NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: This is semi-closed, we still have room, and may allow a devoted player or two to join. Here's the OOC thread (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=483975). Please mind the rules and keep OOC comments in the OOC, unless absolutely necessary. One last thing, if you're going to sware in your post, please mask it. Thanks.

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19:00.00... 19:00.01... 19:00.02...

Scott Jacobsen walked slowly to the entrance. Pausing once or twice to glance around him, he slowly strode up to the main gate, and waved slightly to the man behind the bar. In the little booth, the man with an assault rifle recognized him and replied with a slight nod of the head. He hit a button on a console in the booth and the gate slowly opened.

Scott stepped back for a moment and closed his eyes, listening to the rattle of the gate as it opened. Finally, as it came to a rest wide open, Scott stepped through. The man closed it behind him and Scott thanked the man with a gesture of his hand. The man replied in the same manner, and scott moved onward. He walked past the booth walking on the large roadway. It led up to a huge complex. Heavily guarded and high security. It had it all... except one thing, intelligence. This little complex could be rattled easily enough, because it would never know what hit it. It had no correspondence with the FBI or CIA. It had nothing but a few guards and an electric fence surrounding it. Not to mention a few machine gun nests, supposedly.

Scott walked slowly and finally reached the main door. As a guard stepped in front, barring his entrance, Scott drew a card from his wallet, identifying himself. The logo was that of CTU, and when the guard saw it he instantly stepped aside. The CTU agent strode into the building through the heavy doors and walked up to the main desk. Behind the counter, a young blonde woman in her early twenties was talking on the phone. Scott couldn't help but overhear...

"--think so... I'm going to be busy tonight. No, it's not that I don't want to go with you, I'm just too busy tonight, got to work overtime..." she glanced up and noticed Scott standing there. "I have to go Billy, bye." she slammed the phone home into its cradle. She looked up once more and asked, "May I help you?"

"Scott Jacobsen, CTU." He said, holding up his badge.

She instantly recognized why he was here. "Ahhh... yes Mr. Jacobsen, right this way." She gestured towards the break in the counter and waited while Scott took his time waltzing through it. They slowly crossed the room dotted with secretaries and aides running here and there, answering phones, doing their work. Finally, the two reached the back where a glass door and wall awaited them. The girl opened the door and stepped in, Scott was right behind her.

"Sir, Mr. Jacobsen to see you."

"Yes," A short man with a round stomach and jet black hair spoke, "Take a seat Mr. Jacobsen. Leave us Jen."

"Yes sir." The girl left.

"Scott," The man began sitting in his large chair. "why exactly did the CTU send you here?"

Scott cleared his throat and spoke, "We intercepted a message today, 23 minutes ago. It seems that there are terrorists in this section of LA."

"That doesn't explain. How does this concern us?"

Scott spoke slowly now, "What's this about Gendivine?"

19:09.21... 19:09.22... 19:09.23...

19:00:00...19:00:01...19:00:02...

Ryan Sinclair sat at his desk in CTU headquarters. The room was busy with staffers and others running around. His computer screen was filled with seemingly random pieces of information. Next to the computer was a family photo of himself, his wife natalie, and their two young children Thomas and Jessica. The agent ran his hands through his hair. Alot of stress has been coming down on him. A flurry of activity has erupted over the last 23 minutes, especially after they recieved certain reports...reports of an attempt to compromise a research facility. His rough hands enveloped the mouse and he clicked on a window. Several passports appeared on the screen. Russians? Chechnyans? he looked at the passports. The names were Eastern European, however there were no photos which struck the agent as unusual. A cup of steaming coffee was placed on his desk.
"Here you go, you'll need it" a lady secretary said with a smile.
"Thanks, Mary. I'll need it" Ryan took a sip which scolded his lip a bit. But, he didn't wince or anything.
Some files were placed by an aide on his desk. They were thick manila folders with stickies on them. He quickly thumbed through them, his eyes moved like typewriters over each page. several concerned the reasearch lab. The skimatics were iffy at best. This place is basically asking to be compromised. The garage complex was the most accessable. Security was pitiful. Exactly what these 'terrorists' or whoever they are are after ws still a mystery to him. But, his main concern was discovering the identities of the assailants. he disliked being trapped behind a desk but every bit of info saves time.
"Sinclair!" a husky voice called out. It was a fellow agent. he lumbered towards him with a grim face. "Sinclair, our contact in Grozny's been found dead just fifteen minutes ago." the agent said.
"Our contact's dead?!" he exclaimed in disbelief. "Dammit!" Sinclair ran his hands though his hair, trying to think of what to do. The whole thing stunk to high heaven.

18:50:01...18:50:02...18:50:03...
Korovak woke up and looked at his alarm clock. It read 6:55 PM. He sat up and stretched on the mattress he kept in the corner of his squalid apartment. As he went through his "morning" routine, he couldn't keep a grin off of his face. Tonight would be the night.

The night he made America pay.

After fifteen minutes of calisthenics, his cell rang. He picked it up and listened to the short message. "Nicolai, sector 7, 15". The message was simple: Nicolai was to get to the docks in 15 minutes. Nicolai put on his battle dress, a simple set of urban camo pants, a black shirt and a black beret. He then armed himself: he put his GLOCK 21 at his waist, combat knife on his shin, and hid his MP5SD2 and his extra ammunition in a black duffel bag.

Nicolai exited the apartment building, walked to his car, a black hatchback Acura Integra. He dropped the duffelbag on the rear floorboard, and was en route to the docks.

19:10:23...19:10:24...19:10:25...

19:13:01...19:13:02...19:13:03...
The Docks

Dimitri lit another cigarette, and checked the street once more. No one. He leaned his back against the wall of an old warehouse, glancing at his watch.

