How high is that wall, to the ceiling?
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I'm going to try moving the game to a new service, let me know if this works for you: https://www.tavern-keeper.com/campaign/3954/about
As always, feel free to interject at any point. Free to act throughout all of that narration. We'll address it all :]
Spiderchin's face darkens and his sneer contorts in fury. He starts swearing in Spanish and punching you in the face until the chair you're tied to falls back, and he lands on top of you, punching down at your face. Just before you lose consciousness, Spiderchin's weight is suddenly tossed off of you and you see The Bouncer standing over you. The thugs all look at eachother, unsure what to do. "St. John wants to talk to her," The Bouncer says in a bored, disgusted tone as Spiderchin scrambles to his feet and pulls his pistol, aiming it at The Bouncer, who seems unphased. "Lay a hand on me again and I'll blow your f&#+ing head off, I don't care who you work for," Spiderchin spits. His lackeys seem less sure, and haven't drawn their weapons yet. The Bouncer, however, ignores Spiderchin and tips your chair back upright, slowly dragging you out by the back of it. "I'm not f@!$ing done with her, don't f+&!ing walk away. I'll f~*$ing shoot you in the back you mother f$++er!" Spiderchin continues swearing, trying to brandish his pistol as aggressively as possible. "This wasn't part of the f@&~ing deal!" The last thing you see before the door closes between you is Spiderchin staring at you with boiling hatred. ~~~ The back two legs of the metal chair squeal on grey tile as you are dragged along. You're facing away, so you're not sure where you're going. The hallways are dimly lit with yellow fluorescent overhead lamps. It looks like the back halls of some grocery or market, the type with 'employees only' signs. The Bouncer doesn't speak as he drags you, but you can smell his body odor, sweaty and greasy. A twinge of pain in your calf reminds you that there's a bullet-hole with a switchblade still lodged in it there. The restraints are digging painfully into your wrists and your fingers are numb. Finally The Bouncer stops in front of an office door and knocks. You hear a pleasantly resonant voice from inside: "Come in." And there's a click of the door unlocking. The Bouncer drags you inside and turns your chair around. "Thank you Frederick. No trouble from our guests?" "Nah," The Bouncer replies. The office you find yourself restrained in is lavishly decorated with antique furniture, including a large grandfather clock, and smells faintly like cigars. Sitting at a meticulously polished, imposing, deep red mahogany desk, is a rather plain looking man with a bald head and brown beard. He reminds you of a taxi driver, or farmer. Beside him, is a woman. The Woman. Vibrant red hair like flames, porcelain skin and red lipstick in an elegant but form-fitting green dress. She isn't wearing the masquerade mask like last time you spotted her, and her features are unearthly in their crisp perfection. Dark perfectly shaped eyes with vibrant green irises. She doesn't look real, like she was sculpted or painted too well. She smiles a little, seeing you. "Had a feeling I'd see you again, but I'm afraid I was just leaving," she turns to St. John and kisses his cheek. He grimaces but accepts. "Take care, love. Think it over," she purrs to him before straightening and walking past you to leave, giving you a small smile.
Your vision clears as you focus. The bloody water from the trunk is running to a drain in the concrete floor. There's... four thugs besides Spiderchin, and the bouncer, still watching. You flex slightly against the restraints, they're solid. Your leg hurts like hell and you feel a bit weak from blood loss. It's definitely a garage, and there's all sorts of work tools on the walls and shelves, jugs of bleach and gasoline. The windows are barred and have been blacked out with heavy paper and tape. "Oh you think you're tough shit. You're gonna f&!~ing die here. I'll make you remember my brother," he takes out a switchblade, flicking it open, then kneels in front of you, his face a few inches from yours. "I'll carve his f&&~ing name into you and you'll die screaming it puta," he sneers and shoves the blade slowly into the bullet wound in your calf, watching you closely as he does. The thugs nearby laugh.
One mo' bump. Promise you don't have to memorize the system or anything :]
You briefly wonder where the hell Elliot is. Surely he went to the trainyard? Maybe he followed you here? Maybe he's calling in the cavalry right now, or infiltrating himself for a daring rescue... Or maybe you're on your own.
