Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-5543592-20190326124223/@comment-5543592-20190327225744

The protector was still high above their heads, but its lens were at an angle, and as they flickered on each of the four glass came to act as a screen. The protector projected a blank, white scene onto each of them. The design of it was quite clever-- no matter where they were sitting, they could see what was being projected without having to turn, and it came from above so that no one's head was blocking out part of the image.

There was the clop of well-heeled shoes on the steel floor. "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen." Agent Miller appeared out of the dark from between the walls. He could only be described as slick, one could probably slide him across the floor and it wouldn't leave a mark. "As you all know by now, my name is Agent Miller.  I work for the OSI, an intelligence branch within the New California Republic.  I assume most of you have met one another.  I would like to make a brief note that we have several heads of state present."

He singled out Josey, Morgan, Naomi, and Tim with a nod each. "As such, I am permitted to act, in a limited official capacity, as an extenstion of President Kimball's office.

"I have gather you here today for a singular purpose-- the elimination of this woman here."

The white screen changed to that of a middle-aged woman. She was petite, with a narrow chest and shoulders, and looked woefully unimpressive. Her delicate features, perhaps attractive when she was younger, were marred by a large burn scar, which stood out against her chocolate skin. The image was taken from a high angle, pointed down at her. and in it she was looking off at something distant. Her armored was camoflagued, and plated at the torso and shoulders. She wore hood, although had it down around her shoulders, revealing a head of dark hair, partially dyed a deep red color. One her right arm she wore a glove of some kind. Her left arm was wrapped in metal and some kind of holographic contrapion.

Her expression could be described as sad, perhaps contemplative. Tanner canted his head, wondering what she could have been thinking about the moment it was taken.

Josey set his jaw and stared defiantly at the image, as if waging his personal, silent war against it.

"This is the hitwoman known as Shrike."