The Contingent

The Contingent Files

PLEASE READ: Here is the repository of journal entries and cases files that have been written by members of The Contingent.

If a player enjoys writing reports or journals of games, they will earn a Re-Roll to be used any time during the current season. A player can any number of rerolls banked at a time, and use no more than 1 per game session. The Storyteller is the last word whether a re-rolls is appropriate to the situation

Entries may be subject to editing to adjust formatting for consistency.

TAGS

The Following Tags are used for Adventure Logs:

Season #
Denotes what season this post falls within

Journal
A personal journal entry by that character

Case Files
An official report submitted by a member for the records kept by The Contingent. All Case Files are also Tagged with the session’s name.

Flavor
Photos, postcards, telegrams, news clippings, etc. All sorts of things that add to the season’s experience, but perhaps not directly to a particular session or character

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Fragment: Junior; Rain. Op #3

When it rains, it pours, Junior thought, tucking the last pistol into the holder in the Beetle. He pressed the panel closed with a light click, the dashboard looking pretty well untouched with the compartment closed. It was the fifth of its kind he had hollowed out and camouflaged in the little vehicle. He had been planning these for awhile, both in the little VW and the Wagoneer, but he was sure going to need them with the charges he was facing. Can’t be caught cartin around this much firepower with that hangin over his head.

It hadn’t been a great month so far.

Another missed weekend, due to a jail stay this time. Beth was gonna fight to take em away at this point. It had been an uphill battle to begin with, what with the alcohol and all. She even moved states a year ago hoping he wouldn’t follow. Junior’d be damned if he wasn’t going to see Aiden whenever he could. He picked up and moved, found work. Now work was makin it worse.

The charge. Manslaughter. Well, he was defending his life, he knew that. Guy had already killed one girl, attacked others. Everyone saw how unnatural that was. But he was a cop, and Junior still didn’t know what possessed him to go after the damn beast without the full team. At least he hadn’t actually done the actual killing shot… But how was he gonna explain chewin on the dude? Lawyers gotta handle that part, he guessed.

Came home to a letter after that. Uncle Jeremy had passed. Junior had kept in touch when he could, but the man didn’t really have any other kin, what with his wife already passed, Junior’s dad dead, and no kids. Fell to Junior to take care of the funeral. He did always have a soft spot for the man. Jer’d taught him to shoot, told him stories, been a big part of his upbringin. Still, Junior’d gotten a big surprise when he showed up to the Lexington County Morgue to claim the body. He met his uncle’s lawyer.

‘Fuck You’ money. That’s what Junior thought of it like. Land. His uncle hadn’t been up to much the past decade or so, just sittin on his couple acres, livin easy. The simple life. Somethin he never told Junior or his pops was he had money. Stocks, bonds, pension. Junior’d done well for himself lately with some hard work and a few lucky antique car flip sales, but this was a windfall he’d never seen coming.

Junior’d held a quaint little ceremony, like what was in the will. Couple folks what were important to his uncle, then made a hike up far as he could the Maudlin mount nearby and scattered the ashes. Two weeks he spent down that way, gettin things in order, but also plannin, orderin, makin some calls.

See, Junior got to understandin, after the initial shock. He didn’t wanna take the money and do dumb things, or worse, nothin at all. He had a life, and he was findin, he had things he wanted to do.

Aiden was his priority, first, o’course. But that meant he had some things to wrangle, some legal fights coming. And damnsite, he was gonna try an make the world a safer place for his kid.

Junior pushed the door shut to the Beetle, comin out of the little thinkin he was doing. He checked the trunk compartment on the Wagoneer, where he was storin the long guns. Everything was sittin pretty, he thought, snapping it shut and throwin some clothes duffels into the back on top. Slammin the tailgate shut, swiping a hand across his forehead, he was thinkin he had more than a few hurdles comin up.

Tossin a rag into the bin, headin for the door into HQ proper, he was thinkin he just might be able to keep jumping.

