NationStates Jolt Archive

Amidst the dark and gloomy jungle of the North side of Dalton Island, the construction of the new facility was nearing completion. The night skies were darkening with clouds and a tropical rain began with a sudden ferocity. The chainlink fence ladled with barbed wire and electrical wires, dotted with watch towers every 100 yards. Grim faced guards in Amergian Uniform patrolled the perimeter an AAR-100 (heavy caliber Amerigan Assualt Rifle) in one hand and a leash in the other which ran its way down to the collar of fierce looking German Shepherds.

A native managed to sneak as close as he could to the front gate to see what these strange foreigners were building on their island. He was only a few yards away and he could see clearly a guard watching a small television in the guard booth. At the gate stood two additional soldiers, still as statues. The road was close by to where he was hiding and he heard distinctly the rev of an engine approaching quickly. He peeked from the teeming ivies and ferns and looked to where the noise came from. Four headlights extremely bright. So bright in fact that he winced back into the underbrush. He looked forth again as the vehicle passed him slowly and stopped completely at the gate. It was a Hummer, painted black, windows tinted. Two men in officers uniforms exited from the passengers doors.

"Damn this weather!" said one as he straightened his uniform and reentered the vehicle only this time the passenger front seat.
"Well it's one of 'em tropical islands. What do you expect?" said the other.
The first one, meanwhile finding two umbrellas exited once more and handed one to his comrade.
"Why the hell did we have to build it here?" shouted one over the rapidly increase rain. The two began to walk toward the guard booth.
"A little close to Raevyn don't you think? Won't they be worried?"
"Orders are orders." One showed some identification toward the guard in the guard booth and the gate slowly began two open.
"Hey, ya know this... What was that?" The officer glared directly at the native whose heart literarly stopped. He dared not breathe. The officer pointed straight at him and asked his companion to find a flashlight. The native panicked. What else could he do? They would surely spot him if he remained where he was, so he did what his instinct told him and broke into a sprint away from the facility. He heard a yell in surprise and alarm as he raced through the woods but he dared not turn back. The thunder rolled and lightning flashed, as the rainstorm intensified. The native stumbled over something and fell face down into the mud. He quickly scrambled up and continued his flight. The thunder sounded again. And then... The crack of a rifle. The native fell again, this time from a projectile that struck his back.

*tag* Very nice. I like, I like.

OOC: We keep a few spies in Amerigo after the war, because to warn us of a start up of trouble.

The spy quickly put on a Amerigo uniform and snatched some papers. He then exited the warm confinds of the building and entered the harsh, wet and cold weather of the island. He glutched his coat tightly covering his face and began to walk out of the compound. Each step he took he sank deeper into the mud.

After a short walk he reached the border guards. He slowly walked up to one just covering his face. He then handed the papers.

"Where are you going?" One guard said.

"I am going into the jungle to have a smoke, can't light it here..... to open."

The guards looked at him with confusion. One looked at the papers and nodded.

"Ok, don't be one long." He nodded and walked into the dense undergrowth of the dark jungle. He forced his way through the thick vines and finally reach the beach. The sea gave out huge roars as it crashed into the beach. Quickly, he rushed out in the middle of the beach and out of his pocket he brought out a small beacon and activiated it. He just hoped that the FBS Pluto (A Stleath recon ship) could pick it up in this weather. As time went by the weather slowly got worse, therain came down hard like a waterfall, the waves continued to collide with the beach and the bitter cold wind started the cut through him. He was about to pack up when a light shone in the distance. He instantly knew it was them and he transmitted a code to them, telling them about this place. A few minutes later the light shone again flickering on and off signaling that they recivied the transmission. The spy placed the beacon in his pocket and rushed back to the camp.

Admiral Perry of His Majesty's Great Blue Fleet, and acting commander of the Earth sphere, reviews the reports from the ESS, Fleet intelligence, and Sardaukar intelligence. Most of it is routine, barely worth noting, but then he skims through to find the recent purchase of an island by the nation of Amerigo.
Perry sits his cup of coffee down and brings up the full information on the subject. The report is slim, a mere footnote, but it bears perhaps the most interest and most merit of all the others. He looks at the source and sees that it is a report from one of the various field operatives of the ESS scattered across the planet.
Perry hits the button recessed in his desk, his current aide on rotation enters.
"Yes, Admiral?"
Perry hands the aide a new comp-pad with the downloaded information from the Amerigo annexation report, "Forward this to Lord Marshal Adonis at Grenada. Then inform Assistant Director Klogden that I wish to speak with him."
"Yes, Admiral."
Perry picks up his coffe and takes a slow sip. His eyes cross the cityscape of Valinon's major treaty port on Earth, New Bergia. The building he is in is currently the "civil office" of His Majesty's Great Blue Fleet, but the major functions of the building are buried beneath bedrock or at the naval base that consumes a fourth of the port's harbor.
"Yes, I think this will be most interesting indeed," he mummers after another sip of coffee.

Amerigan Unreleased News Archive
North Dalton Island
November 29, 2003

(Gala, Dalton Island) Here on thi tropic paradise a terrible tragedy rocked a small village. Fourteen year old, Tahin Malax is now in the Amerigan Field Hospital and his condition is critical. His reason being there? A gunshot wound. A sniper, manning the watchtower at Ft. Sicily admits to the deed. He is gravely stricken by what he has done and admits that "I was following orders and shot a shadowy figure running through the jungle."

Amerigan officials claim that the boy was sneaking around near the gates and when they asked him to halt. He started running. The guard naturally shot, and the two Officers (Lt. Mahood and Lt. Dartmoth) present at the gate say they heard no one give orders to shoot.

The weeping mother claims that "foreign bad spirits come and posess soldiers to find poor boy playing and jungle and shoot him with all malice."


REASONS FOR RETAINMENT FROM BROADCAST: Island Facility a.k.a. Ft. Sicily is classified. Any news from here on out about said island will be retained by order of Robert Travil Chief of Propaganda and High Censor.

Vladikavkaz, Raevyn - The Imperial palace

The doors to the Imperial Throne Room flew open as the Imperial Minister of Security of the State, Xiahou Dun, barged into the room.

"Ah, yes, Xiahou Dun, what do you need?" asked the Holy Emperor, removing his wife from her seat on his lap and standing up to greet the Minister.

The Minister handed Vladimir the papers and began, "Intelligence reports an increase in activity at the Amerigan base on Dalton Island, and apparently some native boy was shot by the troops stationed there."

After skimming through the report, Vladimir handed back the papers and returned to his seat upon his throne. "No reason to be concerned. So what if a few foreigners are killed by other foreigners? The less foreigners, the better, I say! Oh ho ho!"

"Of course," Xiahou Dun agreed, smirking. "Well, if that is all, then I shall take my leave."

As the Minister reached the door, the Holy Emperor called out to him, "Ah, but Xiahou Dun?"

"Yes?"

"Keep an eye on them."

"Of course."

OOC; Ah, posting errors... just like the good ol' days. :wink:

INCOMING UNSCRAMBLED TRANSMISSION

OOC: Anyone with adequate espionage interests in Amerigo can easily intercept this)

"General Beren! I have something very important to..."

"Um sir, if I could int..."

"DON'T CUT ME OFF!"

"Sorry, sir."

"Now the Department is getting quite impatient. Where are the weekly reports, General?"

"Well, sir, it's been..."

"I don't need your f--king excuses! And whats this you killed a native boy?"

"Well, that was all an accident... And, sir, this is an open channel our enemies may interce..."

"I DON'T CARE! Hell, the administration doesn't know what the hell your doing anymore, even. WE want some results. We want something. WE have been very lax about how much breathing room we give you... We're sending somebody, over there immidiatly."

"Sir, I hardly think..."

"Good. Don't, he's coming over there in seven hours. Give him the proper respect and escort."

"Yes, sir."

"And yes, general, if some unfortunate accident should happen to him. YOU will be personally held responsible."

"..."

"Are we clear General?"

"Yes, sir, perfectly clear."

END TRANSMISSION


As the sun set, the mourning natives stood around the burning casket, their eyes shedding many tears, their voices murmuring prayers to their gods. On the sandy beach by this flaming, pyre this small crowd mourned for the loss of young Tahin.

A distance away stood an Amerigan soldier, in his uniform no weapon in his hands. His head was bowed and he stood there more miserable than the rest of them. The ceremony was almost over.

A child ran up to him and grasped by his hand and said something in her language--something he could not understand. Immidiatly one mourning native woman looked up and seeing the child pulling the soldier's hand. The woman screamed a blood chilling scream and began running toward the child and the soldier.

"Banta mush! Alagad! Bur den alagad! Tara brut den alage! Bur den alagad!" she screamed.

The soldier startled shrunk away. Soon the entire mourning crowd was up in a horrid primal fury. They ran after the soldier throwing anything lying on the ground at him--rocks, sticks, sand. The soldier ran from the scene and the crowd eventually calmed and let the soldier escape.

****

It was night. An old native man sat drawing something in the sand with a twig. The moon glittered in the sky above--there were no stars. The entire world was draped in the color of the night and the moon was just a hole in the tapestry. The hunched man sat there chanting by the charred remains of a casket and a body. The eerie quite of the island seeemed unnatural. No bird nor beast let loose its wild call--the only thing that could be heard was the old man softly chanting. The hoary old whiskers on his face and the white robe he wore made him seem like a phantom--some ancestor of the boy protecting him from evil spirits.

He stopped suddenly and looked up. The soldier was back again, standing over the sitting elderly man and he slowly reached into the inner pocket of his overcoat. The man's head slowly turned downward again and he continued his chant. A flower fell onto the charred remains of the boy and a muffled sob was heard over the old man's chanting. The rhythm was nevermore disturbed that night. This night belonged to the dead.

"... So, Your Holiness, mwehe," said the Imperial Minister of Tactical Diplomacy, Wan Xu, "what do you think of my plan? Mwehe."

Vladimir paced back and forth in the dank, dimly-lit room."Let me see if I have this correct; you wish to send one of our spies to the island to find this Amerigan somebody, and incite the natives to assassinate him?"

