Post by The Sebastian on Mar 28, 2015 19:54:27 GMT -8
Coming to visit the sprawling grounds and manor of the former ‘MF-MoTC’ was no simple affair at all, but it was in the present much simpler than it had been only a few short years prior. In fact 3124 Baldwin Lane had been among the most secure privately funded, owned, and operated facilities in the continental United States, and perhaps the entire world. Locked up tighter than the residences of most heads of state in the modern world it had been at one point. Truth be told the ‘facility’ had at its height of operation been locked down tighter than the White House, or the Virgin Mary’s asshole. Sebastian was after all ridiculously, disgustingly, wealthy. When anyone would pull up onto the drive of that address they would find that not a hundred meters would lead to a most certain stop. That had not changed. What would one observe and be stopped by? A gate and a rather hardened however sleek gatehouse composed of what surely was thick and ballistic glass of the one way 'cocaine' darkened sort that allowed those inside to see out but not the other way around. At least from the direct ground approach, one could not simply enter the dominion of the former MoTC in a conventional way without an invitation. Not easily anyway. Not without getting a whole lot of trouble for their trouble if so uninvited. A security fence in the forest surrounded the outer perimeter of the entire property, though that was only there to dissuade curious sorts from thinking it a grand idea to circumvent the challenged drive by taking a traipse through the woods. If they had anyway, they would find such a walk to be as problematic for all sorts of reasons unpleasant. There were after all things like microwave sensors, motion triggered sensors, covert thermal and hyperspectral suites covering the place complete 360. Of the thermal sensors they were always set up in duplicate. One set looked for heat. The other identified 'odd' spots of cold in signatures. For instance the signature of something like that of a vampire.
It was the first gate of four that would be the first sign of imposing, the sort of security ‘halo’ which the vampire had insulated the second most lavish of his properties with. Assuming one was expected, cleared, and allowed to drive up? To get from the first gatehouse to the last one had to traverse quite the drive, winding, seeming never ending, but some three miles of apparent solace filled driveway later and ascending a hill which broke through the dense forest… before one would arrive at the beginnings of the sprawling manicured grounds of the former MoTC's manor. Though at the end of the line, the last gate was built into a security wall of some 25' high and from the other end of the gate on the other side of the drive it appeared to be at least 8' thick. The wall itself was holding to the appearance on either side of being some fabulous slate like stone, but was on the inside reinforced with treated rebar and ballistic materials aside other filler. Outside each the gatehouse, ‘visitors’ would notice men standing on either side of the driveway. Two, there were always two guards outside each checkpoint, and at least two manning the inside. These ‘men in black’ were dressed head to toe in the latest tactical fashion, equipment, body armor, and equipped with the sorts of goodies as to rival the image of some of the most capable special operations forces. Most of them had been at one point in their lives just such forces. All of the staff was compelled, and security was no exception. They represented the 'lively' security measures which composed the former MoTC's security forces, and had remained there as a skeleton crew.
At the height of his power as MoTC a visitor would have suspected or even questioned if not the Master of the City was building his very own Army. Aside the five men visible and not at each checkpoint, were the most visible lively security remnant on the grounds. There was a small ten man household detachment that functioned as manor security. It paled in comparison to the numbers at the height of his power in the city. It was a skeleton crew. He’d not quite been back in Seattle long enough to have restored things to their proper order, or perhaps it had been the haze of drugs and the sort of ‘lapse’ that had occurred. The men at the gate? They were not entirely necessary, but Sebastian was big on having a live person on the ground. Despite this when an unknown vehicle came to the gate, two very discretely positioned, autonomously controlled – from within the respective gatehouses – FN M-240 Bravo belt fed, 7.62mm light machine guns would be an aggressors biggest problem. They were loaded out with a sort of modified ‘Raufoss’ ammunition that had a particularly nasty composition, and would acquire a vehicle as a matter of both having been triggered by pressure pads installed under the pavement or automated control from a respective gatehouse. The wall that was seen was only seen once the beginnings of any sign of civilization and seemingly disappeared into the forest and then abruptly popped up from its depths again. The wall itself had positions every fifty meters, atop it, that had been unmanned gun positions with intersecting fields of fire. The autonomous 240B machine guns that had once been atop it had been removed since his initial departure from the compound and put into storage. The manor was sprawling, looming, and just the sort of place one probably imagined that a man like Sebastian probably lived. Well it was either that or some sort of Brothel.
