Play@YSDC

Briefing Room, UNIT UK HQ
5:55 AM - Thursday, September 5, 1985

The seven members of the newly selected team filed into the briefing room. Brigadier Charles Crichton had personally chosen them, but he hadn't arrived yet and they had no idea what the mission for which he had picked them would be yet. There were chairs already set up facing a podium, behind which rested a cart with an overhead projector. At the very back of the room there was a screen that was currently rolled up but could be pulled down to display transparencies. Chad Engraham could figure out that his piloting skills would be required, but he didn't know what else would be needed of him beyond that. Leonek Novak could guess that the mission would require driving as well. Raymond MacIntyre was the UNIT Technical Advisor, and his assistant was Tobias Maddox. Would their knowledge and skill with technology be important, or had they been chosen for some other reason? Captain Salem Shields was a medical officer, but he didn't know whether he would be expected to use his vast medical knowledge, or if this mission was a dangerous one that would require him to patch up the others - or possibly both. Elliot Webb and Valerie Soames were both covert operatives, though they were very different from each other and had their own specialties. They gathered that their new assignment would call for subtlety.

OOC,Feel free to roleplay and interact with each other, and to describe yourselves. [b]Raymond[/b] and [b]Tobias[/b] know each other. It's possible that [b]Elliot[/b] and [b]Valerie[/b] are also acquainted, as they're in the same field. [b]Leonek[/b] has probably driven [b]Salem[/b] and [b]Raymond[/b] (and possibly [b]Tobias[/b]) before. Beyond that, it's up to you if you know each other already.

Valerie Soames wandered into the briefing room with a distracted air, her capacious handbag half open to reveal some knitting and a magazine. She knew Captain Shields from Medical, of course, and gave him a pleasant smile. She'd seen Raymond McIntyre before as well; he seemed like a proper boffin, as they'd called them in the war. Probably needed feeding up, mind you.
However, she seemed most pleased to see Elliot. "Hello dear, how nice to see you again", she chattered brightly. She cast her gaze around the room with a slight frown, only to brighten at the sight of a water urn and a tray of cups on the side. "Elliot, be a love and see if there's any milk in that jug, and I'll find if there's any tea leaves in that box. Can't face one of these briefings without a cup of char." Without waiting for an answer she began clattering cups and saucers about. "Do any of you gentlemen want tea? But I suppose our transatlantic cousins would prefer coffee. Can't see any, though."

Elliot Webb casually strolls into the briefing room and is surprised to see so many others. Up to now he's been used to working alone or in very small teams. He instantly clocks the lovely old tea lady Valerie Soames and answers her greeting. "Hello Val .... I mean, Mrs S". At her request he checks the milk, disappointingly remarking "Looks like that semi-skimmed stuff. Where's the gold top?"
He looks around the room, all new faces except for Raymond McIntyre who he's worked with a couple of times. "Alright Ray, any idea what this is about?"

Raymond sat with his legs crossed and tucked under him in his chair, absentmindedly checking some math for a recent experiment. "You know Tobias, if they would stop dragging us to all of these meetings we might actually be able to get some work done every once in a while. But then we'd probably have meetings about how they have to second guess the quality of our work because we finished too fast." Raymond says in rather heavy rural American accent. He laughs as his attention is drawn to the room and he puts down his work.

He met a couple of the people in the room before, the little old lady was always pleasant and good for some small talk around the headquarters, but Raymond never really figured out what she did there. "I'd love a cup of tea. Coffee is great and all, but too much gives me the jitters, can't work like that."

Raymond turned to Elliot; he had done a little work here and there with the man - mostly consulting - but he say that Elliot was good with his hand and tools. Raymond admired a man that works with his hands."Can't say I know. I would say it is probably another gong show, but this isn't limited to one department. That and the Brigadier isn't one to waste time like some of the brass."

Finally Raymond turned to the three soldiers in the room and extended his and to each, "Raymond MacIntyre, UNIT technical adviser. Nice to meet you."

Leonek reaches over and takes Raymond's hand in his own large paw. "Likewise, Mr. MacIntyre," he says, his cadence slow as he concentrates on keeping his Polish accent light. "I am Private Novak." He releases Raymond's hand and settles back in his chair. He's a large, ruddy boy of a man, all angles and long limbs; a UNIT beret caps his bristle-short brown hair.

He places his hands flat on the table and tries to stay calm, but it's rare for him to be called in for any of the joint ventures and he's unable to completely hide his excitement--one thumb taps arhythmically. This was going to be a heck of a lot more exciting than rotating tires in the motor pool.

"I, too, would like some tea, please," he says to Valerie.

Valerie prepared tea for everyone who wanted it, and there was 2% milk and a small porcelain bowl of sugar for those who took them. There was no coffee, however. It was now a couple of minutes before 6:00, when the briefing was due to start. They still had a little time to converse before that.

The atmosphere felt thick in this room as Salem unbuttoned the collar and loosened his tie on his officier uniform, he glanced around and noticed Mrs. Soames was serving tea and gave her a warm smile, at least there was a familiar face around here. Salem politely turns down on the offer for tea, "no thank you Mrs. Soames, though I wouldn't mind a glass of water", however scanning around the room there doesn't seem to be a pitcher of water. With a upset look on his face, Salem ran his hand through his red hair and wiped the sweat off his forehead, Salem is at least relieved that he isn't stuck in his office anymore filing away paperwork as he's been dying to see some fieldwork.

