deegee

Project Genesis: A New Beginning

<Snipped quote by deegee>

Ooo, a "super soldier" :) Love it. Welcome!

@Hellion

He’s genetically altered… but broken and put back together with screws and duct tape. Certainly a soldier in his past though. Gotta give him some more background to make him 3D…

Thanks for the welcome!

D

Project Genesis: A New Beginning

Jon Tan WIP

Name: Jon Tan
Age: 39
Sex: Male
Height: 5'9"
Weight: 175 lbs
Eyes: Hazel
Physique: lean, like an endurance runner.
Hair: dark, usually kept razor-close.
Skin: olive
Defining markings: Alpire Corp. barcode under his left eye, United Systems Military barcode on left forearm, SpecOps tattoo on right shoulder.
Colour: 8dc73f

Backstory
Tan was a ten year veteran of the United Systems Military SpecOps corps before a career ending injury took him from the front lines at the battle of Berlin. After DEROS and rehabilitation, he accepted a position at Alpire Corp., the company whose lifesaving neural interface and spinal prosthesis allowed him to walk again. In truth, this was Indentured servitude, as the implants were so costly, Tan would have spent three lifetimes paying the company back for their tech. instead, he signed on to be a test-bed for their technology and in turn, they were free to utilize their gene-splicing and cutting edge nanotech to create the next generation soldier in him. This was all before Genesis, when the overarching thought of Alpire was that Humankind's future was in the Domes, or in offworld colonies. After the anomaly, and Project Genesis, it became prudent for one of the four biggest corporations on Earth to secure a place for one of theirs on the Humanity Preservation Council. All legally, of course. While some at Alpire were unsure of the veracity of Genesis, it was a possibility too good to ignore. Making Jon Tan the perfect genetic and physical specimen for the project was a simple enough matter. It was almost like his time at Alpire had been perfectly timed to the anomaly.

✨Beyond The Veil✨

Kessler

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Location: The Underground • Time: Night

Interactions: @EtherealThorn • Mentions: @Oso @Tpartywithzombi

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Kessler took it all in, the revellers bouncing like messy, elastic band rag dolls to the incessant bass, the dope fiends nodding out to the hypnotic synth lines and pounding beat, the scent of sweat thick in the air, nearly as heady a scent as the blood of the unsuspecting, the sweet, tangy aroma of sex and intoxication tugged at him, urging him. The broad-shouldered man took another look at Dom and Vee taking at the bar, looked for Dom’s shadows, seeing two close by, making themselves fade into the crowd. Whatever Dom and Vex were discussing, it was serious, based on their closeness, and the shared look of something akin to anguish, or was it mischief, or challenge, or a tense combination of all three. In any case, should something blow up, he wasn’t far off. One quick reflex move, and he’d be at his Alpha’s side. Besides, Dom could take care of himself. He was a big boy. Vex, on the other hand… Kess wasn’t sure even Dom could handle Vex in the state she appeared to be in.

He checked his watch. Hours till the meeting with the Warden, Wulde. He moved in time with the music, letting himself be carried by the crowd, waiting for a hint of her scent. His shirt was soaked with a combination of the night rain, and sweat as he danced and moved through the crowd, hands moving over his shoulders, his abs, his chest, bodies pressing from all sides, until finally he found the scent he had sought all night. No longer lost to the beat thundering in his chest, Kessler moved like he was stalking prey. He didn’t avoid the hands and the bodies that gyrated and moved against him, but now he moved with purpose, until she was in sight. Viper. Another woman, younger, human, barely contained in her slashed and cropped ‘Vein Theory’ tee and short leather skirt, bounced and groped against Casey, the two of them, moving as one in the midst of the maelstrom. His blood boiled to see them together, the thought of the two of them toying with this human girl was intoxicating. Moving to Casey, his hands found the place where her hips flared, and he moved over her form, letting the human girl’s hands meet his own, her tiny form dwarfed by his, and the sleek musculature of Viper stood in stark contrast to the human’s waifish, goth-pale slenderness. They were both beautiful, though they stood in stark contrast to each-other, and Kessler drew them in so that they would both be able to move against him, with him.

