Post by doomsdaylee on May 17, 2009 2:01:35 GMT -5
Mommy? Mommy wake up.
Sergy, why wont mommy wake up? A little girl, no older than 10 looked to her mother, a woman laying face down in the streets of Moscow, Russia, gave her a shake, than looked up to her older brother. The boy, still a child of thirteen himself, shook visibly. Being homeless, he had seen death already, and he recognized the signs of his mothers death. Now, it was just he and his three brothers and one sist-
Sergai awoke with a splash of cold, cold water hitting his head and chest area. Sergai Khruschev gasped, looking around, but seeing nothing. The bag that was on his head was sticking to his face, making it hard to breath. Sergai started to panic, his body flailing lightly, but not going anywhere. Sergais arms ached, and his wrists and neck felt like they were slowly being cut into. Sergai felt his head getting light, and took a deep breath. Well, as deep a breath as he could with a wet bag sticking to a face. Now was not the time to be hyper-ventilating. Sergai attempted to relax, despite the sharp, throbbing pain in the back of his head, and a tight, crusty feeling on the back of his neck he recognized only to well as dried blood. As he finally did relax, Sergai carefully analyzed how his body felt. The pain in his arms met that they were currently hanging above him, and, judging by the similar cutting feeling in his neck, both the bag on his head, and his wrists, were tied by thin rope, as if twine. The pain in his head met he had taken a good blow in the back of his head, and the dried blood translated to that he had taken the hit a while ago. His mid-section ached, but it wasnt serious, and it was wide-spread, likely an accident, caused by rough handleing. Sergai knew one thing for sure though. Someone had thrown that water, and Sergai wasnt alone anymore
Sergai Vladimirovich Khruschev, age nineteen, so nice to meet you in person. A voice. A mans voice, his Russian thick with an American accent. Im a fan. If you want my autograph, untie me, take this bag off my head, and kindly go fu-
Language Sergai! The voice cut off his muffled, witty retort. And why would I want your autograph? After all, I have you.
Who are you, and what the hell do you want?
Im the Organization. Well, WERE the organization, I should say. We want you. Youre one hell of a pit fighter. Not exactly a legal sport though.
Our fans kick ass though. Besides, kidnappings not exactly the top of the Law enforcement team sports. List either, now is it?
Quite a wit you got Mr. Khruschev. However, this isnt kidnapping, for your information. This is a purchase. We paid good money for you.
Like theres bad money Sergai mumbled sarcastically. Now take this damn bag off my head.
Now, you see Mr. Khruschev, that is why we purchased you. The man said as he untied the string on Sergai's neck, pulling the bag off, blinding Sergai momentarily with the sudden light.
Because of me liking money? Sergai muttered between cursing and filling his lungs with nice, fresh, dry oxygen. Slowly but surely, Sergais eyes adjusted with the light, and he didnt like the change. Instead of wet blackness, Sergai now saw a damp, rundown barn interior. It was broken in places, letting the sun shine in, currently shining strait into his face. The barn smelt faintly of mildew, smoke, and dead animals. The man before him was short. That was the first thing Sergai noticed, mainly because it was painfully obvious. True enough, Sergai was hanging by his arms two, maybe three feet off the ground, but the man stood hardly up to his chest. The shorter man had trim and nicely cut hair, and was wearing a tuxedo. The outfit didnt amuse Sergai. He had always hated those trim, prim, priss, and proper people. To artificial, they put a plastic smile on when they shook your hand, as thoughts of stabbing you right in between the shoulder-blades danced through their heads. Sergais people, homeless pit-fighters, burdens of Russia. They were honest, strait forwards. If they wanted you dead, they were as subtle as a three foot long lead pipe to the skull, slightly rusted, with a hole in the side that gave it a jagged edge. Sergai knew that only to well, and he preferred it. Sergai himself was a fine specimen of the aforementioned pit fighters. Five foot nine inches, two hundred and sixty three pounds of muscle. Sergais body was more athletic than muscular, but it certainly wasnt lacking in the latter. As he looked down, he noticed he wasnt in his favorite black tank-top, blue jeans combo. Instead, he was wearing nothing, his second favorite outfit. Sergai had been homeless all his life, and orphaned since thirteen, so to find a way to survive, Sergai had found an underground fighting orgization, one which he had joined at fifteen, and quickly rose through the ranks. The fights were akin to the Romans collisium, two men, bare handed, fighting in front of a large crowd of onlookers and betters. Anything you could find, or that the crowd gave you, you could use, and the loser lived, or died, depending on the crowd. Needless to say, the Russian police didnt like any of this one bit.
Because of your attitude Sergai, that spark, that bite you have. Th-
I know you must be jealous, Sergai interrupted. but why am I naked? The Russian asked, flipping his head back to try to get his long dirty blonde hair out of his face. The bright blonde haired American chuckled.
It our business, Mr. Khruschev, its much better to be safe than sorry.
What business is that, Mr. Prick?
Ah, I suppose youre right, I havnt introduced myself yet. I am Mr. Linus Jones. You can call me L.J. Mr. Khruschev. My business is the B.O.O. The Black Ops Organization. We are an underground group dedicated to the flourishing of the people who cannot raise arms, and to help nations soldiers get back into their homes.
For the right price Sergai said slowly.
Well, even soldiers are paid for their services. Linus said with one of those plastic smiles that Sergai hated so much. We offer to you Sergai, training in weapons, vehicles, and languages, and we offer you jobs. Jobs that pay quite lucratively.
The Pits pay very nicely as well. So give me a reason not to say Kiss my ass. And show you, first hand, why I have a three year winning streak.
I gave you four, Mr. Khruschev. But, how about an advance? Linus said, retrieving from his tuxedo pocket, a stack of money, no less than six inches wide. Sergais jaw dropped. Even as a pit fighter champ. He had never seen that much money at one time, and the biggest stack he had seen before was all ones. These were hundreds. I take it thats a tad bit more than youve made before. So, Mr. Khruschev is that a good enough reason?
Years later, Sergai, code name: Wolf, had finished his training, Nineteen hours of work, five hours of sleep, learning techniques from the GRU, CIA, Spetsnaz, SEALS, British SAS, the Green Beret and everything in between. He was brought to a clean, sterile American facility. He had learned how to easily and accurately use nearly any weapon he got his hands on. His personal favorite was always the .45 Heckler & Koch VP70-M. Its range, style, and the sheer power of it were phenomenal, and all with minor kickback. However, it had it's flaws, the barrel couldn't support a suppressor or a laser sight, due to the strange slanting shape, and, in his oppionion, to few rounds. He decided he liked the gun to much to abandon due to that flaw, and sent it off to be reworked. After months in this facility, learning how to drive tanks and fly choppers, and other things, Sergai was sent on his first mission, where he met his partner, and his best friend, Keith (Last). Keith was also born in Moscow, and he had a proficancy with weapons that outclassed Sergai, but the blonde man couldnt fist fight like Sergai. Keith and Sergai, over the years, had come to trust one another more than if they had been born brothers. Keith was an accomplished sniper, and he had a love affair with explosives. Sergai was the opposite of their team, used to be the initial attack. Sergai would kick in the door of the area, so to speak, and go in, guns blazing. He would than duck for cover, taking pot shots with his side-arm weapon, the Nagant M1895 Revolver, whenever possible, and let Keith cover him. If things went sour, Sergai and Keith had a mutual agreement: Sergai would blow shit up, than run, and than Keith would blow shit up. The two were a mix, each able to cover the other in any number of situations, as Sergai was a proficient sniper, and Keith could handle himself in a close range fire-fight. Working together, the two Russians had earned a perfect streak of missions for years, until one day.
Sergai, now twenty-two lay in the bed of a 1994 GMC Synoma truck, flat as flat could be, with his trusty AKS-74U on his chest, his Saiga-12 Semi-auto Shotgun on his back, a briefcase holding his VSS sniper rifle, as well as the five bombs he had to set up and the disk he needed to compleate his mission, and get a list from the computer, his Nagant Revolver in the holster on the back of his pants, and his modified VP70-M on his hip. The modifications to his gun made the weapon's barrel and ammo clip longer, making it able to mount a laser and a scope. Keith was laying beside him, and he looked asleep. Sergai was wearing his combat skin, as he called it. A second skin leather outfit, designed to stop bullets, provide stealth, and keep the body temperature perfect, with a belt over the chest, and around the waist, the belt on his chest holding his radio, and both carrying ammo. A gift from the BOO. Sergai liked it, even though he didnt understand how it worked. Keith was probably wearing his, Sergai couldnt tell. Keith wore what he always wore. A green trench-coat, a green cowboy hat, a red shirt, and black jeans. On the hat was a mud flap woman, one like on the mud flaps of those big eighteen wheelers, and below it, one, simple word: Damn! His shirt bore a slogan from one of Keiths favorite American wrestlers. It read:
Arrive
Raise Hell
Leave
Keith wore his long blonde hair in a ponytail that came to his shoulders, and currently wore a pair of big workmans boots. His hat was pulled down over his eyes, and his Mosin Nagant sniper rifle on his chest.
Sergai felt the truck bed bounce, hitting him in the back of the head. He sat up, turning his eyes to the driver. The driver was young, eighteen. She had to be for this mission. Although, Sergai never did know why she had to be a she. She was to irritating to be a present, and when Sergai had joked with her she was a present to him. She responded by tazing him with the stun gun they had given her, just in case something went wrong. She had long black hair, and a red bandana tied over the top of her head. She had very lightly tanned skin, and slightly slanted eyes, hinting her Japanese decent. She wasnt a member of BOO, like Keith and Sergai, just someone they picked up out of the penatentory for speeding. They gave her fifty thousand dollars, and the truck, simply for driving them to the location.
Hey, do you mind? Try not to hit EVERY bump wouldja? We kind of have loaded guns here.
Hey, you wanna drive? The young woman snapped back, eyeing him over her shoulder.
Yes!
To bad! Its my truck, so I drive it. Lay back down, were getting close. Sergais well honed instincts took over, and he instantly dropped again, his head resting against the truck bed. Just as he did, the truck swerved lightly, and hit a pothole, jostling him, and again, hitting him in the back of his head, as well as Keith, which woke him up. The young woman was laughing at this, showing she did it on purpose. Sergai grumbled, but decided not to bother.
Bout time you woke up Keith. Sergai popped his head up, looking in the truck. The G.P.S. beeped, showing a number. Weve got about five miles left.
Should be there any time then
Equipment check? I got my VP, My Nagant my AK, my Saiga, and my VSS. You?
I got my Shnookie-ookums. Keith responded, pulling his rifle to him and nuzzling the gun.
Would you like a moment alone with your gun?
Oh, please, you know we dont need to be alone to have our fun. Isnt that right darling? Keith asked his gun, going to kiss it. Sergai smacked him in the back of the head. Keith laughed. I also got a sawed off twelve gauge double barreled Remington and a .45 Desert Eagle.
Hey, I see it! The young woman shouted. Sergai knew the place they were going by heart already, as he usually did from his briefings. A massive underground facility, with a small metal building as a cover, one that appeared to be a you.S. Military base at first glance, all of which surrounded by an eight inch steel and cocreate wall.
Game time. Sergai said, pulling his Saiga off his back and into his hands. Keith reached into his coat, retrieving his Sawed off, both laying flat. The truck came to a stop slowly with a squeak. Sergai heard steps coming to the truck, than, a gruff mans voice.
You’re the new recruit? He said skeptically.
Hell yeah! The driver said, undoubtably having a grin on her face. Im tougher than I look.
Well The guard said far to low to mean anything good. Maybe if you showed me howTough you look, I could let you I- Whoa! Sergai couldnt see anything, waiting paitently, but judging by the hard THUMP sound that followed, and the guards groaning, Sergai assumed (with a grin) that the driver had grabbed him by his uniform color, and pulled his head into the roof of the truck.
