The Bureau of Anomalous Control and Containment

[Kazama]

Prologue

Alastair Cartwright pulled himself with one hand, the cold stone tiles slapping against his hand every time he slapped it down to tug himself another few inches. He gasped and panted in desperation, fear, and pain. The cavernous temple made everything echo. The only lights came from the braziers set along the wall, and the shine of a flashlight still shining from Mulder's body crumpled in the corner. Alastair slapped his hand down again, fingers digging into the crevices between the stones. He left a bloody splat where he brought his hand down. That was his blood.

His other arm was a broken mess. Nearly twisted into a 'V' in a direction it wasn't supposed to go in. He could hear footsteps behind him. One of his legs was little more than a ragged stump below the ankle. The situation had grown dire shortly after they'd found their way into the temple. They were too late. They'd been pushed into a corner. No one had seen Flanagan prepare a grenade, nor had they heard him pull the pin; he didn't have time to call it out before he was killed. And so, no one had seen that it was still in his hand when he was cut down. It went off right beneath Alastair a few seconds later.

Alastair crawled to his satchel. He could buy some time. He had to. It had fallen off of him during the chaos of the fight. He could see a glint of iron peeking out at him from under the bag. Almost there. The footsteps were getting close. Their owner was starting to say something; he couldn't hear it, his ears were still ringing. He made it to the satchel and gripped the revolver with his one good hand.

It was an old thing. Etched with runes, wrapped with a piece of leather twine with wooden prayer beads all along it. Leaves from some kind of herb were twisted into the twine. The gun smelled like incense.
The cylinder was open. The bullets had fallen out. Alastair hissed in pain and desperation as his hands reached into the satchel and searched. His sweating palm clamped around them. Five bullets. Made of gold with more runes carved along them. They seemed to vibrate slightly in his hand. He loaded each one. Five in total.

The voice got louder. The steps broke into a run. Alastair pressed the gun to his own head and pulled the trigger.


...


Chapter 1: No Rest For The Wicked

​

BACC BLACKSITE-G7 EUROPE
CARTWRIGHT LIBRARY
DIRECTOR'S OFFICE

THREE MONTHS PRIOR

Alastair snapped awake at his desk with a loud gasp. Like he'd just jumped out of a nightmare. He knew better, however. He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. The revolver was still held tightly in his hand. He looked around the library, sunlight streaming through the windows, illuminating the wall of bookshelves.

He checked the revolver. Four bullets left. He sighed again. He had a lot of work to do. He reached for a small bell on his desk, picked it up by the handle, and rang it.

A few moments later something tall and metallic clanked up to him, "Yes Master Cartwright, what was it..." it's voice was soft spoken with a mature but gently tone. Like a dedicated butler. There was a slight echo to its voice.
"I've just finished sorting the new recipes and... oh my. You used it again?"

"Get down to the Records Office. Staff dossiers. Bring them here. Investigators, non-human, less than two years of employ. All of them."

"Sir, I hope you don't intend to go through all of-"

"Investigators. Non-human. Less than two years." he repeated.

"At once, Master Cartwright." it replied calmly.

...

There's always an odd mix of anxiety and rousing expectation when you're given an assignment. The anxiety comes from the fact that the job can be overwhelming. Frightening, even. The rousing expectation however, comes from the fact that living at a site that isn't supposed to exist is only exciting for the first few weeks. Then you can only sit in the recreation room for so long. Without research to occupy them or daily routines and combat drills to keep them busy, new investigators aren't given much in the way of things to do. At least the library has a lot of books. A lot of them.

Investigators aren't allowed to take on assignments of their own until they've been at the BACC for at least two years. Until then, they're attached to a senior investigator.

Lizbet Visser.
Attached to senior investigator Rupert Walsh.

Pickman... just Pickman.
Attached to senior investigator Vanya Kapur.

...

Non-Human Dormitories
Visser's Dormitory

The notification of assignment always comes the same way. They send a printed message to your dormitory via courier, aka one of the security guards. A slip of paper with brief details (more would be given later) and orders to be at a designated briefing room in an hour. Of course, since Lizbet wasn't a full fledged investigative agent yet, the notice came with an addendum from her supervisor and senior investigator. Rupert Walsh.

'Meet me in the courtyard. Bundle up, it's chilly today! -Rupert'

The courtyard was set in the middle of the square shaped building. With the dormitory building surrounding the square, a cynical mind might look up and think the place akin to a cage. Rupert had never thought so. He liked the courtyard. It's green waist height hedges and stone tables always held a bit of comfort for him. He often went out of his way to spend his time here. As Lizbet entered the yard, he waved at her from one of the chess tables.

Senior Investigator Rupert Walsh
​

Lizbet had never seen Mr. Walsh's face. That was because he didn't have one. Rupert was a fellow non-human. His condition: he was completely invisible. He'd never said why. He just was. Everyone at the BACC is required to wear clothes; but Rupert was extra required, because clothes (and the bandages) were the only ways of seeing him outside of thermal imaging. Of course, there was also a tracking device in his shoulder; the BACC doesn't take chances.

As Lizbet came closer, Rupert gestured to the chess table. He's been playing against himself.
"Have a seat." he had a Manchester accent, having grown up in northern England, "Hungry?" he gestured to a plate of cookies at the edge of the table. Rupert often spoiled himself with sweet food when he could.

Despite being invisible and despite being one of the more seasoned investigators, Rupert had a rather warm personality. He'd worked with Lizbet for around a year now. Most of their assignments were usually low risk. Having a new recruit attached to you often had a tendency to move you into some of the easier jobs. Standard exorcisms, low risk curse resolution, and one or two unknown portals closed. Rupert had taken the helm on most of these.

