[center][img]https://64.media.tumblr.com/9f22c96e4615ac58b980b35e71725007/tumblr_p8wuliOAxl1vldj14o1_540.gif[/img][/center] [b][u]Morning The Rookery, New York City[/u][/b] [center] [url=https://youtu.be/cXBCFmNTgRQ?si=1AnRuCUmtj-dxWA2][u]The Lobby[/u][/url][/center][right][Everyone][/right] The family gathered quickly, duos entering the lobby one after another until the large room felt small with mass of individuals now standing in acknowledgement of one another’s presence. Some were formal, others were not, but the fact remained that many of these people hadn’t been in the same location for a while. While the commotion happened at the base floor of the Rookery, the bald-headed general that was tasked to brief the rambunctious family slowly made his way down from the stairs at the furthest end of the hallway opposite to the entrance. He was not garbed in fanatical white ensemble that the guards at the door were, instead he was in your standard American Army blues with a dress cap being held in one hand. He had ribbons up the wazoo, a silver chain, and of course a medallion to symbolize his rank over the right breast pocket. [sup]Click…[/sup] [sup]Click…[/sup] [sup]Click…[/sup] The general reached for the pocket watch dangling from a silver chain at the waist of his coat and raised it towards his face, pressing a small button upon its face to open it and check the time. His snow-white brows furrowed as the man’s green eyes danced from one individual to the next, counting heads and coming up short. The Archbishop said a few would not arrive, but this many absences would likely raise red flags not only for him— but the men in suits who called the shots. It was turning out to be an increasingly horrible day, magnified by the fact that not one but two of the numbers were close to touching subject #2’s heart. [b]”I wouldn’t…”[/b] The general began to speak, but it was swiftly cut off by the strange handler dressed up like a clown drawing a butterfly knife and waving it around like a mad woman. [color=FFB6C1]“Do [u]not[/u] touch my property! It’s going back to the island with me, and then I’m getting a [u]new and improved[/u] meat shield! M’kay?..”[/color] The threat was empty. There were multiple individuals in the room that could take her out, even with her magical pull things out of her ass witchcraft. [color=gray]”Wouldst thee compose thyself, Valentine?”[/color] Came an older voice, which might have drawn eyes towards the general. But he remained silent, and instead came an elderly figure from the distant stairwell. The silhouette was feeble, walking with a tremor as each step was supported by the quivering grip of a polished ivory cane. Black robes of silk and suede fluttered from the wind of intense air conditioning passing through the empty areas of the garments, and around his waist a white sash. His hair thin as it was, long and white making the archbishop look a bit more like a Tolkien wizard than a holy man. But could he not be both? The air around him had a stillness, and each soldier turned to stand at attention as he found a spot to lean beside the general. [b]”Archbishop Geal,”[/b] The general nodded his head. [color=gray]”General Roth, ‘t seemeth as we missing a few.”[/color] The holy man scanned his eyes along the numbers with tired squinted eyes, but the pale dilution to the color within them would probably indicate the man was blind. [i]Ding~ Ding~ Ding~[/i] With all of the moving parts in the Rookery, whatever chitchat might’ve been happening, all would come to a standstill as some sort of timer in the building activated with the quaint chime of a clock’s hour striking. Machinery could be heard in the walls, grinding iron and steel gears, the buzz of electricity through thick copper wire. Scary as it might’ve sounded, Warhawk and O’Brien knew that this was simply the building’s field generator turning on. Field generators weren’t normally in buildings like this, typically they’d be on military bases to ward off large munitions and aerial vehicles. But many of the handlers had witnessed the recent increase in defensive technology on church grounds. But the numbers and their handlers in Russia knew that this didn’t stop some of the strange new weapons that have been developed in the east. It was a layer of extra safety nonetheless, to help those inside feel more secure while discussing what need be discussed. [b]”Right, let us not get stuck in the weeds. We’re taking the stairs in case we need to power down the building; Valentine drop #2 off on the third floor and then meet us in the War Room. Floor 5, you’ve been in there before.”