Tabula Rasa
Interval One
Longhand Plans
A/N – The prologue was a little jumpy, I admit—But I did want to catch some attention. There will be twists and turns galore during this strange new quest, and things will move at a breakneck pace. But hopefully, you all don't mind coming along for the ride.
As mentioned before, F.E.A.R encompasses all special squads in this story. They have all decided to meet in one area, to defeat this new menace. (Yes, new. Something a little unexpected.)
You may start to see some characters for who they truly are. Who says that F.E.A.R is ethical all the time?
With that, please enjoy Tabula Rasa, Interval One. Hopefully, you'll get 100%.
Interval One
Begin
Confusion was the rampant emotion in the room.
The Commissioner, however, maybe in some form of pity on the already shaken crew before him, spoke up quickly, crossing his arms in clear distaste. Something was very wrong. And maybe, to be honest, they couldn't handle it anymore. Hell, could things get any worse, any more unbelievable? Becket couldn't think of anything more difficult than trying to stop a hateful spirit bent on revenge.
"Despite what I've just been told, I'm making an override of sorts. I ain't giving you this information now, your heads aren't screwed on straight. Go back to your quarters, get some sleep. We can deal with this in the morning."
Argument didn't seem to be a factor. Standing, and pushing chairs in, the men in the room exited, excited at the chance to sleep, and probably too drunk to stay in serious conversation either way. After examining all the faces he could, he made the decision that Rodney looked the most worn out of all of them.
Whatever had just been said would change everything. That much he could deduce.
"Rodney, is it…" Becket stood, all of a sudden feeling strong again, fatigue disappearing before he had a chance to be amazed. "Does this have to do with Alma?"
Silence seemed to be the best answer. When the others eyes met his, there was no nod, no assent to his inquiry. Color stayed the same, nothing warped out of recognition. And the older man's whisper was no comfort, only sustaining his newfound fear of sleep.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Hell, I can't get this through my fucking head." A hard bang on the table, the man's fist clenched as tight as he was able, and Becket stepped back. Teeth bared, the wrinkled face of the man before him seemed to display a kind of fear and unrestrained hatred, that trying to describe it would be an insult. "Things only just ended, you came back with who you could salvage. And already, in the few hours that things have been peaceful…"
He turned, taking a deep breath, maybe trying to relax—Or, maybe trying to stay conscious. "Things have taken a 180, Sergeant. Our enemy is different this time." He stopped, mouth still open, as if he wanted to say more. Instead, a hand was reached out, placed tightly on Beckets shoulder. "Get some rest. You'll need it. I honestly don't know how the others will react, but it seems you're pretty damn level headed. That's good, that's what this calls for. I don't think I'll sleep a wink, and I'm afraid you won't either, if I say another word."
With that, the man left the room. And Becket was left to try to piece things together with his own imagination.
He prayed that any blood covered imagery he came up with, any frightening scenario of death and decay, was wrong. Hopefully, he would still be sane tomorrow.
The smoke seemed to make shapes, as it floated up towards the black sky. It wasn't raining anymore, just overcast—And the silence was even more pronounced, when he couldn't hear the droplets hitting the concrete.
Sitting back, having a smoke, not focusing on any one thing. Hell, he felt pretty damn normal.
"I have an excuse for not being in bed, but what the hell, Becket? You've had the shittiest day out of anyone, I'd think you'd be out like a light."
Glancing up, Stokes was stumbling out of the doorway, obviously bandaged around her midsection, wearing loose sweatpants and a hospital type gown. Making room for her on the metal bench, she sat, nearly falling back, before cursing as the ice cold temperature of the bars easily soaked through the thin material she was wrapped in.
Yet, he couldn't find the strength to smirk.
"You know, I still don't understand half of what happened today. I didn't sign up for this…I'm Army, that was where I got my bearings, perfectly normal firefights. They should make this into a damn movie—Better yet, some video game. Can you imagine, kids down at the arcade, trying to simulate the hell we've been through today, with some little plastic controllers? Could fuck them up, for the rest of their lives. "
She was silent for a moment. He felt some remorse, for not responding. Joking didn't seem to fit in with the fabric of his life anymore.
"So? You sit out in the freezing cold for your health, or are you waiting for something? "
"You should be inside."
She was quiet after that, staring up at the sky, looking more awake than she should be. Hair pulled back, she looked like a tough woman, always, never letting her guard down. A true soldier. And apparently, that strength would be necessary. Sure, she had physical prowess, she could shoot a gun with the best of them. But how would she handle any news that came along?
They had survived. But how long would their mental states remain? Were they already deteriorating?
