Don Rhodes

'Rhadamanthus'

Played by: Rhadamanthus

INFORMATION

Mortal, Male, See Documentation

Aliases: Daryll Louis; Mr. Louis, Rhadamanthus, Shallow-6
Nationality: American
Residence: Transient
Employer: The Brotherhood of Phoenician Sailors
Function: Mercenary, Free Agent

Overview

History

Conflicting Accounts

Conflicting Documentation

Affiliations

Gear & Abilities

Footnotes

The contents here have been released to us and a handful of others via the Council of Venice by one Viktor Verascu, allegedly a senior agent within the Brotherhood of Phoenician Sailors. This "fact" has been supported by multiple junior PR officers under Elias Berbera, but both Berbera himself and their council ambassador have avoided comment for indeterminate reasons.

As far as our luck pushing the Council to fill in the gaps, they too have been uncooperative. Frankly, it feels like this release is just appeasement on the sailors' part, but to which party and for what is currently unknown. Certainly not related to us small fry.

In either case, we're regurgitating the gist of all we've gotten. This is all the supplementary info we've received on our menace, Don Rhodes. Feel free to refer to all and any documents relating to him by name, but keep clear of the case and incident files where he shows up until we've finished internal reviews. 𐤀𐤌𐤓 𐤅𐤂 𐤍‬𐤐𐤕

Though not a matter of public knowledge for a number of riveting reasons, Don was once a young and underpaid stooge in the employ of a notary, translating and processing his office's immigration papers in total monotony. Where else but in Washington state? You would think, given the choice, Don would give anything to break the stress and disappointment. The typical dead-end life regrets. He didn't have a choice, actually. Don's absorption into the secret world began some time in the fall of 2011.

With a ballsy bid in preparation for the Mayan End of Days incident, The Dragon established a kamikaze cell whose activities centered around the northwest-to-midwest portion of the United States.

Their goal was to triangulate and draw Illuminati attention to the location of Mayan artifacts that later turned out to be vital to defeating the Vestiges of the Wayeb', the Nameless Days - The Dragon used various methods to meet these ends. One of these methods was torn straight from the Illuminati hand-book: subliminal conditioning. The making of sleeper agents via television hijack. Couch potato soldiers of chaos.

Don's dissatisfaction with work and life developed into induced paranoia, distraction, low self-esteem and, my favorite, unreliable memory recall. He never noticed, nor later cared, how many lives he inconvenienced or endangered when he botched workload after workload. Nor did he notice that his life was slipping into ruin.

By the next year, The Dragon's agents had accomplished their aims in luring the Illuminati to far-off burial grounds and snatching pieces of the 'prize' out from in front of them. One day soon, those artifacts would land where they needed to. What can I say, typical behavior for the green-heels. By then, Don had been without a job for at least two months and was due to be cut off.

The cell dissolved in the subsequent goose chases and flights to South America. The Dragon managed to relocate or decommission their incidentals in ways only they could accommodate. Don was the only hitch throughout that process. Did you know? Improper decommissioning can lead to severe psychological duress and lasting trauma. And so it did for Don, a man chosen for his total lack of importance and mundanity.

The Dragon had no intention to pick the guy up and his well-being was an easily measured expenditure.

Except The Dragon miscalculated how the models would play out. They knew that Don wasn't utterly unimportant, he tested positively - and negligibly - for empathic abilities. Relatively common. No, the math took a turn - as Don's mental state declined, his thoughts didn't just echo endlessly in his head, they echoed out, not through organic minds, but through the inanimate. Through electronics and machinery. The occultech reverberations took out the infrastructure of a whole city block and replaced it with static approximations of Quentin Tarantino films.

Purportedly, you could have heard generators sputtering to the sound of "That IS a tasty burger!" ad nauseum for four days. Don had entered a stable thought-loop in little time, becoming less of a person than an occult gadget.

Perhaps that's why the Phoenicians were so quick to find him. Not the Illuminati and certainly not The Dragon. The Brotherhood of Phoenician Sailors were expecting off-the-rails contraband they could reclaim, not a person. But they took that person in anyway. Hell, by all accounts they could have left him in that malleable state, commoditized him and his ability. Instead, they reprogrammed as much of him to make him ... well, him, again.

According to the margin-notes from his previous handler, Don never forgot that kindness. Even when he got stuck crewing for what would become a suicide mission.

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