Dead Silence -- IC -- AYoungWarthog & dman0649 GMing

[jumjummju]

Catherine noticed one thing for sure; there was a stark contrast between the group that just got called in compared to the one that was there beforehand. The latter was a high-ranking officer with two German dudes, both oddly named Karl, who were from the 320th battalion, if her one class of German she had to take in highschool was any benefit, a marine chick, and some English bloke. Comparatively, the former party was a factory worker, an unconscious guy, a Navy Corpsman (who was probably in the wrong group here), a girl that worked with both plants and steel, a less-Italian rendition of Mario, a college girl, and some blonde chick. As far as Cathy could tell, this seemed like a pretty silly group to use on various scavenging and recon missions, but perhaps they had more skills than meets the eye. Cathy's first thought on this led her to the quiver of arrows and bow strapped to her back, but she doubted the others all shared her enthusiasm for archery.

However, if there was one thing Cathy could tell from the manner from which he spoke was that... uh, Hair? Heir? Dammit, Cathy didn't know German all that well. ...Was that sir Adler didn't think that highly of the group. To be fair, Cathy didn't either. She certainly failed to see how the passed-out guy was to be any help, especially now that he was taken to the infirmary. Also, what confounded her was that Adler had asked if anyone had wanted to leave and stay in the prison rather than go out into the world. And do what, Cathy wondered? Play CounterStrike all day? Her laptop died ages ago, and regardless, no one was playing that anymore anyway.

Not like Cathy was really even paying attention anyway. Her attention drifted and she started daydreaming, remembering one of her more hairy encounters with the non-living.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*crunch crinkle crunch*

The sound of potato chips being eaten were loudly echoing about the halls of the supermarket. Catherine walked down the empty aisle, searching for something to drink to go with the chips. An old soda, perhaps? Unfortunately, there was no such luck. 2 weeks after D-day and people suddenly forgot to keep the stores stocked, the lazy bastards. Catherine giggled a bit at her own internal sarcasm as she continued looking through the aisles looking for something to drink. Those chips were pretty dry.

*screeech*

A Dodge pickup had suddenly come to stop outside the supermarket, with a brazen lack of subtlety.

A man exited the vehicle and turned to look behind the truck, with copious amounts of worry.

A veritable horde followed down the road, several blocks behind.

Catherine, at this point, was at the entrance of the supermarket, looking across the supermarket's parking lot at the guy. He hurriedly pulled what appeared to be an assault rifle out of his truck and pointed it at the oncoming horde, while Catherine stood nonchalantly eating chips from the other end of the parking lot, wondering what the man was hoping to do against the amorphous blob that was following. Catherine assumed she was safe, as she was on the opposite end of the parking lot, and thought she could easily slip away by going through the supermarket and leaving via the rear. Unfortunately, as she went back inside to the supermarket, she noticed another gaggle of the dead running at her from the back entrance.

She dropped her chips and fled, now sandwiched between 2 rapidly advancing hordes. She sprinted directly towards the man's truck, now noticing that he was spraying at the horde wildly with his gun, in a last ditch effort fueled by desperation and insanity. She quickly opened the passenger side door; the door on the opposite side of the truck the guy was, and dove in, moving herself to the driver's seat. The gas was still on, and the key was still in. She set the thing in drive and started speeding off, just as the group from inside the mall started pounding on the windows.

She heard shouts of, at first, rage coming from the man, and even heard a bullet hit the side of the truck, before the rage turned to pain, and the man was overtaken by the group. There was nowhere to drive; all the exits were blocked by the horde. Panicking, she kept going full speed and drove without looking, until a wall of an apartment building across the street from the supermarket stopped the car dead, knocking Cathy unconscious for half a second from the impact. The car was half in and half out of a hole in what appeared to originally be someone's old kitchen, and the dead were closing in fast. The doors were stuck in the wall, so Cathy had to punch and kick the windshield until it broke, nearly spraining her wrist in the process. She then climbed through the windshield's hole, getting broken glass lodged in her arms and legs as the infected started scrambling in through the hole. Cathy rolled off the hood and ran for the door, quickly fiddling the locks open, before running through the door moments before the first infected nearly grabbed her.

Up and up she ran, through the stairways. On the 4th floor, the stairway was blocked with rubble, so she dashed out into the hallways, the dead still in pursuit. At the end of the hallway was a window leading to a fire escape and, rather than taking the time to open the window, just smashed her elbow into it, breaking it so she could climb through and start climbing those stairs to the roof, where she climbed the ladder to the roof and stayed up there, watching the dead gather together on the fire escape clumsily, the ones able to fit through the window usually falling off the fire escape, with only a few stragglers able to make it to the ladder. Luckily, they couldn't climb it. At this point, Cathy wasn't able to do anything but wait about a day or 2 for the zombies to go after something else.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cathy snapped back to attention, and wondered to herself if it was odd that the only thing she felt from that memory was annoyance that her elbow still had a bruise on it.

[Whiskey]

Next up, after Muh-suh, the dead-beat, Olympic gold-medalist runner super Kenyan, and himself, was a semi-pretty lady by the name of Thea Sheridan, which, Carson thought, was quite an odd name- chick was named after a tank for godsake. What was even more odd was her occupation, Carson thought. Nothing quite says Thea Sheridan like flowers and welding beads. It was at this moment that Carson started to question whether he was the right person for this job. With a factory worker and a botanist/welder combo, an over-glorified paramedic really wasn’t needed to make a few calculators and study trees. What also seemed a tad bit off key was the fact a handful of civilians were picked over trained policeman and soldiers. There were plenty of combat effectives at the prison. Hell, Carson sees them day and night come through the medical ward, walking the perimeter, or standing fire-watch. Instead of taking from the pool of professionals, it seemed the men with the reigns seemed to be doing a science experiment. Carson didn't particularly care for being a guinea pig.

