NationStates Jolt Archive

So, heres what i'm thinking. If you've seen The Thing you'll have a basic idea. An old hogsweatian facility in the antarctic monitoring from the cold war, it would have been used to fire salvos of ICBMs against some of the smaller RWC members. The stastion houses a full complement of ICBMs, sixteen great launch silos. Every three months a plane lands on the tiny runway to deliver supplies to the company of marines there and the group of technicians and nuclear research scientists. The last time a plane landed, on it's return flight it lost communications with the nearby Light Scout Carrier Inexplicable and was discovered downed in the ocean. all the crew were missing but everything on board was in top condition. Six days later the SAR pilots die of strangulation in their bunks on the Carrier. the door was locked from the inside. There was no way anyone could have gotten out. The next day, Communications are lost with the carrier. RAFB sends out a flight of jets to investigate; they never return. a SAR helicopter reports the carrier is intact; in fact is is drifting slowly toward sthe southern pole. However, noone is spotted on deck. the SAR helicopter, not wishing to get any closer to the carrier, hastily beats it's retreat and three days later all the helicopters crew's organs have expanded and imploded. GPS Thermal Imagery shows no life on board the ship; everywhere is untouuched. The only life that is to be found is one HUGE blob. The captain's bridge is litteraly a block of red heat. Meanwhile the ship has executed a swift 3 point, torpedo dodge turn and is now heading towards the antarctic at full speed. All sealife within 100 metres of the carrier just turn over and die.

Meanwhile, the facility is left untouched. no pilot will fly there to relieve it. And worse, communications with anywhere else are down. The Comm Master is found in the communications control room, alone, lying on the floor as if he had been strangled. The hard drives of alll the computers have literally been clawed out. All the wires have been snapped.

Unbeknownst to the people inside the facility, all that can be spotted on GPS is a huge block of red heat in the small warehouse near the dock where ships used to come in. Red, vein like, heat strips criss cross all over the facility. People start to go missing.. wierd sounds can be heard vibrating across the facility.


The pilot checked over his list. Engine - check. cargo - check. Passengers - check. He gulped. He had read the briefing and he was thoroughly scared - even, so far as to say, he was afraid. In fact, if it wasn't for the huge amount of money involved here then he would have turned this down with a hearty laugh. He waited patiently for the co-pilot to step on board. he was a young man, with dark blonde hair that could have been brown, auburn, or something along those lines. This was his first real flight for the company and it may too be his last. With a nod the pilot picked up the phone.

"alright, we're ready to accept passengers."

OOC- just RP your guys getting on board.

A tall, lean figure in dark overalls and dark shoes walked onto the hardened tarmac of the runway. The figure was a male, about six feet tall and with jet black hair with a touch of grey running through it in a slight streak. He had dark blue eyes and a small scar running up the left-hand side of his face, from his lips to his left cheek, which gave him a slightly mocking look, and a cleanly-shaven face without a hint of facial hair. He also had a long black duffel bag slung over his shoulder and he walked with a confident pace. His name was Harn. Just Harn, nothing else. There were very few people who actually knew his whole name, and a good number of them were...unavailable.

Harn stood on the dark runway and looked at the delivery plane. He was no aircraft expert, but in his line of business he had more than a cursory knowledge of certain areas vital to said profession, and one of them was aircraft. He could fly smaller models such as the one he stood in front of, and although he didnt have any official licences or documentation, he was quite proficent in flying them. Well, he could take off and land in the damn things, as long as no-one expected him to start flying in formation or doing a barrel-roll. He walked towards the plane and wondered exactly what was going to happen. It seemed to be a routine delivery for the Company, nothing more; another mundane operation that he would do, get paid for and go on as if nothing had happened. Still, things seemed a little too mundane. Perhaps it was just his instincts, but then Harn had long ago learnt to trust them.

