I want to ask to anyone here, should I go spend my efforts to find this old gem of mine and post it up in this thread? It had some interesting stuff in it, and for anyone doing the RP, I've made a few allusions to what I remember of it. So, should I look around for wherever I might have it (Flashdrives, other HDDs, internet, ?paper?, ect) and post it here? If I find it I'll fix it up (Translate it to English (By hand, not that Google crap), fix any errors or oversights/plotholes/whatever from when I wrote it, and I don't know, maybe even enhance the story abit, ala the way old games have been getting HD remasterings lately). It might be a bit odd considering the fact it was based off of visions I had playing the game when high, but someone might like it.
And yes, it was a serious one, not that Full Life Consequences/My Immortal stuff we all know.
Last edited by Valkyrur (12/8/12 3:25)
Alright, looks like finding it wasn't as hard (More like mentally excruciating since I looked through a bunch of terrible fanfics on my way to finding it). I spent the past hour or so translating it by hand (Even I'm not lazy enough to put it through Google translate and be done with it, especially when it'd rape my story and make it look like it was written in bad grammar) and making some changes, so here it is for your reading convenience. This is just the first chapter of it, I will post more as I translate them at my own convenience. Some names have been changed, I'm now using real life locations instead of made up ones that simply sounded like they belonged, and I outright added an entire paragraph about a certain generic character that died (Which in the original version created a plothole by making the reader wonder "were'd dis faget come from" instead of removing his naming, in addition to a sentence talking about him after he dies.
Chapter 1: For King and Country
July 10th, 2052
Just outside Colchester, England
Recently liberated from WCG control by Syndicate forces
We knew the risks when we signed on, and right we were to be skeptical. After a Pyrrhic victory back in Colchester against the WCG's military forces we weren't even given a day's rest to defend the place and get our bearings. Within a few hours we were given the immediate order to advance on marker A12 to prepare to attack the WCG's forces there before they launch their counterattack and burn our town to the ground with civilians still inside. We've been fighting the losing fight since before I was born, and the WCG has just used us an an excuse to make their Orwellian rule even worse on our people. How they came to existence, I don't know. All I know is that they are the establishment that's been around for years.
By now we are loaded into the lorries, armed with old world weapons with ammo that isn't even made in legitimate factories anymore. Ever since the last major revolt twenty years ago, which ended up bad for everyone, the WCG cracked down on arms manufacturing and took complete control of the means of production. Now, you're lucky to have something better than a knife if you aren't Secret Police, TCTF, or military. I myself got one of my friends' M1911 after he was wounded in the battle earlier. I doubt he's going to live long enough for me to give it back to him. I barely have five magazines, and considering the fact I had to pick up most of my ammo off of WCG soldiers' corpses I doubt these will last me long enough for a prolonged fight.
As we approach A12 we immediately put helmets on. Ever since the atmospheric processors were rebuilt the WCG found a way to weaponize the new processors against anyone who defies them by diverting filtered toxins into enemy locations. I look down at the poor bastards lying dead where we were supposed to regroup for the next attack. They never stood a chance against the gas attack on their location. By the time you realize you're getting gassed it's already too late. Daniel tells me that they are intentionally lacing the refuse from the processors with old world era poison gases from over a hundred years ago that were de-serviced, put in the darkest corner of the room and labeled “Disposed”.
The lorries stop for a minute to gather supplies left by our dead comrades. Our present leader, Daniel Wollcroft (But everyone just calls him Wollcroft), walks around the trucks. From what you see of him he looks like he must be in his late 60s, which is probably true. He motions to a few others to get air seals put on the lorries so we won't have to use our helmets' uncomfortable air filtering mode. A few minutes later he gets in to check on us all and sits down next to me.
“You're holding a piece of history kid”
He must have been referring to the gun I was holding. I look somewhat puzzled.
“That model right there is over a hundred and forty years old.”
He continues to inspect it from his distance
“That weapon right there was probably used by a Captain Walker to wipe, I reckon, 21 Krauts.”
He pats me on the shoulder three times and turns away. I look on the side of the gun and I see “Cpt. Walker” and 21 scratch marks etched next to the name. We always knew Wollcroft for being the observant type, being the war veteran he is.
“Treat it right kid, maybe one day you'll be able to auction it off to somebody for enough money to get a good home. Or keep it as a collectors item, whatever you kids do nowadays”
One of the Strikers in the back replies to him
“Nonsense, the M1911 was an American gun, not English. I doubt anyone here would want foreign weapons for a tro--”
“Don't be a jackass”
Wollcroft grabs the gun from my hand suddenly and flips it over. Below the barrel whoever owned the gun had sketched England's flag (Before the WCG takeover) on the bottom
“See? This gun is English enough for someone to want it”
Wollcroft leaves the back of the lorrie immediately, giving me back the gun. The other Striker who was talking to him gives a disrespectful motion towards me, obviously not being able to spit at my feet through his helmet. He doesn't seem to like anyone remotely foreign and looks at another Striker. He can't see our faces, as all he see's are the same blue helmets covering our entire heads and the two visor holes emitting their red glow. All he sees of me is what his visor tells him. Yukie Wollcroft. My grandfather being Daniel Wollcroft that is. My father (From England, obviously) has been assumed dead along with the rest of his men after a brutal attack in Halstead by the WCG's military. My mother lives in a nursing home from her various afflictions.
I look at the one Striker and realize it's this asshole again, Sebastian Zak. The kind of uneducated chav folk I'd expect to say something idiotic like referring to TCTF standard issue plasma rifles as “Muslamic rayguns”. Before he can start a fight the lorries get moving again.
A few minutes later an explosion is heard up the road. We pour out and begin firing on the WCG's soldiers. I myself kill two of them before I run out of ammo in this magazine and reload. Zak is gunned down and falls next to me. I can't say I hate him, but dying in an ambush like this is something I hoped for him. I don't know if his racist views I had to deal with him for half my life was because of my barely Asian appearance or because of the alias I was going under in the Syndicate, my actual name being Paige. It didn't matter now, he was dead, and I would be too if I didn't get my head back in the fight. Another fellow Striker goes down, and slowly too. A single puncture hole is visible on his helmet as he drops backward, the hole being perfectly between his eyes.
I sneak around behind cover and put my gun to the head of an enemy soldier. He turns around with great reflexes and suddenly glows bright blue. Before he can fill me with whatever the ammo his PDW uses is made of Daniel fires a few shots at him and kills him. Needless to say I fall over from shock. What the hell was that thing? I get up quickly and get myself behind the blown up lorrie and link up with my assigned squad. Daniel orders a retreat from the area back to the last lorrie so we can get back to Colchester to defend, even if it was defying our orders from whoever our leaders are. We manage to kill several of our enemies, but we always lose someone in return. Now it's just five of us and Daniel. A grenade flies between us all and suddenly I am consumed in a flash. All I can see is Daniel running as fast as he can out of here. I get up and begin to run.
Suddenly I fall over and black out. All I felt just before that was a sudden quick rub and pain on the side of my head, my ears ringing from what sounded like a bullet whizzing past the side of my head. It must have grazed through the side of my head at the very least, since I'm still thinking.
Alright, Chapter 2 is here now and completely translated:
Chapter 2: In Flanders Field
July 20th, 2052
The hospital, 7:00AM
In an instant I opened my eyes and looked around the room. The fact that I wasn't restrained was good enough to know I wasn't in a TCTF prison hospital. I quickly got myself off of the hospital bed and tried to figure out what was what. The fact that I was still alive and in a hospital was a chance I'd consider somewhere between slim and nil considering the fact I had been standing next to a grenade, shot in the head, and probably poisoned in the unfiltered air, and my belief of being alive wasn't helped by being so numb. The first cabinet I open has a hypospray injector, the can on it is full, and the injection nozzle seems to be sterile. I immediately unscrew the canister and inhale the military grade stimulants in it, obviously requisitioned from the WCG during the battle.
I was expecting for a second to collapse in pain, now that my nerves seem to be in working order, and instead I'm feeling almost better than I have before. I quickly pocket the injector and leave the room, assuming the possible worst causing my sudden wakeup. Noone's around anywhere, except in the next few rooms where there are wounded who are resting. I checked the clock to see what time it was, and it is just 7:00 according to the clock in front of me. Would be a bit odd to recover this fast and wake up considering we were ambushed at 6:00. The window outside though is bright, so it must have been atleast 12 hours since then, assuming this is AM time now.
The clock on one of the computers confirms it, and even worse it seems to be that more than a week has passed by me. Still, no scars on me from all that, maybe it wasn't as bad as I though, but still, bad enough to put me in a coma for a week. I'm surprised enough someone managed to rescue me. I finally get to the lobby of the hospital where it seems noone is here at all, just completely abandoned the place. I see Jason sleeping in a chair on the other side of the room. He seems better than last time I saw him, with nothing but a few bandages visible from the gap between his shirt and pants. The same M1911 I had been using is sitting in a holster on him.
I figure I better let him rest, since he's probably still recovering from that sniper. As I approach the door and open it I immediately see the defensive positions that have been set up all down Turner road facing towards Highwoods. It seems that there is still a platoon of WCG troops holed up around the Tesco waiting for their reinforcements to arrive. Immediately a Striker turns around and almost yells what sounds like would have been “Hands motherfucker!” and then suddenly turns around and starts focusing on keeping his aim on the treeline between the hospital and Highwoods.