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Doomed to Walk the Earth as Slaves to the Lord of the Living Dead, Op. #3
Ethics of Non-Human Subject Research

Willard sat in this large windowless classroom brightly lit by several rows of track lighting. There were at least a handful more fixtures then was probably necessary for a room this size which Willard presumed was intentional considering the Hearst’s touted “green” decor. Dr. Buss had expected to be sitting here alone and that thought contributed additionally to the already significant amount of embarrassment. However when he learned that the Contingent HR classes were open to a number of local hospitals and businesses he was comforted more than a little. Even more so when he looked around to the half-full classroom as the instructor was starting.

Dr. Sandoval was not happy, to say the least. In fact, she and Mayo strongly recommended he attend this twenty-hour course on medical ethics and they went so far as to enroll him in the class personally. He quietly suffered the doctor’s admonishment, rescheduled a number of important business meetings and then arrived here promptly for the 8 am class.

“Dr. Buss?” a questioning voice pulled him from his revery.

“My apologies. Yes?”

The instructor repeated, “Dr. Buss, what are you hoping to get out of this course?”

Willard groaned on the inside and replied dumbly, “From this class?”

With a little less patience, “Yes, Dr. Buss. And please stand up and introduce yourself.”

Oh, Jesus Christ, he thought to himself as he stood up from his seat. He kept his irritation to himself though not wanting to embarrass Dr. Sandoval any more than he already had. I’m Dr. Willard Buss and I enjoy long walks on the… sorry yall, wrong meeting,” he said to a few furtive laughs.

“Seriously, for several years I was working for an organization that put advancement, patents, and accolades before ethics. I am proud of the work I did there. I am not proud of some of my actions or the use of my accomplishments. Fortunately, I’m now part of a new organization with a new culture. One I’m actually pretty proud to be part of.”

“Sometimes when you find yourself in a difficult situation you revert back to old bad habits." He paused, "Inexcusable? Yes, but that is what has brought me here today. Well, that and the enrollment fees.” Willard paused briefly for a handful of chuckles.

“What I hope to get from this class is that whatever embarrassment I feel right now will act as a reminder not to do anything that makes me have to give this speech again. I also hope that what I learn in this class will act as a base for better more ethical habits in the future. Most importantly, I hope for this to be the first step in restoring whatever trust I have lost with the people I most respect.”

“Well, if you don’t mind, I’m going to sit down before I embarrass myself any further.”

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Sitting in Broad Daylight

For Gabrielle, her free time was in the daylight. Between Happiest Day and now working a few nights a week at The Contingent, she rarely went to bed before 3 AM, and woke at 10 AM every day. Honestly, she preferred it that way, especially after her first field mission for The Contingent.

Gabrielle sat at her desk, watching the sunlight pour in through her windows. That had been the sell for this place, all the windows letting in as much natural light as humanly possible in such a dim city, along with, hardwood floors, quiet neighbors, and a sufficient tub. The mix of clean lines, natural fibers, plants, and pops of soft pastel colors were what made it her home, her sanctuary.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t fully enjoy the solitude of 11 AM daylight on a Tuesday; because this had been the first time she had really had a chance to actually soak in the events of the prior weekend. She had planned her first contingent shift 48 hours before for the Knox-Rodriguez wedding. She had just assumed she would have been filling out forms and answering phones that night. Never before had she been so wrong, it was almost humbling. Running around trying to appease a terrifyingly tacky ghost of a board game was the furthest thing she’d imagine herself doing. She didn’t sleep, for as soon as the paperwork for the field mission was filled out, she had only a few hours to shower, change, prepare and be at the beck and call of Lola Knox.

Lola had been fantastic; a little nervous but a dream bride as far as Gabrielle had been concerned. Her colors had been Dark Coral, Sun Orange and Cream which reflect the bouquet of poppies. The ceremony was on St. Mary’s on 45th, and the reception took place at sunset. The groom was a crier; Gabrielle lived for the criers, the entire ceremony. Everyone who attended lived in a dream that day. Well, she didn’t; she saw the full reality. The MIL had been trying to steal the show at every turn, the cake was delivered 2 hours late, they had run out of rum for the wedding cocktail, and the DJ took a longer than usual break with the sister of the bride. At 2 AM she pushed the tipsy couple into their limo, after setting a few alarms on each of their phones so they would make their flight to Aruba the next morning. She was with the clean-up crew for breakdown the next few hours before finally collapsing into her bed as the sun rose.

