[saintblade]

    indie , 18+ , semi-selective

       para / novella-preferred ,  au / oc friendly , &  heavily  headcanon-developed .

           rules .        dossier one .        dossier two .

                 blog roll .        brought  to  life  by  vincent .

[saintblade]

        𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚂 𝚁𝙴𝙿𝙾𝚁𝚃  ::  𝙳𝙴𝙻𝚃𝙰 𝚂𝚄𝙱𝙹𝙴𝙲𝚃

      You gotta learn some stealth, Dresden. It’s gonna come back to bite you in the ass.

      Ramirez’s words rang in my mind as I caught the shine of a badge in Reardon’s hand. The warden and I were often teamed up together on missions for the White Council. My usual methods were a bit too loud for the clandestine nature of Council missions. Ramirez liked subtlety and I liked to go boom in other words. Looks like his warning had come to pass though. We’d been romping around the land down under for a couple weeks, stomping out every Red Court vampire, and subsequent ghouls, that we could find. Despite all the fire and occasional gun fights, I thought we’d managed to stay under the radar of the local authorities. But since there was now an agent of the ISO standing at my door, it appeared I was wrong. Not that I knew what the ISO was anyway. I don’t remember ever hearing about it, not that I’m well-versed in the governmental organizations of Australia.

      Well, a few of those missions had started to take place near more urban centers, so maybe being spotted shouldn’t have been a surprise.

      Did he say he was a security advisor? So not a government agent then. ISO must be a private security firm or something. That answered a few questions but raised even more. He had to be here about the attacks, the coincidence was anything but. The question was how much did he actually know? The world of magic has been around longer than most of the countries of the world. Despite that, it’s still managed to stay under the radar of most governments, at least as far as I could tell. People had a way of denying the abnormal to an almost shocking degree. Hell, I knew people who’d faced down trolls and demons and still denied their existence.

      “I think that depends, Agent Reardon.” I wasn’t sure if ‘agent’ was the appropriate title here, but better safe than sorry. “Does the, uh, ISO have jurisdiction here? I’m afraid I won’t be much help to you, unless it’s a local matter. What sort of questions did you have?”

               𝙹𝙰𝙲𝙺’𝚂 𝙿𝙾𝚂𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙽𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻 𝚂𝙴𝙲𝚄𝚁𝙸𝚃𝚈 𝙾𝙵𝙵𝙸𝙲𝙴  was that of a specialist security adviser, which meant he was responsible for the security of australian dignitaries while they were abroad.  when he wasn’t providing protection overseas, he was at canberra HQ, drawing up security plans or forming specialized task groups, as the ISO also operated as an intelligence hub for various government departments.  however, for all that he supposedly did under the stamp of lawful authority, jack wasn’t law enforcement, and the ISO was nothing more than a cover many office assets maintained for their intelligence-gathering actions.

the office of counterterrorism and intelligence, colloquially known as ❛the office❜, didn’t exist in public records, and the australasian meta-state it operated under was an invisible entity.

jack was an asset of the office, paid to safeguard citizens from dangerous forces.  forces such as the late samuel valadian, an obscenely wealthy wanna-be domestic terrorist with a god-complex, or ethan blade, the seventh-ranked assassin in the world.  horror-inspiring legend; cold-blooded and calculating and willing to kill anyone, anywhere, for the right price—according to hearsay and third-hand accounts.  although general opinion on ethan had shifted drastically over the passing months, the man’s lethal reputation hadn’t changed, nor his triple-digit kill count.

                it was jack’s job to assess the unknown, and if ever deemed necessary, neutralize the potential threats discovered.

❝no worries, mr. dresden.  i’m aware of how precious your free time is to you.  if all goes to plan, i’ll be out of your hair before you know it.  we could get started now, though perhaps someplace more private?❞  aiming for an invitation inside, jack let his glance drift past the wary man into the apartment, where dark shapes seemed to creep in the shadows.  another stir of movement narrowed his eyes.

               what in the bloody hell was that?  a disproportionately overweight pet?  a pet bear?   oh, jesus fucking christ.   was it legal to own a bear in the states?

