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So is he scary yet? :3
(You guys are really gonna' hate 32 after this post. Warning in advance for: gore, torture, general viciousness, ect)
[One week prior]
Upon reaching the base, Campbell was hauled from the plane and taken off to a holding room. Meanwhile, 32 reported to his superior.
"Ah, you look like hell. You really should rest more often," The head of the FOH 'defense' sector commented. He smirked at 32, who did, indeed, look very tired. The man 32's powers had been derived from had been a lot more powerful than himself. 32 understood that he was able to go weeks without sleep, food, water, and could even grow back limbs. 32, meanwhile, wasn't as powerful. He needed 12 hours of sleep a week in order to operate normally, food every 3 days, and at least one cup of water per day. His limbs and major organs, as one could tell from his heart, could not grow back if completely removed.
The comment was meant as a jeer at the assassin. The defense director, Murphy, knew damn well that 32 would not, could not, rest unless ordered to. 32, however, remained indifferent. His cold, dark eyes pierced the man as he stood, back straight and at attention, in front of his desk. Murphy frowned and shifted a little.
"Give me a mission report."
"The facility was cleared, all personnel dead. Campbell was secured before I went in search of the formula as requested. The formula was not secured due to the basement level of the facility being destroyed in a fire, likely a fail safe in case of invasion." The answer was cold, mechanical, and sounded almost pre-recorded. 32's eyes didn't blink as they burrowed into Murphy's forehead.
"That's a shame. If we could have gotten that formula, we wouldn't even need Campbell. As it is, you'll have to torture the location of the secondary base out of her. With the kind of power that formula could offer, we could destroy the mutant enemy once and for all, with their own kind at that." 32 remained unmoved. Murphy looked up with slight annoyance. "Well? What are you waiting for? Get to it!"
"My head hurts." It was true; the dull pounded on the plane had turned into a sharp and unrelenting knife that seemed to dig itself into his skull. The only way to fix it would be wipe his memories yet again, and then let him eat and sleep. Honestly, that was all 32 was really interested in right now. He'd had enough of the woman's noise on the plane, and the last thing he wanted to do was go into that room with her. His small comment may have seemed harmless enough, but they both knew the meaning behind it. 32 had been left unwiped long enough to begin forming his own opinions; he was actually suggesting that the director gave him a break. Murphy was having none of it.
"Was that a tone of defiance I heard?" He said, his voice low, barely hiding his impatience. 32 swallowed hard.
"No sir."
"Then get your ass in there and get answers!"
The walk to the holding room wasn't a long one. 32 kept up a quick pace the whole way, not slowing for anything. He was irritated and angry, and the mask he wore over his face itched. The quicker he got this over with, the quicker he got to go back to sleep. God help the woman should she be stubborn. And of course, she would be. That was clear the moment 32 entered the room. Campbell sat in a wooden chair in front of a cheap desk, secured to it by metal cuffs around her wrists. She glared at him with an acidic look, the same that he often wore regardless of who he was looking at. There was a chair on the other side of the desk, intended for him to sit in, but 32 preferred to stand.
"We want to know where your secondary base is, and you are going to tell us." His voice was the same, robotic tone that it always was.
"Go to hell," The woman spat. 32 expected as much. He wasted no time moving this thing along; he, frankly, wasn't in the mood. The soldier made his way over to a tray in the corner of the room, supplied with different utensils. Scalpel, pliers, hammer, and other such basic torture essentials. No one had ever taught him the art of prying answers from people; he'd just been shoved in a room with an enemy one day and ordered to do it. Over the years, 32 had become quite skilled at it. Some people cracked easier than others, he had learned. He liked those people. They made his job easier. But then there were those damn ones that hung on for weeks, until he found whatever figurative crowbar it took to pry information out of them. He hoped this woman wasn't one of those people. He had already decided that this would not last longer than a couple days.
32 picked up the pliers and came back over to the woman. "If you don't tell me, I'm going to break your fingers." The words were so straightforward that it was unnerving. He saw a flash of fear behind Campbell's eyes, but she steeled herself bravely and kept her lips pursed. 32 didn't hesitate to wrap the pliers around her left thumb and crush. A painful scream filled the room, but when it was done, he gained no results.
"Why are you doing this?" Campbell managed to choke out through the obvious pain in her voice.
"Because they told me to." The answer was so blunt.
