Subplot: Ring the Bell (Christian Thorne)

Storyteller Note:
This subplot is meant to primarily involve the PC detailed in the subject line. It will be more involved and contain more detail than some previous plot points and be treated as a sort of “mini-adventure” for the PC involved. These Subplot stories are meant to allow characters to flex a bit and “star” in their own little stories. Feel free to involve any other PCs as you go along as you wish. My preference as Storyteller would be that you not include too many for events that will require rolling dice as it will take up a LOT more time.

As an additional note, these Subplots are meant to introduce aspects of Arsenal and its citizens supernatural and mundane through organic story.

This one happens to involve the Silent Prowlers. See here for more information:
The Silent Howlers

"...our innovative software is the backbone of the app industry. Huge files, tremendous quantities of information, accessed in a heartbeat all at the touch of a button because of our decompression. Before us, the world was small and far away. With us, you can play anything. Watch everything. See everywhere, all on a tiny device that fits in your pocket. We are Bell Laboratories and we invite you to come to our new job fair this coming Saturday. Don't waste away your future any longer. Be the agent of change. Walk to the door."

Christian smirked at the screen and mouthed right along with the commercial.

"Ring the Bell."

The Ithaeur rolled his eyes and kept tap-tap-tapping away at the keyboard fingers flying a hundred miles an hour. "Work, work, all I do is work." Delving past the secret history people thought no one would ever see, the hacker bobbed his head to the invisible music in his head. The television kept playing that same infomercial that had been playing for weeks now.

He didn't care. This was his job. And it was a lot better than hooking up to some giant company that would suck his soul through a firewire and stick his shell of a body in a cubicle.

"Gotcha."

He was in. In a few minutes he would have every secret the banker's wife desired. In a few days, her payment and her thanks, cash in hand and maybe a little something on the side if he played it right.

The screen blipped. Wobbled. A sound like sucking hissed and echoed. Before Christian could react, it surged on past and kept going.

He felt it, at the base of his spine like a humming coil of power.

The screen was black. The information, all his work, was gone.

"What the fuck?"

His phone rang.

Christian flipped off the blank screen and eyed the phone suspiciously. Despite the software he had added it hadn't traced the number. Instead, UNKNOWN flashed with each ring. The ringing stopped and then immediately started again. Someone was trying hard to reach him.

A text pinged up at the same time. Answer your phone.

"What the double fuck?"

Christian pressed the little green button and a woman was talking before he could even say hello.

"You were sitting in the chair, leaned back with a Monster in hand when it raced through your systems and shut you down. It flexed you like it did me. It'll come back and next time it won't be so nice."

The Iron Master frowned.

"We need to talk. Can you meet me tonight? There's a bench in the park in Soma I've verified safe and secure. THEY won't hear us or get into our brains."

Jesus Christ why can't anything be normal?


Storyteller Note: Thorne knows that the Silent Howlers live in Soma (see the Silent Howlers link above) and he knows that Jackie K is...off.

Image is Franz Morgan


Sal Bell threw open the metal door with a clang and it bounced back just in time to catch his twitchy assistant in the face with a spray of blood. Sal heard the scream and the broken bone, but he did not care.

He stormed forward through a hall of glass and steel and did not look up. He would not look into the security cameras. He would not give them satisfaction. Not them. Not him.

He stopped just before the thick, clear doors of his company's most important sub-division. Two words floated in block letters at eye level:

Imaginative Design

"Fuck you."

The doors opened without a sound. "Thank you, Salamander Bell. You are welcomed."

"Fuck. You."

Sal stormed forward into a huge open underground lab. THE lab. He looked around at all the scurrying figures, each avoiding his gaze. Most of them were afraid. Some, he had to admit, were so wrapped up in their work that they didn't even notice he was there.

"Where the fuck is he?"

A woman stopped. She wore a lab coat and absolutely nothing else. Sal was used to this. Her boss, his subordinate, had told him it was necessary to avoid any potential static charge. The operations were sensitive.

She had a spectacular body, but Sal could not be bothered to care.

"Where?"

She pointed and immediately went back to work.

Sal composed himself. He noticed his assistant, bloody nose and all, slip up behind him. The young woman was crying, but doing it quietly.

Good for her.

Sal walked into the office of his VP of Imaginative Design and waited. Franz Morgan stood facing a wall of screens constantly gliding past with information. Words, numbers, and images all streamed by in a dizzying array that Sal could not understand. He did not want to even try.

The strange man just kept staring, either not noticing or ignoring the CEO. Sal understood that it was probably not the latter, but the act grated on him nonetheless.

"What do you need, Sal?" Franz's voice was automatic. Empty. Mechanical.

"Your tech is out. The contract we made with the United States fucking government has been violated in gross fashion. And it won't be long before they know. The Defense Department is going to shut us down."

Franz did not turn. His eyes scanned the information and a small smile twisted his features. He gestured with a finger and a door opened.

"Sal, you've met M.A.R.Y.?"

The CEO cringed reflexively as the "woman" entered the room from a small cubby in the wall. How long she had been in there was anyone's guess.

M.A.R.Y.

No one knew what the acronym stood for, but every knew who she - it - was. She was the reason that Imaginative Design stayed so far ahead of the competition. She was the reason Sal had given Franz the autonomy necessary to operate with impunity. Many believed her to be an A.I. created by Franz, though now one knew how or why or what she could do.

She came out with new ideas daily. Better designs of existing tech. New ways of creating the old. She was better, stronger, faster, and more intelligent than any other single person Sal had ever met. And he knew a lot of smart people.

"I'm not here to talk about her, Franz. I'm here to talk about the military. And the virus."

M.A.R.Y. turned with a soft smile. She was a pixie-ish woman with a cute, quirky smile. Her eyes mirrored the stream of information that flew past on Franz's screens.

"There is no need to worry, Salamander Bell. Everything is under control."

Franz grinned. "Everything is under control, Sal. You see?"

Sal felt his fists clench. He stared at the back of the VP's head and pondered beating the shit out of the man. Almost as if he could read his mind, Franz moved. His hands had been in front of him, unseen. Now, two bats crossed back over his shoulders in an X.

Franz didn't move.

M.A.R.Y. didn't move.

The work of Imaginative Design continued, unhindered by the confrontation. The assistant bled.

Not for the first time - and certainly not the last - Sal Bell regretted his decision to hire this man.

"Come on Sal," Franz chuckled. "We are racing ahead of the competition. Devouring the future." He turned with both bats on his shoulders. "Try to keep up."