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Archive 25 / when-two-worlds-collide
Triggers: violence, death, murder
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Camille Förster BOT 22-Oct-23 04:58 AM
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Marshall Judge BOT 22-Oct-23 04:59 AM
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Camille Förster BOT 23-Oct-23 05:27 AM
-08:00 am- The sun's gentle rays began to creep over the towering skyscrapers of Chicago, casting a warm, orange hue across the city. Outside, the wind carried a chill, and a thick fog shrouded the streets below. Camille, concealed within her Ford Expedition in a downtown parking structure, felt the stiffness in her neck as her breath escaped in frosty puffs into the cold air. Hours of waiting had taken their toll, and her eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment. She held onto hope that he would appear. Camille had been tirelessly working on this case for the past six months, and the previous night, a whistleblower had come forward with crucial information. Camille's tired eyes remained fixed on a black car just a few feet away. There was no guarantee that this vehicle was the one their suspect would use, but the whistleblower's conviction left them no choice but to trust the lead. As the sun slowly rose, bathing the parking structure in warm light, Camille's hope began to wane. The weight of six months of relentless work, all potentially for naught, settled in her chest. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, and in the stillness, a sudden clang echoed through the parking garage. A heavy metal door had swung open and struck the wall with a resounding thud. Camille's eyes snapped open, fixing on a man in his forties, dressed entirely in black, complete with a black cap. In his hands, he clutched a substantial duffel bag. Adrenaline surged through Camille's veins as she reached for her radio, poised to give the crucial command. It was their last opportunity to apprehend the suspect, armed with the evidence needed to ensure he spent the rest of his life behind bars. The man approached the black car, glancing around nervously as he tugged open the back door. Camille's voice crackled over the radio, “Attention all units. I have eyes on the suspect. Parking spot C51. Proceed with the arrest.”
05:28
She gently placed her radio on the seat beside her, drawing her gun from its holster. her heart pounded as her gaze remained locked on the suspect. Soon, the piercing wail of SWAT unit vehicles drew nearer, racing to the scene. The SWAT team burst onto the scene, expertly apprehending the suspect. Camille stepped out of her vehicle, her gun held at her side, waiting cautiously behind the door until the arrest was complete. After the area was secured, she holstered her weapon and approached the apprehended suspect, a sense of accomplishment washing over her. “Bryan Romero,” she stated with unwavering authority. “You have the right to remain silent and refuse to answer questions. if you give up the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
05:28
-02:00 pm- After a much-needed break, Camille found herself back at her desk in the bustling FBI quarters. The office was abuzz with agents celebrating the successful closure of another case. Colleagues stopped by Camille's desk, offering their congratulations. She would graciously smile in response before immersing herself in the final report for the case. Even though the case was officially closed, she knew her work was far from over. As she delved into her work, a steaming cup of coffee appeared on her desk. Camille glanced up to find her coworker Ella, a forensic scientist, standing there. “We have to go celebrate tonight! I won't take no for an answer,” Ella declared with boundless enthusiasm. Ella's infectious cheerfulness was impossible to resist. Camille let out a small sigh and reached for her coffee, but Ella playfully moved it just out of reach. “You have to say 'yes' first before you can have your favorite caramel cappuccino,” Ella teased. Camille squinted at Ella, finding it difficult to disappoint her friend, especially after the six months they'd spent apart due to the demanding case. “Okay, fine. Pick me up at 8 pm. Can I have my cappuccino now?” Camille relented. Ella beamed and finally handed over the coveted coffee. Camille watched her friend's retreating figure, appreciating the effort Ella had put into reconnecting. As she took a sip of her coffee, Camille reminded herself that she deserved a night off and promised to make the most of it. Fueled by the caffeine and newfound determination, she dove back into her report, resolved to finish it early and ensure she had time to prepare for a well-deserved night out. @hammondwalsh
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Marshall Judge BOT 23-Oct-23 07:36 AM
-03:00 pm- Unbeknownst to Camille, the latest "attack" on the organization she was chasing after ended up being far more fruitful than expected. While Camille's file stated that it was someone "high up", they didn't expect him to be tied directly to the mob boss. To make their matters even better, it was just a spoiled brat that only played tough, and when threatened with the death penalty, as just a bluff as in Illinois it's been years upon years since that has been suspended. -04:00 pm- He spoke so much, and so quickly that teams were scrambling left right and centre, by the end of that hour, thanks to all the statements given by the mob's son, almost all the upper chain of command within their organization had been detained. Camille happened to stumble upon just the right pebble to make the whole wall crumble. Their cells within their offices were now full to the brim, it was so bad that everyone assumed this would be the end of The Chicago Association, so much so that there even was a broadcast from the mayor, thanking law enforcement for their amazing work, announcing an "end of crime" and a "victory over darkness". This ended up becoming a kind of an unofficial celebration for most of the citizens, as people were of course hopeful that the violence came to it's end. They couldn't be further from the truth though, as now a new figure was stepping into the scene, and was in fact assuming the reigns of the organization, and collecting the broken pieces back together. The first thing was of course to find out just what went down, and within just hours of work inside of their own network of snitches and corrupt officers, they got the name, "Camille Förster". While pulling the strings together they somehow ended up with the "chosen place" for the cheerful celebration that was ahead of Camille Förster and her friend. As plans were laid out, and their own decisions were being taken.
07:36
-05:00 pm- Newly appointed godfather, Marshall Judge decided to step up and prove himself to the other members. He was certain his identity was unknown, and he had no "prior" encounters with the law either, he was cunning enough to avoid capture each time it came down to a shootout or a pursuit, and even managed to stay out of their sight, despite quite often sitting right under their noses. He took it upon himself to find the whistle-blowers personally, to set an example to the rest of the organization, and earn their respect, and their fear with his actions. -06:00 pm- His shiny, fresh out of an auto wash black BMW 335d was parked in front of the place where Camille Förster was supposed to be. Once they had a name, finding her picture proudly displayed on her favourite's job roaster was as easy as it could get. He was wearing a slightly toned down outfit from his usual more luxurious choices. He still chose a decent watch, a blue Frederique Constant, with a price tag of a little above 4k, a leather jacket, a rather casual black silky shirt, and some dark blue denim pants were the outfit of his choice. He didn't want to stand out in the crowd too much, but he still wanted to make a statement: I'm rich. He patiently sat in his car, tapping away at the steering wheel as he waited for their arrival, making sure to get there earlier in case things were to derail, or something was to change of course. He also kept his legal firearm with him, along with his legal permit, and his concealed holster, in this case, he wanted to also somewhat "fit in", and knowing that he'd be around cops, there wasn't anything "out of the ordinary" for an officer to have an interest in firearms, giving him the chance to have that as a conversation starter. His weapon, was kept on his person according to all the regulations as well, and he just scanned the area, his eyes attentively focusing on each passer-by. He was used to do this from his "usual employment".
07:37
@fixie.
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Camille Förster BOT 24-Oct-23 09:52 AM
-07:00 pm- Camille came almost too late back home. Her arrival was delayed by her dedication to the report on the case and the subsequent arrest, which had taken more time than she had anticipated. She was well aware that she needed to prepare for their night out, even though time was not on her side. Despite the tight schedule, Camille was ready to let loose and embrace the joy of the evening. With one of the most significant figures in the criminal world now apprehended, she had not a care in the world. It was time for the ultimate girls' night out, and she was determined to make the most out of it. So, she cranked up the music and got to work. -08:00 pm- A resounding knock on the door pierced the atmosphere of Camille's apartment. “Cam, open up! We can't afford to be late!” Ella's voice sounded with impatience from behind the door. Camille gave herself one last glance in the mirror before opening the door to welcome Ella. the past hour had been well-spent, and Camille had transformed herself into a vision of elegance. She wore a modest black dress with long sleeves that gracefully hugged her curves, falling just above her knees. The dress itself wasn't meant to steal the spotlight, rather, it was her finely toned, swimmer's physique that turned heads. Her short hair was sleeked back with hair gel, exposing her graceful neck. Smoky eye makeup emphasized her brown eyes, and her lips were adorned with a deep shade of red lipstick. Amongst the sea of black attire and her own silver blond hair, one color stood out - the red of her lips. And on her feet, she proudly sported one of her most prized possessions - her Louboutins with the iconic red soles. Camille rarely had the opportunity to showcase this particular possession, having only worn them a handful of times since her 30th birthday. However, a night out at one of Chicago's exclusive clubs, The Lux, warranted the Louboutins.
09:52
Camille was not one to frequently dress up. Her typical attire consisted of jeans and her favorite boots, and she rarely wore makeup on a daily basis. If anyone had seen her photos online, they might have been astounded by her transformation for the evening. “You look… Amazing!” Ella exclaimed with delight, jumping in her emerald dress, her loose, flowy outfit moving with her. “Come on, our taxi is waiting outside!” Ella linked her arm through Camille's and whisked her out the door. Camille managed to snatch her petite clutch bag and shut the door as she hurriedly followed. -08:30 pm- The Lux, an upscale nightclub situated in one of Chicago's historic skyscrapers in the city center, was where they found themselves. A red carpet stretched before its entrance, and a line of eager partygoers extended along with it. The booming music from inside echoed in the crisp night air, as each person in line was scrutinized by the two imposing bodyguards stationed at the door. Camille and Ella emerged from their taxi and joined the queue, sharing cheerful conversations about the past few months and catching up on each other's lives as they slowly inched their way closer to the nightclub. Camille glanced around with a smile, her mood elevating as she felt the excitement coursing through her veins, knowing that a night of fun lay ahead. Eventually, they reached the bodyguards, who checked their IDs and nodded in approval of their attire. This exclusive nightclub had stringent dress code requirements. As they entered, they stepped onto a balcony that overlooked the dancing floor below. The entire room was bathed in dim, sultry shades of purple and dark green, with the mirror-covered walls reflecting the colorful lights. The music was loud and pulsating, leaving no room for extraneous thoughts. Camille and Ella exchanged a sly, anticipatory look before descending the grand staircase to head to the bar. @hammondwalsh
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Marshall Judge BOT 24-Oct-23 12:34 PM
-08:30 pm- Marshall, comfortably leaned back in his own vehicle kept the window slightly lowered, he would always do that on a stake out, as the sound not only would allow him to "focus" on what was going on, but it also didn't allow him to doze away in the silence. It was "easy entertainment" as well, recalling countless "interesting" conversations he heard from people standing by his car, or overall just passer-by's who assumed they were on their own. When the cab pulled up, he didn't really pay much attention to it at first, but as two females stepped out his eyes quickly focused on them, mainly the blonde that was Camille. Her frame attracted attention, and her dress, that was chosen perfectly to bring out her best details worked it's magic, so much so that after a few good minutes of staring at the queue, and only with the lucky "glance" he recognized Camille in there. His jaw momentarily dropped, as he was expecting someone in good shape, but he wasn't expecting a full blown model to be working on his case. His mind, despite some difficulty, got in the game shortly after.
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Marshall Judge BOT 24-Oct-23 12:42 PM
He headed on to step out of his vehicle, shake himself up ever so slightly, and refresh himself with a spritz of cologne, as he allowed the air to blow on him for a few mere seconds, to ensure that the fragancy wouldn't be too intense. Being who he was, with his public figure, it was easy for him to get access, so much so that he was treated like a bit of a VIP. He of course made sure to take advantage of this at the door, and also made sure to make a statement on his way in, as he stopped at the door, took a look around, he pretended to make this unintentional, and he was actually very smooth at playing dumb. His eyes scanned over the queue, having quite literally walked by everyone who was patiently waiting, including Camille and her friend. He only for a brief moment locked eyes with Camille, grinned, and then turned around, just to make his way inside of the club. The bouncer not only didn't stop him, but in fact, didn't even check his ID, nor asked him about any kind of firearms that were usually prohibited within the establishment. If Camille were to pay attention, she'd notice how "proud" he behaved, giving the bouncer a slight pat on the shoulder, almost as if he owned the place himself. After that, he made sure to disappear out of sight for some time, and only show up a few minutes later, already at the bar where Camille and her friend were. He also made sure to "flash" his watch at the girls casually checking his time, of course this would be something they'd probably seen a million times, Camille at least for sure, a wealthy jerk showing off, nothing out of the ordinary for her with her looks. It also didn't help to make him "likeable" as he clearly had this "superior" attitude with everyone, reaching over the bar, and patting the bartender, who, if they were to even listen, he named by his name. To Camille it'd be rather clear that this seemed to be a "local", and he was doing so to keep this illusion up.
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Marshall Judge BOT 24-Oct-23 09:46 PM
“Hey there, girls.” Marshall made a pause, kept a sly grin on his lips as he awaited briefly for a response from both, but he also made it rather clear to them who he was interested in, his eyes were rather intently locked on Camille. He was skimping the edge between “too interested” in fact, but then again, playing into his persona of “I’m the king of the world, and all of you are minions” it really didn’t feel that out of place within this context, and shouldn’t even rise much suspicion. His mid-west accent was confirming even further his belonging in this city, speaking proudly with a slight limit to how he spelled his A’s and O’s, playing into that “Italian” spelling. ”Are you celebrating, or are you drowning your sorrows?” When he asked this, he even slightly winked at Camille, who really outshined her friend, and she must’ve been aware of it. He wasn’t trying to separate them, but his intentions were crystal clear to both, and he didn’t want any ambiguity with this, he was very interested in Camille, but showed at least enough “respect” for both to speak to both when they were together. @fixie.
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Camille Förster BOT 25-Oct-23 06:24 AM
-09:00 pm- As Ella and Camille made their way through the lively crowd towards the bar, Camille felt the weight of the closed case finally lift from her shoulders. The countless nights dedicated to the investigation had paid off, and now she could enjoy a night outside of the FBI bureau. They jostled their way towards the bar, promptly catching the bartender’s attention. Camille was craving a frozen strawberry margarita, one of her favorite drinks, and The Lux was renowned for serving the best in Chicago. After placing their orders, they waited by the bar, continuing to chat about Ella’s latest romantic escapades. They both knew it was best to avoid discussing their work while out, as it could compromise past and ongoing investigations. Soon, their drinks arrived, and they stood by the bar, savoring their cocktails. Camille took slow sips of her margarita, relishing every drop, as she was keenly aware that it would likely be her only cocktail for the night. She needed to remain cautious and avoid getting drunk, ensuring she wouldn’t do anything she might later regret. Although Camille was engaged in conversation with her friend and enjoying her drink, her attention was drawn to a man who appeared quite at ease, reaching over the bar to pat the bartender on the shoulder. Camille’s memory flashed back to him, having previously noticed him grinning at her as he walked past the line. She had a premonition that he would attempt to strike up a conversation with them. Camille had a talent for reading people’s body language, and it was evident that this man exuded an air of confidence, as if everything around him belonged to him, including her. He wasn’t necessarily her type, but something about him piqued her curiosity. There was a certain allure in the way he carried himself, dressed both modestly and stylishly, which left Camille wanting to know more. “Someone’s keeping an eye on you,” Ella stated with a sly smile.
06:24
Camille was already aware of the man’s interest, and he was now approaching them. As he began to speak, Camille couldn’t help but notice his Midwestern accent tinged with a hint of italian. It left her wondering about his heritage. She was still deciding whether to approach the situation with caution, as his intentions remained unclear. Was it just playful flirtation, or did he desire something more? The club’s lighting, which had shifted from a dim purple and dark green to blinding white flash before settling into a dazzling sparkle, changed the mood of the scene. Their faces were now highlighted by dramatic shadows. Camille looked into the man’s eyes, which appeared nearly black in the light. It was the final sign she needed, the enchantment of his dark eyes making her knees go weak. She also heard her mother’s voice nagging in her head, urging her to settle down with a man. Camille was known for her brief, fleeting relationships, as she had never found anyone with whom she wished to have a long-term commitment. Her work often took her away for extended periods, and she hadn’t felt the desire to settle down. However, today was different. In the spirit of celebration, she was ready to let her guard down and decided to play along. “Yes, we’re celebrating the completion of our project today!” Ella chimed in enthusiastically, while Camille remained quiet, her gaze locked onto the stranger’s eyes as she took a sip of her strawberry margarita. Her red lips gently grazed the rim of the glass as she drank. This was their usual game - Ella played the boisterous one, while Camille maintained an air of mystery. But this time, Ella decided to change the rules and do something she had never done before. “Hey, I need to excuse myself. I’ll be right back!” Ella whispered into Camille’s ear, as her cheek was pressed against Camille’s. ensuring her words were for her alone. “Don’t miss out, he’s quite the catch!”
06:24
With that, Ella slipped away, heading towards the restroom. Traitor. Camille decided to maintain her innocent facade, her red lips curling into a playful grin, her margarita still cradled in her hand. She leaned against the bar, crossing her feet adorned in Louboutins, her smoky eyes appearing even darker in the nightclub’s ever-changing lights. A purple glow bathed her body, enhancing her already striking appearance. “You seem to be a regular here,” Camille remarked casually, her eyes briefly darting to the bartender before returning to the man. “Do you use that line on every woman who captures your attention?” She brought the glass back to her lips, taking a sip. Her eyes glistened in the shifting nightclub lights, challenging yet intrigued. @hammondwalsh
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Marshall Judge BOT 25-Oct-23 08:29 AM
Despite the fact that Marshall was out here on a mission, it was rather hard for him to avoid getting attracted to her. The innocent demeanour, the sweet voice, the seemingly actual friendship that she had with her "companion", as it was clear to Marshall that she left them the stage, picking up on his quite obvious "advances". All of this even seemed entertaining to Marshall, as he himself despite being relatively decent at communicating just to keep up his public persona, to make sure that a gun for hire such as himself would never be tied in with his more public side, he never really "connected" with any of the girls that he surrounded himself with, they were there to be spoiled and just fuck him for the expensive "gifts", without ever really forming any bonds. Not that he sought those bonds either, knowing they could lead him to make mistakes. Camille had captured him, and this even somewhat helped him with his "mission", as his genuine interest was mixing into the darker intentions, diluting those out of sight. His tone didn't change from her question, and his grin grew bigger as he brought his left hand over just a bit, making it so the watch would be on display. With that, he gently nodded towards it, as his eyes then slid back over to her. His grin remained, and his tone stayed the same. "Usually with just that, there's enough conversation for most. Tonight I decided to actually pick someone decent and interesting... And I have to say, you already exceeded all the expectations I could've had." He just nodded his head to her prior question as well, as he clamly spoke, managing to keep himself together, but also allowing some of the excitement and interest to slip through. Even though he would've liked to believe it was "controlled" and "intentional", he was interested in Camille, and he couldn't keep that under wraps despite his best efforts.
08:35
"I might be somewhat known around here... You on the other hand, I would've noticed much, much sooner... So, it leads me to believe it's your first time here. Am I wrong?" He made sure to keep his assertive side on display, making more and more advances on her with his words and his speech. He also made sure to reduce the distance between the two, just to get into that more personal space between both, to ensure that they would of course get a whiff of each other, his advances were quick, and once again it was just to keep up his image. Careless, reckless, and interested. Clearly not someone that would set off a lot of red flags as to being anything like a spy, maybe someone who wouldn't take no for an answer, at most.
08:37
@fixie.
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Camille Förster BOT 25-Oct-23 11:01 AM
One of the enchantments of a nightclub is its ability to manifest fantasies. It is a realm where you can assume a different identity for a single night, and within its mirrored walls, a hundred souls gathered, each with their own dreams and aspirations. While some chose to remain authentic to themselves, others adorned masks to engage in a game of pretense, their reflections dancing upon the mirrored surfaces. Camille knew it was a daring venture to lower her guard in this flirtatious escapade that would last only a night. However, a yearning deep within her heart begged for release, if only for a fleeting moment. As the night unfurled, more revelers flocked to the dance floor, transforming the bar into a more secluded enclave. Camille couldn’t help but notice the stranger drawing nearer, yet she refused to yield ground. With each word he spoke, a clearer image of him took shape in her mind. The way he ostentatiously displayed his presumably expensive watch hinted at a desire to flaunt his status. While such behavior might usually have irked Camille, there was a charm in his presentation that captivated her. As he drew closer, bathed in the glow of the lights, she noticed his eyes were lighter than she had initially assumed. At that moment, she felt like a fish, ensnared by his eyes, the hook about to reel her in. Still, she was not one to surrender easily, well aware that men relished on the thrill of pursuing their prey. “I see. So, what makes you think I’m decent?” Camille’s lips curled into a wicked grin as she leaned in to take another sip of her drink. She had been vigilant, safeguarding her drink to prevent any possible tampering, a subtle behavior concealed from onlookers. The alcohol from her cocktail gradually coursed through her veins, warming her and making her more amenable to his flirtations. She was genuinely intrigued to delve deeper into his persona and pondered how this conversation might progress.
11:01
“It is not my first time here. I drop in occasionally for the frozen margaritas,” she said, offering a smile as she raised her half-empty glass. “But I’ve never saw you here before, Mr. Somewhat Known Around Here.” She wondered if her remark might coax him into revealing his name. With her drink in one hand and her other resting at her side, she inched closer and playfully tapped her index finger on his watch. Her manicure was the only incongruity in her ensemble - her fingers were long and slender, with impeccably trimmed nails. It was unusual for a woman with her attire to neglect such details. She then withdrew her finger, casting a mischievous glance at the stranger, her grin now revealing a dimple on her right cheek. “You’ll have to do more than just flaunt to impress me…” Just as those words escaped her lips, the entire nightclub plunged into darkness, only to be bathed in a crimson glow moments later, accompanied by a new song filling the air.
11:04
@hammondwalsh
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Marshall Judge BOT 25-Oct-23 12:28 PM
For Marshall, this playful dance was actually something he never got to properly bask in. The longer he spent with his flirting and the longer he drew out the conversation, the more genuine interest he was harnessing from the situation. What began just as a simple gather as much information as you can, was slowly growing into far more in his head. He knew this was not good, but he blatantly didn't care, enjoying the moment and sincerely liking the company he was in, despite being well aware of just how misaligned the two were. Not even his "all the cops are pigs" outlook was working here, as she was far too gentle, far too beautiful to be "bad". At least that was what her own charm was doing to him. With her "challenge", he noticed the little "slip-up" that she had with her nails, but didn't react to it, going as far as even smiling at her touch. And allowing himself to actually invade her personal space. He almost "kind of" whispered into her ear, although due to the loud music it was more-so just a quieter tone, far from a proper whisper. "I think you're decent, because others would've already been licking my ass... You, on the other hand... Want to be desired. You want me to prove myself to you." He kept this assertive tone with her, knowing full and well that this was a well risky strategy, as at any point he could push her too far, cross from just being "a man that knows what he wants" over to setting off some serious red flags. After this conversation took place, he actually leaned back from her, grinned, and took a step back. It didn't take him long to spot one of the people he had partied with within the crowd, but, he tried to pretend like he was approaching the "first person he saw" that was on the dance floor. He didn't walk away far from her, in fact just a few mere steps, only to rise his tone a little bit, just enough for both parties to hear him of course. "What's my name, pal?"
12:28
"Marshall!" The "stranger" exclaimed. He chuckled and nodded, only to pat the man on his left shoulder. He himself pretended to "not really know him", but in reality it was in fact one of the people who he had partied with. Before the conversation took off, or anything like that, he just blatantly walked right back to Camille, as his eyes were focused in on her. He did this right on time for the crimson tones to show up, and to hear her answer about his flaunting. He sincerely chuckled at this, and suddenly extended his right hand out to her, as he was clearly inviting her over to a dance. If she were to take him up on it, he would lean over to her once more, keeping a loud tone in his words due to the music of course, as he reassured her about her drink. Despite her being rather slick with it, he somehow had recognized how she was protecting her drink, as he stated in that same tone "Don't worry about the cocktail... I'll buy you another one when we're done with the dance." His attitude was pushy, and he was heavily banking on it, really deciding to ride the razor thin edge, as he knew that were he to make the wrong move, and were he to assume something that wasn't true, there was a very high risk that he wouldn't get a second chance, knowing for a fact already that he was dealing with someone very proud, who knew her worth better than anyone else.
12:32
@fixie.
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Camille Förster BOT 26-Oct-23 09:54 AM
With each passing minute, Camille found herself increasingly drawn to the man standing before her. She could sense his genuine interest in her, convinced he wasn’t merely pretending. As they continued to talk, the gap between them seemed to narrow with every word, as though an invisible force was pulling them closer, making resistance difficult. Leaning in to speak softly into her ear, he brought with him the enticing scent of his cologne, causing her eyes to close involuntarily. She allowed herself to be enveloped by his fragrance, her senses evoking a primal response, a tingling in her chest, and a warmth that spread through her body. She had never imagined that a man’s scent could weaken her knees, and his voice near her ear sent shivers down her spine. She had never considered the possibility of a late-night encounter being so intriguing. His unexpected departure briefly surprised her, making her wonder if he had lost interest in their conversation. Watching him approach another man to inquire about his name, Camille couldn’t help but roll her eyes. It became evident that he was full of himself and made no effort to conceal it. A wry smirk graced Camille’s lips as she observed the scene unfold. Hearing his name and repeating it in her head, she found herself oddly drawn to it. Marshall. The name seemed to etch itself deep into her memory, and an instinct whispered that he would remain a part of her life for some time. This newfound feeling was unfamiliar to her, and she attempted to dismiss it. Yet, as she saw Marshall returning to her, their eyes locking in a meaningful way, she realized he had already caught her without realizing it. Camille couldn’t resist making a playful remark, her voice taking on a raspy tone with a hint of a German accent, savoring the sound of his name on her lips. “Do you often approach strangers on the street to remind you of your name also, Marshall?”
09:55
His extended hand signaled his intent, and she caught on immediately. His offer to get her another drink, along with the care in his voice, didn’t escape her notice. For a moment, her mask slipped as she genuinely smiled, revealing a dimple on her right cheek, and her dark red lips formed a captivating expression. “I need to check with my friend for a moment,” she said, raising her finger in the air and retrieving her phone from her clutch bag. “Let me send her a quick message.” As she opened her phone, a flood of text messages awaited her: 09:02 Ella: He’s so hot! Go for it, girl! 09:02 Ella: You know, I didn’t really need to go to the restroom… 09:03 Ella: OMG, I just saw the most handsome man! 09:05 Ella: He looked at me!!!! 09:06 Ella: This is Ella speaking, I am going in! 09:06 Ella: Keep an eye on your broody guy!!! 09:40 Cam: Have fun! His name is Marshall. He makes my knees go weak. We are going to dance. Call me in case of an emergency! Camille swiftly typed her response, ensuring Marshall couldn’t see her screen. Her face was lit by the light on her phone, a wide grin on her lips. She stowed her phone back in her clutch bag and, in a rather unladylike manner, finished her cocktail in one big sip, not willing to waste her favorite drink, knowing she wouldn’t get herself another tonight.
