[h2]C H A P T E R [s]1[/s][/h2] [b]N o t A S i n g l e S t a r[/b] _________________________________ [h3]Fort Hood, Texas 14:00 // JANUARY 23[/h3][@Zoey White] “T[i]he hell do ya’ think you’re doing private? Stop staring at the migrants and get back to work![/i]” A six-foot tall leathery tan skinned man in full ABU’s roared at a younger grunt of a man. The youngling’s eyes widened as the reverberations echoed throughout his skull. “[i]Y-yes-sir! Apologies![/i]” He nodded his head for a moment, stalling in habit of awaiting an order before doing anything. Which was of course a mistake. “[i]What are you waiting around for? Get a move on limp dick! There is shit for you to shovel![/i]” The sergeant continued to shake his head in disbelief, reaching his hand up to his cap drawing it away to reveal a cleanly shaven but very-gray head. “[i]They said they’d let anyone in twenty years ago. And here I am witnessing the stupidest people enlisting. I’d be half tempted to send these simpletons to the frontlines if they didn’t have families to feed.[/i]” He scowled, snorting airily through his nostrils before spitting at the brown clay below. Meanwhile, in a Coffee Connection located a short drive off base two enemies of the state sat at a table together. The shoppe itself was quite busy, making it much easier for such people to blend in and converse in discretion. On one side of the table was a much-much older man with long whispy-white hair who shuffled playing cards with magician like grace. The other was a young miss, seemingly just reaching the mid-twenties, maybe. They were both dressed quite plainly to further blend in, the elder fellow in a simple plaid overshirt and blue jeans, the woman in a sunflower print dress and black high-heels. “[i][color=gray]So shall we talk about about ‘that plan’?[/color][/i]” The elder man leaned forward, elbows resting on the table with a mug of steaming coffee idly in hands reach. “[i]No, I planned on meeting some creepy old geezer at a coffee shop because I’m looking for a sugar daddy. Yes, that is the purpose of this meeting.[/i]” The woman spat venomous words to the man, she sat stiff with her hands upon her lap clutched together. “[i][color=gray]My apologies for trying to spark conversation, dove. Have you met with the contact on the base y-[/color][/i]“ His question would be cut short by the disrespectful raven-haired girl across from him, her emerald sights cutting straight into him. “[i]Meet them, handed them the ‘package’ and he shall hand it to ‘Akasha’. He will then plant the ‘package’ at the doorstep and ‘ring the doorbell’ so that it will be moved to the desired location. Once that has been followed through, I will contact ‘Akasha’ one final time before heading home.[/i]” The girl’s expression was resolute, battle-hardened, despite her appearance this wasn’t your average texas woman who went to Starbucks and shopped at HomeGoods. The elderly man nodded, gulping down the rest of his coffee and sliding his chair out from under the table. “[i][color=gray]Very well, then if I’m not needed I guess I’ll be on my way. My hopes are with you, that this goes off without a hitch. God bless you, Vanessa, and the church appreciates your willingness to serve in his name.[/color][/i]” The old innocent man’s eyes flashes sinister for a moment. This woman was just a pawn, he cared not for her life or her part in this plan. Just that she knew her part to play, and knew it well enough that his job would be all the easier. But just who exactly was this Akasha character? “[i][color=black]#2, the higher-ups said that we would be meeting a pretty young girl today. Sounds like tasteful company, don’t you think?[/color][/i]” The handler was a slim, tall, tan-skinned individual in a very stylish dress suit. His medium-length brown hair dangled warily into his vision and he stared across the bedroom at the Number he had been charged with watching. [hr][h3]Sofia, Bulgaria 19:00 // JANUARY 23[/h3] “[i][color=gray]Report?[/color][/i]” The incredibly built man in white and black uniform sat alone at a small wooden table, a small teacup in his hand. His hair was a few brown, nearly combed to the side. He was handsome for a military man, chiseled marble would have done him justice. “[i]Sir, negotiations with both Warsaw and Kiev have failed. Forward Units will be advancing through Romania, and then the elite squad will split in two and attempt to dispel their reinforcements at the border.[/i]” This plain looking person making the report held brass upon his chest, he was a person of leadership. This meant that the [u]JoJo[/u] looking fellow he reported must have been much farther up the food-chain. “[i][color=gray]I like that plan, take a Templar with your troop. If you lose it I’ll send you straight to the Holy Spirit. But if you make it home successful and with it intact, I’ll make sure the Pope hears about your victory directly.