Archived Hiatus


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(Plot twist, E. Shock! Liking it!)

While sitting in the plane with the team to Brazil, Nevon got a video broadcast from ACME. Curious, he plugged in his earbuds and turned on the transmission.

Eleanor Mayhem talked, he remembered seeing her, but he forgot from where. She was probably one of the higher up agents.

Nevon listened until the message became clear. Chase Devineaux was asked to resign from ACME.

Blair gasped and froze, not knowing what to do. It was exciting, a call to arms, a real one! Looking around, he saw someone who might know what's going on, Dr. Weller. Fueled with the notion to help his mentor, Nev unbuckled his seatbelt and walked to the Chief.

"Chief Weller?" Nevon asked, "I got a broadcast saying the Field Director is being asked to resign, is that true? Because I'm going to forward it, me, Danny, Pete, we'll all leave if Mr. Devineaux does."

Nina West

Plant Biologist
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(Very good post, E! Here's my contribution.)

Nina West was catering to her plants when she got the message from Agent Mayhem. The mess of saplings and seeds would soon be a contender for her final project on Herbology and Botanical Engineering, if she could put her mind to it. She paused to play the message.

While watching the video, Nina sat down in her beaded bamboo fiber trousers on her hemp fabric bed. Asking one person to take the blame for the stolen tower was totally unfair, through and through, and being really sympathetic to the point that she belonged to almost every call list from Action Against Hunger to Union of Concerned Scientists, Nina wanted to start a riot.

But this looked like one of those silent protests, so she drafted her own message to the board, CCing Agent Mayhem.

"Dear Establishment," she began, "I, Nina West, respectfully connect my future employment and graduate courses to the integrity of this organisation. Let it be heard that I won't be alone. This isn't a movement to save one man, but a movement to uphold our rights. I don't know Chase Devineaux personally, but he is under ACME's employment, like me. If I were ever in his position, I would not want to be subjected to the instability of this company's Board of Directors."

She signed and sealed her name, even thanking the Establishment for listening. In the end, Nina saw this as a good call. She'd hate to work someplace where job security was based on telling lies.


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Known Aliases
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(Ai mate, great work on the twist)

Pete Moss was having lunch at a coffee place outside of Sydney called Floppy Beans. It was run by three brothers who might fit the description of "floppy" in shape, but as far as proprietorship goes, Pete quite liked this place. When he was younger, he thought about getting a job here once and learn how they mixed their coffee. He might still do that someday.

The message from Eleanor Mayhem brought back two memories for Pete. One was back in Venice, Italy during the Blue Moon Masquerade where he got to dance with her. The other memory was of the first time he saw Chase Devineaux in action. The Masquerade was a setup VILE walked into and barely escaped from.

Pete wasn't a wordy guy, and he didn't know any board member, so he messaged Chief Weller.

"G'day, Chief! It's come to some attention on my side that Chase's getting sacked real quiet. I am behind him, sir, and will be leaving too."


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Iv', Ives
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(This is Part 1 of a set of joint posts featuring Zack, Ivy, Tanya, and Joe Kerr (Also featuring Chase's really clean Porsche Cayman) LOL. We had to do a joint post for this one because it's a car chase, and none of us were online at the same time to do an action sequence. Thanks guys!)

Tanya said:
“Privet!” She greeted, “someone took Chase’s Caymen, come on, I will explain on the way.”

“Wait what?” Zack said in a surprised voice. He turned around and followed Tanya down the stairs.

“Someone is chasing Chase’s car? Is Chase IN his car?”

With coffee in her cup holder and a wrapped sandwich on her lap, the fiery red head was taking the standard ACME Black GMC over one of San Francisco’s scenic hills when Chase’s urgent note followed by Tatyana’s message sent her communicator buzzing. She reached for it, but in a slippery series of actions, the little machine fell to the floor of the passenger side.

“Great,” Ivy said under her breath as she pulled over. When she read the messages and understood what was going on, she called Tanya back. At the same time, her free hand entered the code Chase sent into her car’s GPS. The Cayman was close to the city, heading eastward.