09:55
“Keep up, Tiger,” she said, sliding her hand into his. Her hand felt cold and soft, an unexpected contract in the sweaty club. Something about the way their hands interlocked felt natural, eliciting another smile from her. They stood at the same height, thanks to her elevated shoes, and their eyes met at an even level. She began to lead him toward the dance floor, walking backward briefly to take a look at him. A mischievous grin played on her lips once more. Today, the devil wasn’t wearing Prada, she was sporting Louboutins. As they ventured closer to the dance floor, the heat and energy of the crowd became palpable. The low bass of the music reverberated through their bodies, and Camille continued to pull Marshall into the heart of the dance floor. She was known to work hard and celebrate even harder, a true force of nature not intending to take it easy on Marshall. Her hips swayed to the beat as they entered the dance floor, and she drew him into the midst of the celebration. Turning to face him, she wasted no time placing her hands on his broad shoulders, with one hand slipping beneath his leather jacket to meet his shoulder. She smiled at him, already feeling the rhythm, her body moving in harmony with it. Marshall had to keep up, she was not an easy force to tame. @hammondwalsh
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Marshall Judge BOT 26-Oct-23 10:46 PM
The moment Marshall made his way back, only to be greeted by her playful tone he grinned. It was at this time that he had made his first “mistake”. So used to a similar tease, from his “other” life, he hadn’t even considered the words that he used to reply to her. “If you don’t need to introduce yourself, people will listen to what you have to say.” This only sentence could potentially lead to his downfall, as it was one that he used to often threaten some of the newer members of their organization, even back when he was just a gun for hire, working for them. It was oddly convenient that this is one of the sentences that had surfaced during their investigations, and it was scribbled down in one of the interrogation reports, just for the sake of accuracy. No one ever considered this sentence to be something important enough, or significant enough to pay any attention to. If she was to delve into it in the future, it was stated by one of the lower members of The Chicago Association when pressed to give the name of one of the guns for hire that had some legendary status within said organization. For now though, he stated it with a matching playful tone, he was simply going along with the flow, and grinned as she started texting. Marshall was aware of the concerns that a female might have when interacting with men in clubs. He didn’t give this any importance, nor he felt offended for her “pause” it was the opposite in fact, as he could appreciate even more details on her face. He patiently kept his hand out for her and grinned wide as she gulped down the drink in one swift motion. His eyes lit up at this, he didn’t want a “princess” that would follow all the proper etiquette, he simply didn’t have the patience nor the will to deal with people like that. He was attracted to the opposite, spontaneous, fierce, and passionate women, something that she was so far keeping “under wraps”, but this was a little preview for him that he savored gladly.
22:47
When Camille’s hand grabbed his, Marshall was almost the opposite of her, his rougher skin could be felt through her dainty and soft fingers, indicative of a hard and physical kind of work, very different to what you’d expect from someone with a seemingly flashy and reckless lifestyle as the one he was leading. It would be easy for Camille to picture him as some kind of “rich man’s kid” or maybe some successful executive that miraculously managed to pull it off, but now, with this touch, it made a bit less sense, these weren’t hands that dealt with papers all day long, his grip was firm as well, confidence flowing through him, she was dealing with a man who worked hard in his life, and had something to do with actual physical effort. His skin was hot to the touch though, a striking contrast from her cold hands to which he showed no negative reaction in the slightest, and almost in an opposite fashion, interlocked his fingers with hers in an almost “caring” gesture, as if he was trying to warm her palms up. Her decisive tone and her actions worked her own magic on him, he was very competitive, and this was igniting the flame within him too. He wouldn’t let her take point entirely, kept up with her and moved at her pace that she was setting. When he was practically being dragged out onto the center of the dance floor, for a mere moment he even doubted if he’d be able to keep up with her. He spent a “fair” bit of time in nightclubs, but he was always there to flex and “be seen” not as much as to dance and have actual fun. He allowed himself to also start falling into the rhythm, relaxing himself with a few discrete drawn breaths, lowering his eyes for just a moment only to be caught of guard as suddenly Camille turned to face him. He tensed up once more as she almost “charged” into his embrace.
22:49
Marshall’s arms showed a little hesitation, but soon moved up to her frame. He decided to just give himself into the rhythm as well, as his hands slid into position around her waist. He himself allowed his own hips to sway along the music, as he wasn’t used to this “embraced” dance. He somewhat pulled Camille in and allowed his eyes to fix in on her own. His air of confidence seemed to weaken in this state, and she would pick up on that, she clearly had the upper hand in this situation but he was at least able to follow her pace, for now just limited by his nervousness. It could be easily interpreted as him not wanting to mess up, which, even though he tried to justify in his own head that this was just all for the mission, the truth was that he didn’t want to disappoint the person to whom he’d gotten attracted.
22:49
@fixie.
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Camille Förster BOT 29-Oct-23 03:37 AM
Sometimes, you find yourself amidst a massive crowd, all sharing a common goal: freedom. This is often the scene on a dance floor, where hot, sweaty bodies move to the same exhilarating beats, losing themselves in the music’s bass, and endorphins course through their veins, compelling them to keep moving. Camille was no exception. She inched closer to Marshall as the music pulsed. Her lips moved to the lyrics, and she sensed Marshall’s nervous energy. Her hands gently massaged his shoulders as they swayed to the rhythm. She seized the lead in the dance, guiding Marshall with the hope of boosting his confidence. Her heart quickened, her eyes sparkled in the flashing lights, and her face glistened with sweat. But she didn’t stop, her body felt weightless, and for a fleeting moment, it was as though the outside world had dissolved, leaving only the two of them on the dance floor. The surrounding bodies ceased to matter, it was only about the two of them giving their all in that moment. At one point, Camille drew nearer to Marshall, her arms falling onto his shoulders, her fingers gently grazing through his short hair. Even with the fast beat, as they were so close, somehow they managed to dance at their own pace. The lights flashed around them, people shouted to the music, and the beats thumped deafeningly. It was a dance where words were unnecessary. Camille locked her gaze into Marshall’s eyes, drawing her in like a gravitational force.
03:38
Her entire life seemed to flash before her eyes. Memories of climbing a tall tree for the first time, the exhilaration of jumping from a 5-meter diving platform, the adrenaline of holding a gun and hitting the target - now, she moved to the pulsating music, pressed against a handsome man. Her heart pounded to its limits, adrenaline surged through her delicate body, and time felt suspended. It was her first time opening her heart to a man, who wasn’t more than a stranger she met an hour ago, and she experienced the ultimate rush. Her hand moved slowly through his hair, down to his ear, and then across his freshly shaved cheek. It was a peculiar feeling she had never encountered before, a battle between her brain and her heart. Her instincts were on high alert, cautioning her not to let herself fully fall, fearing a painful landing. Her heart raced, drawn to the man pressed against her. It was like standing on a 20-meter diving platform, peering down at the small pool below. Overcoming the fear of leaping was never easy. The adrenaline coursed through the bloodstream, inducing dizziness. The jump caused the heart to plummet as the body descended at 60 kilometers per hour. The impact with the water made every cell in the body burn, but after the explosive splash, a deafening silence would envelope her, cooling the tumultuous emotions within. It was just her and the silence, nothing else mattered.
03:38
Camille gazed deep into Marshall’s eyes, feeling as though they were the pool she was about to dive into - filled with screaming instincts and a hint of fear. She wasn’t one to shy away and seek safety. She was a risk-taker, and Marshall was the risk. She made the leap. Her body leaned into his as her face drew closer to his. One hand still rested on his cheek, while the other traced his ears, and her fingers ran through the short hair at the back of his head. Her eyes briefly darted to his lips before returning to his deep blue eyes. Her gaze spoke volumes. She felt his hands encircling her waist, and her lips hovered dangerously close to his. She was committed to taking the leap, pushing her instincts and fears aside. Now it was up to Marshall to make the final move… @hammondwalsh
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Marshall Judge BOT 29-Oct-23 08:15 AM
When Camille was setting the rhythm, and allowed Marshall to keep up with him, this little gesture of comfort and reassurance on her side seemed to do the trick, as soon enough Marshall was once again "mostly" taking point. He allowed his frame to sway to the rhythm, and ensured to remain close to Camille. With each step, each gesture, he felt himself pressed onto her further and further. When just the right spotlight was turned on, Marshall could appreciate the beauty in her even more. The scents, the moves, the distance between both, everything was playing into being "just right" for this moment to happen. When Camille brought herself over, and pretty much "offered" herself to Marshall, he didn't have to hesitate, he didn't even have to consider it. His own mind was made up even before she ever made the first move. When she did, it was enough confirmation for Marshall to know he wasn't going too fast, or that he was pressing too hard. For a moment, when he leaned over the "rest" of the way, he had even lost his own sense of rhythm, as the music simply was "too far in the background" for him to even pay attention to it. His eyes were locked in on Camille's, and he allowed his eyelids to descend slowly over them mere moments before their lips made contact. He wasn't certain what kind of kiss he wanted to, at first, he even considered to just go for an innocent peck, but as their lips sealed together and their breaths froze for that instant, he knew he wouldn't be satiated with just that. He allowed the passion in his body to take over, showing to Camille his attraction and his intentions with her even further as lust was now shining through this kiss. What "at first" started like an intentional setup, with a mission, and even some planning, now fell apart down to just spending time with this stranger, who was far from the "monster" he initially pictured. Her beauty, her behaviour, her tone, everything about her attracted him.
08:15
As their first kiss evolved, going from just a few kisses, all the way to a proper French kiss, his hands took a firmer embrace around her frame, his doubts, concerns, and hesitations were fading at the same pace as his nature was showing. He wasn't thinking, excitement, pleasure, and lust were clouding his judgement and his mind. He knew this night wouldn't end at just this first kiss, right there and then. He kept his eyes closed, allowing himself to entirely lose track of the music, all he had in mind were what he felt from her soft lips, how her hands, that were only now warming up to his frame moved along his body, and how he held her in his embrace, with her waist being kept in place. Marshall knew this night wouldn't come to an end any time soon, and at this point, tried to just give into his emotions and his feelings, something that he'd rarely ever even consider doing, let alone actually throwing himself head first into such a situation, despite knowing full and well who he was dealing with. Unlike Camille, who was in the dark as to who he was, Marshall knew very well all the ramifications this could have in the long run, he also knew the longer he was around her, the more mistakes he could do, but even with that in mind, currently, it didn't matter. He was enjoying this night with her, and that's the only thing he paid any kind of attention to. @fixie.
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Camille Förster BOT 29-Oct-23 10:50 AM
As their lips met, a world of distractions faded into insignificance. The dance floor’s pulsating rhythm ceased to matter, as they occupied their own intimate space amidst the bustling crowd. At first, Camille sensed his hesitation, uncertain about her bold move to kiss him. But then, a switch seemed to flip, intensifying the passion of their embrace. His lips seamlessly melded with hers, and the subtle touch of his tongue sent a thrilling shiver down her spine. Yielding to the moment, she melded into his body, holding onto his shoulders with a determined grip. His hands against her body sparked electric sensations, and her fingers tugged gently at the short hair on the back of his head. As their kiss deepened, their breath quickened, and a muffled moan escaped her lips, nearly drowned out by the pounding music. Thanks to her heels, she was at the perfect height, offering unhindered access to his entire body. She yearned to explore his form, their lips engaged in a passionate dance of emotions and searing desire. Her hand ventured downward, gliding across his chest beneath the leather jacket, tracing the contours of the firm, warm muscles. It then slipped further beneath his jacket, descending to his back. It was at this moment that she felt something cold brush against her wrist, an icy shock like diving into water, followed by an eerie silence. As the kiss slowed, her hand reached to the cold object at his hip, her index finger brushing against the trigger of a gun.
10:50
Camille abruptly broke the kiss, resting her cheek against his, her other hand still entangled in his hair, keeping him close. She held him within her embrace, her lips close to his ear. “Marshall, why are you carrying a gun?” Her voice had turned icy and resolute, guided by her instincts. In that moment, the entire night flashed through her mind, from the initial encounter in the queue to their rendezvous at the bar. She wondered how a nightclub security guard could allow someone to enter with a weapon. A chilling shiver ran down her spine as she realized she had let her guard down with a stranger. One moment connected to another, and she recognized that he had never inquired about her name. It struck her as odd that she knew who he was while he seemed indifferent to her identity. Camille’s heart skipped a beat, as if she had suddenly developed heartburn from the margarita she had sipped earlier. A sour taste lingered on her tongue. Her instincts whispered to her that this man pressed against her was too good to be true. Despite the cologne that tantalizingly caressed her nose and the warmth of his body against hers, she felt a conflict within herself. Her authoritative side urged her to investigate the concerning matter, while her more vulnerable side longed to navigate this enigmatic territory by drawing him to the brink and discovering more about their desires. @hammondwalsh
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Marshall Judge BOT 29-Oct-23 10:34 PM
Marshall was so into the kiss, that he didn’t even initially realize where exactly her hands were located, overwhelmed with the heat of the moment, and only tensed up when he felt his holster being pushed about, it was clear that he “didn’t like” people touching his guns, but he didn’t react in a hostile way, and when the kiss was broken, merely smiled at that. His head was thrown from the lust that he was experiencing mere instants ago into a once again threatened, and tense situation where he had to think his way out of this problem. The cold tone sent a shudder through his spine and ended up with goosebumps forming up on his body, the contrast was so striking to him that it ended up exciting him more than anything else, and maybe this even helped his mind deal with the dilemma with which he was presented. Instead of thinking as logically about an answer and probably overthinking it, taking the wrong step by explaining too much, or simply getting blocked, he himself diverted his head to her ear just slightly. It was so odd, as despite the music being at the same volume as it was all along this interaction, he couldn’t even hear it, he even picked up on little details like her breathing, or her change in tone and volume. Marshall on the other hand, didn’t change his own behavior, and despite the odd “tensing up” that could be easily explained by just general discomfort around others reaching for his gun, he tried to play it off cool by leaning into hear ear, sliding his tongue out from within his lips, and gently tracing it along her earlobe, before speaking in a clearly lustful tone, still excited about the situation, even more now that the stakes were higher. “I have the right to protect myself… After all, there are many crazy ladies that want to be with me, and don’t get me.”
22:36
He moved himself back up to her front but didn’t push himself on her, knowing that he had to tread lightly as the hand that was on his head was still mostly holding his head, being moved about by him. And it helps to have a permit, too. He winked with a gleeful smile on his lips as he loved to “brag” about this. It was his legal firearm never showing up in any criminal cases or situations, and, as far as everyone knew, never even being discharged once outside of gun ranges of course. When it comes to not asking for her name even, it might’ve been “odd” at first, but if she thought about the persona she was “with”, it was clearly a man that would very possibly wake up with a girl, and not even remember who he went to sleep with, in a way, it would make sense for him not to “care to ask” for one either. Marshall made sure to now “flip” the roles on them, as he himself presented his lips to her, very closely, but didn’t end up making the “first move” towards her, leaving that right to her of course. He didn’t go into detail if the weapon was loaded or not, but judging by the fact that he wasn’t “that concerned” that her index finger had messed about with the trigger, he either was unaware of it, or, more likely knew that nothing would happen were she to pull it entirely.
22:36
@fixie.
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Camille Förster BOT 30-Oct-23 05:16 AM
Camille’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and doubts, a storm of unanswered questions. From how he had managed to slip past the security guards to why anyone would need a gun in a nightclub, every question intensified her unease. She couldn’t shake the dark possibilities that raced through her mind - perhaps he was a deranged individual with a plan to harm the people in this nightclub, or worse, a predator targeting vulnerable women. The myriad of scenarios painted a bleak picture, offering no glimmer of positivity. She briefly considered another angle: could he be a wealthy but paranoid individual, eager to safeguard his riches? His expensive watch hinted at that possibility. However, Camille was unprepared for what happened next. With one hand gripping the gun firmly and the other drawing him closer, she felt his body shift, his lips brushing against her ear, his breath tantalizing her skin. His tongue traced her ear, sending a shiver down her spine and warmth all the way to her toes. Her eyes rolled back involuntarily, and a heavy breath escaped her, almost resembling a moan. Camille struggled against the overwhelming desire that enveloped her, like a warm, cozy blanket. She tightened her grip on the gun, seeking balance on her high heels within his embrace. His words brought her back to reality, and she contemplated her next steps. Concerns about her safety loomed large, making her wonder if she should continue this risky encounter. On the other hand, she wasn’t entirely helpless, possessing experience in self-defense. Her hand slid over the gun, with her index finger still by the trigger. She realized the magazine was missing, bringing her some relief. At least, he wasn’t walking around with a loaded gun. “So, your solution for dealing with crazy ladies is to shoot them? I doubt acrylic nails are as deadly as you seem to think,” she retorted, her voice still icy by his ear, laced with sarcasm.
05:16
To any bystander, it appeared as though they were locked in a tight embrace, their bodies pressed together, cheeks touching. It was a peculiar sight amidst the dance floor, where everyone else continued to move to the music, seemingly oblivious. Camille was well-versed in handling firearms, her experience shining through. She knew that a gun without a magazine could still be dangerous. Her first instinct was to find the safety, checking if the gun was locked. Camille pulled on the slide, the closed holster giving her enough support to do it one-handed. She was surprised to find a bullet in the chamber. Whatever game Marshall was playing, it hinted at a darker side to him. She clicked her tongue in clear disappointment. With a subtle flick of the gun, she let the bullet fall into her hand. She held it between them at face level, a fire glistening in her mad eyes. “What do you do with women who know their way around a gun?” She asked, raising an eyebrow, her expression stern, much like when she interrogated suspects in her everyday work. The longer she held his gaze, the more her defenses crumbled. The heat still coursed through her body, drowning her in desire and yearning for release. Camille felt as if they were playing a twisted game, one with unfamiliar rules. Her hands itched to arrest him for his unlawful actions, but the idea of handcuffing him made her blush, a rare occurrence. If she were to exact punishment, it would have to be under a different set of laws, those governed by desire. “I am keeping this as a souvenir,” she said, stepping back and reaching for her clutch bag. Swiftly, she opened it and let the bullet fall inside before looking back at him.
05:16
As she distanced herself, her body felt cold, and she yearned for the sensation of his embrace. Her instincts screamed that this encounter would have unforeseen consequences. However, her hormones and desires overrode her rational thinking. She stepped closer, her hand gripping his shirt and pulling him in. “You better make it up to me. I am quite skilled at disciplining naughty boys,” she stated in a raspy voice, her lips dangerously close to his. Their lips met, the kiss devoid of innocence. Camille’s hands slid beneath his leather jacket, her nails digging into the back of his shoulders. She couldn’t explain her actions, but they unfolded with a sense of urgency. The kisses were fervent, marked by an occasional bite on his lower lip. This man was pushing her to the brink of sanity, and she found herself directing her pent-up frustration toward him. The night’s course was uncertain, but Camille knew that Marshall wouldn’t escape easily. The single bullet remained tucked safely in her clutch bag, seemingly harmless for the moment. Camille remained oblivious to the fact that this bullet would alter the trajectory of her life. It was a seemingly insignificant signpost that divided her past from the future events that were yet to unfold. Camille taking possession of that bullet was a momentous decision, one with far-reaching consequences. @hammondwalsh
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Marshall Judge BOT 30-Oct-23 08:07 AM
When Camille was setting the rhythm, and allowed Marshall to keep up with him, this little gesture of comfort and reassurance on her side seemed to do the trick, as soon enough Marshall was once again "mostly" taking point. He allowed his frame to sway to the rhythm, and ensured to remain close to Camille. With each step, each gesture, he felt himself pressed onto her further and further. When just the right spotlight was turned on, Marshall could appreciate the beauty in her even more. The scents, the moves, the distance between both, everything was playing into being "just right" for this moment to happen. When Camille brought herself over, and pretty much "offered" herself to Marshall, he didn't have to hesitate, he didn't even have to consider it. His own mind was made up even before she ever made the first move. When she did, it was enough confirmation for Marshall to know he wasn't going too fast, or that he was pressing too hard. For a moment, when he leaned over the "rest" of the way, he had even lost his own sense of rhythm, as the music simply was "too far in the background" for him to even pay attention to it. His eyes were locked in on Camille's, and he allowed his eyelids to descend slowly over them mere moments before their lips made contact. He wasn't certain what kind of kiss he wanted to, at first, he even considered to just go for an innocent peck, but as their lips sealed together and their breaths froze for that instant, he knew he wouldn't be satiated with just that. He allowed the passion in his body to take over, showing to Camille his attraction and his intentions with her even further as lust was now shining through this kiss. What "at first" started like an intentional setup, with a mission, and even some planning, now fell apart down to just spending time with this stranger, who was far from the "monster" he initially pictured. Her beauty, her behaviour, her tone, everything about her attracted him.
08:08
The grin on Marshall's lips grew even wider when he felt her inquisitive tone. Seeing how the situation was evolving, and how the interactions between the two were heating up, Marshall decided to pretty much risk it all. When faced with this new question, he knew that from there on out, there wouldn't be a way back, this would either put her off him entirely, or would give her the push necessary to "see" his current intentions with her. This was a step that was much easier for him to take after the previous kiss, as he was at least somewhat certain that she was into him to some degree, so it's not like he was going into this blindly. "The women who know how to handle a gun... I make sure to never forget, as they're the ones that are the most unique in bed." This was a risky move, but he went all in. He grinned at how the round that she extracted from his weapon now rolled effortlessly into her purse, but he didn't protest it, there was almost something magical about the moment, her behaviour was appealing to him, and he was now certain that she was "not working" right now, as he knew that this could be considered a felony, rather easily. He didn't touch the gun at all, and allowed her to do all the manipulations entirely. This wasn't exactly a surprise to him, but the way she was doing it, on him, and just the whole situation was as exciting for him as it was for her, the risk factor in this was insane, they were quite literally playing with fire, and it was something that Marshall seemed to endlessly enjoy. When Camille suddenly "charged" into Marshall's embrace once more, his hands met her differently. With this new confidence in the situation he was in, and the excitement of what was happening, only one of his hands remained on her thin and perfect waist, while the other shifted up, first to her back, and a few seconds later into the kiss, actually climbed upwards. She would soon feel his own hand digging rather firmly into her hair.
08:08
Despite there not being any difference in height, he actually propped himself up onto his tip toes, just gaining a little advantage over her, the reason he did this though was to somewhat firmly pull on her hair. He forced her head slightly back, not far, but just enough for her to feel his own grasp on her. The position in which "she" started, was pushed and thrown right back into her own face, as he showed his own controlling and dominant side. His tone even getting slightly darker and more serious as he spoke, with less of the flirty tone, and more of the confident words that seemed to work their charm on her. "If only you would've known just what kind of naughty boy you got with... Maybe you'd be happy to make it up to him, for messing with his gun." He teased after just breaking the kiss momentarily. His breath shaken up, despite his own "decent" physical shape, he couldn't hold his breath as long as she did, with her well developed lungs, she definitely at least in this situation had more endurance than he did. He made up for it by "cheating", as he suddenly brought his lips back down to hers, and shoved his tongue right into her mouth. He tried to take the lead in the kiss, and the whole dynamic between the two changed. From just a rather innocent kiss and hug, it was a far more "clearer" picture from someone standing aside. Their height made it less obvious, but the pose in which she was "set" kept things clear for any bystander that were to look at them. He didn't care if this would derail the whole thing, she managed to stroke and press just the right keys for her charms to work on him. He craved her, badly, so much so that if allowed, he would've not even hesitated to take her right there, in the middle of the dance floor. After this much more passionate kiss, Marshall paused, drew his head back, and allowed himself to stand level with her, showing a huge grin on his lips that were coated in a mix of spit from the two.
08:09
"I'll need your name for the hotel to which we're going... And to make sure I don't forget a woman that knows her way around guns... And men." His tone had shifted, and even his mask fell a bit. From a douchebag that seemed to just love being "adored" and followed around just for his money, stood a man that craved and loved power and control, he didn't want "easy" power over someone, he wanted to have that control over someone else, and in this case, Camille seemed to be his "victim" of choice. She could see the gaze that he had in his eyes, it was pure lust burning within him. He suddenly leaned back to Camille once again, and whispered into her ear, almost as an "order" to her. "Text your friend... That you'll leave with me, we're going to the Grand Hotel, Room 73... And we'll be fucking." He was unhinged at this point, as her positive reactions to everything, and her own sexual drive influenced him to gain the confidence that he needed, plus, with the lust, he didn't care if he'd "fuck up" now, he knew that he wanted her, and he wanted her right now. @fixie.
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Camille Förster BOT 30-Oct-23 11:00 AM
Camille’s head was spinning, lost in a maelstrom of sensations. The deafening music engulfed her, and his body beneath her touch sent surges of electricity through her. His intoxicating cologne filled her senses, and the taste of his tongue against hers ignited a starburst of sensations inside of her. Every nerve in her body crackled with electric anticipation, poised to discharge at any moment. Desire enveloped her, transporting her to a different world, where tongues dueled and heavy breaths intermingled. It was an exchange of power, a battle of wills, with both craving dominance. Camille yearned to assert herself, to seize control. But then, his hand slid up her back, his fingers tenderly tracing through her hair. Shivers cascaded down her spine, and he tugged her hair firmly. In that instant, she relinquished control, allowing him to guide her. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had the potential to tame her inner strength. Yet, in this fierce struggle, they stood as equals. In the end, there was no victor or vanquished, only two souls yearning for each other’s desires. She clung to this moment, fearing she might never experience such release again. Camille wasn’t certain of his intentions, and she refused to beg for more than a one-night encounter. Time would determine their fate. She allowed him to dominate her body, confident she’d have her chance to reign later. When his face loomed before hers once more, his eyes reeling her in, her expression remained inscrutable, her breath labored. His image seared into her mind, leaving a bittersweet trace, as it might be fleeting, never to be seen again. She longed to freeze time and keep looking at him, captivated by his stern expression and the intense desire in his dark eyes. His voice, deeper, resonated through every fiber of her being, eliciting a subtle, knowing smirk from her.
11:00
Her eyes sparkled with challenge, for she was not one to apologize for her actions. If given the choice, she’d do it again and again, just to find herself entwined with him on the dance floor. When he kissed her once more, she felt a surge of gratitude, surrendering her body and soul to him. His suggestion, or rather demand, that they head to a hotel, stirred butterflies in her stomach. She was initially relieved that he didn’t suggest going to his or her place, as a hotel offered more escape routes should she ever feel threatened. Strangely, she felt safe with Marshall, in a way she had never felt before. She couldn’t quite pinpoint the reason. But the way he spoke, moved, and brought her to the brink of sanity, only to pull her back in, promised her safety. She let go of her principles, revealing her true self. She had wanted to be open with Marshall from the start. She yearned to be authentic. “Camille. I will make sure you never forget my name,” she said, her smile wide, revealing her teeth. It was a promise, sending waves of euphoria through her, even making her laugh. Camille clung tightly to his body, seeing the lust burning in his eyes. She felt the greed growing inside her, desiring every ounce of his passion. She would ensure she got what she deserved. His insistence on finishing up at the nightclub by texting Ella made her heart swell. She thought he genuinely cared about her. But before texting her friend, she insisted on taking a picture with him. It was their way of looking out for each other, having a photo of a potential predator as a safety measure. With the vast resources of the FBI at their disposal, they quickly could find the other if they went missing. Camille swiftly pulled out her phone, wrapping her arm around his waist and holding up the camera. “Smile for your mugshot,” Camille joked, snapping a photo of them both. “I have to send this to my friend in case you kidnap me.”