"Have you read the assignment notice?" he said, pulling his own notice from his coat pocket. He read aloud, "'Unknown spiritual entity contained within a secure area by D.O.A. forces. Marakesh, Morocco.' Doesn't sound too hard now, does it?"

...

Non-Human Dormitories
Pickman's Dormitory

The notice came with more than one slip of paper. It came with a ticket from the requisition center in the building.

'PICKMAN - 1x STANDARD MEAT RATION (HUMAN 2.5kg)'

The Requisitions Office usually had smaller offices in buildings. They handled everything from ordering furniture for your dorm to... delivering human meat in small plastic containers. With a plastic spoon and everything. The meat came minced, hence the spoon.

Compared to human meat in the "wild", this meat tasted... different. Not different in the sense that it wasn't human. It was definitely human. There was just something different about it. Like drinking a brand of cola you're not used to; something was always just a little off about it. It was impossible to put one's finger on it.

Along with the note came a similar addition like Lizbet's.

'Get your meal then meet me. Front of the building. We have work to do.'

Vanya didn't like to be kept waiting. She was the kind of person who considered every second spent idle as a second wasted.

The front entrance of the dormitory faced away from the Cartwright library, towards the tussle of square shaped buildings that made up the D.O.A. area. Vanya Kapur stood near the entrance, arms crossed. She watched some of the soldiers run around a track, a drill sergeant beside them, shouting away.
She spoke, keeping her eyes on the track, "Eat quickly."

Senior Investigator Vanya Kapur​

Vanya was a mage. She'd been a prominent one too. There was a point in time where she'd been pretty high up on the BACC's list of most wanted magic casters. She'd been the kind of problem the BACC solved with a high powered sniper rifle; not diplomacy. In the end, however, she'd come to a deal with the BACC as years of cat and mouse; and with a little security (a BACC tracker similar to Mr. Walsh's but with a small charge rigged to explode should the need arise) she agreed to come into custody. That, and she had proven too clever for the high powered sniper rifle.

There were rumors that she'd agreed to come in because she'd been running from something or was seeking protection from something. Even if that was true, Vanya wasn't the kind to talk about her past. She grew up in Eastern India. That was pretty much all she would say about her past.

As Pickman came close, she held up a book she'd had in her hand, and pushed it against his chest, making him take it.
"'Elizar Lucis' Notes on Geomancy and Its Uses'. An excellent read. Something for you to do on the helicopter ride over. You've finished the other books, yes?"

Despite Pickman not being a magic user, Vanya had insisted he read spellbooks and other spellcasting grimoires. Even if he can't cast it, she believed it was important for him to understand magic. So she'd had him studying book after book. Vanya was a strict teacher.

"Now, our assignment is a simple one. A standard exorcism here in Italy." she turned to look at him this time, "I am thinking of letting you perform this one on your own..."

 

[PoetLore]

Lizbet accepted the note and read it quickly, as she always did. Taking her mentor's advice, she pulled on a thick blue knitted sweater over her turtleneck and added a thigh length lined jacket over that. Her hands were gloved as usual but she grabbed a pair of bright blue earmuffs on her way out the door. There was very little information contained in the note, but that wasn't unusual. Rupert tended to be a bit cryptic in that way, and she'd come to expect it and even prefer it.

She made her way outside and was assaulted by a blast of cold air. Pulling up the collar of ehr jacket to add additional warmth to her neck, she then pushed her hands into the fur lined pockets of the jacket. Luckily the courtyard wasn't a long walk and was protected from the wind being situated as it was in the middle of the square. She had enjoyed her time with Rupert, and though she had no idea who chose the partners for the new members of BACC, she'd felt fortunate to have been paired with Rupert. She approached him and took the seat opposite him and looked at the game before him. "Rook to Bishop 6, " she said after scanning the board for a second, "That is, if it is Black's turn. Queen to Bishop 6 if it is White's turn."

She did help herself to a cookie and then nodded, "I did indeed," she replied to his question, "If there is one thing you have taught me, it is that I should never be lulled into a false sense of security and confidence. Do you have any knowledge of what sort of containment was used?" She bit into the cookie and secretly wished for coffee for dipping and to warm her fingers. "Otherwise, my only thought was that Marakesh should be warm this time of year...a welcome thought at the moment."

 

[Dunruffle]

Pickman read the note that was passed under the door and grinned, excited at being able to move around. Putting on some standard issue combat boots and combat rated camo pants, Pickman rummaged around his closet for a shirt. If given the chance, Pickman likes to wear clothing with occult images or slogans. While others may not be amused, Pickman enjoys the irony of a ghoul who works for a secret organization wearing a cthulhu shirt.
(Image on shirt)

Putting his mp3 player and earbuds in a pocket, Pickman ambled over to the requisitions office and picked up his meal. Prying open the lid and eating as he walked, Pickman rounded a corner and sidled up next to Vanya. Briefly juggling the book thrust at him with his food, Pickman tucked it under his arm and noisily ate his food.

"Aw cmon Vanya, why can't you ever give me something fun to read? The graffiti handbook was really cool, I dont get why everyone got all pissy when I used that fine art to express myself." Chuckling at the memory of spray-painting a mural featuring a zombie horde on the side of a building. While it was quickly removed, it was actually well done. Finishing his food with a loud burp, Pickman stretched and cracked his neck loudly. "You want me to do this solo? If I didn't know better I would think you were trying to get rid of me....but I know you love me Vanya! Under that grumpy face is a big softy." Pickman's unique raspy voice teased the stern woman as he made puppy dog eyes at her. Pickman was one of the few people that could use Vanya's first name without attracting her ire. When first put together, almost every day Pickman would lose various body parts as a result of his teasing. Eventually it seemed Vanya decided punishing Pickman was a waste of energy and simply ignored the annoying ghoul.

