Nacht und Nebel [IC]

[Voshkod]

Nacht und Nebel

Chapter One: Stralauer Tor

It sates itself on the life-blood
of fated men,
paints red the powers' homes
with crimson gore.
Black become the sun's beams
in the summers that follow,
weathers all treacherous.

Do you still seek to know? And what?

Five hours ago, you were on the surface, in a long summer's twilight. Perhaps you were enjoying an afternoon coffee or beer in a café on the Unter den Linden, watching the last rays of the sun dance off the leaves of the newly-planted linden trees, small shadows of the old trees that gave the street its name, before they were destroyed by Allied bombing, Soviet tanks, or Germans desperate for fuel.

Perhaps you were picking through one of the piles of rubble, hundreds of feet tall, smashed bricks, shattered porcelain, the occasional bone fragment, swept together in the aftermath of the fall of Berlin. Maybe you were looking for something you remember.

Or perhaps you were just sulking in barracks, far from home, surrounded by the Germans you'd fought just a few years before, and wondering what you'd gotten yourself into with the Reserve Police Agency.

No matter. Because now, you're at least three levels below ground under the half-demolished Stralauer Tor U-Bahn station, and the creatures are coming closer.

Three hours ago, you were assembled for a briefing at the Kammergericht, the old Prussian Supreme Court building, cold and musty Baroque pile, formerly home of the Allied Control Council, now almost empty. You've been thrown together with four strangers, no reason to trust them. An attractive German woman, a hard-looking Frenchman, a well-dressed British officer, a smiling Soviet, an American smoking a Camel (hard to find in Berlin). Capitaine de frigate Marcel du Marchand, the French representative to the RPA, is there. He's a small, smiling man, pale of skin, with a neat black mustache. "Good evening," he says in accented French. "I am so sorry to drag you away from your evening plans, but c'est la vie." He shrugs the classic Gallic shrug.

The things move slowly. You can hear them dragging themselves out of the darkness. The tunnel you're in runs nearly north-south. You've come up from the south, passing several intersecting tunnels, following the trail of bloody handprints on the wall. You've found three of them, so far, the American near the stairs to the third level, badly torn up, bitten, surrounded by shell casings. A Russian woman, lying dead and untouched, in a section of dank corridor that was warped, shifted slightly, like a section of tunnel had somehow been turned without being damaged. Her skin is smooth and her hair is gone. And now you've found the British officer by following the blood; he's dead, sitting up against a piece of machinery, vainly holding in his guts.

"We have lost contact with one of our teams," du Marchand says. "They went down under Stralauer Tor yesterday and haven't reported back yet. Rumors of the dead, several ladies of the evening gone missing. Go find them, or at least what happened to them. And in particular," he says, stroking his mustache, "find Ms. Arnot. She had . . . has important papers that must be delivered only to me." He passes across a file with pictures of the missing team, a lantern-jawed American captain, a grim-faced Soviet female pilot, a smiling British corporal, a scarred German man, and Ms. Arnot, a pretty Frenchwoman. "Find them, and report back to me. Dismissed."

Violet lights in the darkness ahead, bobbing up and down slowly, and moving in pairs. Eyes. The eyes of the dead don't glow, or at least you've never been briefed that they do. Eight, nine, ten pairs of eyes, north up the corridor. And the sound of shuffling from behind now, as well. The submachine guns you've been issued are cold in your hands.

[fire_insideout]

Lance drops the submachine gun, letting it hang from the leather sling around his neck and reaches down for one of the flares hanging from his belt.
“Don’t look at the light!” He shouts before pulling the cord from the cap and throwing the now burning flare towards the group of eyes in the dark.

Attempts to throw the flare amongst or behind the group approaching, giving his allies clear silhouettes to fire at.
Action: 2

Not sure if there are any traits that are applicable in this situation, though ’Seen the horrors of war’ might activate at any point during combat I guess.

