Chapter 39 - This Is Real Life
By SportsMaster
Jake Thompson had enough. It was bad enough that the merging of all the orders into the Syndicate made his job – his only job – useless, but now it was like he wasn’t even there. Everyone carried on without noticing the obviously boring baseball player-turned-rebel.
He gathered his clothes and stuffed them into a tattered duffle bag with the zipper missing. He looked at the sword tilted carefully against the wall. The now clean steel shone in the light of the rising sun. Jake reached for it, but quickly winced, remembering all the sins committed with it. He decided to leave it be; someone might need it eventually. He slung the bag over his left shoulder and took one last look around before stepping into the hall and shutting the door behind him.
John Sadar was never a morning person. He always considered it one of God’s little practical joke that a man of the church dreaded the days he must wake before noon.
Times were different now; if you slept until noon, you might find yourself with nothing left to do but sleep. So every morning at six, he forced himself out of bed and down into the break room. Or more aptly, break corner. Wherein a small counter consisting of a coffee maker and a toaster lay. Sadar poured himself a cup of already-cold coffee, frowning slightly when he discovered this fact.
“Too bad we don’t have a microwave... Or for that matter, bread,” Sadar thought.
The irony of a toaster without any bread took a backseat when he saw someone moving towards the exit out of his peripherals.
“Going somewhere?” Sadar probed.
“Away,” Jake replied, taking a few more steps forward.
“So soon?” Sadar probed further, his tone taking a more sarcastic tone.
“What’s the point, John? Where do I fit in? Nowhere! They don’t need me, they never did.” Jake’s voice taking on a more sad tone as he continued. “Fact is I'm just taking up space. So, I’m leaving. I’ll go to the Land of the Stars and Stripes. Start anew over there...maybe play some baseball again. Something that doesn’t involve me fearing for my life everyday.”
Jake was about at the exit when he realized that Sadar had caught up, coffee in hand, and was staring right at him, as if trying to look into his soul.
“So this is the real Jake Thompson, huh?” Sadar was now directly in front of the 6’6” deserter. His 5’10” frame leaned in causing Jake to lean back slightly, uncomfortable with the lack of space between them. “This is the man who once turned down a multi-million dollar contract in the Land of the Stars and Stripes to stay here, to be a role model to kids? This is the man who always said that he believed that without everyone chipping in, groups can not succeed?”
“Don’t feed me that crap, John.” Jake said, straightening his posture, tilting his head down to look the shorter priest in the eye. “In case you didn’t notice, this isn’t sports. This isn’t some fluff interview. This is real life. People are dying, John. For what? Do we really think that a bunch of rag-tags, a gay Frenchman, and some freakin’ mechas are going to take down the armies of two countries? Are we all stupid or insane?”
“So that’s it, huh?” Sadar barked, practically shouting now. “That’s how it is! Things get a little too real for superstar here and he’s going to turn tail and run! To hell with everybody else, right? We’re just too stupid to run, right? Never mind the fact that we’re fighting for something bigger than ourselves...we’re just a bunch of idiots with a death wish, huh? Grow up! The world isn’t fair sometimes; in fact, it can downright suck sometimes. But you know what? A little sacrifice by us today might make tomorrow a little more bearable for someone else. It’s a shame you don’t get that.”
Jake Thompson could only look at the hardened floor. Sadar’s words cut right through him. As much as he wanted to scream back that Sadar didn’t get it, and that it wasn’t fair to him to have to risk his life after all he went through, he didn’t. Finally he looked up; Sadar’s glare still cold and piercing as it was a few moments ago.
“I don’t know what to do, John...” Jake said his voice barely audible to the man two feet away. “Everyday I just fill space, everyday people die, and everyday we don’t seem to be any closer to our goal. What we’re attempting to do is beyond suicide...it’s a whole different level of insanity. We need a miracle now more than ever...”
“So, create one.” Sadar said, softening his gaze. He pondered a moment, and then continued. “In fact, I might know how you can go about doing so.”
“How?” Jake queried, seeing the gears turning in Sadar’s head.
“I need you to do a bit of recon for me. I need some solid proof that Ozzal is going to let Comedia invade and merge the countries. I’m betting there is something in ComDot Estate – something we could get our hands on – that would not only validate our mission, but allow the public to finally see with the wool removed.”
Jake stood for a moment, pondering the assignment. He finally let out a sigh and set his bag down.
“You know, you always find a way to reel me back in.”
“Good. Now go and fetch me a freaking microwave, I might as well be drinking the snow,” Sadar said, allowing himself a slight smile.
The light poured out of the giant windows of ComDot estate, reflecting off the snow, providing a sliver of white in the otherwise dark night. Michelle Ozzal walked into the master study, carefully locking the door behind her. She began pacing, staring irritably at the small silver phone lying in the center of her desk, almost pleading with it to ring. An hour passed. Just as Ozzal was fixing to hurl the cellular as far as she could into the thick forest feet away from the manor, it rang. Jolted back to reality, she raced to answer the phone, nearly dropping it on the floor.
“Yes?” Ozzal asked, surprisingly calm.
“I assume everything has been set up for tomorrow night?” a man asked in a serious, business-like tone.
“Yes, you will enter the country and then report to me. There are a few…bugs left to be worked out.” Ozzal answered, equally serious.
“I thought you said there would be no problems?” the man replied, his voice now taking a more annoyed tone.
“Some things take longer to resolve themselves than others.”
“We cannot take any longer, Ozzal. If there are problems, it’s going to fall on you. Do not disappoint me.”
And with that, the line went dead. Ozzal stared at the phone for a moment before whipping it at the nearest wall, leaving a quarter-sized dent in the wall.
As dawn broke, Jake Thompson again packed the tattered duffle bag. Slinging it over his shoulder, he made towards the exit before being intercepted again by Sadar. The two stared at each other for a moment before Sadar slipped him a small business card.
“I want you to go to the coordinates listed on here. Show your card at the door and ask for Bruce. He knows you’re coming.”
Jake nodded, and carefully slipped out the front door. Sadar watched him leave before turning to heat up his coffee in the microwave.
Hikki Follet awoke gently. He rose out of bed and slipped on his favorite house shoes. Carefully, so not to wake his slumbering partner, he opened the door and stepped out onto the balcony.
The sun was just beginning to rise over the horizon, its light turning the water it rested on into a palette of oranges and reds. He felt the slight breeze blow through his hair, and smiled as a flock of seagulls flew by. He soon realized he wasn’t alone; turning around, he saw Samson behind him holding two cups of tea. He offered Hikki one before joining him at his right.
Hikki put his arm around Samson and allowed himself a little sigh. Life was perfect…except for the fact that the ship kept blowing the horn, even though there was no dock in sight. Hikki turned to deal with this annoyance, and promptly knocked the alarm clock off the table.
He sat up, quickly scanning his surroundings before realizing what had happened. He sighed slightly, but looking at Lloyd, quickly forgot why he did so.
“Good dream?” Lloyd asked, rubbing his eyes.
“I don’t remember.” Hikki said, slipping on his favorite house shoes.
Hill dug through the scattered stacks of papers for what seemed like the millionth time. He waded his way through car-jacking reports, murders, vandalism, and a case of a tricycle killing a man after falling from the sky. All of it was useless information now. Frustrated, he kicked one of the boxes, instantly recoiling from the pain of kicking a hundred-pound box of documents.
Q opened the door to the office to find Hill hopping around on one foot swearing, and face-palmed. It had been nearly three days since the mysterious John Sadar turned their world inside-out. Since then, it had been a mad scramble to find something, anything, of proof to his claims. They might as well have been looking for a way to pull sunshine out of their asses, as sixty hours of searching had yielded nothing. Q glanced away from the cursing Englishman to find Sadar standing in the doorway.
“Find anything?” he asked.
“Not a damned thing; we might as well be looking for Noah’s ark while we’re at it,” Hill snapped, foot still sore from his outburst.
“Yeah,” Q added, “It’s been pointless. I want to believe you, but we have nothing here. We checked all the archives, have gone through about a billion different pieces of paper, and there is nothing even mentioning Comedia in any of them.”
“Don’t worry about that, I have someone who is going to change that,” Sadar replied confidently.
“Who?” Q asked, now weary of what this man was up to.
“Not important right now, but what is important is that he will get you all the information you could ever need.” Sadar replied, turning towards the exit.
Q was flabbergasted. First, this man shows up, gives them a supposed lead on an invasion, and then when they couldn’t find anything, he tells them that someone else will just come up with the evidence? She wanted to believe Sadar; he didn’t look like the type to lie, but the story was becoming more and more far-fetched. Finally, she called back to him:
“And when will we get it?”
“Tomorrow.” Sadar replied, barely audible over the noise in the streets. And with that he left, quickly blending into the mass of grey concrete.
Hill stood there a moment before addressing Q.
“So, now what?” he asked.
“I guess we wait for this other mystery man to pull these documents out of his ass.” Q replied, using one of the boxes as a makeshift chair.
“And what if he doesn’t? Then what?” Hill pressed on.
“I really don’t know, Hill. I guess...we just hope this Sadar guy is wrong.”
"What if he isn't?" Hill retorted, leaning in, leaving only a few inches between their faces.
“Christ, I don’t know, Hill! Don’t you have some digging to do?” Q stood up and briskly exited the room.
Hill let out a low sigh. “Note to self: never get on her bad side.”
Jake Thompson hurried through the debris and still-raging fires of the once-prosperous district. He walked for what felt likes miles before arriving in what appeared to be a bombed-out prairie. He stopped and scanned the flat plains for anything other than knee-high grass and abandoned construction equipment. In the distance he spotted what appeared to be an old storage shed. Rolling his eyes, he started towards it.
“Oh Bret, how come you can never find your true love? Is it the tattoos? I don’t mind! Come live with me Bret! Run away! BREAK FREE!”
Michelle Ozzal was now standing in the middle of her den, scattered chips and the bowl they were held in lying inches away from her feet. She practically screamed the last sentence, transfixed on the latest E-News bulletin. If there was anything she loved more than power, it was basket-case musicians. She always insisted she had a soft spot for them.
Oblivious to the crunching of chips beneath her feet, she continued to pay rapt attention to the television. As E-News went to commercial, she became aware of her surroundings, and bent down to gather the un-crushed chips and the green bowl.
No sooner had she set the bowl down, did she hear her phone ringing. She stared at the compact collection of plastic and microchips wondering how it didn’t break after the last incident. Hesitantly, she answered, putting the caller on speakerphone.
“Hello, Michelle,” a familiar voice said in a flat, serious tone.
“Hello.” Ozzal replied, a bit too cheerily for the caller, as she heard a scoff before he continued.
“Have you fixed your little problem?” the voice asked, a mixture of sarcasm and annoyance dripping from every word.
“Not yet, but you could hardly call it a problem. Your men will have no trouble tonight,” Ozzal replied, noticing that she was now very nervous.
“…I told you not to disappoint me, Ozzal. I want this roadblock fixed. I do not know how clearly I can state this.”
“You’re getting worked up over nothing.”
“I would hardly call it ‘nothing’”
“I can assure you it is.”
“Careful now, Ozzal, arrogance like that is what leads to sudden...casualties. I would expect a former General to understand this.”
Ozzal gritted her teeth, squeezing the phone tightly until her hand shook.
“Just…be here by ten, and then we can discuss my so called ‘arrogance.’” Ozzal whipped the phone at the concrete floor, smiling as it cleanly broke into two parts.
Jake Thompson staggered up the shockingly steep incline of the field, nearly collapsing as he reached the plateau. Taking a moment to relax, he looked at the sky, noticing the large dark clouds screaming in from the west. Checking his watch, Jake grimaced as it flashed 1:14 PM back at him.
“Great, I have to go play spy in a freakin’ downpour,” he thought, groaning as he clamored back to his feet.
As he reached the shed, he saw no point of entry; the doors were chained shut, and there was no doorbell or knocker. Cautiously, Jake approached the sheet metal and lightly tapped it. He quickly stood back, expecting the doors to whip open.
Finally, a small slit opened in the right door; a pair of cold eyes glared out at him.
“Who are you, and how did you find us?” a voice asked, clearly upset that his secret hideout wasn’t so secret.
“I’m…um…uh, Jake Thompson. John Sadar sent me to see a, uh, Bruce?” Jake replied tentatively.
“Prove it,” the voice practically growled back.
Jake froze. He didn’t have any idea what the man meant. Standing stunned for a few seconds, he stared back at the un-blinking eyes.
“Uh…how? I mean I…uh…OH!” Jake’s eyes flashed, and he frantically dug around the pockets of his jacket until he fished out a small glass cross.
“Um, Sadar gave me this a while back.” Jake dangled the cross in front of the pair of eyes for them to behold.
“Very well,” the voice replied and shut the peephole. Moments later, the chains retracted, and the right door swung open a few feet.
“Come in,” the voice said, sounding much further away then a few moments ago.
Hikki Follet ran down the hall, nearly flattening everyone in his path. As the hallway emptied into the main floor, he made a beeline for an unsuspecting John Sadar.
“Père Sadar! Père Sadar! A word s’il vous plait!” he shouted, now directly behind the priest.
“Ah, Hikki, just who I was looking for, do you know where Lloyd is? I can’t seem to get this damned microwave to work now. It was just fine this morning.”
Hikki held up a single finger, bending over and breathing heavily, the effects of his mad dash now catching up to him.
“Père… what… ees zees I hear… about you geeving orders to… my men?” Hikki asked, still panting.
“I did not know that a simple request was giving orders,” Sadar mused.
