NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: FINALLY!!!! I tried to post this and the forums died on us. Anyway, the first post may be short and sweet, but it'll probably get rolling fairly quickly. Hope you don't mind my RPing an American.

IC-

Daniel Martin shivered in the cool air. Even in June the nights were cold in southern Manitoba...or was this Minnesota? He didn't know, and he didn't really care. He stumbled Southward steadily, holding his bloodstained Bible in his hands and kissing his crucifix every ten minutes.

He was half-starved, suffering from a gunshot wound in one arm and several broken ribs. When he coughed, he could taste the blood in it. All he could do was walk and pray. His mind was almost blank, refusing to think on the horrors that he had experienced. And then, in the distance, he saw his salvation: a United States border patrol. He frantically waved his good arm, the one holding his bible, hoping
against hope to be seen.

"Attention! This is U.S. Border Security. Please identify yourself."

Daniel coughed a bit, holding his bible over his eyes to block out the blinding headlights of the vehicle. He mustered his loudest voice, and with it, he cried out, "I'm Daniel Martin...please...help me."

Then he fell to his knees, his strength leaving him. He muttered a final prayer to God before he passed out.

OOC again: You can do what you will with him while he's unconscious.

Bump

[Minnesota Border]

"He's down. I think he just passed out. Is he on our side of the border yet?"

"Yeah, looks like it. Henderson, go pick him up, we'll cover you."

The USBS trooper nodded and shifted his big, military-grade assault rifle back over his shoulder, while the rest of the group put theirs to their shoulders, covering the area in case this was a lure by a Canadian sniper, or if they didn't want this guy making into the US.

Henderson slung him over his shoulders and made his way back to the main group. The floodlight bearing Hummer switched its blinding glare off as the man was laid over the backseat, the rest of the border patrol unit clamoring onto the vehicle. The old Hummer's new grainfuel engine hummed as they made their way onto paved road.

"Alright, this guy has a gunshot wound, looks like some broken ribs... Throw me back some bandages."

"Still breathin?"

"Yeah. What's the nearest hospital."

The USBS trooper in the passenger seat tapped a few buttons on his GPS, and the hospital blinked on an electronic map. Then he grabbed his cell phone and called in, telling them to get an emergency room ready.

After about 15 minutes barreling down the Minnesota road at high speed, they arrived at the hospital, with a team already waiting for the incoming Canadian.

Whoever this guy was, he was damned lucky. But why did he run to the US with nothing but a Bible and a Crucifix?

[Three Days Later]

Outside Martin's room, two suited security guards of the FBI stood quietly but imposingly. Technically the FBI had jurisdiction here, but they wouldn't be running the investigation.

CIA operative Jason Carmell could establish a few things from Mr. Martin's trip over. Firstly, he was a political fugitive. Nobody flees one of the best public healthcare systems in the world after sustaining a gunshot wound unless the people who ran those hospitals, and everything else in the country, had done it.

And that checked out. The round in his arm was a standard issue Canadian one. Secondly, he was extremely religious. That didn't take a lot of deduction on his part but it was an important fact nonetheless. It seemed unlikely a criminal would run with nothing but religiously important items and his clothes, so there was the possibility of a religious... Dissident?

In Canada? The 'we-care-about-our-citizens' Socialist Republic of Canada? This could be very, very big.

And with that thought, he stepped into Martin's room.

"Hello, Mister Martin, I'm Jason Carmell, US Government. How are you feeling?"

OOC: Canada has an official policy of concentration camps for violent criminals. This next bit is placed in one.

[Winnepeg Working Camp]

"What do you mean, we have an escapee?" Manfred slammed his hand onto the desk with a loud thunk.

"Well...uhh...someone ran over a guard, stole his gun, and shot his way out through the kitchens. We have the video tape, Sir." The Head of Security gulped and waved a small CD in front of Manfred's eyes.

Taking a deep breath, Manfred pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses. He didn't need this...an escapee? The fallout for his facility would be disastrous. "What was his offense to be placed under our jurisdiction?"

The guard gulped again. "Well, that's just it, Warden. He was interred under the New Religious Policy. Evangelical Christian, avowed enemy of the State. No real criminal activity on file, however...until now. Well, let me show you..."

The guard turned to a small DVD player and slid the diskette into it. Instantly, the television popped open, showing a full-colour video. Because of the rather lax security of the working camp, people could go about inside it freely unless it was time to work or they were deemed dangerous. So it wasn't unusual to see someone stopping by the kitchens, even at night.

Daniel had been allowed his Bible and some personal effects out of that leniency, and so it was not surprising to the two men to see him carrying it to the kitchen. But when he suddenly attacked a guard, stole his gun, and shot him three times in the chest and neck with it before running, the Warden gasped.

The tape showed other guards hurrying to the scene, but unable to catch the wild man. The focus of the cameras shifted as Daniel ran through the kitchens. He was intercepted by a large guard, who tacked him forcefully to the ground, breaking ribs. The guard, obviously thinking Daniel unconscious, hesitated for just a moment. He was rewarded with a bullet to his head.

The tape clicked off. "And we've been hunting for him ever since. He's heading South."

The Warden shook his head. This had gone beyond Winnipeg, beyond Manitoba. "Can you find him before he reaches the border?"

The guard emphatically shook his head. "No...we don't have the Federal resources for it. And the maniacs in Quebec City (OOC: New capital of Socialist Canada) would simply wave it off in hopes that the Yanks would take care of it for them anyway."

Manfred nodded. "Call off the search. Pretend that this man..." He searched his memory for the face and the name. "This Daniel Martin never existed."

"Yes, Sir!"

[Minnesota Hospital]

Daniel had been in a long, dreamless sleep for the three days he was unconscious. He slowly came awake in a hospital room, his fear growing. The room looked similar to many Canadian hospitals, and indeed had the same sterile quality as the Work Camp he had been interred in.

But suddenly a man walked in and said those magical words, US Government, and his fear melted away. He tried to speak at first, but his voice only creaked. He noticed a small cup of water beside his bed and took a sip from it, drawing in a painful breath.

"Like I have Pat Robertson sitting on my chest..." His dried lips were cracked, so hel icked them. "How..how long have I been here?"