He kind of felt bad, in a sense. Here he was, making fun of everyone for their skill, or lack there of, in his mind and they all look like they were rode hard and put away wet, specifically, speedy gonzales who collapsed.. Who didn’t look like Death nowadays, however?? With that, Carson wasn’t about to take a leave of absence when men with guns were standing at the perimeters. Not to mention Winston Churchill, the fucker who dragged him here, seemed to have it out for Carson.

"C. Rola, Liberal Arts major."

Yeah, that’s what this rag-tag bunch needs. A know-it all college kid with mosquito-bite tits, the physique of a tooth-pick and a worthless degree. Not to mention a really short first name, despite Carson not giving his. This day just kept getting better. Whoever picked all of us is either retarded or has no sense of strategy. Or both. If it’s military, probably both. Yeah, definitely both. His mind was a whir of wit as the ever so quirky group got weirder and weirder. Despite his sarcastic ways, Carson had no use of judging anyone at the moment. Everyone was definitely not at their best and medical care doesn’t discriminate, no matter how stupid liberal arts and botany is.

Carson’s interest was automatically piqued by Olivia, who had hurried to the collapsed man’s body and checked his vitals. He was surprised, that someone else knew how to take care of people. He looked on with supervision as he looked her up and down. Nothing particularly stood out about her, but she looked to be of decent character. In fact, she seemed a little familiar. Perhaps he had seen her in the infirmary a few times? Carson was definitely a regular there. He had performed a few dire, intermediate surgeries and he pulled his fair weight with basic doctoring around the prison. That’s where it had to be, the infirmary. Olivia announced she didn’t really have a background in medicine, or in anything really, but if you could tell a bruise from a cut, the medical ward used you at Sing Sing.

Carson looked around. Surprisingly, he didn’t even notice a man was gasping on the ground until people started paying attention to him. My hearing must be getting bad… I guess I should sue all those IED’s in Afghan… Everett had a puzzled look on his face as his body was carried off the field. Haven’t even been given a mission yet and they already had a casualty. How fuckin’ lucky this group was. However, Carson’s puzzlement was over the man’s condition and why he was being carted off. “I suppose we get a ticket to the infirmary if we’re tired and a little thirsty,” He looked alive to me, anyway. Give him an adrenaline shot, a cup of water, he’ll be alright. “I got a paper-cut a few days ago. Guess I better make my way over…” He kept his sarcastic comments under his breath. He has had his fair share of getting chewed out by Officers for having a big, sarcastic mouth before. Everett was certain this ‘adventure’ was going to be no different if he kept going down this path. He was, however, glad to see other people who were concerned with first aid. Everett would have hated it if he was the only one who could apply a band-aid.

After a rather large, fat , Danny DeVito looking man, a Marine, which Carson immediately got a figurative hard-on for because of his background, and an English paratrooper, Carson took role. British smart ass, unskilled laborer. Check. Track star speed addict, check. Dashingly handsome EMT, Check. Botanist... Check. Itty bitty titty liberal arts specialist, check. Human shiel- er, Fat man, check. Bad ass marine, Prince Harry, check. Herr Fuhrer and his trusty side-kick Fidelity, Bravery, and Integrity- the dynamic duo - check. “A real group of professionals, eh? It’s a fuckin’ party. Trained killers, really,” Carson looked to his left and right, giving a curt nod to the man named Mercer.

After all was said and done, it was finally time for Herr Adler and Mister Parkes to give their piece on things. All this talk about FOBs, munitions, and bases got Carson in an even worse mood. He thought he had left his military life behind, and now, only a handful of years after his discharge and slowly slipping into civilian life, he was thrust back into the world of destruction, death, and uncanny friendship. How lovely. Unfortunately, one of the pet peeves he picked up in the military, was he got very irritated when people spoke a different language Carson didn’t know. He doesn’t know why, it just bugged him and it made Carson very, very curious. In doing so, he leaned over and whispered to the Brit factory worker. “Psst. D’you speak pig-latin? ‘Cause I have no idea what Hitler over there is saying,” Carson grimaced and took his former position, a form of semi-attention and his hands clasped behind his back. Almost as if adding a verbal period to his sentence, Carson concluded, “From what I’ve read, he was a good speaker, though. Very motivating. Sounds like nails in a blender.”

[Bantling Bee]

After Thea introduced herself, she found her mind wandering slightly. It was a habit she had mostly broken herself of, save when she was tired. And, despite how long she had slept the night before, she was still exhausted. The introductions of her fellow civilians punctuated her distracted thoughts. She found herself analyzing the group, peering at them out of the corner of her eye. At the moment, no one had stood out to her in particular. Thea was a woman of few biases and had discovered, over the years, that first impressions were often wrong. The others too, seemed largely indifferent to her, with the exception of the men who stood in front of them.

She saw the German man observing her intently as she spoke. This, she assumed, was due to his position. He seemed to look at the others with similar intensity, his gaze calculating. Her father and older brother were like this. Thea assumed it was something that military service cultivated. Perhaps it was that military service merely attracted people like that: the stoic, reserved sort.

Her musing about psychology soon bored her, and she found herself briefly examining her surroundings. However, her focus quickly snapped back to attention when the German man spoke. When no one moved to leave, Thea was unsurprised. It wasn’t as though there was a particularly convincing alternative. In fact, it wasn’t as though there was any alternative.

What motivated Thea, however, was more intrigue than anything else. She was fascinated with the idea of finding out more about this virus. Thea had always been particularly interested in the way things worked. It didn’t matter if it was plants, machines, or viruses; she found their processes enthralling. It was a common misconception among people who didn’t know her that well that she was not a curious person. This error was usually due to her profound indifference towards gossip and most current events.

Consistent processes were what most interested her. Humans were inconsistent. Thus, she regarded their motives and habits as not uninteresting, but rather fundamentally inexplicable. As far as she was concerned, people did what they did. Dwelling of their actions solved nothing. If someone wanted to confide in her, for example, she would listen patiently. But she seldom sought out others in similar confidence. Thea got along with other people just fine…surprisingly well for an introvert, actually. Social interactions rarely made her uncomfortable or awkward.

