Evil's Return (redux) Chapter 1: First Day Jitters

[Toastburner B]

((OOC: This first post is background, historical flavor text. If you don't want to read it, feel free to skip down to the next post)):

Four Years Ago

The weather, really, was just icing on the cake as far as Strike Team Echo was concerned.

The hunt had been going poorly. The single Supernatural Elimination and Containment Agency strike team, had been dispatched to the mid-sized city of Voorhesburg to hunt down a Wallace Smithens…a man well known to SECA for his uncanny ability to leave newly formed Hell Cults in his awake. If he was in Voorhesburg, then undoubted the city was about to see an upswing in supernatural activity. In theory, they would work with the local police department, letting the detectives go the footwork, and move in and take down the cultist when the police found him.

In theory.

The police, however, had been little to help. Voorhesburg was apparently in the midst of a once-in-a-century crime wave, and the police had little manpower, time, or patience to give to the cause of hunting down a single suspect. Wiser heads among the SECA troopers suspected that the timing of the sighting of Smithens and outbreak of a massive crime wave was a bit too convenient to be simple coincidence.

Despite the lack of police support, Strike Team Echo had still been able to track down the suspect…mostly. At the very least, they knew he was in the area. Of course, why they knew he was in the area was likely bad news in and of itself. The local police had found a room full of, as they phrased it, “weird symbols written in blood”. The SECA troopers knew enough to know that that likely meant there was now at least one demon at large in the city, but none of them were knowledgeable enough to know what kind of demon.

So, they had put out a general call for back-up. Unfortunately, Voorhesburg didn’t rate it’s own SECA branch, and none of the major organizations had any kind of branch, stronghold, church, temple, whatever in the city.

So really…the seemingly ice-cold rain, as far as Captain Dan Hampton, CO of ST Echo, was concerned, was just pure icing. It made hunting through the dilapidated slums, trying to find a single crazed cultist, now with the added chance of a demon jumping his team any second…yeah, he’d had better days.

His point-man raised his hand, bringing the group to a halt, and Hampton raised an eyebrow as a man, dressed in a fine suit and a stylish had that obviously wasn’t really designed for rain, stepped out of the shadows. “Echo?” the man asked.

“You are?” the point-man answered.

“I’m Duncan McCragge,” he said. He pulled a small card from his jacket pocket, muttered a few words, and a small blue flame appeared above it. “I’m with the Society. I heard your call for back-up.”

“I thought there weren’t any registered mages in Voorhesburg,” Hampton said.

“I’m on vacation,” McCragge said. “A really, really, really crappy vacation.”

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A few blocks away, the rain had driven residents and homeless of the slums into whatever cover they could find. For the Barsonnes, a long abandoned warehouse looked to be shelter for the night. They weren’t alone, however, as the number of camp fires and barrel fires in the building bore testament to. In fact, outside of the down turn in the weather, the warehouse had sort of a party feel to it, as the people inside the building tried to make the best of it.

A young man worked his way through the debris. “George!” he called out.

“Bryce, what’s up?” George Barsonne asked.

“There’s a guy lookin’ for ya, George. I told him I wasn’t sure if you where here or not, and told ‘im I’d check. You want to be here, or not?”

George considered. He was surprised that anyone would know his name, let alone be looking for him. “Did he say who he was?” George asked.

Bryce shook his head. “Nope. Said he was new in town, and that a mutual friend of your…Malone, I think he said…told him to look you up when he got to town.”

A smile blossomed on George’s face. “Well, a friend of Malone is a friend of mine. Take me to him.”

The young man led George to the entrance of the warehouse. Standing there was a man, slight in stature. His clothes were well worn, but not really old enough to suggest that he belonged here. Perhaps the oddest thing was that, despite the rain, his clothes were dry.

“Mr. George Barsonne?” the man asked. He had a slight accent, but George couldn’t place where it was from.

“That’s me. Bryce said that Malone told you to look me up. How is John?”

“No too well, I’m afraid. He’s dead, in fact.”

George was stunned. “How? When?”

“Murdered, about four months ago. It was…messy.”

Something about the way the man said it put George on edge. “What’d you say your name was?”

“Smithens. Wallace Smithens. I must say, Mr. Barsonne, you’re family was very hard to find.”

