[The Grid] Chatper 1: Hardwired

Feeling slightly nauseous, Erin cleans the blood -- she refuses to think of it as her blood -- from the waster before replacing it in her bag and beginning to walk away from the open highway towards someplace less exposed. As she walks, she begins leafing through the dossier, trying to figure out why...
 
Patrick


"Well," Patrick says after a few minutes of pondering Athena's question, "I've never really been much of one for spook work," he admits. "But it seems to me...you got more than one car I can borrow?"


He looks over at Lace, raising an eyebrow. "Preferably something more...discreet than that Split Window Coupe you mentioned. But we might need that, too. I'm thinking shell game, plus some redirection. That 'Vette's pretty obvious, and nobody would expect somebody trying to grab somebody who's wanted to do it using a car that stands out. So they won't be looking as hard at cars that stand out. But we have Kase here," and he nods to his fellow companion in strangeness, "take something more 'resonable' and go past the same place at the same general time, so they follow him until they figure out they've been duped."

...and since the character would know far more than the player does, this is entirely off the top of my head.

:P
 
Brennick


It is several hours later. Your shirt is drenched with sweat thought the conference room has steadily gotten colder. There isn't an explanation for either. Normally the county doesn't turn the air conditioning on enough to keep the precinct cool. They claim it saves money. You're sure it does, but doubt their claims to reinvest that money into the department. Normally a day in the office is a hot, sweaty affair. Now it's still sweaty, but the beads of your own perspiration are frigid as they roll down your body. Almost you can see your breath mist before your face, between you and the federal agent.


He sits across from you with a flat, totally expressionless face. Since you've met him, he's neither smiled nor frowned, save artificial gestures designed to elicit a response. You don't think a one of them was real. His eyes have never changed, deep and still, and filled with the subtle implications of hidden thoughts. He knows things; you're sure of it. But instead of revealing them, he has plodded through tedious interdepartmental procedures, dotting every i and crossing every t. Long past the point where even the most meticulous officer would begin trying to finish business, he sits and waits, as impatience brews inside you. Impatience and a terrible longing to help. They are his most potent weapons.


Later you will wonder at the strange desire to succumb to his will you have. It's peculiar, and to be honest you don't overly like the feds. Yet as the minutes pass and he talks in a calm, dispassionate voice, you want desperately yo tell him everything. You want to explain everything you've done, and you want his approval like air. Only some stubborn streak of self confidence keeps you from it, though it drags your mind sideways like into insanity. You decided some time ago not to say anything, and you trust that more then the evidence of your feelings. But the effort to ignore your wants by sheer willpower has sucked the energy from you, and your body is sore.


Eventually the captain comes in. He was present for a while, but left at some unknown point. He has his serious expression on. "Excuse me, guys. Brennick, I need you."


Outside, he draws you aside and explains. "Gherin and Tace were in an accident. There was a fire, and we think both of them are dead, as well as a POI they were escorting to the station. They were good men, and my usual detectives were close to them, too close for me to put them on this scene. since you've only been here a few months, I want you to go look into this. Sergeant Marley is on scene now, and she'll give control to you when you arrive. Hurry."


Then, a moment later in hushed tones, he adds, "Those guys were eating you alive. I've never seen anything like that before. Why don't you make sure you don't come back to the station for a while. I'll try to get rid of them in your absence."

And you're back. We'll skip past the rest of the interrogation. While you'd be down to your last point of temporary willpower and have a dozen new and totally natural intimacies from the experience, we don't need to get into the fullness of that for a while. In the mean time there's police work to be done.
 
Patrick, Kase


"Well, we can always just rent something. There's a Hertz down the street, and it's not that unusual for us to rent a car for people who bring their wheels in for repair," Lace offers, thinking. "It shouldn't be too much of a problem."
 
Brennick smiles uneasily at the Captain.


"I'm just having one of those bad days, but those guys, those guys are too good to be true.


I'll call you tonight to let you know what I have found... you can count on me and... uh... thanks for having my back."


He goes straight to the toilets and throw up for a minute. A reaction he is used to, but it feels unnatural this time because he knows and feels there is no poison in his system. No booze, no drugs... today he's clean as a virgin for her honeymoon... so why is he sick ?


That bureaucratic robot son of a bitch would obviously had left bad cramps in his stomach, but his stress is too severe.


He will not sleep well tonight or for a few days, and he feels compelled to cooperate with what he hates more than paying taxes.


After washing his hands and mouth in a dirty sink, in a dirty white restroom filled with tags, blood and stench poorly lighted by malfunctionning buzzing neons, he takes a gum, and goes outside, to the car pool, gets his car back and drives to the scene.

Yep, I'm back.
 
