It was hot; the early autumn weather was not yet transitioning to the cold breezes that would drift about the area, now only a warm wind blew, when not insulated by the trees. Though the mountains blocked the wind where they stood, it could still sail about as it pleased from elsewhere, though it had no hope whatsoever of toppling the stout constructs which had stood present for over four-hundred million years.
The trees could be heard blowing with the wind however, and while the mountains stood steadfast against it the trees did not seem to mind compromising. Various birds and other animals could be heard as well, though few could likely tell just how many kinds of animals they heard.
The air tasted of sun and humidity, if you were to stand in the open and hold your tongue out in a bright, sunny clearing.
Said humidity was much more prevalent to the senses in relation to one's sensation of touch, as many people were dressed lightly so as not to be over encumbered by the thickness of dampness in the air.
The whole of the blue ridge mountains smelled of pollen and warm showers, which recurred regularly now that the environment had just begun to change to autumn.
Tourists drove up and down blue ridge parkway, heading towards the Shenandoah national park or the great smoky mountains national park, one lying to the north, the other to the south. Still others, who were either interested in its nature or merely wanting something to do, drove to the Bright Bat Research Center, or B.B.R.C. which could be reached from the four-hundred and sixty-nine mile-long scenic highway.
Welcoming visitors, it offered tours of its facilities as well as educational pamphlets on its mission; "discovering the keys to the future". Simply put, its purpose is to study various species of flora and fauna present in the world and try to absorb from them what it can so that people's lives may be made easier.
It's facilities, both those accessible and inaccessible to the public were located on the same site. Though in might be a bit more accurate; the research center was built into the mountain. The reception building, the front most one, was walled-in on the sides by a thin stretch of mountain, which left a clearing behind them for the tourist buildings and small park to inhabit, before delving deeper into the mountainside.
Out front lay an expanse of flat parking lot which was inhabited by several dozen cars, the balance between tourist and staff cars being nearly equal. Framing the parking lot were several trees, which helped add some personality to the otherwise faceless entrance area.
The entire front of the reception building was crystal-clear glass which both helped give the building an open, warm feeling to tourists as well as act like a natural clock for those within to see what time of day it was. The walls which framed the other three sides of the building were bright grey stone, and the roof held a skylight that helped illuminate the large frontal reception room when the sun was overhead.
Within, the floor was untarnished white tile and the walls were just as white and unstained. There were chairs with cushions organized in open spaces that made up two-thirds of the room, while a desk, receptionist, and an archway behind both of them were the other one-third.
The desk was nearly like a podium, and the receptionist would stand behind it, smiling, waiting for tourists to approach and sign their names in the guestbook before being taken on a tour. The archway was large, big enough to accommodate groups both moving in and out at the same time as tourists walked through it both ways.
The current receptionist watched, smiling like usual as more tourists opened the glass doors and entered while some new cars drove into the parking lot, one of them in particular standing out; a large van that looked like it could carry a squad of soldiers in it if they were properly organized.
Her eyes remained on it as the large vehicle drove into a parking space and came to a stop. It was a large, white van and looked like the kind you would see in the movies where someone were kidnapped. Similarly, the men in the driver's and passenger's seats looked like some manner of military types.
It was warm outside, as well as in the reception building. She was wearing a skirt and a short-sleeved button-up shirt. Yet despite the distance between them, as well as the warm environment, the receptionist felt a coldness coming from the van.
(TWENTY MINUTES EARLIER)
The trees had yet to change color, but a few leaves had fallen from each tree from the wind and due to the large number of trees in the area, leaves blew freely about the area, carried in the warm breeze.
Across the road drifted some, while most stayed only amongst their elder plant-folk, too afraid to dare out onto the hot pavement which held the attention of moving cars. One leaf, however, fearlessly began to make the travel across the road. The wind was merciful, and aided it in its quest. It neared the yellow line in the middle of the road- and was crashed into by a moving vehicle.
