The Variable Project: VECTOR

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Wryneck

Wryneck

Don't jinx it.
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Information​
LOCATION: IVO Home Island, VECTOR Base
DATE: 17 September 2153
TIME: 1000
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The VECTOR base. Located below the base of the towering island that houses the International Variable Organization, it's one of the most highly secretive groups currently in existence; the faculty being comprised entirely of carry-over government officials and those relatives that proved themselves relevant enough to be worth having involved with the organization. They have but one goal — to rid the world of what remains of the Corrupted Constants that still litter its surface.

With those capable of using Psychokinesis still making up less than one-millionth of the total world population, VECTOR has resorted to bringing in those that have either accomplished extraordinary feats or demonstrated exceptional skill in using their powers. These volunteers are sworn to an oath of secrecy, signing a contract permitting a memory wipe should they choose to leave the organization.

Today, the latest batch of such would be sent off on their first official mission, fresh out of the academy. The graduation ceremony had been held last month, so the formalities were over and done with by now. They'd be reporting directly to the head of the organization, who'd give them their briefing, after a quick brush up on general knowledge, before sending them off on their way. They all knew what their jobs were — they all knew what had to be done.

Death was the only fate that could be afforded those who'd gone corrupted.

To accompany them would be a VECTOR veteran, a field agent who'd been there since it's founding two years ago. Veteran might be a weird term to use to describe an old time member of such a young organization, but taking into account what members are so often pitted against, it's no stretch to call them such.

Finn Hult — long range physical type, durability affinity. His unique combination allows him to engage short range physical targets in swordplay without fear of his variable shattering, provided the enemy doesn't have an enhancement mental type. Responsible for bringing down four A-rank Corrupted Constants single-handed, and participating in the successful termination of an S-rank Corrupted. He suspects the organization's work is almost through, as there can't be that many Corrupteds still breathing.

Short, well-kept black hair and dark blue eyes that gave off a confusing sense of naivety and seriousness at the same time. Average build, but then with how light variables were, you didn't need to be a bodybuilder to be efficient. They rip through flesh all the same, no matter how muscular the composition.

He'd been called in by the head for a formal introduction to the newly formed squad, as well as to attend the debriefing so he'd know what they'd be up against. Entering the room, the setup was common. Long tables lined with seats, all facing a projection board that detailed the mission objective and locale. The head, a woman around her late 20s, amber hair and piercing green orbs, stood to the side, waiting for their arrival. "Chief Mikhailov," Hult greeted, giving a curt bow before planting himself opposite her near the projection board.

"No need for such formalities with me. It's good to see you're doing well, Hult. I know you've been out of it for a while, what with your reprieve and all. I'd hope your new teammates will carry themselves well enough that it'll seem you never came back."

A laugh. "I'd rather things not become so boring for me. With swiftness for our people though."

"With swiftness, indeed." That was VECTOR's motto, of sorts. The sooner targets were eliminated, the less time they spent as potential threats to the world. This new squad would know this, and would take that knowledge to heart going into this mission, if they were any good.
@Auntie Phaz @jeshem @Sketching101 @Shizuochan @Cresion Breezes
 
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Mordecai stood in the middle of the bare training room rolling his variable in its base form in his hands. He was nervous, he knew. Even with his mental variable helping keep his breathing steady and his mind clear, he felt like he was about to explode with anticipation, fear, and excitement. So here he was now, in the training room to calm himself down before the briefing.

Mordecai launched himself into a flurry of techniques, a wild dance that his muscles knew better than his mind. His variable warped from its orb form in his right hand into a short handle that he swung downwards in an arc behind him. A tail lashed out of the handle creating a whip that cracked as it snapped at the air. Bringing the whip around, it slithered across the ground and air until he brought it down and snapped it in the air in front of him and then to the side. The tail of the whip then straightened as Mordecai commanded his variable to change forms again. Pivoting on his left foot, Mordecai stepped back with his right as he crouched, sweeping a bo staff at the legs of an imaginary opponent. Following through with his step, he grabbed the staff with his left hand and brought the opposite end of the staff upwards as he stood up before twirling it around his body as he practiced a defensive technique. He parried invisible attacks from his front, left, back, right, front, right, back, left, front. As Mordecai finished the last twirl, he grabbed the staff with both hands and taking a lunge forward, thrusted the staff like a spear. The tip of the spear extended forward as it split open like a flower into nine pointed tips. As they continued to stretch, four of the nine tips curled back, surrounding Mordecai in a defensive manner while the five remaining tails twirled together creating a spear point. Having reached the limit of their length Mordecai held his stance as he caught his breath, the five tails frozen in a twirled spear point in front of him while the four tails around him waved in time with his heavy breathing. Then, after what seemed like an eternity of silence, all hell broke loose. The air was filled with deafening cracks as all nine tails exploded into action, whipping above, below, and at all sides. Whip tails lashed out in every direction like the limbs of crazed, raging beast as Mordecai danced around the room ever at the center of the maelstrom. Running, flipping, even using a tail to help vault himself into the air. Yet to Mordecai, everything was under his control. He knew where the tails were at any moment and where they would be at the next. He commanded which ones lashed out and which ones wrapped around him. He could defend himself while simultaneously attack in any direction. He was in total control.

