For all Disclaimers: See Chapters One and Two.
Note: See Chapter One for brief of the main story idea, this will unlikely make much sense if you don't.
CHAPTER FOUR Lost Souls/June 7th, 1996, central Iraq/
Webb's expression, for the second time in two days, was simply indescribable. However, the reason this time was far more simple disbelief than shock, even though a definite combination of the two had hit him for six. An initial inability to absorb the fact that he had been called down into the ruined refinery complex to find that he was being shown six dead Iraqi Republican Guard soldiers, killed without a shot being fired, hadn't helped.
Worse, though, had been the fact that they were guarding the supposedly secret emergency exit from the facility, where no one should have been as a simple matter of fact given all of the intelligence they had. That one even had Serena wondering just what they were missing, which immediately put her on edge since lacking information always meant surprises of the worst kind, but in this case there seemed to be little they could do about it.
"Well, we could just leave them here to rot? No radios means they weren't checking in with anyone, we've seen neither hide nor hair of patrols or possible reinforcements so no-ones looking for them and their dead, so they won't be complaining" said Tom, voicing his opinion with a tone of voice that suggested he simply didn't care one way or another. Serena simply didn't question whether or not he was serious, she knew he was. He hadn't gained the call-sign "Iceman" by being bothered by little things like how many people he had to kill to get the job done. He would have poured acid over the bodies and stamped the bones into a fine powder without a second thought just to get rid of any evidence-just like her, come to think of it... Although she was more partial to making sure by throwing remains into a furnace, if available.
"Sergeant, shut up unless you have a useful suggestion to make, or you will be the one digging the grave with your bare hands... Alright, we drag them out of sight and leave them to rot, just the three of us, no-one else knows about this. Clear?" ordered Webb, shooting sharp looks at Serena, who looked as though she'd done worse on an average day and couldn't even begin to imagine what the fuss was about, and Tom, who simply stared back with an expression that made Webb break eye contact quick. Both elected to ignore the fact that Webb had insinuated that Tom was in incapable idiot then hijacked his idea as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, also.
It took them mere minutes to conceal the bodies in shadows and under a scattering of debris, then they returned to the desert ground where Chris, Aaron and Stamper were all waiting patiently, Chris noticeably less than the others. Chris tried to catch Serena's eye, but he would have had more luck pinning down the wind. After a minutes brief explaining of the fact that there had been a problem with the emergency exit which was now solved, Webb made a point of ordering everyone to retire to their respective positions as darkness fell again, with extraordinary checks to be made concerning gear and weapons for dawn on the 8th. Serena deliberately avoided Chris and she knew Tom wouldn't say a word, so she felt quite sure that, as she let the world slip away from her one last time, tomorrow, one way or another, all of the questions they all had would be answered...
/June 8th, 1996, central Iraq/
While under them they were only wearing dark-brown Desert boots, light brown shirt and trousers, it still seemed very, very hot, Chris noted as he slowly melted. The dull grey-black suits resembled Hazmat gear, he couldn't help but think, even though with only the goggles over your eyes for visibility and whatever the suit was made of hampering your breathing, he felt almost as though he was inside a boiler suit crossed with an oven in reality. Upper half and lower half tight suits covered arms, legs, torso and groin, while a hood attached to the upper half covered the head, a full-face mask leaving only openings for the broad, round "skiing goggles" that were tinted to prevent anyone seeing in and a breathing patch which filtered air over the mouth. Hard boots covered the feet and lower legs, but weighed enough that he almost had to concentrate to move when he wasn't walking deliberately or else risk going head over heels.
Coms set in the mouth and ear sections of the hood and mask allowed them to communicate securely, but his peripheral vision was ruined and if someone managed to sneak up behind him he was dead, so this didn't really seem helpful to him somehow. However, Serena was wearing one too and acted as though it was the most natural thing in the world, so it was obvious she had experience with these things. She was still around after who knew how long doing worse things than he could easily imagine, he was quite sure. Therefore, if she could manage, he could manage.
