Alphons
National Beholder
Melvin heads to the basement, looking around for anything interesting or valuable.
OOC: Rolled 9+ 3 points from Perception=12
OOC: Rolled 9+ 3 points from Perception=12
(IC) World of Darkness: Hunter RP
- Thread starter Mστh
- Start date
T
TorontoReign
Guest
Caleb made extra effort to pocket the holy water (bringing a fucking squirt gun next time I swear to Christ), unplug the PC, and crack open the computer tower, before quickly unhooking the hard drive for future Melvin centric perusal. He covered Bob's rear as they entered the basement, then got the bad news from George about one of the two females victims.
You sure this is what you want George? She might be able to give us some information...
He gets his trusty machete ready as he looms over the screaming woman, spittle flying from her face in frantic pleas for mercy, urine now dribbling down her legs...this is the life of a Hunter. Caleb raises the machete...
You sure this is what you want George? She might be able to give us some information...
He gets his trusty machete ready as he looms over the screaming woman, spittle flying from her face in frantic pleas for mercy, urine now dribbling down her legs...this is the life of a Hunter. Caleb raises the machete...
"Unfortunately," George pulls the cigarette out his mouth and exhales a plume of smoke. "It needs to be done. She won't know anything, at least not anything our captive upstairs can tell us. Even if she did know, it wouldn't change the fact that what needs to be done, needs to be done."
He looks at the group. "If I was ever captured, if I was ever embraced, I'd full goddamn well expect each and every one of you to do the exact same thing for me without hesitation. They're walking crimes against nature, and this is the best mercy we can offer them."
George walks over to her and kneels down to bring himself to her eye level. He sits for a few seconds, taking a long drag on his cigarette, before finally pulling it from his mouth. "I'm sorry. But this is how it has to be." He stands up and turns his back to the desperate pleas, and looks at Caleb. He puts a hand on his shoulder.
"Whenever you're ready. Try to make it quick."
OOC: @Alphons Roll Result - Success. While you were tying up the Nosferatu upstairs, you took it upon yourself to search him. In one of his robe pockets, you found a small black book. A quick perusal revealed a list of names, dates, locations, and a monetary figure next to them all. Figures ranging from one to ten thousand dollars. You figure it might be important to look through it when you have more time later, and pocket it.
He looks at the group. "If I was ever captured, if I was ever embraced, I'd full goddamn well expect each and every one of you to do the exact same thing for me without hesitation. They're walking crimes against nature, and this is the best mercy we can offer them."
George walks over to her and kneels down to bring himself to her eye level. He sits for a few seconds, taking a long drag on his cigarette, before finally pulling it from his mouth. "I'm sorry. But this is how it has to be." He stands up and turns his back to the desperate pleas, and looks at Caleb. He puts a hand on his shoulder.
"Whenever you're ready. Try to make it quick."
OOC: @Alphons Roll Result - Success. While you were tying up the Nosferatu upstairs, you took it upon yourself to search him. In one of his robe pockets, you found a small black book. A quick perusal revealed a list of names, dates, locations, and a monetary figure next to them all. Figures ranging from one to ten thousand dollars. You figure it might be important to look through it when you have more time later, and pocket it.
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T
TorontoReign
Guest
Caleb brings the machete down quickly to make the screaming pleas go away. The head does not quite come off in one swing due to her ducking as the machete comes down onto the tender flesh of her neck. The gurgling noises are unbearable as he quickly finishes the job. A geyser of blood erupts from the spot where her head used to be, splashing all over Caleb, and the surrounding room.
George...sometimes I wish you chose a different VA to visit.
Caleb says as he reflects on what he has just witnessed.
He wipes the bloody machete off and stands in the corner awaiting further orders.
George...sometimes I wish you chose a different VA to visit.
Caleb says as he reflects on what he has just witnessed.
He wipes the bloody machete off and stands in the corner awaiting further orders.
George walks over to the slumped up corpse, still chained to the wall but now ever so still, no longer sobbing as a peaceful quiet has settled over her still form.
George takes a long drag from his cigarette before dropping it to the floor, putting it out with his boot.
"I want everybody here to look at this" he points to the other woman still chained to the wall and breathing, so wracked with fear after seeing the other captive get slaughtered before her eyes. He points specifically to the many, many IV's strapped to her body drawing blood from her.
"Take a long good look. Any time you forget why we're here, any time you forget why we do what we do, I want you to remember this scene."
He turns back over to other captive, now dead, and snarls.
"They are blanks. Blank bodies will always be parasites. They kill people and eat them. They even have their own word for it - it's called exsanguination, and it's considered to be both a physical and spiritual rape so terrible as to be beyond all mortal and human capacity to comprehend."
George takes out the canteen of lighter fluid, and begins spraying the corpse down. Finally, he places another cigarette in his mouth, strikes a match, then lights the cigarette. Holding the still aflame match in his hands, he says,
"Their very existence is a crime against humanity. And to allow them to exist is to abet genocide."
George flicks the match towards the corpse as it lights up in flame in spectacular fashion.
The group sit there for several minutes in silence, the flames of the burning corpse reflected in the whites of their eyes as they each reflect on what George said, in their own way.
Finally, when there is almost nothing left but ash, charred skin, and burnt bone, George takes the fire extinguisher from the wall and puts it out.
After all is said and done, George nods to the other woman captive in the opposite corner.
"Take her IV's out and unlock her shackles. Be gentle. When you're done meet me in the living room. And bring her with you. There's a few things she going to need to know before she leaves this place."
George takes a long drag from his cigarette before dropping it to the floor, putting it out with his boot.
"I want everybody here to look at this" he points to the other woman still chained to the wall and breathing, so wracked with fear after seeing the other captive get slaughtered before her eyes. He points specifically to the many, many IV's strapped to her body drawing blood from her.
"Take a long good look. Any time you forget why we're here, any time you forget why we do what we do, I want you to remember this scene."
He turns back over to other captive, now dead, and snarls.
"They are blanks. Blank bodies will always be parasites. They kill people and eat them. They even have their own word for it - it's called exsanguination, and it's considered to be both a physical and spiritual rape so terrible as to be beyond all mortal and human capacity to comprehend."
George takes out the canteen of lighter fluid, and begins spraying the corpse down. Finally, he places another cigarette in his mouth, strikes a match, then lights the cigarette. Holding the still aflame match in his hands, he says,
"Their very existence is a crime against humanity. And to allow them to exist is to abet genocide."
George flicks the match towards the corpse as it lights up in flame in spectacular fashion.