Tough enough for ya?
Ugh, yeah, I guessIm going to have to check the back of the truck though.
Oh, of course The driver said nervously. Apparently, she hadnt been briefed on this scenario, unlike Sergai and Keith. As the guards footsteps approached, Sergai and Keith both tightened their grips on their guns. Their cue came. The guard came to Sergais side, and an alarmed:
Intru- Rang out, followed by a shotgun blast from Sergais Saiga. The guard fell, dead, and both of the Mercenaries jumped out, Sergai giving the truck a thump, the signal to go. The driver spun around, and sped off. The game was on.
Keith was quick to act, ducking down immidantly, and firing six shots in rapid succession (from MN). As usual, each bullet hit its mark, the six snipers guarding the base eliminated one after the other. Sergai signaled to Keith, than ran to the gates, Keith behind him. Sergai gave three quick flicks of his fingers, counting down. Three.two one! Sergai burst into the door, his AKS in his hands, firing in burst fire, three shots ringing out at each pull of the trigger. Sergai crouched down at the gates opening, Keith standing over him, firing with unerring accuracy with his Desert Eagle. Within seconds, the courtyard of the area had been eliminated. Sergai ran to a corner of the wall, opening his briefcase, and pulling out the sniper scope and attaching it to the top of his gun, putting it just below his eye, keeping ready for anything, and counting his own breaths, listening to the silence. One..Two.Three.Four. Sergai hated this part, the silence, the waiting. Damn it Keith, hurry up!.....Eight..Nine Finally, there was a sound on his radio.
Wolf, you there? Over.
Yeah, whats the situation Pygmy? Over.
Right side, Corner pocket, great view. Keith responded. Ive got you in my sights, Ill cover you, proceed with the mission, over.
Camping bastard. Sergai laughed. Just make sure I dont get any unwanted play-mates behind me. Over and out. Sergai detached the scope, put it back in his case, picked it up, hooked it to his chest, and ran into the building. Sergai retrieved his Nagant, attaching a silencer from his belt, and moved slowly through the halls of the building, knowing full well it was designed in a spiral, with his target, the elevator to the lower levels, in the center. The area was eerily quiet. No one was guarding the upper le- As soon as this thought passed through Sergais head, a metal door infront of him slammed down, coming from the ceiling, and one behind him. Sergai cursed, dropping to the ground as fast as he could. Right when his chest hit the ground, as if on cue, darkness engulfed Sergai. Two razor sharp sheets of metal had slammed together above him, aiming to cut the intruder in half. Sergai crawled on his belly, heading strait for the opposite wall. A booby trap. Now he was in trouble. Sergai hit the radio.
Pygmy, do you read? Over. There was silence for a moment, followed by Keiths response.
Wolf? Whats up? Over.
I just set off a booby tra-
Hehe, booby. Keith giggled.
Focus Pygmy! Are there any alarms going off? Over.
NoneMaybe the booby traps are sep- Keith was cut off by a burst of static.
Pygmy? Pygmy! Shit!! Sergai slammed his hand down. Jammed. They knew someone was inside. The ceiling above him opened suddenly, along with the doors. But Sergai didnt trust them. He stayed on his belly, crawling out the open door. The rest of the way was devoid of booby traps, which made Sergai even more paranoid. Maybe it was made that way for that exact purpose? The young man shook his head, entering the elevator, and closing the door, plunging Sergai into blackness. After a second, the light overhead flickered on with a dull, droning, mechanical hum. A friendly chime came from above him, a bright female voice sounded out from above, causing Sergai to drop down to a crouch, grabbing hold of his VP.
"Welcome to the Internation Armory Nation secret holding base. We are currently under a code green. Please provide voice identification now." Sergai reached into a small pouch on his left leg, retriving a small tape player. Clicking play, he heard the recorded voice of the man they had kidnapped.
"Name: Tommy Smith. Identification code: 3853. Password: Strawberry Chocolate Pudding." The voice sounded a little shakey. But, than, Sergai couldn't blame him. After all, having three desert eagles, a Colt Python, and a high powered, Mosin Nagant sniper rifle pointed at your head while you read a card would make anyone nervous. The female voice chimed again.
"Please wait....Accepted." Sergai smiled a little, glad that it had went so flawlessly so far. Apparently, he hadn't set off the alarms when he set off the booby trap. "Under code Green regulations, please provide D.N.A. recognition." Sergai's face fell, this wasn't in the plan! He didn't have any DNA of the man, much less blood. He panicked, hitting the radio, dialing in the BOO HQ.
"This is the Wolf, emergency, emergency! Code: 73145, respond immidantly!" He let go of the button, being greeted only by static. Jammed!? Impossible! That was one of the triple red lines, kept usable by reverse jamming hardware in the radio's, as well as the transceivers. Sergai didn't know what to do now, and he knew he had to react quickly. Retreving his VP, he took quick aim and fired three bullets into it. The console hissed, and the elevator jammed to a stop, the lights blacking out. Sergai took his Saiga out, aiming at the top, using the attached flashlight to see, and fireing three shots, shreading through the top. He than took hold of the small pipes lining the top, and pulled himself up, giving a hard kick to the peppered roof, kicking out the exit hatch. The shredded metal gave way, and Sergai dropped down, jumping up, grabbing the edges, and pulling himself up. He didn't know what, but he knew something was going on. Sergai heard a click, and jumped, his fingers catching onto a small ledge from the door above, and just as he did, the elevator plummeted, the cord having released all tension. Sergai's fingertips ached, the young mercenary struggling to hold on. The briefcase was still on his chest, so getting into any explosive would be hard. He felt his fingers slipping, and grit his teeth, willing himself to keep holding on. From below him, very far below him, the elevator finally hit ground, a loud crash ringing out. Just as Sergai thought he was going to fall, the door dinged, a cheerful, resounding tone, echoed by several more as every door opened in unison. Sergai reacted quickly, getting a new hold on the now larger hand-hold, jerking himself up, right into the knees of a guard. A very tall guard, holding a very nasty looking Uzi. Sergai moved instantly, pulling a small knife off his leg and jamming it into the soldiers wrist before he could pull the trigger, headbutting the man, and throwing the man down the elevator shaft. Sergai didn't wait to hear the thud, he just started running, knowing his five targets. The boiler, the main computer, the back-up computer, the barracks entrance, and finally, the armory. Sergai upholstered his AKS, and began running.
Hours later, Sergai had gotten nearly all the way back to the surface, placing four of the five bombs, he was nearly to the top, having found an emergency staircase to the top. He now had to place the last bomb in the computer room, and download the data that B.O.O. needed. This would be an easy pay-day. Sergai dashed into the computer room, retrieving the disk from his case, and inserting it into the large computer. Sergai growled to himself, hateful of the slow speed of the computer. He decided to turn his attention else where, turning to a smaller, home sized computer, and quickly typing in a code provided by the B.O.O.
Username: Ghostinthesystem
Password: *******
illuminated the screen, white on the black command prompt. Sergai hit the enter key, and listened to the computers faint humming as the hacking system kicked into gear, opening up the entire thing to Sergai. The large, half-a-room-sized computer beside him beeped. A message coming up on the screen.
Hacking detected, attempting to delete.
Failed. Program is originating in...
Sergai ignored the rest of the computer drivel, continuing on towards the bottom.
Program files: Overrided
Security programs: Overrided
Data files: Cutting
Sergai nodded, knowing this much. His job was being accomplished. He set a bomb at the top of the computer, leaving it unactivated. Going back to the smaller computer, he found he had complete access through the B.O.O.s more user friendly screen, that looked like this.
Welcome, Operative.
Computer systems: Reading... Computer systems as followed:
Elevator systems: Destroyed.
Lift System: Stand-by.
Alarms: Activated
Security: Ranking three. (Turrets offline. Traps offline. Extra clearance required. Back-up: En Route. Jammers online)
Data files: Transferring. (47% finished.)
What would you like to do?
Sergai knew how simplistic this program was, and typed in: Turn off security. Ready Lift. Call off Back-up, shut off jammers. Hitting enter, Sergai went back to the bomb, waiting for his signal. Suddenly from behind him, he heard a cocking sound. Multiple cocking sounds. Turning around, he saw nine men. Eight lining the wall, guarding the door, each holding Standard issue American Military M16s. Than, in front of them, someone distinctly not American. A large man, his skin dark golden tan, and his hair black as night. He stood an easy 5'10", standing over Segai, pointing a Colt Python at Sergais forehead. It was hard to tell, but Sergai thought he was packing .357 shells in there. Not fun to be hit by.
"Put your hands up Cavone." The large man said slowly. Hispanic, judging by his accent, Brazilian. Sergai didn't feel like arguing with the man with the big gun, so he proceeded to put his hands up. "Now, put down your weapons, slowly, and slide them over here." Sergai hated when they said that. He complied though, putting down his small arsenal and sliding it over to the Brazilian. Sergai neglected the large tactical knife under his shirt, or the Colt Derringer in his boot. The Brazilian nodded forwards, one of his men gathering the weapons, dismayed to find every one of them, except the Nagant and the VP, was unloaded. "Now, state your name and mission."
"Wolf, and my mission is to be a pain in the ass." The Brazilian rose his eyebrow.
"Well, Mr. Wolf, be proud, you've accomplished this. Now than, Who sent you, and where is your support?"
"God is my awnser for both." This response earned him a smack with the Colt.
"You were on your radio, and you disabled the jammers. You were trying to contact someone, and, unless you have a frequency I don't now about, God doesn't awnser on a Radio. And, if God wanted this data, He could've taken it himself. Now, awnser!"
"Ok,.." Sergai hung his head sighing. "You're to smart for me. I'll talk, just don't hit me again." The Brazilian grinned.
"Good boy."
"Your mom sent me. After last night, sh-" A gunshot rang out, and a bullet found it's way into the Russians belly, just missing his stoumach. Sergai yelled in pain, falling to one knee, his hand quickly slipping into his boot. Looking over his shoulder, he noticed that the data was 83%. He cursed, this would be his first failed mission, but it was better than him being on the losing side of his favorite game, Put the Bullet in the Brain. The Brazilian began cussing in Spanish, than kicked Sergai.
"Get up!" He shouted in Spanish. Sergai rose, slowly, trying to keep off his injured leg. "So, you speak Spanish do you mongrel?"
"Si." Sergai responded.
"Good."
"So...You speak Italian?" Sergai grinned, his hand on his stomach, covering the tiny gun. The Brazilian went to smack Sergai again, but Sergai was to quick! Putting the Derringer to the Brazilian's forehead, Sergais arm blocking the strike Sergai whispered his normal farewell.
"Das Vidonyas Bitch." He whispered, firing the .45 into the Brazilians head, quickly grabbing his VP and shooting the other soldiers in the heads bringing down five more before they knew what hit them. Sergai pushed down a large, wooden table, hoping it'd hold long enough for him to reload. Sergai clicked on his radio, calling Keith.
"Pygmy! Pygmy, respond, this is an emergency! No, FUCK that, this is a double emergency!"
"You didn't say ooooveerrr. Over."
"Pygmy, shut your god damn mouth. I'm pinned down, and I'm going to have to light this place up MUCH earlier. Get a flare out, I'll be right out. OVER and out." He turned off the radio, grunting in pain as a bullet came through the table and grazing his shoulder. Sergai cussed in Russian, putting the VP to the table and firing his entire clip, seven trigger pulls, three bullets each. Twenty one bullets. He reached back, smacking the bomb and setting the timer to three minutes. He didn't know how many he hit, but to make sure, Sergai picked up what was left of the table, and ran towards the door. He ran right through the door, the table breaking in half. He turned on his radio as he ran, calling Keith.
"Pygmy, is the chopper there? Over."
