He had several hours before the first round of the capture the flag competition, so Adama made his way slowly back to his rooms, apparently silent despite his good performance. What people who saw him pass by could not have known was that there was a conversation going on inside his head. So you all actually realise that you're 'living' inside my head?
Yes, the thought came from the group of memories known as Leader.
But none of you know how you came to be here? You have no recollection of anything after those dreams I keep having?
The next thing I, and indeed all of us, remember is being trapped in what seemed like a grey mist. We soon came to realise we weren't alone but not until recently have we been able to communicate with each other, and only now have we managed to speak directly with you. The response had come from Tactician. It took us a while but we finally realised we were somehow in your mind, sharing your consciousness.
So in other words, we know just as little about the situation as you do Adama, thought Tech. The others felt Adama sigh inwardly.
Well I guess there's nothing we can do until we work out how you guys got here, then maybe we can see about getting you...back home I guess. Adama got back to his room and, sitting on his bed with his back resting against the wall, spent two hours talking to his friends. He asked about their previous lives and was pleased to find out that they all remembered some of their history, up until the various ends that had befallen them. What they could not remember was their names. In fact, according to Tech it was getting harder for them to reach back for memories that happened a long time in the past. They were gradually forgetting who they were.
Rage had been the captain of his own blood-deathmatch team. He remembered being reasonably successful but could not remember the name of the team he captained, nor could he recall the faces of the others that made up the team.
Tactician was a mind for hire, he had made his services available to mercenary teams going into the Tournament and added the crucial element of planning that was so often lacking in merc' groups. They enlisted different players for every match and assessing the strengths and weaknesses of these new team-members had been important for the possibility of victory.
Leader, like Rage had been the captain of his own team. He could vaguely remember their names, due to the fact that they were present in his reoccurring dream, but he knew deep down that they were all dead. This saddened and enraged him. These were powerful versions of the emotions, versions that only people of responsibility can feel when they know that they have failed those in their care. Despite his internal raging, Leader could still inspire loyalty and obedience in men, now he aimed to do so through Adama.
Tech was a genius when it came to all things mechanical. He occasionally fought in the Tournament but mostly spent his time modifying existing, or creating new, weaponry. His knowledge covered vehicles as well as weapons, he could pilot every known tank, plane, boat, buggy and chopper he had ever encountered, and that was saying a lot.
Assassin had operated as a bounty hunter, both in the real world and in the Tournament. After all, what better way to kill someone than in a blood fight, where no-one would suspect the ulterior motives. An expert at his trade, Assassin had over 300 'hits' to his name before he had been brought low. From what Adama could tell from the reoccurring dream, this particular target had been waiting for him. As Adama recalled the details he could feel the dream tugging at his senses and, willingly for once, he surrendered himself to it.
The perimeter wall was at least twenty feet high. The black-clad man, hugging it close, moved to a section where it ran parallel to the river that he had emerged from. He had immersed himself in it two miles upstream and let it carry him to his current location. His target had high security overlooking the road access to the facility but it was less tight on the riverside, hence the lengthy insertion process. It would be worth the trouble to catch the facility completely off guard. His Adreno-suit was already dry, the outer layer having heated itself slightly to evaporate the water. Pressing his gloved hands up against the wall, the man began to climb, powerful suction cups in the fingers of the gloves and the kneepads allowing him to effortlessly traverse the vertical barrier. After briefly glancing over the wall to make sure it was clear, he pulled himself over and started the climb down the other side. Once grounded he brought up the map of the facility, something that he had gone to reasonable lengths to acquire. It appeared, translucent on the inside of his visor, and he quickly confirmed his location and the direction he needed to go to follow his pre-op' diagnosis. As he made his way towards the central building he passed through ornate gardens and orchards, his mark was obviously a wealthy man, and he used their shadows and cover for his approach. The main building in the grounds was impressive, to say the least. It resembled the mansions of the second Victorian era, circa 2080, with lots of emphasis placed upon key visual points such as the main entrance and the colonnades that held up the various balconies. This slyly took attention away from the built in defences, gun emplacements in the style of gargoyles, sensors at the bases of pillars and a plethora of other safety features. Paranoid as well as rich, thought the man as he approached one of the colonnades. He knew that he would not be able to use his suit to climb the pillars, the sensors would detect the vibrations that his touch would cause, but he had come well prepared. Around the man's neck and across his body a bandoleer shaped section of the suit suddenly detached. He unwound the strong cord and attached one end to something he pulled from his belt, the other end he attached to the belt itself and rewound the cord so that it was inside the belt firing mechanism, all but the end with the strange attachment. He then took a step backwards and, with an almost inaudible hiss, the cord fired itself up onto the balcony. The small canister that the man had attached to the fired end dissolved, releasing the gripping putty that was contained inside. It held the cord in place and the man reeled himself up, the belt rewinding the cord and lifting him easily.
