NationStates Jolt Archive

The Forsaken Island

The Galapagos Islands are an archipelago, about 1,000 kilometers west of South America, under Layartebian control. Upon takeover, the entire populace was evacuated off, only to meet a catastrophic fate at the ends of an unknown, foreign power. With their evacuation, the Layartebian military established a massive military sector over all of the islands. Airfields, ports, command and control facilities, and weapons factories were established. The islands would have a total of 7 airbases, 9 anti-stealth uplink stations, 2 biological weapons factories, 1 chemical weapons factory, 1 central command HQ, 4 command HQs, 10 communications stations, 10 ports, 16 garrison posts, 15 helicopter pads, 1 missile tracking system, 1 state-of-the-art prison, 1 nuclear weapons research facility, 2 nuclear weapons factories, 10 radar stations, 5 satellite uplink stations, 11 SOSUS stations, and 9 sound detection stations. All together, the islands would be home to some 318 air defense sites, 1,020 fixed-wing aircraft, 770 helicopters, 166 ships, 56 anit-ship missile sites, 1,320 vehicles, and 84,819 soldiers from the Army Airborne, Marines, Special Forces, and Black Forces. Albeit this information is top secret IC, it is stated to help you.

This RP takes place entirely on the island of Santa Fé. The island is 24 km² and has a maximum altitude of 259 meters. The small island is southeast of Santa Cruz, the central command island in the chain and the sector. On Santa Fé there is a small airfield and medium sized helicopter pad, taking up about 6 km². A medium garrison with almost 5,000 soldiers and 96 vehicles takes up another 3 km². These soldiers provide defense and man the main structure on the island, which takes up 12 km². Air defense and surface defense sites take up the remaining 3 km². The main structure on this island is a prison, more or less a massive network of buildings. There are no courtyards as would be seen in a normal prison. Inmates never see the light of day nor taste the outside air. Sentry towers guard the complex with mounted weaponry and assault forces from the airbase and helicopter pad can be called at any moment.

The massive facility is capable of holding up to 1 million inmates. The 5,000 soldiers on the island are supplemented by another 15,000 prison personnel, who man the machines, the cells, and the like. This is no normal prison though. The inmates are not just traditional criminals, such as murderers, rapists, and the like. They comprise about 22% of the personnel. The second and largest group of prisoners comprises up to 58% of the inmate population are political prisoners. Lastly, the remainging 20% are foreign nationals who have "disappeared" whilst inside Layartebian territory. Lest it not play to say that only they have "disappeared." The entire inmate population has "disappeared." They are declared missing and unlikely to be recovered. Those who advocate for democracy, anarchy, a republic, or any other system of government and do so publically are usually sent to various prisons. This is just another one.

The name of the prison is Nova Prospekt. Sound familiar? It should. It was inspired by Half-Life 2, in which there is a place called "Nova Prospekt." The true meaning is uncertain: new perspective, new prospect, new something... Alyx Vance describes the place as "something much worse, now." The prison is a scary place and such is this. You don't want to go to Nova Prospekt, ever...

Before you read please do not pass any judgement that this will be a pathetic post. If you must have a reference, please go to to the list below and you will see the abilities of me to tell a story. I am a writer.
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Legend
All text in red type is top secret classified. It is unknown to the normal reader and even anyone else other than those present in the text. All are loyal to the government so please none of that, "We had spies" nonsense because I'm going to ignore it.

Italic text is text that is speech. It is italic to differentiate from normal text.

Italic underlined text is thought.

Orange text is a memory.

Small, green text is documents, communications, etc.

Bold, small, green text in quote form is used to mean something that isn't in the document.

Blue text is just a minor announcement.

