NationStates Jolt Archive

She was sat cross legged in a white room wearing a white dress, the sweet little girl with the appearance of a six year old, long brown locks matched big round eyes of hazel, sparkling in the stark fluorescent light. The sweet smile that was took so fondly to Teresa’s face told of innocence and naivety. Why such a darling little girl would be imprisoned beneath five hundred feet of cold hard rock and guarded by no less than fifty Ordos Fedor, why such precautions needed to be taken would be a mystery to anyone who had not been involved in the process of making her.

“Well number fourteen, how’s your day been?” Said the kneeling man, adjusting his spectacles, dressed in the whites of a science lab and a welcoming smile accompanied the condescending tone. Teresa wasn’t the little girl’s “real” name, she didn’t have an official name, she had a number but she assumed that everyone had to have a name and thus, Teresa was a fitting name from what she’d gathered from the outside world with her visions and her mental probing.

Returning the humble expression, she struggled to get her voice accustomed to the tone that only weeks before had felt so natural to her, coughing with false meekness, she pondered what to say to the man. It was quite amusing to the little girl, they thought they could use her, probe her for the information they wanted and then leave her. They were wrong and they would be taught a lesson, but for now, she’d play along. Then she found her tone.

”Why, my day has been lovely, how has yours been Doctor Tanner?” The sweetness of the little girl was intoxicating and the wide brown eyes didn’t betray any thoughts beyond her age. Twisting his lips into an amiable expression of patience and understanding for the “child”, he wondered how long it would be until she was mature enough for them to able to forego this pointless ritual.

”That’s grand, but, have you had any more visions? Have you seen anything interesting in the land of dreams?” When he referred to the land of dreams, he referred to Hogsweat and when he meant interesting, he meant military bases. This, the girl knew but she played along with the charade, fully aware that they cared not for her visions or the land of dreams but only of ways to destroy it. They were so war hungry, why, Teresa couldn’t comprehend.

“No…I haven’t had any more visions since the last time, it was scary last time!” At this, the little girl broke down into tears, not completely fabricated either, the intense pain that came with the visions wasn’t welcome and merely summoning the memories of it made Teresa’s eyes water, the echoes of the agonizing affair could still be felt behind her sweet deep eyes.

“Of course, of course fourteen.” A brief flare of rage rushed through the little girl, she hated being called a number, didn’t they think she warranted a name? The audacity of them, the blind ones, bound by physical sight to think they had the right to a name and she did not. The drugs they kept her on were weakening in their purpose and as she grew more and more aware of the violent tendencies of the nation that created her, the harder she found it to appear docile as she had done without trying when the drugs had their full potency. She was tired of trying to be less than what she was, it was about time they realized they didn’t trifle with a mere child.

“My name, is not number fourteen.” She glowered, her brow darkening at the man who’s face took on a false look of content, she could smell the ill ease on him. And he had the nerve to make her out as the lesser of the two.

“Excuse me? If number fourteen is not your name, then, what is?” Worry painted the features of Tanner, sweat beaded the brow of the man who only moments ago was so confident of his position with the small child, her pale face, once the epitome of all things sweet and kind was now a mask of anger. Standing up, he began to back towards the door and rapped on the door. No answer. He rapped again and with more fury, panic mounting within him, the little girl, now grinning evilly and showing a set of gleaming little teeth in the process. He only needed to get to the other side of the magnetically locked steel door, to the Ordos Fedor, they were loyal and they would see him safe.

“My name, Doctor Tanner, is Teresa.” The mighty door abruptly opened, Tanner falling flat on his back, looking up into the twin red orbs of the VEPR suit the Ordos Fedor were clad in. The suit had numerous features but the most notable of all was the strength enhancing system that allowed an otherwise weak man to lift and toss a car. Terror roared up and down the nerves of the doctor, stark fright filling his eyes as the looming figure of the soldier lifted his arm back and then punched down through the sterile air towards Doctor Tanners head. A scream could be heard echoing throughout the facility.

Teresa didn’t even wince as the man’s – her warden’s – head exploded like a ripe melon, fragments of skull and brain matter flecked the grey concrete outside and the clean white inside her room, her cell. Standing on unsteady legs, she began to walk towards the Ordos Fedor: her new guardians. Picking her way over the headless corpse, she looked to her newfound servants and pondered what to do next, as the tromp of boots grew nearer and the grating whine of klaxons rang in the distance.

What to do next?

Teresa smiled as the first of the soldiers rounded the corner, immediately taking aim at the little girl, some of them cursing as they saw the bloodied mess that was once the head of Doctor Tanner, there was exactly eight of them, that much Teresa could tell from their minds. The group was closely linked but very professional, she expected that from the Ordos Fedor, still, she’d not have much trouble seeing that these temporary impediments were removed.