“Tanya, this is Ivy, I’m already in the truck, heading East now,” as she spun her car into a near-illegal u-turn, Ivy sent a message to her morning class.

“Class is canceled,” she wrote, “See you next week.”

“So that’s how the ACME compound looks like without the main building. A little empty in the middle, just like their heads. Hyuk hyuk.”

Joe had just driven past the ACME compound to rub it in a little before turning eastward to his desired destination.

“I think I’ve had enough of the Bay Area Fog for now. Time to head for ‘higher ground’”

Non, pas dans sa voiture, [French: No (he’s) not in his car]” Tanya explained as she rushed to the Jeep, “Someone stole it. Chase on nahoditsya na pooti v Toonis. [Russian: Chase, he’s on his way to Tunisia]”

Receiving the call from Ivy, Tatyana replied quickly, “Da, confirmed. I am with Zack, we follow.”

When she entered the driver seat of the white Jeep, Tanya smiled to Zack. “I hope you already have breakfast, zayats [Russian, endearing: stowaway]. We are going east, and fast. Buckle up.”

“Tu-Tunisa?!” said Zack, extremely surprised, quickly following Tanya, “but why Tunisia?, et qui a été sur la téléphone?” [French: Who was on the phone?]

He entered the passenger's side of the white Jeep and buckled in, his skateboard on his lap.

Rodzher , davaĭte otpravilisʹ v putʹ!” [Russian: Roger, let’s hit the road.]

Ivy pressed the accelerator hard and put the on-duty red siren on top of her car’s roof. She rarely did anything quietly when it comes to urgent matters, and the flashing silent light warned motorists that she was a speeding cop.

Nearly an hour of driving outside of San Francisco, the former detective spotted what she had been following on her GPS. From far away, a sleek ride like a Porsche Cayman in silver was easy to make out. She turned on the sound for the siren to warm motorists, then turned it off as they moved away. Using this loud light and noise instead of a horn was effective, but it also meant the driver of the Cayman would be able to see her literally a mile away. This was Ivy’s scare tactic.

As the San Mateo bridge started coming into view, Joe could swear he heard the faint sounds of a siren behind him.

“Looks like the fun is about to get kicked up a notch! Time to floor it!”

Tanya looked at Zack for a moment as she drove the Jeep down the fastest route to the highway.

“Je n’sais pas [French: I don’t know], not for sure, why he is going to Tunisia,” she added, “but Carmen and the ACME Tower might be there.”

As they drove, not too far ahead, the Russian could see Ivy’s red siren flashing on and off. Tanya followed closely until about an hour into the drive, where Ivy’s light began making noise as well. They must be close.

“Are you seeing anything?” Tatyana spoke into the radio, “I only still see the dot on my GPS.”

“Let’s hope that the Carmen and the Tower are in Tusinia...” said the skateboarder, before falling silent.

About an hour later, Zack craned his neck to see if he could get a better view of Ivy’s lights. He heard its high pitched whail.

“We shouldn’t be much farther - oh hey! I can see Ivy’s truck!” he said and stuck out his head within a safe distance to the side. He could make an outline of the ACME GMC that his sister was driving.

Even though she was getting closer, Ivy knew that the chance of a GMC overtaking a Porsche Cayman on paved roads was next to impossible. She needed to make him stop or get law enforcement to create a roadblock, but on a six-lane freeway like I-205? Not to mention, there would be a fork in the road coming up in a residential area where I-205 connects with I-5 and Yosemite Avenue. The Porsche could be going anywhere.

“Tanya, Zack,” she spoke into the Push-to-Talk ACME interface, “suspect ahead. He’s speeding up. We can’t overtake him, turn on your sirens, let’s make him stop.”

Suddenly, the sound of a helicopter in the distance reached Ivy’s ears. She checked her rear view mirror. A random white civilian news helicopter must have seen her lights and spotted a car chase. If they were local, which Ivy knew they were, this was not going to be good.

“Helicopter at our six!” She warned Tanya, also ACME’s PR officer, “Turn on your police frequencies, tell them to get lost!”