Bold, blue text is a service announcement meant in OOC form

Bold, gray text is a translation.
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Notes

This will be updated on a regular basis. If you see a lapse then by all means, bump the topic. Pictures may be included with horrible images of death. The RP will be R-rated. I will not delve into the realm of sexual acts such as rape and the like because they are just unnecessary but there may be elusions to horrid acts. There will be profanity and there will be gore. I am warning you of all of this because I feel that if you do not like it then this is your chance to avoid reading it. There won't be any surprises. Also, one group will be cannibals so if you have something against that then do not read. If there is ever something that violates NS rules (and no nothing illegal will be had here) please inform me and I'll take care of it. If you are offended don't read! Simple as that.
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Other Role-Playing Stories

Down with the Sickness (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=432254)
Isla del Enfermo (Earth II) (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=398102)
La Guerra que no Hombre Debe Saber (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=434657)
Ride the Lightning (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=448866)
Sehnsucht für das Glück (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=386920)
Tale of the Time: Ancient Secrets Found in Yucatán... (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=409829)
The Kingdom of Forgotten Warriors (Earth II) (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=380343)
The Knight of Dark Chaos (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=384906)
The Layartebian Chronicles (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=384916)
The Praetorian Project (http://forums2.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=450228)

Table of Contents

Part I: Awakenings

Chapter I: Awoken to Hell (Page 1)
Chapter II: Echoes of the Past
Chapter III: A Strange Visitor
Chapter IV: A Timely Fashion

Characters


Carpenter, Mr: Mysterious government agent.
Carver, Jefferson: Colonel in the ILM. Currently serves as director of all military operations in the Galapagos Islands.
Clarke, Tom: Prisoner at Nova Prospekt. Resides in cell 57.
Lee, Christain: Block Commander for Cell Block A. Sergeant.
Mulligan, Bill: Lieutenant Colonel in the ILBF. Serves as administrator to the prison. Commander of Force Hurricane.
Walker, Tim: Prisoner at Nova Prospekt. Resides in cell 57.

Organizations


Force Hurricane: A top secret black operations unit. All of its members are "dead" and do not exist. They have no fingerprints, no identification, no existence. They are based throughout the Galapagos Islands and serve as facility guards throughout the islands. They also man Nova Prospekt prison in serious force. THE UNIT DOES NOT EXIST.

Map

http://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Forsaken%20Island/galapmap10002.jpg

Chapter I: Awoken to Hell

It was a chilly September morning. The prison was kept at an uncomfortable 58°F and the lack of windows in the jail facilities kept in the cold air and kept out the warm air. Today, however, the temperature was under the average of 70°F and was currently 56°F. A large thunderstorm rolled in the previous night and brought with it a ton of rain, wind, lightning, and thunder, cooling off the whole area. Inside the frigid cells of Block A, Tom Clarke and his cellmate, Tim Walker awoke at the sound of the morning bells. It wasn't really bells but rather a resounding alarm that reverberated throughout the entire prison. The speakers in each cell came alive with the day's propaganda, telling of the greatness of the empire and why it was far better than a democracy, a republic, or anything else.

They had both been there about eight months now. The prison opened up only ten months ago. They were both caught in different acts. Tom was distributing pro-democracy leaflets in Falcon City and picked up by the police after his apartment caught fire from an overheated press. Tim, on the other hand, was caught trying to make counterfeit Shingrots. Police had been watching his operation for months and busted him and his entire network. He knew not what happened to them for after the trial he was sentenced to some prison in eastern New York. But, in his case, it really meant he was going somewhere else, somewhere far away. He, along with his batch of prisoners, were loaded onto a single Boeing 777-200ER, all 330 of them. Amongst them were about 40 armed guards. Their spirits were all broken already and there was little will for escape. They were all told that they were going to a new staging area, somewhere in a "tropical" environment. This lifted their hopes a little but unfortunately, for them, when they landed, it was no tropical environment. They landed on Santa Cruz, an island with a 3,000 meter long runway, well enough to support a Boeing 777-200ER. At maximum weights, she would need 3,353 meters to take off and 1,585 meters to land. The plane would never take off with a limit over 3,000 meters. Once landed, the plane taxiied to a dark hangar, the whole island covered in a mist that seemed to make anything more than eight feet away invisible. It was something beyond creepy.

