NationStates Jolt Archive

Dr. Peligrad leaned back at his control desk.

"Is everything ready?"

"Yes sir."

"Very well, fill the cylinders."

The technition in the biosafety level 4 laboratory picked up a large 500 mL beaker. He then moved gingerly to a briefcase lined with computer parts, and picked up a small aluminum cylinder, closed on one end with threading on the other, approximately 6 inches long and 1 inch in diameter, and placed it in a holder keeping it upright. Into this he poured the contents of the beaker.

"Now place the charge."

The tech picked up a small metallic cylinder, this one solid, from the briefcase, connected to the computers via a heavily shielded wire. This was threaded on one side, and the tech screwed it onto the larger cylinder. He looked up through the clear plastic enclosure of his suit, nodding at Peligrad, who was observing from his desk above the lab.

"Device ready, Dr. Peligrad."
"Thank you, Mr. Grey. Now seal it." The look on Peligrad's face grew more and more sinister every second. His eyes were twitching furiuosly, and the finite movements of his face grew more and more exagurated *spelling?*.

Grey lowered the top to the leather-bound briefcase, and looked up, as if seeking approval. Peligrad nodded, and the top was closed and locked. Around the edges and seams, Grey poured epoxy and resin, forever sealing the deadly contents of the briefcase.

"Bring it out of there, and clean up, Mr. Grey. Then you are free to go."

Grey picked up the briefcase, and placed in a chute, pressed a button next to it, raising the briefcase out of his sight. He turned to his left to pick up the beaker, but the air-hose to his suit caught on a cabinet that was left ajar, peeling the seal between the plastic suit and the metal hose-nipple.

HISSSSSSS!!!!

Grey's suit depressurized. He turned around, realizing what had happened, then looked up at Peligrad, who was still watching him from above.

"HELP ME!!! PLEASE," he screamed, "YOU HAVE THE SERUM!!! GIVE IT TO ME!!!!"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Grey, it is a matter of national security that no one is given the anti-dote until after the plan is carried out. Until then, I am afraid you will have to die. If you would like to die quickly, there is a pistol being lowered to you now. If you choose not to kill yourself...well...I wouldn't recommend that."

"Dr. Peligrad, here is the case," an MP escorted by two other armed guards and carrying the briefcase, said.

"Thank you. Bring it here." Peligrad took the case from the MP, and placed it in the safe behind a painting behind his desk. "Now we wait"

BANG!!!!!!

[tag] this may actually turn into a good RP, despite the title.

ditto! *tag, you're it!*

OOC: This post was planned.

IC:
The man leaned against the helicopter side, waiting on the surface. He took a drag from his cigarette and then threw it aside. The reports from Intel weren't good. N00bz was at it again, pursueing their WMD. He glanced at the setting sun. Three agents, dead. The project data was unrecovered. What is this Project Third Horseman? He flipped out his cell phone. Whatever it is, it must be stopped. "Team Two, mission is go." He closed the phone, stepped back into the Nighthawk. He motioned to the pilot, "Let's roll." he sat down. It has begun. Can it be stopped?

A black van screeched to a halt, blocking Jones McFarlen's exit to the alley he called home. Two men, dressed in black jeans and black leather jackets, exited the slidding side door of the van, and ran toward McFarlen.

"Get him!"

In his drunken, or hungover (he couldn't be sure) stupor, Jones stood and watched the men as they closed on him. The man on the the left had a cloth bag in his hand.

WHACK!!

The man on the right tackled Jones, knocking him on his back. Jones struggled, but couldn't fend off the attack by the two muscular men. The man with the bag thrust it over his head. Jones felt the sting of a hypodermic needle on his arm, and quickly passed out.

"Ok, we have him, let's get out of here." The two dragged the limp body into the van, and slammed the door shut.

SCREECH!!!!!

His N00bz ID said his name was "Jeff Timors", but that was a lie. Supposedly, he was a social worker, a philanthropist. But what social worker worker held degrees in psychology and had spent years in the Corps. He walked down the alley, amid the homeless and the vagabonds. "Hey, Willie." he declared to the bum half buried in the trash dumpster, digging for dinner.

Willie popped out of the trash can. "Hey, Mr. Timors!" the slightly drunken man declared. "Hows ya doin' taday?"

"Pretty good, Willie. You?"

Willie looked around. "Not good, Mista Timors." he whispered, paranoid. "Jones went away. He missed our checkers game. He never misses a checkers game..."

Timors nodded. Probably just too drunk. "It's probably nothing."

Willie shook his head. "He's not the only! Red, Bryce, Greenie, Marge... all of 'em... gone!" the crazy older bum looked around. "I shouldn't talk. I need dinna." he dived back into the dumpster. "See ya, Mr. Timors."

Timors sighed and kept walking. Most agents get seeded into the upper class. I get the bums.

