User:Arnout aka The Emperors Angel/RPG/Character Development

Finally alone again, Arnout crashed onto his bed. "Arnout, we have access to the company's network." "Good. Ask Mr. White for an update. And check my mail."

"Arnout, you, have 2 new newsletters, a message from the woman you met in the club, and there is a new copy of The Flash – Superhero News magazine."

Arnout lifted his head of his pillow, and made a snoring sound. "Save and store the copy of Flash. I bet they have a real paper version somewhere here. Dorres seams that kind of man."

"Arnout, what about the message form ClubID215?" "Okay, okay. Put it, and a picture off her on the viewing screen."

Moaning and complaining, Arnout got off the bed, and walked over to the viewing screen, across from the bed. Turning the screen on ("Screen; viewing modus.") he read the message. "Now bring up her picture." The viewing screen halved the messaging part, and showed the image Arnout had his computer take that Friday night, before all hell had rained down on him.

"Whoa. Damn, how drunk was I?" "At the time this picture was taken, you had a permille of 1,2. You ended that night with a permille of 2,4." "Well, good times all around. I didn't even wake up in a ditch this time, so it's all good. Did I do anything stupid?" "Arnout, define stupid?"

Arnout sighed melodramatic, and pressed the reply button on the screen. "Did I make out with her?" Without a trace of irony, his computer replied. "If that is what defines stupid, then what would be the appropriate term for sexual intercourse?" "WHAT? NO! YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME!" Arnout shouted out. "I have footage, if you want to see for yourself."

Arnout froze, with a look of horror on his face. "Delete and erase, NOW! And tell me, did we do it safely?" "Deleted and erased. And, yes, you used a condom."

Sighing with relief, sat down on the bed again. "Thank you, Lord, for delivering us." Laying his head in his hands, Arnout said: "Now what are we going to do about this? I usually have a better taste for women... And look at the team I'm in! A half dragon (who is pretty handsome), a doctor (who's smoking hot!) and a crazy (yet still reasonable pretty) crazy robotocist. And we are fighting a team which features a ice cold chick (ironically, still pretty handsome), and some crazy psycho cheerleader (smoking hot!).

Mentally, he looked over his shoulder to his computer, and cried out: "What the hell is wrong with me?!?!" "Arnout, I think all these changes are just going too fast. You need time to adapt, but you where given none. That's hard on you, but don't turn and run like you did last time, but stare these troubles in the face, and hold your ground."

Arnout was speechless for several moments. "Dude. You've been taking psychology classes, or what?" "No, it's a separate module in my programming. It was meant to stop soldiers wearing this suit from deserting." "O. Well, that sucks. Still, thanks, computer." "You are welcome, Arnout."

And without missing a beat if followed up with; "Now, shall we resolve the situation with ClubID215?" "Her name is Karin, computer. And I don't have the faintest clue how to fix this situation."

Shaking his head, Arnout walked over to the fridge. Pulling it open, he kneeled before it, an peered inside, looking for a beer. "Arnout, nutrient and moisture levels suggest that a soda, or some juice would be best." Arnout cut his computer short: "Yeah, but I really NEED a beer."

After finding his much needed beer, Arnout sat down at the desk. "Heh. Haven't felt like I'm supposed to be doing homework in a long time." "Arnout, to better formulate a reply, I will have to ask you some personal questions." "Oh, computer, WHY?" Arnout melodramatically cried out. And then: "Go ahead."

With the mental equivalent of clearing his throat, Arnout's computer asked: "Why where you attracted to this woman?" "I was drunk, duh. I wanted something, and she was willing. That's enough for me..." "Do you have any feelings for her?" "No. I mean, I was drunk and I can't remember anything past me dancing with her." "That would have been my next question, thank you. But we shall continue. Would you be interested in getting to know her better?" "Dunno." With a pause: "To be polite I guess. I think I'll be quite busy on strange hours of the day, to say the least. These guys won't stick to nine to five routines." "That sounds like a decent analysis. I'll formulate a reply, and put it up on the screen."