“How ees asking someone to reesk zere lives a request?” Hikki raged, waving his hands in frantic gestures.
“I did not ask him to risk his life. I asked him to do some simple detective work for a few policemen that I have befriended.” Sadar curtly replied.
“Detecteeve work? We are not policemen, Père! We are rebels! We cannot reesk getting caught up een seengs zat are not our beezness.”
“We need allies, Hikki. We need help. This is not a fight we have to go at alone; if we grease the wheels of others, they will be more willing to help.”
Hikki stared at the grizzled man, flustered.
“I am ze leader, Père. You do not tell any of my men or women what to do. Zees eencludes so called ‘requests’ to aid some policemen zat I have never met.”
Hikki sauntered off, retreating to his office before quickly locking the door.
“Alright. Come stand next to me."
Nervously, Jake inched forward in the dimly lit hall, stopping when he saw the silhouette of the voice.
“So uh…am I supposed to hold on to something?” Jake asked, increasingly anxious over his current situation.
“Not really,” the voice replied, pressing a button on the nearby wall.
Jake felt himself being blinded and sinking all at once. He shielded his eyes in an attempt to regain his bearings. Finally the platform they were on stopped and Jake stood still for a moment, adjusting to the sudden impact of copious amounts of fluorescent lighting.
After a moment of rapid blinking, Jake’s world came back into focus. He found himself in what appeared to be either a giant garage or the largest closet in the world. Frowning, he saw nothing but lights and grey concrete for what seemed like miles.
“Uh, mind telling me where we are?” Jake asked, glancing around the space.
“That’s not very polite now is it?” another voice spoke. Turning, Jake saw a man that appeared to be between 70 and 170 years-old, carrying a tea tray. “You’re only the third person to see this place; you would think to be more grateful...”
“Um…who are you exactly?” Jake asked, now very on edge.
“He’s Alfred, my oldest and closest friend.” The voice turned back to Jake.
“Wait! I know who you are!” Jake said, slightly stunned. “You’re Bruce Wayne, that billionaire from the Land of the Stars and Stripes! What the hell are you doing in the outskirts of Actonia?”
Bruce nodded, confirming his identity before continuing. “It’s a home away from home, where I store my gear during lulls in the action.”
“Like spy gear?” Jake asked hopefully.
“Better.” Bruce replied, pulling a small remote out of his hand, and pressing one of what appeared to be hundreds of buttons.
No sooner had Bruce pocketed the device did a heptagon-shaped, man-sized cage rise from the concrete. The cage then opened like a book, revealing a vast array of weapons, gear and a black full-body suit.
“Awesome.” Jake said aloud, taking a few quick steps towards the cage.
“I figured you would like it. After John gave me a call, I figured I could let you borrow it.” Bruce was now behind Jake’s left shoulder peering into the cage with the enraptured rebel.
“So how does this all work?” Jake asked, mindlessly running his fingers over the suit.
Smiling, Alfred began explaining...
“The suit is made of triple weave titanium fiber, made for flexibility and durability. Completely waterproof and fire retardant, the plates are made of quarter inch steel with a titanium layer sprayed on. The wrist-guards carry six four inch long, 1/8th inch steel razor blades on each arm, able to be fired by a button placed directly below the palm. The cowl is separate from the suit and is made of tri-layer carbon fiber with a half inch rubber skin on top of it. These are the ultimate weapons for a man who fights crime, breaks into mansions, or wants to do both but still look fashionable.”
Jake was speechless for a moment, his hands still fondling the fabric.
“Of course,” Alfred began, “Since the plates are spread out to make the suit lighter and more flexible, it is more susceptible to knives and bullets.”
“Of course it would be.” Jake replied sardonically.
“Think this will do the job?” Bruce asked.
“It better.” Jake answered. He turned to Alfred. “One question though, is there something a little more…subtle then the cowl? I mean it would be pretty easy to assume the guy with the cat ears is up to no good.”
Alfred let a small chuckle escape him before Bruce butted in.
“There is a pair of sunglasses that I developed, but I never could figure out how to incorporate them into the suit. They are equipped with an infra-red camera, sonar, and radar; you can use those if you wish.”
“Perfect.” Jake said, quickly packing the suit bag with Bruce and Alfred’s help. “I promise to return it as I borrowed it.”
“You better. It’s dry clean only.” Bruce said as Jake took the platform back up.
As Bruce moved to close the cage, he saw Alfred shaking his head slightly, chuckling.
“What?” Bruce asked, slightly perplexed.
“Oh yes, the sunglasses with traceable radar signal... much more subtle.”
Trimmed down by a dusty window and accompanying drapes, a single beam of light fell across the face of Emiri. She stirred, gingerly at first, before suddenly thrashing, jolting upright. The sheets and pillow beneath her were soaked in sweat.
Breathing heavily, she took in her surroundings; eyes darting to all corners before determining that she was back at HQ, and at the very least, alive. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and moved to stand up, but her legs, weakened by their days of neglect, shook violently before giving way, forcing Emiri to sit on the edge of her bed facing the door. Swearing, she looked at the clock on the nightstand. Its red digits glowing back 2:48.
“Nearly three already?” Emiri wondered aloud to nobody. She must’ve been more injured than she had realized. After a moment of still silence, she gripped the edge of the bed before forcing herself to her feet once more.
Still lame, her legs trembled again, causing Emiri to stagger forward, slamming shoulder-first against the door. She attempted to stay still long enough to open the door, but her legs gave way again, causing her to crash to the wooden floor.
“Damnit!” Emiri thought.
Frustrated, she attempted to claw her way up using the wall as a support, but failed each time. And each time falling back to the same spot on the floor.
Emiri was now furious. With a look comprised of anger, frustration, determination, and scorn on her face, she slammed her hands through the wall, using the holes as a makeshift handrail. She nearly succeeded, before the door flew open.
“Emiri, what are you doing?” Kira cried out, lunging for the injured warrior. “You need to rest! You’re only going to make yourself worse!”
Emiri threw him a look of disgust.
“Just who the hell do you think I am? I’ve rested enough. It’s time to suck it up and start kicking who kicked my ass's ass!”
Kira shook his head.
“You’re not immortal Emiri; if you go out like this you could get killed. I can’t let that happen.”
Emiri, now upright, leaned into him.
“If you think some weak legs are enough to bring me down, then you must have no idea who I am.” Emiri said, practically sneering.
As she removed her hands from the wall, she staggered for a moment. Kira moved quickly, catching her, and pushing her up against the wall.
“See! You’re not healed yet. Get some rest, please!” Kira pleaded, panic creeping into his voice.
“As if,” Emiri replied, crinkling her nose at the suggestion. “What do I look like, some old lady? I’ll be fine, trust me.”
Kira sighed, knowing that while she was weakened, it didn’t seem to affect her stubbornness.
“Well, can I at least help you to the break room or something?” he asked pleadingly.
“Now you’re talking.” Emiri said, giving him a ghost of a smile.
Hikki Follet looked out his office window, replaying the argument with Sadar in his head again and again.
Wincing, he closed the blinds. Had he been too hard on Sadar? Was he going about this the wrong way? What would Landon have done? Hikki rubbed his head, the questions banging around inside, taunting him with their seemingly un-answerable nature. Only a knock on the door saved him from drowning in his freshly-created doubt. He slowly walked to the door, and unlocked it.
Jake stepped in and closed the door behind him.
Hikki was speechless for a moment. He then quickly gathered his wits and managed to whisper out, “Jake? Ees zat you? What on Earth are you wearing?”
Jake smiled before explaining. “I borrowed a suit from a friend of Sadar’s.”
Hikki frowned at the mention of the priest’s name.
“I see. Off to do hees dirty work zen?”
“Not exactly,” Jake replied, pressing on. “I’m doing this for the entire Syndicate; I’m doing this because I know I can do it, and we need something like this.”
“What ees ‘zees’?” Hikki asked, feeling the color return to his cheeks. “By ‘zees’ do you mean getting eenvolved een seengs and weez pepole we don’t understand or trust? Ees ‘zees’ reesking your life for someseeng zat *might* exeest razzer zan actually exeesting? Or ees ‘zees’ taking meessions zat your leader might not approve of?”
Jake stared back at him, undeterred.
“I’m sorry you and Sadar don’t see eye to eye, sometimes he and I disagree too. But, we need to do something Hikki. We can’t keep snooping around, hiding out, waiting to get killed. We need something that we can physically see. Progress we can touch, instead of an idea. Words without action are just letters organized randomly.”
“But we *are* taking action!” Hikki protested. “You’ve seen ze mechas we’re building; you’re standing eenside of progress. A few months ago we were hiding out een bombed-out beeldings, now we have a base. You’re being rash, Jake; we don’t know what we’re getting eento.”
“Part of being a leader is learning to trust others, Hikki. I’m sure you know that. I get that you’re concerned; I understand, but think about all the things we can do if we get proof of Ozzal’s plans. Imagine the uproar it would cause. It could turn the tide in our favor, and we might be able to not worry about getting blown to hell every day.”
Hikki remained silent for a moment. Finally he sighed, and strode towards Jake. He grabbed a firm hold of his chin, and pulled his face right next to his.
“You come back alive, alright?” he stated. “Zen we’ll talk about our next move, as a team.”
Jake smiled, freeing his chin from the Frenchman’s fist. “No problem. I’ll be back before eight.” He glanced down at his watch. “Crap, it’s already 6:21. I gotta get moving, Hikki. We’ll continue this later.”
Hikki Follet could only watch the young man sprint away.
“Stay safe. God knows we don’t need any more death around here.”
Jake Thompson moved like the wind. He never felt this good before. He snaked in and around the forests leading up to ComDot estate, pausing every few minutes to calm his nerves and check for any movement. Finally, he was at the foot of the hill that led to the manor’s gate. Suddenly nervous, Jake took another look around, turning on his infra-red vision.
Satisfied with the lack of bodies, Jake began carefully scaling the hill, flattening his body at the slightest sounds. He finally reached the plateau and looked up at the now daunting mansion, its giant glass windows mocking his attempts.
Jake felt his stomach begin to knot and suddenly felt very cold. Checking his watch, he counted down the seconds until the display read 7:00. Jake took a few deep breaths.
“And here we…go.” Jake thought. He fired a grappling hook onto the roof. Pulling until the line went taut, Jake hooked it to his belt, and pushed the retract button, causing him to be pulled onto the roof.
Quickly un-hooking the line from his belt, Jake looked at one of the many grates over the estate. With shaking hands, he made for the nearest one. His plan was simple: Get into the house and improvise from there. So long as he got what he needed, and got out, he didn’t care how it actually happened.
After what seemed like an eternity, Jake wiggled the grate loose and carefully set it aside; he gingerly lowered himself into the void created by its removal. Jake swore as he felt his feet hit sheet metal. He had hoped to avoid the air-conditioner, it wasn’t as quiet and it was quite cliché. Grimacing, Jake lowered the rest of his body into the tiny metal prison.
After a short pause, Jake turned on his sonar vision; he would have celebrated if he wasn’t in a life-or-death scenario. The grate leading presumably to Ozzal’s office was mere feet ahead of him. Carefully slinking towards it, Jake grabbed the metal bars with his right hand, while using a miniature plasma cutter in the other hand to cut a hole in big enough to fit through.
Setting the severed part of grate aside, Jake dropped into the room. He quickly turned on the infra-red lens and took a sweeping glance of the room.
Jake hesitated, something felt…wrong. Everything was too easy, too perfect. Either Ozzal was oblivious to the outside world, or he was playing into a trap.
Ignoring his doubts, he quickly moved towards the large oak desk. Pulling open the drawers, he searched frantically for a file or even a phone bill. He needed something, anything to link her to Comedia and the invasion. Annoyed, he discarded hundreds of issues of Entertainment Weekly and a National Geographic dubbed “Wild Africa”.
Jake ran his fingers through his hair. Where would Ozzal hide such important documents? On a whim, he glanced at the swivel chair he had pushed aside. To most people it would look like the chair was a bit overstuffed, but Jake had a suspicious inkling. He shook his head, and in a trace-like mode, pulled the seat cushion off.
Sure enough, underneath an old issue of Cosmo Girl lay a plain manila folder teeming with papers. Smiling, Jake riffled through them. There were entire battle plans drawn up, timelines, and contacts. It was the Holy Grail of information. As he placed the folder in his drawstring bag, Jake froze. He was not alone.
He turned slowly towards the now opening door. Paralyzed, Jake could only watch the figure enter the room and turn on the lights.
“Good evening, Jake.” Dewey Novak said, pointing a sword in Jake’s direction.
Regaining control of his limbs, Jake quickly slung the bag over his shoulder and fired off the razors from his left arm. Dewey unflinchingly deflected them all.
“Now that wasn’t a proper greeting was it?” Dewey said mockingly.
“I’ve never been good at meeting new people.” Jake said, moving towards the window.
“I’m afraid that I’m going to need those papers back.” Dewey said. “You see, in the wrong hands, they could cause lots of problems for people like me. And I don’t like problems being forced on my lap.”
“Sorry, guess you’ll have to cancel tee time tomorrow.” Jake sneered.
“Golf is so very boring, I much rather would play war games.” Dewey retorted, lunging at Jake.
Jake quickly stepped aside and counterpunched.
“You can’t be serious,” Dewey said disgusted. “If you’re going to fight me, at least get a weapon.”
“Like these?” Jake asked, firing off the razors from his right arm. As Dewey turned, he succeeded in deflecting all of the projectiles except one. A sudden gash appeared on his left shoulder. Dewey paused for a moment.