However, as it turned out, they never needed the suits.
"Jesus H. Christ!" was the first thing Webb said when they opened the Emergency Exit, which he was first through of course-Chris would give Webb that, he was arrogant as Hell but no coward. Why wasn't immediately apparent, since he stopped dead in the doorway when it was opened, no-one being able to see past him-until Tom took the initiative and shoved him out of the way, then stopped and stared himself.
However, with a solid rock Constitution and a streak of steel for a backbone that would break before it would ever bend, added to the fact that he'd long ago seen too much death in his life, it was only a moment longer before he stepped forwards into the interior and everyone else got a look at what he'd seen. At that point, Chris would later recall, how he failed to throw up was something he would never understand.
Inside, a passageway formed of grey steel plate walls, metal grates for ceiling and floor, led off into the far distance. Brilliantly bright sheer white electric lights illuminated everything as though shadows were to banished from every corner of the facility as a matter of fact, running in a straight line along the ceiling, while a computer port glowed, alert and green-screen signifying Security Passage with large bloody-red words. None of that registered on any of them any more than peripherally, however, what lay on the floor in front of them was what mattered.
A man, clearly not of Middle Eastern origin given his pale skin and light blond hair, was sprawled on his back in front of them, blood still pooling under his head. He wore a white lab coat and light-green Surgical scrubs, wire-rim glasses being sat askew on his head. He had nearly been disembowelled by something which had apparently tried to bite his stomach out, blood soaking his trousers and shoes, lining the route he had taken from within the facility to get to the door, and his left arm appeared to have been severely lacerated just above the elbow, the lower arm very nearly having been severed. A blood-drenched Key card lay futilely on the floor by his head, evidently useless in his attempt to escape, and only one last thing was obvious-a small pistol, a six-shot effort strictly intended to be used on rampaging humans or as a warning when someone was in trouble, not on anything bigger. Clearly, it hadn't helped him here.
Serena was the first to go near the body, automatically analysing what there was to be seen, sensed and understood. Single fatal gunshot wound to the head, point of impact, internal-he'd committed suicide, an odd decision given the state of health he'd been in. Loss of blood-mortal, how he'd gotten to his feet and walked around with those kind of injuries was beyond her by itself. She'd seen people walk around missing limbs and organs in battle shock before they realised that they were dead, seen people shrug off several mortal wounds just to live long enough to see the mission accomplished, seen a man fall off of a mountaintop and run away from the fall alive and unhurt, seen people do impossible, unimaginable things and act as though they were nothing later.
She'd seen and done things which were impossible to imagine and supposedly literally impossible herself to get the job done, but she'd never heard of anyone being up and around with injuries which would have dropped anyone she knew dead in seconds in any case. The pain that would have resulted from the mans injuries alone would have incapacitated "Killer" Cain himself, if she was any judge, so only one assumption was a real possibility. The man had been driven to a point beyond human understanding to attempt to escape something awful deep inside the complex, to the point that combined Willpower and desperation, possibly added to fear, had forced him to move and keep moving even with several mortal injuries. He'd killed himself to be sure that whatever had gotten to him once wouldn't get to finish the job itself, presumably. Just what, she couldn't help but wonder, had the poor bloody fools gone and done in there?
"He killed himself to escape whatever was after him rather than just letting himself die from injuries which should have dropped him in seconds regardless of circumstances. Worse than that, these chest wounds weren't caused by anything human and I've seen a sword do less damage to a man's arm than that. Guns empty, so he shot at whatever got him but didn't stop it, I'd say he didn't even slow it down. This is very bad, Webb, whatever they were working on in there is either loose, or whatever they had in the way of Security has failed and they've got someone rather than something running around with weaponry I don't want to think about attached. Ideas?" asked Serena, tossing away the dead mans gun as she turned to face Webb, raising an eyebrow.