Waiting was a series of armored buses. All 330 prisoners were loaded up into 10 buses with 4 guards per bus. Then it was off to the dock where they were boarded into an old fishing trawler that looked as if it were about to sink from a strong wave. All of the prisoners were held in the fish supply, not the most hospitable of conditions. They travelled only a few miles, maybe a four hour boat ride at their speed to a nightmare. The mist was higher here, much higher, allowing them to see the island. The sun was rising in the east, casting a shadow over the island as if it were Dracula's castle in Transylvania. There were a lot of buildings from what they could see and they were at a small port at the far end of the island. There was another port at the other end, with up to twenty-four ships berthed there. Overhead, a pair of helicopters flew. One was easily recognized as a Panther, the other nobody had ever seen before, it happened to be a Stalker. From what they could see, the Panther had a decent armament to it, a pair of rocket pods, a pair of gunpods, and, on the wingtips, air to air missiles. From where they were, they could see a man standing in the door, arming a machine gun. They could only guess there was another on the other side. The Stalker, on the other hand, had no visible armament except a chin gun. All of its armament was internal.

Once the boat docked, the prisoners were offloaded out of the supply bay. They were all shackled together and they were walked from the port to another series of vehicles, these being 5-ton trucks. The convoy was a total of 10 trucks and its escorts, a pair of Dingo APVs with heavy machine guns mounted on their roofs. Men manned the machine guns with a stern look in their eyes. They were willing to shoot anyone who tried to run and they had to. One of the prisoners had been working on his shackles for the better part of the boat ride and managed to break free. Like a fool, he ran towards the water. "Runner!" One of the guards yelled. Immediately, the soldier manning the M31A1 HMG on top of the Dingo turned and acquired the target, in a bright orange jumpsuit running away from him. He zeroed in the runner quiet quickly and squeezed the trigger. The machine gun exploded with a five-round burst, sending five 15.5 x 115 millimeter shells towards the runner at 1,372 meters per second. The bullets had so much energy to them that when the two that impacted did, they turned the runner into a fine, red mist. "Runner down!" The same guard yelled. Then, he turned to the prisoners. "If you want to see your families again when your sentence is up then I suggest you sit tight and not try to run away. Even if you make it to the water it's loaded with sharks." He smiled and watched as the prisoners stared in shock.

There were no more escape attempts and nobody tried to speak a word. It was amusing, in a sick and twisted way, that the guard said that they would see their families when their sentence was over. The thing was, none of them had a formal sentence. Their trials were over fast, all of them being sent to the sentencing judge, a proceeding done only in the presence of them and the lawyers of the case. Sentencing for this type of prison came as "an interest of national security" and carried a sentence to be judged by the prison warden. The warden had only two ideas in his head: life or death. Life meant you died in prison from old age. Death meant you were executed either on the spot or after some torture. Each prisoner bore a bar code on their arm, which was scanned upon entry and their data was downloaded from the mainframe. Any special notes were presented when the warden greeted the new arrivals, just as he always did.

The trip from the port to the processing center was no more than five minutes of bumps. When the convoy stopped, the prisoners should have all taken in a breath of fresh air for it was the last they would have. The prison had no yards, no bars, no windows, no nothing other than walls. The prisoners were all walked into the facility and put through the process. First, their barcodes were scanned, immediately putting their data into a download queue in the processing control booth. Then, as their informaiton was downloaded and printed, they were put through the next part. They were all stripped naked and hosed off with ice cold water. Then they had a powder thrown on them, which acted to delouse them, clean them, and effectively burn a layer of their skin off. Then they were doused again with ice cold water. Then they stepped along the line and were given their uniforms, a bright blue jumpsuit, white undershirt, white boxers, white socks, and white walking shoes. Then they were all put inside of a small auditorium and the warden had a print out. He read the list and went over any special notes. He would smirk here or there, chuckle, sigh, and laugh as he read through the list. "Inmates. My name is Lieutenant Colonel Bill Mulligan. I am the administrator of this prison. Effectively I am the warden. I see that out of all 330 of you, 65 of you are set to be executed. Please, as I read your name, stand and walk to the back of the room, out the open door, and follow the instructions." He read the list slowly, looking around as he did, pointing at people before he read the name, making the suspense climb, making everyone afraid of what they were about to meet. When he was done he looked back around. "Now I would like to say that all of you who remain, all 265 of you should now proceed through the next open door." As he did, the 65 prisoners set to be executed sat down in another auditorium and the 265 inmates walked off towards various cells, each one an execution chamber. The warden played a sick joke on them. The 265 people were all dead within the hour, whether by electrocution, pressurization, a pull chamber, a gas chamber, hanging, shooting, cutting, or anything else that might make them hurt. The 65 people "set for execution" sat in the auditorium, shaking. When the warden walked in, he was smiling. "You will all live. Now may I tell you the rules of this prison. First, you are prisoners and you have no rights. You will not leave your cell unless called. Any type of freedom you may think you have, you don't. Escapees will be shot on sight or captured for torture. Nobody has ever escaped. If you do not complete your duties, you will be punished. I have no problem beating you within an inch of your life, giving you medical treatment, and doing it again. Nobody knows you are here, nobody knows you are alive anymore, nobody cares. Nobody will find you and nobody is looking for you. You are all alone. Get used to it. Now with that, please, enjoy your stay." He left and the 65 people were walked off to their cells, the screams of the dying echoing through the halls. People broke down, fearing it would be them at any minute. Fear was the one word that would charactize the entire prison. Everyone was afraid.