The vehicle; a large white van, continued down its path along the road, ignorant of its brutal refusal of the leaf's wish. The sunlight was reflected off of its white sides, like it was refusing nature's intentions just as much as it had the leaf's.
It drove the speed limit; no more, no less. The occupants wanted to get to their destination as soon as possible, but they weren't willing to put up with getting pulled over by a ranger or the like to get there.
The air about the van smelled like either exhaust or gasoline, depending on whether you were in front of it or behind it, and those that came from the side learned quickly not to do so.
Tasting just as foul as it smelled, the poisoned space around the van was just as undesirable to taste as it was to smell.
The van's frame was hard and cold, unlike the warmed trees of the forest or the leaves which dared not cross the road again as it sped down the road. Within it the environment denied the environment even further; the air-conditioning on high to keep the occupants' combined body-heat as well as the sun's rays which made it through the windshield at bay.
In front the driver wiped a small amount of sweat from his brow, being one of the only two that got ample sunlight shining down on him, as well as his ample muscle's natural insulation adding to his uncomfortable state. However, he showed not an ounce of disapproval on his face as they continued driving towards their destination.
His brown hair was cut short, looking much like a military cut, and his large, muscled body was clad in a tight-fitting white t-shirt as well as brown cargo pants, all of the pockets of which had a necessary tool occupying them, adding to his "practical" personality.
His face was stern and strong, yet only remained so due to his own inner strength. The outside must be kept tough, and the inside even tougher.
Beside him was a man who contrasted him heavily enough that one might liken it to a basketball player and a child accompanying one another.
He was muscled as well, though not as thickly, and his face had the unshakable confidence that the other man's conveyed, but his demeanor was much different than the serious man beside him.
On his head was a dark red beret, covering the top of his dark brown hair and helping to lead the eyes up from his nearly always grinning face. He wore sunglasses with a tan tint to them as he occasionally looked up to the sun as if challenging its amazing glare.
He wore a black skin-tight short-sleeved shirt, made of polypropylene which helps maintain body temperature, and his pants were black and grey camouflage, a military-style belt through its loops.
His hands were clad in fingerless gloves which gave his palms greater traction while holding objects. Quick scratching sounds were heard as he enjoyed cleaning out what dirt he could from his short fingernails with a knife.
The two were occupying the same vehicle, and had both been in military service, but at their cores they couldn't have been any more different. That was what the driver, Harley Boyd, thought as he drove the group's van down the road.
He remained silent on his thoughts, however, while the other man, Derik Tanner, spoke up.
"So, what's your story, Harley?" He asked, though his curiosity seemed only skin-deep.
The big soldier decided how to respond before actually doing so, not wanting to be impulsive.
"There isn't much to say really."
"Don't kid me; I've heard a story or two about you." The man responded, seeming amused, pointing his knife at him playfully like an accusing finger.
He concentrated more on driving than the conversation, though he noticed just a twinge of discomfort creep into his mind.
"What kind of stories would those be?"
The man chuckled as he returned to "cleaning" his nails; he had already finished and now was obviously just doing so to fight back boredom. It was a strange trait to see a veteran have, since they were supposed to be heavily disciplined. He shouldn't act in such a way. Though then again, maybe Harley was just being too strict. He had been coaching football players too long, this guy could likely joke around and be serious enough to get the job done at the same time.
"Well, it depends. Some of them are about how great of a soldier you were. Others were about how you fought for every rank you got, even though your dad was a general, while still others are about your time as a drill instructor."
His hands just barely tightened on the steering wheel, but his face remained the same.
"You never know which ones are true and which ones aren't." He commented, in general.
The man chuckled again, drawing the knife away from his nails.
"Yeah, usually not. But there's a particular story that I know is true; something about you killing some kiddy trainees when they jumped you one night." He spoke, sticking the knife back into its sheath on his belt.
Harley Boyd sighed on the inside.
"That one is true. Though I regret to admit it."