Joe looked into the rearview mirror of the Cayman and smiled when he saw a white helicopter in the distance closing in on the flashing lights of the ACME agents chasing him.

“It seems like someone else has joined the party. This should keep the ACME agents occupied for awhile.”

He laughed as he recalled how he had called VILE Bot through his communicator and told VILE Bot to tip off a local news network about the chase. Apparently the ACME sirens weren’t a good enough sign that something was going down.

Joe had himself wanted to use a siren from Chase’s car to aid in his escape however a search of Chase’s car yielded absolutely nothing. However as he was searching, a flashing light on the Cayman’s control panel had alerted Joe to the fact that the car was running low on fuel, hence precipitating the need for the distraction.

Joe prayed the news crew would buy him enough time to fuel up as he made a discreet turn off into Yosemite Avenue.

Tanya Erzin saw the helicopter with a news label seconds before Ivy’s transmission warned her about it. News reporters don’t always bother them, but this case is not official police business. Not yet, for now. The Public Relations officer slowed down her car to tap on her radio and turned to a broadcast channel that she knew would reach the news crew.

“A-Star, reply please,” Tanya identified the helicopter as a Eurocopter AS350 Ecureuil, by Eurocopter Group. They are sold as ‘A-Star’ and are common for eye-in-the-sky purposes in the United States. The Channel 7 News, San Francisco logo was clearly displayed at its side.

“A-Star from Channel 7 News,” she repeated, “This is ACME Charlie-4, white jeep. You are hindering a pursuit, please pull back.”

There was a short silence and Tanya looked at Zack with a little frown.

“This is A-Star N717A,” came the reply, “We’re on traffic duty, over.”

“We’re pursuing a suspect, please pull back.”

“Silver sports car?” The news team asked, “It turned into Yosemite Ave, that’s practically residential, do you need assistance?”

“No thank you,” the Russian didn’t like saying the same things over and over, but she can be patient with reporters, “We need you to pull back please.”

“Got it, ACME Charlie,” the helicopter said reluctantly and with an equally slow speed, pulled back onto the city.

Turning to Zack, Tatyana shook her head, “I do not think they will listen for long, da? They can be going out of the range to try use zooming cameras instead.”

Zack nodded to Tanya.

“I highly doubt that they will be gone for long. I don’t think they will be using zooming cameras for long before they give up and pursue us at a closer distance...”

He flicked on a switch that was near his side of the dashboard and it turned on the sirens.

“I don’t think this is going to slow down whomever is driving Chase’s car, and if it does, it can mean that we will be chasing him or her on foot.”

Ivy saw the helicopter pull back, but in the meantime, she’s temporarily lost the suspect from view. Instead, she had to use the Porsche Cayman’s GPS Transmission.

“Good job on the ‘copter guys,” she radioed to Tatyana and Zack, “GPS says the Cayman went down Yosemite Avenue, it’s a smaller road, we need to slow down until we can spot him visually again.”


Medical Staff
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[This is a collaborative post between the writers of Deric Storm and Sophie Conrad.]

The three hours in the Gulfstream had trickled away in comfort for Sophie Conrad, with only the unspoken anxiety that floated around the cabin to remind her of the severity of the situation. After devoting forty-five minutes to reviewing and re-reviewing the medical records of everyone on the team despatched to Brazil, she had allowed her iPod to meander through its collection of podcasts, to dutifully inform her of the geography and demographics of São Paulo, Brazil, before launching into a two-hour course in Portuguese. And, all the while, she had watched her co-passengers as some drowsed and others dithered, finding herself the most concerned for Chief Everard Weller. His intimacy with Hailey Weller would have inflicted upon him the largest portion of vexation and for that reason, she paid him the most attention. That, however, was soon diverted by a rather beleaguered looking Deric Storm.

“Are you all right?” Sophie decided to enquire, after the stalwart blond had hesitated before her while turning to return to his seat at the back of the cabin.