She just stood there, looking frightened and helpless, then, without warning, one of the Ordos Fedor turned to his nearest comrade and shot him in the face, the crack of armour could be heard as a crimson jet erupted from the rear of the unfortunate soldier’s head, he slumped to his knees and to the floor, blood still forming a primal fountain. The men screamed and turned on the shell that was once their friend.

“Holy shit, she’s in his head! Take him down!” Pivoting, the squad shredded the poor man who was guilty of nothing more than being a pawn in the little girl’s dash for freedom, his body went into a series of spasms on the way down to the floor, incarnadine life fluids leaking from the same suit that was meant to keep them in his body. When the squad turned, the sweet little hellion was gone.

Bang

The Arbiter, the sergeant equivalent, had pulled out his sidearm shot in the head one of the Ordos Fedor, then, a flick of the arm and yet another soldier was missing the back of his head, curses came and the sergeant was put down by the rattle of rifle fire. Only four left, they kept eyes on one another. Tension that one could taste in the air smothered them in its oppressive presence, then, another of the soldiers went insane and after a brief exchange of gunfire, only two soldiers were left. Staring at each other with, hunched over assault rifles, staring down the iron sights at each other despite all they’d been through together. Then, without warning, the head of one exploded. There was no other way to put it, it simply blew up without a reason.

Only one soldier left, he felt something…move into him, a presence and then a shuddering, suddenly, his limbs moved not of his own accord, his eyes darted to and fro, once more, not at his whim. Then, he turned and from the shadows emerged the puppeteer. Attractive locks falling down to slender, pale shoulders hidden under a spotless white dress.

”Now my pets, let’s make this base clean of bad men.”

-----

Hours later, in the dark halls of the Ministry of Love paced a pair who talked only of business.

“What do you mean we lost contact with the base in charge of project: ‘iron grid’?” Henry was enraged, as one of the lead oligarchs he was kept up to date on everything that happened within the Collective Oligarchy, but in this case, he wished he didn’t have the burden of dealing with this most troublesome issue.

“I’m sorry sir, it’s just that we lost contact, I didn’t want to do anything without consulting you first comrade.” The weedy advisor shied away from the less than happy oligarch, whose face was a passionate shade of scarlet.

“Well, you know what to do. Get it done.”

”Yes sir…”

This is awesome. but I want to know why the last dream was so scary :P still, I'm watching this thread >_>

OCC: Ditto, foul psycho/pshychic children...

OoC: Thanks, the fact that someone is actually reading this gave me the incentive to write the next part.

The air was cold and the sun only gave half-hearted rays, not bothering to warm the chilled soldiers inside the drab olive truck, fields whizzed by and the distant cry of Kriegos live-stock was absent from this hilly area. Not a tree for miles dared cluster the single paved road, leading to the mountain base that house the Iron Grid project. It was originally conceived as a way to keep an eye on allies and foes without the obvious sight of a satellite hovering overhead, the project started off with ill omens, the first thirteen subjects were complete failures, either physically handicapped or mentally impaired; or just not able to do their job. However, the government was most persistent in this endeavour, caring not of the morality or the perspective “evil”, they cared not of the poor children, pumped full of drugs and…changed. There was resistance to Iron Grid in the oligarchy’s ruling class but the joint efforts of Mustapha Krin and Henry Foster ensured that the project got off the ground and stayed off the ground: now the poor footsloggers had to go in and clean up the mess the oligarchs insisted on creating in the first place.

“Sarge, is it true what the brass is sayin’? Summat about a lil’ girl what gets in your ‘ead?” Private Jameson was, as usual, ensuring that the rest of the squad was spooked enough to dampen morale – it’s not hard to see why Jameson was still a private. Sarge, on the other hand, was the one who had to clean up after Jameson’s morale shattering half-questions, but today, Sergeant Hake was silent, his eyes examining his brown leather shoes, fashioned in the manner of the old British army.

“Shut it Jammy.” The sole reply from Corporal Henderson conveyed the feeling of the whole squad, none of them looked forward to this mission; it was outright unnatural. Little girls and psychic powers – it was evil without a doubt; something not meant to be but forced into the world but the hands of men toying with nature.

After Henderson’s curt dismissal of the poor man, the road flashed by and before he knew it, a mountain rose from the horizon, minutes more and the distant speck was a looming tower of hard rock. The truck came to an abrupt stop, the engine dying and the heated bonnet was soon as cold as the swirling winds. Dismounting from the truck, the two checkpoints outside the blast doors outside the blast doors told the men an altogether unpleasant story, footprints led from one of the small concrete buildings to the other, where a large splatter of brain matter and flecks of skull painted the bullet proof glass a shade of scarlet.