Tim and Tom were walked off their cell, given their bedding sheets, and locked in. They had no privacy, just a bunk bed, a desk, a toliet, and the barred door. Their first night in the cell they did nothing but go to sleep or rather try to sleep. The screams echoing through the prison were enough to break down even the strongest. The cold was another factor and they shivered the whole day, into the afternoon, into the evening, and into the night. They were given three meals, a sort of disgusting slop that was engineered by doctors and nutritionists. It had all of the necessary vitamins, minerals, carbs, and everything else required for a healthy diet. It tasted like crap but it kept them healthy and at a balanced weight. It made them last longer, to suffer more...

They slept throughout the day and the night, straight through until 0500, when the morning wake up calls were made. Each room had a small loud speaker, built into the wall. "Good morning." It said with a sort of friendly voice. "Each morning is a gift from the Emperor, a gift that you will cherish until the day you die. You are all here because you committed a crime and you will be punished for it accordingly. The Empire does not want to have to punish you but it is forced to. Why? Because, in order to maintain the safety of all of its citizens, those who threaten it must be punished. Wake up this morning and breathe a sigh of relief that you are alive. Have a good day." The same message was broadcast each and every morning at 0500. At noon and just before they were scheduled to sleep, a similar message played. Throughout the course of the day, messages played at timed intervals, some being a mere sixty seconds, other being a half hour. It was all part of the process. People were so inundated with the messages and so forced to believe of themselves as scum that their humanity, the very essence of their being, was drained from them. It made interrogation significantly easier.

Their first words to each other were the same thing. "So I guess we have to hear this every morning?"

"Probably. I'm Tim Walker. Yourself?" Tim held out his hand.

"Tom Clarke. Or at least I think. Who knows anymore?"

"You're right. So what are you in here for?"

"Me huh? I wish I could say something decent. I was distributing pro-democracy leaflets in Falcon City but they nabbed me when my press overheated and started the apartment on fire. It's kinda amusing when you look at it from this angle."

"Yeah. In a sick way. I was trying to make counterfeit Shingrots. I guess they watched my operation for a while because they nabbed all of us."

"Federal crimes for you and me. What was the sentence?"

"I didn't recieve one. Did you?"

"Nope."

"I guess that means we're here forever." Their voices drowned off to a sorrow. They were there forever and that meant more than either of them wanted to deal with. Their cell was new but looked old. The lack of a window made it gloomy as the only light was an overhead tube that lit up the whole cell and was turned on and off by the guards. It went on at 0500 and it went off at 2200, giving them exactly 7 hours of sleep, if they managed to sleep. Interrogations were often done at night, when people should have been sleeping. Those who managed to fall asleep were lucky. Shrills, shreaks, and screams echoed throughout the corridors all night long, into the morning, and into the afternoon. Prisoners were trapped in the cells the entire time. They only got out of their cell once a week to take a shower, which was supervised and often ended up with someone being beaten to within an inch of their life. Then, it was back in the cell after a change of clothes and the next week they would do the same. Occassionally, someone would go around and pass out a book. Laundry was done weekly.

