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+--- Thread: S.H.I.E.L.D: Operation Rogue (/showthread.php?tid=7018)
S.H.I.E.L.D: Operation Rogue - Moon Knight - 05-28-2018
"May I ask Monsieur Jarvis what are we doing in a... Well abandoned factory building?" Frenchie cleared his throat.
Of all the years being with Marc Jean-Paul thought he would be used to weird and awkward locations by know but the abandoned warehouse proved him wrong. Jarvis was a good and reasonable man, so any place they were meeting he probably had some good reason for.
Stepping out from the shadows of the dimly lit room his hands put to his back, the butler gave a brisk smile.
"Becuase my dear friend the age of marvels is already here in this Omniverse and I'm afraid the same dangers from our world, Earth, home, has followed." He slightly nodded before raising his head up.
"So what are we doing here then?" Frenchie raised an eyebrow.
"A good question." Jarvis took his hands from his back revealing a small card in his hands.
Jean-Pual narrowed his eyes toward it.
"You can't be serious?"
"I quite am."
"Shield, mon Dieu."
Taking DuChamp's arm Jarvis placed the card in his palm.
"I myself never imagined that one day I would go from butler to the Avengers to standing director of Shield. I may not be Nick Fury but I've come to the point that this world needs more than just the Avengers."
Silently Observing the card Frenchie became even more confused. Pocketing the card he looked up to his friend, his face locked in a bewildered look.
"But... Why now?"
Javis gave another smile.
"Because with Hydra running about there's no telling what else could be out there lurking, getting ready to pounce. So, welcome to my plan to make this Omniverse a better place."
"So then, Director Jarvis, What is our next course of action?"
"Get familiar with the locals. There's a local gang in the lower tiers by the name of Westside. From the stories I've heard around, they seem to be the most morally right thing in this... Empire. So in better words, I'd like you and your new associate to talk with them and see if they can be brought to our side."
"New associate?" Frenchie gave another confused look.
"Ah yes, Miss Mercier but she insists you call her Lady Whisperer... Think of her as like Mystique but more like Black Widow... you will see her soon."
"Right, What about Marc and the Avengers?"
Jarvis gave a low sigh.
"I'm working my best on them but the Empire is a stubborn bunch. One more thing, this warehouse is our current base of operations until my transactions are ready for us to move to our new base- The Avengers Mansion." Pointing in front of him insisting for the Frenchmen to turn around. "Those crates over there should have some equipment that you should find useful, your new partner should be here soon, I suggest getting geared up you leave for Coruscant's lower tiers in a half hour."
RE: S.H.I.E.L.D: Operation Rogue - Moon Knight - 06-08-2018
“Et de retour dans la poêle pour ce vieil homme.” Jean-Paul lightly chuckled at his own words as he struggled to pull down his newly acquired slacks.
“I believe you'll find those prosthetic to your liking, I should add that under your suit is light reinforced body armor, in other words, you can take a bullet… or two. Oh, and one more thing Jean Paul.
“Yes?” He retorted to his new director speaking to via earpiece.
“Be sure to give our Lady Whisper a warm welcome.”
Smirking Frenchie snapped his shoulder holster into place before sliding in his pistol, a Luger, into the holster.
“Monsieur Jarvis you insult me. I am Frenchmen being exquisite and charming is my specialty.”
“Charming, is that what you call it?”
“Quelle?”
Jean-Paul shot his gaze behind himself, his face giving off a well-surprised look. There she was, lo and behold. Frenchie couldn’t lie to himself she was beautiful but… no, he was married.
“I would say you’re more daring than anything.”
“Lady Whisper I presume?”
“In the flesh.” She said placing her left hand on her chest. "Metaphorically, of course."
"Were you briefed already? I do not see you carrying gear, no?" Frenchie raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, mon ami," Mercier cooed sarcastically, leaning forward and tapping Frenchie's nose with her index finger. "I'm a professional."
"Oui... I mean." Duchamp cleared his throat pulling his collar. "Yes, I was told you are professional and to be watched- Carefully."
"Ooh, how carefully?" She smirked and turned away. With a slight wiggle of her hips, she chuckled and relaxed. "No need to pretend, DuChamp. We're all S.H.I.E.L.D here."
"Of course, we are spies and better yet we're spies meant to keep the world revolving. There's a matter that must be kept in mind, in the coming hours can I trust you in the field?" His face gestured in a questioning look.
"No." She flicked her hair dismissively. "But would I be a good spy otherwise?
"Perhaps, Perhaps not." Jean-Paul straightened his posture putting his hands behind his back. "Qu'est-ce que tu fais exactement mon cher?" He flipped his language to French. It was a test, a test to see if she was at least... good.