Growing up, she was somewhat close with all three of her brothers. She had a good relationship with her father too, though he was a difficult man to get to know. And she usually got along well enough with women too. It wasn’t so much that she was charismatic, or even unusually likable. Rather, she considered herself to be generally unobtrusive and inoffensive. It was unsurprising, then, that she had no particularly strong opinions about any of the civilians standing beside her, or any of the military personnel scattered about the baseball field.

If Thea’s placid scrutiny was noticed by any of the others, they failed to let on. It wasn’t until she heard the man she recognized as the EMT mumble something under his breath about the collapsed man being carried off of the field. His next statement, however, was eaiser for her to hear: ““A real group of professionals, eh? It’s a fuckin’ party. Trained killers, really,” Secretly, she agreed with him. Although she knew that she could take care of herself, her skillset wasn’t exactly the most beneficial to have in a team setting. And a passed-out runner and a liberal arts major were not at the top of the list of “people you want to have on your side during the zombie apocalypse.” However, Thea assumed that they knew how to take care of themselves if they had made it this far. She hoped that her faith in the group was not unfounded.

[Red Beret]

Oliver Mercer

Being able to say just enough without giving away any real information was the mark of a true officer, and in Mercer's experience, that particular skill set was usually found behind a desk instead of in the field. He would have wondered whether the Kraut had served elsewhere if he hadn't already known about the excursions into Russia. Mercer found that he'd been right in his first assessment, though, this particular officer was one snotty sod, probably thought that he was better than anyone who'd ever tread on the planet before him, probably didn't think much of the future trodders, either. Plenty of those to go around, the ones that liked to pretend that they were super-competent. A nice swift kick in the trousers always took it out of them, though, all this bloke needed for it was to be on the losing side of a battle for once. It was one thing to walk onto a battlefield after the fact, quite another to be there for it. Mercer knew.

At any rate, the rupert seemed to show relief whenever someone introduced himself as a soldier, and seemed particularly fond of the soldiers that he ordered to introduce themselves at the end of the line. More Krauts, a Marine, and a paratrooper. Mercer didn't understand a lick of the German, and didn't care to. If they needed to address him, they could do so in bloody English. Or they could just shoot him, he supposed, that might save a lot of trouble in the long run.

“A real group of professionals, eh? It’s a fuckin’ party. Trained killers, really."

Mercer caught Everett's eye and the man gave him a curt nod. No doubt they were on the same page, at the very least. Mercer raised his brow to acknowledge the nod, and the Kraut continued as though nothing had been said. His English was heavily accented, and Mercer almost wished that he could pinpoint which part of Germany he was from. There was a sudden thought of the man wearing a genuine pair of lederhosen, and that did it... if Mercer hadn't taken the Kraut seriously before, there was no way he could do it with that picture in his head. He decided to keep it to himself, though, since he was, no doubt, outmatched at the moment.

He looked around as the Kraut droned on, and noticed that he wasn't the only one who wasn't really paying attention. C. Rola had gone a bit glassy-eyed and Lou the Plumber was focused on finding a discreet way to pick his nose. The only ones really listening to the rupert were the ones wearing fatigues, and even then only the two Krauts on the end were paying rapt attention to their leader. Mercer wondered if they were just... born that way or if they had to go to some sort of special school to learn to hang on to an officer's every word. Mercer couldn't have cared less about the technical aspects of the briefing anyway. Tell me where to go and what to shoot, and I'll go there and bloody shoot it. To be fair, though, he'd been out of the game for awhile.

The distractions meant that Mercer missed most of what the Kraut had said, but he'd heard "cannot guarantee zhe suhvival uff all uff you" and "if you vish to leaf, do so now before ve bekin owah briefink." So nice of him to offer to let them all go once more. Mercer had already made up his mind, however... though he'd tried to leave his past behind him, there was no doubt that he was going to have to jump back in sooner or later, and since he'd already missed his opportunity to take the stiff to the infirmary, he might as well continue "volunteering" for this most prestigious of assignments.

"Don' look like any of us is leaving 'Err Adler," he said, "So le's git on with it. My bloody legs are fallin' asleep over 'ere."

The rupert gave him a dismissive glance, and he felt Everett shift beside him.

“Psst. D’you speak pig-latin? ‘Cause I have no idea what Hitler over there is saying. From what I’ve read, he was a good speaker, though. Very motivating. Sounds like nails in a blender.”

"I don't speak a lick of it, but I think that 'e might be in a bitta trouble once we git ou' there," Mercer replied as quietly as he could, "I don' think the poor man's ever 'ad to do nuffink withou' a column of tanks leadin' th'way, if you know what I mean. Did 'e say anyfink important, or did 'e jus' ramble on? I only 'eard the bit where we can run 'ome to mum if we've taken fright."

[dman0649]

Maximillian was by no means an impatient man. But as he listened to the responses of his potential recruits, his eyes focused on Daniel’s posture as the group spoke. He stiffened at points, an it was evident that he was attempting to hold back his unbridled fury. He shot a simple phrase at the agent before introducing his troops, then himself; Max couldn’t help but become steadily irritated as the military introduced it’s presence in the operation. They were extremely overzealous, and too overconfident—they would never earn the respect of their companions in this fashion. As the vocals ceased, Max lowered his glasses and shot Daniel a dangerous glare. He adjusted his posture slightly, then uttered a simple phrase in deutsch.

“Not now. Silence your disrespect.”