Jason has just woken up and he seems surprised that I'm still alive. I get him calmed down and ask him about where Daniel is
“If he wasn't standing by your hospital bed he's obviously getting crocked at Bricklayers'. Listen... I know you probably still shouldn't be alive after that ambush, but not everything--”
“And neither should you after getting shot at with a mercury bow in the stomach”
I immediately inject the hypospray into his stomach and leave before he can spout another word, sneakily filching his car keys hanging out of his pocket. Considering the fact he probably has mercury poisoning to deal with whatever he says should be taken with a grain of salt. I didn't like the way grandpa was drinking himself away at the local pub during a time we need to be on high alert, especially since Bricklayers is on the road the WCG would probably strike from if they attacked.
A few Strikers walk out of the treeline with a WCG army officer walking in front of them, them both pointing their rifles at his back ready to shoot. I didn't want to stay for whatever interrogations they planned on him, and I knew I wouldn't see anything special considering the fact that our regiment out here abides by old world treaties that define war crimes. I quickly turn the keys on Jason's car and turn off the radio before WCG propaganda destroys my ears. I look on my phone which has obviously been touched by someone in the past week and see an old photo of grandpa in his old SAS regiment taken barely 5 years before the WCG took over in. I couldn't tell who he was, since they were all wearing gas masks on. Of course, that was the last photo of him in SAS before he found himself in MI6, which didn't last long when the WCG invalidated their jobs 4 years later in favor of people who were young, dumb, and infinitely loyal to the WCG because of their so-called “Peace” agenda that was so trendy at the time.
If everything goes right for the Syndicate then maybe in a few years we'll have things in working order like they were before. I just pray that we don't die trying. The best thing about the Human people is the ability to think for themselves, an ability the WCG and even governments before tried to strip away by dumbing the people down through the entertainment industry, ill-conceived education reforms, and meme culture. One day this will all be history, the WCG being known as the dictators they are.
All we can do now is pray and fight.
Chapter 3 is here, and with a twist
Chapter 3: In Medius De
July 20th, 2052
The pub was a sleazy place nowadays, the windows had been completely opaque over the years from a distinct lack of care. Of course, this place somehow managed to become a traditional place to be among my family and others in town.
Daniel was sitting at the end of the bar and didn't look drunk yet. Two men of around the same age were sitting next to him already guzzling their mugs down. I figured they were probably in that one picture with him, from SAS. They weren't recognizable, seeing as I hadn't seen them before, and probably sneak into town over the past week. I walked over to him and he was immediately to his business.
“Paige, back from the dead I see.”
“If you can say that, and why is Jason acting so weird lately? Mercury poisoning?”
“You know him, always been like that whenever he's nervous. Relax about the-- Forget it, anyway, I'm glad you're here at the right time...”
He had a folder right next to him, and it looked like he'd been up to something over the week
“Listen... Over the past week several other units risen up against the WCG, it's causing chaos everywhere. It's the reason we haven't been crushed yet... We know the WCG's army will be sending in the cavalry to crush the entire island soon enough...”
He shivered for a moment thinking about it
“I know you've missed an entire week, and you barely survived, but we need someone to do this. Someone they won't be suspecting...”
“Do what? Take down an entire armada singlehandedly?”
“Of course not, and we aren't sending you in alone...”
He removed the string holding the folder shut in a single motion and looked inside
“We need you to be an agent on the inside of the WCG. And you won't be answering to us, regrettably as that is...”
He shrugged and closed his eyes for a second before downing a shot of beer
“The coup is happening soon. Very soon. This is our chance against the WCG. I just wish I could say we were doing it. But sometimes the enemy of the enemy is just faster than us.”
“I don't understand... I thought we-”
“It's too complex for me to explain... All you need to know is that we worked out a bargain with them to get some of our people in on it. You... And Jason, yes, were the best we could offer for this. On the bright side, you won't be in such dangerous situations, and to be honest, Jason's experience in what we have planned is beyond everyone else. I might have experience, but they know my face, and I'm just plain too old for this shit... Jason can't fight as well anymore after those wounds.”
“Fine, I'll put it this way. We need you to be a spy, and we need you to give as much assistance as you can in Phoenix's coup. Jason being part of your cover and being a valuable asset for what is planned...”
“I'm in, say no more”
Maybe I was just too charmed by the idea of spying at the time. Jason wasn't much of a turnoff, and he'd always been a great friend over the years.
The moment I got out of that pub Jason had approached. He was wheezing from his run across town without his car and he didn't seem happy about it, but he always gets over things
“Shit, you already talked to him?”
“Just seems awkward, y'know?”
We both got in the car to get back to our homes. It wasn't a long drive, and I just couldn't help but stare at him. We were going to have to be with eachother for the next few years possibly for what was going to happen. After he got me home I just couldn't help but kiss him to try to get myself used to it since we we're going to need a cover story for us being in London soon. After that it just spiraled out on us beyond a simple cover story.
Present time, September 14th, 2063
Unknown time, Unknown location
The woman in her fifties was standing in front of me beyond angry. The Equalizer pistol looked extremely outdated, but she looked like she certainly knew how to use it well. My guess was an ex-cop or someone who was just a gun nut.
“Do you think I give a shit about your little love story, Mrs. Cooper? No, because we saw enough movies like those when I was young!”
I spat at her shoes and she dodged them suddenly with her strange reflexes for her age
“Using the big words eh Mrs. Dubois?”
This aged bitch was starting to piss me off. For being of such age I'd expect her to be doing something like sorting files in an office or some desk job, not being doing interrogations as part of the WCG secret police. I needed a better insult than a simple jab about her swearing.
“Who's messed up lovechild are you Mrs. Dubois? Kind of odd seeing someone like you have a name like Mai. That accent sounds American too, well guess what, we don't like your types around here, and you sure as hell bett--”
I felt the flat shard shot out of the equalizer shoot through my leg. I tried to laugh to cover it up, but it was obvious her methods of interrogation were working, and over the line.
“Really? You of all people would try to insult me like that? You're not even good at insulting people. But enough of this, we've got what we need to know on why the Syndicate was involved now. But really, you're the one who had a lo-”
She smiled for a second and motioned to two guard on the other side of the door before beginning to leave
“Y'know, I don't think it's right to insult such a whore before we have her killed, it's really not classy. I might have let you live, but I never liked slutty women.”
She laughed for a moment after her obviously better attempt at insulting me. For being such an old bitch she seemed to still be skilled in her field despite her aging.
“We've got what we need to know, kill her.”
A single guard stepped in with a rifle in his hands. He looked at me for a moment with a perverted look and laughed, trying to be as insulting as possible before he killed me.
“Sorry, orders are orders. I'd have preferred to have had it my way.”
He immediately pulled his rifle around and tried to hit me with the butt of his rifle. Of course, it doesn't help to have the victim unrestrained. I put my fist into his stomach and slipped a hypospray injector off of his pocket and injected it into myself.
It felt like a euphoria. Every time injecting them feels like the first. Such ethereal, such immersion beyond the normal realm. I immediately glowed a neon light blue and kicked him from behind his kneecap. He fell to his knees in an instant in pain, and in a moment it was over when his neck was quickly snapped from behind by me. I left the room and gave the hypospray and it's euphoric effects to wear off.
Out the window was a street, and the entire area was guard-less. I couldn't believe they were doing this in the middle of a busy area. But great for me, since all I had to do to escape was rather enjoyably kill a single guard and walk out the door. Whatever, I needed to go back to Jason and prepare for my workday. The clock said it was 3:30 in the morning, so I hadn't been gone for long. I knew their methods enough to know they wouldn't be going after me anymore. They had no business with me anymore and I couldn't be a harm to them working at a bank. If they really needed me dead they'd have dragged me out of the city and had much better measures in place.
The only problem is that they had what they wanted now.
You've got a talent for writing, Ill be interested to check out more of this in the future
Here take this hypo!
Chapter 4: To Slay a Demon
July 31st, 2052
Phoenix front-company building
I stood listening to the man in front of me. His suit was generic, and there was no way to tell he was a terrorist mastermind. Five others stood next to me in similar suits, and me in equivalent formal attire.
“One of the major players in the WCG's operations is Mai Dubois. We believe she is an important part of the secret police's operations as of late, and is responsible for the disappearance of several of our, and our ally's, people as of late. A real bitch to say the least. Has a knack for hairdye, makeup, everything that looked good on her two decades ago, and now just makes her look like an idiot at her age. Age is 42, IQ of 180. Spends her free time in random places. She has no schedule, and she's paranoid. We've tried everything to try to kill her. Replace her hairdye with acid , didn't work. Rooftop snipers? We don't know how, but once the wounds healed over immediately, and when we used laced rounds the poison had no effect. Nothing has worked.”
The man pulled out some notes and continued talking.
“We don't need to go into specifics here, but needless to say compared to everyone else, she has quicker reactions, thinks faster, moves faster. Kills faster. She can gauge where a shot is going to land from a kilometer away without a scope. One of her traits also has a weakness. She has extremely fast metabolism, atleast 32 times faster than a normal human's. Poison hasn't worked though despite that, but we are on to an idea. Thirty two times faster metabolism means she generates heat 32 times faster. Sustained fighting might kill her, and there have been two known instances where it nearly did, about twenty years ago. When it gets to a point where she needs to vent that heat or die, it does it quite violently. The Syndicate lost two of their best people to such an event. One being Barabas, and the other being their old leader, who's name escapes me at this time.”