11:00
The photo was now safely stored on her phone. In the back of her mind, she was sure she would cherish it for a long time. Even if this turned out to be a single night of desire, she would have something to remember it by. She quickly messaged Ella their future location, attaching the photo, and was ready to leave the nightclub, eager to discover what Marshall had to offer. She grabbed his hand, prepared to follow him anywhere, even to the very ends of the world. What unfolded could only be described as a whirlwind of wild emotions. They rushed off the dance floor and found their way out of the nightclub. She pressed him against his car, savoring his taste once more, seeking his warmth after going through the chilly Chicago nights streets. Camille didn’t make it easy for him to drive to the hotel, intertwining her fingers with his and already toying with his belt. The night lights of Chicago flashed outside the window, but she paid them no mind, giving Marshall full control to lead her wherever he desired. The elevator ride felt interminable, and she explored his body with her hands once again, her lips locked with his. Impatience gnawed at her, as she tugged on his shirt, her hands slipping beneath it to caress his warm skin. They entered the dimly lit hotel room, and she kicked off her high heels, her gaze locked onto Marshall’s with eyes ablaze with desire. Her open palms were an invitation, a sign that she was ready to surrender. “Try and tame me,” she challenged, a wicked grin spreading across her face. It was a high-stakes game with big rewards, and she was prepared for the first round. @hammondwalsh
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Marshall Judge BOT 30-Oct-23 12:04 PM
There was no care for any kind of safety or precaution for Marshall, that was all out of the window. He gave her anything to identify him effortlessly, smiling wide for the "mugshot", and posing eagerly to it as he playfully brought his arms up pretending to be cuffed into the selfie. His initial "mission" of getting information flew out through the window, as he really forgot about everything. The constant tugging and pulling each time they walked, stopping at almost every wall to let at least some of the pressure and heat to "blow off" with constant kissing, hugging and making out, they really would look like a "long term" couple to any bystander, as there really was seemingly no shame or care in what they did with each other, that "contest" for control would be something that would continue throughout the night. Each time she grabbed him, scratched him, or bit him, she got a "response", sometimes it would mean her getting groped, sometimes rubbed, sometimes grabbed throughout the kisses. At different times, during the drive to the hotel, he actually broke several traffic regulations, ranging from things such as speeding, all the way up to endangering the public safety, as he at one point swerved between lanes, mainly distracted by her actions within said vehicle. By pure chance and miracle they didn't get pulled over on the drive to the hotel. This wasn't even driven by any kind of alcohol, as she had a mere single drink, and he himself was entirely sober, but his eyes opened up the next morning, very late, he slept in, and it definitely had to do with all the physical exertion they both ended up going through. For the record, it ended in a quite clear "tie" between the two, as both allowed each other to come on top at different times, but no one had just "enough" to break in the other one, maybe setting and allowing this to be at least some of the "unresolved" business between the two.
12:05
His first thought in the morning was actually "Is she still here", as he looked around the bed, the moment he parted his eyes open after his deep sleep. He was a heavy sleeper, so it'd be quite hard for him to wake up from noises or movement, the amount of spent energy also "helped" with it. The main reason he hoped to still see her of course was the fact that they didn't really exchange any information, and, while he could possibly still find her once again, if he were to need it, it'd be looking far, far too suspicious for it to "just be a coincidence" to find her AGAIN out of no-where.
12:05
@fixie.
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Camille Förster BOT 31-Oct-23 01:28 AM
Camille was jolted awake by the slightest movement behind the door. A lifelong light sleeper, she reacted to every sound and disturbance around her. The room was bathed in a gentle blue glow, with the sun still concealed behind the towering skyscrapers. As she slowly opened her eyes, her gaze immediately landed on Marshall lying beside her. A faint smile danced across her lips, he looked almost angelic in his slumber, his chest rising and falling with each breath. Camille couldn’t recall the last time she had watched a man sleep. The images from the previous night flooded her mind, sending shivers down her spine. She could still vividly recall their passionate encounter, the sounds of their heavy breathing. As much as she longed to savor this moment a little longer, her thoughts began to overwhelm her. She turned her gaze to survey the room. Their clothes were scattered haphazardly across various surfaces, the rug pushed to the side, and a toppled lamp lay on the floor. It resembled a battlefield, and Camille found herself grinning at the chaos they’d created in the throes of desire. However, her smile soon faded as she took in the sheer size of the room and its opulent decor. She had never stayed in such an expensive hotel before, the room alone felt more spacious than her own apartment. Camille couldn’t shake the feeling that she didn’t belong in this world, that she was too ordinary to ever fit in. She turned her gaze back to Marshall, his face now bathed in a soft, warm light as the sun crept above the skyscrapers. She wasn’t sure what the night meant to him, suspecting it was just a casual one-night stand. As much as she wished to linger in the dream a little longer, she knew she had to return to her reality - an FBI agent catching suspects on a daily basis and leading a fairly uncomplicated life.
01:28
Struggling to free herself from the blankets wrapped around her naked body, Camille stood and made her way to the window that covered one of the walls. She gently pulled back a curtain to look outside. The streets below were already bustling with cars and people hurrying to work. As the sun rose, it cast a mesmerizing reflection on the glass skyscrapers. Camille had always loved this view of Chicago from above and took a moment to etch it into her memory, uncertain when she’d have another peaceful moment like this. Turning her attention to her clothes, she easily located her black dress and high heels, which stood out against the disorderly room. Camille cast one last glance at the peacefully sleeping Marshall and couldn’t help but wonder if he ever faced any real troubles. She was convinced that money could buy him happiness. Feeling like an impostor, she finally headed to the bathroom to freshen up. A glance in the mirror horrified her as her hair stood in all directions, and her smoky eye makeup had smeared. The physical toll of the previous night was evident in her aching muscles. There was no way she could leave the room without a shower. It took around half an hour to make herself presentable, her makeup completely removed, her wet hair combed back into place. She hoped that Marshall was still asleep as she left the bathroom. To her relief, he was still lost in slumber. Camille considered slipping away and allowing the night to remain a treasured dream. However, an inexplicable urge led her to a table with paper and pen. She bent down to leave a message for Marshall to find later: “Thank you for the unforgettable night x Camille P.S. I’m keeping the bullet” She briefly contemplated leaving her phone number, but even the pen in her hand felt as expensive as her rent. With a heavy heart, she collected herself and quietly made her way out of the room, leaving only her lingering fragrance behind. @hammondwalsh
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Marshall Judge BOT 31-Oct-23 03:11 AM
By the time Marshall woke up, everything, even the scent that lingered earlier was far gone. He was presented with the messy room, his body’s own aches and general soreness, and a bitter taste. He had “failed” with what he set off to do. Not only was this whole day and night a waste of time for his business, but it also ended up with a dead end. In his eyes, Camille was driven away from him mainly due to all the “red flags”. He simply thought he pressed too hard on her and drove her too far. It took him about 10 more minutes to just crawl out of bed, mainly as he was buried deep within his own mind and his own thoughts. He tried to recall at which point “exactly” he let go, at which point his reason just gave up, and as he was pondering this he was shaken out of this state by housekeeping, that knocked on the door with a loud bang. He rose his tone rather aggressively, actively looking towards the clock that was upside down, hanging off the bedside table by its wire, as he realized that it was already 1 pm by the time he was awake. “Occupied!” At first, he thought it was a miracle no one called him, only to be thrown into the realization that there was no one above him, he was the one who had to make the calls from now on. The anger at himself for ultimately failing, the disappointment that his “other head” took over, and the pain at the fact that Camille took this as a simple single night ended up blowing into Marshall’s head. His bitterness drove him to action, he knew he couldn’t “just walk back” and pretend like that led to nothing. Marshall, upon “properly” waking up, full of decisiveness picked up on the subtle evidence left by Camille that she also used the shower before making her way out, almost as if adding insult to injury. If he weren’t as exhausted, if he weren’t such a heavy sleeper, maybe this would’ve turned out to be a whole different story, but now, there was no point in sulking over lost opportunities.
03:12
He took his time to prepare himself for work. He gathered his clothes, spent a good amount of time looking for all of them, he also ensured that he had everything that mattered, and only then noticed the card that was laying on the table. He let out a little sigh at that, it somewhat “hurt less” seeing that card there. He even went as far as flipping it over, in hopes to see a number on it, only to be faced with disappointment once more. This note made his head wander for a minute, he knew he had his own moles that could help him find her once more, but the thought of it being “too perfect to be true” even spooked him off. He held onto the card for a few minutes simply standing there, pondering what should be done with it. As he was about to place it back down on the table, not wanting to know anything else about this, and just to try and accept it for what It is, a pleasant night, he got once again distracted by his “work-phone” going off. It was a hint. Without any thought behind it, as he needed both hands to answer, he mindlessly slipped said note into one of his pockets, something that might even haunt him in the future, as he picked up. The voice on the other side was of a local drunk. It was convenient to “know” people like those because their low threat would have them end up in the oddest situations, and in this case, he struck out. This drunk was detained in the raid, as part of his organization, but would inevitably be let go for any lack of evidence. He had nothing to do with the organization, and he hadn’t committed any real crimes worth pursuing in the FBI’s eyes, but he witnessed the “worst” thing he could witness in his cell, the man that Camille detained, Bryan Romero, sobbing in a neighboring cell, mumbling something like “they were going to kill me” was heard by him.
03:13
Of course, this man knew he could exchange that information for money, something Marshall would widely use to promote his network, and this time, it worked its magic. Marshall now knew the name of the whistleblower, he knew whose lips got loose, to add to that, this fiasco could be turned into a subtle triumph, as all he had to do was say that the information, he gathered himself was now confirmed by this drunk’s rumor. Marshall, went from being defeated, angry, and disappointed in himself to focused and full of purpose. “Thank you. I’ll make sure you get what we owe you.” Was the only response he had to give to this man. And as soon as the phone call ended, he was already dialing another number, his “second in command”, a man who he didn’t entirely trust, but he knew he had to prove himself as much as that man had to prove himself to him. He bluntly stated into the phone as soon as the person on the other side picked up. “Bryan Romero. That is our rat. This bitch was so proud of it… And one of my whistleblowers confirmed it.” The silence and confusion from the other side soon turned into an expected aggressive outburst, no one really liked the godfather’s son before, but now, they had all the “Proof” they needed to deal with him. The response on the other end was “What do you need, boss?” “Find out when, and where is he going to be transported. I’ll deal with the rest. Make sure it’s well known to everyone in this city once I’m done with him, if anyone dares to cross The Chicago Association, they won’t face you, they’ll face Brutus, directly.” His voice was craving blood, but not only because of the treason, the frustration that he experienced today, the mistake that he committed had built up a lot of anger within him, and this kid was the perfect outlet for him. He also knew well that this would have to be an “execution” and a “message”. A simple silent death wouldn’t work, it’d have to be a message, you can’t hide from Brutus.
03:14
After a bit of silence, and the other party likely thinking through all the steps necessary to make the order happen, Brutus spoke again, looking to make his intentions clear. “I want to take him out on the streets… In front of his cop guardians.” With that, and without allowing the voice on the other side to try to reason with him, Marshall allowed the phone to fall along with his hand. He kept the grip on it, and simply pressed the red button to end the call. With this, Marshall was now waiting for the intel that he needed. He just left the expensive hotel, and left a 500$ tip on the bed, as he knew that the house maids would have quite a mess to clean, and headed towards his home, to change, and prepare, waiting for that new call to come through.
03:14
@fixie.
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Camille Förster BOT 31-Oct-23 08:45 AM
Upon finally returning to her apartment, Camille was determined to savor her first day off in a long while. All she yearned for was a good long sleep, given that she had hardly managed to accumulate more than eight hours of rest over the past few days. Lying in her bed, cocooned by her warm blankets, she struggled to quell her racing thoughts. Flashes from the previous night and a lingering heat in her body played tricks on her mind. Frustrated, she flung the blankets aside, only to be enveloped by a sudden chill in her apartment, courtesy of a stubbornly malfunctioning window that refused to close properly. She was compelled to tuck herself back under the blankets to escape the cold. Desperation to find sleep gnawed at her, but no matter how hard she tried, slumber remained elusive. Unable to find rest, she roamed her apartment like a restless ghost until an unexpected phone call shattered her solitude in the afternoon. Praying she wouldn’t be summoned to work on her day off, Camille’s hopes were dashed. It seemed the universe had forsaken her. Half an hour later, she found herself rushing to the FBI headquarters of Chicago. Due to the prior history of her recently arrested suspect, the legal proceedings for his conviction had been expedited, scheduled for the following day. Both the FBI and the court were eager to handle the case swiftly and ensure every piece of evidence was in order. This also left little time for potential threats to Bryan Romero. Camille sat through a lengthy meeting with the FBI boss and the leaders of elite SWAT units, along with technical specialists, to craft an airtight plan for any emergencies. She felt like she was hanging by a thread, struggling to stay alert and focused on the impending mission. The swiftness of the case’s conclusion had taken her by surprise.
08:45
To stay awake, she found herself absentmindedly toying with the bullet in her hand, the cool metal soothing her nerves as she rolled it between her fingers. “Camille, you’re responsible for Mr. Romero’s safety in the courtroom,” her boss’s stern voice broke through her thoughts. This caught her off guard, as she had never been tasked with playing bodyguard in a courtroom and felt ill-equipped for the role. “Don’t you think someone from the SWAT unit should handle this?” She locked her eyes with her boss, tapping the bullet on the table, growing increasingly annoyed by the situation. “Camille… The proceedings will be broadcast live, and… well, having a photogenic presence is good for the FBI’s image,” her boss carefully chose his words, but each one only fueled her frustration. It meant that she would have to accompany Mr. Romero and stand behind him and his attorney throughout the entire legal process. Her mood soured, but she knew better than to argue further and respected the chain of command. The rest of the evening involved meticulous briefings for all the personnel assigned to oversee the hearing the next morning. The last thing Camille remembered was dragging herself into her apartment late at night, finally seeking some rest. The night couldn’t have been long enough, as she found herself back at the FBI headquarters an hour before the hearing. Word had spread that Mr. Romero’s hearing was scheduled for today, resulting in a throng of reporters outside both the FBI headquarters and the courthouse. The chaos made it a nightmare to drive through and gain access to the building. Events were unfolding rapidly, and soon she would collect her gear for the day. It seemed absurd, but her boss insisted that she only wear a bulletproof vest and carry an assault rifle and a single handgun.
08:45
She had no choice but to depend on her colleagues for her own safety. She felt utterly exposed, lacking essential SWAT gear like a helmet, and her instincts screamed that something would go wrong today, despite the plans to keep the suspect safe. The armored car ride with Mr. Romero and five SWAT members was filled with oppressive silence. He was shackled at the wrists and legs, his face ashen with fear. Camille remained resolute and withheld any sympathy, aware of the heinous crimes he had committed and the vast criminal organization he had led. During the ride, she kept reminding herself to breathe, attempting to quell her nerves. She found herself focusing on the bullet concealed in a pocket beneath her bulletproof vest. This morning, she had decided it would be her lucky charm, a seemingly trivial notion that somehow calmed her. Their route to the courthouse was meticulously planned, taking them through the FBI headquarters’ parking structure and directly into the courthouse garage to minimize exposure. It was a perfect plan, and they hoped to use the same route as their exit. However even as they approached the courthouse, they could already hear the clamor of reporters and see the flashes of cameras vying for the juiciest story. Camille noticed Mr. Romero growing even more jittery. He kept his eyes closed, whispering something under his breath. Camille wondered if he might lose his sanity and become aggressive at any moment, her grip on the assault rifle tightening.
08:46
Soon, they stood in the courtroom, where only a select group of reporters had been granted access. It was a room deep within the building, devoid of windows, its walls covered in dark oak. Mr. Romero and his attorney took their seats on the right side of the courtroom, and Camille stood vigilantly by their side. She wore a bulletproof vest over a black long-sleeved shirt, black jeans, and her trusted black boots for comfort. The strap of the assault rifle hung over her shoulder, her hands resting on it, directed towards the floor. She also had an additional holster on her thigh, securing her other gun. Frankly, she felt foolish, comparing herself to her SWAT unit colleagues who were fully equipped and stationed at every exit. She couldn’t help but feel overly exposed, and the “eyecandy” comment from her boss continued to grate on her. She was acutely aware of the cameras trained on Mr. Romero and was sure they captured her standing by his side. All she could do was scan the area and try her best not to feel like a clueless blonde with an assault rifle.
08:46
The hearing dragged on for several hours, and Camille’s exhaustion weighed on her. Yet, she remained vigilant, scanning the area even when no immediate danger was evident. At one point, a fleeting thought crossed her mind about who might be watching her on live TV. She wondered if Marshall ever watched the news and would spot her by chance. It excited her to think he might see her on live TV and draw conclusions, but then she remembered she was there as a mere “eyecandy”, and the feeling of foolishness returned. Her thoughts were cut short when the judge finally read the verdict. “Bryan Romero, based on the evidence presented, you are sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole.” The courtroom erupted at that moment. Reporters shouted their questions, cameras flashed incessantly to capture Mr. Romero’s reaction. Camille had to bite her cheek to maintain her composure. They needed to get him out of the courtroom quickly. They were now trapped in a sea of reporters fighting for their stories and photographs, and Camille knew that their escape had to be swift. @hammondwalsh
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Marshall Judge BOT 31-Oct-23 09:35 AM
Such an extreme rush was in fact motivated by their own moles, by now they had heard the rumours about a certain someone, a legend, hunting down all the possible whistle-blowers, and they weren't wrong. The words pronounced before on the phone by Marshall, about every whistle-blower to be dealt with by him, were in fact spread wide throughout the city, there was this long moment of tension for everyone as the operation was very rushed, they were under insane pressure from higher ups to move him, and to prevent any attack on the FBI building itself where he was being held. Because of that, and the rush they all went through, despite their best efforts at secrecy, needing to put such a high stakes transport in this little time meant that they had to pull all the resources, including ones that really couldn't be trusted. As quickly as their plan was being developed, it was also being updated to the organization they were facing. The layout, the route, the planning, everything was "perfect" on their end, but, as they all rushed and jumped the gun they forgot that "secrecy" wasn't as watertight as they had hoped. Usually, with operations like these, where careful planning is taken into place, they would have a team on the ground, ready to deal with the crowds and with the reporters, but they just thought it'd be easy to "keep a secret". Unfortunately for them, someone called all the press ahead of time, and as they were forced to let some of the reporters into the hearing, even more people were now drawn to the scene, not only just bystanders intrigued by the crowd, but also all sorts of civilians, protestors, supporters, this was turning into a big ball that they would struggle to stop, and by the time the hearing was over, it's exactly what was happening. Despite reinforcements being brought in, and pretty much every single cop in the city being there, it wasn't enough to control the crowd in a "timely" and efficient manner.
09:36
Unfortunately for them, some protestor, trying to "steal the show" for climate rights, decided to do one of their stupid "acts" he cuffed himself to the floor and started shouting about how this was all irrelevant. With this delay, the teams couldn't just "move him" out of the way. Instead of doing the wise thing of bunkering down in a safe haven, but risking to expose all the civilians that were now crowding the place they chose to risk it. A whole team of 9 swat members was put together to act like a shield. They were chosen on purpose to basically be his meat shields, standing taller, and overall covering him from any kind of outside threat. The armoured van was parked in such a way that the doors were wide open, and ready for loading of the inmate. This was all as "best planned" as it could get given the circumstances. There was also a full proper "line" cleared for them to just RUN for it and not wait on the exposed outside. The plan was sound, and despite the rush, it really felt bulletproof to everyone involved. After an hour of trying to get the idiot out of the way, they gave up, and ended up going with this alternate plan. As Camille was chosen to "personally protect" this douchebag, this also meant that she ran ahead of everyone, and would be in charge of cuffing the man inside of the vehicle, but this also made it so there would be a very slight delay, where, once inside of the vehicle, the inmate would have to turn around, face Camille and give her his hands, so she could chain him to the vehicle, as the protocol stated. They expected this to go flawlessly as well, since the side doors would be armoured, and his guards would still hold their position behind him. There was only one mistake, they failed to notice that the van would bring HIM higher than them, maybe for a few split moments, and that there were some decent sized gaps in the armoured doors, which had to be there just for the van's doors to open and close properly, and seal shut.
09:36
This "rush" played right into Marshall's hand. He knew every single thing they were going to do, from second. The protestor was actually brought on by him, as he personally called them to warn them about a "perfect opportunity" for one of their idiot acts. He also made sure to give them JUST enough time to drive in, telling the eco-protestors that the event would start an hour later of what it was actually going to start, and it worked. Before this whole mad dash even started, Marshall had familiarized himself with the area, he sighted in his weapon to the perfect range, and even trained himself for a couple of hours to reliably hit that one spot that he would have open, that gap that he was looking for. Inadvertently, the police department also helped Marshall with this difficult shot, as they had plenty of tape everywhere, trying to contain the crowd, tape that swayed perfectly with wind, and could be used to give him an ideal wind rating, without the need to get his eyes out of the scope and calculate it with a proper device instead. Marshall, knowing about this whole parade actually prepared even further, as he dawned black clothing, matching to their own sniper teams. To anyone from the ground, after the shot would be made, if they even managed to see from where, and gather themselves enough, all they'd see is a man in a SWAT suit running down. Of course it wasn't an actual official SWAT uniform, but it didn't have to be, it simply needed to look like one, and with a distance at which he had perched himself, 404 meters or 1325 feet , this would work perfectly.
09:37
Marshall also made sure to pick a proper scope, and a proper kill flash, to avoid reflecting any flashes towards any of the onlookers, as, under the right "Unlucky" conditions, the sun could sometimes reflect right back into the target's eyes, giving away the sniper's position rather easily. As expected, he had also equipped his rifle with a proper bipod, to make sure that he didn't have to hold the weight of the weapon, making this task even easier for himself. It was a challenging enough shot, and he wasn't going to just "risk it". He wanted to seize every single advantage possible. Marshall also didn't bother to go with a suppressor, as he knew that being at the distance at which he was, within a city, meant virtually no risk for him what so ever. By the time the cops would realise what had happened, from where the shot was taken, and even got there, Marshall would be long gone by then. He had the live feed up on his phone, that he perched up against the side of the building on which he had perched on. He calmly watched the news broadcast, and patiently waited. As the trial was being brought to an end, with the lawyer actually confirming that "he wasn't happy, as his client "assisted" with the investigation", Marshall tensed up. He rolled onto his belly, let out a few loud sighs and gasps, simply to purge his lungs from all the CO2, to help him hold his breath long enough.
09:37
This wasn't that different from what some of the divers would do, calming their bodies down and inhaling even more oxygen than needed, he did the same thing, at a much lesser extent of course, but still the exercise helped him to be as stable as possible. Soon enough, once he silently laid in position, for about that hour in which the fate of his target was being decided, he would see what he wanted to. His weapon was already trained on the destination, the little gap between the van's doors and the inside, as the van was parked perpendicular to him, showing "most" of it's side, and only a little slither of where Marshall was aiming for. He slowed his breath, and allowed his mind to go blank. He didn't want to overthink this, it was just a "wait for it" moment. To him, because of how he focused himself and how much he had drilled into this head the need to pay attention, the world seemed to slow. His finger was now resting on the trigger, the safety was removed an hour ago, and this was go-time. In this mindless state, not even his adrenaline was kicking in yet, that would be something that would come after the first time he pulled the trigger. He didn't even process the fact that Camille would be right there, in his scope too, until it happened. He saw with just the edge of his scope how Camille assisted the now convict to step up into the van, it was that moment, Camille's hands were extended out, and the inmate was reaching his own hands out towards her. All Camille had to do was quickly slide the carabine into his cuffs, that's all that needed to happen.
09:37
When Camille went to do so, and her hands made contact with the cold metal, distracted by her own adrenaline, she'd suddenly be thrown entirely out of it, as she felt some wet substance hit her face, her hair, her lips, her mind didn't even have enough time to process what happened before she saw the red substance on the cold metal that she was holding. When she inevitably lifted her eyes, she would see a headless corpse, standing with it's arms up. It fell into the back of the van, with blood gushing out of what used to be the neck, it coated Camille's front entirely, and soon, as it fell into the back of the van, it also started to flood it with the fluid. It was blood. Camille was shaken out of her "shock-state" as one of the SWAT members, in full gear actually tackled her down to the floor, it was normal protocol, and only NOW her brain had processed the sound that she actually heard, it was a gunshot, a full second after the head was gone. @fixie.
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Camille Förster BOT 31-Oct-23 11:07 AM
In the midst of the chaotic world surrounding them, the SWAT team members swiftly maneuvered to encircle both Camille and Mr. Romero. The radio blared with a constant stream of orders, shouted one after another. They couldn’t exit the courtroom until they secured an escape route, and it seemed like chaos was erupting both inside and outside. The crowd outside the courtroom had grown, and the garage entrance was now blocked, with civilians and climate protestors seizing the opportunity for their moment of fame as reporters gathered outside. The situation was rapidly deteriorating. The order to exit through the main entrance sent a sinking feeling into Camille’s heart. She clung tightly to Mr. Romero, looking at her colleagues, who were all masked, their thoughts inscrutable. Camille cursed under her breath, the situation couldn’t be worse, and she felt unequipped to handle it. “Ms. Förster, we are ready to move outside. Please stay close,” one of the SWAT members said. He then delivered commands in a low, commanding voice, ensuring everyone understood. Walking through the crowd was awkward, with SWAT members forming a protective barrier around them. Camille kept a firm grip on Mr. Romero’s arm, hoping he would cooperate. She wasn’t certain if he could walk steadily, as his face appeared resigned and pale. In her other hand, she clutched the handle of her assault rifle, pressing the stock against her shoulder, prepared to release Mr. Romero at any moment if needed. The journey from the courtroom to the main entrance felt interminable, the shouts of reporters and SWAT unit members deafening.
11:07
They paused briefly by the main entrance to regroup. It was decided that Camille and another SWAT unit member would escort Mr. Romero to the armored van quickly, while the others followed. It sounded like a foolproof plan. After a moment to collect their thoughts and catch their breath, the SWAT unit leader finally gave the command. Stepping outside the building with Mr. Romero in tow, Camille’s senses were overwhelmed. her eyes were blinded by the constant flashes of the cameras, and the cold air stung like ice shards against her skin. Everything happened quickly, and they managed to push Mr. Romero into his seat in the van, now shielded by the building and the van’s armored doors. Camille already had the carabine in hand, ready to secure him in place and leave this hell behind. Bryan Romero closed his eyes and began reciting something in Italian, resembling a prayer. And in that moment, Camille’s reality shattered. Time seemed to slow down around them, and the reporters’ shouts faded into the background. One moment, she was reaching for Mr. Romero’s cuffs with the carabine, and the next, she saw red splatters on her hands. She forgot to breathe for a moment, and the cold air outside suddenly turned warm as adrenaline surged through her body and something warm covered her skin. Her head snapped up to witness the horrifying scene - Mr. Romero’s head had disappeared in the blink of an eye, and the van was splattered with blood. After a brief moment of confusion, a SWAT unit member who had been escorting Mr. Romero quickly pulled Camille to the ground. The impact was far from gentle, and Camille felt pain coursing through her body, unguarded by any protection. She struggled to breathe, and something wet threatened to enter her nose. Everything blurred into chaos, a cacophony of screams and excited shouts as reporters sought the perfect shot, while others fled for their safety.
11:07
Camille remained in shock, her heart pounding in her ears, her breathing ragged. She saw the blood on her hands, and she couldn’t tell who was injured anymore. Panic gripped her as a SWAT member aggressively tugged on her vest. As other SWAT members scanned for the shooter, pointing their assault rifles into the air, the other one pulled Camille back to the main entrance, her legs scraping against the rough pavement, leaving a trail of blood behind. Now, she became the center of attention for the reporters, rushing to take pictures as she was dragged over the pavement. Some managed to capture shots where her eyes were closed, making it appear as though she was injured or even dead. Back inside, the sound of the gunshot finally registered in Camille’s brain, and she felt the world crumble around her. Her breath quickened, and she sat by the wall, unable to tear her gaze from her blood-soaked hands. A panic attack overtook her senses, and tears streamed down her cheeks, mixing with the blood. Suddenly, an older man from the SWAT team in his forties grabbed her chin, and his deep, ragged voice pierced through her disarray. “Breathe. You are alive, soldier.” @hammondwalsh
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Marshall Judge BOT 31-Oct-23 11:30 AM
For Marshall this moment after he pulled the trigger of his rifle went even longer. For a moment, everything ceased to move. His eyes couldn't realistically register the bullet, there was no way with the distance, the resolution of the scope, or the speed at which that tiny object was moving, but if you were to ask him, he'd confidently tell you that he saw that bullet fly perfectly. It was of course his mind playing tricks on him, and, as he managed to easily confirm the kill, moving the sight back into position after dealing with the recoil, he would see the man falling down into the van. The spray of blood would soak Camille entirely, leading many to believe that it was "Both" that took fire. This worked in his favour too, as many of the team members who were meant to be on lookout, prioritized one of her own instead of paying attention to the shooter. The members that held security, while Camille was just being dragged out of the scene would soon call out "Shooter, 3 o'clock" with guns being pointed towards that general direction. The only reason they had even seen him move was because of Camille. He stayed there a few seconds longer, just watching her being "okay", as he knew that the blood wasn't hers. No one dared to shoot, as even though they had trained snipers on the scene, everyone was looking at the crowd, and, once the call came in, amidst the panic, they really didn't have time. Only one of the snipers would have "caught a glimpse" of the back of the man, a mocking "SWAT" inscription would be on his back, and this would've been captured by his tactical camera, which was set up on his scope. While retreating, Marshall hadn't rotated the bolt of his weapon, making sure that the spent casing that was within it, remained inside of it. He knew he didn't have to, and he casually allowed his rifle to slide over his shoulder, hanging by it's designated sling as he went down from the tall building in which he was nested making sure to take his phone with him.