Arnout started humming a 2020's song to himself. "Arnout, isn't that Sweatshop by De Staat?" "Yep. I like what you wrote. I'll authenticate the signature, and send it." Arnout aka The Emperors Angel 20:07, 18 September 2011 (UTC)

"Arnout? Mr White send a response." "Ow. Good. What did he say?" Arnout lifted his head from his pillow, and looked at the clock. "Ow shit. Why does he have to be such a office-hours prick?" Arnout, the mail was send last night, at ...... am."

A deathly silence followed, as Arnout shook his head. "I take it back. That dude is hardcore." Rolling out of bed, Arnout said; "Lets pay him a visit, shall we?"

With the mental equivalent of sniffing the air, Arnout computer remarked: "Arnout, perhaps you should take a shower first." Arnout lifted his arms, and sniffed at his armpit. "Yep. Let's do that."

Arnout walked into Mr. White's workshop, and looked around in wonder. "WOW. Nice workshop. A lot better than the crappy hole where we fixed my legs."

Mr White looked up from the workbench where he was working on Arnout's suit rifle. "Hey Arnout. How are you doing?" "Bruised and battered. I'll need the front armour replaced again." Mr White nodded. "Mr Reed told me you had taken some hits yesterday. I'll put it on the list, and do it myself." Arnout walked over to his disassembled rifle. "I never dared take it apart. Afraid I wouldn't be able to put it back together again." Mr White laughed. "For such a sophisticated weapon, it's really low tech. It would have to be, to fire multiple calibres at differential speeds."

"It's unlike anything I have ever seen." Mr. White continued. Arnout laughed. "Could you please put it back together again? I feel I'll need it very, very, soon."

"Arnout? Mr White send a response." "Ow. Good. What did he say?" Arnout lifted his head from his pillow, and looked at the clock. "Ow shit. Why does he have to be such an office-hours prick?" Arnout, the mail was send last night, at 2 am."

A deathly silence followed, as Arnout shook his head. "I take it back. That dude is hardcore." Rolling out of bed, Arnout said; "Lets pay him a visit, shall we?"

With the mental equivalent of sniffing the air, Arnout computer remarked: "Arnout, perhaps you should take a shower first." Arnout lifted his arms, and sniffed at his armpit. "Yep. Let's do that."

Arnout walked into Mr. White's office, and looked around in wonder. "WOW. Nice office. A lot better than the crappy garage where we fixed my legs."

Mr White looked up from the workbench where he had been examining Arnout's suit rifle. "Hey Arnout. How are you doing?" "Bruised and battered. I'll need a lot of repairs. Again." Mr White nodded. "I got the list from Mr. Dorres. Everything that was on that list, I did myself. You know, just to be sure. There is no one here better at fixing things then me." Arnout walked over to his disassembled rifle. "I never dared take it apart. Afraid I wouldn't be able to put it back together again." Mr White laughed. "For such a sophisticated weapon, it's really low tech. It would have to be, to fire multiple calibres at differential speeds."

"It's unlike anything I have ever seen." Mr. White continued. Arnout laughed. "Could you please put it back together again? I feel I'll need it very, very, soon."

Mr White looked curious. "Arnout, why are you dropping by? I don't mind it, but there is not a real need. I send you the status update, and you could have had your suit send to your room, if that's what you wanted." Arnout shook his head. "I wanted to talk to you about something. How much do you know?" "Enough to care, and enough to know that everything must be working absolutely perfect. I prefer to be left out of the loop. There are some things I just don't want to know. I want to be able to sleep at night, you understand." "I understand. And I respect your opinion. I regret it, but I respect it."