They swayed that way for awhile, hands moving over bodies, body temperatures and shapes mingling, combining. Flesh pressed against flesh, and all of the responses that incurs. Kessler lifted the goth girl’s mouth to his. Then brought Casey’s lips to the black-lipstick-pout of the goth girl. There was no hesitation. No coercion. Only rabid, intoxicated heat. It was time to find a slightly more secluded spot where the crushing rhythm and pulse of the music could still be felt. Kess knew just the place. Close. Dark. Hot... where they wouldn't be disturbed.

Project Genesis: A New Beginning

I’m still 100% in, but away camping the next few days. Not likely to be doing much IC or real ‘composition’ from my phone. Bear with me, I’ll get a CS done next weekend. Looking forward to reading everything!

✨Beyond The Veil✨

Kessler

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Location: 'The Underground' • Time:Night

Interactions: Texts to Dom, KC • Mentions: @Oso @EtherealThorn @Amatiramisu @Tpartywithzombi @Ctenoid Soul

^{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

Kessler’s phone buzzed. He had stopped to get some food ...his incisors itched, and his blood hummed in his ears. He even turned his eyes to the moon for a moment. The feeling was similar to the exhilaration of a full moon, but of course he was far more in tune with the cycles of mother nature than to simply forget when the next moon was. No… he was craving something else. Blood, maybe. Danger, certainly. He stood in front of the food truck for a full minute before realizing it wasn’t food he craved, either. No, he was craving the trouble that could only accompany a woman. The phone buzzed again, and he checked it. Two unread messages. Both from that same unfamiliar number. 'thought you could handle this' appeared first, then the picture followed. The big man stopped in his tracks as the picture appeared in his feed. Her. That ball of fire with the appetite for destruction. The hips, the proportions on display. The hunger in her eyes. Had it been six months? A year? Vague images of a carnal nature flashed in his mind. He responded right away.

---

‘Vein Theory’ was no Delta Blues. Not even British Invasion, revved-up Blues. They weren’t garage rock or hardcore punk. Hell, they weren’t even Ministry. He could get behind all of that, and a whole lot more. These pups weren’t exactly his thing. A couple of them could passably play their instruments, and that deserved a modicum of respect. But he wasn’t really here for fun, though that was certainly on the table too, if she arrived. And he hoped she would. No, for the moment, he was here for business. The scents in here, beyond the simple sweat, drugs, spilled booze, adrenaline… smells of Vamp, of Lycan, of blood and sex… it all made Kessler’s mouth dry, and senses keen.

A quick look around and he spotted at least half a dozen people of interest, and several members of the pack, likely doing what they were all tasked with. Allie, Will, Dom (standing protectively near a blonde who looked like Vex…) but there were ‘suckers here too. He could taste it.

…his phone buzzed again. He checked it. Erik. Finally. Kessler took the moment to respond right away. ‘Good work. Want that name. And a rap sheet to go with it, as well as known associates. Dig, Erik. Dig.’ Before he put his phone away, Kessler composed a message to Dom, keeping him informed about his progress. He sent that – that was the easy part. Then thought for a moment before composing and sending another message, about his meeting later that night with the Warden, Wulde.

Kess hit 'send' and smiled at the thought of letting the Warden commander know that the Iron Fangs weren't just some dirtball MC from the gutter. Well... they were that, but they were so much more. And he almost wished he could be there to tear new holes in all the Wardens dumb enough to try and rub them out. But there was the actual meeting with Wulde to think about. He didn't know for certain how Dom would respond. He'd lay odds that his Alpha wouldn't poke that particular bear too much... but Kessler hoped he would. It wasn't time to roll over. And if the Wardens were happy to have killed him under a flag of truce and meeting in good faith, then Kessler figured an eye for an eye. However, he felt very differently about the proposed meeting with Wulde, and found it very easy to compartmentalize the two. Kill those Wardens for setting him up, but meet with Wulde and act respectfully. Both could coexist in Kessler's mind.

He put his phone away, and scanned the crowd once more for the girl, the wolf in him simmering under the surface, but poised to ruin something beautiful...