Aaaand sorry for another delay. I just moved and it was crazy. Getting settled in now.
Two goons rush up and ziptie your hands behind your back, and then your ankles together, clearly not wanting to take any chances after seeing you drop their friend instantly. You see them dragging his unconscious body to a car as you are yourself dragged away. Your leg hurts like hell. They bodily throw you into the trunk of a car, and you see Spiderchin's gold teeth grinning down at you. "We gonna f!~+ you up for Heysus, mi hermano." The last thing you see before blacking out is the butt of his pistol coming at you.
~~~ You have a few hazy memories of jostling around in a musty dark trunk, zip ties cutting into your wrists and ankles painfully, and the slick feeling of your own blood around your legs. Suddenly you're being sprayed with cold water from a hose, and Spiderchin is laughing. "You got f+*$in' blood in my trunk, puta! You on your period or somethin'?" He seems to think that's hilarious. Two thugs haul you out of the trunk bodily and drag you across concrete floor. You're in a very blurry, spinning garage. There's overhead fluorescent lamps that hurt to look at. Faintly you think you can hear the thumping of music through the walls. It smells like bleach. You have a hard time focusing on faces, but there's about six of the cartel thugs in the garage plus one giant bouncer near a metal door along the right wall, watching. You meet his eyes briefly and feel unsettled. There's real danger behind The Bouncer's dark eyes--not the petty street thug danger of Spiderchin and his cronies. You feel relief when his gaze moves away from you, as he looks with disgust at the cartel thugs. The Bouncer is a huge man, fat and muscled with a big gut. His face is ugly, scarred and pock-marked. The cartel thugs throw you down onto a metal chair and zip tie your wrists and ankles to it. Spiderchin leans down and grins at you. "Do you even remember Heysus? You remember my brother's face?"
Spiderchin seems phased by your words, looking around nervously--which makes his men nervous too. No one seems willing to risk taking the shot, which seems to confirm your thought of them being low on men. But then he grins and orders something in Spanish, gesturing with his free hand, keeping his gun aimed at you. The SUV with the girls in it starts its engine and begins to pull away... Spiderchin cocks the hammer back on his pistol. "I want you alive, but ain't gonna shed any tears if we have to leave your dead body in this f%&#ing trainyard, puta."
If you're holding as well, there will be about 6 seconds of standoff silence and tension.
They're ready for you (they won init). You evade the two of them attempting to grapple you with your Acrobatic roll. Surprisingly, Spiderchin doesn't fire on you, but several of the thugs do as he shouts something in Spanish at them. One thug's pistol jams immediately, one misses--but one shot passes cleanly through your calf, shredding tendon and muscle. The hit makes you stumble, but with lightning speed you grab one of the thugs, pinning his arm painfully behind his back and using him as a human shield as you uppercut and sidekick the other thug beside him, crumpling him to the ground unconscious with brutal efficiency.
Spiderchin shouts louder in Spanish, still not firing at you. One thug struggles to fix his jam and finally does so, but isn't able to attack this turn. The thug you have grappled struggles to break free, but only succeeds in hurting his own shoulder more. The rest of the thugs seems to listen to Spiderchin and hold their fire. There's a moment of tension as they all hold their actions...
GM Rolls:
Spiderchin grins again, then speaks in accented english. "Damn. She was even right about those girls being important to you. You made one nasty enemy chica, whoever she is." The two behind you start moving to ziptie your hands behind your back. Spiderchin aims a gun at you now too. The girls are shoved into the back of an SUV. GM Rolls:
A few of them pull out pistols when you come out. They close in. Spiderweb-chin points at you. That same whisper translates again. "That's the b%#~$." "Where's the rest?" "Check the truck." They don't respond to your questions, but the one you approached aims his gun at you (and you stop). Two of the men shine flashlights into the truck cab, aim their pistols inside and tap the glass. After a moment the doors unlock and a terrified Max and Joan climb out. The trainyard is a deep blue backdrop around the island of light cast by the surrounding headlights. Feet crunch in gravel and one of the girls is crying quietly. Finally, Spiderweb-chin speaks up, in English (mostly). "Tie that puta up. Take the chicas too, they'll sell fast." He grins at you. Gold teeth. Yeah, you remember him. That whisper in the back of your mind speaks up again, but it's not a translation, "You're f%&*ed now you f@*%ing whore. You're f!$@ing DEAD." Two men grab the girls and start dragging them to one of the SUVs, and two more go to tie you up while the rest point guns at you.