Arnout hesitated. "There are, uhhhmmm, certain things I need. Not just for myself, but for the whole team." Mr White looked at Arnout in a way that would, by anyone, be described as weird. "Arnout, what things?" "Shit. I was hoping you'd understand. This stays between us, from now, until the grave." "What? What the hell do you mean, Arnout!?" Arnout produced a tablet from the back pocket of his cargo pants. "This is what I am talking about." Arnout showed a list to Mr White. Mr White's face showed relief. "Is that what you mean! I can't help you with most of it, though I can get some of the raw resources from the lab, and produce some of the accessories, but I can't help you with the most important items." "Shame. Ok, get me the resources, I'll refine them as far is necessary myself. I'll go find the rest of items myself." "You could do this official. I mean, go and talk to either Adam or Mr. Dorres, and they will get you what you need." "Adam? No. I don't want any on the team to know what I'm trying to do. But I will go and talk to Dorres. Thanks. When can I expect the resources?" "You just go and talk to Mr. Dorres first." Mr. White laughed scornfully. "He can get you more than I can." Arnout sighed deeply, and shook his head. "O.K. Tell me where I can find him." Mr. White checked his watch. "This time of day, you can usually find him in his office." "And where is that? I have no clue. I still have trouble finding my way in the maze I call my home now." Mr. White smiled, and then explained it to Arnout.

Arnout knocked on the door of Mr. Dorres' office. "Enter!" Opening the door, Arnout poked his head around the corner. "Can I talk to you for a minute? I need to ask you for something." Dorres' looked seemed to shift a bit to curiosity, than to what appeared to be disfavour. "You could talk to Adam about that. He can get you anything you need." "This isn't for the team. I went to talk to Mr. White, and he send me over you. What I am looking for is rather.... special. And I don't want the team to find out, yet." "Trust is essential to this whole endeavour, Mr. Fowl. Even if this does not involve the team. Besides, some of your team members might be able to help you." It looked like Dorrres was going to continue his lecture, so Arnout's computer intervened.

Arnout stepped into the room, and the voice came out of the small box in his neck. "Mr. Dorres, with all respect, all of the team members are either outstanding citizens, or complete strangers to this society. What Arnout is looking for, is in no way, within their ability to obtain it." Arnout doubted his computers words out loud. "The Baron might be able to nick stuff off the corpses of dead criminals, and Silvia might have contacts we don't know about."

By now, Dorres was looking outright intrigued. "Out with it then." "Before we go through with this, Mr. Dorres, I want you to know I do not agree with most of the items Arnout has on his so-called shopping list." Arnout's computer voiced his opinion. "Ow, comp. Mute." Arnout's face turned red, as he handed his list to Dorres.

The room was silent for a minute, as Dorres read the items on the list, and thought about it. "Can you explain why you are looking for these things? I really don't see the need for them. And how come you think this has nothing to do with the team?" "Dorres, don't question my motives. All I do is for the good of us all." Dorres slid the tablet with the list across his desk back to Arnout. "You where a chemistry major, no?" Arnout nodded. "But you are forgetting I have a military prototype computer interfaced with my own mind. Comp has the theoretical skill of a supersoldier, and all I have to do is put whatever it teaches me into action. And if I really suck at something, comp just takes over. That hurts, but it works. And that rhymed." Arnout added under his breath. Dorres placed both his elbows on his desk, and covered his mouth with his hands. "I see." There was silence for another minute.

"Alright. I will summon Mr. Shepard, who will test your expertise in the area of your apparent interest, Mr. Fowl. If you pass his tests, then I wish you luck with your search. The resources will be delivered to your room, and I will ask Mr. White to see what he can do for you, as far as the accessories go." Arnout looked disappointed. "I was hoping you could help me with those items. I don't have the contacts needed to obtain them." "I employ a few people who might have some ideas where to get some of your gadgets. We'll work this out, providing you pass Mr. Shepard's test. At that moment, Shepart opened the door. "You called, Sir?" Dorres nodded at Arnout. "Put him through the works, Mr. Shepard. And then report to me."