Project Genesis

I’m in, 100%. Will flesh this out with a character idea shortly, but just wanted to post this to share my interest for the time being!

The Golden age of Piracy

"Ah, Master Ishaan..." The carpenter had said, slightly out of breath, and covered head to toe in wood shavings. "Perhaps you're right, sah." He dusted himself slightly, then dispensed with it, in a motion which suggested 'what's the point?' He grabbed his mug, and a second, and stepped jovially toward the older man. "This time, the drams will come from my allowance!" That made their way to the galley, to the casks, and filled two healthy portions of dark, scented rum, and made their way topside. "How long you reckon they've been ashore?" He asked as much because there was time to accomplish more with the majority of the crew off the ship, as because now that he had taken a pause on work for the day, the less likely he was to go back to it later.

He sat on the edge of the ship, legs dangling over the midships rails, a mug of rum in his hands, feeling the gentle sway of the ship in the late afternoon light. Looking out not over Nassau, but into the ocean, off the port side of the ship, watching as the sun dipped, orange and massive, toward the horizon line. There were clouds, but there would be no rain that night. He had worked only fourteen hours that day, a pittance by some days' tally. And now was the time to enjoy the fact that the ship was mostly quiet, mostly devoid of the ballyhoo that usually overtook its various spaces after the days' work had been done. "I love this place when it's quiet."

The sun was warm on his shoulders, reminding him that he could still be working, if he chose. She was waiting. She always would be. He looked down at his split, calloused, raw hands. The rum felt good. There was work to do (there always was.) But today felt like a day he could afford to sit, for now. She wasn't going anywhere. And without extra hands, there was no pitching and gumming the keel, which was the job that truly needed doing. He had avoided telling the Bo'sun that she'd need to be beached sooner than later. Nobody wanted that. But it hadn't been done in months, and the last time hadn't been by choice, even so Danneil had made good use of the time, working at least 36 hours straight to gum and pitch as much of her belly as he could. Even so, it was near time. Danneil didn't fear much, but he feared telling any captain that their ship needed to be high and dry, and vulnerable for two days.

That was a lifetime on the beach, in waters where 'friend' and 'hostile' were all relative terms, depending on how much food, rum and coin was in a rival's belly and pockets. The dreadlocked man saw Ishaan tilt the cup back. He simply poured another dram and held it out for the quartermaster.

✨Beyond The Veil✨

Kessler

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Location: Various • Time: Various (noted)

Interactions: None • Mentions: @Oso @EtherealThorn @Ctenoid Soul

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Friday Night Flashback.

Immediately after leaving Wulde at the 'Neon Dream'

Kessler rode a safe distance from the roller rink. Safe meaning, far enough that he was on familiar ground, friendly territory, and then pulled over, letting the big bike settle into a lumpy, steaming idle while he stepped off, feeling the rain bead up and run off his kutte, and stepped off the side of the road, underneath a bus shelter, taking out his phone. He selected the photos Wulde had given him of the van arriving at the warehouse, and composed a short text, sending it immediately, having a short exchange with Dom.

Once that little job was done, Kessler looked up Erik Engstrom’s contact in his phone, and dialled it.

“Hello?”
“Hello Erik.” The phone the Fangs had given the Crime Scene lab technician was a burner, so there was no point in identifying himself. If the phone was ringing, it was obviously a Fang, and since Engstrom was in their pocket for an undisclosed infraction which would cost him his career if the Fangs were to let it get out, it was in Erik’s interest to play ball. “Can you talk?”

It was just after four in the morning… it was very likely he could, and would. Erik was a good little asset. “Yes. I can talk.”

“Good. I’m sending you two photos. Anyone can see, it’s a white 2004 Ford E-250. Common as muck. Gotta be 5,000 of them in the metro area. I need you to enhance the images. Determine if plates are legit, or stolen, if there was any record of an E-250 torched in the last three days, and if so, I need VINs and whereabouts, and points of origin. Who’s paying the bills, who owned it, and if possible, who stole it.”