The agent glanced at Mercer, then grinned slightly as he thought of the man’s sarcastic remarks. According to his file, he had former military experience, and was no stranger to highly volatile situations; he would prove an invaluable asset within the field of battle. is gaze then shifted to Carson, a navy coreman who was no stranger to medicine and discipline; he knew his shit, and Max knew that he would be extremely necessary in the situation to come. When it came to injury treatment, he was by far the most experienced and knowledgeable. Without him, it was a sure thing that a variety of this group wouldn’t be coming back to Sing Sing. Thea was an unexpected guest in this meeting—Max hadn’t the slightest clue who the hell she was, but if she could weld, he ppreciated her presence. Most underestimated knowledge of bottony, but he knew that no one would be complaining when she was finding herbs with medicinal properties, not to mention food. Kenneth… Who in the fuck was he, and how the fuck did he get inside? He shot a fleeting glance at the unconscious ginger, then shook his head and returned his attention to the men and women in front of him. He managed to get into a safe tplace without using the front door, so Max’s first assumption was that the youth had a few tricks up his sleeves. But.. A liberal arts major? Most would be highly demoralized to hear a relatively useless occupation, but it was the skills that lay beneath that Max was interested in. She had reflexes and reaction time, and had the potential to become a powerful combatant—he’d have to help her out with that, though. It took time that he didn’t have. Olivia… She dabbled in a little bit of everything, though she had a few underlying issues that needed worked out as the group progressed into the city. The agent sighed deeply as he gathered his thoughts, and began to speak once further.

“Now, as much as I’d love to keep you all waiting aBit further, I suppose I Should get down to business. Two years ago, you all may remember escalating tension between NATO and the SCO as United States military personell were withdrawn from the Korean peninsula. It eventually led to open warfare amongst the factions, and bloodshed became quite the common sight in the European theatre of war. Though all of a sudden, SCO forces began to withdraw from the line of battle, and retreat to Shanghai in an attempt to control an infection that suddenly began to claim it’s citizens. All of this is common knowledge at this point; but what you don’t know is that the infection is the direct result of the SCO’s careless thinking. The blame for this pandemic falls squarely on the shoulders of one Dimitri Petronovich, a doctor of Russian origin who is directly responsible for the creation of the phenicks virus. He, alongside a team of fourty nine other scientists single handedly murdered your former lives.”

Max paused for a moment and examined the faces of the men and women before him. It was a lot of information to take in, but obviously the worst was still to come. He removed his glasses, then closed his eyes and shifted his gaze to the ground before him. The face of his mother’s lifeless corpse flashed before his eyes, and his posture straightened visibly as he opened his eyes and lifted his face back toward his recruits.

“The SCO developed a biological weapon that was codenamed “phenicks” which is Russian for “phoenix”. They chose this name because they felt as though this weapon would wipe away the impurity of the world, and only the powerful would rise from the ashes and form a perfect society. It was developed in a secret research facility on the banks of a river which lead directly through the most traversed district of Shanghai—downtown. Thousans moved in and out of the area on an hourly basis, though the SCO completely disregarded the safety of these people in an attempt to gain the upper hand in a fruitless war. Ironically enough, a failure in the virus’s containment system allowed phenicks to leak into the river, and it contaminated nearly one million people within a single week. Most died, but as we know.. They didn’t stay down. The Chinese military was unable to contain the virus, so Russian reinforcement was sent to Shanghai’s borders in an attempt to euthanize the infection. The effort quickly failed, and it became an all out war for survival within fourty eight hours. For those of you who don’t know, Shanghai is a hub for international trade; thousands left the city the moment infection began to spread. Most, if not all were infected themselves and took the sickness home with them.”

“Infection rapidly became a common phenomenon worldwide. Before complete governmental collapse, an estimated ninety eightpercent of the human population had became infected, and that is the last statistic recorded before all communication amongst humanity ceased. Now that you know what happened.. I should probably tel you why the hell you’re here. You have all been selected as a result of your potential to help this prison find a cure for this plague. When the military cleared this facility, we found one inmate remaining in his cell. His name is Vladimir Petrenko, and he just so happens to be one of the men responsible for this… Genocide.” Max’s expression contorted into an ephogy of complete disgust as he spat the last word, but he quickly composed himself and continued to speak.

“After extensive… Uhh, negotiation… We have convinced Petrenko to cooperate with our efforts of putting an end to the infection. He wishes to develop a cure for phenicks.. But there’s a catch. This facility isn’t properly equipped to develop a vaccine. He needs chemicals, and labritory grade equipment before he can even begin to consider his possibilities. The gathering of these materials has been placed upon our shoulders; it is up to us to infiltrate the city, breach a facility with the proper equipment, and transport it safely from the city back to Sing Sing. Though before I hand this briefing over to my associate, I feel as though I should introduce myself. My name is Maximillian Alexander Parkes. I am a special agent of the FBI, and formerly a member of their hostage rescue team. I am a close quarters specialist, specializing in smaller arms such as pistols and submachine guns, and I have mastered three martial arts, those of which are Krav-Magga, Southern Dragon Kung-Fu, and Escrima. Though.. I should probably warn you guys that I’m a pretty shitty shot from over thirty meters, and I’m not exactly a serious person outside of this damned place. Hope you assholes don’t mind a bit of fun in your lives.” Max sighed after he finished his lengthy monologue, then took a bow before walking amongst the ranks of the civillians. He fell in line next to Thea, relaxed his posture slightly, then spoke to her quietly.

“Hope this fucker doesn’t take as long as I did.”

[AYoungWarthog]

Listening to Parkes speak, Daniel lit up another cigarette from his case and watched the reactions of the group. They seemed interested; to say the least, in the realization that a man so responsible for their suffering could have been housed in a prison close to their former home… And still be within its walls. Why he had been imprisoned in Sing Sing, however, was a fact left out of the equation for the civilians. Daniel, of course, knew just as well as Parkes did as to why Petrenko had been incarcerated in SSCF. He had quickly left China, and then Russia, as the project grew close to failure, and fled to the States in an attempt to drop off the grid. However, caught and arrested by the wonderful Mister Parkes himself, Petrenko had been caught using an international line to speak with wanted men, and was accused of terroristic plotting and treason. Sentenced to death at Sing Sing after the truth became known of his real involvement, he had barely been within his cell for three weeks before the situation went south quickly. Daniel had learned this truth from Parkes soon after meeting the man in Sing Sing as he had returned to the prison after the failure of Operation Sunset, in what Daniel had assumed was to check on the security of his infamous catch of the day.