Shepart took Arnout to the elevator, and they went 3 more floors down. Exiting the elevator, Arnout saw a giant shooting range, along with a complete armoury. "WOW." Arnout's computer did a quick count. "Arnout, 300 assault rifles, 600 side arms, 300 submachine guns, some heavy machineguns, and enough assorted goods to finish up." Arnout followed Shepard speechless, who walked ahead to a rack of handguns and picked one. He handed it to Arnout. Arnout looked at the rack, and demanded a better weapon: "If you want to test me, at least give me something proper. Like that Glock, or a Sig." Arnout pointed at two different models on the rack. Shepard sighed deeply, and explained. "The full works, in this case, comprises of firing three different types of handguns, two submachine guns, and two assault rifles and one rifle designated for marksmen." Arnout smiled at these words. "O.K. sounds good to me. Want to make this a completion?" Shepard sighed again, but took the same type of handgun from the rack.

Arnout was smiling broadly when he and Shepard took the elevator upward. After walking back to Dorres his office, Shepard placed a tablet with Arnout's scores on Dorres's desk. "He passed with flying colours, Sir." Shepard added. Dorres dismissed Shepard, and looked at Arnout. "I'm impressed, and I am not easily impressed. Not only did you beat Mr. Shepard in a marksman match, you also broke every high score ever set by my employees. How?" "Arnout pointed at his eyes. "Keen eyes, a targeting matrix, and hands that don't tremble." "Some men would call that cheating." Dorres commented. "The same men wouldn't want to have their hands removed to gain my advantage. And they wouldn't like a computer peeping into their mind 24/7 much either." Arnout seemed angry. "I agree with you, Mr. Fowl. All I am saying is that you might have to point this out to some people, because they might have prejudices." "Hmpf. Idiota." Arnout shrugged his shoulders. "You gonna help me, or not?" "I am going to help you, just this once. Next time, you go through Adam, or fix it yourself. I have sent a few numbers to your computer." (Arnout's computer promptly confirmed this, and also stated that the numbers where no longer in use.) "Which might seem out of use, but call them, and you will be called back. Be polite, the men calling don't like attitudes, and are very dangerous. Part of my agreement with them is that I will not protect anyone calling these numbers." "I can take care of myself." Arnout said, brimming with confidence. "I advice you too watch you words. These men have been around longer then you can imagine. They have seen, and probably killed, everything. I will provide you with adequate funds, in an untraceable account. I will send the details to your computer." "Thanks, Dorres." Arnout seemed relieved. "Any clue about the timeframe?" "Probably tonight. Now get out, I have work to do." Dorres said, waving at the door. Arnout walked out, but not without farting. "Arnout, that was just rude. Go back, and apologise." "Computer, stop playing my mother, and call those numbers, and check for the details of the MoneyFriend account." The mental silence was creepy. "Computer? Hello? Anyone there?" "I'm here, Arnout. I just don't agree with your actions!" "O, come ON! Jeez, it was a joke! He probably didn't even smell it!" "Arnout, none of those things are excuses." "I know. But then again, I don't care. You are not my mother, so stop lecturing me like that." Now it was Computers turn to make unrecognisable noises. "Hmpf. If you promise to behave like your mother would want you too." "You know that aint gonna happen. Give it up." "In that case, I am afraid you and I will have more "accidents" in the future." "Whatever. Dial those numbers."

Arnout parked in a shady alleyway, in a part of London where no one would react if they heard gunfire. And he didn't like that. "I need a flight plan." "I'm working on it. There are no known schematics for this part of London, Arnout. No complete ones at least." "Damn. Erh, what about the sewers?" "There is a manhole just around the corner. And there is a house nearby with roof acces. From there you can jump to other houses." "That will have to do. We've got company."

A dark van pulled into the alley, closing of both of Arnout's escape routes. "Great. Find me a new one." "Working on it."