There was a pause. Kessler thought he heard the sound of pencil on paper on the other end of the line. “That’s… that’s a big ask. It’ll take time, and some of what you’re asking, will raise flags in the precinct. Searching active case files, running plates…”

Kessler cut him off. “--Erik. You’re a smart kid. Get it done by noon. Tomorrow. And don’t let me down.”

There was the beginnings of protest on the other end of the line, but Kessler hung up. The kid was good. No question. They’d get what they needed. And with that information in hand, they’d be that much closer to the truth. With any luck Erik would connect the theft to a known gang, which might (or might not) correspond to a known (to the Fangs, but not likely the Police department) Fae or Bloodsucker group. Kessler didn’t want to make any guesses, but he was leaning Vamp, this time.

There was time to kill. Kessler put his phone away, and slid into the saddle of the big bike, twisting the grip a couple times to let the thunder of the twin remind him this was no dream. He flicked the gearbox into first, and tore away from the curb, into the pre-dawn gloom.

Saturday Night.

Kessler's place.

The beer wasn't cutting it. Erik had stalled today, which meant that Kess had to pay him a visit, and he simply wasn't in the mood. Ant there had been a whole day to kill, and much of the night too, before he was due to meet up again with the human, Wulde. In fact, there were still hours to go before that meeting. After the beer, the tequila, and the smoke had done little to take the edge off, he had turned to the Indian, Fab'ing up most of an exhaust from aftermarket bits from his spares bin (thank you, SoCal Speed Shop.) The vintage springer fork was giving him no end of problems, even after sandblasting, powder-coating, and a full disassembly. Finally, good ole' brute force and ignorance (as well as an aftermarket spring from H-D) helped him get the thing back together with the correct spring rate. Back together for the first time in maybe five years. A few more beers in triumph were feeling a bit more like it, and Kessler started thinking about his options. What if Wulde didn't come thru with more intel? What if Erik didn't come up with the goods re. the Econoline? He grudgingly admitted he needed to cast his net further afield.

He looked over at the workbench, at the flyer tacked to one of his tool drawers. "Vein Theory." One night only. He knew that would draw a massive cross-section of his quarry from all sides of Halcyon. Normally, he might have skipped it. But he needed to see who was out and on top of the world in his little slice of the gutter. 'Getting ready' meant wiping most of the grease off his hands, and shrugging out of his coverall, and into a clean shirt, sleeves rolled up till his forearms wouldn't allow any more, exposing 50 years of tattooing. He donned his kutte, his shades, and picked his RedWing Moc's, completing the look. As he was about to start the big, custom Fat Bob, his phone buzzed. Maybe Erik, or Dom? But it was from an unknown number.

'got some energy to burn… thought you might want to help'

He really needed to do better at saving contacts in his damn phone. Colour him intrigued. And frankly... in the same state.

He replied. 'I don't know... show me what I'd be missing out on.' And sent it. It was a whole lot better than asking 'who the hell is this?' He started the big Hog, the thunder of its straight pipes threatening to blow out the windows around him, and took off in the direction of 'The Underground...'

The Golden age of Piracy

He had not gone with the majority of the crew, into Nasaau. There had been work to do aboard ship. There was always work to do. And the absence of crew for a day meant that some of the more difficult tasks to accomplish, could be seen to while the ship was comparatively quiet. A stairwell from the main deck to the cannon deck had been on Danneil's agenda for weeks, but it was so heavily trafficked on the daily, that he couldn't have got to it. But today was the day. By noontime, he had the treads removed, and the rotten stringer out. By mid afternoon he had reinstalled everything, better than new. He went up on deck, first to walk the new stair. Satisfied with his work, Danneil lit a pipe and bought himself a few minutes to look out over Nassau, before heading back down to the Orlop, collecting more planks and replacing a few that had caught his eye on the cannon deck. A bigger job, this -- moving anything on the cannon deck was difficult, heavy, and if he got it wrong, subject to a lashing from the master-at-arms. He enlisted a couple of swabbies to help with the moving of heavy gear in order to accomplish his task, and again to move the pieces back after he had done.

After darkness descended, he spent time in his shop, working on 'the stump.' It was fine work, and took patience and determination. But it was a labour of love, and he would accept nothing less than perfection...