Wan Xu nodded excitedly. "That is correct, mwehe! Or, I suppose our spie could kill the man himself and blame it on the locals, mwehe."

"Uh-huh. And then, this causes an even greater rift between the Amerigans and the natives?"

"Yes."

"And then what?" Vladimir asked, folding his arms across his chest. "What would we gain out of it?"

"Oh, it is all very simple, Your Holiness!" the Minister assured him. "This causes an even greater rift between the natives and the Amerigans, mwehe, and the Amerigans realize that holding the territory is more trouble than it is worth, or the two groups get into a military conflict, mwehehe."

"What if it is the latter? Surely, it is not worth our time, then?"

"No, no, quite the contrary! We side with the natives and drive out the foreign devils, mwehe, and they praise our names and come to their senses by realizing that you are the one true God, mwehe!"

Vladimir grinned; his trademark expression which could convey both lust and malevolence, or both, depending on the situation. "Wan Xu, you always were my favorite. Oh ho ho!"

"Mwehehe!"

--

There weren't many spies in Raevyn who could pull off this job: he had to look, speak, and act like a native Daltonian. Anne-Marie du Bois was one of the few who could fit the role. Having grown up in a small town in East Raevyn along the coast, she was fascinated by the Daltonians and their culture, and even resembled a native.

Before, she had never gotten the chance to ever go to Dalton Island. She hoped that after she had finished her mission, she would be allowed to take some free time. But for now, she had to focus on her main objective.

Firstly, she was to find the whereabouts of this important Amerigan man. Once he was located, she would try to persuade the locals to drag him out into the street and lynch him; failing that, she would kill him herself.

To make sure that no one could trace her back to Raevyn, she was given an alias as a Daltonian native of no particular importance who had been vacationing in Raevyn. Her papers and everything were perfect, and she had even nearly perfected her accent. She had no worries.

OOC: If there were any grammatical/logical mistakes, it is because I typed this at 1:30 in the morning. 8)

.Frederico Manfred Takeshi fussed with his compass in a tree. Quiet night in here, he though to himself. Now where were those trade goods I was going to take into town... ah, yes, here we go. The Tahar Joblissan shouldered the bundle and started padding through the jungle.

Encountering a Daltonian native with a grim expression on the trail, he greeted him and asked what the matter was.

[Translated from Daltonian:]

"Ahoy, there, traveller. What brings down your lip-corners? The day is fine and the rain has been plentiful!"

"The amrigu shot my nephew, jungle hermit. They shot him in the back."

"Sorrow news tidings, friend. Grieves me to bother you, but be there other news?"

"We talk of little else, but I fear to approach where the amrigu go to find out more. Begad, I haven't heard such a thick jungle hermit accent since my granduncle died. Are you lately to the area?"

"Somewhat, but I have been here before not too seldom. Simply, I prefer tree-company to man-company, most days. Perhaps you will seek the same soon, I doubt the amrigu go not much into the depths of jungle-time with only tree-company."

He continued towards town, mulling this news. Frederico had not heard of this before... maybe he should write home about it. Maybe.

Onboard the FBS Pluto:

"Did you get the transmission?" The captain spoke.

"Aye sir, loud and clear."

"Ok lets here it."

The crewman hit a few buttons and a recording of the message started. It went on for a few minutes then it stopped.

"Is that it?" The captain asked

"Yes sir." The crewman nodded. The captain slowly headed back to his chair and sat down. He began to ponder what they could be up to, but of course he feared of the safety of the spy, seeing as they shot a native.

"When is the next agent transmission?"

"Eight hours sir."

The captian nodded "keep radio silence and stay hidden in this cove. Contact me when it is time."

"Yes sir."

DEEP WITHIN FT. SICILY... (OOC: None of you guys can overhear this, because this is the inner sanctum of the Ft....)
The general paced the room, frustrated and enraged.

"They're sending some idiot over here," he said to an assistant standing ready at his side, "to f--- up everything. We barely finished constructing the facility and their breathing down my neck!"

"Can we not arrange an accident?"

"No those beurocratic bastards will have my neck if anything happens to him. He'll be arriving by chopper in a couple of hours..." Suddenly the general's eyes lit up with a devious flame, "Bring him here... I have plans for him..."

"Yes sir, I'll send for an escort."

"Oh yes, captain..."

"Yes, sir?"

"Make sure he doesn't get assasinated. That transmission is sure to have been intercepted... especially by Raevynese agents."

"Yes, sir, I'll be careful."

"Careful?" scoffed the general mockingly. "Take Rieper with you. Tell him to kill anyone who is suspicious in anyway."

"Yes, sir... but anyone, sir? That may cause accidents... Bah, the dictator Sans Anan is in our payroll. If anything we could pay him to send his soldiers to kill off any native insurrection."

"Uh, yes, sir."

***
WASAJE ISLE (Several hundred miles away from Dalton Island)
The chopper landed in the airport on the helipad. A man with several guards were walking toward it. The leading man was tall and proud, his black hair spiked, he wore a black suit and tie--a classic Amerigan beurocrat. The guards about him were not so well dressed, all dressed in urban camoflauge, semi-automatics firmly in their hands. They reached the helicopter, more soldiers awaited him there.

"We'll take it over from here, guys."

Hearing this, the man's previous escsort turned back as the man climbed into the military grade "HRT" helicopter.

There were five soldiears there with him, including a captain who had talked to the general earlier.

"So what's your name," the captain yelled over the noise of the spinning rotor blades.

"Joe Shepherd," the man replied somewhat timidly.

"WHAT?"

"JOE SHEPHERD!"

"Oh well welcome aboard, I'm Captain T. Walker. We'll be landing soon. But now just relax"

"WHAT?"

"JUST RELAX!"

"OK!"

Soon the island was in sight. A tiny piece of land heavily settled with trees and other vegetation rather than people as were most Amerigan Islands. Joe, stared out the window fascinated by the ammount of undistrubed virgin soil--untouched by the corruption of mankind. But soon the massive facility came in view. Hundreds of square miles have been cleared to house it--almost half the island. On the edges of the base you could still make out the recently charred vegetation and trees.

The chopper began its descent.

Assistant Director Klogden, chief of the Ministry of External State Security on Earth, sits with Admiral Perry in his office at New Bergia.
"The situation is apparently escalating, Admiral," Klogden says after taking a sip of caffine. "Apparently the Amerigans may be having problems with the native populations. A boy was shot by one of thier soldiers near the base that is under construction at one end of the island from what my operatives have been able to find. We also believe that several other nations may be getting involved now as well, whether for or against the Amerigans is hard to determine at this stage."
Perry inhales deeply, "Continue in your efforts, Director. Lord Adonis has ordered that he be kept up-to-date on the matter from this point outward and I will be making regular reports to Grenada. And see if you can make contact with the native peoples. Right now we are to keep our options as open as possible, but in time it may become necessary to align ourselves, at least discreetly, with one side or the other."
"Of course, Admiral."

Anne-Marie's ship arrived at about the same time as Mr. Shepherd's copter arrived; having quite a distance between her and her target, Anne-marie had her work cut out for her.

Well, time to go to work! she thought as she got settled into her temporary residence, an abandoned shack on the very outskirts of a nearby village. Abandoned in the sense that no one would miss the previous owner or even know that he was gone, anyways.

After gathering more information about the Amerigan base from the locals, she packed up what little things she had and quickly relocated to a closer, more suitable location. From there, she could carry out the plot. Hopefully.

Anne-Marie's ship arrived at about the same time as Mr. Shepherd's copter arrived; having quite a distance between her and her target, Anne-marie had her work cut out for her.

Well, time to go to work! she thought as she got settled into her temporary residence, an abandoned shack on the very outskirts of a nearby village. Abandoned in the sense that no one would miss the previous owner or even know that he was gone, anyways.

After gathering more information about the Amerigan base from the locals, she packed up what little things she had and quickly relocated to a closer, more suitable location. From there, she could carry out the plot. Hopefully.

Poking around town after trading his findings from the deep jungle and trying to find news of the amrigu, Frederico happened across plenty of rumors but little news.

Hmm. That's one trader who usually doesn't miss this season. Perhaps he is sick? Frederico thought to himself, stopping by a shack at the edge of town. Hmm. Nobody in right now. Funny smell, though. I smell death and a woman who has not been living here long.

Prying around the place, clues tantalized his brain.

Perhaps, I have nothing better to do, I should see what this portends. Perhaps she will have interesting stories to play across before my eyes, she is not long gone from here. He padded off towards the realm of the amrigu, tracking and guessing from the shadows at night. Maybe she is an amrigu bird returning to her masters.

The chopper touched down inside the facility on the dark cemented helipad. Guards were everywhere. As two soldiers slid the chopper doors open.

As they climbed out of the helicopter the captain, firmly grasped this Joe by the shoulder and turned him to the proper direction and then escorted him inside the proper building.

Shepherd assumed that this was a barracks by the ammount of many small rooms, doors opened, inside two bunk beds and little else. Cpt. Walker led him to a larger chamber on the very end of the hallway and opened the door. A modest sized room was awaiting him on the other side of the door. One full size bed, one small desk and chair, were the only furnishing in the room. There was also no window and the only light eminated from the flourecent cylindrical lights on the ceiling.

"This room will be your quarters," stated the generals. "Make yourself at home. You will be allowed access anywhere on this facility as the higher ups wished. Feel free to look around the expanse of our facility. However due to safety reasons you are not allowed to step one foot on Dalton Island territory, that is not owned by our Glorious Empire... that is outside the walls of this facility. I must go now, to attend other duties."

With that formal speech he quickly turned and marched out of the room.

***
CELL PHONE CONVERSATION---unscrambled:
"Captain!"

"Yes, sir."

"The sheep are not to be trusted. We have reliable reports of some wolves in sheeps clothing lurking about. Bring me their hides."

"Sir? You mean...?"

"Anyways possible, do not do something stupid and turn them agains tthem... The whole shooting incident has created enouh ripples in the pool. Tread carefully. Send 17."

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir."