“I must say, you’re the first person in a long time to actually injure me,” he mused. “Too bad your reward will be the same as those who have not.”
Dewey again charged at Jake, sword moving coldly, tactfully. Jake dodged as much as he could, using anything he could find as weapons. Eventually, he was able to break the leg off a chair.
Charging at Dewey, Jake swung the leg with all his might, crashing it against the man’s skull. Dewey fell to the ground, stunned and disoriented.
Seeing his chance, Jake ran towards the window, preparing to jump out when he felt the ground rushing up to meet his face.
Dewey Novak lay on top of Jake, his head bleeding and swollen from the last attack.
“Do you know why movies have the bad guys lose?” Dewey asked. “Because in real life, they win. In real life, they get their way. Only in movies do things such as justice and good prevail.”
“Spare me.” Jake wheezed, elbowing Dewey in the face, and shoving him off.
Dewey began to laugh. Slowly at first, then letting it evolve into a maniacal fit.
“Do you know why I laugh?” he asked, walking towards Jake. “I laugh because in the end, there is nothing you can do. All of the money and gadgets in the world can’t prevent the inevitable. It’s cute that you and your reject rebel buddies think that you can stop the combined power of two war machines. It’s like you all believe you’re in some movie or fiction book. Well, I have news for you: This is real life. The good guys don’t always win. And in this case, they die.”
Now Jake began to laugh. He picked up one of the discarded razor blades, concealing it in his hand.
“You really think that some long-winded monologue is going to do the trick? That some meaningless words are going to scare me? Please, if you think some empty words are going to scare someone like me, then it’s you who is living in a fantasy world.”
Jake charged at Dewey, the edge of the blade clenched in his hand. He reared back to slash Dewey in the throat when his world exploded.
Jake staggered for a moment, before losing his balance and falling against the giant windows. Another explosion caused the windows to give way, and Jake fell forever.
As he slammed against the cold ground, Jake groped his body. Something was wrong. It felt like someone was pumping oil out of him. He fumbled across the plates in the suit and froze. Directly between two plates over his heart lay a new minted hole. Jake glanced down, the blood was trickling out of the hole and over his fingers.
“I gotta get back,” Jake thought, attempting to stand. “I gotta…get…back.” He absently ran his fingers over his shoulders until he felt the strings of his backpack. Stumbling through the gate, he attempted to climb down the hill, but his weakened state only allowed him to tumble down it.
“A thank you would be nice,” Michelle Ozzal said. “Without me, that little reject might have actually killed you.”
“How many times have I told you not to interfere?!” Dewey raged. “I do things my way! The kid would have died eventually; I didn't need your help."
“Didn’t look like it to me. Looked like he was going to do my job for me.”
“Hardly...wait, what?!?” Dewey cried, whipping his head around to face Ozzal, before falling down, blood flowing from his head.
“You’re fired.” Ozzal tossed the gun at Dewey’s feet.
Jake Thompson’s world was now pulsating with every staggered step and sub sequential fall.
He staggered towards the base, futilely trying to plug the hole in his body, blood flowing over his fingers and onto his shoes. He could no longer climb down; it was more of a controlled fall and roll. He saw the base in the distance and smiled.
Samson was nervous. It was now 8:04 and Jake was still gone. He was supposed to be the lookout and warn the people inside, just in case Jake was being followed or chased. What he saw was much worse.
Yelling for help, Samson ran the few hundred feet between Jake and the base in what felt like a quarter second.
“Jake, what the hell happened?” Samson asked, panicking as he saw the copious amounts of blood on Jakes clothes.
“I got what you need.” Jake replied, shrugging the backpack off, and handing it to Samson.
“Yeah, but what about you? We need to get you to a hospital.” Samson's voice was cracking as he attempted to drag Jake into the base.
“What hospital? Where?” Jake asked. “I just need someone to stitch me up, and some of those cookies you get when you give blood.”
Jake suddenly collapsed onto the ground, his breathing taking on a ragged tone.
“I…I just need to rest a moment,” he said, wincing.
“No, you need a doctor, and a blood transfusion.” Samson said. “C’mon, it’s not too late. We have to move.”
Jake attempted to rise, using Samson as a support, but failed, collapsing back onto the ground. A cold rain began to lightly fall.
“C’mon, Jake! Let’s go!” Samson cried, attempting to drag him by the armpits.
“Samson…stop…it’s…it’s too late.” Jake panted. “What’s…important is…that file…in…my bag…give it to Hikki…it’s what…he…we need.”
“Stop talking like that, damnit!” Samson yelled. “This isn’t the end yet! We can save you! You just gotta fight a bit longer...” Samson gave Jake another tug, and froze. This time he nearly pulled Jake’s arms off, a moment ago he could barely lift him up enough to get a good grip.
Hands trembling, Samson removed them from under Jake’s arms and put two fingers behind Jake’s right ear.
No pulse.
Shaking, Samson slung the bag over his shoulder, and walked back to base.
Michelle Ozzal stomped through ComDot estate in a fury.
“How on EARTH can we only have one phone?” she raged, making her way from room to room, searching everywhere for any type of phone, finding nothing.
Ozzal could feel her blood pressure rising, and a migraine coming on. Flustered, she kicked down the last remaining door in the house.
Stepping into the grand walk-in closet, Ozzal began tearing clothes off of hangers, until she saw a small plastic lifesaver stashed in the corner. A small red telephone lay hidden in the farthest reaches of the closet, dust showing its years of neglect. Relieved, Ozzal dusted off the receiver, and hastily punched in a number.
The phone rang once, twice, and a few times more before someone answered. No words were spoken for a moment.
“…Yes?” the voice asked, clearly annoyed.
“I have fixed our little problem. You will have no complications in implementing your strategy.”
“Good, it's about time. Do not tempt my patience like this again, Ozzal.”
“Great pep talk,” Ozzal couldn't help the sarcasm.
“Do not try to be funny, it is not one of your strong points.” With that, the voice hung up.
Michelle Ozzal contemplated destroying the old red phone, but before she could act, the clock struck nine.
“Desperate Housewives time already?!? This day gets better and better!” Ozzal said gleefully, skipping down the hall towards the television.
Clarice approached the door, knocking softly before gently cracking it open.
Samson sat at the edge of the bed, staring at the corner of the room, his clothes still soaked.
“I thought you might want some tea. Warm up a bit.” Clarice spoke softly, setting a tray down on the nearby nightstand. She offered him a cup.
“No thanks,” Samson said flatly, his gaze remaining on the empty corner.
“There was nothing you could do, you know that, right? If you’re going to try and blame yourself, you’ll only look foolish.”
“I could have done something, stopped the bleeding, called for help. Anything. But, I froze, and he died.”
“Samson, he was shot above the heart, it was amazing he lasted as long as he did. His death was as much my fault as it was yours.”
Sighing, Samson looked at the young woman before continuing.
“Maybe you’re right. But I realized something when Jake died.”
“What’s that?” Clarice asked, taking a seat next to Samson.
“We have to do something. We can’t wait around anymore. People are dying. Not just the faceless rabble anymore either, people we know, people that were…” Samson paused, fighting back a tear.
“People that were strong,” he finished, shedding the tear before turning to Clarice. “And I don’t know who is next. What if it’s me? Or Hikki? Or you?”
Clarice stared back, silent for a moment, taking in Samson’s words.
“Samson…”
“I can’t lose anyone else Clarice. Not Hikki, not Lloyd, not Sadar, not even Cid or Proof.” Samson paused a moment, regaining his wit before continuing. “And I can never, ever lose you. This world is dangerous enough just existing in it, but now you’re piloting one of those mechas, and I know that you can do it, but…”
Samson stopped again, words failing him as he tried to continue, Clarice took hold of his hand.
“Samson, you said it yourself: We have to do something. And since the world is dangerous anyways, why don’t I go out and do something? At least in this way, if something were to happen to me, I would go out like Jake – dying for something that I not only believed in, but fought for.”
“But-“
“No buts. I’m a big girl, and I can damn well understand the consequences of my actions.”
“But if I lost you, what would I do?”
“Fight on. Make sure that Ozzal, or whoever is pulling the strings, pays for what they have done. You’re strong Samson. You'll endure...like a hero should.”
“I’m not strong. Jake was strong. I’m just-“
“Alive. That’s what matters. You’re alive, and I’m alive. I don’t know about you, but I don’t plan on giving up anytime soon.”
Samson looked back at Clarice, taken aback by her strong words. Samson had always admired her, but over the course of this war, she had grown into her own. She was no longer just some pretty face to smile at, she was something more: A pillar of strength. Pure, spunky, gritty strength. For the first time that night, Samson felt at ease.
“Now drink up, you must be frozen.”
Hikki and Sadar sat on opposite sides of the table. Sadar had his feet on the table, and arms behind his head, while Hikki sat up rigidly, arms crossed. Lying in between them were several piles of papers. Over the past few minutes, Hikki had thumbed through them, circling dates, places, times and weapons of importance.
The file was a gold mine of information. Hikki had drawn a dark red circle around one of the dates in the timeline reading, “22:00 First Caravan Arrives”. He now sat opposite Sadar, who had spent the whole time drinking in the scene of Hikki riffling through the papers.
They eyed each other, each man daring the other to break the ice. Finally, Sadar smiled slightly and leaned forward.
“You’re not going to let me take these files to the police, are you?”
“No.” Hikki replied curtly, continuing to stare daggers at the priest.
“Why?”
“Because we deed seengs your way, Père, and pepole died.”
“You can’t expect missions of this nature to not have casualties. Jake knew what he was getting into.”
“Yes, but you were ze one who pressured heem eento eet. Weezout your pestering he would steel be alive.”
“Yes, and we wouldn’t have these files.”
Both men continued the stare-off, trying to intimidate the other.
“What I don’t understand is why you won’t let the proper authorities handle this," Sadar continued.
“Aussorities?!?” Hikki scoffed. “What aussorities? Ze ones zat you claim are so good?”
“Yes, those ones.”
“And why should I trust you? From ze moment we met, you have not respected me; tonight you gave one of my men an order to play fetch for you and your cop friends, and eet got heem keeled.
“Who ees to say zat when we geeve zese papers to ze aussorities zat zey are not keeled, or worse, zat zey work for Ozzal. Zen what weel Jake’s death mean? Zese files are staying here. End of deescussion.”
“Then what will you do with them?” Sadar stared into the Frenchman's eyes.
Hikki stared back for a few moments, then rose, snatching the papers off the table.
“Let’s go ask zem.”
As the clock struck 9:15, Hikki waved his arms around frantically, trying to settle the rattled Syndicate. Word had spread of the night's transgressions, and the fallout was nothing short of chaos. Finally, after a few minutes of pleading for silence, Hikki turned towards Lloyd with a look of confusion; frustration and desperation twisted on his face.
Smiling slightly, Lloyd pulled out a small starter’s handgun. While it was only used in track meets, he figured that the mere image of one might be enough to ward off a wayward criminal or two. He quickly aimed upwards and fired the gun towards the ceiling.
The gunshot echoed throughout the building and the rabble quickly died down to silence.
“Bon soir everyone, I am sure you are all aware of our current seetuation.”
The noise began again, people shouting out questions, accusations, or simply ranting.
Hikki again pleaded for silence, this time the request was honored, as the noise level quickly muted again.
“However, we have een our possession papers zat not only prove Ozzal’s eenvolvement een all of zese seengs, but what her next moves are.”
A rumble began to wave over the mass. Hikki continued.
“We know zat Comedia ees eendeed eenvading, and zat Ozzal plans to merge ze countries een a plot to rule over both. We also know zat eef she ees successful, Babblestan weel fall veectim to ze same trap.”
The rumble turned into a defined buzz. Hikki gestured for patience, and continued once more.
“We also know zat ze first caravan arrives tonight at ten sharp.”
The crowd erupted. It was all too much. Ozzal’s plans, the next defined steps, and the fact that war was coming to them not later, but now. Hikki pleaded for silence, but was ignored as questions began to bombard the Frenchman.
“What exactly do you plan to do?”
“How safe are we?”
“If this is already beginning how much longer do we have?”
“What can we hope to do?”
“Why are you telling us? Don’t we have enough to worry about?”
“Where is Carmen Sandiego?”
Finally, Lloyd let off another shot towards the ceiling, quelling the upset crowd. Hikki paused for a moment then continued.
“I don’t know what to do next. Zat ees why I called zees meeting to deescuss our next move.”
The previously loud and boisterous crowd was now dead silent, everyone looking away from the podium. Clarice looked at Samson and flashed him a half smile. Samson, understanding the cue, spoke up.
“I, uh, have an idea.”
“Yes?” Hikki asked.
“Well, we could, um, ambush the caravan.”
There was silence for a moment before the noise level exploded. People turned to glare at Samson, eyes accusing, as he begged for silence and patience.
“Just hear me out,” he pleaded. “I mean, it sounds crazy, but so is standing around waiting to get killed. If we use this information that we have to seize the caravan, it might slow down the advance. Buy us some time, you know? I mean, they can’t expect us to attack; this might be our best chance to actually be on the offensive for once.”
Everyone was silent for a moment, turning Samson’s idea over in their heads, mulling over his argument. Finally, Cille spoke up.
“I agree.”
It was now her turn to have the gazes of people locked on her.
“I think Samson is right. We need to do something; we can’t let an opportunity like this slip by us. Who knows? Maybe this is what we need to actually bring down Ozzal.”
“Me too,” Clarice chimed in. “It’s high time we started dishing out some butt-kickings instead of receiving them."
People began to nod their heads, a murmur of agreement rose from the crowd. Hikki addressed theme once more.