"No, but it's inbound. ETA is two minutes, fifteen seconds. Over"
"Gotcha. Keep um waiting. Over and out." Sergai bolted, opening the door to what was once the elevator shaft, onto the lift. Sergai rode the large platform to the top, ran out, and jumped into the chopper. "Go! Now!!" The chopper jumped into the air, quickly flying away from the base just as it exploded, the five bombs igniting everything within, and blowing the entire base sky high. The choppers tail was tossed up, the helicopter going into a tailspin as it barreled towards the ground. The pilot grabbed the control stick and pulled backwards.
"Shit! Come on baby, show me some sky! Show me some sky!!" He grunted, and slowly, but surely enough, the chopper was straitened out, and on the way home. From the front of the chopper, from the co-pilots seat, L.J. walked forwards, walking to Sergai. Sergai and L.J. had never gotten along, not since their first encounter. L.J. was wearing his usual tux, and his plastic smile. His hair had lightened a little over the years, but all in all, he looked similar.
"Sergai, Nice job."
"No kidding!" Keith said with a grin, patting his friend on his back, holding him up.
"You successfully destroyed the facility, good job Sergai. Now, give me the data."
"I...couldn't get it L.J. It was get the data, or survive. I opted to survive." Sergai shot at him, his eyes narrowing.
"No, No, No. Sergai you don't understand. That data was important to your client. It was data concerning an important polititions secret data. He needed that data, Mr. Khruschev."
"Well, keeping my ass in tact is much preferred."
"Well, it wasn't get the data or live. It was, Sergai, It was get the data or die." L.J. said suddenly pulling out a Desert Eagle .50 caliber, pressing the barrel into Sergai's chest, and firing. Sergai gasped, blood coming from his mouth. He stepped back, one after the other, until L.J. kicked him in the stomach, the man falling off the chopper, down, down, down into the sea below.
Sergai's world was pain, blinking in and out. There were no real images, nothing comprehensive, pictures, sounds, nothing he could make heads or tails of. A white room, than blackness, a beeping, than silence, the sickening smell of sterilization, than emptyness. Sergai only knew one thing was real, one constant, the burning pain in his chest.
'Where? Where am I?' He thought slowly. 'What happened?'
"Keith, calm down." Someone's voice came. Someone he didn't like. But, he couldn't place the name.
"Calm down!? Calm down!?!?! Fuck you!" 'Keith' responded. "He did your damn job! And you kill him!! You can eat a fucking bullet! If you hadn't taken my fucking guns, you'd be eating one now!!" Keith, the voice sounded so familer, the name...Who?
'Who is Keith?' He wondered. 'Oh wait, I remember...But...who am I? I am.....What? My name...what's my name?' He wondered.
"Keith, this a mourge, please, at least be quiet."
'Mourge, am I dead? Is that why I can't remember?'
"Ok, fine, I'll be quiet. But my ass is out of here Linus. And I'm coming for you. No, fuck that, I'm coming to take down the entire fucking B.O.O. You hear me? Fuck you, and fuck the B.O.O, I'm going to fucking kill you both, mark my fucking words." Footsteps heading away, and Linus chuckled.
"Of course you will Keith." A small sound, and his world started to swirl and fade into nothingness again. "This is L.J. Keith has left us. Send him a care package."
"Got it boss." A mechanical voice responded.
"Alright than." L.J. said. "It's time to get you underground, 3516." And with that, his world was dark.
When he, whoever "he" was, woke again, he was in the water. He kicked, panicking suddenly, but found his legs wouldn't respond. His body wasn't working! He knew he couldn't breath underwater! So why wa- He stopped, suddenly realising that there was something on his face. A breathing mask. He shook a little, his bod minimally responding. His thoughts were slow, sluggish. He knew something had happened to him. Something the B.O.O forced him to do before...What was it? It didn't matter now. He tried to keep his thoughts focused enough to assess the situation. Everything looked green. Green liquid. His chest, shoulder, and leg still burned, but less than before. Wires were coming from him, going in and out. Keeping him alive, he wagered. Suddenly L.J. walked infront of him, flanked by people in coats. White coats. Lab coats, he realized after a moment.
"Wakey Wakey 3516." L.J. grinned evily. "You failed us. We're going to fix that."
"Fix?" He breathed, his voice hoarse and barely workable.
"Yes. You were stupid, but, sadly we can't fix that. However, what we can fix is your fragility. Now than, these gentlemen have created a formula. You are known as Wolf, and so, we'll make sure you're not lieing." He rose a vial that looked green. "This is the B.O.O's newest creation."
"Creation?"
"Yes. The B.O.O. is a weapons giant, didn't you know that? We have made weapons and bombs beyond what any nation could conceive." He smirked. "Recently, our weapons have become to powerful for normal soldiers to carry. And we don't exactly want our technology to fall in the wrong hands, so we've been experimenting with super-soldiers. This is the wolf strain mach 7. It's a very new strain, bringing together the wolves aspects, and human size and intelligence. It's new, so feel proud, you get to test it. The first six were of varying degrees of failure. This, we suspect, will be the perfect combination. Along with this, we're going to push a great deal of steroids into your body, to try to make you stronger."
"No..."
"You don't have a choice." He handed the vial to one of the white coats, and the man walked away. "Now, you may feel a slight pinch." L.J. grinned wickedly, just as 3516, as he was to be called, felt it. A burning, wicked sensation, like a thousand hunks of red-hot steel being shoved through his bloodstream. He went to shout, but nothing came out, the drugs in his system having constricted his throat to stop his screaming. It wasn't the steroids, it was that other thing. It was seeping into his muscles, his skin, his very bones.
"You may be wondering why you're not passing out from the immense pain that must be courseing through your veins right now. It's the drugs 3516. A
bit of punishment for your failure. Don't worry though, it's only temporary." For the next three hours, 3516 only knew pain.
When the pain finally subsided, 3516 knew he was different. He couldn't see himself, but he knew something was off. He wished he could move, but the steady stream of sedatives was keeping his muscles from reacting as they seemed to pulse with red hot pain. After a few moments, L.J. approached.
"Hm," He began, putting a finger to his chin. "not a total failure. But there are still some more obvious differences than I'd like."
"It's a nessicary side effect Mr. Johnson. The eyes allow for night vision, and the ears enhance hearing."
"The night vision isn't nessicary. The NaCam can do that instead."
"But sir, it'll be more natural this way, and besides, if the NaCam gets knocked offline, he can still see."
"I suppose. How is preparation on that anyways?"
"99% done sir. It should be ready by the time he is."
"Good, good." Linus nodded. "Get him out of there and prepped for surgery."
"Surgery? What're you doing?"
"Don't you worry your little head 3516. Alright, start the flow. When he next wakes up, I want him seeing."
"Yes sir!" 3516 felt a new sensation coming from the needles in his body, and suddenly, he felt sleep, his world turning back into that familiar void of darkness.
When 3516 woke again, he was on his back, and everything was gray. He slowly, sluggishly, rose to his feet, shaking his head, which slowly seemed to be clearing. He slowly rose to his feet, looking around. The rooms walls were perfectly bare, well, almost, there was a mirror in the wall, a whole part of the wall. Undoubtably a 2-way mirror. Around the ground there was a little TV, a weight set, a treadmill, a punching bag, some magazines, and a desk with a pen and paper on it. They were all his, and Sergai thought he needed to claim them. On the ceiling there were two cameras. He knew they'd be laughing, but he made his way to the mirror, getting a look at himself, and he nearly choked. He had changed, A lot. 3516 had grown, from what he remembered, from a 5'9" to 6'6", and his muscles looked bigger to. His eyes were golden now, slitted black, and his ears looked pointed. His hair had lost all color, becoming a light gray color. His face had become more angled as well and his fingers had grown what looked like claws. He growled, making a fist and slamming his fist into the mirror. The mirror cracked, four large weblike cracks appearing in it. 3516 snarled again, his voice becoming an animlistc growl as he glared at his unfamilar reflection. A hint of static from above, tan a voice.
"Calm down Volk."
"Volk? Wolf? Very funny. Let me the fuck out."
"Look, if you want out, you have to do a few tests for us."
"Fuck you!"
"First off, Volk, how do you feel?"
"Pissed off!"
"Obviously, but I mean, how do your eyes feel?"
"My eyes?" Volk growled. A questioning sound, he recognised.
"Yes, do they hurt?"
"No..."
"How about your head? How are the instincts conflicting."
"Other than the urge to piss on everything, I don't feel any different."
"Interesting. Maybe it's a failure."
"Or maybe it's subconscious." A second whispered The voices sounded hushed, but were plain as day to Volk.
"Alright Volk, we're going to activate the NaCam. Try not to panic."
"Panic? What do yo-" Suddenly, what looked like see through boxes appeared in his vision, each one light blue, attempting to look friendly. Volk yelped, trying to jump away from them, his mind going seperate from his body as it attempted to get away from these strange boxes. All Volk could "hear" from his mind was "Strage thing! Get away! Run!" Volk attempted to reign his mind under control so he could examine it. At the very least, he read what the boxes said.
"Check compleate:
Heart rate elevated.
Breathing rate elevated." These were below what looked like a vitals readout. His vital readout.
"Locating... Location found. B.O.O. testing compounds. Majove desert, California. Loading blueprints." As it displayed this, a small circle appeared, displaying a red dot in a large square room. It looked similar to a mini-map on first person shooter games, like the one's he played when he first joined the B.O.O. Beside it was a human shape that was clear.
"Vitals displayed." A small box read.
"Volk, calm down. It's just the Na-cam."
"Na-cam!? What the FUCK is the Na-cam?!"
"It's the Nano Camra. It's installed in your eyes and your brain."
"Get it the fuck out!!"
"We can't Volk. Look, just calm down, we'll teach you how to use it." Volk took a few deep breaths, watching as the boxes displayed information on anything he looked at. Displaying structural integrity, along with what the objects were made of. It also displayed the thermal location of the two, no, six men beyond the wall, and all the computers.
"Ok...ok..I'm calm. Start explaining."
"That's the Na-cam. It's brand new. The Na-Cam is the top of the line in S.A.T. Soldier Assitive Technology. It's a tiny computer stuck on the root of the eye, and in the brain, with a computer veiwer in the retina. It's got a massive data-base with the FBI, the NSA and orginizations like that all across the world, effectivly making it the largest data base of people, weapons, places, and objects in the world. It also displays the make of pretty much anything, and their structural integrity. I can talk for days about all it's uses, but you probably want to know how to control it. Well, let's bring up what you can see." The scientest moved to a computer. "Ok, here we go. Well, this is the default setting. It's running a low thermal scan in the background, so anything with a human body tempertrue or higher's gonna show up for you. But, let's focus on your sight, and calibrating our computers. Look up." Volk did as he said. "Good, now down." Volk did. "Left...and right. Good! Alright now, first, bring up your inventory. Just think this: Command, view inventory. Concentrate on that." Volk closed his eyes, all the boxes dissapearing, and focused on that one phrase. Those three words. As soon as he did, a blue and white box popped up, showing a human outline and lines pointing to his hands, his head, his chest, his legs, his hips, one line to each side, and to his feet. Currently, only his legs and his chest were lit up, reading: Chest: Tank-top. Unknown make.
Legs: Shorts. Unknown make.
"Good job. Now, think the command: Close inventory." As soon as Volk did, the box dissapeared. "Excellent job Volk. Now, than, there are hundreds of commands you can do with these, but for now, let's test out your body, ok?" The scientist asked. As if Volk had a choice. "Go over to the weights, and start lifting, try to get the highest weight you can." As Volk went to the weights, and his eyes reacted, displaying information on the weights. Usless. He picked them up, and another lot of information appeared. "Good! It worked!" The scientists cheered. Now, Sergai saw on the ground a small red circle, turning wherever he looked, and moving whenever he moved his eyes.
"What...is that?"
