April 25th, 1988
The confines of Alan's temporary abode were suddenly filled with a rumbling growl which soon petered off into a softer, omnipresent purr, jolting the napping stowaway from his sleep. Seconds later, Alan felt his hiding space begin to move, which instantly cleared any lingering drowsiness that he may have had. He lay back on his stomach as the vehicle began to move back, then rotate, and soon begin to move forward. As they glided along, a deafening electronic beat began to permeate through the walls. It bounced regularly at first, filled with a cacophony of synthetic sounds, as if a baby had gotten its hands on a synth board and began to press buttons at random. As Alan listened, the beat began to increase in pitch and fervor, reaching a musical tipping point before exploding into a free for all of melodies, synthetic additions, and techno funk which washed over him like a tsunami. The beat at this point of the song was so fast that Alan began to feel his chest tighten, and he could almost swore that his heart had begun to beat faster than normal in that moment. He took a deep, calming breath as he pulled his legs in tighter, protecting himself from the deluge of noise emanating from the speakers.
God was merciful on Alan, though, and after only a couple more seconds of the feverous tempo, the song once again dropped back into a steady, rhythmic pattern much easier on the ears. The interesting part was when the vocals kicked in, spewing out verses about how the singer was "going to get you like a space boy," and other meaningless drivel that was quickly drowned out by yet another frenzied attempt to make as much noise as possible in a given interval of time, spraying out a supercharged collection of synthetic beats. This time, Alan was more or less inured to the phenomenon, and felt the tightness in his chest begin to release as he discovered a constant undertone within the music, guiding it along while still allowing for the kind of outbursts that he'd heard. There was only one problem, and the problem was that "Space Boy" by Dave Rodgers would be written in 1998, a decade in the future. That problem was instantly erased from Alan's mind by a simple voice which said only one word.
Wormholes.
Alan shrugged, history, he decided, was all based off of who wrote it. His trans-dimensional thoughts and doubts were placed on the backburner as a new voice entered the chorus, unburdened by the limitations of cassette tape recording. It sang along to the lyrics with barely passable pitch, obviously the vocals of an untrained singer. It rang harshly within Alan's ears, and at certain points he was tempted to notify the wannabe rock star of just how terribly his pitch was, perhaps give him a quick tip on adjusting your tone to what notes you can realistically hit. A satisfying but wholly wasteful idea, since it would most surely lead to his discovery, and if he was discovered, everything was for naught.
After 30 long minutes of lightning fast music, accompanied by the inept vocals of the lunatic who listened to it, Alan finally felt his body slow down. The room shifted to the left and then crawled backwards before coming to a complete stop. Alan heard a door open and then slam closed moments afterward. Another door was opened, kept open for what was probably 10 seconds, and then another slam resonated through Alan's darkness. He heard voices outside.
"92 minutes and 36 seconds, Leopard. That's almost 20 more minutes than your usual time. What happened?"
"It's not my fault. I got delayed at the marketplace because some idiot kept chasing me around the stalls, and I had to take some wrong turns to avoid him."
"Why was he chasing you?"
"I dunno, he said he was a new recruit and that he needed to come here, but from the looks of him I'd say he's a vagrant looking to bluff his way into a nice comfy job."
"Yeah, I understand. We get a lot of those nowadays, with all the recruitment we've been doing. Stupid bogans keep hearing about the employee benefits we're offering and think they can just waltz up and live with us."
"I've gotta go deliver this to Cobra before it's too late dude, but I'll catch up with you later."
"Before you go, Leopard, Commander Jackal wanted me to give this to you."
"Uh huh... Aw, shit. There's three new recruits coming in today, and two of them are going to be placed in Combat. Jackal wants me to give them the orientation."
"Well, what are their scores?"
"Uh, one A+ rank sapper and one B rank sniper. And they've both got combat experience, so my job shouldn't be too hard. Third guy is going into Intel, he's got no combat experience but according to his file..."
Aleksander, now known to Alan as Leopard, immediately stopped talking. The pause was long, awkward, and barely broken by Leopard's companion, who uncertainly began, "Hey, dude, you ok? You look like you've just seen a ghost."
The stammered reply came back with a tremble that exuded the fear of a man unhinged. "Yeah, y-yeah, I'm cool, just the file and something and y'know, stuff. I'm gonna go uh, check the tofu in with Cobra, so I'll see you around, Giraffe."
"Alright, have a good one."
Alan waited until he could no longer hear the receding footsteps, and then stealthily climbed out of the trunk of Aleksander's car. He was in the parking lot of a small plot, bordered by a chain link fence. A few steps away from him was the entrance to a rectangular mobile house, the kind you see at construction sites, and behind him lay the main gate, which had been padlocked shut.
