NationStates Jolt Archive

Unknown, Today

Hell.

Figuratively and literally. Derrick Thomas scrambled to his feet again as he discharged the SCAR-L light assault rifle, 5.56mm bullets flying through the dark air behind him. An otherworldly snarl followed the attack as something flew by his head - whatever something was.

Thomas had been convicted five years before of serial rape of three school-age girls, ranging between ages 13 to 17. Rape was a capital offense in the Amazonian Dominion - and Thomas was no exception, having been sentenced to death via the usual method - beheading. It was fast and used no resources whatsoever, and Thomas wasn't looking forward to the fate. However, such fate had also given him a way out of the sentence of the imperialistic regime - a way, he had seen it, to cheat death.


* * * * *


One Week Earlier

"We have an offer I think you may enjoy, Mr. Thomas..."

Derrick Thomas, convict # 2423 A-3, was handcuffed to the low metal table, the chief of security at high-security prison 24TA sitting before him and laying out papers inscribed with technological language he could not understand.

"You want me to what now?"

"Mr. Thomas, is that any way to approach a way to save your life...which, let me remind you, is worth nothing in justice's eyes?"

Derrick shifted uneasily onto his left buttock as the security chief's ashen face bored into his hazel eyes. The gaze of the chief never lifted; he settled on a point just underneath the rapist's nose.

The security chief had no compassion for this man. In fact, before being assigned to the prison, he had been under one of the precincts where Thomas had committed his fateful deeds. The chief couldn't forget the face of the last girl Thomas had gotten - a sixteen year old, Amanda Reynauld. Shattered, finished, lifeless - almost literally. Thomas had violated one this young for life, removed her emotion and innocence, destroyed the sanctity of childhood and youth. He deserved nothing less than the same.

Derrick read the papers, taking his time - he was no intelligent commercial, in the sense of raw mental power. He was having a very hard time with the script, but eventually looked back up at the disproving face.

"You want me to run around in a big place?"

Elegant. "Exactly."

Thomas chewed his lower lip momentarily, eyes flitting around as they zeroed in on a spot in the concrete floor of the prison meeting room. A muscle in the convict's jaw twitched...involuntarily.

"What's the catch?"

The chief smiled. "Nothing. You ensure this place is good for us, and we set you free."

Thomas perked a bit. A gullible criminal, apparently. "Ok, you can sign me up."

"If you just sign upon this line, Mr. Thomas..."


* * * * *


Thomas dove over what he thought was a log - there wasn't enough ambiant light to tell him whether there was or wasn't an obstacle there. A sickening thud landed in the soft ground next to him - Thomas didn't dare guess what that was. A shriek came from behind - not one of fear and pain, but one of pure animalistic malice. A shadow lumbered behind in what little visability there was, coming...coming for him.

Thomas hurdled another obstacle...he wished the Wardens who had outfitted him had given him some sort of protection besides the assault rifle. It was all he had, and clearly there was something else that wasn't getting stopped by an assault rifle bullet. Or bullets. Somehow, Thomas was having a very bad feeling about what was happening here...and more and more, the butterflies in his stomach were transforming into pterodactyls.

Something swished past Thomas's ear, the rush of air zipping by his face. Thomas increased his stride, sprinting all-out as whatever behind him snarled with increased fury. A drop of wetness contacted with his neck, Derrick's neck hairs quivering with the sticky blob that stuck to his skin like an adhesive. Whatever was behind him certainly didn't sound good...and Thomas, who had been promised a free ride out if he tested this, suddenly got to thinking that his free ride out probaly wouldn't be pulling up to the block.

As with fleeing, overthinking ended up killing the cat. From one moment to another, a heavy, sharp object contacted with Thomas's right ribs, slamming with heavy force and hurling the convict into the black air - and sending the assault weapon flying. Thomas connected with a woody-like object - probaly a tree - and heard an audible snap before crumpling to the tree's base. He felt around his skin momentarily...nothing, nothing...before finding something sharp lying on his leg. A poke of that followed up realization - it was his own femur.

Thomas choked up a spat of blood, a feeling of overwhelming dread sweeping over the former rapist. A lifetime's worth of memories washed over his active memory, images, sounds, dreams, smells...everything. As Thomas's frontal brain flickered with the fear of the end of a cursed existence, Thomas's occiptal lobes registered something else inbound from the nerves of his eyes...something large - much larger than the convict - looming up.

"Hchell man, nao," Thomas choked and spit, tears welling up at the self-described "tough man's" eyes. "Don't do dis."

An angered, high-pitched roar met Thomas's words, a wave of hot air sweeping over his limited visual field. The man blinked back wet eyes, panting hard as heat washed across his face...both internal and external. Growls uttered around Thomas...along with a pounding step. Clicks registered back and forth in the air in front of him as something else loomed up, the previous shadow drawing back. The new one seemed larger, more imposing...and just as angry as the last one.

Thomas was about to try to run away as a hot lance swiped through his stomach, followed by a slushing sound. Derrick reached down, feeling slowly down from his throat...chest...heart...hole. Hole?

A warm and wet sensation met Thomas's touch, along with what seemed a perfect circle of indentation. Thomas felt out along the wet sensation until the realization hit the slow criminal - the pain was linked. This was his intestine and gastric juices.

Thomas felt a wave of nausea rush over him, saliva banking down his mouth as the shadow approached again, a low growl eminating. Thomas had little chance for reflection now - fear and disgust that he was going out this way...with his guts hanging from his stomach cavity...overcoming any thoughts of the past or future. Things began to shut down for Thomas as blood poured out of the hole in his gut, what sight he had slowly dissolving into a tunnel of black, with a mere circle of light still visable at its midpoint. The shadow was still there, mixed with the rest of the blackness.

With a rush, the shadow snarled and lunged at Thomas's face, a glimpse of white and a splash of fear being the convicted rapist's last punishment.


* * * * *


Simultaneously, messages went out across online message boards, through flyers, and various other methods. Volunteers were needed for medical testing on a potential cure in reversing the effects of rapid cell duplication in the spread of cancer. Flyers went out, messages across the internet distributed and groups on sites such as Facebook and Myspace went to the cause, encouraging a few brave volunteers to step up and support the cause.


Dear Concerned Individuals

Cancer has long been one of the foremost biological weapons of nature against the stalwart health of humanity - the rapid multiplication of malignant cells in producing a fatal condition to innumerable citizens of the world every year. The answer has been before our eyes all along.

Amazonian scientists have found a potential reversal of cancer's effects of spread and replication. In sending masses of messenger chemicals to stop malignant cells in the first growth phase of the cell stage and stopping cells before synthesizing chromosome pairs, malignant cancer cells are effectively frozen in place and time.

Naturally, cancer patients are not required - actually, are not desired - for such tests. Healthy patients are preferred to test out such procedures on normal cells before expanding to cancerous, malignant cells.

Any willing volunteers to undertake this monumental breakthrough in medical science is invited to report to the National Office of Medicinal Health in Amazonia Central, Amazonia, 92127 - 619 International Way, by Monday, July 5th, or as soon as possible. Call (Nation Code 82) 619-459-0205 for details.

