open to everyone !

where: one of the gala's bathrooms :D

it's entirely too quiet, if he ignored the running of the facet and the quiet whimpering of the man who was still keeled over in the corner of a handicapped bathroom when he'd last seen him. at the very least, his mind is too quiet, anger and the slip of his emotions taken out on the first guy to piss him off. it's a blessing he's wearing black, not that hanbin owned clothing in many other colors to begin with, dark fabric concealing any splatters of red and leaving hints of it of his work on his neck, what was visible and messy washed away with water. his knuckles are painfully red, a mixture of his own blood and whatever had come out of the other's face by the time hanbin was finished staining the entirety of his hand.

suddenly, he can't exactly remember which restroom he'd pushed his victim into, far more concerned with it being empty and not occupied by some self-righteous level one. perhaps the attendees should be happy his approach to his anger today had been physical, and not in the form of blowing the fusebox out. this party, grand opening, or whatever you could call it, wasn't anything new to hanbin. except for it being occupied by far too many people he'd rather never see. scratch that, it was exactly like every corporate event he'd ever been to.

red still spills down the drain of the sink, scrubbing at his knuckles and unsure if it was making it better or worse. the faint sound of the door opening isn't lost on him, despite never attempting to lift his head. he's himself after all, uncaring and unabashed in what he's done, the lingering presence only enough for him to make him say anything at all. "that one's occupied," he states blankly, slightly less injured hand pointing behind him, in case the man crying inside of it wasn't enough.

OPEN STARTER || EVENT 001.

this was the last place that ariya wanted to be. some kind of masquerade ball for once again, something she had no interest in. if she wasn't a level i, she probably would have found some lame excuse to not attend and spent the night alone. technically speaking she was still spending her night alone but this time she was in too tight of a dress while the person she kind of wanted to come to this lame event with was on someone else's arm. even more of a reason not to be here.

grabbing a glass of champagne, she leaned her back against the bar. taking a few sips from the glass, she let her eyes scan the crowd of masked faces. everyone in some sort of disguise helped ease her nerves slightly. she tried to tell herself she wasn't looking for a certain "couple" in the crowd but she would be lying. why had talia agreed to come with him of all people?

lost in her own thoughts she hardly felt the person come up next to her at the bar. "sorry, i wasn't paying attention. i can move over if you want."

— WITHER. WHEN: the grand opening of anderson laboratories. WHERE: we're mingling, darling. we're networking. WHO: open to all.

Hadrian keeps a dark, weathered eye on the crowd. The tick, tick, tick of the muscles within the neck stretching to flash a smile to the unconscious glide of their fingertips across the delicate ribbon that held their masks in place. A nervous crowd, if ever he saw one. The music weaves itself through that tension and ah — a fine waltz. Dmitri Shostakovich, if he weren't mistaken ( and he rarely is. ) written that lovely key of C minor. Perhaps he was among ... company. The gowns, the glitter, the fake rosy laughter — the beauty of it all.

& even more interesting, the hidden identities of hundreds of EOs. Imagine that power — imagine what they could do with a hand to guide them? He had it on good information that many of them were agents from Cerberus. He knew most of them by face — but the added mask added a little fun to guessing game. He wonders how many secrets he can find out, how many little dropped words, how much he can take. How many more would be able to guess Wither from the curling horns of the devil in the pit of his own mask? Movement out of the corner of his eye distracts him from his thoughts.

"Oh — careful, darling." Hadrian is quick to reach out and grab a hold an elbow before everyone suddenly topples over. Dresses and drinks and shuffling feet rarely went well together. He steps within that open space to give them something to hold onto. "That could have been very bad. Are you alright? They didn't spill anything on you, did they?"

it's a friday night, which finds JAMES at a bar. he lets out a slow whistle as a movement of the corner of his eye draws his attention. there's a television screen on the back wall of the bar, and while there are some bars that play sports matches, others play — well, hero-villain battles. he supposes that it doesn't make too much of a difference; in either case, there's a winner and a loser. "well, that’s a shitshow," he says, his eyes focusing on the pair of cerberus agents as they scramble after a villain on screen. he pops a fry into their mouth as he watches the utter chaos unfold, wincing as an agent takes a bit of a hard fall after landing on a rooftop. he turns to the person beside him. " who are you rooting for ? "

[ no longer accepting new replies ! ]

who : bellamy quist (agent wraith) & open where: somewhere in cerberus hq

Just returning from a mission, Bellamy couldn't help but feel like she was being stared at by everyone she'd passed. But it wasn't until she'd run into someone who was staring so intently that they'd nearly bumped into a glass wall, that she finally looked down and saw several bloodied handprints on her new uniform. Glancing up, she caught a different person looking at her and immediately tried to explain. "Oh shoot...It's okay. It's not mine, promise," she said, attempting to smile while sheepishly scrunching her nose. "I mean...oh god, that sounds so much worse. The other guy's okay too!"