Turning and leaning against the back of the backstop, the Hauptmann sighed after the FBI officer joined the civilians instead of the military personnel. Was it a sign? He did not care enough to analyze it, and was not truly fond of the American who though him his associate. He was still a German Officer at heart, and that was how he would remain. Taking a long drag from the mentholated filter and drawing himself to his fullest height, he spoke in his heavily accented English once more, “As Herr Parkes has detailed, our goal is the assistance of Herr Petrenko in his research. This will include the use of all the skills represented in this… illustre…” his English quickly switching to German like an angry hiss as he continued to speak, “Gruppe. We will be working in two groups. Parkes and myself will be the leaders of the two teams. The split is as follows…”

Pulling his notebook from his jacket with a small pencil and scribbling a list on it quickly, he read aloud, “The following, please follow the two Deutsche soldiers zum den Ort vor der Sitzung festgelegt,” he finished in German, looking at Schunder who clicked his heals and began to relay the information to his partner as Daniel read the list of names that would be a part of his own group, “Mercer, Olivia Welch, and Sheridan,Thea…”

The three announced waited patiently, or in the case of Mercer they seemed to wait in annoyance, wishing they had been selected for the other team. Clearing his throat, Daniel read the rest of the list, “The following please follow Miss Williams and Mister Michaels to the location of their meeting with Mister Parkes, where they will be interviewed in private… C. Rola, Lou Panzetti Everett, and Kenneth who will be relocated to the meeting area after his infirmary stay. That is a split of six to myself and seven to Mister Parkes’s team. Please proceed. Gehen.”

Turning and leaving the baseball field without another word he watched his team being led away toward a cell block by his two men. Slipping inside a flecktarn colored tent that held a German war flag over its entrance, his personal quarters he had established a few days earlier, he lifted his combat vest over his uniform and grabbed his helmet and restrung his rifle over his shoulder. Ready for combat, the Hauptmann hurried off to his set of interviews. Entering the ominously empty cell block, Daniel caught sight of the members of his team: two women and three men sitting at an old table in the middle of the block awaiting his arrival in conversation. Passing them without a word, he entered a cell and lit the lantern sitting in the corner with a flick of zippo and sat on a folding chair. This was where it would begin…

"Herr Mercer, please enter the cell and have a seat," Daniel said loudly with his heavily accented English. He watched the man enter and sit on the cell's old bed across from his metal folding chair in the blackness of the room as the door slammed behind him. A single lantern and Daniel's cigarette were the only lights to be found as the Hauptmann scanned his notebook quickly and leaned forward, catching a nostril full of Mercer's stench, each of the persons having lacked a proper shower for weeks, "What would you do if I told you I hated you? If I said your life depended on you impressing me... What would you give me?”

[Red Beret]

Oliver Mercer
(In collaboration with Warty)

The Yank's speech made Mercer think that he may have misjudged the man. As he spoke, it became clear by his manner and tone that he was more nervous and worried, probably barking more out of irritation (instead of collaboration) with the Kraut. Agent Parkes, as he'd introduced himself, fell in line with the civilians after he'd finished speaking, and Mercer automatically glanced to the Kraut, just in time to catch an unreadable expression--not a good one, but Mercer couldn't tell what kind of "not-good" the expression had been. He would have been surprised if he'd found out that the Kraut hadn't mentally marked the Yank as a traitor of some sort.

The names and the technicalities hadn't really stuck with Mercer, and he wasn't really sure why it had all been explained. He knew that the damned thing killed and that it brought people back... not to life, not as... people, but as something entirely different. Insatiable, flesh-hungry ghouls and ghoulettes who wanted nothing more than a hearty meal at the expense of those who were still alive. It would've been more effective if they'd just said "keep away from the buggers," and everyone had presumably been doing that beforehand, unless they'd been in the prison to begin with. What did it matter if the guy who made the damn thing was in there with them? He was under guard, presumably, unless they'd managed to fuck that up as well.

"The following, please follow the two Deutsche soldiers zum den Ort vor der Sitzung festgelect: Mercer, Olivia Welch, and Sheridan, Thea."

Mercer shook his head as the Kraut read off the rest of the list, and he wondered exactly what kind of a shitstorm he'd managed to get into. He'd have rather gone with the Yank. Ruperts had a way of buggering things, especially when they were trying to do everything "by the book," walking through that web of red tape on a tightrope made of the same. Mercer wondered exactly how much they knew about his previous experience, and wondered whether the Kraut was going to try and make him play sergeant. It had been years since Mercer had had to call on his military experience... he'd been bloody rusty at first, making his way through New York, but there were some things you never forgot, some things that just needed the right push to come out again as an instinct you'd never know was there. Some time ago, Mercer had been drilled to survive... and he'd done it all right thus far.

The Kraut was testing his survival instinct, though. He wouldn't normally try to irritate a man who'd gone to the trouble of donning a helmet and a flak vest, but making them wait so that he could be fashionably late? Bloody rupert. They sat around an old table, one of the legs of which was too short... Mercer was absently fiddling with it, rocking it back and forth when the Kraut came back in. He didn't acknowledge them in any way, just passed through and entered a cell not far away. A lantern in the corner came to life, and out of the corner of his eye, Mercer could see the Kraut in half-silhouette, sitting on a metal folding-chair. He was a bloody melodramatic sonuvabitch, wasn't he? He could have just read their bloody files to see if they were any good, then sent them to get their bloody equipment so that they could do whatever it was they were supposed to be doing. Instead he was going to sit there and make an ass of himself...

Herr Mercer, please enter the cell and have a seat."

Of course. Well, first in, first out. He could get it overwith, leave the Kraut to his bloody theatrics, maybe get something to eat while he was waiting. He stood up slowly and meandered over to the cell, taking his time. Of course, it was hard to draw out such a short distance, and Mercer found himself standing in the cell with the Kraut. The door shut firmly behind him, and he was effectively isolated, here with the rupert and a thin cloud of cigarette smoke. Not that Mercer minded the smoke, he just would've liked to be the one making it. He managed to control his urge to ask the rupert for a fag... not that the rupert would have obliged him anyway. The man made an irritated gesture toward another chair, and (feeling that the interview wouldn't commence until he had) Mercer sat. The Kraut leaned toward him

"What would you do if i told you I hated you? If I said your life depended on you impressing me... What would you give me?"