Block A was located about six hundred yards from the exterior wall and deep in the ground. Any outside noises were completely unable to penetrate the thick, reinforced concrete walls, which were about, at the thinnest, 3 feet thick. At the thickest portion, it was up to 8 feet thick. Block A's walls were about 4 and a half feet thick and buried, mostly, beneath rock. The block could hold up to 40,000 people in 20,000 cells. On the average, each block could hold 40,000 people. On some blocks, however, each cell could hold between two and four people. Block A extended from about sixty-four feet below the surface to about 32 feet above the surface, each cell being a maximum of 8 feet tall, allowing for a total of 12 levels. Tim and Tom were in cell 57, which was on the first level, sixty-four feet below the surface of the ocean.

Tom walked to the bars and looked around. Across the block, to the other side, people were getting out of their beds. "Another day, another hell." Many of them said. Apparently that was the motto of the prison. As they did, someone walked down each row with an electronic Palm and checked off the prisoners. Everyone was accounted for and breakfast would be served in about forty-five minutes. Each meal was spaced by 5 hours, the first starting at 0600 and the last ending at 1600.

Just before breakfast was served, a shreak echoed throughout the corridors. Someone had had his toe cut off during interrogation. Whimpers followed. The corridors were acoustically designed so that a pindrop could be heard 100s of meters away. It was done on purpose. Someone manning the watch booth could easily pay attention to any suspicious sounds without getting up. Obviously, microphones and cameras throughout the block could be monitored from the booth but nothing was completely foolproof in terms of monitoring. It was added as an additional protection.

As the day went on, guardsmen patrolled the halls in full riotgear, just incase. Guardsmen were generally armed with much of the same items. They all carried a knife anda sidearm. The standard issue sidearm for the guardsmen was the M33A5 Pistol, loaded with the .357SIG round. Then, for their primary weapons they either carried an M55A1 Automatic Shotgun, an M52A1 Carbine, or an M43A5 Submachine Gun. Most of the guards carried grenades too. The standard loadout gave them three M84 Flashbang grenades and three M7A3 Riot Control Grenades. The Flashbangs emitted a powerful flash and a loud bang, stunning everyone within its radius. The Riot Control Grenades, on the other hand, produced a cloud of irritant agent for 15 to 35 seconds, incapacitating everyone within the radius. That was why guards always walked around in their protective gear, which included a mask system and heavy body armor. Their armor was rated at high class and could stop most assault rifle and all pistol cartridges. Higher powered pistol cartridges, such as Magnum or Action Express cartridges would seriously hurt the individual but the first and possibly the second round would be stopped.

http://www.theforsakenoutlaw.com/Graphics/Nation-States/Role-Playing/Forsaken%20Island/HL2Combineprisonguard.jpg

They passed by at certain intervals as well. Often stopping to taunt the inmates. Tim and Tom were often laughed at, called "faggots," and occassionally beaten. It was part of the whole dehumanization process. The guards were experts at it, just like the rest of the prison staff. Their first day had been something of a nightmare, an awoken nightmare. Tim had recieved a good punch to the face for staring at the guard and Tom, just because he was in the cell, recieved a kick to the stomach and a smack to the back with a club.

Now here they were, that memory behind them, having been in jail now for eight months. Both had gone through about seven "interrogation" sessions. There was no interrogation though that was what how they were called. They were beaten, tortured, electrocuted, and made to suffer throughout each session, designed to demoralize them and feed some sick, sadistic, and twisted desire inside of the "interrogators." It was something straight out of a bad video game.

Chapter II: Echoes of the Past

Bernt Grieg, Hans Reitan, Egil Hansen, and Johan Seim all occupied a single cell in Block C. They weren't new to a Layartebian prison and had been moved to this one only six months after it opened. All four were Cottish citizens and all four of them disgraced their own country as well as the Empire. Some time ago, after the Empire uncovered scientific findings that life on Earth came from an alien planet, a massive riot occured outside of the Layartebian embassy in Cotland. During the battle, the embassy was overrun, after forces ran out of ammunition and were overwhelmed. During the course of the occupation, four individuals proceeded to rape several women, these four individuals being Bernt Grieg, Hans Reitan, Egil Hansen, and Johan Seim. They had been captured by Layartebian forces who retook the embassy shortly after its fall. They were transported back to a secret Layartebian prison run by Black Operations. Now, they were moved to Nova Prospekt. Since their arrival, the torture had not ceased. At leat three or four times a week, the torture continued. They would pay for their crimes for the rest of their natural life.