 

[Kazama]

Rupert looked down at Lizbet's chess advice.
"Very good." he said. He moved the black rook. It put the white king in check. "Just remember. If something seems too easy," He moved the white queen in front of the rook. The rook took it... and moved one space too far to prevent a white bishop from moving in and closing a trap around the black king.
"...then you're probably being misled." The black king had nowhere to go. Checkmate.

He gestured at the table, "White was two turns away from victory no matter what black did. Some ends are just inevitable." He tapped the sides of the tinted shades he wore, "You just need to know how to spot a lost cause." The finger he tapped the shades with wore a wedding ring over the glove. He'd never talk about the ring, though.

Rupert had always liked making lessons out of little things. He was the kind of mentor who could take you out to sit on a bench during an overcast day, gaze out at the ocean, and make a lesson out of it. And a good, insightful one too. 'Long talks that amount to nothing are good talks, but not useful ones' he'd always say, 'Long talks that teach are just as good, maybe better.' And despite the rather rigid name and nature of blacksite, there were quite a few spots with a great view of the ocean.

When Lizbet mentioned Marakesh, he shrugged.
"Hmm, yes Marakesh is most likely warm." He looked down at his clothing. He'd always been a winter wear type of person, "Maybe too warm. As for containment, it's quite standard. Set up a portable vitaeon disruptor, point a dozen rifles at the building, and shoot anything that tries to leave. From what I can gleam, the spirit hasn't tried to leave so I'm wagering it's bound to the place or at least something in there. Perhaps a lesser djinn. It is Morocco. Shouldn't be a problem, unless someone's given it a wish, which might complicate things. But, nothing we can't handle."
He stood up, pushing his chair into the table and leaving the pieces where they stood, "Either way, we're due for the briefing quite shortly. May as well get there early, right?"

He turned around only to see one of the guards walking towards them. He seemed to think he was going to walk past them and waved for Lizbet to follow him when the guard stopped in front of him.

"Mr. Walsh? Ms. Visser? I'm here to escort you."
"Oh that won't be necessary, we know where we're being briefed."
"My orders are to escort you to the Director of Investigations' Office."
"Director of... why?"
"Please come with me, sir. Ma'am."

Rupert looked at Lizbet. It was impossible to see his expression, considering he didn't have one. But it was quite clear; this was unusual, and he 0didn't like it.

"Very well. Lead the way." As they began to follow, he muttered, half to Lizbet, half to himself, "What would Dr. Cartwright need us for?"

...

Vanya shook her head. Graffiti indeed, "They became 'pissy' because vandalism is a serious offense. You are lucky the guards did not mistake you for an intruder and open fire."

She grimaced when he burped. She couldn't stand his eating habits, but had long ago realized pointing them out only made them worse. So she'd stopped pointing them out and started picking out bigger books for him to read instead. Vanya was a strict mentor. When Pickman had first been assigned to her, he wasn't even allowed to look or learn about anything supernatural or anomalous until well after a month of seemingly menial tasks.

She was the kind of mentor who taught you what you needed, not what you wanted. Whether you liked it or not.
Her first lesson had seen her giving Pickman a large sack of beans. She'd told him that there were roughly two thousand beans in the sack and one light brown pebble that blended in with the beans. She made him find the pebble without taking any beans out of the bag, and she'd completely ignore him until he found it. She did this several times over the course of several days. Why? Because details are important to investigators. And if he can't find a pebble in a sack, she doesn't trust him to find a solution to a real problem.

Sometimes she'd give him a photograph, a portrait of a somewhat rotund man in an armchair, and tell him she wouldn't teach him anything more until he could spot that particular photograph in a pile a of identical photographs. There were fifty photos of the same portrait, but only one of the images of this rotund man was his. Because memory is critical.

Since he was a ghoul, she'd often lob a limb or two off and have him perform daily tasks without them. Cleaning a room with one arm and one leg isn't easy. But a sense of adaptability and a lack of reliance on your usual tools is an important lesson.

Most of her lessons made no sense at first. It was nearly a month before she finally started instructing him without riddles. And even then, there were still a lot of riddles.

"If I were trying to get rid of you," she said, "you would've been providing the fish at sea a great feast ages ago." She pushed away from the wall she was leaning on, the silk-like robes around her seemingly shimmering in what little sunlight there was on this cold day. Those robes were the closest thing she used to work clothes. Traditional garb of the Kapur line of mages, a lineage that stretched back for thousands of years. A powerful lineage. Vanya was arguably one of the most powerful mages on the site, for many more reasons than just her bloodline.

"Now, the exorcism should be simple. Child's play, even. Like all others, demons are magic in essence, and thus respond to symbolism. The most commonly used symbol is the cross but any symbol that humans place faith on will create a reaction. From there, it is a matter of getting the demon to react enough to leave its host before capturing or killing it. Even you can do this." Vanya had a tendency to explain things to him, whether he already knew them or not. Like she was afraid he'd forget overnight.

"Furthermore, you need to protect yourself to ensure the demon does not make you its next host. Just like getting the demon out, keeping it out requires the use of human symbolism and the creature will react so long as you are either near or wearing such symbols. I will still be there, since a cornered demon will most likely attempt to-"

"Ms. Kapur. Mr. Pickman."
"What is the meaning of this?" Vanya hated being interrupted, "I am in the middle of a lesson, guardsman."