Frowning at his mental wandering, Harn realised he was tired after the long journey to the plane. Smiling slightly he checked he had his P-90 Assault Rifle with attached flashlight in his duffel-bag, along with a radio and a thick jacket. He moved his hand slightly and checked his Glock 18 was still sitting snugly in the small holster on his left thigh; his Combat Knife was also there, its unsheathed blade icy cool on his skin. Satisfied all was ready, he walked into the plane, nodded a brief greeting to the other passengers, and sat down, and soon fell asleep; he had learnt long ago that you should sleep whenever you could, because you never knew when you would be without it. Besides, he thought as he drifted off, it wouldn't be a long journey, and he wouldn't ever need to know the others, let alone talk to them...

Hannah Morris had been working for the delivery company for a year and a half, and had settled in very well. She had been places she never thought she would go to, and now she was off to another. She liked experiencing new things; this made the job interesting and made her get out of bed in the morning, or afternoon depending on her schedule.

Pulling her bag up on her shoulder, she moved quickly over to the plane. She was on vacation at the end of this run, so she was hoping for a quick, smooth ride, before she found herself relaxing by a pool, cocktail in hand soaking up some sun. She smiled as she climbed aboard, and looked at the others already seated.

“Hey, guys!” She called to no one in particular before finding a seat and making herself comfortable for the flight ahead. Rummaging through her bag, she pulled out her book, getting it ready for the slow portions of the journey, or in case she happened to luck out and found herself sat with someone dull or overly chatty. Kicking the bag under her seat, she settled back ready for the off.

Harker Peareson exhaled, his breath being lost to the whipping wind of the cold night, the fuzzy stubble building up around his face was beginning to annoy the twenty-three year old "private contractor" but he realised the requirement for speed. Something must have gone awry for the Hogsweatian government to pay such substantial money for such a routine task, either that, or the Hogsweatians were plain stupid when it came to money.

Unfortunately, the second idea sounded a lot less likely than the first but as to what could have gone wrong, Harker could only guess. Terrorists? Traitors? It can't be anything too bad...can it? God, what am I thinking: we're a delivery service! Harker dismissed his thoughts and set his mind on task, he carried his drab olive green duffel bag in one hand and P90 in the other up the metal steps leading up to the plane.

As soon as Harker stepped within the plane, a chill ran down his spine, he felt cursed. He dismissed this and thought of the substantial wealth that awaited the potentially rich man. He set his duffel bag down and put the P90 on his lap and quickly enough; weary from the day's events, sleep consumed him.

A man that had already been on the plane before Hannah and Harn was an old man, his grey hair poking through the outsides of Ushanka. His name was Alfredi Moraze, the Argentinian that had founded the company known as QDS - Quick Delivery Servies twenty years ago, and it was now the most famous delivery service on the face of this earth. The man was a corporate genius - he had destroyed Fed Ex in a legal battle where one of his agents had destroyed a fedex plane with an anti air missile to stop it reaching the delivery point. That young agent had been Alfredi Moraze. Under his thick jacket was the inside holster containing an automatic handgun that was loaded but not cocked.

As the man entered the plane, he nodded and said his welcomes, and when the enthusiastic young woman stepped on board Moraze replied with an extended handshake to Hannah and then also Harn, and in turn the next contractor to walk onto the plane.

A small, weak glow flared up between a pair of darkened hangar buildings. The glow wavered for a moment, then abruptly winked out, leaving a steadier ember in its place. The ember became brighter for a moment, shrouded in smoke but still visible, if one happened to be about ten feet away and able to see through the driving rain. At that distance, one could perhaps have seen that the beaming ember was being held by a figure, cloaked in the black shadows, aided by his dark jacket. The figure took another brief drag on the cigar and blew the smoke back out at the rain, mocking it, daring it to put out the tobacco tube.

He stood not much more than five feet eleven, and was slim to the point of appearing malnourished; yet he had a restless, relentless energy about him. The slimness of his body was testament to a lifetime's exercise, and the burning tip of the cigar matched closely the burning in the back of his eyes as his mind ran over the job in hand. It sounded simple enough, a bog-standard delivery job conducted by a slightly paranoid government, and with luck it would give him enough wealth to allow him some rest. He'd been doing this line of work for too long, and needed to relax a while.

