Archived Paradigm Shift


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Known Aliases
Boss (situational)
Color #
Type: Free-form site-wide Role Playing Game

Rating: PG-13


To enter, type your location at the start of your post to let other players know where you are then write what your character is doing. You do not have to be at the same location as everyone else, or you may plan to meet up with other characters in various locations later. If you're idle, other players will continue without you, and you may join in at a later time.


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Known Aliases
Boss (situational)
Color #
Somewhere in southern Tunisia.

Barely an hour after the hit that destroyed ACME's former tower, Chase Devineaux stood in bright daylight, systematically reconfiguring his next course of action. Tunisia was sweltering. The sun felt like it was everywhere, shining in the sky, reflecting from the sands... glaring into hiseyes. If it weren't for the landscape and the occasional wind, the heat wouldhave been unbearable.

He surveyed the horizon. An endless mirage surrounded them like waves of water trapping a sandy island.The desert's only sign of life was the sound of circling air, and the rustling of bags being loaded on to the Boeing.

Chase turned his attention to the shadow of the plane, where Mikal parked his truck. The Israeli was doing another once-over of the vehicle that would take Domingo Chavez to the US Embassy in Tunisia. This would be the man's exit,because his destination was elsewhere.

Mikal Darsha,obviously seeing Chase's glance, returned with a reciprocating nod."We're good," the agent shut the hood of the jeep, then loosened his shoulders, "Where you want me next?"

"Back in California," Devineaux answered without a pause,"Nothing much we can do here."

According toDeric, Hailey's on her way back to her parents and Vic Fumigalli has been detained. They won't be able to keep him long, the Brazilians would want paper work, and without enough evidence against Fumigalli to qualify him for extradition, all they had was a good 18 more hours... In international terms,that's barely anything.

Time was running out.

"Don't ever press gas too hard," Mikal joked to Chavez in the background, "or you will blow her up."

The team in Brazil must keep Vic detained. A new game was starting, and the only foreseeable advantage was delaying VILE's ability to regroup.

"Euge," Chase called to the pilot with an idea fresh in his head, "How many people do you know in South America?"

(All parties mentioned have approved, some of you have been assigned story-moving roles, enter when possible. Thanks.)

Joe Kerr

VILE Trickster
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Known Aliases
Joey, Joseph,
Color #
Cape Town, South Africa –

Joe Kerr had been called many things in his life, but one thing no one could accuse him of was being an idiot. Joe Kerr knew better than to bring a car with a GPS chip in it back to VILE HQ, at least not without removing the chip first.

This was why Joe was now in South Africa, riding in a cab towards a particular automotive mechanic shop he had scoured the globe to find. As he entered the garage, he couldn’t help but grin at how well the place matched the owner. The place was sparsely decorated, just enough to be cosy yet practical. It was however equipped with the best tools an automotive mechanic could ask for. The owner was like that; not much for appearances or politics but equipped with the best skills you could ever want as far as cars were concerned.

Joe spotted said owner working on a 1947 Ford Mustang. He flashed his best smile and walked over to greet her.

“Hi Anne, it’s been awhile.”

Ann Gene was the best car guy… uh girl in the world as far as Joe was concerned. She could fix any vehicle and leave barely a scratch on it. Joe had jokingly dubbed her ‘the car whisperer’ due to her uncanny ability to diagnose and work on almost every model of car invented.

“Look what the cat dragged in.” Anne replied in a distinctly southern drawl with a hint of gravel in her voice.

Anne had fair, freckled skin and frizzy red hair that she kept under her cowboy hat. Dressed in a long sleeved chequered shirt which had a knot tied at her waist, denim shorts and brown boots, she was every inch the southern girl her accent implied. Her baby blue eyes sparkled as she examined the smiling jester.

“What brings you over to my side of the world stranger?”

“What else? I got a car I need you to work on - A Porsche Cayman.”

Anne let out an appreciative whistle. “That’s a pretty nice ride you got there. A big upgrade over that joke mobile of yours for sure. Speaking of which, what did you do with the old jalopy?”

