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Here's hoping the man got his note. Muldoon wonders if he was being too vague and too cryptic but some habits-even for an ex-special forces figure-are very hard to break. The note just says "I need to talk to you."
There's enough of his...scent on it to make it well-known-to wells.
But all in all it escapes unscathed from the day-to-day of the world, so it’s understandable that for the citizens of downtown San Diego-waking up and realizing that most of their city has been reduced to a Three street shanty town is a surprise.
It’s surprising.
What’s more surprising however, at least as far as the men and women of the Marine Expeditionary Unit are concerned at MiraMar, is that the whole placement of their base feels wrong.
This is what occupies Lt. commander Janine Kaminski’s mind as she wakes up Wednesday Morning.
“……Jane?”
She turned, still wearing her flight uniform, to see Cory Spelling standing behind her. Cory was a sgt, cory was a marine, cory defined badass….
And cory was dressed in a floor length white nurse’s uniform with her hair pinned demurely behind her head.
“Jane my darling!” She moved to embrace her as Jane stepped back, “We were all going to go down to the Naval Hospital and make bandages. Richard-“ She looked over her shoulder to where Jane spotted a dashing young colonel wearing an old school Uniform, “Has that wonderful new car that we were going to try-I think it might be frightening.”
Jane blinked. This was a woman who drove her mustang at 95 hour-racing her boyfriend on his motorcycle.
“….Ban-“ She studied her hands, “Bandages?”
“Take off that men’s getup silly billy!” Cory batted at her arm playfully, “And of course. WE need to help all those poor boys over on the front lines.”
Jane was understandably confused by now, “…In Iraq? What the hell do they need bandages for?”
The look on Cory’s face was frightening, far more frightening then her dress or Richard’s unusual car (the last Jane checked, Richard drove a Miada)
“…What’s an Iraq?”
----
Andrew King was just that-a king among men. He worked for Boeing across from the Trolley tracks and put the sudden change of scenery to being up late working on the boeing order for Quantus.
Like a King, he knew his domain, so when he walked into the plant and saw what was going on he prepared for a good royal smackdown.
“DAVIS.” He grabbed an engineer by his lapels (what the hell was he wearing a coat for?) “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?”
“…..Sir?”
Davis frowned. An eyebrow went up and back down as Andrew set him down, “You see this?”
This was a steel cage from which was suspended an old fashioned pair of wings-made of paper and wood for godsake, “THIS! What are you doing, trying to build a spirit of St. Louis Replica? We’ve got an order to fill!”
“We are filling the order sir.” Louis looked up from the line sporting the biggest handlebar mustache that Andrew King had ever seen, “For the war effort. In Germany.”
Germany? Had the US decided to finish what they’d started in World War 2? Andrew shook his head, “…..We need Jumbo Jets! Jumbo jets!”
“…Jumbo…Jets?”
Louis laughed, “Did you hit the Jack Daniels a little too hard last night Andrew?”
The two men went off laughing as Andrew King Swallowed a scream.
The CIA headquarters in Langly Virginia was buzzed, a flurry of activity. Director Sean Wells stood at the helm like a captain onboard a sinking ship, arms folded behind him, “I want it again. Slowly.”
“…San Diego’s off the map.”
Lisa Burke shook her head, “…It’s gone. No IP addresses, nothing like that. We sent them a phonecall. Nothing.”
“How the hell does a whole fucking city disappear?” The Seventh largest city in the United States was apparently awol, and unless the California Coastline had moved-
“That’s just it sir. We talked to LA-LA’s fine. LA’s on the Grid. San Diego is not.” The tech pursed his lips, “However-“
“However what?”
“We received a cable sir.” He held up a piece of paper, “Washington. Stop. Mourning Bennington Disaster. Stop. Day declared by mayor. Stop. Apologies. Stop. Will have systems up and running soon. Stop. What’s this internet thing? Stop.”
“Howd’ we get that? Phonecall? Email? Secure line?”
“No sir.” The tech closed his eyes and opened them again, “….Morse code.”
It's unusual. To be feeling this happy, to be this...upbeat.
It could be the sheer and sweet satisfaction of knowing that once he has Abby's help he's going to find Lewis and make him die in several painful ways. It could be the fact that he's been doing all that's humanly (or werewolf...ly) possible to drink himself into a coma.
Or it could be the plane ticket in his hand.
It's a 5:30 flight and he didn't want to take into account timezones. Abby said he'd meet him in New York- to "talk".
Fine. Well and good as a matter of fact.
The airport in Baghdad's a problem. It's too crowded. Something in one of those old books comes back clear as day when he's sitting in his seat and doing his best to enjoy the company of his fellow human beings. Calm as Hindu cows.
Because that's what they are. crammed into tiny seats stinking of sweat and-
Positive thoughts.. His return ticket was in his hand, he was travelling as Joseph Thompson. He was going to explain and get revenge and then tell Abby everything from point A to point B.
