Syben — Roleplayer Guild

Jonathan “Kyrios” Diederich

A thin veil of smoke hung softly in the air, lazily drifting in a slow orbit around the room. It was dark, but just past the early afternoon, at the awkward stage of time just before traditional evening. Two silhouettes sat on either end of a heavy wooden table, crafted from some dark wood and polished so heavily that the flat beams of light streaming in through the thick, flat blinds caused the surface of the table to glow gently. The entire space had a moody, amber hue about it. The muddled mixture of sweat, cologne, smoke, and furniture polish permeated the air. One man stood, his darkened form outlined only by the mellow lightning. The other played a faint melody of fingers rapped upon a table was the only sound, that and the muted exhale of bitter smoke exiting the lungs. Jonathan turned from the window, exhaling a cloud of smoke that caught upon the subtle current of air propelled by a ceiling mounted fan, spinning quite leisurely. The man sitting across from him looked at ease, his girth filling the small wooden chair and seeming to spill out the sides. His shirt was a sweat stained, white button upon, that seemed to be straining against his bulk. He took out a handkerchief and wiped his brow, releasing his own cloud of smoke. He cleared his throat, his double chin quivering as he did so. ”Two months Jonathan.” He spoke ominously, taking a manila folder from underneath the damp underside of his arm. He flipped it open to a growing report on Jonathan's favorite Immortal. A picture of a woman with frosty white eyes, and pale white hair was clipped to the front page. Beneath a few basic details were listed. ”Where would you like to start Matthus?” Jonathan paused a moment,”Drink?” He asked coolly, sitting in the padded chair on his side of the table. He looked Matthus in the eye, quirking one eyebrow as he pulled out an unlabeled bottle of alcohol, pouring some in each of the two empty glasses that had been to one side of the table. ”Er, no. Listen Jon, She is a Menace, Jon, one you've been unable to stop. She scares people, she's brash and unpredictable. She's a danger, Jon,” Matthus said, accepting the small glass from Jonathan's extended hand, filled with some dark, amber liquid. He took a generous sip, the liquid burning strongly as he drank. It was all he could do to maintain his composure and not splutter in the awful taste of it. He had never been one for degenerate's brew, more of a fine wine man himself. He knew this was a tactic to make somebody feel ill at ease, serving the drink even when Matthus had denied it shifted the aura of dominance in the room into Jonathan's favor. ”I am aware. Send me competent soldiers, and I'll bring you a dead Immortal,” Jonathan replied sharply, his distaste for the current state of affairs evident in his speech. He emptied the glass in one fell swoop, setting it upon the surface of the table. ”Would you prefer wine instead?” He asked, clearly acknowledging the distaste on Matthus' face, who nodded in return. ”Ah, Shit. I'm all out.” Jonathan noted, holding up the empty wine bottle. Matthus wiped his brow once more. Another tactic, denying something he actually wanted. 'Jerk' he thought bitterly. ”Yes, yes. We all know how you feel about the corruption and bad politics Jon, but this is a serious matter.” Jonathan pressed the cigarette to his mouth, inhaling strongly and watching the ember glow to life. ”You remember Captain Worth?” Jonathan asked, watching the tendrils of smoke curl and twist about themselves, fading into a translucent cloud. ”Staff Sergeant Adam Worth, yes I know the man. An esteemed member of the institution if I recall, received an award for excellence some time ago.” Matthus answered, pointedly ignoring the glass of foul liquor before him. ”Found him strung from a pole not too long ago, upside down and naked. It was quite the public spectacle, can you guess how many Wings were actually present and didn't intervene? Can you fathom the amounts of bets they were placing? He was a distasteful man, I agree. But this kind of behavior is unacceptable Matthus!” Jonathan expressed fervently, pouring himself another glass of spirits. Matthus' eyes widened, ”Good Lord, No! Are you sure it was Adam?” ”Apparently he was fond of raping and killing women, not just the ones of age either mind you. There was something about a nine year old girl.” Jonathan added, relaxing slightly as he drank, warmth spreading through his body. ”And you believe the accusations of some murderer?” Matthus scoffed, forcing another mouthful of that distasteful brew down his throat. ”It was quite emotional, I don't recall murderer's crying as they lopped a man's genitals off,” Jon described, ”There had been an investigation going on for years Matthus, buried under legal paperwork, hidden from the department heads. Somehow she got a hold on these documents. Fuck Matthus! I had one personally mailed to my office!” ”She?” Matthus queried. Jonathan stubbed the smoldering butt of his cigarette out, pressing it firmly into the black bowl that served as an ash tray. ”Ole' Bloody