Joe swallowed the urge to get into an argument with her over the merits of his ‘joke-mobile’ which was currently resting in VILE HQ. Instead, he let out a laugh before getting down to business.

“Rest assured the old girl’s in good hands. I wouldn’t have it any other way after all the work you did on her. Anyways, the Cayman’s waiting in a plane I got parked about a quarter mile from here. I can take you to her when you’re ready.”

Anne’s shoulder’s immediately stiffened and she stared suspiciously at Joe.

“Why is the car in a plane and why do I have to go to it instead of the other way around? What are you leaving out Joe?”

Joe shrugged nervously. “Nothing of importance. I assure you.”

Anne’s raised eyebrows showed she wasn’t in the mood for Joe’s jokes. Joe knew he had to come clean.

“You want me to work on it? Fine, level with me, hon. How hot is it?”

“Ok you got me. It’s scorching hot, ok?”

“WHAT? No way on earth I’ll work on that car Joe!

“Oh come on Anne!”

“No buts. You know the reason I moved here was because I went straight. I don’t deal in stolen goods no more. Now get out of my garage. I’m still paying the rent on this place and I don’t want any trouble.”

“Relax Anne. The car has to stay in the plane otherwise a pesky little GPS chip in it will activate and we wouldn’t want to draw the cops here now would we? I just need you to me a little favour and take out the chip. I’ll help you carry whatever tools you need to the plane. I’ll even pay you double your usual fee.”

“Get out!”

“Anne, please. If you don’t help me, I’ll have to bring her to Chop.”

Anne froze. Chop Sup was an old acquaintance of both of them. He had a reputation of being the king of chop shops. He would pimp out any ride with anything on earth, provided you could afford his prices. Chop definitely had the skills to remove a GPS chip, but he had absolutely no respect for classic cars or beautiful designs. It was safe to say that if Anne was the neurosurgeon of the car world, Chop was the Dr Frankenstein.
As much as Anne did not want to deal with a hot car, a part of her just couldn’t bear Chop’s greasy hands destroying the pristine Porsche Caymen. Inwardly she knew that she was probably the only person on earth who could get the chip out without leaving so much as a scar on the car. Gritting her teeth she turned to Joe.

“Wait. I’ll do it. But it’s gonna cost you TRIPLE my usual fee…and NO FUNNY money.”
“Thanks Anne. I owe you. And don’t worry, I don’t deal in counterfeits. You’ll be paid in genuine, non-stolen cash.”

Anne gave Joe a look that indicated she didn’t believe the thief had honest cash on him.
“Oh come on. My new gig pays well. I work hard to make an ‘honest’ living.”

Anne shook her head and gave a half-grin. He never changes. Can’t understand why I’m still friends with him but oh well, better him that the other 99% of my former clients.

Turning towards the Mustang, she gave Joe his marching orders.

“Gimme an hour to finish up this baby and then we’ll leave. I’d better not lose any of my good tools while you’re here. And Joe, this is the last time I’m working on a hot car for you.”

“No problem Anne. Hyuck hyuck. I’ll just pop back into town and make a quick withdrawal.”

Joe quickly clarified his intentions when he saw Anne’s raised eyebrows.

“I’m just going to take some money out of my account to pay you with. I won’t be robbing any banks. Scout’s honour. Oh wait, I was never a scout. Forget that. Let’s just say you have my word that I won’t be getting into any trouble in town. You know I always keep my word.” Joe let out a chuckle and left the garage.

Anne shook her head as the jester left. Some people never learn, and she was no exception. She only hoped Joe wouldn’t be getting her into any major trouble again.

(ooc: Anne Gene is a neutral NPC. If anyone would like to use her in future storylines, drop me an email)


Press Director
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Known Aliases
Yana, Tanya, Tanechka, TanYUchen'ka, TanyUs'ka
Color #
A media hustle was underway to announce Hailey Weller's safe return. With the center of ACME compound being occupied by a giant unstable hole to the parking garage, the new press conference room would be in the academy's lecture theater 2.