11:31
There would be tracks left behind from his boots, but he actually chose to wear a one size bigger boots for that exact same reason, he padded them with fabric in order to let him move properly, in a pinch, this would work, but he couldn't move long in these due to the discomfort which they provided. He was a professional at work, shining his art. The bullet, which would eventually be recovered from the other door of the van, would lead to nothing, the weapon that was shot had a few kills on it already, and it tied the weapon into the Chicago Association, but nothing beyond that point, from all the situations in which it was in fact used, nothing useful was recovered. The profile of the shooter, made by their analysts was of some serviceman, scarred and deeply disturbed by PTSD, far from the real person with whom they were dealing. Marshall on the other hand, simply pulled off the clothes, slid them into a bag which he casually set between the front and back seat, in the gap for the rear passenger's feet, simply for it to not be "sticking out". His tinted windows helped as well, and underneath he wore a simple yellow shirt. He adjusted his sunglasses, and wore denim pants underneath the fake swat uniform that he wore. He also made sure to change his boots for sneakers. On his way to the car, he didn't park in the same building, in fact, he had to walk a whole two streets to just get to his parked BMW. He started the engine, and casually drove out into traffic. To make matters worse, the CCTV footage that would capture him, only linked him to a "close-enough" location, and all it would be was a man with a duffel bag, stepping out of the BMW, and casually making his way somewhere, out of CCTV range, and, after about 3 to 4 hours, as casually walk back to his car. No real traces left to even the building.
11:32
At most, the only thing they could dig on him, was his description of some passer-by's, but the chance for it was so little that it was virtually impossible to trace back and link to him. He even had the audacity to drive by the panicked cops, who were all on extremely high alert, and simply continue moving down the road, back to his house. The adrenaline in this moment was overwhelming him, and the pride in his accomplishment was so big that he just couldn't believe it, he pulled one of the hardest shots ever, entirely on his own. Marshall would actually go on home, calm down a little, and call his second in command, to find out if any reporters spoke about Camille, and if she was ever brought into any hospital. In case they were, he also made sure to inquire if the hospital was mentioned on the news as well. This was the perfect excuse to get near her. "I saw you on TV and was worried" kind of moment.
11:32
@fixie.
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Camille Förster BOT 01-Nov-23 03:31 AM
The next few hours felt like an agonizing descent into hell. After Camille finally managed to calm herself, a rush of other emotions consumed her. Madness churned within her chest, and she hungered for answers. The FBI launched their investigation immediately, seeking to follow any promising leads to locate the shooter. Camille was poised to leap into action, but she was swiftly restrained by others and forced to heed her boss’s orders to get checked out at a hospital. It was the worst-case scenario for her, she wanted to return to her work and capture the person responsible for literally detonating her six-month case in her face. The walk to the ambulance was unbearable. Camille had no choice but to traverse the main entrance again, with her colleagues now holding her assault rifle. Reporters circled like hyenas, eager to capture every moment on camera. Madness etched across her face, her body and hair smeared with blood, she could only look ahead and pray to reach the ambulance quickly. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of embarrassment, blaming herself for what had transpired. She replayed the escape route in her mind, wondering if she had missed something or if her positioning could have been different. The madness didn’t cease at the hospital. The blood on her had to be tested to rule out blood-transmitted diseases. The doctors insisted on a CT scan of her head, concerned about a potential concussion from being pulled to the ground. They also examined the bruises on her upper body. Camille grew increasingly impatient, yearning to leave the hospital as soon as possible. However, she was informed that if she left prematurely, she wouldn’t be permitted to return to work until she was in top shape.
03:31
During her hospital visit, her phone was bombarded with messages and calls. Her mother, upon seeing the images of her being dragged into the courthouse, feared the worst. Her friends were similarly worried. Camille found herself answering calls and messages every fifteen minutes, hoping that everyone would soon confirm that she was okay. As the hours passed, the situation deteriorated. News of the incident spread like wildfire across the internet, and the spotlight shifted from the murdered Bryan Romero to Camille. People speculated about her well-being and even formulated absurd conspiracy theories suggesting she might have been responsible for Romero’s death, given the improbable shooting angle. Photos from the courtroom, her being dragged across the ground, and her walk to the ambulance flooded the internet. Camille became the new target, and what started as genuine concern soon gave way to cruel jokes. The nickname “Agent Barbie” stung, and Camille’s anger burned, primarily directed at her boss for failing to equip her properly and for assigning her to guard Mr. Romero in the first place. FBI colleagues soon came to the hospital to question her. Hour after hour, Camille was asked to recount every detail of what she saw and did. She, in turn, kept pressing for the time she could leave the hospital and return to work. However, the sun had already set, and night was descending rapidly. Camille was forbidden to return to work that day and was instructed to rest for the night. Frustration welled up inside her, as she yearned to be back on the field and couldn’t stand the thought of resting.
03:31
In the hospital, she had the chance to take a shower, and some colleagues brought her fresh clothes from the headquarters. She was also administered a dose of painkillers to ease the discomfort in her bruised shoulder. The blood test came back negative for any diseases, and at last, she was given permission to go home. But instead of leaving, she found herself sitting on a bench outside the hospital. It was a peaceful night, with the distant hum of passing cars and a gentle breeze tousling her hair. A few stars twinkled in the dark sky as she sat there, trying to piece together events that had unfolded so rapidly. It had all happened so quickly that her initial panic had prevented her from remembering every detail she had witnessed. With her hands tucked in her hoodie pockets, she remained in the cold, gazing into the distance. She couldn’t return to work, and there was no one waiting for her at home. So she sat on that bench, searching for answers within herself, battling the embarrassment of the internet shitstorm. Amidst all these emotions, one sentiment overshadowed the rest: a burning madness. Her hands itched to find the individual responsible for shattering her meticulously built case and to personally bring them to justice. She knew the shooter was male, and she was certain she would track him down eventually. Her thirst for revenge ws insatiable, and she vowed to make it a sweet one. @hammondwalsh
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Marshall Judge BOT 01-Nov-23 04:31 AM
Marshall didn't have to wait long, as, within the hour after he made the call to his second in command, he already confirmed and reassured him of where Camille was being held, and even how long she'd stay there, as the news were simply all over her, eating up all the juicy details. Marshall didn't rush, he was somewhat familiar with the protocol, and knew it'd take a good minute for them to sort everything out, especially now that such a "Big deal" went down. He decided to show up at 7 pm, right as most of the facilities would be left with just the essential staff, knowing that no one would probably bother her anymore, nor from her agency, other agencies, or even the news themselves. He cleaned himself up, even going as far as shaving again, just to look as sharp and perfect as he could. He also intentionally chose the same cologne that she had in the club with her, and prepared to leave. He had his whole "standard" kit with him again, and even had replaced the bullet that was missing, although this time he didn't chamber it, instead he just kept it in the magazine, where it should've been in the first place, somewhat dumbfounded that such a little mistake almost costed him his freedom, and his gun ownership license. He had a big proud grin on his lips, happy that Camille ended up being where she was, thanks to this, it gave him a second chance at trying to approach her, an opportunity to seize her again.
04:31
Shortly after Camille sat herself down on the bench, and her mind wandered off. To her this horrible moment felt like hours upon hours, but it's only been about 20 minutes since she was discharged from the hospital. People were walking by back and forth, with her new attire, and her presence there no one really realised who she was, and for now, she was able to "Hide" away from the outside world. By the 20 minute mark though, she would hear the loud crumpling noise from some packaging, and, if she were to lift her face she would actually see none other than Marshall. By then of course he had prepared thoroughly, cleaned himself off properly, put on some much, much fancier clothes, a full on suit this time. It was a very expensive suit, his BMW was parked just mere steps away from her, in one of the parking spots reserved for workers. With her mind being so distracted she hadn't even heard that engine that she blissfully ignored last time sneak up on her once again. He stood a few steps away from her, and held the clearly expensive bouquet of yellow roses, it was big, with 50 roses within it. This time, an even more expensive watch was shining on his wrist, an OMEGA Seamaster Diver, with the blue tones. He very slowly approached the flowers over to her and slightly smiled, without a single word to her, at least, not for now. While in reality he didn't need her for anything else anymore, he knew she'd be in heaps of trouble, and as an informant, she no longer was useful to him, he craved her, and this turned out to be the perfect chance to be reunited. With all the blowback that she was facing he knew there wouldn't be much she'd care about, so he did exactly that, simply stand there quietly next to her, not trying to comfort or talk her out of anything, simply showing that "one night stand" was not something that he had in his mind for her.
04:32
If you were to ask Marshall why he came back, or why he reached out, he'd come up with an excuse, saying that Camille could still be useful, or that she had some more information to give, or that he simply wanted to drive suspicion away from himself but the truth is that he still wanted Camille, she got him hooked up, and despite his earlier anger, that was now all out of the window. He once again wasn't thinking with his mind, and more-so with his heart. He just patiently stood there next to her, and kept his eyes locked on her lowered face. He had a few things in mind, knowing that the best would be to lean on the humour instead of showing concern, but he didn't want to come off as an asshole either, especially now that she had what could possibly be described as the worst day in her career, and possibly in her life. @fixie.
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Camille Förster BOT 01-Nov-23 05:40 AM
As Camille sat outside, her body gradually succumbed to the cold, but the internal turmoil within her sent fiery waves coursing through her. She kept telling herself she’d sit for just another minute before heading home, but it felt as though she was tethered to the bench, her legs heavy with exhaustion. The events of the day were taking a toll on her, and every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was the red blood of Romero staining her vision. She longed to vanish, to run deep into a forest and lead a nomadic lifestyle, but above all, she craved revenge. Her thoughts spiraled, pulling her deeper into the abyss. Suddenly, the sound of crumpling paper snapped her back to the surface. Her eyes slowly traveled upward to see a bouquet of yellow roses, and her initial reaction was a frown. She somehow perceived this gesture as an intrusion into her personal space, a twisted way to approach her. Her gaze then shifted up to finally notice Marshall holding the bouquet into her direction. Her expression remained stern, but her heart fluttered. Confusion welled up as she struggled to piece the situation together. “How did you find me?” Her voice had a raspy tone from constant talking and the cold air. Her eyes returned to the roses, uncertain of how to react. Camille couldn’t recall a time when someone had brought her flowers. In fact, she found it a frivolous gesture and a waste of money for a few days of fresh blooms. However, she didn’t want to appear ungrateful and reached for the flowers, cradling them. Sitting with the flowers, she looked down at them and a bitter laugh escaped her lips. “You should’ve gone with red roses. It seems like it’s my color these days,” she quipped, leaning down to take in the faint, sweet scent of the flowers. She also gingerly touched one of the roses, curious about its texture. Camille then looked back at Marshall and noticed his car behind him, still running.
05:40
The one night they had spent together felt like it occurred a decade ago, with the feelings associated with it now distant. Camille felt an emptiness within, making it difficult to process her emotions. She couldn’t fathom how he had managed to find her, and an alarm went off in her head. But the earlier incident had numbed her instincts, and she could only sigh and confront the situation. Meeting his gaze, she attempted to decipher his intentions. Camille looked worn out, with dark circles under her eyes. The dim lighting and her lack of makeup didn’t enhance her appearance, and she felt utterly miserable. The chilly air was finally catching up, causing her to shiver slightly. “Can you take me home?” She cast aside all her concerns, no longer preoccupied with her safety at this moment. Since Marshall had shown up near the hospital, appearing somewhat like a creep or stalker, she figured she might as well make use of the situation. @hammondwalsh
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Marshall Judge BOT 01-Nov-23 05:59 AM
With that, Marshall shifted her to the car, and despite struggling a little with the door, having to almost lean her against the window, he actually used the hand that was reaching underneath her knees, as he pushed it forward, allowing her knees to rest on his arm for a mere moment, as he reached down to the handle, pulling on it. With the door now open and out of the way, he very gently lowered her into the passenger seat, one in which she sat not that long ago. When Marshall went to straighten out, seeing as she was still mostly zoned out and in her thoughts, he actually reached back over her shoulder, gently tugged on the seatbelt, which he slid over her front and her lap, securing her in the seat before clicking said belt into position, within it's proper position. He even went as far as to "tugging" a little on the belt, to make sure it was sitting snug against her before finally moving back and away from her. With that, Marshall gently nudged one of her arms, her right arm, closer towards the inside, as he very carefully closed the door, far more concerned with "Pinching" some part of her more than anything else. Once the door was closed, he himself took a second, shook his own head out of her view as he just stood "above" the car, he wasn't really happy with what he was doing, and he knew that this could very well be the end of him, but he didn't care. He slowly moved around towards the drivers seat, and sat down next to Camille. His own belt soon slid on, and he just casually poked the Satnav within the vehicle, tapping on the screen with the destination, only to patiently turn his head and face Camille, of course expecting an address. "I know I showed up like a wizard... But I'll need a bit of help, your address wasn't on the news, unlike your hospital."
05:59
He remained silent for a bit longer, but when she asked and spoke, a smile showed up on Marshall's lips. He decided to go with the light-hearted humour instead of the serious tone. His grin grew over his lips as he spoke to her. "I knew you were right about being unforgettable... What I didn't expect is for you to remind me about yourself by showing up on every single screen on the world, Camille..." His tone was light, and the smile that was on his lips didn't fade. He just gently leaned in closer, extending a hand to her as a gesture of course as he wasn't going to let her simply sit on the cold bench in the cold night air. When she mentioned the red, he calmly replied, in the same joking tone. "I'm sure you'll find a way to change their colour, I just hope you won't use me for that." After that, as she replied in a much less energetic way, he actually grasped her hand, almost not letting her pick. He knew that she was struggling, and it made sense to him, but he wasn't going to just let her go through this alone, that one "night" was now engraved in his mind so far that he couldn't think of her suffering now. The moment that he touched her skin, he just held her hand with his own, flashing back to everything that went down between the two. A little sigh escaped his lips as he saw that she was still not standing up on her own, and instead of just pulling on her hand, he just stepped closer and picked her right up off the cold bench. He used her left hand, that was the one she reached out to him as support, pulling on it slightly, while his other hand slotted itself underneath the back of her knees, he scooped her off the bench in this "princess" pose, and shortly after let go of her hand, and shifted it to her back. Now, he had his left hand underneath her knees, and his right hand over her back. "I can take you anywhere you'd like."
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Camille Förster BOT 01-Nov-23 07:02 AM
The moment he smiled and left a remark about her appearance on the internet, it hit Camille like a punch to the gut. His comment about the rose’s color stirred an urge in her to introduce his face to her fist. Yet, she managed to maintain her composure, his boyish tone somehow cooling her turbulent emotions. His hand wrapping around hers transported her back to that night in the nightclub. She could still recall the warmth and roughness of his hand, her own hand fitting perfectly in his. His touch radiated a sense of security and stability she desperately needed on this night. Too slow and distracted by his touch, she hadn’t realized she had frozen up. She was taken aback to find herself in his embrace, being lifted by him. Her eyes widened, and she quickly grasped into his shoulder, ensuring the bouquet now rested on her belly. His cologne enveloped her, and she found herself in close proximity to him. As she gazed up at his determined blue eyes, the enchanting interplay of night lights cast a mesmerizing aura on his face. But she had little time to take in his features before she was settled into the seat of his car. As he took a moment to secure her seatbelt, she felt somewhat awkward, she was perfectly capable of doing it herself. But she reminded herself that it might have been the exhaustion of the long day, and she allowed him to take care of her. Yet, she couldn’t resist a wry comment, her tone laden with irony. “You can brush my hair, undress me anywhere. Imagination, life is your creation,” she quipped, feeling like a doll being manipulated in this moment. Once inside the car, her tingling hands began to warm up, and she huddled deeper in the seat, hoping to thaw. She winced as she absentmindedly rubbed her shoulders, forgetting about the bruise on one of them.
07:02
When Marshall inquired about her address, Camille didn’t bother to respond. Instead, she leaned forward to enter the address into the navigation system. She didn’t care anymore about her address being saved in the navigation history, she simply wanted to get going. The navigation indicated they had a 20-minute drive ahead before reaching her apartment complex, but despite enjoying Marshall’s company at this moment, she remained silent, waiting for him to drive away from the hospital. The silence began to gnaw at her, and as the car started moving, she decided to take matters into her own hands. She leaned forward to interact with the touchscreen, searching for the radio. Soon enough she would look through the channels, first hearing a news channel, which she quickly jumped over as the reporter talked about the earlier incident. Next she came to a radio channel with some sketchy rap song, which made her almost gag and furiously tap on the touch screen, as if she burned herself. But finally she found a channel playing older, more to her liking songs. A song by Janis Joplin, “Ball and Chain”, filled the car, and Camille cranked up the volume. She reclined into the soft seat, letting the raspy voice and guitar riffs penetrate her bones. These kinds of songs always had a calming effect on her, allowing her to focus on each note and lose herself in the music. She didn’t care whether Marshall enjoyed the song or not, in that moment, she was selfish and allowed the world to revolve around her. She was the one who had been drenched in a bucket of blood today, not him. Clutching the bouquet in her lap, she gazed out at the city’s bustling streets, the raspy screams of Janis guiding her through her emotions.
07:03
As the song transitioned to “Gimme Shelter” by The Rolling Stones, Camille recognized it instantly. She began humming along with the intro, her hands involuntarily reaching for the touchscreen to increase the volume a bit more. As the song progressed, she continued to hum, and soon enough, she began singing along. Her voice, though not the best, followed the tune of the music quite well, resonating harmoniously. She sang louder, feeling the words “It’s just a shot away” deep within her, her voice growing stronger with the lyrics. But she didn’t care, it was the only thing holding the fractured pieces of her sanity together. As the song transitioned again, Camille grew quiet, still staring out at the changing lights beyond the window. She held the bouquet a little tighter, feeling somewhat lighter. They were nearing her apartment complex, and she recognized familiar buildings along the route. When Marshall parked in the apartment complex’s lot and turned off the car, the music disappeared, and they were engulfed in silence. Camille glanced over at Marshall, a sense of gratitude warming her heart. It was strange how he had approached her near the hospital, leaving her perplexed about the entire situation. But he drew her in like a black hole and she couldn’t escape. “Do you want to come in?” She finally broke the silence, offering him an invitation. @hammondwalsh https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mrF_nM9pknU&ab_channel=JanisJoplinVEVO https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QeglgSWKSIY&ab_channel=TheRollingStones-Topic
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Marshall Judge BOT 01-Nov-23 08:04 AM
Her snarky remarks and comments didn't seem to bother Marshall. He just faintly smiled at them and focused on the road. He indeed chose to remain silent throughout the drive, knowing full and well that the state she was in, the last thing she needed was someone talking and yapping on and on. Instead he simply offered her the help she needed, without asking for anything in return, so much so that when she was fiddling about with the dials, he would simply focus on the road, grinning a little at the choice of the radio station and the music on it, only to grin even further as she soon was thrown into singing along. He allowed himself to get distracted by this, and simply took joy in the melodic voice resonating within the vehicle. She was no singer, but she made up for it with the fire in her soul. Once parked, he actually was about to step out and let her out, only to turn to his right, facing her as he was now invited in. On one end he was certain that saying no would be outright unacceptable, on the other, to him this almost felt exploitative. It's not something that sat well with him, not even knowing just how much such an event shook Camille. To him death was something relatively "ordinary", as it was after all his main employment, but he couldn't imagine Camille dealing with such a thing with "normality". After a little consideration, he just chose to go with the flow. By now he knew Camille to be one that would take what she wanted, and if she offered him the option, it was clearly something that she must've thought through. He just slowly nodded as he looked at her, before stepping out of the car first. He acted like a proper gentleman, walking around the car to her side, and over to her door, opening it for her and even going as far as offering her a hand.
08:04
This was the softer side of him that was showing through, as despite his controlling and dominant nature was shining through in the moments of passion and lust, that same nature had a whole other side of care and concern that he often had to repress within himself, mainly to avoid trouble. Around Camille, he didn't care to show this more gentler and caring face of his, in her "weakness" and in her "acceptance" of his gestures he found his own bit of safety. He trusted her enough to show that care for her, and to show this weaker and softer side within him. The mask of a rich douchebag was somewhat starting to slip, and the whole one night stand was quickly falling apart right in front of her eyes. No matter how much he'd want to hide it, no matter how much he'd want to pretend, he clearly cared about her, and that care was showing now more than ever. "You look like you could also use a bit of a meal. Would you like me to order you something?" He asked, while his hand was still stuck out towards the inside of the vehicle, easily within her reach of course-
08:05
@fixie.
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Camille Förster BOT 01-Nov-23 10:57 AM
Camille appreciated Marshall’s assistance as he helped her out of the car. It was a gesture that touched her and made her heart skip a beat. In a life where she often had to be self-reliant, it felt good to be cared for, even if just for a moment. The weight of the bouquet of yellow roses made his help all the more valuable, and she quietly thanked him, feeling genuinely grateful. His offer to order a meal surprised her, as she didn’t want to be an inconvenience, but she recognized that she had little at home and accepted his kind gesture. “I’d love some McDonald’s,” she replied softly. It was a guilty pleasure of hers, a comforting choice in her current state. She couldn’t help but wonder how Marshall, a man of wealth and taste, would react to it. As they walked towards her apartment complex, Camille led the way, feeling a hint of nervousness about bringing a man into her home for the first time. She hoped she hadn’t left anything embarrassing lying around. They proceeded through the building’s corridors and headed to her second-floor apartment. When Camille tried to unlock her door, a voice suddenly called out to her from the neighboring apartment. A teenage boy, around 14 years old, stormed out and expressed concern for her well-being. His voice had a mix of childlike innocence and emerging maturity. He stopped his tracks upon seeing Marshall, briefly acknowledging him before turning his attention back to Camille. “Hi, Beanie. I’m alright, don’t worry about me. Just had a rough day at work,” Camille reassured him with a warm smile, as she sensed he felt embarrassed for the unexpected interruption. The boy’s concern was evident as he checked for any injuries on her, and his fidgeting indicated some nervousness. He explained that he had seen the news and wanted to ensure her safety. Camille tried to ease his nervousness by reassuring him. “Don’t worry about me. Marshall here will take care of me for tonight. If anything comes up, you know you can always come o
10:57
ver, right?” She hoped to convey her gratitude and to let him know she was fine. He exchanged concerned glances with Camille before saying goodbye and returning to his apartment. Camille finally opened her door, and as she stepped inside, she felt the need to explain the encounter to Marshall. “That was Carlos. His parents… They’re not the greatest of people. I’m looking out for him, making sure he doesn’t get into any trouble in the area. He’s a smart kid, and I want to show him there’s a different way to live than ending up in a gang or worse.” Camille shared a knowing smile with Marshall, hinting at her assumption that he had been fortunate to have supportive parents seeing his wealth. She was sure he was given the opportunities to succeed in life. With the door open, she led Marshall inside. Her apartment was small, with a chill in the air due to the malfunctioning window. They entered the living room, which was combined with the kitchen. Two doors to the right led to her bedroom and bathroom. Camille quickly realized she didn’t have a vase for the bouquet, so she opted to place the roses in a large pot and positioned them in the kitchen sink. She glanced at Marshall, offering a slightly embarrassed smile. “That’ll do. Make yourself comfortable.” Heading to the fridge, she found only a single bottle of wine and some old pickles. She poured the wine into two glasses and handed one to Marshall. Camille didn’t think twice about sharing a drink, quickly downing one glass before refilling it. The wine was her way of unwinding after the horrible day she had.
10:57
Camille then settled on her dark green sofa, removing her hoodie and leaving herself in just a top, revealing the large bruise on her right shoulder. Folding the hoodie and placing it aside, she grabbed her wine glass and leaned back on the sofa, her gaze now fixed on Marshall. As the wine began to take effect, she briefly wondered if her small apartment was out of place for someone of Marshall’s apparent affluence. But she pushed the thought aside, hoping he wouldn’t be deterred by it. @hammondwalsh
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Marshall Judge BOT 01-Nov-23 10:46 PM
As Camille was leading the way, Marshall was following close behind, his steps were slow and steady while his smile remained genuine. It only took a few seconds while walking for him to pull his phone out of his pocket, it was his personal phone this time. Marshall took a few seconds to find the nearest McDonalds restaurant, only to surprise her a first time by not just “waiting” for the prompts and the menu to be listed, but instead, shortly after greeting whoever was on the other end of the line, he listed off an order, by pure memory. “Hello, good evening.” It only took a few seconds for him to speak again, really giving no time for anything significant to be said on the other side. “I’d like to order a Big Mac menu, with some large fries, large coke, and a caramel Mcflurry, please, along with…” Marshall would pause, smiling as he turned the phone towards Camille, and turned it to loudspeaker while they were moving towards the building’s insides. After Camille had made her order in fact, Marshall surprised her again, as despite seeing her address only a handful of times, he calmly turned his phone to himself, pressing it against his cheek as he casually stated her full address, showing her another little “new detail” about himself. As they made their way up, and the food was already ordered, it didn’t take long for them to find themselves at Camille’s door. He just smiled at the approaching boy, as he gave a little nudge to Camille’s shoulder, just as a slight warning, right before the boy spoke. Marshall nodded in a reassuring way to the boy and added a bit of his own touch to the interaction, as he calmly stated shortly after Camille’s words as he picked up on exactly what was going on. He has seen this in his neighborhood even, where kindhearted cops would sometimes protect over children from shitty homes. “She says that I’m there to care about her, but we both know she’ll protect us both, right buddy?”
22:48
Marshall winked at the boy and nodded, while eventually facing towards Camille. He was seeing this whole “new” side of her the more time he spent with Camille, and it was harder and harder for him to picture her being a monster, like they’ve always been told. She was kind, and she cared about others. She wasn’t doing this for the power, for control, she was that one in a million cop, at least, that’s what Marshall was starting to see in her. “You have a kind heart.” While Camille expected to see a lack of understanding from Marshall, even though his lips were slightly curled upwards to a smile, his eyes were a whole different story. He knew this all too well, a child left to survive on his own on the streets. Marshall didn’t lack the love of his parents, but he also lived in a poor neighborhood, witnessing this on an almost daily basis, for a very long time. Camille would see his saddened eyes, but that was a feeling he shook off rather quickly once they entered inside of her apartment. After that little remark, Marshall was soon led into the chilly inside of her apartment, smiling slightly as his own eyes went to the window rather quickly. It was a bit of a habit, as he really wanted to know the layout of a new place, something that he’d do so “out of habit” that he didn’t even realize it anymore. Immediately, for him, would he see any “easy to fix” problem with said window, without even having to approach it? Marshall would have a fair bit of experience messing about with windows due to “his line of work” of course. He didn’t want to be rude but couldn’t help but resort to that little sarcastic and “funny” side of his, as he joked about the lack of a vase, tilting his head a little as he spoke. “Oh. I’ll make sure that the next bouquet comes with a proper vase for you.”