He stopped for a moment and sat down on the chair and shrugged
“I myself saw it firsthand. Their leader was down on the ground unconscious from several concussions, our commanding officer was wounded and making his way back to our VTOL. I didn't expect it to happen, but suddenly a flash of light came. The Syndicate's leader and our CO were killed by the heat in an instant. I was barely a few meters away, but our CO was several. Anyone who isn't in a completely contained suit during an event like that is guaranteed dead from the flare. But I digress from my nostalgic ramblings of an era I regret. Needless to say, if we can get an event like that to trigger and stop it before any heat can be vented from her, we have ourselves a kill.”
He turned around and thought of whom he would assign to assassinate Dubois, and then suddenly turned around to me.
“Four-ninety, make me proud. I've got my own reasons to go after her myself and twice as many reasons not to. Everything you need to know that I haven't covered is in this file. This job isn't going to be easy. It's not going to be over in a month. This is going to be years of planning this.”
He left immediately. One of the others snickered.
“You know the boss' secret?”
“Uh, no, just been here ten days.”
“Lung cancer, Alzheimer’s, you name it. One of us has to remind him of everything new every so often. Don't know why exactly he has all those. I'd assume the lung cancer was caused by the dark era when there were no air filters, and I'd guess the Alzheimer's and other shit is from standing right next to a radiation event good enough to kill someone 30 meters away instantly. Heh, only in his forties like that bitch and he's on his road to an early death.”
He laughed again and walked off. I decided it was time to go home with the file, get some time to read through it and talk with Jason about it, and get some rest before work tomorrow at the bank.
The file wasn't something I could just read casually. I decided to put it down for now. Too many big words and tangents going into great detail about something completely irrelevant after it was given a single passing mention. It seemed 'the boss' wrote the same way he talked.
Jason came downstairs and looked at me for a second, smiling
“Still going to give me the silent treatment Paige? Ah hell, I guess all women do that when-”
“And for the record, Jason, I completely regret sleeping with you, you irresponsible asshole”
He backed off from his jokes
“You're the one who started it”
He smiles again and went back upstairs, grabbing a can of coke. I start to get shaky and find myself reaching for a can of stimulants that were supposed to be used in a hypospray injector. I immediately inhale as much as I can and start to get relaxed again. I don't know why I have this addiction, but I need to kick it before something happens.
...Plenty of things I'm regretting...
-Snip, what the hell happened-
Last edited by Valkyrur (1/6/12 12:28)
-Snip, how the hell did I triple post this-
Last edited by Valkyrur (1/6/12 12:28)
I'm going to start writing this again, since the last chapter I translated was where I had stopped writing, but I'm going to do an interactivity element to it like I used to with some of my Gmod comics.
November 1st, 2063. 11:48 PM.
PS. John Nash, age 27, TG-710
The entire night had been quite boring and routine. We only had to issue a few tickets, and there was nothing surprising about these unlit and terrible streets in this neighborhood. The TCTF stopped handling this place a few months ago to shift their resources to the war effort with the Syndicate to the east, leaving us to deal with the local fringe groups like Phoenix and their agents. Then, we got the call.
"Dispatch to officer TG-710"
"TG-710 reporting in"
"There are possible reports of a suspicious woman causing a disturbance in your local area, may be carrying dangerous contagions. Proceed immediately to break up any disturbances and make sure of sanitation of any individuals"
"Ten four dispatch..."
I hung up the radio right away and set course for the alleyway marked in the car's computer. When we got there there was already another officer on scene who arrived just before us, Sergeant Barnes according to my contact HUD. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, and I wasn't one for questioning orders, unless of course it came from some spook like Agent Dubois, of whatever non-existent organization she worked for non-existentially.
"Sergeant Nash here, partner is P.C. Walker. Can you fill us in on whatever situation we have here?"
"Ah yes Sergeant, there's been a few recent thefts of... Classified materials in the apartment of a... Mr and Mrs Dubois..."
"Agent Dubois? Why would she live in such a shitty part of town?"
Barnes didn't look amused, in fact he looked a bit angry. It was the kind of "Cut the insubordination or I'm filing your name in with her and you're going to disappear" kind of look at me
"Anyway Sergeant, there's a woman just down the alley there. Loitering around, seems a bit suspicious. I've firm reason to believe she may be involved, none of the scans I did from afar were consistent. Possible fake IDs and other counterfeits. I figure we should do a field interrogation and make sure she checks out. P.C. Walker should stay with me, but I want you to investigate the building to look for signs of entry by her."
It all seemed run-of-the-mill. Nothing to be worried about here. Just down the alley I saw her. Quite seductive I'd say, her almost glowing blue eyes, her slim build, the way she gracefully moved, but suspicious was suspicious. Somethings not right when a woman like that is loitering in this part of town.
"Hello Mam, we're with the Met, and we'd like to ask you a few questions about the recent break ins..."
"...Why shoot, officer..."
It wasn't my business to listen in on the interrogation, I had business to do inside. For being the shittiest part of town, this apartment looked like luxury. The couch aggravating my allergies was obviously real animal fur, and the TV took up the entire wall in front of it, probably ran at some Ultra-Definition resolution that noone could afford, unless of course they were working for a non-existent organization with a blank budget. After about 15 minutes I found nothing of importance that I could get to on my own. Someone of higher pay-grade would have to carry out the rest.
I quickly left the apartment into the alleyway and found noone. I looked for a moment and saw Walker and Barnes lying dead in a hard to notice position in a corner.
"Oh shit... Oh shit. Shit!"
I reached for my radio right away only to have it smashed out of my hand, and me pinned against a wall with enough force to break one of my ribs. The person who killed them stared right into my eyes. Same woman as before, but her eyes were light orange and gave off a slight glow that could be noticed at any light level. She smiled at me, moving a bit closer and increasing the applied force even more to break another rib. The back pain from being pushed into a brick wall like this was unbearable. Her free hand protruded claws as she stressed it. There was no way I could fight back at this point against this trap I fell into.
Paige Wollcroft, Phoenix operative:
This euphoric state felt even better every time it happened. It all started last month for me, and I had no idea why. At first, it was pain, but then it became an ecstasy of my existence. Not even constantly taking those stimulants felt nearly as good as this, and I didn't have to buy this or spend time inhaling or hypo-jecting it. The first pains of it were unbearable. My hands were completely unusable, my legs had cramped at the slightest over-exertion, and just thinking gave headaches. It was as impossible to explain as my reactions to the hypospray stimulants. But something was, no, is off about this. It just doesn't feel right sometimes.
Pinned on the wall in front of me is a poor little cop who, just like his two dead friends, got caught wrong place wrong time with me. It didn't feel right to kill someone this defenseless, but he posed a threat to our plans that we've been trying to pull off for the past decade. I didn't go through the trouble of breaking into Dubois' apartment and stealing documents to be stopped by a generic Met. He was atleast worth talking to for a minute. He proven to be better already by not instantly dying from the force I already put upon him pinning him on this wall.
"...So handsome, what's it like to not know what's going to happen to you? Will I let you live and take you in as a little pet? Or will I treat you like the prey you are..."
He couldn't respond with the amount of pressure on his throat, and it made this even more entertaining
"I could kill you quickly with a quick twist... The small, bumpy cracking noise would be appealing to my ears along with your limbs suddenly going from trying to resist to completely limp... I remember the last time I did that... The man didn't even realize it... He went from kissing and undressing me to just a paralyzed body instantly without suspecting a thing... In a way I wish I let him go on a little longer before that, but it would have been satisfying either way, maybe a bit more-so if I was savoring the kill..."
The Met began to blush. The more I can embarrass him with made up stories the more entertaining the idea of killing him is becoming for me.
"...Or I could truly make use of myself and just tear your throat out and leave the people investigating your corpse bewildered as to what killed you. If they ever meet you in hell tell them that the beautiful beast did that to you..."
If he had managed to send out an automated distress call I had barely a few minutes before backup arrived. A had to do something now before I was surrounded by a bunch of Mets. I quickly kissed him, not out of some ironic show of affection for an enemy but a mere courtesy to make the poor man not feel completely worthless before he died. I quickly raised my free hand up to his throat, it now fully protruding one of the claws that had grown in my hands somehow and got ready to kill him.
Last edited by Valkyrur (2/6/12 19:26)
I love it!!
I just realized I screwed up the date on the latest chapter >.< ... Fixed.
Also, Malsah you should have posted your response on what action should have been taken so I don't have to be arsed to think of it myself
Let him live! Makes it interesting if someone survives to tell the story...
November 2nd, 2063. 12:10 AM.
At this point killing him was unbelievably tempting. The thought of it made this high feel even greater, and nothing could change that. He was already starting to go limp from the significant lack of air he was getting and before long he could be killed with no resistance like prey paralyzed by a neurotoxin. The thoughts wouldn't stop, and I had more ideas of how to kill him than I could count on my hands. Tear his throat out with my claws, or bite his throat out like a wolf? Asphyxiate him until his corpse is a dark shade of blue? Crush his throat with the one hand already resting there? The thought of all them was amazing.