The lead detective frowned: “Flying into a possible trap with a rookie, a doctor, and the head of the agency...” he muttered sarcastically as he ruffled his hair with a hand, “yeah... I'm great.”

“Mm, and are you always this churlish?” the doctor straightened in her seat to reply evenly, with a small smile.

“Only on Wednesdays,” Deric joked. “It’s just,” he paused to take the seat diagonally across from her, “even if this goes off without a hitch, I’m probably still losing my badge once we get back.”

She was silent for a moment, appreciating and sympathising in that instant the attachment the detective had formed to his job. “Leave your badge to worry about itself, Mr. Storm,” she said gently. “The Director thinks highly enough of you to give you this assignment. Have faith in his judgement, if not your own.”

Deric sighed, hardly convinced. Then, he brightened: “Anyway, thanks for agreeing to come with us.”

Je vous en prie,” Sophie smiled with warmth. “It is nothing.” She looked at the watch around her wrist, “We’ll be just in time, won’t we?”

“Hopefully,” Deric replied. “Thankfully, we’re going right to the airfield. VILE’s plane will have to change course, causing enough of a delay to set things up.”

“What do you need me to do until Hailey Weller is returned?”

“Stay close to the Chief,” he said thoughtfully. “If things go south, you are to get him back on the plane by any means necessary.”

Sophie considered the directive before leaning back into her seat with a nod: “I understand.”

“Good.” Deric placed his elbows on his knees and, for awhile, stared off at some indeterminable point at the back of the cabin. “To be honest, your role in this is more for when we’ve got the kid back,” he then said, bringing his attention back to the doctor. “We’ll have to refuel for the flight back. In the meantime, I want you to make sure the kid is healthy.”

“That will not be a problem.”

“Also, we may be heading back to San Fran with a few other ‘passengers’.”

To that revelation, Sophie arched a brow in silent question.

“I was also messaged to arrest the crew of VILE’s plane,” Deric elaborated.

“I see,” she frowned. “Do you have any idea of how many crew there are on the VILE plane?”

“No,” came the flat reply. The detective disheveled his hair again and his acute frustration at the multiple variables - known and unknown - in the mission was all at once painfully obvious to Sophie. “That’s what worries me.”

She did not speak for awhile, pondering a reply and granting Deric time to compose his thoughts. “One battle at a time,” she eventually said. “We do have cooperation from the Brazilian authorities. That will be helpful.”

“Yeah, thank god for friends with benefits.”

Sophie realised then, with amusement and satisfaction, what - or rather, who - exactly Deric had been staring off into the distance at: Calina Carranos.

“That,” she murmured, with laughter in her words, “I didn’t need to know, Mr. Storm.”

Deric darted his eyes towards the doctor and visibly paled, and then reddened. “Uh-I-umm... I-I-I mean - her brother works for the military. I didn’t mean... we’re not like that.”

Sophie smiled. “I think we should leave this here,” she advised. “Get some rest and make sure you’re well-hydrated.”

“After I get a shoe horn to get my size-14 out of my mouth,” Deric muttered as he shook his head. As he stood up, he looked at the Brazilian detective again. Cali always seemed to get him out of whack. ‘Friends with benefits...’ Deric chuckled. ‘I walked right into that one.’

His thoughts were interrupted by a chime from his communicator, indicating he had an e-mail. Looking at his communicator, he saw the e-mail was from an agent named “Eleanor Mayhem.” Seeing that it was a valid ACME e-mail, Deric opened the video that was attached to it. He was greeted by a woman dressed in a business suit who began to speak:

"ACME Detective Agency employees and agents. This is Agent Eleanor Catherine Mayhem, agent number 567353. We have a problem. At a time like this, when ACME has been dealt one of the hardest blows in its history words like that may seem unnecessary. However in the wake of our problems another has come along... a problem which is our responsibility as agents to address. Immediately. As of last night it has been... 'suggested' by our Board of Directors that Chase Devineaux resign from ACME."