"An impact zone Volk. It's judging, based on the position of your eyes, where you'll aim, and showing you where the point of impact would be. Just ignore it for now." Volk easily lifted the weights, even when more weight was put on it, easily lifting up to 80 lbs an arm. He than upgraded to the Barbell, struggling only when he reached 400 lbs.
"Good." The Scientists mumbled. "Very good."
Things had continued like this for four years, eerything different. Volk noted it was like his training back years ago when he had first joined B.O.O., with the exepction of constant questions on how his mind had changed with the wolf additions, such as one time the had given him a porno magazine, and a magazine on animal husbandry, and had asked Volk (while monitering his brainwaves) which one he perfered.. Volk had nearly torn the head off of the man that had asked, and anwsered that he had of course prefered the dirty magazine. but had been confused that he had been more than a little interested in the animal husbandry. If there was one thing Volk hated about the Nacam, it was the fact he had no privacy, that B.O.O. could see anything that he saw when he saw it. Volk also missed his freedom, so one day, he plotted to take it back during his favorite training session on Thursday, knife fighting. It was a normal session, to the trainers, knife jab, retract, turn, prepare. Volk had chosen his favorite, the Soviet NR-40 combat knife, as usual. He ducked out of the way of a knife stab from his trainer, watching the two guards that stood in his way of escape, the first two of many. He caught his trainers arm, pulling on the elbow like he was supposd to, dislocating the elbow easily, disarming the man.
"Alright, good job Volk, now, give me the knife, and head back home." That his his normal procedure alright, but it wasn't happening today. Volk applied extra pressure, breaking the elbow backwards, and threw his trainer down, taking his knife, and slitting the trainers throat, knowing full well all instructers were armed for just such an occasion, thanks to the the Nacam. The Nacam also showed him exactly where the 9mm Berreta was. Volk quickly threw the knife he had taken off the trainer and threw it into the throat of one of the guards, useing the Berreta to shoot the other in the head. He rushed over to the bodies of the guards, taking their weapons and one radio. The radio was so he could hear where they were going when the guards came after him. He retreieved a P-90 from each guard, along with three clips of ammo. He regarded the map in the corner of his sight, thanking that feature of the Nacam as well, running towards the computer room, ducking behind corners as the map even regarded the enemies heartbeats, and displayed their positions. He admitted it, the Nacam was a blessing. It made his trip down to the computer room that much easier. Once he was there, he located the computer that displayed the Nacams data, and left his other NR-40 in the moniter, and made sure the computer was fried by emptying half a clip of a P-90 into the thing. Once he was satisfied the computer was destroyed, he quickly made his way to the garage to escape, killing anyone that got in his way.
Three months later...
Volk sat in the darkness of his room, cursing himself once again. His escape had been successful, but he'd felt off for about two months now. He had read in a newspaper that his best friend had been murdered by the B.O.O.. Well, according to the news, Keith and his younger brother Joey, whom Volk had met on several occasions, Volk being the only one Keith had introduced Joey to, had been killed in a gas explosion that had ignited the explosives that Keith had illegally had stored within the building he had lived, takeing out the entire bulding. No bodies had been found, but Keith and Joey were assumed dead. Volk shook his head. That was bullshit, and he knew it. The B.O.O. had obviously taken down the entire building in revenge for Keith quitting. Volk blamed himself. He wanted revenge on the B.O.O. than more than ever. Volk had been staying in an old abandoned B.O.O. safehouse he had found out about, getting used to the Nacam. The camera had turned out to be a god-send, a blessing in disguise. If the B.O.O. had given it to him orignially, he would've been fine. Every day had been worrisome, knowng the B.O.O. had full access to his stronghold. Volk slept with a .50 Desert Eagle under his pillow. Not the most accurate gun, but it was one of the few left behind in the strong-hold. Besides, he had angled the room so the furnature and such had forced a strait line from the door, making it an easy shot for Volk, but with the dresser infront of the door, they didn't have a clear shot at him. Volk had found this safe-house and set up shop within a week of escaping, the desert cruiser having broken within a day, forcing Volk to run from B.O.O for three days, stopping only to sleep and drink the water he had stolen from the B.O.O.. The Mojeve desert had proved to much for him, and he collapsed, nearly dead, and was luckily found by an old couple heading to Las Vegas. From there, he remembered the way to the Safe-house on his own.
Volk shook his head, bringing himself to his right mind as he went to sit up, pulling the .50 from under his pillow, just as his now sensative ears caught the front door opening, two rooms away. The man growled a little, his eye's half open, watching the door. If he acted asleep, he could get a quick, free shot. Another door. The intruder was one room away. Only one, armed. Volk watched, waiting. Another door, and now light flooded into the room. Volk snapped to his feet, fireing a shot from the .50, the bullet whizzing by the young blonde's head. The man who had come to kill him had shoulder length blonde hair, and blue eyes. Volk couldn't see anything else, but when the young man's hands flew up, Volk saw he appeared to be unarmed. However, around his neck was a black strap.
"Next one won't miss!" He warned, getting his aim resettled on the young mans head.
"Stop! Wait a minute! I'm a friend!"
"Of course you are. Now than, what weapons do you have?"
"A knife, and a .45 caliber Desert Eagle, that's it."
"Let me see the Eagle, and don't get any funny ideas, I've got a real itchy trigger finger." The young man reached down with one hand, pulling something that made Volk's eyes widen. That silver Desert Eagle, it had a picture of a peanut with a large cloak and a scythe engraved into the handle of it. The Peanut Reaper, that was Keith's gun!! "Where'd you get that!?" Volk stepped forewards, growling as he did, the wolf instincts rearing.
"You know where, Sergai..." Volk growled, why was he calling him Sergai?
"That's not my name! Now, care to tell me why you have my best friends gun B.O.O. slime?"
"You got it all wrong Sergai. I'm not with B.O.O." The young man reached back, slowly, so as not to agrivate Volk, and grabbed a bunch of his hair, holding it tight, the bunch dissappearing from view. Suddenly, with the young mans big eyes and what looked like short hair, Volk recognised him. But, impossible!
"...Joey?" He asked slowly, not having seen the young man in years. Back than, he was a boy!
"'Bout time you recognised me." Joey smiled. "Now, do me a favor, put the gun down." Volk did so, shaking his head.
"How'd you find me? Hell, how'd you know I was alive!? Why'd you come here? Why aren't you dead!?"
"Oh, that's REAL nice Sergai." Joey rolled his eyes. " "Hey, I haven't seen you in years, why aren't you dead?" Nice. Well, We, well, I've been hacking the B.O.O.'s database. We found out what happened, we found out they were expiramenting on you...No shit eh? Anyways, I came here because it was Keith's last wish....He got me out of the building before it went down."
"So...Keith...?"
"Yeah." Joey nodded slowly, both going silent at the mourning of the man.
"B.O.O. had been coming for us for awhile, and Keith got tired of it. He rigged the home with bombs, and pushed me out of the garage. He told me to hunt you down, to go to Uncle Sergai...so, here I am. I guess he took them out with him."
"Yeah...But, look, my name's not Sergai. It's Volk. I don't know why you think otherwise. "
"..."
"...So, what do we do now?" Volk asked. "It's great to see you again, but we need to think of a C.O.A." The once-man said slowly. "We need to get back at them. We need to carry out Keiths wish and take them down."
"We need to get supplies first." Joey said after a moment of thought. "Weapons, explosives, vehicles, and most of all, money. Luckily for us, we have a mercenary"
"Well, we don't have the kind of massive contract database the B.O.O. has, so care to explain how we're going to get some jobs?"
"Ah, but see Volk, that's where you're wrong." Joey smirked, rubbing his hands together. "May I?"
"Uh...Sure?" Joey was quick into action, pulling the bag from his neck, heading over to Volk, sitting next to him. From Joey's bag, he pulled a decent sized laptop, flipping it open and typing furiously. Volk, not being a computer person at all, looked over Joey's shoulder, blinking at the screen. Within moments, Joey's screen had filled up with a long, five sectioned list. The list told a name, a description, a price, a color, and another name. A few of them also had a sixth section, a problem.
"This is a job list I've redirected to my mailbox from the B.O.O. A lot of these can easilly be done by just a single good merc, and they're pretty well paying. And Volk..."
"Hm?" Volk was transfixed by the number of 'zeros on the price of one of the missions.
"Check out what else the B.O.O. lost and I happened to find." Joey clicked the laptop and, replacing the job list with a display of another display of the computer, and another within that. It was what Volk was seeing. Joey had the Na-Cam's data!
"No way!"
"Yes way!" Joey replied, unable to resist the Bill and Ted reference. "I swiped it from the B.O.O a couple of weeks ago. Now, whenever they try to see what you see, they get this." Joey clicked a couple of times on the computer screen, and the image of a middle finger appeared on the screen, a red background behind it. The computer generated voice spoke up, proclaiming:
"Fuck you sirs." over and over again.
"Best thing is," Joey continued. "It's a virus. Once they open this, every computer monitor in the joint'll light up with this little display. Imagine that. Oh, and on top of that, check the knuckle." Volk looked closely, and in the wrinkles of the knuckle, the Peanut Reaper stared out at Volk. "The Peanut Reaper strikes again!!" Joey laughed.
"Excellent. Now than, I've been missing my favorite sweet smelling green object, so Joey." The big Russian man looked to the smaller. "Let's go get some money."
One week later...
Volk loved this, he had almost forgotten this feeling, sneaking through enemy territory, only his wits and his weapons, but more wits, keeping him from a visit to the coroner on a business call. Joey had found a sub-par-paying job from the Police in city of Reno. There was an organised crime mob in the city that had protection from the higher ups. None of the police wanted to lose their jobs, so they had sent most of their budget, $30,000 for Volk to kill the lot of them. In addition to this money, the station would send a few guns they could spare, as well as ammo. Volk normally stayed away from the police, but Joey had pointed out to him that the police would be thankful, a little more lienant to them, and they'd get some free guns. The younger ____ brother was acting as Volk's spotter, tech, and agent. It was just short of amazing. And the young man had a way with knives just short of phenomenal. Currently, Joey had a radio in Volk's ear, and was watching where Volk was. Currently, Volk was walking down ____ street, heading towards the mansion that housed the gang. The mansion had kicked multiple people off of their properties, leaving them homless. Volk was also asked to blow up the mansion. Lovely. Volk loved blowing things up. Volk approached the mansion the entrance marked by a large gate with three seemingly unarmed people standing in front of it.
"Joey, come in. I'm at the gate. Any suggestions?"
"Explosions wouldn't be smart here Volk. The police outfitted you with a few weapons didn't they? Try to bring them down quietly. I suggest a knife." Volk nodded, his eyes scanning everything, displaying information. "Looks like they're equipped with MAC 10s as primaries, so a frontal assult would undoubtably hurt. If anyone could do it though, you could. I say you should distract the one closest to the alarm there, and knife him, or even use the Silenced Baretta the cops gave you."
"Decisions, Decisions." Volk said with a smirk, pulling his knife out slowly. "You really like knives, don't you?"
"What can I say? There's something about the way they curve. Just so sexy." Joey laughed.
Volk reached down, picking up a rock about the size of his ring finger and threw it towards the guard nearest to the alarm, just as Joey had suggested, and ran after it, grabbing the back of the mans neck, and putting a knife to the guards side, into his kidney. He swiped the dead mans glock, shooting three rounds into each of the other two guards heads. Once all the guards were down, Volk looked over the bodies, the Na-cam picking out a key-card on each mans hips. He reeached down, cutting one off with his knife, and pocketing it. He wiped his knife off on the shirt of one the guards, sheathing it on his belt. Swiping the card, he couldn't help but smirk as he heard the lock click, and he walked through the door. Closing the door as quick as he could, while seeming normal, Volk donned his sunglasses, moving his hair infront of the points on his ears. For whatever reason, inside, everyone seemed calm, as if they didn't know what happened. That was good.
