A Tower, Over Tribulations (w/ CasualVelociraptor)

[Umbrale]

"I've seen a pyramid scheme or two, but this? This is fuckin' crazy."


​

A long, slow drag.

Soft lips, framed across a square-jaw with a rugged beard of auburn, curled on the end of a leaf. A thin cigarrillo, wisps of hazy smoke lifting to the air above, hidden as he was from the pouring rain under the awning of the alley's gutter. In that dark light of the evening, illuminated by the sudden flashes of cars rolling by, was the concurrent light of the man's phone. And on it, was a peculiar text, white words on a black background, just the dull blue of the device's brightness giving it color.

Another drag, longer this time, exhaling only as a finger scrolled the down the screen. The text(*) was an enigmatic one, received just hours ago, while whipping up a fiery concoction of brandy and gin. The life of the party, right? What sweet irony. After all, this had to just be a joke, didn't it? The idea of demons and gods, dragons and beasts.... heaven and hell.

This time the cigar stopped, halfway to his lips. Soft, blue-grey eyes perused the dimly lit screen for seconds that hung in the air like hours. Then, with a curse, the cigar was flung, left to peeter-out unceremoniously amongst the pavement and pooled-puddles of the alleyway. The phone was brought closer to his face, handsomely set features of a masculine nature, portraying a rugged, if ever-so-slightly disheveled appeal of mid-30's male in its reflection. Eyes scanned, reading farther. A gun? You want me to shoot myself in the head? Well, damn, do I get paid for it at least? A chuckle now, bemused thoughts of self-depreciation, as a hand rose to run through his dark auburn locks, short on the sides, but flowing on the top, curved back and even laced through with small highlights of red.

Eventually, the phone lowered, and the man turned his sea-like gaze to exit of the alley, and the imposing building that stood across the street; polished glass panes of of black met chrome in a melancholy apparition of steel and geometric-cube. Up it went, on and on, a skyscraper set betwixt buildings that dwelled in its shadow. It could be a trick of the light, the dark, or something else entirely, but the gloomy night's rainstorm gave no heed as to where its height stopped. Did a gothic architect decide to try-out being a hipster? A joke once more ran through his head, Alex's head. Alexander Nolan, a gentle-giant type of figure, with a sharp wit, and a faster punch.

6'6, fit but not gargantuan, corded muscle apparent in the frame of a fitted suit, tie long-since loosened in a casual fashion about his neck. It was the end of a worknight, spent in an 'upper-class' bar, sending drinks sliding down that polished countertop of his; looming form plodding across the sodden, lake-like street, shown-the-way by flickering spotlights, was a sight all-too-normal in the city. It was late, and while cars still ran those streets, he had no need to look one way or the other. Let luck be what it may. He chided to himself, the tiniest smirk curling on his lips as he came to a stop just in front of the door.

Rain was pouring down on top of him, the torrent seeming to have increased with every plodding step, now leaving the man an almost bedraggled mess amidst his suit; not that he cared much for appearances. After all, those stormy grey eyes held attention like no other, and if his stature alone didn't, the posture he was hung to was one that commanded at minimum modicum of respect. "Fine then, I'll give this a shot, as stupid as it sounds...", this he finally said aloud, uttered into the cold night air, diffused by the roar of the torrent. "...Let's pick our poisons, aye?"

-Next-

Click.​

*The Text

Welcome to Orientation, recruit. My name is Elijah Turner, and I've been the Director of The Bureau since 2087. We don't accept general applications, and are very selective about who visits the Tower, let alone gets hired, so since you're here it's because we saw extraordinary intellect, courage, strength, and compassion in you and reached out to you, so consider yourself part of an extraordinary and exclusive club. You likely already know some of our history and activities from what the Federation requires us to disclose to the Parliamentary Assembly and the public, but that's just a small piece of it.

