NationStates Jolt Archive

S.P.E.C.T.R.E
Special Executive for Counterintelligence, Terrorism, Revenge and Extortion

To all criminals, and down right evil geniuses. S.P.EC.T.R.E due to unforeseen employee problems, is now recruiting amongst the general crime syndicate for members. This is the first time the organisation has ever decided to recruit members in such a way. Therefore No 1, wishes me to impress the necessity of keeping this organisation secret. If you have received this message, then you have been marked as a possible recruit for S.P.E.C.T.R.E, if you are interested in joining an organisation that is purely interested in money and power then please do not hesitate to attend the information meeting held on Tuesday the tenth of January 2005, at No. 136 Boulevard Haussmann, Paris. The introductory lecture will begin at 0900 hours. Admittance to all late comers is prohibited.

The letter dropped onto the placemat of one Captain James Hawthorne, formerly of the Jordaxian royal navy, turned criminal mastermind and jewel thief extraordinaire. Slicing the letter open with his paper knife, he examined the contents. After reading them, he nearly bit clean through his pipe, and spilled the tobacco everywhere.

PARIS! Inconcievable! But still, the offer... it was so tempting. He noticed the card had been specially laminated. No doubt to catch the tears of joy he thought. Captain Hawthorne returned to his breakfast table, and chewed on a slice of toast whilst he considered the proposal. Could he really go... to Paris? It was so... French there! With a hardened heart he resolved. He would deign to enter the country. Booking the tickets with the fastest airline company in the world, British Airways, he arranged to be in Paris by dawn.


At three minutes to nine, after negotiating the treacherous French back alleys, Captain Hawthorne arrived at no. 136 Boulevard Haussman. He rapped on the door three times, and waited for a reply.

As the letter hit the floor before the mail slot ex-USMC Lt. Derek Barkalow opened the letter and read slowly. As he finished the letter he conceived of a plan to make his trip to Paris. He then hacked into the American Airlines data base and reserved himself a first class ticket on the fastest flight. Through the flight he watched the movie and thought of the letter constantly. As he got of the plane he "chartered" a limousine for his drive to the address of No. 136 Boulevard Haussmann, Paris. As he arrived early as always he ordered the driver to stop, and exited the limo he then told the driver that his services were no longer required, and walked to the door as the limo drove off. He then knocked on the door and waited for the answer.

The letter dropped onto the placemat of one grishsanhk, formerly of the neo sephrioth secert service, turned assaisin extraordinaire. Slicing the letter open with his paper knife, he examined the contents. After reading them, he nearly bit clean through his pipe, and spilled the tobacco everywhere.

PARIS! Inconcievable! But still, the offer... it was so tempting. He noticed the card had been specially laminated. No doubt to catch the tears of joy he thought. grishank returned to his breakfast table, and chewed on a slice of toast whilst he considered the proposal. Could he really go... to Paris? It was so... French there! With a hardened heart he resolved. He would deign to enter the country. Booking the tickets with the fastest airline company in the world, British Airways, he arranged to be in Paris by dawn.


At three minutes to nine, after negotiating the treacherous French back alleys, grishankarrived at no. 136 Boulevard Haussman. He rapped on the door three times, and waited for a reply.

OOC:
Interesting; any tech or species restrictions?

This is open to all tech levels. There are no restrictions.

Mad Doktor Darwin Nesbit pointedly ignored the lust-filled gaze of his present 'assistant', eyes instead scrolling across the scaned letter displayed on his flexi, re-reading the digital copy for the 285th time during the drive through the streets of Paris, or so it seemed.

Weaponry. Armour. Biotech. Cybernetics. He'd helped pioneer half the Family's breakthroughs in those feilds and more over the centuries. But along the way, something had changed.

Hell, alot of somethings had changed; what had started out as mild excentrisity and practical joking had, over the decades, escilated to psychosis and rampant, often illegal abuse of power - well, it wasn't quite that bad, usually, and it had, suposedly, gotten better over the last few decades sense he'd left - UAI sweeping most of the nut cases into some new subsidiary or other - but he wasn't going back; he'd spent enough time as a sex-crazed vixen for any number of lifetimes, and wasn't about to chance it happening again no matter how good the pay.

