Operation: Flip Mode (The Force RPG)

"You can't just come into this precinct and assume command, like your STRIKE. Your metas and muties in badges." The local captain of Gothic City's local police says with a cigar in his mouth putting a permanent squint in his eyes.

Brian sits across the desk and wafts away the smoke, leaning in and clasping his hands on top like he was back in D.C. at his own desk, "Your right, we're not STRIKE. Unlike those blokes I decided to give you a common courtesy by telling you we even existed."

"Common courtesy is it? You and your men are goose stepping over a case we've been working for months now. "

"Let's get the elephant out of the room mate, the woods twins wouldn't have gotten this high up the pecking order without help. You've got dirty cops on your roll and we're here to find out who they are on top of taking those two off the board. You can either cooperate and let us operate, or we can turn all our attention on clearing out your precinct until the only familiar faces you see anymore are the criminals." Brian says standing up and buttoning the duster at his waist

"Why the hell did you even bother to tell me if you were gonna do it anyway, common courtesy is bullshit and you know it." The local Cpt asks pulling his cigar out and rolling it in an ashtray.

"Because if the Woods twins get so much as a whiff of this plan and my UC gets injured, I'll known exactly where to come to. Take care, hope the cancer gets better."

"What cancer...? Hey! What canc-*Hack hack wheeeeez* "

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"The government is becoming a dictatorship ran by a corrupt megalomaniac... The oppressive ambitions they have will take all power from the people and leave us in a dystopia of have's, and have nots. " Brandon says calmly, striding across the room and looking at his distributors, Bradley walking by him with the exact same cadence locking eyes with the men who dodged Brandon's, "They are giving abilities to the rich and well off while we all are meant to join the war machine in order to get President Newcastle's precious 'Evo.' They keep adding to the fire with these goose stepping drones, the force and strike, trying to make this entire country a police state. This is why we do what we do boys..."

A large shipping container behind her clicks and clacks on all sides as the two slide off the lid together, to reveal a massive pile of uncut, power inducing Konite. "With this" Brandon starts, "We'll become the new monarchy," Bradley finishes.

The konite is cut with all kinds of narcotics. Ground into powder and mixed with coke, bonded with heroine, and soiled in weed. They even had what looked like a makeshift distillery for adding it to alcohol. Men and teens left in droves from the warehouse to enter town and start slinging this new dope that they had a monopoly on.

"We're not drug dealers, we're freedom fighters."- Brandy

"But we need more fighters and a little less freedom."-Brandon

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"Alright my favorite fist." Mendax says looking over the apartment tenement filled with his closest and best detectives, plus Donut Danny. "Here we are. The arm pit of the asshole of America. Whitaker, to answer your question in one from back in D.C., Castillo alone probably would end up killing the first bloke put his hand on her arse. Luckily, this is why we've got partners. To balance the equation so to speak. Crews will go in and add tact to the muscle, Castillo will add muscle to the tact."

Slapping a photo of the woods twins in the center of a wall, paint chips fly off and hit the floor. "This is our target of the week. The woods twins. Now, we can't come at them directly just yet, we need to line up the pieces. So here's 'ow it goes."

He slaps a poster on the far wall under the word "angles", "There will be a tryout situation for tomorrow. The Woods twins won't be in attendance but we're told they will be watching and their second best will be there as well, some kind of bloke figures himself a pope of Dox's ideology and a close partner of theirs. Crews and Castillo, that's where you come in. It's a fight club meets Darwinism. Survival of the fittest ladies. You up for the challenge?"

Looking down at his file of pictures the Captain pulls out another putty backed photo and slaps it on the bottom of the wall, a photo labeled 'Crime Wave', with a bunch of blue face painted thugs in leather jackets and body modifications standing on a corner en masse, "These ones who looked jizzed on by a robot, are calling themselves Crime Wave. They used to be just another group of kids until they found a scientist in the downtown district who was supplying bootleg in house made konite for elderly patients like a meta Kavorkian. This strand of konite is more effective than the Woods version, but much more lethal. It can kill you in as little as five minutes, max we've seen so far is three hours. These bastards are killing people, and what's more taking away from the Woods twins clientele by flat out eliminating them and making it harder for all of them. Junior, Faraday, this is your bag. You have permission to use lethal force. "

"Those of you I haven't mentioned, your running back up. King and Whitaker you'll be on top of Castillo and Crews as they handle the tourney. If all goes well there, we'll get the Woods twins in a good place of convincing for insertion of one or both of the girls into the higher ranks. Junior, Whitaker, Duke, and Faraday I want you to go, fucking, HAM on these streets. If it's got blue paint on it and breathes, break it."