The guard's face was hidden behind tactical goggles and a balaclava, but it was clear he found Vanya intimidating.

"I've got orders to escort you to-"
"We know where we're being briefed, and it isn't for another hour."
"N-Negative ma'am, my orders are to escort you to the Director of Investigations' office."
"What for? What does Alastair want?"
"I don't know ma'am. I'm just the messenger. And the security detail."

Vanya's permanent frown seemed to deepen. She turned to look at the great library in the distance and muttered, "I knew I felt something earlier." She turned to the guard, "Fine. Take us."

...

The library was quite warm. Rich, brown wood adorned everything, complimenting the warmth of the building. The first floor was nearly empty, not many personnel used the library in the morning. There was a single clerk sitting in a desk, eyes buried in a magazine. The following elevator ride up ended at the fourth floor.
The elevator opened into a small room. Like most of the library, the walls were made of rich, polished wood. Besides the elevator door, there were only two other ways out. There was a set of stairs that led down, and a pair of heavy double doors that led deeper in with two guards posted by them. There were bookshelves here too. There was a sign hung in front of each one.

ANOMALOUS!
DO NOT REMOVE BOOKS!​

Practically all the signage at the BACC had an incredibly alarming tone, regardless of whether things were dangerous or not. Part of the 'Better safe than sorry.' mentality the organization had. The books here weren't dangerous. They simply turned turned to sand in your hands before reappearing on the shelf if you tried to open them. The sign was most likely there to keep visitors from leaving behind piles of sand. If they had been truly dangerous, no one would even be allowed near them. There were still a few parts of the library that were anomalous. Most of the harmless things were kept behind signs like these.

Vanya and Pickman had arrived first. Vanya was already in an argument with one of the guards when Rupert and Lizbet arrived through the elevator. The guard that brought them saluted the other guards by the door and stayed in the elevator, disappearing behind the closing elevator doors.

"What do you mean wait? My time is precious, guardsman. Stop wasting it and tell me why we're here."
"I've already told you, ma'am. I don't know. Our orders are to keep you here until Dr. Cartwright is ready to see you."
"This is nonsense." she said, "If Alastair wants to talk to me, he could have just come find me himself."

"Leave the poor man alone, Vanya. If he doesn't know, he doesn't know." Rupert said as they approached.
"Rupert? And..." it takes her a moment to recall Lizbet's name, despite never having formally met her, "Ms. Visser."

Rupert nods, "Before you start badgering me too; Lizbet and I are just as confused as you are." Rupert glances over at Pickman, "Ah and you're..." his finger remains pointed at Pickman, but he can't seem to remember his name, "Pike Man, right?"

 

[PoetLore]

Lizbet examined the board as he spoke and moved the pieces. She mentally put them back and made another move and as he had said, no matter what move she made with the black pieces, white won in less than five moves. Electric blue eyes lifted from the board to regard him with interest. "Your object lessons are always insightful." She was often quiet in his presence, just because she felt he had so much to teach her, and she had soooo much to learn. Being part of BACC was a very humbling process for her in many ways. Luckily for her, she had been given a mentor with a gentle nature and a patient manner and that helped sooth her wounded ego.

He was explaining about the assignment and she listened intently as she always did, "Dijin can receive wishes?" she asked as a frown creased her brow for a moment. She had believed they could only fulfill them for whoever released them from containment. Most of the old fables that people believe were not the actual truth, which was another thing she had been forced to recognize as fact since working here as well. Some things were purposely put out into the world erroneously to protect the general populace, and others were just never corrected when a false claim was made. "We have a good track record, you and I." a slight grin formed on her lips, "I am sure this will be another success." She had complete and utter confidence in his leadership and it showed.

As they stood to make their way to the briefing room a guard approached and spoke to them. That in and of itself was different, because she could not ever remember a time a guard ever even glanced at her twice. She gave the guard a nod when she was addressed directly, and listened to Rupert speak to him. The director? Suddenly the hair on her arms was standing on end, but she followed as instructed.

The walk and the elevator ride was overwhelmingly quiet, as was the library in general. she felt pressed upon by a heaviness she could not explain, possibly nerves, possibly something else. It was impossible to tell the difference most of the time in this place. Her mind had to be strictly contained here, because there were far too many things that could trigger an episode in her. Her initial training had prepared her for it, but the added pressure of meeting the director was not helping her.

They stepped out of the elevator and a woman was speaking in a very agitated manner to a guard and both her brows raised and her eyes were wide. Rupert spoke in his normal gentle manner, diffusing the situation. She again nodded and dipped her head a bit when addressed by the other mentor. She did not speak out of respect.

Her eyes wandered over the two and she noted that the man was not a classified human either. He was pale, though that would not have been enough to give him away necessarily. She saw the box of food, so that meant he was an undead entity of some kind. Trying unsuccessfully not to stay, she finally had to force herself to examine the room instead.

Folding her hands together before her she turned slightly and looked about trying to calm her nerves and her mind.

 

[Dunruffle]

Pickman had to suppress a chuckle as Vanya was forced to follow orders. Exiting the elevator Pickman couldn't resist the urge to annoy Vanya. "Aww, the big bad Vanya being forced to wait like the rest of us plebians. How the mighty have fallen." Still holding the book and tupperware, Pickman was torn as to what to do. Usually Pickman would just drop the tupperware on the floor and that would be that. But being in the Director's office made that impossible.