It, the wall, was not just for looks, and actually extended to compose the entire perimeter of the estate. Nearly eight miles of said wall had been erected, to contain the nearly three square miles of private forested property that was immediately surrounding the compound proper. The extent of the property was such that in for three miles in almost any direction from almost any point of the wall there was nothing but forest. Parts of the outlaying property did also butt up against a State forest. The outer fence at the furthest edge of the perimeter was mainly to keep strays and near do wells of the human sort out, the casually out for a walk sort. Aggressors would find that beyond the outer perimeter that things progressively became more of a motherfucker if they were the sort who had the specific intent and proper tools to bypass or assault through the outer measures. There were hidden microwave and pressure sensors on either side of the wall. All over the property in fact. Which monitored and fed information concerning the movement of anything larger than a baby squirrels bowel movement to the manors central security office. Which at the height of operations, that office had been the nerve center of an operation that made the Secret Service look like amateur-hour. Almost all of his people had initially been contracted through Xe security services. Top notch professionals. Former military special operations, intelligence, and law enforcement top tier types who had joined the ranks of the private world. At the height of things at the manor there had even been a contingent, rotational, counter assault team. The motherfucker had his own dedicated tactical team, always on duty and standing by within the manor itself. At one point there had been constant roving four man patrols to secure the grounds and outbuildings. Of course while one security shift worked, two others slept, lived, ate, and shit below ground in a hardened facility which dwarfed even then the sprawling, regal, manor atop the forested hill. The manor itself was over some 70,000 Square foot not to include outlaying barn, stables, and two modest 5,000 Square foot guest houses, the atrium, firing range, and the pool/grotto complex. The hardened facility below? Was bigger. There had even been a capability, mostly radar based, to detect aircraft in the vicinity of his airspace. He’d after all compelled a deal with King County wherein the airspace surrounding the compound for a mile in any direction of the outer perimeter fence was basically declared a no-fly zone. The staff present though were not trained to utilize such ‘phisticated equipments.
Then again it was always the security one could not see, nor not even the staff knew about that would have been horrific that anything capable enough to penetrate such conventional and unconventional measures had. After all who in their right mind or otherwise wanted to 'deal' with the old, powerful, one of Marmee Noir’s bloodline who lived within? Apparently there were a few Harlequin activities that did. In the case of good master and commander Sebastian Alderic Saint-Arsène a little problem was to be had with all of that. Security at the manor was a pale reflection of its former image. More befitting a rundown military outpost, considering its present staffing, than the ‘seat’ of a drug or oil mega-rich dictator. Hell, even he wasn’t sure after his last conversation with Alex and Lana if Marmee Noir herself was not responsible for the black mask herself. Given that by all accounts she was still sleeping, probably not, but Sebastian would not feel safe until he was back behind the walls of his compound. At the height of it? He’d had felt quite secure there even in the face of being the target of a Harlequin hunt. Being able to speak for the Harlequin, it was a place like what his had once been that would have been more or less the ultimate motherfucker to directly assualt. Even in its presently staffed condition it was better than nothing. He still had the insulation of all the surveillance and counter surveillance systems in place. He really ought to have made it a higher priority, re-establishing that rock solid security apparatus to its former glory. After all was safety not to be his #1 concern? Safety. His safety. After all what use was a fucking modern castle without the infrastructure to hold & defend? None.