A beeping sound coming from his watch let Mordecai know his time was up. As he landed after one final somersault, every tail retracted into and wrapped itself into an orb resting in his hand, leaving Mordecai once again alone in the training room with only his breathing to break the silence.

Forty-five minutes later, Mordecai was all cleaned up and dressed. He made his way to the briefing room with his signature carefree grin, greeting people he passed while futilely brushing his hopelessly messy purple hair out of his eyes. Stopping in front the door to the briefing room, Mordecai took a second to straighten his black jacket before entering the room with a cheerful "Hello!"
 
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Raul had a whole process.

Nothing too strictly symbolic or of personal import, with each detail only significant in and of itself because Raul had allowed himself to engage in such repetition and routine. Over the years, his daily itinerary had become almost chimeric, taking on constituent parts until it had become a fully formed and realized… monstrosity. He would firstly end the last of his intermittent sequences of ten-minute power sleeping, rousing into wakefulness as if it was a practised art with form and technique. It was.

Dental hygiene was a beast in and of itself, electric brush, floss, mouthwash, gum activators, whitening strips applied in meticulous rhythm and order. A quick meander beneath the faucet to activate the senses, and then the first hint of the day's work could begin in earnest. Cardio, performing in rapid lockstep upon steps, to keep the systems calibrated. Refresh, this time with a cold bath.

To eat: an apple a day, as ever.

And then a single latte, as faithful companion for the early stages of the coming hours.

Then again, Raul adhered to process, but he wasn't beholden to them. A hidden perk of those who engaged in rituals; the chance to hone mental strength by breaking them. So, perhaps before the meet, he'd dump what remained of the beverage.

Then, he would enter, perfectly perfunctory. Silent.
 
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Gene briskly crossed the length of a corridor, the latest in a series of nondescript interconnecting hallways he had passed through on his way to the morning's briefing. While he knew perfectly well where he was heading and how to get there, making the journey through the sprawling layout of the VECTOR base still gave him the sense that he was wandering aimlessly. Like so many government or multinational complexes the world over, the base was a labyrinth within itself that could prove hopelessly inscrutable to anyone unfortunate enough to get lost in one of its far-flung corners. Gene had been here long enough to know the place well, or at least to know his way around well enough to suit his own purposes. His familiarity still could not allay the lingering suspicion that making the wrong turn would leave him facing a deadly horror from which he could not escape. Despite the compound's sterile ambience and the bright fluorescent lighting that washed over its every facet, Gene sensed that VECTOR had more than its fair share of monsters and skeletons tucked away from the world. There must have been secrets so terrible locked behind those walls that even the most hardened of its members would scarcely admit them.

He was but a small part in this machine, invented by powers that hoped to mitigate the threat of Corrupted Constants. Such was the reason that Constants like himself were recruited into these efforts, nominally to use their abilities to serve a noble cause. Gene personally believed that the IVO existed just as much to control non-Corrupted Constants as it did to counter unhinged psychokinetics. Simply put, none of them could be trusted not to live at the end of one short leash or another. At best, their abilities could be studied or harnessed to benefit all the world or the well being of Constants themselves. If one of them began to slip from the fragile balance that went hand in hand with using their powers they would conveniently be at arm's reach and amid Constants trained specifically to put them down. Add to that enough anti-PK technology to effectively counter most abilities and it all made for a rather elegant system.

Gene could still not exactly resent his role within VECTOR. After all, it allowed him to live as a Constant with the license to use his powers mostly unrestricted and offered a destiny far grander than what he could have dreamed of otherwise. He could take a small amount of comfort from the fact that his own kind would bring him to justice and end his suffering in the event he did go mad. Whether he lived as a knight, a pawn, or merely a liability made little difference in the game at hand. Gene would continue to grind away along with countless other human cogs inside the belly of the beast. If he ended up as but a loose screw he could count on being discarded ignominiously while other gears kept turning to further their orchestrated purpose.