"The finger, gov," Mercer answered, and meant it. The key part to dealing with a rupert on the scale of this one was to control any interaction, and to stay in control. They would attempt to intimidate, and even bully those they considered weaker than themselves, but they could only get away with it if you let them dictate the terms of interaction. So, if they insisted on theatrics, you gave it to them straight. It could be classed as insubordination, though Mercer, as a civilian, couldn't rightly be charged with it. He was sure that there was someone in this godforsaken compound that could rein in a Kraut captain if they needed to.

"Y'see, cap'n," he continued, "I don' really need to impress you, not from where I'm sittin' anyway. Gimme a job and I'll do it. Could use the fresh air for a change."

The Kraut raised an eyebrow, tried to look impassive, but there was a question in his eyes. It was only there for a small moment, then he looked down at his journal and flicked the stem of ash from his cigarette. When he looked back up, the question was gone... but the damage had been done. Mercer knew that the Kraut wasn't going to try anything... not here, at least.

"What use are you to me, Mercer? Why can I count on you to watch my back when the shooting starts? Why should we trust you to follow instructions and not turn your gun on us the moment the gate closes behind us?"

"I already told you I've got nuffin' to prove, 'aven't I? 'Sides, you lot wouldn' be worth the trouble. Dunno what you're scared of, anyway, li'l ol' fact'ry worker like me don' know 'ow to shoot straight, eh gov?"

Mercer's tone was mix of joviality and irritation. This was going to be some bloody chickenshit, the rupert was here to intimidate them, to bully them, not really to interview them. The Kraut viewed the civilians as second-class, residing somewhere far beneath the soldiers in the little narrow-minded social order in his little narrow-minded head. There was silence as the two of them stared each other down... Mercer didn't have all day to do this though.

"If you want to make this formal," he said, unable to keep the exasperation out of his voice, "I suppose we can. I used to work supply in 'er Majesty's bloody Royal Army, I know how t'find things. You know, like supplies an' all that. I dunno 'ow to say it in Kraut, now, but tha's what I do, tha's what I thought you was bringin' me here for. Don' tell me you jus' had your buddies drag me outta my cell 'cause you couldn' be bothered to do a bit of research? Bloody typical, tha' is."

The Kraut nodded, clicking his tongue, keeping his composure throughout the attack, but unable to hide his own irritation from Mercer's keen eye.

"I am not a poetic man, Herr Mercer-

Here we go, Mercer thought, rolling his eyes.

"-but I do love poetry. This is only one thing I love more than literature, and that is a well-handled weapon in the hands of a soldier..."

The Kraut drew his pistol, turned it about so that he was gripping it by the barrel, and offered it out. Mercer looked at him, not sure whether this was some sort of test or not... but of course it was, just not the kind of test Mercer had been expecting from an officer who extended a perfectly lethal weapon to someone whose allegiance he'd just questioned. Bloody rupert.

You have fifteen seconds to field strip my pistol, starting now."

"I suppose I ought to ask if you'd like chips wif that, eh? One minute you're rambling on about 'ow you can't trust me an' the next you're 'andin' me a bloody 'andgun."

Even while he talked, Mercer's fingers were hard at work. There were just some things you never forgot.

"There. It's done. Prefer revolvers, meself, they pack a li'l more punch an don' jam up."

Mercer couldn't tell if the Kraut was pleased or not as he retrieved the disassembled pistol piece-by-piece.

"Welcome aboard, Sergeant. Please report to the control tower and receive a battle rifle from the quartermaster. He'll give you something adequette for fighting in the outside world. That'll be all."

The Kraut flicked the spent cigarette to the floor and started to light a new one. As Mercer left the cell, he made sure to get the last word in.

"I'm not your bloody sergeant."

He was gone before the Kraut could reply, off to be issued his shiny old newly-refurbished equipment. He'd have some fun with the quartermaster, of course, two supply men trying to out-supply each other in an armory. Indeed he did, and by the time he was through, he'd re-acquired the rifle he'd come in with--the soldiers hadn't yet had a chance to mess with it. He'd managed to get his hands on an old computer bag that had been lying around... Now he had something to carry his extra bits and baubles in, if he ever acquired them. It was certainly handy for ammunition, even if ammunition hadn't been its intended purpose.

He wasn't quite sure what to do with himself right about then, so he returned to the yard and leaned up against the side of one of the buildings. He looked both ways, then drew a cigarette from the pack he'd palmed in the armory... the quartermaster would be pissed to find they'd gone, but Mercer wasn't worried about him. He lit it with a match, covering the flame in the wind, and sucked in his first draw of tobacco since he'd come into the joint. He pocketed the cigarettes and waited for the rest of the poor sods to finish their.... "interviews."

[Bantling Bee]

After Adler, Maximillian Parkes was, perhaps, the sort of person Thea least expected. His hyperbolic storytelling and sarcastic remarks stood in direct contrast to the former man’s stoic mannerisms. There seemed to be tension there, and Thea felt it ebb and flow throughout Parkes’ introduction. Though the man seemed prone to hyperbole he was a more captivating presenter than the German. Thea, however, assumed that this difference was due equally to native language and occupation.
She was, however, a bit surprised when he fell in line next to her. She was even more surprised with the snide comment he made about the man she assumed was his collogue. At his words, Thea found herself raising an eyebrow and smirking slightly. Had Adler not begun his own soliloquy, she might have replied to Max’s comment. However, she found herself listening to the German soldier’s words, “We will be working in two groups. Parkes and myself will be the leaders of the two teams. The split is as follows…”


It felt a bit like choosing teams for a game of baseball, and Thea had to suppress a laugh at the thought of Adler and Parkes arguing over which team was first at bat. Though not a typically jovial or mercurial person, there was something about the absurdity of the situation that had made her feel uncharacteristically puckish. And, despite her unusually placid nature, she had always had a penchant for poking fun at those who seemed to take themselves too seriously. ““The following, please follow the two Deutsche soldiers zum den Ort vor der Sitzung festgelegt,” Adler continued. “Mercer, Olivia Welch, and Sheridan, Thea."
Thea looked at her two companions. They both seemed a bit uneasy, though perhaps annoyed would also be applicable. Regardless, she followed the others into a dimly lit room and sat down at a dingy table. The group sat in awkward silence, and Thea found herself wondering how long this process would take. She was the last of the three interviewees, so she prepared to wait for a while.