Arnout watched as two men got out of the van. Both where big, but not nearly as big as Parker or Shepard. One walked to the side, and opened the door. The other one approached Arnout. "You'd be th't man wh'd called?" "I did, yes. Thank you for coming." Arnout minded his manners. "You brought what I requested?" "Th't was hard t' find. Th't price w'nt up." "I was afraid it would be hard to find. The price doesn't matter to me, the quality does. If I find it lacking, I know where to find you." The man laughed at Arnout's words. "Ya d'n't. B'sides, t's all t'p quality." The second man came walking up with a big, black, heavy bag in each hand. As he put them down, you could hear metal and plastics. Arnout looked at the bags, and said: "That's all? I expected two more bags."

The second man sighed, and walked back to the open van door. Picking up tow more bags, he let out a small grunt. "Can I take a look at the merchandise?" Arnout looked at the big guy who seemed to be in charge. "S're. T'ke 'n p'k."

Arnout bend over, and zipped one of the bags open. He pulled out a rifle, and a magazine. Arnout put down the magazine, and carefully checked the rifles trigger mechanism, barrel, magazine holder and rifle stock for dirt and damage. The rifle passed inspection; it was clean and well maintained.

Arnout gently slid the magazine into the rifle. Even though the magazine was empty, Arnout locked and loaded. The mechanisms sounded healthy, and in good shape. "Let me take a look at one of the machineguns, and I'll give you the money." The first man nodded, and took a bag from the second man, zipped it open, and handed a submachine gun to Arnout, with a magazine. Arnout repeated the process. The first guy looked at Arnout with professional admiration. "Y're g'd w'th th'm g'ns." "I have some experience, you could say." "Why d' y' w'nt th'm G 'rm'n g'ns?" "Because they are better than everything else on the market." The man nodded with agreement, took the card with the account details Arnout had in his outstretched hand, waved at his partner to get back in the van, and took off. Arnout loaded his merchandise in the back of the car he had gotten through Dorres one bag at a time: "O my god, that's heavy!"

Arnout aka The Emperors Angel 20:07, 18 September 2011 (UTC)

Arnout folded the elastine edge of his boxers down, and bowed towards the corner of the room, as a part of the ceremony surrounding the exercises he was about to do. In that corner the massive bulk of The Baron of Shadows lay deactivated and it served as his ceremonial opponent. Arnout carefully placed his earbuds in his ears. "Computer, random play The Subs for me, would you?" "Sure Arnout. Coming up." Music started pumping into his ears, to the point he could barely hear anything. Flexing his muscles, and slowing down his breathing, he raised his right arm to chest height, and placed his palm outwards. Arnout closed his eyes, and began his routines.

"Arnout, are you sure this the right place to do this?" Arnout's computer commented on Arnout's rather marginal clothing style. Without pausing, Arnout replied very simply and out loud: "No." Arnout's computer protested. "Then why are you doing your routines, in the communal room, in your underwear!?" Arnout fluently changed from a fast taekwondo hyeong to a slower judo kata, to be able to answer his computer out loud. "My room is too small." "But, Arnout, you could have asked Adam, or Silvia if there is a room better suited for practise." Arnout finished the judo kata, and followed it up with a medium speed Pencak Silat dasar pasang. "No. They would have moved me to a room out back somewhere. This is better; there is more positive energy here." From the silence that followed, it seemed Arnout's computer was completely stumped. "Arnout, I have reason to believe The Baron of Shadows is no longer deactivated." Arnout couldn't shrug his physical shoulders because that would disrupt the form he was doing, so he made do with a mental shrug. "Carebear. Now shut up, I need to focus."

When Arnout finished the dasar pasang, he was already breathing hard, and sweating. He followed it up with a mix of fast and aggressive kickbox moves, with moves from Muay Tai, Savate and Lethwei, an offensive Seidokaikan Karate kata, and finished with a medium speed Kung Fu taolu.

Completely out of breath, and pouring with sweat, Arnout opened his eyes. "Wow. Haven't done this, in way too much time." Arnout managed to utter. Then he realised, he was being watched. Arnout spun round, raising his arms, in a defensive position of the Indonesian Pencak Silat, his favourite Art.