The group sit there for several minutes in silence, the flames of the burning corpse reflected in the whites of their eyes as they each reflect on what George said, in their own way.
Finally, when there is almost nothing left but ash, charred skin, and burnt bone, George takes the fire extinguisher from the wall and puts it out.
After all is said and done, George nods to the other woman captive in the opposite corner.
"Take her IV's out and unlock her shackles. Be gentle. When you're done meet me in the living room. And bring her with you. There's a few things she going to need to know before she leaves this place."
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TheGM
The voice of reason
Detective Stozak was laid up in a hospital long enough to learn how to remove IV's.
Blood cow huh? well they probably got stuff to stop bleeding around here.
Look around Ted spots a small medical tray with the gauze and bandages. using it he removes the IVs needles and applies the bandages. Ted steps back holding his neck.
It's going to be up to one of you to carry her.
Blood cow huh? well they probably got stuff to stop bleeding around here.
Look around Ted spots a small medical tray with the gauze and bandages. using it he removes the IVs needles and applies the bandages. Ted steps back holding his neck.
It's going to be up to one of you to carry her.
> Intermission: Part One <
The group moves out into the living room, where the unconscious Nosferatu lay. As they help the captive out from the basement, she arrives upstairs to see the beast on the floor and George sitting on the coffee table, taking swigs of the whiskey he found and - failing to break habit - lighting yet another cigarette.
"Sit down." He tells her sternly, gesturing to the comforter chair in the living room across from him, where they both can get a good look at the Nosferatu's unconscious face, still riddled with two different bullet holes, one between the eyes and one under the chin.
He narrows his eyes at her. Then, he nods over the slumped over vampire laying on the floor. "You know what that is?"
Still terrified after everything she's seen, and most likely exhausted from her ordeal, she remains quiet.
He sighs. "Look, your safe now, and if you're going to survive the coming days, you're going to have to learn how to be strong."
He turns his attention back over to the vampire. "There are many names for them, though telling you them would just put you at a greater risk than you already are. So, we'll go with the basics. You'll know them as vampires."
George stops to gauge her reaction, before continuing. "Yes, the ravenous, fictional, blood-sucking beasts in film and literature. The progeny of a curse borne from a great act of evil - or in this case, Mankind's very second sin it ever committed. The first murder. The killing of Able, son of Adam and Eve." He takes a long drag on his cigarette before casually blowing a plume of smoke her way, to which she coughs lightly.
"Except in our case, they're not fictitious." He jerks a thumb out over to the unconscious Nosferatu. "They would like you to believe that. Oh hell would they like you to believe that. And the vast majority of the population, do believe it. Maybe you still believe it. Maybe you think this poor bastard was just born with some deformities and kidnapped you for - whatever reason. Maybe you think me and my boys here are just sadistic fucks who casually break into homes and murder people."
"Either way - truth is, doesn't matter if you believe what I'm telling you or not. What matters, is what you've seen. And, well let's just say their 'community' is going to learn about it. Might take a day, might take weeks. Fuck, they might already know. But regardless, they'll know. And that, is when you run. I'm sorry, but you're not going to be able to go back to whatever life you had. You're absolutely, positively fucked. So, you need to run. Hide. Never stay in one place too long. Move by car, by bus, fuck - hitchhike if you have to, but hide. Because now that they know you know, their hunt is going to begin. And they will hunt you - relentlessly."
George waits for her to say something. Finally, after several very long moments, she opens her mouth to speak.
"пожалуйста, помогите, я не знаю, как я сюда попал".
George sighs. "Ah, fuck. You didn't understand a goddamn word did you?"
He reaches into his coat pocket, and brings out a wad of money - about two hundred dollars, and slaps it into her hand. "Listen. Run. бежать. This is all I can give you. I can't take you with us. Sorry. Don't go to the police. нет полиции. They'll only make you easier to find."
George stands up from the coffee table and begins to walk away, and the woman says something again in Russian. "Yeh, yeh, dasvidanya to you too."
Putting his cigarette out and pocketing the bottle of whiskey, he assembles the group.
"Alright boys, let's go home. Caleb, Bob, carry this bastard to the car. Melvin, you're driving."
George stops for a second.
"Wait. I uh..." George looks to the floor and begins to lightly scratch the back of his head. This is the very first time you've ever seen him nervous or not acting in his usual direct manner.
"You all did good tonight. Really good. I just wanted to let you all know - but I'm very proud of you. All of you."
Another moment of silence passes. "Alright, hurry the hell up we don't got all day. We need to get this bastard back before dawn."
After a long 45 minute drive, the group finally arrives. Back to the place they call home.
It's an old storage facility near the Seattle pier that is rented out by dockyards. Normally incoming ships rent it out for temporary warehouse space before the goods of what they've transported can be moved into the city proper. The team rented it out after they arrived in Seattle a month ago fresh on the heels of their recent catch, and are now using it as a base of operations.
Pulling into the compound their safehouse comes into sight. A large concrete storage building with a single steel door. Outside is a camera and motion sensor that Melvin had installed to keep eyes on the outside of the building. They pull the SUV into the parking garage, normally used for loading cargo and large enough to hold a semi with attached trailer.
Getting out of the SUV, George approaches the steel entrance door. It's a 4 inch thick steel door reinforced, which George had replaced what used to be there for better protection. There, he punches in a number to the keypad (a number everyone on the team knows), presses his thumbprint into another pad, and then finally uses a specialized key to unlock the final lock (the team has copies). The heavy door swings open as the door motors whirl, and... home sweet home.
Then Bob and Caleb carry the Nosferatu in, who's been placed in a large bag for concealment. After getting him inside, they remove him from the bag and place him in one of the cells, Cell B (which is made with reinforced steel, and military grade plate glass).
George, sits down at the meeting table in the center and assembles everyone once they've dropped off their equipment and properly settled in.
"Alright everyone. There's something I need to announce."
"When we first arrived in Seattle, my normally casual cough grew a lot worse, something I'm sure all of you noticed. I know Caleb obviously did. Well, I decided to actually visit a doctor here under a different name - I didn't go to the VA, they would have made a record that I'm here in this city and that would have been stupid. He did some tests on me, and... gave me the results. I wanted to wait until- I wanted to make sure I would be there for your first hunt."
George goes on. "I wanted to prepare you more, I wanted you all to train for longer before your first hunt. I wanted to make sure- *George begins coughing* I wanted more time to get you ready. But, time has not afforded me that luxury."
