Have you see the OVA or read the manga series of Hellsing?
Yes, yes, and yes.
Name: Crescenzo Salvatici
Age: 35
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Organization: Iscariot (Entering in RP)
Rank: None as of yet
Physical appearance: The native Italian is of an average, if not above average height, standing at an decent 1.79 meters (5’10”). His fit, strong body carries a well defined amount of muscle, making his 74 kg (165 lbs) rather filled out but not bulky . Bright hazel eyes apathetically stare out from his tanned, angular face; it is not ephemerally beautiful, nor is it unsightly, the best description perhaps would be oddly handsome. His short, tousled mop of chestnut hair is in a constant state of disarray, only truly tamed when under the mask and helmet of his profession, although Crescenzo will put modest amount of effort into disciplining it when attending Mass.
True, too, of his profession is the remarkable body fitness he has maintained most of his life. Crescenzo’s body is much envied by his peers who are physically fit, but not adequately toned. And like many of those peers, he has inked his body with permanent declarations of loyalty. The insignia of the Italian NOCS is tattooed in brilliant colour on his left forearm, while scripted on the outside of his right forearm are the words Sicut Nox Silentes, the motto of his division.
Clothing of choice: Crescenzo’s attire is most often dictated by his vocation, where dark navy fatigues and black combat boots are the norm. Added to the ensemble is personalized body armor worn on nearly every occasion that the fatigues are called for, whether that be training or actual skirmish. A balaclava and gloves round out his apparel – though this is not taking into account the multiple armaments and their accompanying harness and holsters.
In stark contrast to his ‘professional’ look, Enzo prefers a dark grey or black, thin-pinstriped suit over a white button down – whose sleeves are routinely rolled up, displaying his tattoos. Most unusual is his affinity for vests, and more often than not, his suits include the throw-back piece. Loose at his neck is a dark tie, and capping off his mussed hair is a matching fedora; it is apparent even from a distance that NOCS operative is a student of the 1930’s era, dressing akin to the Mafia he so frequently clashes with. Even when in this garb, however, Crescenzo dons a harness for his shoulder-holstered handgun, and on the occasion that it is needed, the entire collection is topped with a tan trench. However, his suit coat is generally denied its intended purpose, as it is frequently found slung over one shoulder.
One other detail accompanies his look: unfiltered Chesterfield cigarettes. Well aware of their effects, Enzo nonetheless keeps one in his hands at almost all times. With the same dead-pan tone as always, he often says that they are simply a tool to keep his hands busy, though that is debatable.
Weaponry of choice: As a member of NOCS, Crescenzo is outfitted with a number of ballistic weaponry, the foremost of which is the Heckler and Koch UMP45, the .45 variant of the UMP. Equipped with a 25-round detachable box magazine (3 total), foldable stock, flashlight and optical sight mounted on Picatinny rails, and a vertical fore-grip, the weapon is designed to be a master at close range, urban warfare.
Secondly, he has was issued a Franchi SPAS-12, though he gave it up in favour of a matte black Franchi SPAS-15 not long after. Based on the SPAS-12, it is a dual-mode shotgun, though unlike its predecessor, the SPAS-15 is fed by a detachable box 6 round magazine (2 total, only carried on missions), and features a foldable stock.
For closer, more immediate firepower, he wields a Heckler and Koch USP Elite. This .45 ACP handgun is a combination of multiple H&K models, and is not issued by the NOCS; it is Crescenzo’s personal firearm, and though it is used in conjunction with his other ‘profession related’ arsenal, he prefers to keep it on his person at all times. 12 round magazines (3 total).
NOTE: Because Crescenzo is not yet in the fight against the undead or abominations, none of his weaponry is designed to specifically take down ghouls, vampires, lycanthropes, etc.
Abilities: Pure human through and through, Crescenzo carries all the strengths and weaknesses of his species. This does not mean, however, that he enjoys no exceptional abilities. A highly intelligent and well educated man, he seems to – at times – think a bit faster than the general population. Stemming greatly from his years in the Italian special forces, Enzo possesses the strength and dexterity expected of a highly trained operative, (Category F) as well as an almost ‘supernatural’ (though more reasonably described as ‘above normal’) stamina and constitution. Able to put his body through harsh climates and punishing altercations, he has grown rather inured to pain, a fact that goes unnoticed amongst the rest of his group; such a thing is expected from those men, and to remark upon it is simply pointing out the obvious.