But I just couldn't do it. It stopped feeling right, and I couldn't help but feel something else pulling at me as if it wasn't myself thinking like this. His scent was much more distinct from the others, and whoever this poor Met was he obviously didn't shower often, probably discovered it wasn't worth it with how dirty this part of London was on it's own. Just smelling that was too reminding of where I came from, and I just couldn't function anymore from those thoughts flooding in again. Instantly he was on the floor by my feet, unconscious from the trauma and suffocation. Next time we met, I'd make sure to kill him right away before that could happen again.
I quickly got out of there before anyone else got there. I already had what I needed, and I needed some rest before I went through my normal morning routine. With my claws fully retracted back into my hand I got my phone out and slipped the solid-state chip into it that I had all of Dubois' insecure data on. I couldn't get the damn phone to work, it kept giving me an error about my face not being recognized. It took me a few tries to realize that it was my eyes causing that. Might as well give it a few minutes while I drive back home.
Back at home I finally get the phone to work, now that my eyes are finally back to normal after that... episode... The data was too confusing for me to understand in it's scientific mumbo-jumbo and would probably be needed to be figured out by someone who could understand it. Whatever it was it would probably be the most important key to killing Dubois. I prayed that whatever it is wouldn't also be something that could kill me too. In the grand total of two times I had been in the vicinity of her it felt unbelievable surreal, like we had something in common, and whatever it was produced a hate at first sight.
But this data was one of the most important things I had, and I needed to make sure it ended up in the right hands. I had to get this to someone right away. Or rather, after I rested. Of course, anyone I could give it to would be fast asleep right now and wouldn't want it right now.
Fast asleep in one of the many lucid dreams that I've had for the past decade I had to think about whom to give it to later. One one hand, I could give it to Dr. Kovic. He was a best of his field, and conveniently operated underground, out of the eyes of Phoenix and the WCG. Only reason I knew him was because of my past associations with the Syndicate, since supposedly he was the reason I survived ten years ago. I never really knew what his field was, but it was something that he had to stay out of any supervision from governments and any organization that might be as bad, like Phoenix. His expertise would be a true asset to killing Dubois.
On the other hand, I could just hand the data over to The Man and he could decide what to do with it, after all, I worked for him. I couldn't really trust such an illusive man, but he must know something important. If he found out I gave the data to someone else I don't know what he might do. If I gave the data to him he could find a way to use it against me later if I defy him. It didn't seem good either way if I gave it to him or not. This choice between an expert and my boss grew harder every second I thought about it.
It was either the doctor who had no assets other than his knowledge to help me with, or someone who lacked the knowledge but had the resources. Either way, I didn't get everything I needed. I couldn't just give the data to both, the data was hardlocked to purge copies, and both would need time to look over the data for what was important. This was not what I asked for when I broke into Dubois' apartment to get this, and I probably shouldn't have thought about it.
To make this story really complicated, give the data to "The Man" and somehow arrange for the Doctor to analyze the data for "The Man"
November 2nd, 2063
I had thought too much in this one sitting, and I couldn't just sleep it away. After 10 years, never truly being able to rest becomes completely normal. Every dream is a complete lucid dream, and inevitably you just treat it like a dream. But it still isn't rest, just the body merely inactive in a horizontal position, and you trapped in some room of your own making for eight hours left to do nothing but think and "move" about. Everything you see is nothing more than what you thought, there was no such thing as surprise in this dimension. If this place was what it was like to be a god, then such a life would be quite boring after awhile. Add an entire ten years of always sleeping like this and you might go insane.
Now that I think of it, it reminded me of some old mindfuck of a movie I saw about a decade ago that was from around 2001. The character looked a lot like Dubois, and was stuck in some lucid dream scenario fighting off every single thought in her mind, from wrestling midgets to a creepy dead girl. Her boss seemed like a real pain in the ass from what I could tell, and I always get trippy thinking about the end of that scene where she fights someone who looks exactly like herself. Couple watching that movie with eating pizza before I got to sleep and I got myself a nightmare. I shouldn't even be thinking about that unless I want to end up in that same scenario about right... Now... Damnit... Might as well pass the rest of this time literally claw and fanging at these midget ninjas until I wake up. I shouldn't have had that Pizza earlier...
PS. John Nash
It isn't often you come across a freak case like this, and the brass aren't willing to believe my "delusion" and that I should "Stop spreading bollocks about werewolves and the like". Whatever it was, I think two broken ribs, a broken nose from falling to the ground, and acute cuts akin to claws on your throat should have been enough for someone to take notice. Now I just had to hope that what I saw wasn't actually a delusion and that I wasn't attacked by an escaped mountain lion from the zoo. Now someone probably wants me taken in for a intensive psychological checkup. I had my suspect in the break-ins, and I'm never going to forget that face, but the brass aren't willing to let me pursue my leads. I can't even get access to the street cams to figure out where she went.
A man opens my office door without knocking and talks immediately. His suit looks like it had just been crafted finely today, and he looks unbelievably generic and professional. Something couldn't be right.
"Sergeant Nash, I understand you saw a... Syndicate experiment... Earlier this morning..."
"The Syndicate's involved in the break-ins?.. Oh shit..."
"Not exactly Mr. Nash..."
"Then what are you here for other than to mock me with information my superiors will refuse to listen to?"
"You can thank The Man for them refusing to listen, which adding to that, The Man values your silence highly"
"You've proven a great asset to this place over the past few years, so The Man isn't interested in purging that asset because of the loose lips of a dispatcher who went missing a few hours ago sent him where he didn't belong"
"Your silence is worth a million Credits to The Man, which have already been transferred to your account. Violate this agreement and there will be unspecified consequences"
And with that he immediately left before I could respond. If anything he left more questions than he answered. It was more spooks than one could handle in a day. I quickly took the files on the break-ins and put them at the bottom of my desk before I could think of it more. Best to let it rest while I handle something more important, like the case of Jacquelyn the Cutter's serial killings.
It took some time, but I had finally managed to convince Kovic to work with Phoenix on our conspiracy, as paranoid as he was. As of present he was already in their base of operations crammed into some office doing whatever work they assigned him. Just as bad was convincing The Man to let Kovic in on this, which barely worked. The Man had sent an agent to retrieve the data from me, and The Man would contact me as soon as possible. My Holophone was ringing now, and it was him. I answered immediately.
"Cooper, you shouldn't make a habit of costing me more than just time and money. This Syndicate criminal could potentially undermine our plans. In addition paying off the police officer you let live and disposing of the dispatcher responsible for you encountering him costed a good deal of resources. You should have just killed him, a cover story would have been much easier then."
"It won't happen again. I just lost myself from some thoughts that came up."
"Good, but either way we have the data we have been looking for, and we'll be ready to strike Dubois and her operations in no time. After ten years, the job will be done. Doctor Kovic is analyzing the data right now, but it may not be complete analysis since we have to keep him away from our energy pods for security concerns."
"About that data..."
November 2nd, 2063. 10:05 AM.
"If we want a chance of being able to take down Dubois, I need all the information I can get as soon as it is available. I need to talk to Kovic about that data immediately."
"I'm sorry Cooper, but that is not an option. This is strictly need to know basis for our security."
"Any second now Dubois' people could come and take the fight to us. They have their suspicions. We need that information ASAP."
"...Point taken. I will give you five minutes to talk to Kovic. No more."
About half a minute later the hologram flickered and displayed Kovic standing at his own holo-projection terminal. I knew what I wanted to ask him was completely irrelevant, but whatever he told me might have the smallest sliver of relation to Dubois. Looking at Kovic you would have no evidence of him being a doctor, merely just another man living in some shithole chav neighborhood in London.
"Ah yes... Cooper is it?"
"Wollc-- Cooper, yes."
Slipping that name might have triggered a million WCG AIs to monitor the conversation for anything related to the Syndicate or any other WCG enemy. I still don't know how I ended up on their hitlist since I always went under an alias in the Syndicate.
"Listen, Kovic. Eleven years ago you were involved in... something. I need to know it."
"I'm sorry, I'm a perfectly legal doctor who specializes in enhancements. All you need to know is in public records. If I did anything illegal like dao-- da-- excuse me, I stutter and mix words up from time to time. But if I did something illegal like genetic fortification and enhancement I would either be in a prison cell or looking for a job at a fast food place with my medical license revoked."
Something couldn't be right in the way he spoke. The stuttering was strictly artificial, and seemed like he was narrowly trying to avoid WCG censors and monitors by over-elaborating his language
"You're hiding something Kovic. Tell me, or I'll deal with you myself"
"There's no need for threatening an old friend, Cooper. You know that I have done nothing wrong or deceitful."
His body language was too loose, and it became obvious his social deficiencies stopped him short of properly lying to me.
"Seems you don't have much of a poker face Kovic. Care to elaborate on that Daoda-thing along with the genetic fortification and enhancement?"
"I'm afraid that information involves things someone like you, or anyone from Phoenix should be allowed to know. You're asking dangerous questions Cooper. Say no more and I will treat this offense like it never happened. I can offer that much for you giving my people access to this data. We lost a great deal of this kind of information since my predecessor, Doctor Hasegawa was assassinated by the WCG pigs 20 years ago."
