April 25th, 1988
Alan Edward Song walked through the busy streets of Darwin, Australia, sweating profusely under the sun's blazing glare. His only belongings were the clothes on his back and a couple essential items; a plain khaki shirt, dark green cargo pants, his small black wallet which contained only 40 Australian dollars, and a nearly empty water bottle, which he'd been refilling at water fountains and sinks as he went. Most likely, any passerby would have confused him for a homeless man, making his way towards some dilapidated alleyway to sleep. Alan's gait, however, reflected not a world weary beggar, but instead was infused with an excited energy, which was fitting, all things considered.
Barely a week ago, Alan interviewed for a job with one of the minor PMCs that had proliferated quickly after the revival of the soldier-for-hire business in 1984. Technically, this PMC was an adjunct branch of Diamond Dogs, and while it operated independently, the Diamond Dogs XO retained a definitive amount of influence. This PMC called itself Roughneck Ravens, and had hired Alan almost instantly once he had expressed his interest in joining their Intelligence Unit. Apparently, they were experiencing a shortage of reliable bureaucrats, and Alan's past experience doing financials was apparently enough for them. He'd been offered a position as an officer, free lodging on their base in the Timor Sea, and a palatable employee benefits package to boot.
Another five years spent filing wasn't exactly Alan's idea of a dream job, but the offer proved too lucrative to pass up. After only twenty four hours to think, Alan caught a flight to Australia, a nearly sixteen hour plane ride which drained him of any remaining funds. A malfunction with the plane, however, cost him a day's delay in New Delhi, putting him far behind schedule. This caused him to miss the shuttle that was supposed to take him to the Roughneck Ravens supply outpost outside of Darwin, and so, there he was, stranded in a foreign city with no money, no friends to help him, and no idea where to go.
Ok... I'm now on... what the? Mandjoogoordap Street? Who the hell named this?
Alan craned his neck to check the way he'd came, just in case he'd missed something. He hadn't, though, and right now his only problem was that he simply had no idea where to go. He'd wandered around, asking passersby, "Do you know where the, uh, Roughneck Ravens, are?" Usually he'd receive a quick shake of the head, or a politely worded "no", but a Russian tourist he'd met outside of a coffee shop had given him a napkin sketch of the Roughneck Ravens logo, though he admitted to Alan had no idea where the supply outpost was.
"I come here for beaches and koalas," the portly Russian had told him with that Soviet smile that seemed to fit only on the features of large Russians, laughed heartily, and then bought Alan a cold soda, which felt like water in a desert to the toasted traveler.
That had been maybe an hour ago, and the temporary refreshment that the soda had provided had been lost long before. Alan was hot, uncomfortable, and just about ready to turn back and leave Mandjoogoordap Street when a white car shot past him, engines roaring. It had a geometric, angular shape and flip up headlights, and the sides were emblazoned with the picture of a blue bird within a black triangle.
Wait... that logo!
Alan snatched the napkin from his pant pocket and unfolded it to its full height, lifting it up towards the sun to illuminate the ink. The drawing was a sloppy sketch, put together in barely a minute, but it was accurate enough for Alan to immediately realize that it matched the logo on the white car. The napkin fluttered through the air and fell onto the road, but Alan paid no heed to it as he desperately ran across the sidewalk, hoping to catch the white car at the next intersection.
He turned left at the intersection, scanning the busy roads for any sign of his target. A row of shops and cafes lined the sidewalk, and civilian cars milled around the intersections, moving in rhythm to the street lights. But no sign of the mystery car yet.
Is that... Yes!
Alan took off much faster than he thought he could, throwing his momentum forward and pushing uncouthly through a family of 4 that happened to be in his way.
"Sorry about that!" He yelled, keeping his eyes on his only link to Roughneck Ravens as it took another left. If it hadn't been the afternoon rush hour, Alan wouldn't have stood a chance trying to catch up, but right now his quarry was stuck in a particularly slow section of the road, allowing him to run up parallel to it on the sidewalk.