"You are the uncrowned," the aimless voice ironically muttered to the walking dreamer, his eyes glossy and unfocused as he narrowly entered the confounds of unmitigated thoughts. It's unnerving for the first few seconds that feel like hours, but as the gym attired meta cop groggily walks through this frigid hall, he learns that leaving isn't so much as an option at this point.

"A prince taken from his castle," With every passing moment he can feel a lingering sense of lamentation for his younger selves. His heart heavy as shards of the abuse he experienced trail behind him, weighing down his every step, and preventing him from forgetting his past.

"Denied the right to sit on his throne," A sudden surge of energy stiffens his posture as the dreamer angrily punches the only door his trek had seemingly lead him too. Left, right, left, right. His smooth knuckles slam against this barrier with the intention of ending this nonsensical charade. Instead it's broken, fixed, broken, fixed. With this his aggravation from this situation slowly begins to dwindle, because there aren't any marks left from his attacks.....and that isn't right.

"It's not fair." It's not fair he thinks or says out loud. He isn't even sure of himself as he firmly props himself onto the marble flooring, sitting with each forearm resting on a knee. With his head lowered, Junior forfeits with the hopes this dream will fade just as the rest did before. Instead his mishandled grievances are met with the creeks of an opening door. Junior looks up, his sight tightening as he beholds the sight of his younger self standing..........drenched in blood.

"Nothing's fair, kid."

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"One day you wake up and your dad's now your mom." Junior sort of shrugs as he peers around for any inclination of this setting being another visage. Sadly, however, it isn't and he's not sure if he's more frightened by the conversation happening with Danny or the fact that he can't recall how even reached the precinct. "You okay, kid?"

"Uh....yeah, yeah. Of course. Totally okay, more than okay." He keeps nodding his head to reassure himself of his whereabouts being an actuality. "Why wouldn't I be?" Brian continues to blurt out whatever comes to mind which isn't saying much considering.

"Well I figured you'd feel like shit cause the captain burned you on the UC job." Ah, Doughnut Danny and his unflinching ability to say the shit no one wants to hear. It's then and only then that Junior finds comfort in knowing he isn't hallucinating anymore.

"Not to mention Castillo and Crews took your spot and Whitaker's taking your place as the beefiest guy in the room," For a lesser man, Danny's advice might come off as unambiguous insults, but the poor sap had no clue how to shade, even playfully. So, Junior chuckles off the pseudo jabs to avoid the torture of having to hear Danny explain himself.

"It's whatever," Junior lies through his halfhearted smile, "The Captain knows what he's doing." Truthfully, the Captain wouldn't know shit if it came out his ass, but Junior couldn't muster the courage to speak out of turn about the main whom raised him.

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"They don't know shit," he speaks in hushed tones as the Captain issues out teams. "I should be handing the Woods twins." Still casually attired in his jogging sweater and pants, the freshly clean shaven Brian Mendax Jr. talks beneath his breath as he blatantly glares at Castillo, Crews, and Mendax Sr.

"ALRIGHT! Listen up, boys." Junior whilst in a state of saltiness pops up onto his feet, throws two Advil pills into his mouth, and takes a swig of water before rallying is squad together.

"This isn't a game of target practice. We're not murderers, but we sure as hell aren't cattle. So, watch one another's back and shoot to kill IF need be. We're trying to reinforce faith into the people of Gothic City...not give them another thing to fear. After all we're metas. Don't be afraid to use some of your oomph." Despite being burned, Junior managed to find the silver lining in his Crime Wave predicament. "Got me?"

Crews sat with her hands deep within her pocket listening to the layout of the plan. It was solid, for the most part. What Crews didn’t like was the fact they were operating in Gothic City. It was easily the most corrupt city in America, but what turned her off more was how sickly the homeless people look. Truthfully she didn’t want to touch anything for fear of contracting another STD. (Gonneria…long story)

Her eyes dart back toward the Captain upon hearing her name mentioned, she repelled a look of irritation before voicing her opinion. “Do we have an fcking choice?” It was obvious that the “tact” in this little operation wasn’t Castillo, but to say she couldn’t be the muscle was kind of insulting. After compiling a list of the more proficient grapplers in the force she rank 30^th out of 32…but she wasn’t last.