[/color][/i]” The handsome man smiled wryly from ear to ear, pristine porcelain teeth flashing masterfully up at the officer who spoke to him. “[i]Your words move me, Sir Theo IV. But that is not necessary, although we do appreciate the support of his grace. I am doing this for my people, and my country.[/i]” The man spoke briefly and bowed before exiting the intel room in haste. Theo frowned heavily as the officer marched out with ease. The grip of his gloved hands squeezed at his teacup as he raised it to his lips and dipped quietly. “[i][color=gray]I wonder how my father is doing in the States. I’m sure the Americans are much more entertaining than these small-minded people here.[/color][/i]” [hr][h3]???, Romania 19:00 // JANUARY 23[/h3][@OwO] “[i]The hell do they think they’re doing marching through here like we are some expressway bridge? We have our own problems.[/i]” A shorter Romanian boy with a brown-leather cap spat in anger. “[i]It’s not like we have any say in it. We rely on the church for food, men, and various other important things that are required to run a country.”[/i] Responded another Romanian youth, though this one had a buzzed scalp and his ears must've been cold. “[i]Who even says that? ‘Various things to run a country’ you talk weird as hell dude.[/i]” Cap boy snapped back, his eyes squinting into slits of anger. “[i]Go run the information to the Captain like a proper courier, would you?[/i]” Buzz-cut boy lost interest in the argument, averting his sights and speaking in monotone. The blonde-haired capped Romanian boy scoffed as he turned on his toes and marched through the snow towards a singular large concrete building. It had no windows and no other entrances besides a wide steel double door. He reached such a place and brushed the powdersnow from his black mesh jacket before giving the door three loud knocks. A gruff voice loud enough to be heard quite audibly from outside screamed. “[i]Enter![/i]” And on note, the door unlocked allowing the courier passage into the skif. It was barren inside, guards stood at the door and empty desks littered its innards. The boy kept marching along until he reached the room at the very southernmost end, saluting the hulking baldman who sat at a desk doing paperwork. “[i]A message from the clergy, sir![/i]” The boy spat the words out quick, this superior officer must have been one who liked things quick. “[i]Hand it to the black suited man in the next room.[/i]” Next room? He quietly turned, looking to his right seeing an unassuming wooden door with a cross neatly placed on its centermost. The boy dropped his salute and made his way to the directed door, extending out a hand to grasp a bronze handle with the utmost anxiety. “Come on in, we don’t bite!” A sing-song tuned voice chimed through, wafting away bits of anxiousness as the boy stepped inside the room. It was much more lively than the rest of the building, bobble heads, pictures, and a chunky blonde Romanian man sitting comfortable within his swivel chair. “[i][color=black]The troops will be advancing through here within the next few days, am I right?[/color][/i]” The boy quickly nodded. “[i]Yes sir![/i]" He turned on his boot heels and headed out the way he came in. Meanwhile the suited man spun to the unnoticed figure sitting idly in the opposing corner of the room. Devious eyes glistened as he stared at the sickly looking girl, and then an vile smile plastered across his face. “[i][color=black]What do you say #6, are you prepared to spill blood in the name of god?[/color][/i]” [hr][h3]Murmansk, Russia 19:00 // JANUARY 23[/h3][@ERode] Smoke, gunpowder, blood, the screams of burning innocents. This was once a prosperous city, but now the dirtied hands of god had finally breached the border of Finland and made headway into the motherland. They had developed new weapons to deter the invading forces, drones piloted remotely from Moscow that patrolled the borders on a daily schedule, pseudo-mecha all terrain tanks that seemed to be pulled from Star Wars or some sci-fi movie albeit. But nothing could prepare the prideful Russian forces for what was to come. “[i]Our first airstrike was successful. Though if we keep bombarding their homes, we won’t have any people left to convert to the cause.[/i]” A white uniformed very decorated military man, in shoulderguards and even a gold embroidered cap spoke cordially to the woman across from him. She was middle aged, platinum blonde hair, wore glasses, and even surprising was dressed casual in a white button up and plain black jeans. “[i][color=black]So, do suppose we should send ‘it' in to clean up the rest? We’ve been testing ‘it’ quite thoroughly and I know my #13 would have no problem sweeping through those pitiful fucks.