But most of all he was alive. Alive and no longer a danger to the bored looking contractors and businessmen who chatted amiably on their cellular phones. He was going to get what he wanted.
He was going home, temporarily, and soon (hopefully) for real.
For instance, the sun is high overhead and it's hot. The minute they step through the door the humidity drops onto them like a wave. The first thing that might be noticed is that they're not in the camp, or for that matter in any sort of recognizable village. It's a world away and apart, a collection of Bedouin huts that, for the moment, are seemingly abandoned.
A wind blows down from the east, intensifying the "Sticky" of their situation. Turning to Spoon, Muldoon's gaze is hard and lean, the land reflected in his eyes, "....Last night I drove as far as I fucking could before I-" turned "...Lost it."
and sun. No laws beyond what men made or what
those beyond men, those with strength, set down
in ancient scrolls had set before them.
When the invaders came they set their own laws
over them. And for a time the people followed,
contented, until disscention broke out amongst
the invaders and their followers. The land itself
repelled them, and after a while, they existed
along the same lines as the natives.
No laws but the ones set over themselves by a
higher power.
And even then, laws of such a nature are very
easy to ignore without a higher power to enforce
them.
Jonah Lewis found his commanding officer sitting far
off to the edge of the encampment, watching the sky
critically, hands crossed over his knees.
"Chow done?"
"Yes sir." Lewis lowered his eyes, "...not like it
fuckin' matters sir? But the guys were askin' after
you again."
The clink and Clatter of
forks over plates was interrupted by the occasional
pause to take a breath from their gas-masks. No
one spoke. You had to eat quickly before the
taste and need for raw flesh crawled back into your belly
and made you sick.
"Abby had something stuck up his ass the size
of Rhode Island." Muldoon said bluntly, "Cocksucker
wanted my imput."
There was no such thing, but it felt easier to
lie to Lewis then give him a straight answer.
"...Do you think the thing in
England was one of ours?" Napoli's voice rose
hesitantly when they were finished, "...Fuckin' Dc2?"
"...Kids Died man." Rogers said with a grimace, "I-
Don't want to think about that."
"But if It was?".
"...Of course sir." Despite everything, the contempt
oozing from every diseased pore on Lewis's body,saying
"Yes" to the man with stripes came far easier then "No."
"WE saved you some. Fuckin' staple of American
Cusine. Beans and Fuckin' weniers. 'course I didn't
eat a wenier."
Of course not, for obvious reasons.
"Fuck, all we need's a campfire with the moon comin' up
and we might as well be cowboys." The thought
made Lewis smile, "Actually, with your permission
sir..."
His voice trailed off for a moment before he stood
up a little straighter, the better to look his commanding
officer in the...well in the direction of his eye.
"We heard from some of the Turban-head's guys that
there're British Units in the area. Thought it'd be
a good idea to send um' scamperin' home. Fuckin' Faggoty-ass
motherfuckers."
"....Be a good way to get the guys out. Earn a little more
fuckin' emnity from our host."
Muldoon remained silent, still watching the sky with almost (inhuman?)
interest, "...Sir?"
"....If you want to go out and play fuckin' capture the flag, that's
your choice."
Lewis thought back to how long he'd known the man in front of him,
the fellow who'd never balked at doing damage to the enemy whenever
he felt it was required. What the fuck is this shit?
"...All do respect sir, they find us? They kill us."
"I'm aware of that."
"...They kill us, we're dead." Lewis felt his anger rising, "I mean
we're fucking dead. And you failed. Do you know that?
You fucking Failed. sir. You promised you'd get us home
and-and we're just stuck here with our dicks in our hands tryin' to make
um rise?"
Muldoon lowered his head, " fuck off."
"No."
The lines of command and the hierarchy is just as
rigid for men as it is for beasts. Men think themselves blessed with
the ability to rise above it.
Dinner had been cleared away and Napoli was studying
his boots in the dirt, eyes wide, "....If it was us. Our guys. I mean...This
This is all pointless. Us tryin' to live. Cause..cause
we're already dead. We're already animals."
"We didn't cause it."
"...Might as well have huh? I mean, we were the
first people to use that shit and have it used on is. We're just
as bad as some kinda fucking monster out in thte woods right?"
"...What makes you say that?" Hernandez said with a frown, "...'I get what you're
saying? But why say it like that?"
"...You guys didn't see what I saw this one time when the Lou brought this
British soldier to the camp...".
"...What was that soldier?" Muldoon sounded more curious then afraid, "What were
you going to say?"
"....Ever since that fuckin' candy-ass with the-" He barely remembered the man's name,
the only thing remaining was how freakishly strong he'd been, the way that kid had
hit him and- "...That guy came you've been different. Not just-not just the way
you act normally but-I mean-"
"....werewolves."
"...I should have said something earlier."
Hernandez stood, "...Carmicheal go get Abby. Napoli's gone batshit fuckin' crazy."