"So, what the hell do you think was up with that phone call? Seemed serious. I thought we would at least get a quiet weekend."
And so, the subject was brought up. He enjoyed letting his thoughts drift to other things. But Becket wasn't so lucky, not anymore.
"Apparently, the enemy isn't one that we're familiar with, not anymore. Whatever is going on, he said that I wouldn't believe him if he told me."
And suddenly, that usual thoughtful expression was illuminated on her face—The one that came up whenever she was trying to decide which restaurant to go to for lunch, or which firearm to use to take out the opposing side. She could crack any problem, any decision, any unsolved case. But this may prove to be a little more difficult.
"Is Alma involved?"
His body twitched at the name. Fear, no, wasn't fear. He really had lost his mind. 'Did she really want to be this way? Blood on those tiny feet.'
"I'm positive she is, Lieutenant. He didn't say it outright, but I could see it in his eyes when I asked. She isn't the enemy, for whatever reason, this is something different. Though, I find it interesting that he brought up that technology that was found—what importance is it to us now? How could we harness it, to any advantage?"
"Call me Stokes, Becket. We've been on this team long enough now, been through enough. Always so fucking formal."
His words had gone largely unheard, or they were being ignored. But he had just opened a can of worms, and his head wouldn't stop trying to scream the answer. The breeze hit his uncovered face, tiny splatters of blood still speckling his skin and uniform. He realized suddenly how he'd love a change of clothes, a nice shave—funny, how the things that made him a human being were quickly going out the window. Maybe he was being made into a monster.
Maybe she had done it.
"I'm going inside. You sit out here and think for as long as you want. About puppies, or kittens, or whatever is in that head of yours." Standing, the woman gave him a quick glance before sliding open the glass door. "You did one hell of a job out there, Becket. Get some rest. Everyone else is out cold, and you did the most work. Try not to think about what's in store." She flashed a quick thumbs up, a smile meant to distract, before closing the door, without a sound.
He could have sworn he heard the absent voice.
Maybe she was begging.
'Go easy on her. Please, she's just a kid.'
Unlike their friendly allies in the Army, and other branches of the military, the slightly less money conscious bigwigs at F.E.A.R didn't give them cots. They received fully sized beds, all in one large room for males, and another for females. Which meant the unfair advantage of Stokes getting an entire room all to herself—though, women were more partial about that kind of thing. Give men a bed, they sleep. There isn't too much to figure out.
Though, Becket realized that within the last twenty four hours, each person on the team had become a little more complex.
Morales was snoring, shaking the windows with every inhale, but that wasn't the reason that he couldn't find sleep. The clock flashed 6:43AM—Letting him know that seventeen more minutes were left between him, and the beginning of what could prove to be a more stressful day than he was prepared for. He had managed to cram in three hours of sleep, straight through, without any disturbance.
At least, any disturbance he could easily remember. She must have been in his subconscious, somewhere, at some point. But maybe she didn't want to be seen.
'All units, report to Laboratory One at 7:00 sharp. I repeat…'
A loud thump was heard as Morales, in the most ungraceful manner possible, fell out of bed with a loud groan, the ear piercing frequency of the intercom as potent as usual. Everyone had hit the tiled floor at least once, while in a peaceful slumber. It became part of life after a while—apparently, Morales wasn't used to it quite yet.
"That was best sleep I've ever had." Other mumbles were heard around the room, everyone awakening, and in various stages of awareness, some easily ready to go, others complaining about lack of coffee. Most were suiting up, talking about what could be happening—all in all, there were six men in the room, and Stoker would come along, giving them seven in all. But only three of them were fighters in the field, the others behind the scenes. The four new recruits would give them seven fighters, with which to use against the new threat.
Whatever that new threat could be.
Men were suited up easily—and, without hesitance, he could place Stoker in that category. She didn't think of herself as woman, really, Becket could see that much from the way she carried herself. She climbed the ladder through pure skill, not sex appeal. Hair tied back, pulling on a glove, she exited her room, meeting the men in the hall with a staunch 'Good Morning.'
"Your wound ain't botherin' ya, Stokes? Shit, you're tougher than we are, I'll give you that." One of the men from the weapons department quipped. Other laughed, as they made their way down the series of staircases, to the lab. To be honest, Becket wasn't sure how many people had been in the underground part of the facility—they usually didn't have reasons. Whatever new weapons they received were created there, and who knew what else. Their job was to fight, not to ponder what was beyond understanding.