George leans forward on the table, placing his arms down on the surface, and cupping his hands. He takes off his green beret.
"I have lung cancer, and it's entered into it's accelerated stage. I'm not sure how long I've got but... that's the gist of it."
"I'm dying."
It's an old storage facility near the Seattle pier that is rented out by dockyards. Normally incoming ships rent it out for temporary warehouse space before the goods of what they've transported can be moved into the city proper. The team rented it out after they arrived in Seattle a month ago fresh on the heels of their recent catch, and are now using it as a base of operations.
Pulling into the compound their safehouse comes into sight. A large concrete storage building with a single steel door. Outside is a camera and motion sensor that Melvin had installed to keep eyes on the outside of the building. They pull the SUV into the parking garage, normally used for loading cargo and large enough to hold a semi with attached trailer.
Getting out of the SUV, George approaches the steel entrance door. It's a 4 inch thick steel door reinforced, which George had replaced what used to be there for better protection. There, he punches in a number to the keypad (a number everyone on the team knows), presses his thumbprint into another pad, and then finally uses a specialized key to unlock the final lock (the team has copies). The heavy door swings open as the door motors whirl, and... home sweet home.
Then Bob and Caleb carry the Nosferatu in, who's been placed in a large bag for concealment. After getting him inside, they remove him from the bag and place him in one of the cells, Cell B (which is made with reinforced steel, and military grade plate glass).
George, sits down at the meeting table in the center and assembles everyone once they've dropped off their equipment and properly settled in.
"Alright everyone. There's something I need to announce."
"When we first arrived in Seattle, my normally casual cough grew a lot worse, something I'm sure all of you noticed. I know Caleb obviously did. Well, I decided to actually visit a doctor here under a different name - I didn't go to the VA, they would have made a record that I'm here in this city and that would have been stupid. He did some tests on me, and... gave me the results. I wanted to wait until- I wanted to make sure I would be there for your first hunt."
George goes on. "I wanted to prepare you more, I wanted you all to train for longer before your first hunt. I wanted to make sure- *George begins coughing* I wanted more time to get you ready. But, time has not afforded me that luxury."
George leans forward on the table, placing his arms down on the surface, and cupping his hands. He takes off his green beret.
"I have lung cancer, and it's entered into it's accelerated stage. I'm not sure how long I've got but... that's the gist of it."
"I'm dying."
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TheGM
The voice of reason
Detective Stozak is sitting on a chair on the far side of the table. pulled back at an angle. His hat crumpled a bit, tilts to the side. he looks exhausted and pale. a long spent cigarette hanging from his mouth, he has been too tired to remove it. his coat removed, is draped over his left arm. his shirt is open and ripped, with bandages to chest and neck. he listens to George but he looks like he is a million miles someplace else. George announcing he is dying does not come as a shock.
Yeah I figured as much. *stands up* And I'm sure we'll have a discussion about what we do from here but I got the ever living shit kicked, punched, clawed and fucking bit out of me tonight, so my blood sugar is a little low right now. So first thing I'm gonna do is take a shower, have a glass of orange juice, burn this shirt and then pass out. hopefully one of you will make sure I don't swallow my tongue. now if you'll excuse me.
Ted begins to shuffle off towards the showers.
Yeah I figured as much. *stands up* And I'm sure we'll have a discussion about what we do from here but I got the ever living shit kicked, punched, clawed and fucking bit out of me tonight, so my blood sugar is a little low right now. So first thing I'm gonna do is take a shower, have a glass of orange juice, burn this shirt and then pass out. hopefully one of you will make sure I don't swallow my tongue. now if you'll excuse me.
Ted begins to shuffle off towards the showers.
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George nods to Todd as he shuffles off. "Make sure you're well awake and ready when this bastard wakes up, I want all of you to be there for the interrogation".
George turns his attention back to the table, where Bob, Caleb, and Melvin still remain gathered.
"If anybody else has anything to say, any concerns to voice, any questions to ask - and yes, even about my health - before we finish here, now is the time because I will not speak of this again unless there is something more to say or add."
George turns his attention back to the table, where Bob, Caleb, and Melvin still remain gathered.
"If anybody else has anything to say, any concerns to voice, any questions to ask - and yes, even about my health - before we finish here, now is the time because I will not speak of this again unless there is something more to say or add."
T
TorontoReign
Guest
Caleb is hunched over deep in thought with Melvin and Bob on either side of him.
My main concern is why you felt the need to keep this from us for so long? You know we respect your wishes. We aren't going to force you to do anything...like we could anyway. How long do they say you have anyway?
My main concern is why you felt the need to keep this from us for so long? You know we respect your wishes. We aren't going to force you to do anything...like we could anyway. How long do they say you have anyway?
George responds.
"First, allow me to apologize for snapping at you earlier. It was a tense moment and we were all under a lot of stress - Ted was bleeding out and looked like he might die if not for your quick medical work. Now - soak that in because that will be the first and last time you'll ever hear me say sorry."
It almost seems like the corners of George's mouth just barely perked to resemble a smile, but if there was any movement there it was next to impossible to detect.
"Second - I want to reiterate what I said earlier. You've all done well tonight, far better than I ever could have hoped for. I am deeply proud of all of you, and it fills me with a sense of pride. I never had children, but - if I did..." George stops himself for a second. "Ah, it's a foolish sentiment of an old man anyways."
George stops for a moment, lighting up a cigarette.
"I don't believe I ever told any of you much about my past, how I became awakened to the realities of the world, or how I became a hunter."
OOC: THE STORY
"And... that's my story. Now... let's address these questions." George swings back and finishes the rest of the whiskey bottle, before finishing his cigarette as well. In quick succession, he immediately lights a new one right after putting the bud of the last in the ashtray.
He looks at the group around the table.
"As for how long I have to live, we're not exactly sure but it depends on what I do from here on out."
"The first option is the normal one most people take. I start going through chemotherapy, radiation treatments, and taking every different prescription cancer fighting medication they can find for me under the sun. The issue with that is... the therapy will weaken me, physically and mentally. Not that the cancer won't do that anyway, but it usually happens quicker - and worse, with the chemotherapy. That's the price to pay for having a chance at fighting off cancer. Me, I can do the chemotherapy, but my lung cancer is already in the advance stages, having fully infested and spread through both lungs. There's tumors all over them. No amount of chemotherapy and medication in the world, nor surgery, is going to save me. At best, it would prolong my life to about a year - and that's being generous."