At last, he had arrived at the door to the briefing room. Gene entered and then paused for a moment, his body framed within the sides of the doorway almost like a portrait in relief. He was tall, long-limbed and had a lean build. Gene almost would have appeared lanky if not for the physical training that had helped to fill out his body and anchor his bearing. His glassy blue eyes ticked over to the two figures at the front of the room. Gene was not personally acquainted with either of them, but he recognized them as senior officials. His gaze shifted from the woman and then to the man at her side, regarding them with a keen interest that more than acknowledged their presence. There was another person standing there just past the door who appeared young and exuded a cheerfulness that seemed to clash with the restrained or indifferent demeanor evinced by Gene and the others in attendance.

"Good morning." Gene greeted all of them coolly in a firm but flat tone. He assumed formal introductions would be in short order and that more would be said between them soon, so his curt greeting would suffice for now. Moving over to one of the first tables, Gene rounded a chair and awaited an indication that he should take a seat or that the briefing was about to start.
 
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The fluorescent lights burned a little, it's hard staying underground for so long. The day was still young, in fact it was the break of dawn. Lucius didn't sleep much, he never did, four hours a day kept him going for years as he lived through life in some sort of hazy dream, but perhaps that will be changing soon. A white desk dimly reflected the white lights, the young man narrowed his eyes, slightly disgusted by the glistening surface. Sheets upon sheets of printing paper laid there, black inked text and shapes scrawled them like some sort of cryptic pattern. With further inspection one would notice that the text was nothing special, a plethora of functions, graphics and logarithms littered the page in various angles, positioned without care like a child's doodles. At the edge of the desk was a ballpoint pen, held up by a black form and scribbling furiously on the sheet.

It wasn't long before Lucius tossed the pen under the desk, called the black form, his variable, back into her default form. He always indulged himself in his mathematics when he didn't want to think, when he didn't fancy facing the real world. Since the real world didn't really fancy him. VECTOR has always doubted him, ever since he broke that first variable the faculty always stared at him strangely, perhaps it was anger, or surprise, or fear. No matter what, it wasn't good. The black sphere that was just reform suddenly exploded into dust, as it formed a thin mist over Lucius, the black dust loomed over his achromatic hair and clothing.

Alright Niobe.

The black dust expanded across the room, thinly veiling it in a grey fog. With a sudden swirl the dust condensed the few pieces of paper on the desk fluttered a bit, before being pierced by slender blades that taken form from the mist. Thousands of pieces each with their own purpose worked together in harmony, step by step, a form takes place, then the division......Absolute control. Perfection.

His gaze fixated on the piece of paper, hung in mid air by the condensed blade from his variable, and the few hundred numbers and symbols scribbled on it. A small smile cracked on his lips. At this level, it wasn't so different after all. In a few hours he has tied up his hair, organized like any regular person on a business day to a nine to five job. Niobe floated around, dividing into a few different spheres and recombining randomly as Lucius cruised down the lines of rooms and corridors before arriving to the meeting room.

"Fine morning, isn't it?" He asked halfheartedly with a chuckle to those who has already arrived, before levitating his variable up in front of him, dissipated it into dust, and tried to condense it back into a scaled model of the meeting room table completed with all the scratches and dents, as he continuously mutters somethings to himself.
 
Oliver hummed a rapid, catchy tune as he aimlessly walked through the corridors of the building. With a small, childish smile on his face, he kept marching to the rhythm of the buzzing lights. It had been a few years, but he was finally glad to be able to return to normalcy. He found some comfort in the idea that he would return to what he grew up doing. The last few years had been strange to him: meeting new people, particularly. During his time at the shack, he hadn't the chance to talk to any strangers, and the few acquaintances he made were often short lived.

After some time walking around the endless corridors of the base, peeking his head through every odd door, he chanced upon someone strutting down towards a door at the end of the path, juggling his variable in mid air, tearing it up and putting back together. Oliver watched the young man walk in the room as something occurred to him. He started walking once again, this time filled with purpose, aiming at the room at the end of the corridor, the room he had finally remembered to be the one he was strolling around the building's convoluted basements for.

He eagerly swung the door open, conspicuously suppressing a childish excitement. His gaze moved rapidly across the room, scrutinizing his soon-to-be squadmates in a quick moment, his grin widening as his eyes manically moved from one constant to the next. He brought his hand up next to his head and with a quick movement, tilted it sideways like a wave, and slid to the side, watching one person in the room at a time, moving his gaze once every few seconds.
 