[/color][/i]” A smile of pride shined its way into the woman’s red-painted lips as she thought of the massacre that may transpire. “[i]Language, Miss Augustine. I understand you are a representative from the church, but this military operation under my control and I want this to be an absolute victory. If I need to keep sending air raids, I will, but those [u]things[/u] are an uncertainty and I can’t have that.[/i]” The woman chewed at her lip in withheld frustration, painted pink fingernails tapping along her chair for a moment as she searched her thoughts for something that may change the general’e mind. But she came out empty-handed, and simply released the oxygen from her lungs in a pained sigh of acceptance. “[i][color=black]Very well, but if you do change your mind. You know how to find me.[/color][/i]” The woman offered the man a dignified bow, arm placed over her heart as she did so. She would soon after be making her way out of his quarters, stepping down a long hallway where a single younger figure stood. His hair was raven black and wore an accordingly matching black uniform. “[i][color=black]Lets go. We are going to meet up with the leader of the Operations Unit in Finland. Hopefully he isn't an incapable fuck like this one was.[/color][/i]” [hr][h3]St. Peterburgh, Russia 21:00 // JANUARY, 23[/h3][@Kazemitsu][@Rune_Alchemist] Two grown, seasoned looking soldiers property decorated in grime and scars alike laid on their stomachs atop an old abandoned bakery. They were in enemy territory, no contact with the reinforcements that would be showing up sometime tomorrow to assist them. The Operations Unit really did get the short straw pretty frequently, and this was one such occrassion. “[i]Who are we waiting for, exactly?[/i]” The dark-skinned soldier quietly asked. His partner quickly smacked the back of his head. Eyebrows raised with deep brown eyes staring back at him that could almost speak for themselves. ‘[b]Q U I E T![/b]’. But the question did burn in the back of both of their minds. They had been undercover few days preparing for the mission, and now they simply had to wait on this specific building while laying low. How very uncool. But then their questions would be answered, as two dark-clad assailants scaled the building-side. They were both very young, too young to be soldiers for this type of job. The dark-skinned soldier then began to go off again. “[i]Are you serious? What the shit are we supposed to do with two punk kids? Last I heard the church didn’t do child soldiers?[/i]” He spoke so quickly that he ran out of breath, he pulled himself up to sit and look up at the two figures rather disappointed. “[i]They’re not 'kids' man.[/i]” The soft-spoken man with curly brown hair and an olive complexion spoke, squinting at his companion and shaking his head. “[i]We are glad to have the backup. Since Portillo over here left a bad impression I guess I shall get you two up to speed. You obviously know the Catholic Church’s disdain for Russia, well, we are here to raze the Hermitage. Our job is to infiltrate the lobby, disperse of any security, plant explosives which shall be delivered tomorrow, and escape to the west border. Simplified enough? I don’t know how knowledgeable you things are on this stuff.[/i]” The soldier flashed them a half-humored smile, scratching through his hair nervously. [hr] [h3]Tokyo, Japan 02:00 // JANUARY, 24[/h3][@Melkor] [b]We have been receiving numerous reports of missing children throughout areas of the city. While the police believe that it may be human traffickers, our sources are telling us that they are indeed murders due to evidence found at a residence nearby one of the families. The scheduled curfew 10:00 will not be affected, though, please report any information you might have to one or the many Public Safety kiosks placed throughout the city.[/b] The Public Safety Commission branched off of the police force to focus less on crime and more so on improving the well-being of Japanese citizens. You would think the two are the same, but that is hardly the case. While crime is a lot more prominent with the city being so packed, more people struggle with making a livelihood and finding a place to live than anything else in Japan. The Public Safety Commission task themselves with finding jobs for the unemployed, building makeshift homes for those without one, and just overall upkeep of the city while the government worries about bigger problems. “[i]Ma’am, might I offer you some bubble tea?[/i]” An A.I controlled restaurant host rolled over to the black-suited woman, she was very intimidating to look at standing taller than most men with a rather jacked body. “[i][color=black]No thank you, boba is bad for you.