“And what did you want with me?” George asked, his patience running thin. Something about the man was rubbing him the wrong way.

“I’ve come for your daughter,” the man said bluntly

“What?”

“You see, through her, my kind will be made manifest on your world,” the man said. Slowly at first, then more noticeably, the man became taller, his limbs extended, and his skin changed color. “And I will be able to dwell here without this pathetic excuse for a body to keep me here.”

George stumbled backwards as the change continued, Bryce bolted screaming. “ImAgInE hOw mUch mOrE mAgnIfIcEnt I wIll bE thEn…”

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The first, coldest rule of a demon hunter is simple: Follow the screams.

So when the screaming started, Strike Team Echo and Duncan took off running. The scattering people running in the opposite direction told them that they were headed in the right direction. It soon became apparent that an old warehouse was the source of the chaos, and Hampton directed his team to split up, and cover it from all angles. “Think this is your man’s work?”

“Not his MO…he’s a recruiter, not a trouble maker,” Hampton said. He still wasn’t sure why he paired himself off with the mage, but McCragge seemed to know his business despite his apparent youth. “But we do know we have a demon running around. And this seems rather demon like.”

“True enough,” Duncan said. “At least the raining stopped. I’m always nervous working in the rain.”

Before Hampton could ask why, there came a piercing scream, close by, that ended abruptly, followed by another, more desperate and heartbreaking one. Duncan and Hampton sprinted around the corner, and slid to a halt. A demon, nearly seven feet tall, with arms so long the talons it had were dragging on the ground, through the remains of a woman carelessly to the side. A girl, maybe into her teens, was huddled at the end of the alley, clearly in shock. “And nOw,” the demon rasped, “yOu wIll cOmE wIth mE,
And-“

“Or: how ‘bout not?” Duncan yelled, and pulled a trio of throwing knives from his jacket. Barking words of magic, he threw the blades, which seemingly turned to lightning as they left his hand, and struck the demon hard.

The creature howled in pain, and turned to face his attackers. “InsEcts!” it roared, “WhY wOn’T yOU jUst AccEpt thE InEvItAblE And dIE?!”

“We’re just stubborn like that,” Hampton said as he brought his assault rifle up and opened fire. Duncan added to the assault with another series of lightning attacks. The demon howled again, and charged the pair. However, it didn’t make it far before the rest of the SECA team arrived, catching the creature in a cross-fire. Without a final cry of pain, the monster fell.

Gun still trained on the demon, Hampton stepped forward. “I hate freakin’ hybrids!” he yelled, kicking the still writhing creature in the head. “Freakin’ Smithens, I hate you, too!”

Duncan stepped past him, to where the girl was huddled. “You okay?” he asked. She shook her head. “Mom and dad…” she said softly, still in shock.

Duncan looked back at the demon. It was still alive, and he could hear it cursing with its remaining breath.

Duncan strode over to it, pulled out one of his knives, and stood above it. “Why did you want the girl?” he asked.

When the demon didn’t respond, Duncan drove the knife into one of the creature’s wounds. “Why?!”

The demon merely laughed.

Duncan turned to Hampton. “You guys got an exorcist in town?” he asked.

Hampton shrugged. “I don’t know. There’s a rumor that one of those Order of the Blade guys are in town, but-“

“Fine him…we got a poor soul who has been possessed and needs to be freed.”

Duncan hid a smile as he saw the look of fear in the creature’s eye.

“That’s right,” Duncan said, “I’ve heard of exorcisms on hybrids like you, Smithens. Not very pleasant for either party. The demon gets an express ticket back to Hell, and the host…well…I’m not sure who gets the rawer deal.”

The demon laughed again, but it was without conviction. “aND If I dO tAlk?”

“A quick trip to whatever afterlife you demons have. You’re choice.”

It laughed again. “I wAs sO clOsE. A fEw more mInUtEs, A mY kInd wOUld of OwnEd thIs wOrld.”

Duncan finally made the connection. “No…”

“yOU InsEcts ArE sO pAthEtIc thAt yOU cAn’t EvEn scrY whEn thE mOthEr Of yOUr dOOm Is bOrn…”

Duncan thrust his knife into the creature’s throat, and walked over to the girl. He searched his pockets, and pulled out a yellowed piece of parchment out; He remembered when it had been given to him, years ago, when soothsayers and fortune tellers had prophesied that the Mother of Hell. No one had believed it, really…after all, there had just been one back in the ‘40s, an there had never been a Chosen within a hundred years of each other. But what if…

With a word, the parchment caught fire…a pale, white flame. It rose from Duncan’s hand, and drifted towards the young girl. It stopped above her head, and turned from white to a black flame that was almost impossible to see in the darkness.