“Vy ne khoteli by znat', na russkom.” Russian? why Russian? Oh… Spies.
"Vy mozhete skazat' mne na lyubom yazyke, yesli tol'ko vashi navyki ne tol'ko yazyki, no i Flirtovat?” He flipped to Russian as well. Flirting and multiple languages? shes good… so far.
Mercier grinned. "We're going to get along just fine."
“Touche, but no really indulge me, miss...?" He narrowed his eyes.
"Whisper. Lady Whisper." She winked. "Until you get to know me better."
"Ah, I see, well then Miss Lady Whisper my question."
"Where's the mystique if I tell you? I like to keep guessing."
"Fine but hear my words-" His words were cut off by the sound of their earpieces
"Lady Whisper, Jean-Paul, your chariot awaits you both out in the back."Jarvis cut in.
"At least someone knows how to treat a lady," she said, winking at Jean-Paul. Her demeanor quickly shifted to a serious tone. "On our way."
“Oui, we are on our way to meet the local gangs. At least I hope they are friendlier then what I fear they are.” Frenchie said taking his right index finger off his earpiece.
RE: S.H.I.E.L.D: Operation Rogue - Centurion - 07-27-2018
It was late, and Stegg was tired of kicking bums off of the empty avenues of Tier 5. He hadn’t become a Stormtrooper so he could patrol the lower tiers for vagabonds. He had joined to quell the Rebellion and honor the Emperor. He glanced up at the dark sky, devoid of stars thanks to the bright lights of the Coruscant skyline above him. Sloughing through trash and filth made him really miss the buzz and bustle of higher tiers. He fiddled with his rifle and glanced back at his partner. Sev was silent, as usual, and maintained a confident stride despite the long hours. Sometimes Stegg envied his friend’s work ethic. Sometimes he loathed it. Today, he was too tired to do either. Stegg’s voice crackled through his helmet, the tone monotonous and bored.
“Hey, Sev, scale of one to ten, how tired are you?”
Sev managed to sound even more exhausted than his partner. “Too tired for your bull right now, Steggy. Just keep walking.”
“Owch.”
Silence fell back over the pair, Stegg maintaining a bit of distance ahead of Sev. Their boots clomped across the sidewalk, providing the only sound in the neighborhood. They rounded a corner into a derelict road leading off into a familiar alley. Most nights they could find almost a dozen men and women holed up in the alleyway for the night. Surprisingly, this time the road was empty. Curiosity piqued, Stegg leaned into the dark alley. He flicked on his helmet-lamps and glanced around. It was still dirty, rank, and repulsive as usual, but something vibrant caught his eye.
“Sev, look at this…”
Stegg’s partner sighed and lugged his weight after his comrade reluctantly. They both stood at the entrance to the alley, lamps illuminating a kaleidoscope of colors on the back wall. Splattered haphazardly, the psychedelic hues blended to create a piercing eye staring back at the Stormtroopers. The words “Westside Hufflepunks” were separated above and below the eye in loose and looping scripts. The paint almost seemed to move and flow in the direction of the swatches and drips.
“Westside? Here? No way.” Stegg took a step deeper into the alley, eyes straining to determine whether the paint was actually moving or not. “I’ve never seen them in this area before.”
Sev glanced around, less enraptured and more off-put by the tag. “We should call this in. that paint looks fresh.”
“Yeah, I think it’s still wet.” Stegg clipped his E-11 to his belt and walked towards the back wall.
“What the HELL do you think you’re doing!?”
“Checking it out, this is crazy man. Weird, but cool.”
“Westside is not cool, Stegg. They’re dangerous, manic, uncontrolled variables with a penchant for anarchy, drug abuse, and hating the Empire.”
“Sev! The paint is wet!” Stegg raised his hand, his index, middle, and ring fingers daubed in the remnants of the tag.
Then there was a blinding burst of crimson light, and Stegg was dead. He smashed into the painted wall with a dull smack, something inside his armor crunching. Slumped limply against the wall decorated with the kaleidoscope eye, his body almost seemed like part of the tag.
“STEGG! Sonofa-”
Sev spun around and raised his rifle, only to feel the air around him harden and launch him backward. He lost his grip on his gun as his back smashed into a dumpster part way into the alley. He smacked into the pavement with a grunt amid raucous laughter.
“Oi, didn’t you see the sign?” A young man, blue hair spiked high into a wild mohawk, entered the alley. “This is Westside territory, love. No Imps allowed.”
He was accompanied by a girl with obscenely long pink hair, a fatter boy with close-cropped verdant curls, and a small posse of other such Westside Hufflepunks. Sev, head still spinning from the Stupefy that had sent him flying, tried weakly to reach for his rifle. The girl hopped forward, stomping her foot down on the E-11 and kicking it away from the Trooper. She grinned, the piercings on her cheeks fitting perfectly into her dimples.