END

Major Harris of the Ministry of External State Security had come to Dalton Island disguised as a trader in his own right. To one of the small commonwealths of the European continent. The papers he had were excellent, befitting the skilled craftsmanship of the ESS, and his disguise would hold up against everything put the most devout medical scans.
Earlier today he had noticed the strange man that was a trader as well, but seemed out of place, in fact too out of place. But Harris could not leave the idenity of Mr. Benjamin Harad behind and follow the man across town. Instead he had gone about the necessaries of business with the native peoples in order to uphold his new personae. But he had found a solution to his tracking problem of this out of place man. He had managed to bribe a few of the local youths to help him in this endeavor.
And now he sits in his rented room, patiently awaiting their reports.
There comes a rap at the door in a pattern he taught his eyes this morning. Harris smiles, sometimes the oldest and simplest ways are the best.
"Come in," with that the oldest of the eyes enters.
"We round him, Mr. Harad. He went to the Outskirts. I can take you there, my little brother is keeping an eye on him now."
"Good," Harris nods to him, then takes out several pieces of hard currency.
"The money as promised. And when this is done, I want you to come by tomorrow morning and meet me in the market."
"Yes, Mr. Harad," with that Harris follows the boy toward the Outskirts of the small town.

Anne-Marie camped out in the untamed wilderness, a short distance from the nearest village. She sat up in a tree branch and admired the stars, partly to get a better view of her surroundings and partly to avoid the wild beasts that undoubtedly roamed the area.

As she counted the stars, she went over in her head what exactly she would do. Tomorrow, she mused, [/I]I will stumble into the village with my clothes ragged and muddy, saying that I have been beaten and raped by Amerigan soldiers; that would certainly get my fellow Raevynese in a murderous rage, and I assume that even these barbarians will feel the same. Then I will appeal to their spirituality, saying that these foreign devils wish to force us to pray to their evil foreign god. They will use their technology to tear down our beautiful forests, and evict us from our homes! Then, we will be shipped to Amerigan concentration camps, where we will be worked to death![/I]

The Raevynese woman couldn’t help but laugh, despite her attempt to remain as silent as possible. “Oh ho ho! I am too clever.”

However, under the mistaken assumption that the locals would be too stupid to be able track her down, she made no attempt at covering her tracks, making it easy for even an inexperienced hunter to locate her, were he trying.

Damn good read boys...er...people. Keep up the good work. 8)

Agent 17 was the best at what he did--killing. A contract killer. An assasin. The best in Amerigo and among the best in the world. His record was squeaky clean however and the Amerigan government could never find even a shred of evidence to convict him of any crime. But eveidence was not at all important since no one could find him. He found you. So since the Amerigan Administration couldn't beat him, it bought him. Now under the employ of the government, the General put in charge of the Ft. Sicily project, managed to convince the very highest officials that his services were required in case of foreign espionage. Now was the time to employ him.

Agent 17 smiled to himself, knowing full well the brilliance of his disguise. Utilizing the natives' religion he set himself up as a traveling Hunter of the Bad Spirits. Of course getting the disguise was quite tough in its own right, because officially he did everything necessary to earn the proffesion. He had to construct a headdress by hunting certain exotic animals on the island and away from. Some... like the Daltonese Dragon a fierce alligator-like creature... were definately rare... and difficult to say the least to find and kill. But that trial was over now and he could utilize the benifits of this disguise to ask questions that would normally be suspicious. He could ask about strange behaviour... and if they were unwilling he could always coerce them with a little bit of money... if not that. Force.

One day in his questions stumbled upon several youths, one luckily zealous enough to voice his suspicions of a rich merchant who paid them to follow a stranger about the island. The youth was tight-lipped about the identity of this trader... but he was persuaded easily enough and would later turn up mutilated and half-eaten by a Daltonese Dragon. Too bad the youth couldn't describe the one they followed too well.

But, Agent 17 would not make any moves yet, he would wait... wait and see.

He decided to head back to his yurt, when he stumbled upon some interesting tracks. Deciding to follow them, for mere curiosity's sake, since one does not usually find many tracks such as these deep in the jungle. He eventually, came to a point where he could make out a figure sitting in a tree. Curious indeed. Some villager perhaps? He would approach her and see what she knew about suspicious tidings. Perhaps she could provide another lead.

Harris was neverous, only one of the boys had returned. The younger one, and he had been a full day late. His brother had disappeared, supposedly some creature had carried him off. Harris scoffed at the idea, he knew what it really was, some agent of the Amerigan government no doubt. Harris had been watching himself very carefully from every minute following that. Afterwards, he had no recourse but to send the younger boy on a most permanently ended errand.
Harris had made contact with the small team sent to work with him. The ESS Nightwatch. A by product of the years when the ESS ruled the foreign affairs of the Empire during its long period of isolation. They were one things, squads meant to implement death, fear, terror, and carry out the most henious task laid out by Director Ziegler and his various lieutenants. It was said that most of them were barely reconditioned sociopaths, who killed not for His Majesty and in his service, but for their own pleasure. Harris had dismissed it as inter-Ministry rumor until he had met several Nightwatch members. Maybe they weren't all reconditioned killers, but most of them were. If not killer they took pleasures in explosions, or rolled in the glories of the choas they could inflict upon the world. Harris looked out toward the forest and the moutains.
Somewhere out there there were three Nightwatch operatives, attached to him in a way. And now Harris had to call his contact office and have one of them sent in closer. The Empire could not allow him to be captured, nor was Harris willing to let that happen.
He prepared the message, coded as a trading report, very skillfully and that would be decrypted by the ESS operatives who ran the sham company he supposedly worked for as Harad. His response would be in by this evening, as a list of commodities he need to look for. Harris shut down his comp-pad and stuck it in its proper pouch. He then took the small needler gun and the compact Impaler pistol and secreted one in a hidden holster in his tunic, and the other in an artfully concealed pocket in his coat.
With that he leaves his room and begins to ply his "trade" with the natives. Buying goods he will never use and that more than likely will either be destroyed, or maybe sold to some of the various cartels and marketers back on Proxima, or to their offices here on Earth. All the day, Harris is watchful to those around him, looking for any new or odd faces. He has not seen the man he was trying to track since he lost him in the Outskirts, but Harris figures he will turn up sooner or later.

The general sat at his desk smirking, as Captain Walker entered. The general ordered Walker to lock the door behind him. The naturally soundproof--no would overhear them from the outside--and carefully cleaned of anything that would even appear to be some monitoring device. First by the Federal Amerigan Agents, then by the general's own most trusted men under his supervision.

"Captain! Have a seat. Joyous news!"

"What are they, sir?" the Captain asked as he slowly sat down onto a chair across from the general.

"Using *ahem* specialists to help *ahem* procure certain evidence against this watchdog from the Department, he is to be arrested for high treason," the general smiled beaming.

"High treason, sir?"

"Yes," he replied handing the captain some documents, "look at how skillfully done all this evidence is..."

"Hmm. Yes," the captain replied examining the documents closely, "But, sir, don't you think its too soon for that?"

"Soon? There's no better time. I mean we get this guy from the Department so we do a background check on him, because of the significance of the whole project. To make sure that he's fully aligned with Our Glorious Empire. Then we find this." He pointed to the documents in the captain's hands, which were quite skillfully done indeed. They looked aged, weathered and all signatures were perfectly forged. The evidence consisted of letters contracts all expressing hatred and threats of violence against Amerigo. Even one sentence of anti-governement opinion was usually enough to warrant execution, but the general wanted to make sure.

"Go arrest him," said the general. "Get that sniveling pig out of your sight."

"Wouldn't you like to meet him first, sir?"

"No," replied the general. "Remember captain, never stare into the eyes of the person you're going to kill, lest you stir up pity."

"Yes, sir."
The captain exited.

***
The captain and several armed guards marched to this Shepherd's quarters. They kicked down the door, immidiatly, but found no one there. Frustrated, the captain ordered a search of the entire facility premises.

"Damn it," thought Walker, "I brought him here just a couple of hours ago. Shouldn't the bastard be jet lagged and sleeping?"

After a scrutinous search that lasted several hours, Joe Shepherd was nowhere to be found. The only place he could be was outside the perimeter...

*bump*

He decided to head back to his yurt, when he stumbled upon some interesting tracks. Deciding to follow them, for mere curiosity's sake, since one does not usually find many tracks such as these deep in the jungle. He eventually, came to a point where he could make out a figure sitting in a tree. Curious indeed. Some villager perhaps? He would approach her and see what she knew about suspicious tidings. Perhaps she could provide another lead.
Anne-Marie was spooked by the stranger's approach, and cursed herself for not concealing herself better as she balanced herself on the branch. 'Stay calm, Anne-Marie, she thought.

Speaking in the native language, but with a slightly off accent, she asked, "Who is there? What do you want?"

He decided to head back to his yurt, when he stumbled upon some interesting tracks. Deciding to follow them, for mere curiosity's sake, since one does not usually find many tracks such as these deep in the jungle. He eventually, came to a point where he could make out a figure sitting in a tree. Curious indeed. Some villager perhaps? He would approach her and see what she knew about suspicious tidings. Perhaps she could provide another lead.
Anne-Marie was spooked by the stranger's approach, and cursed herself for not concealing herself better as she balanced herself on the branch. 'Stay calm, Anne-Marie, she thought.

Speaking in the native language, but with a slightly off accent, she asked, "Who is there? What do you want?"
Detecting the slight accent, Agent 17 registered this information, but continued his previously set intentions.
In flawless, Daltonese, Agent 17 replied,
"It is only I, Banju, Hunter of Bad Spirits. I search for them in this wood right now. Have you seen suspicious persons, who may have tainted their souls with a deal with malicious spirits?"

He did not step into the open and stood barely visible behing the wild plant-life.

Anne-marie put on a facade of shock and fear. "Oh, no! I have seen no suspicious persons, but if there are evil spirits lurking about, I had best be careful!"

It is all too easy! she thought, smirking. How could they send an expert such as myself on an easy operation such as this? Oh ho!

Anne-marie put on a facade of shock and fear. "Oh, no! I have seen no suspicious persons, but if there are evil spirits lurking about, I had best be careful!"