He’d had his conversation with Alea after leaving the company of Lana and Alex. It had gone slightly better than he’d expected. For one? She had not taken him into custody. He’d laid out the variables to her, those that he, Lana, and Alex had come up with. Alea was naturally upset with the fact that his global shenanigans were now being dragged into the reach of her dominion. There were moments during that conversation where he’d been almost sure she was a blink away from deciding to lock him up in a box herself. For the time being she did decide that she would allow him to work what channels he would, namely his maker, and let Alex shake what trees he would. If he, they, could un-fuck his situation then so be it. If not? Alea made it quite clear that if the situation was as dramatic and drastic as he’d made it out to be that she had no intention of burning with him. He’d not hold it against her, he wouldn’t have either if he’d been in her shoes. By the time he’d left Alea, had his satellite phone-call to Melchior, it was the stroke of 2 in the A.M. She… was even less pleasant about the whole mess than Alea had been. Though unlike it had been with Alea, he and ‘Mel’ had not been co-located, her rage filled response, mainly directed towards him, was less intimidating than it ought to have been. Somehow he’d noted, detected really, that his maker did not seem to be all that surprised about his predicament. That went ‘well’ only considering she’d finally agreed to go through her channels within the Council, petition her maker for access to oll’ Marmee, and find what she could find out. She did not seem overly enthusiastic about the odds of Marmee being sympathetic however. IF that much, access could be granted to hear petition, Marmee was just as likely to kill him as she was to help him. For that matter, at that point, so was Melchior. Sebastian was utterly drained and so said ‘fuck it’ and turned down early by 3 in the A.M. in his bedroom below ground.
A lot of things went down after he’d gone into his powerful slumber. Weather it was a full on, totally legit, Council sanctioned action or the doings of a rouge faction, or individual vampire within the Council? Someone or many someone’s had been busy, busy, little bees in coordinating the events that had begun to unfold. It was like some maestro at the symphony level shit. The Council as a collective power had their fingers in many pies, and pulled the strings behind the scenes of many things around the world. Through the more conventional means, and more unscrupulous vampire compulsory measures, and by any means necessary did they maintain such relationships. By 3:30 A.M.? Sebastian had been made the most recent addition to the most wanted lists of both the FBI and Interpol. The charges? Well he had dabbled in international arms trafficking, human trafficking, drug lording, and yes even the sex slave trade. The dude was collecting, buying, selling, trading, and the like all manner of human ass like fucking Pokemon cards. All of that? That shit was all True. The whole nuclear proliferation bit of business? Sebastian had never actually seen, much less possessed or touched nuclear material, much less a functioning weapon. By 4:15 in the A.M.? The President, of guess what, was being woken up for an emergency national security briefing. Select elements from NORTHCOM and JSOC were being alerted, and those pieces began falling into place as ordered. By 5:05A.M. the order had by given. It had been decided by the head shop that Posse Comitatus need not apply given the circumstances. By 5:15A.M. the men of C & D Co. 2/75th Ranger were getting notified that the regularly scheduled physical regimen of the morning, and all other events for the day were being fucking canceled. By 6:25 A.M. a flurry of rotary wing aircraft, heading North and very slightly East at a balls out airspeed, departed from Joint Base Lewis-McChord. Another element from the East coast was also being flown in. They had been dispatched just as the man in charge had gotten woken up. They, the same tribe that had more recently been made notorious for popping bullets in the eye of OBL, and a NEST (Nuclear Emergency Search Team) element were coming out to play. The King County Sherriff’s office would eventually be told that a military exercise was taking place, by the appropriate representatives, and to lay the groundwork for getting the road near a particular area shut down and cordoned off. Drones were already airborne, tasked out with varied purpose / intent. Justice was already setting into motion the freezing of as many of the targets bank accounts as they could get their grubby little claws into. The FBI was crying crocodile tears about many things, Posse Comitatus exceptions included, that they were being cheated, but the leash was being kept tight. They, and the Marshall’s office, would be going ‘in’ after the fact if all went well to seize the property and anything of value. The sun had not yet risen in Seattle, but apparently it was setting on Sebastian Alderic Saint-Arsene. It was a minor demonstration by those who’d been responsible for the black mask’s delivery that they were not only not amused by Sebastian, but that they were capable of projecting and bearing some serious fucking weight where they wanted, when they wanted, and that the Harlequin sometimes even outsourced its work. Of course the things that had fallen into play, the response driven, was all predicated on a lie. Sue the Harlequin for playing dirty. Somehow, some way, the right people had gotten a hair up their collective butt’s that oll’ Sabby boy had been a naughtier boy than he actually had, and that he had smuggled stolen nuclear weapons into the country somehow. That he was storing them at his facility. Certain imagery had been botch botched and certain people compulsed to sell it so. Sebastian was about to have a bad fucking day. A very bad one. Of course, despite the tendency for the sort of action being set into motion to be executed at night, the initial cordon would occur as the sun cast its grip upon that part of the world. Those that had set things into motion wanted it that way. After all they were hunting a very particular sort of animal.