A line of vehicles starts pulling up, headlights beaming. Two SUVs and a sedan. Their headlights beam brightly in the dark, passing over you once and making you feel very exposed. You duck your head so the dark hoodie covers your face. They park around the truck, and figures start getting out. You overhear them speaking Spanish. After a few seconds a whispered echo in the back of your mind ... translates. "There's no one here. B@%$# lied." "She said they'd be here, she knew a lot of shit, brother." "Check the truck." The figures start approaching the truck you're under. As they pass in front of the headlights you can make them out more clearly. Hispanic men with a lot of prison tattoos. You think you recognize one from the farmhouse battle, whose face is completely covered in tattoos with a spiderweb tattoo on his chin. They haven't spotted you yet, but they're about to open up the truck door. You're fairly certain Joan and Max are inside...
You hear a laugh inside the truck. Any relief you feel is immediately washed away by the sound of a car approaching, tires crunching in the gravel. You can see the glow of headlights over the traincars as it nears. More than one car, actually...
No other vehicles in sight, just the truck. No sign of where they might have gone.
It's dark. The railway junction area is complex and sprawling. A dozen different tracks, some new, some old, all run parallel and intersect in different places, with switches and garages. There's a few small warehouse buildings, big stacks of wooden pallets, and an assortment of other types of cargo shipping equipment you can't name. You spot the back of Max's truck behind one of the warehouse buildings, and guess that the girls can't be too far from it. Sneaking carefully alongside train-cars, using them as cover, you get close enough to spot them in the dim yellowish glow of a nearby warehouse's outdoor lamp. Max is laying down in the gravel with a camera, taking pictures of Joan leaning against a traincar as dramatically and teen-angstily as possible. You can hear giggling, and Max say, "Hold--still. You have to hold still. With this long of exposure time you're gonna be all f*&!in' blurry Joan. Just...hold your breath okay?" You see Joan flip Max off, but then dutifully return to her pose. "No wait, that was great! Flip me off again. Hold that pose." Click------click. "Booyah, that's going to be perfect," Max gets up with a grin and runs up to Joan, holding her hand out, camera hanging from its sling around her neck. Joan laughs and takes her hand, and they run off together, disappearing behind the warehouse that Max's truck is behind. You hear car doors shutting, but no engine. You sneak closer, and can see the truck clearly now. No sign of Max or Joan. The truck is off, no lights inside. 10 o'clock goes by. No change. What do you do?
Elliot politely declines the invitation, but offers to cook, and if allowed, makes a salmon pasta bake, asparagus, and beef vegetable stew. He tells you about a few old cases he worked at Interpol, and seems happy enough. ~~~ After dinner, you head out to find Joan. You park a little ways from the train tracks and go the rest of the way on foot in a dark hoodie.
Sorry for the delay again. Looking to post over the weekend.
Joan and Max get into an older blue pickup truck with band stickers on the back, and after Elliot turns away you see them kiss. When you ask Elliot your question, he's already watching you closely. "I still don't want you to beat her up." He watches you a moment longer, and is about to say more, but you hear the engine start outside and you know you don't have much time if you want to follow them. GM Roll:
There's about...4 seconds of awkward silence, interrupted by the doorbell ringing. "Oh, Max is here. Bye Dad. Bye Dad's friend," Joan kisses the top of Elliot's head and hurries to the door. Elliot gives you an apologetic smile and stands, taking a few steps after Joan. "Just be back by like 10 alright? Or call me by then with an update. Okay?" "Yup!" Joan answers cheerily and opens the door. Grinning outside is presumably 'Max', a girl, with short jet black hair, two lip rings, heavy eyeliner, red lipstick, a sleeve of colorful tattoos and a short white tanktop. "Hi Mr. Birch," she waves at Elliot before the two walk off holding hands.