Jones came to laying on a steel bed. There were doctors in bulky plastic suits with hoses coming out of them all around him. One was preparing a needle.

"NO DAMMIT NO!!! KEEP THAT AWAY FROM ME!!!!" Jones struggled, but could move nowhere. He was strapped down.

The doctor with the needle moved towards him, and stabbed him in the arm with it.

BEEP...BEEP...BEEP...

Immedietly he felt woozy. His vision began to blur, and eyes started watering. The arm where he the first injection was placed began to throb visciously. He looked down at the wrists where he was tied down. They were bruising severely, getting blacker by the second. His skin itched.

[1 hour later]
BEEP..BEEP..BEEP..BEEP..BEEP......

His heart started pounding. His gag reflex started firing, and he turned to the side, attempting to vomit. Nothing came out. Pain shot through his veins. His back stiffened, diaphragm contracted and started spasming.

[4 hours later]
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP.......

Blood started oozing from the corners of his eyes, further blurring his vision. The continuous gagging finally brought up something, blood. His liver ached. Sharp pains pulsed all over his body.

[12 hours later]
Jones felt tired. His breathing shallowed, eventually stopping on and off. He could no longer eject the blood that was filling his lungs.

[14 hours later]
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP....

"Time of death, 16:25. Record time. We need to do more tests to get the most accurate readings."

"Agreed. Shall we..."

"Yes, tell him to call the shelters. Tell them we are giving...vaccinations."
Peligrad entered the decontamination chamber, and the door closed behind him.

OOC

I was about post something about godmodding ... damn :P

OCC: This is open!!!

http://www.ns-archiv.de/krieg/zukunft/himmler.jpg
Caption: Dr. Peligrad

"The test results look good doctor. Aerosol density from the subject is optimal. Stability in room temperature conditions is nearly 80%. We have isolated the perfect bioweapon."

"Excellent. Project Third Horseman is coming along nicely. I want to keep production of the antidote going at full pace."

"If you don't mind my asking, sir, what do we intend on doing with our virus?"

"More importantly, we should ask, is what does the world intend to do now that we have it? "

"But sir, the project is secret. No one outside of this building knows of its existance."

"We'll just see about that. I have my suspicions about the activity of certain foreign governments in this country. But in any event, we'll just have to wait and see what the rest of the world does to determine our final course of action for Project Third Horseman."

Peligrad's secretary enters the room.

"Sir, President Barnett is on the phone."

"Thank you." He picks up the phone. "Yes, Mr. President."

"Doctor, I want to know how this project is proceeding. Boardmembers are asking questions. They want to know why 1/3 of our defense budget is going to a single black project."

"Well, Mr. President, the project is proceeding ahead of schedule. Tell the board nothing. And you know very well why this project is so important to our nation."

"People are starving in the streets, Dr. Peligrad! The homeless rate has jumped to an all time high and is climbing! I want to see results or this project loses funding."

Peligrad slams his fist against the desk at which he is sitting.

"MR PRESIDENT. YOU DO NOT WANT TO SEE RESULTS OF THIS PROJECT ON CNN!" Calming himself, "At least not right now. Not here. Besides, the more homeless the better. Gives me more test subjects."

"Well, if test subjects are what you need to make this proceed faster, then you will have your test subjects."

"Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. President."

"Make no mistake, I don't like this germ business. It's too risky. Just too risky. I want this over as soon as possible."

"You will not write any more time tables for me, sir. You are not the scientist, I am. Keep your hands out of my project!" Peligrad slams down the phone. "A polititian will never appreciate the beauty of science, nor of warfare. Nor will he understand the joy of bringing these two great professions together in one monsterous weapon."

Timors was handing out stew in the soup kitchen for dinner. He chatted idly with the other volunteers and those who came to eat. Slow day. With how cold it's been, you'd think there'd be more.

He was dishing out yet another bowl when the doors flew in with a blinding flash and a crashing noise. Timors, reacting from his years in the Service, hit the deck hard, the stew spilling everywhere. Screaming broke out in the room behind him, and he glanced up, looking off of a shiny pot to see the scene in the main room. Soldiers (or maybe police, with N00bz being a police state, the two were hard to tell apart) burst in, firing assault rifles into the air. The room fell mostly silent, except for whimpers and shuffling.

An officer hoisted a bullhorn, "Attention. Please cooperate, and you will not be harmed. Please file neatly out into the trucks outside, and you will be treated fairly. Do not resist." The soldiers were fanning into the room.

Timors began to crawl for the kitchen, while the other workers, still visible, could only let him pass with a murmurred good wish and terrified glances. The officer faced the workers, "You will not be harmed either. Once we are finished here, you may leave."