Deric didn’t hear the rest of the message. The last thing he heard was what resonated the most... ‘Chase Devineaux resign from ACME.’ Given the amount of backlash this e-mail was going to generate, this could be as bad for ACME, if not worse, than the Tower disappearing. He heard something about the contact info for the members of the Board. Given how beloved Chase was amongst the detectives, Deric could imagine the deluge of nasty letters and possibly the volume resigning as well.

“Great googly-moogly...”

Sophie lifted her head to look at the detective, who had frozen in mid-step, “What’s the matter?”

Deric paused the video and handed the doctor his communicator. “Watch...” he offered.

With a degree of wariness, she received the communicator and replayed the transmission from Eleanor Mayhem. As it closed, her lips set into a grave line. She released a breath but said only, “Thank you,” as she reached out to return the device.

Deric was going to make a witty response, but it was cut off by a noise from a few rows away. “Well, I guess the rookie just got the memo...” Turning off his communicator in disgust, Deric griped, “Bunch of bureaucratic bozos, this is gonna be worse for PR than when the Tower was taken.” Looking out the window absently, Deric wondered, “It seems like all Carmen has to do to be rid of us is to leave us to our own devices.”

With this new bit of information involving Chase rattling around in his head along with all the other things he did or did not know about what they were flying into, Deric could only ask one thing in frustration...

“Are we there yet?”


Confidence Man
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Vic "the Slick" Fumigali was happily napping when somebody shook him awake. He was ready to pounce the other way and run when he saw it was the pilot's navigator.

"I'm awake, whatdayawant?"

"They're on to us, Vic," the navigator said nervously, "the Brazilians sent an escort team of a attack planes, they tagged us, we're not landing at the airport."

"What the h-," he looked at Hailey, who was asleep, so Vic talked softer, "What are you talking about?"

The navigator pointed outside where one of the Brazilian planes was visible. It was military looking, even painted to have sharks teeth for effect.

"Crud," Fumigalli muttered, "It's Devineaux, gotta be his plan. She tells him where the tower is, and he does this. Paranoids don't play it fair."

"Pilot says we have no choice," the navigator talked some more, to Vic's annoyance, "You want leverage? We can have you and the girl parachute off now."

"And land in the Amazon with Chief Weller's granddaughter?" Vic snapped back, "I'll do the thinking 'ere, see? Do y'self a favor and go do what the Brazilians tell us. I gotta figure this out."

The navigator walked back to the cockpit. Not wanting to contact Carmen because that was too big a risk, Vic remembered he told Sarah they were meeting in Sao Paulo.

"S-," he texted, "ACME's got us, we aint landing at the airport. Ima get rid of this phone, hang around, don't get caught. It's hot." He told her in that text message all he knew. Once ACME got their kid, Vic was prepared to hang around, but he was still confident they couldn't pin much on him.

"We're landing," the pilot interrupted, "it's just a field, hold on."

Vic could feel his ears about to pop. Looking out the window, he thought, "Here we go."


Chief of ACME
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Known Aliases
Dr. Everard Weller
Nevon said:
"Chief Weller?" Nevon asked, "I got a broadcast saying the Field Director is being asked to resign, is that true? Because I'm going to forward it, me, Danny, Pete, we'll all leave if Mr. Devineaux does."

Chief Weller looked at Nevon with some disbelief, and then viewed the message from the boy's communicator himself. Eleanor Mayhem was rallying the detectives against the board's decision. This information was not to be released in the first place, now that everyone knew; it is undoubtedly unflattering to all board members. This could lead to a re-election.

Taking a deep breath, he replied, "Good show on Agent Mayhem's part. I can't guarantee the board will budge, but something will change as a result."

Chief considered, privately, that agents banning together was starting to feel like the old days when ACME was a small and comfortable size. Back then, nothing was done without a voting session or a few eager volunteers. Coincidental, it seems, that was before the Tower was built. How times have changed.

"The Brazilians are leading VILE to a landing in 30," the captain gave a report over the telecom, "We'll be landing now. Everyone in your seats, buckle up."

(Agents, after this post, the ACME Brazil team has landed, if you haven't written that you were on the plane, you can still cover that shortly, that's fine.)