Footsteps down the stairs and 'Joan' peeks in, then waves. Brown hair, brown eyes, pretty. Wearing typical teenage American girl clothes and accessories, as if they were handing out mandatory uniforms. You remember Elliot saying she was 16 awhile ago. "Hi, I'm Joan. You work with my dad?" She seems to realize she's standing too far away and walks up to stand behind Elliot's chair.
Your body is strong, but in the dreams it's always powerless. You can hear the echos of that mocking laughter even in your waking moments. Elliot asks you to meet him at his home to talk. It's about as 'american dream' as you can get, it looks like it's straight from a commercial. Literal white picket fence, two BMWs in the driveway, one silver and one blue, in front of a large garage. There's even a welcome mat--and a small security camera aiming down from above you, nearly hidden, but with your experience and passive awareness you spot it. The door opens before you can press the doorbell button or knock.
Short responses are perfectly acceptable :] It's been weird for me too, I def don't blame you
You have two months left of training and decide to spend it on meditation and self-reflection. You were still having recurring nightmares and wanted to try and center yourself, deal with them, clear your head. Some nights you relived that moment outside the farmhouse when your foot snagged and you nearly died, the intense pain shooting through your head, then darkness. Other nights you're trapped in that circular metal prison until fear shook you awake sweating.
They did! I think it's intended to make the Monk feel special. /shrug Also, apologies for the big wall of text btw, I'm not able to post as often right now so bigger chunks with multiple spots to reply to will have to be the format for now. :)
Mark chuckles, but withholds his answer until you're crossing the parking lot towards his red jeep. It's a full moon tonight. "That was...not what I expected. Knew you had guts, and could fight, but I'd never seen you go all out like that. I don't even know what the f*$! to say. But I'll tell you, I did not intend for you to win that," he glances over to Sang-mi, then shrugs. "Just wanted to push you."
He drives back to the HQ. It's dark, but the garage door opens so Mark can drive up the ramp inside. When the door lowers shut behind, the garage lights turn on and Mark steps out, leading you to the medical room and digging around for some bandages and alcohol. "Sit," he gestures offhandedly to the hospital bed then comes over with the first aid supplies, cleaning and bandaging the cut on your scalp, then prods at the painful bruise on your ribs. "No breaks or fractures, you'll be fine." The following day when you come in for work, you spot Elliot eating breakfast in the mess hall and notice he has a broken nose. He nods to you but doesn't bring it up. GM Rolls:
Your first training block with Mark follows the same motif: pushing you. He has you up early, running with a heavy pack on, rock climbing at a local gym's wall, and even a couple trips to an Olympic sized pool for some swimming training. You feel like you're in boot camp, and go to sleep sore and exhausted every night. Throughout, Mark isn't more than your drill instructor. There's no chit chat. By the end of the month you feel like you've made serious progress in cardio and endurance.
Next month is a lot more fun. Mark loads up the 'work' van with heavy munitions and drives over two hours north of downtown with you. You learn a bit more about Mark on the drive, though there isn't much in the way of juicy details. Parents dead, one brother died when he was too young to remember him. Never married. No girlfriend. No friends, besides you and Elliot. The most interesting thing you learned is when he mentioned a 'mentor' of his, in the past tense, but wouldn't say much more about whoever it was. The destination is a huge gun range that looks like it should be busy, but is completely empty. "Rented it out," Mark explains as he slings two dufflebags over his shoulders and hands you a third. It's heavy. The two of you walk out onto the range and Mark starts unzipping the bags. Ear protection, eye protection, two machineguns, a rocket launcher, a grenade launcher, and a lot of ammunition. Mark guides you through loading the weapons, general safety, changing out overheated barrels, how to properly clear a jam from a grenade launcher without blowing yourself up, firing from prone on a bipod vs. crouched, firing in controlled bursts, and some tactical training for how to keep an area pinned down while Mark pretends to go up the side to flank the imaginary foes, getting around their cover. You spend all day at the range, and into the night, when Mark shows you how to use tracer rounds to zero in on targets, using the streaks of light left by the rounds to correct your aim. "You can see tracers in the day too, if you're paying attention, it's just more of a show at night so I saved em," he grins, clearly enjoying himself.