"They're trying to destroy mutants, don't you realize that? I saw you heal from that gunshot; you're a mutant. How could you turn against your own kind?!" The pliers crushed down on her second left finger, cutting her desperate attempt at reasoning off. Campbell cried out again, but fought the pain.
32 almost always went for the fingers first; they were easy and fragile. Crushing fingers, cutting fingers off, but a person only had so many fingers. Five hours into the session, and he was out of digits. Campbell sported a bloodied face, missing teeth, bloody nubs on each hand, and a great portion of missing flesh. Still, she refused to tell him what he needed to know. 32 was furious inside, but his cold demeanor never showed it. He was beginning to take this personally, which is exactly what Murphy had wanted him to do all along. He demanded she tell him what he wanted to know; she spat bloody saliva on his mask. The man turned and left the room, only to return shortly with a manila folder in his hands. He leaned casually against the far wall as he pretended to read it, for effect only. 32 had already memorized every aspect of the papers inside. On the outside page, the name 'Linda Campbell' was printed.
"You live at 236 East Forest drive, Manford, Kentucky. You have a husband and three children: ages 13, 9, and 3." 32 looked over the top of the folder at the woman, whose breath had caught in her throat. "I don't like children."
"I swear to God if you hurt them-"
"Then tell what I want to know."
Campbell's face had paled. 32 knew he had already won; it was just a matter of time and how far he was willing to go. And he was willing to go as far as he needed.
"I won't," The woman finally said, "I won't let you use my work to start a war."
"You've made a mistake." With that, 32 turned and left, leaving Campbell yelling and screaming for him to come back, to stay away from her family.
32 returned a day later, a small body bound and tossed over his shoulder. He dumped Campbell's thirteen year old daughter in the extra chair, tears of fright rolling down her face. Campbell used every foul word in the dictionary to describe him.
"Tell me what I want to know, and she won't be hurt," He said flatly.
"You're sick! You're a sick fucking bastard!"
"Mom? What's going on? I'm scared!"
32 ignored the cries as he went back over to his tray of tools. The bloody hammer seemed like a good option. He came back over to the girl and grabbed her hand, forcing it onto the table. Without hesitation, he brought the hammer down at full force, making a sick crack of breaking bones. The girl screamed and tried to pull away, but his grip was too strong. His dark eyes shot towards Campbell, who was yelling, crying, and damning him to hell. But she still wasn't cracking.
I could be asleep right now. 32 didn't have much patience left when he'd walked into the room yesterday. What little he had left now was running thin. He tossed the hammer across the room and drew his gun.
"NO!" Campbell screamed, her voice hoarse. 32 raised it just enough to shoot the girl in the knee. The sound of them both crying and yelling was deafening.
"Tell me!"
"I won't give you shit, you fucking monster!" 32 raised the gun to the girl's head, giving the mother one last chance.
"Tell me now!"
Campbell sobbed and screamed, "NO!"
The sound of a gunshot filled the room, and the noise level was suddenly reduced to half. "NOOO!" Campbell sobbed uncontrollably as her daughter's form went limp. "You sick bastard! I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you!"
"You have two more children left," 32 said, not sign of the slightest remorse.
"You're a fucking monster! A monster!"
32 turned to leave once more, then Campbell finally broke. "No! I'll tell you! Just leave my family alone!" He stopped and holstered his gun. It was about damn time.
[One week prior]
Upon reaching the base, Campbell was hauled from the plane and taken off to a holding room. Meanwhile, 32 reported to his superior.
"Ah, you look like hell. You really should rest more often," The head of the FOH 'defense' sector commented. He smirked at 32, who did, indeed, look very tired. The man 32's powers had been derived from had been a lot more powerful than himself. 32 understood that he was able to go weeks without sleep, food, water, and could even grow back limbs. 32, meanwhile, wasn't as powerful. He needed 12 hours of sleep a week in order to operate normally, food every 3 days, and at least one cup of water per day. His limbs and major organs, as one could tell from his heart, could not grow back if completely removed.
The comment was meant as a jeer at the assassin. The defense director, Murphy, knew damn well that 32 would not, could not, rest unless ordered to. 32, however, remained indifferent. His cold, dark eyes pierced the man as he stood, back straight and at attention, in front of his desk. Murphy frowned and shifted a little.
"Give me a mission report."
"The facility was cleared, all personnel dead. Campbell was secured before I went in search of the formula as requested. The formula was not secured due to the basement level of the facility being destroyed in a fire, likely a fail safe in case of invasion." The answer was cold, mechanical, and sounded almost pre-recorded. 32's eyes didn't blink as they burrowed into Murphy's forehead.