The busty fox-woman now watching him was ample testimony as to how 'long term' some of the other doctors would let such things go; he, for certain, had no intention of turning 'Becky back or fixing 'her' mind, but of course that was different - the smartass FedEx boy deserved it, tho what for he couldn't quite remember; it had been alteast several decades, afterall.


"Doktor, ve are aprochink our destination," the com from the limo driver shook him out of his mental meanderings, the crossroad that lay ahead snapping into sharp relife.

Yes; it had been almost eighty years sense he had managed to worm his way out of his contract with Uniphase Armouries Interversal, eighty terran years expense and deminishing returns, slowly eating away at his personal fortune. And now, just as he was considering a more proactive soloution to the problem, this letter.


It was then that the limo slowed, the Doktor noticing another such craft pulling away ahead of them via closed-circut camera, and atleast one person waiting by the door - it was hard to tell at this angle.

And then they were stoped, 'Becky opening the door; the scantily-clade, aparent 20-something femme exiting first to hold the door, befor the Doktor himself departed the conveyance.

The door closed behind him as he walked towards the building's enterance, his vulpine pet within letting out a muted yelp as she fails to first check her tail, momentarily catching it in the door; that remidied a moment later, the limo departs without a word, and the good Docktor, aparently in his early thirties and wearing black velvet vest over a well tailored lab coat, both open, aproaches the door.

bump

bump.

Copycat. You picked it up after my thread with Nutropinia.

No, me and my friend Jordaxia have been planning forming SPECTRE since we started Nationstates. Are you going to join or merely clutter the thread with useless OOC comments?

Skar leaned back on his chair, reading the message that appeared on his computer.

"SPECTRE? Hmmm, where have I heard that name before? Bah, no matter, I must be off." he said to himself, standing up. He was an imposing figure, 6"9, 300 pounds (of muscle), and always carried his ivory handled 1911 on his side. He walked out of the office which sat 50 stories in the air, in his corporation's headquarters. He was a multi-trillionare assasin for hire, and had a mercenary army to serve as a secondary income. He had personaly taken the heads of over one thousand people (some of them even national leaders). He wore a black suit, his pistol concealed underneath the jacket, and a ka-bar knife concealed in his shoe. He went down the elevator, and out the door to an awaiting limo, which took him to the airport.

A few hours later

Skar made his way towards the meeting place, wary that this could be a trap, but no matter. He had nothing better to do.

- Tag -

Darrel disconnected the wires connecting to the power supply capacitors bank and switched them around. A small hacksaw cut through the metal casing around the hard drive so he could slip it out and put it in his black pocket. He stepped out of the chilling room that held the computer's innards and reset the door, codes, alarms, and everything. Right before he walked out, he snagged the mail from his old postbox from when he "worked as an accountant" for the venerable mob boss Frankie Vigetti (Sure, stereotypical, right? My cousin's name is Frankie, and I'm half-sicilian). The bank codes on the hard drive should get him that mansion he'd wanted, and some of the stolen military blueprints would come in handy. He pulled out the letter and scanned it, and suddenly got this strange urge for airplane food.

IC:

A letter was passed onto Geskels rather clean desk by a Administrator...

Another report... another day Geskel thought.

He promptly opened and read the letter...

I think I shall be attending this as the representative of the Shadows, no new group of this idealology can be allowed to exist without Shadow representation in it.

The arrangements were promplty made via several fronts for the nessacary requirements to get Geskel, a Mighty Talon to this inductory session.

The Supreme Commander was in the middle of signing a series of death orders when the letter arrived. The prospect of power didnt interest him much, but the prospect of money got his attention. A response was given through a secure channel.

Official Top Secret Response from Red Tide
"We will come."

Walking down the varnished stair case Heinrich arrived at the front door. Outside, guests were gathering and doubtlessly growing impatient, with the clock approaching nine he would have to let them in, lest his master grow displeased. Turning the polished brass handle he opened the oak door with relative ease and bid the guests enter. The hallway was as typical as one could expect, wooden floors, well decorated walls and a rather tall ceiling for the type of building, obviously some work had been done to the infrastructure.

