(BTW, if this is a bit too deep, my apologies. I did keep it within limits, but be warned, boobs ahead.)
(Long, long post.)
Svetlana's eyebrows raised, as she walked back, shutting the door locked with a key card, then walking around.
"How long have you wanted to ask that? Hmm? At least a year, Bjorn. And I thought you were courageous." She said, turning around, as she then undid the clip around her hair, her blonde locks coming down to roughly her neck. She moved her arms around her back, and undid her bra and her underwear, the sports bra revealing two orbs that couldn't have been more undeniably irresistible, and her big rear end.
"But....yes, I think we should." She said, a dirty smirk on her face, as she almost fell atop him, already coming down hard onto him, as she let him get to work. It went on for minutes, the scene mostly faded to black, as she looked down at him, a look on his face. It had been a long time, since she had sex with a man, but he had been honest. He hadn't been himself, and Svetlana already knew that it was like something had come out of him that he wanted to say for a very, very long time, but it had died.
"You want these where I think you want them?" She said, her boobs hanging a inch above his face, the two melons looming and a sight to see.
"Yes. Please, make it go on forever." He said, calmly and quietly, as she simply came down, moving herself down, and her two boobs right into where Bjorn wanted it most. She stayed down, already letting him carry on, for minutes, and minutes. She felt the passion rise up and down her body, but then suddenly, she realized what she had done. He stopped moving. She moved out, and rolled off, quickly realizing his eyes were wide open, and she couldn't hear a breath on him. Sitting up, still completely naked, she pumped his chest, performing CPR, trying to get a beat. Exhaling into his mouth, she pumped more, swearing loudly, as she felt a tear run down her cheek. She did it for almost five minutes straight, the Viking just not waking up.
(Also, remember the future upgrades system? They're coming into play for Antoine/Howard- I think I remember something such as a optical/thermoptic cloaking for Antoine, and a prosthetic-jump system of some sort for Howard, though you're able to choose your character's upgrades, so long as they're not OP.)
"I should mention, Spectre, this isn't a test you do with your armor on. If it was, then the likes of me and you would walk it. It isn't ready yet you two- trust me, you'll be there before you even know it. Just sort your shit, and you'll know when." Imran said, walking away, as he headed back into the lift, going back up to the common room/armory level, where he quickly walked through the room, looking around, already spying the wookie and the femme fatale. This was Scimitar, he reminded himself- and whilst they were very different garments that the the two lights wore, they both knew how to become almost invisible in the right circumstance with them, and that it was something different.
"Ah, Howard, Antoine- seen the recruits? They look like grinder meat, Scimitar test for them in ten, and you both remember exactly how that was. Haha, it will be good to watch. Shit, I need Svetlana actually- give me a second, I'll be back. Radio through to me if you need anything- the armory's open and I think the technicians were talking about some stuff for you both, some upgrades that you were on about to me. Bunch of other stuff- I'll deal with them, then in a couple hours, I'll bring us all up to speed on what we're dealing with." Imran added, quickly realizing where he had to be, looking into the room, as he let them reply, before he had to quickly run back to the lift, already going back down to the quarters, as he wanted to be quick.
Running to Svetlana's billet, he knocked on the door, hearing nothing as he cursed to himself in Punjab. Moving along, he looked in the gym, but found nothing, trying something else. Maybe Bjorn would do for this, perhaps, he asked himself mentally. Yeah, he would. Running to his billet, he knocked on the door, just not bothering this time with waiting for a response as he pulled out his keycard, a universal one, and opened the door up, walking in to see what he wished he could unsee.
Svetlana didn't want to call it crying, but it was a set of tears, as she sat by his side, still looking, as she turned her head to Imran.
"It's not what it looks like.." She said, as he walked in, shutting the door locked. Imran couldn't help himself, but he knew that above the boobs and her body, there was her face. But she looked different, just a little torn apart somehow.
"The fuck is this? How?" He asked, as she stood up tall, looking.
"We were having sex....and I went too far. Take a guess." She said, moving her arms to her breasts, indicating in some way.
"I don't even know, Svetlana. He'd dead, you tried to.."
"Of course I did, Imran. There's nothing I can do. He asked for it, you must understand...why'd you think he wasn't so on form over the last six months?" She said, looking over, as she took a seat on the end of the bed. He walked over, looking to the bedside, for any papers, or anything.
"Damn...look, I don't want you gone. That would be a lot of paperwork, and I have enough University shit to deal with. You don't lie Svetlana, I know you well enough. But listen to me. We must sort this out."