George takes a deep sigh. "The problem is... if I start doing that, I'll no longer be in any shape to be here, in any capacity. And I made an oath, both to my resting wife and myself, that I'd spend the rest of my life hunting these fuckers down so that no one might ever have to experience what I've experienced again. So... no treatment for me. I'll die hunting these bastards, even terminally ill."
"And so, that leads us to the option I'm taking. And estimates on life expectancy for this option are... four months. At best. Absolute terminal illness will set in after three months, and then from there it will take less than a month for my organs to start shutting down and I lay down to prepare for the long sleep."
George is quiet for a moment, taking long drags on his cigarette. Then, he immediately brings up, "and no - I'm not going to quit smoking. My lungs are riddled with tumors quitting now would be like giving antibiotics to someone with an infection only AFTER their legs and arms are gone. I'm fucked either way."
"As for why I didn't say anything, I did not want this to be an issue before the first hunt. I needed all of you to be on your best game, with nothing on your minds or keeping you distracted."
"First, allow me to apologize for snapping at you earlier. It was a tense moment and we were all under a lot of stress - Ted was bleeding out and looked like he might die if not for your quick medical work. Now - soak that in because that will be the first and last time you'll ever hear me say sorry."
It almost seems like the corners of George's mouth just barely perked to resemble a smile, but if there was any movement there it was next to impossible to detect.
"Second - I want to reiterate what I said earlier. You've all done well tonight, far better than I ever could have hoped for. I am deeply proud of all of you, and it fills me with a sense of pride. I never had children, but - if I did..." George stops himself for a second. "Ah, it's a foolish sentiment of an old man anyways."
George stops for a moment, lighting up a cigarette.
"I don't believe I ever told any of you much about my past, how I became awakened to the realities of the world, or how I became a hunter."
OOC: THE STORY
"In early 1973 the U.S. pulled the remainder of it's troops out of Vietnam and I was one of the last to leave - most of you knew that already. When I finally got home in June, I had hoped to surprise my wife coming home, who hadn't expected me to be home until October. I was 24 at the time, I had been in Vietnam since I was 18, and married the love of my life right before the draft letter came to my house" George blows a plume of smoke from his cigarette.
"Anyways, I got off the bus in my hometown in Saginaw, Michigan, not a small town but not exactly big either, and walked the way home. When I came home I had noticed the door was unlocked, which was odd but I didn't think anything of it. Upon entering the house, the house my father helped me build when I married my wife, I immediately began to hear muffled sounds, and I noticed right away they were coming from the bedroom."
A chuckle escapes George's mouth, laced with depression and sadness.
"My heart immediately sank and almost broke right there on the spot. I thought she was cheating on me. I immediately walked directly up to the bedroom door and opened it, but what I found was so much worse than what I feared to have been happening. There was a man, on top of her, and the moment I walked in he lifted his head and looked at me. His entire mouth was caked with blood. As I stood there in absolute shock, my eyes dropped down to her throat. He didn't just bite into it, it was fucking ripped open. I could see small bits of her esophagus along with other bits of meat and tissue scattered on the bed, like a kid messily eating a meal. It was also then that I noticed her undergarments had been ripped off, suggesting... suggesting..."
George's eyes drop down for a moment, and it appears as though he swallows a hard lump down his throat. He stops himself to take a shot of the whiskey bottle in his coat, and continue puffing on his cigarette.
"I was too stricken with absolute grief and shock to react quicker. It was within seconds that the bastard zipped forward, and in an instant he was on me, throwing me out the room and through the drywall of the hallway into the guest bedroom. The bastard punted me pretty good, but that's also when my mind snapped. That's all it took, and my combat instincts, years spent crawling through jungles in Vietnam, immediately kicked in. I rolled my body back and got to my knees to get into a firing position, and unholstered the M1911 I had kept from my service in the military. I immediately fired one shot and put a round right above the bridge in his nose, directly square between the eyes."
George continues, "his head swung back, and then I was stunned in disbelief. He didn't drop. Instead he lifted his head again, and his eyes were blood shot red. That's when he bared his fangs, and I could see his fingers had shaped into some kind of claws. Again, in a burst of speed the bastard basically teleported to me, throwing me through yet another wall and into the kitchen, slamming my head on the kitchen sink as my body was flung into the room. Then, like a goddamn animal, he kneeled down and then lept onto me, grabbing my head and began to bang it into the kitchen floor."
"I thanked god in that instance for my CQB training in the Green Berets. I was able to get him off of me, but it felt more like wrestling a goddamn bear than a human being. After he was off of me I emptied the entire clip into his chest, but that didn't slow him down at all. I didn't even notice at the time, but one of the bullets went straight through him and hit the water heater behind, sparking a flame. Getting to my feet, he sprung towards me and began slashing me up with those goddamned claws, before finally tossing me to the wall. I think he let his guard down then, thought I was out for the count. I played possum and he went to go feed on me. I let him get close... just close enough that I could plunge my combat knife directly into his fucking skull."
George soaks up the cigarette, inhaling deeply. "I released it, and didn't stop. I don't know if the rage or the grief had built up in me... or what. But I got on top of him and began stabbing. Over and over, for what at the time seemed like an eternity. By the time I came to, his face and chest were so full of stab wounds he was all but unrecognizable. Just to be sure he wasn't going to get back up again, I used my knife to saw through his spine in the back of his neck. After a few seconds the adrenaline in my blood began to thin, and I noticed my home was set ablaze."
"I left the house just in time to avoid the incoming fire trucks, escaping out of the backyard. From a distance, I watched my whole life burn away. I had no life to go back to. Nothing left to turn to. I decided to dedicate my life to hunting whatever the hell it was that killed my wife. I had no real skills, I couldn't hold down any normal job, and even if I wanted to there was no way I could go back to living a 'normal' life. Not after that. The only thing I was good at was killing. That was my only skill, and so I figured I'd use that skill and hunt down everything like whatever killed my wife. I knew there had to be more.
Then, I spent the last three decades hunting and killing anything and everything that had to do with the supernatural. Vampires are my preferred target, but not the only target. I've been with no less than five different hunter cells over the years with this one included, and everyone I knew who hunted with me has either died, tried to retire and ended up getting hunted down by the Camarilla, or they did retire but had to go so far underground to stay hidden they fell of the fucking grid.
After the last hunt with my fourth cell tracking down a werewolf, the cell before this one, went awry and I was left as the only survivor, I decided to hunt solo for awhile. For about six years I operated solo, and in that time I carried out six hunts. However as each new hunt became more difficult that the last, as I found myself tiring easier, my eyesight waning, lifting things becoming more difficult, back pains from injuries sustained in the past getting worse, I came upon an unfortunate truth. I was getting old.