And like all NOCS operatives, Crescenzo has gone thorugh HALO training, as well as SCUBA training, EOD (Explosive Ordinance Disposal), and sniper and combat shooting.
Personality: Crescenzo is a remarkably laid-back individual, whose response in almost any adult situation is adopting a bored expression accompanied by an offhand manner. Although a member of the elite NOCS, he lacks the bravado generally expected of a man of his stature; he is, however, a powerful, intimidating man in his own right, should the situation call for a person to shoulder the burden of leadership. Frustratingly difficult to fluster, he often is thought of as ‘stone faced’ or ‘cold hearted’; neither of which is the case, though only those who have broken past his demure shell can truly appreciate his dry humour and witty tongue. Coming hand-in-hand with his generally easy demeanor is a fierce drive to simply protect, whether it be defending his brothers in arms, safeguarding his country, or shielding those who are incapable of doing so themselves.
Such people are most aptly described as “children”. He shows a warm affinity for the young, and finds their naturally happy demeanors uplift his often mediocre spirits.
One of the greatest driving factors in his life is unquestionably the Church Herself. Having been raised in her shadow, Crescenzo grew enamored of Her teachings, frequently questioning Her motives or intent, but never losing his profound sense of right whenever he entered one of Her great monuments to devotion. Though many in the small NOCS community are skeptical at best of an absolute, all-consuming faith, their jibes and (occasionally) good-natured joshing appear to simply fracture against his unflappable armor of social indifference.
Biography: Crescenzo’s mother brought him into the world on August 23, 1967, just as she was leaving it. Technical terminology and medical babble was used to explain why she had slipped away during what should have been a ‘routine’ birth, but nothing said could explain away the utter grief and despair of her husband. Left to care for his newborn boy alone, Aldo Salvatici – then a prominent Public Relations officer for the Province of Rome and a devout Catholic – suffered the first of his emotional and mental breakdowns, one that would leave a legacy of periodic depression and moody highs. Given little other choice, Aldo hired a nanny, though soon after she was replaced with another, and then another, as none could hope to meet the man’s lofty standards. This, too, was a trying time for little Crescenzo, as he grew from a babe to a young boy in a house that held no steady female occupants. With the presence of mind only ever seen in lonely children, Enzo removed himself from the situation by playing quietly to himself, or listening attentively as Aldo read from his multitudes of novels – an intriguing ritual that involved a fireplace, sweet bread and Aldo’s soft, commanding voice.
For six years, the two co-existed in a tidy, three story town home just outside of the heart of Lazio. Other than the occasional readings, Enzo saw very little of his neatly pressed, smartly dressed father, though this did not prevent him from admiring the man enormously. Often out to a meeting, formal dinner, state function, or simply a late night with his team of similarly minded officials, Aldo was constantly away, his work a convenient method to escape his ‘empty’ home; in the years to come, Enzo learnt that his father used the demands of the State as an excuse to avoid the son who reminded him so much of his late wife. This is not to say that Aldo disregarded his son entirely; quite the contrary. Doting on the boy from afar, the man would send Crescenzo gifts of toys and treats, though the day he began primary school, the toys became books. It is most likely that this show of affection stemmed from guilt, one brought on by the older man’s inability to confront his own fear and regret. Regardless of the reason, the presents afforded Enzo the ability to indulge in his father’s ‘love’, and to maintain the illusion of a family unit. Perhaps it was because of these bargaining chips, or the emotions attached to them, that the young boy never noticed a flaw in his family – that is, until he sat foot into his first day of primary.
His nanny at the time – a slightly waspish young Italian woman who never took ‘no’ for an answer and whom Enzo liked immensely – had accompanied him to the school. Her brisk words of ‘good luck’ and to not ‘forget his lunch bag’ were all he received before she turned and strode away, already set on her next errand of the day. Left alone - a fact he never appeared to care about for obvious reasons – the young boy stepped into the very first class of his scholastic career. By the time he exited again, Crescenzo had come to realize two very important things: his family was not like ‘normal’ families, and his classmates were far too rude and loud for his liking. Deciding in that very moment to remedy a situation his father was obviously too busy to attend to, six year old Enzo set about to find a mother.