Chase Devineaux led a team to the tower's supposed location, but Tanya and a handful of supporting agents, knew that team won't be coming back with ACME's building. It didn't matter what they did with the structure, Tanya didn't care, as long as her side of the story was in line with what the people needed to know.

The young Russian took her job seriously, but there were always points between the beginning and the end where she wondered if this was really her line of work.

Pulling a pen cap off with her teeth, she began to write a draft for the press release. While both her hands were busy, her phone dinged with a message.

"Tanya, on consequent press releases, refer to Mr. Devineaux as Director of Operations. Tell him his job is safe, and take care of residual press from the Leaked E. Mayhem Video. --GM on behalf of the BOD"

That was Gunther Metzger, secretary of the Board of Directors with a set of plain but cryptic directions. Was Chase getting a promotion as an ACME Director? And 'Tell him his job is safe'? Why not tell him yourselves? The Russian pushed her questions aside for the sake of cohesiveness. 'Director-of-Operations,' she wrote with her ballpoint sensing an almost ominous tone as she dotted her i's.


Airfield Staff
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Known Aliases
Euge, Earl Jr.
Color #
"Euge," Chase called to the pilot with an idea fresh in his head, "How many people do you know in South America?"

Eugene, still in the process of wedging gear into the hold, paused at Chase's query. South America? ACME had already white knighted Hailey back to her family; the only thing left was the VILE detainees. They might prove useful in some form, but even if ACME was able to make charges stick, that wouldn't give Oxide anything actionable. Hopping out of the cargo hatch, Eugene purposefully began his walk-around; both to ensure the engines hadn't ingested too much sand and to delay his answer to Chase's query

"Barring parts of Venezuela, I've got contacts all over the continent," Eugene answered from the engine cowling. "Won't do you much good though; you'll have to play this one by the book, as high profile as it is." The media was not going to let the VILE agents apprehended in Brazil out of their sight, as they were the only ones able to provide the answers ACME and the world at large so desperately wanted.


Queen of Crime
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Color #
(As promised, to the gentlemen in this afternoon's chat.)

Once upon a time, and altogether not too long ago, an ambitious wanderer took it upon herself to perform the impossible task of moving a proud mountain. Eventually, she succeeded in the procurement of her prize only to watch parts of her well woven plans flay at the edges. A high-profile stowaway consumed resources and sent a core member of her team to the other side of the globe; while the clues she had meticulously left in the tower were seemingly neglected as its owners ironically chose to reduce the once gleaming structure to dust.

So it came pass that the infamous thief took a course on foot towards a small town in southern Tunisia. The late morning sun made the journey significantly less enjoyable, and by the 30-minute mark, she began to miss her motorcycle. Other thoughts swam through her mind while she traversed a barely visible road. The shawl wrapped around her head served as both shade and disguise, but she would never pass as a local; the more imperative for her to find a friendly face.

An hour later, as the sun rose to ever daunting heights, Carmen Sandiego reached a tan hill. At its foot was a structure formed from earth; a residential complex built into the shadow of the rise, it comprised of several cavities with doors and windows lined in white and painted decoratively in rich sky blue. Its ingenuity made her smile and she exhaled a short, airy laughter at having reached her destination.

The Bedouin structure was a town in its own right, but it had neither name nor label. As she approached, its inhabitants readily observed her from their posts with an air of curiosity. A foreign woman walking in from the eastern desert is far from the norm, and she would need to find Saleh's family before she's forced to explain herself.

Rising from a small bench built into the town's facade, a young woman waved in her direction and promptly walked down to greet the stranger.

"You are Saleh's friend?" she asked, her eyes wide with disbelief.

"Yes," replied the thief as she read the woman's face, "Thank you for being so accommodating, I know it was short notice."

"Oh it's marvellous we have a visitor, I just thought Saleh did not have lady friends," the explanation was full of mirth, "I am his sister Lesi, my husband is in Tunis for one week, but you can stay here as long as you need. My children are inside, Doma and Aleph."

"I'm Karen," Carmen introduced herself without a last name.