Approaching the heavy metal doors, the hallway wide and spotlessly clean, they stopped, as the Commissioner stood before them, obviously without a wink of sleep. Clearing his throat, he gave a solemn good morning to the group, receiving a few back, along with some worried glances. Whatever was behind the door may be better left unknown.
Becket stood beside Stokes, while the others seemed to stay back. Something in the air wasn't right, it was cruel, it was heavy.
"Say, does anyone else feel damn tired all of a sudden?" Stokes asked suddenly, hand on her forehead, eyes squinted. "Maybe that isn't the right word. Does anyone else feel fucking depressed?" She glanced around, clearly agitated. "Maybe you need some new lighting down here. Harness some damn sunlight."
The others seemed to agree—But Becket didn't seem to be feeling the same thing. Something was odd, but that wasn't it. Maybe he was the odd one out.
It wouldn't be the first time.
The Commissioner wasn't himself. Becket knew that the average comeback to a quip like that would have been something along the lines of 'I'll put that in the suggestion box.' But today, he looked nervous. Downright scared. And this was a man who had been on the front lines of every conflict over the past thirty years.
"I'm going to introduce you to the new recruits. All three are from the U.S Army, best in their field. Go easy on 'em at first, they will have plenty of time to sharpen up out on the field."
The group followed him into the dark chamber, with obviously huge ceilings, and machines of every kind around—One in front of them, spherical, covered by a dark sheet, must have been thirty feet in diameter. Everyone seemed to have noticed it, but their gaze was immediately drawn to three men, standing before them. Their posture was that of perfectly trained soldiers, and they were nothing close to being scared and confused by their new environment. Each came forward, with their name, and rank, all well built, standing tall. Most wouldn't dare to pick a fight with them—But in this sector, they were dealing with beings who could care less about muscle mass.
"Harvey Barton, First Lieutenant. "
"Garrett Roberts, Major."
"Pierce Fadon, Captain."
They gave their salutes, and Becket felt his body mimic the movement before him, a habit as common to him as eating, breathing. Now, the atmosphere was beginning to take on what Stokes had spoken of—turning his head slightly to look at his partners, he could see that they had all taken on a new wariness. No anger was present, just a look of exhaustion.
"Welcome to F.E.A.R, you will be an asset to our team. Gentleman, stand with the ranks, please. Let's discuss a new part of our mission. You won't be going out on assignment today, the current situation doesn't allow for that. Briefings will take place over the next few days, time for all of you to become…acquainted, to the work ahead. To each other."
Stepping forward, Becket asked his question quickly, no sense of remorse. "Commissioner, you told us last night that there would be four new recruits added to the ranks."
The man sighed audibly, running a hand through his hair, his trademark hat missing, in what may have been panic, or forgetfulness from lack of rest. "Yes, well…I will explain that now. Before I do…" He stood before the men and woman, hands behind his back, head bowed. He gathered his thoughts, and spoke in a low tone, nearly a whisper. Each strained to hear him clearly.
"Before I continue, those with weak constitutions may want to leave. This is not only a warning for our new recruits." His gray eyes traveled over each one of them, trying to pick the weak out of the pack. "I would tell you to sit down, if there were chairs around. Hell, you may want to sit on the floor. Lord knows that last night, I didn't know it had already come so far." Biting his lip, Rodney stopped. "If you don't think you can handle any more shock to the system, leave."
You could hear a pin drop. Not one person moved.
"Very well, then." The Commissioners voice raised up only slightly more, as if he was afraid that he would be overheard. His gaze came to rest behind him, the faintest tremble through him. "I told you yesterday about the technology that was discovered in the wreckage. It could suppress…her powers. Not fully, but enough to make her no longer such a powerful threat. Imagine, if we could use her power to our advantage. She can see into the minds of whomever she wishes, influence actions…Frightening, maybe, but not so much if she were on a leash." He seemed to stumble over the words, not mentioning a name—But there was no confusion as to whom he was speaking about.
One of the men, one that he knew to be the most vulgar and outspoken, laughed outright, startling everyone. "Damn right. I only saw the bitch once, but it scared the shit out of me. Was rounding a corner, and there she was. Looked up at me, I almost ran the fuck away. But before I could make a thought, she was gone. It ain't right, spirits and shit walkin' the earth. Ain't natural."
The Commissioner pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, slowly wiping the sweat from his brow. "Alma was discovered. In the wreckage."
There it was, that eerie silence.
"Alma is a ghost. A spirit." Becket interrupted, voice taking on a rare urgency, that he tried like hell to suppress. "What do you mean, she was found?"