Brennick


The chief didn't say anything. He just grunted and waved you on before heading off to a meeting. By the time you get to the scene you've stopped sweating, and feel vaguely human. Not necessarily good but better.


The fire department is on scene with three of the morgue ambulances. The whole area is cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape, and some of the locals are gathered outside to look. Since they aren't in anybody's way, no one's paying any attention. The scene itself requires all your attention.


There are three distinct areas. The first is heap of stone rubble, still smoldering. The nose of a tracter trailer is imbedded in it, and the burned out hulk is dripping from being blasted with fire hoses. Now it's steaming and running with sooty mud. The morgue techs are pulling two bodies out in pieces, and placing them in body bags. The pieces aren't large, nor bear any resemblance to a person. Everyone is wearing masks.


The second area is the corner of a building. The blasted back end of a vehicle is there, and there's a slightly less charred corpse as well. This one is being bagged up now. Next to the debris is a brick wall, and there's a huge black burn mark on the side like a sooty aura. Several of the bricks cracked in the heat, and there are several sharp hole the size of watermelons. It looks like several somethings punched through from the fire.


The final site is a small store across the parking lot. It collapsed, and the roof has crumbled down in several places. It doesn't look burned though. Sergeant Marley is standing near it and coordinating with the morgue techs as well as the fire fighters. She's young, must have made sergeant young, and can't have much experience in the position. There are at least two dozen people here, and she looks frustrated from trying to manage all of them.,
 
Erin


Stephanie Whitfield died four years ago. She was gunned down in New York by persons unknown leaving her hotel, a five star affair next to central park. The murder was sent to the Organized Crime task force, but no leads were ever developed. As of now the case has been untouched in over three years.


In life she had been a genealogist, working mostly with historic genetic archiving. To vastly oversimplify a great deal of technobabble, rich families would let her take samples of their dead ancestors, and she would fill in the holes in their family trees. Her results were mostly to satisfy the curiosity of those interested in family history, but had disqualified a few people from rich inheritances. Her big claim to fame was that she had demonstrated that the hear appearant to the Romanov title was not in fact a direct descendant, and the Russians were pretty pissed about that. The new head contender was an Indian living in Delhi, most likely an illegitimate descendant. A serious fiasco had been building about it when she was eliminated. Now the Russian government had concluded the results were nonsense, and interest in the affair was waning.

Intelligence + Investigation, please.
 
Brennick steps into the ususal crisis that is managing a still warm crime scene... well warm is probably not appropriated... still smoking would be much more accurate.


He used to do that a lot back in the days, and his eyes never missed anything.


He walks around the scene moving his arms and hands, trying to recreate the scene in his mind, find the right angles, see what could have happened here. The shocks, the explosion, the blast radius, the collateral damage, the damage to the wall and what's left of the store. Nothing makes sense yet... but it will come.


He walks up to Marley and smiles.


"Hey there Sarge, name's detective Brennick, cap sent me to investigate whatever happened here. Any leads for me so far ? Any witnesses, surveillance cams on the streets or nearby stores ?!


If you need any help here, just holler."
 
Patrick


"That works." Patrick nods. "And, ah, will make it easier to ditch the car afterwards. Should we bother with gloves and wiping the prints off of it, or figure these bozos will have enough hocus-pocus behind them to make that not worth the trouble?"
 
Specialty applies. Good catch. Onwards and inwards, deeper and deeper.


Erin


Paging through the small packet of papers, you're at once impressed by the incredible density of information. Having spent much of the last bit of your life filing legal documents, you know a good brief when you see one. The depth of this one is excellent. But it also isn't arranged normally, and a great deal of it is indexed in a very strange manner. While you're half convinced you could find anything you want in here, the difficulty of making your way though its peculiar organization is daunting. You need time. And a place to work. And possibly a good Uzbeki dictionary.


But that's for later. Listed as the dead woman's most recent activities were a series of public information requests with various rental agencies. In fact, it looks like three years after her demise, she rented a house of her own down here to pursue that very affair. All of her requests are indexed and cross indexed in appendix J2squiggley line, squiggley line, batman symbol. Then there's something you think is a cow drinking coffee.
 
Erin's head is pounding with that yellow anger again. She knows she has stumbled across something important, but she has no idea what it means. But someone, obviously, thinks it's worth killing over.


She keeps walking, taking care to stay out of sight of the road, until she finds a library, a payphone or the turnoff to "Stephanie Whitmire's" house.
 
Kase scratched the back of his head with his free hand.


"Yeeeeeah...as much as I'd like to help out in this situation, there's not a lot I can do to be of aid here..."
 
Erin


At the first payphone she comes to, she calls Leah Browne's cell phone.