~Amazonian International Commission on Medicinal Research


Internationalism was the name of the game, however. Across nations, Amazonian foreign officials were on the lookout for candidates they believed would fit the bill for the tests needed for what would be ahead...and allowed to use whatever nonlethal force and stealth neccessary to carry out such details, so long as such governments never discovered what was going on. They merely had to get their hands on people and get them back to Amazonia...then everything would go down.


OOC: From here, you can have your person(s) either be a volunteer for the research, or get approached by one of the Amazonian undercover ops peeps. Volunteer or victim, your decision.

Interested peeps: See sign up thread. http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=555002

Kali, better known to most as Bones or Doc, looked at the mass email and deleted it as she shook her head. "Another over hyped study Dor. Come on lets get the ret of the packing done."

In five hours time she was taking a flight to Amazonia, first class no less - and she paid a second full price so Dor could fly in first class with her - her first vacation in years. Kali guessed that was why she'd recieved the mass email - she'd bought tickets to Amazonia Central. They'd take a local flight to the Amazonian national park she and Dor would be camping in.

The brochure's pictures and extensive description made it sould like paradise. And it was a new country for them to explore as well, which made it even better.

Dor looked up from the seven week old kitten he was busy grooming - his tongue covered most of the orange creamscle hued ball of fluff in one swipe, but he was very thorough and left no hair unmussed, much to the kitten's vocal outrage. Four others were curled up sleeping in his fur.

"And yes Peekaboo will still be here in two weeks. Janey's promised that Boo will come live with us when we get back."

Her next door neighbor thought it was hillarious that nearly two hundred pounds of heavy muscled CMD was at the beck and call of a total of six and a half pounds of kittens - but their mother had died shortly after their birth and Dor had stepped in as if they were his.

Janey and Kali had traded off the multiple times per night feedings. The feedings that Dor, with the utmost seriousness, woke her up for...by pulling her out of her warm bed by her hair. She generally didn't wear anything to bed for him to grab and tug on. Having her hair pulled was an effective method of being woken up, she had to admit, if one of the less pleasant ones she'd ever run across.

But at seven weeks they could begin going off of the bottle and Kali could take her overdue vacation. She turned up the music as she fitted the last pair of extra socks in the hightech back pack she'd outfitted herself with. That left only packing up Dor's small pile of necessities - and twenty five pounds of that was his Eukanuba large breed dog chow. But his Sher- Paw back pack would handle it, as would he - some thirty pounds carefully and expertly balanced across his massive frame wouldn't slow him in the slightest. He was in top physcial condition.

She though she was pretty fit herself, but she hadn't planned a schedule that would stress either of them. This was for fun, and relaxation...

Somewhere on the Belkan/Fonzuanian Border
Gaius Crassus had just finished his morning injection rituals when his PDA informed him of a new e-mail. He skimmed the offer, searching for points of interest. "Betterment of mankind...bah. What's in it for me?" Thought Crassus to himself as he pocketed the device and slipped on his robes, their threadbare silken material slipping over his blubbery, shaven exterior. He felt the bulges in his pockets, knives, needles, condoms, rubber gloves, a few snacks; everything he needed for the day, depending on wheere the road took him. He strapped on his Inquisitor's katana and stepped out of his shack, looking out at the desolate mountainous surroundings. He had been on the run from Imperial forces for days, and was nearly free of both Belkaros and Fonzuania, where finally he would be free to prowl. A sickening, greedy smile slathered itself across his face as he thought of the succulent flesh the world had to offer, and at that moment, Belkan Op.4 found him, knocked him unconscious, and gifted him to the researchers of Amazonia.

Centurion Command, Belka, Belkaros
Praetor Hoth hated Gaius Crassus with every fiber of his being. That bulbous monster was responsible for the torture and death of his daughter, and he was going to return the favor, even if it meant losing his command. With his objective clear in his mind, he headed to the cold storage vault.
The vault was home to the Ultra-Centurions, the seldom used solo variant created to operate alone, to kill alone, and to be killed alone. The creatures kept dormant here could rip through entire city blocks with minimal effort and no regret. A monster such as this would be perfect to send Crassus to meet his end. He walked through the rows in silence, finally stopping in front of 8555944930, code named Hans. He slipped a command disk into the terminal outside Hans's storage pod, uploading his orders and executive override codes into the monster's brain. The pod was then lowered to shipping, where a VTOL would drop the beast near the research facility in Amazonia.

Bob read the message on his screen. His dad and mom had died of that horrible desease. He knew he had to somehow help them. It would make him feel better.
"Hmm only a few days away."
He packed a week's supply of food, a tent to stay some nights under the stars. He didn't want to stay in another broken down, smoke filled room in a hotel. He packed a thompson (just in case) and some ammo. He stuffed it all in his backpack and walked down the sidewalk to his car.

Brian had been given the "honor" of housing the Offtopican ambassador, Mish. She had been in his tree for just over a week now, and he was tired of seeing her cleaning something. If she isn't using her laptop, she's using a mop... So his place wasn't the cleanest, it wasn't like there was mounds of dust everywhere. She did say it calmed her down. He was doing what he enjoyed...cooking. Though he ususally didn't have to cook this much. Not that his guest was out of shape or anything, it was just that he was used to cooking for one squirrel.

Someone knocked at the door. He checked his Webley on his belt. It was considered almost hostile to knock on a door, without calling. When he opened the door, a couple of humans immediately dropped at seeing the gun...they kicked it, stuffed a bag over his head, and invaded his home. The human holding his bag positioned his head so that it was outside the bag but nothing else was. As he waited to see what would happen he saw Mish being carried out of the home bound hand and foot. Brian was still pouting about how quickly they had disarmed him, until he saw how afraid his guest was. He asked his handler if he could be set next to her.

"Sure" the man said as he stuffed the squirrel and woman into the backseat of their vehicle. As they were taken away Brian was sure he heard the sirens of the GOPD. But it was too late, they were gone. Brian couldn't even look out the window, they were too high, and tinted. He looked over at Mish, she was sleeping. Probably scared out of her wits, literally. O well, she should get her rest for whatever these guys are going to do to us. He scooted over in his bag and laid his head on her. She makes a nice pillow. he thought as he fell asleep.

"With the thirty-second pick of the 2008 NFA Draft, the Kuram Panthers select Antonio Dixon, cornerback from the University of Aquala."

Geno Hayes was getting fairly frustrated. The first round of the National Football Association's annual rookie draft - selecting the future talent of Amazonia's major football league - had passed completely by and Hayes had yet to be selected. The words his agent had graced into his ear had fallen by the wayside, and the player from Floyd State University sat on his couch, his girlfriend Rachel Saunders beside him, still waiting for the call on his cell phone.

"Hey," Rachel said, "You ok?"

"I'm gonna go get somethin' to eat," Geno said, a frown on his face.

His agent had told him that he would likely go in the mid-first to late-first...and now Hayes was dropping like a lead balloon. Rachel had been there the whole day, but he had preferred to stay away from crowds today...if for nothing else than to avoid media scrutiny.