”By Fedor…what on the earth happened?” No one rushed to relieve the sergeant of his question, no survivor hidden behind some rocks realized the soldiers were friendly and came out to inform them of the situation; just the cold howl of the wind and the darkening spire of rock bearing down on the blast doors. A soldier moved round and inspected the bloodied hut, turning away at the poor corpse inside, the back of his head was missing, as if he didn’t bother turn his back to see a friend walk in. Obviously, a very costly mistake.

“Well lads, we’d best get inside, Henderson, the door.” The sergeant did his best to hide the doubts that plagued his resolve, after all, his men looked up to him for support. Fear was already rank with the squad and Hake wouldn’t see that infection turn into a plague.

“Yessir.” Henderson was already on his way to the mighty steel blast doors, the Kriegos seal (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v227/Kriegorgrad/seal.jpg) was stamped onto the cold barrier, five inches of cold hard steel ensured that the squad were going to have a hard time getting in if the doors didn’t open willingly. Thankfully, a chime cast away the difficult alternative, they opened slowly, the sound of magnetic locks and bolts being moved about inside the door was clearly audible and then, it opened with a groan to show about five feet of concrete corridor - pipes lining the walls and idle lights overhead – before it gave way to shadow.

Advancing cautiously into the shadows, Hake clicked on the flashlight awkwardly attached to his Enfield rifle and his wary eyes noted the bullet holes in the walls and the occasional spatter of blood that adorned the bands of colour that must’ve been a navigational aid to the scientists and soldiers working at the facility, why they’d need a navigational aid down fifteen feet to an elevator, Hake couldn’t help but guess. The click on concrete informed the sergeant that his men were following his lead, that was a relief to the commanding officer; if Hake was a private, he wouldn’t follow his sergeant into such a foreboding place.

“Sarge, will that lift work?” Said Jameson, not out of ill content but out of genuinely helpful curiosity, Hake couldn’t really tell, he was no technician or engineer.

“I don’t know, will it Henderson?” The sergeant’s query caught the squad’s engineer off guard, the addressed man took a moment to ponder the question and then called back, echoing in the empty corridor, a flat and simple answer that spoke volumes.

”Probably.” The squad didn’t like talk like that, when the bank of knowledge known as Henderson failed to produce an adequate answer, the soldiers were left with a lingering sense of ill-ease.

Moving up, one hand keeping the Enfield – and its flashlight – up and pointing at the elevator panel and the other hand was busy with its digits, pushing random buttons in the vague hope of a result.

“No sir, like this.” Pressing one of the least impressive pads, Henderson stepped back and took no heed of the doubt that painted Hake’s features. “Trust me sarge.” They waited, seconds stretched into minutes. Another chime brought the squad mates’ heads up, to see the elevator open with a hiss, red emergency lighting bathed the squad in hellish rays, ironically reminiscent of the events that had transpired three days earlier.

“Well then, shall we?” Hake was the first, followed by Henderson and then Jameson…then the nine other soldiers. Twelve fully equipped troopers packed into a service lift was only tolerable because of the intolerable cold, their blood threatened to turn to ice from the bone gnawing chill that seeped from the walls that the elevator rushed by. After what seemed an eternity, the lift came to a halt and the soldiers gladly exited the cramped contraption, taking in a deep breath, the air tasted almost metallic to the sergeant.

As Hake cocked his rifle, he noted one alarming thing about the air: it tasted of blood.

OOC: Cool - I like psycho pyschics, and add in an underground base like Half-Life...I like it!

Good work, Krieg!

OoC: Thanks Skinny; the next chapter is coming soon. As to why the dream was scary, you'll have to wait and see...(I don't know yet!)

OOC: I have an urge to invade you and try to kill this monster, I know I'd fail, but I just got this urge....so...good job. BTW, how did "Blood" go?

OoC: Blood faltered actually, I might rewrite as it just being me, the prospect didn't like having other RPers in it. I might call for help soon, to take down Teresa, something the government is having a tough time doing.

The squad was breathing heavily, sucking in stagnant air and the traces of blood due to the ventilation failing. Hake was the first to advance, flashlight weighing down the rifle barrel would’ve hindered more delicate soldiers but the sergeant was a man of the factories, hauling masses of steel to and fro since the age of twelve, despite the added difficulty of manoeuvring the Enfield, the flashlight added greatly to visibility, harsh rays of white light piercing the inky gloom and revealing the portrait of chaos previously concealed by shadow. Hake soon wished he had never turned the flashlight on, he wished that he never opened those vault doors to enter the base, he wished he never accepted the mission.

Before the squad was an illustration of chaos, obviously drawn and shaded by a truly deranged mind: one Ordos Fedor was sitting next to a wall on the cold concrete, gun in his own mouth and the crown of his skull absent, scientists lay about with white coats painted in their own bodily fluids, sternums open to the examination of the probing flashlights, organs decaying slowly but surely and the liquids contained within formed a pool in the open gut. Other unfortunates were about in similar states of decay and misfortune. At least two of the Guardsmen, once getting clear of the elevator, bent over and vomited, loudly, adding yet another stink to the menagerie of foul stenches.