[Kaptin Keen]

Meine herren, I'm afraid I'm not much use in this sort of physical confrontation. I'll do my best, and try not to get in everyone's way. Ingrid unholsters her luger, looks away as Lance throws his flare, then aims towards the moving lights.

[bluntpencil]

"Douse your lights, comrades!" whispers the Frenchman savagely, expecting the others to turn off the flashlights mounted on their guns.

If and when his team-mates comply, he adds, "we have the advantage of darkness. Their funny little lights give them away - we shall end them in the dark!"

He still doesn't really believe that anything the RPA faces is anything more than highly classified technological wonders researched by Nazi Party scientists. There's surely a reasonable explanation. None of the pre-industrial fairy tale nonsense that was used to explain their foes impressed him much.


Using Reason (3)
Using Ice-cold killer (+)
Also using Godless Communist (-) to reflect his, perhaps naive, belief that the monsters don't exist - which makes him far braver.

[Kaptin Keen]

Aber ... herr Lance already threw a flare on them.

[Voshkod]

Lance pulls out a flare and prepares to toss it as the Frenchman hisses orders at the group.

Lance's roll
[roll0]
[roll1]

Adnot's roll
[roll2]
[roll3]
[roll4]

[Voshkod]

[OOC: The two 9's cancel out, leaving Adnot's 8 and 5 higher than Lance's 3. Adnot succeeds with two successes.]

The team begins to turn off their flashlights just as Lance's flare ignites, throwing harsh shadows around the tunnel. The sudden brightness is blinding, but also gives the team a chance to really see the machine they're standing next to. It's some sort of large pump, with several wheels attached to it, presumable for valves. The flares arcs away into the darkness. As it flashes away, you can see six, maybe eight, tall, thin and pale figures moving slowly toward the group. The flare burns brightly behind them, lighting them up like targets on the range.

The rest of the group (that's not Adnot or Lance) hears a strong note of command in Adnot's voice. Perhaps Lance was too hasty?

[OOC: I decided to use this as a test of the system. Mechanically speaking, Adnot got the group to listen to him. With a bit more success, he might have stopped Lance from throwing the flare. I did not run a test for throwing the flare - that's a pretty basic action. Without telling people how to RP the situation, Adnot sounded like a commander for that moment.]

[Togo]

Light off on us, lights on on them?

Jack sends his East German cigarette spinning into the turgid water, the glow hissing as it is consumed by the dark.

Right you are...

The submachine gun lights up his face in stacatto flashes, as he sends a fusillade of short sharp bursts towards selected targets.

Any of you johnnies technical enough to see if those pumps and bilges could flood the bally tunnel?

Action 5
-ve a gentleman keeps his suit clean
total 4

[Kaptin Keen]

I feel we should make an effort to retrieve the papers we were sent here for, before flooding the tunnels. Be that as it may, I'm more of a dancer than a mechanic, herr Jack, and so not much use in the operation of heavy machinery.

Ingrid looks dubiously at the luger in her hand, squeezes off a few shots, then adds,

Or handweapons, I'm afraid.

Shouldn't be so hard. The bullet goes out the front when I pull the trigger - if I can get the timing right for tango, I can bloody well do this too.

And so she fires, spins, fires, steps, fires, drops to one knee, fires again. Graceful as a ballet dancer, the gun cracks in her grip, and she uses her natural agility and speed to realign her aim at the next foe.

[Shieldheart]

Mikhail took a long drag from his cigarette and let it fall to the ground. "Good call, comrade Adnot," he says cheerily, lifting his submachine gun and pointing it at the things coming at them. The Frenchman had thought quickly and rationally, while the American had acted in haste. Typical. He held the gun low, firmly aiming it. Then he let the bullets flow, aiming to hit them right in the body center for maximum damage.



Taking Action. Adding a die for Cool and Calm Under Pressure.

[roll0]



"I agree with the Fraulein," he called out over the gunfire. "Our mission is still paramount. We can't have let our comrades in the RPA die in vain. We must try and secure the papers."