Looking at Rupert as he spoke, Pickman shrugged. "Pickman actually, but whatever you wanna call me is fine Mr. Bandaid." Looking over at Lizbet, Pickman wiggled his fingers in greeting. "Heya Lunchmeat, dont worry about me I dont bite...well not other BACC people at least. What's your shtick? Make people explode with your brain or sumthin?"

 

[PoetLore]

Lizbet blinked at Pickman's willingness to be indiscreet with his elders. Maybe he felt he had nothing to lose, but she knew different. Even though she was a human, she was classified as a non-human, so even she could be contained if they felt the need to do so, contained or eliminated.

"I am Lizbet Visser," she said with a nod, "I have not exploded anything,...yet." That was likely because she had never attempted it. There was probably a method that could be employed to create such an occurrence. "But if you are asking for my classification, I am a psychic." She regarded him intently for a moment, "Are you always this lacking in propriety?"

 

[Dunruffle]

Pickman quirked an eyebrow at Lizbet's response. "Psychic huh? Thats cool I guess. Word to the wise, if you go poking around inside my head dont blame me if you start craving brains." Tapping his foot as he waited, Pickman let out a raspy laugh as Lizbet questioned his manners.

"Propriewhatnow? Sorry Lady Lunchmeat, I dont know fancy talk. But I am guessing it was something along the lines of manners? Well since I am already dead I dont really care if I die or not. Plus everyone here is so uptight...some more than others." Pickman said the last part in an exaggerated stage whisper while pointing at Vanya. In reality Pickman understood Lizbet, he just prefers that everyone thinks he is a dumb ghoul. It both lowers others expectations as well as their guard, making them easier prey.

 

[PoetLore]

Lizbet shook her head and her brows furrowed a bit, "I do not poke around in ...well not in other agent's brains at least. You are safe from intrusion." She wasn't exactly a fan of invading minds, and only did so when she was ordered to do it or when it seemed the only way for them to accomplish their objective.

What was with the lunchmeat? She examined her names and she could not for the life of her figure out how he was creating that from her name. None of her names had such a meaning. She brushed that aside though and taking his lead and whispering back, "Are you not afraid of being contained?" she asked flashing her electric blue eyes at him. They had tiny silver shoots of color to them that almost seemed to flash like lightening when she looked at you with intent. There was no such actual happening, but the color and the shoots created a rather dazzling effect.

 

[Dunruffle]

Pickman chuckled as Lizbet regarded him seriously. It seemed that she was not that used to dealing with others, a fact that Pickman knew he would enjoy immensely. Knowing full well that both Vanya and Rupert could easily hear them, Pickman humored Lizbet and whispered as well. "Honestly?...Not one bit. If they were going to contain me they would have done it awhile ago. What about you? You afraid of being contained?"

 

[PoetLore]

Lizbet blinked at him. He was not afraid? Maybe that was because he was already dead. She did not have the same luxury. "You are not?' she asked blinking a bit more, "yes I am," she replied honestly. "I am not sure how they go about containing someone like me, but I cannot believe it would be something I find pleasant."

She frowned then and wrapped her arms around her middle protectively. Deciding that a change of topic was in order, "How long have you been part of the BACC?"

 

[Kazama]

That change of topic would never be completed. One of the heavy wooden doors opened just a crack. A gentle, mature sounding voice called,
"Dr. Cartwright will see you now." There was a slight echo to it.

When Vanya and Rupert tried to lead the way into the private library the guards stopped them, "You don't have permission to enter."

"Excuse me?"
Even Rupert was getting annoyed, "Then why the hell call us up here?"

The voice from the door interjected, "I am terribly sorry, but Dr. Cartwright only wishes to see Ms. Visser and Mr. Pickman."

"As their senior investigative supervisor-" Vanya began, but was interrupted.

"Again, terribly sorry. Dr. Cartwright has specifically requested that all others be kept out while he meets with his... guests."

Rupert looked at Lizbet while Vanya kept trying to press the matter. He seemed to struggle finding his words, "Just... I'm sure you'll be fine. Just let me know how it goes."

Vanya saw this, and seemed to realize this was one of the places she couldn't throw her rank around.
"Tell me everything." she whispered as she walked past Pickman.

The guards stepped aside for Lizbet and Pickman, and swung one of the doors open for them to walk through.
Once through the doors, there were another pair of doors in front of them, just a few feet away. Those had one door open too. The one behind them closed shut.

A tall suit of medieval plate armor opened the other door in the second pair of doors.

The suit clanked a bit every time it took a step.
"I do apologize for all the secrecy. Please, follow me."
When it spoke, the voice seemed to come, not from the face, but from the chest. The hollow tone of the clanks, the echo in the voice and its origin point. This suit was empty, yet moved and spoke like someone's butler.

It led them through the doors and into a library littered with books, trinkets, and with strange looking artifacts on pedestals set around the room.

The DOI Director's private library. It had a warm atmosphere, like most of the DOI library, but there was something different about this place. Of obvious note was how lived in the place seemed. There were desks sprawling with books, scrolls, and scribblings on note books. Chalkboards with geometric patterns, walls of notes, and formula after formula. Most of these work spaces were accompanied by empty cups, perhaps having contained coffee. Left behind, as the flurry of work left no time to even take care of cups.

The suit of armor clanked into the room and turned to face them, clasping its hands in front of itself.
"My name is Theodore, though you may call me Theo if you so desire. Please do not touch anything and follow me this way."
It walked a bit further into the library and led them further up the stairs.
There were more books up here, though the spaces were much smaller. There was no open area like there was downstairs, and the dark red carpet and abundance of shells made this place feel much darker than the sunlit windows they'd initially walked past. There were doors every so often on the walls. Theodore led them to one of these and opened it, gesturing for them to walk inside.