"Come on...pick up, pick up! Baby? It's me -- shh, no time to talk. I'm sorry I haven't called you sooner, some crazy stuff has been going down -- yes, I know we need to talk, but we don't have time. Listen, I seem to have pissed off somebody important, don't know who. They're going to make trouble for you. Can you stay on campus for a while and not go anywhere? I know they've increased the security presence since that thing at Cornell. Just stay on campus, stay around lots of other people, and don't go anywhere with anyone -- cops, old friends, anybody! -- until I -- oh, for gods' sake, Leah! I'm not having an 'episode'! You're one who's on meds, remember? Shit, I'm sorry I said that, yes, I'm sorry, just listen. Please."


Erin gnaws her lower lip. "Sure. When this is over, you can tell me anything you want. Tell me you're marrying that dork who threw up on you at the party and I'll accept it. Shhh, that was a joke. Listen: if you love me, just do as I ask. Please. Just this once. Because this is for real." Her face relaxes. "Thank you. Thank you so much. I gotta hang up now, Leah -- I gotta warn Mother and Dad. Oh, and remember the time of this call. Goodbye..." she smiles painfully. "Yeah. I love you too, bunny."


Now Dad and Mother, she thinks wearily. Only they're even less likely to believe me than Leah. Maybe I can tell them it's the Russian mob, or something. She almost giggles at the thought of her Russian stepmother's reaction. But I have to try. And then I'm going to get to the bottom of this.
 
Kase, Patrick


Athena looks leery at this direction of conversation. "I'm not sure I see where this is going. Are you intending to kidnap her? That would be problematic for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the moral unacceptability of the action. Other then the fact that she is an accomplished combatant with a surprising proficiency at fencing, The other thing to keep in mind is that a kidnapping directly prevents her from making a choice, which is unacceptable. She needs to retain the ability to make her own decisions."


Meanwhile, Bob eyes Kase. "Don't have much to offer? What do you mean? You've got a soul, a will, and hands. What else could you need?"


"Feet," Lace mentions dryly.


"He's got those," Bob points out.


"Yes, but you asked what else he could need. Feet."


"Bah. You don't need feet. Kick boxing is a useless art anyway."


Lace rolls her eyes but doesn't respond.
 
Brennick


((Neglecting the real details until you do a serious investigation))


Sgt Marley gives you the synopsis very quickly. She looks relieved to be turning this over to someone. "Total of seven injured and three fatalities. Officers Gherin and Tace are both presumed dead," she says, indicating the remains being pulled out piecemeal and put into bags. "Doc Hally says he won't be able to positively confirm that until they do a DNA match, which should be later this afternoon. There isn't," she pauses to collect herself. "There isn't enough left to do a dental match.


"They were escorting on Erin Hagans, a person of interest in the Griffith Law Firm bombing from this morning. I don't know if you got the brief, but when the bomb killed everyone in the building, Ms Hagans was out. She was the only one to survive. That being said, her errand had been completed shortly before. she left the company car and most of her personal belongings across the street, approximately twenty minutes before the detonation. We won't be getting anything out of her now, though, because she was in the back seat. Her skull was crushed, either in the collision or by the perpetrator afterwards. We should confirm the body's ID later today, and we're trying to contact a next of kin.


"As to the perp's MO, we don't know much. He clipped the squad car with a modified tractor rig, effectively severing it in the middle. We noticed that the cars were burned out with gasoline. The big rig of course is a diesel, and our cars of course use the high ethanol gas. So he must have brought the gas with him. Anyway, after the collision and torching both vehicles, the perp went over there," she says, pointing at the collapsed grocery store.


"From what we can tell, he walked in the front door and beat the crap out of everyone in the store. Afterwards he stole the propane rack out front, and loaded the cylinders into the trunk. It formed a high pressure system that blew, and that's what punctured the brick wall," she points back to the tail of the vehicle. "The people in the store fled, and the owner says he fired twice with a shotgun he keeps behind the counter, but doesn't think he hit. Sometime after they left, the perp stole a tow truck and ripped the building's front support collums out. He also left a message."


She hands you a piece of paper in a page protector. Written in black sharpie is, "Dirt: Track Six" There's also a bloody handprint. "We're running the prints now," Sgt Marley says. "It'll probably be another twenty minutes to a half hour though."
 
Erin


“…Look, it’s to do with the law office, okay? It’s a lawyer thing. So if anybody calls you or asks anything, you’ve got nothing to say. Like you used to tell us when we heard you talk about clients -- no, I’ve got no idea what you should tell Ekatarina and the kids! Just take them to that place in the mountains or to visit the state capital or something. Either somewhere well-hidden or somewhere where there are a lot of witnesses. Look, I don’t have time to listen to dithering, I haven’t called Mother yet...†Erin pinches the bridge of her nose. “I should have asked to talk to Ekatarina, dmn it…â€
 
Erin


"Yes, Erin, but I don't think you understand what you're asking. Tomorrow evening George and I are going to-" She is suddenly cut off.