"....No. This guy grew claws and then-fucking-" He shook his head
I shoulda said something. The lieutenant knew what it was about, and what he knows..well.."
"....What are you saying?.
"...It doesn't make any Sense.." Lewis said finally, "You don't start
making some fucking changes then we're gonna move on. Plenty of
places where we could make fuckin' money. We make enough money and we can buy this shit."
He tapped his mask, "....You're different.."
"Can you buy a cure?" Muldoon burst out, "Because that's what I'm offering you." He stared Lewis down, something intent, something inhuman in his gaze, "...A chance to fix what was do-"
The moon slid out from behind a cloud gently, tenderly, and Christopher Muldoon fixed a pleading gaze upon the sky as he dropped to his knees, a sudden stab of pain shooting through him. No. Not now, not now-
Lewis was taken well aback by the sudden weakness in his commanding officer, "...Sir-"
He raised a hand, "...Sir, your gas-"
I don't need it Another shooting stab of pain as the moon gazes down serenely, Not anymore, not thanks to this-
A wolf reared it's head inside of him and Muldoon fixed his gaze on Lewis who had started backing into their barracks.
He's not human. Well if you wanted to get technical, none of them were He's some kind of monster, this-this isn't
Remembering the kid and the way he'd looked at him, Lewis glared down at his commanding officer accusingly, "...You sonnuvabitch!" What the hell did you do to yourself?
Muldoon was too far gone to reason or sense to hear him. Swallowing bile in his throat, Muldoon forced himself to his feet before the urge to run on all fours (or at least as best as he could) took him.
Why here? Why now?- Why's gave way to instinct, and the instinct telling him that it was time to move.
A growl freed itself and rumbled across the motor pool where he scrambled for the nearest jeep. If he could just get far enough away, get into the jeep and drive-
Something exploded in his shoulder, knocking him to the ground. It's pure instinct that drives him to his feet again, although by this time his Jacket's soaked with red and it smells-oh god it smells...
The engine roared to life beneath his control. Gunning it, he sped out of the encampment.
Luck was with him, as the road kept going straight and it was late enough to prompt people to not wander the back roads. The car sputtered and died three miles out of town-not that Muldoon noticed.
Moments later, there's a brown and gray shape moving among the sand dunes, completely and utterly lost. This is not home, territory, there's no pack, there's nothing.
Nothing but sand and no laws governing it. No instincts either.
Angry, the creature threw back it's head and howled, the sound rising and falling off the dunes and scaring the original inhabitants within an inch of their lives. Shaking itself, the wolf moved off.
There was prey close-by.
------------
10:30.
The receptionist is having a good laugh about something posted in a myspace account when the man staggers in.
"...Kirk- " Donna's voice is soft, "...Kirk..."
The smell hits him first. A sickly sweet smell with a sour undertone. It smells like week-old garbage and rotting food. It smells like meat that sits in the back of the car for too long after you come home from the shoppe. Kirk lowers the computer screen, smirking to himself as he spots the source. the source of that horrible horrible smell.
It's a man. It shouldn't be a man. everything about the thing walking into the hospital says it's not a man and that it should be killed, taken out of the way and murdered before it does harm to others. Blood burbles from squished lips as it tries to talk, the effort clearly difficult.
No wonder. The sore on the creature's face is the size of a grapefruit.
"...Please." It burbles, "...Puh-Puh-Lease..."
Funny. Kirk thinks, Wasn't somebody just talking about something like this?
The hospital dances it's dance and never misses a step before Donna recoils, horrified.
"...Oh gods-"
"...What?"
"....One of those-those soils-"
Her hand is covered in pus and red, "...sores..those sores...it...it burst..."
I'm barracaded in my house...'ve only got a shovel and they've already killed mom and dad...
You guys are fuckin' pansies. I grabbed a bottle of booze from Longs and 'm takin' potshots off my roof...
These things're everywhere. Big disgusting things. They've ripped apart my co-workers.
I'm trapped-
Locked down...
No way out!
"I want a lid on this as soon as possible." Jessop said, "Get these IP's and put um to bed you hear me? As many fucking units as you can. And keep it quiet. I'd hazard that local law enforcement should be able to handle most of this."
He wiped his forehead, "...I mean, they're slow. Thank the fuck christ for that. Maybelle, did you put a press-block on it?"
Maybelle nodded once, "...They uh...they didn't know what we were talking about until that fuckin' Prince Harry scare. We've got this wrapped tighter then President Bush's birthday presents sir."
"...Good." He drew in a deep breath, "...good. Okay. Okay- "
"...Sir, we've got ISP's from San Diego."
The Tech's name was Chao. and he was meticulous as the rest of his Asian fellows.
"...One...two...three...four...five...si
The barrels at the harbor..
Hank Jessop paled. dear god. The barrels at the harbor. It's my fault. I didn't arrange for proper disposal. oh my fucking god-
"....Your kid's blog?"