He sighted the driver of the car, a blonde haired guy who looked at least 20. Alan stepped into the road, passing around a cherry red minivan as he made his way towards the white car's driver side window. The driver turned his head quizzically as Alan approached, and rolled down his window uncertainly.
"Need something?" The driver asked tentatively.
"Hey, I'm the new incoming Intel Officer for Roughneck Raven," Alan began, "Could you tell me where I can find the supply outpost?"
"You, a Roughneck Raven?" The figure scoffed, "And an Officer at that? Gimme a break."
Alan began to get indignant, "Well, I may not look like an Officer, but I assure you that I'm the new recruit. I did the interview, the HR guy told me to come to Darwin, look for a supply outpost, and then they'd pick me up and fly me over to the base. Honest to god. So, if you could tell me how to get to the outpost, that'd be great."
The driver shook his head, an expression of restrained amusement on his face, and sarcastically replied, "Yeah, and I'm the lost grandson of Tsar Nicholas the second, could you please tell me how to reclaim my throne and establish a new Tsarist regime?"
Alan's relief at finding a Roughneck Raven turned into furious panic as he realized that he was getting nowhere with his inquiries. Relinquishing his pride, he made a final plea for help, "C'mon man, I'm not kidding! I need to get to that supply outpost! I'm literally begging you!"
The driver of the car merely laughed, and without another word, slowly rolled up his window. As it slowly drew up, Alan saw himself in the reflection of the glass. Tall, gaunt, dirty, and sporting a grimy beard that certainly didn't help him look like an Intel Officer.
I look like a fucking homeless person, that's what. Nobody in their right mind would think I'm a new recruit for anything.
"To hell with you too, dickhead!" Alan wasn't a profane person, usually. But something about the heat, disappointment, frustration, and self-pity just made him so angry that right now, he needed to let off a little bit of steam. He walked back to the sidewalk once the traffic started moving again, paying little heed to the cars that stopped for him. Someone shouted at him to get off the road, and he broke out of his dejected slumber long enough to make a dash for the curb, feeling the movement of tires behind him as the people of Darwin decided that he was no longer in their way.
Now comes the part where I miss my flight and descend into a sorry life as an Australian drug addict. Maybe I'll go live with the emus for five years and then return for my vengeance.
He humored the ramblings of his mind, imagining that he would go find some other PMC to sign with, become an elite soldier, and track down the idiot in the white car and throw him out of a helicopter. He put a little more thought into the logistics of forming an emu army, but ultimately decided that there was no viable way to organize his imagined legions of emus into strategic positions. His third idea, though, would turn out to be one of his most important.
Wasn't there that oriental market building that had a "Help Wanted" sign? I'm probably the only Chinese person in Darwin... and I do make a damn good Boba milk tea.
The day's events had been predetermined by fate, Alan decided. And, apparently, fate didn't want him signing with Roughneck Ravens. He devised a new plan, one that involved working at the Chinese store until he had enough money to buy a flight home and then continuing his dream of becoming an actor of world renown. The thought lifted his spirits, and he hummed an upbeat tune as he traversed the short distance to the oriental market.
After 30 minutes of easy walking, made relaxing by the gentle breeze which had recently started, Alan stood in the oriental marketplace's main parking lot, shivering with what could have been either excitement, anger, or a mixture of both.
There, parked barely 5 meters from the front door of the marketplace, was the very same white car, sporting the exact blue raven decal from before. The only difference was that the car was empty; Alan reasoned that the driver was probably getting food from the oriental market.
Fate worked in mysterious ways, then. Alan pushed open the market door with a newfound confidence and crossed past stalls selling noodles and baozi until he stood in front of the familiar face that had rebuked him so rudely before. Alan took a deep breath, stuck out his hand in greeting.
"Hey, I'm Alan. Now, I get that we might have started off badly but I am the new Intel- Hey, where are you going?" Alan stared in shock as the man walked silently away from him, moving into an aisle as if nothing had even happened.
Alan felt frustration fill his body, and his fingers twitched like an electrocuted man. But, he needed to convince the man to talk to him, and so he swallowed his anger under a well-trained facade of freewheeling charm.