“Please Gentleman, the first room on the right.” Heinrich gestured down the hallway. The guests obviously having no choice but to proceed walked along the creaking floor boards. The weather outside showed signs of rain as the door was closed quietly behind them.

The room to the right held a large Redwood table, upon it lay plates, cups, silver cutlery and small nametags, directing the guests where to sit. At the back of the room several large windows looked out onto Paris, unfortunately with a distorted view. The building was designed like a fortress. Inside the door frames metal strips could be seen, one could only guess as to their nature, while in the far top corner a bookcase lay, with several volumes of the Prince of Wales autobiographies.

As the guests took their seats a small concealed door opened in the far corner, from the concealed passage a man dressed utterly in black emerged. His face was as pale as moonlight, while his hands had leather gloves upon them. “Welcome gentleman, you are here today as each and every one of you received a letter. I hope you all have your invites? Now I shall introduce myself, my name and designation is number six, I have been tasked with recruiting you gentleman into the organisation, along with your twenty million pound deposit of course. But it is early, shall we have some breakfast first and talk amongst ourselves?” Number six clapped his hands and two aides came in bearing breakfast trays, a plate was put down before each guest with their favourite morning meal.

Before Derek, was his favorite breakfast, A bowl of oat meal topped with cinnimon, three hard boiled eggs, and a plate of haggas. "Huh, wonder how they knew I liked this for breakfast."

As Darwin entered the room, shifting angles giving life to the 2D hologram upon his space-black t-shirt, one hand moved to slip his shade down, so that his honey-amber eyes might peer over them; NES-toed leather boots tracking water from a shallow puddle outside near the door.

Finally taking his seat, the Doktor leaned forward to adjust the seat of something within the leg of his blue jeans while noting their aparent host's enterance, and sitting up; frowning inwardly when he failed to speak of anything but pleasentries and bills.

But then, he didn't much expect a straight answer up front; people such as he expected these to be seemed to delight in half-truths and miss-direction. But he had expected more.

I supose I could just ask, he thought inwardly as he regaurded the pancakes and hashbrown paddies - a staple, if not a favorate, from years gone bye; but then, he'd never had a favorite breakfast. There was even a small container of blueberry syrup, complete with the golden-arches logo.

Better to let another test the water, should our hosts feel inclined to games.

The first thing that Mr Hawthorne noticed was the full English Breakfast that made its way towards him, a luxury he afforded himself only occasionally. Such things should not be overindulged in, after all. As the plate was set down, Captain Hawthorne smiled. They had down their research after all. He thought, as he seen how the dish had been prepared, practically overflowing with grease. After all, when one eats an unhealthy breakfast, what is the point in restraint? He always felt that you didn't get a good meal until you could feel the heart trying to pump blood through the rapid cholestorol and fat buildup.

Hawthorne glanced over to see what the others were eating. Pancakes, oatmeal, etc. He let out a barely audible snort of disgust. There was a distinct lack of sugar puffs present, from what he could see. The only alternative to the full English was Sugar puffs. Positively no nutritional value, and that was the way breakfast was meant to be. It occured to him that perhaps he should inquire as to a more precise reason they had been gathered, but it wasn't polite to speak with your mouth full, so he let it pass. For a moment he wondered what Commodore Williams would make of this group. Probably not too much, but that was for future times.

Number six looked around the room, lowering his cup of minted tea he smiled. “Very well gentleman, now that you have finished your meals we may begin on the more arduous part of my introduction. S.P.E.C.T.R.E, is an organisation which deals in crime for profit, we have frontal organisations all over the globe in an attempt to prevent Government agencies and spies from tracking us down. So far we have succeeded, but even if we are discovered it would make very little difference. S.P.E.C.T.R.E controls over fifteen percent of the worlds wealth, all equally deposited over many bank accounts. Our members identities, for the most part remain secret, with members working in cells to further the organisations needs and wants. Every task and criminal act is debated and decided upon by the concerned cell and Number one; the leader of the organisation. I am to be a member of this cell, if each and every one of you decides to join. Of course, you are all free to leave at any time.