[/b] The general would first look to the archbishop before tiredly meandering from the wall towards the stairwell at the northwestern corner of the room. [color=FFB6C1]“Ok but yo old fuck, is this about that guy on the northern border that’s turning people into zombies— with that stolen bow from the Vatican?”[/color] Before the general could respond to Valentine, the woman was gone?.. As if she was never there in the first place, along with the jar containing 2’s heart. The general was shook. The archbishop didn’t seem too phased. Either way, the order was up the many-many flights of stairs to reach the fifth floor so that’s exactly where the two individuals of leadership would begin to move. The bishop struggled with the stairs, grunting and cursing to himself with each floor’s ascension, perhaps they should have let him take the elevator with his station and import but he took the stairs like everyone else. It was kind of admirable? [hr][center][h3][url= https://youtu.be/ZY498MXf9xY?si=_ExmX4toO35UjtcF] 𝔽𝕝𝕠𝕠𝕣 𝟝: 𝕎𝕒𝕣 𝔻𝕖𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥 [/url][/h3][/center] [u]Objective:[/u] Gathering Information [right][Everyone][/right] The fifth floor was quite different in both atmosphere and in the people that walked around. Men and women in lab coats, other military personnel, and anonymous men in black suits. None would really stand out as being familiar to the numbers or their handlers, not even to #3 and Warhawk. A few lower ranked personnel stood and saluted the general as they passed, but it almost seemed as if the rest of the people here completely ignored the numbers and their attendance here entirely. The room they would be meeting in was intended for conferences with leadership, a map of the northeastern United States and Canada’s southeastern provinces was laid out on a massive table where ten seats per each of its four square sides . The map itself was picked with little flags, figurines with national flags on them to make their affiliation, and a semi-transparent layer projected as a hologram over the map allowing numbers and small units to be moved around. Further observation would find the position of a singular figurine of a knight on a white horse with a bow and arrow positioned along the very end of Ontario. The general would sit at the end of the table that faced the door, and the bishop would sit directly next to him. They chose seats at the very center of that side so the numbers and their handlers might have an easier time seeing and speaking with him. It seemed that the chair was already planned for him to be there as he reached beneath it into a little shelf department and pulled out a folder with a wad of papers, unfurling it before spreading them out for himself and the archbishop to review. [b]”This is in regards to the deaths of numbers 2 and 4, as well as 4’s handler Sioux. Approximately forty-eight hours ago we instructed Sioux to meet with the tribes that have reformed along the border and attempt to earn their trust. As some of you are aware, 4’s capabilities were that of [emotional manipulation] and they were designated in the Canadian territories so the fit seemed to work quite well. Sioux gave us an update at 0900 after meeting with the leaders of these tribes and while they weren’t aggressive, they were also not interested in assisting the United States in combating the uprising insurgencies on our outskirts. Intelligence command requested they activate 4 to accelerate the talks. Sioux received this order and then communication went silent.[/b]” The general reached forward to push a small button along the war table, changing the configuration of the hologram to reflect a video in real-time captured on the scene. [i]Spruce trees, no signs of buildings but still there were still cameras here to capture this footage somehow. On the ground was a group of twenty or so people on horseback, wielding swords and bows against a small soldier troop with modern rifles— maybe one-hundred American soldiers? They fired at the men, and sprinting at the front was #2, a capable promised child from the first generation roughly fourth years old. Her short black hair helped keep it out of her face as she instantaneously projected herself from one location to another, and she made short work of many of those horse riders. Until suddenly she stopped as a man amongst them aimed their bow at her, upon his white horse she dropped to her knees and kneeled down to him. An arrow was fired from his bow and the arrow fired from the bow created a light so bright that the surveillance cut out— the footage ends. [/i] [color=gray]”2’s corpse was recovered, but Sioux and 4 were not. We wouldst liketh half of thee to findeth those folk, and the oth'r half to track down the white horseman.”[/color]