Following him, he weaved through aisle and aisle as the blonde haired man consistently turned to avoid him, either turning left or right at the aisle, and heading towards a different part of the market. Alan considered running to catch up, but figured that if he started running, the other man would follow suit, making the entire activity futile. The trick, therefore, was to corner the paranoid idiot. At the next row of stalls, Alan waited until the blonde hair of his tormentor passed out of his line of sight, heading left towards a group of stalls selling exotic fruits and vegetables. He clenched his fists inadvertently, and walked through the stall directly left of him, saying a simple "Sorry" to the shocked owner, who tracked his passing with an expression of extreme indignation. The ploy worked, and as Alan exited the left side of the stall, he saw the man he needed pushing his way through the crowd, taking worried glances behind him every now and then. Alan accosted him by surprise, grabbing him by the shirt as he passed, "Hear me out, for God's sake!" Alan said, surprising himself with the malice imbued in the words.
The other man seemed surprised as well, since he nearly immediately ceased to struggle, and adopted a more conciliatory tone.
"Ok, ok! I'll hear you out, you wacko, just stop following me!" Came the response, level in tone, but betrayed by a quiver of exasperation towards the end, which communicated the subtler, unspoken message of "Fuck off."
Alan was loathe to give up, especially since his only alternative was to work in the market for the next few months, and redoubled his efforts to charm his opponent into handing him some semblance of assistance.
"Look man, I realize you're busy, but I've lost my way to the Roughneck Ravens outpost. Now, I would completely appreciate it if you could at the very least point me in the right direction." Alan made sure to sound casual and confident, as if he was only asking the man to pick up a pen he'd dropped.
The blonde haired idiot looked at Decoy with an annoyed expression, but slowly conceded, "Yeah, I'm going to the outpost. I gotta pick up some tofu from here and deliver it to base."
Hail Mary, full of grace, hallowed be your name... wait, am I saying that right?
Decoy decided to thank his God later, and settled for a simple response. "Thanks for that. I'm Alan, by the way."
"Uh, ok. I'm Aleksander. Why are you still here?"
"Well, I mean, since you're going to the outpost anyways, and your car has more than enough room to hold two people... d'ya think I could get a ride?"
"Sorry, but I don't have enough room in the car for you and the tofu. If I don't buckle in the tofu on the seats, it might rise up against me and cause me to crash."
The audacity of the comment made Alan do a double take.
This guy is scared of a tofu rebellion? What the hell?
"Can't you put the tofu in the trunk?" Alan hazarded, hoping that it wouldn't offend Aleksander.
"Put in it the trunk. Ha! I wouldn't put tofu in the trunk any sooner than I'd put an emu in a zoo. You're just asking for the tofu to rise up and kill you. And I'm not stupid, I'll have the tofu right where I can see it."
Your kingdom come, your will be done, please for Jesus's sake help me.
"Well, I mean, couldn't I like stay in the back and watch the tofu? So it doesn't like, rebel against you?"
"Hah! You'd succumb to the melodious communist temptations of the tofu menace in an instant. They're persuasive, those white bastards. I can't trust anyone other than myself to deal with tofu. Now, before you waste my time any longer, I have tofu to go pick up."
And without another word, Aleksander disappeared back into the throng of people, supposedly looking for tofu to buy. Alan stood in the middle of the crowd, hand over his face, as his frazzled mind struggled to formulate a new plan.
Ok, this is a good idea... Uh, now I need a... paperclip should work...mhmmm... Yeah! Here goes... man, its dark in here!
Alan felt his legs in the cramped, dark space which he now inhabited. When he'd first seen it, he had the idea that it'd be... bigger, or at least padded. There, laying in the stuffy heat of the confined room, Alan began to regret his actions. He barely had room to even stretch his legs! However, he soon found that if he pulled himself into a fetal position, he realized that the dark compartment was a quite comfortable place to take a nap. Since there was no telling when he'd get moving, Alan took off his shirt and bundled it up under his head, creating a functional pillow, even if it wasn't the most comfortable. After a day like this, he needed the sleep.