"I can tell I'm really going to regret having got out of bed this week... Alright, listen up boys and woman, this has just become simple. This was a Covert Snatch and Run mission, it is now Survival Horror. People are dead and dying, under attack from nobody knows what, inside a complex we have little idea of the layout of and no idea of staff or guard numbers. We have to go into that complex regardless, complete our mission and get out alive, how is up to you as long as you do your part. On that basis, we will now work like this" said Webb, glancing at everyone in turn before settling briefly on Chris with a warning glare.
"Serena and Chris will work together to get Stamper to the lab where the samples are being held, Aaron, Tom and I will supply cover and a distraction as necessary. If you find anything odd or unusual or aren't sure what's going on, call it in, you may not get a second chance. Rules of Engagement are simple: this place is now a part of Hell if whatever they were working on has gotten loose given what we all know, so take no chances and shoot to kill if you don't recognise the target. Double-check everything, do not take chances unless you have no choice and remember that people you will run across in here will shoot back in some cases, so fire first. Apart from that, forget the suits, we don't need them if security is cut out of the equation. Anyone who believes in God, pray now or "Forever hold your peace"" said Webb, snapping out orders quickly and precisely like the experienced soldier he was. Something Serena had to remind herself of more often than not when he spoke rather than doing his job...
"Works for me, someone going to take his Keycard? You always need access to places you can't reach at the last moment in this job, so if he worked here it ought to help" said Tom, raising an eyebrow as he shrugged out of his suit. Serena seemed to merely step out of hers before she picked up the Keycard and slipped it into a pocket, cleaning it on an unstained patch of the dead Scientists scrubs first. Webb glanced at her for a moment, then shrugged and gestured Aaron and Tom over to his position.
Serena glanced at Chris to get his attention, then made a movement that had him trotting over to her. Stamper, sweating and nervous, edged closer, but they both ignored him. Chris glanced at her-she couldn't help but notice the way sweat rolled down his bare forearms and face, enhancing his good looks and helping to define his toned, hard muscles-then muttered in a low voice "Serena, don't take this the wrong way, but were not all going to be coming back out of here, are we?"
She glanced at him sharply, for an instant not sure what he meant, then realised that he just meant that they were walking into a nightmare and they all knew it. People died on missions all the time, but he "had a feeling" about this one... There wasn't really anything she could say to that, so she shrugged.
"People die all the time Chris, in their sleep, by being shot, via an accident too bizarre to be true and because of a series of circumstances that Machiavelli himself could not have constructed. How isn't as important as why or when, while the most important thing of all is to have the best reason you can. Forget dying like a man, as long as you know your doing the right thing you can die with dignity and grace on your knees begging for your life after suffering every abomination the human mind can conjure. I know that I will, so keep that in mind" said Serena, checking her weapons as she spoke.
Chris stared at her for a moment, then shook his head slowly back and forth. "Serena, it must be nice to have such complete, unquestioning faith in something, but my parents died when I was a boy in the most senseless act you can imagine. At that point I stopped believing in anything but the need for survival to the next day to ensure that, somehow, I am not actually dead. I don't believe in any God or any Political system, nor do I have an idol who I want to be when I grow up any longer. There are people I like and dislike, that's about it. Remember that-and I like you, just so were clear, "Miss Enigma". I think you may well have done things I can't even imagine just because you were told to too people and other things, but you had your reasons. Down where it counts, your really a good person twisted into a bad place. Am I wrong, hmm?" asked Chris.
Serena paused for a few seconds before answering him, then her reply was thoughtful, considered. "You know the worst thing about all of this, Chris? Really? I don't /remember/ what I was like before I started doing all this in reality..." Serena replied, slowly.