The cigar was dying. He'd been flicking the ash onto the saturated ground for the last five minutes as he chewed over the coming events in his mind, and was now down to an inch-long, burning stub. Staring into the tip, he reflected momentarily on what had brought him to where he was; then the tip finally fizzled out, and he spat the sodden cigar out. The plane's engines were warming up; he could hear them, even above the rain, and the wind, and the ever-present voice of his own mind as it examined everything around it. With a sigh, he made a final check to his kit-bag, making doubly sure that the UMP.45 within it had no round in the chamber and the safety firmly on; and, with a sigh, he heaved it onto his back, pulled out a chocolate bar from within his battered trousers, and started trudging towards the plane. As he entered, he noticed a small checklist, not unlike the registers they had always taken in school. He pencilled in a small, neat tick beside "Tashima, Nikuro," and unsmilingly took his seat, willing sleep upon himself, that he might avoid having to make the usual interminably dull conversation which one always found with groups of strangers.

Ice was shovelled off the frozen deck and into the sea. The ship itself cut through the thin flow quite easily, but the daunting cliffs of rock hard ice that rose up the the South were an impassible barrier to all but a submarine. The frigate was steaming at a leisurely 12knts. Just enough to break through the thin iceflows, but not wasting any of its superfluous nuclear fuel.

"Report, Lieutenant," the Captain demanded, although not with any expectation of an interesting answer.

"Not much, sir. De-icing operations go smoothly. We're making good progress through the ice. We should be hope this time next month, sir."

"Very good Lieutenant..."

"There is one other thing, sir," the Lieutenant said cautiously, "There's a Hogsweatian base nearby... I was thinking we could..."

"Pay them a visit?" The Captain said, finishing the Lieutenant's question for him.

"Well... yes sir," the Lieutenant continued, not knowing how is Captain would react.

"It's a foolish idea," the Captain said, cutting off the Lieutenant.

"Well, sir... we are running rather low on certain supplies."

"Such as?"

"Coats mainly sir. Oil-skin coats. Nothing better for insulation," the Lieutenant said enthusiastically.

"Well... perhaps we will get some... oil-skin coats," he said, glancing around at the men, "and they have worked hard. Maybe time they were due a little break. If the Hogsweatians don't mind, of course."

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"Sir! Coming up on the Hogsweatian Base now," called a Midshipman from the tall radar-mast where he was scraping off ice.

"Very good," the Captain said to himself on the bridge observation deck below, "Lieutenant, tell them we wish to land to pick up supplies."

"Yes sir," replied the Comms Lieutenant. There was a brief pause, and he continued "No reply sir. Do you want me to try again?"

"Yes, please do," the Captain answered. This wasnt entirely unusual.

"Still no reply, sir. Do you still want me to continue?"

"No..." the Captain replied, sounding distant. He had gotten up off of his chair and drew out his telescope. He looked towards the base and saw no light.

"Captain of the Guard," he called, indicating the commander of the small Naval Guard company that was kept on board, "Ready your men. We're going to investigate this little base of theirs."

Click. Click. Click. The methodical tap continued. The dance of death. The creature was dying. They moved as one. thought as one. Controlled as one. The swarm of tiny little insects, their little pincers ready to bite, were swarming in a rather orderly fashion over the bear. They swarmed out of every corner of the floor, every orifice in the walls and rotten crates. And they filled the room, a disciplined white army of insects that did not stop. The creature had fought well but it had been no match for thousands of metallic-white cockroach like creatures it couldn't even see. It was in it's mind. The bear couldn't.. it.. no. Bears do not run! this is.. it is..The huge vicious animal had backed itself into a corner of the abandoned warehouse not so far down from where the Praetonian ship was breaking ice. Pulsing.. red..It.. Eugh. The bear dropped to the ground. It's neck muscles, tensing.. the bear dropped and as if to say "I surrender" it let the tiny beasts crawl over it and devour the once proud animal.

Good. You have done well. And as for you.. you performed admirably. But you are no match for us. This is our time. This world will be ours to devour.

The bear sizzled.. and then the heat increased. It began to fry. It's polar bear skin, designed to absorb heat was doing just that. It was strong. It was invincible. So powerful it could melt bone and tissue.

The smoke clogged the room, not unlike a burning barbecue, and stretched out a broken window in the warehouse high into the sky..