After some time, Adler entered and passed by the civilians without saying a word. He then beckoned Mercer into the cell. Thea could tell from where she sat that it was illuminated by a solitary lantern. The sun had begun to set outside the windows. Although Thea couldn’t make out exactly what Mercer was saying, she could hear two low voices talking in strained tones.

No one at the table spoke. Thea found herself looking at the floor, trying to find pictures in the scuffed tiles. After identifying a mongoose and a telephone, she heard the distinctive sound of footsteps. Mercer had finished his interview, and it was time for Olivia to begin hers. Again, the woman entered the nearby cell where Adler waited. Thea again began her game again of looking at the floor: a grandfather clock, a walrus, a hexagonal shape that looked like something out of a tenth grade geometry textbook. As with Mercer, Olivia’s voice was audible though her words were not.

Thea looked at the window. The sun had almost sunk below the horizon. The room had grown even dimmer, and she found herself abandoning the scratched floor and staring instead outside the window. There was not much to see, though she had hoped for some interesting view. Instead, she was forced to watch the sun slowly sink beyond the horizon. When not even a glimmer of light was visible, Thea heard Mercer beckon to her.

Thea stood up and walked to the cell. The lantern did little to illuminate Adler’s face, though the lit end of his cigarette was visible even in the shadows. He was reading over something. Although Thea couldn’t tell exactly what it was, she assumed that it was some sort of notes about each of them. The standard symphony of gunshots and screams could be heard faintly, though Thea had become all but immune to them.

Adler motioned for her to sit on the cell’s bed. For a split second, she hesitated. She would have preferred a chair. There was something a bit too intimate about sitting on a bed. It reminded her of when she was younger, and her mother used to try to talk to her about boys and school before bedtime. It wasn’t as though she feared the German. It just struck her as a bit awkward.

She could feel him survey her in the dark, and he sighed before asking, "Frau Sheridan, what would you say to me if I told your life depended on you impressing me? What would you say if I told you I hated you?"

Thea’s eyes adjusted quickly to the dimly lit room. She sat down across from the German officer, trying to establish and maintain eye contact. She was sitting up straight, though her posture was unexaggerated. Overall, she appeared serene and unflinching. “What would I say if my life depended on impressing you?” There was a short pause where she stopped to collect her thoughts. “I think I’d probably wonder why we were sitting here talking about what you thought of me, for starters.” Her tone was even; gentle almost. “And maybe I’d mention something about being highly motivated under pressure. That’s the sort of answer you’re looking for, isn’t it? But really, what good is anything I say? If you need me to impress you, I can paint you a pretty picture about how I always play nice with others and take pride in my work. But I could be lying. So, if you want me to impress you, then take me to the field…give me welding supplies, or take me shooting. Let me show you that I know what I’m doing.” It was the most she had spoken in a while, and she found herself pausing again before she considered the man’s second question. “If you told me you hated me…” a small, wry smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, “I’d say that was a waste of your time. Hating someone takes energy; energy that could be better spent in a multitude of other ways in these dire times.”

Adler nodded in response to her answers, she wasn’t sure if that indicated that he approved or merely that her understood. Regardless, he lifted a pistol from his holster, “"If you feel so confident in your capability, and feel like you can impress me... Break that down. You have fifteen seconds, starting now."

Again, Thea found herself smiling wryly. She had helped her father clean his weapons after shooting from the time she was ten years old. Thea promptly checked the weapon first to make sure that it wasn’t loaded. Satisfied that it wasn’t, she released the side lock. She promptly removed the spring, and placed the barrel and the rest of the components on the table in front of her. It was within his timeframe, and she found herself staring placidly back at the German. “Did you want me to put it back together as well?” The question was sincere, and without any arrogance. In truth, she was a bit relieved that the task had been so easy.

"Welcome aboard,” The German said. He seemed to be satisfied, if not impressed, with her results. “Go to the control tower and meet with the quartermaster.” He continued, “He will equip you with a rifle more suitable for combat. You may go.”

Thea stood up, following Adler's request. She could see the foreboding glint of his blue eyes even in the shadows. He lit a cigarette in the darkness, and she could have sworn that he was trying to stare her down. So she stared back at him evenly, and with equal resolve. When he took a puff on his cigarette, she suddenly spoke. "Careful," she said, a small mischievous smile. "Those things'll kill you." And with that, she left.

She made her way to the control tower, shivering in the cold air. The man who gave her the equipment seemed brusque and generally annoyed with her presence. Although she was hesitant to walk back into the cold night, she was less inclined to stay in in view of the surly quartermaster. Thus, she found herself wandering out into the yard. Thea wasn’t particularly eager to socialize with others. But, she assumed that they might at least know where there was an available bed.

[Whiskey]

Carson's mouth tugged at the sides as a smirk slowly started to form on his face. Mercer's witty and sarcastic quips came naturally, and it thoroughly pleased Carson to know that someone else in this god-awful, fucked-up-beyond-all-recognition, shitty mess had a sense of humor that was on par with his own. It was a solace to know he wasn't alone, and Carson would make it an effort to get acquainted with Mercer- not just for the company and the humor, but he seemed like he knew his shit. For a factory worker, he was squared away. Carson was about to put in his extra two cents in their conversation when the federal agent spoke up, a Mr. Parkes. At that time, Carson's ears perked up. It was good to not have to listen to a speech given in a language he couldn't understand. Made things easier. Parke's voice commanded authority and it suited his career in Law Enforcement- when he spoke, you listened.

