5485/Masks and Bullets and Death, Oh My

Masks and Bullets and Death, Oh My
Date of Scene:	15 September 2017
Location:	Overwatch Earth <OWE>
Synopsis:	Reaper and Nicky discuss her growth in Talon
Cast of Characters:	Reaper, 968

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Reaper has posed:
It'd been a few weeks since Nicky was properly 'indoctrinated' into the Talon way of life. Given her own room in the barracks - small, but adequate for personal needs. It wasn't like Talon soldiers and specialists spent a lot of down time in the base anyways. They were expected to be off base to find their pleasures and stress relief - then get back on site as soon as possible. For all else that it was, a terrorist organization or a private military force, Reaper's experience leant itself to operational management. He may be an asshole, and a jackass, and a death obsessed soul-eating wrath.. but he could still run an Op like a professional. Tight as a bolt.

Now? Now Nicky receives an entirely new summons, her standard military training regime interrupted and wiped from her schedule. Only a single meeting to occupy her entire time, the end left open, with no future appointments showing up on her calendar. Either Nicky's being kicked out, Nickys being promoted, or Nicky getting shot in the back of the head and dropped in an incinerator somewhere. It didn't pay to disregard personal safety in Talon, everyone expected to be on their game while they were 'on the clock'. Eventually a person learns how to manage that stress and becomes harder for it - or they crack. And if they crack here, they'll crack out there, goes the motto.

The meeting room itself is broad, with three exits. One leading to the main hallway, the other two leading to unknown areas, the entire thing carved rough hewn from the hard rock, with wide arching ceiling and dull floors. Dull because of the grip lines cut in, to keep people from slipping in case of 'events'. The oblong table is already lit up with a holoprojector, casting blue tint to the mingle with the white lights above, and at its head stands .. Reaper.

Standing as is his nature, arms crossed over his chest, that sterile white mask netiher looking right or left. Honestly he could be asleep on his feet and no one would know, save for the faint tap of his heavy metal boot upon the gripping tile work.

Nicky (968) has posed:
Having spend time with Talon, Nicky attends the meeting prepared in some... rather unconvential manners. Of course, the standard issiue knife is loose in the sheath along the left forearm, just waiting for the right impulse to drop it into the hand ready, and there is a backup one along her belt, but the actual preparation was a bit more insidious: the inside of her jacket line six hand grenades 'borrowed' off the training range and their rings all connected to get dragged out under the right pull. Ring Trick.

As she gets into the room, Nicky eyes around, right hand on the belt, left in the pocket, and peering at the black clad figure. "You called?"

Reaper has posed:
A hiss of breath through the mask, coils of black smoke lifting from the Reaper's shoulders as that sterile white mask turns minutely. Studying the newest 'agent' with silence interest, noting the changes in her demeanor - in her method of acting. The survivalist was still there, but Nicky was starting to get an -edge- to her.

It was a promising start. Reaper's crossed arms finally drop, reaching down to tap at the table with metal claws. The holoprojector switching from idle mode to three distinct lists, each of them with Nicky's image and name at the top.

"I did." He growls. And he's always growling; Celebration, loss, victory, defeat, he snarls as if he were permanently pissed at the world and waiting hair's breath from murdering everyone around him. Or if he was on the edge of a pained scream. "You've completed your basic regime of training, Nicky - but now it's time to move beyond that. I didn't bring you to our organization for you to languish as infantry. Nor to watch your ambition squandered. If I wanted to waste your flesh I would've eaten it a long time ago." A nod towards the holoprojector, and the various 'specializations'.

"It's time to get -your- input on your future."

Nicky (968) has posed:
Nicky eyes the schedules... files... and tries to make out their meaning as fast as she can - reaper's not known too much for liking slow answers. "Ok, my input... what kind of input? Would be much easier to know what you want of me, Reaper."

Reaper has posed:
A low growl from the Reaper, leaning forward on his metal knuckles at the head of the table. That cowled head turning slightly as he lifts an arm to tap a few times - the holodocuments folding flat to the table and sliding across to Nicky. Still just projections, but the effect is to give the impression of private and intimate review.

"Your missions. Based on my analysis of your behaviors during simulations, you tend to avoid direct confrontation. Your abilities are more designed towards infil/exfil work, much akin to Sombra's, but without her unique talent set and technological edge. The latter can be fixed - the former cannot, so your work will be more.." A slow, dark chuckle.
"Hands on."

A gesture of metal claws. "Before you are three distinct training paths designed to fit your abilities. And to further hone your capabilities. You'll also need to designate a callsign.. Or have one designated for you." A pause. "The generator is supposed to be random; But with Sombra in play, I can guarantee if you let it pick your callsign, it won't be pleasant."