"Of course. Asphyxiation of course, so we need to make it look like he hung himself perhaps to make it look like he died from oxygen deprivation- but allow no autopsies or observation. His body must be burned. It would be what he wanted." She said, looking over, as she looked over, wiping her tears, her voice coming back to normal.
"A Viking Funeral. It can be done, but not now. I'll find some rope. Look Svetlana, this isn't what I wanted, but there is nothing we, or you can do. Nobody, NO-ONE can know that you did this to him. I mean, even if they knew that he wanted this...you know."
"Of course." She said, as she dragged him over, into a certain position, already looking over as Imran walked over to a cabinet by the side of the bed, looking for a lace or something that he may have used.
"Fuck...what's that?" Imran said, picking up a tiny film-reel sized canister out of a cooled box, almost not wanting to say it.
"You must understand, Imran. Giants such as me and him....we're a rare breed, when I was young, a doctor in St Petersburg told me best. It's an extra chromosome, but unlike the effects of some, such as Autism or other genetic diseases...it causes this. Gigantism, but without the disadvantages. It scales the human body, explains my...features and my height and my size...and it has no side effects, apart from perhaps the fact that you're socially an outcast for your size, and ones that we haven't really chartered. Early death, organ failures..I will likely not live to see my 60th Birthday, Imran. So this is all that is left of him that will ever last, and giants tend to keep a store, as a just in case. I mean, there are giants out there that haven't got it from that, but they're either shorter, or have Pituitary problems."
"Bloody hell...are you suggesting? You saying your...boobs are from that?" Imran asked, looking over, as Svetlana looked over, both of them aware that Svetlana still didn't have her bra, or her underwear on for now. And it made this entire situation a little bit strange, as she chuckled a little, trying to relieve herself of what happened.
"Ah, Imran....you do know that for just telling you, you'd be in between my cleavage too. But you're a good man, you're clever to know the science, and you have your end of the deal....and besides, if I did, I think I wouldn't want to murder the rest too, it's too early in the morning. One day I'll deal with that canister, da. But that isn't today, to deal with that in relation to me. Ever hear about the Viking at the Battle of Stamford Bridge? The one that killed hundreds of Anglo-Saxons, with his axe before being felled? Probably the same blood. All the stories in Ancient Greece, about Gods? Giants, or at least I think. There's even a Russian Tsar, Alexander III, who had some aspects of it, but don't ask me how it works exactly- but when you hear the stories of him bending coins, and keeping the roof of a railway carriage lifted up, you understand it is something we tend to overlook in the past. We are myths, and history tends to think of us as that, for the good."
"And Bjorn then? He had it?"
"Yes. Same as I do. It's either genetic, or a mutation...but you know, it depends from case to case. Like I said, there's differing kinds. I guess he wanted to just get something out of his system, before he felt he'd die. Bu he chose to die, Bjorn asked me to come down, and while I got carried away, you tell me a giant like that wouldn't fight if he had something better to live for. So keeping some of the genes in the system means at least we'll be around. Perhaps it's that group conscious, I don't care."
"I understand. We can deal with this. But this is between me and you. He died happy at least, remember that Svetlana. Any man would want to die between your breasts, and he was one cross away from going back home and undergoing the rehabilitation process. It isn't healthy, Svets- I developed it with what Chemistry I know alongside the stuff they've developed before from the CIA, and it's horrifying what it does to the mind. But it's repression and a forgetting of details here. A need, and there isn't one case of...well, things coming back to us. Perhaps it was for the best."
"Yeah..."
"Look, you know what to do with this. But right now, we need to do this, or we're screwed. Just tell me this." Imran said, looking over, straight into her eyes.
"What?"
"Just promise you'll leave it at this. Don't feel responsible, or else things get complicated. Please, Svetlana." He said, as she looked over.
"And you're not going to start studies on this and become some sort of fucking lecturer on this, or else.."
"I know. Something for something, Svets. We have training to do- we'll deal with this quickly, then we'll be able to properly make something out of this situation." He replied, as he looked over at Bjorn, Svetlana walking back with some rope. It was a misery buisness, but he had died happily, and somehow, both of them knew that he had the best death he could get in this business. And he was going to have a proper funeral, and somehow, deep down, they both knew that if he believed in his Valhalla so much, he'd probably get there.
Twenty minutes later, and Svetlana and Imran had left it at that, to some degree. Bjorn hung in his room from the lampshade, a harrowing thought, and his will by his feet, Svetlana at least putting his underwear on to give him some dignity. Svetlana had gone to suit up, and the rooms that Spectre and Iceman were in, Imran had already gone to deal with. The Scimitar Test was a horrifying experience, and it did what many military tests simply didn't do. It threatened their lives, and Imran had recalled times when they had to recover bodies. It wasn't pleasant.