"Boyfriend and Girlfriend, if your finished with the intimate chat about your love lives and the state of the world today, can we get a move on /please/?! Time is wearing on and I, for one, want to be home /before/ Christmas!" snapped Webb, his tone of voice indicating his frustration even if his words hadn't. Serena briefly considered all of the ways she could make him suffer before she made him shut up forever, but stopped when she reached fifty after a few seconds recollection. Sick as it sounded, once upon a time she would have, probably, thrown up at even the thought of entertaining such ideas...
*
The steady march down the passageway, following the trail of blood left by the dead Scientist which was already drying in places, smears on the walls where he'd apparently paused to hold himself upright momentarily or slipped, didn't take long. In fact, Serena calculated, moving at the speed of their slowest team member-Stamper, of course-they took five minutes twenty seconds. However, that was the only good news.
A secure door barred their way into the main complex, only accessible by a complex combination lock added to Key-card clearance-or at least this was the case, once. What was left of the three inch thick reinforced steel door now had been smashed halfway out of the door grooves, the upper hinge having been torn right out of the wall, hard steel being buckled, bent and even torn in places, holes which a fist would fit through being dangerously evident. Something had tried, very hard, to rip through the steel door while it was closing, and had very nearly succeeded. That it hadn't seemed more likely the result of distraction than anything else given the horrendous damage inflicted.
Through the doors remains flickering lights could be seen, the complex lighting system clearly having been damaged in this area by whatever had mangled the door. The bright flickers revealed streaks of blood coating walls and door, both sides, what Serena could identify as bullet casings littering the floor near and all about the door-and a buckled AK-47 abandoned in the hallway leading away to the left which looked as though it had been chewed.
The door Key-card scanner read:
:TERMINAL MALFUNCTION
:SYSTEM DAMAGE-PROGRAM CORRUPTION
:FAILSAFE ACTIVATED
:ACCESS DENIED.
Bloody fingerprints were evident on the keypad on the complex side of the door, and Serena guessed that the Scientist had escaped by Overriding the Emergency Lockdown that was in place somehow. It suggested that he had been senior personnel, since lower reach staff in a operation like this were always classified as "Expendable" should everything go to Hell, and that made her feel somewhat better, since she'd been the one to take his Key-card. However, she most certainly did not want to walk in there of her own free will regardless-the problem was, she'd surrendered that choice by accepting this mission...
Webb took a look through the door along with the rest of them, but his expression didn't change beyond showing mild distaste. They all deserved it because they weren't him, she couldn't help but suspect he was thinking. Colonel Mickey Webb had only one priority, his own survival. Anything that he could seize, steal or, somehow, earn that made his life easier was all that he cared about, she knew the type.
"Bloody Hell...okay, Aaron, Tom, Chris, with me, lets put some muscle into shifting this thing. Watch the blood for Gods sake, the last thing we need is some idiot knocking himself unconscious by slipping on it, or worse. Serena, kill the doors power if you can, Stamper just stand out of the way... Alright, on three...one, two, THREE!" snapped Webb, throwing his weight, shoulder first, against the side of the door holding the lock. Nothing happened at first, but adding the combined weight of the other three men almost immediately began to have an effect.
The battered door creaked, groaned and started to shift, but the lock was bent, not broken, and held. The four men applied more pressure even as Serena partially dismantled the terminal, pulling out wires with a small pair of pliers and using wire cutters to gain access to the machines inner workings after prising off the facing. She worked through the most likely set-up in her mind, based on her electronic warfare and computer training, paused a moment-then touched together two specific wire ends. A sharp electric snap echoed, a clunk sounded from the door-and all four men fell through the suddenly open door on top of each other with grunts and "Oof's", Webb being at the bottom, Chris being squashed beneath Aaron even while he was pinned atop Webb. The door now read :ACCESS GRANTED Serena absently noticed...
Chris worked his way free of the crush by simply heaving until he broke free enough to get a foot on the ground-a wet snap echoed around. Everyone's heads snapped up-everyone but Chris and Serena's, Serena's because her ears were only a part of her ability to perceive the whole, Chris because he instinctively knew what he'd stepped in as he looked down, the same time Serena did.