She didn’t wake up until the sunset, where she went back to The Contingent for an actual night of phone duty. The first three hours were particularly tense, although it eased into boredom seamlessly. For as many times as she rather sharply corrected Derrick, she was relieved not to receive another urgent call and to have to brave the field. She once again fell into bed…and now she was here.

She stared at her laptop, her inbox slowly filling up, and a text messages from her clients and coordinators unanswered. Yet the only thing she could really see was the corpse of Jane screaming at her, mixed with the smell of gore from the scene. Tyr was holding her back and then he just let go. Why did he let her go? Was he trying to kill her? She saw the sterling silver knife as it pierced her side.

Buzzing from her phone broke her concentration as she stood straight up and simply muttered “Fuck”. Another text message briefly lit her screen: Thank u !!!

A smile crossed her lips, as she opened her phone. Mr. & Mrs. Knox-Rodriguez sent a picture of the two of them wrapped in each other arms, smiling in front of a sunset.

Gabrielle took a breath, thinking again of her fear and guilt so easily being used against her. Yet that was why she joined The Contingent. To make sure others didn’t hurt, to prevent others from having to see the nightmares for themselves. She could deal with the messiness of it. She ran a hand on her side where the knife had hit, still feeling the sting of pain. It was thankfully a flesh wound only; it would only leave an easily hidden scar. She looked back to the phone and hit reply: It was my pleasure to work with you!

Gabrielle sat back down at her desk; she had work to do.

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Internal Memo

Sent 05/12/18
From: Meredith Cohn
To: Elton Mayo
CC: Vivian Chastain, Dr. Jacinta Sandoval
Subject: Good Samaritan Project

Mr. Mayo, Ms. Chastain, and Dr. Sandoval,

My name is Meredith. I’m a newer member of the Contingent, but I’m very excited to be joining the organization in a fuller capacity as a member of the HR team! I look forward to working with all three of you as an Emissary between the Contingent and the greater public.

To that point, I wanted to write regarding my most recent assignment. As I’m sure you all know, the mission involved investigation into the Good Samaritan app, developed by SoftWerks and funded by the New York City government. Essentially, the app acts as a quick line to emergency services such as police and fire departments, as well as recording and sending video, audio, and gps information. My team was able to help the vengeful spirit inside the app pass on; however, we also discovered that there are plans to involve the Contingent in future iterations of the project as one of the services the app can contact. I’m writing to request that the Contingent refuse any involvement with the Good Samaritan app.

There are plenty of ethical questions involved with the app, but I suspect that’s a discussion for another day. My chief concern is for the Contingent’s ability to operate as it needs to should it become involved with this project. Obviously, the Contingent applies different methods of investigation than the police or other emergency services. Becoming a Good Samaritan contact would mean working closely with law enforcement in a way we are not prepared for. While we have spent time building rapport with various police precincts in New York City, the Good Samaritan project would create an equivalence between law enforcement and the Contingent that would would likely lead the city to create severely restrictive guidelines with regards to our methods. I haven’t been a Contingent operative for long, but I know that this kind of scrutiny could make it nearly impossible for us to do our jobs. And that means more people getting killed.

I understand that there is a lot to consider with regards to the Good Samaritan project. Technological advancements like this have the potential to do enormous good. However, that advancement can only help us if we are able to use it in the ways we know to be best. There may come a day when the law is capable of accounting for the supernatural and we can work more closely with government agencies. That day has not come. Keeping a safe distance between law enforcement and ourselves allows the Contingent to do what it does best: save lives. For this reason, I would ask that we turn down any future involvement with the Good Samaritan project.

Thank you all very much for your time,
Meredith Cohn

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Ghost in the Machines
Storyteller: Eric

“This is Detective Jason Bishop of the 6th precinct. I have several cases I’m being pressured to close that I think fit better in your realm than mine. In each case, the criminal died a gruesome death shortly after committing a crime. The whole thing defies explanation.