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Boss (situational)
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(This was a joint-effort between Euge Grovington, Chase Devineaux, and Mikal Darsha. We're moving the story for the Tunisia team, and figured we could shorten it with a combined post.)

Southern Tunisia.

Atmospheric pressure pounded against steel at just over 3000 feet above sea level. Extremes forced against this metal should rip it to shreds, not let it fly... But it was flying, actively using the law of physics to defy nature.

In the same way, a painful internal drumming resonated against both sides of Chase's head. He shouldn’t be analyzing anything, but he was. Determined to read the papers in front of him, several times; focus was hard to obtain under pressure. Without attempts to fall asleep, he would awaken at intervals; and after recalling where he was, would adjust his seat, and return to the files.

Mikal's call came at one of those moments.

"Devineaux," Chase answered after clearing his throat.

"Captain, I found your tower."

"You have a visual?"

"Yes, I have a visual...”

How close are you?

“...Big, big visual."

"Right, stay where you are, camp out if you have to, I'm landing in…" he looked to his watch, but he didn't have one. Luckily, the ACME communicator also has time keeping properties, "about an hour, I'll verify again as soon as we hit the airport."

His eyes dropped without thought to a satellite image of ACME tower with the Russian Transport before the plane took off to Brazil. If something that size could land there, VILE must have a prebuilt runway.

"Scratch that," Chase said urgently to Mikal, "Do you have any flares with you? I need you to find a runway; about 500 meters west of the tower, mark it for us."

"What--?" Mikal barely had time to question before his captain disconnected. He stored about a dozen emergency flares in his trunk, it was a bulk purchase from a market stall that sold a mix of cured beef, horse feed, and camping supplies. Even so, finding a runway here did not seem possible. But Mikal was optimistic that Captain's plans were always good... usually.

Driving east, he was surprised when his tires hit solid ground instead of sand. There was even a visible trail of the previous airplane arriving and leaving. "This is good!" the Israeli declared and immediately phoned Chase Devineaux.

"I found it," he replied to his commander, "when I hear your plane, I will start the flares."

Eugene, having surrendered control of the aircraft to auto-pilot somewhere over the eastern seaboard, was alternating between examining the incessant stream of new information and passively listening to Chase’s conversation with his contact. Upon mention of a suitable runway, his ears perked up. Diving into his flight bag, Eugene withdrew a tablet and tried to overlay the satellite imagery onto the existing charts. The pictures wouldn’t match up perfectly, but it would be enough to get the Boeing on the ground.

Having established a rudimentary bearing, a quick radio call to Shanwick Oceanic cancelled the bogus IFR flight plan set up... he glanced at his watch... 11 hours ago. It was, as Chase mentioned to his contact, a little over an hour to ground and time to start getting squared away for an unassisted landing, and that meant barking orders as if he were back in the corps. “At least I have an observer on the ground,” he sighed to himself. “Chase, get your asset online; I’m going to be needing weather observations and the condition of this strip. Ding, there’s a few NODs in the lockbox just aft of the bulkhead. Grab them and bring them up.” Looking up, Euge began opening the lighting breakers. The last to go out were the cockpit lights, which stayed illuminated just long enough for the 3 men to verify the night vision goggles were securely strapped on.

For the purpose of synchronization, Chase docked the ACME communicator and switched on its speaker.

Okay, Mike, overview, how’s the strip?

“It’s sandy, but it is about 2.7 kilometers long,” Mikal’s voice jutted through satellite interference, “Very long runway, definitely for cargo loading planes.”

Wind, anything unusual?

“It’s dark, Captain,” the Israeli had no way to verify weather, so he did the next best thing, he grabbed a handful of sand and let it drop. “Very low wind,” he replied confidently, “and no clouds, no moon tonight, also very hot. Good weather for Tunisian barbecue.”

Turning to Euge, Chase asked, “Do we need to verify that with satellite weather before we land?” From the Field Director’s perspective, Ding Chavez may have looked in his direction skeptically at the question. Or, since expressions were hidden behind night vision goggles, the man was only agreeing with the Tunisian barbecue. It did sound good, right about now.