Watching as the others entered the plane and got ready for the flight, Hannah opened her book, losing herself in its pages for a moment, before once more looking at the others present. She let her gaze linger on each of them, looking at their faces trying to read the type of person she would be sharing this trip with. She smiled to herself as she decided it was going to be another uninteresting trip, dropping off some cargo while surrounded by people who looked like they wished they were somewhere else.

She lowered her book to her lap, and pulled off the jacket she was wearing, and placed it on top of her bag under her seat, before once more leaning back and continued her game of guessing her companions. She finally got around to the man at the front of the plane, the only one who actually seemed like he might have an interest in the others boarding. Certainly the only one likely to speak during the flight.

Retrieving her book, she flicked back to the page she was on, and let her eyes flick over the lines, barely taking in the story as she thought about the trip and more importantly what she was going to do with the money after it. It was not long before her eyes drifted closed and she found herself lying by a pool in some paradise location.

The large inflatable boat was pulled out of its storage canister by several people, and attached to a nearby pump used for inflating such craft. The vessel was quickly thrown overboard and into the sea, where she bobbed up and down in the icy-grey waters below. A net was thrown over the side of the ship, and twenty Naval Guard, including three officers, climbed down into the small craft. The small engine to the rear was readied and the boat sped off towards the port.

Not much could be seen of the port itself. A rusty gatehouse, several vacant look-out posts and a sad, run-down dockyard to the extreme right. Not a single person could be seen, nor could any lights be seen. The Naval Guardsmen were all wearing versalite night-vision goggles, and as they switched to infrared and looked towards the dockyard they could scarcely believe their eyes.

"We'll set up a camp near that group of watchtowers," the Captain said to the other two officers, who were both Lieutenants, "It's quite late. We'll let the men get some sleep and then we'll investigate the rest of the base tomorrow. Try to find out what happened to these Hogsweatians... maybe if we find the base is abandoned we could even claim it for our own."

The pilot pulled dialed a few buttons, pulled leevers and the like and soon the plane was engaging into flight. The passengers could look out the windows of the old C10 as they watched the rain and the Argentinian airport go by. The pilot pushed the throttle and the plane jolted forwards, and slightly up. The airport was short, there was no need to turn for a takeoff so the pilot went straight up into the air, up up and away.

"This is your pilot speaking, we are approximately six hours away from destination. Thank you."

The voice fizzled out as soon as it had faded in, and soon the passengers were left with their thoughts on the long, boring plane trip..

Where did they come from! What right do they have! Nevertheless, we will remove them. Filthy human dogs.

The clicking resumed. This time it was louder. Soon they appeared.. the metallic creatures. The creatures that could rip apart a bears flesh without even trying But that was not all. While they appeared from everywhere, from cracks in the ice and the concrete from walls of buildings and crates of long gone supplies, there was another force at work. The force. All it could see was red.. angered.. blinded by rage. It floated through the air, as if pushing it apart.. up from the concrete, the walls, the sea. It was everywhere. The red found it's mark. The Praetonian captain.

Dirty human. Your mind is filled with trivialities.

It was searching. Rooting through the mind of the Captain for long past thoughts and memories. Maybe a child, or something of sentimental value. All the time, searing through the mans brain, as if talking to him from inside his mind, his soul, stinging his every existence until it could find every shard of pain or fear or death or life.

Trivialities lead to disruptions, disruptions..

Meanwhile.. they attacked. The creatures, swarming, all making the methodical click click click of death. Death. Fear. Darkness. That was all that existed in this primeval, unexplored world. an unstoppable wave, jumping over soldiers, biting them with the pincers..

The Guardsmen could feel pincers. Nipping at them, biting, as though in a dream. The nipping and biting grew and grew to ripping and tearing and then they awoke. With a start they jumped to their feet, shaking in abject horror as they tried to fling the metallic creatues off of them. One of the Lieutenants stood up, drew his pistol and fired at one.