It is all too easy! she thought, smirking. How could they send an expert such as myself on an easy operation such as this? Oh ho!
Agent 17 tone of voice did not change nor did he stir even slightly,

"What are you doing here so late and deep in the jungle? Have you lost your way? I do not recognize you from the village... Perhaps you come from a neighboring one."

"Oh, no, I was just on my way, and I decide to rest her," Anne-Marie answered. "The sky is beautiful at night, is it not? Oh, my, the stars are so many! I thank the gods for blessing us with them. I was just in the middle of praying when you came along."

"Oh, no, I was just on my way, and I decide to rest her," Anne-Marie answered. "The sky is beautiful at night, is it not? Oh, my, the stars are so many! I thank the gods for blessing us with them. I was just in the middle of praying when you came along."
"Hmmm... I see. But tell me what village do you hail from? But let me guess from your dialect you are probably from Chalhu?"

Of course, the dialect was not from that mountain village, it was not even a dialect but more of a slight accent from the Standard Daltonese. Agent 17 decided that this simple test would affirm all his suspicions. If she agreed, she was not from Dalton Island... and that said plenty. If she disagreed, he would need to retest.

Of course, having studied Daltonese for most of her life, Anne-Marie knew a thing or two about Daltonese dialects. "Oh, no. I have a, euh, speech impediment, you see." Beurk! What an awful excuse...

Of course, having studied Daltonese for most of her life, Anne-Marie knew a thing or two about Daltonese dialects. "Oh, no. I have a, euh, speech impediment, you see." Beurk! What an awful excuse...
"Hmmm. I see. But you never did answer... Where do you hail from?"

Agent 17 admitted she was clever, but he would not give up so easily. His hunches have never before been wrong and he felt sure that she was lying. 'They always slip, eventually,' he thought to himself. Although, he admitted to himself, there was a possibility that she was another villager, simple and ignorant. He knew one thing for certain, though: He would not leave this place without a confidence about her true identity.

"Ah, yes. I am so silly! I am from [Insert name of Southeastern Dalton village here]," Anne-Marie answered. "It is a very nice village, you should visit there sometime. I think you would like it."

"Ah, yes. I am so silly! I am from [Insert name of Southeastern Dalton village here]," Anne-Marie answered. "It is a very nice village, you should visit there sometime. I think you would like it."
OOC: You could just have made up a name yourself... after all Dalton island is technically not Amerigan territory... But very well I shall do the honors.

"Oh what a coincidence, because I have many friends who live there and am very well aquainted with most clans. What clan do you pertain to? Perhaps I know of it."

The agent walked out of the complex and entered the jungle yet again. Saying the same old story he walked to the beach. It was a calmer night and the gentle tide of the sea swashed up the beach. A slight breeze in the air and the bright stars in the night made it look beautiful.

He placed the beacon on the soft sand and waited for the signal from the Pluto.

Harris sat in his room again, waiting for the Nightwatch operative the message had promised him that evening. Night had fallen, and the markets had long since dwindled to mere gatherings around some of the local taverns. Harris waited, his fingers absent-mindedly drumming on the window seal.
His eyes had not found the other merchant that day, and a few had not returned after hearing of their colleague's untimely demise. Harris was certain it was nothing more than an agent of the Amerigans. There was a rap on his door.
Harris tenses, he checks the small Impaler pistol tucked into his tunic and heads for the door.
"Yes?"
"Mr. Harad, its Damien. I was to see you about the distribution progress."
Harris sighs with relief, but does not forget to complete the verbal coding, "Yes, yes give me a moment."
Harris pretends to be fumbling with the locks, "I take it the shipment number will be 32-333-86 and will leave on the eighteenth?"
"No, it has been changed, Mr. Harad. It is 87-333-22 on the twentieth."
Harris gives feels the tension ease and opens the door.
The unease immediately returns. The man is tall and gaunt, his face is like looking into that of a skull with skin stretched over it as an after thought. Blond hair is cropped close and ends in a receeding widow's peak.
Harris resists the urge to swallow, "Please come in."
"Thank you," Damien says. And stands waiting for the door to be shut.
After sweeping the room for any devices, Damien turns back to Harris.
"What more have you heard of this native demon, Major?" Damien says cooly.
"Rumors of a few more attacks, the villagers are frightened."
Damien smirks, "Mortals fear other mortals most of all, especially if the one they fear plays with their own emotions."
"Then he is an Amerigan?"
"Amerigan or not I do not know, but one of my men picked up a man entering the town earlier. I told him not to follow him, not to cause undue attention. Now it seems that is a decision I will live to regret. However, if this poses a continuing problem, I am here to deal with it personally," Damien's mouth stretches in a tight-lipped smirk.

OOC: You could just have made up a name yourself... after all Dalton island is technically not Amerigan territory... But very well I shall do the honors.

"Oh what a coincidence, because I have many friends who live there and am very well aquainted with most clans. What clan do you pertain to? Perhaps I know of it."
OOC; Meh, I couldn't think of anything. :P

IC:

Zut! Think fast!

"Oh, I was born in another village," the woman explained, "which was close by. We moved when I was very young."

Agent 17 would have pressed the matter further, however the earpiece (about 2mm in diameter lodged inside his ear--invisible to any observer except under such extreme scrutiny one would have to have his face pressed against the ear to catch a glimpse of it) sounded. The news were troubling, troubling indeed.

***
Closed Circuit Intercome Ft. Sicily (un-interceptable)
"General, sir."
"Captain Walker, is he restrained?"
"No, sir, he's escaped."
"Escaped? What is the meaning of this?"
"We searched the entire compound he must went to the village."
"GRRRAAR! Find him! But, do not kill him. I want him alive."
"Yes, sir."
***

Agent 17 heard every word said, by Captain Walker. He understood his new objectives, but said nothing so as not arouse the suspicion of the woman on the tree.

Captain Walker had said this,
"There is a change in priorities. We brought in that guy, yesterday... Shepherd. He's working for the enemy, it seems--a traitor. He has escaped the facility and is probably still on the island, but he won't stay there for long. Find him and... kill him. Forget everything else. This is your number one priority as of now. Understood?"

When the captain finished, Agent 17 merely said in Daltonese directly to the woman,

"Yes... Well I must go. I sense malice in the air. Bad spirits are close. Be careful. May the spirits of your ancestors guide you."

Then he left the place where he was standing with great speed. The woman caugh a glimpse of him now. He had an intricate headress on his head, and his face was deathly pale--painted by a ceremonial dye. As he passed her tree, he glanced directly at her. His grey eyes for a moment connected with hers. He had a cold piercing stare and it seemed as countless of lives expired before it.

Agent 17 would have pressed the matter further, however the earpiece (about 2mm in diameter lodged inside his ear--invisible to any observer except under such extreme scrutiny one would have to have his face pressed against the ear to catch a glimpse of it) sounded. The news were troubling, troubling indeed.

***
Closed Circuit Intercome Ft. Sicily (un-interceptable)
"General, sir."
"Captain Walker, is he restrained?"
"No, sir, he's escaped."
"Escaped? What is the meaning of this?"
"We searched the entire compound he must went to the village."
"GRRRAAR! Find him! But, do not kill him. I want him alive."
"Yes, sir."
***

Agent 17 heard every word said, by Captain Walker. He understood his new objectives, but said nothing so as not arouse the suspicion of the woman on the tree.

Captain Walker had said this,
"There is a change in priorities. We brought in that guy, yesterday... Shepherd. He's working for the enemy, it seems--a traitor. He has escaped the facility and is probably still on the island, but he won't stay there for long. Find him and... kill him. Forget everything else. This is your number one priority as of now. Understood?"

When the captain finished, Agent 17 merely said in Daltonese directly to the woman,

"Yes... Well I must go. I sense malice in the air. Bad spirits are close. Be careful. May the spirits of your ancestors guide you."

Then he left the place where he was standing with great speed. The woman caugh a glimpse of him now. He had an intricate headress on his head, and his face was deathly pale--painted by a ceremonial dye. As he passed her tree, he glanced directly at her. His grey eyes for a moment connected with hers. He had a cold piercing stare and it seemed as countless of lives expired before it.

Harris sat in his room again, waiting for the Nightwatch operative the message had promised him that evening. Night had fallen, and the markets had long since dwindled to mere gatherings around some of the local taverns. Harris waited, his fingers absent-mindedly drumming on the window seal.
His eyes had not found the other merchant that day, and a few had not returned after hearing of their colleague's untimely demise. Harris was certain it was nothing more than an agent of the Amerigans. There was a rap on his door.
Harris tenses, he checks the small Impaler pistol tucked into his tunic and heads for the door.
"Yes?"
"Mr. Harad, its Damien. I was to see you about the distribution progress."
Harris sighs with relief, but does not forget to complete the verbal coding, "Yes, yes give me a moment."
Harris pretends to be fumbling with the locks, "I take it the shipment number will be 32-333-86 and will leave on the eighteenth?"
"No, it has been changed, Mr. Harad. It is 87-333-22 on the twentieth."
Harris gives feels the tension ease and opens the door.
The unease immediately returns. The man is tall and gaunt, his face is like looking into that of a skull with skin stretched over it as an after thought. Blond hair is cropped close and ends in a receeding widow's peak.
Harris resists the urge to swallow, "Please come in."
"Thank you," Damien says. And stands waiting for the door to be shut.
After sweeping the room for any devices, Damien turns back to Harris.
"What more have you heard of this native demon, Major?" Damien says cooly.
"Rumors of a few more attacks, the villagers are frightened."
Damien smirks, "Mortals fear other mortals most of all, especially if the one they fear plays with their own emotions."
"Then he is an Amerigan?"
"Amerigan or not I do not know, but one of my men picked up a man entering the town earlier. I told him not to follow him, not to cause undue attention. Now it seems that is a decision I will live to regret. However, if this poses a continuing problem, I am here to deal with it personally," Damien's mouth stretches in a tight-lipped smirk.
Shepherd had placed a bug on the captain during their first meeting and monitored all his conversations. Thats why he managed to escaped before, the captain arrested him, and now hearing his execution ordered without trial by the captain, Shepherd ran to the village frantically. He knocked on the door of the first house he saw.