For today, it would be Bernt. He was carried off around 1300, towards one of the chambers at the end of the block. His cries would echo for the next four hours. He was strapped into a dentist type chair, blood on the walls, stained and dried. There was dried blood on the chair as well. It was something of a digusting room. The temperature was about 40°F, kept ice cold to add to suffering. It was wierd how any injury recieved in cold conditions hurt far more than in warm. This was used and to add to the discomfort of the prisoner.

"Well Mr. Grieg. Seated as usual." His torturer was nortorious. He worked in four prison facilities already, as an expert in the art of torture. As usual, Bernt kept quiet. "Still not speaking I see. Well we'll try to change that again. Let's see, where did I leave off?" He had an impecible memory. "As yes. Electro therapy." He began to attach the electrodes. "What did we do last time? Ah yes, four hundred and fifty thousand volts. If I remember correctly, you pissed your pants and drooled all over yourself. You know, if I increase it to five hundred there is a good possibility that you'll shit yourself. Laundry is still two days away. Man, you'll have to sit in your own shit for two days. I think we should try. What do you think?" Sadistically, he turned on the machine, putting voltage into the man's body at such low amperage it wouldn't kill him but make him suffer. "One hundred thousand. Almost up there." He slowly uped the voltage. The machine sent pulses into the body, each one at a certain voltage for a very short duration, less than a second or two. It took time and prolonged him to sustained hell. "Two hundred now. You want to talk or do you want to piss yourself again? You know this wastes my time as much as it wastes yours." He gurgled underneath the shocks. As the shocks intensified and Bernt approached four hundred thousand, he finally began to show weakness. It had been months upon months upon months and finally he began to break. "Want to say something?"

"Sto...Sto..." He couldn't even utter the words, he was in too much pain. "Sto..." The doctor did and Bernt looked up. "Enough. I can't go any more. Stop..." He struggled to catch his breath. "This struggle is pointless. My government left me to die." He took another deep breath. "What? Enough. What is it that you want?"

"What we want is justice. You raped a woman. You didn't murder her, you raped her. There is never an excuse for rape. No situation could make you want to rape someone. I can understand murder. I want to kill you right now but unfortunately I cannot. Murder is something that can be justified, albeit it is still wrong. Rape can never be justified. You did more than just forcibly have sex with her, you ruined her entire psyche for the rest of her life. Perhaps you should be raped yourself or have I had that done to you already?"

"The woman was a representative of the government of lies. You tell lies with your documents from the Yucatán. None of you are human."

"Even if we were all that you said, where are you right now?"

"In the hands of the devil."

"The devil." He chuckled. "If we, I, were or was the devil you would be in hell."

"I am in hell!"

"You are no where near hell. Perhaps you should. Yes. I have it."

"What?"

"Sleep gives you solace?"

"We've been through that. It didn't work."

"No you still sleep. I'm going to make it so that you never sleep." He picked up his cell phone and dialed the warden. "Hello, Lieutenant Colonel Mulligan. Yes sir. Indeed. Well sir, it is good for me to tell you that Mr. Grieg has broken. Of course I shall. Sir, I think we should let him see what it is like to never sleep. Very good. I say tomorrow. Yes sir." He hung up and looked back with a smile. "You will need to sign a confession, you do realize?"

"Fine. I'll sign it. It's not like I'm ever getting out of here."

"No. You won't. Tomorrow at noon you will be collected and will be able to sign that confession. You have a proceedure to undergo."

"What are you talking about?"

"You shall see. Guards." Two guards came into the room and looked at him. "Mr. Grieg is finished. He shall be collected tomorrow at noon. You may return him to his cell."

"Has he shit himself this time?" One of the guards asked.

"No he's kept his dignity this time."

"Understood. Let's go."

"You'll get yours doctor, you will."