“So are we een agreement weez each ozzer?”
The heads in the crowd nodded solemnly. It was time for the Syndicate to act, consequences be damned.
“Alright zen,” Hikki said “We have half an hour, let’s get going.”
“Um, Hikki?” Cille asked, tapping him on the shoulder.
“Yes?”
“Do you mind if I stay here, and sort of serve as a mission commander? I’m not too big on using guns or even my fists. I would be much more comfortable staying here and directing things.”
“Of course. We always need a sharp person like you coordeenating seengs,” he replied, smiling.
Hikki walked down the line of men and women. Finally, he spoke.
“Ok, here ees how eet weel go. Emiri, you weel attack ze first vehicle. Angel, you get ze second one. Lloyd and I weel take ze seerd one. Samson and Clarice weel take ze fourth. Ceed and Proof weel take ze last one.”
Everyone nodded.
“We weel attack een reverse order so Ceed and Proof weel strike first, so zat we don’t teep off ze rest of ze cars.”
More nods.
“I feel I must warn you zat zees ees very dangerous, you may die on zees meession. Eef anyone does not want to do eet, I understand.”
Hikki looked around, none of the seven faces even flinched. He smiled.
“Alright zen, let’s go.”
Cille watched the radar intently, carefully making sure that the caravans were not straying from the path described in the files.
She smiled as five dots moved northeast. She let out a deep breath and spoke into the headset.
“Hikki, can you hear me?”
“Yes, Lucille.”
“Targets are moving as expected. They should be passing you in a few minutes. All five are accounted for. From the cameras you set down along your way, it looks like each caravan has two men in it, along with plenty of weapons...except for the first one, which has four men in it, and what seems to be a bomb-like device.”
“Understood,” Hikki replied, relaying the information to Emiri.
“Perfect, I like a challenge." She licked her lips savoringly.
“Alright Hikki, get hidden. They’re a hundred yards behind you and closing,” Cille spoke again, nervousness creeping into her voice.
“Understood.” He signaled the others to retreat to their hiding spots.
As the light from the headlights began to illuminate the dirt road just inches from their noses, Hikki began to worry. What if this was the wrong move? Was this really what they needed? He turned to Lloyd. Lloyd, seeing Hikki’s fear, simply patted the Frenchman’s hand, mouthing “Everything will be fine.”
As the last vehicle turned up the road, Cille pressed down the radio button.
“Alright guys, go.”
Hikki motioned to Cid and Proof to get moving, and they scrambled to their feet, chasing after their truck. As soon as they left, the others followed suit, each running to their mark.
Cid and Proof quickly caught up to their truck. They jumped onto the back, crawling towards the open windows.
“Hiya!” Cid excitedly poked her head through the driver's-side window.
“Whatcha doin’?” Proof asked, leaning in the other window.
“Looks important!” Cid said.
“And dangerous!” Proof added.
“Can we come? Huh? Can we?” Cid pestered.
“Who the hell are you kids?” The driver asked, quite baffled at the whole scene.
“Oh, you know, we were just out for a walk and we saw you guys and wanted to say hi!” Cid chimed.
“Ooh, what’s this?” Proof asked, holding a bazooka. He was now inside the truck, having scrambled inside via cutting an opening in the top of the vehicle's roof.
“What the hell?” The other man in the front seat said, whipping his head behind him to see a bazooka pointed towards the windshield. “Put that down. You kids are in a lot of trouble.”
“Aww, you’re no fun mister,” Proof whined, putting the missile down before walking up behind the driver, covering his eyes. “Peek-a-boo! Guess who I am!”
“Argh! I can’t see!” The driver yelled, swerving the automobile.
As the other man reached for his gun, Cid climbed through the window, and sat on his lap, turning to face him.
“Now, you wouldn’t hurt an innocent girl like me, would you?” she asked, batting her eyes.
The man hesitated for only a moment, and as he did, Cid took off her shoe and poked him in the eye with the pointed toe. Blinded, the man thrashed about. Cid quickly opened the door of the vehicle. The man fell onto the road, still clutching at his face. Meanwhile, Proof maintained his death grip over the driver’s eyes, until Cid was able to open his door and help push him out.
“Do you know how to drive one of these things?” Proof asked.
“Nope, but I will soon,” Cid answered, squealing with joy as she applied the gas.
Samson and Clarice crouched down along the side of the road. Since the road was narrow and in poor shape, the cars were traveling at about five to ten miles per hour, allowing them to cut into the woods and get ahead of their mark. Their eyes met, and they nodded. Samson scaled the tree next to them, climbing out onto a branch that dangled over the road.
Clarice ran out onto the road and threw up her hands, waving them wildly. The car stopped, and the driver stepped out.
“May I help you, ma’am?”
“Oh, thank goodness!” Clarice exclaimed. “My husband and I were out bird watching in these woods and we got lost! We’ve been stumbling around for hours! Could you please give us a ride back to town?”
The driver looked confused. “I wish I could, ma’am, but I’m on official business. Plus, I don’t see your husband anywhere.”
No sooner had he said that did Samson drop from his branch, crashing through the roof of the vehicle, and engaging the passenger. They tussled for a moment before Samson was able to push him out of the car and down a steep ravine.
“Hey, what the hell is this?” the driver asked, drawing his gun. When he glanced back, Clarice was gone. Loading his gun, he turned slowly on the spot before falling over.
Clarice stood over him triumphantly, pipe in hand, and climbed into the car.
Samson dusted himself off and smiled as she assumed the driver’s position.
“Taxi, I would like to go to a place where I can get away from it all. Know any places?”
“Sure do, sir, you just hold on tight now.” Clarice pressed a foot down on the gas.
Hikki Follet ran frantically into the street, nearly getting flattened by the oncoming caravan truck.
“Hey! Watch it!” the driver cried. “Just what the hell are you doing out so late anyhow?”
“Oh, the usual,” Hikki shrugged, “Taking a nightly walk.”
“Well, this is government property. You're under arrest for trespassing.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Get in the back,” the driver barked.
“Don’t mind if I do!” Lloyd said, appearing behind the man and pistol whipping him unconscious.
As the passenger turned to draw his gun, he felt a thin blade pressed against his throat.
“Don’t even seenk about eet,” Hikki said, firmly clutching a rapier. “Get out of ze car.”
“Not on your life,” the man snarled, pulling out a gun.
“Wrong answer.” Lloyd said, pistol whipping the man.
“Nice work.” Hikki smiled. He dragged the unconscious man's limp body out of the car and hopped in.
“Nice rapier.” Lloyd smiled back, taking the wheel in his hands.
The driver squinted. He could have sworn he had people following him. He turned to his passenger, but instead, saw a dolled-up Angel in his place.
“Hiya.” Angel said, leaning forward seductively. “You know what the worst part of being a rebel is? The loneliness. The boring, excruciating loneliness. I just want some one to love me for my ideals, not this body,” she accentuated the last part by rubbing her hands over her torso.
Flabbergasted, the driver stammered out, “What…what happened to Mick? What did you do to him?”
Angel laughed. “Come now, what makes you think someone like me would do anything to your friend Mick?”
Shaking, the driver reached for his gun.
“For shame,” Angel said in a faux-hurt tone. “I dress all up looking for some company, and you go accusing me of things and draw a weapon on me.”
Her eyes flashed.
“But, if that’s the way you want to play, count me in.”
She grabbed the top of the window ledge and swung her body up, swinging her legs and kicking the driver multiple times in the face with her stiletto-heeled boots. After sure the driver was unconsciousness, Angel opened his door, and dumped the body out.
“Men,” she said, climbing in the driver’s seat, "sometimes they make it too easy."
Marc Russell was nervous. When he started out, he had four trucks behind him, now there seemed to be none. He turned to voice his concerns to his partner, but he lay against the seat sleeping. Turning around to check the back, he slammed on the brakes.
Where two men should have been, there were two bags of flour. Printed on the bags in big, bolded letters was the phrase, “Who the hell do you think I am?”
He turned around to face the road, when he felt someone by his side.
“Ok, I want to drive.” Emiri said, tossing Marc out of the door.
Marc’s cry of terror awoke his partner, to Emiri’s great delight. As the man raise a fist to punch her, she began to laugh.
“C’mon! I want you to do it.”
The man froze.
“C’mon!” Emiri repeated. “You know you want to. Do it!”
The man still didn’t move out of a combination of confusion and fear.
“C’mon!” Emiri raged. “Do it! Hit me! I want you to! Hit me! HIT ME!”
He swung for her face, whereupon she easily grabbed his arm and flung him into the bushes. Emiri grabbed the truck radio and pressed down the receiver.
“Attention all units! You have new orders. You are hereby commanded to head back to HQ and regroup like the rebels you are.”
Cheering could be heard from the other cars, followed by honking. The line of trucks all turned around, heading back to base, victorious.
Michelle Ozzal charged up the stairs and into the closet. She picked up the phone and practically screamed into it.
“JUST WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!?”
“There seems to have been a problem. It appears that the caravan which you promised would have no problems has been hijacked in its entirety.”
“WHAT?!” Ozzal screeched. “IMPOSSIBLE!”
“Apparently not. You promised that there would be no problems, Ozzal.”
“There weren’t. Not on my end. If your men let the caravan get hijacked, then I suggest you take it up with them.”
“This is not what we agreed to, Ozzal. Consider my co-operation over.”
“OH NO YOU DON’T!” Ozzal bellowed. “WE HAD A DEAL!”
“Yes, and it appears that you didn’t live up to your part. Good luck finding someone else to help you.”
“Wait!” Ozzal cried frantically.
“What?” the voice asked, sounding more tired than annoyed.
“What if we re-negotiate some of the key terms?”
“Such as?”
“Come down here tomorrow, and we’ll talk about it.”
“I want a private jet flown in for me, with military support. Along with first-class hotel reservations and dining services.”
“Done.”
“This is your last chance, Ozzal. You made a costly mistake, and you will pay for it in re-negotiation.”
“So be it.”
The line went dead. Ozzal hung up the phone, staring at it for a moment, before tossing it out the fourth-story window.
Back at base, Hikki Follet was inspecting the large cache of weapons seized from the caravan.
“Eempresseeve,” he said, pacing around the giant pile. “But what do we do weez eet now?”
The question hung in the air for a moment before Samson spoke up
“Hikki, could we send out a TV signal from here?” he asked.
“Of course we could.” Lloyd answered for him. “All it would require would be a few quick installations of wires and a satellite. Why?”
“Let’s go public with this stuff." Samson said excitedly.
“Let’s send a signal over every TV in Actonia and show them what Ozzal has been hiding from them. We can read from the report, and have all the weapons in the background as proof.” Samson glanced around. Instead of receiving scorn, everyone seemed to be contemplating the idea.
“I do have an old camera we could use,” Cille said.
“We can shoot it from the meeting room.” Angel added.
“I don’t know, Sammie,” Hikki fidgeted. “Eet sounds dangerous… what eef somebody uses eet as a way to find ze base?”
“It's bound to be discovered eventually,” Samson replied. “Ozzal obviously wants a big ass war so she can take over Comedia, so, let’s give her one. Let’s let everyone know what she’s been planning. That’s bound to turn the tide against her. Plus, with the weapons we have, we might be able to defend this place.”
“Sounds good to me.” Emiri nodded.
“Me too.” Lloyd agreed.
“All een favor?” Hikki asked.
A collective “Yeah” rose from the crowd.
“I’ll get working on the antenna right away,” Lloyd quickly scrambled out of the room.
“Who should deleever ze speech?” Hikki asked. All eyes focused on him. “Oh.” He flashed a nervous smile.
“Sammie, how do I look?” Hikki asked, nervously looking in a mirror, checking for any flaws.
“I don’t think it matters considering what’s about to happen.” Samson replied.
“Steel, I don’t want to look seelly for my beeg debut.”
“You’ll be lucky if people remember your name after all of this,” Samson teased.
Lloyd entered the room. “Everything is set up. With one flip of the switch, we’ll go live to every set turned on in Actonia.”
“Awesome,” Samson grinned. “Cille, is the camera ready?”
“Yep. Ready when you guys are.”
“Ok, Hikki. You can do this.” Samson patted him on the back as the Frenchman made his way in front of the large arsenal of weapons.
“Are you sure?” Hikki asked, hands causing the papers in the folder to rattle slightly.
“Positive.” Samson nodded and took his place a few paces behind Cille.
“Alright everyone, quiet please!” Cille ordered and turned on the camera.
The light shone brightly, causing Hikki to squint momentarily, before adjusting.
“Ok,” he said, taking in a few deep breaths. “Let’s go.”
“We’re on in...5…4…3...” Lloyd counted down, signaling the last two seconds with his hands before flipping the switch.
CHARACTERS (In order of appearance):
Jake Thompson - SportsMaster
Father John Sadar – FurionTassadar
Michelle Ozzal - Mike Lazzo
Hikki Follet – Kohikki
Samson Monroe – MasterSamson
Lloyd Asplund (Code Geass)
Hill - fool_on_the_hill
Chief “Q” Holmes - Q_chan
Bruce Wayne – (Batman)
Alfred – (Batman)
Emiri - _Boxers_
Izuru Kira (Bleach)
Clarice Rowe – QueenoftheDorks
Lucille Compton – Cille
Proof - NoProof
Cid – cidthekittyisfun
Angel Sarcasta – mgangel1124
SPECIAL THANKS TO:
Fool (for editing this monster)
Cille (for being the best frenchifyer ever)
Hikki (for being a lifesaver more than once, and answering all my questions)
The rest of the regular crew (for helping me form this chapter, and giving me such fantastic ideas, you guys rule.)