Always trust the neon-haired calavera crazed hacker to toy with -everything-. Make that assumption, Reaper had found, and you wouldn't be caught off guard. The files indicate specialties that are designed to fit Nicky's personality profile. From something akin to a Ranger - infiltration, recon-scout work, and so forth. Something more along the lines of in-range heavy hitter, rapid breach and clear. And then a saboteur, emphasis on explosives and indirect combat rather than head to head confrontation, with side notes towards sniper work and more archaic weaponry for a wider breadth.

Nicky (968) has posed:
Nicky says, "You never had me tested against proper alarms." Nicky replies, pointing out a flaw in his testing. "So you want me to look through those plans or something and decide? And If I remember correctly, it's unlucky to choose your own callsign...""

Reaper has posed:
"You'll have your chance to go against a proper alarm once you've picked which direction you'll take your training. You've a mission waiting depending on the outcome."
Snarls the Reaper, coils of smoke rising once more from his shoulders and cowl, as if the man burned from the inside out. Which is entirely possible. He reaches up, drawing metal claws along his own sterile mask for a moment, breath hissing; Slowly, that smoke dissipates once more, until he's as solid as anything else in the room.

"Yes. I can draw profiles all day; Sombra can review the footage and plot datalines, but it's a waste of her talent. At the end of the day, -you- know yourself better than I do. Although if you keep pissing me off, I'll know your insides better than you do." He snaps, his usual temper. A dark chuckle now at the mention of luck.

"Let me tell you a few things about -fortune-, Nicky.." He begins, and then pauses. Tilting his head. "Mm. Fortune."

Nicky (968) has posed:
"Fortune? She's a fickle bitch that isn't kind to those that deserve it once in a while. If you want to be lucky, you have to make it on your own. Prepare for everything, count on yourself, and shove Fortuna her 'luck' up where the sun don't shine." Nicky rants, her fingers clenched into a fist. Sticking out a finger, she points to Reaper finally. "If Fortune would have been kind, she would have allowed you to not come back, don't you think that? But no, she threw you the once in a lifetime chance for tormented existance... and made you win the hard lot." So much Nicky could piece together.

"But there's a difference: you stay because of your revenge. I stay because I survive. In the end of the day, your revenge will have no targets anymore - but I still wrench what I need from the dog's grasp to stay."

Reaper has posed:
"My -revenge- is my own business."

Growls the Reaper, metal gauntlets creaking as he curls them inwards. "Talon's is not." The burning hate slips out of his voice for a moment, that dark chuckle working its way from his rasping throat once more. Slow and methodical, as if he had to consider each 'mua' before it could be shaken loose.
"A fickle bitch, unkind even to those who deserve better. You couldn't ask for a better callsign.. Fortune."

HA

And then metal claws spread once more upon the table, the sterile white mask tilting to peer down at the three programs presented to Nicky. With a snarled: "Now.. pick."

Nicky (968) has posed:
"Oh Fortuna, Velunt luna, Statu Variabilis... Carl Orff's Carmina Burana." Nicky elaborates a moment, then sighs as she pulls the folders from the air, turning them around, then once more stacking them and trying to skim through the data given in them. "Pick what? I mean, you told me these are possible paths, but what paths? I read the titles, but you want me to pick, so you know what you put into them. Mind giving me a rundown so I can pick?"

Reaper has posed:
".. Reading comprehension, next."

Snarls the bone masked killer, before he taps on the table a few times. One of the holo-folders glowing and lighting up. "Recon and scouting. Emphasis on infil and exfil, target elimination slash acquisition, specializing in medium range weapons fire." A second tap. "Infililration, breach and clear specialist. Fast, heavy hitting, rapid clear. Emphasis on combat expertise and assymetric assault."
A final tap. ".. Saboteur, emphasis on indirect combat rather than head-to-head confrontation. Explosives and broad spectrum weapon training, especially for more archaic capabilities. They've been proved in the field as surprisingly effective."

"All three are designed around the concept of getting where you're not supposed to be, Fortune." HA! Using it already! "The only real question is - how hard do you want to go?"

Nicky (968) has posed:
"Fortuna's the incarnate of fortune." Nicky replies, stretching her fingers and arms at the same time, letting some fingers crack. "So you say I got the chance to... uhm... be a sniper, on a strike team or do what i can already to a large part? I mean, you never even let me get some nice hunting bow or crossbow. Why did I pick the arrows on the island you think? just never came around to grab a bow."

A moment she is silent, then wipes two folders away, leaving the last one on the table. "Question is possibly more how hard you'll make it for me, right?"

Reaper has posed:
"As hard as I need to be to make sure you survive - or crack, and stop wasting my time."