The fridge was fairly bare - where had all the beer gone? - but Geno was determined to find something. He shut the door with a thud, opening the pantry - when the front door creaked open, followed by a quiet step. Hayes stopped a second, hearing Rachel get up to check on whatever was going on...who was coming in now?

Hayes stood up simultaneously as another sound rang out - the crack of contact of metal and bone. He looked out of the kitchen of his apartment to see Rachel's prone body lying still on the floor, spotches of blood dotting the rug. A quick glance up gave Geno only the vision of an Amazonian Commando levelling his AWH-8 assault rifle at Geno and the crack of a rubber bullet...along the connection of said slug into his forehead and the coming tunnel of unconsciousness.


* * * * *


Justin King had been given a fairly good pay offer as well as immunity for whatever crimes he had done for the job. As such, King had also been given the details on what the job required...and that was not pleasing.

The Amazonian Center for Medical Research was a towering pinnacle, reaching up towards the heavens while reaching underground as well - as most large skyscrapers in Amazonia Central did. Above ground, the building was a stalwart pinnacle to the advances in medicine and bioengineering that occured daily in the Dominion, responsible for numerous biochemical breakthroughs in medicines and understanding psychology and anatomy.

Underground, however, the building had been assigned a bit of a more devious purpose recently, that had absolutely nothing to do with medicinal research. King was heading up a project here that, rather than these departments, had been spearheaded by the Office of Military Intelligence. The project had deep roots and wasn't exactly known - but King liked adventure and was willing to go far to find new and scintilling experiences.

The Dominion Commandos had been dispatched under various guises to bring down the first batch - all Amazonians. They had simply disappeared from homes, cities, communities - and hadn't been heard from again. Not the kind of results OMI was looking for, but whatever worked worked. Now, however, the Office was willing to go a little further to find "willing" participants. Some had been dispatched to other nations under various guises to find suitable candidates for the excursion ahead and to bring them to holding cells deep underground in the Center for Medical Research. A control group had been designated of Amazonian origin to be used in this second batch. And finally, a viral campaign of encouragement of "cancer research" had been dispatched to bring volunteers to the CMR...and to then capture them in the same manner of the kidnapped foreigners.

In all, the rate of success in simulations was high, and hopefully in using a diverse bed of candidates it would increase success likelihood. They simply needed a leader to handle it, and Justin King was the bait.

The man was a successful mercenary who had jointly served with the Dominion military and other organizations...mostly shady ones. The man was tough as nails and had been through all walks of life, however, and the Dominion really didn't want to risk one of its own soldiers who were born and bred for war. All they had needed here was promise of money - half up front, which they could probaly get back anyway - and he bit.

Now they needed to wait for the "volunteers" and victims to show up, even as international patrols began to signal success in a few nations. Those captured would find themselves in the various holding cells in the CMR, waiting...for the start of the game.

""For the want of a nail, the shoe was lost
for the want of a shoe the horse was lost
and for the want of a horse the rider was lost
being overtaken and slain by the enemy, all for the want of care about a horseshoe nail."

Those words haunted a man by the name of Barney K. Fife...
For because of his want of a few minutes of pleasure, he had let his gaurd down.

Due to lack of anything better to do in this almost featureless cell, he recounted how he came to be here... The memory still fresh in his mind.

--------
Some considerable time ago:
People's Republic Of Hurtful Thoughts

The day began like any other on his rural farm.
Wake up early in the night, get dressed, milk the goats, etc etc etc.

He noted a hole in his fence, it wasn't big, must have been a dog, as it dug under rather than cut through, he made a note to try capturing and domesticating one of them some day...

He went out to the stills for some 'happy hour'. The upside of being territorial police in a rural district is that not many people ask too many questions on what everyone does in their free time.

Supposedly he sat within spitting distance of the armory, a sad excuse of a shack loaded with relics and rotting ammunition to help the people defend themselves in the event of invasion, but in his mind, the bigger threat was from within, in the past 30 years, he saw a private industry ominously named "Hurtful Outcomes Incorporated" had grown from a minor consulting firm and privatized military training facility into a private army that outnumbered the conventional military by more than 10:1.

Recently however, a small faction of disillusioned Marine Raiders went rogue and declared war upon HOI, and in return have been branded traitors. It didn't take too many braincells to figure out who really ran this country now. Leader Milo is a nice guy and all, but he's just a puppet, and as much as he'd like to believe HOI's CEO, a legless cripple by the name of Mendez (ironicly a former Marine Raider of the same unit that went rogue), he didn't seem to be the brightest bulb in the house of cards either...

Anyways, walking to an illegal still isn't something you want too many witnesses to, so he brought his issue firearm, a replacement, a cheap lil bullpup called the LAR-655. It was lighter than the CM series, and was a bit more versitile, so he didn't mind the fact it wasn't as expensive or comfortable, it was durable as lump of solid steel to boot.

He also had the habit of carrying both issued bayonets, a hatchet and a shovel. The knife bayonet was a good utility knife, kinda poor for a fight except in torture, not that he was into that kinda stuff. The spike bayonet was built like a sai, apparently to be used to punch through body armor and to defend against blunt and edged weapons with, he wasn't terrific with it, but he took some classes, and was certain to catch a hoodlum or two off-gaurd with it, if given the chance. The hatchet was his other utility tool, capable of splitting light firewood. The shovel was for cleaning up after the mess.

The trail really didn't exist except in the man's mind, only hinted at by the pressence of marked trees that he'd loosely follow from compass bearings, it was easy to get lost this way, but after many years of doing this, he perfected a way of compensating for magnetic deviations from day to day by sighting from one known location to another, in a known direction, and then comparing that to the headings for the trail.

Before setting out, he hopped atop his house, and scanned the horizon for anything funny, helicopters, ultralights, UAVs, or other hints of a surprise paramilitary patrol courtessy of HOI. Nobody would say aloud, but they seemed to be rounding up Five-Points Militia sympathisers and... well... as said earlier, nobody talks about it, and he was pretty sure he was going to find out.

Though Fife wasn't really a sympathiser with those hippy 'terrorists' in the FPM, he also didn't care much for HOI, or the overall state of affairs in the world in general.

Ah well, back to the trail, it was rather unevetful, he thought he saw a dodo, the national animal/delicacy that happens to be extinct in the rest of the world for no apparent reason, but couldn't get off a clean shot. After aggressively hunting these creatures they've learned some tricks of their own. Others say these 'dodo-dogs' are actually what they've been hunting, a deer sized flightless bird with keen eyesight and a great sense of hearing and smell, plus they can run the the devil himself...

He considered chasing after it, but thought better not to, as hunting one solo required a death-wish. Maybe they weren't true dodoes, but whatever they were, they travel in packs large enough to peck, tear and bite a man apart before he could spit three times. At least they can't climb or fly...

The more he thought of it, the less he'd actually known about these animals, as most of it was from idle gossip around a magnum of moonshine while toking a roach...

Still, he had better, more profitable, things to be doing...

He checked the stills, set them on low, he didn't much care to tend to these too much and didn't want them exploding while he was off in town, thus drawing unwanted attention and authorities. Particilarily those from the private sector that were paid on a commission basis of how many people they had arrested and convicted.