The search did not immediately go well. Being confined to the town home, the school, and the trips in-between (though not including the jaunts to the restaurants and sundries errands), the boy found it difficult to impossible to locate a suitable match for his father. He kept up with his studies – a mother wants a studious boy, doesn’t she? – and began to follow his snarky nanny around the flat as she went about her duties. This act, of course, was rewarded with a curious glance or two, but never once did she wave him away from folding laundry, sweeping, dusting, or the myriad other tasks she was charged with outside of his care. For months, Enzo wondered if his ‘search’ would come to fruition, but nothing could have prepared him for what ‘fruit’ he found just after his seventh birthday.
On a day when Aldo was slated to be in Rome, Crescenzo’s father came striding through the front doors with a new face at his side. He announced that her name was Mora, and that she was the new Mrs. Salvatici. Taken aback somewhat, it took Enzo a few moments to comprehend what had been said. But slowly, a smile formed on his lips as he stood face to face with the woman he had been searching for. Convinced now more than ever that his father could do no wrong – for he was certain that Aldo had been hunting the entire time for a new mother as well – the boy immediately warmed to this replacement mother. And the same could be said for her.
Mora Salvatici was a bright, quiet, energetic English woman who loved deeply and freely. She was introduced to Aldo while on a business trip to Rome in 1972, and the two had been seeing one another ever since. Her long auburn hair and glittering blue eyes were a far cry from those of Enzo’s nannies, and he thought them wonderful, though not nearly so much as her smile. Able to light up a room – and apparently his father’s heart – Mora’s smile could charm the clouds from the sky. Fascinated by her, the boy felt for the first time a sensation of contentment, as though now he held in his heart a piece that had long been missing. As for Mora, she took the child into her own heart and never looked back. They took trips to the markets, to the movies and plays, everywhere that Crescenzo had been dying to go but had never been. She began to take on a few of the roles of his nannies and housekeepers, namely the cooking and shopping. It would have been a moment of rare bliss to go wandering about Genzano di Roma with his new mother, if Enzo had at that time the words to describe the emotions jumping through him.
The vivacious British woman was a member of the Church as well, and took it upon herself to bring Crescenzo along every Sunday and Wednesday Mass. While his father had been quite the avid Church-goer – and Enzo himself had been part of the Church since infancy – the young boy had never bore witness to the pure faith of a member devoted to God. Mora instilled into Enzo the steadily burning ember of total faith, which the child would cling to in the years to come.
For over four years, the three odd members of the Salvatici family lived in relative peace. Aldo appeared to have lost a bit of his manic-depressive nature, and the corners of his mouth saw fewer and fewer frowns. Crescenzo’s clearest, happiest memories come from that time, particularly around the spring season, when the lot of them attended the town’s Infiorata Festival. Strolling down Via Italo Belardi , the brilliant colours of the vibrant flowers fascinated the young boy, as did the cultural dress and fantastic costumes of the festival’s end parade. Enzo thought he came to know his father very well during these jaunts, a fact that made the older man shine even brighter in the boy’s eyes. The festival also gave the child a goal to work towards every year; he was promised participation if he kept to his studies and attended to his new duties in the Church – as one of the altar servers, Enzo was charged with any number of small tasks, many of which he felt were ‘integral’ to the proceedings.
It should be noted that Crescenzo made quite a name for himself at his academy for both his intelligence and his highly protective nature. Taking to heart the Biblical lessons of ‘protecting the weak’, the boy made it a personal agenda to make certain no one in his class – and eventually others – was subject to harassment or harrying, often to the detriment of his face and clothing.
Like all things, that interlude of idyllic childhood came to an end. It happened not with a swift, dramatic stoke, but in a hushed moment that seemed to pass by at first unnoticed. Just as he had four years before, Crescenzo’s father came striding through the large front doors of his town home on a day in which he should working, though this time something was radically different; no smiling face was at his side, no lovely, joyful woman was on his arm. He was alone, and the heavy creases around his mouth had returned. Greatly confused by his father’s actions – the man had breezed past his son without a single glance and shuttered himself away in his office – Enzo questioned the only other persons in the home: the housekeepers and his nanny. That irascible Italian woman simply looked over her large basket of freshly folded sheets and proclaimed ‘Your father has lost another partner.’ The statement only served to puzzle the boy – Who had his father lost? What partner did he lose before? Where had he misplaced him or her? – and he vowed to discover the meaning in this mystery. But when Aldo refused to exit his office, the eleven year old boy became worried. Surely his mother would know what had happened, but she had not returned from her shopping. In fact, she had been overdue by a few hours.
