7.7.3 Subsection 19 (b)

An Agent shall not cause, intend to cause, or precipitate the causing of any member of the Public (as defined in 7.7.1 Subsection 2 (b)) to see, hear, smell, taste, touch, examine or otherwise obtain knowledge of the Paranormal (as defined in  7.1.1 Subsection 2 (c)), the Employer (unless such description is exempted under 7.7.3 Subsection 20 (a)) or subterfuge therein (as defined in 7.2.10 Subsection 3 (b) through 7.2.10 Subsection 3 (m)), or any Agents other than those on the Agent's team (as definied in 7.7.1 Subsection (s)), whether implied, explicit, direct, or indirect.

Terrel-Hoyte Enterprises Standard Employment Contract, page 937.

---

Saturday, March 13, 2010. Morning.

[Private to Francis 'Frank' Decourcey: Even after several months of paid vacation, last night you had a restless dream filled with bizarre imagery. In the light of day the details disappear, but you remember a tall, dark figure, a puddle of blood, and the feeling of being watched.

When you wake up, you notice that in the night someone has scrawled on the pad you keep next to your bed. You don't recognize the handwriting. The text says: Ram Abbalah! Can-tah Abbalah-doon.]

[Private to Tobias Byrne: Even after several months of paid vacation, last night you had a restless dream filled with bizarre imagery. In the light of day the details disappear, but you remember a tall, dark figure, a puddle of blood, and the feeling of being watched.

When you wake up, you notice that in the night someone has opened up a new Word document on your computer and typed a message. The document says: Ram Abbalah! Can-tah Abbalah-doon.]

[Private to Sean O'Leary: Even after several months of paid vacation, last night you had a restless dream filled with bizarre imagery. In the light of day the details disappear, but you remember a tall, dark figure, a puddle of blood, and the feeling of being watched.

When you wake up, you notice that in the night someone has scrawled on the pad you keep next to your bed. You don't recognize the handwriting. The text says: Ram Abbalah! Can-tah Abbalah-doon.]

Your cell phone rings.

[Private to Francis 'Frank' Decourcey: It's John Burns: There's a new case for you. Just when you thought maybe the Company wouldn't need you anymore. Since the case takes place in DC, there's no need for you to come in to the office, and a representative on the ground will lay out the case for you. You are given an address to a conference room in the Mandarin Oriental hotel, which is just a few blocks away from the National Mall.]

[Private to Tobias Byrne: It's John Burns: There's a new case for you. Just when you thought maybe the Company wouldn't need you anymore. Since the case is of some urgency, there's no time for you to come in to the office. and a representative on the ground will lay out the case for you. You are given an address to a conference room in the Mandarin Oriental hotel, which is just a few blocks away from the National Mall.]

[Private to Sean O'Leary: It's John Burns, your contact within the Company: There's a new case for you; just when you thought maybe the Company wouldn't need you anymore. Since the case takes place in DC, there's no need for you to come in to the office, and a representative on the ground will lay out the case for you. You are given an address to a conference room in the Mandarin Oriental hotel, which is just a few blocks away from the National Mall.]
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:22, Tue 03 Jan 2012.

Tobias listened to the call groggily. It must be urgent if Burns was calling directly. With a muttered assurance that he'd be right there, he began getting his things ready to go once again.

Computer... Hmm. Control-S, then into the bag. His gun went with him into the bathroom while he showered, shaved, and cleaned two months of jobless living off of his body. As he assembled his usual kit from the various places they had migrated over the past few weeks, he closed the preacher's old spellbook and replaced it in his safe, along with the printed hard-copies of his own spells. Too dangerous to leave lying around, even if he wasn't going to be gone long.

Bag ready, gun and rod holstered and ready to go. He locked his door securely, then headed down to the parking deck and over to the hotel.

[Private to GM:
Knowledge:(Arcane Lore) You rolled 19 using 1d20+16 ((3)). What do those words mean?]

As soon as he had woken up, Frank had spotted a scrawled note on the pad he kept on his bedside table, next to the cordless phone. He had ripped the note from the top of the pad before Diane had a chance to see it and had tucked into his shirt pocket.

He had spent the rest of that morning recollecting the strange dream that had woken him, so when John Burns called with the details of a new case, it was in a way a relief that he'd get the chance to discuss these things that he couldn't discuss with anyone else with someone from the Company.

"I know the hotel, John," said Frank. "I'll be there within the hour."

Diane gave him a disappointed look, Frank's professional tone made it clear enough that it was a work call.

"Nothing for months," said Diane, frowning. "Then they call you up on a Saturday out of the blue? It isn't right."

"It was worse when I was with the Feds, remember?" said Frank, putting his arm around her. "Security's a short notice business. I doubt it'll take more than a few days, and then we'll head down to the coast, just the three of us."

He ran his hands through her blond hair, kissed her goodbye, and then picked up Brianna, his six year old daughter.