The pale remains of an Iraqi man in dark green Republican Guard uniform lay there, soaked in blood and gore from his left arm, ripped clean off at the mid upper arm, and chest, which was no more than a dark, raw red cavity surrounded by splintered shards of white bone, once the man's ribs. His arms were forever frozen in a flailing motion, as though he had been frenziedly fighting off whatever had been coming at him with his lacerated bare hands, and his face was a rictus of mortal terror that chilled the blood to even see-Serena didn't doubt for a second that the man had died of fright, most likely /before/ his injuries would have killed him. Chris had just discovered the man the worst way possible, though-his right foot had smashed right through the corpses floating ribs, gone on through his chest to finish against his backbone...
Chris simply paused a moment, then, very slowly, lifted his foot free, slick blood and traces of torn flesh dotting his boot. He thumped it down a couple of times to ensure that his walking grip was secure, then walked over to the far wall and simply stood still, facing away from everyone for a moment, holding his stomach in a way which suggested that he was glad he hadn't eaten more over the previous week odd. Serena raised an eyebrow, wondering whether he was going to fold up on them because of it-she would /not/ have been impressed if he had-but he straightened up, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then turned to look at them again.
"That, was disgusting, can I just say that? What's next?" he asked, trying to look bright and enthusiastic despite everything. She had to hide a silent smile...
"Next" grunted Webb, extracting himself from underneath Aaron, who had slipped on the blood in the process of standing up and knocked Webb flat again, which had earned him a glare that would have singed wood, "we work out just what the Hell is going on here before we take another /step/. Stamper, you're the expert regarding the weird and the warped on this little jaunt. Take a look, tell me what you think, what you can see" he said, kicking the corpse lying still on the floor as his boots splashed in the slick blood.
"Um, okay, but I should probably warn you now-" Stamper began, but Webb cut him off. "Do-your-JOB man! Aaron, make a note: find a computer terminal, find out just what's happened here if you can find an intact one en route. Tom, if its wearing a uniform you don't recognise or looks strange, /shoot/ it, soldiers discretion. Serena, oh lady of mystery, do whatever the Hell it is you do but make sure Stamper gets to the labs and recovers a sample of whatever. Chris, try not to die and stop hiding under her wing, be a man for crying out loud. I'll take care of anything not mentioned. Questions?" asked Webb, firing off orders as though he was in charge of the World.
Serena ignored him, stepped up close to Stamper and forced him to look her in the eye by simply standing as close to him as possible until he had no choice even as he tried to examine the door. "Stamper?" she asked, quietly, raising an eyebrow. When he just looked nervous, she moved in even closer. "I know that look, and I know your type. Maybe he won't listen, but /I/ will? What is it? What have you found?" she asked, her brilliant blue eyes almost seeming to burn into the small mans.
Corporal "Mad" Bill Stamper was a known physical coward, poor soldier and bad shot. He was not, though, a fool, had never been accused of being one even when he was demonstrating his bizarre, genius grasp of every kind of drug and poison even in High School, and, when he had to, could stand his ground, fight his corner with the best of them. Physically weak, his odd mind was the opposite, but few understood that, or him, so he had been recruited by the army when he refused to work for any Drug company on the basis of honouring his dead fathers "America for the little people" approach, given a job that suited his talents and left to flourish.
A man who had a habit of ignoring any non-physical authority, though, he had pushed his superiors patience to breaking point at last when he had refused to meet a visiting General and had to be bodily dragged from his lab by two Military Police officers. He had been looking at a Court-Martial and a Dishonourable Discharge before Moralto had intervened, and had found himself on his way to Iraq despite his stated fears. Now he just wanted to get in, do the job and get out, back to his lab, where he lived and loved his work. What he had to do to get that was what he /would/ do.
However, one look into the cold eyes of Serena Baccarrin made every defence he had ever had melt away as though it was nothing. The woman was a force of nature, whether she knew it or not, and he knew better than to even try and refuse her anything...
