TURN 01
February 20th 2013, 18:07, Chitose International Airport, Japan
Dr. Marcus Jekyll wheels his luggage trolley through customs and out into the arrival lobby, tired and looking for a coffee shop in which to while away the hours before his connecting flight to Beijing. He walks stiffly to the end of the line of people waiting to greet friends and family. This trip is a much needed break from the cloistered life of the hospital and keeping up appearances at home in Ottowa, and he remembers this and feels lighter on his feet for knowing that no-one here knows him, nor he them. He sees a generic sign for a generic looking coffee shop, heads in that direction and begins to consider what to order.
“Dr. Jekyll. Dr. Jekyll!” a voice calls from the throng, a chauffeur suited Japanese man holding an immaculate card with his name printed on it. “Dr. Marcus Jekyll” the doctor reads. He stops and says simply,
“...Yes?”
“Good evening, sir. Your car is waiting. If you would just follow me, please.”
“I think you are mistaken, I ordered no car. I'm sorry...”
“Someone requests your attendance this night. It is concerning a medical matter.” The young man speaks softly and sincerely with an English accent. He is shorter than the doctor, who looks down to his eyes, and then up again. Two larger Japanese men, bigger and unsmiling men whom he would have been surprised if they knew where England was, walk over and stand on the other side of the doctor. They are wearing suits too, but they look too big to fit behind the wheel of any regular chauffeur's vehicle. Any thoughts he had of politely declining the nice young man he is now rethinking.
“It's OK, doctor. We have a proposal for you, a business offer. We want to talk. Please, follow me.”
“I, uh, I'm taking a vacation. You must have the wrong man. Sorry. Good bye.” He tries to wheel his cart onwards past the three men, but a stronger one grabs him by his shirt and jacket from behind as by the ruff of a cub's neck. “Aaahhh! Let me go!” Marcus shouts this time, suddenly and fearfully angry. Everyone in the arrivals hall is looking in their direction now. He feels sure that someone, the police or someone, shall come to put a stop to this. The smaller man moves to his cart and the other large man moves to stand in front of him and mechanically balls a fist and punches the doctor square in the left cheek. He jaw was loose and is dislocated by the hit and a molar is broken and his legs buckle. Blood drools from his mouth. Many people exclaim at the sight but no one moves. The man holding him half drags and pushes him towards the exit as all four leave, the chauffeur pushing the baggage cart. He looks at the two officers at the entrance in turn, each has a pistol holstered and neither says a word.
Outside it is freezing and snowing. Marcus is confused and in pain and suddenly very cold. He stumbles like a puppet to walk but is soon pushed into the backseat of a dark formal car with net curtains over the side windows. He spits blood onto the floor and without thinking takes his jaw in both hands and pulls it smartly back into place. It is agony for a moment and he roars loadly. Doors open an close and the car shifts weight as things enter. It begins to move and Marcus collapses on the back seat in shock and exhaustion not caring where he is being taken.
February 20th 2013, 19:50, Sapporo Aspen Hotel, Sapporo, Japan
The snow falls lightly but is never ending and piles on the ground and in corner drifts to head height. At night the flakes are only clear near streetlights, shop windows and neon signs, yet by the aurora towering above the buildings of the street, clawing at the stars themselves, the celestial green glow from the Japan Zone smothers all the atmosphere, sweating a putrid light into every alley of the city. Roads and sidewalks are covered with white and black ice, packed snow that never thaws in the winter months, pedestrians and vehicles move carefully but surely, following paths through the sludge cut by those that passed before.
The limousine pulls up before the Sapporo Aspen Hotel. The chauffeur and the other suited men exit and pull out the older man. They all walk into the lobby which is expensive, aged and there is just one man sitting in the lounge and nobody on reception. The chauffeur stops. “Mr. Konovalov? Please follow us.” Marcus is led to the elevator and they get off at the second floor. He is taken down a hallway that looks out over the first floor lobby to smart double doors. The chauffeur pulls one open and says, “Mr. Konovalov.” Alexei enters. Looking at the doctor, “Please, after you.” Marcus is pushed at the door. But must take the last couple of steps by himself.
Inside is a large room, obviously a function room, with a single large table in the centre and three men and a woman, obviously of various nationalities, milling around, looking sour and none of them sitting. All of them look at Marcus. He is old, in his fifties, dishevelled, thinned brown hair, unshaven, clothes unkempt and bloodied, wearing sneakers, cheek bruised purple and holding his jaw permanently with one hand.
“Gentlemen, here is the last of your party. A doctor, as required, since our first choice has declined the invitation. Please bring the good doctor up to speed on what's going on” Marcus looks at him blankly. He turns to the gathered and they are looking back at him almost as blankly, though with a detectable taste of incredulity. “Doctor. The man over there, with the short dark hair, he walked with us just now, you see him? That's Mr. Konovalov, the leader. Of your... party. I suggest if you... you ask him about your situation.”
“Next to him is Ms. Himashi,” she is fair looking in appearance with a clear face, somewhat sharp cheekbones, a small nose, normal black hair that's been cut short and tied back in a pony tail and blue eyes. She's slim and wiry, and aside from the occasional dirt smudge here and there, pretty clean too.
“That there is Mr. Hodge,” he has dark brown hair, ice blue eyes, medium build, sharp chin, round cheeks, scarring around the eyes and a squint nose. He is quite tall.
“And that's Mr. Fitzpatrick,” a towering hulk of a man, whom can only be described as having a violently rough life based on his visual appearance alone.
“Yes,” he says louder and to the group, “I recommend you all get on the same page, a unified front would be better for all involved,” turning pointedly to the doctor then back to the group. “Your hosts shall be along presently. Oh, would you like anything to drink in the meantime?”
Konovalov, Hodge, Himashi and Fitzpatrick arrived at various times throughout the day and checked into their rooms: 405, 413, 605 and 613 respectively. They found $1000 in cash for travel expenses in their rooms, where their baggage is now. Were they in their rooms, they were brought lunch and dinner. They (except Alexei) had been waiting in this reception room for 15 minutes before the arrival of Dr. Jekyll, having been told to wait for the meeting to start. On their person they are wearing light clothes and are carrying whatever effects they would deem reasonable for the meeting. They were not checked for weapons at any time during the day.
What do you do?
Author
Topic: Stalker – Community RPG Game (Read 27358 times)