Jake Thompson had enough. It was bad enough that the merging of all the orders into the Syndicate made his job – his only job – useless, but now it was like he wasn’t even there. Everyone carried on without noticing the obviously boring baseball player-turned-rebel.
He gathered his clothes and stuffed them into a tattered duffle bag with the zipper missing. He looked at the sword tilted carefully against the wall. The now clean steel shone in the light of the rising sun. Jake reached for it, but quickly winced, remembering all the sins committed with it. He decided to leave it be; someone might need it eventually. He slung the bag over his left shoulder and took one last look around before stepping into the hall and shutting the door behind him.
John Sadar was never a morning person. He always considered it one of God’s little practical joke that a man of the church dreaded the days he must wake before noon.
Times were different now; if you slept until noon, you might find yourself with nothing left to do but sleep. So every morning at six, he forced himself out of bed and down into the break room. Or more aptly, break corner. Wherein a small counter consisting of a coffee maker and a toaster lay. Sadar poured himself a cup of already-cold coffee, frowning slightly when he discovered this fact.
“Too bad we don’t have a microwave... Or for that matter, bread,” Sadar thought.
The irony of a toaster without any bread took a backseat when he saw someone moving towards the exit out of his peripherals.
“Going somewhere?” Sadar probed.
“Away,” Jake replied, taking a few more steps forward.
“So soon?” Sadar probed further, his tone taking a more sarcastic tone.
“What’s the point, John? Where do I fit in? Nowhere! They don’t need me, they never did.” Jake’s voice taking on a more sad tone as he continued. “Fact is I'm just taking up space. So, I’m leaving. I’ll go to the Land of the Stars and Stripes. Start anew over there...maybe play some baseball again. Something that doesn’t involve me fearing for my life everyday.”
Jake was about at the exit when he realized that Sadar had caught up, coffee in hand, and was staring right at him, as if trying to look into his soul.
“So this is the real Jake Thompson, huh?” Sadar was now directly in front of the 6’6” deserter. His 5’10” frame leaned in causing Jake to lean back slightly, uncomfortable with the lack of space between them. “This is the man who once turned down a multi-million dollar contract in the Land of the Stars and Stripes to stay here, to be a role model to kids? This is the man who always said that he believed that without everyone chipping in, groups can not succeed?”
“Don’t feed me that crap, John.” Jake said, straightening his posture, tilting his head down to look the shorter priest in the eye. “In case you didn’t notice, this isn’t sports. This isn’t some fluff interview. This is real life. People are dying, John. For what? Do we really think that a bunch of rag-tags, a gay Frenchman, and some freakin’ mechas are going to take down the armies of two countries? Are we all stupid or insane?”
“So that’s it, huh?” Sadar barked, practically shouting now. “That’s how it is! Things get a little too real for superstar here and he’s going to turn tail and run! To hell with everybody else, right? We’re just too stupid to run, right? Never mind the fact that we’re fighting for something bigger than ourselves...we’re just a bunch of idiots with a death wish, huh? Grow up! The world isn’t fair sometimes; in fact, it can downright suck sometimes. But you know what? A little sacrifice by us today might make tomorrow a little more bearable for someone else. It’s a shame you don’t get that.”
Jake Thompson could only look at the hardened floor. Sadar’s words cut right through him. As much as he wanted to scream back that Sadar didn’t get it, and that it wasn’t fair to him to have to risk his life after all he went through, he didn’t. Finally he looked up; Sadar’s glare still cold and piercing as it was a few moments ago.
“I don’t know what to do, John...” Jake said his voice barely audible to the man two feet away. “Everyday I just fill space, everyday people die, and everyday we don’t seem to be any closer to our goal. What we’re attempting to do is beyond suicide...it’s a whole different level of insanity. We need a miracle now more than ever...”
“So, create one.” Sadar said, softening his gaze. He pondered a moment, and then continued. “In fact, I might know how you can go about doing so.”
“How?” Jake queried, seeing the gears turning in Sadar’s head.
“I need you to do a bit of recon for me. I need some solid proof that Ozzal is going to let Comedia invade and merge the countries. I’m betting there is something in ComDot Estate – something we could get our hands on – that would not only validate our mission, but allow the public to finally see with the wool removed.”
Jake stood for a moment, pondering the assignment. He finally let out a sigh and set his bag down.
“You know, you always find a way to reel me back in.”
“Good. Now go and fetch me a freaking microwave, I might as well be drinking the snow,” Sadar said, allowing himself a slight smile.
The light poured out of the giant windows of ComDot estate, reflecting off the snow, providing a sliver of white in the otherwise dark night. Michelle Ozzal walked into the master study, carefully locking the door behind her. She began pacing, staring irritably at the small silver phone lying in the center of her desk, almost pleading with it to ring. An hour passed. Just as Ozzal was fixing to hurl the cellular as far as she could into the thick forest feet away from the manor, it rang. Jolted back to reality, she raced to answer the phone, nearly dropping it on the floor.
“Yes?” Ozzal asked, surprisingly calm.
“I assume everything has been set up for tomorrow night?” a man asked in a serious, business-like tone.
“Yes, you will enter the country and then report to me. There are a few…bugs left to be worked out.” Ozzal answered, equally serious.
“I thought you said there would be no problems?” the man replied, his voice now taking a more annoyed tone.
“Some things take longer to resolve themselves than others.”
“We cannot take any longer, Ozzal. If there are problems, it’s going to fall on you. Do not disappoint me.”
And with that, the line went dead. Ozzal stared at the phone for a moment before whipping it at the nearest wall, leaving a quarter-sized dent in the wall.
As dawn broke, Jake Thompson again packed the tattered duffle bag. Slinging it over his shoulder, he made towards the exit before being intercepted again by Sadar. The two stared at each other for a moment before Sadar slipped him a small business card.
“I want you to go to the coordinates listed on here. Show your card at the door and ask for Bruce. He knows you’re coming.”
Jake nodded, and carefully slipped out the front door. Sadar watched him leave before turning to heat up his coffee in the microwave.
Hikki Follet awoke gently. He rose out of bed and slipped on his favorite house shoes. Carefully, so not to wake his slumbering partner, he opened the door and stepped out onto the balcony.
The sun was just beginning to rise over the horizon, its light turning the water it rested on into a palette of oranges and reds. He felt the slight breeze blow through his hair, and smiled as a flock of seagulls flew by. He soon realized he wasn’t alone; turning around, he saw Samson behind him holding two cups of tea. He offered Hikki one before joining him at his right.
Hikki put his arm around Samson and allowed himself a little sigh. Life was perfect…except for the fact that the ship kept blowing the horn, even though there was no dock in sight. Hikki turned to deal with this annoyance, and promptly knocked the alarm clock off the table.
He sat up, quickly scanning his surroundings before realizing what had happened. He sighed slightly, but looking at Lloyd, quickly forgot why he did so.
“Good dream?” Lloyd asked, rubbing his eyes.
“I don’t remember.” Hikki said, slipping on his favorite house shoes.
Hill dug through the scattered stacks of papers for what seemed like the millionth time. He waded his way through car-jacking reports, murders, vandalism, and a case of a tricycle killing a man after falling from the sky. All of it was useless information now. Frustrated, he kicked one of the boxes, instantly recoiling from the pain of kicking a hundred-pound box of documents.
Q opened the door to the office to find Hill hopping around on one foot swearing, and face-palmed. It had been nearly three days since the mysterious John Sadar turned their world inside-out. Since then, it had been a mad scramble to find something, anything, of proof to his claims. They might as well have been looking for a way to pull sunshine out of their asses, as sixty hours of searching had yielded nothing. Q glanced away from the cursing Englishman to find Sadar standing in the doorway.
“Find anything?” he asked.
“Not a damned thing; we might as well be looking for Noah’s ark while we’re at it,” Hill snapped, foot still sore from his outburst.
“Yeah,” Q added, “It’s been pointless. I want to believe you, but we have nothing here. We checked all the archives, have gone through about a billion different pieces of paper, and there is nothing even mentioning Comedia in any of them.”
“Don’t worry about that, I have someone who is going to change that,” Sadar replied confidently.
“Who?” Q asked, now weary of what this man was up to.
“Not important right now, but what is important is that he will get you all the information you could ever need.” Sadar replied, turning towards the exit.
Q was flabbergasted. First, this man shows up, gives them a supposed lead on an invasion, and then when they couldn’t find anything, he tells them that someone else will just come up with the evidence? She wanted to believe Sadar; he didn’t look like the type to lie, but the story was becoming more and more far-fetched. Finally, she called back to him:
“And when will we get it?”
“Tomorrow.” Sadar replied, barely audible over the noise in the streets. And with that he left, quickly blending into the mass of grey concrete.
Hill stood there a moment before addressing Q.
“So, now what?” he asked.
“I guess we wait for this other mystery man to pull these documents out of his ass.” Q replied, using one of the boxes as a makeshift chair.
“And what if he doesn’t? Then what?” Hill pressed on.
“I really don’t know, Hill. I guess...we just hope this Sadar guy is wrong.”
"What if he isn't?" Hill retorted, leaning in, leaving only a few inches between their faces.
“Christ, I don’t know, Hill! Don’t you have some digging to do?” Q stood up and briskly exited the room.
Hill let out a low sigh. “Note to self: never get on her bad side.”
Jake Thompson hurried through the debris and still-raging fires of the once-prosperous district. He walked for what felt likes miles before arriving in what appeared to be a bombed-out prairie. He stopped and scanned the flat plains for anything other than knee-high grass and abandoned construction equipment. In the distance he spotted what appeared to be an old storage shed. Rolling his eyes, he started towards it.
“Oh Bret, how come you can never find your true love? Is it the tattoos? I don’t mind! Come live with me Bret! Run away! BREAK FREE!”
Michelle Ozzal was now standing in the middle of her den, scattered chips and the bowl they were held in lying inches away from her feet. She practically screamed the last sentence, transfixed on the latest E-News bulletin. If there was anything she loved more than power, it was basket-case musicians. She always insisted she had a soft spot for them.
Oblivious to the crunching of chips beneath her feet, she continued to pay rapt attention to the television. As E-News went to commercial, she became aware of her surroundings, and bent down to gather the un-crushed chips and the green bowl.
No sooner had she set the bowl down, did she hear her phone ringing. She stared at the compact collection of plastic and microchips wondering how it didn’t break after the last incident. Hesitantly, she answered, putting the caller on speakerphone.
“Hello, Michelle,” a familiar voice said in a flat, serious tone.
“Hello.” Ozzal replied, a bit too cheerily for the caller, as she heard a scoff before he continued.
“Have you fixed your little problem?” the voice asked, a mixture of sarcasm and annoyance dripping from every word.
“Not yet, but you could hardly call it a problem. Your men will have no trouble tonight,” Ozzal replied, noticing that she was now very nervous.
“…I told you not to disappoint me, Ozzal. I want this roadblock fixed. I do not know how clearly I can state this.”
“You’re getting worked up over nothing.”
“I would hardly call it ‘nothing’”
“I can assure you it is.”
“Careful now, Ozzal, arrogance like that is what leads to sudden...casualties. I would expect a former General to understand this.”
Ozzal gritted her teeth, squeezing the phone tightly until her hand shook.
“Just…be here by ten, and then we can discuss my so called ‘arrogance.’” Ozzal whipped the phone at the concrete floor, smiling as it cleanly broke into two parts.
Jake Thompson staggered up the shockingly steep incline of the field, nearly collapsing as he reached the plateau. Taking a moment to relax, he looked at the sky, noticing the large dark clouds screaming in from the west. Checking his watch, Jake grimaced as it flashed 1:14 PM back at him.
“Great, I have to go play spy in a freakin’ downpour,” he thought, groaning as he clamored back to his feet.
As he reached the shed, he saw no point of entry; the doors were chained shut, and there was no doorbell or knocker. Cautiously, Jake approached the sheet metal and lightly tapped it. He quickly stood back, expecting the doors to whip open.
Finally, a small slit opened in the right door; a pair of cold eyes glared out at him.
“Who are you, and how did you find us?” a voice asked, clearly upset that his secret hideout wasn’t so secret.
“I’m…um…uh, Jake Thompson. John Sadar sent me to see a, uh, Bruce?” Jake replied tentatively.
“Prove it,” the voice practically growled back.
Jake froze. He didn’t have any idea what the man meant. Standing stunned for a few seconds, he stared back at the un-blinking eyes.
“Uh…how? I mean I…uh…OH!” Jake’s eyes flashed, and he frantically dug around the pockets of his jacket until he fished out a small glass cross.
“Um, Sadar gave me this a while back.” Jake dangled the cross in front of the pair of eyes for them to behold.
“Very well,” the voice replied and shut the peephole. Moments later, the chains retracted, and the right door swung open a few feet.
“Come in,” the voice said, sounding much further away then a few moments ago.
Hikki Follet ran down the hall, nearly flattening everyone in his path. As the hallway emptied into the main floor, he made a beeline for an unsuspecting John Sadar.
“Père Sadar! Père Sadar! A word s’il vous plait!” he shouted, now directly behind the priest.
“Ah, Hikki, just who I was looking for, do you know where Lloyd is? I can’t seem to get this damned microwave to work now. It was just fine this morning.”
Hikki held up a single finger, bending over and breathing heavily, the effects of his mad dash now catching up to him.
“Père… what… ees zees I hear… about you geeving orders to… my men?” Hikki asked, still panting.
“I did not know that a simple request was giving orders,” Sadar mused.
“How ees asking someone to reesk zere lives a request?” Hikki raged, waving his hands in frantic gestures.
