Azseth — Roleplayer Guild

CDC Center. Fort Leonard Wood, MS.

Jon laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, tapping his fingers on the chest. This was the 5th day in a row now where there had been no activity from anyone outside of the room and that worried Jon to an insane degree. He knew something was wrong, even before. They'd come in and clean, sort things out or do maintenance when he was drugged, most likely gassed; and they'd also answer the comm systems at all hours of the day, but not recently. Even before that however, things seemed to get off of their schedule and he could detect shortness and stress in voices of the attendants.

Jon's room was rather plain and modest. There was a bed, the small but full sized kitchen, a small bathroom with a shower and a small side area with a small table and single chair. In that room was also a treadmill and some books. Jon kept it simple. He wanted computers and news papers, but that was a sever no-no, as anything that allowed outside communications was forbiden. There were no windows, only a couple flourescent bulbs mixed with some form of "day light" that Jon assumed helped the body cope with not having direct sunlight, almost like lizards and snakes get when kept as pets. He assumed the doors and walls were soundproof because never once had he heard anything outside of the confines of his walls. Not even thunder.

He looked over at the shower, then the small dresser, debating what to do. He sat up and yawned, looking around. His eyes once again feel to the large, orange envelope that was on the counter next to his bed, the sealed envelope that was there when he came into the room and hadn't moved since, at least on his account. It simply said "Jon. Open upon release only." He'd seen and read many envelopes like this before but this one was more intriguing as there was generally no wait period, or at least not a wait that stretched for nine months. He shrugged and sighed, then decided to go take another shower...

Meanwhile in his own room, Will gave a sigh, letting his hand slip from the intercom, shaking his head. Five days with no response. -And- today was supposed to be cleaning day. For the past nine months, he'd been gassed at almost the same time on this day, every month. When he came around, there was usually a fresh needle mark on his arm, his room was clean, and the fridge was re-stocked with the items he'd requested a day previous. The lack of activity was... Disturbing, to say the least. No response, no cleaning, no food. After a brief moment, he couldn't help but give a snicker. Maybe they were all on holiday.

"Five an O, favor of silence."

This was muttered in an undertone as he made his way to his bed, flopping down spread eagled on the (Rather crappy) mattress and simply staring at the ceiling. There wasn't much left for him to do at this point. He was showered and dressed, mostly out of habit. After all, he wasn't going anywhere. Lazy people would probably just sit around in their P.J's, showering once a week tops... Suppose strict living habits for a number of years for 'Public Image' did that to a person. He ran a hand down his face with a groan of boredom, resorting to talking to himself yet again.

"What do you think? From the White House to a piece of shit stone room, not a family member in sight... Could have been a kidnapping... Nah, too well provided for. Lack of contact is driving me nuts, of course. Wonder if the Redskins won the superbowl?"

As sad as he knew it was, particularly to the people he was certain were watching on the other end of a screen- Or had been at least- he kept on with the self-conversation, the same one he'd had with himself since the first month of his imprisonment in this.... Strange place. He'd had a conversation or two over the intercom, sure, but never anything personal, and asking about the outside world had always led to hours of silence on the other end. With a shrug, he flopped off of the bed, landing on his hands and toes and setting to doing pushups while talking to nobody but himself. Oh, boredom, how you wreck a man's mind...

Jon got out of the shower, dressed, and went to sit back on the bed. He clicked the comm and asked for assistance, but again there was no answer. He stared at the envelope, then to his dwindling food supply hoping that one of two things happened: technical difficulties or that all the shit outside calmed down, and they simply had other things to worry about for a few days.

Jon's gut told him it was neither of those.

He sat, starting at the door, and his gaze went to the envelope again. He hadn't looked at the thing more than twice in the months he was here, not until the communications stopped. He started to look at numerous times a day after, wondering if he should just do it. Then, there was a noise that Jon hadn't heard in the room before and because of that fact, common sense didn't kick in for a moment. There was a loud, distinct CLICK and THUNK as the door unlocked. Without thinking, he moved to the door, ready for whatever came in while he hand reached up and snatched the envelope. He opened it and tossed it aside, pulling out a small sheet of paper while keeping his focus on the door.

He took but a second, read the message 3 times and then grimaced. He tore the note into three pieces, sticking one part in his pocket to dispose of later, sprinkling another on the floor and the other he put in his sock. Overboard? Paranoid? Yes, a little bit. God bless the CIA training. At least he didn't eat all or part of the thing...

He took a moment and simply stood there, then after a few more moments, he grabbed the handle, slowly pulled it down and began to open the door...

He almost missed it, drowned out by the sound of his own voice as he continued to argue with himself, in the midst of his usual workout routine. Crunches, pushups, ghost boxing- But then it was there. A click and a thunk. He'd heard that kind of sound before, if in different situations. Mechanical door locks? His gaze shot to the door, then, and he almost bolted for it, before a tiny thought in the back of his head told him to pause. Think a moment, look around. He'd need stuff. Everyone always needs stuff. First and foremost, something he simply wouldn't feel -right- without. It took but a moment to bolt to the footlocker at the end of his bed, digging through it and pulling free a small bag, and a larger box, long but slender.