“I managed to get the approval of my direct superior to bring these cases to you. My guess is it’s their hopes that calling you will get me to drop this all together. As far as top brass is concerned it’s case closed.

“I’m concerned because these… events seem to be escalating in nature. The first few were violent felons, but the most recent one was some guy who boosted a car. We had a high speed chase to catch him, but he lost control and crashed into a trailer loaded with steel rebar. It was a fuckin’ mess, like dropping a nice roast on a bed of nails. Damndest thing is that the prelims from the lab came back and said the car’s collision avoidance feature kicked in right before the crash.”

Investigators

Zak Zimmerman
Maddy Summers
Meredith Cohn
Father Xander Court
Jack Mills

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Doomed to Walk the Earth as Slaves to the Lord of the Living Dead
Storyteller: Evan

“Yeah, this is Charles Jordan, with Atlas Commercial Realty? I got a theatre I’m trying to sell for some clients out in Brooklyn, been freshly renovated, but I can’t get any buyers. Every time we show the place, something scares them off before I can close a deal. The guys that did the renovations kept complaining that the place is haunted, can you send somebody down to take a look?”

Investigators

Darren Knox
Morgan Lindsey
Kenny Crowder
Willard Buss
Eileen Fisher

Session Playlist

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Man is the Warmest Place to Hide
Storyteller: Byerly

“Hey, this is Jerry with Moosetracks Charters. I, uh, I hope you can help me with this. Last night, while our bus was on its way up to Eagle Bay with a tour group for the weekend, one of the passengers went… well, went sorta nuts. He attacked another guest, biting and scratching and yelling something none of us understood. The attacker bit a huge chunk out of the poor guy’s face!

“Normally, we’re assume some drug head, maybe them bath salts that were on the news. But after the cops left one of our guests, s guy named George, approached me and said something about the guy being a spirit or a monster. Said something that sounded like Winnebago?

“Listen, I don’t know what’s going on up here, but this could ruin my company. Can you guys come check it out?”

Investigators

Junior
Dru Westing
Eugenia
Adam J. Weiss
Alexander Nolan

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Time to Play
Storyteller: Richard

“Uhhhhhh, hello? This is Khalil Abdi…I’m, uh, third-key manager at All Play & No Work on 31st Street in Brooklyn, and uhh…look, some guys came in here earlier tonight with this weird vintage board game and went into one of our back rooms to play. They still weren’t done when I was closing the registers, and, uh, I went back there to check on them, and…and dude, they’re all DEAD. Like, SUPER dead. Like, there’s pieces of them ALL over the walls…there, uh, there’s blood EVERYWHERE. Listen, the cops are on their way, but if you hurry you might be able to beat them to it and check it out…’cuz, like, I really don’t think they’re as equipped to handle this as, uh, your organization. Help? Please?”

Investigators

Rebecca, Craig, Aaron, Tori, Ben
Fina Aquinas
Tyr Anasazi
Miles Jaggens
Gabrielle Ahern
Dr. Ryan Langston

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Another Email from Zak Zimmerman to His Agent
Resolving a Breaking Point

To: Fred Fulson (ffulson@glamour.kingdom)
From: Zak Zimmerman (truezak@zak.awesome)

Subject: Apology Please Forward

Agentman! Find the email for Johnny Purify (you know who I mean) and send him what I’ve written. (Don’t edit or “correct” anything, I mean what I say), make sure to include my email address!

Hey Johnny,

I’m sorry. I should have said that years ago, back when I lost you that part, but I was stupid back than. I can’t hit undo on what I did to you, but I want to make things right. To start, choose a charity, I’ll donate all my money from my next Deadly Dead to it from you. I don’t know what you are up to now, so I don’t know anything better to do, yet.
Let me know if there is something else that helps. If you don’t want to speak to me, you can talk to Fred instead.

Hope things are awesome in your life, and continue to be so!

Zak Zimmerman

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