Sergy, why wont mommy wake up? A little girl, no older than 10 looked to her mother, a woman laying face down in the streets of Moscow, Russia, gave her a shake, than looked up to her older brother. The boy, still a child of thirteen himself, shook visibly. Being homeless, he had seen death already, and he recognized the signs of his mothers death. Now, it was just he and his three brothers and one sist-
Sergai awoke with a splash of cold, cold water hitting his head and chest area. Sergai Khruschev gasped, looking around, but seeing nothing. The bag that was on his head was sticking to his face, making it hard to breath. Sergai started to panic, his body flailing lightly, but not going anywhere. Sergais arms ached, and his wrists and neck felt like they were slowly being cut into. Sergai felt his head getting light, and took a deep breath. Well, as deep a breath as he could with a wet bag sticking to a face. Now was not the time to be hyper-ventilating. Sergai attempted to relax, despite the sharp, throbbing pain in the back of his head, and a tight, crusty feeling on the back of his neck he recognized only to well as dried blood. As he finally did relax, Sergai carefully analyzed how his body felt. The pain in his arms met that they were currently hanging above him, and, judging by the similar cutting feeling in his neck, both the bag on his head, and his wrists, were tied by thin rope, as if twine. The pain in his head met he had taken a good blow in the back of his head, and the dried blood translated to that he had taken the hit a while ago. His mid-section ached, but it wasnt serious, and it was wide-spread, likely an accident, caused by rough handleing. Sergai knew one thing for sure though. Someone had thrown that water, and Sergai wasnt alone anymore
Sergai Vladimirovich Khruschev, age nineteen, so nice to meet you in person. A voice. A mans voice, his Russian thick with an American accent. Im a fan. If you want my autograph, untie me, take this bag off my head, and kindly go fu-
Language Sergai! The voice cut off his muffled, witty retort. And why would I want your autograph? After all, I have you.
Who are you, and what the hell do you want?
Im the Organization. Well, WERE the organization, I should say. We want you. Youre one hell of a pit fighter. Not exactly a legal sport though.
Our fans kick ass though. Besides, kidnappings not exactly the top of the Law enforcement team sports. List either, now is it?
Quite a wit you got Mr. Khruschev. However, this isnt kidnapping, for your information. This is a purchase. We paid good money for you.
Like theres bad money Sergai mumbled sarcastically. Now take this damn bag off my head.
Now, you see Mr. Khruschev, that is why we purchased you. The man said as he untied the string on Sergai's neck, pulling the bag off, blinding Sergai momentarily with the sudden light.
Because of me liking money? Sergai muttered between cursing and filling his lungs with nice, fresh, dry oxygen. Slowly but surely, Sergais eyes adjusted with the light, and he didnt like the change. Instead of wet blackness, Sergai now saw a damp, rundown barn interior. It was broken in places, letting the sun shine in, currently shining strait into his face. The barn smelt faintly of mildew, smoke, and dead animals. The man before him was short. That was the first thing Sergai noticed, mainly because it was painfully obvious. True enough, Sergai was hanging by his arms two, maybe three feet off the ground, but the man stood hardly up to his chest. The shorter man had trim and nicely cut hair, and was wearing a tuxedo. The outfit didnt amuse Sergai. He had always hated those trim, prim, priss, and proper people. To artificial, they put a plastic smile on when they shook your hand, as thoughts of stabbing you right in between the shoulder-blades danced through their heads. Sergais people, homeless pit-fighters, burdens of Russia. They were honest, strait forwards. If they wanted you dead, they were as subtle as a three foot long lead pipe to the skull, slightly rusted, with a hole in the side that gave it a jagged edge. Sergai knew that only to well, and he preferred it. Sergai himself was a fine specimen of the aforementioned pit fighters. Five foot nine inches, two hundred and sixty three pounds of muscle. Sergais body was more athletic than muscular, but it certainly wasnt lacking in the latter. As he looked down, he noticed he wasnt in his favorite black tank-top, blue jeans combo. Instead, he was wearing nothing, his second favorite outfit. Sergai had been homeless all his life, and orphaned since thirteen, so to find a way to survive, Sergai had found an underground fighting orgization, one which he had joined at fifteen, and quickly rose through the ranks. The fights were akin to the Romans collisium, two men, bare handed, fighting in front of a large crowd of onlookers and betters. Anything you could find, or that the crowd gave you, you could use, and the loser lived, or died, depending on the crowd. Needless to say, the Russian police didnt like any of this one bit.
Because of your attitude Sergai, that spark, that bite you have. Th-
I know you must be jealous, Sergai interrupted. but why am I naked? The Russian asked, flipping his head back to try to get his long dirty blonde hair out of his face. The bright blonde haired American chuckled.
It our business, Mr. Khruschev, its much better to be safe than sorry.
What business is that, Mr. Prick?
Ah, I suppose youre right, I havnt introduced myself yet. I am Mr. Linus Jones. You can call me L.J. Mr. Khruschev. My business is the B.O.O. The Black Ops Organization. We are an underground group dedicated to the flourishing of the people who cannot raise arms, and to help nations soldiers get back into their homes.
For the right price Sergai said slowly.
Well, even soldiers are paid for their services. Linus said with one of those plastic smiles that Sergai hated so much. We offer to you Sergai, training in weapons, vehicles, and languages, and we offer you jobs. Jobs that pay quite lucratively.
The Pits pay very nicely as well. So give me a reason not to say Kiss my ass. And show you, first hand, why I have a three year winning streak.
I gave you four, Mr. Khruschev. But, how about an advance? Linus said, retrieving from his tuxedo pocket, a stack of money, no less than six inches wide. Sergais jaw dropped. Even as a pit fighter champ. He had never seen that much money at one time, and the biggest stack he had seen before was all ones. These were hundreds. I take it thats a tad bit more than youve made before. So, Mr. Khruschev is that a good enough reason?
Years later, Sergai, code name: Wolf, had finished his training, Nineteen hours of work, five hours of sleep, learning techniques from the GRU, CIA, Spetsnaz, SEALS, British SAS, the Green Beret and everything in between. He was brought to a clean, sterile American facility. He had learned how to easily and accurately use nearly any weapon he got his hands on. His personal favorite was always the .45 Heckler & Koch VP70-M. Its range, style, and the sheer power of it were phenomenal, and all with minor kickback. However, it had it's flaws, the barrel couldn't support a suppressor or a laser sight, due to the strange slanting shape, and, in his oppionion, to few rounds. He decided he liked the gun to much to abandon due to that flaw, and sent it off to be reworked. After months in this facility, learning how to drive tanks and fly choppers, and other things, Sergai was sent on his first mission, where he met his partner, and his best friend, Keith (Last). Keith was also born in Moscow, and he had a proficancy with weapons that outclassed Sergai, but the blonde man couldnt fist fight like Sergai. Keith and Sergai, over the years, had come to trust one another more than if they had been born brothers. Keith was an accomplished sniper, and he had a love affair with explosives. Sergai was the opposite of their team, used to be the initial attack. Sergai would kick in the door of the area, so to speak, and go in, guns blazing. He would than duck for cover, taking pot shots with his side-arm weapon, the Nagant M1895 Revolver, whenever possible, and let Keith cover him. If things went sour, Sergai and Keith had a mutual agreement: Sergai would blow shit up, than run, and than Keith would blow shit up. The two were a mix, each able to cover the other in any number of situations, as Sergai was a proficient sniper, and Keith could handle himself in a close range fire-fight. Working together, the two Russians had earned a perfect streak of missions for years, until one day.
Sergai, now twenty-two lay in the bed of a 1994 GMC Synoma truck, flat as flat could be, with his trusty AKS-74U on his chest, his Saiga-12 Semi-auto Shotgun on his back, a briefcase holding his VSS sniper rifle, as well as the five bombs he had to set up and the disk he needed to compleate his mission, and get a list from the computer, his Nagant Revolver in the holster on the back of his pants, and his modified VP70-M on his hip. The modifications to his gun made the weapon's barrel and ammo clip longer, making it able to mount a laser and a scope. Keith was laying beside him, and he looked asleep. Sergai was wearing his combat skin, as he called it. A second skin leather outfit, designed to stop bullets, provide stealth, and keep the body temperature perfect, with a belt over the chest, and around the waist, the belt on his chest holding his radio, and both carrying ammo. A gift from the BOO. Sergai liked it, even though he didnt understand how it worked. Keith was probably wearing his, Sergai couldnt tell. Keith wore what he always wore. A green trench-coat, a green cowboy hat, a red shirt, and black jeans. On the hat was a mud flap woman, one like on the mud flaps of those big eighteen wheelers, and below it, one, simple word: Damn! His shirt bore a slogan from one of Keiths favorite American wrestlers. It read:
Arrive
Raise Hell
Leave
Keith wore his long blonde hair in a ponytail that came to his shoulders, and currently wore a pair of big workmans boots. His hat was pulled down over his eyes, and his Mosin Nagant sniper rifle on his chest.
Sergai felt the truck bed bounce, hitting him in the back of the head. He sat up, turning his eyes to the driver. The driver was young, eighteen. She had to be for this mission. Although, Sergai never did know why she had to be a she. She was to irritating to be a present, and when Sergai had joked with her she was a present to him. She responded by tazing him with the stun gun they had given her, just in case something went wrong. She had long black hair, and a red bandana tied over the top of her head. She had very lightly tanned skin, and slightly slanted eyes, hinting her Japanese decent. She wasnt a member of BOO, like Keith and Sergai, just someone they picked up out of the penatentory for speeding. They gave her fifty thousand dollars, and the truck, simply for driving them to the location.
Hey, do you mind? Try not to hit EVERY bump wouldja? We kind of have loaded guns here.
Hey, you wanna drive? The young woman snapped back, eyeing him over her shoulder.
Yes!
To bad! Its my truck, so I drive it. Lay back down, were getting close. Sergais well honed instincts took over, and he instantly dropped again, his head resting against the truck bed. Just as he did, the truck swerved lightly, and hit a pothole, jostling him, and again, hitting him in the back of his head, as well as Keith, which woke him up. The young woman was laughing at this, showing she did it on purpose. Sergai grumbled, but decided not to bother.
Bout time you woke up Keith. Sergai popped his head up, looking in the truck. The G.P.S. beeped, showing a number. Weve got about five miles left.
Should be there any time then
Equipment check? I got my VP, My Nagant my AK, my Saiga, and my VSS. You?
I got my Shnookie-ookums. Keith responded, pulling his rifle to him and nuzzling the gun.
Would you like a moment alone with your gun?
Oh, please, you know we dont need to be alone to have our fun. Isnt that right darling? Keith asked his gun, going to kiss it. Sergai smacked him in the back of the head. Keith laughed. I also got a sawed off twelve gauge double barreled Remington and a .45 Desert Eagle.
Hey, I see it! The young woman shouted. Sergai knew the place they were going by heart already, as he usually did from his briefings. A massive underground facility, with a small metal building as a cover, one that appeared to be a you.S. Military base at first glance, all of which surrounded by an eight inch steel and cocreate wall.
Game time. Sergai said, pulling his Saiga off his back and into his hands. Keith reached into his coat, retrieving his Sawed off, both laying flat. The truck came to a stop slowly with a squeak. Sergai heard steps coming to the truck, than, a gruff mans voice.
You’re the new recruit? He said skeptically.
Hell yeah! The driver said, undoubtably having a grin on her face. Im tougher than I look.
Well The guard said far to low to mean anything good. Maybe if you showed me howTough you look, I could let you I- Whoa! Sergai couldnt see anything, waiting paitently, but judging by the hard THUMP sound that followed, and the guards groaning, Sergai assumed (with a grin) that the driver had grabbed him by his uniform color, and pulled his head into the roof of the truck.
Tough enough for ya?