"That's a shame. If we could have gotten that formula, we wouldn't even need Campbell. As it is, you'll have to torture the location of the secondary base out of her. With the kind of power that formula could offer, we could destroy the mutant enemy once and for all, with their own kind at that." 32 remained unmoved. Murphy looked up with slight annoyance. "Well? What are you waiting for? Get to it!"
"My head hurts." It was true; the dull pounded on the plane had turned into a sharp and unrelenting knife that seemed to dig itself into his skull. The only way to fix it would be wipe his memories yet again, and then let him eat and sleep. Honestly, that was all 32 was really interested in right now. He'd had enough of the woman's noise on the plane, and the last thing he wanted to do was go into that room with her. His small comment may have seemed harmless enough, but they both knew the meaning behind it. 32 had been left unwiped long enough to begin forming his own opinions; he was actually suggesting that the director gave him a break. Murphy was having none of it.
"Was that a tone of defiance I heard?" He said, his voice low, barely hiding his impatience. 32 swallowed hard.
"No sir."
"Then get your ass in there and get answers!"
The walk to the holding room wasn't a long one. 32 kept up a quick pace the whole way, not slowing for anything. He was irritated and angry, and the mask he wore over his face itched. The quicker he got this over with, the quicker he got to go back to sleep. God help the woman should she be stubborn. And of course, she would be. That was clear the moment 32 entered the room. Campbell sat in a wooden chair in front of a cheap desk, secured to it by metal cuffs around her wrists. She glared at him with an acidic look, the same that he often wore regardless of who he was looking at. There was a chair on the other side of the desk, intended for him to sit in, but 32 preferred to stand.
"We want to know where your secondary base is, and you are going to tell us." His voice was the same, robotic tone that it always was.
"Go to hell," The woman spat. 32 expected as much. He wasted no time moving this thing along; he, frankly, wasn't in the mood. The soldier made his way over to a tray in the corner of the room, supplied with different utensils. Scalpel, pliers, hammer, and other such basic torture essentials. No one had ever taught him the art of prying answers from people; he'd just been shoved in a room with an enemy one day and ordered to do it. Over the years, 32 had become quite skilled at it. Some people cracked easier than others, he had learned. He liked those people. They made his job easier. But then there were those damn ones that hung on for weeks, until he found whatever figurative crowbar it took to pry information out of them. He hoped this woman wasn't one of those people. He had already decided that this would not last longer than a couple days.
32 picked up the pliers and came back over to the woman. "If you don't tell me, I'm going to break your fingers." The words were so straightforward that it was unnerving. He saw a flash of fear behind Campbell's eyes, but she steeled herself bravely and kept her lips pursed. 32 didn't hesitate to wrap the pliers around her left thumb and crush. A painful scream filled the room, but when it was done, he gained no results.
"Why are you doing this?" Campbell managed to choke out through the obvious pain in her voice.
"Because they told me to." The answer was so blunt.
"They're trying to destroy mutants, don't you realize that? I saw you heal from that gunshot; you're a mutant. How could you turn against your own kind?!" The pliers crushed down on her second left finger, cutting her desperate attempt at reasoning off. Campbell cried out again, but fought the pain.
32 almost always went for the fingers first; they were easy and fragile. Crushing fingers, cutting fingers off, but a person only had so many fingers. Five hours into the session, and he was out of digits. Campbell sported a bloodied face, missing teeth, bloody nubs on each hand, and a great portion of missing flesh. Still, she refused to tell him what he needed to know. 32 was furious inside, but his cold demeanor never showed it. He was beginning to take this personally, which is exactly what Murphy had wanted him to do all along. He demanded she tell him what he wanted to know; she spat bloody saliva on his mask. The man turned and left the room, only to return shortly with a manila folder in his hands. He leaned casually against the far wall as he pretended to read it, for effect only. 32 had already memorized every aspect of the papers inside. On the outside page, the name 'Linda Campbell' was printed.
"You live at 236 East Forest drive, Manford, Kentucky. You have a husband and three children: ages 13, 9, and 3." 32 looked over the top of the folder at the woman, whose breath had caught in her throat. "I don't like children."
"I swear to God if you hurt them-"
"Then tell what I want to know."