The next two days are spent at the CSB HQ, taking apart, cleaning, oiling, and reassembling different light machineguns (LMGs). Mark explains they're 'light' because "You don't just carry around machine guns, they're mounted on vehicles." The LMGs are exponentially more complicated than the smaller weapons you're used to, with so many more moving parts. Not too hard to take them apart, but reassembling feels like taking an exam at school. "This may seem pointless, but understanding how these big bastards work on the inside can make the difference between life and death on the field. If you're too slow to change out a barrel, or clear a jam, it could be your last mistake." And then another long ride in the van, back out to the firing range. Mark mentions this 'mentor' again, "I was pretty lost when he found me. I'd gotten into a fight, don't even remember what it was over anymore. I knocked some guy right into one of those burning rusted out metal drum things hobos warm up around. Just scorched him a bit. Anyway, I guess my old mentor liked what he saw. We were kind of inseparable from there," Mark is quiet after that, just staring ahead at the road as he drives in silence.
Your high kick slips between his blocking hands, catching him hard in the chin. He wobbles, you can tell you almost just KO'd him, but he's hanging on, and manages to lift his foot in time to avoid your sweep. Before he can regain his balance your roundhouse knocks him flat. The crowd roars again, and the ref hands you a thick heavy envelope of what you assume is cash and holds your other hand in the air to more cheers. "What a f&!%ing show!" The voice over the speaker shouts. You spot Mark again, and he's grinning maniacally and clapping. He nods towards the exit, offering to lead you out of there if you want.
Woops. I was looking at 5e Monk. Didn't realize that feature wasn't on the Martial Artist class. OK this turned out to be a really complicated question that I'm just going to have to make a GM decision on. Technically you can't offhand strike unarmed in 5e, since it's not tagged as a "light weapon". NORMALLY a monk can do it with full ability bonus. I'm not sure if it was removed for balance or just forgotten. So what I'm going to do is add it to your Martial Art feat:
And consider you having used that feature to KO the guy, otherwise he's still up.
The axe kick knocks the wind out of him as he's trying to get up, then the kick to the jaw knocks him out. The remaining heavyset fighter doesn't wait for you to recover, swinging for your face as soon as you knock Baldy out. His knuckles glance off the side of your head, bringing a rush of dizziness and a warm trickle down your scalp. His hands immediately return to a defensive stance as he keeps moving towards you, looking for more openings to strike. He seems to have shaken off the strike you landed on him earlier.
GM Rolls:
Stepping past Baldy, you kick Wifebeater's thigh and he falls to one knee, shocked by the power of the strike. It lines him up for the superman punch that flattens him out cold. You immediately spin with a sweep at Fatty but he's quicker than he looks and steps back in time. He returns with a low kick of his own but you spring nimbly out of the way and back to your feet just in time to see Baldy tackle where you just where, falling as he grabs at empty air.
GM Rolls: Wifebeater AC 12
HP 11-8-10 DOWN Resisted 6 damage to fatty New init order: Baldy, Sang-mi, Fatty.
He doesn't even react to the feint, just lets you hit him. Your knee catches him square in the meaty abs and he doesn't even budge. Before he can pull back his fist to take a swing you jump and hit him square in the side of the jaw, knocking his head back and making him wobble backwards, barely conscious, then the uppercut knocks him out cold and the sidekick to the ribs crumples him to the ground. The fight was over in a matter of seconds, before he could even take a swing. There is a theatrical moment of stunned silence, even in the busy club. These people wanted a fight, and they're not sure exactly what they just witnessed. But a couple cheers ignite them into a roar. You look to Mark but he's gone, then you see him talking to the ref. A couple men drag the unconscious fighter out of the ring. The ref grabs a microphone, "Yeah, alright, f$!+ it. Let's see what f$%@ing happens! Are you ready for this? Eyes to the ring!" Three similarly large men step into the ring. One in a wifebeater, one with a shaved head, and the third is fat but heavily muscled. You recognize Wifebeater and Fatty as veterans that Mark fought, Baldy is a mystery. The ref signals the fight to start and the terrible garage band starts playing too. Baldy isn't taking any chances and runs straight at you with a lunging forward kick. You sidestep but it still glances off your ribs and knocks you off balance with the sheer mass behind it. The other two men close in but are hesitating.