There came a frantic pounding Harris's door and a voice called out,
"Help! They're trying to kill me!"

Harris jumps to his feet. Damien arches a single eyebrow.
"An acquitance of yours, Major?" he says and from nowhere produces a long knife. He moves to stand beside the door.
"Not that I know of," Harris says in a whisper. He moves to the door, checking to make sure his Impaler is ready.
"One moment, man," Harris opens the door with nervous hands and watches as Shepard rushes in, half falling from the sudden opening of the door.
Damien becomes a blur of motion. In a matter of heartbeats, the door is shut, and Shepard founds himself grabbed from behind, a long knife hovering at his throat.
Damien's voice in his ear is a harsh whisper, "Don't worry about 'them' at this moment, sir, worry about me. And listen very carefully. Who are you and why have you come here? And finally why do 'they' want to kill you?"
Harris seems ready to say something, but is quelled by a look from Damien.

Harris jumps to his feet. Damien arches a single eyebrow.
"An acquitance of yours, Major?" he says and from nowhere produces a long knife. He moves to stand beside the door.
"Not that I know of," Harris says in a whisper. He moves to the door, checking to make sure his Impaler is ready.
"One moment, man," Harris opens the door with nervous hands and watches as Shepard rushes in, half falling from the sudden opening of the door.
Damien becomes a blur of motion. In a matter of heartbeats, the door is shut, and Shepard founds himself grabbed from behind, a long knife hovering at his throat.
Damien's voice in his ear is a harsh whisper, "Don't worry about 'them' at this moment, sir, worry about me. And listen very carefully. Who are you and why have you come here? And finally why do 'they' want to kill you?"
Harris seems ready to say something, but is quelled by a look from Damien.
Shepherd chokes slightly, and is quite startled by this turn of events. "From the frying pan and into the fire," he mumbles in Amerigan (a derivative of Italian and English)

Then in Daltonese with a very bad accent replies,
"I... The Amerigans... they ordered my execution... I over heard them. I need to hide... I can leave. I don't know what this place is. But I can leave, I will not speak of this to anyone. Please just don't kill me! I'll just go and run to another village. Far away! PLEASE JUST DON'T KILL ME." When he finished he was in hysterics. Lacking proper military training, he was just a government official sent to monitor a general. He was not prepared for such situations. And then it all went wrong because of that insane general. And now he would get killed by this murderous stranger, probably some robber of some sorts.

Damien looks to Harris, a gleam in his eyes.
"Let him go," Harris said. Damien scowls, and starts to say something.
"Remember where you stand in accordance to seniority here," Damien's scowl grows, but he releases Shepard. Then he moves to block the door, the knife disappearing again.
Harris seems to get over some sort of momentary shock, as if almost surprised that the other man had obeyed him.
"Sit down," Harris says in a calm cold voice as he gestures to one of the rooms plain chairs. He then sits himself across the bare table from the obviously nervous Shepard.
"For starters," Harris says. "Who are you? And secondly, who is trying to kill you?"

He walks like amrigu, thought Frederico, however daltish his speech and dress. Dangerous amrigu.

He stayed put, watching the two converse.

She is not amrigu. Strange things.

He walks like amrigu, thought Frederico, however daltish his speech and dress. Dangerous amrigu.

He stayed put, watching the two converse.

She is not amrigu. Strange things.
Agent 17 knew he was being watched, but paid no attention; he knew of this man. He was not a threat--some watcher of the woods or something like that--unimportant.

He continued however deep into the jungle, realizing that his target would probably head for the village. He studied his file when he was first assigned to this mission. Strange.... he was supposed to protect him at first, now he was to kill him. He had to go to his yurt and find his equipment. He would hide in a tree overlooking the village, and shoot this Shepherd if he saw him outside (his rifle silenced, naturally). He was probably hiding out in some house...

Damien looks to Harris, a gleam in his eyes.
"Let him go," Harris said. Damien scowls, and starts to say something.
"Remember where you stand in accordance to seniority here," Damien's scowl grows, but he releases Shepard. Then he moves to block the door, the knife disappearing again.
Harris seems to get over some sort of momentary shock, as if almost surprised that the other man had obeyed him.
"Sit down," Harris says in a calm cold voice as he gestures to one of the rooms plain chairs. He then sits himself across the bare table from the obviously nervous Shepard.
"For starters," Harris says. "Who are you? And secondly, who is trying to kill you?"
Shepherd, began to edge toward the door with a terrified look pasted on his paled face. He never took his eyes of the man who grabbed him.

"N-nothing," he stuttered, "I mean n-n-no one. I should go. I was probably... disturbing s-something."

I am quite curious. I suppose I really shouldn't do anything here, but I can't bear not quite knowing what is going on here. Perhaps I will regret this, but perhaps this jungle hermit needs to figure things out.

Simple resolution, but it would be perhaps more complex in the execution. He waited as Agent 17 trailed off into the jungle, warily avoiding line of fire.

If I am wrong, this may prove embarassing.

He raised a blowgun up to his lips, and powerful lungs sent a light dart arrowing to the back of the neck of the not-Daltish woman with something to hide.

If it hit, she would enter a deep unconscious state, most likely without having realized a prick on the back of her neck; he would then search her and her belongings thoroughly for clues. In such case that all was not perfectly clear, he would hide them well away, leaving the naked woman in a nest of fast growing vines. Within the hour of her awakening, they would have grown perhaps an inch - it was, after all, rainy season. And he was fairly sure he could measure her reaction to satisfy what of his questions her belongings would not.

OOC: That is, of course, if nothing goes wrong. Which is possible, although perhaps less interesting.

Damien looks to Harris, a gleam in his eyes.
"Let him go," Harris said. Damien scowls, and starts to say something.
"Remember where you stand in accordance to seniority here," Damien's scowl grows, but he releases Shepard. Then he moves to block the door, the knife disappearing again.
Harris seems to get over some sort of momentary shock, as if almost surprised that the other man had obeyed him.
"Sit down," Harris says in a calm cold voice as he gestures to one of the rooms plain chairs. He then sits himself across the bare table from the obviously nervous Shepard.
"For starters," Harris says. "Who are you? And secondly, who is trying to kill you?"
Shepherd, began to edge toward the door with a terrified look pasted on his paled face. He never took his eyes of the man who grabbed him.

"N-nothing," he stuttered, "I mean n-n-no one. I should go. I was probably... disturbing s-something."

Harris arches an eyebrow.
He then speaks in Amerigan, "You are sure of this? Even if I could possible arrange it that you would leave this island for a location of your choosing and with several aids that could help you from being found so easily from those that maybe seeking you out.

Damien looks to Harris, a gleam in his eyes.
"Let him go," Harris said. Damien scowls, and starts to say something.
"Remember where you stand in accordance to seniority here," Damien's scowl grows, but he releases Shepard. Then he moves to block the door, the knife disappearing again.
Harris seems to get over some sort of momentary shock, as if almost surprised that the other man had obeyed him.
"Sit down," Harris says in a calm cold voice as he gestures to one of the rooms plain chairs. He then sits himself across the bare table from the obviously nervous Shepard.
"For starters," Harris says. "Who are you? And secondly, who is trying to kill you?"
Shepherd, began to edge toward the door with a terrified look pasted on his paled face. He never took his eyes of the man who grabbed him.

"N-nothing," he stuttered, "I mean n-n-no one. I should go. I was probably... disturbing s-something."

Harris arches an eyebrow.
He then speaks in Amerigan, "You are sure of this? Even if I could possible arrange it that you would leave this island for a location of your choosing and with several aids that could help you from being found so easily from those that maybe seeking you out.
He stopped and stared now directly at Harris. Then he gathered himself and clamed. Then logic and rationality had came back to him. He thoguth for a moment and then realized something...

"Obviously this person," he thought, "is some spy sent her to dig out what the whole project is about. Because that man who almost strangled me is one who would certainly not be native Daltonese, nor be allowed to emigrate onto the island. And I have landed right in their laps. They will no doubt 'evacuate me' and torture me, to find out everything I know about the project. And unfortunately even if I wanted to talk, I know nothing of the matter. They'll kill me for sure. But what now? Could I leave now. No. I have to bide my time. I have to wait for something to happen until I can escape on my own... Or maybe I'm being paranoid here. No. No way no how. Normal people don't say they'll transport a screaming lunatic to 'a location of your choosing'... I'm in deep shit..."

He cleared his throat and nervously glanced at the large, fearsome man then back at Harris.

"I..." he paused, "Let me be perfectly frank with you. They have sent me here, as a suicide decoy. They have already surrounded the house and wait until we come out... Then shoot us all. We can't show a hair outside. They'll kill us. Luckily, they didn't brainwash me enough to carry out the plan."

He had hoped that his far-fetched story would be believed or he was certainly going to end up dead... at least he thought so. He prayed to God that they would believe this, but somehow it still seemed to be a long shot.

Anne-Marie watched the man in the headdress walk away. [i]Strange man. Too bad I could not get some information from him, but perhaps it is best that he left,]/i] she thought.

She climbed down from the tree and gathered up what little belongings she had: a rucksack with some food, and that was all. She kept her important items--a pistol and a switchblade--in a more easily accessible location on her person.

As she was about to leave, she felt something prick the back of her neck. "Ah! Moustique détestable!" she mumbled, in a language that wasn't as much Daltonese as it was French. Before she could reach back to swat at whatever was on her neck, she collapsed onto the ground, unconscious.

Damien rolls his eyes, "If that were true, sir, my men would alreadly have succeeded in at least dispatching half of those surrounding this building. And seeing as how I have not heard in gun fire, I find that your story is highly unbelievable. If necessary I can confer with my colleagues to confirm my suspicions."
Harris looks at his protector, "But I thought the others-."
Damien interrupts, "You should know by now that we do not tell everything about ourselves. Especially when someone does not ask, or it is not necessary for them to know."
He walks closer to Shepard, "So know must I confirm with my other informants or do you feel a change of hear coming on?"
Damien regards Shepard with a very cold look, but underneath he is enjoying watching this man squirm.