"..wh-" He was picturing thousands of bloated tourists oozing gore from various appendages, San Diego's pristine (sort of) promenades turned into rivers of red, "...What?"
"...uh, I've got one from your kid...Mason?"
"He's my stepson." And curse his father forever and ever and ever and-
"....Uh huh. He says he's barricaded downtown with your other stepkid..."
That was all it took for Hank Jessop to be out the door and down the street and...
Nothing. No violence. No shambling undead. No hospitals crying out for assistance.
--------
"This is so cool."
"You are such an idiot."
"Shut up! It's brilliant." Mason Muldoon added a final touch to his post before hitting "update" "...best fucking idea ever."
"Did you remember to add the disclaimer?"
"It's in the tags!" He gestured at the computer, "Crystal don't be such a fuckin' wuss. It's in the tags kay-"
Something burst through the doors of the internet cafe and a woman screamed.
"EVERYBODY FREEZE!"
Crystal and Mason turned as one to see Hank Jessop, CIA, pale and sweaty, holding up his magnum-
and lowering it.
It took several minutes for it to be sorted out.
"...It was a joke?"
Hank's hands were sweaty. They left greasy marks on Crystal's arm.
"...It's some stupid blogging thing."
"But it was a joke. You're not-" He shakes. That's what gets the siblings in the end. The way the man is shaking.. "...You don't-you're not itchy-you're not running a fever..."
"...Dude, are you okay?" Mason ducks out of the older man's swiping hand, "....C'mon, it's a gag. It's not like zombies are real."
Hank swallows.
"...I said, it's not like zombies are real right? Right?"
"....Hank?"
9:00 PM LOCALE(S) TIME. 4:00 PST..
"I can assure you that we had nothing to do with it." Mark Waters said bluntly, "We haven't been in Kaifan for...weeks...months..."
The other figure at the end of the line said something that made Mark Waters sweat profusely, "...What makes you think we'd know anything about that sir?"
Fear vanished in a haze of confusion, "....The CIA?"
Penny Bond poked her head into her superior's office, expression curious, "...Sir?"
Mark covered the mouth piece, "One minute."
She nodded once before slipping out. Mark only refused to speak to her directly when he was getting chewed out. Poor bugger..
"...We'll take care of it personally sir. I assure you. Thank you sir. Yes, Thank you." Mark hung up the phone with a click, "...Pen?"
Penny poked her head back in, "Your arse sacked yet?"
"Shut it." Mark rolled his eyes, "Do me a favor and get me someone over in the Military would you?" He frowned, "...seems the CIA thinks we've got troops in Kaifan that we don't know about."
"Yes sir."
"...And Penny?"
She turned gracefully, "Sir?"
"....Get me Bennet would you?"
"Right away sir."
------------
"Thanks for coming down on short notice Tom." The two men sat across from one another in a cafe, "...Middle East's always been your beat, and you do a damn fine job of it, I want to say."
"...What d'you want?"
Mark's latte went cold, "...What makes you think I want something?"
"You only blow smoke that color up my arse when you want something. Spill. I've known you since Grade School y'bastard and I think I can pretty well guess when you're trying to be sneaky."
Mark muttered something as Tom smiled, "Cheeky bastard. I'm supposed to be the bloody fingerman ain't I? Now. What d'you want?"
"....I heard a name 'cross my desk." Mark leaned back in his chair, "...Wanted to find out what you knew 'bout it. Something the Americans were cooking a while back apparently."
"uh huh. you realize they're all nutters and I can't tell you anyway."
"Off the record."
"...Who're you now, bloody Tom Brokaw? Fine. What sort of name is it?"
"...Project Terror.."
Somewhere mountains fell and creatures lived and died in a heartbeat.
Tom choked on his drink, coughing up spittle and foam, "....Wh-jesus Wh-ere the hell'd you hear that?"
"..It's not important." MArk hadn't expected a reaction like that, "Why?"
"No." Tom's voice turned firm, "I need to know where you bloody well heard that name Mark. Don't pull any of this shite on me. Who?"
"....Why's it matter?"
"It just does goddamnit." Tom was growing angry, "Was it Rivers? That damned secretary?"
"He mentioned it in passing-" Mark's face turned grim, "What the hell's got you so bloody pissed off anyway mate?"
Tom rose, "Don't mention that shite to anyone you hear me?"
"...But-"
"Not anyone. Thanks for the drink mate."
"...I don't understand-" Tom's eyes went wide, "Who the hell-what-"
The door to the cafe opened and shut, leaving a very surprised Captain Mark Waters in it's wake.
-----------
"You think they know?"
Rooms. Blood filled rooms. They'd been smart. When a child shares their favorite toy with you on the playground you treat it with care.
"We can't take that risk. This Captain's a low ranking fellow. If He knows-"
The blood filled rooms are occupied by dead men and women. Their bodies are bloated with disease, twisted beyond recognition. Extra arms and fingers grow out of pus-oozing sores. The ward reeks..