I had already stirred him up. I knew by now I shouldn't have trusted him with this data. In the rage he was in he might take it for himself or the Syndicate. I still had people to trust there, but the Syndicate is a wide organization. If he made it to France there would be no chance of recovering the data from a sect that had no relations to ours.
I couldn't help myself. I just snapped looking at his arrogance. The transition was almost immediate and within a second I could see a faint shimmer of orange from my eyes where blue used to be reflecting off of the hologram.
"Don't you even fucking think of betraying me Kovic. Don't you even fucking dare say the name Cooper again. I've had enough of your bullshit. The name is Wollcroft you damned wanker, and you've know that for atleast eleven years. Tell me exactly what I need to know or your life is going to be a living hell you motherfucker."
The bastard was completely unfazed, and somewhat smirking. Whatever I did merely entertained him.
"I see you've adjusted well to your enhancements this past decade. I don't even need this data to confirm my hypothesis on my changes to Hasegawa's work. Even when asking these kinds of questions you've proven a valuable asset to the WCG. Thank you, and au revoir, Madame Wollcroft. And before I leave, since you insist on me calling you by you're real name, it's only polite for me to tell you who I am before my team bursts in to kill you."
He quickly bowed and laughed. Now he wasn't even trying to hide the French accent I noticed whenever he talked to me.
"Best regards from Jacques Dubois."
The hololink quickly cut. I got The Man on the line immediately. I didn't have much time before Mr. Dubois' black ops team (As if I didn't already have enough on my hands with Ms. Dubois' would-be hitmen after me) arrived to try to take me down.
"Cooper, what is wrong?"
"It's Kovic, or whoever he really is. He isn't who he says he is. You need to stop him before he---"
"The logs report he just left a minute ago and is already out of security range... I can however---"
I cut the transmission. Utterly useless.
Revenge was already here in my hands, less than 12 hours after the incident. I had be contacted an hour ago by a Frenchman who offered five times Phoenix's payment in exchange for me leading the team to take out the person responsible for what happened. Paige Wollcroft, he said. The name sounded familiar, in fact I think I remember it from the Met's database on known criminals. A lot of people would revere me for this, and I felt more than just obliged to do this.
"Team two is in position to breach the wall. Team one form up on the door. Take this bitch out quickly. The faster we leave the less civilian witness potential, and therefore less bullshit afterward. In and out was the plan. If we do this right the locals will think it was nothing more than an armed robbery that went south with the hostage murdered."
Ah hell, I was beginning to talk like I was in WCG Black Ops. Then again, I was offered such a position there if I succeeded here. That was mere excess. Killing whatever monster this is was a lavish reward of it's own.
"On my go. Three. Two... Breaching!"
I couldn't have been any more wrong.
Their attempt ended in all but one of them dead. I made sure to spare this one. His scent was too familiar to just kill like the rest. The others died in a way comparable to a grizzly attack by a predatory animal. It wasn't comparable actually. They were. I unbelievably enjoyed every second of it. It was too much to think about how, but the result was amazing. And now the last of them lie under me awaiting his death. I needed to savor this. Toy with him like a cat to a mouse.
"I envy you, whoever you are. You had the resolve to come after me after I almost decided to kill you. You almost seem like a man who can fill the void left over by the last man in my life..."
His fear was sweating off of him. He shown a feeling thinking he might be kept as a pet, or a trophy of sort.
Thankfully for both of us I wasn't interested in either. I quickly punch him in the face as hard as I could and put as much out of date beer left over from Cooper to make it look like he got drunk and passed out. There was a satisfaction to this I couldn't figure out, but killing him was going to be even more satisfying to me. The body cleanup on everyone else did itself thankfully. WCG black ops had nano-deconstruction systems in them to remove evidence of their existence.
But I had to track down Mr. Dubois before he escaped with that data. Knowing him, he would probably circle to his apartment first to dispose of evidence about him. His black ops could have done that, but he was dumb enough to send them after me. If I was lucky, he would still be there. Even if the data wasn't involved, I still needed to figure out what the hell happened to me, and why I have been doing things comparable to a feral predator whenever threatened. As much as I enjoyed it when it happened, the aftershocks were hell. Constant depression from it could kill me if I fought someone like either of the Dubois' if they had anything remotely close to the upper hand. The guilt caused by having such an advantage over these people haunted me in my dreams and idle thoughts. Thankfully my old best friend, stimulants, was by my side to help.
I quickly hypo-injected some stimulants to stop the aftershocks and got in my car. The smug bastard was about to find out what happens when you piss me off. I had only one thing that I would say to him before he dies. Ne marchez pas sur moi. Saying it in English would be a fitting end for him. Saying it to him in his own language would be insult, injury, and executioner to him.
Last edited by Valkyrur (12/6/12 2:35)
Judging from the look of it, it seems that Mr. Dubois got overconfident about his team, but it wont be long before he finds out what happened when noone reports in. I had the element of surprise, and I wasn't about to let time take it away on me. This was unbelievably simple. Walk in, break into the same apartment I did earlier this morning, kill him, and walk out.
When I got to the alley behind the building the guards were already dead. A few were shot. One of them fell to their death and smashed their skull on the concrete. The last casualty was still alive with no visible wounds, albiet quadriplegic and unresponsive. I quickly clawed the skin off his throat before he could ever awaken to realize someone had paralyzed him. Noone deserved something like that. Nothing could be worse than being aware but incapable of interaction. For once there was a kill that I didn't enjoy. It was right, not satisfying.
It soon became clear who did the killings. Dubois' personal guard team. The same unmarked civilian leather jackets as before. I could smell that all-so-familiar scent off of one of them. I was surprised, if not impressed by his recovery from a concussion and alcohol poisoning that barely happened fifteen minutes ago. He wasn't looking to be someone to be underestimated. Another very recent scent came to me just as fast. It was the same one that came off of the now deceased security guard's neck. The same scent that forced me to kill someone completely innocent. I had killed someone who was by all means innocent before, but it was out of necessity. The two cops who would have jeopardized my mission were a recent example.
Of course "necessity" often went too far and the rather... Predatory... side of me forced me to unquestioningly execute anyone who threatened me in any way. The result was always an emotional joy until it receded, when the opposite began to happen. Perhaps it was necessity to stop it from being able to take over, and if so I was thankful. I sneaked up on him, and quickly snapped his neck the same way he did to the guard. I killed him the same way as the guard, but slowly enough for him to regain consciousness from the pain before he died. That may have been one of the few times it was worth surrendering to that predator instinct. I had enough control over it to at least make sure it only happened when it needed to, and thankfully the thoughts and instincts of it only came to mind when adrenaline was in my system. Of course intentionally triggering it on my own wasn't something I kept out of the question, it may have saved my life once. Or made a deep cover WCG agent expose themselves without thinking out of their sheer arrogance.
I quickly gunned down the rest with my pistol in a brief firefight. The noise was going to severely limit the time I could spend here before I had to move. The leader escaped, and no doubt he was planning his next move. Two stories up was the apartment, and I would probably corner both of them up there. At the top of the stairs I found him. But it was in his plan, and I fell into the trap. A dart quickly shot out of his pistol and brought on an immediate pain through my entire body. I nearly fell backwards down the stairs before grabbing onto the railing. He smirked and quickly got out of there.
I couldn't think. I felt like I might fall down. I felt like I could die. It couldn't be poison. Poison doesn't work on me. This had to be one hell of a tranquilizer. I couldn't even let feral instincts take over. The thoughts simply couldn't come to.
But I was there. I got into Mr. Dubois' apartment. And whoever his supposed bodyguard was beat me to him. He was bleeding out. Multiple gunshot wounds to the chest. The data was sitting on the desk where I had stolen it earlier this morning. And I had a problem that was solving itself by the second. Now the question changed from "How to do it" to "What to do with it". I already planned to question him, but it would be a good idea to figure out now what to do with him after that.
<Kill him> "You should consider yourself lucky that my mind is thinking more about shooting you than tearing out your throat. It would have been a fitting end for you to die by one of the defining characteristics of your own creation... Doctor Dubois..."
<Capture him for Phoenix> "You should consider yourself lucky that Phoenix has been wanting to capture and interrogate a WCG agent for some time now... Doctor Dubois..."
Last edited by Valkyrur (12/6/12 3:59)
It was starting to get ironic that I was patching up the same person I was hunting, whom also happened to, and I was probably wasting my time as I did this. For all I knew, there was backup coming right now for him.
"Listen doctor, we're doing this my way. You answer my questions, you have a much better chance of living. You don't, and it's going to be painful."
"Your... Aggressive response is predicatable, Cooper. Reminds me of my--"
This wasn't getting anywhere. I punched him right in his face to get him to shut up.
"...You didn't ask..."
"Then let's start. What has been happening to me? Why?"
"Merely it adapting to the environm--"
I punched him again and nearly slamming his face into the floor
"It? It? What are you talking about?"
"The infected cells designed to replicate and ev--"
I put my hand over his mouth and throat and started choking him. I didn't want to hear what he had to say. It sounded disgusting, and almost insulting. I still had more to ask him.
"Why are you doing this? I've already seen firsthand what you've created is horrible. But why? Why?"