His eyes strolled around as he surveyed the area for any sign of the two voices he'd heard. The parking lot was deserted, but the incoherent sound of voices could be heard in the general vicinity of the squat wooden building that stood on a makeshift bed of concrete blocks. A plastic outhouse beside the shack was also illuminated, betraying the presence of an inhabitant.
Well, time to make my grand entrance.
Alan composed himself, straightening his shirt and making sure to appear as presentable as possible. He hadn't come this far to be turned away for looking like a beggar, but given his current garments it was certainly a possibility. He wiped the sweat from his brow and stretched his legs in a way he hoped would make it less obvious that he'd spent the last 40 minutes curled in a ball. Satisfied, he strode up to the polished wooden steps of the mobile home and knocked twice.
Immediately, the voices within ceased to sound. Alan heard the sound of footfalls approach the door, which was promptly thrown open by a tall, brown haired man, who wore an olive drab uniform emblazoned with a blue raven patch on his shoulder. He stared at Alan for a few seconds, looking him over head to toe. With an unsettling, impassive face, he duly said, "Who are you, and how'd you get here?" Almost as if he was questioning a grocery store clerk about the price of a certain item.
Alan smiled warmly and stuck out his hand. "I'm Alan Song, the new Intel recruit. I need a flight out to base by tomorrow, and I'm told this is the place to be. How long until I can catch a ride?"
As he spoke, Alan's attention was drawn to the sheepish, apologetic look Aleksander was flashing him from behind his ally's back. He mouthed something silently, which Alan interpreted as being some sort of apologetic statement. It was tempting to make a snarky reply, but then again, he was new to this PMC thing, and he certainly didn't want to go around making enemies. He shrugged and put on an amicable face, hoping to get the message across that he held no hard feelings.
Alan was distracted by his attempts at diplomacy, so much so that he didn't notice the man in front of him grabbing him into a bear hug until he was firmly trapped in his grasp. He struggled moderately to send the message that he was not one for hugs. His wriggling, however, only seemed to increase the pressure on his torso.
"Ok, Ok, I'm good. Put me down, man. Please, I'm feeling a little tight here!" Alan increased his pitch on the last sentence as the vice around his rib cage suddenly tightened, forcing air out of his lungs. He could see Aleksander laughing madly in the back, though the face directly ahead of him remained impassive, his bored eyes staring into Alan's panicked gaze as he squeezed the thin frame in his arms.
Alan began to feel the vertebrae in his spine pop as their gas pockets were burst, and at this point he became convinced that this was no longer a joke, that, in their strange PMC ways, they had judged him a homeless trespasser and decided to kill him. His hands scrambled around, looking for something, anything, to help him escape his impending doom.
Salvation presented itself in the form of a grey disc, one of many within an open cardboard box. Alan put on a burst of energy, setting his feet against the doorframe and pushing forward with all his might. His assailant only moved back two steps, but it was far enough for Alan to reach one of the grey discs within the box. He placed his hands over it discreetly, feeling the cold metal in his hands, and made one last struggle to free up more of his arm. The instant his elbow escaped, Alan brought up his arm, and slammed the metal disk into the left side of his enemy's head. What followed would become immortalized as a Roughneck Raven inside joke, and form Alan's identity on base as a scrappy and clever soldier, even if he was... unorthodox, to say the least.
The impact upon the disc caused it to perform the purpose for which it was made for, expanding a giant rubber balloon into a life sized figure in less than a second. The deployment of the decoy threw the Roughneck Raven soldier straight into a stainless steel desk, where he lay unmoving. Leopard sprang to his feet, a shocked and concerned expression on his face. Alan grabbed for another disc, and held it out threateningly in front of him, waving it wildly, equally as shocked as Leopard at the sudden turn of events.
"Stay where you are! I'm not afraid to use this! You move, um, when I tell you to move, goddammit!" Alan spoke haltingly, trying to imbue his voice with as much malice and command as he could muster. He was already confused enough with the unconscious soldier lying on the desk and the rubber soldier that lay on the floor, and he certainly didn't need to add one more person to the mix, at least not until a few things were explained to him. He was indignant, surprised, and above all, really angry at the day's events, he'd dealt with the grubby heat, his own lack of funds, Leopard's unhelpfulness, and even confined himself to the trunk of a car to reach this point. Then, he'd been given the worst hug of his life and been forced to knock his opponent out with some sort of balloon disc contraption. He had no more patience left for the world and its games.