The knockout gas had been pumped into the two quarters from the canisters mounted within the radiator, taking less than 30 seconds to come in. The rooms had been locked, and they were fairly sealed, doing what they had to. It was a nasty method, but these raring recruits, Imran reminded himself, perhaps found at the moment that their lungs filled quick with the gas was that this was serious. And it meant two bodies to drag. Svetlana had gone to suit up, but hadn't taken her GMG, and the test was already set, if Imran remembered correctly how this would look. With a bit of help from her, getting it set was fairly quick, which was always a relief.
The chamber was two floors down, the lowest down of the subterranean facility on Bouvet, and was a strange and ethereal place. There was quite a large room, about the capacity of two shipping containers, and another one sat in the room ahead, sealed by a large naval metal door. The two wingsuits that Iceman and Spectre now wore were red, both still completely out for the count, wearing a specialized pair of goggles and haptic equipment integrated into the wingsuits that put them into a completely different world- one that wasn't a metal container, but a pitch-black mountainside that felt frozen. It meant that it felt real, almost unquestionably so, the wind from a fan on the far wall and the motion sickening and horrifying. But it wasn't that that did the job. It was just a simulation for a good reason, because the two nozzles on the side of the tank, had already started pouring salt water in from the South Atlantic, coming up to Imran's soles, himself now wearing his proper digital uniform, a mixture of UCP and a hexagonal silver. A tiny metal prong sat on the floor, that sent a current through that was able to deliver a shock roughly weaker than a Stun Gun, and it was consistent through the water. Perhaps when they woke up, they'd be feeling like they're be awakening to falling towards a cliff, but when they realized that when they tried to pull their chutes, Imran knew they'd only do one thing- and it was that which sucked them straight from their simulation into a reality, of a flooding room with freezing salt water that had current running through it. It fucked up the muscles, with twitches and shocks that could easily destabilize the body's own nervous system, nothing permenent but enough to really fuck someone up. Iceman and Spectre were about at the roof of the room with adequate room to at least react to the simulation via the haptic system, attached by a tether that in reality, was impossible to feel, but visible. A crash would send them to the floor, the tether would break and they'd fall almost three floors- enough to break a few bones, to say the least.The two would be tested simultaneously, but that was fine in itself. Walking out, he sealed the first training room, the invisible door on it's side leading to a instructor's viewing point, where he took a seat, able to look into the training area, from the start to finish. Many died here, from the current, drowning in this part, as well as occasionally taking a 9mm that was ultimately fatal because they ran around a corner like a lunatic. But if they held their nerve and kept the air in their lungs, they'd be able to figure out reality from virtual, and make it through. And if that didn't kill them, the assault course and the close quarters section could easily.
Beyond the first room through the reinforced naval door that lay at the far end, already deeply submerged, lay a water drain that preluded a daunting assault course in the second room, followed immediately by the close quarters combat course. An intensive scheme indeed, but it was required. It had a pair of G36A2 Assault Rifles at it's start, and many surprises along it's path. Ones that weren't just artificial. The shock test broke people- it was whether they could operate at maximum capacity after that that Imran cared about. And Svetlana sat at the end of the close quarters course, as one last surprise, aware that she wasn't a target to be beaten. But to be attempted. And she had no qualms about breaking people in half until Imran said stop. Targets could fire back, targets could easily do a multitude of things, move around, or even completely teleport. It was a mindfuck, in any aspect. A horrifying one. But it separated the wheat from the chaff. And whilst Special Forces training could train a man to be unbreakable, and competent at doing the impossible, this was different. It was a shock to every sense, and would require an operator to go beyond a normal means of what they already knew, to succeed.
From the control room, he looked over, as the system, fully activated, recognized that they were both awakening. They were being flung into the fray, as Imran spoke into their earpieces. The room was halfway filled with water, still filling as the pumps quietly worked, the saline sea water something they'd literally drop into, as soon as they themselves hit it in the simulation. Perhaps only after realizing their chutes weren't going to work.
"Welcome to the Test. LZ is on your HUD- Good Luck out there." Imran simply said, aware that they were going, and the wind turbine in the roof was billowing cold air, already adding an simulation to what they felt through the haptics, the false senses that they were feeling pressure from the wingsuit, and the VR working full pelt to put across the idea that they were in almost a pitch-black environment, by a mountainside, hurling at almost 200mph to the sea for an insertion. But Imran knew that they'd have worse, far, far worse, and they wouldn't even know right now what was real and what wasn't.