One by one, the newest agents to VECTOR came rolling in. First was Mordecai Allens, whose optimism left Mikhailov wondering how he'd behaved once it was shattered. After him was Raul Andrade, a man of details and a man of routine. She favored his organized poise. Gene Dyatlov was behind them. Reserved, if anything else. Didn't seem to understand his role in VECTOR just yet, but nor did he argue with orders. Lucius Aurelian followed up, a scientist whose intellect and eccentricities Mikhailov both admired and feared. Lastly was Oliver Gwynt, a boy lost in his own world, Mikhailov only hoped he'd pull through when his team needed him to.

All of them were here because they'd demonstrated exceptional skills with the use of variables, and Psychokinesis in general.

"Hult."

A nod. "Morning, everyone. My name is Finn Hult, and I'll be the acting superior for your group. Before we delve into the details of your first mission, Chief Mikhailov, whom you all already know, would like to review some things."

"Thank you. First things first. From this day forward, all of you are official agents of VECTOR. It is expected that you will behave with all the formalities and mannerisms fitting of individuals as highly trained and skilled as yourselves. Secondly, what you will be facing in the missions to come may look human, but they are very much not. Human in body, but not in mind. If you forget this simple fact for even a moment, it could cost you your life. Third, a review of the tier system. As you all know, Corrupted Constants are ranked from D to S, based on variable type, proficiency, unpredictability, and capacity. D rank is, obviously, the lowest, while A rank is the highest rank that has a ceiling. By this, I mean to say that you should not attempt to gauge the rank of anything beyond an A rank, for the simple fact that there is no upper limit to how powerful an S rank can be."

The chief was certainly not one to waste time. Of course, when dealing with Corrupteds, every second counted.

"I'd apologize for the chief's speed, but you all should've been expecting this. You knew this day was coming."

Mikhailov nodded. "Absolutely right. Then, without wasting anymore of anyone's precious time..." Green eyes shifted towards the dashboard, which now displayed an image of what would be the group's first target.

"We call him nothing but Gasser. Long range physical type, durability affinity, and long range spatial type, which, in Gasser's case, allows free manipulation of gasses. It's to be expected he'll try to fill whatever area he's in with noxious gasses in an effort to defend himself. Gas masks will be provided for countermeasure, but it's highly advisable that you protect your gas mask as though it is your very life, because it is."

"He was spotted in Luxembourg last. His corruption has caused him to take on qualities similar to a skunk, in that he only attacks when provoked and tried to kill him. Despite how passive he is, he's still a target for elimination."

"You all know how your variables work and what you have to do. The jet will be leaving to take you to Luxembourg in half an hour. Be ready by then, or get left behind."

Hult clasped his hands together. "Any questions then?"
@jeshem @Sketching101 @Auntie Phaz @Shizuochan @Cresion Breezes
 
Mordecai was the first to raise a hand. "Are there any details you can give us on the place we'll be facing this guy?" he asked with his signature grin still on his face. "Y'know, like how far should we try to contain the fight, are there buildings we should absolutely avoid drawing the fight to, the possibility of civilians getting caught in the crossfire?"

At the last part of his question, Mordecai's grin faded into a solemn look. If civilians were to get involved, it could potentially cause some complications for the mission. Not only could the civilians potentially get hurt in the crossfire or become hostages used by the corrupted, but also their safety was Mordecai's one weakness as he was willing to jeopardize everything to ensure their safety. It was a flaw in himself that he was fully aware of, having it pointed out time and again by both instructors and other trainees. He silently prayed for Hult to confirm that the area would be long evacuated before the their mission started.
 
Raul Andrade had made a silent vow when the IVO had brought him into the fold: that he'd allow himself to rebuild, to start from scratch, eyes unstained by the biases of his storied service record. Even so, it was hard to ignore the youthful exuberance of two amongst them, and the restless psychokinesis of a third. The latter was vaguely intriguing, the former was concerning: the sign of newbies unbroken, or an effective defense mechanism?

Speaking of worrisome matters, he found a chuckle forming, barely clinging to the insides of his throat. Gasser. Raul was somewhat cognizant that allowing the laugh to escape would be somewhat… playing against type, to be frank.

But in any case, a matter of real concern:

"Evacuation contingencies, sir?" No skilled coordinator of operations would have failed to notice Gasser's particular potential for calamity in a civilian setting. Raul did not expect his inquiry to linger.
 