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Somewhere near Caernarfon, Wales.

Bran, the son of Brychan, slowly made his way through the forest towards his destination. It was a foggy night and the air was dense with the smell of rain. Soon torrents of water would be plummeting to the earth. Bran pulled his grey trench coat about his body and pushed on into the night.

The rain was pouring through the trees by the time Bran reached his journey's destination, a single, lonely grave seated on a long forgotten hill. Bran approached the grave marker and knelt beside it. It was a simple marker, decorated minimally and appearing older than the earth itself. Bran placed a hand on it and felt down the marker until his hand rested on an object. Pulling the object free, he beheld a small chest. The chest was beautifully ornamented with priceless jewels and ancient Celtic carvings. Bran slowly lifted the cover off the chest and withdrew a small piece of parchment. Unfolding the paper, Bran read the words which filled the page. A smile crept across his face, and Bran ap Brychan knelt there, reading the paper, as water soaked through his coat and into his soul.

A sound suddenly echoed through the forest. Bran started and placed his hand on a revolver hidden beneath his coat. He waited a few moments, hardly breathing. He waited, listening for a sound or a sign that someone was there. But no one came, no one. Bran quietly slid the chest back into its place and became one with the shadows, sliding into the darkness provided by the many haunting trees. He turned once more and gazed at the old grave site; then Bran ap Brychan, leaving the hill and the forest behind, reentered the world. He was ready for his new life. He was ready to move on.


Confidence Man
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Color #
(According to Deric, he don't speak Portuguese so well, so below is only Vic's perspective. All parties mentioned have approved.)

Vic sat in a cement holding cell picking at paint chips on the bars. He could hear talking from the guards and from the two ACME agents, everything in Portuguese. He wished now that he took more time learning the language.

He knew a plane left and took the Weller girl with it, the ACME Chief and a few other agents were gone. Vic had to wonder what was taking so long.

"Hey Vic," the navigator from VILE sat in the cell opposite his, "when do you think we get a phone call?"

Vic gave an exasperated sigh, "It's Brazil, you lutz."

The navigator took his answer and stayed silent, but only for a few seconds, "So… no call then?"

Suddenly, the two ACME agents he identified as Deric Storm and Cali Corranos walked in to talk to the guards. With them was a butch Brazilian that looked like he came off an army recruitment ad. There was a lot of pointing and a lot of Portuguese, but Vic didn't sense anything good for him in all that. Then the guards came in, removed the prisoners from their cells and Vic followed instructions to the airfield.

"We're going for a ride, ah?" he joked but no one replied.

A plane was waiting, and they were led in. Vic thought it was a little weird how the agents were going about this, but he didn't have reasons to freak out.

The more ACME stayed quiet, the more Vic started to get nervous. But even before he knew it, the plane was on a descent.

"What's goin' on??" Vic asked one of the agents, "You ACME kids misplaced your instruction books again?"

Deric said something that the conman couldn't hear over the noise, but Vic understood what it meant. The plane was going down.


The VILEiest VILE to ever VILE a VILE
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Known Aliases
Nebuchadnezzar (Neb) Ullyss (formerly Kid Kidman), Kitty, Seryy Pripyat
Color #
"Alter, das ist wunderbar! We stole the whole tower! How are you so grumpy?"

Kidman continued to stare moodily into space. She had been sitting in the same place for nearly the whole day; slumped over a cafeteria table, chin resting upon folded arms. The storm cloud over her head was near palpable and she stood out easily against the celebration around her.

The tower had been stolen a day or so before, and the second she heard whispers of confirmation she had gone into hiding. She knew she wouldn’t have the capacity to feign surprise at the news and so waited until she was sure it had become common knowledge.

Kidman sighed.

It certainly was now.

‘Souvenirs’ taken from the tower when Carmen’s team had raided it were already being sold around base. She was only vaguely surprised by how quickly they had shown up here.

Another man came up beside the first, a children’s ‘ACME gumshoe’ badge pinned to his hat.
“Hey man, check this recruitment poster! I put in rec room, ya? What’s her problem?”