"--I'm merely rebuilding the work that was once lost. Even improving it while I'm at it. Taking humans beyond their natural limits to a higher state..."
"...By 'Humans' you mean the people the WCG deems worthy... Those are the wrong hands... This shouldn't even exist... Whatever it is..."
"I've had twenty years to work on and improve Hasegawa's theories on genetic malleability. I know better than-"
"Did you use any of that time thinking that humanity isn't, and never will be ready to or want to descend into the predatory nature of animals?"
"...You have it wrong Cooper... That isn't what this is designed for... Merely a side-effect dependant on the host... I know you've seen a person enhanced by this research that isn't--"
"Who? Answer me!"
"You're saying you did--"
"No... She's had it for over forty years now... She was the one who suggested I look into this research. Remake what had been missing after her father was assassinated and his research destroyed..."
"...Sounds like her father was a sick bastard to do research on her... Maybe it was for the best he was assassinated before his twisted experiments could go on..."
"Cooper... Don't be so naive... Thirty years ago humanity was heading towards it's extinction. Darwinism can only go so far before the entire race is doomed... We simply weren't designed to live in toxic environments."
"Then it's a damn good thing the processing centers made that research redundant.."
"...We didn't have processing centers thirty years ago Cooper, you should know that... We had to all live in biosuits to avoid poisoning. Those who didn't suffered from terminal illnesses and lifespans shorter than a medieval serf..."
He was right... And it was all too convenient that my health problems had disappeared eleven years ago... Not all of us could afford biosuits, and some people were actively denied access to them. Syndicate biosuits were designed for convential gasses and other chemical weapons, not element 1000 poisoning. Humanity had learned it's lesson years ago about using deep from the bottom of the Earth as fuels, and in more than one way. It was such a potent but rare source of fuel. Oil was becoming increasingly depleted over the years, and E1K was looking to be something much better than that. Before long nations that were once allies went to war with eachother to gain control of the fuel. North America's interior was a nuclear wasteland by the end of the 20's, and Germany had again started a world war to try and maintain it's economic superiority in a market that was being shaken up by the new resource. From what I know the media called it "The fall of man", and of course the WCG now refers to the wars blankly as "escalated border clashes". Before long the governments of the world collapsed, and the UN took over under the new banner of the "World Coalition Government".
"Tell me, what is this research?"
"...It's a virus of sorts... It takes over and replicates cells at an astronomical rate. The body evolves much faster too, to function best in it's enviroment... Eventually it reaches a point where the body rapidly mutates into a form different than it's own, and is at it's peak performance... That is where I improved Hasegawa's research..."
"In what way?"
"The... imago... state of the evolution was extremely flawwed... It wasn't human, and there was no way for the body to revert... It wasn't subtle at alll... I wanted something to improve humanity, not turn it into a monster... The subjects Barabas, and Muro were hideous in imago form... I changed the function of this state... The subjects can freely morph between imago state and normal with little problem... I was also working on a variant that has no imago state at all, which was my goal all along..."
"...I don't understand this welll enough..."
"At a stretch, it is comparable to the mythological Lycan, but not nearly as extreme..."
"You've already reached the imago state from what I know... You know what I'm talking about... You've gone between the two forms at will. You merely haven't mastered your control over it yet..."
"You're disgusting Mr. Dubois..."
I was starting to lose myself... Angry wasn't the right word to describe how I felt about what he had done to me, and for all I knew whatever it was was still changing me and he didn't know it. For a moment I wanted to let it take over and tear his throat out with those razor sharp claws, but he was right. I hadn't yet mastered control of it, and it wasn't going to come out just because I wanted it to. Add to that a sedative in my system that it was probably fighting right now.
"I... I had to do this for my wife... She was already decades overdue to reach that state... My research saved her from that, and it saved you too..."
I punched him again. He was knocked out immediately and fell silent on the floor. I wanted to bring him in, but part of me wanted to kill him for what he'd done. It was too much of a conflict. I shot him in the leg with my old M1911. I couldn't do it. I wanted to kill him, but I couldn't. I nearly killed him while I was questioning him a few times, and I wish I had. I paged The Man and told him That I captured him.
"Cooper here... He's wounded but alive. Get someone to bring him in."
I had to get going now that this was taken care of. I put the drive with the data next to Jacques and left.
<Go to the bar and get drunk> "I needed something to forget all of this for now"
<Go home and rest> "I needed more time to think of all this"
November 5th. 6:27 PM.
WCG Black Ops Outpost Omega
Commander John Nash (Reinstated)
My whining over the past few days got me barely anything I needed. Dubois doesn't want to hear what I have to say anymore, and she claims she is dealing with the problem. She didn't tell me I would be the one dealing with the problem though, but she was always like that.
What it did get me though was the fools errand of trying to stop whatever this "Phoenix" was up to, and a task force to help me in that task. I was thankful, but even that is barely enough. Just me and three oddballs sent on an impossible mission. I didn't like it one bit. We were going into complete bullshit blind. Those three, along with me didn't seem like a good matchup at all, but we would have to do.
First of them is damn near on par with Dubois herself. Kolo Kowalski. Swift as professional assassin, and she can wreck a heavily armoured Syndicate assault troopers in hand to hand combat alone. I doubt I could attribute that to natural talent or skill though. From what I know, she is filled with (Completely sub-dermal) cybernetics that enhance every part of her performance. Practically this puts her on par with a combat SLD like the Tanker. You couldn't even tell that from looking at her, amazing how much they can change someone's body with no visible signs on their body.
The small build, the silky red (I'd assume dyed) hair, her swift, dovelike and precise movements. It all seemed so natural. It all seemed perfect, and to be honest, it was too perfect. Everything making her what she was had probably been engineered in some way. I could tell from the eyes a hint of resentment and stress over her perfection. In fact, I could see her eyes were probably changed too. Perfected eyesight probably, not HUDs or those kind of things, probably just complete clarity and autocorrection of lighting in bright or dark environments. Whatever her thoughts were, I couldn't bring them up right now. I needed to keep them focused.
Second in line was Aaron Jager. Not much to say about him other than the fact that he's been working with Kolo for the past few years. Great with a rifle, and an experienced tech expert. Put him in broadcast range of a rogue state and you could see it's power grid down in no time. Always keeps his Uni-Tool on him at all times. If he didn't have a gun, chances are Kolo had one in his place. I figure their typical setup was that he got them in, and Kolo did the killing. Or the seducing, I don't know.
And lastly, Jason Danovik. The heavy lifter of the task force. No real speciality to him other than him knowing the ins and outs of every modern weapons system. A real hothead to be honest, looks like he's itching for action. Be it breaking things or providing that needed covering fire, he was around for every situation. If Jager was doing the hacking, chances are he would be doing the sniping in his place. Real down to Earth, and by the book despite his attitude. He lives for the fight. I wouldn't want anyone but him covering my six.
If we want any hope of stopping Phoenix, we're going to have to work together a hundred percent.
The past three days of thinking have done nothing but disgust me. I couldn't comprehend the concept of whatever was happeneing to me. None of it should ever been allowed to happen. These were things that should have stayed buried with Dr. Hasegawa and his mad scientist experiments. And her I was living with his designs screwing with my body for the past 11 years. And to think I was merely the testbed for some sick "doctor" to continue that work... All I could do at this point is sit back and accept it and it's "gifts".
November 12, 2063
WCG Black Ops Outpost Omega
It seems we finally got our big break. The next attack by Phoenix was planned for today at the local arms factory on the outskirts of town that happened to be supplying the WCG. One of our moles had traced an arms transaction between Phoenix agents in the Syndicate and arms dealers selling WMDs lost after the collapse of the North American Confederation. From what we know the bastards plan to detonate a "dirty bomb" in the facility and put the entire manufacturing line out of operation in a plan to assist their little guerrilla war against the WCG.
"Get everything loaded in the suitcases. We can't attract attention. We'll pretend to be the WCG inspectors and get kitted up once we're past security."
"Got it. That means we can only take pistols though if we plan on bringing our equipment"
"Solvable, we just borrow some weapons off the end of the assembly line."
"Right, got it..."
"Sergeant Jager, you'll be staying outside across the street on an adjacent rooftop. Keep your Uni-Tool set on their comms. If things go wrong at security I need you to 'manipulate' the situation."
"Roger that Commander."
"Sergeant Danovik, you'll be taking point. Shoot anything that moves other than us. The entire facility is automated, and the maintenance team is going to be absent during inspections. The only people there will be terrorists working for Phoenix or their subordinates in the Syndicate or whatever terrorist or criminal front they run"
I couldn't figure out Nash's obsession with bringing down Phoenix. They were a minor issue for the WCG, and we'd practically been ignoring them as a fringe threat with a lot of money. From what I know it was nothing more than some little startup made by a few ex-WCG agents who were tired of their screwups 30 years ago.
"Lieutenant Kowalski, you'll be with me. While Danovik is mopping up the terrorists, we'll be looking for the bomb set by Phoenix. Review the intel quickly if you need to. We'll be leaving in thirty."
"Got it sir..."
There could be too much at stake here if something went wrong, and I wasn't one for testing his patience for failure
Things just became too complicated. Most of the suspects were people I never heard of, just Syndicate gasmask mooks who never had a chance at anything else in life and ended up going to those bastards for work. One of them stuck out though, and too much to handle. I just had to shut it out.