"Оно бурить, так буря..." he mumbled in Russian, and started to whissle.

Someone emerged from a small alley quit near on his left. Dimitri turned his head, and saw a group of three rather unfriendly-looking men coming straight towards him. For a short moment he thought he considered the possibility of those men being the ones he was waiting for, but soon abandoned the idea. No. Those men were by no means professionals, of any branch. The men stopped, some 20 metres from him, and stared the Russian.
He was wearing his usual outfit, made of dark green/brown/black camouflage trousers, black Russian army jackboots and a leather jacket. He kept that open, showing a black hoody with a short red text, "Julma Mies Venäjältä" written on the chest.
Perhaps it was his confident glance, intentionally casual appearance and posture or the rather amused smile that stopped these guys for a second, but after a short moment the tallest of them decided to move regardless and his buddies followed him. Dimitri straightened himself and turned to meet the men, still quite curious of what where they possibly up to.

"Gimme ya wallet en' we'll let ya go with all ya bones unbrokkn'..." the tall fellow said with such a acted gloomines that it made Dimitri laugh out.

"...hehhehheh, guys, please! I am not going to give you my wallet, even now when I don't have more than 20 bucks in it. Go to find an easier target to rob, I'm kinda busy now."

The tallest "robber" quickly glanced at his buddies, now clearly losing even the remnants of his already shattered confidence.

"Y-you should SHUT THE F**K UP! GIVE YOUR WALLET OR WE'LL F**KING BEAT YOUR ASS UP YOU F**KING COMMIE!"

Dimitri sighed and shook his head, still smiling. That pitiful youngster had noticed his accent, still rather strong despite the years he had spent in the English-speaking world, and was now trying to use it together with shouting to regain some nerve.
Dimitri was getting irritated.

"Now listen to me, kid. I don't want any troubles, but if you keep begging for it I will break your arm to show you that Russian's aren't to be f**ked with. This is the last warning. Now get going."

The tall robber bit his lower lip, and it looked like he was going to give up afteral. But his friend, a thin boy clearly not older than 16 had more guts (and stupidity) than his leader.
"SCREW YOU!" he shouted, pulling a short knife from his sleeve with a move he had propably trained for hours in front of a mirror to make it look creditable, and darted towards the Spetsnaz veteran in front of him.

Still mentally sighing for this over-cliche scene Dimitri duked and performed a style-pure somerset over his right shouled, ending up between the young knife hero and his buddies, face towards the back of the kid. He gave the boy a tsuki-strike to his neck, dropping him instantly, and spinned around, left jackboot high in the air. It soon met the face of the tall, cowardly wannabe-capone with the most satisfactory sound of a breaking bone. Dimitri now stood face to face with the last youngster, who made a desperate attempt to reach something, propably a gun of some sort, from the pocket of his jacket. Dimitri's jackboot, this time the right one, gently touched his knee and the young man fell to the ground, crying in pain. Dimitri pulled out his Kukri (http://img126.imageshack.us/img126/3544/gurkhaknife7gg.jpg) and smiled to the gang leader crawling in front of him with a broken nose and with severely diminished tooth number. He got the hint, and started to drag his friends back towards the alley they had first came out from, mumbling something Dimitri didn't understand - speaking with mouth filled with blood can do that.

Those pitiful persons had just disappeared out of sight when a black, fancy-looking car turned to the street. Dimitri, still laughing, lit another cigarette and walked to get his dark green army bag he had left to the ground in his original waiting point. He threw it to his back and walked towards the car that slowed down and stopped next to him.

19:18:11...19:18:12...19:18:13...

Uhhh.... BUMPey?

19:09.24... 19:09.25... 19:09.26...

The man in the big black chair blinked. Jacobsen intently stared him down, waiting for the man to answer the question. In time, but then again, time was something that they were all a little short on right now. They would have to make this quick, and Scott was losing his patience with Jerry Quinn. Jerry kept staring.

"Well...?" Scott persisted.

Jerry remained hesistant, but finally spoke after another second. "Gendivine is a project that was not supposed to be known outside of this complex..."

Scott sprang in, "Then why did I hear of it in my briefing only minutes ago... before I walked into this compound?"

Quinn jumped to his feet. "How dare the CTU interfere and spy on us!"

Scott smiled wrily at the shaky man. "We didn't spy, but it appears the terrorists did. In the intercepted transmission, Gendivine was clearly mentioned. Not much, but clearly. I need to know everything Mr. Quinn... everything."

Jerry rubbed his hand through his hair and finally sat uncomfortably once more. "Gendivine was a drug that was supposed to increase human life spans by over 30 percent."

"And...?"

"And... it failed."

Now it was Scott's turn to blink. "What does this mean Mr. Quinn?"

Quinn sighed deeply. "The patient we tested the drug on died on 3 hours after consumption. It seems that something went wrong in our experiments, very wrong. The mice were fine, but humans died. This drug, once produced, becomes a deadly virus. It is transferable via the air, injection, or consumption. It can be a gas, solid, or liquid."

Scott was starting to understand. Both men were. They sat there clearly in shock. Scott finally spoke, "So... where is the drug now?"

Pause. "We have massive quantities of the drug within this complex. It is all heavily guarded, but we produced too much of it before testing... we figured it was a no miss. Now, it is very difficult to dispose of, especially near downtown LA. It's not like we can dump it in a river."

Scott stood and walked to the door. "Thank you for your time Mr. Quinn, the CTU will be contacting you shortly."

Quinn stood, "Thank you..." he waited till Jacobsen turned the knob on teh door but hadn't yet opened it. "And Scott... the FBI knows nothing of Gendivine. No government official does... they can't be allowed."

Scott grimaced. "They might have to know now." He glanced at the clock above the head of the man.

19:17.01... 19:17.02... 19:17.03...

bump.