Turning to address Sarah, she briefly caught the envious glare of Junior. “You keep glaring at me like that we go together.” She said, dismissing his jealousy to coordinate with her long time partner. “Hey granny tits, we need to get our act together for this job. I was thinking about going with the whole me sort of being your manger. The less you talk to people, the less of a cnt you appear to be.”

Castillo had a way of angering people without actually having said anything, Crews eventually got used to her angry visage and verbally abusive demeanor. “Wait, I wonder if there’s some sort of cure if we accidentally get exposed to this sht.”

Crews had an unfortunate experience with experimental drugs (She needed the money), the results left her with a swollen tongue and overactive bladder. “I was thinking about giving you a name, you know something with some spunk….like ahh…Mexican Crotchrocket”

It is crazy one day you’re a little kid living in poverty and watching as your friends being turned by the streets. Gothic City was a prime example of how an environment could determine how a person turned out. Michael remembered his childhood friend Jerry being stabbed as they walked out of school together. You don’t have to worry about those things in most places, and you don’t have to listen as ‘cops’ try to explain to you that your friend’s death was a dead end. Michael grew up determined not to become another statistic in Gothic. When he decided to become a cop, he wasn’t going to idly stand by and watch as his hometown became worse. He was gifted with the ability and position to make a difference in this city.

Bradley and Brandon Woods were prime examples of the poison Whitaker despised and planned on eradicating. Michael couldn’t help, but think that if the Twins had grown up anywhere else, they would have been law-abiding and outstanding citizens. Their charisma and people skills would surely have carried them far in this world, but they grew up in Gothic City. A city so overwhelmed by the seven deadly sins that it was able to turn some of the best saints into monsters. You can’t arrest the city though, you can only hope to cut the heads of the serpent, and pray that they don’t grow back.

Now, Detective Whitaker leaned against the wall of a tenement apartment, and listened as Brian Mendax Sr. barked out orders at his subordinates. The room was filled with the best detectives The Force had to offer: Junior, Crews, Castillo, and then sat Donut Danny rubbing off a stain from his shirt. “Classic Danny,” Whitaker thought to himself. Michael was quite pleased when the Captain answered his previous question from D.C. which everyone failed to really answer.

The Son of Gothic began to make mental notes of what was said in the meeting.

Tryout Tomorrow. No Woods’ Twins. Second Best Attending. Pope of Dox Ideology.

Michael paid close attention to the picture that Mendax Sr. put on the wall. It was labeled, “Crime Wave”.

Crime Wave. Blue Face Paint Thugs. Leather Jackets and Body Modifications. Scientist. Bootleg Konite. More Effective than Woods. More Lethal than Woods. 5 Minutes to die.

Michael cringed a little as he heard this statement. He knew it was a sad site to see a kid take drugs, and struggle as their time on this Earth seemed to run out. It was just another side effect from his time of growing up in Gothic. He shook it off quickly, and continued listening to the meeting.

3 hours max. Junior and Faraday = Lethal Force. Whitaker and King = covering Crews and Castillo at Tourney. Blue Paint = Enemy.

Whitaker loosened up a little bit and looked around the room. He couldn’t help, but notice Junior glare at Castillo, Crews, and even Senior. Whitaker couldn’t help, but whisper to himself, “You’ll have your time kid.” Whitaker would have made the same exact choice as the Captain, at the end of the day Castillo and Crews just had more experience than Junior. Junior was a good detective from what Michael had heard around the precinct, so he had no doubt that one day he would be in the same exact position as his adoptive Father.

Michael took a toothpick out of his pocket, and looked out the window of the apartment. In his view he could see a homeless man holding out his can for some change. He could hear the sirens of the local police, followed by a couple of gunshots. With the toothpick still in his mouth, Whitaker smiled, “Home Sweet Home”.

"F-Fuck you.... GCPD 'n Capekillers are gonna be here a-any minute now! So might as well...HEY WAIT! LOOK MAN!LET'S TALK ABOUT THIS!!"

The man let out a scream as he felt the force measurable in a few tons, strike him in hit femur bone, the solid strike accompanied with the *crunch* upon collision. The man shouted more, and swore out of anger and fear, as he felt himself being dragged along the bloodied dance floor. Littered corpses accompanied by an numerous amount of spent shells from the previous gunfight. The blood on the gleaming floor made it difficult for the now crippled man to grip it.