“Mags, help the gentleman up, wouldja?” The blue-haired boy tossed his wand from one hand to the other and stalked towards Sev.
The Trooper was yanked to his knees, still reeling. “Y-you’re under arrest… In the name of the Emperor...”
“Ha! Hear that, lads? I’m under arrest!” The man leaned forward, his face uncomfortably close to Sev’s helmet. “You and what army, love?”
Sev had no response, terror closing his throat.
“Let this be a lesson to you Imps from here on out,” He sneered, pointing with his wand at the painted wall and Stegg’s broken corpse. “These streets belong to the Hufflepunks now. No more goose-stepping up and down the sidewalk in your fancy white armor and scaring folks half to death.”
“Tier 5 is ours,” The green-haired boy grunted.
Sev watched the leader wink at the girl holding him up and lift his wand. The tip leveled with Sev’s eyes, and he could feel the atmosphere press in once more. The blue-haired boy’s lips moved wordlessly, and the Trooper’s head snapped back with a sharp crack. Mags dropped him like a sack of trash, giggling.
“That’s a wrap, lads. Let's keep moving, plenty more masterpieces to paint.”
The Hufflepunks disappeared back into the night, leaving Sev and Stegg all alone in the alley with nothing but the kaleidoscope eye to watch over them.
--
Tier 5 was more than just depressing. It was a rank, repulsive hive of degenerates and low-lives bent on either meager survival or self-righteous anarchy. It left Mercier with a bad taste in her mouth, less due to the moral depravity and more due to the lack of funds which those involved could use to hire her. Tier 5 of coruscant was a fount of potential for a free radical like Elena Mercier, and it almost hurt to see it all squandered on the poor, destitute, and ignorant.
She curled her lip as she watched the dilapidated buildings and burned out tenements slide by the Quinjet’s cockpit windows. She stood just behind Jean-Paul, who flew carefully and quietly to minimize discovery. The flight had been relatively silent, not that Lady Whisper minded. Jean-Paul located the abandoned parking garage they had planned to land on and adjusted the ship’s vectors to maneuver onto the top level. The muffled engines whooshed quietly as the dropship stealthily lowered itself to the concrete amidst a storm of dirt, newspaper, and assorted rubbish. As the wind settled and Jean-Paul went about finalizing their landing, Elena decided to break their otherwise peaceful silence.
“This is a rather unpleasant place, isn’t it.” She brushed back some of her dull grey hair and rolled her shoulders to shake off the long flight.
“Oui.” Frenchie was curt, careful to express himself around the notoriously manipulative woman.
“Why anyone would want to meet here, let alone use it as an operational headquarters is beyond me. To be fair, anyone who thinks ‘Weasel’ is an impressive codename is clearly not the sharpest knife in the drawer.”
Jean-Paul elected to gather his equipment instead of answer the woman.
Mercier accepted his silence and resigned to a rather drab and boring team dynamic. Typical. It was people like Jean-Paul that had inspired Elena to work alone. For now, she was being paid to work alongside him. Here was hoping she’d get a fancy SHIELD badge out of the whole debacle. Lady Whisper blinked, her empty gaze scanning the rooftops ahead of them as her body slowly morphed to blend into their environment. The daubed clay armor that thickened her shoulders and forearms shifted and distended into thick jackets to fend off the cold she could barely feel. The woman’s height shrank and her body thinned to imitate the hungry denizens of Tier 5, although her vanity allowed a pretty face to make up for her lack of form. When she was done, Elena Mercier was a small, thin woman wrapped in a black peacoat and red scarf, hugging her shoulders and rubbing her gloved hands against the hunger and the cold. Her short black hair and pallid skin added to the persona she had created.
She turned, hunching forward to complete the facade, and spoke to Frenchie in an entirely different woman’s voice. “It’ll do us well to hide the Quinjet.”
Jean-Paul suppressed his surprise and simply nodded. “Thankfully, we won’t be here long.”
He gathered his own jacket and hat, pulling it over his holster and Jarvis’ body armor. The two agents trudged away from the Quinjet just as it shimmered and disappeared, cloaked to the naked eye. At the edge of Mercier’s vision, she caught sight of an old man curled up in the corner. He stared at them both with wide, terrified eyes, albeit glassed over with alcohol. Multiple empty bottles sat around his bent knees. Lady Whisper smiled, her empty clay eyes finally taking on a natural blue color. Her grin was accompanied by a wink and a single finger to her lips.
“Shhhhhhhh.”
With that, the two descended down the parking garage, leaving the old man to rub his drink-addled eyes and question his own sanity.