"....We're going to play it safe just because the Americans are spooked sir?" Doctor Burke was a smart man. Too smart for this bullshit I should have stayed at cambridge.. His superior was wringing his hands and watching the monitors with eyes the size of dinner plates.
"...If we're connected we all go down. I won't give them the chance. Leave it to the army to discipline their own but as for the rest, we need to play this smart you hear me?" He coughed into a fist, "Besides. I don't trust this shite in the hands of the Americans."
"They developed it sir."
An asian man raised a bulbous hand and lets out a moan. He's restrained by ancient leather straps coated in pus and ooze and beyond his vision there are men.
"Christ, it's like their fucking human." The Doctor leaned forward, "...Which of course they're not."
Wife, daughter, son, all beyond his reach with their tasty flesh. He could taste it, blood puddling out of his lips onto the sheets beneath his body.
"Kill him."
The command was clear, though Burke balked, "...Sir?"
A sore burst splattering the left wall of his cell with gore. It happened regularly. The flesh healed in an instant, a new one growing to replace the pustule.
"You heard me." The Captain rose, "We're going to sort this shit out by closing this division. By tomorrow morning, or those cells might have a new lodger, you hear me?"
"...Crystal sir." Burke shuddered, "Fucking Crystal."
-----
Beyond the death and pain a postman smiled amiably in Annie's direction, "..And then I said to Mab-good lord."
Annie turned, blond curlse shaking in the night, "...What?"
"You see that?" Harold pointed, "Over there over the horizon?"
"Trouble?"
"...In the forest." He frowned, "Nothin' in there to be makin' that much noise."
Annie clung to his arm, "...Y'think there might be trouble?"
"....I don't know." He shook his head, "...Let me go get the constable Annie. Alright?"
She nodded once and he hopped on his bike, heedless of the green gas spiraling upward, filling the air with doom.
2:30 in the Afternoon.
Horton Plaza Foodcourt.
The meeting place was hardly clandestine but it had it's uses. It happened to be a place of employment for one of his targets, and it was large and noisy enough so as not to attract attention.
That and he wanted to get out of the office.
More then anything, he wanted to get out of the office.
"...Jessop?" Ronald Geary blinked, "....Hank Jessop? Is that you?"
Hank shifted his gaze to Ronald, smiling tiredly, "I had to get the hell out of the office."
"....I won the pool then." Ron shifted his tray to the table and sat uninvited, setting his briefcase down beside his chair, "We were waiting until you cracked and tried to jump out the window, but I said you were too insane to be so fuckin' public 'bout offing yourself even after you'd been buried under that mountain of paperwork."
Hank grunted and stared at the milling crowds below, "...goes with the job."
"...Not what you expected eh?" Ron pulled out a set of chopsticks and began to clean them, "Me neither. You expect a hell of alot more y'know? But then again-" Ron set the utensils aside and went for his drink, "....That is you. I mean you're really there, and you've been there. Seen shit that people 'round here-"
Ronald gestured, a grand sweeping thing to take in the entire plaza, "...seen shit that'd make most of these people fuckin' pee themselves."
Ron's crude humor earned a humorless snort and little else. He took a sip of his drink, ignoring Ron's pointed look, "...Dude, you make enough to afford a decent lunch man. 69 cent soft drink?"
"You'd be surprised." Ron took another sip, "How little I actually fucking make." He set the container down and stared pointedly at him, "Are you here for chit-chat? Or did you get the papers that I asked for."
"....I got um'." Ron's cheerful demeanor vanished, "Names and Targets from our Kaifan man. I'd love to know how this shit happened." He said as he reached a hand down for his briefcase, "I would have dropped them by the office. This seem's a bit too...cliche for me you know?"
He handed over a stack of folders, a disapproving frown on his face, "....I'd love to know how this happened."
"The mistakes of the previous administration." Jessop flipped a disinterested hand through the papers, "...It's not like this one cares either."
"...A whole fucking unit-"
"Of men who swore to die for our country." Jessop's eyes narrowed, tucking the papers away inside his own briefcase, "How the hell do you think I feel?"
"Nothing." Ron's disapproving expression turned perplexed and the crowded plaza went a little darker, "....Because if you did you'd probably get fired. It's bad to have guys like you feel things."
That's getting hard. Hank shook his head and muttered a departure as he got to his feet and climbed wearily to his feet. He crossed out of the foodcourt and jumped down two levels, walking past the nordstroms.
Tourists made manuvering difficult. As the weather grew brighter the streets grew fuller and it was up to natives to make pick their way carefully through the crowds. He did so with distaste. He should return to the office soon.
Once this business was concluded.
The CIA is made up of boys whose families sent them to Princeton but wouldn't let them into the family brokerage business.
Two steps down and to the left, just outside of the J Crew. His man stank of whiskey and probably (to everyone else) could have easily passed for a hobo. Jessop couldn't hold it against him.
"Good night?"
There were always eyes. Always eyes and always a means of contact. The United States only played at being fallible. Let all men tremble when the United States truly went to war.