Open for anyone.

TJ took a deep breath and focused. He was not about to think too hard about what was just said. Or what has happened to him to get him to this point. Or the possiblity his brother could may as well knew this .TJ might be a cerberus agent but he was also a firefighter. For TJ that comes first and foremost. TJ slipped on a the red windbreaker and gathered as much water as he could. He passed the water bottle to the person and sit near them. Just distract the person long enough to get them calm and hydrated.The rest can come later

"You ever heard of the Montreal Screwjob?" He asked opening his own bottle to take a sip of water.

i have to get out of here. it was the only thought running through his head through during andersen's speech, yet jackson stood stunned with the rest of the crowd. the world was frozen for a second before pandemonium broke. he remained stuck, too panicked to kick into action. instead, he felt their agitated buzz in his stomach, his chest, his head. a tickle in his throat, and he was coughing into his hand, practically unnoticed in the chaos. after a few moments, there sat four yellow-jackets, who seemed to almost be looking at him expectantly.

"this cannot be happening," he said to himself hoarsely. jackson closed his hand over them, gently holding him against his palm. directed desperately at the person closest to him, he said, "this—that can't be true, right?"

open to: all location: some small bar setting: news of the cerberus corp scandal is playing on the small tv above the bar.

" -- all i'm saying is you can't trust corporations. i bet this is only the tip of the cerberus iceberg." she shrugs and continues sipping from her bourbon. nobody had asked her opinion and frankly, she was mostly rambling to herself like a crazy person.

Nerves. is all she could feel upon receiving her gaudy invitation to the gala. she expected nothing less all things considered. The knowledge that they knew of her― classified her as an EO― was an incursion of her privacy. Forcefully they thrusted her into the spotlight; not for her work; or development in space science that she helmed. But rather what she could do with these unnatural abilities. For six years she kept a tight lip of her new, skills. The last three she delved into what she could do― how powerful she could be. It scared her- no person, no mortal should have this kind of dominion. How odd to hate the very thing that saved your life. her attendance was begrudging on. her part, dawn in white from head to toe she snatched up a champagne flute quickly. Emptying the contents about halfway finally feeling the coil tight in the pit of her stomach loosen. Her breathing labored. cautious eyes found a cursory gaze behind a mask and she offered a tight smile. " It's warm in here. Though I suppose chugging alcohol would exacerbate the heat," she said fanning herself with her clutch, trying to cool the overheated skin of her collarbone. Breathe Marion, just breathe.

open to everyone. assume connections. or don't. saint is too bedevilled by artistic differences and advertisements for $500 xylophone tuners to care.

saint is aware of his assets. his terms, his conditions, how and why they are continuously rented to sheds made of subtextual shreds by his sisters. as evidenced by the dare program’s generational failures set to crimson brush fonts, however, awareness is bootless if not accompanied by action. so he has taken action, taken the financial x-intercept of his undefined wallet and pushed the slope to negative infinity with his first purchased instrument. in the understandable yet disappointing absence of a mission more challenging than not getting in the way of anyone else's missions, he has taken leave on the basis of mental health. during this leave, which has lasted a handful more hours than intended given that the one with hands holding the hours was one of the three hecatoncheires, he has done anything but become more mentally healthy. instead, he has bought a xylophone attached to a fanny pack, a metronome, a little league cap with the lettering of the dare program and a stench that suggests no action was taken there, either, and a tragic sort of rainbow recorder. and then he bumps into someone who makes him spit the recorder into the fanny pack portion of the xylophone. someone fated to be his first fatality, he decides, from the sheer brilliance of his latest branding scheme.

“i need you.” coming on with the strength of a malnourished feather, there, saint. do not merely grab their attention. seize it until cognitive muscles burst, macerate it with a voice modulated for the lecture hall, sip it with a smile worthy of a cerberus spokesperson. he does not make eye contact, of course. the limit does exist to that function. 