To join S.P.E.C.T.R.E, there is the mandatory deposit of twenty million pounds. Of course each member will regain that money over time with each successful plot. The organisation receives twenty percent of all profit encountered on any plan, while the remaining eighty percent is divided equally among the said cell however, I doubt you are all here for the money. No, most people join our organisation for a challenge. They have become bored with their day to day tasks, and therefore require something that will bring them profit, but will also bring them an honourable victory. Loyalty is rewarded with yearly bonuses taken from the S.P.E.C.T.R.E account, while disloyalty is rewarded with death.

Each member is free to leave S.P.E.C.T.R.E, however two weeks notice must be given or a One hundred Million pound fee is incurred. Obviously,” Number six chuckled at the thought. “leaving the organisation costs a lot more than joining.” Pausing, he looked at the faces sitting at the table, each one had their own talents, their own resources critical to this cells formation. In all reality they had no choice but to join. “Does anyone have any questions?”

Skar sighed, stuck his hand in his pocket, and took out his checkbook, righting the proper amount of money. He then made it into a paper airplane, and tossed it at number six, hitting him in the face. He then leaned back on his chair, and waited for something cool to happen.

IC:

Geskel stuck a lazy hand up in the air ruffling his red silk clothes.

Can you give us an example of your 'ingenious' evil plans then? The Shadows will not pay unless we are convinced of your potential power.

Grand General for Airforce Yavan Richet, the representitive for Red Tide, piped up "I do agree. These scemes better be worth it. The Supreme Commander wants to make alot of profit out of this."

OOC: And don't think because a pound is more then a dollar that the british econ is stronger then american. If you look at the GDP, and if you do all the math, they're pretty close, just stickin up for American econ.

OOC: Eh... your point being?

Currently 1 Pound is equal to 1.87796 USD

So twenty million pounds would equal 37,553,442.67 USD, yeah the dollar is really weak right now, MAY IT GET WEAKER!

PS. Post coming soon, I have exams right now, so I am not in the best of posting positions.

Minister X raised an eyebrow as he read the letter from this new version of SPECTRE. He smiled, remembering all the memories he had of that original and vaunted organization. Threats to world leaders, fights with M-I6, all the lasers, kidnappings, and torturing schemes. The memories certainly brought a smile to his face.

This new version of SPECTRE sounded…..well, it sounded ike a bunch of bored society gentlemen forming a throwback to his original organization. But X resolved to show up. After all, he was the leader of the original SPECTRE. Why couldn’t he be the leader of the new one?

Official Communique in Reply
I’d be delighted to see how you chaps have set up the second SPECTRE. After we disbanded the first, I’ve been waiting for someone to get it going again. Hope you’ve set it up right. Do we still have the trapdoor near the entrance? Hmmm? Ah well, I’ll soon find out. I should be with you gentlemen in about two hours or so. Until then, Tschuss!

http://img94.exs.cx/img94/2290/Clipboard12.jpg
Minister X, Leader of Samtonian Council of Thirteen

OOC: What ever, we still have more money by comparison, your's may be worth more, but we got 2.8796 more then you, hehe, and if you realy think that you're dumber then you type, ps I ain't gonna turn this into a flame thread so it stops here or I report, AOK, Bob?"

Don’t you mean “than” instead of “then” and “really” instead of “realy”. No one insulted anyone until you decided to put a little dig in. It takes a very pathetic person to insult one basing on ones lingual skills, when they’re typing at 2:29am. I refuse to accept a typing insult from someone who cannot spell correctly.

As for the American currency, by God you are another yank who has been glazed by the mass media of the Land of the “free”. America is hardly in an excellent financial state, in fact it’s crumbling. China is growing while America is growing weaker. George Bush is declaring wars in an effort to stimulate the economy, your nations income is now less than its expenditures, and it has been for the past ten years. That means that your Government is going to go bankrupt in the next fifty years if something drastic is not done. The weakness of the dollar is crippling your industry, as businesses and organisations struggle to compete in the International market. Don’t believe me? Just look at the sale of IBM to China, and many more that I could reference if I could be bothered.

