WhiteAngel25 — Roleplayer Guild

Washington, D.C.-- Directorate of Divine Affairs Headquarters--September 22, 2028 — 11:02 PM 

The rain always seemed to follow Director Elias Voss. He stood alone before the floor-to-ceiling windows on the thirty-eight floor of the Directorate of Divine Affairs. His hands folded neatly behind him as lightning rolled across the Washington DC skyline. The city looked almost peaceful from up here. It always did. 

His office reflected none of the extravagance expected of a man who commanded the most powerful intelligence agency on Earth. Steel bookshelves lined the walls, each filled with weathered case files instead of awards. A single American flag stood beside an equally worn Directorate banner. 

On his desk rested only three objects: a leather-bound notebook, a family photograph, and a polished fragment of white marble sealed inside a glass display case no more than half a foot high by half a foot wide. That piece of marble was the only remaining fragment of the aftermath of Chicago.

It served as a reminder every morning and night. A symbol to those who entered his office causing fear or inspiration depending on the individual.

A knock at the door broke the silence of the office.

"Come in.” He spoke without turning around. 

Deputy Director Helen Cross stepped inside, carrying a stack of folders thick enough to strain her arms. Helen Cross was fairly tall for a woman standing almost at six feet. Her blonde hair was slicked back into a bun without a piece out of place.  "Tonight's manifestations,” she laid them across his desk. Her gray eyes framed behind black wire glasses. 

"The museum incident?"

Cross nodded. "Confirmed."

Voss sat without another word, opening the first folder.

---

MARROW, LYSSA

Age: 18

Bloodline Classification: Aberrant Legacy

Threat Assessment: Scarlet

Status: Escaped

—-
Below the photograph was a surveillance still. Rain suspended in midair. An agent screaming while his arm transformed into fractured stone.

Voss studied the image for several seconds before closing the file. “Casualties?" He asked without breaking his neutral expression.

"Six agents injured.” Cross replied 

"Fatalities?"

"None."

A subtle exhale escaped him. "Good."

Cross looked mildly surprised. "You expected worse?"

"I always expect worse,” he reached for the next file.

---

HOLLOWAY, ASTERIA

Age: 18

Probable Heritage: Unknown Death Pantheon

Threat Assessment: Yellow

Observed Manifestation:
Communication with deceased entities.

Status:
Under surveillance.

—-

Voss skimmed the report. "No intervention."

Cross frowned. "Sir?"

"She hasn't harmed anyone...yet anyway,” he slid the folder aside into a separate pile than Lyssa’s file. "Continue observation on Holloway."

The third folder landed before him.

---

NIMUE [REDACTED]

Age: 18

Probable Heritage:
Unknown

Manifestation:
Reality-reflective anomalies.

Status:
Monitoring active.

Attached was a screenshot from a livestream with thousands of comments. Most dismissing the impossible as clever editing.

One comment, highlighted in red, read: > *That's not CGI.*

—-

Voss closed the folder. "Have the media team bury it."

"They already have.” 

"Good."

Cross hesitated before placing one final folder on the desk. Unlike the others…this file was black, thicker than a dictionary, and no name appeared on the cover. Only a crimson stripe. Voss didn't touch it immediately. Instead, he stared at the folder for several long moments, his normal neutral gaze narrowed.

Finally...

"...Any movement?” He asked  

Cross's expression darkened. "Our informants confirmed another recruitment."

Silence. "Location?"

"Ohio."

Voss opened the file. A familiar face stared back at him. Dark hair, golden eyes, and that cocky, calm expression that infuriated him. The kind of face that inspired trust. Beneath the photograph, only one name was printed.

CASSIAN AETERNUS

Threat Classification:
CRIMSON

Status:
Most Wanted.
—-

Cross broke the silence. "We've intercepted rumors he's looking for the new awakenings."

Voss's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "He always does."

"He'll reach them before we can,” Cross states with a shake of her head.

“No." Voss stood crossing the room toward the window, watching the lightning flash beyond the clouds. "He won’t,” he pauses for a moment as he chooses his words carefully. “People think we're hunting children.” His reflection stared back at him as another flash illuminates the sky. ”They’re wrong. They're not children."

Cross said nothing.

Voss continued quietly. "They're potential Ascension Events. I was in Chicago.” His voice was almost lost beneath the thunder. "I watched eight city blocks disappear. I buried my parents and my little sister with nothing left to bury."

When he turned back toward his deputy, every trace of emotion had vanished behind the practiced composure of a man who had spent three decades carrying the weight of a single night. "I don't care what the public calls us. I don't care what history says about me. If stopping another Chicago makes me the villain…" he paused as lightning flashed again. "...then I'll gladly wear the title."

The city became streaks of light. Lyssa wrapped one arm around the stranger's waist as the motorcycle roared through flooded streets, weaving between abandoned cars and shattered intersections. Rain hammered against her face hard enough to sting, forcing her eyes nearly shut.

