02-15-2007, 09:57 PM
Name: Classified.
Gender: Male
Age: Classified
Race: Human
Languages: English, Russian, German, Japanese, various Arabian dialects, Spanish, Manderin, Cantonese, Korean.
Sexuality: Classified
Alliance: MI5
Occupation: Agent of Her Majesty's Government
Nationality: British
Personality: Classified
Appearance: Varies.
Height: 1 metre 94.
Combat techniques: Various.
Skills: Marksmanship, anti-magic.
Magic: None.
As a motorbike roared distantly from the scene, the gentleman in the black suit stepped into the lift. Too late, perhaps, however the observation site might well be of help. He pushed the button for the roof.
He stepped out of the roof hut, and assessed the scene. A woman lay dead by the low wall a chain link fence that surrounded the top of the building. He walked over to her, slipping on his gloves. Foam came from her mouth, consistant with many forms of poisoning or magic. He stood up, and checked out the building opposite. Any number of those rooms could have been a target. Her returned to the corpse, and took out his phone. He dialed the number, the having no storage for them.
"Homonculus." he said. "I'm searching a body," he said, rifling through the woman's blazer, and pulling out her wallet. "It's a female," he flipped it open, "....She has a driver's licence. Here, I'll take photos, you can verify them." He pointed and shot with his camera.
"Sending now, along with photos of the body."
He hung up, and set his phone down. He sat her up, and took off her jacket, noting its weight. He searched the seams of the lining: there. A tiny zip ran down the side, breaking the thread for a moment. He unzipped it. There was another on the other side. Reaching into the right, he plucked several more ID, and an unmarked pass card. Reaching into the other pocket, he found passports for the Russian Federation, France, Canada, Britain, America, Germany, Spain, the Neatherlands, Ireland, and various Eastern Europian nations.
The phone buzzed, and he answered immediately. The number was not displayed. "They're fake. Yes, I've found multiple ID on her. All of them fake. She has an unmarked card," he said as he pocketed it, and turned his attention to the weapon at her side, "And Glock 17. It's been slightly customised. There's also a knife in her leg. It's been put in with some force, and twisted quite a bit. I don't know if it's his or hers. Any match for that photo?" He listened. "Thanks. He's probably still in the city. It looks like he was checking out the hotel across the road. Check the booklistings for anyone of note."
So, French Agent, he thought, the unmarked access card in his pocket. Might well be useful. He left the building, disposing of his gloves in a bin on the way back to the car. A smart and functional Ford Focus. It was blue. He streightened his tie clip, and drove away.
Gender: Male
Age: Classified
Race: Human
Languages: English, Russian, German, Japanese, various Arabian dialects, Spanish, Manderin, Cantonese, Korean.
Sexuality: Classified
Alliance: MI5
Occupation: Agent of Her Majesty's Government
Nationality: British
Personality: Classified
Appearance: Varies.
Height: 1 metre 94.
Combat techniques: Various.
Skills: Marksmanship, anti-magic.
Magic: None.
As a motorbike roared distantly from the scene, the gentleman in the black suit stepped into the lift. Too late, perhaps, however the observation site might well be of help. He pushed the button for the roof.
He stepped out of the roof hut, and assessed the scene. A woman lay dead by the low wall a chain link fence that surrounded the top of the building. He walked over to her, slipping on his gloves. Foam came from her mouth, consistant with many forms of poisoning or magic. He stood up, and checked out the building opposite. Any number of those rooms could have been a target. Her returned to the corpse, and took out his phone. He dialed the number, the having no storage for them.
"Homonculus." he said. "I'm searching a body," he said, rifling through the woman's blazer, and pulling out her wallet. "It's a female," he flipped it open, "....She has a driver's licence. Here, I'll take photos, you can verify them." He pointed and shot with his camera.
"Sending now, along with photos of the body."
He hung up, and set his phone down. He sat her up, and took off her jacket, noting its weight. He searched the seams of the lining: there. A tiny zip ran down the side, breaking the thread for a moment. He unzipped it. There was another on the other side. Reaching into the right, he plucked several more ID, and an unmarked pass card. Reaching into the other pocket, he found passports for the Russian Federation, France, Canada, Britain, America, Germany, Spain, the Neatherlands, Ireland, and various Eastern Europian nations.
The phone buzzed, and he answered immediately. The number was not displayed. "They're fake. Yes, I've found multiple ID on her. All of them fake. She has an unmarked card," he said as he pocketed it, and turned his attention to the weapon at her side, "And Glock 17. It's been slightly customised. There's also a knife in her leg. It's been put in with some force, and twisted quite a bit. I don't know if it's his or hers. Any match for that photo?" He listened. "Thanks. He's probably still in the city. It looks like he was checking out the hotel across the road. Check the booklistings for anyone of note."
So, French Agent, he thought, the unmarked access card in his pocket. Might well be useful. He left the building, disposing of his gloves in a bin on the way back to the car. A smart and functional Ford Focus. It was blue. He streightened his tie clip, and drove away.