The first man shrugged. “Maybe she’s sad for the ACMEs?”

Kidman sighed again, this time heavy with exasperation. “None of you think this may have been too much?”

“Too much? It’s Carmen! This is what Carmen does! She sure showed them who runs the game. Put them in their place!”

“Ya, you mess with us, we steal sie ihr haus. Sometimes I wonder if you’re in the right place, Three of Nine.”

The girl frowned at her Borg inspired nickname. ‘Like they should talk.’
She really wanted to argue further, bleed out the building toxicity that had been building since Vic left, but that would mean further questioning Carmen in public. To do so felt like a betrayal, and part of her didn’t want to admit her faith in the woman’s judgment had been so horribly shaken.

She got up and left instead.


It was dusk and Kidman was on the roof again. All around her came the sounds of celebration and it only served to drive her deeper into dread.

‘Am I the only one worried about this? No, there must be others. They probably don’t want to speak up for the same reason I don’t. There’s no point. It’s done.’

‘Well maybe if you had gone to Vic sooner- ’ came her inner voice dissent but she cut it off.

‘It wouldn’t have done any good. What I, what we have to say doesn’t matter. Sometimes I wish I could be a mindless drone or an opportunist that could just jump ship should she run it aground. Maybe that’s it. I…I can’t just not care. I love this place, I love this rainbow, and I love who she must be to have made it. I want you to stay free, Carmen…’

She leaned against the railing. No doubt Carmen was out there, somewhere, celebrating too. She wanted to be happy for her, but worry gnawed at every attempt she made.

‘No. There’s nothing to be done, and maybe it isn’t as bad as I feel. Maybe I’m just a pessimist, a worrier…. ’

She gave a few tries at smiling. It was awkward at best, hindered by disuse and scars, but it did make her feel a little better.

‘Maybe I’m just not used to being so close to the action. I’ve had months to worry over this. They’ve only known the success. Master, why did you curse me with that knowledge if I could do nothing for it? No, no more regret. There is happiness all around. I should take some for myself.’

Kidman gazed down at the partiers, embracing their laughter, their joyful drunkedness, their…confusion?
As she watched, the scene below began to ripple with anxiety. The music quieted and the games halted as the dusk lit up with the screens of so many smart phones. She heard shouting and the girl felt her heart race as she leaned forward to catch the words;

“The plane! The plane, it crashed!”


Medical Staff
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Color #
Thirty-two hours had passed since a team from ACME was despatched from its headquarters in San Francisco to São Paolo, Brazil with the intent to retrieve an intrepid Hailey Weller.

The precipitation had shadowed them – the generous rainfall that had created the lush colours of the Federative Republic transforming into a misty drizzle that blanketed the lunch-time bustle of the bay area.

A six-year-old child pitter-pattered through the private terminal of the San Francisco International Airport, clad in a pink-coloured coat that her grandfather had donned for her. She waved two inflated latex gloves, beckoning the elderly man to make haste and join her as she climbed into the first of a short caravan of unmarked SUVs…

* *

Sophie Conrad, with her profession and role indiscernible behind her placid expression, a generic outfit of a tailored shirt and fitted pants, and the visual absence of an ACME identification tag that had been tucked between the folds of the coat draped upon her arm, kept a steady pace as she moved through the ACME Academy. Five measured steps separated her from the backs of Chief Everard Weller, ACME Agent Nevon Blair, and the young Hailey Weller.

Leading the way was a young blonde woman, conveying a succinct walking brief to the Chief. She was pragmatic in manner, spoke briskly and had a faint Russian accent that Sophie found somewhat melodious.

Lecture Theatre 2 was a 250-seat auditorium that had, not so long ago, seen various groups of exuberant ACME cadets pouring in and out of it for lessons on anything from Criminal Law to Corporate Security. Now, it was packed with every manner of reporter and journalist, all eagerly awaiting to hear from a man so rarely seen in the public eye and yet so important to the institution of ACME.