"Mr. Grieg, I already have gotten mine. Now it's my job to make sure everyone else get's theirs. Good afternoon." The doctor moved out of the room towards his office, which wasn't very far away. He had to enter the results of this torture meeting into Bernt Grieg's file. He would be doing the same to Hans Reitan, Egil Hansen, and Johan Seim within the rest of the week, pushing each of the three of them towards confession and towards their own personal hell.

Across the prison, sitting quietly, Tim and Tom were keeping quiet. Guards were in a particularly unfriendly mood and already smacked the hell out of Tim for sneezing. The air was dusty and he couldn't help it but they didn't want to hear any excuse except that he would stop. One of them threatened to break a glass bottle over his head if he continued, a threat that was certainly not empty. The guard stunk of alcohol and Tim figured that he probably had the bottle with him and he was just angry that it was empty. They both had books though and that helped. The books were old, one being the history of Tnemrot and the other being about the Layartebian push for independence in 1157. They were as interesting to read as the manual for a cement mixer.

By nightfall, both of them had had enough of reading for the next week but it was all that they had. The prison had no game rooms, no yards, no nothing to keep them occupied. Half of the inmates would go mad with the soltitude, boredom, and monotony of the prison by their first year and those who didn't would progressively fall deeper and deeper into an inhuman state, until they were nothing but caged beasts.

Chapter III: A Strange Visitor

"Walker. Walker! Wake the fuck up now boy!" Sergeant Lee said as he knocked on the bars of Walker's cell at 0200. He awoke everyone but he didn't care. Cell Block A was his territory and he did what he pleased, when he pleased, to whomever he pleased. "Get up boy!"

"What do you want?"

"Don't take that fucking tone with me. Up. Let's go!"

"Go where?"

"Boy if you don't get to this cell in eight seconds I'm going to see to it that you are breathing through a straw."

"Fine. I'm coming." He was groggy, very groggy, having been awoken at an odd hour of the morning. What the hell is this about? He thought to himself and put on his slippers. "Where to Sergeant?" He emphasized the word in a sarcastic way, earning himself a rap on the back of the head with the guard's nightstick.

"Follow me jackass. Apparently someone wants to see you. Let's go!"

"I'm popular huh?" He got another rap on the back of the head. The guard walked him out of the cell block to a set of offices, waiting rooms, and other clerical rooms. He was taken to one room in particular, a secure room, where the individuals inside could talk without being heard or seen on the outside. The room was completely soundproof and it was here the highest level and most urgent meetings were held. Inside the room would only be one other man, someone of great importance in the Empire.

"This way." Sergeant Lee turned the corner and walked towards the room, which was at the end of the corridor. "In there. Two guards will be standing outside so don't try anything funny. If you do you will pray for death."

"Understood Sergeant."

"In you go. Remember, your ass is mine!" The Sergeant left and two men stood outside the door, both with shotguns.

Tim walked into the room, it was dark, no lights on. "Hello?" He asked, the door shut and locked behind him.

"Mr. Walker. Pleassse sit down. Allow me to..turn up the lights." The voice was slow, measured, and raspy and he had never heard it before. "Is this better?" The lights slowly faded up to reveal a stiff man sitting down at the end of the table, wearing a suit with a red tie. He was an elder man, probably in his forties but he looked as if he were sixty.

"Yeah sure." Tim was baffled and sat down, the fear of the unknown filling his chest. "Who are you?"

"Oh that is not important. What is is our meeting. Please. Allow me to speak of it."

"Alright." Tim was mystified now and watched as the calculating, intimidating, and powerful man sat before him and spoke.

"You are a great resource to me and my colleagues. Your crimes are weak but your abilities are of great quantity. You and I have much to discuss, we do. Our Empire is strong, it is. The Empire can defeat any foe on Earth. But alas, it is not a foe on Earth we are to worry about. From afar there are foes far more powerful, far greater, and far deadlier than our entire Empire can fathom. Our great Empire has taken measures to defend, nay, keep our planet out of the hands of this foe from afar. Defense is with destruction. Perhaps you and I could talk, perhaps come to an agreement. The destruction of our planet should not be our only option. My colleagues and I are working on an, alternative solution, so to speak. But our solution is not without necessity. You. Unfortunately. Are to serve as my 'test-subject.' I understand the meaning of my request is not but a lopsided one. Obviously, I will, definitely, be at the better end of the bargain. But what I offer you is far more than you will ever attain. I can free you from here. However, you will no longer be known as Tim Walker. I shall let you think about this decision for a while. Perhaps I must leave you be?"