As he left, he heard a restling behind him, he spun around and blindfired a 12 gauge volley of death, hoping to drop a dodo...

He forgot to look up...
And it dropped him.

-----

Now:
Holding facility

So, here he was, captured for lord knows what.
One could simply pick any page from a lawbook and find a law he'd broken over the course of his lifetime, he really wasn't an honest man, ironic that one of the laws he broke involved him being a religious fanatic... Khornate Blood Kult to be exact... But that was a long time ago, and was more so in a show of support for the war in Khornate Tribes for the nomads... Right before they were nuked to oblivion that is...

His possesions were neatly placed on a chair besides his bed, including his clothes...

He double checked everything...
Shirt, pants, boots, 2 pairs socks, gloves, sunglasses, keys, wallet, matches, lighter, freshly filled flask of moonshine...

He was missing his gun, his knives, shovel, and hatchet...

He checked the room over... as he prepared to light a joint...
The air was kinda stuffy...
Then an idea struck him, he looked for a fire sprinkler...

A short while later:

Fife was busy trying to set off the fire alarm by smoking right up next to the sprinklers, sadly, he didn't realize how hot the fire had to be to set them off, the room quickly filled with smoke...

Soon he was forced to lie close to the ground in order to breath as the door opened... The stench immediately assaulted the nose of the gaurd, and Fife too exhaused and stoned to take advantage of the situation as he was quickly dragged out for briefing.

Access denied.

The words mocked Simon Xallen. The only light in the room came from the dual laptop computer screens that Simon had up. Typing rapidly, he continued to try to hack into the target that he was attempting to get into. He had a client who was paying him big money to get into the systems of a major competitor. He was looking for dirt on the company, as well as for Simon to mess with their finances. Smiling, Simon saw some new words flash up on his screen.

Access granted.

Simon cracked his knuckles and prepared himself for an all-nighter. Just as he began typing again, he heard the front door to his apartment crack open, and the sound of heavy footsteps back in his living room.

"Simon Xallen, we have a warrant for your arrest!" Simon's head whipped around. He was all the way in the back of his apartment, but he knew that he only had a few seconds. Pulling the connection cables out of his computers and shutting them down quickly, he opened up his backpack and threw them both in.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit." He swore under his breath as he pulled the backpack up over his shoulder and grabbed one of his Glock 21s. He heard footsteps in the hall and whipped himself around, aiming the gun at the intruder in the door.

Before he could pull the trigger, a flash emitted from the attacker's rifle, and Simon felt a double blow in his chest. He was thrown back, coughing. He knew that they weren't real bullets, they didn't hurt this much. As he struggled to get to his feet, a boot swung up and caught him in the stomach. Simon was able to raise his head for a moment before seeing the butt of the rifle connect with his head. Then all he saw was darkness.

The flight was uneventful and was just as luxurious as a Tan Air first class was expected to be. Even Dor had enjoyed his enflight meal and had spent most of the in air time soundly asleep. Kali had pretty much expected such, for he was comfortable with traqvelling in military transports - and if he would sleep though them...

The Central Amazonia airport was large and very modern. It was enough like Tanaaran ones that she felt comfortable navigating though it. Customs wss easy, she had her military ID, her passport, her eange qualifications for both her pistol and her PDW - those were stored in specially handled locked and thumb printed hard cases. She wouldn't 'arm up' until she was finished with custome, but that looked to be wuickly as she had nothing to declare, or so she had researched. Dor had all his healthcertificates, and his own set of papers, as wwell as a chip. But she had one of those herself.

OOC: Amazonia, I don't know your national laws of carry of / owning etc. of personal weapons so I'm trying to be careful - if this is completely out of wack, just let me know and I'll edit

He drove to the parking lot. Finally there.
That was a nice trip. Hmm, only about five more days of food in here. O well. If I run out, I could always fast-food it.
Then he saw something that almost made him crash into the car ahead of him. A squirrel being brought out of the trunk of a car. But it wasn't just any ol' squirrel.
This one was huge. He double checked to see if what he saw was correct. He parked near there, when he saw a regular human also being drug out. He got out of his car and slammed the door.

"Hey what's goi-....."

Bob was struck in the back of the head. He reached for his thompson under his jacket but consciosness was slipping away. He fell to the ground never getting the chance to get his gun out.

Brian saw as the man who tried to raise the alarm get pistol whipped. I wonder where they're taking us.

Right eye open.

Works fine.

Left eye open, raise right hand.

Hurts slightly, works anyways.

Call for Zhornij.

"Zzsshorr*cough*Zhor-*cough* ZHORNIJ!"

A familiar bark from nearby, then the similarly comforting feel of a rather rough tongue licking his face.

"All good b-*cough* b-b-boy, all good.. glad you're okay..."

It wasn't easy to stand up in that condition, and had the ocean waves that constantly hit his legs been even a bit warmer he would have stayed there for a while. They weren't, however, and something had to be done.
After a couple of rather weak attempts to stand up Dmitri decided that, after crawling a couple of meters away from the waterline, sitting would do just as fine.
Then it was time to look around. Pieces of the lifeboat he had escaped the prison ship with were scattered around him.

What a storm that was, for fuck sake...

Then again, had the storm been any milder - or the night nothing but pitch-dark - his escape would've been impossible. Now he was free, again, and Zhornij (who had been arrested with Dmitri for crime assistance) was on his side.
He had even managed to get his belongings into a water-proof bag, and tied it to his back. That was perhaps a rather stupid risk to take when trying to escape from a ship full of armed guards in the middle of a storm, but Dmitri felt sort of a fondness to what little he owned. First out of the cell, then into the room where captive's personal items were held, then to his dog's cell, then to the lifeboat... one hell of a night. Not that he hadn't seen worse ones, though.
His knives, the piece of chain, even his cigarettes and vodka were all in the bag, and the last two now came to a good use.

Sitting there, smoking some rather crappy mahorkha and and sipping a bit of decent booze he started to wonder where the hell was he actually located. He had heard the guards talk about Amaz-something and its beautiful coast that was as beautiful as its women, but hadn't payed too much attention.
The tree line began where the sand ended, and after finishing his smoke and taking the third swallow of the liquor he began to stagger towards it - his legs still felt like made of pasta - with Zhornij faithfully following.

He reached the first trees, sat again with his back against one of them, and fell asleep.


EDIT: OOC: The ship he escaped being a Kronstadtian prison transport.

OOC: For this post's reference, the italics will be a reference to the scene of the mentioned characters. I'm gonna accelerate things here, so if you're one of the guys who I tg'ed, you can RP all out your character's eventual path to ending up with the rest, or get to a point close to there to catch up.

Tanaara: you can just have your person show up at the Center and be told to take the elevator down, or if you come up with something creative and good I'll roll there too. Whatever's best. Your person is our true volunteer, after all.

I'll get to my two playing victims in the next post...


IC:

Bob and Brian

The car ride was absolutely silent as the two Commandos in the front seat drove quietly. They weren't under orders to not talk to those they had taken up for testing, but they didn't feel like talking, either. The squirrel and the two humans would have their roles to play. The Commandos didn't have a grasp on exactly what was going on at hand - when did SpecOps ever? - but they knew enough from that when the commanders of Special Forces had special directives out, they were serious about something.