As he sat at his mahogany desk, mulling over his mathematics, Enzo’s mind finally connected the day’s events and stumbled over the actuality of the situation: his mother was dead. It was an odd moment for the young man; he did not cry, he did not feel his world ending, he did not wail her name. Crescenzo only felt that once-missing piece of his heart become dislodged again, to slowly slip away until the gnawing thought of ‘incomplete’ worried at his thoughts. She was gone, that beautiful woman who had, for four years, given him the love of a mother, the patience of a perfect teacher, and the guidance of a good friend. But his father, the boy knew, would not be taking this loss so well.
In a sadly prescient way, Enzo was correct. For eight months, Aldo wandered about the house and office without any obvious guidance, shirking his work and ignoring his son. For his part, Crescenzo continued on with his studies and made every effort to carry on with his chores in the Church – the latter was made much more difficult after the funeral. He found solace in the passages he read before Mass, in the rituals of the service, in the words of the Bishop; he disliked, however, the extension of sympathy given by all he knew, and others he didn’t. From what he had been taught, his mother – both of them – were in a far better place than he could ever think of being. However, Enzo felt a stabbing pang of guilt whenever he thought of why his mother was out – shopping for a dinner he had requested – but thankfully, this feeling appeared only when he looked at his father, which was a rare instance indeed.
After eight long months of watching his father deteriorate from afar, the boy was finally rewarded with a moment of happiness: Aldo took his son to the Infiorata, and they both shared a much-needed day of relaxation at a celebration of life. Looking back, Crescenzo can recall the sadness still lingering about his father, and the haunted look etched onto his face. But at the time, he only saw the Aldo he had known and loved for eleven years.
Ultimately, it would be the last time the boy and his father existed in the same moment of false happiness. The next morning, as Enzo mused on his in-class lessons, Aldo leapt from his office window and eighty feet later, impacted the aged street below. For the eleven year old, time seemed to stand still as he was pulled from his class and told of the event. It was surreal, the emotion inside of him, and he did not have the proper tools to deal with it. So as he watched in a daze, his entire life was packed away into large brown boxes, sealed and stored for some later date. Learning later that it was because neither his mother’s side of the family nor his father’s side had any relatives able – or willing – to take him in, Crescenzo was shipped away to an orphanage just to the outside of Vatican City.
He was older than many already remanded to the sprawling orphanage – remanded, as he considered himself to be just a trivial bit of something that had been left behind by those who no longer had the mind to care for him – and at first the good-natured boy could only exist within the structures of “time to eat” and “time to sleep” and “time to pray”. It was the time to pray that slowly drew the pain, loneliness, and guilt from the child, as though a poison from a barely healing wound. He was allowed to continue his duties within the Church, and with Her guidance, Enzo found the strength to face his now lone walk in the world. But it was not only the Church that aided in his slow, steady recovery; there was also a man called Father Anderson who one day managed to bring a smile back to the boy’s face, and a light back into eyes that had been witness to far too many moments of a childhood skipped over.
This man encouraged Enzo to live without the grief, though not without the memories. He wished for nothing more than for the boy to find himself, without a pale shadow of guilt dogging his every step. For only a short few years – seven in fact, though to the boy it seemed far shorter – the Father and the Church was his family, the orphanage his home; what a home it had become. Many, if not all, of the children had begun to call him their elder brother, even those much older than himself; it was an honour unlooked for, but he told himself that he would not let them down. He would strive to be the best big brother possible, though he quickly realized being a big brother meant quite a different thing from one child to another: his name would be called before a nun’s to break into and break up a fight on the common yard; he was told secrets and schemes and plots and stories he rather wished were kept from his ears; the younger girls always wanted him for some opinion or another, though he discovered quite rapidly that giving the wrong opinion could be bad for his health; he was forced to share his more personal time with the youngest of children as they requested a story, or a brother to listen to their new songs.
All of these things amounted to little more than nothing, as he was also the one the children called first when they had exciting news. He was the one the youngest children made daisy-chains for. He was the one shouted for when a friend finally found a family. He was the brother not a single one of them had ever had, and he felt a swelling of fraternal pride when he looked into any of their eyes.