It's not that I didn't think I could hunt solo anymore. I didn't care how weak I got, quitting the hunt was never an option for me. Rather, I thought about all the hunters I'd known that had died over the years, that being almost all of them. I thought about my own work, and who would carry it forward. I has amassed a large wealth of knowledge about the supernatural in my thirty plus years of hunting, and knew that with my death it would be lost lest it was passed on, and it's not like I could exactly write a book.
So, I decided to assemble a team. For the past two years, I stopped tracking beasts and started tracking people. Potential candidates who had become awakened. And slowly, I found you four. One by one, and as I searched for more, I spent the rest of the time training you while continuing to conduct hunts on the side. I met Caleb first, and it was of pure chance that I came across Ted and Melvin, both who had the misfortune to find themselves face to face with a vampire on our first meeting. Lastly, we found Bob, through a damn tabloid magazine of all places - the only magazine that agreed to publish his story. Of course, everybody treats tabloids like a joke, but I knew the Camarilla would take it very seriously, and begin hunting him immediately in fear that he might know about more than just the werewolf he encountered in Tanzania."
"Anyways, I got off the bus in my hometown in Saginaw, Michigan, not a small town but not exactly big either, and walked the way home. When I came home I had noticed the door was unlocked, which was odd but I didn't think anything of it. Upon entering the house, the house my father helped me build when I married my wife, I immediately began to hear muffled sounds, and I noticed right away they were coming from the bedroom."
A chuckle escapes George's mouth, laced with depression and sadness.
"My heart immediately sank and almost broke right there on the spot. I thought she was cheating on me. I immediately walked directly up to the bedroom door and opened it, but what I found was so much worse than what I feared to have been happening. There was a man, on top of her, and the moment I walked in he lifted his head and looked at me. His entire mouth was caked with blood. As I stood there in absolute shock, my eyes dropped down to her throat. He didn't just bite into it, it was fucking ripped open. I could see small bits of her esophagus along with other bits of meat and tissue scattered on the bed, like a kid messily eating a meal. It was also then that I noticed her undergarments had been ripped off, suggesting... suggesting..."
George's eyes drop down for a moment, and it appears as though he swallows a hard lump down his throat. He stops himself to take a shot of the whiskey bottle in his coat, and continue puffing on his cigarette.
"I was too stricken with absolute grief and shock to react quicker. It was within seconds that the bastard zipped forward, and in an instant he was on me, throwing me out the room and through the drywall of the hallway into the guest bedroom. The bastard punted me pretty good, but that's also when my mind snapped. That's all it took, and my combat instincts, years spent crawling through jungles in Vietnam, immediately kicked in. I rolled my body back and got to my knees to get into a firing position, and unholstered the M1911 I had kept from my service in the military. I immediately fired one shot and put a round right above the bridge in his nose, directly square between the eyes."
George continues, "his head swung back, and then I was stunned in disbelief. He didn't drop. Instead he lifted his head again, and his eyes were blood shot red. That's when he bared his fangs, and I could see his fingers had shaped into some kind of claws. Again, in a burst of speed the bastard basically teleported to me, throwing me through yet another wall and into the kitchen, slamming my head on the kitchen sink as my body was flung into the room. Then, like a goddamn animal, he kneeled down and then lept onto me, grabbing my head and began to bang it into the kitchen floor."
"I thanked god in that instance for my CQB training in the Green Berets. I was able to get him off of me, but it felt more like wrestling a goddamn bear than a human being. After he was off of me I emptied the entire clip into his chest, but that didn't slow him down at all. I didn't even notice at the time, but one of the bullets went straight through him and hit the water heater behind, sparking a flame. Getting to my feet, he sprung towards me and began slashing me up with those goddamned claws, before finally tossing me to the wall. I think he let his guard down then, thought I was out for the count. I played possum and he went to go feed on me. I let him get close... just close enough that I could plunge my combat knife directly into his fucking skull."
George soaks up the cigarette, inhaling deeply. "I released it, and didn't stop. I don't know if the rage or the grief had built up in me... or what. But I got on top of him and began stabbing. Over and over, for what at the time seemed like an eternity. By the time I came to, his face and chest were so full of stab wounds he was all but unrecognizable. Just to be sure he wasn't going to get back up again, I used my knife to saw through his spine in the back of his neck. After a few seconds the adrenaline in my blood began to thin, and I noticed my home was set ablaze."
"I left the house just in time to avoid the incoming fire trucks, escaping out of the backyard. From a distance, I watched my whole life burn away. I had no life to go back to. Nothing left to turn to. I decided to dedicate my life to hunting whatever the hell it was that killed my wife. I had no real skills, I couldn't hold down any normal job, and even if I wanted to there was no way I could go back to living a 'normal' life. Not after that. The only thing I was good at was killing. That was my only skill, and so I figured I'd use that skill and hunt down everything like whatever killed my wife. I knew there had to be more.
Then, I spent the last three decades hunting and killing anything and everything that had to do with the supernatural. Vampires are my preferred target, but not the only target. I've been with no less than five different hunter cells over the years with this one included, and everyone I knew who hunted with me has either died, tried to retire and ended up getting hunted down by the Camarilla, or they did retire but had to go so far underground to stay hidden they fell of the fucking grid.
After the last hunt with my fourth cell tracking down a werewolf, the cell before this one, went awry and I was left as the only survivor, I decided to hunt solo for awhile. For about six years I operated solo, and in that time I carried out six hunts. However as each new hunt became more difficult that the last, as I found myself tiring easier, my eyesight waning, lifting things becoming more difficult, back pains from injuries sustained in the past getting worse, I came upon an unfortunate truth. I was getting old.
It's not that I didn't think I could hunt solo anymore. I didn't care how weak I got, quitting the hunt was never an option for me. Rather, I thought about all the hunters I'd known that had died over the years, that being almost all of them. I thought about my own work, and who would carry it forward. I has amassed a large wealth of knowledge about the supernatural in my thirty plus years of hunting, and knew that with my death it would be lost lest it was passed on, and it's not like I could exactly write a book.
So, I decided to assemble a team. For the past two years, I stopped tracking beasts and started tracking people. Potential candidates who had become awakened. And slowly, I found you four. One by one, and as I searched for more, I spent the rest of the time training you while continuing to conduct hunts on the side. I met Caleb first, and it was of pure chance that I came across Ted and Melvin, both who had the misfortune to find themselves face to face with a vampire on our first meeting. Lastly, we found Bob, through a damn tabloid magazine of all places - the only magazine that agreed to publish his story. Of course, everybody treats tabloids like a joke, but I knew the Camarilla would take it very seriously, and begin hunting him immediately in fear that he might know about more than just the werewolf he encountered in Tanzania."
