Wartime Prayers [All TGG]
Apr 1, 2011 17:49:23 GMT -5
Post by Dr. Sean Neville on Apr 1, 2011 17:49:23 GMT -5
((OOC: This takes place after “What if I Wanted to Break?” with Morgan, but before any retaliation by M.S.A.D. Please post reactions but short ones. This is your last chance to leave before being in too deep.))
The conversation with Morgan had sobered the telepath even more than the encounter at the mansion and then Chase’s hospital visit had. Much of this had been unsurprising, even if he had been unaware of specifics. It moved him to action, even though it warred with his peaceful nature.
Sean had distributed messages secretly throughout the day, seeking out staff members whom he could trust with a secret, even if they rebuked his offer. He requested their silence and their presence at his home.
The night of his impromptu gathering, he had given L.C. fifty dollars and sent her to the movies for the evening, telling her that since it was not a weeknight the next day she could stay out a bit past curfew but that she should call him. Once she was safely out of the house and no longer a liability, he placed an order with a restaurant for enough food for about twenty people, just in case. Some people ate when they were nervous. And while he would usually cook himself, he had more important ways to spend his time.
He had to finish the charts, and he had letters to write.
The food arrived first, and he had set up the living and dining space to accommodate all of the adults he had invited. Then one-by-one, his guests arrived, questions in their thoughts, ones he would have to answer once everyone was settled. When the last had arrived and everyone had food and liquor – while he remained tellingly sober – he moved to the center of the living room where everyone could see him.
“I want to thank everyone for coming tonight. I know that this was short notice and that you all have a lot of questions, and I will answer everything as best I can. I want to emphasize once more that this is all in the strictest confidence; you’re here because I trust you and because I know you care about Hammel and about the children as much as I do. You can walk out after I say what I need to say, you can wash your hands of all of this, but you can’t speak of it to anyone who isn’t seated here tonight.
“You’re all aware of that James Campbell was attacked last summer which resulted in our lockdown. Files on potential students were stolen. The organization responsible is a terrorist group consisting of meta-humans, many of whom are alumni of Hammel. We can reflect on that legacy at another time. The organization calls itself M.S.A.D., short for Meta-human Supremacy and Domination; their tactics are precisely what their name suggests. They are brutal and violent, and they have taken in students before. Most notably Jesse Adams whose temperament has not improved under their care, while his control over his abilities has.
“They were led by a Hammel graduate named Gabriel Underwood, who is responsible for the attack. All of you are recent enough additions to the faculty to not remember Underwood as a student, but I do. He was a powerful puppeteer who was both a charismatic leader and businessman and also a sadist of the highest order. Since the attack on Hammel, Chase and I have been tracking his movements. I’d been tracking him before this.
“Gabriel Underwood is dead. This death coincides with Chase’s recent injuries. The women in charge of the organization are equally driven and blood-thirsty although more emotional. A gestalt pair who are also former Hammel students. They are fiercely loyal to Gabriel and believe that he is a modern day saint; I hope that sufficiently describes their mental state. Their past activities have included attacking innocent non-meta people for the crime of not being meta and attempted murder. They hate Hammel and they know who I am.
“A reliable source informs me that they have taken over the organization and that several members of M.S.A.D. have left in the wake. That is the good news. The bad news is that those that remain are out for blood. I fear another attack on the school and soon. They will have no mercy for the students, and they are the ones we need to protect.”
The telepath took a deep breath and then reached for the police report he had filed, holding it up. “Hammel filed this over the summer after the first attack. I’ve attempted to contact them several times since then to follow up; I’ve used some of the Board’s contacts, but to no avail. Despite the fact that I know who was responsible and was willing to testify, no progress was ever made on closing the case. The police have been paid off or worse, which is not surprising given Underwood’s prior contacts. This puts us in a difficult position because nobody will protect the school, except for us.”
He paused for a moment, allowing that to sink in before continuing. “They kidnapped a potential student before, which is how I know that the children are not safe. I propose this because we have no other options, but we need to join together and be prepared for an attack. It will come; it is only a matter of when, not if. We are all capable adults, many of us with offensive powers and some of us with professional training. I am asking you as your friend and as your colleague to work with me to prevent a potential catastrophe. Because while it will start with Hammel, it will not end there. The world that this organization desires is one where our non-meta friends and family have no purpose except as chattel, if that. I realize that this sounds alarmist but Chase will verify what I have said.
“I need your help. I’m only one man, and an aging one at that. I was prepared for Underwood because his powers are psychic and that’s my realm. A gestalt pair, and their non-psychic cohorts, armed to the teeth are more than one old man can handle. Either way I’m involved, and so what I ask of you all is whether you are willing to help me. Anyone who doesn’t want to, for moral, personal, or practical reasons, may leave now and I promise there will be no judgment or repercussions on my end.”
