…Processing Request.

OPENING CORE FILES…DONE

REMOVING SPYWARE…DONE

THREATS…ZERO

File open—Title: Important History of the Black Caps

DATA LOG: ALPHA

LOCAL: Somewhere over the English Channel; 02:00 hours, SMT

DATE: February 14, 2041

"The lot of you have been chosen specially from the new recruits—" The aged army man began, pacing the line with his hands clasped behind his back. He gave no one a passing glance, but instead kept staring forward, as if his eyes were fixed there. Jack stood at attention in the middle of the line. He tried to look orderly and neat as possible. He was, after all, the chosen leader. But, the truth was, he could hardly wait. He was shaking in his shoes with anticipation.

"—your skills on the field are unmatched. Your wits, legendary. You've managed to pass every test we've thrown at you with flying colors."

Quickly, Jack peered at his new comrades. They all ranged, in appearance at least, from eight to seventeen years old, with himself and another boy beside him being the oldest and this pipsqueak named Simon being the youngest. Everyone specialized in something different…everyone was good at something. He tried to remind himself of that.

"From this day forward, you will be known as the Black Caps!"

…

The voice of the grizzled instructor's final words to them rang in Jack's ears as he shot up in his bunk and slammed his forehead against the one above him. Whoever slept above made no sign that it had bothered them. Either that or they simply weren't there. It was probably the latter.

Slowly, carefully, Jack clambered out of bed and made his way to the front of the barracks. His stealth dissipated into the still night air as the floor jolted underneath him and sent him tumbling to the ground. He growled and spit out a mouthful of bloody saliva. God, he hated planes. Jack much preferred to have his feet on the ground. Standing up, he burst through the door at the end of the rows upon rows of beds angrily. However, the seriousness was lost as the craft jolted again and sent him face-first into the floor.

At the front of this new room, the control room, the captain's chair spun around and the boy in it gave a mighty grin. Out of two others looking out of the wide, wrapping windshield, a lanky, brown-haired one hurriedly tried to regain control of the abandoned aircraft.

"Maurice!" Jack groaned, struggling to lift himself up without falling back down again, "Turn around and steer the damn plane!"

The boy in the chair, Maurice, rolled his pale grey eyes and took the controls back from the lanky boy. Jack stumbled over and gripped the edges of the chair for support.

"You idiot." Jack scolded, "I can't believe you're actually supposed to be good at this sort of thing."

"I am the designated driver!" Maurice joked, "You should really leave the criticizing to Bill though, Jack. I think he's got that area pretty thoroughly covered."

The other boy, the one who'd taken over earlier for Maurice's carelessness, shrugged apathetically and kept his gaze on the clouds outside the windshield. Bill was always like this; however, it was a calm, Zen-like silence. Whereas, the boy on the other side of Maurice, Roger, had an air about him that made people think he was plotting something. Jack often found it strange how two people, though similar in sound, could be so entirely different in feel. From the corner of his eye, he saw the dark-haired Roger shift a red-eyed glance his way and swallowed a shudder. Sometimes he felt as though Roger could read his thoughts.

"What's our ETA?" Jack asked, trying to change his mindset.

"About ten minutes, General." Bill muttered. Maurice gave a thumbs-up from the chair and started running his mouth again.

"We're making record time! Just wait until the chairman hears how early we were! Man, to see the look on his face—haha! It'll be priceless, I bet! And those losers down there won't see us comin' either!"

"Shut up, Maurice." Jack and Bill said in unison.

"Ah, you guys are no fun." Maurice frowned and started bringing the nose of the small plane down. "So," He continued after a while, "How many of you guys am I dropping down here?"

"Just Roger, Bill and I."

"No Simon?!" Maurice exclaimed.

"He stays here." Jack explained in turn, "I can't trust you, alone, as our comms head anymore. Not after last time."

"Hehehe…Sorry general." The wild-haired pilot chuckled, "I just assumed that since you brought both robo-cops, you'd use both." This comment earned Maurice a smack to the back of the head, courtesy of Bill.

"Ow!"

"Be respectful." Bill warned lowly, casting a glance at Roger, who didn't seem to be paying any attention. He just leaned on the stock of his old sniper rifle and kept looking out at the coming storm clouds. He always looked mildly angry, so it was hard to tell if the phrase had upset him at all.

Jack intervened quickly, "It doesn't matter what they are…we've all got a little bit in us too, so…we're all soldiers, you know?" Roger finally moved and sighed, starting out of the control room with a precise slowness.

"You can stop kissing asses, Jack," He hissed as he exited, "we're nearly there."

Maurice stifled a laugh as Jack gaped. That…that was no way to address a superior officer! Grinning just slightly, Bill laid a hand on Jack's shoulder and also started out.

"Can't say you didn't have that coming." He said in that strange accent of his. He was the only one from the group to come from out of England. Instead, he'd lived in America for most of his life and immigrated later. It was a miracle he'd been accepted into her majesty's military at all.

"A-alright." Jack dismissed through gritted teeth, "radio us when it's time to drop. I'll be in the back."

"Right, General!" Maurice teased, going heavy on the controls and singing a little tune, "We're going down~~!"

"Right." Jack pushed through the door and went back into the small barracks room. Roger and Bill were seated on opposite bunks, loading assorted rifles with clips and arming themselves to the teeth.

"What's it this time?" Jack asked nonchalantly, taking a hold of a rope on the low-hanging ceiling just in case.

"Majority wins." Bill said around a serrated blade held in his teeth while he strapped up his boots. At first, Jack was confused. Then Bill passed the deadly weapon to Roger and it cleared up. Bill always used his longer, sharpened, dual-knives if it came down to close combat. He thought them more…humane. He attributed this to the fact that his father was in WW2 and saw some 'twisted things', and that he would never kill needlessly and painfully without cause. Bill was strange like that.

Roger, on the other hand, had a lot of fun with a job. A lot. Perhaps a bit too much.

"Ten bucks on Roger." Jack smiled.

"I'm not even gonna take that bet." Bill laughed quietly, "I've lost too often to see the point in that."

"Damn," Jack shot back, "I really needed a new hat."

They both laughed and exchanged friendly banter like this until the order came over the intercom for the drop-off. It was go-time.

Finally, Jack thought, we can get off this piece-of-crap plane.

END OF DATA LOG: ALPHA

OPEN NEXT FILE?

Y N

THE CHOICE IS YOURS

YOU HAVE TEN SECONDS BEFORE THIS SERIES OF MESSAGES SELF-DESTRUCTS.

GOOD LUCK.