[CENTER][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/314e05be-6f69-47ee-9543-5bbc310ccd84.jpg[/img][/CENTER] [center][h1][color=#7D5CB3]Wulde Riddenhouse[/color][/h1][/center] [center][color=black][sup]____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sup][/color][/center] [center][color=#812442][b]Location: [/b][/color] South Halcyon Friends Meeting House [color=#812442][b]Time: [/b][/color] Night[/center] [center][color=#812442][b]Interactions: [/b][/color] N/A [color=#812442][b]Mentions: [/b][/color] [@jj doe] Zacariah Reed; [@oso] Domonic Blackmoor[/center] [center][color=black][sup]____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sup][/color][/center] Wulde went straight back to the Sunday school classroom after he had sent the Bastion his response, and for a few minutes he had the room to himself. The other Wardens either had filed into the breakroom to take up Lt. Grant’s offer of refreshment or were on their phones trying to find out more about the Code 3. Wulde, who was not in the mood for either of those things, chose instead to spend some time in the mute company of childishly drawn dinosaurs and more professionally rendered doves. Through one thin wall of the quiet room, he could hear the resonant voice of Lt. Grant complaining to somebody about something, although he could not make out the details. After a while, the others began shuffling back to take their seats, with moods as black as their coffees. It was not rare for a Warden to go missing, although it was never welcome news, and rarely ended happily. Everyone was disgruntled by the development, and no one’s gruntles were more dissed than those of Lt. Grant, who stamped into the room with a look that suggested that she was about to confirm Wulde’s suspicions about how loudly she could yell when she saw fit. Most of the Wardens hardly seemed to notice at first, as they inevitably had started talking about the MIA. Somebody had discovered the name behind the Code 3: Zacariah Reed. No one in the classroom had any additional details about the disappearance, nor about Reed. Judging from their conversations, Wulde realized to his surprise that he probably knew more about the missing man than any of them did. Reed was someone he had known by name before he even joined the outfit. He was a colleague of Ben Gerber’s, a fellow forensic accountant. Wulde had long suspected that they had been working together on whatever investigation got his stepfather killed; could Reed’s disappearance be connected to that somehow? Gerber’s murder had been years ago, but then, vampires operated on long timescales. Lt. Grant, to Wulde’s surprise, did not immediately try to command silence; rather, she waited a few minutes for the hubbub to subside before quietly clearing her throat. She might as well have bellowed out: “Oye! Oye!”, as the effect was just as decisive. All voices ceased at once and all eyes turned towards the front of the room where she sat perched upon that undersized desk. [color=#00ced1]”Thank you for your attention,”[/color] she began, her tone now calm and commanding, in stark contrast to what Wulde had heard through the wall just a few minutes earlier. The Lieutenant had clearly managed to collect herself in the brief interim. [color=#00ced1]”I know we’re all concerned about Warden Reed, but we must focus on the task at hand. That task is to investigate a warehouse not far from here.[/color] [color=#00ced1]”Warden Wallace -you all saw him when you came in- has been investigating for the last few days reports of unusual activity around one of the warehouses. Vehicles had been seen visiting and departing it several times a day after its not seeing a soul for almost six months. On a hunch, Wallace set up motion-sensing cameras overlooking both the front and the back of the building. “Last night, a crew van not unlike the one we have here pulled up to one of the back loading docks, and several burly men carried a large, bulky bundle from the back of the vehicle into the building. No one else was detected entering or exiting after that, until shortly before sunrise. The men emerged from the building, no longer carrying the bundle. They drove away in the same van, leaving the cargo bay door open, and haven’t returned since. ”Wallace did as a good agent should and sent me a report with those images. I’m sending you all those pictures now. I’ll send the report later.” [/color] Grant paused to press some buttons on her phone. A few moments later, a chorus of chirps signaled that she had done as promised. Some of the wardens looked down at their phones. Wulde resisted the urge to do so himself, preferring to stay focused on the Lieutenant. Grant continued: [color=#00ced1]”By the time I had gone over everything Wallace had sent me, it was already near evening, and by then there was more news. More vehicles arriving at the building, motorcycles this time. And some of those motorcycles are still there as of last report. We sent the alert to you guys because we recognized both the patches and some of the faces. I’m sending you those now, too.”[/color] There was another smattering of chirps, and of looking at phones. This time, there were gasps and grunts. [b]”Iron Fang patches,”[/b] one of the Wardens muttered. [b]”That looks like Dominic Blackmoor!”[/b] another exclaimed. Yielding at last to curiosity, Wulde pulled out his own phone to peruse the sent images. He skipped to the last ones, one of which indeed clearly showed the Alpha of the Iron Fangs, standing on a loading dock in a faint pool of light, most likely from the headlamp of one of the gathered motorcycles. [color=#00ced1]”As you can see,”[/color] said the Lieutenant, [color=#00ced1]”something has happened that merits our attention. And this brings us to our mission: We are to enter the warehouse and find out what we can. Whatever is important enough for Dominic Blackmoor to show up in person to examine, we want to see it, too. I only want one of you bumbling around inside the warehouse, though. Too many hands spoil the crime scene. The rest of you will secure the perimeter or man vehicles.”[/color] [b]”I volunteer”,[/b] offered Barton. Grant just looked at him. [color=#00ced1]”Of course you do,”[/color] she answered drily. [color=#00ced1]”You all did when you showed up. But we’ll just let God decide. And by God I mean me.”[/color] She pointed at each of the Wardens and counted out loud: [color=#00ced1]”One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.”[/color] Wulde was Four, apparently. The Lieutenant pulled a die out of her pocket and rolled it on the desk next to her, meaning that no one but her could see the outcome. After peering at the result, she looked up at Wulde and grinned. [color=#00ced1]”Congratulations, Four. You’re up.”[/color] [color=#ffd700]”Good times,”[/color] said Wulde, in a tone that indicated anything but.