As with all things, his time with the orphanage waned, and shortly he was sent to college with the fairly substantial inheritance of his father’s estate and will. Now 18, the boy was sent into the world again, this time armed with peace of mind, a family at his back, and a plan for his future. This future included the completion of college – which was accomplished on time with above average grades – and the joining of the Polizia di Strato. His goals were all reached, and though he did find the time in school to be a young man, and experience all the things young men are supposed to experience, Enzo never felt right about having a woman in his life, not until he was settled and could provide for her in the manner all women should be provided for.
So for 4 years, Crescenzo strove to be the best polizia in the department, much in the same way he took upon the mantle of ‘big brother’. It wasn’t long before news of his talent and devotion reached certain ears. In 1992 he was approached - in the hopes of tempting him – by an officer representing Nucleo Operativo Centrale di Sicurezza; there was nothing more Enzo could say aside from “Yes”. Here was his opportunity to protect those his normal police force couldn’t aid, and a chance to strike back with righteousness at those who would do harm. And for the next six years, he did just that; it didn’t take long for his teammates to begin calling him big brother as well.
His life was work and church, living day to day in what he considered to be quiet contentment.
And then he met Agnese.
She was shopping for the makings of lunch and he had recently freed himself from work. They stumbled across one another in a bread and cracker aisle, and made small talk over pretzels; she found him gently charming, he found her delightfully genuine. There was soon dinner involved, in which they learned there was an attraction that pulled them closer without force. Over time – which he considered rather short - her bright laughter and ardent heart bloomed affection in his heart, filling a gap he wasn't so certain he knew existed; she brought life with her, and for that he couldn't help but to love her.
They had three passionate years to spend in one another’s company; each day, including those in which he found himself at odds with the woman he had fallen so terribly for, was one he cherished. His team members chided him for having such a perfect woman, often times joking with Enzo that he’d sold something to the Devil in order to have her. But as with all things, time brought an end to their story all too quickly. Cancer, they were told in a sterile office, would take her within only a year, and they should prepare for the inevitable; she would leave him not of her own accord, without choice, and at once this angered and confused him. Was he not devote in his love for God? Had he not adored the Church for what he conceived to be a majority of his life, placing Her second only to the woman he had given his name to? Such thoughts were soothed by Agnese’s strength of conviction that this was not a punishment, merely a chance for them to fully explore their lives together. He wasn't so sure, of course, but her smile and soul swept away many of his concerns with their presence alone; how could he not feel blessed to have her if only for a day?
A year came, and went, as did the only woman to ever burn so brightly in his eyes. Her passing was marked by the phrases “her time to go” and “there was nothing more to be done”. These were cheap, and callous to his ears, and Enzo could only sit in numbness as they rolled over him from the lips of family and friends, team mates and doctors. He told himself that this was not his fault of any kind, but he could not help but to think something he had done brought this upon her; the cancer was sudden and vicious, striking at her from nowhere, and a part of him, however small, believed he had failed in some part of his faith. It was a silly notion, to think of such irrelevant things as though they were the pivotal cause for it all, however the feeling gnawed at him somewhere deep inside.
Crescenzo looked to the Church in his time of grief, falling back into Her with the desire to find a patch for the recently-reopened gap left somewhere in his heart; he didn't find it, of course, but it didn't stop him from discovering again the balm of a service, or the soothing nature of Her quiet sanctuaries. As a year passed, and then another, the man felt as though the hole that remained steadfast in his heart would never truly go away, but with the aide from his faith – and from a certain Father – he found life came easier once again.
Now he works, and lives, with the knowledge that each day is a blessed gift he shouldn't waste, and in time his over-worked heart will know the peace that comes from the smile of a woman in love.
RP Sample:
Social: To tell the truth, it had been a rather decent day. They’d been on stand-by for hours, but that didn’t matter all that much to him; what mattered was the fact they’d cleared an entire four story building without firing a single shot. A line of nine men sat strung along a wall just inside the main entrance to the structure, each one bound and ranging in looks from well kempt to hadn’t-bathed-in-a-week. He was curious to know which one was the reason for their unfortunate current circumstances; according to rumour handed down through the mill, the middling, slightly over-weight blond fellow with a soured face was to blame.
His job was finished, but the team lingered, no one quite certain what the next move would be; there had been discussions of yet another target not far from their raid that posed a substantial threat to national security. However, there had just been a raid, which meant there would be flags thrown up all around for every little group set on doing harm.