As for each American family having more money than me, utter rubbish. The financial richness of each American may be larger once the wealth is averaged out, however only ten percent in the nation can actually say that they are better off than European citizens.

Americans have to pay for health care, where as we get it free. Americans struggle to cope when they are in times of desperation, our government supports us, and so on and so on, I trust you get my point? Americans once it is all averaged out, may have more money than us Brits, though that is not the truth, however it is plainly obvious from facts and figures that your standard of living is substandard for the European Union.

I will continue this tomorrow, in my bid to rid the world of incompetent Americans. It is people like you that make the world detest your once loved nation.

OOC 2: Welcome to the thread Samtonia. Draconis Federation, you will no longer post in this thread, if you do I will go to the mods and ask them to delete your posts. If you wish to continue this discussion amicably, then please send your response over TG

OOC: Acctually I was refering to the message in the text, not the spelling, I am prone to spelling errors, so don't take it any further and let's delete our none related posts, ok?

"37,553,442.67 USD has been wired into your account as I spoke this sentence. I only hope this investment brings freinds with it." Then Derek leaned back in his chair and waited for the good stuff to commence.

[OOC- Completely off topic, but Bob-Bob, what you said is quintessentialey flawed. A strong dollar has been propping up the Asian economic markets for years. Thus, they've been able to keep buying into the dollar, meaning they rely more on the dollar, meaning their actual economic growth becomes artificially sustained by the dollar's height. This hurts everyone, as Asian markets become too focused on exports and American markets too focused on Asian imports.

The only way to stop this is devaluation of the dollar. It's hoped that a gradual and slow decline, like what's gonig on now, will continue, but if it's a sudden crash, all bets are off. Basically, right now, the dollar is too linked in the world economy for it to simply bottom out. So the both of you are wrong in that respect.

The gradual lowering is not hurting industries, indeed, in the long run, it will help them a huge amount by getting rid of the Asian "Paper Tiger" economies propped up by inflated dollar figures and letting us begin to trade at actual values with other countries.

China growing is debatable at this point. I'd go into it, but the latest issue of Foreign Policy does it better. Go buy a copy. Strognly recommended. In short, China's headed for a pretty damn big fall pretty soon. America won't go broke, but we might stop being the regional economic hegemon in Asia.

Don't know what you mean by the wealth portion, plus it doesn't actually matter to anything, so we'll move on there.

Health care is a biggie. In short, though you may get better basic care (and by better I of course mean: standardized, given to all people, free, etc...) the Us still has the best elective surgeries in the world. Look at Great Britain. Anyone with money is fleeing that shambles of a healthcrisis. Of course, America has less people being given healthcare, especially to the poor, but each system has its major downfalls. So in Europe, you can get care but have to wait 12 months for the kidney replacement you need in two, while in America, you can get the kidney- if you can pay.

Struggling to cope in times of desperation? It's called welfare. It works for a country that's larger then any European country and pays a lower tax rate then most (I may be wrong, don't crucify me). It's an okay system for what there is, but that's really comparing apples to oranges. Two completely different mentalitites, and thus systems. and let's not even go into European welfare failings. How about Germany's massive pay to the unemployed and thus record numbers of Germans simply staying on the welfare rolls out of the fact that they can have pretty good lives? Bad example, probably found in US, but I'm too lazy to look otherwise.

So yeah. Don't condemn America too much. Some things are more complex than meets the eye, other things are just as easy to see if you look in the mirrior.

Oh, and I didn't mention GW. Too much inflammatory, not enough time. :)

And now, away with the highjacking and back to the actual thread.]

[OOC- Hmmm....why ever not? The man has had a history of policy failures, economic and international. Sure, he might turn out to be a great president, but he jut hasn't proven he is one yet. Too bad I wasn't able to vote in the elections....cursed minimum age.