Hisses the Lord of the Edge once more, finally moving forward; And just to show off, he doesn't bother walking around the table. His botto half simply dissolves, his features lost in a smokey haze that's vaguely human shaped before it reforms, a hiss of iron fillings down silk. MUCH closer. Just so he can loom, the coils of smoke still slowly rising from along the edges of his cowl, from the edges of his mask. Fire within, smoke without.

"I didn't -let- you have anything on the island. I didn't help you. I didn't assist you. I gave you nothing but a ride. Everything you did there, you did on your own." He snarls, sounding as if he's either threatening or complimenting her. Honestly, with Gabe, it's hard to tell sometimes. "And yes. IF you survive; IF you make it through. IF you prove that I'm still able to sniff out raw potential even now, then you'll grow stronger. Faster. Harder. And you'll be on a proper strike team, rather than guarding halls or doing labor work like the infantry. Everything has its cost in pain; The only question is how badly you want to be more. You're not the scared little girl running from her killers anymore.." A tilt of the head. "And you're not the thief stealing sweets to survive. You're on your way to something -new-.. Fortuna."

Nicky (968) has posed:
"Never said you did." Nicky replies, a grin on her face as she ever so slightly opens the jacket, just enough to show a hint to the grenades she stuffed under it. "You didn't let me have these either..." If there was one thing Nicky learned, it was that Gabe didn't react to buttering up. But a bunch of grenades as a dead-man-switch? That would be something new.

"Sweets? that was Sombra's fault!"

Reaper has posed:
A slow, dark chuckle as she reveals the grenades beneath her jacket. "O Fortuna." He says, before his mask lowers just a tad. That black, coiling smoke hissing out from beneath his mask. "You're going to have to think up something else to take on -me-. The first trick I learned was coming back from the dead. Although it would have ruined the room."

Although curiously enough, despite the snarling, sniggering sarcasm - he actually claps his cold, metal gauntlets together. Once. Twice. .... Thrice.

"Sombra can't be responsible for everything." The mask turns, sterile white towards the nearest camera. "...No matter what she thinks" And then that mask goes back towards Nicky, thick arms crossing over his chest. Sounding - bored, suddenly.
"Make your selection. And we'll start focusing you towards something more useful."

Nicky (968) has posed:
Nicky chuckles as she points to the table, where she had planted the one digital folder only a minute ago, the other two pushed to the side. "Told you already, didn't I?"

Indeed, there's the last folder floating still. "So, when do you shedule my lessons in blowing up machines?"

Reaper has posed:
"Machines? Cute."

Begins the Reaper, his voice dropping an octave to damn near a rasping purr. The other two holofolders dissolving, encrypted and then erased bit by bit until nothing remains. Nicky's profile blotting out as well, leaving her name simply as 'Fortuna'. No link to the past left, save in her own head.

"Your mission is in five days. You'll take your first lesson with our demolition team this evening, then be expected to be competent enough to complete simple pre-set by the third day. Tomorrow you meet your first team - and start training together." That's an -extremely- forced pace for a new curve, isn't it?
"Complete the mission, and we'll start working on designing your own ordinance, improvisational explosives, and broad-spectrum weapons training. Then we start on your -weakness-.."

Nicky (968) has posed:
Nicky quirks an eyebrow on the schedule, grabbing for the folder to try to read up on the details of it. "3 days to learn how to use this one bomb and 4 with a team? I hope they know how to stick to the plan..." she replies as she flips through the digital pages. "own ordanance? you mean like some weapon designed for me or something?"

Reaper has posed:
"Among other things. You'll need time with the Talon surgical team as well, to determine if there are any.. upgrades necessary to bring you into alignment with our expectations, later. You are already more than human - time to make the best of it."

And then a shift of his hips, that dark menace in his voice rasping into a darker chuckle. "I expect you to pick up the simple stick and pull within the first few hours. The rest is learning -when- to use your payload, and on what. And when -not- to use the payload. Consider it a crash course. If you screw it up, you might end up bringing everything down on your head - or worse, failing. Finish the mission, and then we'll look at a proper training for identifying structural weakness in materials.. bones included."

He turns his head at last, that sterile white mask focusing again on Nicky. "Among other things." He answers, in the question about her own ordinance.

Reaper has posed:
"The rest of your training regime between your team and your demolitions will be with ... -me-. And anyone else I choose. There will be a time when you cannot run. When you cannot dodge. When you cannot cut loose, avoid, deflect, or flee. I expect you to be able to kill.. Not just willing. Able too, competently and quickly."
A soft hiss. ".. And you can't kill a dead man."

Nicky (968) has posed:
"You don't look nearly dead enough to be really dead to me." Nicky rebounds, chuffing a moment as she looks up from the file, trying to get at least some info from the heavily blackened file. Team he had said, and there are some lines refering to the specialists... one... two... at least two different names might be used in the file, but that was just judging from the length of them. Then there was something about the target, but most things that could help to identify it were... blackend. "Just probably got to find the right thing to off you. Wouldn't be the first 'unkillable' enemy that had some hidden weakpoint that could be exploited for a kill."