"Alma is dead, but her body was somewhat preserved, in that amniotic fluid. Obviously, it had deteriorated to some extent, but it was still recognizable." He coughed, leaning against a nearby rail, the weariness seeming to affect him the most. "Two members of our cleanup team found out the hard way, who it was. They are currently in the infirmary."
Stokes looked up, shocked. "They aren't dead? Liquefied?"
The Commissioner glanced up at the wounded woman. "Correct. They had some deep wounds on their arms and back, and were babbling in some form of gibberish, but they are healing, it seems. Starting to speak coherently again."
Morales spoke up. "Get to the point, Rodney. Did they put a stake through her heart?"
The blonde haired soldier laughed, but everyone else was staring intently ahead. This was already too much. Becket was trying to calm his racing mind. "You found a body, but it was just a dead body, wasn't it?"
"The bigwigs gave the order to bring it back, dead body or not. They wanted to study it, see if they could discover anything of interest. So, they did that very thing. Brought it back, put it in their own amniotic fluid. Alma is around forty six years old, factually, but her body looks to be around age fifteen, or sixteen. They only meant to preserve it, do some X-rays, but…" He stopped, turning around, his back to the men.
It was a habit of the Commissioners, to avert his eyes when something huge was about to be announced. He feared what he would see in others eyes, maybe. Rejection, he didn't want to be the cause.
"They had that suppressor sent back here, first. It was inspected, tweaked…It took no time at all to get it up to par. It was a genius invention, it was just invented too late. So many of lives could have been saved, if it were implemented just a little earlier." He clenched the bar he was leaning against, speaking up. "Once they got the body back, those two men were attacked. The body hadn't moved, so they assumed it was her spirit, trying to stop us from moving it."
It was times like this, when Becket expected something to jump out of the shadows.
"They were measuring the psychic waves in the air, they were off the charts. Vials were starting to fly off the shelves; men were flying through the air. They had nothing to lose. They thought, maybe her body has something to do with all of this. And even if it didn't, it wouldn't hurt to put the suppressor onto her. They clamped it around her neck, and immediately, everything came to a halt."
There were a few gasps from the group, a few mumbles. "You've got to be kidding me, Rodney." Stokes had her mouth wide open, and Becket was no better, eyes as wide as they could be.
"That isn't the strangest part." He turned, looking at them again, sweat dripping down his brow. "The body didn't have a heartbeat when they brought it in, they made sure. But the second they clamped that thing around her neck, she took in one deep breath—apparently, the scream was loud enough to be heard throughout the entire facility."
Now, the panic came. "What, she is a fucking zombie now?" The blonde haired man spoke. "You've got to be shitting us, Rodney, how the fuck is that possible?"
The commissioner glanced over at the man, before walking over to the large black curtain containing the hulking machine that Becket had noticed when they entered the lab. "There are a lot of unexplained things in this line of work, Richards. You should know that by now. One last thing…That partially decomposed body? It is healing itself up, quite nicely."
With that, he tugged. The sound of cloth against cloth was heard, as it hit the hard concrete floor. Before them, was a huge tank. Becket stepped back, reminded of another place, too eerily familiar to another room he knew all too well.
Before the men, floating in the tank, was the girl they were constantly speaking of, running from, trying to point out with a flashlight. The Commissioner was correct—One of the legs was purple and black, one hand seeming too skeletal. Painfully thin, she was, but her hair was intact. Eyes closed, body naked in the fluid, metal ring around her lengthy neck. Yet, even in this unconsciousness, Becket felt a new panic. Not for his own life, he didn't feel threatened. The others were less enthusiastic—A few screams echoed through the chamber, the loudest from Stokes. Curses were heard, and the inevitable questions—"What the fuck?" "You've got to be kidding me." "I quit."—were discernable in the riot. But the only thing Becket could think, was far too selfless for his own good.
'Get her out. She doesn't want to be there. She's been there for too long.'
And she did look innocent, somehow alert, in that tank. Memories flashed, of Fox being liquefied, before his very eyes. Of the bloody footprints, of the taunting words of the tormented girl, now closer to being a woman. Yet even with these truths staring him in the face, he couldn't turn and walk out.
'Help me.'
The Commissioners voice rang out, a yell at first, to quiet the chatter. Once attention was had, he said the words that would change the company, forever.
"Alma Wade will be the fourth new recruit into the F.E.A.R team. I expect you will welcome her to the team, properly."
Interval One Complete, 100%
Coming soon, Interval Two: Freedom Flight – In which the fluid is drained, words are exchanged, jobs are lost, punches are thrown, pain is obvious, and understanding seems to be a lost virtue.