The next conscious sensation Snake Plissken had was of shivers, as seagulls sang their nails down a chalkboard song. The sound sent wave after wave of agony down his fucked nervous system.
No, that wasn't it. Maybe it was the torrent of ice cold sea water being dumped on his junk. Snake checked his balls. Still all there, like two cue balls under a kielbasa, and about as much feeling to them.
Even that wasn't it. Snake opened his eyes, to see the seagulls dancing about his head. To see another bucket of icy sea water being tipped over his face. To see thick gray cloud banks above and beyond the bucket of ice water.
As if it were hydrochloric acid, freezing Water hit Snake smack in the face, in his open eyes and down his throat. He rolled onto his stomach, and dragged himself up.
"Glad to see you're up, asshole. I'm Tony Almei-" Snake righted himself, braced one foot against a cleat welded to the deck, and kicked the speaker in the gut. Hard. Man and bucket went over the side. Snake staggered over to a guide rope, and leaned over the edge to see the man, in what appeared to be full bodyarmor and commo gear, waving his arms and sinking under the weight of a 15 foot, frothing whitecap.
Giant, black, dorsal-finned backs of killer waves reared up and dove down after what was no doubt a tender, tasty morsel.
And then it hit Snake. He stood, stark naked, on the deck of a ship, plowing through artic waters in the middle of a snowstorm. No wonder his junk was so numb. Snake hefted it in his hand and shot a hot stream of piss where he imagined the Frostzone stooge was still sinking, and looking up at huge carnivorous shapes blotting out the watery sunlight.
He shook out a few remaining drops and turned back to the main deck, where crewmembers in Echelon-certified polarwear, mouths agape, backed away in horrified silence from the naked man.
Snake lurched towards the cabin in time with the ship sliding down a wave trough, and yanked open the cabin door. The warmth of the ship's interior felt like needles, knitting needles, spiking into his skin. He collapsed onto the floor.
A woman came over to him and put a blanket on top of him.
"Where…where am I?" he mumbled. Saltwater spewed from his mouth.
"You're on Echelon-certified Vessel 'Arctic Warrior'," said the woman, who then put a knit watch cap on Snake's head. "We're contracted with Frostzone, presently sailing a course due north through the Bering Strait. Head on for Anchorage. I'm Captain Epps." She rubbed his back and his arms to help him get feeling back into them. "Where's Commander Almeida? Did he come back in? Is he still out on deck?"
"Goddamnit!" came the cry from the corridor. Snake smiled.
"I guess Bauer found Almeida." Snake stood up and braced himself against the door. Jack Bauer barreled through the far hatchway.
"Back away from the prisoner, Maureen. Do it. Right now!" Captain Epps flinched and moved away from Snake into a corner. "You are a fucking dead man. Fucking dead!" he cried, and pushed Snake into the cabin wall. He punched Snake in the gut, grabbed fistfuls of his long hair and dragged him back out onto the deck. He positioned Snake over the railings. "See that fucking water, Plissken? It's so cold, you'd be in a coma, two minutes flat. Dead in 3. Your only saving grace? Those goddamned killer whales you see. They patrol, and patrol, and patrol around Anchorage. Nothing less than 100 tons gets passed them, except down their gullet and out their assholes. Nothing. Echelon-certified, motherfucker." Bauer dropped Plissken back onto the icy, heaving deck.
"Now, get dressed or I put a bullet in your knee and test your swimming against those whales. And debrief in two minutes. If you're even one second late, I put a bullet up your asshole instead, and I could give a shit whether you swim for it or not."
Bauer stalked off. Plissken blew away a puddle of seawater sloshing around his nose and lips, picked himself up onto his elbow. A pair of soft, fuzzy boots took the place of Bauer's black jack boots.
"You've done it now," said Captain Epps. She pulled him up by his armpits. Her mouth close to his ear, she said "Good for you, standing up for yourself. But be careful… Frostzone rules all, from the PFCZ on up to Gusherville and Salmon City." She walked with him back in to the cabin.
Louder, she said: "Now, lets get some clothes on you, Echelon-certified, and we'll get you some nice hot chocolate before your meeting."
For once, Plissken had nothing smartass to say.