No need for weather,” Eugene missed Ding’s unreadable look and spoke to the communicator’s speakerphone. “We’re less than 15 minutes out; set the flares Mike.

“Fifteen, okay!” Mikal replied and hit the runway on his truck. Black rubber kicked up fine dust as one trusted flare after another pierced through sand. From the air, Darsha hoped they could see the red lights.

“All lit!” he reported as he heard the plane roar closer, “I have to disconnect, yeah? See you when you land!” With that, he drove a safe distance away.

Packed, calibrated, and prepared, Devineaux surveyed the darkened ACME Tower from his window. Not much was seen that could be seen. In minutes, the plane lowered its wheels, and with a heavy grunt, landed on VILE’s makeshift desert runway.


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(I'm sorry for using your NPCs, Tanya, but this was too good a writeup to pass ai?)

Lee Jordan was staying at a motel somewhere in Nevada. Nearby was a garage where some of his old buddies worked on fixing the black Corvette that Carmen trashed. The car shouldn't matter, and it doesn't, but this was downtime for Jordan, and he wanted his ride.

An old friend hid some cash for him under the roof tiles of Highway Motel's room number 34. Lee found it, and started counting. Under the sunray and through puffs of orange dust, his communicator laid on a crusty table, plugged into a charger. Its GPS chip was removed for safety, he wouldn't want Chase keeping tabs on him right now.

In the quiet, a message came through and the communicator started blinking blue.

"FW: FW: FW: Did uc this??" Was the title of the email from another informant who was forwarding an already forwarded message from some detective who got the video from E. Mayhem.

After watching the video, Jordan grinned, then laughed. Just thinking about getting rid of Chase would have been a mistake for the board, and with this, every detective would be up in arms. Who knew the best person to stir up trouble inside ACME was Chase Devineaux?

A devious thought flickered and Lee opened the online directory on his laptop to look for IBN's email address. He remembered seeing their cameras and one of their reporters at the press conference. This was the kind of tip informants were good at giving, and Jordan was willing to not take credit this time.

Using his communicator, former ACME Agent Lee Jordan began to forward an anonymous message to the international news network containing Detective Eleanor Mayhem's plea to save the job of ACME's Field Director.


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[Nicole Barnes]

Rookie Agent Nicole's tense figure was reflected in the mirror on her wall, and absorbed by the surrounding walls. With one last look at the gaping hole in the ground through her window, she exited her academy dorm room with her bag to head home until further notice. Hey, it was better than watch duty. Nicole longed for something to do, but seeing her family would be a nice change.

Walking downstairs, she saw her friend Garrett Scholtz, who was in most of her ACME classes.

Nicole smiled and waved, "Hey Garrett," she noticed a concerned look on his face. "Is everything okay?"

Stress in not a usual thing for Garrett. He is usually the tall, dark, and happy-go-lucky type. So Nicole knew something must be bothering him.

He weakly smiled at me, "Take a look at this."

She pulled a chair up to his table in the computer room as he clicked play. The video showed a serious looking woman urging agents to leave in protest of Mr. Devineaux resigning. Nicole turned to her friend. His tanned face had a darkness about it that didn't come from the sun.

Nicole spoke more softly now, "So what are you going to do now?"

"I don't know. Go home, I guess. I've got a lot of thinking to do."

Nicole sighed, "They don't need everyone, Garrett. You don't have to do anything."

His dark eyes, normally the same shade as his friend's, flashed with a brightness she had never seen before, "But what if it's the right thing, Nicole! How can I just stand aside because it's not the easy thing to do!"

"How will it help Carmen if ACME splits, though? Maybe this is what she wants..."

"Nicole," he said, "Carmen isn't omiscient. She can't plan this stuff into being."

Nicole nodded, then pulling her long golden brown hair into a pony tail she turned to leave.

"Wait!" Garrett called, "We live close enough, and my little sisters would love to see you. Come visit sometime!"

Nicole was relieved to see the old, bright smile. "Okay, don't worry. And hey, good luck making a choice!"