❝you got any pets?❞ jack inquired, taking another surreptitious sweep of the shadows beyond before sending word back to lewis and the team.  streaming a live feed would require too intense concentration but attempting to juggle multiple conversations was risky — OW, SHIT!   shooting pain startled jack into stifling a feigned sneeze, his left temple suddenly throbbing.  what the fuck?   shit, shit, shit.   now was so not the time for a technical malfunction.

playing it off like a true professional, jack sniffled, glassy eyes bright and his smile understandably a tad sheepish.     ❝your call, mr. dresden.❞

[saintblade]

         𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚂 𝚁𝙴𝙿𝙾𝚁𝚃  ::  𝙳𝙴𝙻𝚃𝙰 𝚂𝚄𝙱𝙹𝙴𝙲𝚃​

       My day started in what had unfortunately become an unusual fashion as of late. I woke up in my bed, having slept a full 8 hours. Ever since the War with the Red Court had been started by some idiotic young wizard with a grudge killing Bianca St. Claire, a representative of the bloodsuckers, I had been traveling across the country and the world having to take the fight to the vamps. Damn him. Okay it was me, but to be fair she did kidnap my girlfriend and turn her into a half-vampire intending for her to kill me and complete her transformation. Yeah my life is…complicated. I got up and made a simple breakfast, some hashbrowns and eggs with a can of coke for me and Mister, the wildebeest I called my cat. He lapped it up with nary a thanks or even an acknowledgement.

      There was a grunt and an exhale of breath, and the small carpet in the middle of the room stood up and shambled over to me. Mouse was a temple dog and had grown larger than I expected and I think was still growing. He carefully avoided getting near Mister and leaned against me, nearly knocking me over in the process. I gave him a scratch on the head, but he suddenly straightened up, looking towards the door.

      “What’s up, Mouse? We got company?”

      No sooner had I said it when a knock sounded at the door. Dogs. Keener senses than any person. I hesitated, wondering whether I really wanted to be bothered on a very rare day off. I glanced at the door to my lab, thinking about all the things I had planned to get done today. A project I’d been working on in my spare time needed my attention. Mouse looked up at me and chuffed.

      “Yeah, you’re right.” I sighed and shuffled to the door. The steel frame was heavy and damaged after a small army of zombies tried to bust it down, so it took a few good tugs to open. When I finally did, I was met with a clean cut man, medium height and build. Slight accent, what was that? Australian?

      “Can I help you?”

               𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙼𝙾𝙽𝙳𝙰𝚈 𝙼𝙾𝚁𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙱𝚁𝙸𝙴𝙵𝙸𝙽𝙶 , mcintosh had implied ❛delta subject❜ required minor finishing touches before it could move from tier two passive surveillance—a phone tap fed into a program scanning for keywords and phrases, searching for the subject near high-risk targets, and no active following or interaction—to tier three surveillance, which entailed a field asset like jack.  yet the dossier given to lewis was practically in the infantile stages of development, lacking even rudimentary data such as delta subject’s exact age or current profession.

lewis had written off mcintosh’s blatant lie as a way for her to save face in front of the other directors, and jack had conceded only because interdepartmental politics were murky and confusing enough without international pressures coming down on them.  however, her decision to forgo standard OP preparations in favor of condensing what would have been days of objective discussions into one caffeine-fueled evening had been far more difficult to explain, let alone excuse.  jack understood an increasing body count warranted a rapid response, but moving so dangerously fast defeated the whole purpose of his job.  what was a covert investigation good for if operatives were ill-equipped to survive the field?

absolutely nothing was jack’s honest opinion, so what the fuck was he doing here alone?  ex-military or not, why the fuck didn’t he have backup?  this was a two-man job given the alleged context, but more than that, lewis had seen the australian CCTV footage, therefore had to have known their subject was tall—NBL-worthy tall—markedly taller than jack’s already above-average height of six-two, and robust as well, with the contour of a man naturally active rather than the physique of someone who frequented a gym.