Campbell's face had paled. 32 knew he had already won; it was just a matter of time and how far he was willing to go. And he was willing to go as far as he needed.
"I won't," The woman finally said, "I won't let you use my work to start a war."
"You've made a mistake." With that, 32 turned and left, leaving Campbell yelling and screaming for him to come back, to stay away from her family.
32 returned a day later, a small body bound and tossed over his shoulder. He dumped Campbell's thirteen year old daughter in the extra chair, tears of fright rolling down her face. Campbell used every foul word in the dictionary to describe him.
"Tell me what I want to know, and she won't be hurt," He said flatly.
"You're sick! You're a sick fucking bastard!"
"Mom? What's going on? I'm scared!"
32 ignored the cries as he went back over to his tray of tools. The bloody hammer seemed like a good option. He came back over to the girl and grabbed her hand, forcing it onto the table. Without hesitation, he brought the hammer down at full force, making a sick crack of breaking bones. The girl screamed and tried to pull away, but his grip was too strong. His dark eyes shot towards Campbell, who was yelling, crying, and damning him to hell. But she still wasn't cracking.
I could be asleep right now. 32 didn't have much patience left when he'd walked into the room yesterday. What little he had left now was running thin. He tossed the hammer across the room and drew his gun.
"NO!" Campbell screamed, her voice hoarse. 32 raised it just enough to shoot the girl in the knee. The sound of them both crying and yelling was deafening.
"Tell me!"
"I won't give you shit, you fucking monster!" 32 raised the gun to the girl's head, giving the mother one last chance.
"Tell me now!"
Campbell sobbed and screamed, "NO!"
The sound of a gunshot filled the room, and the noise level was suddenly reduced to half. "NOOO!" Campbell sobbed uncontrollably as her daughter's form went limp. "You sick bastard! I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you!"
"You have two more children left," 32 said, not sign of the slightest remorse.
"You're a fucking monster! A monster!"
32 turned to leave once more, then Campbell finally broke. "No! I'll tell you! Just leave my family alone!" He stopped and holstered his gun. It was about damn time.
Shard said
Totally waiting for Mr. 32's plane to crash into the dude giving the speech.....xD
Unfortunately, no XD lol
My first two posts are currently happening one week ago, and when I write the third, it will be in the present.
Will post the second in a bit, and then that's it for the pre-written monster posts.
The test had gone perfectly. Pilot was praised as being the best idea since sliced bread, which he secretly enjoyed, despite his blank expression. After it had been completed, he was given his first meal in the last couple weeks. It was mostly protein: half cooked meat, vitamin pills, and a glass of milk. When he'd finished, he was taken to the showers to wash himself up, taken to the barber to get a hair -because God forbid if the trained wolf monster looked scruffy-, and then put back to sleep.
He was awoken the next morning. Pilot opened his eyes, groggy, and looked up at the scrawny science man looming over him. Why had they put him to sleep just to wake him up the next day? He sat up, seeing that Goode wasn't in the room. One of the men came forward to give him his mission while others prepped him.
Put on shirt.
"Someone broke into the lab yesterday."
Put on pants.
"Nothing went missing, but lab 22 was disturbed."
Open mouth, drink electrolytes and protein.
"The security cameras didn't capture the break in. We fear this may have been a professional job."
Hold out arm for blood samples.
"However, there was a school field trip that came through here yesterday."
Hold out both arms for upper body armor to be strapped on.
"It's not likely, but that's where we want you to start; it's the only lead we have."
Hold legs apart for lower body armor to be strapped on.
"Search the campus for any sign of the virus, and report to us your findings."
Arrange for heavy gun number one. ...Where was heavy gun number one?
"You won't need your typical arsenal; this is a scout mission only. You will have your combat knife and a hand gun in case something goes wrong."
A large, loose button up shirt was pulled onto him over the armor, giving him a rather large and tubby look.
"This is an undercover mission, something that you are not unfamiliar with. No shifting, no commotion. Just get in and get out with what you find."
Pilot nodded, and then was sent out.
He was awoken the next morning. Pilot opened his eyes, groggy, and looked up at the scrawny science man looming over him. Why had they put him to sleep just to wake him up the next day? He sat up, seeing that Goode wasn't in the room. One of the men came forward to give him his mission while others prepped him.
Put on shirt.
"Someone broke into the lab yesterday."
Put on pants.
"Nothing went missing, but lab 22 was disturbed."
Open mouth, drink electrolytes and protein.
