#dem corps

Josie rubbed at her chin.  “I’m not sure I’m a fan of the ‘retro’ look. 

[Continued from here]

Alastor stood at the other end of the roof, leaning against the door that lead back into the building. He had his eyes closed, listening to Josie as she sang. He’d heard her sing before, once, maybe twice. It was rare, and something she did for a purpose, the reason now, he could guess. But he wouldn’t say it aloud, even in company so sparse.

As her voice echoed into the darkness of the night, he listened out, hearing it’s faint reverberations down the streets and through the alleyways. He took a solemn sort of joy in knowing he was probably the only one to hear it in that form, a distant whisper of itself.

Then he heard the crunch of her boots against the roof heading back towards him and he opened his eyes. Quietly he raised an arm, placing it between her and the doorway, baring her access. The look he gave her was one equally as rare as her song, a sense of pure concern, and a frown that seemed to exemplify show the tiredness in his eyes, their intense glow seemingly dulled despite the darkness of the night.

The wind kicked up as Josie exited onto the rooftop of her apartment building, moisture floating in the breeze, promising rain in the near future.  Her booted feet crunched on the gravel of the roof, her jacket fluttering about her.  The past few weeks had been emotionally rough, even for her, and she had to release those emotions somehow, or it would eat her from the inside out.  Training wasn’t going to cut it.  Nor would simply sparring.  She needed release, of a different kind.  Her lips pursed tightly as she placed a foot on the edge of the roof, her fists clenching as she brought them close to her chest, eyes closing, reaching within.

And she began to sing.

It was not often that she sang; if you asked those in the company, it was a myth.  But she did, when she had to give voice to the feelings without actually stating what bothered her.  It allowed her to pour all of her frustration, her joy, her rage, or, as in this instance...her sadness.

“Hello darkness, my old friend I've come to talk with you again Because a vision softly creeping Left it's seeds while I was sleeping And the vision that was planted in my brain Still remains within the sound of silence”

Her voice echoed over the rooftops, filtering into open windows with it’s melancholy rhythm as it lowered into a low mezzo-soprano.  A homeless man, a battered guitar in hand, closed his eyes, letting the song seep into him, and began to strum his guitar to it.

“In restless dreams I walked alone Narrow streets of cobblestone 'Neath the halo of a street lamp I turned my collar to the cold and damp”

From across the way, a few New Yorkers paused and then leaned out their windows, listening in.  Passers by on the streets slowed, the soulful voice reaching out to them. 

“When my eyes were stabbed By the flash of a neon light That split the night And touched the sound of silence”

Her voice became more earnest, and those listening in knew that what was sung was not mere hyperbole: she had seen this, and how, oh how did it affect her.  Windows slipped open, and a group of gang members from more than a block away stopped, ensnared in the emotion that was pouring out. 

“And in the naked light I saw Ten thousand people, maybe more People talking without speaking People hearing without listening”

Her voice grew stronger in pitch, floating between a low soprano to a higher one, each note hit perfectly, almost spiritual, hands still clenched before her.  Many now were listening, held spellbound in their tracks.

“People writing songs That voices never share And no one dare Disturb the sound of silence”

Her expression turned to a snarl, and she threw a hand out to the side, her voice taking on an almost feral mezzo-soprano growl.  None who heard would question the frustration and near despair in it as she clenched a fist before reaching out with both hands to her unseen audience, pleading, begging. 

“"Fools" said I, "you do not know Silence like a cancer grows Hear my words that I might teach you Take my arms that I might reach you" But my words like silent raindrops fell And echoed in the wells of silence”

Her voice filled with pain as she belted out the song, bringing her arms close in again, her audience simply looking up towards the rooftops, their own emotions roiling as she took them on her cathartic ride.

“And the people bowed and prayed To the neon God they made And the sign flashed out it's warning And the words that it was forming”

Her audience felt a pain and anger that they couldn’t express, of a loss so great that it defied their understanding, and the despair that followed on its heels left no illusions: she was hurt, in a way that was almost physical.  Until, as she held the last few notes, hope and life trickled in as her pitch rose softly from the growl it had been to a higher, more happy point than when she had started. 

A deep throated growl echoed down the city streets, announcing the arrival and passing of a beast of power, the twin cams rumbling and shaking the pavement even as the wheels kissed it in turn.  The figure seated on it, dressed in dark, thick biking leathers, kevlar constructed helmet and gloves, eased the bike around traffic, before pulling off and heading towards the docks. 

Minutes later, as it approached an old warehouse looking structure, the figure lifted a device and pressed on it.  The large door rolled up sedately, revealing cavernous darkness within.  The bike growled on, entering the warehouse without slowing down, the driver’s head barely missing the door as it began to close back down.  driving through a parking lot filled with a variety of vehicles, it stalked for another opening next to a structure set far back, and dove into the tunnel it revealed.

Alastor and Josie in Combat by Callmepo

A fantastic image as always, and certainly showcases his abilities beyond the cheesecake (which he is admittedly quite good at). 

Dustine stood over the holotable, moving digital files from one spot to another, creating new folders as she did so as she went about the process of reorganizing the company personnel filing system.  With the implementation of the first phase of “Oreo” Eden’s work, Dustine was wasting no time getting to work on putting it through its paces, giving it a solid stress test on the test servers while copying the data over from their production side. 

It was in the middle of this work that a ping appeared over her table: the ID showed as a file from Zingari.  She paused, reached out, and drew the small glowing dot towards her.  Spreading her hands apart, the dot expanded, was scanned, and resolved into images of a contract.  “Ah, I see Zin’s been busy.”  She mused to herself, flipping the pages as she read them quickly. 

Alastor sat at the front of the Zodiac, strapped to a rung on the outer edge of the boat as he finished loading the drone. Somewhere, far behind them the WASP sank slowly bellow the waves, preparing to take on a holding pattern till it was time to exfil. In front of them the shoreline grew closer.  “LZ is clear,” Alastor called over comms, the rushing air and crashing waves keeping conversation impossible without them.

His eyes continued to scan the shore and he held a hand up, nudging a finger left. “Orient about three port, there are rocks in the shallows ahead.” Putting his attention back to the drone he slid the backup power pack into place, made sure it was secure, and sealed the casing. A few moments later the drone lifted up, caught air and was immediately falling behind, but airborne. 

The Swimsuit Calendar edition of the Ladies of D.E.M. Corps! 

Well, ok, technically only two of them are with DEM Corps, the third being a former Marine and a S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent.  Close enough!

Captain Lupin

Josie Acken

Agent Jo Kang