Damien rolls his eyes, "If that were true, sir, my men would alreadly have succeeded in at least dispatching half of those surrounding this building. And seeing as how I have not heard in gun fire, I find that your story is highly unbelievable. If necessary I can confer with my colleagues to confirm my suspicions."
Harris looks at his protector, "But I thought the others-."
Damien interrupts, "You should know by now that we do not tell everything about ourselves. Especially when someone does not ask, or it is not necessary for them to know."
He walks closer to Shepard, "So know must I confirm with my other informants or do you feel a change of hear coming on?"
Damien regards Shepard with a very cold look, but underneath he is enjoying watching this man squirm.

Strangely instead of fear, an indignant hatred came over him. It was not himslef talking but years of brainwashing propaganda that every Amerigan has been exposed to in their early years. He let out an rebellious laugh and boldly stepped forward and scowled right at Damien,

"You underestimate us. Half of those surrounding us would be dead? We own this island," he growled, "Your agents are already dead. If you're so confident that I am the one who lies, then please step outside."

Perhaps this patriotic reaction would save his life. The fear suddenly returned to his face, as he realized what he uttered. But the fear was mixed with an intense consternation.
"I said that??" he thought to himself, then swallowed, "I'm gonna die."

***
Meanwhile, Agent 17 had already procured his silenced sniper rifle (which was cleverly hidden)--cutomly designed by a private contracter over seas. He was not slowling advancing through the trees toward the village. But the rifle was not all he had. He also brough along other weapons, just in case. A UZI holstered under the awkward folds of his tribal dress, with an AMT harballer and fiber wire. There was a colt python strapped to his ankle, on his other ankle a combat knife. He was nearing the very outskirts of the village, but he would need to look about for a good vantage point.
***
AMERIGAN NATIONAL NEWS
(Borleone, Amerigo) This just in, there has been an assasination on the Chief of Police, G. D. Bradford here in Borleone by two armed gunmen. Several witnesses said this is what they saw: Two gunmen "exited a building opposite the restaurant where he was eating" and opened fire with two semi-automatic handguns. They fired across the streets 7 shots in total two of which struck the Chief. "Then both crossed the street and one shot him" directly in the head at close range. Then they entered a car and drove away.

The invetigation continues, and any more news of the crime is yet to come.
***
The private helicopter descended down toward Dalton Island.

"What is that?" asked Antonio dismayed.

"Some federal military base," answered Lorenzo.

"Aw fuck. Isn't that just peachy? We're supposed to get away from the law."

"They won't bother us. They probably got other problems. I mean they ain't the police."

"They're all just pigs in my opinion. How long do you think we have to stay here?"

"Untill the heat on us dies down."

"When is that?"

"I wish I knew."
***

Damien laughs a sound that chills the room and is not something normal men wish to hear, even Harris winces.
"Really now? Let us experiment with that shall we?"
Damien lays his finger just above his ear and speaks in a harsh, cryptic language that is one of the tongues of the Valinon military service collective known as the Argot. He then lays a small microphone on the table before Shepard.
A few second later, a reply in the same harsh tones breaks the silence in across the room.
Damien turns to Shepard, "Are there any other bits of fantasy you wish me to disprove? Because I warn you I lose my patience rather quickly, and let us say I have an active imagination."
Harris looks at Shepard with something that is almost pity and something like an older man reproving a young man for his stupidty.

Damien laughs a sound that chills the room and is not something normal men wish to hear, even Harris winces.
"Really now? Let us experiment with that shall we?"
Damien lays his finger just above his ear and speaks in a harsh, cryptic language that is one of the tongues of the Valinon military service collective known as the Argot. He then lays a small microphone on the table before Shepard.
A few second later, a reply in the same harsh tones breaks the silence in across the room.
Damien turns to Shepard, "Are there any other bits of fantasy you wish me to disprove? Because I warn you I lose my patience rather quickly, and let us say I have an active imagination."
Harris looks at Shepard with something that is almost pity and something like an older man reproving a young man for his stupidty.
This only seemed to trigger that patriotic brainwashed reaction again. And Shepherd, in a mix of anger, hate, and fear barked,
"If you are so confident, go outside."
He was no longer himself. His rationalle disintergrated and he now firmly believed in his own lie.
***

Agent 17 stealthily had ascended a tree, and looked about carefully hidden in the lower jungle canopy. Just then he noticed strange figures... But before he could re-think this peculiarity, the sound of a chopper began to sound louder and louder as it descended in the town square...

"Now what the hell is this?" he thought to himself.
***
"Just land over here," laughed Antonio, "these natives ain't gonna do anything. And the soldiers can't do anything, neither. We're in another country now."

"Just the same," answered Lorenzo, "we better be prepared," and he took out his Berreta.
***

As the sound of a chopper intensified, it could now be heard deafening, in the house. Shepherd smiled in a deluded insanity and laughed,

"I told you but... Too late! They're coming in!"

There is no trace of emotion in Damien's face except a cold fire, "Your single-mindedness is almost commendable, however, I think you have said enough."
In one swift motion, he takes out a small needle gun and fires at Shepard. A dart exits bearing a fast-acting tranqulizer designed to put its target under for at least several hours.
Harris sets at the table stone-faced. Meanwhile Damien activates his scomp-com and begins to talk with his other Nightwatch members.
"Give me a position on the incoming helicoptor, and any new persons that have entered the immediate vicinity of our observation net. Ready yourselves to act on my next command."
Damien then motions to Harris to stay where he is, away from the windows of the building. Damien meanwhile walks slowly against one wall, carefully moving to close the windows' heavy blinds while keeping his body out of their too open target area.

There is no trace of emotion in Damien's face except a cold fire, "Your single-mindedness is almost commendable, however, I think you have said enough."
In one swift motion, he takes out a small needle gun and fires at Shepard. A dart exits bearing a fast-acting tranqulizer designed to put its target under for at least several hours.
Harris sets at the table stone-faced. Meanwhile Damien activates his scomp-com and begins to talk with his other Nightwatch members.
"Give me a position on the incoming helicoptor, and any new persons that have entered the immediate vicinity of our observation net. Ready yourselves to act on my next command."
Damien then motions to Harris to stay where he is, away from the windows of the building. Damien meanwhile walks slowly against one wall, carefully moving to close the windows' heavy blinds while keeping his body out of their too open target area.

The chopper slowly hovered over the large field that was the village common. A rope ladder was unrolled down. Two figures slowly began to climb down, while the chopper maintained a more or less stable position. Villagers from several houses exited to see what was going on. Agent 17 observed this from the scope of his rifle. He also noticed that one figure had a handgun clutched in one hand. He also noticed several other figures hidden in various places--very crafty... very crafty indeed. He wondered who they were, but it didn't matter, they were not his target and now something was going down. He would not get his kill this time, he realized. Then he looked through his hidden pockets and found what he was looking for. A tiny camera. Peeling off a small piece of white paper he stuck it on a branch and positioned it so it could see almost everything. Then he left. HE had to speak to his superiors. This was too strange.
***

Lorenzo noticed that this whole event caused too much attention, but he didn't care. I mean what was the worst taht could happen. Soon they would be relaxing in this island paradise... until the heat was off. But so he thought.

***
Meanwhile, several jeeps with fully-armed Daltonese soldiers were speeding down the road, appraoching the village. Thats how Mr. Bulan got to be president in the first place. This island was nothing, but villages such as this. But then he came in with guns provided by Amerigo and killed off all resistance. Then he was 'elected' president and was slowly modernizing his capital--which was not too far from the current village.

OOC: The plot thickens. :D

The reply comes across only a few minutes later. Damien listens with great intent.
"Helicoptor appears to be unrelated to current situation with Amerigans. It seems to be someone who is in considerable trouble with President Bulan's regime. Based on situation, it seems that staying univolved would be the best course. New individual has arrived armed with variant of Amerigan sniper rifle, believed to be attached with Bulan's forces. He appears to have noticed agents 340, 57, 86, and 27. Positions 4, 8, 12, 3, and 9 remain undetected based on suspects reactions. We will keep monitoring new agents and Bulan forces. Do you want us to intervene?" Damien's field commander asks concluding the Argot tongue.
"Negative, but order 340 and 57 to ready themselves to intervene with Daltonese sniper if necessary. More than likely related to helicoptor. Stay alert for further instructions," Damien breaks the link. He then carefully moves and rolls Shepard's still form onto the floor. Then he moves into a position to cover the door, but remain out of the windows' view. Harris draws his own side arm and checks the cartrige. He nods to Damien.
They wait, listening to the thrumming of the helicoptor and to the sound of booted Daltonese soldiers on the move.

The reply comes across only a few minutes later. Damien listens with great intent.
"Helicoptor appears to be unrelated to current situation with Amerigans. It seems to be someone who is in considerable trouble with President Bulan's regime. Based on situation, it seems that staying univolved would be the best course. New individual has arrived armed with variant of Amerigan sniper rifle, believed to be attached with Bulan's forces. He appears to have noticed agents 340, 57, 86, and 27. Positions 4, 8, 12, 3, and 9 remain undetected based on suspects reactions. We will keep monitoring new agents and Bulan forces. Do you want us to intervene?" Damien's field commander asks concluding the Argot tongue.
"Negative, but order 340 and 57 to ready themselves to intervene with Daltonese sniper if necessary. More than likely related to helicoptor. Stay alert for further instructions," Damien breaks the link. He then carefully moves and rolls Shepard's still form onto the floor. Then he moves into a position to cover the door, but remain out of the windows' view. Harris draws his own side arm and checks the cartrige. He nods to Damien.
They wait, listening to the thrumming of the helicoptor and to the sound of booted Daltonese soldiers on the move.

Agent 17 to prevent quickly dove on the ground after descending the tree and into the thick underbrush. He knew the terrain well and thus knew of a swamp that was relatively close by. He crawled all the way there and then into the swamp. Into this swamp, empied a large sewage pipe directly from the facility and he knew of it well. He swam toward it through the filth, which he knew was not toxic despite its horrid appearance. He reached the pipe and swam up it until the pipe evened out and ran horizonatally. The leve of water finally allowed some breathing room and he surfaced. He could reach his yurt from here by navigating the pipes, but he did not really wish to. He heard that to prevent enterance through the pipes, they rigged half the pipe with pressure senistive explosives and to disarm and detect each and every one of them is like playing Russian Roullete if the minesweeper is a renowkned expert. But if he was anything less than that... it was suicide.