"And... that's my story. Now... let's address these questions." George swings back and finishes the rest of the whiskey bottle, before finishing his cigarette as well. In quick succession, he immediately lights a new one right after putting the bud of the last in the ashtray.
He looks at the group around the table.
"As for how long I have to live, we're not exactly sure but it depends on what I do from here on out."
"The first option is the normal one most people take. I start going through chemotherapy, radiation treatments, and taking every different prescription cancer fighting medication they can find for me under the sun. The issue with that is... the therapy will weaken me, physically and mentally. Not that the cancer won't do that anyway, but it usually happens quicker - and worse, with the chemotherapy. That's the price to pay for having a chance at fighting off cancer. Me, I can do the chemotherapy, but my lung cancer is already in the advance stages, having fully infested and spread through both lungs. There's tumors all over them. No amount of chemotherapy and medication in the world, nor surgery, is going to save me. At best, it would prolong my life to about a year - and that's being generous."
George takes a deep sigh. "The problem is... if I start doing that, I'll no longer be in any shape to be here, in any capacity. And I made an oath, both to my resting wife and myself, that I'd spend the rest of my life hunting these fuckers down so that no one might ever have to experience what I've experienced again. So... no treatment for me. I'll die hunting these bastards, even terminally ill."
"And so, that leads us to the option I'm taking. And estimates on life expectancy for this option are... four months. At best. Absolute terminal illness will set in after three months, and then from there it will take less than a month for my organs to start shutting down and I lay down to prepare for the long sleep."
George is quiet for a moment, taking long drags on his cigarette. Then, he immediately brings up, "and no - I'm not going to quit smoking. My lungs are riddled with tumors quitting now would be like giving antibiotics to someone with an infection only AFTER their legs and arms are gone. I'm fucked either way."
"As for why I didn't say anything, I did not want this to be an issue before the first hunt. I needed all of you to be on your best game, with nothing on your minds or keeping you distracted."
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Bob punches the wall next to him.
"It's not fair that you had your life destroyed, first by an unnatural monster, and now by a natural one. And there's nothing we can do about it. Fucking cancer. At least we can punch, stab, and shoot vampires..."
He calms down a bit.
"I know I'm not good with words, but you can be sure I have only respect for you. You gave me back a purpose for my life when I had none. And... Ah, fuck it... What I'm trying to say is that you've been a pain in the ass, a friend and a mentor all of these years I've known you."
"But you're not gone yet, and there's still plenty of fuckers for you to hunt..."
His voice gets quieter.
"... until you're not around anymore..."
He pauses for a second and then returns with his voice back to normal.
"So we shouldn't waste time, I will take a nap until our guest wakes up, so I'm rested for when that happens. That thing has plenty to answer for."
Bob leaves to take a nap.
"It's not fair that you had your life destroyed, first by an unnatural monster, and now by a natural one. And there's nothing we can do about it. Fucking cancer. At least we can punch, stab, and shoot vampires..."
He calms down a bit.
"I know I'm not good with words, but you can be sure I have only respect for you. You gave me back a purpose for my life when I had none. And... Ah, fuck it... What I'm trying to say is that you've been a pain in the ass, a friend and a mentor all of these years I've known you."
"But you're not gone yet, and there's still plenty of fuckers for you to hunt..."
His voice gets quieter.
"... until you're not around anymore..."
He pauses for a second and then returns with his voice back to normal.
"So we shouldn't waste time, I will take a nap until our guest wakes up, so I'm rested for when that happens. That thing has plenty to answer for."
Bob leaves to take a nap.
Alphons
National Beholder
Melvin sits in a silence for a while and then shows a book he found.
While I was tying him up I looked through his pockets, in case he had something useful. Bunch of names and addresses, along with some hefty sums.
Do you think they're like him?
While I was tying him up I looked through his pockets, in case he had something useful. Bunch of names and addresses, along with some hefty sums.
Do you think they're like him?
George nods towards Bob in respect as he walks away to go find a bunk, and then takes the small black book from Melvin and flips through it, squinting his eyes to read the small handwriting.
"Hmm..." he speaks up as his eyes stay down on the pages. "This is a really good find."
"Do you remember while we were tracking him in California, before we came to Washington and Seattle, we discovered he was part of a human trafficking network? I'm guessing these a bunch of these are people who were bought and sold, where they were taken from, what their names were, and how much they were sold for. This could possibly be a human trafficking network ran specifically by vampires."
George seems both surprised, and impressed.
"It's been a very long time since I've come across something this big, this is good work." He flips through the pages before stopping on one, and then shows Melvin something.
"Notice here how some of these names don't have pricetags next to them? I can't be sure, but I'm willing to bet that he also kept a list of his clients who he bought from, and sold to, in this book. Even more interesting, there's a name here with an address located right here in the state of Washington. See this, 'Davenport, WA'? That's a pretty small town, located about two and half, three hours east of Seattle. His name appears to be Bishop Beauregard. That is probably going to be worth investigation, and asking about during the interrogation."
"When Ted wakes up and is feeling well enough, we'll get this asshole up and begin the interrogation."
George looks at Cell B, shaped similar to and just barely larger than a phone booth. On the floor is a grating, underneath of which is a massive furnace which can be triggered from a latch on the wall next to the cell. Slumped over in the cell itself is the Nosferatu, who's wounds are already beginning to close. Given a few days, he'd probably be able to heal completely from the multiple bullet wounds and the stab wound Bob inflicted on him, a rate of healing a human could never even hope to come close to.
"Hmm..." he speaks up as his eyes stay down on the pages. "This is a really good find."
"Do you remember while we were tracking him in California, before we came to Washington and Seattle, we discovered he was part of a human trafficking network? I'm guessing these a bunch of these are people who were bought and sold, where they were taken from, what their names were, and how much they were sold for. This could possibly be a human trafficking network ran specifically by vampires."
George seems both surprised, and impressed.
"It's been a very long time since I've come across something this big, this is good work." He flips through the pages before stopping on one, and then shows Melvin something.
