Everything

Mages make messes. Someone has to clean them up. And if the mage in question belongs to an organization like the Technocratic Union, a large cult, or a religious organization with a lot of things to hide, then that group dispatches cleanup specialists to dispose of said mess before things can get even messier than they already were. An ancient tradition in many organizations (you didn’t think all those medieval wizards gathered their own vials of slain dragons’ blood, did you?), the cleaner role comprises a hidden yet essential element of the Ascension War’s innate secrecy.

Equipped with strong stomachs, tight lips, and the best cleaning supplies money (and sometimes magick) can pro­ vide, these special assistants stealth in, sort out the damage, cover everybody’s tracks, and get out before the mundanes notice something’s wrong. Body disposal, bloodstain removal, property repair — it’s all in a night’s work for these consors. Although a mage or two might be sent along with the crew in order to handle issues that only Spheres can conceal, these hardcore operatives have been trained to handle most messy situations with a minimum of fuss. That training includes misdirection skills (to divert potential witnesses), attention to detail (so as to spot things a casual eye might miss), the ability to bullshit convincingly (“Why no, officer, this is simply routine maintenance”), and an array of tactics that let the cleaners adapt to rapidly changing circumstances (like, say, that bunch of ghosts who just showed up to haunt the place they were killed). Most vitally, however, cleaners must remain discreet and keep their cool under situations that would drive most folks screaming for the nearest bomb shelter. The few, the proud, the drenched in gore — there’s your cleanup crew.

Depending on the group that hires them, these cleanup consors might range from a team of half a dozen specialists to a single person who’s formidably good at his job. (Think Mr. Wolf from Pulp Fiction, but with paranormal resources at his fingertips). Like backup consors, these folks generally arrive with a team leader and a list of responsibilities for each member. One cleaner could be tasked with blood removal while another patches holes in the walls, one or two others conceal the cleanup operation from prying eyes or send the cops packing when they show up to investigate the latest “gas main explosion.” Fake IDs, mop-up gear, holographic projectors, whatever the gig demands, the cleaners usually have the tools to get that job done.

It takes a special kind of person to work a cleanup crew — the sort of person for whom severed tentacles, exploded bodies, and werewolves turned inside-out are all in a day’s work. Although most cleanup operatives are normal human

beings with a few bits of unusual gear, the mental toughness essential for such a job is hard to find when the person in question must also be reliable, discreet, and stable enough to do the job under almost any circumstances. Although mystic mages tend to disregard those hard-minded operatives, Technocratic field agents are well aware of the challenges inherent in the job, and generally afford cleanup crews the respect they deserve.

Game-wise, cleanup crews are a specialized form of the Backup characters detailed above, equipped with appropriate gear and Abilities, and possessed of Willpower Traits rated no lower than 7. Because they’re used to pretty much anything the job can throw at them, cleanup specialists don’t count as witnesses against any form of vulgar magick. Though they’re pretty much the opposite of suicidal, cleanup consors seem unfazed by all but the most demented circumstances. These are folks who clean up alien gore and slaughtered innocents as a matter of routine, and who know how to keep secrets that would choke a mob enforcer. Naturally, neuroses are par for the course, with nightmares being frequent perks of the job. Sure, the best of them can compartmentalize the things they scrub off the walls, but all that madness has to go somewhere, so Flaws like Icy, PTSD, Inappropriate (gallows humor and grotesque conversations), OCPD, Flashbacks, and Nightmares can be standard issue for such companions. The job pays well, though, and cleanup crews have enough leverage with their Enlightened associates to be able to request (or demand) favors and expect to get them. After all, no sane mage wants to find herself stuck out in the open with a bunch of bodies to dispose of, approaching police sirens, and a recorded mes­ sage telling her, “I’m sorry but no one is presently available to take your call…”

Suggested Traits: As noted above, cleanup agents have very high Willpower Traits; weak-willed people cannot do what these folks do. Common Traits include high Perception and Wits Attributes (3 or higher); three or more dots in Alertness, Crafts, Search, and Subterfuge; two to four dots in Computers, Stealth, Technology, and perhaps Medicine; and — especially among team leaders or solo specialists — several dots in Blatancy. The Flaws noted above are pretty common among cleanup crew members, and a sick sense of humor is universal. Cleanup agents generally work “on call,” and must be ready to scramble to a new location within minutes if need be.

Cleaners who work for mages and Technocrats receive gear — hazmat suits, disposal bags, cleaning agents, official ID badges (often with fake names), and the like — from their employers, and that gear often includes low-level Wonders that unAwakened personnel can use: cross-dimensional con­ tainers, enhanced-perception sensors (Rank 1 Sphere Effects built into sensor gear), cloaking devices, and so forth. Field agents also carry small but effective weapons, and they know how to use those sidearms (the Firearms or Energy Weapons Abilities) if necessary.