[/color][/i]” She responded with a flippant wave of the hand to dismiss the robot. The handler sat alone in the tea shop, hands interlocked in thought with beads of sweat developing at her brow. She was stressed, incredibly so, and the pistol at her waist made her all the more threatening because of it. The denizens of the tea shop avoided her like a leper, wary eyes glancing over her imposing figure as if she were a monster herself. But she wasn't a monster, though she did misplace the monster in which she was tasked with maintaining. A laptop was placed atop the small table she sat at, the screen graced with privacy glass to prevent any wandering eyes to see what exactly she was doing on such a device. It was a profile labeled #5 with several incident reports and information revolving around its creation and the incident of that day. She was a handler, but her curious mind got the better of her on most days. But I guess this time it got the worse, as she had lost contact with #5 for some time now. The creature was much different than its brothers and sisters, the church had nearly deemed it a failure because of its grotesque appearance but some of the more shady clergymen saw potential in it. As a weapon, of course. [hr] [h3]Geneva, Switzerland 13:00 // JANUARY, 23[/h3][@TruthHurts22][@Eleven] [i]Swiss Neutrality, the main principle of Switzerland's foreign policy which dictates that Switzerland is not to be involved in armed conflicts between other states. This policy is self-imposed, permanent, and armed, designed to ensure external security and promote peace. And it seemed to do something of that sort for the nearby countries, Spain being the exception. France had followed suit, the ruling powers intermingling with Switzerland to a strange degree and with France's economic boom it probably benefited Switzerland either way. "[i][color=black]You are to do nothing more than sit and watch, understood #7?[/color][/i]" The fair-skinned man in a black and grey dress-suit barked down to the white-haired girl. His emerald sights widening in an uncanny fixation on her, struggling to withhold his one views and follow through with the orders he was given. The two sat within a large, beautiful, ballroom though it was filled with finely decorated dinner tables with diamond bright glasses and angelic tapestries. It was empty at the time of their arrival, though slowly but surely more and more suited figures would enter the room. People of differing ages and backgrounds, though all of them bore the cross of the Catholic Church somewhere on their being. This was a large meeting of some sort, and while the territory they stood in was neutral it did not mean that the holy men couldn't discuss their plans in such a place. "[i][color=gray]Welcome, my fellow faithful men and women! We are gathered here as guests to witness an event for our eyes only. The Clergy assures you that this room has been sealed, all identification has been thoroughly checked, and there is absolutely nothing to worry about! Now, let us get on with the entertainment![/color][/i]" The clergyman looked more like a ringmaster of some circus, an all-white suit with a matching top hat and a cane? Who the hell uses a cane as an accessory in this day and age? But what was more interesting is the stage at the forefront of the ballroom's curtains being drawn to reveal several naked men who were incredibly beaten and bruised. Their faces were veiled by a black silk bag, and two black-suited men stood at each side of the stage with long ceremonial swords. "[i]Please! I have a family! I'll give you any information you want, I was an informant for the U.S military there must be something you need to know.[/i]" Shouted a lean freckle-skinned male, body-hair revealing what was likely a ginger mane atop his head. "[i]Give it up, Wellman. They don't want our information.[/i]" The man at his direct left stated bluntly, his own farmer's tan showing signs of a working lifestyle. Were these civilians? It was then that the #7's keeper started to fidget, he hated traditions like this. His green eyes shifted around the room until they caught something interesting, someone familiar, and he grabbed 7's wrist as he stood and began to lead her to the opposite side of the ballroom. This of course caught many of the participant's attention but he didn't need to worry about them. He instead found a seat next to another man dressed similarly to himself. "[i][color=black]Been a while, Friedrich. Haven't seen you since the island, how ya' been?[/color][/i]" He casually slid into a social interaction with this man, his own blue sights peeling from the fellow keeper towards the small girl at his side. "[i][color=black]Do not discuss the island in public, Emmanuel.[/color][/i]". His words were like a dog snapping in defense, but he loosened up a bit after making the hostile statement and then gestured to the well-dressed young boy who sat next to him at his left. "[i][color=black]#10, do not speak to your sister.[/color][/i]" His words were definite and punctuated, there was no room for defense.