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This was a cheeky hint at his intentions with Camille being far more long term than what could’ve been perceived initially. He quietly sat on the same green dark sofa after she offered him a chance to feel at home, only to gently slip his jacket off. He laid it on his lap, as he faced Camille who quickly came back with the glass of wine. He accepted the “offer” and didn’t even flinch when drinking it. She would expect someone who was this well dressed as him to make a fuss, maybe even complain about how bad it was, but there was none of it, he simply seemed to enjoy what he was given. It took next to no time, as between interacting with the boy, and talking amongst themselves, soon the doorbell would sound, being the order of food that he made for both earlier. Marshall didn’t hesitate to be the first one to stand up despite being in her house, smiling as he looked at her in her sofa. “I’ll open the door, I’m sure it’s the delivery guy, with our exquisite dinner.” Even though it’d only be natural for this to be sarcastic or even “hurtful” coming from someone like him, Camille only heard a genuine laugh at the choice of his own words. He really didn’t seem to mind having to eat something like that, and in fact by the way he behaved when ordering, it was clear to her that it wasn’t the first time, either.
22:49
@fixie.
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Camille Förster BOT 02-Nov-23 03:44 AM
Camille was taken aback by how at ease she felt with Marshall. Her initial impression of him shattered like fragile glass, revealing a softer, less snobbish side that had been concealed beneath her first assumptions. Marshall didn’t come across as the stereotypical figure obsessed with flaunting his wealth or scoffing at anything that didn’t meet his high financial standards. Instead, his playful banter brought a smile to her face every time they exchanged words, and an aura of serenity seemed to envelope her. The wine they shared began to weave its soothing spell, and the malfunctioning window’s chill seemed less bothersome with every passing minute. Camille acknowledged her ignorance regarding the window’s issue, but it held little concern for her since her apartment primarily served as a place for rest between work shifts. The arrival of their food brought about an even greater lift to her mood. With all the chaos of the day, she had forgotten about her neglected hunger, but now she dug her hands into the generous paper bag filled with their “exquisite” dinner. Her excitement grew as she indulged in the most delectable but nutritionally atrocious food, even daring to dip her fries into her milkshake. It felt refreshingly casual to sit with Marshall. The quiet between them wrapped her like a security blanket, their wordless exchange proving immensely enjoyable. As Camille’s belly filled and she continued sipping her wine, her body relaxed further into the sofa, and she found herself drifting off in a daze, her gaze locked onto the wall opposite her. The wine’s effects caused her head to spin slightly, yet it also stirred an urge within her to speak. With the case now officially terminated, she believed there was no longer anything that could compromise it. “Today was Thursday,” she whispered, holding her wine glass, her gaze still fixed on the wall before darting briefly toward Marshall, who likely wore a puzzled expression. “Bryan Romero came to us half a year
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ago. He wanted to step out of his rather criminal business. And sometimes you have to make a deal with the devil for the greater good. It was a simple deal: he would leak every single detail of the structure of The Chicago Association and we would offer him protection in return. At first everyone was surprised, why would someone in his position come to us in the first place…” She took another sip of wine to find courage to continue the story, which was already making her heart bleed. Camille also recalled the initial shock that had rippled through their team when they realized someone of his stature was seeking their assistance. “But it turned out that he found out he had a daughter. And after spending a short time with her and reconnecting with his partner, he probably realized there is more in this life than breaking the law on a daily basis. So far we know, the daughter didn’t know who he was,” Her fingers began to play with the hemline of her top, as she was looking for the words that were stuck in her throat. “All he wanted to be was a good father. He wanted to provide a life for his daughter and this meant stepping out of the criminal scene. But he knew that the people around him wouldn’t let him slip easily and that is why he turned to us,” Camille still remembered the first time she encountered Mr. Romero, her initial feelings were to not believe any word he said and arrest him instead.
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“He quickly gained our trust, providing us with information we could prove. It already helped to close some of the opened cases… And this was when we started to fulfill our part of the deal. Every Thursday I would leave work early and go get his daughter from school. She is 15 years old, still confused how being a teenager works,” Camille smiled gingerly, seeing her face vividly before her. “My primary objective was to bring her home safely and make sure she still didn’t know who her father was. But that girl was very stubborn and difficult at first, I never thought we would get along. So one day she annoyed the heck out of me and I dragged her up a 3-meter diving platform and yanked her down,” Camille would chuckle at the memory, she would forever remember the way the girl reacted and screamed at her for ruining her hair. “After this incident she mellowed down and we actually became good friends. I took care of her like she was my little sister. So every Thursday I would get her from school and we would spend time together. Every week I looked forward to Thursday and spent a few hours with this firecracker,” taking care of someone fulfilled Camille. She was also happy to guide a teenager through the unknown and show her the better side of the world. It was her way of ensuring she wouldn’t go down the wrong road if she ever found out who her father truly was. “She probably waited for me today,” Camille took another big sip of the wine, her face getting pale, “But instead she found out who her father was and saw his execution on live TV. With the woman, who met her after school every Thursday for the last six months, being dragged from the scene.” “I feel like I have failed her but I had no choice. We had to arrest Bryan because he threatened to kidnap his daughter and flee from the country. Last week he grew increasingly paranoid, talking the whole time about how Brutus is coming and that he couldn’t fulfill the part of his deal,” Camille sent a short glance tow
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ards Marshall, to see if he was still listening to her rather long story. “I believe Brutus murdered Bryan. We will never know how it came to it but I will sure as hell do anything in my power to seek revenge. Perhaps not for Bryan, as his fate had been sealed from birth into that family, but for his daughter. This person… Brutus… Didn’t just take a life, he stole the chance for Bryan’s daughter to have a better life. Now, I don’t even know where they took her but I’m sure it is far away.” A heavy silence settled over the room, accompanied only by the soft hum of the wind through the faulty window. Camille took deep breaths and another sip of wine to compose herself. Her thoughts swirled with the weight of today’s incident. “Sometimes criminals don’t know better, often pulled into it as children through the unfair circumstances happening around them. But Bryan understood one of the most important things. Just because you’ve done something, doesn’t mean you have to keep doing it,” Camille would finally glance Marshall deep into his eyes. Her eyes had a spark of revenge in them and determination. “In my world, there’s room for redemption,” she asserted. “Everyone must face the consequences of their actions, but everyone also has the chance to become better. Justice punishes those in the wrong while safeguarding the innocent. Taking someone’s life is the easy and cowardly way to eliminate a problem, without putting in the effort to address it differently.” Camille turned her gaze back to the wall opposite them, pondering the challenging lives of those who chose the criminal part. “These people voluntarily push themselves deeper into a world, where you can’t be sure who is your friend or your enemy. And while I can’t influence them, I can step up and look out for the children around them. By solving crimes I hope to make the world a little safer for them and prevent violence in the future.” @hammondwalsh
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Marshall Judge BOT 02-Nov-23 05:17 AM
Marshall enjoyed the casual conversation through which he got to know more subtle details about Camille. It was all rather fun and heartwarming conversations, he wasn’t even trying to make any moves on Camille, simply enjoying her company, and allowing her to decompress. He was there just to support her, and as the conversation took an unexpected turn, where she started speaking about his target, Marshall’s brows lowered down. His own anger was starting to boil through his veins. Each word stated by Camille was like a new stab wound, freshly open and bleeding. Thanks to the wine, Camille would be too tipsy to see that to begin with, he only took a few sips from his glass, not consuming enough alcohol to get it to affect him. His face and his reactions would be at least somewhat blurred in her memory, but he wasn’t taking the news well. Each time a detail was mentioned in which she praised this man, Marshall squeezed his glass harder. Sweat would start to build up on his forehead, and his eyes burned with fire. If only he would’ve known this before, if only someone warned him about what was going on. To add to the “tragedy” of this situation, Marshall had been warning his old godfather that they had a rat high up, and he even once pointed fingers, directly at his son, but was dismissed with the classic “he’s of my blood, he wouldn’t dare” story that runs within overconfident mobs for a long time tying his hands behind his back. It had this taste of some bitter irony; the only reason Brutus was still a “secret” was because he never trusted them enough to reveal himself. This would also help the godfather to keep this shadow in the dark. If you have a name, it can be mystified, it can be quickly saturated with legends and feared far more.
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The moment in which that name gains a face is when it all crumbles. A man can be killed, but a name, it’s never known for certain, and Marshall even now remained in this air of secrecy. Everyone still knew him as Brutus, and he kept a distance away from his peers. People who were beneath him still just knew him as “Brutus”. The mention of the child made a perfect target. He would love to make this story known to everyone, look at this fool, he worked with the feds, betrayed his own blood, tried to save his kid, died himself, and also got his kid killed was such a good motive for Marshall, but as Camille mentioned that she didn’t know where said child was, Marshall’s eyes narrowed down, he knew exactly what she was talking about, the witness protection program. Marshall by some miracle managed to keep it together throughout the exposition, and just allowed her to vent and calm down, his mind was racing with a million topics in his head, and that thought process was most likely the only single thing that was keeping him away from snapping at Camille. He sat quietly throughout the conversation, and as it came to an end, he just let out a loud sigh that would somewhat draw Camille’s attention. “You’ve got a hell of a job… Wouldn’t want it even for my worst enemies.” He said this to try and stop her from venting more. He knew that if he were to find out suddenly that some other important figure was a whistle blower, he probably would just snap out at her. It was a lot to process, and even for his usually levelheaded mind it was hard. His eyes were narrow, and his tone was stern.
05:18
“I’m not going to lie to you, Camille. I don’t see the things the way you do. Our government, that so wisely swore to protect its citizens, to ensure everyone’s safety, and to offer everyone a great opportunity failed. It’s very easy to blame the criminals for what they do, and it’s even easier to say the only real solution to this is to get everyone in jail, but as long as you have a situation in which poor kids will grow up without their parents, and poor fathers will have to resort to stealing and killing just to feed their families, because they were denied at a job interview for the tenth time, nothing is going to change. The cogs will keep spinning, the machine will keep going, grinding down the unfortunate people who got caught in it. Instead of solving poverty, health availability and job shortages our government focuses on printing more of… Your people, with great intentions, and a very simple mind, blind to the bigger picture.” This change in pace, tone, and voice would ultimately drop the mask even lower. There was no way a wealthy millionaire would ever complain about a system in which he was at the top of the world. These words came from a person who knew seemingly both sides of the coin and was clearly “injured” by it at some point. Marshall didn’t speak like someone wealthy, he didn’t pick refined terms, he didn’t watch his tone or control his language, something that at first sight could be confused for the traits of a brat, but amounted to a far sterner and harder character, someone who was filled with layers upon layers of conflicts, problems, and solutions to those problems.
05:18
@fixie.
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Camille Förster BOT 02-Nov-23 06:15 AM
As Camille continued to speak, she found a growing calmness in sharing her thoughts and unburdening herself of the weight of the day’s events. Verbalizing the situation allowed her to gain clarity and, perhaps, find some solace in the incident. However, during her monologue, Camille couldn’t help but sensa a subtle conflict brewing within Marshall. His emotions seemed to be engaged in an internal battle, and it was apparent that he didn’t share her sentiments or compassion for Bryan and his daughter. Instead, there was a hint of anger or frustration in his demeanor, which made Camille hesitate. She wondered if he struggled to understand how someone could extend compassion to criminals, and though she didn’t feel let down by his perspective, she had hoped for his support. She recognized that not everyone could find empathy for those involved in criminal activities, a question she herself grappled with. Marshall’s initial response sent a shiver down Camille’s spine, but she swiftly regained her composure. She knew that her profession was far from easy, and the daily exposure to harsh realities had molded her perspective on life. Despite the difficulties, she had no regrets about choosing her path, as time had proven it to be the most meaningful way she could contribute to the community. She dedicated countless hours to pursuing leads, working tirelessly to combat violence and injustice. Camille didn’t possess the power to end all the world’s troubles, but she firmly believed in the impact she could make, even if it meant navigating through hellish situations or sometimes being immersed in violence. As Marshall’s words echoed in her mind, she felt a sharp pang in her aching shoulder, the alcohol’s effects causing her painkillers to wear off. Initially, she contemplated explaining to Marshall why her job was so significant to her, despite the dark aspects of it. However, his tone took an unexpected turn, and Camille instinctively raised her defenses. Her instincts went
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on high alert as she felt her hands involuntarily clench into fists on her lap. Camille chose not to interrupt, allowing Marshall to vent his frustrations and articulate his views on the world. While she could understand the perspective he was presenting, Camille was not one to engage in fruitless arguments and was open to differing opinions. His words bombarder her, each one a note in this furious symphony. As Marshall reached the crescendo of his passionate tirade, Camille could only release a single breath as her eyes closed in disbelief. When she reopened her eyes, the warmth that had once existed between them had evaporated. She refused to let him define who “her people” were or question her identity. Camille knew precisely who she was and what her worth amounted to. The rigorous training, determination, and years of service had brought her to her current position. She was fully aware of the countless lives she had saved and the numerous people she had assisted.
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Yet, Marshall’s words seemed to reduce her to nothing more than an “Agent Barbie”, as some derogatory internet comments had suggested. His critique felt like an insinuation that she was intellectually deficient and naive. Camille never expected to see this side of Marshall, and a frigid chill seemed to pierce her bones, replacing the warmth that once filled her. In that moment, she decided to rise, feeling a twinge of pain course through her muscles, and turned to face Marshall. “I think it’s time for you to leave. I’ve had a long day and would like to unwind. I appreciate you bringing me home and getting me food,” her voice sounded mechanical, every word distinctly enunciated. Camille strained to maintain her composure, containing the storm of emotions that raged within her. The man sitting on her couch was now unrecognizable to her. She felt as though inviting him into her apartment had been a mistake, and continuing the dreamy one-night stand was misguided. Her initial instincts to leave the hotel room and put his encounter behind her now seemed justified. She continued to gaze down at him, her patience unyielding as she waited for him to go. Her emotions had dissipated, leaving only her empty shell. @hammondwalsh
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Marshall Judge BOT 02-Nov-23 06:52 AM
The fire in Marshall’s heart burned hot. It wasn’t the attraction that he felt before, that was now just pushed to the back of his mind. It was pure rage that was speaking. He could not believe that she would just drop such a subject like that, as if it didn’t matter. He squeezed his own palms into fists, as slowly propped himself up from his seat beside her. Camille now experienced that same “passion”, but directed towards evil, well, eviler than what it was with the night they spent together. Being a levelheaded individual, each time his “internal pressure” built up high enough Marshall would explode. He stormed off, stepping rather aggressively, and with such a drive that she hadn’t seen “outside” of the passion that was shared that night, and even then, his steps now seemed far more decided and far more driven than even when he was lost within lust. When he was in the hallway, halfway out of the room in which she was in before he stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes were on the window that was still cracked open, he had of course made his mind up, and with this rage-driven state he knew he couldn’t think clearly. Using said window as a distraction for his own mind, he studied it with his gaze, intently. He went as far as taking a few steps towards it. He was clearly looking into the problem that plagued it. This was an easy way for him to calm his mind, getting his head back in the game, and away from the destructive fire that burned in his heart. His mind was logical, and at it’s core, Marshall was a problem solver, he was entertained and distracted by the “problems” that he could resolve. Even his shots, carefully planned out and executed to perfection were just “problems” that he had to solve and overcome. A deed to be proud of.
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Even now as he was focused on the window, which he yanked it up, and away from him, looked at the mechanism, he also looked up towards the sash lock, inspected the rail, the frame, and even the sill for deformation. As he noticed that all this was caused by humidity, and the window frame had expanded due to moisture, his hands simply pushed down on said window. Camille would of course witness this, and, when Marshall turned around, mere moments later, he was much calmer, his breath was slower, and his tone was now once again back within his control. This is something that might have also given another “hint” at understanding Marshall. Deep within, he had an insane passion burning that was held back by a very logical, very cold layer. A layer that while it took a lot to break, would struggle to be restored at least for some time. He was essentially a volcano, that would be dormant for most of the time, but once an eruption happened, there was no stopping it. He then walked at a much calmer pace towards the door of her apartment, stood at it for a moment and looked back towards the inside, unaware if Camille had even watched him go through all of this, or if she just remained on the couch. He rose his tone a little, but this time it wasn’t a scream like it was before, it was a much more “normal” Marshall speaking. “I’ll be back tomorrow to fix your window.” This was that decisive side of him speaking, he made his mind up and “informed” her about it.
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He didn’t leave her a chance to protest or fight him. He just carefully opened her door, and very gently closed it right after himself, what he hadn’t realized is that with the “rage” that took him over, he hadn’t even noticed how he just left his expensive jacket on her couch, as initially it rested on his lap. Of course, he didn’t realize this as he was far too distracted with his expression and the fire burning within him. He only felt it once he was outside when the cold air hit his face and frame. It felt refreshing, and instead of leaving right off the bat, he simply leaned against his BMW, stood out in the cold for about 5 to 10 minutes before finally driving off. If Camille were to watch, he looked up at her window from the ground for one moment right before departing, he was clearly regretting that he snapped, but the topic that she touched was far, far too close. She couldn’t just defend a man who had singlehandedly disassembled and betrayed all his life, because of some kid. He reached for his work phone while on the road, and dialed the number of his second in command, as he stated in a hopeless tone, knowing that this is a lost cause, and yet choosing to give it a shot, even if it were to fail. He also wanted his second in command to understand this. “I found out Bryan had a daughter. She’s in witness protection. I know all what it means, and I’m not asking for the impossible. I’m simply asking you to try. If you find her, every single fucking rat will think about 5 times before pulling anything like he did.”
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Marshall didn’t allow for the voice on the other end of the line to reply to him, and instead hanged the phone up, being somewhat upset with this whole evening. He couldn’t believe that once his “logical” side was back up, and he should not make any stupid mistakes, he recalled what he stated to Camille, almost finding it hard to believe as he replayed it in his own head. Despite everything that was said in that room, despite all the details that were uncovered, he still fucking cared about her. It led him to thrust his head forward suddenly, smashing his forehead somewhat firmly against the top of the steering wheel. It was just him “punishing” himself for being an idiot. This had no repercussions, as after all he didn’t hit himself hard enough to leave any noticeable mark besides a red line that would fade away with time, but still indicated just how conflicted and confused he felt with everything that was going on with Camille. His organization though was in full celebration that night, everyone cheered as after all Brutus kept his word, and the threats against the rat that spoke were made true. The ridicule of the FBI in the public’s eyes was just a cherry on top. @fixie.
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Camille Förster BOT 02-Nov-23 09:17 AM
Marshall’s reaction to her words ignited a fiery rage within Camille. She resented his response and believed that he had no right to express his frustration in such a manner. Camille watched him closely as he went through his tantrum, her eyes tracking his every move. It wasn’t her responsibility to try and calm him down, all she wanted was for him to leave. Her tension increased as Marshall approached her window, and she braced herself for a potential argument. His actions of rattling the window and inspecting it only added to her frustration. The window had already caused her plenty of grief, and she felt like he was making it worse. When he presumptuously offered to repair the window, Camille crossed her arms and blinked slowly. She had made up her mind never to see him again. She had no intention of introducing a man who couldn’t maintain a calm and civil discussion, but rather allowed his inner demons to surface, into her life. Her life was complex enough at her work, and what she craved was stability at home. Even if he were to show up the next day, she would either be at work or simply choose not to answer the door. She wasn’t going to chase after him like a puppy just because he had made her feel special for one night. In fact, this situation reminded her of the times when her father used to shout at her mother when she made a mistake. Camille knew firsthand the pain her mother endured from emotional abuse, and she had sworn never to involve herself with a man who felt the need to raise his voice at a woman. Camille could certainly tolerate moments of emotional instability, but she was choosing not to. She refused to accept poor treatment. Now, alone in her apartment, Camille felt her shoulders gradually relaxing. The day had drained her completely, and she was ready to put it behind her. Despite the exhaustion, she felt a resolute determination to wake up the next day and face the challenges of the new investigation. She had an entire day to make up for, an
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d she was more determined than ever to prove herself. The way Marshall had perceived her, she couldn’t help but wonder how much worse the people on the internet might have judged her. She wasn’t just a naive blonde girl without any skills. Camille was an experienced FBI officer with a significant amount of expertise. She was eager to demonstrate that. Her attention was drawn to the jacket left on the sofa, and a goan escaped her lips. She had thought that she was finished with Marshall, and now his jacket was lying on her couch. Frustration surged within her, and she lashed out, grabbing the jacket and storming off to the door. Without much thought, she opened the door and simply let the jacket fall onto the doormat. She wasn’t going to be careful with it, nobody had been careful with her feelings. Finally, Camille looked around her apartment, the roses in the kitchen sink seeming out of place. Exhaustion was beginning to take over, and she hurriedly shed her clothes before falling into bed. She needed to rest, regain her energy for the challenging days ahead. As she pushed thoughts of Marshall aside, she turned her focus to the investigation of Brutus. With her emotions seething and her determination to capture the murderer surging, she eventually drifted off to sleep. Tomorrow, the hunt would begin. @hammondwalsh
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Marshall Judge BOT 02-Nov-23 11:54 AM
Marshall was not happy with the whole situation went down, and after he left Camille's place, he also realised that his phone was still within the coat's pocket. He would've come back the next day for the window, just as he promised, but he knew her "type" to well. She was proud, and wouldn't let him anywhere around her anymore. To add to his struck pride, it was rather annoying for Marshall to come and apologise for something he wasn't wrong about, of course, in his eyes that is. He went to sleep with those thoughts over his head, and eventually woke up the next morning, starting his day as usual, at about 6. He spent his time at home exercising, mostly training cardio more than anything else, as after all he needed endurance more than anything else. He could deal with brute strength being wiser and faster than whoever he was facing, and at the end of the day, he never walked around unarmed, knowing very well that no matter how strong however he was "dealing with" he always had an ace up his sleeve. After his morning routine on the treadmill, along with a few push ups and sit up, Marshall made his way into the shower. He also got updated on what was going on with his organization through his work phone, as unlike the "old rule" where everything was decided with grand meetings, and it was all about status and bragging rights, Brutus ran the organization differently. No discussions, the lowest members didn't even interact with him at all, or knew who he was. Even his second in command only knew him as Brutus, even though they had even worked together. He always kept his distance and never approached his own organization, this is why when he had to step up, it was perfect. He was mister nobody, and it played very well into the convenient narrative that the organization fell apart when they were at the weakest. The culling of his own ranks had to continue as well.
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When he was in the shower, his phone went off with a call. He could see from within said shower that it was his right hand man. He rushed to pick up, not even bothering to properly clean himself up or even dry up for that matter, he was expecting a call, hopeful that the girl had been found of course. When he heard the voice, and the news, he let out a little sigh, it was something. It wasn't what he expected, but thanks to the wide coverage by the news networks, many of the informants that the FBI had started to bail on them, all chanting that "Brutus would come any minute now". He soon got a list with a few names to deal with, and as he planned out his day he asked for the locations of everyone, prioritizing anyone who would try and leave first of course. He was smart enough to know that any of the informants that turned on the FBI would be pursued, and they would get in custody for both their safety, and to keep up the illusion of authority over everyone. He prepared and went over an extensive list of what he had to do to get ready for the day, writing down the names, and mapping out their likely locations. He did this while on the phone, and standing naked in the shower, using an actual piece of toilet paper and a sharpie, as that was the things that he had at hand. Scribbling down for about half an hour, he thought he was ready to "start his day". Marshall was wise enough to know that using his personal vehicle here, and keeping his head low was stupid, so he decided to go the perfect opposite route. He needed something that would be fast, and he happened to have just the right toy parked in the back of his garage, covered by a car sleeve. Marshall finished and started packing for the day. He went with a different setup this time. He chose a compact Heckler & Koch MP5, with the foldable stock, subsonic rounds, and a suppressor. It would still be "audible", but it wouldn't be heard across the street.
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He was getting ready for war as he packed 10 magazines of 40 rounds each, the biggest capacity magazines that were sold for the MP5. He changed his attire too, going with an actual black ballistic mask and helmet, an Atomic Defence Level IIIA+ Padded Bulletproof Ballistic Face Mask, a black level IIIA+ VITAL PROTECTION 3 bulletproof vest, keeping some black cargo pants on his person, in case he needed to move and leave the vehicle. He didn't dawn the mask, simply leaving it on the side, where the passenger's seat would be, instead was a gap, as for now, he didn't need it. He did however put the vest on, from a distance, it'd look innocent enough, and if he ever were to get close to a cop, he was not pulling over. His vehicle of choice was a black 2018 Dodge Challenger SRT Demon, with the track variant for tires. His engine was roaring loud, with an 819 CV engine, a 9.65 second quarter mile car, with a top speed of 225 KM/h or 140 MP/h, it directly had no license plate attached to it. With the vehicle running in top shape, Marshall set off for the day, following along the plan, that he had with him written on a paper towel while being naked in his own bathroom. He flew out of his garage so fast that the doors didn't even start moving yet as he was already pulling out and onto the road, starting his day rather brutally, he had a lot of work ahead, and knew that preparing for every single kill was not an option, there were far too many people running that needed to be dealt with fast, he even went as far as to know that he'd need to engage people while being actively pursued, which added a whole another level of difficulty to this day that he had ahead of himself. The engine was tuned to perfection, music to anyone's ears, and he was for now abiding the traffic laws, but kept a high rate of speed, heading steadily towards the first target, as he knew the vehicle in which this man was, he knew how he looked, and he knew where he was headed, and where he lived.
11:56
@fixie.
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Camille Förster BOT 03-Nov-23 01:53 PM
Camille poised herself atop the towering 10-meter diving platform, peering into the tranquil expanse beneath. The height was dizzying, the air crisp and unforgiving, each breath a battle against her primal instincts full of fears that clawed at her. She pushed them aside, her skill and experience a comforting shield against doubt. Once a competitive swimmer, now driven by a thirst for freedom, Camille found solace in these daring dives. With every leap, the rush of adrenaline quickened her heart, making her feel alive and unburdened. Balancing on the platform’s edge, heels hovering over the abyss, she inhaled deeply, her heart racing. With unwavering determination, she surrendered to gravity, plunging backward from the platform. In the span of mere three heartbeats, she transformed from a figure of vulnerability to a fearless force hurtling towards the waiting depths. As her body met the water, she descended into the tranquil depths, a moment of serene embrace. In that tranquil void, she reveled in the calm, her thoughts structured. Rising from the depths, she proved that no depth of water could hold her captive, a metaphor of the previous day’s incident. Emerging from the water, renewed and determined, she was ready to face the world with unshakeable resolve. Brutus had no idea what or rather who was coming for him. At precisely 8 in the morning, Camille found herself seated at her desk within the bustling FBI headquarters. A mountain of paperwork loomed before her, bearing witness statements and collected evidence reports from the previous day’s incident. Her computer displayed a mosaic of CCTV footage, spanning three blocks around the courtroom. Yet, as she delved deeper into the documents, a disquieting feeling gnawed at her. Something was amiss, an unresolved puzzle within her mind. The source of the shot remained elusive, obscured in the absence of SWAT sniper footage. A sense of urgency washed over Camille, igniting a fervent determination to unearth the SWA
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T sniper’s placement plan. With haste, she procured the crucial document, meticulously comparing tactical camera footage with the architectural schematics. Moments passed, and there it was - an inconsistency. Camille’s eyes locked onto the figure of the shooter, captured on one of the tactical cameras. Frustration gnawed at her, as the shooter was indistinguishable from their own SWAT snipers, both clad in the same uniform. The building he was on wasn't on any of the placement plans. It was a lead, a thread to follow. She swiftly printed the image and sprang to her feet, hastening toward the evidence board, where her colleagues congregated. With a sense of urgency, she pinned the image alongside other vital evidence. The first fragments of Brutus’s identity were taking shape - a white male with dark hair. Though it was a meager lead, it felt like a significant stride, narrowing the list of suspects. Camille lingered by the board, scrutinizing every small detail uncovered thus far. The picture remained incomplete, a jigsaw puzzle with many missing pieces. However, they were making progress, and the day was still young, inching closer to lunchtime. Camille clung to the hope that fresh details would surface. It was too early for frustration. A mountain of documents awaited inspection, and the race to find the shooter and possibly prevent further bloodshed continued.