The looming tower rolled up after a twenty-minute ride - towering up like a high-tech demon from the grey streets of Amazonia Central. The Commandos had left the three victims with all their things, and proceeded to get out and go around the car. From there, they aggressively wrenched all three out of the car with their stuff - though no one on the street particularly cared. That was the Dominion's law enforcement and military, for you, even if this was the Center for Medical Research.

Waiting beyond a pair of glass doors was a large, obvious elevator - with another pair of Commandos standing on either side of it, staring directly at Brian, Mish, and Bob. The two Commandos from the car pointed at the elevator, one levelling his assault rifle - the direction to take was obvious.

The elevator would take them down...down to a large, expansive, sterile-white conference room where now only one man stood...and his name was Justin King.


* * * * *


Hans

The Belkaran beast had been collected a few days ago, and now sat in a cryo-storage bio-preservation cell. It would be deposited in the "project" fifteen minutes before the victims would go in - as of now, the high technology holding it in a sort of stasis was needed to prevent accidents. Maybe the tower cells were so far underground - just like the meeting chamber where all the victims would join with the mercenary, King - but still, one couldn't be too cautious.


* * * * *


Gaius Crassus

The Belkaran criminal was kept in high-security in a cell deep underground - in fact, level from the sterile white walls of the meeting room for the victim team. His security was simple - a single Commando. Even if the criminal had had a buzzsaw it was doubtful if he would be able to outsmart, much less kill or wound, the trained special operative - they were some of the best in the world. He had had his things transported with him left in the conference room, his name clearly marked on them - but as of now, he merely was in his cell with the clothes on his back.

The Commando opened the door roughly, banging on the metal construction: "Up."

His tone wasn't that of an angry or aggressive guard, but almost unnaturally level and monotone - it was as if the emotion inside the Commando had been killed off - or if it had never existed.

The trained SpecOp pointed down the hallway, where fifty meters later the tight, narrow passage opened expansively into the meeting room. His assault rifle clearly pointed out what would happen if Crassus did not comply with that command.


* * * * *


Barney

The Commando in charge of Barney in the West Wing of the underground cells - the opposite long hallway from Crassus - started to laugh. The Commandos didn't laugh very frequently, but this was one of those times. Drugs of most types were legal in the Dominion, but weren't faced with the types of abuse in many nations that had restrictions had - mostly because they actually were legal for all ages.

But this man had gotten seriously high - so much he was already falling out from it. The Commando opened the cell, slinging the man easily over one shoulder - Commandos were tough - and collecting his things in a bag in quick time. A minute later the SpecOps soldier had deposited the man down with his prison items next to the other items they had found in his possession - a gun, hatchet, several knives, and some ammo. Due to the...mission...that the victims were up to, 12-gauge ammo had been left around in case it was compatible - but in the room as well was several weapon lockers as it was. If the man needed weapons, he could help himself after the briefing.

King smirked as the man was deposited - the mercenary hadn't gotten that high in years - and quickly predicted a fast exit for the man.


* * * * *


Simon

The hacker had been more than easy to collect - simply a bust-and-secure thing. He had gone down easily enough, and transporting the man back to the Research Center had been a walk in the park. It had barely even required the skill of the usual Commando, but this was the kind of operation they were trained for, so they did it...besides, the Dominion wasn't in any conflicts and the talented SpecOps soldiers had to be busy somehow.

He was deposited with his items in a seat and accompanying table in the expansive white meeting room beside the high man who had just been taken out of the cell. That was certainly a motley group...who else would be showing up?


* * * * *


Dmitri and Zhornij

Of all those to be greenlighted for the excursion, this pair was probaly found the oddest - not by commandos but by an average patrol of Warden soldier-police on the costal tropical shores. Amazonia was a South-Pacific country, and its beaches showed - clear and dazzling water leading to sandy beaches and marvelous jungles. Natural beauty hid the military power and tyrannical government within, however, but nature's job with Amazonia had certainly been done well.

However, in patrolling the coast, the five Wardens had not been expecting to find a man and his dog curled up underneath a tree, looking worn-out and exhausted.

The Warden security unit as a whole was made of millions of the individual soldier-police, and the entire unit had been alerted about the process that was going on underneath the Research Center - and notified to take in suitable candidates if found. To this Warden patrol, these two definately looked suitable.

Two of the Wardens, masked behind full-body suits of black and red emblazonment, levelled submachine guns directly at Dmitri and Zhornij as each slept. The other two held back, both toting standard assault rifles. The fifth - the Warden Sergeant in charge of this patrol - brought his burst-pistol close to Dmitri's ear, cocking the bolt with as much noise as he could...both to wake up the...whoever he was...and to show him who he was facing - and that the situation was hopeless.

OOC: AB, I think you are confusing me for some one else. Kali hasn't volunteered. She's going to Amazonia on vacation. I figured once in- country you'd nab her like every one else, or she'd stumble across whats going on just by being in the wrong place at the right time...or is tht the right place at the wrong time...which ever
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sky as Dor aqnd Kali exited the terminal was blindingly blue, cloudless and serene. She'd discovered that the national park they were headed for was cheaper to drive to and so instead of taking a local short flight she rented a car.

The leisurely drive took only three hours and by four in the after noon they were parking, unpacking and heading off to find a camp spot. An hour later and two miles hiked they'd found a spot on a pristine beach, completerly deserted save for signes that this stretch of palms and white sand had been used for camping before. By six Dor had had a swim, Kali had had fresh fruit and jerky for dinner and flames were dancing in the firering.

Once he'd eaten Kali groomed him whike the stars came out in the darkening sky...

"Hey Bob, hows it going?"

"Eh, nothing much Rick. Same old same old. Why, something bothering you?"

"I just thought I heard a noise back there."

Bob waved his hand. "Don't worry about it. I think it was some animal skittering away from me as I flicked my cigarette at it."

Rick scratched his head, and extended his hand to reach for Bob's shoulder, since Bob was turned away from him and he wanted to look him in the eye. Something wasn't right, in all the years they had worked together, he knew when something wasn't right. "Bob, are you sure? I heard something that sounded like-GAK!" The next thing Bob knew was a strong hand was clamped around his mouth and an arm clamping down on his throat, blocking air to his lungs.

"Like a body falling to the ground? Yes Rick, it was, and now, you'll join him." Rick's eyes opened wide with terror, as his lungs began to protest for lack of air. His feet tried to skitter and scratch across the ground, but his assailant wrapped his legs around his own to stop that. Tears fell from Rick's eyes; he had a wife and two kids, things shouldn't end this. They shouldn't....Life drained from his eyes as he fell limp and the fake "Bob" stood up and grabbed the bodies arms, dragging it into a storage closet and throwing him in the trunk he knew to be there. Jake grabbed the cap that had fallen off during the scuffle and put it back on.