"Notice here how some of these names don't have pricetags next to them? I can't be sure, but I'm willing to bet that he also kept a list of his clients who he bought from, and sold to, in this book. Even more interesting, there's a name here with an address located right here in the state of Washington. See this, 'Davenport, WA'? That's a pretty small town, located about two and half, three hours east of Seattle. His name appears to be Bishop Beauregard. That is probably going to be worth investigation, and asking about during the interrogation."
"When Ted wakes up and is feeling well enough, we'll get this asshole up and begin the interrogation."
George looks at Cell B, shaped similar to and just barely larger than a phone booth. On the floor is a grating, underneath of which is a massive furnace which can be triggered from a latch on the wall next to the cell. Slumped over in the cell itself is the Nosferatu, who's wounds are already beginning to close. Given a few days, he'd probably be able to heal completely from the multiple bullet wounds and the stab wound Bob inflicted on him, a rate of healing a human could never even hope to come close to.
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T
TorontoReign
Guest
Caleb pulls out the hard drive from his knapsack before tossing it to Melvin.
"See what you can get off this. Maybe some of the information on the drive will corroborate the information on the list."
Then he addresses the elephant in the room...
"Well...George I hope this doesn't make you careless (because we care) and I can't say I am surprised after your coughing fits have progressed to this point. Don't go putting yourself in the line of fire just because you have a few months left. We do like having you around while you are among the living."
Caleb with tears in his eyes, gently rests his hand on George shoulder before he heads for the showers. You can hear the sound of a towel slapping Ted's ass followed by a shout.
"See what you can get off this. Maybe some of the information on the drive will corroborate the information on the list."
Then he addresses the elephant in the room...
"Well...George I hope this doesn't make you careless (because we care) and I can't say I am surprised after your coughing fits have progressed to this point. Don't go putting yourself in the line of fire just because you have a few months left. We do like having you around while you are among the living."
Caleb with tears in his eyes, gently rests his hand on George shoulder before he heads for the showers. You can hear the sound of a towel slapping Ted's ass followed by a shout.
Before Caleb can leave, George gives him a slight nod in his own trademark way. A very rare thing from the old man, and is a sign of affection - the most affection one can ever expect from the old man. He doesn't do hugs. He doesn't even do handshakes. He's usually very distant with his emotions, however that makes "the nod" and receiving it a powerful and strong sign that one has attained the full respect and affection from the old guy.
Caleb, whom George had discovered and found first when putting the team together and thus of the group has known him for the longest, only ever saw George do that once. And it was to his dog... a great dane named Gabriel, named after the Archangel who was the one that cursed Caine, the father of vampire-kind, to fear the son. It's a strange name considering the dog is female, so the group just calls her Gabby.
Maybe it's the bottle of whiskey he consumed tonight that's making him more open with his emotions, maybe not - but one thing can be sure. The nod is genuine, and heartfelt.
As Caleb wanders off, George takes the computer chip, hoping it is a hard drive, and hands it to Melvin.
"See what you can get or find off of this thing for me, once we're done with the interrogation tomorrow. Oh- and also, excellent work finding this book," George waves the book in his hands in a low key fanning motion. "It may have just made finding our next target all the more easier."
"But for right now, everyone appears to have gone to bed or is preparing to go the bed, and you and I are the only ones left at the table so this meeting is adjourned. I'm going to go get some sleep, and I suggest you do as well: we have a long day awaiting us tomorrow."
Beep. Beep. Beep.
7:30 A.M. - November 1st, 2010
The alarm clock in the sleeping dormitory goes off, ringing through the sound of each bunk room. There are three bunk rooms arranged next to eachother, two having a two-bunk bed, and one having a single cot. The signs above the room read:
:: CALEB - TED ::
:: BOB - MELVIN ::
:: GEORGE ::
By the time everybody fully wakes up and heads out to the meeting table, George is already there.
"Morning." He nods his head to everyone, taking seats around the table. "How are you feeling, Ted?" he asks.
After Ted responds, he begins the day's opening meeting.
"Alright folks, I'm sure you're all just itching to start the interrogation today, but before we get into that, I have a little bit more news. I wanted to share it last night, but you all ran off to bed before I could say anything."
George lights up a cigarette, then sets his lighter and pack onto the table.
"You all know that, since our group began, we've basically been drifters, nomads moving around constantly and renting out whatever shoddy ass building nobody else wants. And you also know that we only have this warehouse for another week before we need to pay the rent again, and even though it's damned dirty busted up warehouse it's still expensive as shit to rent"
George takes a long drag of his cigarette.
"I don't know about any of you, but I'm tired of living like fuckin' murder hobos running around and sleeping in whatever derelict shit hole we can afford to rent out, and having to lug all of this absolutely fuck-ton amount of equipment around with us each time. Well, I'm dying damnit and I want to have a home before I do... but I'm also fully aware we have to remain mobile..."
George tips the ashes of his cigarette into the ashtray.
"So... I bought us a home. One that we can both live and travel in. And before you ask, no, it's not an RV. We'd never be able to fit all of our equipment in any sized RV. No - I took a very large portion of what's left of my life money, hell, almost a good portion of it, and I bought us...
...a ship. Not just any ship, I bought us a big ol' former U.S. Navy Cruiser. Yup, they were auctioning it last week and I wanted it to be a surprise for after your first hunt. Now, the weapons systems are all stripped out of course, the U.S. Navy isn't just going to sell any old asshole with a paycheck a ship with missile launching capabilities, but that being said she still runs just fine. I wanted one with a nuclear reactor for power, but apparently they can't sell those to civilians so I had to settle for diesel powered. The good news on that though, is that the gasoline isn't as expensive as I thought it would be."
George chuckles. "Yup. I got us a ship. Now, I was going to buy a ship, but when I saw the U.S. Navy had decommissioned a cruiser, stripped it's weapon and computer systems - which devalued the price massively, as those systems are usually what makes it so expensive - and we're auctioning her, I couldn't pass it up. She's even big enough we can fit the SUV in her cargo bay, though most of the time it won't be aboard unless we're moving around because that thing is a pain in the ass to get aboard - I checked. Not only do we have a home, a home to call our own, but a home we can freely travel in. I got movers coming in tomorrow to pack up all our shit and move it out to the ship, and with the deposit I get back from the dockyards for renting this place I'll have enough to purchase six months worth of fuel."
"Now - one thing remains before we get on to interrogating this bastard...
George smiles.
"...we need to name her. Come on, let's hear some suggestions."
Caleb, whom George had discovered and found first when putting the team together and thus of the group has known him for the longest, only ever saw George do that once. And it was to his dog... a great dane named Gabriel, named after the Archangel who was the one that cursed Caine, the father of vampire-kind, to fear the son. It's a strange name considering the dog is female, so the group just calls her Gabby.