“God almighty…:” Duncan whispered.

[Toastburner B]

((OOC: Alright, this is where the game really begins. Sorry about my bad writing >_<

Double post due to length, by the way.))

Current day

“It’s a little early in the day to be drinking, isn’t Duncan?”

Duncan smiled as a seemingly frail old man came down an sat next to him. “Says the man in bar at eight o’clock in the morning,”

Nathaniel Jackson clucked as he lowered himself into a seat. “I’m surprised this place is even open.”

“The Observatory never closes, Mr. Jackson,” the pale skinned, black haired barkeeper said. “What will you have?”

“Coffee, if you have any,” Nathaniel said. He looked over at Duncan. “First day of school, huh?”

Duncan sighed. “Yep.”

“Sure doesn’t look good, does it?” Nat said.

“Nope,” came another single worded reply.

“Shame that Taylorsville High burned down, huh?”

“Yeah…amazing that the school that we spent the last few years turning into a demon free zone burned down three days before the start of the school year.”

“Yeah…fancy that. What school are they taking her too, again?”

“Southcliff. We got some basic wards in…nothing like we had at Taylorsville High. At the very least, we got all the Protectors posing as teachers and students over there, as well. Everyone else is at various staging points at places around the school.”

“And your staging point is a bar?” Nathan asked, a wry smile on his face.

Duncan shrugged. “It seemed logical. Most parents and/or legal guardians get nervous when they’re kids go back to school…not all of them have to worry demons kidnapping them. This was the only place I frequent that’s in fast reaction time of the school.”

Nathaniel shrugged. “Well, unlike some people who seem to be content to spend their day in a bar, some of us have to go to work.”

“And thanks for doing all the paperwork!” Duncan said.

“Your coffee, Mr. Jackson…to go.”

Nathaniel nodded his thanks to the barkeeper. “Thank you Nevar. Don’t get him too juiced up.”

The barkeep shook his head. “And risk Miss Barsonne? Perish the thought.”

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Jared Greyhall looked around the commons area of the totally unfamiliar school. He had memorized the layout of the now burnt-out Taylorsville High inside and out, but Southcliff was an entirely different building.

It always sucked to be the new kid…it sucked even more to be the new kid when you strongly suspect demons were somewhere in the school.

“Why couldn’t she just be home schooled?” he asked no one rhetorically. He looked around. She should be arriving anytime. Jared could only hope that the other Protectors were around.


((OOC: Welcome to the game, people. If you’re high school aged, you’re running around as a student, and are likely in the same classes as the MoH…AB’s character.
If you’re an adult, you got two choices: You can either be in the school as a teacher or security guard (which puts you closer to Pamelia, but you can only weapons you can hide or carry openly without causing a panic), or off-site in a quick response role (which puts you farther away from the action, but you have access to all your weapons.

For the time being, just go ahead and “slice-o-life” it…we’ll get to the mayhem shortly.))

[Bard The 5th LW]

"Damn-it" Abdul-Rahim muttered to no one in particular as he hurried into the school building. He was runninglate for 2 jobs in one day, the first being the schools geography teacher, and the second, more important, one being a Protector for the Mother of Hell.

He was new to this job, being accepted only recently, so he didn't know many of the other protectors were, but he figured they wouldn't be hard to pick out. He was familiar with his fellow Wardens in the Protectors, such as Damien who he briefly met with once, but otherwise his new co-workers were unknown to him.

He was running at this point, but his dang tie kept getting in the way, he preferred his duster, it made him look somewhat silly, but it was more comfortable. The lack of his magnum also made him uneasy, his magic was okay but he didn't feel comfortable without a gun.

When he made it to the class room he fumbled with his keys in one hand and coffee in the other and went into the classroom, figuring that he would notice if any of his co-workers/students were on the other side of it. He hoped there was, it might make teaching slightly less boring than it sounds.