The following several seconds of silence are some of the worst moments in your life. They end suddenly, not with dialtone, but with words.


"Hello, Miss Hagens."
 
Ice crystals form in the pit of Erin’s stomach. Unconsciously, she reaches for her sword.


“Yes? Who am I talking to?â€
 
"I am the Thousand Singing Tongues. Please listen to me very carefully and do not make me repeat myself. Our connection is excellent so there is no reason for miscommunication."


The voice enunciates perfectly. In fact, each word is so carefully pronounced that it becomes a kind of accent in and of itself. The tones are vaguely New Englandish, but with the hints of old world used by the rich or pretentious. Even more oddly, you have a very difficult time determining the sex of the speaker. There's an undertone in it, an odd one, that sounds familiar but you can't place.


"Miss Hagens, you have been contacted by the Castle via a minion, the Rooster. In the process he did some very bad things, which you could be considered an accomplice of. This is not an issue however, unless you make it one. The issue is the Castle. I want the Castle, and what I want, you want. Do you not agree?"
 
Erin wets her lips. “Suppose you tell me why you want the Castle so badly,†she says. “I’ve only met the ‘minion’, as you call him, so I’m obviously missing part of the story. I do agree with you that he did some very bad things.†Inside, her mind is screaming Dad! Aileen! Teddy! But no trace of it comes through in her cool voice.
 
I think you two are about to enter social combat. I'm not going to use the tick system because in this case I don't think it will be productive. that being said, please give me a perception + Investigation or Socialize for your last action. Unless you botch you'll notice that the Thousand Singing Tongues is unhappy about your question, and does not want to give you any reasonable answer. In general though, most of your responses will require appropriate die rolls.


Also, out of game, this guy isn't nearly the social fu badass who near deep fat fried Brennick's mind. I wouldn't take this lightly, but you've got a chance of at least learning something.
 
Erin


Back at NYU, you satisfied one of your Gen-Ed requirements with a theater class. You knew a couple drama geeks fairly well, and the three of you took the class together. They bemoaned the fact they had to take an Intro to Improv class pretty much constantly, but that's a tangent. Anyway, one of them was majoring in what was basically set design, while the other was an actress. To put it bluntly, she was excellent. Her line delivery was perfect, she was a joy to watch, and her body control and projection was always top notch. But the girl could not improv. It was shocking to her, and really took her down a peg. Basically, if you gave her a script, she could eke a personality out of a wall. She once stole a production as Chorus Girl #5. But without the script, without explicit directions at how to handle herself, how to act, what to say, and how to say it, she floundered.


You suddenly get a sudden flash of that memory as you talk to the Thousand Singing Tongues. You're suddenly sure he's going 'off script' in some way and does not like it. Something about the tacit, silent threat he's making is hampering him. It might be a ethical problem, but it just as easily might be that he doesn't know how to use it well. Specifically, he doesn't tell you that why he's after the Castle is none of your business. You've spent enough time with lawyers to know a tactical error when you hear someone answer a question they gain nothing by.


"Miss Hagens, certainly you have noticed that the Rooster is a man of vile tendencies. One who would employ such a being is no doubt familiar with them, and as guilty of the crimes as the shooter of a gun. With that in mind, does it need stating that some people have taken offense at this? I am one of those people.


Very soon you will be contacted by the Castle again. You will be offered assistance you desperately require. At this point you will contact me, and inform me of the nature of your interaction. Do you understand?"

Due to this being in English, I assigned the TST speaker the 'default' male gender. I did it because I wanted a pronoun, and 'it' didn't sound accurate. He expressly may be a she. Erin can't tell.
 
“With all due respect, making threats and demands out of the blue does not strike me as appropriate behavior for someone who supposedly holds the moral high ground,†Erin responds. Her tone is icily polite. “Nor does opening fire in the middle of a car-filled highway. Quite simply, you have given me no reason to trust you, let alone obey you, without a fuller explanation.â€


Every nerve in her body is shrieking at her to shout pleadings, curses, demands, to weep and beg and threaten. But she controls the silent inner outcry with an effort of will she never knew she was capable of.


Now her voice becomes conciliatory, almost cajoling. “I am a reasonable person, I assure you. My willing cooperation is not out of the question, if I could only understand what I’m cooperating with. But I need more than empty platitudes -- otherwise, how are you any different from the Castle?â€
 
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