Once safely on the balcony the man permitted himself a brief smile, so far so good, and the gripping putty had proved very effective. It eliminated the noise made by a grappling hook and proved to be even more effective when it came to securing the cord. He examined the balcony door for alarms and, upon finding several, proceeded to disarm them. Useful piece of kit this portable EMP, the device he was using sent out small, concentrated bursts of electromagnetic waves which rendered the alarm useless for a brief period. Even if security had been monitoring the readouts from the alarms nothing more than a momentary power surge would register. He closed the door behind himself and waited a moment to make sure the alarms came back without a problem. Satisfied, he headed out of what appeared to be a grandly decorated waiting room and into the corridor, where he followed the translucent map towards the room he knew to be the mark's sleeping chambers. Something was worrying at the back of his mind but he could not put his finger on it. As he neared the bedroom he concentrated on the feeling, you did not stay alive as a successful assassin if you ignored your gut instincts, but it was only when he had eased himself into the room that he realised what the problem was. No guards, I should have had to kill at least two by now.
"Good evening." No thought, only action. He hurled a razor sharp disk towards the space where the voice had come from and switched his visor to infra-red. No readings in the room, in fact it was empty apart from the furnishings and a PA system lying on the bed with his disk embedded in it. Suddenly metal barriers fell from slots in the ceiling, blocking off the windows, and he could hear noises that indicated the same was happening all through the house. Turning, he bolted from the room and made for the roof. About thirty seconds down the corridor his visor began picking up heat signatures converging on his location, lots of them. He stopped mid-run and slid to a halt, removing another device from his belt. It was a small, circular block that he slammed onto the wall before shooting off down another passageway that had fewer heat signatures registering along it. He encountered the first few just as a resounding explosion sounded behind him, filling the passage behind with flame. The effect, other than killing several of whatever it was that was following him, was that the heavily armed men in front of him were momentarily blinded. A moment not wasted by the bounty-hunter as a secreted blade slid out from its holder and was rapidly used to dispatch them. Before the final corpse hit the ground, the man was already running on down the corridor, following the blueprints projected on his visor. He was on the top floor by now and only had to cross one last large room before access to the roof would be possible via a small stairwell. He was cautious however, his mark had known he was coming and would not let him go easily. However, over a dozen of the heat signatures were approaching fast and he knew he had to continue into the large open room or be overwhelmed. He decided to take the room at top speed and flew across the threshold, slamming straight into a see-through wall. Momentarily stunned, the assassin was brought back to his senses by the noise of footfalls approaching fast. He pulled himself to his feet, still groggy from running full tilt into what turned out to be one of many transparent walls filling the room and turning it into a maze. His mind raced, trying to turn this upset to his advantage. He assumed that whatever was following him knew about the maze room and would be prepared, they would almost certainly know the way through the room. With seconds to spare the assassin pulled a strange looking pair of earplugs out of his belt along with a small sphere. He put the earplugs in just as the first of seven heavily armoured guards burst into the room. Turning on his heel he sped into the maze, the walls visible with a slight adjustment to his visor, and made for the centre of the maze. As he approached the area he wanted to be in he found it blocked by yet another wall but glancing back he saw his current position would be fine. The guards had split up upon entering the maze and were moving to surround him, the black-clad man could not help but admire the ingenious nature of the maze, all paths lead to the same place, certain routes being far swifter than others. Without knowing the way through the labyrinth of poly-glass walls anyone trying to escape would be swiftly surrounded and trapped. A brief smile swept across his face as he crouched into a ball, the sphere tossed to the ground near him. He loved adding the unexpected to people's plans. As the guards closed in on him a high pitched whining began to blare from the sphere, getting higher and higher in pitch. Suddenly its progression changed and instead of increasing in pitch it broadened, emitting palpable waves of sound, almost solid with the force they struck the ears. The assassin's earplugs, upon hearing the first high pitched whine, had formed an airtight vacuum around the man's ears, preventing him from hearing anything. Around him, the guards thrashed on the floor until they eventually grew still, their bleeding ears finally erupting outwards in fountains of blood. Another effect of the noise was the sudden shattering of the poly-glass walls filling the room and blocking access to the stairwell. No longer able to stand the pitch and frequency from the sphere they splintered with a melodious tinkling sound, one that the assassin was utterly unaware of. He got to his feet and removed the earplugs, but only after the sphere had melted, its core superheating with the effort of creating the noise. Jogging to the stairwell he reviewed the blueprints and planned a route back to the river, which would carry him swiftly away from the bloody mess the mansion had become. Drop the wall, cross the courtyard and make for the cover of the orchard, he thought. With that he ran out onto the roof.