[PyrosNine]

Task sat, patiently, sometimes scratching at his headband, sometimes looking at the various things lying on the Assistant Principal's desk, as his guardian (hand picked to look plus act motherly and overbearing) explained his "condition."

"I just want to be sure," she continued, deflecting any rational questions of why he always needed to wear the headband, "that my boy gets taken care of properly, and is able to have a good education in spite of his illness.

"But I would just like to know WHAT he's ill from!"

"I've already told you, it's Echondaimonion, a glandular based hormonal balance problem, which it's victims, my boy is a victim you know this, tend to have mood swings, uncontrollable aggression, and eventual cardiac arrest! It's only his special medicated bands you see on him that apply pressure to vital pressure points that keep him lucid and better yet, alive, right now! My poor boy!"

She wrapped both hands around Task and gave him a suffocating hug, nearly making him cough up breakfast. Though "warm" and "affectionate", he could feel her unease where her chest engulfed him: she was hugging what some would already flat out call a demon and put a few bullets in his head.

When he could see and breath again, the Assistant Principal looked just as flustered as he was.

"Well, I've read the Superintendent's letter on the matter, as well as leafed through this 12 pound pile of jargon from your doctor, but let me just be a bit incredulous still for one reason, as uncaring as it may sound. He doesn't look sick."

The specially trained liar didn't miss a beat.

"That's what's so terrible about his affliction! No one is truly capable of knowing how bad it is until it's too late. But there are still signs! I mean, does he really look like a healthy boy of his age?"

"Why, of course he- well..."

"You see it too? His thin, frail arms, those tiny lips of his? I mean, look!"

She grabbed a picture off the desk in front of her, showing the Assistant Principal's niece, and held it by Task's side, while pulling down on his hair a bit.

The Assistant Principal did a quick comparison, and with a sigh, seemed to understand.

"My poor boy's plight! Hormones are cruel, cruel to growing children, and cruelest to my boy most of all!"

The Assistant Principal placed a stamp on a piece of paper, and handed it to Task, who took it quickly.

"Hand that to your first period teacher, and make sure you report directly to the School Nurse should you have...a fit."

"Yes, thank you. He will, he will. Thank you for your time. Let us go Task, we don't want you to be late for your first day of school."

Task followed the woman outside the door of the office, and into the hallway. Instead of moving straight to class however, he followed her up to the front door of the school, and walked with her into an awaiting Xion. The driver was already at the wheel.

Within the tinted windowed confines of the car, she became an almost completely different person.

This is not an exaggeration. Aside from minor details, the hair, the eyes, the face, she had transformed into a woman much younger looking, wearing a fine business-like attire, a stark difference from the slightly meaty, wrinkled, 40 something who'd nearly smothered him with 'affection'.

"Alright, you're on your own from here on in. Don't mess things up. Don't attract attention."

"Yeah yeah, I know. This is only the twelfth time I've been told, you know."

"Don't cop an attitude, kid. This is serious. No doubt other agencies, including other sections of the Society, are gonna find you suspicious as it is. This is the sorta job where you wake up dead in the morning because some demon finds out where you live, or some demon hunter thinks that it'd be more risky waiting to find out whether you were a malevolent agent than putting something silver through your brain."

"Hmph."

"Just act like a kid, and a particularly uninteresting one. You shouldn't have any problem, unless you like getting picked on as the headband wearing medical freak, am I right?"

Task didn't answer.

"Get out of the car."

Task opened the door. he felt the woman grab his arm.

"-one last thing. GOODBYE SWEETUMS!"

The again motherly woman gave him a loud, wet smooch on the cheek, right in front of a large crowd of students that turned to face the loud "goodbye".

"Have a nice first day of school!" She said, closing the door, and with that the Xion drove off casually.

Task had nothing to say. Saying stuff would be weakness, and weakness would blow his cover. He was sure of it. His trainers, guardians, and the one who seemed to be in charge of this were all fairly fatalistic about this.

So he just pulled himself together, made sure his headband and gloves were nice and snug, and walked through the front doors to the school, slowly losing himself amongst the throng of students moving to class.

Instead of walking straight to class however,

[lazy man]

Rob walked through the halls of Southcliff High School rather uncomfortably. Everyone was giving at least a glance as he walked by, although not without reason. He was easily about six and a half feet tall and very fit. He seemed less like a student and more like an Olympic athlete.

