The Velvet Deck

JP with Jaxx, Trustno1 and Cindy

Scene: The Velvet Deck

An investigation into the murder of a Phoenician team at a radio station had led the newly assembled team to New York, where the Phoenicians were participating in an auction of several occult items. The team had been sent undercover to retrieve whatever the Phoenicians were looking for, before it could be used for any nefarious purposes. Whatever had happened at the radio station was something extremely dangerous. All three of the main factions agreed that the artifact that the Pirates were looking for would be better left with them. The soft hum of fluorescent lights echoed faintly against the sterile walls of the newest apartment complex in New York's Pearl District. Everything smelled too new: fresh paint, polished laminate, and cheap carpet that hadn’t yet absorbed the scent of desperation or spilled drinks. But here, on the top floor, in the repurposed "lounge space" with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked a city half-drowned in mist, a card game was underway.

Janice had set the stage. She was the type of woman who commanded attention without raising her voice. Platinum hair teased into a style just shy of gaudy framed her face, her lips painted a red so deep it could only be described as arterial. Her fingers, adorned with rings that seemed too big for practicality, shuffled the deck with a practiced ease. "Ladies and gentlemen," she purred, her voice a low melody, "ante up. The stakes are high tonight."

The players leaned in, their faces illuminated by the dull golden light of an overhead fixture. Most were here for the thrill—a chance to gamble more than their wallets, to feel the pulse of danger that hovered just beneath the surface. But a few, their eyes sharp and their smiles too tight, were here for something else.

The Phoenicians had slipped in quietly, their presence masked by their unassuming appearance. A man in a faded leather jacket with an iron-on patch of an old band logo sat nearest Janice, his chipped nails tapping a rhythm on the edge of the table. Across from him, a woman with sharp cheekbones and dark hair tied into a loose braid glanced at her cards, then at him.

“It’s here, isn’t it?” she whispered, her voice carrying no further than the two of them.

The man nodded, his expression unreadable. “Janice wouldn’t have hosted this game otherwise. Word is, it’s tied to Short’s murder.” He glanced toward the far end of the room where a black velvet box sat on a pedestal, unnoticed by most of the casual players. “It’ll go to auction before the night’s done.”

“Do you think it’s—?”

“Shh.” He cut her off, sliding a card forward. “Just play.”

Others at the table laughed or cursed, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension. On the stereo in the corner, some old glam rock ballad hummed low, its lyrics almost drowned out by the murmur of voices.

Then it happened.

A sound like the crack of a whip tore through the air, loud enough to make even the most hardened gamblers flinch. The gunshot reverberated, swallowed quickly by the building's stillness. Almost simultaneously, the lights blinked off, plunging the room into pitch-black darkness. For a moment, there was nothing but silence—a suffocating pause that seemed to stretch into eternity.

A chair scraped against the floor. Someone knocked over a glass, the shatter muffled by the sudden rise of nervous whispers.

“Stay calm,” Janice’s voice called out, sharp and commanding, though it quivered at the edges. “The power’s just—”

A sound cut her off. A slow, rhythmic tapping against the window. It started soft, like the gentle patter of rain, then grew heavier, as if something—or someone—was trying to get in.

And then, on the walls.

Where moments ago there had been only darkness, shapes began to flicker. At first, you think they’re just tricks of the eye—faint patterns cast by the city lights outside. But no, they grow sharper, more vivid. A painted face with wild eyes, red lips pulled into a grotesque grin. A tongue darting out unnaturally long, dripping black. Shadowy figures in studded leather boots, moving rhythmically to the beat of a song you can barely hear.

The images pulse and shift, and with each flicker, they grow more distorted, more violent. You can feel the room around you tighten, the air thickening as whispers rise, sharp and frantic. Whatever this is, it’s no accident.

The room is dark, but your senses are sharp. You feel the tension crackling in the air like static electricity. Janice’s voice, so steady before, now trembles with unease. Somewhere, close but just out of reach, someone breathes heavily. You think you hear footsteps, but it’s hard to tell if they’re in the room or beyond the door leading to the hallway.

Then, the walls come alive. Faint but unmistakable, images flash in the dark—painted faces twisted into sinister grins, a tongue darting out like a serpent’s, black leather boots stomping in time to a beat you feel more than hear. The flickering shapes don’t make sense, yet they’re undeniably real, as if the walls themselves have been branded by some malevolent hand.

Alyssa had a long few days, mostly trying to get in touch with her father for answers with no luck. Either he couldn't speak to her or didn't want to.

The hacker was grateful when they finally got assigned something new which she could focus on. The Phoenicians - a first for the agent, as she had never dealt with them before. Of course, Alyssa ran a background check on all of them, prior to meeting with the pirates, as some might say.

The woman had decided to participate in the game, it looked like an experience. The group might have pegged her for an easy mark- she was anytime but. Alyssa didn't explain how she knew how to play poker but clearly this wasn't her first game.
The lights went out, in the middle of what was a possibly winning hand for the hacker, [/i]lovely[/i] she thought.

She started to reach into her pocket when the tapping started and gunshots could be heard. Screw this. Was her second thought as she reached back into her pocket and pulled out her phone. She quickly tried the flashlight on it to try to add some light to the situation.