What took a short moment or two longer was rapidly stripping, then throwing on clothes he was far more comfortable in. Jeans, a t-shirt, hiking boots and a windbreaker- An excellent outfit in his mind. The box he simply picked up, holding it loosely in hand and darting for the door. Something made him remain... cautious. That little human instinct to sniff out potential danger. So he paused by the doorframe, slowly, carefully cracking the door open and peering out of it. Nothing but a long hallway... Rooms up and down it similar to his own, yes... But no one -in- it yet, that he could see. So saying, he took a deep breath and stepped into the hall, glancing side to side- Only to be faced with what he hadn't seen a moment before. A man seated at the end of the hall, staring right at him, with a gun aimed a bit too steadily for his comfort. But... nobody would shoot the president's son, surely this man knew? Still, he cursed, dropping the box and raising his hands slightly as the man stood up.
"Woah there guy, let's not do anythin-"
He was cut off by the explosive crack of a gunshot, cursing just as explosively as he felt the round rip past him, setting his ear to ringing. With another sharp curse, he dove back into his room.
"WHAT THE FUCK GUY!?"
He made another brief bolt, snagging his box from the hall and sliding back into the room.

Just as the shot went off, Jon opened the door. It was immediately evident that the door was soundproof because he only heard part of the gunshot. He didn't react, because the man was armed and Jon wasn't sure what else was going on. The man was focused down the hall, so Jon wasn't immediately worried. He could only guess what he was shooting at and wanted to make sure. Then the guard started to speak, yelling loudly. "Whoa whoa. Sorry. I'm the CDC Sec Team. Sorry, Security Team. This area was compromised and we don't know what's coming out of each room."

The man took a deep breath and Jon could see him mentally composing himself before continuing. "If you can hear me, just step out of the room, slow, hands above your head, and get on you knees. Once we confirm you're not infected, we'll get you cleared and onto the roof for extraction."

At this point, Jon saw movement directly across from his room, as the door swung open. A younger looking kid stood there and by the look on his face, Jon could tell he had no clue what was going on, partly from the fact tha the doors were soundproof, and mainly because the boy looked like he was some form of cyber geek more at home in his grandmother's basement than a CDC facility. The man stood there, looking at the guard stupidly, unsure of what to think of a man holding a gun.

The man didn't say a word, he simply turned towards the young man and pulled the trigger.

It was the second time today Jon heard a very distinct CLICK. Unlike the first, this was the click of a firing pin striking a round and not firing, a misfire. This time, he wasted no time. He burst through the door and caught the man as he was clearing the round. Bradley saw him coming and swing the pistol at Jon's face in a sideways strike. It was short and well aimed and Jon knew this man had some degree of training. Simply being able to react showed discipline, but the fact that the blow was accurate, quick and didn't extend too far indicated to Jon he would have to be careful. Jon met the blow with a vertical forearm block and closed on the man, wanting to press the advantage and keep him on the defensive. He threw 3 short jabs, the last of which got through but didn't seem to phase the man. He actually surprised Jon by also stepping forward where most men would have tried to take a step or two back and gain some composure.

Bradley threw a jab and hook himself, using the gun to add weight and blunt force behind his blow. The two ducked heads and threw several more rapid, intense exchanges before Jon managed to sneak in a forceblock at the guard's elbow as he swung the pistol out in a wide hook attack. Between the force behind the blow, and the force of the block, the elbow made a loud crunching sound and bent the wrong way slightly as it hyperextended. The following reaction from Bradley was to release the gun that went clattering down the hallway, followed by a quick grunt of pain. Jon swept two more punches aside rather easily now and stepped in with a tremendous headbutt that caught his opponent square in the nose, smashing it to the point that Jon already felt blood on his head a fraction of a second later.

The man fell so fast that Jon lost his footing, maybe on some blood, and fell at Bradley's feet. Bradley couldn't see through tears, but he could feel the man fall and knew he had a split second to react. He threw a lazy punch at his attacker with his bad arm to gain a second if possible while his other reached for one of the other pistols under his arm. The punch was batted away and the pistol whipped about, his finger already ready to squeeze off a round. The movement was intercepted however, but the finger still squeezed off a round, pinging off the walls down the hall. Jon pinned the arm to the mans side with one hand while bringing down an elbow violently, smashing the man's upper arm and ripping apart the shoulder socket.

In the same motion, he brought that elbow towards the man's head, connecting with his temple. The blow was clean, powerful and lethal, and it made a disgusting, almost wet crunching sound as the man's head shot to the side. He was either dead or unconscious at that time, but Jon threw 3 more blows, two to the mans face and the third was a deadly forearm shot to the throat of the man underneath him. If he wasn't dead before, he was now.

He sat back on the man, head up as he felt himself relax. He exhaled loudly, stood up and simply gave an almost gratified sounding, "Fuck..." He then proceeded to begin to go through the mans pockets, after taking a moment to wipe blood off of his hands and face, and onto the mans shirt sleeve.

Will stepped further out from behind his door, jaw slightly agape. He'd watched the entire display, not entirely sure on what had just happened. He'd seen the gun move towards the geek, and at least -thought- he'd heard a click... So had the murder been justified? He... Thought so, at least. With a quick shake of his head, he steps clear into the hall, revealing just what had been in the box by raising it and aiming it towards Jon. A bow and arrow- Comically large in the boy's hands, and yet he drew it smoothly, not quivering at all holding it back- aimed cleanly towards Jon's chest.
"Who the -fuck- are you?"
Just in case, he kept watch on the geek out of the corner of his eye, seeming more concerned about the murderous Jon than anything, however. But then, there was distance between them, and he could let the arrow fly before Jon stood or grabbed a gun... So he felt safe enough, really.

Jon looked over at the kid and while the bow and arrow stood out to him, the more important thing was that he recognized the face as the one in his orders. "I'm Jon Erikson, I'm with the CIA. We need to talk, you and I, but hopefully you'll put that bow down and not go all William Tell on me. Sound good?" Jon really hoped that the first few minutes out of his cell would not involve him beating a man to death, AND having to be potentially shot while disarming and possibly injuring his HVT...

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