That last part was true, of course. He had never been to school in his life, instead being trained half to death for twelve straight years to hunt and kill the supernatural. And all those years of near death seemed to be for the protection of one girl, the Chosen and Mother of Hell. She was a nice girl, and someone Rob wouldn't hesitate to protect.

So, no matter how out of place he may have seemed, Rob would have to keep an eye on Pamelia somehow while he was here. With the world at stake, he didn't really need too much motivation to begin with. Plus with a free room and free food, he wouldn't argue at all. Difficulty of the job was second to that, oddly enough.

Walking into his classroom, with more stares and glances greeting him, Rob sat down in a desk that felt far too small. All of these people looking at him and he was supposed to be undercover. Hopefully everyone else could be more incognito while he drew their attention, if anything.

[Gorefiend]

(OOC: I have one, final addition I wanted to make to my character, which is knowledge of krav maga, which its reasonable to assume a military character would know, (especially since the article names the UKSF, of which the SAS is a part, as being one of the many forces specifically trained in it.))

As he walked up the stairs and into the building, Adam straightened his tie. He had always been a pensive fellow, Adam. Though not given to poetry he certainly wondered about the road not taken and all that jazz, and the opportunity to try out the job he would have most certainly would have taken had he not been an army man... piqued his curiosity. Besides, there was no loss: if he would have been a good teacher, he could always request an honorable discharge after an assignment like this, if the experience even rattled him enough to merit such thinking. And if he was lousy, he was really only temporary. Kinda. Sorta. Until something happened. He'd studied the previous Mother of Hell campaigns he could find on record, and something always happened.

He made his way into his classroom in a hurry. These clothes: the suit jacket, the trousers, the dress shoes, the goddamn tie, were restrictive. Light, but inflexible. Still, they were a necessary evil: the jacket was there to conceal his holster, and the clothes were needed to keep their mission under wraps.

Bloody fire! Adam thought to himself. He had nearly arranged to have his rifle hidden in what would be his desk. Thankfully, he didn't get that far, but there hadn't been time to attempt the same here.

All the same, he reached his door and, with a bit of resolve, walked in.

[wight24]

Math I was always good at math . John thought to him self as he walked towards his class room. He had already had hidden his pistols in his desk the previous night. Although he felt some kind of an emptiness with out his rifle with him he still trudged on. When he found his classroom the first thing he did was check for his pistols and ammo.his pistols where there along with clips. He counted the books and read the lesson. The sound of teenagers flooding down the hallway to his room haunted him and made him feel for once unqualified. As the door was thrown open he suddenly felt a calm. The kind that comes before a storm.

[Overcast]

Today's disguise, teacher. Name: Larry Burright, typically Mr. Burright. Glasses, no real prescription, that were a bit loose around the nose so he would have to push them up from time to time. Hair, an awkward mixture of disheveled and organized that showed he was still trying, but that he was working hard enough that he couldn't maintain such organization forever. After all he had a class to teach and that was his life after all. White button up shirt, black tie, plaid slacks, dress shoes, blazer that would only be on when he arrived and when he left. A typical look for a teacher who is trying to maintain a professional look in a school filled with all sorts of kids. He permeated a sort of goofy atmosphere, which was what he wanted. He was that sort of awkward goofy teacher you either liked or hated. His subject? English.

He dropped his facade a minute, sitting down in his desk in the back of the room sipping on his coffee. Being a teacher here wasn't quite as tough as he figured. He knew the subject he was talking about and the character wasn't too difficult to keep. He kept his pistols in his blazer with hidden sewn in holsters, so he was always ready for the fight to arrive. It wasn't the first time he'd gone undercover, in fact in intelligence he had gone under more than once and after SECA it almost became a constant thing. He felt very at home being someone else. He looked at the large box of books each reading, "Waiting for Godot" an absurdist play they would be reading over time, would act one time, would analyze as a class and individually before they would get into groups and write and act their own absurdist play. That would fill up at least a quarter.

He had it all planned out, just like always. Another sip as he stared at the door waiting for it all to start. The first day. You just have to make it past the first day and it all becomes too easy.