He kept a laptop there, in a secret compartmen which he forged on the side of the pipe. HE opened it and uplinked with his camera, although since he was underground, the picutre was clouded with static.

But he could still make out what was happening now.
***

The two men were down on the ground and the helicopter ascended back up. The villagers stared with wide eyes at the two strangers. Antonio thinking he had to affirm his superiority among these primatives, took out his own Berrata and fired straight at some old man, who stood there mumbling something. The bullet penetrated his skull and he collapsed lifeless onto the ground while the villagers screamed and panicked and ran into their houses. Lorenzo smacked his companion and said,
"What the hell did you do that for?"
"We can't ahve them standing around gaping at us."
"You f---ing killed him! What the hell did he do to you?"
The two continued arguing loudly in Amerigan as dreadful quiet descended upon the village. Eyes were watching them from every window.
***
The jeeps were within sight of the village. One soldier said in Daltonese, "Bunjuk! We missed their bird. You think they still here?"

"Who?" asked another.

"The Amerigans called Bulan and said unautharized people would try to land from mechanical bird on our island!"

"They may be dangerous?"

"Don't matter. We have authorization to kill if necessary!"

OOC: Seeing nothing that is particularly a threat to any of my men. I am just watching the unfolding drama. Good RP so far.

"Hear that?" asked Lorenzo suddenly.
"Jeeps..." answered Antonio. They both paused for a second and looekd at each other.
"You said they can't do anything to get us!"
"They can't... their probably coming over here to get drunk and rape some of the natives."
"The body, you idiot!"
"Fuck."
The jeeps could be seen at a distance, all loaded with armed soldiers.
"I think they're not here just to party..."
"Shit, quick we gotta hide the body."
They both picked up the body of the old man and ran deeper into the village.
"Where do we hide it?"
"I got an idea. Just throw him into a house through a window."
"Yeah and the gun too."
With that Lorenzo took out the clip from his gun and threw it through a window, which happened to be Harris's. Then both picked up the old man and hurled him inside. Then they ran.

***
"Search every house, if they went to the jungle they would already be dead," said the Daltonese officer. The jeeps stopped at the common and soldiers swarmed every which way bargining in to every house they saw.

Anne-Marie watched the man in the headdress walk away. Strange man. Too bad I could not get some information from him, but perhaps it is best that he left, she thought.

She climbed down from the tree and gathered up what little belongings she had: a rucksack with some food, and that was all. She kept her important items--a pistol and a switchblade--in a more easily accessible location on her person.

As she was about to leave, she felt something prick the back of her neck. "Ah! Moustique détestable!" she mumbled, in a language that wasn't as much Daltonese as it was French. Before she could reach back to swat at whatever was on her neck, she collapsed onto the ground, unconscious.

Mostik detab? Perhaps I am not hearing right, but that sounds not Daltish to me. Is definitely point for investigation, he thought to himself, before continuing with his plan.

Finding the pistol, he examined it carefully, recalling his long ago days the Tahar Joblissan Armed Forces. Where does this gun come from, he mused, thinking back to those days as he stripped Anne-Marie and placed her limp naked body in the vines.

This is not the body of a Daltish villager. This is a military body, excercized and condition in the fashion of such. Perhaps...

He checked for tattoos carefully or any other distinguishing marks and dispatched himself to a nearby tree, hidden, to begin his session of waiting and watching.

Waiting and watching... the hermit's life is full of this.

The agent waited quietly and then finally the signal came. He decoded the message:

'You are to inflatrate the main facility and retreave any information on the project. If possible upduct a senior member of staff for questioning.'

He put his transmitter into his pocket, he knew what he had to do. He headed back to the complex, but noticing a lot of activity around the village. The agent headed there first to check it out......

Mostik detab? Perhaps I am not hearing right, but that sounds not Daltish to me. Is definitely point for investigation, he thought to himself, before continuing with his plan.

[etc.]
OOC: Anne-Marie doesn't have a 'military body' per se but perhaps a bit more toned than a Daltonese woman, from years of manual labor.

IC:

--

Searching for tattoos or other distinguishing markings, the man would find none. She did, however, have a scar on her leg which was most likely caused by some large agricultural tool.

Later, Anne-Marie groggily opened her eyes and glanced around. Looking down and seeing that she was completely nude and entagled in vines, she screamed, "Aiieeek!! Où sont mes vêtements?! Où suis-je?! Au secours!! M'aidez!!"

OOC: I stand corrected... not that Frederico couldn't have thought so by mistake anyway, of course. He's not all-knowing and he hasn't really seen very many naked women lately. btw, would the pistol be of a sort that Frederico would be able to reasonably identify or guess the origin of, being somewhat familiar with arms in general some fifteen or twenty years ago?

Frederico watched silently from his hidden perch for a moment. Not daltish... is that... hmmmm..... He listened carefully to the woman's cries. Panicked, yes... is not Italish type, quite, maybe she is... Raevynese? Mystery grows deeper... He considered his risks. She is naked, unarmed, and panicked. Perhaps I can learn more without risking death.

With great stealth he eased out behind his tree perch.

With a great fluff of vines, he faded into her sight, speaking in ancient daltish songstyle, of daltish olden shamans, very formally.

"Who/loud and scream/(in vines) you seek\miss spirit\ill(bark)?"

He levelled a stone knife parallel to the ground and then spoke in a slightly more modern fashion, although with one of the thickest jungle accents Anne-Marie will have heard since arriving on Dalton Island.

"Do you understand me, stranger? Why do you scream?"

OOC: btw, would the pistol be of a sort that Frederico would be able to reasonably identify or guess the origin of, being somewhat familiar with arms in general some fifteen or twenty years ago?
OOC: If he knows anything about old Russian pistols, sure.

IC:

--

Anne-Marie made a panicked squeaking noise as the man faded into view. Oh, shit! He must have heard me screaming!

She calmed down slightly as he spoke and she tried to cover herself as best she could. His accent is kind of thick... but I think I got the gist of it...

"YOU!!" she screamed in Daltonese. "Did you do this?! What did you do to me?! I will butcher you and feed you to the wild beasts!!" By now she had completely dropped her false accent, speaking now in an 'angry shouting Russian' tone.

OOC: Yah, that would be one kind he'd be familiar with. Tahar Joblissan army guys get to play with some clunky old toys most of the time...

IC:
"Silly(bark) child/woman (in vines) head\struck nap\spirits..." He said this half to himself and half towards the canopy shrouded sky before addressing her in his thick jungle accented daltish.

"Silly woman," he said, pointing to jagged scars across the left side of his face with his empty hand, "I have fed myself to the beasts of the jungle many monsoons past. I take by words from your mouth that you claim not to have lain yourself into the vines to mate with them - which would you a fool make - but have been tricked by spirits. They come out again after spirit hunter passes."

He eyed the vine-entangled woman with evident curiousity.

"Perhaps he missed you. Vine-spirits sometimes come woman-shaped." He passed his stone knife to the other hand and pulled out a small sac that looked much like a frog, puffing reddish-brown powder into the air and staring at her coldly.

A NightWatch man listens from the cover of a carefulyl construct hole dig in the ground. He listens intently to the the arguement between the women one of the agents moving into the town earlier reported. With reduced numbers from the move to a focus on the city, the Nightwatch squad still in the jungle fringes has become increasingly cautious. Moving nearly constantly and avoiding the patrols of the Daltonese "soldiers." But this women needed to be observed, and it had been decided that one agent should stay there at all times to keep an eye on her movements. And now a man had appeared that matched the descriptions in Harris' reports that had been forwarded from base ops.
The agent curses at himself for not planting more audio pick ups as the pair move out of the range. He tries to adjust the sensitivity from the small comp-pad, hoping to catch the end result of the corned "Daltonese" woman and this "trader."

"Please," Anne-Marie begged, "set me free! Are you going to stand there babbling on about crazy superstitions or are you going to help me?!" The woman struggled to release herself from the vines; she would gladly give her left foot to have her knife right now, and her entire leg for some clothes.

Oh, Father of God! The way he looks at me! These foreigners are all the same! Why could they not send a man to do this instead of me! she wondered, now on the verge of tears.

Several Daltonese soldiers banged on Harris' door. Others had already hurled entire families outside and were searching each house carefully. (OOC: There is an old man and Shepherd still on you floor Valinon:!:)
Lorenzo and Antonio did not truly know where to go nor what to do as they observed the violent actions of the soldiers. So they broke open a door of a house closest to them at this moment. Seeing only a woman and several children inside, Lorenzo in his best (ie. bad) Daltonese said,
"Shh! Do not talk loud, if you give us out, we kill." But he seemed to get his meaning across they overturned a wooden table facing the door took out their arsenal of weapons and ammunition and waited for the soldier to come in.

OOC: May I ask where the old man comes from? I don't remember an old man...... Damned evil spirts! Killing someone I didn't want you to! BACK! BACK SIMBA! *cracks whip* *holds wooden chair menancingly*

Harris looks up as the banging rattles the door on his frame. He moves quickly, motioning to Damien, who moves to the couch and grabs a bottle offered to him by Harris. The bottle smells strongly of some vile and cheap liquor. Meanwhile the ESS major props Shepard up in his chair, with a half empty-glass of the stuff in his hand, pouring the rest of the glass to set in the burning smell. He then picks up a glass himself and answers in what sounds exactly like a drunken slur.
"Wha' is it? Who....there?"

...
"Shit, quick we gotta hide the body."
They both picked up the body of the old man and ran deeper into the village.
"Where do we hide it?"
"I got an idea. Just throw him into a house through a window."
"Yeah and the gun too."
With that Lorenzo took out the clip from his gun and threw it through a window, which happened to be Harris's. Then both picked up the old man and hurled him inside. Then they ran.


OOC: And he splattered blood about naturally being hurled through the window and all...