GM rolls:
Sang-mi remembers that moment clearly as she steps into the ring for her first fight at "The Shack". Mark is one of those bodies composing the ring of people, currently clapping. The same terrible band is back, way too loud, and the crowd tries to scream louder. A 6 foot bulky man steps into the ring, shirtless, tattooed, and bearded, wearing jeans but no shoes or socks. His movements aren't as slow as you'd expect from a typical American. He must have some amount of athletic training not just weightlifting. Some of the crowd boos when they see the terribly mismatched fighters. You get the feeling Mark must have arranged this fight with whatever pull he has here, or else they probably would have pitted you against another woman (or at least a similarly weighted man). The plastic viking-helmet-wearing ref signals the fight to start and the big man begins stepping towards the center of the ring, fist out to 'touch gloves'. Some of the crowd murmur uncertainly under the music, others boo, others laugh and applaud. "The f*&& is this bullshit?" "Is this some kind of joke?" "Beat that dumb b&!~+ down!" "Somebody should stop this." Mark nods to you.
Will probably be some delay on my next post
The deep dish is from Unos, and it smells very good. The beer has an incredibly long name that's an obstacle course to pronounce, Weihenstephan Hefe Weissbier. You've no idea if it's any good but it was highly recommended.
The rest of the training mission goes fairly smoothly, except you never did manage to break into Mark's apartment. You even dropped down off your balcony onto his but the sliding door was locked. Fortunately, you were still able to monitor and record a lot of information, just not his most personal life. Maybe it's better that way. Throughout, you really felt Elliot's stealth training paying off, and feel like you have a natural talent for it. Stalking Mark was a unique challenge and you learned a lot.
You have a week or so of downtime before your next training block begins, if you want to do anything else, follow any leads, etc. Otherwise, you can find Mark at the Training Grounds back at HQ.
You wait in the car to follow Mark, and like clockwork he steps out of the apartment building. You follow his red jeep back out of the nice neighborhoods into the slummy part of town. It's about a 30 minute drive. Throughout the drive you keep good distance and always keep a car between you and Mark. You're certain he didn't notice you following him. Mark pulls up to a warehouse-like building with dozens of cars parked outside, people coming and going, crowding around the doors and smoking. You park a block away and follow on foot, raising the hood of your sweater and adjusting the sunglasses closer on your face. You watch Mark walk in, and you begin to follow after him, about fifty feet behind. As you get closer you can hear awful live music blasting from inside and the smell of tobacco and marijuana smoke hits you immediately. Stepping inside, through the small crowds gathered outside, you can now see the interior of the "warehouse". It's been converted into huge a bar/dance club with a band on stage and various colored spotlights flashing to the music. There must be a hundred people inside--easy to blend into. You tail Mark through the crowds, and watch him approach the bar, ordering some kind of drink but not sitting, he just watches the band. You find a decent spot away from the center, close enough to Mark but not too close, and watch. Almost immediately, all the spotlights of the house shine down on the center of the dance-floor and the crowd goes crazy, whooping and cheering as they back away from the light. Their absence forms a neat circle in the center as the band cuts out and a man's voice booms over the speakers. "What the f$+@ is up tonight we got so many hopefuls ya'll fit to burst. Gonna start out with some pros tonight then open the floor to newbies and just keep it going all f$@&ing night!" The crowd roars. "First up we got longtime veteran Alejandro Murphy versus eight to zero Jake Meyer!" Two men from the crowd step into the cleared circle, one of them shirtless and the other wearing a black shirt with the sleeves ripped off. A man in a fake viking helmet steps up and signals them to begin. The band immediately starts playing again, and the fight starts. The sound of their fists hitting each other is like meat being tenderized. There's no gloves. The band is shitty and loud. Eventually the shirtless man gets knocked down and beaten while prone until the 'viking' ref stops the fight, raising the hand of the winner. "Alejandro Murphy! Tough f!