Ugh, yeah, I guessIm going to have to check the back of the truck though.
Oh, of course The driver said nervously. Apparently, she hadnt been briefed on this scenario, unlike Sergai and Keith. As the guards footsteps approached, Sergai and Keith both tightened their grips on their guns. Their cue came. The guard came to Sergais side, and an alarmed:
Intru- Rang out, followed by a shotgun blast from Sergais Saiga. The guard fell, dead, and both of the Mercenaries jumped out, Sergai giving the truck a thump, the signal to go. The driver spun around, and sped off. The game was on.
Keith was quick to act, ducking down immidantly, and firing six shots in rapid succession (from MN). As usual, each bullet hit its mark, the six snipers guarding the base eliminated one after the other. Sergai signaled to Keith, than ran to the gates, Keith behind him. Sergai gave three quick flicks of his fingers, counting down. Three.two one! Sergai burst into the door, his AKS in his hands, firing in burst fire, three shots ringing out at each pull of the trigger. Sergai crouched down at the gates opening, Keith standing over him, firing with unerring accuracy with his Desert Eagle. Within seconds, the courtyard of the area had been eliminated. Sergai ran to a corner of the wall, opening his briefcase, and pulling out the sniper scope and attaching it to the top of his gun, putting it just below his eye, keeping ready for anything, and counting his own breaths, listening to the silence. One..Two.Three.Four. Sergai hated this part, the silence, the waiting. Damn it Keith, hurry up!.....Eight..Nine Finally, there was a sound on his radio.
Wolf, you there? Over.
Yeah, whats the situation Pygmy? Over.
Right side, Corner pocket, great view. Keith responded. Ive got you in my sights, Ill cover you, proceed with the mission, over.
Camping bastard. Sergai laughed. Just make sure I dont get any unwanted play-mates behind me. Over and out. Sergai detached the scope, put it back in his case, picked it up, hooked it to his chest, and ran into the building. Sergai retrieved his Nagant, attaching a silencer from his belt, and moved slowly through the halls of the building, knowing full well it was designed in a spiral, with his target, the elevator to the lower levels, in the center. The area was eerily quiet. No one was guarding the upper le- As soon as this thought passed through Sergais head, a metal door infront of him slammed down, coming from the ceiling, and one behind him. Sergai cursed, dropping to the ground as fast as he could. Right when his chest hit the ground, as if on cue, darkness engulfed Sergai. Two razor sharp sheets of metal had slammed together above him, aiming to cut the intruder in half. Sergai crawled on his belly, heading strait for the opposite wall. A booby trap. Now he was in trouble. Sergai hit the radio.
Pygmy, do you read? Over. There was silence for a moment, followed by Keiths response.
Wolf? Whats up? Over.
I just set off a booby tra-
Hehe, booby. Keith giggled.
Focus Pygmy! Are there any alarms going off? Over.
NoneMaybe the booby traps are sep- Keith was cut off by a burst of static.
Pygmy? Pygmy! Shit!! Sergai slammed his hand down. Jammed. They knew someone was inside. The ceiling above him opened suddenly, along with the doors. But Sergai didnt trust them. He stayed on his belly, crawling out the open door. The rest of the way was devoid of booby traps, which made Sergai even more paranoid. Maybe it was made that way for that exact purpose? The young man shook his head, entering the elevator, and closing the door, plunging Sergai into blackness. After a second, the light overhead flickered on with a dull, droning, mechanical hum. A friendly chime came from above him, a bright female voice sounded out from above, causing Sergai to drop down to a crouch, grabbing hold of his VP.
"Welcome to the Internation Armory Nation secret holding base. We are currently under a code green. Please provide voice identification now." Sergai reached into a small pouch on his left leg, retriving a small tape player. Clicking play, he heard the recorded voice of the man they had kidnapped.
"Name: Tommy Smith. Identification code: 3853. Password: Strawberry Chocolate Pudding." The voice sounded a little shakey. But, than, Sergai couldn't blame him. After all, having three desert eagles, a Colt Python, and a high powered, Mosin Nagant sniper rifle pointed at your head while you read a card would make anyone nervous. The female voice chimed again.
"Please wait....Accepted." Sergai smiled a little, glad that it had went so flawlessly so far. Apparently, he hadn't set off the alarms when he set off the booby trap. "Under code Green regulations, please provide D.N.A. recognition." Sergai's face fell, this wasn't in the plan! He didn't have any DNA of the man, much less blood. He panicked, hitting the radio, dialing in the BOO HQ.
"This is the Wolf, emergency, emergency! Code: 73145, respond immidantly!" He let go of the button, being greeted only by static. Jammed!? Impossible! That was one of the triple red lines, kept usable by reverse jamming hardware in the radio's, as well as the transceivers. Sergai didn't know what to do now, and he knew he had to react quickly. Retreving his VP, he took quick aim and fired three bullets into it. The console hissed, and the elevator jammed to a stop, the lights blacking out. Sergai took his Saiga out, aiming at the top, using the attached flashlight to see, and fireing three shots, shreading through the top. He than took hold of the small pipes lining the top, and pulled himself up, giving a hard kick to the peppered roof, kicking out the exit hatch. The shredded metal gave way, and Sergai dropped down, jumping up, grabbing the edges, and pulling himself up. He didn't know what, but he knew something was going on. Sergai heard a click, and jumped, his fingers catching onto a small ledge from the door above, and just as he did, the elevator plummeted, the cord having released all tension. Sergai's fingertips ached, the young mercenary struggling to hold on. The briefcase was still on his chest, so getting into any explosive would be hard. He felt his fingers slipping, and grit his teeth, willing himself to keep holding on. From below him, very far below him, the elevator finally hit ground, a loud crash ringing out. Just as Sergai thought he was going to fall, the door dinged, a cheerful, resounding tone, echoed by several more as every door opened in unison. Sergai reacted quickly, getting a new hold on the now larger hand-hold, jerking himself up, right into the knees of a guard. A very tall guard, holding a very nasty looking Uzi. Sergai moved instantly, pulling a small knife off his leg and jamming it into the soldiers wrist before he could pull the trigger, headbutting the man, and throwing the man down the elevator shaft. Sergai didn't wait to hear the thud, he just started running, knowing his five targets. The boiler, the main computer, the back-up computer, the barracks entrance, and finally, the armory. Sergai upholstered his AKS, and began running.
Hours later, Sergai had gotten nearly all the way back to the surface, placing four of the five bombs, he was nearly to the top, having found an emergency staircase to the top. He now had to place the last bomb in the computer room, and download the data that B.O.O. needed. This would be an easy pay-day. Sergai dashed into the computer room, retrieving the disk from his case, and inserting it into the large computer. Sergai growled to himself, hateful of the slow speed of the computer. He decided to turn his attention else where, turning to a smaller, home sized computer, and quickly typing in a code provided by the B.O.O.
Username: Ghostinthesystem
Password: *******
illuminated the screen, white on the black command prompt. Sergai hit the enter key, and listened to the computers faint humming as the hacking system kicked into gear, opening up the entire thing to Sergai. The large, half-a-room-sized computer beside him beeped. A message coming up on the screen.
Hacking detected, attempting to delete.
Failed. Program is originating in...
Sergai ignored the rest of the computer drivel, continuing on towards the bottom.
Program files: Overrided
Security programs: Overrided
Data files: Cutting
Sergai nodded, knowing this much. His job was being accomplished. He set a bomb at the top of the computer, leaving it unactivated. Going back to the smaller computer, he found he had complete access through the B.O.O.s more user friendly screen, that looked like this.
Welcome, Operative.
Computer systems: Reading... Computer systems as followed:
Elevator systems: Destroyed.
Lift System: Stand-by.
Alarms: Activated
Security: Ranking three. (Turrets offline. Traps offline. Extra clearance required. Back-up: En Route. Jammers online)
Data files: Transferring. (47% finished.)
What would you like to do?
Sergai knew how simplistic this program was, and typed in: Turn off security. Ready Lift. Call off Back-up, shut off jammers. Hitting enter, Sergai went back to the bomb, waiting for his signal. Suddenly from behind him, he heard a cocking sound. Multiple cocking sounds. Turning around, he saw nine men. Eight lining the wall, guarding the door, each holding Standard issue American Military M16s. Than, in front of them, someone distinctly not American. A large man, his skin dark golden tan, and his hair black as night. He stood an easy 5'10", standing over Segai, pointing a Colt Python at Sergais forehead. It was hard to tell, but Sergai thought he was packing .357 shells in there. Not fun to be hit by.
"Put your hands up Cavone." The large man said slowly. Hispanic, judging by his accent, Brazilian. Sergai didn't feel like arguing with the man with the big gun, so he proceeded to put his hands up. "Now, put down your weapons, slowly, and slide them over here." Sergai hated when they said that. He complied though, putting down his small arsenal and sliding it over to the Brazilian. Sergai neglected the large tactical knife under his shirt, or the Colt Derringer in his boot. The Brazilian nodded forwards, one of his men gathering the weapons, dismayed to find every one of them, except the Nagant and the VP, was unloaded. "Now, state your name and mission."
"Wolf, and my mission is to be a pain in the ass." The Brazilian rose his eyebrow.
"Well, Mr. Wolf, be proud, you've accomplished this. Now than, Who sent you, and where is your support?"
"God is my awnser for both." This response earned him a smack with the Colt.
"You were on your radio, and you disabled the jammers. You were trying to contact someone, and, unless you have a frequency I don't now about, God doesn't awnser on a Radio. And, if God wanted this data, He could've taken it himself. Now, awnser!"
"Ok,.." Sergai hung his head sighing. "You're to smart for me. I'll talk, just don't hit me again." The Brazilian grinned.
"Good boy."
"Your mom sent me. After last night, sh-" A gunshot rang out, and a bullet found it's way into the Russians belly, just missing his stoumach. Sergai yelled in pain, falling to one knee, his hand quickly slipping into his boot. Looking over his shoulder, he noticed that the data was 83%. He cursed, this would be his first failed mission, but it was better than him being on the losing side of his favorite game, Put the Bullet in the Brain. The Brazilian began cussing in Spanish, than kicked Sergai.
"Get up!" He shouted in Spanish. Sergai rose, slowly, trying to keep off his injured leg. "So, you speak Spanish do you mongrel?"
"Si." Sergai responded.
"Good."
"So...You speak Italian?" Sergai grinned, his hand on his stomach, covering the tiny gun. The Brazilian went to smack Sergai again, but Sergai was to quick! Putting the Derringer to the Brazilian's forehead, Sergais arm blocking the strike Sergai whispered his normal farewell.
"Das Vidonyas Bitch." He whispered, firing the .45 into the Brazilians head, quickly grabbing his VP and shooting the other soldiers in the heads bringing down five more before they knew what hit them. Sergai pushed down a large, wooden table, hoping it'd hold long enough for him to reload. Sergai clicked on his radio, calling Keith.
"Pygmy! Pygmy, respond, this is an emergency! No, FUCK that, this is a double emergency!"
"You didn't say ooooveerrr. Over."
"Pygmy, shut your god damn mouth. I'm pinned down, and I'm going to have to light this place up MUCH earlier. Get a flare out, I'll be right out. OVER and out." He turned off the radio, grunting in pain as a bullet came through the table and grazing his shoulder. Sergai cussed in Russian, putting the VP to the table and firing his entire clip, seven trigger pulls, three bullets each. Twenty one bullets. He reached back, smacking the bomb and setting the timer to three minutes. He didn't know how many he hit, but to make sure, Sergai picked up what was left of the table, and ran towards the door. He ran right through the door, the table breaking in half. He turned on his radio as he ran, calling Keith.
"Pygmy, is the chopper there? Over."