It was out of preservation that the shadow men in the shadow city worked so well. They could no longer listen to the governments tremble in such a manner. It was for the good of all mankind that they kept the United States on a tight, tight leash.
"Great." Martin Stevens had been back in the country only 48 hours, "...really great." He faked a hiccup, "...y'got m' change Mr?"
Across the ocean, men were sleeping. It had been the easiest thing in the world to speak to their turncloak, a traitor amongst them who had given them names and totals and told them when the next shipment of gas would be.
Two barrels of the shit stood in San Diego Harbor even then, waiting to be shipped to the basement of the Federal Building on Sixth Street, a ticking time bomb..
"You oughta get yourself into rehab." Jessop stepped forward, "...But I suppose if you're gonna make a fuckin' stink about it."
"I'm doing this for you honey." Jessop thinks as he kneels to face the shadow soldier stinking of piss and booze, "...For the kids. I can't tell you how sorry I am..
"....Word's that they're making plans." Martin whispered, "...Apparently one of um' hinted at a cure."
"..You're fucking with me." Jessop's voice rose an octave, "...No. Impossible. No fucking cure. They can't-"
"Well apparently-" Martin was taken aback by his leader's change in tone, "...they can' Couple of guys said they saw a British Soldier 'round. I thought we pulled um' out of that?"
"....A cure for the most dangerous substance ever known to mankind? A cure for the thing we developed and swore we'd never speak of again?
"...Sir." Martin's voice had an edge that Jessop didn't like, "The reason why men like me function so well is because we know more then the people we're investigating."
If he reports this to Geary? Anyone? I'm ruined..
There was a vial.
There was always a vial. He'd learned to keep it with him at all times.
"...Sir?"
Quick and to the point, Jessop jammed a fist into Martin's chest. a pin-prick the size of a dot-miniscule, to the point.
The hobo jerked and the crowds continued to mill.
"....I'm sorry." Hank Jessop whispered, "...I signed off on it see. I told them that it couldn't be cured. And it can't. Because the cost is too high. You need to understand that. 78 men for the rest of humanity."
Martin slumped as Hank wiped off his brow, "...Well...79.".
"...Mommy!" A blond haired and blue eyed girl pointed, "They're going to open a hello kitty store!"
The mother nodded in assent, "Yes sweetie, I-Watch it!"
She watched the retreating figure, "...Fucking Pig. You okay baby?"
"Yeah." the daughter bounced. She always had, "Can we go?"
"we'll see when it opens honey. We'll see."
-----------
Downtown San Diego
3:00.
Crystal Muldoon was doing her best to keep a milling crowd of tourists and citizenry out of the way.
...The glamorous life of a Mall security guard.. She spared a glance over her shoulder as she stood implacable at the head of the crowd, Cleaning up dead hobos.
It happened more then she'd like to admit.
Once the paramedics had carted the poor bastard away the police roped it off and Roger ordered her back to the floors below, expression grim, "...I'll understand if you want some time off."
She shook her head, "...Guy didn't mean shit to me." She put a hand to her temple, brushing hair out of her face, "....Although if you're offering-" Melanie did have a yen to see something at the theater-"
"Crystal?!" A familiar face poked it's head out of the crowd and moved toward her, "Honey?"
Oh hell. "...Hi."
"Someone dies in Horton Plaza and you don't call your damn mother?" Her stepfather moved through a knot of angry sounding kids and crossed his arms in front of his chest, "Are you all right?"
"...Fine!" She rolled her eyes, "God, will you get off my fucking case? He was a hobo for crissake. It's sad that he died? But it happens okay? Jesus."
The older man's eyes narrowed, "We're concerned because we care honey."
"....Please." Crystal rolled her eyes and put a hand on her hip, "...You're not my dad Hank."
Something about that remark (lord knew she'd flung it in his face more times then she'd care to admit these past few years) made him purple today, "...I'm doing the best I can goddamnit!"
"....and I'm 20 years old." Crystal said quietly, "And it doesn't fucking matter does it?"
"Crystal-"
"I have to get back to work." She shook her head and him and turned wordlessly on her heel, "...see you later in the week."
"...Muldoon! Fourth level! There's a foodfight."
"...Aw Christ-"
Crystal Muldoon jogged away, leaving Hank Jessop, CIA, to stand there forlornly for a moment before cursing and moving off into the crowd of shoppers and tourists.