"Sir and madam, if you please."
"Shut the door, Theo." said a voice.

The windows in this room formed an arc that faced the sun at this hour, so the streaming sunlight in here took a moment to adjust to after the relative darkness. There was a desk; two armchairs in front of it. This was some kind of study. Alastair Cartwright stood with his back to them, looking down at something outside.
"Have a seat." he said. He turned to face them.

Alastair was surprisingly young. Late twenties, maybe early thirties. His face was gaunt; sharply angled with a seemingly permanent frown. His grey eyes seemed to cut through you, beaming out from behind his spectacles to scrutinize you. He wore a vest, a dress shirt under that. His oxford shoes tapped against the tiles as he walked to his desk.

"Sit down." he ordered calmly as he took a seat behind his desk, "I assume you know who I am."

 

[PoetLore]

Lizbet was not expecting to have to face the director alone. Her nerves were bad enough with the comfort of having Rupert there with her, but now even that bit of safety had been removed. When he turned to her to say she would be ok, he could no doubt see the panic in her eyes. She bit her bottom lip and nodded as she moved past Rupert and through the door the guard had opened.

She visibly shook at the sound of the armor moving, but once she realized it was going to continue she settled herself. She felt no danger from it, and just followed behind looking about at everything as she did so. Her hand had ALMOST touched a book atop one of the tables when Theo said not to touch anything and her hand immediately drew back and folding with the other in front of her.

The room was beautiful to her, with the light shafting through he windows and the books, oh the glorious books everywhere. The wealth of knowledge that was contained in just this room....it boggled her mind. But soon they left that room and entered a darker one that seemed far less inviting and even a bit sinister to her. Luckily though they left that are quickly as well, and arrived at their destination.

She squinted against the brightness of the light as she stepped forward. What she expected the director to look like, she couldn't have said in any coherent manner, but ti was definitely NOT the young man before her. She'd imagined someone with graying hair, possibly receding from his brow and hunched over from studying the tomes of knowledge held within this cloistered library. Instead, a young man, not much older than herself stood before her. A million questions immediately formed in her mind, but his voice cut through them and forced her to focus. "Director Cartwright?"

 

[Dunruffle]

Pickman smiled widely when it was announced that only he and Lizbet were going to see the director. Quickly shoving his book and tupperware into Vanya's hands, Pickman whispered back. "It's going to cost ya." Giving the robed woman a teasing wink, Pickman followed Lizbet forward.

When they were greeted by Theo, Pickman nodded amicably. "No sweat tinman, cloak and dagger is practically expected in BACC." After being told not to touch anything, Pickman obviously wanted to do the opposite. But Pickman knew that he would have to restrain himself this time or Vanya would be the least of his worries.

Entering the office, Pickman tilted his head curiously as Cartwright addressed him and Lizbet. Taking a seat, Pickman smiled cheerfully at Cartwright. "Yup! The big scary director, shrouded in mystery and one of the most powerful people in the world....well at least that is what I hear the guards and staff say at least. But you look pretty normal...sorta...anyways nice to meetcha boss!"

 

[Kazama]

Alastair didn't give Lizbet a response; it was a rhetorical question.
Pickman however, did not receive a verbal response. The only sound in the room was the sound of a ticking clock, but Pickman had earned himself a spot on the receiving end of two grey, razor sharp eyes. Alastair didn't glare, just glance. In fact, he may not have even cared about such an aloof comment. But the moment his eyes landed on Pickman, they seemed to cut through him with the cold incision of a scalpel.

This was a man who truly and utterly had no sense of humor. If one existed it was hidden under several layers of cold detachment. He found Pickman about as funny as he found the stack of folders currently piled from floor to waist height in the corner of the room.

"Well then. I may as well get to the point of why you're here." he said, breaking the silence. He opened a drawer at his desk and placed two folders.
"Lizbet Eild Visser. Pickman. You've been under BACC employ for just about a year now, correct?"

He pulled a document from each folder. Their names and photos were on the inside of the folder. As well as where they came from, what they could do, who their associates were... family, past homes, secrets, everything was in there. One could peek into every aspect of their lives by thumbing through those files.

The documents he pulled from each folder their Senior Investigator's ID photo and serial numbers and whatnot. Enough to let a reader know they were their supervisors. Vanya held her chin up pretty high in her photo ID, proud as ever. Rupert's photo ID was an image of his heat signature taken through a thermal imaging camera.

"I understand you've been with your Senior Investigators since your arrival. Unfortunately, due to... certain circumstances, you two in particular have been selected for a reassignment." He slid the documents bearing their Seniors towards them, "As of now, you will be reassigned to me, your Senior Investigators will go back to working alone, and I shall be your new supervisor. You will also be moved to more advanced assignments. Level Two's and up, but most likely Level Three's as well."

Anomalous situations were measured on a scale of danger using the response necessary as a measurement.

Level 1 would be something akin to a single, surrounded building containing a lesser spirit or in need of a low level exorcism; low danger, controllable for a single squad or requiring a simple fix from an Investigator. Much like the assignments they'd been about to head out on and had been undertaking since day one. Investigators at their level were only allowed to take on Level 1 situations.

Level 2 usually meant the anomaly in question was either very mobile, very dangerous, or both; left alone it could escape and wreak havoc; things got ugly on these quite often. Required multiple squads and most likely an Echo Team to resolve.