"The security cameras didn't capture the break in. We fear this may have been a professional job."
Hold out arm for blood samples.
"However, there was a school field trip that came through here yesterday."
Hold out both arms for upper body armor to be strapped on.
"It's not likely, but that's where we want you to start; it's the only lead we have."
Hold legs apart for lower body armor to be strapped on.
"Search the campus for any sign of the virus, and report to us your findings."
Arrange for heavy gun number one. ...Where was heavy gun number one?
"You won't need your typical arsenal; this is a scout mission only. You will have your combat knife and a hand gun in case something goes wrong."
A large, loose button up shirt was pulled onto him over the armor, giving him a rather large and tubby look.
"This is an undercover mission, something that you are not unfamiliar with. No shifting, no commotion. Just get in and get out with what you find."
Pilot nodded, and then was sent out.
I hope my post was good =P I won't on that baby for a while yesterday, trying to make 32 all intimidating and stuff.
WOOOOOOSH *water noises*
[Six years prior]
-My name is Izzy, and all I ever wanted was peace.-
This was the moment he had worked for. For the past few months, Izzy had struggled to get a speaking position at the Mutant Registration Act hearing. When he was finally granted, he worked day and night on a speech that would linger in the minds of even the most firm anti-mutant protesters. He couldn't help the jitters he felt as his name was announced, cuing him to go up on that stage and change minds. Izzy glanced back at his friends, the ones that were brave enough to accompany him here. There was Isa, who had yellow-green scales growing over her entire body. John, whose body could leak acidic fluids from its skin at will. Joann, who could control emotions. And finally, Terry, who was fairly normal. They all gave him smiles of encouragement.
"Well, get up there already," John said with a chuckle. Izzy smiled back and nodded. He turned and made his way onto the stage, all business now. He stopped at the podium, suddenly painfully aware of just how many people were here, and now staring at him. He felt hot and uncomfortable. Izzy reached down to his notes and straightened them nervously. His mouth was dry as sand. Then, suddenly, his anxiety was gone. Izzy glanced at Joann, who gave him a smirk. He knew there was a reason he brought her here today. With confidence, Izzy turned back to the crowd.
"People call me radical, rash, insane, even. They say that a human sympathizing with mutants is illogical; treacherous. But I must ask you, who is the real traitor here? What you propose to do today is against everything we have fought for in the past: freedom, equality, hope. Labeling each and every mutant as a criminal before a crime has even been committed is radical. Treating them like monsters is rash. Killing and out casting them is insane. These could be your sons, your daughters, wives, parents, you. The times we face ahead will be tough, yes, and there will be bad mutants. But is that to say that all of them are bad?"
As Izzy spoke, he never even noticed the red dot appear on his chest, right above his heart. Before anyone could stop it, the shot was taken. Izzy was blown off his feet, a gaping hole in his chest. People screamed and chaos began. His friends tried to make a run onto the stage, only to be stopped by security. Police appeared out of nowhere and quickly gathered his bleeding, twitching form. Something wasn't right, but no one could stop it. No one could have known.
=====================Six years later.=======================
-My name is 32, and all I have are orders.-
[One week prior]
The sound of the engines was deafening. The men in the plane shifted restlessly, except for one. 32 sat on the bench, his back bent and arms rested on his knees as he looked blankly at the floor. He was doing what he did before every assignment: plan. The files were vague, leaving plenty of room for error. The facility was researching a way to bring the x-genes out in every human. They claimed that mutants were the next step in evolution, and that they could find a way to let everyone take that step forward. They could stop the impending war. FOH didn't want that.
The lab was located a few miles outside a small town in Greenland. With the autumn snow, the only way to excess the site was by air. 32 and three other men were dressed in winter camo. Three were bundled up in fur and coats underneath, while 32 only wore the field jacket. He couldn't freeze, and he couldn't afford to be slowed down. The other men were just there to keep the perimeter secure, to shoot down anyone who made it outside. 32 was the only one going in.
He'd been given the mission a week back: track down Linda Campbell, the head scientist working on Project: Evolve, and bring her in. Alive. 32 had tracked her movements across the US, only to find that the base of operations wasn't even in the country. Her latest flight to Greenland led them straight to the lab, and into his next mission: kill everyone inside, and bring Campbell back. The information inside the facility would be very useful to FOH in the future. They could create their own super army, trained to follow their every beck and whim. As 32's handler had always said: The best kind of mutant is the kind you control. His handler sat a few seats down from him, only there to make sure he didn't go AWOL while overseas. In the frozen forest, he would be impossible to re-capture.