"You too. Bye Nicole."

(OOC: expect more later. There isn't much I could do without stealing another character. I can co-write too! I would love to if anyone wants to message me.)


Queen of Crime
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(A complimentary post until the team in Tunisia is ready to move.)

Mikal wrote: In the evening, he sat for coffee at El Khadra Café, in time to see a caravan roll in. He recognized them as sand-colored versions of the KraZ-6322, all-terrain transport vehicles made in the Ukraine. They were not marked as military, and someone had worked hard to make them look like research trucks, but the tarp covering the cargo area showed these were being used for moving. The train of trucks slowed down to stir less dust while passing through, but they didn't stop. In the dark, the Israeli found it difficult to spot features. Still, he didn't need to know who these people were. His objective was the tower.
Leading the pack in the first Ukrainian truck, Carmen sat next to its Egyptian driver. Her attire was simplistic and purposeful, a set of tee-shirt and light jeans draped by a flowing open jacket. On her head was a cherry-colored baseball cap; and along with it, she wore a scarf.

Spotting Mikal Darsha among the few patrons of the town's singular cafe, Carmen became aware of how close she had come to an encounter with ACME. Yet a disparity arose strikingly as her vehicles moved passed the man from Natanya. He was not an ACME agent. For whatever purpose Chase Devineaux had summoned Mikal, it was beyond the scope of the San Francisco-based detective agency.

This notion played on her mind until she was outside of El Khadra.

"We'll split up here," she instructed, and the driver brought the truck to a stop.

"I thought we were splitting up in Tunis?" the Egyptian asked with a finger pointing to the direction of the city.

"I'm going west," she stated, "Flag and a group headed to Morocco earlier. You stick with the original plan: go into Tunis, change transports, then meet up with the Somalians at the gulf."

The driver nodded his compliance and Carmen exited, taking with her a desert vehicle.

She rode artfully to an old tower situated nearly ten miles from ACME's stolen building. There, she had stationed two henchmen to watch and film the enemy from a safe distance.

One of them, Saleh, a French-Moroccan with wide eyes and a thin mustache held out his hand to help as she reached the top of the tower. The other henchman, Ahbej, a Saudi Arabian who, despite being one of the most polite men on her team, was strict about touching no other woman but his wife; and to him, Carmen nodded a greeting.

"You are not going East?" The Moroccan asked with a brief handshake.

"What do you have for me?" she rarely answered questions about where she might be.

"Me and Ahbej will take turns tonight watching," her henchman explained, "so far--"

He was cut off by the sound of an approaching airplane. While her men prepared to record the event, their leader stood without movement. Utilizing a pair of high-power binoculars to isolate images in the dark, Carmen witnessed the Israeli marking the hidden runway with flares, and the impressive night landing of an American 777.


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Algiers was beautiful in the same way that every damned city on this planet was beautiful. It was full of people, buildings, and geography that set it apart from everywhere else... except for the parts that were similar to other places in the world.

Flag took in the scenery with a air of misplaced bitterness. Maybe it was how a 6-hour road trip turned into a two-day venture, but he just couldn't appreciate the somewhat tropical appeal of the city.

They had arrived just around sunset and almost immediately his companions vanished to drop off their wares with whatever buyers they had arrangements with. The Sivoan expected this - as he had joined them at the last minute - but he would have liked some form of appreciation as he did pull them out of a potentially bad situation some ways into their trip.

At least it was a modern city. This his meant that it would be easy to blend in as he already wore what everyone else did and he would be able to focus on finding VILE's local contact and getting a good nights rest at the local safehouse. If nothing else, he'd hire a translator and rent a hotel room until he made up his mind about where he would go next.

For now he would eat.

"McDonalds is everywhere" a friend once told him, and it prooved to be no exception here. This suited him just fine as he only had to point at the menu and swipe a card to get something tolerable to eat.

Burger in hand, he attempted to thumb through the directories on his phone (which he would never have figured out if he hadn't had previous help) to find the number of this new accomplice.

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