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Camille found herself once more seated at her desk, allowing her thoughts to wander. She reclined, permitting herself a brief respite to gather her thoughts before delving back into the case. The steady flow of CCTV footage flickered on her computer screen, unremarkable at first. Then, something caught her eye - a BMW that bore an uncanny resemblance to Marshall’s, parked near the scene. In Chicago, such vehicles were not uncommon, and the sighting didn’t initially stir any concerns. Yet, it stirred memories of the previous evening, leaving Camille tangled in a web of unresolved emotions. She pondered the events of the night, her feelings a tangle of confusion. Had Marshall returned to repair her window or retrieve his forgotten jacket? Her hand, almost involuntarily, dipped into her pocket and retrieved the bullet she had taken from Marshall. She examined it closely, allowing the ambient light to dance upon its golden surface. It was, by all accounts, a trivial object to carry, but it held sentimental value. The bullet was a memento of their shared night, a token to safeguard the memory. Even if their paths never crossed again, it would remain a cherished reminder. Camille recognized the futility of worrying about an uncertain future and instead chose to cherish the moments of the past. With a silent promise to herself, she stashed the bullet back into her pocket, her silent lucky charm. It was time to return back to work and hope for new evidence. @hammondwalsh
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Marshall Judge BOT 04-Nov-23 12:51 PM
Marshall made his way along the list in his mind by now. He was ready to go, the vehicle was running perfectly, any of the overheating issues that it used to have by now have been sorted with performance parts. He made one mistake himself, mainly due to how much he had to rush. He didn’t check the weather forecast. He’d know that a 4 wheel drive car would’ve been far more fitting in the weather that was about to hit. It was supposed to start snowing towards the second part of the day, with light rain in the morning. None of this had hit so far, so he was “on track” with his 4 kills. Ethan Moretti - Had come as a whistle-blower recently, and was a simple thug for them Morgan Angelo - An old bodyguard of one of the higher ups that was now in jail, agreed to a deal to “help” his “employer”. Archie Romano - A “failed” hitman who lost a finger for his failure, ran to the FBI after he was punished for his failure. Leo De Marco - A disgruntled member who was unsatisfied with the “new reign” of Brutus. Each of them were rather irrelevant, and none of them possessed “that” much information about the Organization, but it wasn’t about the relevancy, it was all about the message that was meant to be sent, no matter how important, or how unimportant you were to go against The Chicago Association, you would pay the “ultimate” price. Morgan Angelo was the first target Marshall had picked, and he was currently heading towards his house. By then, Morgan was scurrying to leave, knowing that the FBI would come soon to “secure” him. Marshall had very little information on each of them, but it was enough for him. He knew their addresses, he knew their daily drivers, and he knew how they all looked, even though none of them knew who he was. This of course would give him an edge over them, and currently he was laying low, his vehicle was “mostly” moving within the speed limit, and even though it had no plates, he made sure to merge with traffic really well to hide that fact.
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He had no reason to run, the police radio, which was a simple handheld, unable to pick up on the tactical channels which the police switched to when something was to happen, would only let him hear calls for dispatch, and general chatter. So far there was nothing of interest. About an hour after he set off, Marshall was now rolling up on Morgan’s house. His drive was uneventful, so much so that he calmed down a little, but now, it was game time. He slid on the ballistic mask that he had kept aside, and slowly but steadily started to approach the house in question. It wasn’t anything expensive, it was a basic town home, with an open driveway on which sat the car he was after. Marshall reduced the roll of his black Dodge, giving himself an ominous roll as he actually intentionally “blocked” the driveway with his car. Not only that, but he intentionally revved his engine to get attention. This is something that you’d expect from an innocent teen, not from an experienced hitman, but he didn’t have the time. He knew his car was flashy, and no one would assume anything bad about it, probably just a douchebag over to pick up his high school girl, parking in the wrong driveway of an overconfident thug that was in a rush. Marshall’s plan worked, as he made sure to face away as soon as he heard the door open. To the outside, all they’d see is the back of Marshall’s head, with him slightly bent over, and fiddling with something on the right side of the vehicle. This of course made for a perfect trap, and he patiently waited for his victim to come right over, seeking the confrontation that would be inevitable. “Hey asshole, you’re in my driveway!” the voice shouted. Morgan wasn’t messing about, he was in a rush, he had to get himself out of here, and he was in the middle of packing, getting ready to try and run away.
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There was no response as Marshall had already pulled on the charging handle that was on the front of the firearm. It was still concealed from the man that was approaching, who would now slow his roll as he would soon see a rolled down window, and a man who was clearly wearing a bulletproof vest on him. As he was about to say “What the…” Marshall had turned around. There were no words being spoken, no warnings, not even as much as a seeming reaction from Marshall’s masked eyes. There was only a 5 round burst from the firearm that he held. It was so quick in fact that many didn’t even realize that those were 5 separate sounds, as they all blurred into one, very brief “Brrt”. Despite the suppressor, the people around the street would be attracted to this new sound, as it wasn’t just “silent” it was a much quieter “bang”, that was it. When neighbours started to turn and look, they’d witness a standing Morgan, with blood slowly but surely seeping through his insides. His mind didn’t even process it properly yet, but he was already gone. The 5 rounds went directly into his left side of his chest, more or less where the heart was. His wind would be knocked right out of him, and all he could manage was just try and raise his arms before collapsing, nearly hitting the car as he only had a few steps left to approach. Marshall’s smoking MP5 would be set to the side, but its safety would’ve been engaged, just to prevent any surprises in case it were to slip and slide about. There was silence and confusion as people just needed a little time to process it, time that was sped up as the Demon’s engine came to life. The loud roaring would in fact be louder than the shots itself, as it sped off from the scene. Its high grip tires bite into the pavement only after a second revolution, barely releasing any smoke, but leaving a rather loud screech as they were fighting to bite into the pavement.
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They left a clear mark behind themselves to be delved into in the future, leaving bread crumbs behind. The car was dashing out of there at a mad rate of speed, so quick in fact that some of the neighbors hadn’t even yet processed what happened, while others were already dialing 911. By the time dispatch had sent a unit to “investigate” the demon was long gone, and when the dispatcher was speaking, it was already a full 9 blocks away, roaring wildly as it was leaving its current scene. The car itself handled like heaven, it was a car that you had to know how to drive, and it was a handful, but it was just what Marshall needed at the time, although, unfortunately for him things would only go from bad to worse from here on out, as he picked up on the first droplet hitting his windshield, a sign of bad omen as even though his track tires were able to handle a little rain, the car would be much harder to control with as much power as it had, on wet pavement.
12:55
@fixie.
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Camille Förster BOT 05-Nov-23 04:35 AM
Camille found herself seated at her desk, her fork mercilessly attacking the defenseless salad before her. The past few hours had brought forth no new evidence, and the stagnant atmosphere in the investigation room weighed heavily on her. It was as though they were caught in an unending loop, constantly hitting a brick wall in their pursuit of the killer. Her frustration simmered, ready to boil over, and it manifested in her vigorous assault on an innocent tomato. As the minutes ticked by, the mounting tension grew palpable. They were in dire need of a miraculous breakthrough to unmask the killer and finally bring the elusive figure to justice. But instead of a breakthrough, fate had cruelly dealt them another blow - another murder. The unfolding scene played out before her eyes like a tragic drama. Camille watched her colleagues storming out of the headquarters one after another, their expressions a mix of urgency and frustration. Then, her boss barged into the area where she was working, his voice filled with urgency as he delivered the grim news. “Morgan Angelo was murdered 20 minutes ago,” he announced before turning and hurrying off to join the flurry of activity unfolding at the scene. Camille’s immediate reaction was a frustrated groan, followed by her salad meeting an abrupt demise on the table. A solitary curse slipped from her lips, a testament to her mounting frustration. “Fuck.” With no time to lose, she swiftly found herself behind the wheel of her trusty black Ford Expedition, racing through the city streets with blue lights to reach the crime scene. By the time she arrived, the area had been sealed off by her fellow officers, their presence creating a sense of order amidst the chaos. As she stepped out of her car, she was greeted by a steady drizzle of rain that only added to her sense of irritation. The rain was cold and distracting, an unwanted backdrop to the grim task at hand. She approached a small tent that had been erected to shield the cri
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me scene from the rain and prying exes. There, under the shelter, lay the lifeless body of Morgan Angelo. Camille’s gaze was drawn to the bloodstains that marred his chest, a stark and disturbing reminder of their failure to protect their whistleblowers. It also served as a chilling reminder that even a formidable man like Morgan was vulnerable when faced with the cold, deadly barrel of a gun. A fellow officer handed her a stack of papers containing preliminary information about the crime, which she quickly skimmed. As she reviewed the documents, Ella joined her at the scene. Clad in gloves, she carried a camera, already documenting the crime scene. Ella’s theatrical skills came to life as she began to recount the events of the crime. According to Ella, who had already gathered some witness statements, a black Dodge had obstructed Morgan’s path as he left his residence. The driver of the Dodge had tried to catch Morgan’s attention by showing off his car… acting like an idiot. Then, without warning, the killer had unleashed a hail of bullets, likely from a submachine gun. The exact number of rounds fired remained uncertain, a detail that could only be determined through a more thorough examination of the body. Camille wasted no time in issuing orders for her team to secure any available footage related to the suspect’s car. Their efforts produced a handful of images of the vehicle. The choice of the car was peculiar, standing out starkly against the backdrop of the city’s most common vehicles. Moreover, the conspicuous absence of a license plate added to its distinctiveness. She instructed her team to trace any dealerships that might have sold such cars, hoping to uncover a paper trail leading to the vehicle’s buyer. Something within her intuition whispered that the ownership of such an extravagant car was likely limited to a select few, which could significantly narrow down their list of suspects.
04:35
Camille also made it a point to dispatch alerts to all police units in the area, urging them to remain vigilant for a black Dodge matching the description. With her eyes fixed on the darkening sky and the rain that continued to drizzle, her mood grew increasingly somber. The murder of Morgan Angelo had the potential to provide new leads in the overarching case, but it was another human life lost, a tragedy that provided no cause for celebration. She frowned at the gloomy sky and the raindrops that now dampened her face, a reflection of the frustration that weighed on her heart. Before long, she climbed back into her car to begin the meticulous task of analyzing the initial pieces of the murder puzzle. Her instincts whispered that the recent killing might be just the tip of the iceberg, and she could only hope that her colleagues had managed to safeguard the remaining whistleblowers in their care. @hammondwalsh
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Marshall Judge BOT 05-Nov-23 05:42 AM
There were only 3300 vehicles made, this was a “big hint”. It would sadly lose its trail though, when it surfaced as one of the vehicles purchased by a case closed years ago, another “throw-back”, as it was in fact a car that one of the “victims” of The Chicago Association proudly owned before it disappeared without a trace. Even though it was sought after by many, it hadn’t resurfaced at all ever since it was purchased, it was the “only” Demon that was “nearby” according to their documents, but that only made it worse, their suspicions of this “not being an accident” were being actively confirmed now, and it was clear that whoever was driving that car was clearly making another statement. Despite their best efforts at containing the scene, as usual things would leak, and with the internet, soon enough there were a few journalists inquiring about “how is it possible that a dead organization, one that was shut down for good, was now causing even more deaths?” This was handled “as best” as possible by the staff that were on scene, and even Camille got some backlash from this, as someone from the reporters, instead of referring to her by her full name, actually used the “lovable” nickname that she had gotten. “Agent Barbie! Do you have any leads?!” The rain was getting worse, the temperatures were dropping, and as there was less and less sunlight, the scenery was in fact being shifted more and more towards the expected snow forecast, deteriorating the conditions in which Marshall had to operate even further. Meanwhile, in the other part of town the black Demon was sneaking up on its next victim, with well over an hour of advantage it was sitting near Leo De Marco’s property. Due to the long years of loyal service that he had offered to this organization he owned a much more lavish house, and the Demon was sitting at the gate, just waiting for that to move open.
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By now Marshall knew that someone would pick up on this hot topic, as after all it would generate an insane amount of media presence, it was something “relevant” that many people thought to be “solved”. Marshall hoped he’d freak Leo out with the news, and he wasn’t wrong. Soon the gate came to life, from it, rolled a vintage Lincoln Town Car, shining and polished to have a mirror finish. The rain effortlessly rolled off its big metal body as it was clearly coated in a protective layer of wax. This was a man who took care of his property, and the windshield wipers were slowly swaying on both vehicles back and forth, rubbing the little water that stayed behind suctioned to the glass and offering visibility to both from the inside of their vehicles. Due to a lack of an AC unit, or even a blower fan, Marshall kept his windows slightly cracked, and eventually lowered the right window down entirely, just instants after the gate started to move, and the Lincoln was proudly keeping its pace. It slowly rolled ahead, only to come to a halt with a loud screech of its wet tires and wet drum brakes, as the Demon’s engine roared to live. The front of the vehicle was almost pressed against Marshall’s right fender, mere moments had passed as Leo’s shocked face would be met with that same ballistic mask. Black and smoothed over, angled in such a way to of course deflect any rounds instead of taking the full force of the blow. This time, it took much more. Marshall discharged the full 40 round magazine into the vehicle, with the continued burst of the automatic fire, the MP5 would heat up significantly more, to the point where the suppressor got bright red in colour. With each new cycle of the bolt, more and more smoke would be released into the inside of the vehicle, being the hot barrel and the hot suppressor that were smoking the most, some of it was also unburned gunpowder that seeped into the interior of the Dodge.
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The powder residue would only now start to be visible on the barrel and the suppressor, the bolt had some of it on it as well, but being well lubricated, so far it was just superficial, and only meant that the weapon had to be cleaned “soon enough”, but it wouldn’t get in the way of it’s proper cycling, for now. The beautiful vehicle that was in front of Marshall was now stationary, it’s engine still running perfectly, the inside was a whole different story. The windshield would’ve been pierced with each shot, but after about the 3rd round, it shattered, turning into tiny fragments of glass that just fell down into the inside. Some of the rounds inevitably missed their intended target, messing up the tapestry of said vehicle as they flew through the seats and into the chassis of the vehicle, from the inside. The back window eventually shattered too, as Marshall just held down the trigger, and, even though there was little kickback from the weapon, it was still somewhat hard to keep it “all” on target, especially with such an uncomfortable shooting position, having to slightly lean forward, mind the barrel, and overall, aim as best as he could under the pressure of the situation. Leo De Marco’s body was in far worse shape, it was shredded by rounds, out of the 40 shots that were fired, only about 20 hit the “Intended” target. Considering the rate of fire of an MP5, it was still a pretty impressive achievement, from such a shitty position in which Marshall had found himself. It would’ve been pierced all over the place, head, shoulders, chest, neck, being the parts that suffered the most, as those were the parts that also happened to be the most exposed. For Leo death came so quickly that even as he tried to do something after the startle with almost hitting someone’s car, his arm clutched the shifter knob so tightly that it would eventually remain there when the rigor mortis showed up, about the time when the Agents would have gotten there.
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With the rain, the somewhat “secluded” location, and the fact that there really was “NOTHING” of value around here, Marshall had the worst streak of luck. Seconds after his last shell was ejected from his bolt, a loud noise of sirens would come to life, for whatever reason there was a single unit rolling about and patrolling exactly the street on which Leo was. It was a one in a million possibility that they just stumbled upon him. The Demon’s engine came to life, as Marshall could hear the callout to dispatch on the radio. The unit, with a clearly panicked voice was requesting for backup, reporting the shots fired and requesting an ambulance to the location, an ambulance would not in fact help anyone, but it was procedure after all. Unable to stay, the unit just shot behind Marshall, they were in a standard cruiser, a Ford Expedition, equipped with 4 wheel drive, that would handle far better in the rain than Marshall’s rear wheel drive demon. Marshall did have a very “clear” advantage though, as, the second the sirens came to life, his engine roared loudly, exhaust fumes would combust from the rich burn in the engine, leaving a long flame behind it, as the tires fought, revolution after revolution throwing copious amounts of water before the wet rubber finally contacted the pavement. An even louder screech would be heard now from it’s tires, as they were struggling with traction, leaving even longer traces behind as they were spinning about twice as fast as they should be, with only each second revolution getting any grip at all, unfortunately for the patrol car, they were also heating up with this excessive friction thanks to the water, with their “stickiness” improving with each burnout the car did.
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Marshall set off, and the cruiser, unsurprisingly, struggling far less with grip, for now was on its tail, it was the only advantage that they had over him, but it wouldn’t last long, as it was heading towards the highway. This was its playing field, and everyone knew that, so much so that the officers were in a panicky voice calling in for backup, asking for X-Ray to be deployed. Their pleading was shut down though when dispatch informed them with a cold, and careless voice. “Dispatch to 11-Adam-25, unable. Due to deteriorating weather conditions X-Ray will remain grounded, I am dispatching 11-Adam-17, 11-Adam-15, and 11- Lincoln-5, in a high speed unit, to your location, ETA 5 minutes.” 5 minutes was not a long time, but 5 minutes at top speed on a highway that wasn’t that busy now, with many drivers fearing the forecast, and with the time that it was, most of them being at work, the Demon could spread its wings, and it was doing exactly that, it’s engine was roaring loudly, the exhaust fumes with the added pressure from the turbos was now glowing brighter than the rear lights of the vehicle they were pursuing, and despite driving their own pedal to the metal, with each passing moment, the vehicle was fading out of sight, with less and less hope for this to be coming to an end any time soon.
05:45
@fixie.
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Camille Förster BOT 05-Nov-23 09:04 AM
The day took a progressively darker turn as the skies unleashed their fury, raindrops falling heavily to the ground, accompanied by the ominous rumble of thunder. With each piece of evidence they gathered, it seemed they were left with even more questions, hitting one roadblock after another. The reporters swarming around them clamored for answers, and the crowd at the crime scene grew louder and more impatient by the minute. The FBI’s collective frustration was palpable, exacerbated by their inability to provide the answers everyone sought. Camille’s boss paced around the scene like a hyena, demanding solutions that remained frustratingly out of reach. Every time a reporter approached Camille for answers, she couldn’t help but wish she could disappear, her authority undermined by the mocking nickname that continued to haunt her. As hours passed, her confidence wavered, and the skies grew darker, obscuring the last rays of sunlight. As the day wore on, the rain persisted, necessitating the use of flashlights to illuminate the scene as evening approached. Camille sat in her car, her forehead pressed between her hands as an impending headache threatened to consume her. The weight of her perceived failure pressed down on her, and the realization that they had to close the scene and regroup weighed heavily on her mind. From the confines of her car, she gazed at the scene as another van arrived to collect Morgan’s lifeless body. It seemed like the day was drawing to a close, with no answers to offer and no solace to be found. But then, the tranquility of the moment shattered. A frantic knocking on her car window made her jump, and she quickly rolled it down to receive the news - another whistleblower had been killed. Camille slammed her palm against the steering wheel in frustration, her anger momentarily taking over. She couldn’t fathom how her colleagues had failed to protect yet another whistleblower. Her intuition gnawed at her, suggesting a potential undercurrent of
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corruption within the FBI units. Without hesitation, she set a course for the new crime scene. However, as she tried to pull her car away from the scene, she realized the tires struggled for traction on the road. Cursing her oversight, she felt her car slip momentarily. The combination of subzero temperatures and the unrelenting rain had created a treacherous layer of ice on the asphalt. It was the worst possible timing for such conditions. Camille had contemplated switching to winter tires the previous week, as the weather forecast had hinted at snow in the coming days. Nonetheless, this setback didn’t deter her, and she soon found herself en route to the next crime scene. As she approached the new scene, she braced herself for another grim sight. This murder was no ordinary execution, it was a heinous act of hatred. The scene had been cordoned off with large flashlights illuminating the area. It was not for the faint of heart. Camille's eyes fell on a car riddled with bullet holes, its shattered glass strewn across the pavement. Inside the car, she saw a horrifying image — a lifeless body slumped behind the steering wheel, and the acid of nausea rose in her throat. The victim's body was disfigured, nearly unrecognizable, with pieces missing, rendering it a gruesome mosaic. The harsh beams of the flashlights accentuated the macabre scene, casting long shadows and reflecting off the splatters of blood.
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Camille leaped out of her car, quickly approaching a colleague who appeared to have the most information about the incident. She let him relay the details while she stepped closer to the mangled car. A shiver ran down her spine, not solely from the grotesque sight but also from the pelting rain, now akin to icy shards against her skin. Her heart sank as she received word that, due to the adverse weather conditions, they had lost track of the black Dodge. The location of the killer's getaway vehicle remained a mystery, and Camille's frustration and concern deepened. Her mind raced, and the pieces of the puzzle began to form a sinister image. She swiftly gathered information on the remaining whistleblowers and their last known locations. There were only two potential victims left, who had already been taken into FBI custody for their protection. They had been too late to safeguard the first group, but at least they had managed to protect half of them. Camille's thoughts drifted as she contemplated who the next victim might be. A coin flip seemed to determine the fate of the case, with their success or failure hinging on it. As she stormed away from the crime scene, she brushed aside the concerns and inquiries of her colleagues. Fury consumed her, and a reckless resolve took hold of her. She was done playing cat and mouse with a criminal who believed himself invincible. She was done being made a fool of. Camille was on her way to Ethan's apartment, ready to play the victim in a high-stakes gamble. She couldn't be certain if he would be the next victim, but she had to try. Racing through the rain-soaked streets in her Ford Expedition, she hoped that she wasn't too late. Approaching the rundown apartment complex, she found no signs of movement. The street lay shrouded in darkness, the glistening lights reflecting on the wet pavement. Parking her car, she discovered that the rain was turning into hail, and the once-wet ground was rapidly becoming icy. She quickly entered
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the building, making her way to Ethan's apartment, praying that it wasn't locked. Fortunately, the door was ajar, a sign that Ethan had left in a hurry with his family. Camille entered cautiously, her hand gripping her gun as she secured the apartment. When the apartment was clear, she turned off the lights, leaving only a standing lamp by a chair near the entrance. The chair was positioned to face the door, and Camille sat in it, bathed in the shadows. Her gun rested on her lap, the safety off, poised for action at a moment's notice. She took a deep, shaky breath, fully aware that her solitary stakeout was risky. However, she couldn't afford to arouse suspicion or frighten off the killer. Whether the murderer arrived to claim Ethan or Camille received a call announcing Archie's murder, she was ready to pounce. It was a high-stakes game of cat and mouse, and she was the predator, seated in the chair with a grim determination. @hammondwalsh
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Marshall Judge BOT 05-Nov-23 11:11 AM
Her gamble paid off. Mere minutes after Camille sat herself down in that couch she heard the engine. That engine. It was loud, so loud in fact that at first Camille could’ve easily assumed she had already been shot as one of the exhaust flames from the struggling Dodge escaped when the driver dumped the clutch a little too aggressively, to deal with the lack of grip of course. Between the treacherous conditions, and the rush in which he was, knowing that his time was running out, the engine suddenly died down, and went silent. Marshall knew it was only a matter of time before the FBI would connect the dots and send officers to the scene. With this rush in mind, he completely missed the explorer that was parked right there, its inconspicuous nature, the combination of hail and rain was gnawing at Marshall. He didn’t really expect a setup, he was too far into this, the adrenaline of struggling with the roads, the lost chase, and everything turned out to be just too much to process. The time restraint, knowing that in no time the last two targets could escape would also press on Marshall’s shoulders. He rolled up into the driveway, seeing the lack of the expected vehicle. Marshall was about to leave when he saw the light within. Everything within Marshall was screaming “Leave”, he’s long gone, but he had to check, he couldn’t give it up to chance for him to just be a bitch and hiding inside of his house. Marshall sat in the car for a few minutes, just with his head focusing on the game. He had to be fast and aggressive, it was risky, but he also had a lot of intimidating armour on him that would at least save him from “most” threats.
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Camille by now was certainly warned by the presence, and he in fact fell right into her trap. She was very lucky that the Dodge didn’t roll inside of the driveway, and instead was left to block it. From where Camille sat, she could hear the running, idle rumble of the loud engine, it was chilling, and fully justified the name of the car that it belonged to, until now she hadn’t felt the distant vibrations emitted by the engine in idle, let alone when it was being revved up. Whatever and whoever Camille was expecting, a man that stepped out of the car was on a different level, the vest absorbing the hail and rain, his steps firm in his boots, and his MP5 shining off, with the droplets of rain hitting it. By then, Marshall had of course reloaded it. He had a surprisingly decent stance, resting the now extended shoulder brace against his shoulder, and advancing slowly, with the barrel of his firearm pointed forward. The charred suppressor in plain view. This was the murder weapon, the one that caused all the chaos and all the headaches that Camille went through today. Worst of all, he had a mask on, and Camille, being experienced enough, was somewhat familiar with it, a ballistic bulletproof mask, along with an “excessive” armour on his chest, if Camille had to “deal” with whoever was there, she wouldn’t walk away in an encounter, surely she’d be wise enough to shoot “first” instead of letting this armoured up juggernaut to come close. The Demon’s headlights were shining behind him, giving Camille a perfect outline of the armoured up body, and the mask covering the front. Marshall didn’t have a helmet on, but the way he kept himself leaning over aggressively, his head was mostly protected, and at most would get a glancing blow, if even that.
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In the rain and hail, his steps were determined, loud "bangs" could be heard from the hail hitting the plates, and he was quickly approaching the wide open door, without being able to see inside, as Camille sat on said chair, concealed and out of Marshall's view. It was also the first time she "met" Brutus. The last person she'd ever think to would be Marshall. This man was ready for war, his stance was aggressive, and his advance was unhesitant, driven by fury. The oddly fitting car amplified this aura of "untouchability" too, as after all, so many other agents tried to stop him from his goals and failed, and here she was, being approached confidently by a threat that was far too much for her to just "arrest" on her own. @fixie.