But if I want to criticize, make fun of, or even burn effigies of George W. Bush, it is my Constitutional rightas an american to be able to do that. And I am so greatful that I live in a country where I can exercise that great of a right. Aren't you?]

OOC: Please people, can we stop with the thread hijacking and get back to the RP? There's a general forum for discussions like this.

After the short interlude Number Six smiled, “Twenty Million Pounds is roughly equal to Forty Million Dollars. As for the great crimes of our past, after all you only learn of our failures. The raid at Fort Knox was one of the more publicly known. With our former and most wealthy member Auric Goldfinger, attempting to cripple the American currency and ruin the world economy, all to SPECTRE’s benefit of course. However, we have been repeatedly foiled by MI6- the British Intelligence agency – though it shouldn’t be a problem for too much longer.” Pulling up from his seat, Number Six took to his feat. Now if you will follow me Gentleman, I will give you a small tour of our small facility here.” Motioning to the secret passageway Number six guided his guests down the small but well lighted corridor.

The passage slowly began to enlarge and after a time it opened out into what appeared to be a large Subway stance. Turning back Number six waved his companions forward. “This was built just after the second world war. This railway line is an extension of the more public and less secure section, however we never use that part. From here we have access to almost anywhere in the city.” The sound of an approaching train screeched in the distance. “Built and commissioned by the first Number one, this hidden transport section has been the backbone of SPECTRES operations in Paris for almost fifty years. Right now we are heading towards SPECTRE’s main research installation, it takes a frontal legitimate name of course as MIDAS Enterprises.” Number Six held his hat as wind flooded the tunnel, from the darkened depths two bright lights glared, blinding the guests for a short moment. As the train screeched to a stop, he doors opened bidding the guests enter.

The late Victorian type décor spoke much for SPECTRES historical interests, as the guests entered they would find another man waiting on them.

OOC: Enter Momanguise

As they entered, they saw an odd little man in overblown and ridiculous (http://www.kinoweb.de/film99/ShakespeareInLove/pix/sh-il-rush.jpg) attire sitting by a table, bent low over some manuscript. "And he doth...lament? No, for that contradicts the iambic foot." he muttered, completely oblivious to the guests who had just walked in. "Meant? Sent? Bent? O, what base and degraded words I am forced to use!" Suddenly he leapt from his seat and tore the manuscript in two, ink flew into his face and he roared, "In God's name, what is a half decent rhyme for Torrent?"

As he stood blinking through the black ink that had obscured his eyes, he became vaguely aware of other people in the carriage. He opened his mouth and promptly all of the ink that had been trapped in his moustache ran inside and he chocked and wretched. Eventually he coughed a great gob of blackened phlegm onto the floor, and muttering darkly he turned to the leader of the group. "Privee tell me Number Six", he whispered loudly enough for all to hear, "They are ours, aren’t they? They are to be trusted?" When Number Six had nodded in the affirmative he suddenly snapped to attention, his voice booming jovially as he shook each mans hand in turn. "My dear fellows!" he cried, "'Tis but a greater pleasure to meet with you all, my name is Chriftopher Henslowe..." he broke off as Number Six shot a venomous glance, "I mean Number Eighty Five of course, but what's in a name between friends? Pleasure to make your acquaintances, I am a playmaker and an thespian of the highest order, and a proud member of SPECTRE." He finished, breathing at last and beaming at them all. Then he caught sight of his ruined play on the floor. "My love," he wailed as he grasped the torn pages, "what have I done to thee?"

Derek promply nudged the person to his right and whispered, "Hey, look at the fruit, now that is comedy."

Geskel looked throughly bemused, the Talon even had a small smile on his face.

So your asking us to join an organisation that has had little in the way of success? You make demands of us as prospective members, yet you yourselves have very little to show for you actions. Prove to us you are more than just a pathetic bag of wind.

Geskel looked throughly bemused, the Talon even had a small smile on his face.

So your asking us to join an organisation that has had little in the way of success? You make demands of us as prospective members, yet you yourselves have very little to show for you actions. Prove to us you are more than just a pathetic bag of wind.