Chief Everard Weller bent down to take Hailey Weller into his arms. He nodded once at the steady Press & Public Relations Officer beside him, and stepped into the filled room.

“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, thank you for gathering at such short notice…”

For a moment, as the Chief of ACME entered, his granddaughter in his arms and a mix of personnel in his wake, a hush fell upon the occupants of the auditorium. Then, a single murmur gave rise to a torrent of confabulation. Sophie kept her eyes on Hailey Weller as the Chief strode towards the front of the lecture theatre, returning a smile and the playful wave that the child had sent her way.

As Dr. Everard Weller took centre-stage, Sophie stole a seat on the third row, disappearing into the mess of media representatives. She turned her attention to the surroundings, evaluating the crowd with acute percipience.

It took many long minutes before such a degree of quiet was attained so that the venerated gentleman could speak.

“I am happy and relieved to announce that my granddaughter, Hailey Weller, has been returned yesterday. An ACME physician has examined her and the report is that she is her perfect, healthy self - even though she has missed her ‘Kuppa’ much...”

From her seat, she did nothing to acknowledge the rapid glance that Chief Weller cast in her direction. Everything he had said, was saying, and would say in this auditorium, she recognised existed for the sole purpose of the audience this message was being and would be broadcasted to. She watched, like everyone else in the theatre, as Dr. Weller gave Hailey a light kiss on the cheek - which elicited a giggle from the child -, beamed, and cleared his throat.

“I would like to thank the team from ACME, some of whom are still on their way back; and I would like to thank VILE for their kind cooperation on this... matter. I can't say more. It has been a tiring ordeal. Thank you all and have a good day.”

Sophie stood up, like everyone else in the room, but instead of leaning forward to solicit more words from the Chief or the Press & Public Relations Officer accompanying him, she picked up her coat and slipped out of the lecture theatre. A message would be sent to her mobile phone should ACME require her presence for a debrief.

The excuse of returning Hailey Weller to her undoubtedly anxious parents was proffered as the Chief and his accompanying contingent were escorted from the auditorium. No questions would be answered and no further comments would be made.

The true circumstances of how and why the granddaughter of the Chief of ACME had come to be in his office at such a pivotal moment in the history of the organisation would never be known nor did Sophie consider it anymore important to the current circumstances. All that the child had recounted to the doctor - as they drew smiling faces, miniature clock faces and winged figures with large skirts on the surfaces of purple-coloured examination gloves - was that she had meandered across the ACME compound to tell her ‘Kuppa’ of a cartoon she had dreamt about and had, “like magic”, gone on an adventure to discover that fairies dressed in red, and that their queen was named ‘Carmen’.

* *

Her steps were swift as she traversed the ACME park grounds, heading directly towards the ACME Medical Center. The 12-degree Celsius air felt five degrees colder and, when Sophie decided that she had put enough distance between her and the media circus that surrounded the square whence a 16-storey tower once stood and the adjacent Academy buildings, she slowed her pace to undo the low chignon that had held her hair in place and lifted her head to expose her face to the wind, enjoying the sensation of its biting chill on her skin.

Her thoughts wandered to Agent Deric Storm and Calina Corranos, the two members of the team who had remained in Brazil with the task of dealing with the VILE representation they had captured. She did not know their directive nor did it feel essential to know it; all she could hope for was its success and their safe return.

She considered the video Agent Eleanor Mayhem had transmitted and could only wonder about its ramifications. There had been such differing reactions from the agents she had travelled with that could only be a glimpse into the conflict such an agenda - as well-intended as it was - could cause.

Yet, she hoped that Eleanor Mayhem would not find the persecution Chase Devineaux had appeared to receive from the Board of Directors at ACME. The devoted agent, Sophie perceived, clearly had great feelings for the Field Director.

All these thoughts accompanied Sophie as she entered the Emergency Department of the ACME Medical Center and glanced around at the empty chairs and trolleys that appeared bereft in the low light. The facility was now devoid of patients and only a minimal number of staff remained to attend to any internal medical requirements. Some of these select employees were now gathered in a circle behind the capacious nursing counter in the center of the department. Clearly, something of import had occurred to command such attention.