"So let me get this straight. Aliens are looking to take over the planet and our only defense is the destruction of our planet?"

"Quite a fast learner. Yes."

"And you want me to help you and your colleagues find an alternative defense, one that doesn't mean the eradication of the human race?"

"Correct."

"And I will be, essentially, a guinea pig for whatever experiments an problems you have?"

"Quite a predicament."

"What about Tom?"

"Your cellmate is not as capable as you are."

"And what should happen to him?"

"That is not of consequence."

"It is to me."

"Perhaps you and I should talk at a later date. I shall return you to your cell. You must not speak of this and I will return in eight days. Good luck Mr. Walker."

"Yeah." Tim was beyond confused and he returned to his cell, quiet, and returned to bed. When he awoke the next morning he wasn't sure whether or not the events of the previous night were a dream or not. They weren't.

As Mr. Carpenter concluded his meeting, he exited the prison and made his way to the airfield. It was at the opposite end of the island and he would travel from the prison to there by Dingo. The driver had never seen the man before but was taken in complete surprise. The man carried a mysterious aura. It was difficult to speak in his presence. Mr. Carpenter spoke not and they were at the helicopter pad shortly. The roads throughout the island were constructed specifically for the purpose of making them very difficult to traverse. The ride was all but comfortable.

When he arrived at the airfield, Mr. Carpenter boarded his C-21B Learjet and within minutes, his pilot was flying northward, back towards Layarteb. Something was definitely strange.

Chapter IV: A Timely Fashion

Smoke rose over the Greenland surface, blue and green flames licking the night sky. A UFO had crashed and it had crashed hard. Mr. Carpenter was already on his way southward, to Nova Prospekt, to find out the answer of his "candidate." His Learjet streaked southward at 35,000 feet and 500 miles per hour, splitting the sky as it flew. The situation in Greenland was under control by now, very much under control. The UFO that crashed was well damaged, in a lot of pieces, having his the ground pretty hard, a speed of 11 km/second. That was an impact velocity of 24,606.3 miles per hour. ICBMs entered the atmosphere at 15,000 miles per hour and air burst over their targets. Meteors regularly impacted at this velocity, 11 km/second.

When Mr. Carpenter landed, his pilot immediately went about refueling the aircraft whilst Mr. Carpenter was taken to the prison. He had an important meeting to conduct, a very important meeting. First and foremost, he wanted to know one thing: yes or no. Secondly, he needed to secure the "candidate" and move him immediately. This was all for a very sinister purpose.

Sergeant Lee came to get him at 0300, when Mr. Carpenter arrived. "Walker. Get the fuck out of that bed now!"

"This timing is bad. Go away Lee."

"Boy. I am going to come up there and play dentist with my pliers."

"Fine. What is it?"

"You have a visitor...again..."

"Sir?"

"I would like to know what the hell is so important that you are being pulled away from my cell block, getting me up at 0300, and moving you to some freedom for a few minutes."

"Me too."

"Is that sarcasm?"

"No sir."

"Hurry up." Tim got up and put on his shoes. He followed Sergeant Lee out of the cell, down the block, and back to the same eerie room he had last time. "You again," He said with disgust.

"Well Mr. Walker...Have you had time to think?"

"I have."

"And?"

"If it gets me out of here, I really need to accept it."

"Well good then. I'll come and collect you for depature in an hour. I must talk to Lieutenant Colonel Mulligan about this. I hope you appreciate your freedom."

"Yeah." He stepped back out and Sergeant Lee looked mysteriously at his smile. "Sergeant. It's been good being beaten by you."

"What are you talking about boy?"

"I'm free."

"Like hell you are." Sergeant Lee walked him back to his cell. "If you are still awake in five minutes I'm going to slit your throat."

"Asshole." He muttered under his breath. Mr. Carpenter, as he promised, would be back in one hour to collect Tim Walker. They boarded his Learjet and took off, back for Layarteb and for the freedom that Tim was now about to have.