Occasionally, a private mage with money to burn employs a personal cleanup crew. These companions might mop up her disasters, keep the Chantry or sanctum clean, live full time in an off-world Realm, or any combination of those duties. Technocracy Constructs, of course, have dedicated cleaning crews, too. “Domestic” cleaners — that is, folks who aren’t expected to go out into the field and make dead Sleepers disappear — are essentially glorified custodians, without the specialized Traits field agents live and die by. Even these as­ sistants, though, have high Willpower Traits and an initiated, even jaded, view of magick and its effects; they don’t count as witnesses for vulgar Effects, and consider weird shit to be perfectly normal. (“Don’t bother the ghosts in the containment field — they get cranky when you come too close.”)

Suggested Templates: As the Traits above suggest, cleanup crews are not your normal everyday sorts of people. Few clean­ ers would qualify as anything less than Professional Badasses even if their Traits favor cleanup over combat. Among the Union’s ranks, such agents are considered to be extraordinary citizens, with appropriate status and compensation. Sanctum custodians might be exceptional Human Resources, but those folks are not qualified for field work.

Jason “Lurch” Shale

No prospects. That’s what the guidance counselor thought. That’s what Jason’s parents thought too. Jason was a loner, a weirdo, a freak. Obsessed with private games only Jason understood. Engrossed in internet pages filled with autopsies and gore. Car crashes. Burnt bodies. Torture videos. Jason studied them with the clinical resolve of a brain surgeon prac­ ticing on an orange. He wasn’t violent, no. Not a Columbine waiting to happen. Jason just saw things differently, a world built from sticky pieces that fit together in mysterious ways but came apart all too easily. His grades remained strong. His test scores showed great intellect. Jason was just creepy, that’s all.

Tallish and gaunt, pale enough to show acne scars, Jason earned the nickname “Lurch” from classmates too young to really get the joke. His penchant for dark colors, army jack­ ets, and combat boots kept the assholes just scared enough to leave Lurch be. There was always someone more fun to taunt, anyway. Jason’s reaction to it all was a long dark stare lit by flickers of contempt.

There had to be a place for him out there somewhere. And there was. “Is crime-scene cleanup the career for you?” The question hovered over the faces of a pack of models clearly chosen for their inoffensive array of genders and skin tones. Is it really that easy? Jason wondered as he noted the application, sorted out his answers, and prepared a suitable resume. Jason always had been good with tests, so the application process flew by without complications until the moment he faced the actual human being who interviewed him for the job. That meeting,

he noted, sent pangs of apprehension through his veins. The interviewer, though, didn’t seem to mind. A thin, pale woman with a near-robotic cadence to her voice, she showed him a parade of gruesome images, each more ghastly than the last. “Does this bother you?” she asked him, finally.

Jason shook his head. He’d seen worse. He got the job. Not being a real people-person, Jason was given the dirty jobs — the ones furthest from the grieving relatives and queasy cops. Once he’d received his orders, Jason became a machine of sprays and scrubbings with an attention to detail that seemed almost supernatural. Appreciating his abilities, his employers at Catalyst Cleaning Services gave Jason all the work he could handle; well-compensated work with an excellent medical plan. Two years out of high school, with no college or debt, Jason’s pulling down more than both parents combined. He’s got his own place, and a sweet car, and if his job calls him in at odd hours to hose down scenes that would make the devil shit himself, well that is what they pay him for, and they pay him really well. Jason doesn’t argue, doesn’t ask questions or talk about what he does at work. It’s not like he had many friends to begin with, so this morbid career suits him perfectly.

Jason has noticed, though, that many of these crime scenes he visits have horror-movie overtones: weird graffiti, dead animals, human remains, pillaged graves, old books in strange languages, corpses riddled by military hardware, occasionally things that don’t look as though they’d ever been human… They’re not the sorts of sites he was hired to clean back when he first joined the firm. No, these are different. More sinister. Definitely occult. Tom Robinson, Jason’s foreman, has been watching Jason more closely than before — not actually saying much beyond his usual instructions but clearly waiting to see if Jason passes some new test. It’s no big deal, though. Jason’s cool with everything. By now, he knows there are things on the edges of the night, things you don’t talk about if you want to keep that nice job and sweet car and a salary many folks would kill for. Oh, he’ll look a few of ‘em up on the internet from time to time, jot down mental notes, and fit the pieces together in his mind. This world is a puzzle, Jason knows, and the seams between its pieces are cut from flesh and colored with blood.