❝jack reardon, specialist security adviser of the australian ISO.❞   flashing his badge, jack produced his best rendition of a friendly business smile, though his efforts seemed to bounce off the man.   fuck.   jack should have vetoed lewis’s solo approach right from the start—or at least countered it with the suggestion that he kiss jack’s ass.

          unease rumbled in his throat as he tried to clear it.  ❝i think you know why i’m here, mr. dresden.  if it’s no trouble, i’d like to ask you a few questions.  is now a good time?❞

[saintblade]

               𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽 𝙹𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙳𝙾𝙽 𝚁𝙾𝙻𝙻𝙴𝙳 𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝙱𝙴𝙳 𝙰𝚃 𝚂𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙽 𝙰𝙼 𝙾𝙽 𝙰 𝙼𝙾𝙽𝙳𝙰𝚈 𝙼𝙾𝚁𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶 ,  he’d expected the usual routine.  a brisk shower, one piping hot cup of coffee served alongside a hearty breakfast—that jack wouldn’t have the time to clean up before needing to leg it to work—and his current unit leader’s voice in his head, droning on and on as he rode his motorcycle to work.    it all went to plan.    shower, coffee, two plates of grilled tomato and mushroom over eggs and bacon.  having kept the kitchen clutter to a minimum, ethan had been in fine spirits, thus breakfast had been pleasant all around, if wonderfully domestic for a change.  moreover this time, when jack scooped up his helmet and slapped a quick goodbye kiss on his partner’s cheek, he hadn’t been running late.

it should’ve been his first warning, really.  that and, while on his way to the office, lewis thomas, jack’s best friend and workmate and occasional unit leader, never pinged.  instead jack received a recorded message informing all ITA assets of a department-wide briefing to take place at nine.    jack wasn’t aware that was even a thing.    more baffling were the bits and pieces he caught before it ended.  garbled murmuring in the background, typical work jargon mixed with rather thought-provoking terminology, enough so that jack couldn’t help but run it through his neural implant while weaving through sydney's morning traffic.

            UNIDENTIFIABLE.  EXSANGUINATION.                               OVERSEAS.  MILITARY.  PATTERN.

all in all, some pretty fuckin’ bizarre if weirdly specific shit.  and it was only after parking his bike that jack began to question if any of it was pertinent to the briefing.​​

​it turned out jack’s hunch was on the money.   however, that was more or less the point in which logical prospects flew out the window.     with nine years in the military and five years with the office tucked under his belt, jack had seen a lot of shit in his thirty-six years on earth.  but never had jack witnessed such a respected superior go off the deep end quite like ITA director donna mcintosh had when she concluded the department-wide briefing with the explicit impression that a string of identical, pattern-bearing homicides had nothing to do with an unorthodox serial killer, and everything to do with supernatural creatures laying waste to human life.     namely, vampires.      … // @blackstonedresden​

jack wasn’t sure which fact dismayed him more; the alien vampires he’d imagined actually seemed much closer to the sort from twilight, or that mcintosh had all but singled him out for the case.     at least lewis’s stifled laughter clammed up when mcintosh appointed him unit leader.

               𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝙷𝙾𝚆 𝙹𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙳𝙾𝙽 ,  former SAS soldier and current australian meta-state asset, ended up in chicago, illinois—alone as himself for whatever god-forsaken reason—jet-lagged to hell and knocking on a stranger’s door at nine in the morning.  jack wasn’t too bothered about his lack of back up though, even if beyond this door was a man his government seriously suspected to be a vampire or extraterrestrial blood-sucker, albeit the latter more jack’s unsubstantiated wager than the office’s.

then, the door swung open and jack wore his best smile before sliding into a generic american accent.   ❝g’mornin’, sir.  are you harry dresden?❞

[saintblade]

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