Timors heard the officer, and he knew a lie when he heard it. Bullshit. This reeks. Anyone still here when they're done is dead. He reached the door into the back room. He leaned against it slighlty, giving himself just enough room to slip through. He slid throught the cracked door, into the kitchen. He pulled it shut behind him quietly and slowly, then stood and began to run for the back door.

He reached the exit into the hall when he heard voices.

"-just finish the sweeps. Don't want anyone getting away."

Another responded, "What's so important anyway? We have tons of test subjects already."

Timor ducked back into the shadows as the two bickering soldiers walked past, not checking, just wandering through the area nonchalantly. He slipped out the door they had come in, into the hall. As he ran for the door he heard from behind him. "Halt!"

"Shit!" he cried as he dived out the back door, into the snowy alley. He scrambled into a full sprint and ran for the street. As he crossed, a car screeched to a stop. He rolled across the hood, hit the snow, and kept running. Behind him, a gunshot rang out, the bullet kicking up snow around his feet. I have to get this data out.

3 pairs of heavy leather boots pounded the snow behind the escaping worker.

"Get him godd@mmit! Don't let him get away," the sergeant barked. His men were running as fast as they could, but they could not manage to close the distance.

"This is unit 2, we need backup! We're on foot in pursuit of an escaping worker. Recommend fast movers."

"Roger that, tasking a bird now."

The sound of rotorblades suddenly cut through the winter air. A Little Bird helicopter, painted drab green, streaked overhead. The chase neared a roundabout interesection, and the helicopter decended to 5 feet above the road. A soldier with an MP5 opened the door, aiming it at the worker.

http://www.globalsecurity.org/military/systems/aircraft/images/oh-6a-005.jpg

Adornian intelligence agent Vincent Hope was strolling the n00bz streets, like he usually did, when he heard the ditinctive sound of a helicopter rotor. Somewhat confused, he turned a corner to se a terrified man running towards him, pursued by three n00bz soldiers/policemen. Directly above and to the front of him was a helicopter, with an armed man aiming at the worker.

"Oh, shit..."

Timor saw the man in front of him, staring slack jawed. "Run, man!" he called out as the chopper pulled sideways. Timor dived into another street, scrambling out of the line of fire as a spray of 9mm rounds shredded through traffic. He kicked in a door, dodged into the apartment complex. He ran down the battered main hall, dashing for the door. As he approached, it began to open, a N00bz officer outside. He ducked into the dining room, ran for the window. He dived through, rolled into the street. Checking both ways, he ran again, spotting the man from earlier. "Where's the chopper?" Timor asked, glancing at the sky for a moment as he ducked into an alcove at the foot of the office tower he was in the shadow of.

Michael, a young Coreworlds Jedi (I'll get rid of the powers and lightsaber if you want and only n00bz can say I can't have a Jedi in his RP) diplomat/intel officer, was also walking down the street of n00bz, when he noticed something odd. A frightened man seemed to be running from the law, which isn't too odd. What really caught his attention was the helicopter with a soldier, ready to fire. He decided to intervene, but not with his saber, which would draw way too much attention. He called upon the Force, and discreetly 'grabbed' the soldier's gun, intending to yank it from his hand.

OOC:
Again, you can ignore this entire post if you want, n00ks and n00bz.

Michael, a young Coreworlds Jedi (I'll get rid of the powers and lightsaber if you want and only n00bz can say I can't have a Jedi in his RP) diplomat/intel officer, was also walking down the street of n00bz, when he noticed something odd. A frightened man seemed to be running from the law, which isn't too odd. What really caught his attention was the helicopter with a soldier, ready to fire. He decided to intervene, but not with his saber, which would draw way too much attention. He called upon the Force, and discreetly 'grabbed' the soldier's gun, intending to yank it from his hand.

OOC:
Again, you can ignore this entire post if you want, n00ks and n00bz.

OOC: Modern tech only please. :shock: You're welcome to remain in, no Jedi (I can see yoda opening up a can of whoop ass on Peligrad)!!

OOC: LOL! True, true, but the little green troll still be hard-pressed to not reveal himself downtown before fans chase him. Okay, then Mike's another spy with an ordinary gun. He fingers his Beretta, and will hopefully survive the intervention.

The minister of defence M.T. as he was known, was paceing about his office. He can tell that there is something not right with the world. The latest intelegance showed up on his desk. There has been too much activity in the world, especaly in N00x and n00bz. He decited he should send a team of his best, three men who hunt down, and infeltrate the rebbles of the polece. They will leave tomarow.

OOC this is jaamata not allison blair, sorry

The helicopter banked skyward, testing the harnesses which held the troops contained within. It climbed to attempt to spot the runaway worker.

"Where the hell is he," shouted the pilot. Suddenly, a window just below the chopper crashed. Out of the shattering glass fell the worker, who immedietly ducked for cover.

"There he is! Hold off a second. Unit 2, he's at the base of the window just below us. Move in, we'll give you cover."