"Alright men, haul out!" A man barked at them. The three scout shooters got up, steeled their nerves, and jumped to parachute into the forest. 32 followed after them, making no hesitation before stepping out of the plane. The men were forced to pull their chutes before the plane was even close, to avoid drawing attention. 32, on the other hand, could afford to wait. By the time he pulled his parachute, the ground was rapidly approaching. He landed on his feet with a hard thud that would have shattered the legs of a regular man. He dropped the white chute and left it there in the snow as he trudged towards the building. A light snow was falling, barely concealing him.
It didn't take him long to break in. The security was depressingly lacking. 32 had his knife ready as he stalked the halls; the element of surprise was essential. As he turned a corner, he saw a man in a white coat walking with his back turned. 32 crept up behind him, silent as ever, and clapped a hand over his mouth. A blade was shoved through the man's back before he could even scream. The scientist dropped, and 32 made his way forward. After a few more kills, he knew his time was running out. Someone was bound to find a body. And no sooner did this thought cross his mind that the alarm went off.
"Code red, repeat, code red. There is an intruder on level 3." 32 cursed and sheathed his bloodied knife. His hands went for his gun, instead. The sleek metal of the K31 was cool in his hands. As he rounded the corner, three security guards came running towards him. Three shots, three dead men. 32 stepped over them, hurrying now. More security was pouring from the wood works. Three more dead men. 32 turned a corner and pressed his back up against the wall to reload, then stepped back into action. Four dead men. Two dead men. Reload. After tearing through every office, every cubicle, every corner, he finally found Campbell. She was cornered in her office, a pistol in her hand.
"Come any closer and I'll shoot!" She threatened in a shaken voice, her hand trembling. 32 remained silent as he stormed in, gun raised. She fired, hitting him in the face. Pain blossomed in his right eye and forehead. Blood began to leak through his grey mask, but he didn't stop. She fired again, but missed as she dodged his incoming arm. The woman crawled under her desk and tried to run from the room, but 32 was fast. The butt of his gun came down on her head, knocking her out cold. The killer grabbed up the woman's limp form and tossed her over his shoulder. 32 continued on, his work not quite done.
It had been requested that he search for the formula while he was there. 32 had no idea where to even start, but he knew that someone would. "Where is it?!" He demanded the cornered man, who was trembling in his lab coat.
"W-where's what?" The man was hunkered down, arms up protectively. He had no weapons, no defense.
"The formula." 32 raised his gun. "Where is it?"
"I-I don't-" A bullet whizzed so close to the man's ear that it could have cut hairs. The scientist yelped. "In the basement! Sector B! Please don't kill me I have a fam-" The man was cut off by a bullet in his head. 32 turned and quickly made his way downstairs. It didn't take long to find the lab, but it looked like someone had beat him to it. Flames and smoke were engulfing the entire lower floor, a failsafe in case the facility was found. 32 cursed and turned to make his way up the stairs, back on the original mission. The small plane was waiting for him on the runway. He climbed on and unceremoniously dumped Campbell onto the floor. Two men scrambled to secure her. The third had apparently been shot by a fleeing guard. 32 couldn't say he was too terribly upset.
He sat down and pulled off his mask, a blood stain on his fully healed face. His handler gave him an approving nod, but offered no more reward. The plane took off, headed back for the States. It was a long, uncomfortable flight. The moment the woman woke up, she began talking and yelling and making the 'bring her in alive' portion of 32's mission harder by the second. His head was starting to hurt; his mind hadn't been reset for over a week. The shot to the head was jarring strange memories. 32 bent over and rested his elbows on his knees, his hands pushing through his short hair. Memories of other missions. He remembered the yelling, the begging, the sound of gunfire. He felt...bad? No, not remorseful. Just...uneasy. Angry. His handler took notice and pulled out his phone.
"We're an hour out. The asset is showing symptoms of reset withdrawal. I suggest having the chair prepped before we arrive."
"No." The voice on the other end was firm. "His mind has been left alone on purpose. I want him irritable, angry. He's going to have to get creative with this one."
"Then it's safe to assume that it will be interrogating her?" His handler said, eyes roaming back to 32. At the word 'interrogate', the woman sitting on the floor, hands cuffed, visible tensed.