Just as the thought of “wonder who is going to make the mistake of ordering another raid” crossed through his mind, the sour-faced gentleman decided to throw a bit of a tantrum. Being unfortunately the closest to the situation with any real sort of physical ability to intimidate, Crescenzo makes his way past regular police to the petty scene of a hissy-fit. The man was becoming more and more agitated as the seconds went by, cursing and shouting at anyone and everyone; it wouldn’t be long before others jumped in on his game.
Hauling the fellow to his feet, and taking note that he stood a few inches shorter than the blond, Enzo waves a hand in front the flustered man’s face.
”If there is something you want to say, then let’s have a conversation, just you and me.”
The hand had the desired effect to shutting the man up, but his words seemed to make a slight dent as well. Leaning in a bit too close, the angry “terrorist” launched a tirade fit for a childish king. Unfazed, the NOCS operative took it in stride until his new chat buddy took a breath.
”So you are angry that we have detained you and kept you from your day because we know,” he furrows his brow, “no, assume you are working with an organization determined to undermine the security of our nation.”
Crescenzo shrugs, but his eyes take on a hard, cold glint. ”To be honest, I don’t care. We,” he makes a gesture to encompass those in the room, ”don’t care. This all falls on deaf ears. But if you want to continue this conversation we can take it elsewhere. Somewhere quiet, where we can be alone, you and I. Would you like that?”
There was a power behind the shorter man’s words that seemed to rock back the bulging-eyed, pudgy offender. It put him off stride enough for Enzo to shove him back to his ass, sitting him on the company carpeting with a caring hand. Before walking away to rejoin his companions – who were all attempting to squash laughter and hide smirks – the operative smiles a bit at his new friend. ”Thank you for your cooperation in this matter.”
Combat: All hell had broken loose and it wasn’t looking to end any time soon. He and his team had been locked against an inner perimeter hallway wall for the better part of five minutes and things didn’t look to be changing any time soon; five minutes was a hell of a long time to be stuck anywhere in combat, let alone combat that was far too close for comfort.
Flash bangs hadn’t appeared to make a dent, as sporadic fire continued from inside the room, and from what he could tell, “heavily armed” didn’t begin to cover what they had encountered. Intel had been entirely wrong from the onset, and now he and the rest of the men were in a rather precarious situation. The hotel wasn’t large, only three stories, but it was proving to be a nightmare; the room they were attempting to enter was a suite, two spaces joined together by a ten foot opening just past the couch and television. Their trigger happy friends were just on the other side of that doorway, making it nearly impossible for them to enter the room and have a clear shot, let alone get through the door in the first place.
And that is when a thought hit him: the second room was connected to the adjoining suite but a fire door.
The hotel was old, and key-cards were not the order of the day. Each door had a metal key, a testament to the stalwartness of historical preservation. Motioning to a thrifty comrade with more than one trick up his sleeve, Enzo instructs him to open the next adjacent room door in whatever fashion he saw fit; never let it be said police are above lock-picks. Once opened, three of his team– himself included – entered the empty room and swept it for possible snags, including but not limited to another potential fire fight.
As soon as the notion of “all clear” went ‘round the group, Crescenzo made his way to the connecting door, once more asking for assistance from his roguish friend. The sounds of the thunderous gunfire were muffled slightly on this side of the wall, but each man knew as soon as that door swung open, the noise would be deafening. Though they had all fared well through situations akin to this before, none had witnessed the amount of fire-power being used at this moment; it was though World War III had erupted in a small hotel on the outskirts of an even smaller city.
With a countdown of three, one of his men placed a hand on the door handle, and with a swift pull, hauls it open to reveal five men not at all paying attention to the new players in the room.
There was no room for hesitation. The time for taking these men alive had passed.
A flash bang was thrown in their midst, and within a delay of two seconds, the room was filled with blinding light and deafening sound.
Instantly, Enzo and a second member were firing short, controlled bursts, targeting those closest with the precision expected of their profession. All five men were stunned to hear the pop pop pop of weapons not their own, but they had no time to react; their eyes were closed from the searing flash and some had stumbled away from the door in the confusion from the blast of noise.
It was only a heartbeat or two before the rooms went silent, the void of sound that left a vacuum in the space, only broken in time by the voices of his team as they cried “clear” with short, clipped tones. This wasn’t how the day was supposed to go, but it ended with the inevitable: the NOCS had won the day.
Subject: Crescenzo Salvatici [Complete] 