"We'll go for a beach holiday, that's a promise Bree."

"Promise promise?"

"Yeah, promise promise."

Minutes later he was on the highway, on his way to the hotel.

PM:

[Private to Tobias Byrne: First of all just to be clear, the case is taking place in DC. I don't know where you live, but all your travel arrangements are naturally taken care of. Frank and Sean (who you don't actually know you're meeting yet) both live in DC so they will meet you there.

Knowledge (Arcane Lore) (19): The words don't mean anything to you. If they are magical, they sound like something a total amateur would make up. If they are a Shadow language, it's not one you've ever encountered. It has the guttural quality that matches the language of some Dwarves you've met, but you don't think it's Dwarvish.]

Frank made it to the hotel in just over an hour. It would have been less time if he hadn't hit bad traffic as he drove into central Washington. He pulled into the parking lot adjacent to the Mandarin Oriental and parked up in one of the spare bays. The sign said that all-day parking was ten dollars, but Frank was certainly hoping this meeting wouldn't take that long.

A short walk later he entered the ground floor lobby of the hotel and crossed over the polished marble floor to the check-in desk. Stating that the hotel was luxury was an understatement; Frank didn't even want to guess how much a night in here would cost.

His linen shirt, stone-washed jeans and smart shoes were some of the best clothes he owned, but judging by the look of disdain the desk staff gave him, he was under-dressed for the Mandarin Oriental. He did own a suit, but it was a cheap one that he'd got when he was FBI that simply screamed 'law enforcement', so he seldom, if ever, wore that these days.

As the immaculately dressed gentleman in front of him took his room key and let the porter take his bags, Frank stepped up to the desk. The stern looking woman looked up at him, guessing correctly that he couldn't afford to stay here.

"Can I help you, sir?" she said, primly.

"Er, yeah," said Frank. "My company's booked a conference room here. Terryl-Hoyte Enterprises. My name's Frank Decourcey."

He shifted his weight while he waited for her to answer his queston. Something about places like this tended to make him uncomfortable. He supposed it had something to do with a life working amongst some of the scum of society, rich society with all its rules and judgement set him on edge.

[Private to GM: OOC: Frank is carrying concealed. Spot DCs for weapons as follows:

Five-seveN (in concealed carry holster - rear of waistband) DC 20
Small (+0), in Concealed Carry Holster (+4)

Sig-Sauer P245 (in concealed carry holster - ankle) DC 24
Tiny (+4), in Concealed Carry Holster (+4)]

Setting down the phone, Sean ran his fingers through his hair.  “Looks like vacation is over.” he muttered to the hotel room.  Reaching over to the hotel stationary, he tore off the top several sheets and made a fist, crumpling the papers into a ball.

Dropping the ball into his shoe, he padded to the room’s phone and dialed room service ordering breakfast for one: an egg white omelet, toast and orange juice and asked them to leave it in the hall.  That taken care of he quietly went to the other side of the bed to see if Veronica had woken up.  Seeing that she hadn’t, he walked into the bathroom and took a quick shower.

Emerging from the bathroom in a cloud of steam he quickly got dressed, putting on a grey linen suit, over a maroon silk shirt and a geometric tie.  Stepping into his shoes made him pause.  “Damn dreams” he thought to himself as he pocketed the crumbled papers.  He slid his wallet and badge from the nightstand and pocketed them without thinking.  Next, went the thin leather-bound notebook and pen.  Last went the weapons, knife in a pocket and pistols in holsters.

Seeing she was still out, he jotted a quick note on the hotel pad:

V-

Work.  Call me.

-S

Then he took the note and went to the door to retrieve breakfast.  Tucking a corner of the note under the still hot plate, he set the tray on the nightstand and left the room.

He exited the hotel and hailed a cab.  “Mandarin Oriental” was all he said to the driver.

OOC: For those of you traveling from the south, this is your view of the Mandarin Oriental across the Potomac as you cross the Francis Case Memorial Bridge.

The woman behind the desk is intrigued by Frank's informal attire, but, being the professional that it is, she does not let it show.

Ah, yes, Mr. Decourcey. She taps away at a keyboard. I have your reservation right here.

She looks over Frank's shoulder and notices Sean and Tobias, who have just entered. And you must be Misters O'Leary and Byrne. What good timing you have! The hotel is upscale enough that the woman knows not to do something so vulgar as asking to see your IDs. In a place like this, in a city like Washington DC, visitors expect that everyone know who they are at all times.

She hands you a key, and tells you that it will allow the elevator to go to the top floor, where your conference room is.

"Well that's handy." Tobias said, taking one of the offered keys.  He felt even more shabbily dressed than Frank did. His jeans were black, and he was wearing a polo shirt. His car, he swore, was being sneered at by the others in the parking deck as they spoke.

He had never seen so many Bugatti badges in the same place. "Frank," he nodded to the investigator, "How're the kids?" He looked at Sean, but didn't introduce himself. He hadn't met the man, and perhaps Frank had.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:29, Thu 06 May 2010.