"Uh-um, well... I know what did this, but you won't believe me" Stamper began, almost flinching as Serena moved in so close to him that he could feel her warm breath on his cheek. He wasn't the type to be struck dumb by physical beauty, such things didn't have the effect on him that they did on other people, but she was more than that, so much more than that... He barely even registered that he'd stopped speaking...
"Stamper, you don't know me, what I do, where I've been or what I've seen. You /cannot/ understand /what/ I believe and don't, so don't /ever/ make judgements where I'm concerned, you will be /wrong/. Now go on" replied Serena, her voice a low hiss, her words for his ears alone.
He swallowed, then continued, trying to explain what he'd realised as simply as he could. "Some/one/ did this, not some/thing/, okay? I know its impossible, but hear me out" he began, to a nod from Serena as he moved to stand by the door. Making sure that she was watching, he stood facing the ruined door, then demonstrated by grabbing the upper half of the door, where the thick metal was severely buckled and broken.
"The door is closing, so the man grabs it, simply tries to physically stop it. Not very bright, the machinery was stronger than him, even though he came close, so he can bend the door out of shape but can't stop it from closing. Angry now, he tries to punch and tear his way through however he can, but he can't do that either" said Stamper, simulating the punches and wrenching moves that the assault on the door had involved as he spoke, "So he keeps hitting the door until it clicks that he's not going anywhere, then he tears out the upper hinge with one last attempt before stomping off to wherever. Before all of this he killed the guard with a knife and his bare hands before ripping out the internal organs and probably eating them. Why I don't know, or how, no-one sane or physically "normal" could do this, though" concluded Stamper, finishing his run-through of what had occurred.
"I agree" replied Serena, looking thoughtful, "As far as it goes. There's a hole in your theory, though. No /sane/ man could or would do this, but no human is physically capable, no matter how mad. Tell me something, just how high does your clearance go?" she asked, studying the door closely.
"Code 10 in specialised areas, 8 outside that, I'm a chemical super-freak so it has to be for me to work. Why?" asked Stamper, not sure what she was getting at-although he noticed that she didn't look impressed at his revelation, especially odd given the fact that clearance ended at level 12 with the President as far as he knew.
"Not quite sure, but I have a few ideas. If you don't know what I'm talking about I'll deny everything, by the way... Have you ever heard of Ares Hounds?" asked Serena, raising an eyebrow. Stamper felt his jaw drop, but it didn't register as he took in just what she'd mentioned...
"How the /F***/ do you-?! Yes, God yes, but that's not possible, that's a part of Project: Apocalypse. That things sealed up so tight even the President has to call personally to find out just what's going on, or so I hear. More to the damn /point/, that little pet project of the Communities is /so/ off the books I doubt that the NSA could track it down. /NOTHING/ leaks out of that little party, that's practically an Order signed by God himself and you know it. If the process was used untested there is /no/ telling what would happen in any case, I consulted enough to know that for a fact. That is just /NOT/ a part of this" Stamper replied, firmly, shaking his head quickly in denial.
Serena just smiled at the sight. "You don't know everything you think you do, Stamper, everything starts somewhere. There have been rumours flying around about Community involvement with big business to develop these things for decades, who's to say someone didn't decide on a little off-the-books test run and just didn't care what the results were as long as they were recorded? I've seen worse happen and helped out once or twice, so nothing is impossible..." said Serena, deliberately allowing her words to trail off suggestively.
"No way, no way..." replied Stamper, still not wanting to believe that it even might possibly be possible, but it was fast becoming evident that Serena knew far more than he did about these areas, no matter how clued-up he thought himself. He was a real Conspiracy freak, too... /Super Soldiers don't exist.../ he thought, hopefully...
/End of Chapter 4-Hope that your interested out there. The action may be on slow burn at the moment, but bad things are well on the way.../