The Syndicate

(events take place before Excalibur thread)


The Woodsman had spent the last three weeks doing absolutely nothing but training. After failing to neutralize his target in Beijing he was absolutely obsessed with training. Endless hours were spent at the target range with holographic simulations of every given environmental and situational variables. Sleepless nights churning out physical training in his specialized gym, until his body would simply stop functioning at elite performance levels, he had become a man obsessed once again.

Mr. Specture would stop in an check on his old associate, as much as his free time allotted, which wasn't much. The Woodsman had filled his schedule with a seemingly unattainable amount of tasks to accomplish. He had just finished obtaining a new handler to replace the one they'd just lost; William Rissem. This was a former number cruncher that found he'd recently contracted full blown AIDS. Mr. Specture's job was fairly easy; he would approach the fatally stricken man and offer him not only a healthy living wage for doing not much more than occasionally checking Emails and keeping his trap shut; but experimental drugs that would prolong the terminal patients life span far longer than doctors would have ever expected. There was the unfortunate business of the liquidation clause in the contract, but people with their clocks already punched never seemed to mind the aspect of that particular contractual obligation. After a quick injection of the nanites they handler received their first payment and went on to live a quality of life that was far above one a person given that sort of news could ever imagine. The nanites were specially engineered to by the boys at the lab to detect any abnormalities in psychobiology that might pertain to being tortured and would activate automatically if that event occurred. That was the last Mr. Specture would actually ever see of that person.

After returning to base Mr. Specture was ready to catch up on his reading of particularly disturbingly graphic homo erotic reading material but found quickly that his work load was increased tenfold. It seemed the Woodsman's failure and subsequent reactionary over-preparation didn't just affect the old war horse but his assistant as well. Mr. Specture picked up his work order and found that he'd be checking in with the scientists of the clandestine organization known only as the Syndicate next. The Woodsman wanted a full payload of the single specialized round he ordered for the first attempt on Nightkill's life. This created more than one problem; Firstly the Syndicate was purposefully nearly impossible to contact in the first place, Secondly their current budget allowances were already taxed with the failure of the previous mission and an order of this magnitude would kill and extracurricular activities either had planned. Mr. Specture knew full well that this wouldn't affect his utilitarian employer in the same way it affected him, but he'd become accustomed to having the small luxuries that this sort of black-ops life style afforded one.

After spending most the night hacking supposedly nonexistent satellite transmissions and impenetrablely secure government instillations Mr. Specture had completed the first task. The Syndicate had acknowledged the order and sent an encrypted authorization on where to acquire the ordinance. Mr. Specture breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back happily with the knowledge of a job well done. He picked up the work order absentmindedly to check his next task, with the full expectation that nothing that remained could possibly come close to the tasks he'd already accomplished. What he found even surprised him and that was saying a lot after a career working for a man that expected the impossible on a regular basis.

'Find a way to replicate Excalibur's call to Clarent and replicate it in the form of an unescapable trap. ' It was written in a simplistic way that neglected the absolute impossibly of task. "What the F*ck?" Mr. Specture huffed, with absolute exhaustion, he laughed in spite of himself.

"No sleep for the wicked..." He growled and pushed away the desperation he felt. It was his job to accomplish the impossible, the Woodsman wouldn't settle for any less. After a record four days at his work station, he'd come up with enough hear-say and conspiracy propaganda to piece together a reasonable mimic of the signal emitted. The bomb he'd engineered to coincide with the facade was a masterpiece of it's own, consisting of enough C4 and Thermite to not only take the top of the mountain he'd picked to be it's location, but the Thermite would burn through anything it touched, regardless of the superhuman shielding.

Mr. Specture sat back with a wild grin on his thin, tired face, he was not only proud of what he accomplished in the time allowed, but had actually found the true location of an object that was more myth than reality. He could only guess what the Woodsman would do with the actual sword of King Aurthur. The Sword was located in a monastery in Scotland, and protected by an immortal group of devote paladins called; the Templar. Supposedly their cause was aided by the good Lord's almighty faith itself, but little was above the Woodsman's ambitions once he'd set his mind to it. He wondered what the old man's reaction would be to the unexpected discovery.

Just as he was about to sit up and shut down the super computer he saw an encrypted message reading; 'WARNING'; in his inbox. It was from the Syndicate and that was not good.........


(to be continued....)

(events take place affter:
http://superhero-rpg.forumotion.com/t1708-finding-excalibur


The Syndicate Evac ship, cruised along at ultra high altitudes, it's stealth capability keeping it off any radar. Inside the Syndicate medical units worked diligently at the two survivors. The Woodsman sat up and pushed them away, his body armor had taken a great bit of the damage, and his healing factor was dealing with the rest. He pulled off the charred chest plate and coughed up blood into his grey beard, he wiped it away nonchalantly .

Mr. Specture hadn't faired so well, Although not particularly damaged during the actual crash, the time spent in the fallout had cooked him more than a bit. The lab coated men shot him full of an anti-radiation compound but even if he did live, countless years had been removed from his life span. He lays on a stretcher and is covered with giant blisters.

"Shit kid....we did it, You should be happy.....Mission Accomplished...Target Neutralized." The Woodsman said with a pained grin on his face.

"We weren't authorized.....Coughcoughcough!!!!! We're in deep shit......" Mr. Specture replied from underneath the blood splattered oxygen mask.

"NAAAAAhhhhhh .....They cover it up......they did it in Chernobyl ...They'll do it again!......" Woodsman said laughing and taking the singed cigar out and lighting it up. Several of the lab techs freaked out and swarmed him, yelling about 'not smoking'.

"That is correct....We will....." A shadowed figure stepped into the med unit. "But you'll be required to 'Go-to-sleep'....Woodsman...." He concluded menacingly.

"See kiddo.....Like the Syndicate's version of Witness Protection....hahahah...." Woodsman jested about life changing consequence of his actions. "What's it gonna be...a garbage man in Florida....How about some retired Canadian recluse...? " He asked, smacking the insistent nurses and resuming his radiation filled cigar.


"Nothing so mundane.....The Syndicate has need of agents that function of the reverse side of the coin, as it were....prepare yourself . We'll be starting as soon as we land." The shadowed figure said with finality and then exited.

"What the F*ck does that mean?" Mr. Specture whispered.

"It means....Their gonna make me into a villain...A sleeper agent.....Total mind wipe, plastic surgery, new identity....The worst bit is that it won't be an act.....I will be evil operative....Until they see fit to pull the trigger, and you can guess how it usually turns out for the operative. Well kid, It was nice knowing you....But if we ever cross paths again....you turn and run....Do you understand? " Woodsman finished with a cold, hard look in his eyes.