Behind them, sirens wailed. The Directorate hadn't given up yet. Three black SUVs burst from a side street, engines screaming as they gave chase.

"They're gaining!" Lyssa shouted over the engine. Fear pounded in her chest like a drum.

"I know.” His voice remained unnervingly calm. The motorcycle leaned sharply into an alley barely wide enough to fit between two brick buildings. The handlebars missed a dumpster by inches.

The SUVs couldn't follow. Instead, headlights flooded both ends of the alley.

"They're boxing us in!” Lyssa yelled at the sight.

The stranger didn't answer. He simply accelerated. Lyssa looked up just in time to realize they weren't driving toward the wall—. They were driving toward the shadows. Darkness spilled unnaturally from the alley walls, swallowing the motorcycle whole.

“Wait! What are you—?!”

For one impossible heartbeat, the world vanished. There was no sound, no rain, no light. Only the endless darkness that had consumed them. 

Then…the motorcycle burst back into existence beneath an overpass nearly two miles away.

Lyssa gasped, nearly losing her grip. "W-What was that?” She asked in complete disbelief. 

“Shortcut." The stranger said simply.

She stared at him as if he just ate glue. ”…Shortcut?"

He didn't elaborate and judging by his expression, he wasn’t going to.

---

Nearly twenty minutes later, the motorcycle rolled to a stop outside what appeared to be an abandoned row house squeezed between two condemned buildings. Broken windows, collapsed porch, and peeling paint, it completed the abandoned house look.

The stranger removed his helmet. Dark curls fell across his forehead as rain dripped from his hair. He couldn't have been older than twenty-five. There wasn't a trace of panic on his face, only exhaustion.

He glanced toward the empty street before speaking. "They won't find this place tonight."

"You sound pretty sure.” Lyssa said skeptically as she wrapped her arms around herself.

"I am.” He stepped onto the porch. Nothing happened at first. Then, as he placed his hand against the weathered front door, ancient bronze symbols briefly shimmered beneath the peeling paint before disappearing again.

The door unlocked itself.

Lyssa hesitated like a spooked horse. ”This place is abandoned."

"It wants people to think that.” The stranger stepped inside.

After a long moment… Lyssa looked between the house and the motorcycle before she followed.

—

The first thing she noticed was warmth. The interior of the house bore no resemblance to the crumbling exterior. Soft lights illuminated polished wooden floors, bookshelves stretched from floor to ceiling, a fire crackled quietly in a stone fireplace, and the lingering scent of cedar and old paper filled the air.

It felt…safe for the first time since the museum.

The moment the front door closed behind her with a quiet click, her knees immediately gave out. She caught herself against the wall, breathing hard. Only now, with her adrenaline fading, did the reality of everything begin crashing down around her.

The museum, the DDA agents, the stone creeping across that man's arm, the memory of the woman in the puddle, the thing inside the storm.

Her hands started shaking. “...What..." her voice cracked. "...What is happening to me?"

The stranger was silent for a long moment, pausing to think of his word choices. He removed his gloves slowly before answering. "The question isn't what's happening.” He looked directly into her hazel eyes. "It's what you've always been.” 

Lyssa swallowed, ”I don't understand."

"I know.” He walked toward the fireplace, pouring two cups of tea from a kettle already waiting on the stove. Almost as though someone had expected them. He handed one to her.

She accepted it without thinking.

"Three hours ago,” the stranger started, “you were a student worried about exams. Tonight…Tonight, you learned monsters…the rumors…are real."
Lyssa gave a hollow laugh. "Monsters?"

His expression didn't change. “No." He looked directly at her. "The gods."

Silence filled the room.

Finally—"...Who are you?” She asked, realizing that she just hopped onto the back of motorcycle with a stranger due to adrenaline.

For the first time since they'd met...the stranger smiled. It wasn’t warm and not quite cruel…it was simply a tired one. "My name…" He extended a hand."...is Cassian."

Outside, thunder rolled once more.

Far across the city...

Director Elias Voss received a report update.

**TARGET- MARROW, LYSSA- LOST.**

Meanwhile at The Holloway Residence…

Suddenly, the spirits around Asteria were becoming increasingly agitated as she researched the divine bloodlines. For the first time since appearing, they paused their relentless wandering. They stared at her before the apparition of the young World War II soldier steps forward and speaks clearly.

’They’re coming…’

Just before she can respond, headlights crossed through her room via the window from an unknown vehicle (a blackout SUV) pulled into the driveway. Four men in DDA uniforms exited and were currently walking up the sidewalk to the front door. Then three sharp knocks echoed throughout the house.

Meanwhile at The Marquette Residence…

While Nimue was researching the wanted information of Cassian Aeternus, a pop up appears on her screen. For the brief minute it appeared, a message occurred. 

 ‘If you are Bloodmarked…do NOT contact the Directorate. They are already watching you. Come alone to this address alone…’

There was an address with no explanation. The page refreshes on its own then… 

404 ERROR!

Just before one could stand, Nimue’s phone vibrates with an unknown number calling her.
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