[Voshkod]

The things move forward at a rapid shuffle, trying to close the distance between them and the warm flesh that's shooting at them. They make no noise other then the scuff of unshod feet on the concrete floor. And then all hell breaks loose as the team opens fire.

Bullets flash downrange and slam into the pale bodies. A fast but effective fire is kept up, and while it's hard to see just who is shooting what, it's clear that the entire team is making an impact.

[OOC: Each team members highest die was higher then the creature's highest die, so each of you succeeded.]

Mikhail takes a particular pleasure in splattering the creatures on the walls, remember his days on the front, gunning down the German soliders.

[OOC: Mikhail's die from "Ruthlessness" was one of his highest dice, so that reinforces his negative attribute.]

Violet ichor sprays from the creatures as they are chopped down in the hail of gunfire. The walls around them are splattered in the softly glowing goo. The last of the pale things falls, twitching, as the gunfire subsides.

[bluntpencil]

Adnot lights up his torch, and walks over to the, hopefully, now deceased people that they just shot. They were probably Nazi soldiers using some sort of experimental combat-drugs or something, surely? It was a logical explanation at least.

"I agree, of course. Stick to the mission. The bastard fascists murdered some of ours, and it won't be for nothing."

[fire_insideout]

The frenchman's harsh whisper comes a fraction of a second too late and Lance's flare has already left his hand. With their silhouettes clearly visible against the cold, red light of the flare their opponents are easy targets. As the last of the creature falls to the ground and the gun fire dies down Lance turns to Adnot.
"Apologies for my hasty behaviour, the war taught me that those who act live. When walking into the enemy like this there's no time for second guessing." He shrugs and lights another cigarette. "Besides, I like to know what I'm shooting at. No point in wasting bullets."
Squaring his shoulders the american walks over to the fallen corpses, time to see what the nazis had hidden below Berlin.

[Kaptin Keen]

Careful, Herr Lance, whispers Ingrid, keeping her luger pointed at the motionless corpses.

[Voshkod]

The team slowly approaches the downed bodies. The walls and floor around the corpses still glows with a soft violet light from the splattered gore. The bodies are nude and apparently sexless, pale hairless smooth skin stretched tight over muscle. The limbs and torso are too long, the lips pulled back showing a graveyard of sharp teeth. The creatures have no eyelids, and their dead eyes stare upward, glowing violet. The smell is wrong, as well, not the rich copper of human blood, but almost a floral odor of newly mown hay. Overall, they look to have once been humans, but now it's as if they were made of taffy, heated, and pulled. They have no weapons visible but long fingernails, and on each of their palms is scorched a symbol:

https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/01/Runic_letter_tiwaz.svg

[bluntpencil]

"Poor bastards. Those damned drug-therapies and gene-manipulations, turning people into monsters," says Adnot.

He then, generally, asks his comrades, "Is there anything the fash wouldn't do?"

[Kaptin Keen]

What is that symbol? And why brand them?

[bluntpencil]

"Unit tattoos? Do you know of any SS units that have this in their heraldry? I know the fash like their arrows and spears and things."

Adnot puts it down to a military unit all getting squadron tattoos or such. Hell, he has a hammer and sickle tattoo himself. His whole unit got it done.

[Togo]

Jack shrugs, his forced causal air belied by his nervous glances back the way they had come.

When shipping abominations of occult science, store this way up?

[Kaptin Keen]

Ingrid chuckles at Jacks dubious humor.

No. No it's something they gripped. See? Suppose they hold on to some handle, and energy courses through them - turning them into ... whatever they are now, and burning their hands in the process.

Or am I just being too imaginative?

[Shieldheart]

Mikhail smiled grimly as the hail of bullets mowed the creatures down. This was brutal and fearful; but it was familiar and there was comfort in familiarity. The things went down with little effort and he had to wonder, had these been the same creatures that had taken down the other agents? Or was there something worse hiding down here with them?

He lit another cigarette as they approached the fallen monsters, looking over them with a steady eye. Monsters. Likely had once been human. Poor souls. If he had believed in an afterlife, he might have said a prayer for them.