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Camille Förster BOT 05-Nov-23 12:01 PM
Camille sat in silence, her eyes closed, as she endeavored to heighten her senses and absorb every sound of her surroundings. The sound of hail pelting the windows, the low hum of the wind, the occasional passing of cars - all registered in her consciousness. Somewhere above her, the faint echoes of footsteps, but nothing that caused her heart to skip a beat, until she heard a distant, low rumble. As the sound drew nearer, it gradually transformed into a thunderous engine roar. Camille’s heart raced, her hand instinctively tightening around the grip of her gun. A sly, defiant smirk crept onto her lips as an undercurrent of rage surged through her veins. She was certain that the approaching vehicle was the elusive black Dodge they had been chasing all day. Her free hand moved to support the gun, ensuring a steady grip, and with a swift, noiseless motion, she rose from the chair, knees slightly bent to maintain a low profile. Her gun was now aimed squarely at the door, her body flooded with adrenaline as the world around her seemed to fade into the background. Not once did it cross her mind to call for help. Her phone and radio remained in the car, left behind in her haste to reach the apartment. In this moment, she only had herself to rely on, and she had no intention of being a victim. There was so much more life to experience, so much more to see. The abyss lay before her, but she was determined to cast aside her fears. Her eyes remained fixed on the door, fury burning in their depths. Her senses were on high alert, every sound and movement heightened. She heard the engine outside gradually quiet down, and she took a slow, deliberate breath, allowing her lungs to relax. She couldn’t afford to let even a faint tremor betray her stance. Camille’s years as a swimmer aided her in calming her breath and heartbeat, allowing her to achieve an almost meditative focus. Time seemed to slow, and the anticipation hung heavy in the air. And then, she saw him - the figure of a
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black knight on a mission. Her heart skipped a beat, a surge of euphoria coursing through her at the sight of her adversary. The possibility of exacting her revenge filled her with determination. She was done being manipulated, done with this dangerous game. Camille considered herself a protector of the innocent, and by eliminating this bloodthirsty monster, she would ensure the city could sleep a little easier tonight. Without hesitation, she leaped forward, both hands gripping her gun as she aimed it unwaveringly at the figure. Her instincts screamed at her, making her acutely aware that the man held a submachine gun of his own. “FBI! Freeze! Drop your weapons!” Her commanding shout broke the silence, her voice resonating with fury and unyielding authority. She stood there, rain-soaked hair clinging to her face, her eyes ablaze with a potent mixture of rage and inner strength. She was not about to become another victim of his deadly game. Camille was not a mouse, she was a predator, and Brutus’s momentary hesitation spurred her into action. With her finger shifting from the metal casing toward the trigger, a single gunshot pierced the air. The recoil surged through her body as she already lunged forward, her intent to disarm him in the event he opened fire. The world around them explored into chaos once more. @hammondwalsh
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Marshall Judge BOT 05-Nov-23 12:17 PM
Marshall himself was on edge, he had his index finger on the trigger as he was steadily advancing. When he heard the voice, a chill shiver went down his spine. He froze, unlike Camille, who was clearly taking on the role of the predator, Marshall stood there like a deer in headlights, for someone who was so quickly advancing and who was as determined as he showed to be mere moments before this exchange, it was a miracle that he didn’t shoot. He took the hit, granted, Camille’s 9mm did little more than slightly moved him back, not even causing him any real “Injuries” behind the heavy thick Kevlar reinforced steel plates that were in his vest, they added a significant amount of weight to him, and the mask was rather heavy itself being made out of thick steel itself. When Camille made her advance, which, if she were to even think about it logically, was really really stupid, this would be something she’d maybe even reflect upon in the future, but instead of a struggle for a life or death situation, the armoured up hulking mass that stood before Camille turned around. By the time she sprinted out to the cold soaked outside, Marshall was sprinting towards his own car, he was actively running away, and that description of the blonde hair was now confirmed, as Camille in fact saw the back of Marshall’s head. His vehicle’s engine came to life, and when Camille tried to stop him, it almost rolled her over, as his tires squealed in a loud whine. It flew ahead, but clearly struggled, Camille would know that her vehicle would have a better advantage in this weather, the slippery roads not only slowed the Demon down, they also made it ten times harder to control. Marshall’s heart was racing, he knew he wouldn’t dare to ever touch Camille in a harmful way, and now his hand was trembling, he knew that his only way out of this would be to run away.
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The loud engine of his Demon roared and spat angry flames, as with each little curve and turn it would struggle to keep moving in a straight line, let alone making the necessary turns of the heavily contorted roads within this much more private areas, struggling to realistically stay on the road.
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Camille’s pursuit would be quite easy, all she had to do was follow the insane noise the struggling car was making, each turn sounded like a roar from an angry dragon, clawing it’s way through something, and it was exactly what was happening, with the ice, the hail, and the rain, the vehicle was very much at a disadvantage, and Marshall was now only merely faster than Camille in straight lines, and even slower than her in any kind of turns. He was trying to desperately limp it to the highway, where he knew he could just hold his pedal down and pray for the best. Camille would certainly also know this too, and she would know that he’d be struggling for “so much” before the road cleared up, she had to really step her game up and catch him before the on ramp onto the highway, that, from what it sounded, Marshall was about 8 blocks from. The only real obstacle which separated the onramp from the residential areas was a bridge over a pretty wide river, and that would be the actual last chance that Camille would get to slow Marshall down. So far, with all the tight turns they were both having to make, she was gaining on him, and his engine was getting louder and louder, soon enough, it was right there, just a few more turns and she’d have him, her bumper coming dangerously close to the furious fire being spit from the struggling beast, that kept slipping over and over, pebbles, water, and grime form the road kept hitting Camille’s windshield, as the high rate of speed at which the tires ahead were turning, Marshall was now almost “always” on the edge of control, his wheels spinning out without traction more often than not, and it was looking grim for him, as he was very slowly but steadily limping it at the fastest speed he could manage towards the bridge. @fixie.
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Camille Förster BOT 05-Nov-23 01:34 PM
As Camille surged forward, her every muscle tensed in anticipation of the inevitable confrontation, her senses heightened to their maximum. Her fingers almost grazed his submachine gun before he slipped away, disappearing into the night like a shadow. A frustrated curse slipped from her lips as confusion clouded her mind. It was the complete opposite of what she had expected. However, she quickly regained her composure, gripping her gun tightly, and sprinting outside to give chase. Amid the tumultuous downpour of rain and hail, her shouted orders were muffled, lost in the cacophony of the storm. The icy rain stung her skin, but her fury propelled her forward. She fired two more shots, the relentless rain making it challenging to track the black figure. Her frustration mounted as she appeared to miss every shot. The black Dodge roared to life, and she struggled to take aim before being forced to leap aside as the car hurtled dangerously close to her. In a frenzy, she unleashed her remaining bullets on the car's rear as it sped away from the scene. Still bewildered by the killer's unexpected response, Camille pushed herself to her car. She was unwilling to let him slip through her grasp after coming so close to catching him. Within seconds, she was inside her vehicle, the engine roaring to life as she sped onto the road, tires slipping on the rain-soaked pavement before finally gaining traction. She raced after the black Dodge, recognizing the advantage of her more stable tires, even though her opponent's car held the upper hand in terms of speed. The empty streets worked to their advantage, with the people sensibly taking shelter from the dire weather conditions. Rain, hail, and snow seemed to descend all at once, pelting the windshield of her car. Camille had to activate the windshield wipers at their highest setting just to maintain visibility. Her car's headlights illuminated the black Dodge's rear end, no license plates in sight. She closed the distance, almost r
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eady to rear-end him and potentially force him into a crash, offering the opportunity to apprehend him at last. Camille swiftly figured out the black Dodge's destination, its speed increasing as they hurtled down the straight road. She urged her own vehicle to its limits, pedal to the floor. It was a matter of just a little more; he was almost within her grasp. And then, time stood still. As their cars flew onto the bridge, a small object that appeared to be a twig from a tree suddenly struck her windshield. She gasped in alarm, her hands white-knuckling the steering wheel, foot transitioning from the gas pedal to the brakes. The piercing screech of her tires reverberated through the air, as she fought to regain control. Her car skidded across the icy surface, spinning wildly before colliding with the stone railing of the bridge. The impact sent her heart plummeting, her car teetered on the edge, with an abyss below.
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For a brief moment, there was serenity, an eerie calm before the impending calamity. The weight of the metal coffin descended into the water, the sensation akin to jumping from a high diving platform. For a moment, a semblance of peace washed over her before the intense pain set in. The car overturned as it crashed into the water at high speed. Her body was wrenched against the safety belt she had wisely fastened earlier, the rushing water outside showing no mercy. In the ensuing darkness, Camille's world was submerged in chaos. She struggled to unbuckle the safety belt, but her fingers met a frigid, unyielding resistance, sending a shiver through her. Confused, she glanced down, realizing the dark water already enveloped her hips. A surge of panic coursed through her as she finally managed to release herself from the restraint. Pain shot through her arms as she hammered the window beside her, the panic intensifying as the water continued to seep through the doors, soaking her legs. It occurred to her, as she fought to escape this sinking metal coffin, that manual controls for the windows would have been a far better idea. However, it was too late. She shattered the window with her elbows, even though the shards of glass pierced her skin, allowing more water to rush into the car. Camille now descended more rapidly underwater as the car's interior filled with the icy, relentless liquid.
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She summoned every ounce of her strength to propel herself out of the sinking car, her hands clawing at the glass shards and sending a shock of pain through her. As she attempted to release herself from the sinking vehicle, a terrifying sense of disorientation set in. Even though the pain surged through her body, Camille's hand tightened around the shattered window frame. She let her body fall into the icy water, her vision clouded by the darkness. For a brief moment, she found solace before the agony set in once more. The cold water submerged her, her body lost in the murky abyss, her legs cramping. Panic enveloped her as she could barely move her arms and her head continuously dipped beneath the surface. In the cold, black depths, her powers waned, and the cold darkness overwhelmed her. Her senses dulled, and the spark that had once ignited her was extinguished, leaving nothing but cold, silent darkness. Suddenly, she was blinded by a bright light. She squinted against the brightness of the sun, wrinkling her tiny nose. The scene was entirely different now, and the five-year-old Camille stood at the edge of a community pool. Children's excited voices filled the air, but the pool in front of her appeared empty. She stood there in her duckling swimsuit and a red swimming vest, her long pigtails hanging down her back. Her small hand was clasped in the grasp of a warm, large hand, and she gazed up at the person beside her, bathed in a radiant light that obscured their face. But she knew they loved her deeply and cared for her. "Come on, Camille! Jump in!" The person's warm, reassuring voice resonated through the space around them, and she held their hand tightly. "But I'm scared, Grandpa! What if I drown?" Her childlike voice expressed her fear, and she looked back at the deep water, her small feet testing the edge as though to check if it would bite. A warm chuckle emanated from the person beside her, and she glanced up at them again, searching for courage. "You
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have to jump in to learn how to swim. I'll always watch over you and make sure you don't drown." They smiled warmly, offering a reassuring squeeze of her hand. Camille contemplated for a moment, tilting her head to the side, her pigtails swaying. She inhaled deeply and then exhaled, making a determined little grunt. She was resolute and brave, ready to face her fears head-on. She released her hand from the comforting grasp and adopted a determined expression, ready to conquer the fear that gripped her. With a final deep breath, she was ready to confront her fears, and she leaped into the water. Her entry into the pool was met with a brief silence after a splash. And then, darkness overtook her once more. Nothing remained to be seen or experienced. The spark that had once defined Camille had vanished, leaving only the cold, featureless void. Her body was drawn deeper into the abyss, where there was no pain, no tears, and no numbness. There was only the inescapable embrace of the cold darkness, and Camille surrendered herself to it. @hammondwalsh
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Marshall Judge BOT 05-Nov-23 03:23 PM
Being as close as humanly possible, Marshall was stressing out, his own world was slowly coming down on his shoulders, he knew that an unfortunate pebble, a poorly placed or poorly anticipated steering input would be enough to send him into a building, a pole, or worse, right into Camille’s hands. When her lights were gaining on him, Marshall was even struggling to see the road ahead, with the blinding lights of the cruiser right on his tail, suddenly, those lights would fade away, as he would see Camille’s determined gaze in the rear view mirror, her face clear as daylight, and her car actively inching forward on and on. It was so close that he could even see the wet droplets of rain from before sliding off her face and down along her perfect features; this mere moment, a single gaze, froze Marshall’s world. It stretched to infinity as he could see her so perfectly. He was in fact infatuated with Camille, and even though they were from opposite worlds, he didn’t care. He didn’t even care about the fact that she actively SHOT at him. This moment however came to a sudden closure, as, when her bumper was about to rub against the plastic of the Demon, it pulled away. He didn’t even realize what happened instantly, as all he saw was the panicked gaze on Camille’s face. His own two eyes glued to the rear view mirror as horrified, he saw her cruiser skidding out of control. His heart dropped, and his jaw dropped along with it. He didn’t do anything, Marshall even lowered his eyes to make sure he was going straight, he didn’t touch his steering wheel at all in that moment, with his hands frozen as they were.
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This launched Marshall into clear distress, as a dilemma was now starting to show itself on the horizon. His heart was yelling at him, and his mind was yelling at him in the opposite direction, asking him to keep going to not stop, and to get away. He had to find the men who caused him this grief and deal with them. On the other end of the balance was Camille, she was someone who he knew for literal days, but it was someone who never left Marshall’s mind. His eyes were now glued to the rear view mirror, as he heard the screeching, whining, and slamming of metal, only to see the car coming to a halt, at the edge of the guard rail. He released the break which he had been holding, knowing that officers would be here soon to help Camille, but as the vehicle slid over, and Marshall saw a brief glimpse of headlights in his mirror, as it just flipped onto its roof, and fell down into the deep cold river beneath, Marshall’s Demon screeched to a full stop. The loud engine roaring even louder, at higher RPM as he reversed to the edge. This was almost done on autopilot, Marshall’s mind felt disconnected with what he was doing, as, without any kind of hesitation, Marshall threw his vest and mask right off him. He could see the vehicle slowly sinking to the bottom, wheels up. He knew the longer he waited the harder this task would be, and in only mere moments after Marshall had taken his vest and mask off, he left his gun in his car as well, and grabbed a knife with him. Marshall jumped down into the freezing waters, unlike Camille who would’ve most likely been gracious with it, Marshall entered the water feet first, with a loud groan as he was soon overwhelmed with the loud feeling of the cold water embracing him.
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He once again showed no hesitation as he inhaled as much air into his lungs as he could, his preparation and physical training were paying off, as he quickly dove down beneath the water. His eyes struggled to even see anything as he didn’t have any glasses on him, or anything for it to protect his eyes. Marshall soon saw a struggling Camille, who was clearly in a losing battle, and right as her hands went limp, she suddenly felt Marshall’s lips pressing up right against her own. He exhaled, giving her at least some of the air that he had in his lungs, before focusing on what was keeping Camille trapped. The seatbelt that was still engaged was the only thing preventing Camille from going up to the surface, and Marshall knew that. With one swift cut of the knife it was out of the way. He tugged on Camille’s frame firmly, using her waist as a support, as he tugged her right out of the window which she managed to bust herself, taking note of the bleeding hand, which, right now was the least of his concerns. Marshall very hastily swam upwards, trying to move his feet as quickly as he could, trying to pull Camille up and to the surface, hoping for anything at this point, a miracle even, as he had given her brain at least some oxygen, and buying her a little more time for the minute that they now were together underwater. Marshall hadn’t even realized, as he was purely driven by adrenaline at that point, that he was effortlessly swimming with a single hand, against a current. All of this was done on an almost automatic level of Marshall’s consciousness.
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He dragged her to the side, under the bridge, as he quickly got on Camille. He made sure to check her for breathing, and exhaled loudly as she wasn’t. This, sent his body into panic, as he really didn’t know what to do at this point. He did what he thought should be done, having no medical experience but having seen a couple of medical shows, Marshall went to try and perform CPR on Camille, without knowing anything of what he was doing. Luckily for them both, especially for Camille, when he pressed on her chest, it was just enough to push the bit of water out of her throat, as he pressed down on her lungs, and making her spit it out, for her to loudly gasp for air. Camille would only briefly come into consciousness again with that, seeing Marshall’s face before it all faded out again. Marshall at that point knew he was running out of time, and that soon enough, police would show up looking for her. He hastily pulled a bunch of fabric off his shirt, and wrapped it very tightly around her injured hand. Luckily for Camille, the windows were designed to shatter, not creating any little sharp needles, but remaining in big sharp pieces, so nothing was embedded into her skin, something that Marshall didn’t even know about. He just picked her right up, almost as a sack of potatoes, as he threw Camille right over his shoulder, and laid her in the back of the Demon, where there weren’t even any seats, as he had removed them for weight reduction. Camille’s body wasn’t secured in the back, but luckily for her, and for Marshall, they left just before anyone saw them.
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Once again, by some godly miracle Marshall had fled the scene, and even managed to save Camille’s life, as he drove her directly to his house. He actually laid her down on his bed, and locked the house as he went to dispose of the car, knowing that it was now a lead. Marshall would be gone for about 20 minutes, as he would get rid of the vehicle, and would need a lift back to his own home, having to just walk back, as he couldn’t rely on anyone, knowing that calling upon any help would explain to many people who Brutus really was. @fixie.
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Camille Förster BOT 06-Nov-23 03:52 AM
Camille felt stuck in an unending cycle of torment and numbing cold. Her body fought against the creeping hypothermia that encased her. A dense haze clouded her mind, obstructing any escape route to consciousness. Each breath she took seared her lungs, as if she were drowning in the very air she inhaled. Her thoughts materialized as fleeting images, punctuated by the deafening echoes of haunting memories, assaulting her senses. Every cell in her body screamed in agony. Briefly, she was recklessly pulled back to the surface, her eyes fluttering open as her lungs seeked to escape her body. She strained to make out her surroundings through the relentless chill, but a glimmer of warmth radiated nearby. She sensed someone holding her tightly. In that moment, as her eyes briefly focused on the male figure above her, she recognized the anxious concern in his glistening eyes. Deep within her consciousness, she knew this person who held her in his grasp, and a warmth spread over her heart. She felt secure, as though he would shield her from any danger. His name hovered at the edge of her tongue, but it remained elusive, a word trapped by her paralyzed vocal cords. With a labored breath, she was once more drawn into the abyss, her strength vanishing. The night filled with nightmares gave way to daylight. Outside, the sun shone brightly, and the warming breeze whispered through the streets, as if the previous night’s rain, hail, and snow had never occurred. Camille was enveloped by a sense of warmth, but a shiver coursed through her body, prompting her to burrow deeper into the blankets that cocooned her. Sunlight streamed directly into her eyes, provoking a groan as she tried to turn and shield her face. but as her body stiffened and pain pierced her, she was compelled to open her eyes and survey her unfamiliar surroundings. Confusion set in as she jumped up and saw the unfamiliar expanse of a spacious master bedroom. Panic surged within her, eclipsing any joy at waking up i
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n a warm bed. She felt like a trapped bird, with no escape from the golden cage. She also quickly realized she was naked, pulling the blanket over her bare body. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she peeled herself from the bed, still clutching onto the blanket. She made her way to a substantial closet, intending to find some clothing and secure her safety in what she considered was a kidnapping situation. As she opened the closet, her jaw dropped at the sight of what appeared to be a walk-in wardrobe brimming with a vast array of men's clothing. What alarmed her even more were the racks of weapons, sending her pulse racing. Abandoning the blanket, she grabbed the first item within reach, a black formal shirt, and hastily dressed, wincing as the fabric brushed against her bruised chest and cut-up hands, when she tried to close the buttons. She rolled up the sleeves for ease of movement. Though the shirt only partially covered her body, it was better than nothing.
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Surveying the room once more, her eyes landed on a mirror, and her reflection revealed a disheveled, bruised figure with dark circles under her eyes. A dizzy spell washed over her, and she clung to a shelf for support. Something was terribly wrong with her body, and she felt as if she were burning up. But she couldn't succumb to the pain. Her attention shifted to the shotgun that had caught her eye in the closet. If she had to confront her captor, it seemed like her best chance at self-defense. She approached the weapon, trembling hands examining it to ensure it was loaded. When she discovered that it lacked ammunition, she spotted boxes of shotgun shells nearby. With determined effort, she managed to load the weapon and returned to the master bedroom, holding the shotgun against her shoulder. Approaching the windows, she realized they were tightly shut. Her hope of escape lay in a fire escape ladder outside, visible through the glass. Gathering her courage, she raised the shotgun to smash the window, only to recoil in pain. The glass was reinforced, and the impact sent her staggering backward, moaning in agony. Undaunted, she shifted her focus to the locked door, her grip on the shotgun unwavering. She understood that firing at the door handle would attract attention, but she had no choice but to take the risk. She aimed the shotgun at the door handle, her finger squeezing the trigger. A deafening blast reverberated through the house as the shotgun shell escaped the weapon and met its target, creating a gaping hole in the door. Camille maintained her stance, her gaze locked on the damaged door, ready to confront any intruder without hesitation. She would make her move in a minute when no one would come running. But if anyone would show up, she was ready to shoot and she wouldn’t hesitate. @hammondwalsh
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Marshall Judge BOT 06-Nov-23 07:44 AM
From what it seemed to Camille, despite her senses being heightened, there was no seeming response to her gunfire. The house was entirely empty, and if Camille were to even reflect upon this “situation”, she was quite “far” from being held captive, she wasn’t bound, the room she was in was an ordinary bedroom, that, granted, was closed, but she had full access to weapons, ammo, for a “captive” this would be odd, and whoever was her kidnapper surely didn’t have the brains needed to possess the wealth that was in this house if that’s how he treated his victims. There were little personal effects in said bedroom, not even as much as a picture of the owner, a matching scene would play out in the other rooms too, this was someone’s residence, not any “jail” or “cell”, it was clearly fortified, but now that Camille surely was able to turn her brain on to be slightly more logical, she’d pick up that the house was more of a fortress/hide-out, than it was a containment cell. Only the exits and entrances were fortified, with heavy bulletproof doors, reinforced glass, ornate bars in front of said reinforced glass that was on the first floor, at first looking like iron, but the illusion would fade away rather quickly if Camille were to lean closer, there wasn’t a spec of rust or corrosion on them, despite looking like they’ve been installed there for years, if she was smart enough to conclude this, the material was titanium. Whoever was the owner of this hideout was very much concerned with keeping things from the outside, rather than containing them inside. Camille’s analytical mind surely would start to put things together by now, the lack of personal effects, everything looking untouched and like “on a picture”, concealed armory, reinforcements, this was someone’s safehouse, and she was in it. Most likely, she was in Brutus’s safehouse at that, as after all, it was him that was involved in the chase.
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Whether Camille’s analytical mind would connect the “hazed vision” of Marshall pulling her out in similar clothes to the person who she shot at or not would be a whole nother story, but she would soon find out that she was trapped, as even the guns that were inside of the house, despite the copious amounts of ammunition would help her get out, the best bet she’d have to leave the premises would be to find the stash. From Camille’s “instruction” and “prior” experience, she knew these safehouses had to have stashes in them somewhere, ID’s, maybe more “special” weapons, money, keys and such. If Camille were to really start focusing, she’d notice a little pattern, there were rooms that were kept clean and impeccable, but there was a thin layer of dust coating even the floor in those rooms, indicating that no one accessed them in a long time, this would help Camille in her search to narrow down what she was looking for. Odd, oversized furniture would also be present in some of the rooms, hiding more and more secrets for Camille to explore and piece together. Whoever her “captor” was, he didn’t seem to be around either, leaving his “victim” entirely on her own, unbound, with guns? Surely she’d sense that there was at least something that didn’t make any sense in this story that she had come up with on her own.
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By the time that Camille bothered to look outside, it’s already been a couple of hours since her accident, the sun was out and shining, melting the mess that had caused this whole situation in the first place, and she would be even able to appreciate the location in which this house was situated, it was a fenced in private property, spanning quite far out in whichever direction she’d look, the tall fences isolated this from the outside, and behind those, there were trees planted to conceal it even further. This hideout had been built here to be hard to spot from even the road, with an unpaved, gravel road being the only thing that led to the gates.
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@fixie.
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Camille Förster BOT 06-Nov-23 09:20 AM
Moments dragged on, yet Camille detected no signs of movement beyond the door. It made no sense that her kidnapper would keep his distance. The lingering fog from the previous night still clouded her senses. Though the mystery behind the door remained unknown, Camille, now on a tactical mission, decided to approach it cautiously, her shotgun held high. She had to stay vigilant. With the door ajar, she crept into a hallway as opulent as the bedroom. She stealthily explored, opening one door after another. An eerie emptiness pervaded the rooms, as if they'd never been occupied. Camille briefly entertained the notion that she might be trapped in a personal hell, eternally bound to solitude. As she continued to investigate, checking windows and locked doors, her tension eased, and she lowered her shotgun, convinced no immediate danger lurked. In a room with a prominent office desk, bathed in sunlight from large windows, she almost left but a single paper drew her in. The room held answers, and her quest for information took priority. She set the shotgun on the desk and started rifling through cabinets, finding a jumble of papers that failed to catch her interest. But the last drawer, low to the floor, contained a photograph of two young boys. Her frown deepened as she leaned in for a closer look. There was something about the teenage boy with short dark hair and piercing blue eyes that rattled her. Her mind screamed recognition, but her heart refused to accept it. She placed the photograph on the table, battling the dizzying sensation enveloping her. The boy in the photograph was now a man she knew all too well, and the taste of betrayal soured her mouth. The line between reality and delusion blurred as she connected the dots, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place. The opulent estate, the extensive arsenal, the chance meeting in the nightclub, and the unforgettable night—everything seemed orchestrated. A maddening revelation gripped her, as she realized she had be
09:20
en a pawn in someone's cruel game. Her heart felt torn from her chest, and though she had known Marshall for only a few days, her fury was uncontainable. She seized the shotgun, her steps propelling her toward the windows behind the desk. With a scream of pent-up anger, she pounded the shotgun's handle against the window, desperate to shatter it. But the reinforced glass refused to yield, leaving Camille imprisoned. It didn't matter how Marshall had made her feel or that he had saved her life, he had become Brutus, a heartless manipulator who used her as a pawn to be discarded. Something wet streaked her cheeks, but she paid it no mind. Returning to the master bedroom, she felt her fury burning like a wildfire in her chest. She swung open the doors of the walk-in wardrobe, her arsenal beckoning. The formal black shirt was her only attire, and she disregarded her state of undress.
09:21
Pure, unbridled rage coursed through her veins as she reached for a submachine gun. She was not a woman to be played with, and Marshall's actions warranted no excuses. He was a cold-blooded killer who had crossed the wrong woman. Camille's hands clenched the submachine guns, her fingers shaking with anger. Earmuffs caught her eye, and a thrill of anticipation coursed through her as she fastened them on her head. She was on the brink of recklessness, but she was hell-bent on her own protection. A few minutes later, Camille marched out of the bedroom armed with submachine guns and a grenade, her every step fueled by an uncontrollable fury. She stood in the living room, furious determination etched on her face. The living room was also connected with the kitchen, which also led to the possible entrance as the door looked rather large.The living room's vast windows overlooked the garden, and her gaze was fixed on them. With a roar of unbridled rage, she emptied the entire clip of the submachine gun into the windows, the deafening noise fueling her fury. But the reinforced glass held firm. Frustration coursed through her as she continued to fire, the rush of adrenaline mingling with her mounting anger. She discarded the spent submachine guns, the fabric of the sofa torn in places where empty shells had met. The tall windows bore the marks of gunpowder and ash. Her attention turned to the grenade. She hesitated for only a moment before deciding to take the risk. Seeking cover behind the kitchen cupboard, she pulled the pin and hurled the grenade in the direction of the entrance. Earmuffs firmly in place, she opened her mouth to protect her eardrums. The explosion rattled her to the core, shaking the house to its foundations. Glassware shattered in the kitchen cupboards, and she let out a frustrated cry. The entrance door remained undamaged, but the floor in front of it was strewn with splintered wood. The walls surrounding the blast had also sustained damage, but a new op
09:21
portunity beckoned. A door not far from the entrance had been blasted open. She rushed toward it, determined to seize her chance for escape. It led to the garage, and her heart soared as she spotted a familiar BMW. Other cars were present, but the BMW bore the brunt of her fury. Grabbing a chair from the kitchen, she approached the car, her wrath unabated. She could only hope it wasn't armored. The chair struck with devastating force, and her tirade of curses filled the air as she continued her assault, shattering the windshield. Unsatisfied, she returned to the master bedroom, grabbing another grenade before confronting the car once more. She stood behind the door leading to the garage, pulled the pin, and aimed for the car. Her instincts warned her against it, but she was beyond caring. She might have faced death the night before, leaving her with nothing to lose. The grenade landed in the car's interior, setting off a fiery explosion. Fuel ignited, and the neighboring cars met the same fiery fate. A tremendous pressure wave enveloped her, and a deafening ring echoed in her ears. Seeking balance on the kitchen cupboard, her heart raced with a primal fury. The situation could only worsen from here. A fire alarm blared, and water cascaded from the ceiling, adding to her humiliation. Camille screamed at the heavens, her rage surging through every fiber of her being. Drenched, in agony, and soaked to the bone, she summoned her last vestiges of strength. She staggered to the wine fridge, clutching the oldest and, hopefully, most expensive bottle of wine. She settled on the ruined sofa, her gaze fixed on the tall windows with her back directed to the entrance. The alarm persisted, and Camille's anger raged unabated. She watched the vast green expanse outside and let the wine flow into her throat, her fury fueling her refusal to surrender. @hammondwalsh
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Marshall Judge BOT 06-Nov-23 10:04 AM
When Marshall was gone, he had hidden the Demon for “Better times”, concealing it in an abandoned shed that was in the middle of the woods. He knew that car would be unusable for a very long time until the BOLO’s would be written over and it would be forgotten, so he walked for about 10 miles, dressed in a rather casual “hiker” attire, he left nothing in the car, and wiped it clean of any kind of residue that would be possible, trying to get rid of any DNA, his, or Camille’s for that matter, as he just drenched the whole interior in bleach. Marshall then had a 10 mile walk back home, as he parked the car deep within the woods. On his way back, he was also constantly kicking dirt, erasing the tracks left by his track tires, and making sure that it would look forgotten ,covering it with leaves and so on, really taking his time and being thorough with this, so, it’s been about 4 hours before he shows up, about 40 minutes after Camille woke up. From the gate already he could see that something was definitely wrong, as inside, there would be a clear sign of the fire alarms going off, of course, living off the grid he wasn’t actually connected to an alarm, this was only one for the fire suppression system that he had installed, but still it was quite the concerning scene. From there on out, he’d see the absolutely destroyed windows, peppered with insane amounts of lead, as if a humvee exploded filled with ordinance, with it flying absolutely in every single direction, so much so that some of the insanely expensive polycarbonate windows were pierced half way, when he was building this, he expected a TANK to not carve that deep in it.