"Something wrong lieutenant?"
"It turns out that we'll be going up against... A Kh'Voz..."
Nash didn't seem to care, he probably thought I was bullshitting him. He was just there smugly smiling at me with no care
"The hell is a Kh'Voz Kolo? Some old eastern fairy-tale from god knows what country--"
"--That thing massacred your entire squad three times about 10 days ago. How do we know it's not going to tear us apart too?"
"Well Kolo, no D'Yavol is going to tear us apart. It's not like someone like you would have to worry about being torn apart anyway."
I didn't even know what he had just said, wasn't nearly as multi-lingual as he was and now wasn't the time to be arguing with him. Needed to stay focused. That, or die.
ARMSCOM Solutions Corp manufacturing plant
I hated this suit. Too uptight, too dark. I couldn't wait until we were past security and I was back in my uniform. I always preferred that khaki uniform, it was the perfect fit, and in this heat made more sense than the black armor the TCTF black-ops had. Even in the past 50 years we still had to deal with the nuclear summer left over from Germany's little third world war. All the right pockets for ammo, knives, everything I needed. The lights on the shoulder pauldrons might have made me stand out in the dark, but it turns out having a flag for IFF isn't good when doing black ops like these.
Besides, my specialty was swiftness, and that uniform was perfect for that, not some suit for some bureaucrat. A Kh'Voz would tear apart anything that didn't move quicker than it. Something was coming up at security though...
"Um... We're sorry for the inconvenience Mr. Nash, but our scanners detect the presence of an... An SLD within your inspection party... We can't let you through in until you're personal assistance SLD is dismissed due to trade secret concerns. Company policy. We can't let anything in that could record information on our manufacturing."
Oh boy, the scanners were recognizing the cybernetics as an SLD. Not that they could figure out who had the cybernetics though to my amusement. Either way, maybe it was time to use the Thoughts-To-Speech communicator to get Jager to do his job now
" *Jager, I need you to figure out something to get them off us. Maybe lie to them about a scanner malfunction?* "
The guard's radio beeped immediately and a voice vaguely like Jager's came through
"Sergeant, that scanner bugs out every so often. Tell me, do you see circuit skin or artificial equipment on the bodies of any of our guests? No? That's because there isn't an SLD here. Now let them in before we get shut down because we didn't meet inspection standards."
"...Uh, yes sir!.. Alright, you and your party can come in now... Mr. Nash..."
Once we were inside and out of their prying eyes I got my uniform on right away. Nash and Danovik got rifles off the end of the line. Danovik was already out of our sights and ready to fire silenced shots into any living thing he saw. Let's just hope he saw our IFF lights before he saw our center mass if we came across him.
"Kolo, you're with me. You see someone Danovik didn't get you take the shot. Check IFF first though. No glowing chevron, you shoot."
It wouldn't be like I'd have to look for it when he'd have a glowing green outline around him in my vision anyway. In a way I kind of missed not having these cybernetics, but they were unbelievably useful for everything I did in my job. I just wish the circumstances of me getting them were better. Life was never truly the same since the Syndicate discovered using our own chem-warfare tactics against us was effective. Electron stripped isotope E1K wreaks havoc on the bodies of anyone exposed to it. Why we we're still using fuel that is basically a potential dirty-bomb in the making in everyone's car was beyond me. When I had asked one of my superiors a few years ago why all he told me was "capitalism".
After about only 15 minutes Danovik reported that he cleaned up all threats that could be around here. I myself put bullets in the heads of atleast 3 Syndicate gas-mask mooks. But the Kh'Voz threat still existed, and Nash was convinced it wasn't real. There are only 5 Kh'Voz in existence. The first and most powerful of them goes under the name of Paige Cooper, real name being Paige Wollcroft. I was... Acquainted with this one for all the wrong reasons since it was created 11 years ago. I was barely 14 at the time I first saw it back then, and she was the reason I had sought out the WCG. To destroy that thing before it could be a threat. In the past 7 years of me being with the WCG I never had a chance at this goal. And it was here in front of me in this factory.
It takes about 15 to 20 years before a Kh'Voz is truly at it's best form. She was at only 11 years and was already dangerous. I didn't want to know how she could be in just 4 years from now if she lived. The worst part is that you can't tell if someone is a Kh'Voz until they are already tearing you to pieces. They look perfectly human and have the most dangerous traits of wild animals. Their reflexes are practically 1 to 1 with the speed they think which makes them even more dangerous than me in CQC. Their strategy came down to instinct, and it made them even more dangerous than a trained soldier. Add Syndicate guerrilla training to that and they're even more dangerous.
"Kowalski, I found their little bomb"
Jager quickly jumped down from a skylight and scanned for any hostiles before attending to the bomb
"Nice of you to drop in Jager..."
"You didn't think I'd trust you two with that bomb now would I? Who knows what could happen if you two cut the wrong wire and got exposed to stripped isotope E1K. Again."
I didn't have time to get into a fight with him over that, not with Nash here. I had a Kh'Voz to deal with.
"Lock it down Jager and work on killing this bomb... I'll keep your six covered."
Danovik quickly came into the room and had his sights aimed at the hall he came from
"Danovik, go back down that hall again and make sure there's no surprises for us"
He quickly went back without a word down the hallway ready to gun down anything he saw again
"Kowalski... If that Kh'Voz thing you're talking about is real I'd suggest looking for it and killing it. Take that room and keep it covered. Shoot to kill"
I looked up at the sign and hesitated to go on. Waste Disposal (Caution: Potent Acid, Hold rails at all times). I doubted I would survive falling in that, unless of course there was enough machine in me that I'd basically just be the Terminator after it got burnt by that exploding tanker. Thankfully I knew that the cybernetics weren't that extensive. I've been injured quite a few times to be able to see that the inside of my body was only modified where it was necessary. Most of it was merely augmentations on the existing parts, not outright replacement.
It was quiet in there. The only noise I heard was the bubbling of the acid below this catwalk when waste material fell in from the waste vents. I saw her walking at the end of the hallway past the room. Two Syndicate strikers with her wearing their armor and glowing red-eyed gasmasks on her flanks.
I couldn't run from this, she'd just chase and kill me, or one of them would shoot me. I put a bullet in the first one's head as he rushed me and crushed the other's neck in CQC as I threw him to his demise over the railing, if of course he wasn't already dead. I thought things, and they happened. Cybernetic enhanced reflexes and strength were a godsend in CQC against multiple opponents. But there she was, and I was no match.
Before I could react she grabbed my throat and slammed the back of my head onto the railing behind me, quickly sliding the base of my neck up to the midpoint of the rail. I already calculated three ways she could kill me now. First of all, she could slide the rest of my body over and make me fall into the acid. She could apply a little extra force and cause the rail to push my cervical vertebrae out of position as if I just got hung, or she could just use her Kh'Voz form and claw my throat out. I didn't like any of them. It was either pain, humiliation, or a wild animal attack of how I could die at this point.
I already thought of three ways to kill this WCG soldier in front of me, and all of them seemed satisfying. It had taken a while to accept the facts, but I was actually liking what I was now. I felt powerful, and beyond the creatures I had killed. Maybe it was just a subconscious coping mechanism to make up for the fact of being a complete monster that was probably still becoming even more of a monster. Maybe it was just me, or maybe it was instinct. Maybe I'd eventually be able to shapeshift between two forms, like a lycanthrope or something. Either way, this soldier was going to die.
But a moment of thinking made me hesitate. The nametag on the uniform said Kowalski, but the face was completely recognizable, and the scent too... I couldn't do it... Not without some forethought. This soldier, "Kowalski" was my sister.
"What's with the fake name Nikolo? Actually, I couldn't blame you for wanting to ditch that masculine name. Why you had that name to begin with is beyond me, you're not even a man, or Bulgarian. Always irked me how you were so... Perfect... You were the one who's lifespan wasn't going to end at 21 years old. You were the one who was smart. You were the one who sabotaged me at every corner."
"I... was hardly perfect... You always got what you---"
I pressed her against the rail more and she shut up immediately before I pushed more. She knew if she didn't stop talking I wouldn't hesitate to push more and kill her.
"It turns out things are different now Nikolo. You're an adult, 25 years old now. And you intentionally put yourself on the wrong side of the crosshairs. You betrayed your entire family going over to the WCG. There were plenty of people I knew as friends willing to kill you for that, some who were close to you. One of them damn near killed you for it with that bomb back in Lancaster... I don't know how you surv--"
"--Don't you even dare talk about that you fucking Kh'Voz!"
I quickly kicked her straight at the center of her stomach with a kick boosted by my cybernetics. The railing behind her quickly snapped as she fell through into the acid below. I just did it. I couldn't call it fratricide. She was no family to me. She was a Kh'Voz. My enemy. I couldn't regret my action. Maybe I had put her out of misery. When I had seen her last she was unbelievably worried about something. She had nearly died from E1K poisoning and getting shot in the head. And the mad scientist the Syndicate was funding (Which I later discovered was a double agent) had made her a Kh'Voz as part of his revived experimentation on human modification. She was merely a test to make sure it would work on future subjects.