We call him nothing but Gasser. Gene found it curious that the briefing on the target's details had started out with such a statement. Undoubtedly, the Constant had not been born with that name. Given the unique properties of the variables he used, Gasser must have been taken in by the project or a similar outfit at some point in the past and earned the eerily fitting moniker. Of course, the past life of the Constant did not figure into the briefing in any way. Gene had to wonder if that was merely a tactic to depersonalize the target before the team was sent to kill him, or if there truly was nothing recognizable as a person within him at this point. To hear Mikhailov describe him, this Corrupted was so far gone that there might be little humanity left behind those wide, staring eyes. That he was compared to an animal might have been less figurative than Gene could ascertain at the moment.

Gasser was undoubtedly dangerous, despite the noted passivity that would make him a threat only if attacked. Two of Gene's teammates raised concerns about the possibility of collateral damage. Gene was much more worried about the more immediate threat Gasser would pose to them. That they would be given gas masks was a small comfort considering his spatial variable was not the only weapon at Gasser's disposal.

"It looks like it would be in our best interest to first close in without alerting the target. After we gain a good position to strike, the goal should be to quickly disable or kill him before his variables complicate the situation."

Gene was no more experienced than the other members of the team, but from his perspective they could not afford to treat things delicately. No strategy that lost sight of the Corrupted being the one and only target would ultimately serve the purposes of the mission. There were only two outcomes that could come from their failure: either they died and the target escaped or Gasser killed no telling how many innocent bystanders in addition to the members of the team. Gene would be all ears to any ideas that prevented all of these things from coming to pass.

Gasser. The name swung around again in Gene's mind as he peered into the inscrutable face displayed on the screen. He wondered what name they would give him if he ever became corrupted. What could sum up his being if all that remained to define him was deadly psychokinesis unfettered by madness? Spearhead? Diaphone? Would anyone remember him as Gene?

Would he even remember?
 
Niobe's particles condensed into one form again, twirling in a few other factorial shapes before folding into a icosidodecahedron, and slowly bobbed up and down beside it's owner. Lucius brushed his hair back as Mikhailov explained the ranking system, he would assume that would be something covered in all of their training, so no need to reiterate. S ranks huh? A year before he joined VECTOR Lucius had learned the power of S ranks via the incident involving Cortice, it broke his youthful fearlessness towards Constants and Corrupts. He gazed around the room, this team's members was relatively young, of course, only those young and healthy can withstand these dangerous missions, but it comes with repercussions.

Turning towards to projection of their target as Mikhailov explained their powers. The Corrupted looked around the same age as their team, if not even younger. It was beyond Lucius' abilities to understand why VECTOR keeps on giving spacial variable to kids, but with psychokinesis as rare as it is, they probably didn't have many candidates. What caught his interest was the target's abilities to manipulate gases, which was a more organic version of his techniques with Niobe's mist state. Lucius didn't know what Gasser's reaction would be after finding out the aerial hostility that came from his variable, he could only assume the worse. He'll need to take extreme caution when attempting to attack.

His teammates soon brought up some concerns, the cheery younger member brought up the concern of evacuation, which Lucius had thought about as well. A thinner, finer dust began to hover, depending on the type of gas the target wields, Lucius thought about the possibility of filtering air by weaving his variable into a temporary shield. His head always hurt when he attempted to go towards molecular levels, it probably won't last, and he prayed it won't be needed either. One of his teammates, the quiet one who always seems to be frustrated at something brought up a plan. It seemed fairly obvious, they have the advantage of being able to launch an all out attack first, if they can take out the target just like that...Then it would be great, wouldn't it?

Lucius cracked a small smile, something he simply does naturally now from his years in teaching, although it never did him any good after joining VECTOR. "Maybe a Plan B? If those complications happen, we'll either need to deal with it or evacuate until the little guy calms down again."
 
Ollie locked his eyes on Gasser for a moment, with Gasser's image seemingly staring right back at them all. Quickly he snapped back to reality, realizing he was not, in fact, the cameraman who had forgotten his mask. He turned to Mordecai, and then to Raul with a quizzical look plastered across his face. After a moment, he realized what they were concerned about, and with a satisfied grin on his face, he shifted his gaze forward once more.

"It would be quite nice if we catch him on a stroll," Ollie mused aloud. "It might be unpleasant to fight this guy indoors. Still, as long as our masks don't break, he's just another constant, isn't he?" His thick accent obscured his words just a little. "A scary little git, for sure, but just some git all the same, hm?"

His grin persisted as nostalgia washed over him, his fingers twirling impatiently around each other behind him.
 
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