large, open plan room that covered the majority of the ground floor, very modern in it's style. It was mostly a lounge area, but there was a kitchen at one of the far sides of the room and a dining table at the other. There were two staircases either side of the room, both leading up to a second floor. There were also doors that led to other rooms on the ground floor, but Jamie was told to remain in this room for now.

"Mr. Vaughn will see you soon. There are others that are coming to meet him, and he wishes to address you all at once. He apologises for the delay, but invites you to take a drink at your leisure," the man nodded, directing Jamie's attention to a bar that was situated at the far side of the hall. "He thanks you for your patience."

"What is 'Mr. Vaughn' like?" Jamie asked the man, peering up at him after taking a seat on one of the many couches.

"I don't know Mr. Vaughn personally. I just do the delivery." He paused a moment and looked at his watch. "Speaking of that, I have work to do." With that, he turned and left the room, leaving Hannah and Jamie to their own devices.

((**May edit in a conversation between Hannah and Jamie here**))



Multiple suited men came and went, on each occasion brining a new group of teenagers, each group varying slightly in size. It was not the same man every time, as, naturally, it would take far too long for one person to go back and forth. The delay was probably only due to the fact that each group that arrived had taken planes at different times from different places in the US. In the end, they had all arrived on the same day.

By the time the last one had arrived it was very late and the sun had long since fell. Before any of them could get in to a big introductory speech, one of the doors on the ground floor opened and a man emerged. He was wearing a sharp suit. He did not wear sunglasses - but he was just as hard to read as any of his employees. Emotionless. He held a glass of wine in his hand as he approached the teenagers, who fell silent as they saw him approach.

"My name is Welsey," he spoke up, catching the attention of those who weren't already looking. "Wesley Vaughn. I brought you to this island." He wasn't boasting, or looking for thanks, but looking to shed more light on a situation that was probably very confusing to everyone there. "Now, I know that none of you trust me, and I know I can't earn your trust in one night, so let me start by saying that I'm not holding you here against your will. You can leave. I have several helicopters outside, all with pilots at the ready - go ahead and tell one that you want to go home, and they'll take you back to the airport and give you money for a ticket. I won't stop you. But once you leave this place, you'll never be able to find it again, not only because it's hidden, but because you'll be dead. But if you stay... you can be a part of something. You all have gifts, and you have the chance to do something good with them. I want you all to think about that."

"I'm sure you all have a lot of questions," Wesley started. "And I do promise I will answer them all, to my best ability, in due time. Right now, I'll tell you the facts: If you hadn't decided to take that plane, you'd be within their grasp by now. The only thing that stops them from finding us here is, well..." He cocked his head, smirking a little. "Let's just say... if I don't want people to find my island. They won't find my island. You're safe here. But there are countless people out there, like you and I, who aren't safe. Who are being killed and tortured. There is a whole demographic of special people that will die out if someone doesn't stop the genocide." He stopped still for a moment, and his face became much more serious. There was momentary silence. Nobody moved.

"Well," he said suddenly, breaking the silence and probably startling one or two people in the process. "I'm sure you've all had a very long couple of days," Wesley spoke casually, yet loud enough for everyone to hear him. He took a sip of wine from the glass that danced in his hands. "We don't need to rush things. We've got a lot to talk about, but... I think you should settle in first. Make yourselves at home. There are plenty of rooms in my house. Most of them are vacant. Go ahead and take one each." He let a wry smile appear on his face. He was oddly calm. It's not like a bunch of superhumans arrived at his mansion every day. "Don't get too comfy. We've got work to do, remember." He turned around and began to head for his room before pausing and turning back around for a moment. "Oh, and - by the way, you should probably get familiar with one another, if you aren't already." He turned once again and began to walk back towards his room. "You are family now, after all."
@AmazinglyVivid Fine with me. I'm also quite busy but will be freed up by tomorrow.
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