I knew I wouldn't be able to kill all the Kh'Voz, unless I ended up going to Phoenix or the Syndicate, which would never happen due to their bounty on me. From what I know, one of my superior officers is a Kh'Voz. I don't know who though, and I probably don't want to know. Could it be Commander John Nash? Commander Mae Dubois?
Nash quickly entered the room and blindly shot a few rounds down into the acid. He quickly inserted another metal block into his Equalizer and checked the razors. Alright, he was shooting shavings, not rounds. Same idea.
"Nice job handling your little ' Kh'Voz ' problem Kowalski."
He looked down into the pool and smiled
"That's one hell of an acid. That entire body's been dissolved already... Eh, it's meant for metals... Would have preferred to kill that bitch myself... But you did good, hell, better than I would have..."
I can't believe I just survived that... My clothes are tattered, but still there. I'm surprised I'm not a naked and burnt body. Maybe a quick exit through that pipe is to thank for that. In fact, I don't look like I've been in acid at all, apart from my legs looking like they got waxed. I look like I just had the most thorough bath I could ever have. Not even dirty at all. Was that even acid or was it some cleaning solution to sterilize materials for the weapons?
I looked over and realized immediately it was real acid. One of the soldiers with me, Conrad, is a charred and ugly corpse now. Some of his burns are down to bone, some even beyond that. His skin is as dead as possible. It's not pale, it's outright black. The lens on his mask reflects on me and I look perfect compared to him. I remove his mask to see his face and see no sign of pain on him. His skewed neck suggests he was dead before he even was near acid. Atleast the helmet saved his face from being burnt.
Either way, I needed to get out of here. This entire op was a failure, but there would be more opportunities for strikes in the future. This was a minor arms facility. There was still fuel depots and other manufacturers to sabotage. We didn't get their guns, but we could still hit them where it hurt.
WCG Black Ops Outpost Omega
It wasn't completely easy to come to terms with what I accomplished now that I had time to think. I had just killed my sister coldly. But she was a Kh'Voz. It was necessary. If I didn't do it, Nash would have. Would it have been right if he had done it? Could I treat a Kh'Voz as if it was a person too? Did they have emotion, or regret? Would she have actually killed me if I hadn't, or if Nash had stepped in? Maybe she couldn't. I saw the fear in her eyes when she was thrown through that railing. Maybe what I had done was complete overkill. Maybe she didn't deserve a painful death like that. She didn't think I would be capable of that, should I have been capable of that.
I was starting to get tired. The bright light from the full moon was causing a burning sensation in my eyes when I looked at it, and when I didn't the wind against my hair made it look like a crimson fire against the moon. Ah hell, I should probably get in and get some sleep. I looked like a damned corpse that was reanimated after being dead a few hours standing around on this roof of the barracks, and I wouldn't want to be here if some schizophrenic religious nutjob was taking aim with their vintage M16 from their farmhouse.
Nash walked up the stairs and took view of the aforementioned crimson flame upon the moon before walking next to me to lean on the rail to look parallel to where I was looking.
"Listen... Leui-- Kowa-- Kolo... About that little op at the factory... With that... Whatever you called it... Paige Wollcroft... You seemed hesitant about something. And I guess you're thinking about it now... Ah hell I shouldn't even be talking to you about this."
<Answer truthfully: "Of course I hesitated... We... Knew eachother for a long time before now... Maybe not for the best... Hell, I don't know if she actually died there... She is a Kh'Voz after all... I've heard stories about things like her surviving intentional jumps into acid with no wounds, even outright rejuvenation... The Kh'Voz are based off of that thing... So... She's probably not even near dead... Probably the opposite...">
<Answer coldly: "She was a threat. I only hesitated to try to figure out her next move so I could fight accordingly. Kh'Voz don't hesitate to kill their victims. You know that all too well. There's a good chance she survived our encounter and is out for revenge or planning for another attack. This is a Kh'Voz we're talking about. I heard an old story from guards at some old science facility in Asia about a Dh'Odan... That's the word right? Or was it Dai'Odan? Eh, one of those things survived jumping into an acid vat perfectly fine and even more powerful than before. Kh'Voz are an upgrade from those things, so I have full reason to believe she is still alive. Which means she needs to be hunted down.">
Last edited by Valkyrur (8/7/12 1:29)
I'm enjoying the story, keep it up.
November 13, 2063
WCG Black Ops outpost Omega
Kolo Kowalski (Formerly Nikolo Wollcroft)
Nash usually wasn't one to ask these kinds of questions, all he cared about was his job and nothing else. I probably would have been written off as an "acceptable loss" if that Kh'Voz killed me back at that acid pool. The only person I knew who was remotely like him was Dubois, but she was much worse than he probably ever could be. I don't think of French when I see that cold bitch, all I see is a detached shell of a person that is set on squashing the Syndicate. Maybe I could learn a thing or two from her.
"She was a threat. I only hesitated to try to figure out her next move so I could fight accordingly. Kh'Voz don't hesitate to kill their victims. You know that all too well. There's a good chance she survived our encounter and is out for revenge or planning for another attack. This is a Kh'Voz we're talking about. I heard an old story from guards at some old science facility in Asia about a Dh'Odan... That's the word right? Or was it Dai'Odan? Eh, one of those things survived jumping into an acid vat perfectly fine and even more powerful than before. Kh'Voz are an upgrade from those things, so I have full reason to believe she is still alive. Which means she needs to be hunted down."
"And how do you suppose anyone could hunt her down? Do you expect us to have some magic scanner that can detect her biometrics from anywhere in the city?"
"I do. If you've ever studied old mission data you'd know that can be done. Thirty years ago that was possible, and it can be now. The TCTF was able to chase down and detect the presence of a rogue agent by cross checking biometri--"
"Spare me the metaphysics Kolo we have more important things than your Soviet fairy tale ' Kh'Voz ' creatures.
"You don't even want to hear it?"
"Of course not, she's one of a few thousand Syndicate guerillas. Piss in a sea of piss. Come back to me when you've done your job and predicted Phoenix's next move."
Do my job? He didn't come here for a heart to heart, for sure. Just him being his usual self. An agent to the heart. Back to staring at the moon.
A few minutes of staring and I just realized that Phoenix's next move was above our heads. Atleast one of their many next moves. The S3 array from here looked like a few small black shadows in front of the moon from here. And it was a perfect target for Phoenix. Sword, Shield, and Spartan stations were the WCG's ace in the hole against Phoenix and the Syndicate. Sword was a station capable of launching orbital strikes on practically any target that could be seen by a sattellite or marked by a GPS, and was manned by a crew of 150 support staff. Shield was a defense system that could cooridinate automated defenses on the ground around major cities in various ways, from automatically issueing orders to troops, to using turrets, and even shutting down transit systems. Or offensively it could vent E1K waste from atmos processing into hostile territory.
Spartan station cooridinated the actions of the other two, with a staffing of 117 support staff and officers. Take it out and the other two could cease proper function. Spartan chooses what to shoot, the staff at Sword chooses how. Not with Spartan gone, then they'd be blind with a few hundred WMDs sitting around. To make things worse, Shield had no staff, and was nothing more than an AI in orbit. Spartan manually monitered and put constraints on it's actions, serving as a veto system on the AI in case it went rogue. If Spartan was gone, then the AI had no shackles on it and it could do as it pleased, potentially causing catastrophe.
It should be perfectly safe though. Civilian space traffic is tightly monitored and controlled by the WCG. No way for someone to get up there and attack it unless it was an inside job. An inside job was impossible too. By the time someone would be in a position to serve on Spartan or Sword, they would have been completely indoctrinated and brainwashed by the WCG, and if not chances are they'd be snuffed out before they could do a thing. I had to admit, the WCG was crap, but didn't want to see what Phoenix could do. Again. Whatever we used to call them, be it the International Banking Cartel, the Bilderbergs, Illuminati, Templars, Big Brother, none of those names mattered. They called themselves Phoenix now, and they manipulated like they used to, except this time they did it to take power, not keep it. They may have not been the FEMA camp kind of Illuminati that people like Alex Jones spoke of, but it was Illuminati none the less. And it was ironic to see their own creation, the UN, go rogue and steal their power out from under them as the WCG.
Any of those stations up there got killed and it could be hell on Earth around here. Not a guaranteed loss, but there would be casualties. With inside jobs and direct assaults ruled out, there was still a way. A certain abandoned BGI space station that had been dormant since the loss of the original atmos processors 30 years ago could suffer an unfortunate orbital collision with the S3 array if it's systems were reactivated again and set on a different orbital path coinciding with S3's.
I took my knife out and scraped it into the dust on this rooftop
"What are you drawing Kolo? Bored? You need some rest now I thi-"
"You're looking at my prediction of Phoenix's next move..."
Just as quickly the blade found it's way into one of the many pockets on this uniform, right next to my pistol holster right behind my back. Ah, this uniform, surprisingly functional, but at times it looked like it's designer was some misogynyst Japanese person who probably worked on some series of insanely long CGI films that was never supposed to have a sequel to begin with. Maybe this uniform would have been something in it's 13th generation film. Hell, with me being as swift as lightning during a fight this uniform practically created thunder if I was ravaging some Syndicate striker in CQC.
"Uh, care to explain what this is Kolo?"
"Too complex for words. I'll get a proper dossier on it set up by 1800 hours."