Jake Stevenson was his name, not Bob. Bob lay in a ditch deep in the forest outside, his neck snapped by the powerful arms of the Telrosian Dominion's special forces unit commander. He had been assigned to find out where important spy figures, whom had been in Anagonian assets, had vanished. Interl had given him a location, a place with a strange facility where odd and strange experiments were going down, or so the rumors said. The last known piece of the paper trail led to this facility. Now, he had been sent here to find out why. For the past two weeks, he had scoped out the facility, checking to see what the guard patterns were, listening to the conversations to the outer guards, and stealing a map or two when he had the chance, to find out the base layout, what the defenses were and so forth. He even managed to put together good enough profiles of the guards that he could pretend to be them, if he didn't show his face. Rick had learned that lesson.

So, he had decided to make his move. Having learned what he could, it was time to get in, find the network and get the data he needed. From there, depending on the scenario, he was to break out the Telrosian prisoners, and destroy the facility, or he was to, if they were dead, go kill the commander in charge and destroy the facility. In the rare case they weren't there, and were somewhere else, he was to find them and bring them back home....and find out what was going on in there. He fixed the hat and walked through the halls of the facility, assuming the tired gait of a guard who had come off his break. He passed by guards in the hallway, whom either ignored him or gave him a nod, which he returned. The inner guards did not interact with the outer guards, so he didn't have much to worry about. Then, he finally reached the room he was looking for. Glancing around, he put the key into the lock and opened it; the keys were a..."gift" from the former janitor. Inside, he saw what was the security room. He saw a guy sleeping at his desk. Reaching down, he slipped the knife attached to his upper leg out and stalked up the man.

Halfway there, there was a noise, a loud bang from the other room, and he woke up. Jake moved quickly, handing shooting forward to cover his mouth, and the other cutting the blade deep across the mans throat. He let him gag on his own blood until he died, his eyes rolling up to his head and then let him sit back. He then pushed the seat gently out of the way and began tapping on the computer. He grinned as he looked at the screen; he had hit the jackpot. This computer was the master hub for the rest of the facilities network; it made sense, as all inquiries, reports, etc, had to come through here and be checked for leaks. Quickly, he pulled out a disk and inserted it into the computer. This disk held the latest in hacking technology for the Dominion, and within moments, the hub was his. He sent a request for personnel, and found a list. Buzzing through it, he saw an "acquisitions" section and keyed it. It had a list of their visitors, and there was an option to see by nation. He chose it and moved down to the list of Dominon. Compared to other nations, it wasn't a lot, but it was still a large number. He saw one, a special forces agent named Jill Clemens. She had worked with him in Operation: HELLFIRE back during the Civil War when the Telrosian Dominion had to crush an insurgency. How she got caught, he didn't know. Keying her information up, he saw she had gone into some kind of "testing ground", along with a batch of others. And that was the last report on her. He checked for the location of this testing ground, and saw it had an entrance to it in the facility. Nodding, he keyed for the hacking program to delete all that he had done, erasing the pathways he had pursued and took the disk out.

He unlocked the door, closed it, locked it, and pocketed the keys. Glancing around he walked down the hall...now to find some guard who was tasked to go on the next trip and..."acquisition" his identity. A dark grin appeared on his face; sometimes he loved his job....

********

Two hours later

After a long time searching, finding and neutralizing the man, Jake was walking with the suits of the wardens they were sending into the portal. Along with a couple others, he hoisted a bag on his shoulder and gazed at the man standing before a strange portal. It was an odd sight and it awoke a sense of foreboding in Jake, which was dangerous, as he trusted his instincts. He knew the experiments being done here were totally different than the stuff back home. They were doing stuff here that was far beyond normal science...or reason. The man crossed his arms and began to speak.

"Alright, you know the drill. Stay with the convoy, you'll need their machine guns if you want to make it to the compound alive." Jake's hair stood on end; what was on the other side that required an armed convoy? "Remember, we don't care what happens to our...'visitors'. They are there to be fodder for our...pets. The higher-ups want to see how they react; tho most of us here already know that..." A sick smile was on his face and ripple of laughter echoed through the crowd. Jake was horrified, though he laughed and kept the facade up with them. What pets were they talking about? And what was this about testing? "Alright, the gates powering up. Here, take these assault rifles and clips; they're AP clips since the normal stuff doesn't even phase our pets. Just keep on your toes and once in the compound, do not go outside without armed guards. Else, you'll be like Pete; bits of blood and bone."

There was a collective shiver and then the portal flashed and an incandescent gateway appeared. "Alright, in you go!" They grabbed the guns and ammo, stuffing them into their pockets, and swinging the guns over the shoulders, running into the gate. Jake's face was grim, like the others, but for a different reason. If Jill did come in here...he hoped to god she was alright.

In retrospect, trying to trigger the fire alarm by burning drugs in a confined space was a bad idea...

Upon regaining his senses, Fife noted that he wasn't in the brightest lit of places, apparently indoors, a large meeting room?

He found his gun, and an awful lot of ammunition... He hoped he wasn't dreaming this stuff up...

He tried to recall what happened, in reverse order..
Passed out, smoke, cell, thumped on head, woods, shooting at a noise, behind me?

then forwards...
I was in the woods, with gun, returning from the still (drugs and such aren't illegal, just regulated and taxed, he's kinda an anarchist) headr a noise behind me, turned around, fired, was knocked sensless... wait...

There was more to it then that... the fenceline had a hole in it...

"Bastards..." He uttered under his breath as he picked up his gun and affixed his spike bayonet.

He was also becoming aware of those around him, a rather motly group of hoodlums, and a... werewolf*? If he wasn't so out of it he was pretty sure he could fight his way through them... But for now, may as well make some sense of things...

"Alright, so now that I'm here I may as well introduce myself, my name is Barney K. Fife of the Territorial police, who are you, you apparently trespassed on my property, I hope I shot one of your pals, and where in the world am I now?"

*Cookie to the first one to guess where this inside joke is from, even though it makes little/no sense

Mish was terrified. She the Deputy Ambassador of Offtopica! How dare they kidnap her and her host. She had made herself plain to their captors multiple times, they had just decided to be silent. She had threatened everything from calling her father if they didn't let her go to International manhunts.

Wow, she can be loud. Brian thought. "Mish, calm down. They aren't going to just dump us on the side of the road...alive." He scooted away from the waking Kankersaurian. He raised his voice so the captors could hear him plainly "Though I wish I had some room back here!" That's when the car stopped. They were here...wherever here happened to be. They followed the men with the guns until Mish and Brian stood before this Justin King. Brian at attention, Mish anxiously shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

Thoughts were racing through Bob's mind.

How can I get out of this? Hey, they didn't take away my thompson.

He thought about it. No that would be a terrible mistake. There must be five guys here. He walked to the elevator.

"so how many of there are of you." He spoke to the squirrel.

Simon groaned and slowly blinked his eyes open. His chest and head killed and he rolled over slightly and was stopped by something solid. A wall. He rolled the other way and hit something not so solid that started to tip. He opened his eyes just in time to grab his backpack before it fell off of whatever he was laying on.

Laying the backpack softly on the ground and swinging his feet down as well. He unzipped his bag and looked in and saw that his laptops, extra hard drives, wires, transmitters, power cables, batteries, etc were all still in the bag. He also noticed that his two Glock 22s and ammo were present as well. He found it odd that his attackers would have let him keep his guns, but he certainly wasn't going to complain about it.