It was the first gate of four that would be the first sign of imposing, the sort of security ‘halo’ which the vampire had insulated the second most lavish of his properties with. Assuming one was expected, cleared, and allowed to drive up? To get from the first gatehouse to the last one had to traverse quite the drive, winding, seeming never ending, but some three miles of apparent solace filled driveway later and ascending a hill which broke through the dense forest… before one would arrive at the beginnings of the sprawling manicured grounds of the former MoTC's manor. Though at the end of the line, the last gate was built into a security wall of some 25' high and from the other end of the gate on the other side of the drive it appeared to be at least 8' thick. The wall itself was holding to the appearance on either side of being some fabulous slate like stone, but was on the inside reinforced with treated rebar and ballistic materials aside other filler. Outside each the gatehouse, ‘visitors’ would notice men standing on either side of the driveway. Two, there were always two guards outside each checkpoint, and at least two manning the inside. These ‘men in black’ were dressed head to toe in the latest tactical fashion, equipment, body armor, and equipped with the sorts of goodies as to rival the image of some of the most capable special operations forces. Most of them had been at one point in their lives just such forces. All of the staff was compelled, and security was no exception. They represented the 'lively' security measures which composed the former MoTC's security forces, and had remained there as a skeleton crew.
At the height of his power as MoTC a visitor would have suspected or even questioned if not the Master of the City was building his very own Army. Aside the five men visible and not at each checkpoint, were the most visible lively security remnant on the grounds. There was a small ten man household detachment that functioned as manor security. It paled in comparison to the numbers at the height of his power in the city. It was a skeleton crew. He’d not quite been back in Seattle long enough to have restored things to their proper order, or perhaps it had been the haze of drugs and the sort of ‘lapse’ that had occurred. The men at the gate? They were not entirely necessary, but Sebastian was big on having a live person on the ground. Despite this when an unknown vehicle came to the gate, two very discretely positioned, autonomously controlled – from within the respective gatehouses – FN M-240 Bravo belt fed, 7.62mm light machine guns would be an aggressors biggest problem. They were loaded out with a sort of modified ‘Raufoss’ ammunition that had a particularly nasty composition, and would acquire a vehicle as a matter of both having been triggered by pressure pads installed under the pavement or automated control from a respective gatehouse. The wall that was seen was only seen once the beginnings of any sign of civilization and seemingly disappeared into the forest and then abruptly popped up from its depths again. The wall itself had positions every fifty meters, atop it, that had been unmanned gun positions with intersecting fields of fire. The autonomous 240B machine guns that had once been atop it had been removed since his initial departure from the compound and put into storage. The manor was sprawling, looming, and just the sort of place one probably imagined that a man like Sebastian probably lived. Well it was either that or some sort of Brothel.