“Okay…squad, we got us a job to do…we need to get the power online.” Hake gulped after his fearful orders, he himself frightened at what may lay further into the facility but feeling duty bound to get his orders done nonetheless. They moved into the facility cautiously, flashlights occasionally leaving the endless bloodied corpses to the shadows when looking at the bloodstained bands of colour that guided the soldiers to the power generators of the subterranean base.

Eventually, and surprisingly without incident, they found it, it was a rather large room but most of it was obscured by the numerous pipes and machines that made up the generator, numerous flashlights scanning the device, peeling back the thick layer of darkness from the electricity generating contraption, revealing a rather large and stained switch. Hake looked about the squad for protest, from which there was none: no one was eager to stay in perpetual darkness. Breathing in, Hake put his hand on the switch and pulled it down, a series of clicks and the whine of turbines announced the generator had succeeded in its purpose, moments later, fluorescent lighting flickered and came into existence, weary tubes of light put back to work after three days of rest.

“Now, we’re going to split up into teams and search this facility top-to-bottom-“ Hake stopped, his eyes filled with fear at the abominable figure in the doorway, something truly evil: a little girl in a white dress. “Get down! Now!” Hake screamed at the child, who promptly started crying.

”Leave her sarge.” The Spartan words from Jameson spoke volumes, worry was the predominant stench in their ranks now that the enemy had presented itself and that Jammy was acting strangely. He knew the briefing full well and he knew of its tricks, despite that, he defended it? Henderson raised his Enfield and kept it aimed at his former comrade Jameson, barrel wavering now and again as his heart hammered in his chest.

“What are you on about comrade? You’ve ‘eard the briefing!” Hake queried, fearfully, Jameson gave no response, his eyes glazed over, he raised his Sten gun and unleashed a burst into Hake’s gut, the sergeant fell back with a scream and the confined room became the moving portrait of chaos in the making, screams rapidly rang out as Private Jameson was ripped apart from Guardsmen weapons fire, puffs of blood erupting from his body as he convulsed and fell. This was only the precursor of hell though, the little girl was absent once more and silence reigned, save for the heavy breathing and a distant shuffle…

-----

Teresa smiled as she saw the “corpses” rise up, regardless of ailments and injuries they moved, though only at her behest. She did so enjoy making things move manually and it would be a fitting end to those who sought to end her freedom. The shuffling movement of the dead became an outright run, the fact that some were missing legs didn’t hinder them in the least, potent energies keeping them afloat regardless. It truly did result in a miniature army capable of being destroyed of nothing short of explosives, a severe difficulty for the Kriegos Proletarian Guard.

The screams of those sent by her oppressors brought glee to her little face, she knew that no matter how much they shot her puppets, they wouldn’t die – they weren’t alive in the first place, it was akin to shooting a man made of rocks. They didn’t move at their own behest, they moved because she wanted them to. Her smile still stayed glued to her face when the screams died down. Sighing, she began to walk towards the doorway, the heavy breathing of a wounded soldier alerted her that not all of them were dead, her puppets had done as she asked.

Teresa looked down at the man, she felt a distant pang of compassion for the soldier, bullets buried within his gut from his own comrade, she wondered if his mind would still be intact enough for use. Lids heavy on the man, he looked as if he were about fall into a deep sleep from which he wouldn’t return, a slumber which would ensure he would get final peace from his arduous life as a soldier. The man looked up, groggily and fearfully at the little girl, despite her diminutive height, she towered over the soldier leaning on the wall, his hand to his gut, nursing the bloodied wound.

Sighing, she placed her hand on his head and instantly learnt everything she could know about the man, he was called Edward Hake, a sergeant in the Proletarian Guard and once a factory worker who made weapons, like most of the Kriegos working class. Pulling her hand back, the man sagged, his breathing stopped and he was released from his cage of meat and bone and given to the winds of fate. Teresa was intensely inquisitive about the outside world and now that the soldiers who’d come in to disable her had left the vault doors open, something Teresa had had great difficulty in trying to open, she felt hope and merriment build up in her.

She was so close to true freedom, so close to the outside world…

OOC: uh oh. BTW, I'm confused, in the near middle of your post:
Sorry, just got all my RP's freed up. When you said you wouldn't mind having an RP with me sometime, was that sincere or just politeness? Just curious as I'm a bit stuck for RP's as I speak, so the invitation is open.

By the way, congratulations on becoming a mod, please don't become an NS snob like so many of your forerunners though, the reason people like you so much is that you're an RPer of the poeple, not someone who looks down their nose at someone just because they frequent a different forum.
Whats that all about?

OoC: Oh sorry about that, t'was a telegram to Euroslavia.