Level 3 implied the anomaly in question warranted several armed squads, Echo Teams working in tandem to contain it, Investigators on site during the event to advise and diffuse situations, and full evacuations of the surrounding area as well as a wider cover story. Personnel being killed in action was an expected consequence.

Level 4 needed full shutdown of media and evacuation of entire residential districts as well as a fully mobilized response from the BACC on the level of a minor occupation. This was when the entire region's branch had to be mobilized. Researchers, Armed Response, and Investigators all needed to be on this around the clock.

Level 5 meant the event would most likely cause the end of the world or this universe as we know it. Frankly, it didn't make a distinction so long as lief as we knew it would cease. The majority of Level 5 protocols involve sending the most vital information to another universe and either working non-stop to find a solution or perishing.

Alastair spoke dryly,"What this means is, while you will be kept under my supervision you will be considered fully fledged Investigators in your own right. On paper, at least. The reasons for this decision are still confidential to you."

He clasped his hands together and nodded towards the documents he'd just passed them,
"Your signature is required for documentation purposes. See the dotted line at the bottom?"

The text above the line looked like a block. From a glance, it seemed to imply that by signing, they agreed to break their leash with their supervisors whether they were ready or not.

"You'll need to sign it." he placed an ornate fountain pen in front of Pickman, and then another in front of Lizbet.

 

[PoetLore]

Lizbet was good and truly intimidated and more than a little afraid. Rupert had been a very good mentor and teacher, but they had never encountered a level 2 and she felt horribly inadequately trailed to face a level 2, forget about facing a level 3 situation. She leaned forward in her chair however and read the block of text. Sever her association with Rupert. That's what she saw and that's what shivered it's way through her.

Rupert had been kind and nurturing, and made her forget about her inner demons and doubts. The director was not giving her the impression that he would be such a supervisor. He was cold and abrupt, and she had the feeling he could and would be extremely demanding and critical. Still, she had come to the BACC to use her abilities to better the world and keep people safe. She was being offered an opportunity to be used on a larger and more important scale. She bit her lip and lifted the pen and signed her name on the line and then leaned back in her chair.

Her eyes moved over to Pickman to see what he would do. He'd apparently has a good working relationship with his mentor as well. She had no idea what he would choose to so. The director didn't strike her as a man who would accept or even tolerate Pickman's brand of irreverence. But, maybe there was more to Pickman than met the eye? She'd found that was often the case with agents here.

 

[Dunruffle]

Pickman's goofy smile died quickly at the stern glance from the director. Realizing his humor would not be tolerated like with Vanya, Pickman decided it would be best to be serious for now. Reading through the text quickly, Pickman frowned.

"I dont mean to be disrespectful boss...but I feel a little unprepared to be doin stuff on my own. I mean I dunno about Lunchmeat here but I would probably get vaporized or something if I tried to do a level three on my own. I umm...I know I am not in any position to be asking for anythin...but is it possible we could still work with our mentors? I mean I know Vanya is kinda a pain but she is good at what she does. I mean I'm still gonna sign this...but I would feel a little more confident if I had someone with more experience with me....but you are the boss so whatever you wanna do is fine."

Signing the paper with a messy scrawl, Pickman put the fountain pen back on the desk and nervously waited for the Director's response, hoping he had not pissed him off with his request.

 

[Kazama]

Dr. Cartwright took the documents back. He looked at the documents, then back at them, kneading his eyebrows together above that scrutinizing squint he wore so often. He didn't say anything for a moment; in fact, he seemed almost confused. Had he been expecting something?

He cleared his throat and tapped the papers against his desk, "Very well then. The reason I've elected to t-"

He stopped mid-sentence when the door to the small office burst open and Vanya stomped in.
"Have you finally lost your mind?!" she snapped, "Reassigned? My apprentice? Reassigned?!"
"There it is," muttered Dr. Cartwright.

The two security guards that had been guarding the door ran after her, stopping at the doorway and aiming their rifles at her. They both shouted orders to put her hands behind her head and freeze and whatnot.
Alastair waved his hand at them and calmly instructed, "Stand down, leave her be."
Rupert arrived, breathless and tried to push past the guards.

Vanya looked at the guards, then back at Alastair. She slapped a sheet of paper similar to the one Lizbet and Pickman had just signed, "What is the meaning of this?!"
Alastair was calm, but firm, "It's a direct order."
"I'm not authorizing this."
"I don't need you to, your authorization is a formality. And a notice."

Rupert made his way to the desk. He wasn't as explosive as Vanya, but there was frustration and confusion in his voice, "Ala- Director Cartwright, this is absurd! They're not ready for this!"

As if the room wasn't packed enough, Theodore returned, wearing a spotted apron and holding a tray. There were three cups on it along with a tea kettle, a little pitcher of cream, and a bowl of sugar cubes. "Your tea, sir. I've prepared enough for... My apologies, is this is a bad time, sir?"

Alastair sighed, "Both of you;" he pointed at Rupert and Vanya, "Whether you like it or not, this is a direct order and it's happening with or without your authorization. Now you can either behave like professionals or you can spend the night in one of the detainment cells."

Rupert and Vanya began speaking at the same time.
"Director, you can't expect-" Rupert started, but Vanya was louder.
"If you want them dead, then just have them shot, it'll be faster!"

"You're being dramatic, Vanya." Alastair remained calm, waving Theodore over and pointing at the desk. Theodore clanked his way past the guards and began to place the tea tray on the desk, "My reasons are my own-"
"What reasons?!"
"Do you think you'd be in here shouting if I was able to tell you?" he said, reaching for one of the teacups. Vanya swatted the tray away, sending its contents crashing and spilling. Alastair visibly clenched his jaw. Vanya's fury was a match even for him; and this only the tip of her stinging iceberg.
"We aren't done talking about this." she hissed. She looked at Pickman and Lizbet, seemed to want to say something, but stormed out.