Looking up, Simon noticed for the first time that he was not alone in the room. He must have been hallucinating slightly because he saw a giant squirrel as well. Shaking his head to clear it a little, Simon groaned again.

"Hey... sup all?"

Groggily, Crassus got to his feet, feeling a pounding in the base of his skull where Op.4 had clubbed him. He noticed his posessions in front of him, and replaced them within his garments. From deep within his robes containing a fine white powder, which he proceded to snort liberally, then stowed the bottle again. Quite confident, he walked into the conference room to which he was being led, scrutinizing the flaws in the room and table.

Dor and Kali

The MH-68 Condor thumped through the air - not with the grace of any bird or phoenix, but with the direct presence of an angry, aerial rhinoceros. It was coming back from the supercarrier group stationed offshore - particularly, from the AIW Complete Control, a member of the Equinox-class carriers - careening through the air with no real respect for nature's beauty as it shot at over one hundred knots across the coastal waters and sandy beaches of Amazonia - pristine nature, unspoiled (so far) by the Dominion military juggernaut.

The copter whirled over the beaches, the six Shock Troopers within it looking out over the sand and jungle line. It was something that appealed to the modern man, but not to the born-and-bred elite soldiers of Amazonia...that wasn't the most beautiful thing. That honor would go to the spilled guts of an enemy proudly eviscerated by one's own blade. The Shock Troopers were nasty, but got the job done - they were elite for a reason, and training from young age had a habit of doing that.

One of them pointed outside of the copter - a small fire, somewhat like a campfire, was burning on the beach. These soldiers knew of the research just as much as the Wardens and Commandos did...and were always looking for those they could sneak off and send as victims to whatever awaited. This campfire could house another victim or two.

The chopper shot over the area, apparently not slowing down...but a mile later, pulling down into a grassy clearing in the rearing coastal tropical forest and settling into a landing spot. Two of the Shock Troopers stood by, an HMG-14 machine gun emplacement quickly set up to cover any interlopers in the area. The other four armed up with rubber bullets and unconsciousness-inducing gas grenades, setting off and slinking into the low-canopy forest on approach the mile towards the beach. It would be a good twenty minutes before they reached it at this point, but they had help coming...an AH-8 Shrike attack helo to stand by overhead and make runs to assure that the quarry didn't get away.


* * * * *


Jake

(OOC: For reference, Telros, you can control that entire party if you want to - your guy and the Wardens that your dude came in with. This'll just set them up, and I'll throw in the occasional other group that's either dead, crazy, or just in there to be dead later).

IC:

The convoy that the Telrosian operative had gotten into was in for a bit of a rough beginning. The portal expanded wide, a gaping mouth to accomodate the soldiers running in. They were standard grunts of the soldier-police force, tougher than the grunt soldier but not to the par of the Elites, Commandos, Shock Troopers, or God forbig, the Sovereign Guard - the highest a soldier could hope to ascend to.

There were multiple gates of various sizes underneath the Center for Medical Research, this one being one of the smaller. An underground "garage" area connected to the largest gate, and the vehicles that emerged before the entering party proved it - one of the Dominion's Cougar APCs, followed by two Lynx armored IFVs. Several standard soldiers clad in the usual Dominion grey-emblazoned mesh armor sat upon the Cougar as the IFVs searched for possible threats.

One of the soldiers chucked an object down towards the dirt ground in front of the Wardens who had just come in with Jake - a human torso, so mangled it was hard to see that the two blunt extensions on it had once been the tops of thighs.

"Looks like someone had some fun," one of the soldiers quipped, half-sarcastic and half-gloomily. Unlike Wardens, grunt soldiers weren't always the most motivated bunch even if they were all devotedly loyal to the Dominion and well-trained for soldiers.

"Hold up," said one of the others, holding up his rifle - actually a spotter device with a laser designator. The green dot showed up on something apparently slinking around. "Clean that up."

The right Lynx swiveled its turret - in the blink of an eye bracketing the laser designation and erupting a burst of flame from the barrel. A slug flew from the turret, followed by a screech and snarl from where the laser had indicated.

"Fuckers," muttered one of the other soldiers.

The environment was dark and fairly inscrutable - a seeming sense of fading evening light permeating the entire landscape, a low and faint mist skitting a meter over the hardened dirt ground, a sort of dark navy blue "sky" above lacking any distinction - no stars, no moon, simply a vast, unending plain of sinister darkness. Features were hard to distinguish in the dark setting, but what could be seen wasn't uplifting - twisted trees of bare branches and twigs, wrenched woody stumps, and mounds of the hardened black dirt that seemed to be the norm.

A light drizzle was coming on now, but that was much better than the downpour that had been going on earlier - clearly, this was not a place of happiness or bliss. However bad the environment was, however dark and inscrutable and ugly it was, it was nothing compared to the human sense of life...something that simply wasn't there. Life seemed devoid of the area - no birds chirping or even flying except for the occassional long and menacing shadow (was that even life?). There were no night rodents or reptiles creeping out to forge or hunt, no mammalian canines with reflecting eyes standing in the dark and watching. There was just shadows...shadows of something. Maybe it was life, maybe something worse than life.

It was just nature's worst nightmares, translated to a real slate...from the psychological realm of the mind to the physical world of fear.

"Let's roll," one of the soldiers on the Cougar said a bit cautiously, "this place freeks the shit outta me - they said the compound was at least sorta normal."


* * * * *


Everyone Else, Center for Medical Research

King's assault rifle was slung over his shoulder, a grin across his face as Barney spoke up. A long, ugly-looking scar fell from his brow down across his left eye and cheekbone all the way to his mouth corner - enhancing his already-bulked appearance clad in muscle and the kevlar suit he wore. It wasn't the enhanced fiber-mesh of the Dominion military, but it could work, laced with metal weave to protect against melee combat.

"Calm down, Rambo," King snickered as Barney mentioned trespassing, "we definitely did trespass on your territory."

"We just-"

"Boss, two more."

A Warden crew stepped out of the elevator, their black armor suits covering any facial expression...if they actually had one. Two people were being literally dragged behind them - one the prone and still-unconscious body of Geno Hayes, the other a somewhat frantic and spooked Rachel Saunders.

"Look I didn't do anything! Just let-"

"Shut up, drama queen," King smirked, his words sarcastic yet carrying an air of superiority...yet also one of the knowledge of what was actually going on. "You don't want to have to be drugged and then experience what's next."

Rachel shut up as King said, her face mirroring the fear of the uncertain. The Wardens chucked her on one of the chairs in the room, draping Geno's body on one next to it.

"So the first question you're all gonna have is why you have guns, right?" King spoke up loudly, his voice echoing around the conference room. The Wardens had taken up position at the elevator, all five armed with heavy assault rifles.

"Well, you can try and kill me where I stand. Go ahead, do it. Kill them too," -he indicated the armored police-soldiers- "and then you'll have a lovely time. Let me tell you why - what's going to happen next will make you wish very much so that you did not kill me. In fact, you should be grateful you have me here at all - the last group that went didn't have a guide and isn't amongst the living like we are."