---
- Mood:creative
| 001. | Millitime. | 002. | Paradox. | 003. | Violence. | 004. | Business. | 005. | Nudity. | 006. | Bound. |
| 007. | Plot. | 008. | Crack. | 009. | Woe. | 010. | Doom. | 011. | Glitter. | 012. | Tea. |
| 013. | Coffee. | 014. | Waffles. | 015. | Kitten. | 016. | Future. | 017. | Past. | 018. | Young. |
| 019. | Old. | 020. | Security. | 021. | Tending. | 022. | Waiting. | 023. | Kitchen. | 024. | Lake. |
| 025. | Landlord. | 026. | Wedding. | 027. | Rats. | 028. | Evil. | 029. | Curse. | 030. | Gunslinger. |
| 031. | Endless. | 032. | Dead. | 033. | Undead | 034. | Alive. | 035. | Immortal. | 036. | Human. |
| 037. | Party. | 038. | Dreaming. | 039. | Garden. | 040. | Magic. | 041. | Bar. | 042. | Fucking Milliways. |
Roger Muldoon curled himself against the back seat of his younger brother's car and shut his eyes tight against the cold. He asked for the windows to be open. Help him sober up faster.
"Mean it man. I owe you one. This'll be the last time I swear. No more drinking for me." He laughed weakly, ".....Least I remembered to call you this time."
In the front seat, Christopher's hands tighten on the steering wheel as he stares out into the foggy evening.
The only response his brother will get.
The two ride in silence for a few more minutes, before Chris can no longer take it, "How can you be so damn stupid? You fucking idiot. You're practically a fucking retard."
The car swerved to a stop, signaling (He always signaled) as they pulled over to the side of the highway.
Roger's eyebrows went up, ".....Chris....what the hell are you-"
Christopher Muldoon was quite sure that if he turned around in his seat he'd kill the man sitting behind him. Not a boy, not a teenager, a full grown man. Life was full of gaps and the difference between the two brothers was the biggest gap of all.
"....Tell me why."
Chris's voice is hard, "Tell me why you keep doing it. Night, after night. You get up. you sneak the fuck out, and you pull crap like this. Tell me why."
It's the alcohol. The alcohol and the claustrophobia of the car. There's no air and Roger, his older brother (by two whole years. two whole years) is curled in the back like some kind of animal.
"Tell me why you fucking idiot! why! why do you keep doing this?!"
"....Because I'm not strong." Roger finally spits out, "....I can't put up with that bastard's bullshit like you can."
------
Dc2 causes a medical miracle, as far as miracles go. It can decay a living body from the inside out in excruciating pain. From initial infection to it's final stages, it takes less then a week. In some cases? Only a few hours.
The first things to go, understandably, are the senses. The body runs an average temperature of 104-105 degrees depending on various factors like height, weight, and general size.
When suppressed, the senses (both physical and mental) are dulled. The infected are aware of who they are and what they're doing, but only in the vaguest sense. If one should compare it to something, one should compare it to prosium, without the emotion-dulling side-effects.
No, his emotions (are) were fine. His sense of justice, morality, and humanity were dulled.
He would like to think that was the Dc2, but he knows it's just him.
Three years of Adrenaline and Anger at his situation, at the injustice of it.
The sandbox is another world. You do whatever you have to do to survive. No exceptions..
You become something less the human on the inside.
Which was fine. He was one of a select group of people who could turn his humanity on and off whenever it suited him. He had enough ground in himself to recognize that it wasn't real. It didn't matter what he did in a different world to protect the world at home.
Then everything went to shit.
And he forgot how to switch off (so to speak). The real world was impassive and untouchable, and the only world that existed was made of sand and desert and the mindless undead.
"I guess I'm just not as strong as you."
That was bullshit.. Pure and utter fucking bullshit. I spent so long taking the rest of the world's problems on my own goddamn shoulders I forgot everything else.
Why?
Because he had believed, genuinely believed, that if he'd taken care of others he'd be reciprocated in kind.If he took care of his brother he'd be loyal and stop having problems. If he did as he'd been ordered he'd be rewarded. Instead his brother had ended up in jail and he'd ended up a constant inch away from death. A veritable walking corpse.
--------
"All do respect sir." Wray was standing ramrod straight, staring into his commander's eyes, "....You're no good to anyone if you don't stop behaving like a madman."
---------
Was he truly crazy? There'd been moments. He'd been told for so long that it was part of his psychological makeup that he'd just accepted it. Made it a part of himself without taking the time to look within and ask if they were right.
He'd been naive. He'd been naive and a goddamn fool and they'd repaid him for it in kind. There were genuinely good people out there who'd care for others because they had such a footing within themselves that they could afford to give out to other people. And then there were the rest of them. They didn't want someone who was doing good, they wanted a puppet on the string of patriotism who would dance to the music they gave it.
"Say it to yourself." Muldoon's voice was loud. It echoed inside his head and sounded strange and foreign, "Fucking say it to yourself."
I was afraid that Lewis would kill me. I let my guard down and let myself be human for the first time in a long time And I didn't trust myself to be strong for them. I was afraid..
"Say it goddamnit. He clenches a fist at his side, "Fucking say it."
I don't want to die. I don't want to be a monster. I don't want to fail my men and I don't want to fail my family. For the first time I have a chance to do something right and I want to take it
He's growling to himself now, less a human noise and more the noise of an animal caught in a cage, "SAY it!"