Rupert kept his eyes on Alastair. Rupert's anger was much less obvious; he knew nothing would come of it now.
"She's right, Alastair. We want answers." he began to follow Vanya, and stopped, looking over his shoulder at Alastair, "I remember when you were one of us. I remember when we could trust you."

Alastair didn't show it, but that stung more than Vanya's outburst.

Rupert stopped before Pickman and Lizbet, "I'll wait for you outside. You too, Pickman. I'll go find Vanya, I'm sure she'll want a word as well."

He gave one last look at Alastair and stepped off. The guards parted and allowed him to pass before heading out as well.

"Theodore, clean this up," he said, getting out of his chair. He gestured for Pickman and Lizbet to remain seated, "I must say; this episode was much worse than the last one."

He tried to close the door to his office. The doors closed, but didn't click in place and swung open again. Vanya had broken knob when she'd forced them open, "Much worse..."

As Theodore swept up the glass and porcelain with a handkerchief, Alastair took his seat again, "I apologize on their behalf. Especially Vanya's." he swept some of the shattered porcelain from his desk with the back of his hand, "She won't admit it, but she becomes attached quite easily. Anyway..."

He sighed and straightened his spectacles, "Now that you've agreed to this reassignment, I need both of you to remain absolutely quiet about the things we do. I'm sure you must be confused, but in due time you'll learn that this was for a good cause. And a very important one."

He retrieved a photograph from his desk and slid it towards them.

"Do either of you recognize anything in this photo?"

The photograph was grainy and old. A black and white image of a sarcophagus of some kind. Oddly enough, where the sarcophagus' face should have been, someone placed a featureless white mask with only a pair of eyes for features. It seemed to have been taken inside the tomb since the walls around it were covered in hieroglyphs.

There was something odd about the image. It felt almost like seeing something from a long forgotten dream or memory. Neither of them could have ever seen this thing before, let alone dream it. Yet there was something... predictable in the contours of the sarcophagus. Like the almost knew what the backside looked like, despite never having seen it.

"This is the sarcophagus of Khaemweset IV; an Egyptian pharaoh who was, according to legend, killed by his priests for some unknown evil. This photo was taken in 1928." Now there was definitely no way they could have seen it before, "Before the sarcophagus and the body inside was stolen."

"Is anything about this image significant to you?"

 

[PoetLore]

Lizbet was sitting in her chair, back ramrod straight and her hands folded in her lap. She watched the direction carefully seeing his odd mannerisms and wondering what he was thinking. His mind was completely shadowed to her though. He seemed to be putting his words in order when Vanya burst into the room.

Lizbet's eyes were wide as saucers and she seemed to sink into the back of her chair a bit. She wasn't used to such displays of temper and she wasn't at all sure how to properly handle such a thing. She was even more shocked when Rupert entered. Though he was calmer, his words sent a shiver up her spine. What was going on? Why was her mentor suddenly questioning the trustworthiness of the director? Were they in danger? Of course they were, every assignment they went on put them in danger. What was so different about what they would be doing now?

The two mentors left the room and Thomas was left cleaning up the mess that Vanya had made. The director apologized for the two and she just watched him quietly. "We cannot speak of our assignments even to our mentors...former mentors?" she asked realizing she'd never actually done anything on an assignment without checking with Rupert first to be sure she was making a wise choice of action. She suddenly felt horribly ill-prepared for working with the director.

He pushed a photo across the desk toward them and she scooted forward in her seat to be able to see it more clearly. she listened to his words as she looked at it, wondering why it seemed familiar when she knew that she had never seen it before this moment.

Glancing over at Pickman to see what he might be thinking she bit her lip and then turned back to the photo. "I have the oddest sense of recognition...like I can almost imagine walking around this in a circle and know what I would see. There is no way that could be though. My knowledge of this history must be lacking. I understood this son of Ramses to have been the one who was revered for rebuilding most of the ancient statutes and temples. He was determined to preserve Egyptian culture forever. What great evil could have occurred? And why would someone steal his body?"

She tended to ramble when confronted with such opposed ideas, and as soon as she realized what she was doing she clamped her mouth shut and sat back a bit in the chair. She could have attempted to touch the picture and see if her powers would tell her anything, but photos didn't usually give her a clear reading. Sometimes she could feel the photographer more than the image if anything at all. So she just waited to see what they were going to add to her rambling.

 

[Dunruffle]

Pickman leaned back in his chair as he watched the chaos unfold around him. His brow furrowed as Vanya and Rupert burst in and began demanding answers, carefully watching the argument develop. Pickman knew that nothing in BACC went as expected, but Vanya busting open the door to the Director's office was certainly one for the books. Pickman smirked slightly when Rupert implied that Vanya was more caring than she let on. Nudging a piece of broken china cup towards Theodore with his foot, Pickman looked at the picture along with Lizbet. Listening to Lizbet, the undead agent nodded along with her observations. "Yeah, i'm getting this weird deja vu feeling. As for the whole history lesson, lets just say i can follow along with whatever Lunchmeat here recites." Of course in reality Pickman knew exactly what Lizbet was talking about. Vanya had made him study a wide variety of historical texts and documents and Pickman absorbed all the information like a sponge. But Pickman liked to keep everyone's expectations of him low so he always acted like a arrogant and lazy ghoul.