King let that settle amongst the group now that he had commanded the floor.

It became apparent that Fife's incoherent threats and ramblings were more to the amusement rather than the desired effect of intimidation...
Plus he was interupted when they brought another two inside the room.

He was quite tempted initially to follow throgh on King's offer to gun everyone down, except he still had no clue where he was or how to get out...

He decided he may as well sit down and hear things through, and he rested his gun in his lap, thumbing the bolt half open and releasing it, letting it slam back against the breech, then slowly drawing the bolt back halfway again, and again, and again...

Then he learned that King was their 'guide' and the soldiers were their 'escort' through what was apparently a killing zone...

He stopped thumbing the bolt, instead he drew the bolt fully back and letting out a soft 'click' as it was now ready to fire (LARs fire from open bolt). his other hand jammed itself behind the trigger to prevent accidental firing (no handguard+living in thick brush=instinctive safety habits)

And this is exactly why I didn't sign up for the Hurtian Marine Raiders*...
----------
*HMR, simply put, for "basic" the drill instructors force you to run a track across an island with no refreshments, and people are shooting at you with live ammo, plus there be mines, wildlife, and the fact you have to score hits on competition shots along the way... Other challanges are generally added later on, such as mind and memory games.
This 'run' is immediately followed by another, wich is actually a search for bodies.
Followed by the course proper.

Kali and Dor had looked up - both of them rather annoyed at the noisy interuption of something not identified visually - it was nothing more than a dark, somewhat indistinct shape over head as the aircraft sped by. And Kali had been more than half asleep anyway.

However it was gone soon enough; though Dor's keen canine hearing tracked the fact that it had not left out of aural range, but had set down a diatance away. Kali didn't think of the fact that the echoes of it whuumping out over the ocean should have still been audible to her - noise carried much farther than most realized over water - and went back to being half asleep.

She had been pushing herself rather hard on the days leading up to her vacation and found the surrruss of the waves breaking along the shore nearly hypnotic.

OOC: AP testing is eating my time atm in RL, so I'll be on and off of NS period for the next two weeks. Just keep us going steady and strong - it's lookin' good. Rest assured it's gonna be poppin' once we really get goin'.

IC:

Kali and Dor

One of the Shock Troopers breached the forest line, emerging into the beach clearing - out of sight in the black camoflauge uniform, blending in to the dark forest. He quickly signalled with a hand for the advance of the squad, spotting both human and canine on the beach and blissfully unaware that destiny was sneaking up from nature's virgin grounds. The lead Shock Trooper signalled for a halt, raising the assault weapon to his shoulder level and snaking his eye behind the scope.

Rather than immediately firing, however, the elite soldier quickly keyed for a switch to the grenade belt underneath the gun, triggering up the payload of three unconsciousness-inducing gas grenades. The gas was potent but not effective immediately - something that could be a problem. Errors were being fixed, but not at the site - meaning the troops would have to make do with what they had.

The soldier then compressed his index finger against the trigger, the weapon firing with a ring of expanding air and a whump as the grenade zipped in. In less than a second it hit the ground five meters from both human and dog, a cloud of whitish gas billowing out into the air.


* * * * *


Everyone Else

"This is how it's going to work."

Justin King's voice had an audible power to it, catching the attention of all in the conference room. He had the personality to do so, as well.

"Where you're gonna be going ain't like nuthin' you even know of. It's definitely not anything any civvie's seen before. You'll know more once you get there, but let's just say you all are guinea pigs for this shit. You're gonna be thrown up against different challenges of numerous sorts - and that's why we're not using our own peeps to do this."

"We use you, because you people don't have a very good chance of surviving. Further more, even if you do survive, who's going to believe you if you spill the beans? No one. No one thought this was possible, and most people don't think it's still possible - much less existant - at the present day. You're not goin' to Ceylon or the Crimean or anything like that - nope, you're going to a whole new environment, one you've never been to before and never will go to again. It's new, it's terrifying, and some people will probaly die - but you'll just have to accept that, because that's the only way you'll be able to free yourselves from this ritual."

"And trust me, you'd probaly prefer that death to what could come if you refuse to go in...assuming you're not just pitched in there. Ammo lockers are to the right and the left, as you can see of me - standard old-school 9mm pistols and ammo. It's for protection, and you'll need it. There'll be plenty of times you'll want to die where we go, but you gotta keep fightin'."

"Any questions, bitches?"

Crassus's eyes darted about the room, finally locating the sound of the voice, and the pistols he was referring to. This whole thing seemed too much. He was NOBILITY before his crimes were discovered, for Christ's sake, and a war hero before that. Now he was what, a guinea pig? He took two pistols and several magazines of ammunition, plus a box of 250 shells, all of which dissappeared beneath his volumous robes. He looked hopefully at the ammunition crates, thinking there might be something with a little more punch to it.

Simon listened to the entire speech and raised his eyebrows at the end. This guy sounded just like the Internal Affairs douchebag that had interrogated him back in Xaristan a year ago. Funny thing was, he had just been bullshitting, and Simon had a pretty good idea this guy was as well.

Still, he figured he'd play along. Let them think they were in control. Simon rose and walked over to the weapons locker and grabbed four more 9mm pistols and enough ammo to last him through a decent-sized firefight. He walked back over to his backpack and dumped them all in before looking back up at the man who had spoken.

"Are there going to be power jacks, Jack?" He knew he had gotten the man's name wrong, but maybe he had a death wish. He felt like pushing a few buttons today.

Mish was not used to this sort of language...she looked at Brian but he was unreadable. His mind was racing as to how to survive, without sacrificing Mish. Once people started milling around searching for weapons, he asked Mish if she had any gun training at all. "No. Never fired anything before." Wonderful Brian thought. "Well, take at least a SMG and ammo, at least you can carry it." "Take a what?" "A SMG, submachine gun!" I hope I can team up with somebody soon or we are going to die...

"Um, we may be expandable and all that, but pistols? I'd rather have a submachine-gun and some grenades. You do offer grenades, right? How about scopes and flashlights? Sleeping gear? Food? Or don't you expect us to last 8 hours?"

He was already set on, that if he was being ordered to walk though a valley of death, they better give everyone a chance. He already figured the guns were just safety blankets. Why else would he still have his boomstick...

"Or is this supposed to be the world's shortest freestyle gauntlet ever*?"

*Euphism for: "Firing squad target practice"

'out of sight in the black camoflauge uniform, blending in to the dark forest'

but that means little when one is dealing with senses that are other than visuall in nature and Dor's keen nose and accute hearing told him that someone carrying weapons was closer than he'd like them to be with no friendly greeting given. He stood and faced the way of the threat, his upper lips curled back, giving vent to his low, nearly soundless growl.

That pulled Kali quickly from her reverie. Though she wan't expecting to have grenades fired at her, she leapt to her feet calling low to the big dog, keeping him from charging off into the dark "No Dor!"

Then with him by her side she dashed away from the growing cloud of gas.

Bob looked around. Are you serious? I thought this was for cancer!
He pulled out his Thompson. Is this gonna be enough?

Hey, do you got any ammo for the Thompson?