Her eyes went to 32 as well. "You won't get anything out of me! I don't care what you do, I'm not risking the wor-"
"Shut her the hell up!" The outburst surprised everyone. The two soldiers just about jumped out of their skins as they scrambled to find a gag. 32's handler even seemed taken aback.
"Was that him?" The smooth voice on the other end of phone asked.
"Yes. It seems that it's agitated by Campbell's constant noise."
"Good. Just the way we want him."
-My name is Izzy, and all I ever wanted was peace.-
This was the moment he had worked for. For the past few months, Izzy had struggled to get a speaking position at the Mutant Registration Act hearing. When he was finally granted, he worked day and night on a speech that would linger in the minds of even the most firm anti-mutant protesters. He couldn't help the jitters he felt as his name was announced, cuing him to go up on that stage and change minds. Izzy glanced back at his friends, the ones that were brave enough to accompany him here. There was Isa, who had yellow-green scales growing over her entire body. John, whose body could leak acidic fluids from its skin at will. Joann, who could control emotions. And finally, Terry, who was fairly normal. They all gave him smiles of encouragement.
"Well, get up there already," John said with a chuckle. Izzy smiled back and nodded. He turned and made his way onto the stage, all business now. He stopped at the podium, suddenly painfully aware of just how many people were here, and now staring at him. He felt hot and uncomfortable. Izzy reached down to his notes and straightened them nervously. His mouth was dry as sand. Then, suddenly, his anxiety was gone. Izzy glanced at Joann, who gave him a smirk. He knew there was a reason he brought her here today. With confidence, Izzy turned back to the crowd.
"People call me radical, rash, insane, even. They say that a human sympathizing with mutants is illogical; treacherous. But I must ask you, who is the real traitor here? What you propose to do today is against everything we have fought for in the past: freedom, equality, hope. Labeling each and every mutant as a criminal before a crime has even been committed is radical. Treating them like monsters is rash. Killing and out casting them is insane. These could be your sons, your daughters, wives, parents, you. The times we face ahead will be tough, yes, and there will be bad mutants. But is that to say that all of them are bad?"
As Izzy spoke, he never even noticed the red dot appear on his chest, right above his heart. Before anyone could stop it, the shot was taken. Izzy was blown off his feet, a gaping hole in his chest. People screamed and chaos began. His friends tried to make a run onto the stage, only to be stopped by security. Police appeared out of nowhere and quickly gathered his bleeding, twitching form. Something wasn't right, but no one could stop it. No one could have known.
-My name is 32, and all I have are orders.-
[One week prior]
The sound of the engines was deafening. The men in the plane shifted restlessly, except for one. 32 sat on the bench, his back bent and arms rested on his knees as he looked blankly at the floor. He was doing what he did before every assignment: plan. The files were vague, leaving plenty of room for error. The facility was researching a way to bring the x-genes out in every human. They claimed that mutants were the next step in evolution, and that they could find a way to let everyone take that step forward. They could stop the impending war. FOH didn't want that.
The lab was located a few miles outside a small town in Greenland. With the autumn snow, the only way to excess the site was by air. 32 and three other men were dressed in winter camo. Three were bundled up in fur and coats underneath, while 32 only wore the field jacket. He couldn't freeze, and he couldn't afford to be slowed down. The other men were just there to keep the perimeter secure, to shoot down anyone who made it outside. 32 was the only one going in.
He'd been given the mission a week back: track down Linda Campbell, the head scientist working on Project: Evolve, and bring her in. Alive. 32 had tracked her movements across the US, only to find that the base of operations wasn't even in the country. Her latest flight to Greenland led them straight to the lab, and into his next mission: kill everyone inside, and bring Campbell back. The information inside the facility would be very useful to FOH in the future. They could create their own super army, trained to follow their every beck and whim. As 32's handler had always said: The best kind of mutant is the kind you control. His handler sat a few seats down from him, only there to make sure he didn't go AWOL while overseas. In the frozen forest, he would be impossible to re-capture.
"Alright men, haul out!" A man barked at them. The three scout shooters got up, steeled their nerves, and jumped to parachute into the forest. 32 followed after them, making no hesitation before stepping out of the plane. The men were forced to pull their chutes before the plane was even close, to avoid drawing attention. 32, on the other hand, could afford to wait. By the time he pulled his parachute, the ground was rapidly approaching. He landed on his feet with a hard thud that would have shattered the legs of a regular man. He dropped the white chute and left it there in the snow as he trudged towards the building. A light snow was falling, barely concealing him.