Reaper has posed:
"I ... am the Angel of Death. There is nothing that can stop my stride upon these worlds. Better mortals than you have tried; Better mortals than you have died."

Hisses Reaper darkly, the smoke coiling upwards from his shoulders again. Metal gauntlets creak once more as he squeezes his hands within, before he moves behind Nicky to either review the file over her shoulder or simply to loom. Those broad arms crossing once again over his thick chest, the white mask half hidden by the cowl of his jacket.
"Saboteur, then? An expected choice. Although I wonder just how much damage your other form can take before .. termination." That word is tasted with something approaching a dark chuckle, before his hand swipes again. "Something the surgeons can estimate. Were there any other questions you had before I set your schedule in stone?"

Nicky (968) has posed:
Nicky tries to concentrate on the file, her fingers flipping holographic pages as she tries to memorize as much as is not blackened and makes sense. "You did expect any of the choices, didn't you?" She answers without looking up or behind her, but she seems slightly unnerved from the statement about termination. "As long as someone sews it back together... a lot. Don't ask how I know that."

Reaper has posed:
"I expected some more than others. I would have been mildly surprised had you picked direct, heavy weapons assault over indirect action; It would've shown a sharper bloodlust than I anticipated."

Begins the Reaper, reaching over Nicky's shoulder to press his thumb against the corner of the page. His metal claw thumb, with the gloved undersuit. Before one can even begin questioning the logic of this, there is a quiet flicker before black begins receeding from the details. Of course, 'Fortuna' is still blacked out, as are her 'team-mates'. Both from the Island, in point of fact, the survivors.

"I assume from someone failing to finish you off." He hisses, with that rasping, menacing voice, before his heavy metal boots are moving back towards the other side of the table.

"You're on strike lead for the mission. If it doesn't get taken from you by one of the others. I would take time to look over the assets at your disposal.. -carefully-."

Nicky (968) has posed:
Nicky sighs as Reaper's suspicion actually is pretty far off - it was a kid that ripped off an arm of her stuff shape and then its mom fixing it as she had hidden in their residence for a heist.

"So, who's the team besides me? These docs say I get at least two from the reference to a him and a her, and seeing only one vessel for in, I assume a max of five. And the file doesn't exactly include dossiers on the other 'assets'."

Reaper has posed:
The assets? Well, that should be obvious. Astrafel - and the Jons. Jon the Sister, her flesh marred by cybernetic grafts to replace what the massive bird had ripped from her. And Jon the Brother, scarred and slightly heavier than the last time Nicky had seen him. One ally - two enemies. At least, enemies back on the Island, when they had joined with the Betrayed. Who may - even now - still be surviving, waiting for the next batch of recruits so she can come back to the fold.

After all, the rules only specified that the people with the relics get a ride out. It didn't say you had to be with the group that arrived.


"You should be familiar with the other three of your team already; You tried to leave two of them for dead." A beat. "We do not keep detailed ability dossiers. That was Overwatch's screwup; I expect team leaders to know their assets, or to learn them, and be able to recommend the right talents for the job."

What, you thought being a strike leader would be easy? "Your demolitions trainers will show you the payload. The master of arms will help determine your load out. But all the decisions - everything that's going to let you walk out of there alive - is going to be on you."

Nicky (968) has posed:
"Correction: they teamed up with Sha but they made it to the beach in time. It was her who had planned to kill them, should she need a relic for herself." Nicky retorts, her finger pointing to the blurry pictures of the two Jons. "Can't say I had seen much of their performance. The cyber though looks fresh. Probably enhanced strength and durability... Astrafel I know is pretty agile and wasn't too bad with a pistol on the range."

"Well, I guess that's all I have to work with, right?"

Reaper has posed:
"You'll have your training with them for the next three days."

States the Reaper, almost pleased at the difficult situation he's put her in. As for their choice in following Sha? Well, he doesn't say anything more on that. Someone had to lose in that game; In fact, many people lost - Their lives. "You'll have time to learn what they can do - and how to control them. Or you won't, you'll fail, and someone better will be in charge." He brings up another relay on his side, the text blotted from the rear to avoid anyone reading it backwards as he taps a few times.
"You've been scheduled for the surgical review later today. After that, your first session with the demolitions trainers. In the morning you meet your team, and decide on field excercises. I can -advise-.." The word is practically ground out ".. but until you fail or one of your 'teammates' seizes control, it's your responsibility. A full intel packet on the target will be available before lights out - Your quarters are authorized to ignore curfew. For now. You're not going to get a lot of sleep tonight."

"Welcome to the joys of specialization." He purrs, in that dark and menacing rasp.