“this is my theme song. rights will sell for billions of dollars. i will get a voluptuously figured–” he chokes on his own words. mirth or la muerte? audience interpretation is appreciated. “sorry. my sister airdropped me these manifestations on the subway. how did this go again? red, blue, orange, yellow…”

in a key yet to be acknowledged by any voice in the history of music, he taps on the xylophone and belts the following: “agent billiard is your friend. agent billiard will make bad guys meet their end. not to say bad people cannot include women. bad people is who agent billiard will apprehend. agent billiard does not condescend. agent billiard can advise you on stock dividends.”

a moment of silence, the purpose of which is undecided. saint clears his throat. "thoughts?"

open for  :  all + assume connections

          "     when i said i'm a doctor, i also told you that all of my patients are dead, right  ?     "     the sight at his door is... gruesome, to say the least.  they've definitely seen better days and he can only assume that today was awful for them to show up here.  he catalogues each visible injury and shrugs, one hand still holding the front door half-way closed.     "     what do you want me to do about this  ?  there's an urgent care two blocks down and the hospital is the one with the big sign that says hospital.     "     

OPEN STARTER || EVENT 001.

truthfully when esen got the invitation for tonight, she pictured the night going very differently. she had expected a night full of smiles and laughter with the people she cared most about and instead she found herself trying to escape the crowd of people. maybe she was being a tad bit on the dramatic side because her night hadn’t been the worst but nothing was going to plan. she came here with a friend which wasn’t the worst, but it definitely wasn’t who she had pictured to be by her side for the evening.

after grabbing a drink from the open bar, she found her way through the crowd to some tables. most of them were currently occupied but she finally found an open one semi away from the others. she just needed a few minutes to sit down and relax away from the prying eyes of others.

she seems to lose track of time as she people watches alone. her drink has long been finished and she can’t be bothered enough to get up and grab another. drinking the night away wouldn’t solve any of her problems. she was perfectly content over here when she sees a somewhat recognizable face coming towards her.

“are you looking for a break from all of that madness too?” she asks with a smile. “i think watching everyone get drunk is pretty good entertainment for the time being.”

AFTERHOURS @ CERBERUS CORP. kyungseok — open to all.

He isn't supposed to be smoking.

What would the media say? What would the staff say? Christ, what would his mother say? Something along the lines of propriety and decency, perhaps. A face is only as good as its smile or something. Kyungseok is supposed to care about that as much as he isn't supposed to be smoking. Yet he finds it doesn't really matter right now as the smoke curls upwards into the dark. They all disappear like that, those tiny voices dissipating in the slow, practiced movements of fingers to mouth. Kyungseok had the decency, at least, to smoke outside. He's not a heathen.

Well, he isn't one right now. That could change. The night is something of a purple bruise seeping darker and darker overhead. No stars, plenty of time to catch up to trouble. He breathes in, he exhales, he disappears in the smoggy-smoke heartbeat of the city. There's a little peace in that, something small he can find and hide in.

& Then the door to his little escape fucking opens.

"Usually when someone is standing by themselves and alone, they don't want to be bothered."

open to everyone / the gala, at approx. 8pm

REMI is not too proud to admit that he had anticipated that this night would go — well, badly isn't exactly the word he's searching for, but it's close. after talking to some colleagues at work earlier in the day, he had been under the impression that everyone would be more or less dreading the event. remi himself had to arrive a little late, as he had to rush to go and get ready in his apartment after work.

he's hovering near the bar, waiting for drinks, but since an hour has already passed since the event began, the bar is currently swarming with guests vying for their own orders. he's not surprised — it's more or less expected at an event that's offering free drinks on a friday night, especially when it's taking place at a location that's as nice as the ritz-carlson.

" i had expected fewer people to be so... thrilled to be here, " he says, more or less under his breath.

Claudio was definitely less than amused. There were times where he felt like his people didn't understand the difference between a screw driver a syringe. Rivera Enterprises has a close partnership with Cerberus...They want the latest tech and help with their screening and ability processes, and Claudio offers that...With a pretty hefty fee, of course. But...Hey? If you want the best quality, you have to be prepared to offer the best bucks.

"If you're with Cerberus, you better have a appointment or something. If you're one of those annoying heroes or villains? Then fuck off." Claudio could tell the moment someone else was in his lab, even while he was working on combining the materials for the latest weapon. "Unless you want to be my latest test subject, anyways."

Open for anyone Location: Any religious center nearby cerb corp he's filling in for someone.

Harvey was on the receptionist computer reading up on the crime statistics and sighing. He swore they were a bit higher last week. Has that stupid corporation caught up to the lot that quick. He scribbled an equation on the church planner anxiously before sighting in relief. He still had a low probability of being caught but how would he keeps this up. He already wore a mask with a pitch changer as Rubix, what else could he do. He was about to scribble another probability problem when he heard the door.

Time for the fake smile and demeanor those church folk have. Honestly he wouldn't use this guise if it wasn't for the fact statiscally church employees are rarely investigated unless it was an extreme case. Much less since he didn't commit the crimes in any religious building. Thats what his powers told him.

"Please come in you must be frigid." He said with a welcoming grin that could put any televangelist to shame.