The sound of her boots against the linoleum-covered floor announced her arrival and a nurse whirled around with widened eyes. “Sophie,” she exclaimed, bringing a hand to her chest, “there has been a plane crash in Brazil!”

No further elaboration was required. The looks on the faces that now turned towards her explicated the necessary details. Sophie Conrad frowned and looked down, her gaze falling upon the flakes of colour that peppered the linoleum beneath her feet, a flash of aggravation betrayed by her expression as she pressed her lips together. Then, she drew a breath and raised her head.

“We will wait for further instructions from ACME Command,” she said with resolution, approaching the counter and reaching over it for one of the tablet computers that had been plugged in to charge. She disconnected the device from its power source and logged-in with her thumbprint to extract a freshly-created roster of medical, nursing, and ancillary personnel that would provide for the needs of ACME for the immediate future. “Don’t assume anything,” she instructed as she departed, the computer in arm.

[Credit: EarlJr, for consult. Chief and Chase, for indulgence and privilege. Carmen, for inspiration.]


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Known Aliases
Iv', Ives
Color #
With ACME's tower and its attached canteen missing, food trucks along the pavilion provided a temporary spot for staff meals. Siting down with a Bay Chicken Burrito, Ivy Monaghan watched the muted IBN video of Eleanor Mayhem's plea on behalf of Chase Devineaux. This was her second time seeing the broadcast, which had since become viral news across national networks. There was a leak in the company somewhere, but in times like these, that was the least of their problems.

Several weeks ago Chase and a field team had left to Luxembourg, before his departure he asked an odd question.

Chase from La Vie De Luxe Site RPG: "Has Chief Weller ever talked to you about me? Has he ever said anything along the line of not trusting me?"

That case led to ACME's team being distracted in Europe while their home base was stolen. Rumors spread that the board was hell bent on blaming Chase Devineaux for it… but was he really just a scape goat? It was no secret that there was a small undercurrent in ACME, Chase Devineaux had his special operations division whose accomplishments were seldom published.

Suddenly, someone in the crowd shouted, "ACME Plane down!"

Ivy's communicator beeped, displaying the message that was now being passed like wildfire, 'ACME Plane Crash. Brazil.'

For a moment, Ivy could hear her own heart beating. The names of the agents involved were not released , but her mind wandered to the faces of colleges and students who were on assignment. She ran towards the record center kept in the dorm building.

Using her staff clearance, Ivy Monaghan cross referenced the recent outbound agents, comming across a few recognizable names… ACME's doctor, Sophie Conrad; Chief Weller; Hailey Weller; her own student Nevon Blair; bomb tech Calina Corranos; and Deric Storm who she remembered as the hot headed agent that attacked Lee on camera. Sophie, Chief, Hailey, and Nevon had all returned safely this morning. It could have been a relapse into her detective days, but Ivy felt compelled to find out more.

While all other records seemed to require higher clearance, Ivy did spy a nearly unmarked request that took place within the past 48-hours. It had nothing to do with Brazil, but showed a plane being taken out by flight instructor Eugene Grovington. Although Grovington took planes out regularly on inspection, this one seemed inconsistent. Chase Devineaux's own signature was on the release form, with the destination appearing only as 'Classified.'

Something was happening.


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Chip Masters was sitting in his office, listening to the news station on the radio. When the news conference started, he stopped poking around in the computer's logs for a minute to listen. After what he regarded as a short speech, the IT manager stood up, turned off the radio, and walked around his small office in the basement of the former tower. For a while now, he had been trying to figure out who had forged the password series to gain access to Ms. Mayhem's video file. As he heard the door open, he turned around. "What's going on outside?" he asked.

Winston Payne, Chip's personal assistant, walked in with a new pot of coffee for the overworked nerd. "It's bedlam, sir," the assistant said. "Let's just leave it at that."

Chip sighed. "I guess I should be glad that I'm staying inside, then," he muttered before going back to his desk. "It just seems like nothing is going right for anyone today."

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