It didn't take him long to break in. The security was depressingly lacking. 32 had his knife ready as he stalked the halls; the element of surprise was essential. As he turned a corner, he saw a man in a white coat walking with his back turned. 32 crept up behind him, silent as ever, and clapped a hand over his mouth. A blade was shoved through the man's back before he could even scream. The scientist dropped, and 32 made his way forward. After a few more kills, he knew his time was running out. Someone was bound to find a body. And no sooner did this thought cross his mind that the alarm went off.
"Code red, repeat, code red. There is an intruder on level 3." 32 cursed and sheathed his bloodied knife. His hands went for his gun, instead. The sleek metal of the K31 was cool in his hands. As he rounded the corner, three security guards came running towards him. Three shots, three dead men. 32 stepped over them, hurrying now. More security was pouring from the wood works. Three more dead men. 32 turned a corner and pressed his back up against the wall to reload, then stepped back into action. Four dead men. Two dead men. Reload. After tearing through every office, every cubicle, every corner, he finally found Campbell. She was cornered in her office, a pistol in her hand.
"Come any closer and I'll shoot!" She threatened in a shaken voice, her hand trembling. 32 remained silent as he stormed in, gun raised. She fired, hitting him in the face. Pain blossomed in his right eye and forehead. Blood began to leak through his grey mask, but he didn't stop. She fired again, but missed as she dodged his incoming arm. The woman crawled under her desk and tried to run from the room, but 32 was fast. The butt of his gun came down on her head, knocking her out cold. The killer grabbed up the woman's limp form and tossed her over his shoulder. 32 continued on, his work not quite done.
It had been requested that he search for the formula while he was there. 32 had no idea where to even start, but he knew that someone would. "Where is it?!" He demanded the cornered man, who was trembling in his lab coat.
"W-where's what?" The man was hunkered down, arms up protectively. He had no weapons, no defense.
"The formula." 32 raised his gun. "Where is it?"
"I-I don't-" A bullet whizzed so close to the man's ear that it could have cut hairs. The scientist yelped. "In the basement! Sector B! Please don't kill me I have a fam-" The man was cut off by a bullet in his head. 32 turned and quickly made his way downstairs. It didn't take long to find the lab, but it looked like someone had beat him to it. Flames and smoke were engulfing the entire lower floor, a failsafe in case the facility was found. 32 cursed and turned to make his way up the stairs, back on the original mission. The small plane was waiting for him on the runway. He climbed on and unceremoniously dumped Campbell onto the floor. Two men scrambled to secure her. The third had apparently been shot by a fleeing guard. 32 couldn't say he was too terribly upset.
He sat down and pulled off his mask, a blood stain on his fully healed face. His handler gave him an approving nod, but offered no more reward. The plane took off, headed back for the States. It was a long, uncomfortable flight. The moment the woman woke up, she began talking and yelling and making the 'bring her in alive' portion of 32's mission harder by the second. His head was starting to hurt; his mind hadn't been reset for over a week. The shot to the head was jarring strange memories. 32 bent over and rested his elbows on his knees, his hands pushing through his short hair. Memories of other missions. He remembered the yelling, the begging, the sound of gunfire. He felt...bad? No, not remorseful. Just...uneasy. Angry. His handler took notice and pulled out his phone.
"We're an hour out. The asset is showing symptoms of reset withdrawal. I suggest having the chair prepped before we arrive."
"No." The voice on the other end was firm. "His mind has been left alone on purpose. I want him irritable, angry. He's going to have to get creative with this one."
"Then it's safe to assume that it will be interrogating her?" His handler said, eyes roaming back to 32. At the word 'interrogate', the woman sitting on the floor, hands cuffed, visible tensed.
Her eyes went to 32 as well. "You won't get anything out of me! I don't care what you do, I'm not risking the wor-"
"Shut her the hell up!" The outburst surprised everyone. The two soldiers just about jumped out of their skins as they scrambled to find a gag. 32's handler even seemed taken aback.
"Was that him?" The smooth voice on the other end of phone asked.
"Yes. It seems that it's agitated by Campbell's constant noise."
"Good. Just the way we want him."
I could arrange for some of the inactive characters to be...eliminated >:3
And yes, time skip please :D
And yes, time skip please :D
Maybe we should do some time skipage?
*just sits down and writes masterpieces*
*with tons of errors*
*with tons of errors*
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