✨Beyond The Veil✨

Wulde & Kessler

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Location: The Neon Dream • Time: Very Late

Interactions: @Ctenoid Soul •

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---

Kessler left the Cracked Fang in both shock and renewed determination. In part, he couldn’t believe what he had just seen, and what he had just said. Not that anything he said had been untrue. Far from it. But it was unlike him to speak his mind openly and without reservation. He could smell the winds of change as surely as the boxes of rotting produce trimmings on the sidewalk in Chinatown. And with that came an air of uncertainty. A lot of the Pack would be out looking for blood, and to hear Lucian’s mind, he expected the same of Kessler. Now, the big man was known to crack skulls in the name of Dominic Blackmoore, but he wasn’t without his own allotment of brain cells and while Lucian might have thought him devoid of subtlety, Kessler could be a tactician when it was called-for.

And at this point, he knew there was one move he could make it very few other Lycans would even consider. He knew what he had to do. Knew what would serve the Pack best. He straddled his bike and kicked the big engine to life, roaring off into the night, and the neon quarter.

The night was starting to show its age. Even at the liveliest of clubs in the quarter, more patrons were now stumbling out than filing in. Street traffic was scant, and alleys and parking lots were silent. Wulde’s scooter had been the only thing moving outside the Neon Dream Rink as the Warden arrived there. The first signs of life he encountered were the handful of staff scuttling about within, readying the cavernous skating facility for its morning onslaught of eager kids. The last of the late-night skaters had already left, although the smell of their feet still echoed through the air.

A few of the employees shot the newcomer a questioning, possibly challenging look as he entered their territory, a challenge which he met by displaying a grubby membership card for the Neon Dream Racquetball Club. The name on the card was not Wulde’s, but that did not matter. de facto possession of the card was sufficient to establish his business here; thus, upon seeing it, the workers returned sullenly to their cleaning.

There wasn’t actually a racquetball club here, anyway. There had been, but the six courts had long since been repurposed, the dividing walls between them removed to convert them into two indoor fighting pits. In these wee hours, some of Wulde’s fellow Wardens liked to come here to let off steam, and after the night he had had, Wulde had built up some steam pressure of his own. As he approached the storage rooms through gallery skirting the roller rink, the Warden could start to make out the shouts issuing from the fighting area. He paused just outside a locker room, set his gym bag down, leaned against a wall, and focused on his breathing. Some folks liked to “psych up” before a fight, listening to loud music, jumping about, dancing, flexing and shouting. Wulde preferred to quiet down, to have his mind as clear, focused, and level as possible before going in; there would be excitement and energy aplenty once he entered the arena.

The big ‘Fat Bob’ burbled, popped and rumbled into the parking lot of the Neon Dream Roller Rink. He killed the engine a dozen paces from what passed for a parking spot, and rolled the bike to a silent stop as the rain hissed on the ticking engine. Kess dropped the kickstand, shaking his head at the partially-lit neon sign, buzzing with its repetitious strobing. Several letters were no longer working, and if one were to take the sign literally – ‘eon ream’ it would mean something else entirely, Kessler thought to himself. He stepped off his ride, setting the ‘safety,’ which essentially involved removing one of the plug wires, shoving it into one of the pockets in his kutte. He stood and lit a cigarette, took a long drag. Took a look at his knuckles, still red from his fight at the Halo before ‘Church.’ His eye was still bruised, too, but it was a damn sight better than it had been an hour ago. Taking a look around, he took off his kutte, and stashed it. No point in throwing up a flag like that. He had no illusions about what going in here might mean, but best intentions, blah, blah, blah. Fuck it. Time was wastin’.

Kessler was a big man, 6’5” and nearly half that height across the shoulders. When he stepped to the front doors, the same few employees who had looked questioningly at Wulde, barred his way, one holding up a hand to Kessler’s chest. “Don’t know you, man. You got no business here.”

Kessler raised an eyebrow, reached slowly into his right seat pocket in his dark, cuffed jeans as if to get his wallet, and slowly withdrew his hand, holding it up in front of the employee’s face, showing him how deeply bruised the knuckles were. “You know me…”

The employee muttered “Fuck!” and took a step back when Kessler raised his hand, but after looking at it for a moment, drew the obvious conclusion about why he was there.