Agent Powers was not into gambling so he stuck to being a bodyguard, which was what he was good at. So he was behind Alyssa looking menacing as she played poker. Then as the lights went out and a gunshot was heard, he wasted no time having Ekaterina squat by Alyssa while she was using her tiny bugs to help her see around her. Pulling out his mini night vision monocle to allow his right eye to see in the darkness. Then he pulled out his pistol to look around for any threats around them and as he looked around he pulled out Ekaterina's mini 12 g pump shotgun and handed it to her. Normally he would go on a killing spree but not all of the people in the crowd were an enemy. So he needed to be careful for friendly fire. He then talked to Alyssa through his Bee, “Alyssa stay low with Ekaterina. We might get friendly fire if they panic.”

Alyssa didn't argue with Max, she got down next to Ekaterina quickly. Alyssa didn't care to know what was at the window. They were on the top floor of a high building. Whatever had managed to be tapping on the outside of a window that high up, couldn't be good. She'd rather take her chances with the gunshots.

The cold, antiseptic light of Alyssa’s phone flashlight cut through the bleak darkness like a scalpel, slicing open the veil of shadow to reveal...nothing. The cavernous room was eerily empty. Tables stood abandoned, chairs tipped over as if their occupants had vanished into thin air. Cards, chips, and half-filled glasses of amber liquor glittered under the flashlight’s beam, remnants of a lively auction reduced to haunting relics. The air reeked of burnt ozone, faintly metallic.

Janice was huddled against the wall, her face pale, drawn tight like parchment stretched too thin. She removed a sidearm from beneath her shirt with shaking hands, the barrel swaying slightly as if it might fend off the unseen predator lurking just beyond their comprehension. Her lips moved, whispering something .

Alyssa's flashlight flicked across the walls, illuminating the flickering phantoms that danced there: shadowy figures locked in a macabre parade. The painted grins twisted further, becoming grotesque mockeries of humanity. One of the faces turned toward her—or did it? The illusion dissolved the moment her beam steadied, leaving only peeling wallpaper in its wake.

"I don’t—" Janice’s voice cracked, her bravado crumbling under the weight of the inexplicable. "They were here, I swear to God. You saw them!"

Sartre whispered, "Alyssa, you see anything?"

"Yes...or I did...but..." Alyssa didn't seem to have the words to describe what she had seen. "They seem to be gone now." She paused. "Max did you see anything?" Being he had the night vision goggles on, maybe he had seen something else.

Agent Powers was still on guard as he looked around and ready to shoot his pistol. Agent Powers then whispered, "Yeah some kind of shadow demons. I was hoping to shoot one with a holy bullet to see if it had an effect, but it looks like they vanished though. So what's the plan now?" Agent Powers looked around with a smolder.

"I say we make sure whatever it was is gone and then maybe find out if anyone here knows anything about what just happened. " Alyssa responded.

"Alyssa, you lead." Sartre whispered.

"I think someone should lead who can actually fight, if it comes to it." Alyssa responded to Peter, "That would be anyone of us, except me. You, Max, Ekaterina. Why don't you lead?"

"I will." he whispered. "We are going to move together towards Janice now." He began to move, staying low.

Agent Powers gave Sartre a smolder and said, "That would leave Alyssa unguarded if she is a target again. Ekaterina stay by Alyssa and lay cover fire if we need it. Your ammo is still the holy rounds so they should be effective." Ekaterina nodded as she replied, "Of course." Then Agent Powers said, "Sartre you get Janice and I will cover for you." He then held his golden 50 cal pistol with holy rounds in his left hand and with his right hand he reached into his pocket and pulled out his golden drum 12g shotgun with holy rounds in it. Now heavily armed he raised his weapons to cover for Sarte. Then he said, "Ready when you are.

Alyssa stayed down wondering why Peter volunteered her of all people. Problem solved anyway, for now.

Sartre slowly moved towards Janice, saying in the headset. "I want you to get ready to fight if need be Alyssa, you're going to have to learn how to do that." As he reached Janice, he grabbed her and looked around the room. There was absolutely no threat to anyone from any firearm fire. "Everyone can stand up," he said.

Sartre brought a mumbling Janice back to the two others.

Agent Powers continued to stay on guard as Sartre escorted Janice to Alyssa and Ekaterina. He was not about to drop his guard in this place. He was hoping nothing would happen but he learned that danger doesn't go away on a whim. Then he asked, "So are we leaving or looking around?"

Alyssa stood up with the others. She hadn't commented on what Peter had said in the chip. He was right that she needed to learn how to fight, it was his method that she questioned, but right now wasn't the time to get into it. Alyssa gently put her prized leather jacket over the shoulders of Janice as the woman seemed in shock. "We should look around, make sure no one else is around or in need of help." Alyssa responded.

"Let's slowly head for the door. The elevator is at the end of the hallway, there are apartments on the way down that hallway." said Sartre.

"Sounds good," Alyssa replied. "Listen for anything unusual. It's New York, unless they're being held at gunpoint or physically can't. Many people won't be shy about asking for help, but maybe we should knock on the doors just in case."