That was his piece. It was as eloquent as it would get, given that he had no military training and had never had to rally the troops before. Finished, Sean leaned against an armchair and took a sip of water, waiting for reactions; it was the moment of truth.
The conversation with Morgan had sobered the telepath even more than the encounter at the mansion and then Chase’s hospital visit had. Much of this had been unsurprising, even if he had been unaware of specifics. It moved him to action, even though it warred with his peaceful nature.
Sean had distributed messages secretly throughout the day, seeking out staff members whom he could trust with a secret, even if they rebuked his offer. He requested their silence and their presence at his home.
The night of his impromptu gathering, he had given L.C. fifty dollars and sent her to the movies for the evening, telling her that since it was not a weeknight the next day she could stay out a bit past curfew but that she should call him. Once she was safely out of the house and no longer a liability, he placed an order with a restaurant for enough food for about twenty people, just in case. Some people ate when they were nervous. And while he would usually cook himself, he had more important ways to spend his time.
He had to finish the charts, and he had letters to write.
The food arrived first, and he had set up the living and dining space to accommodate all of the adults he had invited. Then one-by-one, his guests arrived, questions in their thoughts, ones he would have to answer once everyone was settled. When the last had arrived and everyone had food and liquor – while he remained tellingly sober – he moved to the center of the living room where everyone could see him.
“I want to thank everyone for coming tonight. I know that this was short notice and that you all have a lot of questions, and I will answer everything as best I can. I want to emphasize once more that this is all in the strictest confidence; you’re here because I trust you and because I know you care about Hammel and about the children as much as I do. You can walk out after I say what I need to say, you can wash your hands of all of this, but you can’t speak of it to anyone who isn’t seated here tonight.
“You’re all aware of that James Campbell was attacked last summer which resulted in our lockdown. Files on potential students were stolen. The organization responsible is a terrorist group consisting of meta-humans, many of whom are alumni of Hammel. We can reflect on that legacy at another time. The organization calls itself M.S.A.D., short for Meta-human Supremacy and Domination; their tactics are precisely what their name suggests. They are brutal and violent, and they have taken in students before. Most notably Jesse Adams whose temperament has not improved under their care, while his control over his abilities has.
“They were led by a Hammel graduate named Gabriel Underwood, who is responsible for the attack. All of you are recent enough additions to the faculty to not remember Underwood as a student, but I do. He was a powerful puppeteer who was both a charismatic leader and businessman and also a sadist of the highest order. Since the attack on Hammel, Chase and I have been tracking his movements. I’d been tracking him before this.
“Gabriel Underwood is dead. This death coincides with Chase’s recent injuries. The women in charge of the organization are equally driven and blood-thirsty although more emotional. A gestalt pair who are also former Hammel students. They are fiercely loyal to Gabriel and believe that he is a modern day saint; I hope that sufficiently describes their mental state. Their past activities have included attacking innocent non-meta people for the crime of not being meta and attempted murder. They hate Hammel and they know who I am.
“A reliable source informs me that they have taken over the organization and that several members of M.S.A.D. have left in the wake. That is the good news. The bad news is that those that remain are out for blood. I fear another attack on the school and soon. They will have no mercy for the students, and they are the ones we need to protect.”
The telepath took a deep breath and then reached for the police report he had filed, holding it up. “Hammel filed this over the summer after the first attack. I’ve attempted to contact them several times since then to follow up; I’ve used some of the Board’s contacts, but to no avail. Despite the fact that I know who was responsible and was willing to testify, no progress was ever made on closing the case. The police have been paid off or worse, which is not surprising given Underwood’s prior contacts. This puts us in a difficult position because nobody will protect the school, except for us.”
He paused for a moment, allowing that to sink in before continuing. “They kidnapped a potential student before, which is how I know that the children are not safe. I propose this because we have no other options, but we need to join together and be prepared for an attack. It will come; it is only a matter of when, not if. We are all capable adults, many of us with offensive powers and some of us with professional training. I am asking you as your friend and as your colleague to work with me to prevent a potential catastrophe. Because while it will start with Hammel, it will not end there. The world that this organization desires is one where our non-meta friends and family have no purpose except as chattel, if that. I realize that this sounds alarmist but Chase will verify what I have said.
“I need your help. I’m only one man, and an aging one at that. I was prepared for Underwood because his powers are psychic and that’s my realm. A gestalt pair, and their non-psychic cohorts, armed to the teeth are more than one old man can handle. Either way I’m involved, and so what I ask of you all is whether you are willing to help me. Anyone who doesn’t want to, for moral, personal, or practical reasons, may leave now and I promise there will be no judgment or repercussions on my end.”
That was his piece. It was as eloquent as it would get, given that he had no military training and had never had to rally the troops before. Finished, Sean leaned against an armchair and took a sip of water, waiting for reactions; it was the moment of truth.