Sleeves herself,” he muttered, shaking his head softly as he lit another cigarette. Today was a chain smoking kind of day. ”Y-you're Fucking kidding, right? Sottocapo's Kid?” The portly man stuttered, disbelief contorting his face. He looked in pain, obviously agonized by the news. ”Couldn't displace their foothold in Serenity, hell everyone down there is fucking paid off anyways, they might as well be gangsters themselves. Now it seems the old man wants Russel too!” Jonathan started, ”And who is going to stop him? Are you gonna fucking do it? Hell, if our own whore fucking soldiers can't stop a single girl how the hell do you think we're going to handle the Castalia Family?” ”Jesus Christ... you're right,” Matthus conceded, falling into a quiet astonishment. ”Good God Jonathan, it's going to be an all out war isn't it?” He asked, the prospect of such a thing was terrified to a man such as he, quite comfortable in his ways. ”Let me make something very clear to you Matthus. They public torture, the mail; They're here to stir up trouble. I've got men looking for where they're trying to setup, but hell they're probably paid off already. I wouldn't doubt it,” Jon stated, the anger rising in his voice at the last piece of his sentence. ”What if they are?” Matthus interjected. ”It's probably too late to stop them anyways. I give it less than twenty-four hours before their product starts moving. That's going to rile our small time drug dealers, our illicit distillers, and any other small fish criminal out there. They're going to get upset, unless they're cut into the profit, meaning they're going to make waves.” ”So we're worrying about small time drug dealers causing trouble? It's not li-” Matthus began. Jonathan interrupted him by slamming his palms down on the table hard enough to the two glasses to jump, the one closest to Matthus tipping and spilling. ”No you fat fuck! It means war. Think about it for God's sake!” Jonathan roared, his anger fueled by Matthus' ignorance. ”War?” Matthus questioned timidly. ”They've made a display of clipping one of our Wings. They've announced their arrival, she has made it very evident that they are moving in, and planning to stay. She's also an Immortal.” ”Shit... Jon..” Matthus said softly, breaking off as Jonathan stood abruptly. ”They're going to take over the illicit trades. Not everyone is going to be happy about that, and not everyone trusts the Guardians anymore. We're going to have vigilantes fighting in the streets of the slums. This is going to rile up the Immortals, if she's killing us then she's going to appear as an ally to at least some of them. I have no doubt they'll be used against us, unless she plans to kill them too, but why waste a good weapon?” Jonathan's spoke quickly, his concern expression furrowing his brow. ”So wh-” Matthus began to ask, before Jon cut him off again by slamming his hand on the table. ”I'm not finished! If the Guardian's are being paid off, hell, hired even, then we're going to lose control of the city. I'm talking total fucking anarchy Matthus, with a plethora of fucked up individuals in the middle of it inciting war. Feral hounds are going to be running rampant through the streets with all the bodies lying around, and trust me, they are vicious little bastards that roam in very, large packs.” Matthus paused for a moment, his trembling hand grasping the neck of the liqour bottle unsteadily. He took a large gulp of the drink, setting it down for a moment before taking another. His hand was still shaking as he set the bottle down, looking into Jonathan's icy stare. ”J-Jon what do you... I m-mean where's this.. Fuck! Alright! Jon, I'll get you your fucking interview! But so help me if you're wrong!” Matthus wheezed exasperatedly. Matthus gathered himself, emotionally, doing his best to form an expressionless exterior. No doubt a number of people had heard them as they passed by the small office. ”I'm not Matthus, you know I'm not.” Jon replied sincerely. ”That's the most terrifying part, Jon. Listen, I'll get you your meeting with Abicus, the recent reports are probably going to help your case.” Now Jon's interest was piqued, ”What reports?” Matthus paused inside the small doorway, his mass pressing against each side of the smooth metal frame, ”The flu is going around,” Matthus answered solemnly. ”For fuck's sake!” Jon exclaimed. All hell was about to break loose. ”Also, that's classified.” Matthus added, before letting the door swing closed behind him as he ambled down the bright hallway. Jonathan resumed his place sitting in the mildly comfortable chair, rebuilding his composure. If Matthus was true to his word than he should finally get that meeting he had been pushing for months. If anyone could organize a meeting with the ever busy General First Class, then it was Matthus. He looked at his pack of cigarettes, only one remained. He smiled ruefully to himself. It would appear as if he had a quick errand to run, he probably had some time yet before the presumed meeting. He slipped on his jacket, clasping his pistol holster to his body. He felt like jogging today.