It, the wall, was not just for looks, and actually extended to compose the entire perimeter of the estate. Nearly eight miles of said wall had been erected, to contain the nearly three square miles of private forested property that was immediately surrounding the compound proper. The extent of the property was such that in for three miles in almost any direction from almost any point of the wall there was nothing but forest. Parts of the outlaying property did also butt up against a State forest. The outer fence at the furthest edge of the perimeter was mainly to keep strays and near do wells of the human sort out, the casually out for a walk sort. Aggressors would find that beyond the outer perimeter that things progressively became more of a motherfucker if they were the sort who had the specific intent and proper tools to bypass or assault through the outer measures. There were hidden microwave and pressure sensors on either side of the wall. All over the property in fact. Which monitored and fed information concerning the movement of anything larger than a baby squirrels bowel movement to the manors central security office. Which at the height of operations, that office had been the nerve center of an operation that made the Secret Service look like amateur-hour. Almost all of his people had initially been contracted through Xe security services. Top notch professionals. Former military special operations, intelligence, and law enforcement top tier types who had joined the ranks of the private world. At the height of things at the manor there had even been a contingent, rotational, counter assault team. The motherfucker had his own dedicated tactical team, always on duty and standing by within the manor itself. At one point there had been constant roving four man patrols to secure the grounds and outbuildings. Of course while one security shift worked, two others slept, lived, ate, and shit below ground in a hardened facility which dwarfed even then the sprawling, regal, manor atop the forested hill. The manor itself was over some 70,000 Square foot not to include outlaying barn, stables, and two modest 5,000 Square foot guest houses, the atrium, firing range, and the pool/grotto complex. The hardened facility below? Was bigger. There had even been a capability, mostly radar based, to detect aircraft in the vicinity of his airspace. He’d after all compelled a deal with King County wherein the airspace surrounding the compound for a mile in any direction of the outer perimeter fence was basically declared a no-fly zone. The staff present though were not trained to utilize such ‘phisticated equipments.
Then again it was always the security one could not see, nor not even the staff knew about that would have been horrific that anything capable enough to penetrate such conventional and unconventional measures had. After all who in their right mind or otherwise wanted to 'deal' with the old, powerful, one of Marmee Noir’s bloodline who lived within? Apparently there were a few Harlequin activities that did. In the case of good master and commander Sebastian Alderic Saint-Arsène a little problem was to be had with all of that. Security at the manor was a pale reflection of its former image. More befitting a rundown military outpost, considering its present staffing, than the ‘seat’ of a drug or oil mega-rich dictator. Hell, even he wasn’t sure after his last conversation with Alex and Lana if Marmee Noir herself was not responsible for the black mask herself. Given that by all accounts she was still sleeping, probably not, but Sebastian would not feel safe until he was back behind the walls of his compound. At the height of it? He’d had felt quite secure there even in the face of being the target of a Harlequin hunt. Being able to speak for the Harlequin, it was a place like what his had once been that would have been more or less the ultimate motherfucker to directly assualt. Even in its presently staffed condition it was better than nothing. He still had the insulation of all the surveillance and counter surveillance systems in place. He really ought to have made it a higher priority, re-establishing that rock solid security apparatus to its former glory. After all was safety not to be his #1 concern? Safety. His safety. After all what use was a fucking modern castle without the infrastructure to hold & defend? None.
He’d had his conversation with Alea after leaving the company of Lana and Alex. It had gone slightly better than he’d expected. For one? She had not taken him into custody. He’d laid out the variables to her, those that he, Lana, and Alex had come up with. Alea was naturally upset with the fact that his global shenanigans were now being dragged into the reach of her dominion. There were moments during that conversation where he’d been almost sure she was a blink away from deciding to lock him up in a box herself. For the time being she did decide that she would allow him to work what channels he would, namely his maker, and let Alex shake what trees he would. If he, they, could un-fuck his situation then so be it. If not? Alea made it quite clear that if the situation was as dramatic and drastic as he’d made it out to be that she had no intention of burning with him. He’d not hold it against her, he wouldn’t have either if he’d been in her shoes. By the time he’d left Alea, had his satellite phone-call to Melchior, it was the stroke of 2 in the A.M. She… was even less pleasant about the whole mess than Alea had been. Though unlike it had been with Alea, he and ‘Mel’ had not been co-located, her rage filled response, mainly directed towards him, was less intimidating than it ought to have been. Somehow he’d noted, detected really, that his maker did not seem to be all that surprised about his predicament. That went ‘well’ only considering she’d finally agreed to go through her channels within the Council, petition her maker for access to oll’ Marmee, and find what she could find out. She did not seem overly enthusiastic about the odds of Marmee being sympathetic however. IF that much, access could be granted to hear petition, Marmee was just as likely to kill him as she was to help him. For that matter, at that point, so was Melchior. Sebastian was utterly drained and so said ‘fuck it’ and turned down early by 3 in the A.M. in his bedroom below ground.