Sean studies the two men in front of him eyeing their clothes, noting the interaction between them, then offers by way of introduction, "I'm a friend of John's."

Glancing at the keycard in Tobias' hand he says, "I believe we are expected upstairs."

Frank smiled broadly when he saw Tobias, shook his hand firmly and patted him on the back. He enjoyed Toby's company and sense of humour, and it had certainly lightened the sombre mood of their last Company excursion.

"Toby!" he exclaimed. "Just the one kid, but she's fine. Misses her Dad when he gets called away on a Saturday though."

He took his key-card, slipped it into the breast pocket on his shirt and turned around to greet Sean.

"Frank Decourcey," he said, shaking the man's hand. "Call me Frank though, please."

The conversation continued as they headed to the elevator, swiped their cards and stepped inside.

"Well, John's a pretty good judge of character, I've heard, so I'm sure any friend of his is a good person to have on the team. Got a first name, Mister O'Leary?"

"Good to hear it," Toby said, following Frank into the elevator. "Name's Tobias Byrne. Friends call me Toby." He said to Sean.

"First name's Sean." he said in reply to Frank's query.  After shaking the other man's hand he continues, "Nice to meet you both."

Shaking his head he mutters, "Nothing says good morning like a call from John."

"Especially on a Saturday," said Frank, laughing. "It's the job we were born to do. Been the same since I first hit the streets. Don't think my better half will ever get used to it though."

Even the inside of the elevator was lavishly decorated with luxury details.

"Nice of him to hold it in this place though. A chance to see how the other half lives, so to speak."

The top floor, like the elevator, the lobby, and even the parking lot, is the pinnacle of all things elegant and expensive. A small sign informs the honored representatives from Terryl-Hoyte Enterprises that their private conference room is down the hall and to the left.

The small but comfortable room is dominated by an ornate oak table surrounded by eight leather chairs, but even this is overshadowed by the north wall, which is made entirely of glass and looks out onto the National Mall.

Unfortunately, the gray weather ruins the normally breathtaking view. Underneath dark skies the center of the city expands before you. At the edges of your view you can see the Washington Monument disappearing into the low-lying clouds, like a kid trying to hide behind layers of translucent curtains. On a clear day you could probably see all the way to the White House.

On the table lay three identical black secure laptops, which contain your assignment. As you read through the content, any fears you may have had about the weather being an omen about the work to come are fully realized: this assignment was chosen by the ESP division, and these cases are always the worst.

What makes the ESP division crimes so horrific is that they haven't happened yet, and it's your job to make sure that they never happen. The ESP division is an arm of the company comprised of individuals especially gifted at manipulating the multiple universes; so gifted that they can actually view glimpses of alternate universes where the time scale is off from ours, essentially getting views of the future.

It's not a reliable power, however. Because of the infinite nature of the multiple universes, not every event happens in every universe, so there's no perfect way to predict how, when, and if a crime will occur. For cases in which there's an extremely high number of alternate realities which contain the crime, it's reasonably certain that that crime will happen on our plane of existence, and the Company tries to stop them before they happen. With so few details, however, they are often unsuccessful, and the agents are forced to witness a preventable crime unfold in front of their eyes.

And today's assignment is not one crime, but a crime spree, and one that's very likely. In 89% of observable future universes, a serial killer prowls the suburbs of Washington DC, kidnapping children. Their bodies are found three days later, dismembered, and often... missing pieces. Then one day later another child is found missing. In 77% of the universes where this serial killer reigns he disappears without a trace after the 4th killing, and in 20% a man is caught and tied to the crime and, though few believe him to be the real killer, the kidnappings stop. In the other 3%, the kidnappings continue for years; the consequences to the city are devastating beyond comprehension.

All is not doomed, however; the ESP division gets glimpses of how the cases were solved, even if they don't see clear glimpses of the evidence itself. Included in the files, along with hand-drawn pictures of gruesome crime scenes, is a list of possible leads:

• Frank's Hot Dog Shaque, in Knox Hill
• St. Elizabeths Hospital, north of Congress Heights [Private to Francis 'Frank' Decourcey: Last Christmas you got a card from St. Elizabeth's hospital. David Mathers, the only other survivor from "the incident" while you were working with the SCU, was transferred from St. Martha's to St. Elizabeths. You didn't know why, since you've been hearing reports for years about how run-down St. Elizabeths had been, and you thought at the time that they weren't even using it as a hospital anymore.]
• Mr. Monday, full name unknown, whereabouts unknown
• "Abmayid", relevance unknown

Also in the files is the name of the 4th victim: Henry Leyden, from Mount Pleasant. The first three victims don't seem to follow any pattern, but the fourth victim is almost always Henry.

Lastly is a date: March 15th. It's the date of the first kidnapping.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:12, Mon 10 May 2010.