"Open fire!" He shouted wildly, "Kill them all!" The rattle of automatic gunfire filled the room. Steaming shell cases piled up on the floor but the torrent of metal wouldnt stop. All the while the Captain lay writhing on the floor as the 'creature' felt its way through his mind. It was unclear who fired the bullet, but someone did, and it went through a grenade in another man's belt. The room filled at once with smoke and red-hot shrapnel, tearing four men to pieces.

Several soldiers cowered against the walls, and were ripped to shreds. Others saw the situation was hopeless, but resolved to fight and die like true Guardsmen. They formed 'rally squares' back to back in groups of 8 or 10. Bayonets fixed they fired into the oncoming torrent and survived long enough to see their countrymen ripped apart. The Captain lay in the middle, still writhing, as his charged sought to fight the best they could against the endless swarms of beasts...

It could sense they were afraid. It could sense everything. Seizing control of one of the guardsmen, the man literally dripping in sweat was the first target. The food.. something to prey on. Fear filled his mind as huge tentacles enclosed around the mans neck. He had premonitions of death, his quick dreams filled with rendered screams and the ripping of flesh from skin. A most horrible death.. one a praetonian guardsman would never dream of. As the dreams became worse, as the man became more delirious the grip on his neck tightened, as it penetrated through his whole body, swelling, growing until the man's stomach exploded followed by his heart and lungs.

The Guardsmen, quickly looking to the side as the death rattle from the man emenated from his smashed voicebox, did not see anything. All they saw was the man strangling himself, pulling at his skin and eventually snapping his own neck. They grew more and more afraid and the air was thick with fear. One by one, it infiltrated the scared mines of the soldiers and preyed on their fears and the knowing that they would die. As the painful, dreadful acceptance that they would die and the fright that came with it got worse every second, so did the creatures control on their minds tighten until they could no longer think for themselves -with a sharp click they all dropped to the floor, unconscious, as the metallic insects faded from sight and memory leaving only a thick cloud of smoke. But to the soldiers, everything was vivid and clear. An ever lasting itch in their brain, unscratchable and unsatiable. It spoke to them in unison

"Human scum, stand up and return to whence you came.." It was unremovable, as if they were whispering to themselves, but the voice was not their own - it was deep and slurrered and it was bestial..

It had finished with the Captain. He had broken far too easily. The man's mind was too fearful, too afraid of it and the darkness that it controlled. He must find a new specimen..soon.

Harn had fallen asleep right away in the oddly comfortable seat of the aircraft, but his sleep was a light one plagued with the same dream that he nearly always had...

He was in a jungle clearing, with huge trees towering above him and bushes and vegitation all around him, cluttering the ground and causing very little light to get in through the jungle canopy despite the fact that it was only a few hours after dawn. He was aware of his surroundings, could feel the heat of the jungle covering him in beads of sweat that soaked through the light camouflage uniform he was always wearing in the dream. But as always, something was vaguely wrong...everything seemed distant and slightly blurred, as if viewed through a smoky glass or skewed mirror. Then, just as it had countless times before, it began.

The jungle suddenly went silent around him, and he could only hear his breathing, slow and shallow. He gripped the butt of his rifle and turned. His men were behind him, all four of them, Vegas wounded in the legs from a mortar round but still trying to move despite the obvious pain. He ran to Vegas and hoisted him on his shoulders, aware vaguely of some desperate need to go, to get away from the area he was in at that very moment. Then there was a sudden harsh screech of jet engines and Harn turned and ran, legs pumping and Vegas crying out from sheer pain, his men following him. But, it was too late, it was always too late. Behind him the jungle exploded in flames and the screech of the jets reached a terrifying crescendo; He ran even faster, caring not for his men now but moving, trying to escape the wall of flames. He saw the clearing ahead, and the familiar form of the Blackhawk, but then he felt the blistering heat and the searing pain, the cries of his men, and for a moment he screamed, full of primal energy...

Then everything turned to black, and Harn continued to sleep restlessly on the plane...

For his part, Tashima had let sleep consume him, wrap him in its comforting folds as the plane's engines droned monotonously nearby. No sense in being tired when he arrived; besides, it would be too damn cold for sleep to be an option. He could remember all too well finding friends dead in the mountain snows, having gone to sleep in their conformting, warm, white blankets.