A lot of things went down after he’d gone into his powerful slumber. Weather it was a full on, totally legit, Council sanctioned action or the doings of a rouge faction, or individual vampire within the Council? Someone or many someone’s had been busy, busy, little bees in coordinating the events that had begun to unfold. It was like some maestro at the symphony level shit. The Council as a collective power had their fingers in many pies, and pulled the strings behind the scenes of many things around the world. Through the more conventional means, and more unscrupulous vampire compulsory measures, and by any means necessary did they maintain such relationships. By 3:30 A.M.? Sebastian had been made the most recent addition to the most wanted lists of both the FBI and Interpol. The charges? Well he had dabbled in international arms trafficking, human trafficking, drug lording, and yes even the sex slave trade. The dude was collecting, buying, selling, trading, and the like all manner of human ass like fucking Pokemon cards. All of that? That shit was all True. The whole nuclear proliferation bit of business? Sebastian had never actually seen, much less possessed or touched nuclear material, much less a functioning weapon. By 4:15 in the A.M.? The President, of guess what, was being woken up for an emergency national security briefing. Select elements from NORTHCOM and JSOC were being alerted, and those pieces began falling into place as ordered. By 5:05A.M. the order had by given. It had been decided by the head shop that Posse Comitatus need not apply given the circumstances. By 5:15A.M. the men of C & D Co. 2/75th Ranger were getting notified that the regularly scheduled physical regimen of the morning, and all other events for the day were being fucking canceled. By 6:25 A.M. a flurry of rotary wing aircraft, heading North and very slightly East at a balls out airspeed, departed from Joint Base Lewis-McChord. Another element from the East coast was also being flown in. They had been dispatched just as the man in charge had gotten woken up. They, the same tribe that had more recently been made notorious for popping bullets in the eye of OBL, and a NEST (Nuclear Emergency Search Team) element were coming out to play. The King County Sherriff’s office would eventually be told that a military exercise was taking place, by the appropriate representatives, and to lay the groundwork for getting the road near a particular area shut down and cordoned off. Drones were already airborne, tasked out with varied purpose / intent. Justice was already setting into motion the freezing of as many of the targets bank accounts as they could get their grubby little claws into. The FBI was crying crocodile tears about many things, Posse Comitatus exceptions included, that they were being cheated, but the leash was being kept tight. They, and the Marshall’s office, would be going ‘in’ after the fact if all went well to seize the property and anything of value. The sun had not yet risen in Seattle, but apparently it was setting on Sebastian Alderic Saint-Arsene. It was a minor demonstration by those who’d been responsible for the black mask’s delivery that they were not only not amused by Sebastian, but that they were capable of projecting and bearing some serious fucking weight where they wanted, when they wanted, and that the Harlequin sometimes even outsourced its work. Of course the things that had fallen into play, the response driven, was all predicated on a lie. Sue the Harlequin for playing dirty. Somehow, some way, the right people had gotten a hair up their collective butt’s that oll’ Sabby boy had been a naughtier boy than he actually had, and that he had smuggled stolen nuclear weapons into the country somehow. That he was storing them at his facility. Certain imagery had been botch botched and certain people compulsed to sell it so. Sebastian was about to have a bad fucking day. A very bad one. Of course, despite the tendency for the sort of action being set into motion to be executed at night, the initial cordon would occur as the sun cast its grip upon that part of the world. Those that had set things into motion wanted it that way. After all they were hunting a very particular sort of animal.