10:05
Marshall opened the door with a haste, as his eyes went wide. Fragments from a grenade were all over the entrance. The busted door to the garage revealed an even more horrifying scene, absolutely every single one of his cars, legally registered, and illegal ones were blown up, with gas, oil, diesel mixed in with the water from the fire suppression system. Marshall was in shock, his hands held up to his head, his eyes wider than plates, the water drenching absolutely everything of value didn’t help the situation, as he of course knew who to blame. He didn’t even have to think, he knew fucking exactly the ONLY single person he had let on his property, the only one who he felt like he could trust, that bond, and that love just blew up in his face, this wasn’t even as much for the money, it was for the value. That BMW alone had so much in it, not the gadgets, not the modifications, just the sentimental value it held to him. Marshall at first stood quietly near the door to the garage, only to then raise his tone like an absolute madman. He didn’t even know why the fuck she did this. He of course would’ve assumed she’d just be civilized and waited, going as far as even bringing her clothes, which he held in his inconspicuous hiking backpack. “CAMILLE!” “CAMILLE!” He shouted louder than the whining of the fire alarms, which finally shut off, once the smoke had cleared. Every single thing of value that was inside of the house now was either drenched with countless amounts of water, or, blown up to pieces, with metal fragments embedded in the thick walls.
10:05
“WHAT THE FUCK, CAMILLE?!” Was everything Marshall was able to squeeze out of himself, he had no fucking idea what to do, or how to even react. The amount of damage this one crazy woman had done to him was almost impossible to calculate, as not only did she successfully ruin his hideout, but she also managed to ruin almost every single possession that he had. It’s not like he’d be starving now, having other sources, and plenty of money hidden about, but it was of course a big, very painful strike to a very, very intimate part of him, the place he thought to be safe, and the place that he reluctantly decided to share with her.
10:05
@fixie.
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Camille Förster BOT 06-Nov-23 10:44 AM
Camille allowed the tumultuous events of the past days to swirl through her mind, like a relentless storm, even as the fire alarm wailed and water deluged from the ceiling. She took another deep swig from the wine bottle, the robust vintage proving unexpectedly potent. As she took another sip, her muscles slackened, and a soothing warmth spread through her body. A dizzying haze enveloped her, causing the windows before her to sway. In that fleeting moment of quiet, the house plunged into silence, only to be shattered by a resounding shout, a voice that painfully reminded her of Marshall's, the sting of betrayal etched deep within her. Struggling to rise from the sofa, Camille fought to stand upright, a bitter chuckle escaping her lips. She managed to straighten her back and finally locked eyes with Marshall, who loomed near the entrance. The wine coursing through her body clouded her thoughts. "What the fuck, Camille?" Camille leaned her head back and couldn't contain another laugh, tears mingling with the water on her cheeks. "What the fuck, Marshall! Or should I call you Brutus? Brutus, the murderer of Caesar, the almighty," she quipped, the comment slipping from her lips as her heart ached with each word. Her weary gaze met Marshall's, a heartache overtook her that she couldn't ignore. She cautiously approached him, still clutching the wine bottle. Her wet hair clung to her face, the black shirt adhering to her body, its neckline revealing her bare skin. Her eyes brimmed with an inconsolable sorrow, and a new trail of tears stained her cheeks. She stood just a step away from him, tilting her head back to meet his gaze head-on. "Was any of it even real? Or did you toy with me just to relish blowing someone's brains out right in front of me?" Her instincts urged her to flee through the open entrance door behind him, but her stubbornness demanded a confrontation. She needed to understand his reasons for becoming an absolute monster, the heat of their shared nigh
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t coursing through her veins like a venom. "You're despicable. A ruthless murderer devoid of honor," she almost spat at him, her words striking like bullets. She couldn't reconcile the idea that a killer could stir emotions in her that no other man ever had. The agony was overwhelming, overshadowing any rational fear of fleeing and hiding. @hammondwalsh
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Marshall Judge BOT 06-Nov-23 10:57 AM
When Camille confronted Marshall, she would see that same fury, that same fire that she saw when they clashed the first time over the disagreement with their political views. Marshall was shivering slightly, his hands clenched into fists. From how he stood, and how he faced Camille, he would probably kill her, choke her to death, but as she approached, he was still standing there, clearly trying to hold himself back. “WAS IT EVER FUCKING REAL?! YOU’RE GOING TO ASK ME THAT?! AFTER BLOWING UP HALF OF MY HOUSE?!“ Marshall was screaming at the top of his lungs, surprisingly, using his voice and words to vent his frustration, but not his actions. His hands never touched Camille, despite how much he stared at her in anger. He would even go as far as picturing just how easily he could take her life, but each time his mind wandered there, he realized he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t hurt Camille, and this only added to his frustrations, as he reduced the distance between the two even more, standing almost up to her now, with his shouting not ceasing. “I FUCKING SAVED YOUR LIFE! I BROUGHT YOU HERE! WHY THE FUCK DO YOU THINK I DID IT? BECAUSE I WANTED YOU TO FUCKING DIE OR SOMETHING?! YOU’RE THE FUCKING FIRST ONE HERE!” When Marshall made his pause, he heard what Camille called him, and that didn’t really bother him as much, but he was still very angry at the fact that Camille was even daring to talk back to him after what she’d done in here. “AND YOU’RE A FUCKING CRAZY BITCH THAT CAN’T BE LEFT ON HER OWN FOR A FUCKING MINUTE BEFORE SHE BLOWS SOMETHING THE FUCK UP!” This was anger speaking within Marshall, and he was unable to contain any of it. All things considered, he took the news about quite literally his home being blown up surprisingly lightly, and wasn’t even trying to kill Camille, instead, just shouting at her. @fixie.
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Camille Förster BOT 06-Nov-23 11:27 AM
Camille remained motionless, allowing the scene to unfold and Marshall's words to pierce her heart. Everything felt insignificant as his harsh words kept pouring forth. She could almost feel his anger, his proximity suffocating her. His scent enveloped her, making it hard to breathe for a moment. Her searching eyes tried to find any trace of compassion in his face, but all she seemed to uncover was a deep-seated hatred now directed at her. A shiver coursed through her body, the residual effects of yesterday's hypothermia, and the wine's influence played twisted games on her. She felt as if she were burning up once more, but she remained resolute, maintaining an emotionless gaze fixed on Marshall. She stood like an unwavering seawall, braving the fiercest, stormy waves. The only crack in her composure was a solitary, treacherous tear that traced its path down her cheek. In that moment, she felt like the world's greatest fool, for once letting herself trust a man. There was a reason she had never let anyone close before, and the biggest reason now stood right before her. Marshall's outbursts soon subsided, but Camille continued to regard him with an unyielding gaze, her eyes almost unblinking. With emptiness consuming her from within, she felt as good as dead. Long minutes passed in silence, until Camille's voice, hoarse and quiet, finally broke through the stillness. "You should've let me die and spared yourself the inconvenience. I wouldn't be the first or the last name on your murder list." Another shiver coursed through her, the cool outdoor air meeting her wet body and shirt. She felt lost, uncertain of who she was and what she was doing in this bewildering moment. Nothing made sense anymore, and for once, she felt utterly defeated. Her gaze finally wavered from Marshall's to survey their surroundings, at the destruction she had wrought. She felt a pang of guilt stab at her heart, but there was nothing that could make amends. Taking another swig from the wine b
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ottle she clutched, she hoped it would offer some semblance of solace. In her dizziness, another giggle escaped her, the previous absurdity flashing before her eyes. Moments later, she found herself laughing even harder, tears streaming down her face. "A few days ago, I had the most unforgettable night of my life... with a murderer," she managed between fits of laughter. "And then he fished me out of a river, and I demolished his house." Her laughter echoed through the living room, tears flowing freely. The wine sent another wave of dizziness through her body, and it seemed as if Camille were on the brink of a nervous breakdown. @hammondwalsh
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Marshall Judge BOT 06-Nov-23 11:40 AM
Marshall by then was speechless, he almost had lost his voice, and now just remained silent at the chuckles heard by Camille. He watched as she happily drank a wine that he never even intended to taste himself. As Marshall watched the bottle being almost empty, with the light reflecting through it giving him that hint, he actually reached out for it, pulled it from Camille’s grip, and took a swing of it himself. His anger remained, but his exhaustion, and his overwhelmed state played into him quieting down. Once the bottle was properly empty, Marshall just hurled it carelessly into the open garage, it was that last scream of anger, as he just slowly lowered himself down to his knees, just to sit down on the drenched floor. Through the anger he couldn’t even savor what he was drinking, far too blinded by the rage to enjoy it, a loud sigh escaped his lips as Camille kept speaking, with his head lowering down. “I fell for a fucking cop… And she fucking… Blew it all up. All of it...A cop.” Marshall mumbled through his teeth, only to let out a little chuckle towards the end himself, this situation wasn’t just worthy of a joke, it felt surreal, the murderer seemingly had more sense than the noble and protective agent with whom he was dealing. “You crazy bitch…” He stated, as his head was lowered down, his head wasn’t even able to process the issues that were surrounding them both. @fixie.
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Camille Förster BOT 06-Nov-23 11:59 AM
As Marshall threw the empty wine bottle into the garage, Camille couldn't help but flinch. Her sense of safety in this situation was fragile at best, a whisper of doubt that her life hung by a tenuous thread. She instinctively wrapped her arms around herself, seeking any semblance of warmth as a relentless shiver settled in, causing her teeth to clatter together. Her heart ached as she watched Marshall kneel down, lowering his head, a fleeting moment of vulnerability. Camille gazed down at him, her own body trembling. She stood in the midst of a demolished house, devoid of any means of escape. Her gaze fixed upon the open entrance door, revealing only a road leading away from it, the horizon obscured by a dense thicket of trees. Panic overwhelmed her senses, and with a shiver, a sob escaped her. Camille had faced countless moments of unbearable pain in her life, but she had always remained resolute. Yet, the brush with death and the profound betrayal had severed the thread that held her together. Alone with a man she barely knew but who had come to mean everything, she had no refuge. There was nowhere to run or hide, and Camille had to confront the stark reality. She had to acknowledge her lack of control over the situation, and another sob escaped her chest. Dizziness gripped her, intensifying the impact of Marshall's hurtful words. She scanned their surroundings once more, panic coursing through her body. Breathing grew increasingly difficult, and Camille fought back the sobs. The world around her had taken on a nightmarish, grotesque quality. The thought briefly crossed her mind that this might be the end. Her body met the sofa as she continued to step back, leaning against it, her hand clutching her chest as she winced. "I'm sorry. Please, don't kill me... I promise I won't tell anyone who you are," her voice ruptured through the deafening silence. Faced with the prospect of death and Marshall himself, she could only plead for forgiveness.
11:59
@hammondwalsh
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Marshall Judge BOT 06-Nov-23 12:10 PM
Marshall found himself in a state of disbelief, he was still struggling to process just what had happened, everything was already sorted, he waited for a long, well deserved shower, true, but being soaked and drenched in water from the fire suppression system was not the kind of shower he expected. He really didn’t even know what to do, how to react, he didn’t even know what would happen from now on as he had lost so much, because of this wild woman that stood beside him. When he heard her pleading tone, there was something within him that went to aggression again, the pleading for forgiveness after what she had done just threw Marshall back into his aggression, he couldn’t even stand the idea that a woman like her was something that he craved as badly as he did, he was disgusted, annoyed, angry at himself, she was a cop, and a fucking crazy one at that. When Marshall’s legs jumped up into action, soon Camille would find herself with Marshall’s hands around her neck, but instead of the passionate and “sexual” intent behind that, this time it was aggression and violence that drove him. However, when Camille flinched and just didn’t even fight back, the grip that was meant to choke her, to take her life away, never came. Marshall just kept his arms around Camille’s neck, and locked his eyes with hers. He could not bring himself to hurt her no matter how much she angered him, even a full blown “explosion” such as the one she witnessed right now didn’t bring his hands on her, now wasn’t different either, he stood there for a few mere moments with his hands around Camille’s neck, before slowly lowering them down, looking at Camille with a very annoyed frown, due to that standing much ,much closer once more. “My car… You didn’t even spare my joy, my pride… And yet you’re still standing here… Because I can’t do anything to your fucking psychotic but gorgeous face.”
12:11
This was stated in a much quieter tone, Marshall pretty much told Camille what he had on his mind at that moment, he wanted to kill her, he really felt the fire burning in his soul, longing for revenge for this, but his body wouldn’t move, it wouldn’t lash out on Camille, he just got caught up on her too hard, and if Camille had any doubts about his "truthfulness" about his feelings with her, this was quite an impressive display to confirm his words.
12:11
@fixie.
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Camille Förster BOT 06-Nov-23 12:32 PM
As Marshall lunged toward her, Camille felt her body pressing against the sofa behind her, almost toppling over. But his hands reached out to catch her, fingers finding their way to her neck. Her wide, tearful eyes locked onto his, like a deer caught in the glare of approaching headlights. Tears continued to stream down her cheeks, but her voice had been stolen by fear. Her body struggled to function, her skin tingling with a searing heat, a lingering reminder of the hypothermia she had endured the previous night. She made desperate attempts to gasp for air, even though his grip on her neck was not as suffocating as it could have been. Her instincts clung to the hope of a few last breaths before any catastrophic harm befell her, and Camille braced herself for the inevitable, her heart racing. When his hands finally released her neck, she felt her knees buckle beneath her. His words struck her deeply, igniting a battle within her between what she had believed was right and what her heart now yearned for. Collapsing to the ground alongside the sofa, her hand briefly clung to Marshall's jacket as a sob escaped her chest. She slipped further down, her naked knees making painful contact with the unforgiving wooden floor. Her breathing grew rapid, and the world seemed to close in around her. She knelt by his shoes, her trembling hands briefly brushing against his thighs, and a high-pitched voice escaped her, battling through the sobs that enveloped her being. "I'm sorry. I don't want to die. I just want to be free," she confessed, a heavy sob breaking through. Dizziness made her head tilt until it found solace against his thigh. It was as if Camille's entire belief system had been shattered and reassembled into a new, unfamiliar image. In this moment, her past principles mattered not; it was who she had become that counted. The delirious heat coursing through her body, fueled by the wine, sang a song of forgiveness. The spark of fight within her was finally vanished.
12:32
@hammondwalsh
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Marshall Judge BOT 06-Nov-23 12:55 PM
Instead of aggression, when Camille just collapsed, she wasn’t left there to lay in the cold water, Marshall bent over, and quietly scooped her back up. He actually raised her up by her back and the back of her legs, almost a “throwback” to the moment when he picked her up from the hospital. He wasn’t happy, but he knew that sulking about this whole mess was pointless, the damage was already done, and now they were just suffering while being all wet and drenched. He quietly carried a half naked Camille upstairs, directly into the shower. In some more “scary” thoughts, she could maybe imagine that he’d go there to drown her, or something along those lines, but instead, once upstairs and in the bathroom, Marshall just calmly let her down, letting out a loud sigh from his lips “Clean yourself up… I have some clothes you can put on, and.. Get back in fucking bed…” After he said that, Marshall walked back, collected the bag, that by some miracle had landed on a mostly dry island of “safety” within the soaked first floor, as he just calmly walked into the bathroom, and set the bag down, something that he had bought for her, as he really didn’t have any women’s clothes at his home prior to this. @fixie.
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Camille Förster BOT 07-Nov-23 03:13 AM
Camille's heart raced as Marshall unexpectedly lifted her, causing her body to tense with uncertainty. She felt utterly defeated, as if her entire world had crumbled, akin to the wooden floors in the living room. The desire to scream welled up inside her, yet no sound escaped her constricted throat. An internal battle raged, with uncertainty engulfing her. Their destination was a surprise, the bathroom, where she was gingerly placed. Marshall's words felt more like commands than suggestions, and she couldn't fully trust him. His touch on her neck evoked fear, even though he didn't choke her. She was all too aware of Brutus's crimes and suspected Marshall was no different. She needed to play along to gain his trust and, hopefully, ensure her survival. She wasn't sure when she'd be able to escape this place. Camille decided to seize the only option she had: removing her shirt and stepping into the glassed-off shower. For a moment, she marveled at the spacious shower with stone-covered walls, a dream come true. As she stood behind the glass wall, her eyes briefly met a mirror on the opposite side, revealing a nasty bruise across her chest, smaller ones on her legs, and cuts on her hands. A sigh escaped her lips, and she quickly turned on the water. The warm cascade against her skin felt like a comforting embrace, and she leaned against the wall, letting the water wash away her worries. The rain shower calmed the turmoil inside her. She began to contemplate her escape options, but one thing was clear: she had to somehow contact her workplace and let them know she was okay. She knew her disappearance would lead to complications and potentially strain her relationship with Marshall even more. Camille stood under the soothing shower for a half-hour, nearly drifting into slumber as dizziness and fever overcame her. She eventually roused herself, drying off with the first towel she found. She wondered what clothing Marshall had brought her and eagerly rifled through the bag.
03:13
To her surprise, there were various outfits, causing her to vacillate between fearing his intent to keep her captive for a longer time and being touched by his thoughtfulness. She settled on a brown sweater that complemented her brown eyes and black jogging pants for comfort. The longer she stood undressed, the more the chill of the spacious bathroom seeped into her skin. Taking a deep breath, Camille exited the bathroom, unsure if Marshall would be waiting. The situation was an unpredictable haze, with everything blending into an unknown image. She couldn't discern whether she would encounter Brutus or Marshall on the other side, her mind still struggling to separate the two figures, a desperate grasp at sanity. Though she knew she could dash to the walk-in closet and potentially secure a weapon, exhaustion weighed her down. She needed to build trust to save her own life. Without paying much attention to her surroundings, she made her way to the bed, slipping under the heavy blankets as per his instructions. The setting sun outside mirrored her diminishing strength, and she wondered if anyone had reported her missing or found her wrecked car. Answers remained elusive as she sat on the bed, enveloped by the thick blankets, hoping Brutus would keep her alive long enough to escape.
03:13
@hammondwalsh
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Marshall Judge BOT 08-Nov-23 02:36 AM
By the time Camille made her way out of the shower, she would encounter Marshall who was walking about and around the premises, inspecting the insides of his own house. His face was of clear shock, despite the outburst before, that seemingly had left him tired, he was still in disbelief of what went down. When he noticed a slow moving Camille, who was barely on her feet, he just diverted his eyes and didn’t say a word to her, it would by then become clear just how much this changed his standing with her, he clearly didn’t want to see her, to the point where he just sped his pace up and walked away, leaving Camille to make her way to bed and to rest. While Camille was in bed, she would every so often hear a scream, a punch, a kick, or some other “signs of life” from Marshall downstairs, as he was currently working on clearing the debris that were left behind, at least the ones that he could get out of the way himself. It was about 3 or 4 hours of this, until at some point, it went quiet again. There were no signs of Marshall while it was already dark outside. If Camille was even still awake, it’d be “quite the chance” for her escape, even though she didn’t exactly know where she was, or where to head. You didn’t have to be a genius to know that wherever they were at, it was remote enough for commutes to mostly be done by car, and their cars, at least the ones that were safe to drive were now nothing other than a pile of charred metal. It was a true miracle that the explosion from the damaged vehicles didn’t damage anything “critical” within the house, and it stood firm, most likely due to all the reinforcement being done to it. This long walk back and forth, of literal hours, had exhausted Marshall to a point where he really was just barely standing on his feet, he had made his way to one of his stashes, for some money, some clothing, and best of all, a new inconspicuous car which he had to park outside, as his garage was helplessly ruined.
02:36
He picked up one of the vehicles that he had stashed all the way in the city, it was a rather dirty grey 2018 F-150 XLT Super Crew Ford, a 4-door pickup truck with a covered bed, it was registered to a “Rental company”, that only existed on papers. Still with quite a lot of pent-up anger in him, Marshall made his way upstairs after coming back home at about 1 am. He didn’t even care if Camille was still there at all, but when she was in bed, passed out after all the struggle and a long day, he made his way over, set a bag from a McDonald’s, with the same order she asked for last time they were at her house, the same milkshake, and same fries, along with the rest of her order. Marshall just gently nudged her shoulder, and in a surprisingly calm tone stated, “I’ve got you dinner”, which was almost a whisper, clearly trying to not scare Camille of course. He was very much angry at her, but he knew she needed to eat, and that after all, being angry at her wouldn’t resolve any of the issues that he now faced. Besides that, despite all her attempts at making him hate her, even though he was upset, even though he spent half of the ride home yelling like a maniac just to vent his frustration, cursing her, her whole department, and pretty much the entire world for solely existing, he still felt attracted to Camille. @fixie.
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Camille Förster BOT 08-Nov-23 06:49 AM
The longer Camille sat under the heavy blankets on the bed, the more her fears swelled. The distant sounds of Marshall's screams and shouts, along with the clattering of objects and rustling, fueled her imagination about what might be happening behind closed doors. As the sun set beyond the window, an unease settled within her. A nagging feeling told her that someone had likely noticed her absence. It was a workday, and she hadn't shown up. The cacophonous noises downstairs were jarring, yet paradoxically reassuring, as they seemed to indicate that as long as Marshall was causing a commotion downstairs, she was relatively safe upstairs in the bedroom. The doors of the walk-in closet beckoned her, her heart racing as she revisited her plan of action. Despite the haze in her head, she had to remain vigilant and secure herself. At a certain point, she couldn't resist the pull any longer. Camille carefully listened for noises downstairs before swiftly slipping out of bed and creeping through the bedroom, attempting to be as quiet as possible. She rushed into the walk-in closet and slipped inside. The array of weapons was unsettling, but she had a specific one in mind. Her eyes settled on a conventional firearm, and she quickly retrieved it. Her hands moved on autopilot as she loaded the gun with a magazine and bullets. She returned to the bed, contemplating where to hide it. If she needed to protect herself, she couldn't afford to be defenseless. Placing the gun under the pillow wasn't an option, but the bedside table with a drawer seemed suitable. She opened the drawer and carefully stashed the loaded gun inside, ensuring the handle faced the bed, allowing for quick access in case Marshall decided to bring her harm. Back in bed, Camille endured hours of agonizing uncertainty. Every loud noise from below made her flinch, but eventually, silence descended upon the residence. Her eyes involuntarily closed, and she drifted into a restless nap, plagued by horrifying images.
06:49
Every rustle of the wind outside jolted her awake, only to be pulled back into darkness. She clung to the hope of escaping this ordeal and finding safety once more. Her mind played tricks on her, torn between Marshall and Brutus, still unable to fully separate these figures. Her breaths grew shallow, and cold sweat coated her body, but she fought to maintain her sanity. Suddenly, something ripped her from her sleep – it was Marshall nudging her shoulder. It appeared harmless, but it made her flinch, and her hand instinctively gripped the mattress's edge. She wanted to reach for the gun, but she realized she had to keep it hidden in the drawer for a fair chance. The paper bag he presented to her surprised her, prompting her to sit up and inspect its contents. She noticed that Marshall had ordered the same meal she once wanted, and it tugged at her heartstrings. She wasn't hungry, her body still in fight-or-flight mode, but she reached for the milkshake. Camille knew she had to maintain an air of gratitude, to make him believe she was no longer hostile. She sipped the milkshake quietly, leaning against the wall behind the bed, and cautiously stealing glances at Marshall. His expression remained inscrutable, and she couldn't discern his thoughts, intensifying her inner turmoil. She wasn't sure what to say, but she knew what she had to say. It gnawed at her from the inside, setting off all her internal alarms. "You know, they probably think I've gone missing. I... I don't know what you want from me, and I have no evidence against you. I promised not to reveal your identity to anyone. But I can't stop them if they start looking for me," she gulped, almost choking on the milkshake as she tried to force it down her throat. "Can I make a call?"
06:49
@hammondwalsh
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Marshall Judge BOT 08-Nov-23 08:21 AM
Marshall didn’t even intend to stay with her, in fact, after setting the bag down and waking her up, he had already turned his back towards her, walking away from what was essentially his bedroom. He only stopped at the mention of a call, and her “odd” begging, as he looked over his shoulder with his eyes narrowed down, clearly confused at this statement and at her words. Marshall held a pause, as he slowly brought his arms up to his chest, folding them in front of himself. The absolute last thing he really wanted to see right now was her, and the only reason he even brought her to his house in the first place was to save her life, and now she was talking about promises, and evidence, as if someone was keeping there against her own will. This once again irritated Marshall even further, as he turned around on his heel, with his arms still crossed as he finally spoke to her, having spent the good amount of an afternoon in silence, just avoiding her entirely. “Probably missing? Looking for you? What the fuck are you on about?” He was much less “nice” with her now, and with plenty of reason to back him up of course, his eyes narrow and his tone rougher, he was not happy, but he didn’t look like a threat to her at all. He just stood in the doorway as he was trying to process these thoughts, only to rise a brow at the mention of a call “I couldn’t care less, you could’ve used the phone that was downstairs…. Oh wait, you fucking blew it up, with like half of my fucking house.” Despite this was a pretty emotional sentence that he just said, his words lacked that emotion, he was pretty much drained at that point, there was so much that went down in so little time, that by now he just didn’t have it in him to even try and display whatever was left in his powder barrels, it was easy to see that those reserves were well drained by now after all that Marshall had gone through.
08:21
As his mind was racing through the options, he then suddenly froze, looking at Camille with an intent gaze, much different from he had displayed before, with his own two eyes widening as the realization hit him, the begging for mercy, and the insanity that she did to his property was her trying to escape. “No fucking way… There’s no way…” He muttered to himself as he stared at a Camille, who was clearly frozen in fear, he had assumed that this fear showed up when he yelled and almost choked her, not realizing that it came far before that, with his eyes still as wide as two plates “I refuse to believe you’d be stupid enough to really think I kidnapped you, and I’m keeping you here against your will, with a… FUCKING ARMORY two steps from you!” When Marshall was saying this, he was in clear disbelief of his own words, he couldn’t even fathom how insane someone had to be to believe they were being held against their will, without even as much as being restrained.
08:21
@fixie.
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