I want to take this responsibility and do something good with it. I have been trusted, and I will not be found wanting His thoughts are of the people that he's met.
".....I-" His voice cracks, "....chose this."
These new senses and new responsibilities, "...because I don't want to fucking die. a mindless monster. I don't want to prove them right." The lesser of two evils. He's been on the brink of madness and he has no desire to go back.
"Because...Because if I can survive this. Then everyone else can too. And...And I don't want to have failed them. Not again. Not ever again." Napoli and Kellers and Lewis (even Lewis) and Johnson and Rodriguez and Tarantino. All of them.
His voice is small and whimpery when he finally lowers his head and stares down at the grass, "...But it's not just for them. It's for me. Because-"
Because once he'd dreamed of medals of honor and a great parade. Once he'd dreamed of accalades and awards and great ceremonies with trumpets and fanfares playing. acknowledgment was all he'd ever wanted. Acknowledgment of him being selfless and giving. The worst kind of fool, the false good samaritan.
When the final statement comes, it's said with an inner strength that would have earned him a medal in some world, at some time. Finally realizing what's truly important.
"Because in the end, all I really want, ...is to go home."
Moments pass.
Something in his head says very loudly "Freedom can't be given, it has to be earned."
"Well all right then." Muldoon says with a sigh, "Admitting you have a problem is the first step to taking care of it."
And something, some nervousness, some tension, uncoils in his chest and lets him breath a little easier.
No where was it truer then here, with Louis and-
And you?
He didn't remember nearly turning.
He didn't remember the Lieutenant "apparently" saving his life.
He killed the kid and he fucking snapped and all he could think about was Amber back home with their baby. Their child. I don't even know my own child's name..
He is lost. Lost in a haze of memories and a sea of forgotten feelings, when he spotted a door in the barracks opening.
-----------
If spoon is paying attention to the weather, the first thing he'll notice? Is the dry hot smell of the desert. It's all around them. Clustered together is the smell of several hundred goats. Beyond that? It smells much like too many people crowded into a space far too small for them.
There is a hint of something else. Honeysuckle and Gardenia. Although heaven knows where it's coming from in this wasteland.
The barracks are rustic bordering on backward, as Muldoon steps out through the door, "Welcome to the Sand-"
Standing a few inches away is Sgt. Napoli, Field Medic, eyes open wide, breather beeping quietly to itself.
"...Box. Napoli? You stupid sonnuvabitch-"
The kid stares at spoon for a fraction of a second-before he levels a handgun, "DON'T FUCKING MOVE!"
While meanwhile his commanding officer was illustrated as an example of everything good and pure about the United States of America. A model citizen and officer.
Kirk hesitated before closing his briefcase finally. He'd known Wray since they were kids years ago. This wasn't. Fucking. Fair.
"...We'll appeal Wray." Kirk said, "....I've got a buddy on the bench. We'll appeal man. I swear to god I'm gonna get you out of here. Six years is too fucking long. Assaulting an officer? That's bullshit man, this wouldn't hold up in any civilian court."
He sighs and straightens his tie, "...Those guys were creepy."
The Provost Marshal started to approach and Kirk waved him off, looking out into the crowd, "....Your girlfriend's here."
And once the village is burned and smelling like gasoline and fire, the soldiers move in. Quick and Quietly, green shadows in the gloom of the oncoming night, they move like wolves in for the kill.
One among them doesn't join the pack. He stands at the edge of the village, watching it burn quietly. It has to be done. It has to be done and he has to be the one to do it because he's the best. The men look up to him and trust him and he repays their trust by making them into killers.
I can't do this forever.. Christopher Muldoon runs a hand through his hair, "I am getting too fucking old for this bullshit."
Louis, a cocky ass corporal with a smart mouth, snorts at him before lifting his rifle off the truck, "You'll never be too old for this Lt. This is the only way to live motherfuckers. Killin' shit and then rapin' shit."
Muldoon fixes him with a sharp look, "No rapes."
Louis frowns, "..Sir?"
"You heard me. No. Rapes. Not here. I doubt there's any of the kind of girls that you-"
He hesitates. There's El Wray. Relief floods his features for a moment before he breaths deeply. El Wray'll help keep this disgusting bastard in line.
Wray raises his weapon in a salute before moving into a house, gun at the ready.
-----
Wray had sent Kowalski and Edwards into the buildings next door. Even now the gunfire shattered buildings and windows. The smoke and fire of battle. Men got drunk on it. Lived for it. not me.
They had orders to search and destroy, and he had orders from the CIA, his handlers, his trainers to watch Unit 31 in action and report on their activities. What people didn't know was that there existed a hierarchy behind the curtain. The Army and the Intelligence service worked closely together.
Besides. The CIA was scouting him. He knew they did that. They picked the badass mother fuckers out to perform special duties.
Which he was all for. It meant more money, and he could keep a secret. It had been that way since he was a kid, and Bonita-
Something darted out in front of him and he raised his weapon, "HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!"