“I did not ask him to risk his life. I asked him to do some simple detective work for a few policemen that I have befriended.” Sadar curtly replied.
“Detecteeve work? We are not policemen, Père! We are rebels! We cannot reesk getting caught up een seengs zat are not our beezness.”
“We need allies, Hikki. We need help. This is not a fight we have to go at alone; if we grease the wheels of others, they will be more willing to help.”
Hikki stared at the grizzled man, flustered.
“I am ze leader, Père. You do not tell any of my men or women what to do. Zees eencludes so called ‘requests’ to aid some policemen zat I have never met.”
Hikki sauntered off, retreating to his office before quickly locking the door.
“Alright. Come stand next to me."
Nervously, Jake inched forward in the dimly lit hall, stopping when he saw the silhouette of the voice.
“So uh…am I supposed to hold on to something?” Jake asked, increasingly anxious over his current situation.
“Not really,” the voice replied, pressing a button on the nearby wall.
Jake felt himself being blinded and sinking all at once. He shielded his eyes in an attempt to regain his bearings. Finally the platform they were on stopped and Jake stood still for a moment, adjusting to the sudden impact of copious amounts of fluorescent lighting.
After a moment of rapid blinking, Jake’s world came back into focus. He found himself in what appeared to be either a giant garage or the largest closet in the world. Frowning, he saw nothing but lights and grey concrete for what seemed like miles.
“Uh, mind telling me where we are?” Jake asked, glancing around the space.
“That’s not very polite now is it?” another voice spoke. Turning, Jake saw a man that appeared to be between 70 and 170 years-old, carrying a tea tray. “You’re only the third person to see this place; you would think to be more grateful...”
“Um…who are you exactly?” Jake asked, now very on edge.
“He’s Alfred, my oldest and closest friend.” The voice turned back to Jake.
“Wait! I know who you are!” Jake said, slightly stunned. “You’re Bruce Wayne, that billionaire from the Land of the Stars and Stripes! What the hell are you doing in the outskirts of Actonia?”
Bruce nodded, confirming his identity before continuing. “It’s a home away from home, where I store my gear during lulls in the action.”
“Like spy gear?” Jake asked hopefully.
“Better.” Bruce replied, pulling a small remote out of his hand, and pressing one of what appeared to be hundreds of buttons.
No sooner had Bruce pocketed the device did a heptagon-shaped, man-sized cage rise from the concrete. The cage then opened like a book, revealing a vast array of weapons, gear and a black full-body suit.
“Awesome.” Jake said aloud, taking a few quick steps towards the cage.
“I figured you would like it. After John gave me a call, I figured I could let you borrow it.” Bruce was now behind Jake’s left shoulder peering into the cage with the enraptured rebel.
“So how does this all work?” Jake asked, mindlessly running his fingers over the suit.
Smiling, Alfred began explaining...
“The suit is made of triple weave titanium fiber, made for flexibility and durability. Completely waterproof and fire retardant, the plates are made of quarter inch steel with a titanium layer sprayed on. The wrist-guards carry six four inch long, 1/8th inch steel razor blades on each arm, able to be fired by a button placed directly below the palm. The cowl is separate from the suit and is made of tri-layer carbon fiber with a half inch rubber skin on top of it. These are the ultimate weapons for a man who fights crime, breaks into mansions, or wants to do both but still look fashionable.”
Jake was speechless for a moment, his hands still fondling the fabric.
“Of course,” Alfred began, “Since the plates are spread out to make the suit lighter and more flexible, it is more susceptible to knives and bullets.”
“Of course it would be.” Jake replied sardonically.
“Think this will do the job?” Bruce asked.
“It better.” Jake answered. He turned to Alfred. “One question though, is there something a little more…subtle then the cowl? I mean it would be pretty easy to assume the guy with the cat ears is up to no good.”
Alfred let a small chuckle escape him before Bruce butted in.
“There is a pair of sunglasses that I developed, but I never could figure out how to incorporate them into the suit. They are equipped with an infra-red camera, sonar, and radar; you can use those if you wish.”
“Perfect.” Jake said, quickly packing the suit bag with Bruce and Alfred’s help. “I promise to return it as I borrowed it.”
“You better. It’s dry clean only.” Bruce said as Jake took the platform back up.
As Bruce moved to close the cage, he saw Alfred shaking his head slightly, chuckling.
“What?” Bruce asked, slightly perplexed.
“Oh yes, the sunglasses with traceable radar signal... much more subtle.”
Trimmed down by a dusty window and accompanying drapes, a single beam of light fell across the face of Emiri. She stirred, gingerly at first, before suddenly thrashing, jolting upright. The sheets and pillow beneath her were soaked in sweat.
Breathing heavily, she took in her surroundings; eyes darting to all corners before determining that she was back at HQ, and at the very least, alive. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and moved to stand up, but her legs, weakened by their days of neglect, shook violently before giving way, forcing Emiri to sit on the edge of her bed facing the door. Swearing, she looked at the clock on the nightstand. Its red digits glowing back 2:48.
“Nearly three already?” Emiri wondered aloud to nobody. She must’ve been more injured than she had realized. After a moment of still silence, she gripped the edge of the bed before forcing herself to her feet once more.
Still lame, her legs trembled again, causing Emiri to stagger forward, slamming shoulder-first against the door. She attempted to stay still long enough to open the door, but her legs gave way again, causing her to crash to the wooden floor.
“Damnit!” Emiri thought.
Frustrated, she attempted to claw her way up using the wall as a support, but failed each time. And each time falling back to the same spot on the floor.
Emiri was now furious. With a look comprised of anger, frustration, determination, and scorn on her face, she slammed her hands through the wall, using the holes as a makeshift handrail. She nearly succeeded, before the door flew open.
“Emiri, what are you doing?” Kira cried out, lunging for the injured warrior. “You need to rest! You’re only going to make yourself worse!”
Emiri threw him a look of disgust.
“Just who the hell do you think I am? I’ve rested enough. It’s time to suck it up and start kicking who kicked my ass's ass!”
Kira shook his head.
“You’re not immortal Emiri; if you go out like this you could get killed. I can’t let that happen.”
Emiri, now upright, leaned into him.
“If you think some weak legs are enough to bring me down, then you must have no idea who I am.” Emiri said, practically sneering.
As she removed her hands from the wall, she staggered for a moment. Kira moved quickly, catching her, and pushing her up against the wall.
“See! You’re not healed yet. Get some rest, please!” Kira pleaded, panic creeping into his voice.
“As if,” Emiri replied, crinkling her nose at the suggestion. “What do I look like, some old lady? I’ll be fine, trust me.”
Kira sighed, knowing that while she was weakened, it didn’t seem to affect her stubbornness.
“Well, can I at least help you to the break room or something?” he asked pleadingly.
“Now you’re talking.” Emiri said, giving him a ghost of a smile.
Hikki Follet looked out his office window, replaying the argument with Sadar in his head again and again.
Wincing, he closed the blinds. Had he been too hard on Sadar? Was he going about this the wrong way? What would Landon have done? Hikki rubbed his head, the questions banging around inside, taunting him with their seemingly un-answerable nature. Only a knock on the door saved him from drowning in his freshly-created doubt. He slowly walked to the door, and unlocked it.
Jake stepped in and closed the door behind him.
Hikki was speechless for a moment. He then quickly gathered his wits and managed to whisper out, “Jake? Ees zat you? What on Earth are you wearing?”
Jake smiled before explaining. “I borrowed a suit from a friend of Sadar’s.”
Hikki frowned at the mention of the priest’s name.
“I see. Off to do hees dirty work zen?”
“Not exactly,” Jake replied, pressing on. “I’m doing this for the entire Syndicate; I’m doing this because I know I can do it, and we need something like this.”
“What ees ‘zees’?” Hikki asked, feeling the color return to his cheeks. “By ‘zees’ do you mean getting eenvolved een seengs and weez pepole we don’t understand or trust? Ees ‘zees’ reesking your life for someseeng zat *might* exeest razzer zan actually exeesting? Or ees ‘zees’ taking meessions zat your leader might not approve of?”
Jake stared back at him, undeterred.
“I’m sorry you and Sadar don’t see eye to eye, sometimes he and I disagree too. But, we need to do something Hikki. We can’t keep snooping around, hiding out, waiting to get killed. We need something that we can physically see. Progress we can touch, instead of an idea. Words without action are just letters organized randomly.”
“But we *are* taking action!” Hikki protested. “You’ve seen ze mechas we’re building; you’re standing eenside of progress. A few months ago we were hiding out een bombed-out beeldings, now we have a base. You’re being rash, Jake; we don’t know what we’re getting eento.”
“Part of being a leader is learning to trust others, Hikki. I’m sure you know that. I get that you’re concerned; I understand, but think about all the things we can do if we get proof of Ozzal’s plans. Imagine the uproar it would cause. It could turn the tide in our favor, and we might be able to not worry about getting blown to hell every day.”
Hikki remained silent for a moment. Finally he sighed, and strode towards Jake. He grabbed a firm hold of his chin, and pulled his face right next to his.
“You come back alive, alright?” he stated. “Zen we’ll talk about our next move, as a team.”
Jake smiled, freeing his chin from the Frenchman’s fist. “No problem. I’ll be back before eight.” He glanced down at his watch. “Crap, it’s already 6:21. I gotta get moving, Hikki. We’ll continue this later.”
Hikki Follet could only watch the young man sprint away.
“Stay safe. God knows we don’t need any more death around here.”
Jake Thompson moved like the wind. He never felt this good before. He snaked in and around the forests leading up to ComDot estate, pausing every few minutes to calm his nerves and check for any movement. Finally, he was at the foot of the hill that led to the manor’s gate. Suddenly nervous, Jake took another look around, turning on his infra-red vision.
Satisfied with the lack of bodies, Jake began carefully scaling the hill, flattening his body at the slightest sounds. He finally reached the plateau and looked up at the now daunting mansion, its giant glass windows mocking his attempts.
Jake felt his stomach begin to knot and suddenly felt very cold. Checking his watch, he counted down the seconds until the display read 7:00. Jake took a few deep breaths.
“And here we…go.” Jake thought. He fired a grappling hook onto the roof. Pulling until the line went taut, Jake hooked it to his belt, and pushed the retract button, causing him to be pulled onto the roof.
Quickly un-hooking the line from his belt, Jake looked at one of the many grates over the estate. With shaking hands, he made for the nearest one. His plan was simple: Get into the house and improvise from there. So long as he got what he needed, and got out, he didn’t care how it actually happened.
After what seemed like an eternity, Jake wiggled the grate loose and carefully set it aside; he gingerly lowered himself into the void created by its removal. Jake swore as he felt his feet hit sheet metal. He had hoped to avoid the air-conditioner, it wasn’t as quiet and it was quite cliché. Grimacing, Jake lowered the rest of his body into the tiny metal prison.
After a short pause, Jake turned on his sonar vision; he would have celebrated if he wasn’t in a life-or-death scenario. The grate leading presumably to Ozzal’s office was mere feet ahead of him. Carefully slinking towards it, Jake grabbed the metal bars with his right hand, while using a miniature plasma cutter in the other hand to cut a hole in big enough to fit through.
Setting the severed part of grate aside, Jake dropped into the room. He quickly turned on the infra-red lens and took a sweeping glance of the room.
Jake hesitated, something felt…wrong. Everything was too easy, too perfect. Either Ozzal was oblivious to the outside world, or he was playing into a trap.
Ignoring his doubts, he quickly moved towards the large oak desk. Pulling open the drawers, he searched frantically for a file or even a phone bill. He needed something, anything to link her to Comedia and the invasion. Annoyed, he discarded hundreds of issues of Entertainment Weekly and a National Geographic dubbed “Wild Africa”.
Jake ran his fingers through his hair. Where would Ozzal hide such important documents? On a whim, he glanced at the swivel chair he had pushed aside. To most people it would look like the chair was a bit overstuffed, but Jake had a suspicious inkling. He shook his head, and in a trace-like mode, pulled the seat cushion off.
Sure enough, underneath an old issue of Cosmo Girl lay a plain manila folder teeming with papers. Smiling, Jake riffled through them. There were entire battle plans drawn up, timelines, and contacts. It was the Holy Grail of information. As he placed the folder in his drawstring bag, Jake froze. He was not alone.
He turned slowly towards the now opening door. Paralyzed, Jake could only watch the figure enter the room and turn on the lights.
“Good evening, Jake.” Dewey Novak said, pointing a sword in Jake’s direction.
Regaining control of his limbs, Jake quickly slung the bag over his shoulder and fired off the razors from his left arm. Dewey unflinchingly deflected them all.
“Now that wasn’t a proper greeting was it?” Dewey said mockingly.
“I’ve never been good at meeting new people.” Jake said, moving towards the window.
“I’m afraid that I’m going to need those papers back.” Dewey said. “You see, in the wrong hands, they could cause lots of problems for people like me. And I don’t like problems being forced on my lap.”
“Sorry, guess you’ll have to cancel tee time tomorrow.” Jake sneered.
“Golf is so very boring, I much rather would play war games.” Dewey retorted, lunging at Jake.
Jake quickly stepped aside and counterpunched.
“You can’t be serious,” Dewey said disgusted. “If you’re going to fight me, at least get a weapon.”
“Like these?” Jake asked, firing off the razors from his right arm. As Dewey turned, he succeeded in deflecting all of the projectiles except one. A sudden gash appeared on his left shoulder. Dewey paused for a moment.
“I must say, you’re the first person in a long time to actually injure me,” he mused. “Too bad your reward will be the same as those who have not.”
