House of the Setting Sun

[Shatner]

OOC: This is a character RP to develop my nation's domestic culture. All of this will be private ICly, but OOC comments are welcome.

IC:

[size="6"][b][center]House of the Setting Sun[/center][/b][/size]

[size="5"][b]Game, Set, Match[/b][/size]

[b]Kodiak, Kodiak Island, North Pacific Commonwealth[/b]

The snows of early 2013 persisted on the provincial capital and namesake of Kodiak Island: Kodiak. Clouds were so thick in the sky that it seemed dusk would be coming early. Well, earlier than usual. It was late February which meant that the hours of darkness still far outweighed the hours of daylight. However, with the cloud cover it did not matter as everything was a seemingly sinister gray, cast upon every rock, tree, and building.

John Deckard stood on the planks of one of the fishing wharfs of Kodiak, looking out to the Pacific. Boats docked and unloaded their halls of fresh salmon. The water had begun to thaw, but a light snow was falling nonetheless. Deckard stood there, gazing out to the ocean as a soft wind blew. He wore a long, dark gray trenchcoat and what some people would call a black 'fisherman's cap' on top of his head, a style of 'beanie' that was rolled up onto itself at the bottom. He had chiseled masculine features to his face, but with noticeable stubble. The stress of waiting for his contact and the anticipation of the upcoming meeting were enough to coerce him to forego worrying about such things. He was tall and his brown, shaved hair was hidden beneath his cap, gray eyes all the while still waiting.

Before long, a new light began to dully cut through the shroud of the flurry. It crept closer and closer at what seemed to Deckard a snail's pace. It did eventually begin to sharpen and the silhouette of the boat became apparent. Recognizing the craft's outline, Deckard proceeded to the preordained docking area and waited for the vessel to make port. Just as the other ships had done, men began off-loading their catch, but as they busied themselves, a man in a long trenchcoat and suit made his way through them and off the boat. Deckard nodded to him and they began to wander away from the dock and back up the hill.

During his wait, Deckard had watched the sky change from its mid-tone gray to very dark and now black, as the early night had set in. He bunched his scarf up more to shield himself from the bitter cold before turning to the man who had come from the fishing boat. It had been a while since Deckard had seen him and there were apparent changes to his person. The man had aged quickly, no doubt a side effect to the stresses of his work, and grown a thick, brown mustache, sprinkled with gray. He held a somber and tired look on his face, "John."

Deckard snapped out of his transient state and looked back, "Thomas. It's been a while." Others who had not been to the NPC would notice the strangeness of their accent, what one would typically assign to someone from Australia or maybe the former Rhodesia. Many who inhabited the Commonwealth had been immigrants from former Commonwealth Realms after the 'Cataclysim,' giving the new Alaska a very distinct and surprising culture. Of course, not many would know considering the xenophobia of its citizens.

"Yes, and I wish our reunion had come on better terms." Thomas pulled a folded manila envelope out of his coat pocket, handing it to Deckard, "This is the briefing. It has all the details on Danforth, Sullivan, Hendriks and their aspiring eugenics program. The buyer has agreed to supply you with a considerable sum for your mission as well as a reward for completion of the job."

"What about MY condition?"

Thomas sighed, "The buyer said it can't be guaranteed that asylum will be given. The most likely option will be forgery of foreign citizenship, but they said you will have a hard time getting through immigration..."

"Well [i]obviously[/i] I won't be using the Commonwealth's immigration services. Traitors who do usually end up dead."

"Just keep a low profile until the breaking point, the longer you have access to the Commonwealth's intelligence servers, the easier this will be."

"Of course."

"Well then, I suppose I will take my leave. Your bush plane leaves at 6 a.m. tomorrow morning," Thomas said as he began walking back downhill. He then stopped and half turned to look back at Deckard, "Oh, and John, one more thing..."

Deckard had begun to walk away as well, but turned to face his contact.

"Stay clear of Hendriks. He's not one to trifle with."

Deckard looked down as if pondering the words then nodded and continued on his way.

[Shatner]

[size="5"][b]Gambit[/b][/size]

[b]Anchorage, South Alaska, North Pacific Commonwealth[/b]

Deckard straightened his tie as he walked up the steps into the Department of Intelligence Headquarters in Anchorage, the office of his employer. He hadn't spent much time at his desk, and he had been away attending to some impending business out in the Bering Island Territory. He walked straight across the lobby to the elevators, stepping in and pressing 3. There was another man in the elevator flanked by his attractive secretary who disembarked on the second floor, leaving Deckard alone for one more lurch until the gold doors parted and he made a bee-line for his desk.

Just as he removed his suit jacket and placed his briefcase on his desk, which was housed in a typical cubicle, his superior stopped him, "Deckard, welcome back."

Deckard finished placing his jacket on the back of his rolling chair before turning to acknowledge his boss, "Mr. Foreman."

"How was the B-I-T? Awful cold at that time of the year I assume, even for this country, haha," Foreman joked.

"Indeed," Deckard replied shortly.

Foreman abruptly became more serious, opening the manila folder he had been holding, "Listen, John, I'm sorry to do this to you, but we're going to have to send you on your way again, already." Foreman handed Deckard the file which contained a mission brief.

"Can you give me the gist?"

"You'll need to make your way to Ellesmere Island's provincial capital, Grise Fjord. There you will meet your contact, one Mr. Prater. He'll fill you in on the details, but in short you'll be dealing with an illegal immigration ring trying to circumvent border protection."

Deckard sighed. The only people who went to Ellesmere Island were those either fool-heartedly seeking fortune or those sent to hard labor camps. The place was as foreign to any Commonwealthsman as a nation in Europe or Africa. [i]People even spoke Danish over there[/i], he thought to himself. Then he went back to the name of his contact, [i]Prater[/i]. Christiaan Prater. Deckard knew he had heard that name before. A few weeks ago he had remembered taking down his name as an associate to the eugenics program, which made this seemingly awful job a stroke of blind luck.

"Look, John, I'm terribly sorry to be doing this, but you have experience in rooting out illegals..."

Deckard snapped out of pondering the new developments long enough to answer, "Think nothing of it Mr. Foreman. When do you need me to leave."

Foreman seemed taken aback at how quickly Deckard had agreed to the proposal, "Um, well, tomorrow morning, if you can make it. We have a private charter leaving at 5:45 a.m."

"I'll be there."

"Excellent."

John took the opportunity to close up his conversation with Foreman before taking a trip back down the elevator and outside into the street. Once there he pulled out a cellular phone, a rare luxury in the NPC, and stepped into an alley to place a call.

"Code in please," came a voice from the other side of the phone.

"Caribou."

"State your report."

"Sudden advance toward mission objective. Location of Christiaan Prater confirmed, contact imminent. Request call back from Thomas in 2 days."

"Report confirmed, request noted and granted. Out."

Deckard closed his phone and returned to work.