"Listen! Fifty thousand! In the other room, all cash. Just please, f***ing take it and leave me alone!" He pleaded with the mask man to seemingly no avail. He forced the man up, making him take a seat in a chair as he trembled, getting no verbal response from the obscure masked murderer. "What do you want?!!!!" The masked man reaches into one pocket of his leatherman's jacket and pulls out a bag, contained within it is Konite."That wh-what you want? You a meta or somethin'? Or you just eh...lookin' for a little juice...?" The figure leans forward, the man getting a very close view of the realistically textured, latex pig mask. He whispered into his ear one word.

"Where?"

"You tryin' to find the guys that made this....look man, I uh....." As the man fumbles for something to say, the police sirens outside and the noise of the police outside warning him."You hear that? Cops are here....guess this is the part you run?" Jericho takes out a switch knife from within his jeans, moving it intricately about his hands as he strikes quicker the man sees. It took him a few moments to actually even realize that Jericho had pinned his arm to the table by stabbing it there, and he was in shock that he didn't feel any pain at all. In fact, he mostly felt feeling leaving his arm. However, the instant he tried to pull it out, the pain was excruciating. Jericho brought the man's attention, pointing his finger down, gesturing for the man to simply stay, as he turned around and left the man there. He wasn't quite sure where he'd went.

Soon the police and fully armored S.W.A.T and capekillers rushed in. So quick to defend the richer district. The body guards of the area seemed to all be missing or confirmed dead. Party goers seemed to mostly escaped their fate, aside from the man's own close friends. One rushed over to him, asking him "Are you alright? Don't move. We're going to get-" The lights go out and the officers and paramilitary force shine lights about the area, briefly catching a figure, then losing track of it....

(Combat. Not necessary.)

She laid with the rest, unconscious and some would say, fortunate. flashing lights came on and several officers laid with the corpses from before, some adding to the corpses, and others being alive. He was very deliberate in who he chose to live and die. There Jericho stood, covered in more blood, staring at the man from before. After the scene, he sang like a bird. When Jericho was clearer, he told him exactly what he waned to know. His way of paying the man was making it quick.

As more police came, they'd come onto the scene, and find the white suited man in two parts. One his body, sitting in the seat. The other part his head placed neatly on the bar's table. He was gone as quickly as he'd shown up.

Finding them wasn't hard. Not hard at all. With all the teens slinging this hot new drug all about, it wasn't difficult for Jericho to listen, to gain info on these new slingers. All that was left to do now was prepare.

Even the way Sarah sat in her seat next to Crews was aggressive. Leaning forward, jaw tight, arms resting along her knees as if she was getting ready to stand up and throw someone on the ground any second. She could feel the eyes of the group focus on the two STRIKE Agents, most who were expecting the two to fail. Not so discreet bets could be heard going on in how long it’ll take for the women to screw up the mission. But Castillo didn’t give two sh1ts about what others thought. The duo had a mission, and she was going to make damn sure that they get what needs to be done… even though the last undercover job she did got the department sued… a long but not so long story of her going berserk in the middle of the mission. But with Crews there, she felt like the two could get sh1t done, or sh1t blown up, either way they would get something done.

But the talk of a fight club like event that the two had to partake in, made a sighting of Castillo’s lips slightly turning upward in a cocky smirk. Finally, a mission where she HAS to beat the crap out of people. Her attention was snapped away by Crews, who was barking over at Junior for giving the two women a dirty look. She knew he was pissed about the two getting the undercover job, everyone knew, it was no secret. But the Agent couldn’t give two sh1ts about his p#ssy @ss getting hurt. He needed to man up.

Crews insults didn’t even seem to phase her as she gave her, her attention. “Manager? What’s wrong, don’t wanna get your dainty @ss hurt? And here I thought you liked it rough.” But Sarah knew it was the best method. The ‘Mexican Crotchrocket’ wasn’t blind to her overly aggressive behavior and her charming effect on people just by standing in a room. Mention her name in the crime world and you only get two reactions. Scared sh!tless or pissed as f#ck.

“Don’t worry Crews, The Mexican Crotchrocket will protect your scrawny white @ss from the big bad Konite.” But in reality, Sarah was worried about the same thing. What if the two were forced to take the Konite as an initiation? Refusing could mean instant death, taking it could mean a slower death.

“Captain.” She spoke up, leaning back into her seat as she crossed her arms tightly across her chest. “Do the lab roaches have some sort of counteractive drug Crews and I can take if we become exposed to the Konite?” she knew the answer would probably be ‘no’.

smh this had such a great start. From now on I only invite people to RPG teams.