&@ing fight. You'll get him next time Jake. Up next we got another veteran, Billy Price, fighting one of our regulars, Mark Lareson! Can you believe these two have never fought before? It's a match made in hell!" You see Mark move through the crowd and take his shirt off as he enters the circle. A few people pat him on the back as he goes, encouraging him by name. He seems popular here. The other man that steps forward, 'Billy Price' you assume, is a giant of a man, bald and well over six feet tall with massively broad shoulders, who ought to be playing pro football. Mark looks a full head shorter than him in comparison, and half as broad. Viking ref starts the fight, and the band starts too (they're awful and way too loud). Mark comes right at the big man, hammering away with body shots. The fight goes on for a solid eight minutes, and you see Mark take hits that should have knocked him out cold but somehow he's still standing and aggressively full of energy even as the big man slows down, panting, tiring out, and blood all over his face. Mark has a swollen eye but no blood on him--just his hands. Billy goes for a slow tired swing and Mark lunges down for his legs, taking him to the ground and the fight ends just like the last. "Hell of a fight as always. F%%% I've always wanted to see that match, haven't you? Great f#%#ing spirit from the both of them. Alright someone mop down that floor for some FRESH BLOOD! That's right, we're opening it up. Cash prize is five hundred for winners, but the real prize is the glory am I right? F&+& yeah!" Your attention shifts to Mark as he puts his shirt back on and collects an envelope of what you assume is cash, then starts making his way through the crowd towards the exit. You check your watch...add in the 30 minute drive and Mark will be home right on time, like clockwork. Guess he doesn't make any stops before home. You now have his complete schedule and have succeeded in your mission tonight, while staying perfectly undetected. You're free to go home and move this along, or whatever else you want. The night's yours.
Through a miracle of bad luck, every time Sang-mi tries to break into Mark's apartment, someone randomly walks by and she has to abort. Finally, in the brief window when Mark goes out for groceries, she manages to pick the lock and--it's also dead-bolted. Of course it is. As she starts working on the deadbolt the timer in her pocket goes off, indicating Mark could get back soon, and she has to cancel again. She is, however, successful in thoroughly bugging the areas outside his room and in the entryway, even a camera in the alleyway behind the apartment, just in case. All of it hooked up to her little command center set up in the apartment above Marks. An array of monitors for the cameras, and an audio switch system to listen to different bugs, as well as a deck of recording equipment that automatically records when a bug detects the subtle vibration in the air of people talking. Through all of this she stays very well undetected, disappearing in crowds, perfectly avoiding Mark's path as she follows his schedule, etc. It takes a little while, but on Thursday she finds the right person to help with her disguise. It gets upgraded with dark sunglasses that hide her missing eye, a new haircut, and a handful of new outfits that drastically contrast her usual style, but still fits in with what a local might wear.
Thursday, as she returns to her new apartment for the night and goes to bed, she realizes how far she's progressed. This is real spy shit she's doing, like in the movies. And there's real risk too, Mark could legitimately shoot her if she f##@ed up, before he realized it was her. It's not really clear where the line was between actor caught up in a crazy situation and real-life spy, but this felt...natural, good, right, powerful. She has a very familiar dream... It's the same circular steel room, but this time you're not blind. It's still very dark, but you can see dimly around you. The floor is smooth metal and your footsteps make no sound on it. Walking slowly through the darkness, reaching to search for the wall again, your hand touches a man's shoulder and he spins around startled, eyes wide. This jolts Sang-mi awake, and the feeling of being trapped in that metal prison lingers. The image of that man's face is hard to focus on in memory, but you're certain you've seen him before. One of the Cartel you killed in that gunfight maybe? Friday Night Another chance at following Mark wherever he goes Friday nights, the one gap in your surveillance. Make another general Dexterity (Stealth) check.
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