Dewey again charged at Jake, sword moving coldly, tactfully. Jake dodged as much as he could, using anything he could find as weapons. Eventually, he was able to break the leg off a chair.
Charging at Dewey, Jake swung the leg with all his might, crashing it against the man’s skull. Dewey fell to the ground, stunned and disoriented.
Seeing his chance, Jake ran towards the window, preparing to jump out when he felt the ground rushing up to meet his face.
Dewey Novak lay on top of Jake, his head bleeding and swollen from the last attack.
“Do you know why movies have the bad guys lose?” Dewey asked. “Because in real life, they win. In real life, they get their way. Only in movies do things such as justice and good prevail.”
“Spare me.” Jake wheezed, elbowing Dewey in the face, and shoving him off.
Dewey began to laugh. Slowly at first, then letting it evolve into a maniacal fit.
“Do you know why I laugh?” he asked, walking towards Jake. “I laugh because in the end, there is nothing you can do. All of the money and gadgets in the world can’t prevent the inevitable. It’s cute that you and your reject rebel buddies think that you can stop the combined power of two war machines. It’s like you all believe you’re in some movie or fiction book. Well, I have news for you: This is real life. The good guys don’t always win. And in this case, they die.”
Now Jake began to laugh. He picked up one of the discarded razor blades, concealing it in his hand.
“You really think that some long-winded monologue is going to do the trick? That some meaningless words are going to scare me? Please, if you think some empty words are going to scare someone like me, then it’s you who is living in a fantasy world.”
Jake charged at Dewey, the edge of the blade clenched in his hand. He reared back to slash Dewey in the throat when his world exploded.
Jake staggered for a moment, before losing his balance and falling against the giant windows. Another explosion caused the windows to give way, and Jake fell forever.
As he slammed against the cold ground, Jake groped his body. Something was wrong. It felt like someone was pumping oil out of him. He fumbled across the plates in the suit and froze. Directly between two plates over his heart lay a new minted hole. Jake glanced down, the blood was trickling out of the hole and over his fingers.
“I gotta get back,” Jake thought, attempting to stand. “I gotta…get…back.” He absently ran his fingers over his shoulders until he felt the strings of his backpack. Stumbling through the gate, he attempted to climb down the hill, but his weakened state only allowed him to tumble down it.
“A thank you would be nice,” Michelle Ozzal said. “Without me, that little reject might have actually killed you.”
“How many times have I told you not to interfere?!” Dewey raged. “I do things my way! The kid would have died eventually; I didn't need your help."
“Didn’t look like it to me. Looked like he was going to do my job for me.”
“Hardly...wait, what?!?” Dewey cried, whipping his head around to face Ozzal, before falling down, blood flowing from his head.
“You’re fired.” Ozzal tossed the gun at Dewey’s feet.
Jake Thompson’s world was now pulsating with every staggered step and sub sequential fall.
He staggered towards the base, futilely trying to plug the hole in his body, blood flowing over his fingers and onto his shoes. He could no longer climb down; it was more of a controlled fall and roll. He saw the base in the distance and smiled.
Samson was nervous. It was now 8:04 and Jake was still gone. He was supposed to be the lookout and warn the people inside, just in case Jake was being followed or chased. What he saw was much worse.
Yelling for help, Samson ran the few hundred feet between Jake and the base in what felt like a quarter second.
“Jake, what the hell happened?” Samson asked, panicking as he saw the copious amounts of blood on Jakes clothes.
“I got what you need.” Jake replied, shrugging the backpack off, and handing it to Samson.
“Yeah, but what about you? We need to get you to a hospital.” Samson's voice was cracking as he attempted to drag Jake into the base.
“What hospital? Where?” Jake asked. “I just need someone to stitch me up, and some of those cookies you get when you give blood.”
Jake suddenly collapsed onto the ground, his breathing taking on a ragged tone.
“I…I just need to rest a moment,” he said, wincing.
“No, you need a doctor, and a blood transfusion.” Samson said. “C’mon, it’s not too late. We have to move.”
Jake attempted to rise, using Samson as a support, but failed, collapsing back onto the ground. A cold rain began to lightly fall.
“C’mon, Jake! Let’s go!” Samson cried, attempting to drag him by the armpits.
“Samson…stop…it’s…it’s too late.” Jake panted. “What’s…important is…that file…in…my bag…give it to Hikki…it’s what…he…we need.”
“Stop talking like that, damnit!” Samson yelled. “This isn’t the end yet! We can save you! You just gotta fight a bit longer...” Samson gave Jake another tug, and froze. This time he nearly pulled Jake’s arms off, a moment ago he could barely lift him up enough to get a good grip.
Hands trembling, Samson removed them from under Jake’s arms and put two fingers behind Jake’s right ear.
No pulse.
Shaking, Samson slung the bag over his shoulder, and walked back to base.
Michelle Ozzal stomped through ComDot estate in a fury.
“How on EARTH can we only have one phone?” she raged, making her way from room to room, searching everywhere for any type of phone, finding nothing.
Ozzal could feel her blood pressure rising, and a migraine coming on. Flustered, she kicked down the last remaining door in the house.
Stepping into the grand walk-in closet, Ozzal began tearing clothes off of hangers, until she saw a small plastic lifesaver stashed in the corner. A small red telephone lay hidden in the farthest reaches of the closet, dust showing its years of neglect. Relieved, Ozzal dusted off the receiver, and hastily punched in a number.
The phone rang once, twice, and a few times more before someone answered. No words were spoken for a moment.
“…Yes?” the voice asked, clearly annoyed.
“I have fixed our little problem. You will have no complications in implementing your strategy.”
“Good, it's about time. Do not tempt my patience like this again, Ozzal.”
“Great pep talk,” Ozzal couldn't help the sarcasm.
“Do not try to be funny, it is not one of your strong points.” With that, the voice hung up.
Michelle Ozzal contemplated destroying the old red phone, but before she could act, the clock struck nine.
“Desperate Housewives time already?!? This day gets better and better!” Ozzal said gleefully, skipping down the hall towards the television.
Clarice approached the door, knocking softly before gently cracking it open.
Samson sat at the edge of the bed, staring at the corner of the room, his clothes still soaked.
“I thought you might want some tea. Warm up a bit.” Clarice spoke softly, setting a tray down on the nearby nightstand. She offered him a cup.
“No thanks,” Samson said flatly, his gaze remaining on the empty corner.
“There was nothing you could do, you know that, right? If you’re going to try and blame yourself, you’ll only look foolish.”
“I could have done something, stopped the bleeding, called for help. Anything. But, I froze, and he died.”
“Samson, he was shot above the heart, it was amazing he lasted as long as he did. His death was as much my fault as it was yours.”
Sighing, Samson looked at the young woman before continuing.
“Maybe you’re right. But I realized something when Jake died.”
“What’s that?” Clarice asked, taking a seat next to Samson.
“We have to do something. We can’t wait around anymore. People are dying. Not just the faceless rabble anymore either, people we know, people that were…” Samson paused, fighting back a tear.
“People that were strong,” he finished, shedding the tear before turning to Clarice. “And I don’t know who is next. What if it’s me? Or Hikki? Or you?”
Clarice stared back, silent for a moment, taking in Samson’s words.
“Samson…”
“I can’t lose anyone else Clarice. Not Hikki, not Lloyd, not Sadar, not even Cid or Proof.” Samson paused a moment, regaining his wit before continuing. “And I can never, ever lose you. This world is dangerous enough just existing in it, but now you’re piloting one of those mechas, and I know that you can do it, but…”
Samson stopped again, words failing him as he tried to continue, Clarice took hold of his hand.
“Samson, you said it yourself: We have to do something. And since the world is dangerous anyways, why don’t I go out and do something? At least in this way, if something were to happen to me, I would go out like Jake – dying for something that I not only believed in, but fought for.”
“But-“
“No buts. I’m a big girl, and I can damn well understand the consequences of my actions.”
“But if I lost you, what would I do?”
“Fight on. Make sure that Ozzal, or whoever is pulling the strings, pays for what they have done. You’re strong Samson. You'll endure...like a hero should.”
“I’m not strong. Jake was strong. I’m just-“
“Alive. That’s what matters. You’re alive, and I’m alive. I don’t know about you, but I don’t plan on giving up anytime soon.”
Samson looked back at Clarice, taken aback by her strong words. Samson had always admired her, but over the course of this war, she had grown into her own. She was no longer just some pretty face to smile at, she was something more: A pillar of strength. Pure, spunky, gritty strength. For the first time that night, Samson felt at ease.
“Now drink up, you must be frozen.”
Hikki and Sadar sat on opposite sides of the table. Sadar had his feet on the table, and arms behind his head, while Hikki sat up rigidly, arms crossed. Lying in between them were several piles of papers. Over the past few minutes, Hikki had thumbed through them, circling dates, places, times and weapons of importance.
The file was a gold mine of information. Hikki had drawn a dark red circle around one of the dates in the timeline reading, “22:00 First Caravan Arrives”. He now sat opposite Sadar, who had spent the whole time drinking in the scene of Hikki riffling through the papers.
They eyed each other, each man daring the other to break the ice. Finally, Sadar smiled slightly and leaned forward.
“You’re not going to let me take these files to the police, are you?”
“No.” Hikki replied curtly, continuing to stare daggers at the priest.
“Why?”
“Because we deed seengs your way, Père, and pepole died.”
“You can’t expect missions of this nature to not have casualties. Jake knew what he was getting into.”
“Yes, but you were ze one who pressured heem eento eet. Weezout your pestering he would steel be alive.”
“Yes, and we wouldn’t have these files.”
Both men continued the stare-off, trying to intimidate the other.
“What I don’t understand is why you won’t let the proper authorities handle this," Sadar continued.
“Aussorities?!?” Hikki scoffed. “What aussorities? Ze ones zat you claim are so good?”
“Yes, those ones.”
“And why should I trust you? From ze moment we met, you have not respected me; tonight you gave one of my men an order to play fetch for you and your cop friends, and eet got heem keeled.
“Who ees to say zat when we geeve zese papers to ze aussorities zat zey are not keeled, or worse, zat zey work for Ozzal. Zen what weel Jake’s death mean? Zese files are staying here. End of deescussion.”
“Then what will you do with them?” Sadar stared into the Frenchman's eyes.
Hikki stared back for a few moments, then rose, snatching the papers off the table.
“Let’s go ask zem.”
As the clock struck 9:15, Hikki waved his arms around frantically, trying to settle the rattled Syndicate. Word had spread of the night's transgressions, and the fallout was nothing short of chaos. Finally, after a few minutes of pleading for silence, Hikki turned towards Lloyd with a look of confusion; frustration and desperation twisted on his face.
Smiling slightly, Lloyd pulled out a small starter’s handgun. While it was only used in track meets, he figured that the mere image of one might be enough to ward off a wayward criminal or two. He quickly aimed upwards and fired the gun towards the ceiling.
The gunshot echoed throughout the building and the rabble quickly died down to silence.
“Bon soir everyone, I am sure you are all aware of our current seetuation.”
The noise began again, people shouting out questions, accusations, or simply ranting.
Hikki again pleaded for silence, this time the request was honored, as the noise level quickly muted again.
“However, we have een our possession papers zat not only prove Ozzal’s eenvolvement een all of zese seengs, but what her next moves are.”
A rumble began to wave over the mass. Hikki continued.
“We know zat Comedia ees eendeed eenvading, and zat Ozzal plans to merge ze countries een a plot to rule over both. We also know zat eef she ees successful, Babblestan weel fall veectim to ze same trap.”
The rumble turned into a defined buzz. Hikki gestured for patience, and continued once more.
“We also know zat ze first caravan arrives tonight at ten sharp.”
The crowd erupted. It was all too much. Ozzal’s plans, the next defined steps, and the fact that war was coming to them not later, but now. Hikki pleaded for silence, but was ignored as questions began to bombard the Frenchman.
“What exactly do you plan to do?”
“How safe are we?”
“If this is already beginning how much longer do we have?”
“What can we hope to do?”
“Why are you telling us? Don’t we have enough to worry about?”
“Where is Carmen Sandiego?”
Finally, Lloyd let off another shot towards the ceiling, quelling the upset crowd. Hikki paused for a moment then continued.
“I don’t know what to do next. Zat ees why I called zees meeting to deescuss our next move.”
The previously loud and boisterous crowd was now dead silent, everyone looking away from the podium. Clarice looked at Samson and flashed him a half smile. Samson, understanding the cue, spoke up.
“I, uh, have an idea.”
“Yes?” Hikki asked.
“Well, we could, um, ambush the caravan.”
There was silence for a moment before the noise level exploded. People turned to glare at Samson, eyes accusing, as he begged for silence and patience.
“Just hear me out,” he pleaded. “I mean, it sounds crazy, but so is standing around waiting to get killed. If we use this information that we have to seize the caravan, it might slow down the advance. Buy us some time, you know? I mean, they can’t expect us to attack; this might be our best chance to actually be on the offensive for once.”
Everyone was silent for a moment, turning Samson’s idea over in their heads, mulling over his argument. Finally, Cille spoke up.
“I agree.”
It was now her turn to have the gazes of people locked on her.
“I think Samson is right. We need to do something; we can’t let an opportunity like this slip by us. Who knows? Maybe this is what we need to actually bring down Ozzal.”
“Me too,” Clarice chimed in. “It’s high time we started dishing out some butt-kickings instead of receiving them."
People began to nod their heads, a murmur of agreement rose from the crowd. Hikki addressed theme once more.
“So are we een agreement weez each ozzer?”