[Arcanum]

Marcus had been sitting in his extremely comfortable chair since early this morning. He had arrived at the new school at the same time as the janitors so he could get a feel for the layout one last time before classes started. After a quick tour of the building he had gone to his classroom and sat down after concealing his pistol under a false bottom in the top drawer of his desk. Since then he had been sitting in that very chair, reading an old an battered book. Instead of memorizing lesson plans or subject matter, he had been busy trying to memorize a particularly difficult incantation. Marcus had been trying for some time now to combine both aspects of the Divine Battle Creed into a single spell, but the incantation always left him tongue tied when he tried it hastily. So for the past hour and a half he had been spending his time memorizing similar incantations, hoping they would help.

The sound of a bell brought Marcus's attention back to the classroom and he placed the book into another drawer of his desk. He stood up and removed his reading glasses, placing them in the chest pocket of his pure white dress shirt. He had forgone a tie, instead leaving the top button undone. He smoothed out a wrinkle in his white slacks, made sure his white shoes were equally impeccable, then grabbed a box full of Bibles from the shelf and began placing one on each desk.

"Why did they assign me as the religion teacher?" he asked the empty room. "Did they not realize I'm a firm believer in the Light? I'm sure this Jesus fellow was truly wonderful, did some great things, but I hope they don't want me to preach this stuff."

Of course Marcus's mumblings were really more to pass the time. He already had a teaching plan. He was simply going to teach the students awareness of the various religions. Start with Christianity and work his way through the other major religions. Regardless it was going to be a constant battle to avoid preaching the Light to these kids. He needed to keep his cover as an unbiased teacher.

He finished passing out the books not a moment too soon as he could hear students start to crowd the hallways. He walked back over to his desk and sat down again in his chair. He didn't plan to stay sitting once he started teaching so he might as well enjoy it while he could.

[Astral Harmony]

Pamelia's routine school day hadn't changed one bit despite the summer vacation and the change in schools since Taylorsville High School burned down just three days ago. She and two friends from since middle school were conversing in the hallway closeby the door to their first class, English with Larry Burright.

"So they're trying to make you transfer out?" Pamelia asked the rich brunette. "Actually, I guess it makes sense. Taylorsville High burned down just three days ago, and I imagine what your parents must be thinking."
"Yeah, and I keep telling them that I'll be just fine but...well, you know how overprotective parents can get over their children," Laurella moaned. "Forget being absolutely safe. I'd rather risk a little danger if it meant I could spend yet another school year with my friends and away from all those snooty rich boys, showing off their hundred-thousand dollar sports cars and whatever. Honestly, it's more suffocating than the smoke in our old school must've been that day."
"Well, I'm glad we can still go to the same school. It wouldn't be the same without you." Pamelia said. Though in my heart, I wish you weren't here, Laurie. The news can talk all it wants, but me and the ones protecting me...we all know why Taylorsville really burned.

Pamelia's summer had been a relatively uneventful one, but she learned a lot of information from the numerous books in Duncan's study. She studied numerous subjects, trying to understand about as much as the Mother of Hell's universal role as she could. She also tried to learn about the history of the organizations protecting her, and about demons, and then there were less important subjects, such as cooking. She even read a few books when they vacationed out to the beach.
"So I invited you to my mansion again over the summer break," Laurella continued. Pamelia noted that while Laurella didn't exactly like being thought of as some rich girl, she still often let things about her wealthy upbringing slip. "But once again you refused to come over. Don't tell me you have overprotective parents as well?"
"K-kinda like that," Pamelia answered uncertainly. She hadn't told Laurella much about her past. She hadn't told anyone about her brutally-murdered parents, or about the protectors. She couldn't. "I could try asking them, but I know they won't let me...at least not without taking a few of them along."
Laurella made a slight gagging sound, and they continued their idle banter while waiting for the first bell.

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Armored Bishoujo (OOC): "Laurella Kalvatyne. That name outta turn a few heads. In the previous Evil's Return, Laurella was none other than the Mother of Hell. Now, Laurella's just a normal young noblewoman. Pamelia and Laurella became friends after discovering that they had something to envy each other for, Laurella's obvious wealth and intellect and beauty and Pamelia's freedom and real life experience and determination. Laurella's childhood wasn't one of play, but rather of learning various things. She is a experienced cellist and has won a few dueling competitions, presenting lethal proficiency with a rapier. She dreams of a future of being independantly wealthy. Her grades are almost always perfect and her beauty can light up a room even before she smiles."