"No, but it's inbound. ETA is two minutes, fifteen seconds. Over"
"Gotcha. Keep um waiting. Over and out." Sergai bolted, opening the door to what was once the elevator shaft, onto the lift. Sergai rode the large platform to the top, ran out, and jumped into the chopper. "Go! Now!!" The chopper jumped into the air, quickly flying away from the base just as it exploded, the five bombs igniting everything within, and blowing the entire base sky high. The choppers tail was tossed up, the helicopter going into a tailspin as it barreled towards the ground. The pilot grabbed the control stick and pulled backwards.
"Shit! Come on baby, show me some sky! Show me some sky!!" He grunted, and slowly, but surely enough, the chopper was straitened out, and on the way home. From the front of the chopper, from the co-pilots seat, L.J. walked forwards, walking to Sergai. Sergai and L.J. had never gotten along, not since their first encounter. L.J. was wearing his usual tux, and his plastic smile. His hair had lightened a little over the years, but all in all, he looked similar.
"Sergai, Nice job."
"No kidding!" Keith said with a grin, patting his friend on his back, holding him up.
"You successfully destroyed the facility, good job Sergai. Now, give me the data."
"I...couldn't get it L.J. It was get the data, or survive. I opted to survive." Sergai shot at him, his eyes narrowing.
"No, No, No. Sergai you don't understand. That data was important to your client. It was data concerning an important polititions secret data. He needed that data, Mr. Khruschev."
"Well, keeping my ass in tact is much preferred."
"Well, it wasn't get the data or live. It was, Sergai, It was get the data or die." L.J. said suddenly pulling out a Desert Eagle .50 caliber, pressing the barrel into Sergai's chest, and firing. Sergai gasped, blood coming from his mouth. He stepped back, one after the other, until L.J. kicked him in the stomach, the man falling off the chopper, down, down, down into the sea below.
Sergai's world was pain, blinking in and out. There were no real images, nothing comprehensive, pictures, sounds, nothing he could make heads or tails of. A white room, than blackness, a beeping, than silence, the sickening smell of sterilization, than emptyness. Sergai only knew one thing was real, one constant, the burning pain in his chest.
'Where? Where am I?' He thought slowly. 'What happened?'
"Keith, calm down." Someone's voice came. Someone he didn't like. But, he couldn't place the name.
"Calm down!? Calm down!?!?! Fuck you!" 'Keith' responded. "He did your damn job! And you kill him!! You can eat a fucking bullet! If you hadn't taken my fucking guns, you'd be eating one now!!" Keith, the voice sounded so familer, the name...Who?
'Who is Keith?' He wondered. 'Oh wait, I remember...But...who am I? I am.....What? My name...what's my name?' He wondered.
"Keith, this a mourge, please, at least be quiet."
'Mourge, am I dead? Is that why I can't remember?'
"Ok, fine, I'll be quiet. But my ass is out of here Linus. And I'm coming for you. No, fuck that, I'm coming to take down the entire fucking B.O.O. You hear me? Fuck you, and fuck the B.O.O, I'm going to fucking kill you both, mark my fucking words." Footsteps heading away, and Linus chuckled.
"Of course you will Keith." A small sound, and his world started to swirl and fade into nothingness again. "This is L.J. Keith has left us. Send him a care package."
"Got it boss." A mechanical voice responded.
"Alright than." L.J. said. "It's time to get you underground, 3516." And with that, his world was dark.
When he, whoever "he" was, woke again, he was in the water. He kicked, panicking suddenly, but found his legs wouldn't respond. His body wasn't working! He knew he couldn't breath underwater! So why wa- He stopped, suddenly realising that there was something on his face. A breathing mask. He shook a little, his bod minimally responding. His thoughts were slow, sluggish. He knew something had happened to him. Something the B.O.O forced him to do before...What was it? It didn't matter now. He tried to keep his thoughts focused enough to assess the situation. Everything looked green. Green liquid. His chest, shoulder, and leg still burned, but less than before. Wires were coming from him, going in and out. Keeping him alive, he wagered. Suddenly L.J. walked infront of him, flanked by people in coats. White coats. Lab coats, he realized after a moment.
"Wakey Wakey 3516." L.J. grinned evily. "You failed us. We're going to fix that."
"Fix?" He breathed, his voice hoarse and barely workable.
"Yes. You were stupid, but, sadly we can't fix that. However, what we can fix is your fragility. Now than, these gentlemen have created a formula. You are known as Wolf, and so, we'll make sure you're not lieing." He rose a vial that looked green. "This is the B.O.O's newest creation."
"Creation?"
"Yes. The B.O.O. is a weapons giant, didn't you know that? We have made weapons and bombs beyond what any nation could conceive." He smirked. "Recently, our weapons have become to powerful for normal soldiers to carry. And we don't exactly want our technology to fall in the wrong hands, so we've been experimenting with super-soldiers. This is the wolf strain mach 7. It's a very new strain, bringing together the wolves aspects, and human size and intelligence. It's new, so feel proud, you get to test it. The first six were of varying degrees of failure. This, we suspect, will be the perfect combination. Along with this, we're going to push a great deal of steroids into your body, to try to make you stronger."
"No..."
"You don't have a choice." He handed the vial to one of the white coats, and the man walked away. "Now, you may feel a slight pinch." L.J. grinned wickedly, just as 3516, as he was to be called, felt it. A burning, wicked sensation, like a thousand hunks of red-hot steel being shoved through his bloodstream. He went to shout, but nothing came out, the drugs in his system having constricted his throat to stop his screaming. It wasn't the steroids, it was that other thing. It was seeping into his muscles, his skin, his very bones.
"You may be wondering why you're not passing out from the immense pain that must be courseing through your veins right now. It's the drugs 3516. A
bit of punishment for your failure. Don't worry though, it's only temporary." For the next three hours, 3516 only knew pain.
When the pain finally subsided, 3516 knew he was different. He couldn't see himself, but he knew something was off. He wished he could move, but the steady stream of sedatives was keeping his muscles from reacting as they seemed to pulse with red hot pain. After a few moments, L.J. approached.
"Hm," He began, putting a finger to his chin. "not a total failure. But there are still some more obvious differences than I'd like."
"It's a nessicary side effect Mr. Johnson. The eyes allow for night vision, and the ears enhance hearing."
"The night vision isn't nessicary. The NaCam can do that instead."
"But sir, it'll be more natural this way, and besides, if the NaCam gets knocked offline, he can still see."
"I suppose. How is preparation on that anyways?"
"99% done sir. It should be ready by the time he is."
"Good, good." Linus nodded. "Get him out of there and prepped for surgery."
"Surgery? What're you doing?"
"Don't you worry your little head 3516. Alright, start the flow. When he next wakes up, I want him seeing."
"Yes sir!" 3516 felt a new sensation coming from the needles in his body, and suddenly, he felt sleep, his world turning back into that familiar void of darkness.
When 3516 woke again, he was on his back, and everything was gray. He slowly, sluggishly, rose to his feet, shaking his head, which slowly seemed to be clearing. He slowly rose to his feet, looking around. The rooms walls were perfectly bare, well, almost, there was a mirror in the wall, a whole part of the wall. Undoubtably a 2-way mirror. Around the ground there was a little TV, a weight set, a treadmill, a punching bag, some magazines, and a desk with a pen and paper on it. They were all his, and Sergai thought he needed to claim them. On the ceiling there were two cameras. He knew they'd be laughing, but he made his way to the mirror, getting a look at himself, and he nearly choked. He had changed, A lot. 3516 had grown, from what he remembered, from a 5'9" to 6'6", and his muscles looked bigger to. His eyes were golden now, slitted black, and his ears looked pointed. His hair had lost all color, becoming a light gray color. His face had become more angled as well and his fingers had grown what looked like claws. He growled, making a fist and slamming his fist into the mirror. The mirror cracked, four large weblike cracks appearing in it. 3516 snarled again, his voice becoming an animlistc growl as he glared at his unfamilar reflection. A hint of static from above, tan a voice.
"Calm down Volk."
"Volk? Wolf? Very funny. Let me the fuck out."
"Look, if you want out, you have to do a few tests for us."
"Fuck you!"
"First off, Volk, how do you feel?"
"Pissed off!"
"Obviously, but I mean, how do your eyes feel?"
"My eyes?" Volk growled. A questioning sound, he recognised.
"Yes, do they hurt?"
"No..."
"How about your head? How are the instincts conflicting."
"Other than the urge to piss on everything, I don't feel any different."
"Interesting. Maybe it's a failure."
"Or maybe it's subconscious." A second whispered The voices sounded hushed, but were plain as day to Volk.
"Alright Volk, we're going to activate the NaCam. Try not to panic."
"Panic? What do yo-" Suddenly, what looked like see through boxes appeared in his vision, each one light blue, attempting to look friendly. Volk yelped, trying to jump away from them, his mind going seperate from his body as it attempted to get away from these strange boxes. All Volk could "hear" from his mind was "Strage thing! Get away! Run!" Volk attempted to reign his mind under control so he could examine it. At the very least, he read what the boxes said.
"Check compleate:
Heart rate elevated.
Breathing rate elevated." These were below what looked like a vitals readout. His vital readout.
"Locating... Location found. B.O.O. testing compounds. Majove desert, California. Loading blueprints." As it displayed this, a small circle appeared, displaying a red dot in a large square room. It looked similar to a mini-map on first person shooter games, like the one's he played when he first joined the B.O.O. Beside it was a human shape that was clear.
"Vitals displayed." A small box read.
"Volk, calm down. It's just the Na-cam."
"Na-cam!? What the FUCK is the Na-cam?!"
"It's the Nano Camra. It's installed in your eyes and your brain."
"Get it the fuck out!!"
"We can't Volk. Look, just calm down, we'll teach you how to use it." Volk took a few deep breaths, watching as the boxes displayed information on anything he looked at. Displaying structural integrity, along with what the objects were made of. It also displayed the thermal location of the two, no, six men beyond the wall, and all the computers.
"Ok...ok..I'm calm. Start explaining."
"That's the Na-cam. It's brand new. The Na-Cam is the top of the line in S.A.T. Soldier Assitive Technology. It's a tiny computer stuck on the root of the eye, and in the brain, with a computer veiwer in the retina. It's got a massive data-base with the FBI, the NSA and orginizations like that all across the world, effectivly making it the largest data base of people, weapons, places, and objects in the world. It also displays the make of pretty much anything, and their structural integrity. I can talk for days about all it's uses, but you probably want to know how to control it. Well, let's bring up what you can see." The scientest moved to a computer. "Ok, here we go. Well, this is the default setting. It's running a low thermal scan in the background, so anything with a human body tempertrue or higher's gonna show up for you. But, let's focus on your sight, and calibrating our computers. Look up." Volk did as he said. "Good, now down." Volk did. "Left...and right. Good! Alright now, first, bring up your inventory. Just think this: Command, view inventory. Concentrate on that." Volk closed his eyes, all the boxes dissapearing, and focused on that one phrase. Those three words. As soon as he did, a blue and white box popped up, showing a human outline and lines pointing to his hands, his head, his chest, his legs, his hips, one line to each side, and to his feet. Currently, only his legs and his chest were lit up, reading: Chest: Tank-top. Unknown make.
Legs: Shorts. Unknown make.
"Good job. Now, think the command: Close inventory." As soon as Volk did, the box dissapeared. "Excellent job Volk. Now, than, there are hundreds of commands you can do with these, but for now, let's test out your body, ok?" The scientist asked. As if Volk had a choice. "Go over to the weights, and start lifting, try to get the highest weight you can." As Volk went to the weights, and his eyes reacted, displaying information on the weights. Usless. He picked them up, and another lot of information appeared. "Good! It worked!" The scientists cheered. Now, Sergai saw on the ground a small red circle, turning wherever he looked, and moving whenever he moved his eyes.
"What...is that?"