Two Hours Later

Jonathan's boot crunched loudly as he walked briskly across the rough dirt path. Behind him a building, barely held together by scraps of iron and rotting timber, emitted a sweet, fragrant odor. He had just enjoyed a fine meal of sweet carrots, hearty boiled potatoes, and a thick animal roast. He patted his stomach appreciatively, that was some well seasoned roadkill. The establishment had long been one of his favorites, “Gummy's Grub”. Aptly named, as the owner, Gummy, had only a single took jutting out from the upper portion of his mouth, making him quite comical when he gave his signature “Wide, Toothy grin.” Though dark of skin with rather pinched and unpleasant facial features, he was kind of heart and quite to make you laugh. The scent changed as Jonathan rounded the rickety wooden fence, bordering a dirt yard littered with all styles of dining implements, there was even a couch, with only grimy cushion. Out here on the street it smelled of sweet perfume, and musky cologne, of livestock and spiced goods. There was even the faint hint of wine mulling about, which meant there must be a vendor in town offering samples of his wares. Jonathan made a note to check later, right now he had more important business to attend to. The letter stuffed into his breast pocket had been delivered via messenger, dressed in the golds and reds of the faction colors. Matthus had delivered on his promise, and now Jonathan was steadily making his way towards the Guardian headquarters to meet with General First Class, Paxton Bradley. He turn off the lonely side street and found himself on one of the main avenues. He was quite familiar with this area, all of the city really, but this was one of the main roads leading up towards the central offices of the Winged Guardians. Here there were throngs of people milling about, in their mixed garbs of every style from desert raider to homely wife. This road was well paved, of solid packed dirt, and only offered dull thuds as Jonathan made his way past the thick clusters of shops, scattered homes, and multitudes of street peddlers hawking their wares. Russel was truly one of the most beautifully diverse cities, not that Jonathan had been to very many of them. The occasional mission to the outlying towns and villages, but he's never been past the borders since he left his previous Gaen home. Awhile later down the road, as the yellow sun stretched across the horizon. It would be about evening now, just past the earliest stages though. He stood outside the regional headquarters for the Winged Guardians. The center of the immense military force itself, the whole operation stemmed from this one building. It had once been a lonely little office, buried within a myriad of others specializing in just about everything, that was before Motum Diversum had actually risen to power and established the Guardians as the faction appropriated warriors. Now it was a monolithic structure, the entire compound surrounded by a thick, metal wall with its own guard towers. Two large, heavy iron doors stood open, guarded by a small post of soldiers. Jonathan approached the soldier sitting behind a low, smooth metal table smoking a cigarette. It was evident from the abundance of burned out stubs that this was pretty much all he did during his post. Jonathan cleared his throat, grabbing the man's attention. ”Ya? What?” He asked halfheartedly, his gaze only lingering on Jon for a moment before wandering back off to stare into the distance, probably lost in some daydream of scantily clad women in a shady bar. ”Is my name on that list, or am I going to have to bribe you?” Jonathan sneered, his foot tapping in irritation. The man huffed out a cloud of smoke before turning resentfully to the list. He made a facade of looking at it, no longer than a full second, before waving Jon in dismissively. Jon glared at him for a moment in vain, as the man had already turned back to watch the sun set slowly from behind his tinted shades. Jonathan gave up his notion of berating the man for his lack of sensible duty, and chose to walk beneath the wide awning of the walkway above him. The headquarters loomed before him, easily the tallest, and largest structure in the city. Ten floors of militaristic operations, intelligence, and communications. It had once been a wonder to him why a building that large was needed. A monumental tower rising above a large, squat, three story base. The thick double doors were pulled open for him as he walked up the polished steps, it was also the best restored piece of architecture. It seemed flawless. The elevator dinged, the sleek metallic doors sliding open to a brightly lit corridor before him. It looked the same as the last, a pleasingly uniform design. His boots clapped lightly against the shiny linoleum tiles, seamless and without impurity. At the end of the pristine hallway, on the tenth floor, a door stood closed before him. The mottled glass texture held a sign bolted