It wasn't brash and angry-sounding like his partner, Herr Adler's, instead, it reminded Carson of a Drill Instructor he had met during his time in the Navy, serving on the Green side of the Fleet. As he began with the actual 'brief', he went on and on about how the virus came about, and the rising tensions, mentioning a man's name- Dimitri Petronivich... Carson had never heard of the man, but the whole story sounded like typical military bull-shit. Even though this was after Carson had retired, the Navy still wanted him to enlist back in the Navy for 'task and preparational' means. Needless to say, Everett declined. He had seen enough bloodshed in his life-time. Little did he know, but assumed, he was going to see a whole lot more before his life ends.

As it so seems, everyone in the baseball field, minus Kenneth because he almost 'died', received a crash course in the phenicks virus, the resulting war for survival, and even a Vladimir Petrenko- with a somewhat dabble into Mr. Parkes life story. He seemed a little young to be in the FBI, specifically the HRT team, but specifics aren't important. What surprised him most was his inability to be a marksman. Maybe it was just the inner rifleman in him that the Marine training drilled into Carson's subconscious, or the experience with mid-to-long range combat, but Carson felt an FBI agent, one trained in hostage rescue, anti-terrorism, and other high-risk situations should be able to hit a target at 30 meters. After all, what the fuck is a karate chop going to do to one of those walking freaks? Just another oddity of the team. It was a curt sign of respect when the FBI agent fell into line with the civilians- while a small move, Carson felt it was a good one. A leader shouldn't think of himself as better, but as an equal- and the fact he would fall in like the rest of the sheep gathered showed positive things.

It seemed everyone had introduced themselves, save the actual military officials, the Marine, odd assortment of British paratroop and German troops. It seemed Mr. Parkes had insulted Herr Adler a tad by joining the rest of the 'civvies. This pleased Carson. He didn't have a negative disposition for Herr Adler, but he was arrogant from what Carson gathered. A good leader, but a strict one. One hundred percent military to the core, with no fluctuations, strategic flaws. Grade 'A' officer. More than likely battle-tested and Carson knew, from his own experience, that Herr Adler wouldn't accept anything less than military-grade quality. While it was a good trait- it was a good trait for the military. This isn't the military, no matter how much of a stupid and screwed up situation it was. These people aren't soldiers, and Herr Adler was probably going to treat them as soldiers. Something about the man rubbed Carson wrong, but orders were orders.

And, to be honest, it was good to have that organizational structure that he got from the Green Fleet. To put the iciing on the cake, they were splitting into groups. It can't be a tried and true military op if there wasn't teams, said teamwork, and cooperation. Yaaaaay... As Herr Adler named off the people that were to fall out and join him in the jail cells for interviews and further briefings, Carson's mind quickly did the math. Fantastic. The three most-capable, save himself, were seeming to go with Herr Adler, leaving Carson to baby sit Snorlax, L.A kid, and speedy gonzales. Terrific. However, he did get to grouped with the hot Marine chick and tea 'n crumpets boy, so. There's that.

"Let's get the show on the road, eh?" Everett gave a curt nod to Mr. Parkes and filed into line with the rest of his assigned group.

[Red Beret]

Lieutenant Wilkerson

"Mornin', Parkes."

"Who are you?"

"The guy who doesn't want to do this, but he's takin' your job anyway. Sorry, bud."

Wilkerson sat at a table in the center of the room, feet kicked up and a few files in his hands. He'd just received his assignment for New York, and though he couldn't say he was happy about it, he wasn't mad, either. Taking command from someone was always a subject you didn't want to breach the wrong way, but orders was orders was orders. There wasn't much he could do about it, and there wasn't much he was going to do about it. Better to be in command out in the field rather than plugged behind some desk. He really couldn't tell if Parkes was happy, mad, or didn't care that he was being relieved of command. He simply took a seat at the table, leaving the others to sort of... stand around.

"I've been looking at your files," Wilkerson said, "Williams, Michaels, I'm assuming you two are the ones in uniform. Get your asses to the armory and gear up. You, too, Parkes. The rest of you, let's get some light in here so that I can get a good look at you."

Wilkerson motioned to one of the guards, who brought an extra lantern into the room.

"That's better," he said, looking at the remainder of them, "Hell, they told me I was supposed to bring you in and interview you, don't know what for. If you weren't already prime candidates for the field, they wouldn't be sending you out here to begin with. Everett, go ahead and go to the armory yourself, you know what the hell you're doing, right? Meet up in the yard when you guys are done and we'll go from there."

That left two of them, a man and a woman. Wilkerson assumed that the woman was Catherine Rola, from her file, and that the man was Lou Panzetti from his. There wasn't much information, most of it was what they'd given when they were admitted into the property as refugees. Seemed that command simply wanted to give them a chance to do their duty and earn their keep... how generous. Wilkerson had nothing against them... the civilians he'd rallied back on campus had followed orders expertly, and the ones that wanted to learn learned quickly. He hoped that it would be the same way with these.

He flipped through their files a bit before continuing.

"I'm going to give it to you straight," he said, looking from one to the other, "I don't know how much training you've had, but I wish I had some time to give it to ya. Word is, though, that they're looking to start re-claiming the city as soon as possible, so there's not really much time. I looked through what little information I've got on the two of you, and I don't see anything about being able to shoot straight, no offense. I'm not here to pick on you for it, though, the job's mostly scavenging. I expect you know what useful parts to look for, eh, Panzetti? Go ahead and go on, get yourself something you can fight with. That leaves... you, Rola."

He gave her a wink and referred back to her folder, "File says you came into the compound with a bow and a few arrows. Not a bad way to swing it, doesn't make as much noise as a gun, but you might want to find something to make those arrows a bit deadlier. That's good enough for me, though, go ahead and gear up with the rest of 'em. Remember, meet up in the yard when you're done."

He watched her leave, then shook his head. He wasn't worried about the team. Maybe Parkes, but he had a sense that the man was professional enough not to hold a grudge. That left one thing to do... meet with the other team leader. Scuttlebutt said it was some German officer, came in almost fresh from the campaign in Europe... tough sonuvabitch. A real officer.

This was gonna be fun.