"An impact zone Volk. It's judging, based on the position of your eyes, where you'll aim, and showing you where the point of impact would be. Just ignore it for now." Volk easily lifted the weights, even when more weight was put on it, easily lifting up to 80 lbs an arm. He than upgraded to the Barbell, struggling only when he reached 400 lbs.
"Good." The Scientists mumbled. "Very good."
Things had continued like this for four years, eerything different. Volk noted it was like his training back years ago when he had first joined B.O.O., with the exepction of constant questions on how his mind had changed with the wolf additions, such as one time the had given him a porno magazine, and a magazine on animal husbandry, and had asked Volk (while monitering his brainwaves) which one he perfered.. Volk had nearly torn the head off of the man that had asked, and anwsered that he had of course prefered the dirty magazine. but had been confused that he had been more than a little interested in the animal husbandry. If there was one thing Volk hated about the Nacam, it was the fact he had no privacy, that B.O.O. could see anything that he saw when he saw it. Volk also missed his freedom, so one day, he plotted to take it back during his favorite training session on Thursday, knife fighting. It was a normal session, to the trainers, knife jab, retract, turn, prepare. Volk had chosen his favorite, the Soviet NR-40 combat knife, as usual. He ducked out of the way of a knife stab from his trainer, watching the two guards that stood in his way of escape, the first two of many. He caught his trainers arm, pulling on the elbow like he was supposd to, dislocating the elbow easily, disarming the man.
"Alright, good job Volk, now, give me the knife, and head back home." That his his normal procedure alright, but it wasn't happening today. Volk applied extra pressure, breaking the elbow backwards, and threw his trainer down, taking his knife, and slitting the trainers throat, knowing full well all instructers were armed for just such an occasion, thanks to the the Nacam. The Nacam also showed him exactly where the 9mm Berreta was. Volk quickly threw the knife he had taken off the trainer and threw it into the throat of one of the guards, useing the Berreta to shoot the other in the head. He rushed over to the bodies of the guards, taking their weapons and one radio. The radio was so he could hear where they were going when the guards came after him. He retreieved a P-90 from each guard, along with three clips of ammo. He regarded the map in the corner of his sight, thanking that feature of the Nacam as well, running towards the computer room, ducking behind corners as the map even regarded the enemies heartbeats, and displayed their positions. He admitted it, the Nacam was a blessing. It made his trip down to the computer room that much easier. Once he was there, he located the computer that displayed the Nacams data, and left his other NR-40 in the moniter, and made sure the computer was fried by emptying half a clip of a P-90 into the thing. Once he was satisfied the computer was destroyed, he quickly made his way to the garage to escape, killing anyone that got in his way.
Three months later...
Volk sat in the darkness of his room, cursing himself once again. His escape had been successful, but he'd felt off for about two months now. He had read in a newspaper that his best friend had been murdered by the B.O.O.. Well, according to the news, Keith and his younger brother Joey, whom Volk had met on several occasions, Volk being the only one Keith had introduced Joey to, had been killed in a gas explosion that had ignited the explosives that Keith had illegally had stored within the building he had lived, takeing out the entire bulding. No bodies had been found, but Keith and Joey were assumed dead. Volk shook his head. That was bullshit, and he knew it. The B.O.O. had obviously taken down the entire building in revenge for Keith quitting. Volk blamed himself. He wanted revenge on the B.O.O. than more than ever. Volk had been staying in an old abandoned B.O.O. safehouse he had found out about, getting used to the Nacam. The camera had turned out to be a god-send, a blessing in disguise. If the B.O.O. had given it to him orignially, he would've been fine. Every day had been worrisome, knowng the B.O.O. had full access to his stronghold. Volk slept with a .50 Desert Eagle under his pillow. Not the most accurate gun, but it was one of the few left behind in the strong-hold. Besides, he had angled the room so the furnature and such had forced a strait line from the door, making it an easy shot for Volk, but with the dresser infront of the door, they didn't have a clear shot at him. Volk had found this safe-house and set up shop within a week of escaping, the desert cruiser having broken within a day, forcing Volk to run from B.O.O for three days, stopping only to sleep and drink the water he had stolen from the B.O.O.. The Mojeve desert had proved to much for him, and he collapsed, nearly dead, and was luckily found by an old couple heading to Las Vegas. From there, he remembered the way to the Safe-house on his own.
Volk shook his head, bringing himself to his right mind as he went to sit up, pulling the .50 from under his pillow, just as his now sensative ears caught the front door opening, two rooms away. The man growled a little, his eye's half open, watching the door. If he acted asleep, he could get a quick, free shot. Another door. The intruder was one room away. Only one, armed. Volk watched, waiting. Another door, and now light flooded into the room. Volk snapped to his feet, fireing a shot from the .50, the bullet whizzing by the young blonde's head. The man who had come to kill him had shoulder length blonde hair, and blue eyes. Volk couldn't see anything else, but when the young man's hands flew up, Volk saw he appeared to be unarmed. However, around his neck was a black strap.
"Next one won't miss!" He warned, getting his aim resettled on the young mans head.
"Stop! Wait a minute! I'm a friend!"
"Of course you are. Now than, what weapons do you have?"
"A knife, and a .45 caliber Desert Eagle, that's it."
"Let me see the Eagle, and don't get any funny ideas, I've got a real itchy trigger finger." The young man reached down with one hand, pulling something that made Volk's eyes widen. That silver Desert Eagle, it had a picture of a peanut with a large cloak and a scythe engraved into the handle of it. The Peanut Reaper, that was Keith's gun!! "Where'd you get that!?" Volk stepped forewards, growling as he did, the wolf instincts rearing.
"You know where, Sergai..." Volk growled, why was he calling him Sergai?
"That's not my name! Now, care to tell me why you have my best friends gun B.O.O. slime?"
"You got it all wrong Sergai. I'm not with B.O.O." The young man reached back, slowly, so as not to agrivate Volk, and grabbed a bunch of his hair, holding it tight, the bunch dissappearing from view. Suddenly, with the young mans big eyes and what looked like short hair, Volk recognised him. But, impossible!
"...Joey?" He asked slowly, not having seen the young man in years. Back than, he was a boy!
"'Bout time you recognised me." Joey smiled. "Now, do me a favor, put the gun down." Volk did so, shaking his head.
"How'd you find me? Hell, how'd you know I was alive!? Why'd you come here? Why aren't you dead!?"
"Oh, that's REAL nice Sergai." Joey rolled his eyes. " "Hey, I haven't seen you in years, why aren't you dead?" Nice. Well, We, well, I've been hacking the B.O.O.'s database. We found out what happened, we found out they were expiramenting on you...No shit eh? Anyways, I came here because it was Keith's last wish....He got me out of the building before it went down."
"So...Keith...?"
"Yeah." Joey nodded slowly, both going silent at the mourning of the man.
"B.O.O. had been coming for us for awhile, and Keith got tired of it. He rigged the home with bombs, and pushed me out of the garage. He told me to hunt you down, to go to Uncle Sergai...so, here I am. I guess he took them out with him."
"Yeah...But, look, my name's not Sergai. It's Volk. I don't know why you think otherwise. "
"..."
"...So, what do we do now?" Volk asked. "It's great to see you again, but we need to think of a C.O.A." The once-man said slowly. "We need to get back at them. We need to carry out Keiths wish and take them down."
"We need to get supplies first." Joey said after a moment of thought. "Weapons, explosives, vehicles, and most of all, money. Luckily for us, we have a mercenary"
"Well, we don't have the kind of massive contract database the B.O.O. has, so care to explain how we're going to get some jobs?"
"Ah, but see Volk, that's where you're wrong." Joey smirked, rubbing his hands together. "May I?"
"Uh...Sure?" Joey was quick into action, pulling the bag from his neck, heading over to Volk, sitting next to him. From Joey's bag, he pulled a decent sized laptop, flipping it open and typing furiously. Volk, not being a computer person at all, looked over Joey's shoulder, blinking at the screen. Within moments, Joey's screen had filled up with a long, five sectioned list. The list told a name, a description, a price, a color, and another name. A few of them also had a sixth section, a problem.
"This is a job list I've redirected to my mailbox from the B.O.O. A lot of these can easilly be done by just a single good merc, and they're pretty well paying. And Volk..."
"Hm?" Volk was transfixed by the number of 'zeros on the price of one of the missions.
"Check out what else the B.O.O. lost and I happened to find." Joey clicked the laptop and, replacing the job list with a display of another display of the computer, and another within that. It was what Volk was seeing. Joey had the Na-Cam's data!
"No way!"
"Yes way!" Joey replied, unable to resist the Bill and Ted reference. "I swiped it from the B.O.O a couple of weeks ago. Now, whenever they try to see what you see, they get this." Joey clicked a couple of times on the computer screen, and the image of a middle finger appeared on the screen, a red background behind it. The computer generated voice spoke up, proclaiming:
"Fuck you sirs." over and over again.
"Best thing is," Joey continued. "It's a virus. Once they open this, every computer monitor in the joint'll light up with this little display. Imagine that. Oh, and on top of that, check the knuckle." Volk looked closely, and in the wrinkles of the knuckle, the Peanut Reaper stared out at Volk. "The Peanut Reaper strikes again!!" Joey laughed.
"Excellent. Now than, I've been missing my favorite sweet smelling green object, so Joey." The big Russian man looked to the smaller. "Let's go get some money."
One week later...
Volk loved this, he had almost forgotten this feeling, sneaking through enemy territory, only his wits and his weapons, but more wits, keeping him from a visit to the coroner on a business call. Joey had found a sub-par-paying job from the Police in city of Reno. There was an organised crime mob in the city that had protection from the higher ups. None of the police wanted to lose their jobs, so they had sent most of their budget, $30,000 for Volk to kill the lot of them. In addition to this money, the station would send a few guns they could spare, as well as ammo. Volk normally stayed away from the police, but Joey had pointed out to him that the police would be thankful, a little more lienant to them, and they'd get some free guns. The younger ____ brother was acting as Volk's spotter, tech, and agent. It was just short of amazing. And the young man had a way with knives just short of phenomenal. Currently, Joey had a radio in Volk's ear, and was watching where Volk was. Currently, Volk was walking down ____ street, heading towards the mansion that housed the gang. The mansion had kicked multiple people off of their properties, leaving them homless. Volk was also asked to blow up the mansion. Lovely. Volk loved blowing things up. Volk approached the mansion the entrance marked by a large gate with three seemingly unarmed people standing in front of it.
"Joey, come in. I'm at the gate. Any suggestions?"
"Explosions wouldn't be smart here Volk. The police outfitted you with a few weapons didn't they? Try to bring them down quietly. I suggest a knife." Volk nodded, his eyes scanning everything, displaying information. "Looks like they're equipped with MAC 10s as primaries, so a frontal assult would undoubtably hurt. If anyone could do it though, you could. I say you should distract the one closest to the alarm there, and knife him, or even use the Silenced Baretta the cops gave you."
"Decisions, Decisions." Volk said with a smirk, pulling his knife out slowly. "You really like knives, don't you?"
"What can I say? There's something about the way they curve. Just so sexy." Joey laughed.
Volk reached down, picking up a rock about the size of his ring finger and threw it towards the guard nearest to the alarm, just as Joey had suggested, and ran after it, grabbing the back of the mans neck, and putting a knife to the guards side, into his kidney. He swiped the dead mans glock, shooting three rounds into each of the other two guards heads. Once all the guards were down, Volk looked over the bodies, the Na-cam picking out a key-card on each mans hips. He reeached down, cutting one off with his knife, and pocketing it. He wiped his knife off on the shirt of one the guards, sheathing it on his belt. Swiping the card, he couldn't help but smirk as he heard the lock click, and he walked through the door. Closing the door as quick as he could, while seeming normal, Volk donned his sunglasses, moving his hair infront of the points on his ears. For whatever reason, inside, everyone seemed calm, as if they didn't know what happened. That was good.