just below it. General First Class: Paxton Bradley. He knocked lightly. ”Come in, Jon.” The general sat behind his large desk, polished until it gleamed under the bright white lightning set in the ceiling. A group of papers were stacked neatly to one side, next to an orderly positioned lamp and pen holder. The other side held a half empty bottle of what was most assuredly fine whiskey, held in a similarly colored wooden stand. Two empty circles on either side of the bottle had held the tempered drinking glasses, now resting in two separate hands with the dark liquid sloshing again the sides. Jonathan had just spent some time explaining his story, his concerns and ideals, to the General, who listened with a blank, but focused expression. Every so often he would nod in agreement, but he hadn't of said anything while Jon spoke. Now they sat in contemplative silence, letting the silence in the room thicken. ”I'll admit, not enough of these... concerns make it to my desk,” He started, eloquently, “I wonder who is stiffling the flow of such... concerning reports.” Jonathan cleared his throat, a tad nervous in the presence of such a prestigious man. ”I do not have the answer to that, Sir. But, with my proposal, such things wouldn't be of much concern anymore.” ”There would be certain benefits to this idea of yours. I rather like it myself, but are you certain you can control such a thing?” ”In all due respect, Sir, These Immortals, are not things. They're people, but more than that. The guardians are just people too, but imagine the implications of such an advancement. We could start over, we could get it right this time. It would be as easy as controlling an animal, not that they don't act like such. I'm sure you've heard about Adam.” ”Yes, an unfortunate event, but enlightening. Honestly, I'd like to thank that little arrogant princess. If it hadn't of been for that bloody display of violence, I may have never had this conversation with you.” ”I do owe her the circumstance, the means were crude and only resulted in kicking the hornet's next, so to speak. Just picture it, our own Winged Immortals marching down the street, unstoppable.” ”That, is the only problem I have with this so far, should it succeed.” The General stated, voicing his only real concern, yet he had no doubt that the man before him had a solution in mind. ”Awhile ago there was a project being developed by the scientists in Aspin. A tracking chip for vehicles, and a mobile module that could receive the signal. I hardly think it would be a challenge for them to implement a.. collar, for our animals.” ”Now that, is brilliant. Why the hell don't I have more like you Jon? I swear if only they had succeeded in cloning.” Jonathan smiled at the general's praise. He wasn't called brilliant very often, and from a man such as Paxton Bradley, it was better than a badge of honor. ”And of course, I volunteer to be patient zero.” The general laughed mirthfully, emptying his glass of whiskey, ”Ah! I would hope so. You didn't strike me as the kind of man to sit back contently, no, you're a man of action, Jon. I'll make the necessary arrangements. Also, you may be pleased to know I've gotten word of a shipment coming in, from Grayson.” ”Oh? From my brother?” Jon asked, his interest piqued. ”Seems in his spare time he developed something, two things actually, that I think will go quite nicely with this project you've come up with.” ”Spare time, hah! That sounds like him. I look forward to it, Sir.” Jon mused proudly. He brother was something else, an achievement for the human race itself. ”If this is successful, I'll see about contacting those scientists. No need to stir up the brains before we need to, and I doubt I have to worry about a man such as yourself.” The general said, standing from his plush, rolling office chair as a signal that it was time for Jon to go. ”Of course, Sir. Nothing would please me more than to serve my faction.” Jon replied, wholeheartedly. No doubt, underneath the general's apparent unconcern for rebelliousness he was thinking on how easy it would be to eliminate any potential, metahuman threats. ”You should receive word by tonight. It won't be hard to arrange a.. volunteer. As for manpower, I know four men who would, after seeing your success, happily oblige to fall under your command.” Jonathan's pride swelled,”Thank you General, I look forward to success in our endeavors.” Jon shook the general's calloused hand with his own energetically. This was all happening much faster than he had anticipated, but the general obviously saw the urgency in the matter. The door closed softly behind him as he walked back towards the elevator, passing office after office. Only the higher ranking officials were located up here, but Jon was too preoccupied to imagine himself up here one day-- his mind was swimming with the future prospects of his career. He was so, undoubtedly happy at this moment.

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