"We do not know enough to guess," he said quietly as the others began to discuss what the mark on their palms might be. "Some occult symbol perhaps. The fascists of Germany were obsessed with their little superstitions after all." He looked up, at the way they were meant to move forward. "We should move on. We do not know what other creature lurks down here. We need to find the papers and soon."

[Togo]

Jack nods There are more creatures behind, but we should push on.

[Kaptin Keen]

Are we sure it's a good idea to leave enemies behind us - between ourselves and the exit? Surely you gentlemen have more combat experience, but that seems like the kind of thing people in moving pictures do, just before they die.

Ingrid shines her flashlight down the tunnel behind them, and swaps the clip in her luger for a full one.

[bluntpencil]

"Just keep moving. We've no idea how many there are. A clean up crew can handle the rest later. We've a job to do."
Adnot wants to get things moving along. He doesn't want to risk getting caught by a horde of screwed up experiments, and running out of ammunition at an inopportune time.

[Voshkod]

[OOC: Busy over U.S. Thanksgiving, back now. Hope you all had a good holiday or weekend.]

Shuffling noise can be heard, echoing dimly down the tunnel. It's hard to tell if the noises are coming from in front, or behind. The symbol perhaps is vaguely familiar. The team could take a few photographs (certainly someone is carrying a camera) but the flash would illuminate your position. A quick cut with a knife would give you a more physical reference to take back with you. Or, perhaps, someone has seen this before.

[OOC: A reason check is appropriate here.]

[Kaptin Keen]

So - Ingrid has reason 3, and I guess being a former party member just might have given her access to symbols such as these some time in the past.

So 4 dice.

[roll0]

Does that work?!

It's an arrow shaped mark. I'm reasonably convinced I could recount how it looks, or draw it by hand if need be. If it comes to that, Ingrid will strongly suggest that 'no one is cutting off the zombie hands, verdammt nochmal!

[Shieldheart]

Mikhail nodded. "We should keep moving." He said, agreeing with the Frenchman. "Once we secure the papers, we can figure our way out. As long as we are smart about it, we will get out of here alive." He smiled at the Fraulein. "All of us."

He glanced down at the dead creatures and at that mark. Could it be useful for the Motherland?



Here's my thinking,

2 die for Reason. Doubling for Hidden Public Agenda, so 4 die. 1 die for Charming and gregarious. 5 die.

[roll0]

Mikhail will try to dissuade the others from taking pictures or cutting off the hand/mark.

Also, please see OOC, Voshkod.

[Togo]

Jack takes a last glance behind, and then moves on, hugging the left hand wall. That mark bothers him for some reason, but he's not sure why...


Reason 2 d20
[roll0]
[roll1]

We've made a racket here. We should move location.

[Voshkod]

Ingrid has seen the sigil before, from her time as a party member. The party co-opted many symbols, from Christian symbols, to Hindu symbols, and Norse runes. And this mark was once used by the Sturmabteilung, the Brown Shirts, the men who brought Hitler to power before he destroyed them in the Night of the Long Knives. She remembers being taught about it in school, the rune for Týr, the Norse god of law, glory, and war. Týr the one-handed. She remembers soldiers marching off to die in the East, some of them scratching the rune on their weapons, a scrap of poetry from old German, "it is ever on its course over the mists of night and never fails."

The group moves on, urged by the Russian, who lingers on just long enough to make the "one-handed" applicable not only to Týr but to one of the bodies - unnoticed by the others.

Down another flight of stairs, and a mist is rising, warm and damp - steam. Old steam lines run amok overhead, some fractured by Allied bombing and still not repaired. Quickly the air grows thick and humid, and visibility falls, as Jack stumbles over something that moans and grasps at his foot.

[Kaptin Keen]

Ingrid shares her knowledge with the rest of the team.

The symbol is associated with the Brown Shirts, the Sturmabteil. Just ... yet another faction of fanatic hate-heads.

Could they have somehow agreed to serve even beyond death? They died and turned into this? Damn, the foolish things people do.

