Post by The A.C.F. on Jun 1, 2023 8:29:31 GMT
[attr="style","position:absolute;"]
[attr="style","position:relative;left:-181px;top:11px;width:150px;text-align:center;background-color:white;border:3px #6A3CC1 inset;padding:5px;font-family:courier new;color:#6A3CC1;"]Hope L. Phillips
Code by Illirica
Code by Illirica
DATE: 05/24/2023
LOCATION: En route to L-14 "The Field" from [REDACTED]
ASSETS:
EQUIPMENT: 2018 Mercedes-Benz Sprinter; standard field team weapons and armor; tactical occult kits per L-5 regulation [see L-5-F-43-A-231 "Field Procedures: Magic Assets"]; specialized containment jacket for ACF-505-B [In Use]; ACF-517 "Never Northward"; ACF-1074 "Master Sword"
PURPOSE:Acquisition U-3219 [complete]; Recontainment ACF-505 [complete]; Debrief.
The van was silent as Phillips drove home.
There was no "thank whatever powers that be that we're alive" from the surviving non-anomalous team members in the back seat. No relieved chatter, no conversation about new wounds that would turn into new scars or at least buy a few days off. What was left of Griffith was covered up on the floor between the three of them. Normal field procedure was immediate cremation, but there was too much of... 505-A mixed with the remains. It would have to be disposed of at L-5. Not that Griffith had ever had a family outside the Foundation to send the urn to anyway. There was no memorial chatter for him, either. No stories about all the times he'd saved each of their [EXPLETIVE]es. Powers knew it was enough times to remember him by. This was just his last.
The item Sigel had nicknamed "The Spirit Box" was more dangerous than initially accounted for, sure. A purported Low-Grade Risky or even Household Class that caused weird paranormal bull[EXPLETIVE] to happen around it, the box was now known to contain a malevoloent entity that had managed to separate all but Carmichael and Phillips, and that only because Never Northward kept him in her sights. But that hadn't been the problem. Each of them was prepared for the worst, that was procedure, and they'd managed to reach the point of survival while each hoping the others were making a plan.
Carmichael had broken protocol. With a smile to his handler - that [EXPLETIVE]ing smile she always knew meant trouble - Carmichael had eaten a bullet.
The entity retreated into U-3219 under an assault of teeth and black limbs. Without a target, ACF-505-A had turned on the rest of the team. In many ways they were lucky that Griffith was good enough at his job. That was why he was on FCRT Wisdom Teeth. He'd held the line, kept 505 in one place until Sigel's conjuration and Phillips' own hemomancy formed the containment wards that trial and error had proven most effective, even if it had to be changed to some degree or another every time to circumvent the anomaly's adaptability. It had meant trapping Griffith with it - nothing in, nothing out, until the black and the teeth were worn out and disappeared.
But that was why Griffith was with Wisdom Teeth.
One of the three members in the back seat rummaged in a pocket. Beauregard handed a wad of currency over to Adwin. Adwin took it without a word, thumbed through it, put it into a pocket, pulled out a little notebook to keep score. It was a solemn ritual. No "I told you so"s, no jabs. They'd always known it would be either Griffith or Sigel first.
Sigel pulled a tablet out of his bag. There was the soft noise of a screen vibrating under touch. The only sound that broke the silence. He was starting report. Retreating into paperwork. Probably beginning to file for low-level amnestics as well. A preventative measure, one that was effective at suppressing traumas like this until they could be properly evaluated by psychology personnel.
A straightjacket was a funny idea for this, in theory. It had been Phillips' idea. Which was even funnier to some given that she was a collections agent, not security. But she was also a hemomancer herself. She'd just asked herself what would keep her from hurting herself and practicing her magic if she'd been in Carmichael's shoes, and the idea was born. Having someone embroider in some runes and adding her own blood magic had created an effective seal. It fit their Councilman.
She didn't look at Carmichael, in the passenger seat. Visible there in her periphery. She barely glanced in the rear-view when she heard Sigel's tapping. Her eyes were on the road ahead. Her mouth was pressed into a firm line. Some of her hair had fallen loose from her ponytail and had been tucked behind her ear in its place. Her right arm was bandaged from where she'd cut it for the ritual.
"What the [EXPLETIVE] were you thinking?" Hope sounded tired, when she finally broke the silence. Her voice was low with ragged edges. She felt tired. More than tired, however, she was furious. Zeke was her asset as much as the compass around her neck - but the compass hadn't killed one of her men.
It turned, now, she could feel it through the armor she hadn't completely stripped out of. She took a deep breath, as if to launch into a tirade, and then just exhaled it. Her eyes stayed on the dark road ahead, where the needle pointed home.
LOCATION: En route to L-14 "The Field" from [REDACTED]
ASSETS:
{Field Collections and Recontainment Team FCRT-14-3 "Wisdom Teeth" >}Team Lead: Agent Hope "Handler" Phillips, A-Class-C.