"Please," Anne-Marie begged, "set me free! Are you going to stand there babbling on about crazy superstitions or are you going to help me?!" The woman struggled to release herself from the vines; she would gladly give her left foot to have her knife right now, and her entire leg for some clothes.

Oh, Father of God! The way he looks at me! These foreigners are all the same! Why could they not send a man to do this instead of me! she wondered, now on the verge of tears.

Frederico gaped a moment. She can't even get herself out of fresh grown vines? Perhaps I've misjudged her. Maybe she is a particularly inept anthropologist.

"Hold still." His tone left no questions to be asked. He waved the stone knife around in a haphazard fashion, quickly enough to lose the eye and frighten anyone in their right mind. When he was done, a tiny x in blood rested just under her belly button, and the tendrils had been loosed.

Oh dear. How on earth did she manage to get herself that entangled waking up, I'll never know. Some people have no talent for the jungle.

He darted the tip of the knife to his tongue and then spat, proffering his hand to her to help her stand.

"You are indeed not vine-spirit. So are you doing out alone in the jungle with spirits loose?" He looked her squarely in the eyes.

Anne-Marie smacked away the man's hand, instead choosing to sit up on her own. Ignoring the man's question, she screamed, "My clothes!! Where are my clothes?! Bring me my clothes!!" Breaking down into pitiful sobs, she continued, "I am j-j-just a fragile y-yo-young woman! I-I am so scared! I-I just w-w-want t-to go h... h... HOME!!" She buried her face in her hands and began bawling.

Unlike just moments ago, her shrieking was no longer fear and she was instead putting up a clever facade. Now that her initial panic was over and the daze from the tranquilizer was wearing off, she had the state of mind to think about what was going on.

Appear as a frightened young woman... she mused, and then BAM! I snap his neck. But... I wish I were not nude...

He calmly looked her in the eyes. She is either a very good actor or a complete blithering idiot.

"And where, girl, is your home, and what brings you to the jungle alone in spirit-infested paths?"

He patiently stood there, looking her squarely in the eyes, waiting for the hysteria to pass. A jungle hermit's life is all waiting. Perhaps I should just leave and see what she makes of her new situation for a bit. She screams too much. By now the whole jungle has heard her.

Frederico calmly reflected to himself with the patience of a man who has spent a week watching a sloth move about.

Still in an Amerigo uniform, the agent hid in some bushes and spied on the village. He noticed that people were out in the streets and soldiers run in and out of houses. It was clear that there was a search going on, but for what he did not know. He lifted himself to his feet and slung his rifle over his shoulder. Then he headed back to the complex to see what he could find out.

Still weeping, Anne-Marie grabbed Frederico by the shoulders and screamed, "I don't know! I-I'm so scared and-and-and conf-confused!! PLEASE get me s-so-some clo-clothes!"

God, I do not know how much longer I can keep this up. Any man in his right mind would have slapped me or something by now.

Still weeping, Anne-Marie grabbed Frederico by the shoulders and screamed, "I don't know! I-I'm so scared and-and-and conf-confused!! PLEASE get me s-so-some clo-clothes!"

God, I do not know how much longer I can keep this up. Any man in his right mind would have slapped me or something by now.

The jungle hermit waited calmly, sliding her hands off his shoulders, raising his eyebrows, and staring her calmly in the eyes, waiting patiently for the hysteria to pass. Time solves many problems.

Without breaking eye contact, he pulled a small sphere from a pouch. And waited.

Dammit. I am sick of this! Oh well, time to act, Anne-Marie thought. She had hoped to avoid confrontation, but she was left with little choice.

Anne-Marie reached up with her hand, as if to touch his cheek, but her actual intent was to give him a good punch in the face. Were she to succeed in catching him off guard but not in knocking him out completely, she would continue to give him a good thrashing until she had finished the job.

OOC: Ah, I see thanks for clearing that up Amerigo. Well continue on with the door knocking. Harris is going to try and bluff his way through it. After all, it will be easy to tell that the body came "in" the window. And usually people that committed murder don't keep the body there.

Not waiting for the people occupying the door to react, the Daltonese soldiers kicked down the door. AK-47's in hand. Five of them quickly ran in and in a few seconds, each barrel of each automatic weapon was pointing at one of the two men. The seargant barked orders,
"Get down on the ground. Now! Now! Now! What is this?" he pointed at the body then before the two could form any reply, one of the more overambitious soldiers jammed the butt of his rifle sharply into Harris's stomach and then bashed his face flatly with it in one smooth action. Then the seargant ordered the overzealous soldier to stop in a quick hand singal, the soldier once again was pointing his rifle at the bloodied face of Harris.

OOC: These Daltonese soldier are like Nazis searching for jews, basically. Only in fatigues instead of grey uniforms. They tend to be brutal.

Dammit. I am sick of this! Oh well, time to act, Anne-Marie thought. She had hoped to avoid confrontation, but she was left with little choice.

Anne-Marie reached up with her hand, as if to touch his cheek, but her actual intent was to give him a good punch in the face. Were she to succeed in catching him off guard but not in knocking him out completely, she would continue to give him a good thrashing until she had finished the job.

Not entirely suprised physically, Frederico rolled backwards with the punch, tumbling backwards to the underbrush with the grace of a drunk marionette. He was slightly startled to see the transition from hysteria to clear intent to maim, but being startled helped him stay loose enough to roll with the punch.

If that's an anthropologist, I'll eat my hat. And I like my hat.

"Crazy raebonu girl," he said through a split lip, shaking his head as he sidled further away from her, stone knife in a low en garde in his left hand.

He spat, thinking about the unfamiliar russian paperweight in one of his pouches. This one is trouble. Yup, yup, trouble.

OOC: I expected as much, could you give me an exact number to work with for all the ones in the building?

Harris, blood spilling from his nose, has the impression of someone trying desperately to drag himself back to coherence.
"Wha'? Wha' is what?" Harris looks glaze-eyed at the old man. Then to the window.
".....Fell? How sh'ld I know?" and he falls back against the wall. "Wha's with all the 'coptors any way? Too damn'd loud 'ere," with that he looks at his now spilt glass.

Five of them quickly ran in and in a few seconds, each barrel of each automatic weapon was pointing at one of the two men.

OOC: How long does that tranquilizer last... It would be quite interesting if Shepherd should come back to consiousness :wink:

Datlonese seargant stood there for a second. Then came up to Damien and grabbed him by the shirt and barked at him,

"Who are you? What is your business here? Who are they?"

One soldier kicked Shepherd who in response grunted softly. One of the soldiers began looking through compartments and containers in search of any valueables. The seargant turned a blind eye to this looting and instead conscentrating on wrenching information from these three "drunkards".

Not entirely suprised physically, Frederico rolled backwards with the punch, tumbling backwards to the underbrush with the grace of a drunk marionette. He was slightly startled to see the transition from hysteria to clear intent to maim, but being startled helped him stay loose enough to roll with the punch.

If that's an anthropologist, I'll eat my hat. And I like my hat.

"Crazy raebonu girl," he said through a split lip, shaking his head as he sidled further away from her, stone knife in a low en garde in his left hand.

He spat, thinking about the unfamiliar russian paperweight in one of his pouches. This one is trouble. Yup, yup, trouble.
Anne-Marie took a brawling stance, despite the fact that she had neither weapons nor clothes. Glancing around for something which could possibly be in some way used as a weapon. Seeing a respectably-sized, sharp-looking rock a few feet away, she dove for it and rolled into the underbrush.

If he just had that knife, she thought, I could probably take him... but he probably has my gun, too. This might be difficult.

Anne-Marie took a brawling stance, despite the fact that she had neither weapons nor clothes. Glancing around for something which could possibly be in some way used as a weapon. Seeing a respectably-sized, sharp-looking rock a few feet away, she dove for it and rolled into the underbrush.

If he just had that knife, she thought, I could probably take him... but he probably has my gun, too. This might be difficult.

Oh, good, he thought, she's not looking at me.

He bolted deeper into the jungle immediately while she lunged for the rock, and began working on the problem of what to do with this Raevynese devil.

Even if she hadn't confirmed his assumption yet with words, she hadn't exactly denied being raebonu, and it seemed reasonable for the moment to keep with that conclusion. He nimbly skirted around some thorny vines with a note to check if they were ripe later, when he wasn't being chased.

Wonder if I can lose her for the moment, or if she's a complete homicidal maniac... He hazarded a glance over his shoulder.

Five of them quickly ran in and in a few seconds, each barrel of each automatic weapon was pointing at one of the two men.

OOC: How long does that tranquilizer last... It would be quite interesting if Shepherd should come back to consiousness :wink:

Datlonese seargant stood there for a second. Then came up to Damien and grabbed him by the shirt and barked at him,

"Who are you? What is your business here? Who are they?"

One soldier kicked Shepherd who in response grunted softly. One of the soldiers began looking through compartments and containers in search of any valueables. The seargant turned a blind eye to this looting and instead conscentrating on wrenching information from these three "drunkards".

OOC: I was wondering if there were any others beside the five now, but thanks. And Shepard is out for the foreseeable future. Unless the Daltonese are goinging to hang around for a considerable amount of time. As for the search most of what you find is Daltonese goods, convenience or trinkets that might be found quaint or amusing on the world market.

Damien seethes internally at what he must do, he plays the role of a man with a hangover.
"What you mean? Never been to a company Christmas party? Thought this was sup'sed to be a private party. He reaches to the table by the couch and picks up a few slips of moderate denomination currency.
"Here take this, I'm tryin' to sleep here."

The seargant looked at him sternly, then bashed his face with the butt of his own rifle,

"You try and bribe me?" he demanded, all the while taking the money and pocketing it. "How this old man get here, then, smart guy? Get out all of you! Out! Out!" he yelled while three more soldiers joined in in this looti... er "search".

They threw Shepherd outside... and the other two were roughly pushed out by the infantry.

Anne-marie slowly crawled from her hiding place and looked around. Nothing. He is gone? Good.

She rose to her feet and brushed the dirt and leaves off of herself. Now I must find my clothes, she thought, beginning her search for her garments. I sure hope my gun is still there... otherwise, I do not know what I will do!