[Shieldheart]

Having secreted the dead hand in his pack, Mikhail caught up with the others in time to hear Fraulein Ingrid's explanation. "Brown Shirts. Were they all not betrayed by Hitler? Nacht der langen Messer. Would they really have chosen this? Perhaps they were used. The Nazi machine never did care for its people." He said, resisting the urge to light up a cigarette.

He became concerned as the steam leaking from the old pipes began to impede their vision. Just then, he heard the noise, a moaning coming from the ground. In an instant, Mikhail had his gun in his hand. "Stop!" He called out to the others. "Be ready!"

[Togo]

Jack gasps, and jumps upwards, his powerful hands catching onto a hanging pipe, his chest and arm muscles straining as he pulls himself away from the ground. Looking down, his legs dangling beneath him, he peers through the mist, looking for the source of the moaning sound.

Something grabbed me, can anyone see it?

[Voshkod]

Whatever had grabbed him had a very weak grip. The hand slips away easily as Jack leaps up to the overhanging pipe.

"Gott . . . ." a warped voice croaks. The German member of the earlier team lies in the steam, Joachim Sisler. "Ich habe Gott gesehen . . . ." The steam parts as he moves, and his face comes into view. It looks like it's been pulled to the left, shifted around his skull by around 45 degrees, as if he were wearing a mask that had come askew. One eye has been covered with skin from his cheek, an ear has shifted up toward his forehead, and his lower lip hangs freely from a thread. But there is no blood. "Gott," he says again.

[Kaptin Keen]

Gütiger Himmel, whispers Ingrid. Then, unless someone faster opens fire, she grabs her stiletto and jabs it through the poor guys temple.


Does he even resist?

I guess three dice. [roll0]

[Shieldheart]

Mikhail's eyes widened in horror and disgust at the sight before him. But his Russian soul did not flinch. Instead, he paid attention to what the man was saying. Ich habe Gott gesehen? His head jerked up sharply as Fraulein Ingrid moved and he saw the flash of the stiletto.

"Nein, Fraulein!" He said in a loud whisper. "He might have valuable intel!"



Was not sure if I should roll, so roll's in the OOC thread.

[Kaptin Keen]

Stiletto raised, Ingrid pauses at the russians words.

Intel, Herr Mikhail? I very much doubt he has very much left of the man he was. Look at him? He is a wreck! Would you really torment him further? If the roles were switched, wouldn't you want your friends to release you?

[Togo]

Not if I'd clung to life for a reason. says Jack conversationally, hanging from an overhead pipe. See if the poor chap has anything to say first, eh?

[Kaptin Keen]

As you wish. Ingrid makes her stilletto disappear again.

[Shieldheart]

Containing his revulsion, Mikhail went down on one knee and stared intently at the German man.

"What happened, comrade? What can you tell us about what's down here?"

He did not have much hope that the man would be coherent. But it couldn't hurt to ask surely.

[Voshkod]

"Ich sah die Eigenvektor-Gott. Er segnete mich mit diesem Geschenk. Er nahm Rachelle für seine eigenen", he murmurs softly. "Ich war nicht würdig der endgültige Geschenk."

[OOC: I'm using Google Translate, so I apologize to any German speakers.]

The German speakers parse his mumbles. "I saw the eigenvector god. He blessed me with this gift. He took Rachelle for his own. I wasn't worthy of the final gift."

[Kaptin Keen]

Mein Gott. Dein deutsch ist ja entsätzlich. Was haben dir diese monster bloss angetan?

Just making fun of your bad google translate. Don't mind me =D

[Togo]

Jack carefully lowers himself to the floor.

What about the others in your group? Can you tell us where to find the exaulted one, the most high? Or Rachelle He says politely.

[Voshkod]

OOC: Going to shift to English now.

He turns his head toward Jack, and it lolls to the side, as if the spine is gone. "They're all dead," he groans, "except her. He took her to bless her too."

[Togo]

Jack reloads his gun.

Sounds like we have a 'god' to find. Shall we?