Pulling out his earbuds, he looked in shock at the small crowd of people watching him, standing near the door. Eve, who was staring at the huge mass of bruises on his chest, Adam, a look of awe on his face, Silvia, studying his fluent moves, Dorres, talking to his female assistant who Arnout met had nearly vomited on the night this all began, the assistant (Natalie?), who was just looking at him, his two gargantuan goons, who whore sunglasses through which you couldn't see their eyes, and Mr. White, holding a box with red letters reading "Classified", where all there. The Baron had also risen from his position, but was still standing in his corner.

Arnout looked around, and commented on his clothing style. "Wow. Glad I didn't put on white boxers this morning." As he looked down at his drenched underwear, his computer inserted his opinion. "You could have requested a Judogi, or a Ki." With a massive layer of sarcasm in his mental voice, Arnout silenced his computer; "They can't see my crotch, so shut up."

Arnout bowed in an ancient, dashy way, and received a small applause from his spectators, who started to disperse. Dorres nodded at Arnout, and walked out, still talking to his assistant (definitely Natalie), who gave Arnout a look, and escorted by his goons, who showed no sign of being impressed. Mr. White followed Dorres, giving Arnout a wink, and nodding at the box. Adam approached Arnout with a towel and a bottle of water, followed by Eve and Silvia. The Baron joined the group.

"Arnout, that was amazing!" Silvia said. Arnout seemed embarrassed, even though you couldn't tell from the colour of his face, which was still red from his recent effort. He scratched the back of his head in a stereotypical way, to relay his discomfort. "Yeah, you come you can do all that?" Adam wanted to know, as he handed Arnout the towel, who gave the empty bottle of water back. Eve just looked at Arnout with a curious look on her face. "Guys, that is a very long story and I really need a shower now, and then I need to eat something." "O.K. why don't you tell us over lunch then, Arnout? You go and shower, we'll make lunch." Arnout nodded his thanks, and left for his room.

When Arnout returned fifteen minutes later, he found his team all sitting at the centre table, everyone with a plate filled with food. Picking up his, and stuffing his mouth, his computer reprimanded him: "Arnout, behave! Show your table manners!" Ignoring his computer, Arnout started talking with a partially filled mouth. "You all know, mhmmmm, this is delicious! That I have artificial hands, right? I told you, What IS this? And who made it? At the first team meeting." Silvia smiled. "It's my recipe, but Adam improved on it. Now please continue." "Well, I got them thanks to a well-funded research project when I was still a student." Arnout's face took up a sour, painful look. "To make the best of them, I received physical therapy, the best available. That included Sensei's from all over the world, each of them a master of their own Art. In a year I learned pretty much everything that was to learn about Marshal Arts."

Eve interrupted Arnout. "Arnout, you didn't get those hands. They would never have replaced your natural hands, because that is what you are implicating." The expression on Arnout's face turned dark very fast, and he very nearly whispered, "You're right." And out loud, he added; "I didn't GET them. I lost my real hands first. I was a Chemistry major in college, and I was a member of the, what we called, Showteam. We specialised in show explosions and great balls of fire. But some idiot in the Engineering Department messed up my detonator, and I lost my hands. To make up for that, I was allowed into a very experimental research into cybernetic limbs, and I was a total success. And here I am. You happy now?" Arnout said, looking at Eve.

Arnout looked round, and started eating again. For a few moments, there was an eerie silence. Then Eve nodded, and said: "I hear about that research, and how it was supposed to help humanity. That was, until is disappeared of the radar, without even the slightest hint about why, or what." Arnout swallowed his mouthful. "Yeah, they quit after my disappearance. Pressure from the Army, I guess."

Everyone was silent as they returned to their food. After everyone was done eating, they sheepishly looked at each other. "Hey, I'm all right now, really." Arnout looked around the table again, and got up. "I need to go now, and talk to Mr. White. He's got something for me."

Arnout aka The Emperors Angel 20:11, 18 September 2011 (UTC)