You see, what most people don't know is that since the dawn of history, our world has been subjected to countless supernatural and extraterrestrial threats. Threats such as the Hellish Armada in the year 1000 or the Roswell War of 1947. But we've had a powerful ally; the Tower, a building that has shifted its form and location many times, is larger on the inside than the outside, can communicate its will telepathically with whoever it chooses as its speaker from among three candidates that the President, the Prime Minister, and the Security Council submit (in this case, I was chosen) and has gone by names such as Jericho, the Hanging Gardens, the Temple of Jerusalem, and the Mausoleum of the Qin Emperor. Those it chooses to bestow with superhuman powers have also gone by many names and wielded many objects it has created- the Templars and the Holy Grail, the Royal Guard of Sundiata and his magical balafon, the Illuminati and the All-Seeing Eye. For many thousands of years, we hid in secret so as to protect mankind while it was still in its infancy, until the Tower decided to appear in the middle of New York City in 2020 to allow us to become the Bureau, help stop World War III, turn the United Nations into the Terran Federation, and willingly submit itself to oversight by the Federation government as a result.

I know how this all sounds, and I won't blame you if you choose to walk away, as long as you don't disclose this or anything else classified you may have heard along the way; just remember, the Tower is always listening. And if you're uncomfortable with superpowers and would rather just help the Federation Peacekeeping Force solve ordinary crimes as a non-powered Bureau agent, then ask for General Orientation. But if you've always dreamed of having the power to save the world inside of you, Special Orientation may be for you. Tap the next button on your device to learn more.

 

[CasualVelociraptor]

As tall, dark and monumental as The Tower was on the outside, Jun Aiuchi had gotten used to that. The inside of the Tower, however...she knew she could never get used to that. Not entirely. But you had to at least pretend.

Sure, the brutalist style was very boring and off putting to most people, enough to leave them at best feeling cold and at most intimidated. But it was the winding staircases that seemed to defy reality that unnerved her the most. So, Jun decided not to look at them for too long. Instead, she focused on the fact that her recruit was seven minutes late. Of course, he was on time in the real world- but she’d have to complain to the Staffing department that they didn’t properly remind him to set his watch back to compensate. And she was unnerved by supernaturally changing buildings, but she despised paperwork.

Then the door finally opened to let the recruit (whose name she also hadn’t been given for some reason) in. Or rather, it looked to her like the maw of the Tower itself was yawning to swallow him whole, a movement that Jun felt through the rumbling in the floor. He was tall and somewhat older than herself, so Jun stood up even straighter to seem more in charge.

“Good evening, Private,” Jun said clearly and with conviction. “I am Training Officer Sergeant Jun Aiuchi, but you may address me as Sergeant or Ma’am. And what might your name be?”

 

[Umbrale]

The window pane, serene black to the polished obsidian metal that framed the endless sheets of it, split open in a cross. Seeming to just melt away into the metal, it spread open and into the four corners of its structure, expanding just to the height of a fitting door. The tall gentleman's sodden footsteps plodded onwards through fitted tile; the dripping wetness of his suit draining away with a mysterious speed, although the Tower's peace-of-mind did little for his hair, swept down now by the moisture.

As his sharply-noted address of shoe-taps brought him forward--without hesitation, without pause, at the sight of nigh-combat-ready policewoman(or so he assumed)--just to the front of the formal-speaking Jun. A long pause hung in the air, after she spoke, those enigmatically powerful eyes of his bearing down on her soul, and perusing her demeanor. Finally, his voice broke the awkwardly-long moment, "Well, " His form of speaking was slow, controlled, almost languid, but it hung in the air with a husky, deep tone. "...It's nice to meet you, Jun. "

No pretext of the formality she tried to command, but it was apparent his attention wasn't being directed to her, besides, what-with his gaze drifting right past her shoulder, at the shifting stairways. His head slowly tilted, eyes trying to take in the mesmerizing, if ultimately nauseating site. What would walking on those feel like? Would I be walking up, or down? Is it only in perspective? If I were to walk, while doing a handstand---

With a shake of his head, the thoughts snapped away, and his eyes drifted back to the much-shorter female before him. "Private, huh? Am I enlisted before I attempt to slay myself for your superiors' amusements?" One side of his lips quirked up, into a tiny little smile, as the piercing gaze he held almost seemed to soften a little. "My name's Kalan(Kah-Lawn). Please, call me Kal. "