"What the hell was that?! Are you trying to kill me? For god's sake, I'm the new Intel recruit, I swear!" Alan yelled madly, spittle flying from his uncontrolled lips.
"Woah, mango, slow down! We weren't trying to hurt you! Just... squeeze you unconscious!"
"Squeeze me unconscious! What the hell?! That's your idea of fun? And why'd you call me a mango, huh? Some sort of joke? I'll knock you right upside the head with this thing, God help me!"
"Hey, there's no need for that, dude. I'm not doing anything. See? My hands are up..." As he finished his sentence, Leopard stepped forward towards Alan, grabbing him by the leg and chest and lifting him promptly into the air. Alan was by no means a soldier, but he'd studied martial arts, and he knew what a CQC throw looked like when he saw it. In the split second before Leopard would have thrown him into the wall, Decoy flailed around with his leg and kicked the box of grey discs with his free leg, hard. He heard the sound of hissing air, inflating the rubber pockets. He was dropped mid-throw, and had barely time to think-
Man, I'm a badass.
Three balloons inflated simultaneously, smacking Alan in the head, stomach, and thigh. The impact launched him into the doorway, where he felt himself connect with something fleshy and soft before continuing his movement out into the evening air.
He tumbled down the doorway steps and landed in the dirt on his hands and knees, wincing with pain as his exposed skin scraped against the ground. Slowly, he turned himself over onto his back, lying there for a few seconds while he recovered his breath. Just as he began to get to his feet, he heard footsteps approaching from around the corner of the house. An exasperated voice punctured the silence.
"I swear, if you idiots are sucking helium from the decoys again..." The sound stopped as Alan and its source locked eyes. It was the 3rd Roughneck Raven in the outpost that day, Stone Giraffe, and he'd just returned from having what he would later describe as the "best crap in my life". For a tense 3 seconds he stood there, before quizzically raising an eyebrow.
"And who might you be?" He intoned with the tone and body language of an annoyed teacher confronting a misbehaving student.
Alan pushed himself to his feet and backed away from Giraffe, hands locked into a sparring stance.
"Don't you try anything! I just incapacitated your two friends in the hut and believe me, I've got no problem with going for three!" Alan's attempt at a threatening speech was undermined by his shaking voice and quivering arms, a result of the extreme adrenaline rush that he was experiencing.
"Hey, hey, calm down. What do you mean by "incapacitated"? Are they tied up, did you knock them out, tranquilizer... Which one was it?"
Alan was shocked by Giraffe's casual, nonchalant tone. He showed no sign of aggression, nor did he make any attempt to step towards Alan. He merely stood there, looking Alan up and down like he was some sort of tree Giraffe had never seen before. Alan was surprised by this turn of events, but after what he'd gone through, he wasn't complaining.
"Well, I threw some sort of grey metal disk at them, and then a balloon inflated through the disk, which knocked the guy unconscious. Then, the other guy tried to throw me with CQC and I ended up kicking a box of those disks at him..."
"You kicked the box of grey disks?" Giraffe looked momentarily pale, which was then replaced by an expression of great annoyance. "Great, now we'll have to order another shipment of decoys from the mainland." He swiveled his eyes back to Alan, asking him brusquely "And what the hell do you think you're doing here? This is a secure compound, and since the electric fence hasn't been deactivated I'm guessing you got in through the main gate. But who even are you?"
Alan tried his best to smile and sound peaceful, but his voice came out as an unfamiliar, hoarse noise. "I'm here because I'm..." he swallowed, letting saliva moisten up his dry throat, "I'm here because I'm the new Intel Team member."
Giraffe showed no sign of surprise, reverting back to his staid, businesslike expression as he talked. "New Intel Team member, huh? Yeah, we were notified to expect one of those. Here, come help me sort out this mess in the hut and we'll get you onto a helicopter to base as soon as we can."
Alan shrugged, since he really had no other choice, and followed Giraffe into the hut, stopping behind him in time to hear him remark, with what seemed to be a strange mixture between amusement and worry, "Holy shit, this is rich. There's decoys... Everywhere! Fuck, I've never even seen this many decoys all inflated at the same time! This is going to take a whole shitton of work to clean up. Here."
Giraffe handed Alan a small survival knife, and then drew another one from within his pant leg. Alan didn't even have time to ask him what this was all about when he moved towards one of the inflated decoys and slashed it until it popped.
Oh, so that's how we're cleaning this up. Shit.
Alan sighed as he too waded into the jungle of rubber, hacking and slashing his way through the stacks of human-shaped balloons.