"Water hmm...none here I'm afraid, Doctor. You could run down the hall for some, but the Brigadier is a stickler for punctuality" says Valerie with a significant look at the clock. She passes the last cup to Leonek. "Here you go dear. Mrs Soames, or Mrs S as that rascal over there calls me. I knew a Novak in the war you know - an airman - he used to make the strongest tea and then take it black as midnight."

Elliot chuckles at Raymond's remarks. You had to admire the man's dedication to his craft, though it did border on the obsessive. He scans the room more thoroughly. A few studious looking types, which always made the self taught Elliot feel a little self conscious. He notices the heavy scarring to the guy with the pilot wings, there's a story there he thinks.
He gratefully accepts one of Mrs Soames legendary cups of tea and jovially approaches the huge man he'd seen from afar a few times in the motor pool. "Elliot Webb, pleased to meet ya. I notice a slight accent mate. East Europe?" The 5'3" Elliott looks up and extends his small hand. The scene, looking rather comical, draws a few stifled chuckles from the room.

At the smell of tea, Chad Engraham woke from the slight daze he had fallen into. He got up from his seat, rubbing the moisture round his eyes and moving his hand down his scarred cheek, and walked to the group stood conversing. "'Evening, all. Anyone know when this thing's set to get going?"

"Delicious," Raymond let out a sigh, "Not many people make a good cup of tea back stateside. Everyone's so quick to take a cup of coffee, fast, black, and bitter, and just go go go. I was the same way for a while, but if you don't take the time to enjoy things and relax you'll turn into coffee - black and bitter. Not literally of course!" Raymond laughed at his own musing.

"I can't imagine it will take too much longer for the Brigadier. It is quite unusual that he isn't his normal prompt self."

"Indeed he is prompt, Mr. MacIntyre," said Brigadier Charles Crichton as he strode into the briefing room. "It is precisely 0600 hours now." He was a tall, thin man in his forties with short graying hair, and he carried a briefcase in his right hand. "I think you'll find it's morning rather than evening, Flight Lieutenant Engraham," he added as he walked down the central aisle to the podium. "I do hope you've managed to get some shuteye overnight. You're going to need it." When he reached the podium, he set his briefcase down and opened it up, then looked up at the assembled team. "Mrs. Soames, gentlemen, if you'll please be seated, we can get started." As everyone took a seat, he removed a stack of transparencies from the briefcase, placed the top one on the overhead projector, and dimmed the lights. Then he pulled down the white screen and flicked on the projector.

An image appeared on the screen of a dead man of about thirty years old lying on an autopsy table, but there were several oddities. The back of the man's head had been blown out, but his face and eyes still remained, and the eyes appeared larger than normal. He also had webbed fingers. He was severely balding and had little hair left, which left his scalp clearly visible. It seemed somewhat scaly. It was a very disturbing picture, and not just because of the gruesome human remains - if indeed they were human. "This fellow was Simon Armistead, of London. His body was found in his home almost a week ago, and when the coroner noted numerous abnormalities about the body, UNIT was called in, as this sort of thing falls within our remit. If not for the abnormalities, this case would never have been brought to our attention. Four days ago, our Scientific Advisor Dr. Valerie Kirby and medical officer Captain Salem Shields here conducted an autopsy on Mr. Armistead. They determined that the manner of death was a shotgun wound and the cause of death was suicide. This was never in dispute, as the initial police investigation had come to the same conclusion after he was found seated in an armchair with the shotgun in his lap. Our examiners determined that he placed the barrel of the shotgun in his mouth and pulled the trigger, creating a massive exit wound to the back of the head. The circumstances of the man's death do not interest us as much as the deformities themselves, however."

Salem still remembered performing the autospy with Dr. Kirby. He had been hoping to forget, as he had not slept well since then.

OOC,Everyone, please roll Sanity. Sanity loss is 0/1d4, so you will lose no Sanity if you succeed but 1d4 Sanity if you fail. [b]Salem[/b], you will still need to roll Sanity even though you helped peform the autopsy. You just lost the Sanity at that time instead of now, though you will be reliving the shock now if you fail the roll. You may still act freely after the roll, whether you succeed or fail, as nobody can lose enough Sanity to go temporarily insane from this.

Raymond takes a deep sip of his tea as the Brigadier flips through his transparencies with rather repulsing photos but remains unphased. He stares at the photographs intensely before speaking, "While this is all very interesting, these could be a simple isolated genetic defect. What is it exactly you want from us, Brigadier?"

Chad grimaced a little at being called out on his lack of awareness to the time. He'd been inside too long and had little sleep. His previous daze was likely not the only one of its kind that night.

When the grotesque image appeared, Chad held tight to his senses. Suddenly he didn't seem so bad off. But what could a pilot be doing here? He'd better just listen and find out.

Despite the gruesome image, Elliot manages to hold his tea down.

Salem was still horrified by the memories of that autopsy he performed on Simon Armistead, it was one of the few autopsy he has ever performed in his career and the thought of seeing the grotesque photos still gave him the chills as cold sweat accumulated in his palms, he rubs his hands together as to stay calm and keep his composure together.

With a choked-off cry, Valerie lets her cup slip through nerveless fingers; it hits the floor with a melodic crash. "My goodness, is that..." she exclaims. "No, no of course not. Foolish notion," she continues, half to herself. With an effort she wrenches her eyes from the gruesome scene on the screen, only now realising she has committed the great sacrilege of making a fuss. Face still white, she recovers her teacup before forcing herself to again face the screen. "My apologies, Brigadier. I thought for a moment that was...well, it is not, clearly. Couldn't be. Too young, far too young." She tails off, as if she is seeing some other scene, from long ago.