The heads in the crowd nodded solemnly. It was time for the Syndicate to act, consequences be damned.
“Alright zen,” Hikki said “We have half an hour, let’s get going.”
“Um, Hikki?” Cille asked, tapping him on the shoulder.
“Yes?”
“Do you mind if I stay here, and sort of serve as a mission commander? I’m not too big on using guns or even my fists. I would be much more comfortable staying here and directing things.”
“Of course. We always need a sharp person like you coordeenating seengs,” he replied, smiling.
Hikki walked down the line of men and women. Finally, he spoke.
“Ok, here ees how eet weel go. Emiri, you weel attack ze first vehicle. Angel, you get ze second one. Lloyd and I weel take ze seerd one. Samson and Clarice weel take ze fourth. Ceed and Proof weel take ze last one.”
Everyone nodded.
“We weel attack een reverse order so Ceed and Proof weel strike first, so zat we don’t teep off ze rest of ze cars.”
More nods.
“I feel I must warn you zat zees ees very dangerous, you may die on zees meession. Eef anyone does not want to do eet, I understand.”
Hikki looked around, none of the seven faces even flinched. He smiled.
“Alright zen, let’s go.”
Cille watched the radar intently, carefully making sure that the caravans were not straying from the path described in the files.
She smiled as five dots moved northeast. She let out a deep breath and spoke into the headset.
“Hikki, can you hear me?”
“Yes, Lucille.”
“Targets are moving as expected. They should be passing you in a few minutes. All five are accounted for. From the cameras you set down along your way, it looks like each caravan has two men in it, along with plenty of weapons...except for the first one, which has four men in it, and what seems to be a bomb-like device.”
“Understood,” Hikki replied, relaying the information to Emiri.
“Perfect, I like a challenge." She licked her lips savoringly.
“Alright Hikki, get hidden. They’re a hundred yards behind you and closing,” Cille spoke again, nervousness creeping into her voice.
“Understood.” He signaled the others to retreat to their hiding spots.
As the light from the headlights began to illuminate the dirt road just inches from their noses, Hikki began to worry. What if this was the wrong move? Was this really what they needed? He turned to Lloyd. Lloyd, seeing Hikki’s fear, simply patted the Frenchman’s hand, mouthing “Everything will be fine.”
As the last vehicle turned up the road, Cille pressed down the radio button.
“Alright guys, go.”
Hikki motioned to Cid and Proof to get moving, and they scrambled to their feet, chasing after their truck. As soon as they left, the others followed suit, each running to their mark.
Cid and Proof quickly caught up to their truck. They jumped onto the back, crawling towards the open windows.
“Hiya!” Cid excitedly poked her head through the driver's-side window.
“Whatcha doin’?” Proof asked, leaning in the other window.
“Looks important!” Cid said.
“And dangerous!” Proof added.
“Can we come? Huh? Can we?” Cid pestered.
“Who the hell are you kids?” The driver asked, quite baffled at the whole scene.
“Oh, you know, we were just out for a walk and we saw you guys and wanted to say hi!” Cid chimed.
“Ooh, what’s this?” Proof asked, holding a bazooka. He was now inside the truck, having scrambled inside via cutting an opening in the top of the vehicle's roof.
“What the hell?” The other man in the front seat said, whipping his head behind him to see a bazooka pointed towards the windshield. “Put that down. You kids are in a lot of trouble.”
“Aww, you’re no fun mister,” Proof whined, putting the missile down before walking up behind the driver, covering his eyes. “Peek-a-boo! Guess who I am!”
“Argh! I can’t see!” The driver yelled, swerving the automobile.
As the other man reached for his gun, Cid climbed through the window, and sat on his lap, turning to face him.
“Now, you wouldn’t hurt an innocent girl like me, would you?” she asked, batting her eyes.
The man hesitated for only a moment, and as he did, Cid took off her shoe and poked him in the eye with the pointed toe. Blinded, the man thrashed about. Cid quickly opened the door of the vehicle. The man fell onto the road, still clutching at his face. Meanwhile, Proof maintained his death grip over the driver’s eyes, until Cid was able to open his door and help push him out.
“Do you know how to drive one of these things?” Proof asked.
“Nope, but I will soon,” Cid answered, squealing with joy as she applied the gas.
Samson and Clarice crouched down along the side of the road. Since the road was narrow and in poor shape, the cars were traveling at about five to ten miles per hour, allowing them to cut into the woods and get ahead of their mark. Their eyes met, and they nodded. Samson scaled the tree next to them, climbing out onto a branch that dangled over the road.
Clarice ran out onto the road and threw up her hands, waving them wildly. The car stopped, and the driver stepped out.
“May I help you, ma’am?”
“Oh, thank goodness!” Clarice exclaimed. “My husband and I were out bird watching in these woods and we got lost! We’ve been stumbling around for hours! Could you please give us a ride back to town?”
The driver looked confused. “I wish I could, ma’am, but I’m on official business. Plus, I don’t see your husband anywhere.”
No sooner had he said that did Samson drop from his branch, crashing through the roof of the vehicle, and engaging the passenger. They tussled for a moment before Samson was able to push him out of the car and down a steep ravine.
“Hey, what the hell is this?” the driver asked, drawing his gun. When he glanced back, Clarice was gone. Loading his gun, he turned slowly on the spot before falling over.
Clarice stood over him triumphantly, pipe in hand, and climbed into the car.
Samson dusted himself off and smiled as she assumed the driver’s position.
“Taxi, I would like to go to a place where I can get away from it all. Know any places?”
“Sure do, sir, you just hold on tight now.” Clarice pressed a foot down on the gas.
Hikki Follet ran frantically into the street, nearly getting flattened by the oncoming caravan truck.
“Hey! Watch it!” the driver cried. “Just what the hell are you doing out so late anyhow?”
“Oh, the usual,” Hikki shrugged, “Taking a nightly walk.”
“Well, this is government property. You're under arrest for trespassing.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Get in the back,” the driver barked.
“Don’t mind if I do!” Lloyd said, appearing behind the man and pistol whipping him unconscious.
As the passenger turned to draw his gun, he felt a thin blade pressed against his throat.
“Don’t even seenk about eet,” Hikki said, firmly clutching a rapier. “Get out of ze car.”
“Not on your life,” the man snarled, pulling out a gun.
“Wrong answer.” Lloyd said, pistol whipping the man.
“Nice work.” Hikki smiled. He dragged the unconscious man's limp body out of the car and hopped in.
“Nice rapier.” Lloyd smiled back, taking the wheel in his hands.
The driver squinted. He could have sworn he had people following him. He turned to his passenger, but instead, saw a dolled-up Angel in his place.
“Hiya.” Angel said, leaning forward seductively. “You know what the worst part of being a rebel is? The loneliness. The boring, excruciating loneliness. I just want some one to love me for my ideals, not this body,” she accentuated the last part by rubbing her hands over her torso.
Flabbergasted, the driver stammered out, “What…what happened to Mick? What did you do to him?”
Angel laughed. “Come now, what makes you think someone like me would do anything to your friend Mick?”
Shaking, the driver reached for his gun.
“For shame,” Angel said in a faux-hurt tone. “I dress all up looking for some company, and you go accusing me of things and draw a weapon on me.”
Her eyes flashed.
“But, if that’s the way you want to play, count me in.”
She grabbed the top of the window ledge and swung her body up, swinging her legs and kicking the driver multiple times in the face with her stiletto-heeled boots. After sure the driver was unconsciousness, Angel opened his door, and dumped the body out.
“Men,” she said, climbing in the driver’s seat, "sometimes they make it too easy."
Marc Russell was nervous. When he started out, he had four trucks behind him, now there seemed to be none. He turned to voice his concerns to his partner, but he lay against the seat sleeping. Turning around to check the back, he slammed on the brakes.
Where two men should have been, there were two bags of flour. Printed on the bags in big, bolded letters was the phrase, “Who the hell do you think I am?”
He turned around to face the road, when he felt someone by his side.
“Ok, I want to drive.” Emiri said, tossing Marc out of the door.
Marc’s cry of terror awoke his partner, to Emiri’s great delight. As the man raise a fist to punch her, she began to laugh.
“C’mon! I want you to do it.”
The man froze.
“C’mon!” Emiri repeated. “You know you want to. Do it!”
The man still didn’t move out of a combination of confusion and fear.
“C’mon!” Emiri raged. “Do it! Hit me! I want you to! Hit me! HIT ME!”
He swung for her face, whereupon she easily grabbed his arm and flung him into the bushes. Emiri grabbed the truck radio and pressed down the receiver.
“Attention all units! You have new orders. You are hereby commanded to head back to HQ and regroup like the rebels you are.”
Cheering could be heard from the other cars, followed by honking. The line of trucks all turned around, heading back to base, victorious.
Michelle Ozzal charged up the stairs and into the closet. She picked up the phone and practically screamed into it.
“JUST WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!?”
“There seems to have been a problem. It appears that the caravan which you promised would have no problems has been hijacked in its entirety.”
“WHAT?!” Ozzal screeched. “IMPOSSIBLE!”
“Apparently not. You promised that there would be no problems, Ozzal.”
“There weren’t. Not on my end. If your men let the caravan get hijacked, then I suggest you take it up with them.”
“This is not what we agreed to, Ozzal. Consider my co-operation over.”
“OH NO YOU DON’T!” Ozzal bellowed. “WE HAD A DEAL!”
“Yes, and it appears that you didn’t live up to your part. Good luck finding someone else to help you.”
“Wait!” Ozzal cried frantically.
“What?” the voice asked, sounding more tired than annoyed.
“What if we re-negotiate some of the key terms?”
“Such as?”
“Come down here tomorrow, and we’ll talk about it.”
“I want a private jet flown in for me, with military support. Along with first-class hotel reservations and dining services.”
“Done.”
“This is your last chance, Ozzal. You made a costly mistake, and you will pay for it in re-negotiation.”
“So be it.”
The line went dead. Ozzal hung up the phone, staring at it for a moment, before tossing it out the fourth-story window.
Back at base, Hikki Follet was inspecting the large cache of weapons seized from the caravan.
“Eempresseeve,” he said, pacing around the giant pile. “But what do we do weez eet now?”
The question hung in the air for a moment before Samson spoke up
“Hikki, could we send out a TV signal from here?” he asked.
“Of course we could.” Lloyd answered for him. “All it would require would be a few quick installations of wires and a satellite. Why?”
“Let’s go public with this stuff." Samson said excitedly.
“Let’s send a signal over every TV in Actonia and show them what Ozzal has been hiding from them. We can read from the report, and have all the weapons in the background as proof.” Samson glanced around. Instead of receiving scorn, everyone seemed to be contemplating the idea.
“I do have an old camera we could use,” Cille said.
“We can shoot it from the meeting room.” Angel added.
“I don’t know, Sammie,” Hikki fidgeted. “Eet sounds dangerous… what eef somebody uses eet as a way to find ze base?”
“It's bound to be discovered eventually,” Samson replied. “Ozzal obviously wants a big ass war so she can take over Comedia, so, let’s give her one. Let’s let everyone know what she’s been planning. That’s bound to turn the tide against her. Plus, with the weapons we have, we might be able to defend this place.”
“Sounds good to me.” Emiri nodded.
“Me too.” Lloyd agreed.
“All een favor?” Hikki asked.
A collective “Yeah” rose from the crowd.
“I’ll get working on the antenna right away,” Lloyd quickly scrambled out of the room.
“Who should deleever ze speech?” Hikki asked. All eyes focused on him. “Oh.” He flashed a nervous smile.
“Sammie, how do I look?” Hikki asked, nervously looking in a mirror, checking for any flaws.
“I don’t think it matters considering what’s about to happen.” Samson replied.
“Steel, I don’t want to look seelly for my beeg debut.”
“You’ll be lucky if people remember your name after all of this,” Samson teased.
Lloyd entered the room. “Everything is set up. With one flip of the switch, we’ll go live to every set turned on in Actonia.”
“Awesome,” Samson grinned. “Cille, is the camera ready?”
“Yep. Ready when you guys are.”
“Ok, Hikki. You can do this.” Samson patted him on the back as the Frenchman made his way in front of the large arsenal of weapons.
“Are you sure?” Hikki asked, hands causing the papers in the folder to rattle slightly.
“Positive.” Samson nodded and took his place a few paces behind Cille.
“Alright everyone, quiet please!” Cille ordered and turned on the camera.
The light shone brightly, causing Hikki to squint momentarily, before adjusting.
“Ok,” he said, taking in a few deep breaths. “Let’s go.”
“We’re on in...5…4…3...” Lloyd counted down, signaling the last two seconds with his hands before flipping the switch.
CHARACTERS (In order of appearance):
Jake Thompson - SportsMaster
Father John Sadar – FurionTassadar
Michelle Ozzal - Mike Lazzo
Hikki Follet – Kohikki
Samson Monroe – MasterSamson
Lloyd Asplund (Code Geass)
Hill - fool_on_the_hill
Chief “Q” Holmes - Q_chan
Bruce Wayne – (Batman)
Alfred – (Batman)
Emiri - _Boxers_
Izuru Kira (Bleach)
Clarice Rowe – QueenoftheDorks
Lucille Compton – Cille
Proof - NoProof
Cid – cidthekittyisfun
Angel Sarcasta – mgangel1124
SPECIAL THANKS TO:
Fool (for editing this monster)
Cille (for being the best frenchifyer ever)
Hikki (for being a lifesaver more than once, and answering all my questions)
The rest of the regular crew (for helping me form this chapter, and giving me such fantastic ideas, you guys rule.)