Tanner shook his head as if in either amusement or disappointment as he looked over his shoulder at one of the occupants of the seats in the back of the van.
"How about you?" He asked a man in back whom Harvey couldn't see while his eyes were on the road.
"Me?"
"Yeah."
"I'm from New Jersey."
Tanner chuckled once more as his gaze returned to face out the windshield.
"Well, that pretty much says everything doesn't it?"
Harley's face drew tighter slightly.
"Is this really a highly-trained team?" He thought.
It wasn't like soldiers never joked with each other; back when he'd been in the army his fellow soldiers and he would joke around. But this mission was supposed to be of the utmost importance; shouldn't they be acting in a more disciplined manner? These men all seemed like they had the personalities of mercenaries more than normal soldiers.
Tanner and, from the sound of his voice, "Jet" Morrison, both seemed liked trained serial killers kept sedated to an extent with medication to keep them from going into hysterics.
Meanwhile, Dalca and the leader of their squad seemed to be on the opposite end of the spectrum; cold, calculating heartless types with no caring for their country or their comrades.
If he had to guess, Harley would suppose the two most likely people for him to find on this kind of a mission would be the latter ones, but still… it made him unsure as to the nature of their purpose in this place.
"How about you?" Morrison responded to Tanner, gaining his attention again. Not that it was difficult; to them the passing trees and pleasant sights all looked either boring, or they were desensitized to such sights.
"Were you in some super-special secret unit, or do you just like nice hats?"
Tanner chuckled once more.
"The marines, if that counts."
"You mean those guys that don't die no matter what and kill their enemies with wrestling moves?"
"Nah, that's just movie stuff; in real life we're much more badass." He joked.
Both of them laughed and Tanner looked back at him again.
"So, you're the guy who's obsessed with explosives?"
"That'd be me. Whether it blows up a city or fires a cap gun, I'm lovin' it."
"Gotcha."
"Here, have one of these." Morrison offered, giving the man something. Harvey glanced at it, and saw that it was some kind of gummy snack.
"What about it?"
"Eat it; it's good."
"This won't blow my head off or anything will it?"
"'course not."
With a shrug, the man popped it in his mouth and ate it. He blinked a bit in surprise and swallowed the tiny piece of food.
"It's bursting with flavor, right?"
"Smartass."
Morrison chuckled again and Tanner shook his head, his grin upturned to show his amusement.
Harley noticed, with some appreciation, that the repeated environment was changing a bit up ahead; the line of trees and shrubs on the left was broken off as a road headed in towards a parking lot. Out by the road stood a sign which read "B.B.R.C."
"We're here." He announced, Tanner noticing it and seeming pleased at the van's "boring" ride ending.
"Alright, cut the chatter, we're moving out." Came Dalca in a stern, resolute tone.
"At the very least he's disciplined." Harley thought while pulling into the small road to the parking lot, the smooth sound of the pavement momentarily sounding gruffer as the wheels drove through some gravel to get there.
The reception building was just as they'd been told; stone for three walls and glass for one, and from the looks of it the archway was exactly where their briefing had said it would be. As well, the parking lot was nearly full, just as had been predicted.
There was one thing he did not understand, and he had voiced it at the briefing; why was this mission to take place during the day? At the briefing the men had been told to go retrieve a special kind of "material", but they, or at least he had not been told the details of how they were to do so; was this instillation going to be cooperative, or was it hostile? What was the nature of the material? Was it toxic or otherwise dangerous?
They pulled into a parking space and after moving the shift to "park" Harley pulled the keys out of the ignition and put them in a pants pocket.
Both he and Tanner opened their doors and got out of the van, closing the same doors behind them as they were welcomed by the warm sun. The air was thick with humidity and Harley rubbed some more sweat off his brow as the two went around their respective sides to the back of the van.