The soldiers, now tiring from their sprinting, moved in slowly. One moved through the building, checking each open door for a broken lock. The other two split around opposing sides of the building.

"Ready."

"In position."

"Roger that."

The pilot swooped his bird in, dropping nearly to ground level before banking up to avoid crashing into the street. Again, the side door swung open and MP5 jutted out. The soldiers taking up position around the corners dashed out from their positions, encircling the worker. From the window above him, the worker felt a belt wrap around his neck and tighten.

"Got you b!tch."


OOC: Sorry everyone, english paper and sleep calls...I fully intend on picking this up tomarrow though, so stay tuned! :twisted:

http://cfa-www.harvard.edu/~jwood/images/Fig02.jpg

At this time, Michael ducked into an alley across from the helicopter, and aimed his gun (silenced) at the window soldier and shot at him, then shot the other soldiers...

Timors felt teh belt tighten. Shit. He saw the soldiers approaching, running in from all directions. He was on his toes, being hefted up by the belt. He gagged slightly. I need to get this information out! He twisted a little, glanced up at the soldier who was snaring him. Timor met his eyes, saw the soldier smile. Timors returned it, strained a return smile, and moved. His right hand dived into his coat, emerging with his Kbar. The knife flashed through the air, and the belt severed, dropping him.

Timors hit the ground, fell towards the opposite side of the alley, and dodged up the stairs into the office building. Behind him was the coughing hiss of a silenced pistol and an answering snarl of gunfire that echoed in the alley. He felt a burning tear in his left side, and he fell through the doors, the snow behind him stained red. He staggered to his feet, holding his side as the blood leaked past his hand. He staggered into the building, reaching the elevator. He slapped the button for floor ten, felt the elevator surge upward.

He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, scribbled a few words on it, staining it with his blood. The doors opened, and he stumbled into the hall, smashed against a wall. A door opened, and a man stepped out. "Jeff?" the man gasped.

Timors placed the paper into the other agent's hand and continued running. The businessman stepped back into his office, closed and locked his door. He turned on his computer and scanned in the paper, faxed it to ir1337. He purged his computer's memory, formatted the drive, and poured sulfuric acid across the note, then lit it with his zippo and sent the ashes out the window. He returned to work, worried about his fellow, but not showing any concern.

Timors reached the end of the hallway, facing a window. A helicopter rose outside, the man inside aiming the MP5 right through the glass. Timors raised his hands in resignation with a slight smile and collapsed to the deck, unconscious from blood loss.

The soldier dove out the window after the escaping worker, landing flat on his chest, taking away his wind. He then felt what seemed like a hammer hitting his leg. He looked down, and saw blood spurting from his calf.

"Dammit, I'm hit I'm hit!!"

The chopper banked around, trying to find the source of the gunfire. The hurricane-force wash from the main rotorblades made it seem as though it was a blizzard outside, making it difficult for anyone to see.

"I see the flashes," screamed the gunner, "to my 3 o'clock! Opening fire!" The MP5 barked, releasing a hail of bullets towards the flashes.

The other two soldiers hit the deck as bullets sailed past them, managing to crawl in the same direction as the worker. They made their way to another office building, burst in the doors.

"Show me those elevator tapes," the first demanded of the security guard, shoving his Browning Hi-Power 9mm in his face. The guard pulled up the cameras from all of the elevators, and saw the worker running out of elevator number 3.

"Go...10th floor...lets get him. Shut those things off...None of them move until we have him!" The two soldiers ran for the stairway.

"He's moved to the 10th floor, get that bird up there and get a fix on him!"

"Roger that!"

The troops stormed up the stairs, their crack military training coming in handy, as when they busted open the door to the 10th floor they were pumped with "runners high," the adreneline sensation that atheletes get after running a certain distance.

As soon as the door was opened, they knew exactly where to find him. Blood stained the walls, stopping at an office door. The trail of blood continued, to another wall, and ended at the limp figure of the worker.

"We were supposed to take him alive!"

"We didn't shoot him! Must've been that nutcase in the alley."

"Roger that." He reached down to check his pulse. "He's alive! Get me an ambulance over here now! There was obviously something he was running from."

"Search the offices," ordered the pilot, "maybe someone knows who he is. Round up everyone here and bring them in for questioning. We'll see if we can tell what happened to the man in the alley. Maybe he knows something."

One of the soldiers wrapped a tuniquin around the wounds on the bleeding mans arm, and carried him into an elevator and down to the lobby. The other ordered everyone out of their offices, and marched them down the stairs.

"Get someone down here to cut off access to the 10th floor. No one gets in here without written authorization."

Damn! the intel officer in the alley cursed, as he saw the minigun shoot. Michael reholstered his gun, and headed further into the alley, and went out to the other side. Then, he walked into the crowd, blending with it.