Darwin had remained silent and observent, following the others as his questions were asked for him.. if not quite as tactly as he would have done.

And so it was that, with the conclusion of Geskel's words, the Doktor took several side-steps away from him, just to be safe.

Geskel looked throughly bemused, the Talon even had a small smile on his face.

So your asking us to join an organisation that has had little in the way of success? You make demands of us as prospective members, yet you yourselves have very little to show for you actions. Prove to us you are more than just a pathetic bag of wind.

Henslowe raised himself up to his full height, took a deep theatrical breath and launched into a great tirade, "What sir? Dost thou talkest in this way of SPECTRE? The organisation that stole Himmlers Jewels? The organisation that assassinated Peringue, the defector? The organisation that spirited away germ warfare phials from the Czechs and sold them at a huge profit to the british? This all, and a hundred operations with similar profits, and you!" He was now right in front of the man, roaring his words and spraying spittle all over the unfortunate mans face, "You sir, you brazenly walks into here with your talk of wind and patheticness, yet are in ignorance of our power! We have made the world tremble as Europe trembled before the Khans, and you question our ability?" Henslowe had negated to breath through the entire speach, and his face had taken on a violent shade of puce, and a vien bulged on his forehead, "You are nothing! You know nothing, and worst of all....worst of all..." He swayed violently as the lack of oxygen finally took it's effect and he swooned unconcious onto the carriage floor.

Geskel burst out laughing.

That was a joke right? You're anger only shows you to be a rather childish organisation. You are yet to produce proof of your actions. Prove what you claim or why should we join you? We have no desire to fund or help bags of wind or front organisations. Give us proof or you can forget Shadow support for your little organisation.

Geskel stared at the man who just feinted with the throbbing vein...

Stupid jumped up animals

He thought to himself.

Geskel burst out laughing.

That was a joke right? You're anger only shows you to be a rather childish organisation. You are yet to produce proof of your actions. Prove what you claim or why should we join you? We have no desire to fund or help bags of wind or front organisations. Give us proof or you can forget Shadow support for your little organisation.

Geskel stared at the man with the throbbing vein...

Stupid jumped up animals

He thought to himself.

ooc: You do know that my guy's just fainted?

ooc: You do know that my guy's just fainted?

OOC: Whoops read over that.

Number Six straightened his tie realising his guests were becoming impatient. “Oh, do not be fooled. SPECTRE does not find your employment a necessity, merely a more comfortable arrangement. Do not be taken in by my most exuberant friends apparent lack of intellect, I assure you, he is most deadly. SPECTRE, has achieved all those acts that he spoke of, but as an organisation, we do not impress our successes, to possible members. No, we impress our failures, so we can become better than we are, so that we will adjust to the tactics of our enemies. Giving away our most secret of accomplishments is only a fools choice.” The train screeched to a halt, while Number Six rose, and made his way towards the doors. “Gentleman, please follow me. Understandably you require proof towards our organisations abilities and infrastructure, I am about to give you the proof.” As Number Six made his way across the platform a silver elevator could be seen. Moving his eye towards the sensor he quickly underwent a retinal scan. “This facility is class C, merely a minor facility, though I hope you will all be impressed the same.”

DING! Doors Opening. Number Six led the party out of the elevator. The corridor was pristine white, while on the roof several black boxes held their position. Walking quickly he led the party through another door, however what lay beyond was far more impressive.

Walking out onto a gantry the scene was commendable. A vast hall filled with people, working at control stations, or developing some form of contraption. The echoing orders screamed from speakers all over the halls, while small railways carried people from place to place. Number Six turned, “This is a small research and control operation for our agents in France. The French Government knows of our presence, however they are most unwilling to do anything. This installation, now supports over one quarter of Paris, and it is growing. If a few supports were removed Paris would sink into the Earth, including that waste of metal they call a landmark. Essentially, we are most safe here.”

“Have I convinced you Gentleman yet?”

OOC: Can I roleplay a Canadian Secret Agent whose a pest to this group of yours like Mister Bond? :p

"Not realy, but then again I've been labeled hard too imprese." Derek said shrugging.