Maybe it's the bottle of whiskey he consumed tonight that's making him more open with his emotions, maybe not - but one thing can be sure. The nod is genuine, and heartfelt.
As Caleb wanders off, George takes the computer chip, hoping it is a hard drive, and hands it to Melvin.
"See what you can get or find off of this thing for me, once we're done with the interrogation tomorrow. Oh- and also, excellent work finding this book," George waves the book in his hands in a low key fanning motion. "It may have just made finding our next target all the more easier."
"But for right now, everyone appears to have gone to bed or is preparing to go the bed, and you and I are the only ones left at the table so this meeting is adjourned. I'm going to go get some sleep, and I suggest you do as well: we have a long day awaiting us tomorrow."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
* * * THE - NEXT - DAY * * *
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
* * * THE - NEXT - DAY * * *
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Beep. Beep. Beep.
7:30 A.M. - November 1st, 2010
The alarm clock in the sleeping dormitory goes off, ringing through the sound of each bunk room. There are three bunk rooms arranged next to eachother, two having a two-bunk bed, and one having a single cot. The signs above the room read:
:: CALEB - TED ::
:: BOB - MELVIN ::
:: GEORGE ::
By the time everybody fully wakes up and heads out to the meeting table, George is already there.
"Morning." He nods his head to everyone, taking seats around the table. "How are you feeling, Ted?" he asks.
After Ted responds, he begins the day's opening meeting.
"Alright folks, I'm sure you're all just itching to start the interrogation today, but before we get into that, I have a little bit more news. I wanted to share it last night, but you all ran off to bed before I could say anything."
George lights up a cigarette, then sets his lighter and pack onto the table.
"You all know that, since our group began, we've basically been drifters, nomads moving around constantly and renting out whatever shoddy ass building nobody else wants. And you also know that we only have this warehouse for another week before we need to pay the rent again, and even though it's damned dirty busted up warehouse it's still expensive as shit to rent"
George takes a long drag of his cigarette.
"I don't know about any of you, but I'm tired of living like fuckin' murder hobos running around and sleeping in whatever derelict shit hole we can afford to rent out, and having to lug all of this absolutely fuck-ton amount of equipment around with us each time. Well, I'm dying damnit and I want to have a home before I do... but I'm also fully aware we have to remain mobile..."
George tips the ashes of his cigarette into the ashtray.
"So... I bought us a home. One that we can both live and travel in. And before you ask, no, it's not an RV. We'd never be able to fit all of our equipment in any sized RV. No - I took a very large portion of what's left of my life money, hell, almost a good portion of it, and I bought us...
...a ship. Not just any ship, I bought us a big ol' former U.S. Navy Cruiser. Yup, they were auctioning it last week and I wanted it to be a surprise for after your first hunt. Now, the weapons systems are all stripped out of course, the U.S. Navy isn't just going to sell any old asshole with a paycheck a ship with missile launching capabilities, but that being said she still runs just fine. I wanted one with a nuclear reactor for power, but apparently they can't sell those to civilians so I had to settle for diesel powered. The good news on that though, is that the gasoline isn't as expensive as I thought it would be."
George chuckles. "Yup. I got us a ship. Now, I was going to buy a ship, but when I saw the U.S. Navy had decommissioned a cruiser, stripped it's weapon and computer systems - which devalued the price massively, as those systems are usually what makes it so expensive - and we're auctioning her, I couldn't pass it up. She's even big enough we can fit the SUV in her cargo bay, though most of the time it won't be aboard unless we're moving around because that thing is a pain in the ass to get aboard - I checked. Not only do we have a home, a home to call our own, but a home we can freely travel in. I got movers coming in tomorrow to pack up all our shit and move it out to the ship, and with the deposit I get back from the dockyards for renting this place I'll have enough to purchase six months worth of fuel."
"Now - one thing remains before we get on to interrogating this bastard...
George smiles.
"...we need to name her. Come on, let's hear some suggestions."
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TorontoReign
Guest
Caleb is always down for naming things. While sipping on a cup of coffee to get his mind flowing he jots down a few names. Before long he has three or four names on the list but something is wrong...
Who made this coffee? MY FUCKING STOMACH!
Caleb can last be seen running to the toilet.
Who made this coffee? MY FUCKING STOMACH!
Caleb can last be seen running to the toilet.
TheGM
The voice of reason
As Caleb runs to the head, Ted takes a big sip of coffee.
That boy obviously has never been on a stakeout before. Now let me get this straight, You bought a boat, fuck a boat, a goddamn Navy Cruiser? I mean shit, George, isn't a 560ft long vessel gonna stand out a bit when we sail up to Fucknowhere, Oregon to drive stake through some stalkers chest? At this rate we might as well name the damn thing the Van Helsing.
Ted takes another sip, he twinges his eyes a bit and rubs the bandages on his neck. George just watches intently.
Now is there more to this? who do we have to crew this thing? I don't know shit about running a multi ton ship. Do any of you? What is our cover story? Are we a Research vessel studying star fish so we don't have the Coast Guard and DHS all over our ass? And they will be all over our ass.
That boy obviously has never been on a stakeout before. Now let me get this straight, You bought a boat, fuck a boat, a goddamn Navy Cruiser? I mean shit, George, isn't a 560ft long vessel gonna stand out a bit when we sail up to Fucknowhere, Oregon to drive stake through some stalkers chest? At this rate we might as well name the damn thing the Van Helsing.
Ted takes another sip, he twinges his eyes a bit and rubs the bandages on his neck. George just watches intently.
Now is there more to this? who do we have to crew this thing? I don't know shit about running a multi ton ship. Do any of you? What is our cover story? Are we a Research vessel studying star fish so we don't have the Coast Guard and DHS all over our ass? And they will be all over our ass.
T
TorontoReign
Guest
OOC: Picture of the vessel might help. In 2012 a nuclear vessel was sold for scrap so not unheard of but the crew is the main thing.
Caleb returns from the bathroom cradling his stomach. Coffee always goes right through him. He hears Ted questioning George about the crew which was on his mind as well. After all it would take at least a handful of crew to keep the ship afloat and repairs would be a bitch. Maybe George knows people?
"I can see this plan working George, but we will need a decent cover (and support team) if it is going to play out right. The crew would either need to know our business or be paid enough to not care. I would think we would need people on hand at the various ports to handle such things."
"Maybe some of your old contacts can help out?"