“No, I don’t know you,” he responded once he’d recovered some composure: “but knock yourself out, man. Can’t promise they’ll let you in, though, not without a card or an invite from a member.”

The employee took another step back. His coworkers just stood by and eyed Kessler apprehensively. No one else would impede his progress.

Wulde roused from his quasi-meditation when he heard a male voice approaching from the direction of the arena. A large, well-dressed man with a telltale earpiece walked towards him, talking to someone unseen. “Yeah, I’m checking it out”, the man told his invisible friend.

He looked directly at Wulde, stopped, and announced: “I see him.” Then, raising his voice slightly, he called: “Excuse me, sir! Let’s see your card.”

Wulde held up his bogus racquetball membership, and recognition filled the man’s face. “Oh, it’s fine,” he announced to his unseen interlocutor: “it’s that Ritter guy. Yeah, he’s okay. Thank you, sir.” With a polite nod to Wulde, the man started to turn back towards the arena but then stopped short, listening intently and wrinkling his brow in confusion.

“Other guy? What other guy? I don’t see anybody else. Did anyone follow you in, sir?” he asked Wulde, who shook his head.

Mr. Evan T. Staff peered up the corridor towards the entrance and waited. Wulde looked in the same direction, placing his hand oh-so-lightly on one of the side pockets of his gym bag.

Kessler nodded appreciatively to the staffer who had not-exactly given him a pass, but certainly gave him the go-ahead to try the place on for size. He wasn’t sure how that would go, but he was willing to press his luck, and see it through. For Logan. For the Pack. And hell – for the humans. If his hunch was right, they would want what he sought, just as bad. He moved off, from the entrance, and into the roller rink, down a side passageway that his nose told him was the direction of blood, and sweat. (two things he hoped not to trade in, tonight.) A pair of figures loomed in the shadowy distance, and Kessler’s eyes narrowed as he approached. “ ‘Evenin’ gents. I’m looking for something. Care to guess?”

The Warden and the security guy responded to Kessler’s opening ploy with the same expression: a frown that was a mixture of bafflement and annoyance. Guy thinks he’s some frickin’ action hero making a badass entrance, Wulde thought.

Security Guy’s take on the situation was more prosaic. “Sir, I have no idea who you are or what you might be looking for, but I’m pretty sure it’s not here,” he said, stepping forward to intercept Kessler: “This is a private event for members and invited guests only. You don’t need to come any farther.”

By now, Kessler had come close enough for Wulde to see his face. It took him a moment to recognize it. I’ve seen that face tonight, he realized. He’s one of the Iron Fangs. And with that, he could indeed take a guess as to what he was looking for, although…how had he found Wulde so fast? He needed to speak up before Security Guy did something to lose a tooth. Or an arm.
“I’ve seen him around,” he announced, nodding towards Kessler. “We haven’t been introduced yet, but I’m pretty sure it’s me he wants to talk to.”

The employee looked dubiously between the two men. “Is he your guest tonight, sir?”

Wulde listened a moment to the noises of fighting coming from the arena behind him, and decided he had a better idea. He looked at Kessler. “The roller rink upstairs has a food court. It’s closed right now, but there are tables and chairs, and it’ll be comfortable and quiet. How about we have a chat there?”

It was no ploy. It was merely the truth. Kessler replied to Security Guy when he offered that he was ‘pretty sure it’s not here’ with “Oh, it’s here alright.” He listened to the human speak, about the food court, about being comfortable and quiet – not that either were requirements. “Sounds good. Lead the way, friend.” Kessler cheshire-cat smiled at the confounded Security Guy and followed the other man up the stairs into a cafeteria-style eatery that looked as though it was straight out of the 1970’s, and smelled of chicken strips and old fryer oil. Kessler turned a chair around backwards to sit in, pulling it up close to one of several melamine tables, and sat, chest against the chair back, elbows on the table, facing the man.

“So, tell me why it’s you I want to talk to, and how you knew I was looking for this conversation.”