Additional Members:
> Bridget "Aloe" Adwin, R-Class-C [Medical Personnel]
> Ivonne "Artemis" Beauregard, A-Class-C [Cover Fire]
> Evan "The Tank" Griffith, A-Class-C [Front Line Security Personnel, deceased remains]
> Alvin "Ghost Whisperer" Sigel, R-Class-C [Field Researcher; specialization: spiritual abnormalities and anomalous artifacts]
Additional Asset: ACF-505-B "The Maw's Avatar" [asset under emergency containment measures until return to L-14]
> Acquired Asset: U-3219 [UNNAMED], damaged but intact.Additional Members:
> Bridget "Aloe" Adwin, R-Class-C [Medical Personnel]
> Ivonne "Artemis" Beauregard, A-Class-C [Cover Fire]
> Evan "The Tank" Griffith, A-Class-C [Front Line Security Personnel, deceased remains]
> Alvin "Ghost Whisperer" Sigel, R-Class-C [Field Researcher; specialization: spiritual abnormalities and anomalous artifacts]
Additional Asset: ACF-505-B "The Maw's Avatar" [asset under emergency containment measures until return to L-14]
EQUIPMENT: 2018 Mercedes-Benz Sprinter; standard field team weapons and armor; tactical occult kits per L-5 regulation [see L-5-F-43-A-231 "Field Procedures: Magic Assets"]; specialized containment jacket for ACF-505-B [In Use]; ACF-517 "Never Northward"; ACF-1074 "Master Sword"
PURPOSE:
The van was silent as Phillips drove home.
There was no "thank whatever powers that be that we're alive" from the surviving non-anomalous team members in the back seat. No relieved chatter, no conversation about new wounds that would turn into new scars or at least buy a few days off. What was left of Griffith was covered up on the floor between the three of them. Normal field procedure was immediate cremation, but there was too much of... 505-A mixed with the remains. It would have to be disposed of at L-5. Not that Griffith had ever had a family outside the Foundation to send the urn to anyway. There was no memorial chatter for him, either. No stories about all the times he'd saved each of their [EXPLETIVE]es. Powers knew it was enough times to remember him by. This was just his last.
The item Sigel had nicknamed "The Spirit Box" was more dangerous than initially accounted for, sure. A purported Low-Grade Risky or even Household Class that caused weird paranormal bull[EXPLETIVE] to happen around it, the box was now known to contain a malevoloent entity that had managed to separate all but Carmichael and Phillips, and that only because Never Northward kept him in her sights. But that hadn't been the problem. Each of them was prepared for the worst, that was procedure, and they'd managed to reach the point of survival while each hoping the others were making a plan.
Carmichael had broken protocol. With a smile to his handler - that [EXPLETIVE]ing smile she always knew meant trouble - Carmichael had eaten a bullet.
The entity retreated into U-3219 under an assault of teeth and black limbs. Without a target, ACF-505-A had turned on the rest of the team. In many ways they were lucky that Griffith was good enough at his job. That was why he was on FCRT Wisdom Teeth. He'd held the line, kept 505 in one place until Sigel's conjuration and Phillips' own hemomancy formed the containment wards that trial and error had proven most effective, even if it had to be changed to some degree or another every time to circumvent the anomaly's adaptability. It had meant trapping Griffith with it - nothing in, nothing out, until the black and the teeth were worn out and disappeared.
But that was why Griffith was with Wisdom Teeth.
One of the three members in the back seat rummaged in a pocket. Beauregard handed a wad of currency over to Adwin. Adwin took it without a word, thumbed through it, put it into a pocket, pulled out a little notebook to keep score. It was a solemn ritual. No "I told you so"s, no jabs. They'd always known it would be either Griffith or Sigel first.
Sigel pulled a tablet out of his bag. There was the soft noise of a screen vibrating under touch. The only sound that broke the silence. He was starting report. Retreating into paperwork. Probably beginning to file for low-level amnestics as well. A preventative measure, one that was effective at suppressing traumas like this until they could be properly evaluated by psychology personnel.
A straightjacket was a funny idea for this, in theory. It had been Phillips' idea. Which was even funnier to some given that she was a collections agent, not security. But she was also a hemomancer herself. She'd just asked herself what would keep her from hurting herself and practicing her magic if she'd been in Carmichael's shoes, and the idea was born. Having someone embroider in some runes and adding her own blood magic had created an effective seal. It fit their Councilman.
She didn't look at Carmichael, in the passenger seat. Visible there in her periphery. She barely glanced in the rear-view when she heard Sigel's tapping. Her eyes were on the road ahead. Her mouth was pressed into a firm line. Some of her hair had fallen loose from her ponytail and had been tucked behind her ear in its place. Her right arm was bandaged from where she'd cut it for the ritual.
"What the [EXPLETIVE] were you thinking?" Hope sounded tired, when she finally broke the silence. Her voice was low with ragged edges. She felt tired. More than tired, however, she was furious. Zeke was her asset as much as the compass around her neck - but the compass hadn't killed one of her men.
It turned, now, she could feel it through the armor she hadn't completely stripped out of. She took a deep breath, as if to launch into a tirade, and then just exhaled it. Her eyes stayed on the dark road ahead, where the needle pointed home.