Harley looked around, seeing all of the tourists walking to and from their cars, hoping that they wouldn't be put in any danger, regardless of how this mission would go. It was a soldier's job to fight for their country, and dying was sometimes a part of that. But civilians should never be hurt due to a military operation; so long as they were non-combatants, they shouldn't be harmed.
Each man took hold of a door's handle and pulled open the van's back-doors, filling the inside with sunlight and illuminating the three men in back as well as the oversized hiking packs that say amongst them. Each of which could easily hold a normal-sized backpack and still have room for more.
"Whoa, whoa! Somebody turned the floodlights on! Either that or I just missed seeing the crash sight of an MOAB." Morrison joked, putting on a pair of sunglasses as he hopped out of the van.
"What's that?" Tanner asked while pulling one of the large hiking packs along the floor of the van and tossing it to Harley, who caught with both to keep it from tearing due to the weight inside.
"MOAB, mother of all bombs."
"Ha, how unpretentious."
"Ooh! A thirteen-letter word! You should be on jeopardy!"
"Haha, yeah; I'll show Trebek to get rid of his moustache."
Harley slung the hiking pack across his back while pulling another from the floor of the van, Morrison looking about the area while pulled on his own pack.
"Be more careful with those packs; if you toss them around like toys they're liable to break." Instructed Dalca as his fair-skinned face emerged from one of the few remaining shadows and the man stepped down from the van's floor.
His full name was Grigore Dalca, a black-haired man from somewhere else in the world. Harley could hear a bit of an accent in his tone but didn't know accents past Hispanic and other common ones enough to distinguish where he hailed from.
Despite the other team members dressing at least moderately casually, Dalca was wearing faded grey pants and a long-sleeve shirt of the same kind, both of which looked, and were likely intended to help break up his form while in cover; the intention of camouflage. His pants bore no metal buttons that shone out and the belt that he wore was the same color as the pants and shirt, with the boots being grey as well.
The sun was shining brightly, and Dalca had been in the back of the van sitting on a seat that had been installed in it for several hours. However, despite both facts, when he got out of the van he did not so much as squint. The sun's light seemed to dull when it reflected off of his ice blue eyes and he reminded Harley of the stereotypical "leader" of a group of villains in an action movie.
"Sorry, boss." Tanner spoke, though it was obviously underlying with a mocking intent.
Dalca seemed only just barely disgruntled at this and walked several steps away from the van, carrying a hiking pack behind him as well and checking his watch.
"We're on-schedule, but let's not fall behind."
Tanner chuckled, hiking up the pack on his back a bit as he began walking towards the reception building.
"You're not the leader of the unit, are you?" He asked rhetorically with a grin as he passed the darker-haired man. A cold gaze followed him, though Dalca did not show enough emotion for it to be called a glare.
Harley wondered if the two's conflicting personalities would impede the mission. No, they had been assigned to this operation; there was no way men would be chosen for it who could not get past their own issues for the sake of the assignment.
He looked back into the van, at the only person who had yet to come out of it; their leader. He was still seated and only now began to rise, giving off the impression that he had intentionally delayed his departure so that he would be the last one to do so.
He grinned as well, though it did not seem as outwardly aggressive as Tanner's. The sunlight bounced off of his gelled-back blonde hair and average-colored skin. He carried no pack, just a long case that was shaped to appear as it accommodated a hunting rifle.
Contrasting Harley's stern brown eyes, Morrison's always excited reddish-brown colored ones, Tanner's challenging emerald green and Dalca's heartless ice blue, this man's eyes could not be seen at all through his mirrored black sunglasses.
He pushed them up slightly and his grin grew slightly bigger as he stepped down from the van, looking at the sight before him as if he had taken a picture of it before he'd arrived; he looked in complete control. That was not to say that the rest of the team looked undisciplined; they all bore a confidence to them in different shades, but this man… it felt as if he controlled everything. Harley had not ever met a man like him; even his father's control and influence had not given him the impression this man did.
"He is definitely the first choice for a mission like this." Harley thought as they all approached the reception building.