The ninth channel of public Alowwvian television is suddenly cut by and emergency news alert. The fourth one this week, it would seem, and the interruption of early evening comedies was not well received by many people. But still, millions tuned their ears toward their televisions, and listened for the latest update on the 'most mysterious tragedy to ever befall our nation'. There's a quieting of voices, a ceasing of clatter as the masses turn themselves to watch the news.
A sharply-dressed woman, platinum hair flowing over her pink blouse, is already talking monotonously as the audio begins to come on. "...onfirmed, there is now, in addition to martial law an active, military quarantine, in effect, on the southern isles of Despolt. What's been going on there in the last six days has been very hush-hush, bu we've received confirmation that, in addiction to the closed sea and air ports, there is no an effective no-fly-zone around the island, spanning a 30 mile radius around the largest island, San Guton."
A picture on screen showed clearly the islands marked. They'd been a semi-popular communications spot until recently. Until around two weeks ago, that is, until the planes stopped flying in and out of San Guton, and the Naval Core started sailing in, the Alowwvian Assault Core; their equivalent of the Marines of other nations, riding shotgun. The internet to the isles? Suddenly cut, radio networks gone flat. No phone in, or out. No mail service, nothing.
For a while, the government kept quiet about it... and for a while the issue hung heavy in the air. Finally, the Alowwvian government had come clean... simply stating, that the isles, which were sovereign Alowwvian territory, were under quarantine due to 'spread of an as of yet undisclosed outbreak of disease.' The public was informed, through media this night, that it was for their own safeties. More than a few found it hard to swallow, but life would have to continue for those on the outside. No news came out of the area after that. 'The Quarantine is still in effect,' was the only thing officials had to say. Other than that, other issues would cram into center stage. Typical things; market items, controversies, taxes, the rising tensions with their radical neighbor, Saluk...
But for those hungry for truth, there was always a tap to lap at for just a few drops of information.
Present
"Dude, come here,"
"Chet, look, there isn't--"
"No, I'm serious this time! It's getting hits all over the web, look at this!"
A befuddled young woman, a tad aggravated that her friend has, again, dragged her front and center into his conspiracy-theory-ing nonsense, steps to the side of his computer chair as he makes a couple clicks, bringing up a familiar window.
"...Leakovia? Really, Chet?" A fold of the arms almost follows, but a serious look stops her.
"Yes, Really. Come on, all this stuff is legit... and nobody can fake, this, look, just look!" His gaze already moved back to the video before he could register the eye-roll, but the girl's gaze turned to catch a glimpse of the video's title before it went into a widescreen, grainy black-and-white picture, a glowing white crosshair in the center.
'REAL LEAKED APACHE GUNCAM FOOTAGE FROM CATTLE FARM IN DESPOLT QUARANTINE!!!! ALOWWVIA CONTAINING ZOMBIE OUTBREAK!?!?!?!!!!'
"Just watch..." The excited young man's voice calms to whisper as he clicks play.
The video starts off slowly. There's a bunch of white blotches against a flat, black background... hundreds of them. It took the girl a while, but she finally recognized it.
"Cows? Why is the military watching a bunch of cattle graz--"
"Shhh!"
A small crosshair, some numbers on the side of the screen... and chatter. Neither of the viewers were experts in military jargon, every 'Whiskey Tango Sierra at Mike Foxtrot Delta' was just meaningless, yet authoritarian, organized sounding blather to them. But the overall message wasn't lost. Subtitles came up on screen to help the viewers.
>> "Typhoon Two, how many you see?"
That voice was further, like it was behind the recorder.
>> "Uhh... Reaadddiinnnggg... Forty potential targets. Forty of the small ones. Trying to stay with the sows."
The girl tilted her head. There were about a hundred adult cows, and a baby one it looked like for ever two or three adults.
>> "Confirm, Two?"
>> "Yeah, that's what I'm getting. I can tell they're carriers; they ain't grazin' like the other ones. They don't act like the other cattle."
>> "Alright. Keep an eye on 'em. Hotel, confirm permission to engage?"
"...Engage? Are they gonna really fight those c--"
"SSSSSHHH!!!" The excited young man points again to the screen. It's just about ten more seconds of hearing the mechanical whirring of the helicopter, before another voice; this time on a radio, echoes through.
>> "This is Hotel-Base... Yeah, you've got green light. If you're sure you're getting maximum effect on target, you can fire at will. We've got confirmation from Bravo and Echo platoons, they're in position to put down the runners. Otherwise, they've got no choice but to run through the desert. Reapers'll chase 'em down there. Repeat, when you have an optimal position, you may fire at will."
>> "Roger that, Hotel, engaging... Typhoon-Two, you got sweetheart down there or anything'?"
>> "*LAUGHS* Yeah, yeah... got a group I've been dying to ask to prom with me since we got here right ooooveerrr... here..."
The crosshairs moved across the screen, and towards just right of the center of the grazing herd. Here were the most calves; around a dozen of them, surrounded by the larger cattle, it looked like, it was hard to see in the in-fared just how many they were. The crosshairs centered, lined up perfectly in the middle. They moved eerily little once there, staying on target even as the helicopter strafed the position from what must have been a mile high.
>> "Alright, alright... You are clear to engage. They're all bunched up, hit 'em with the Ay-Gee-Em."
>> "Way ahead of ya."
There's clicking and a beeping noise. The air infront of the camera briefly blurs, and all is still and quiet for a moment. The girl leans in, eyes glinted at the screen. She briefly catches a pixelated pillar, moving faster than sound, smashing straight down on the ground, in the center of the crosshair. And then there's that explosion; the heat of which turns most of the screen white for but a moment. There's no sound of a distant boom, but simply a very calculated confirmation as the bits of animal matter fall down into the simmering crater,bits of warm... stuff, scattered around as the animals around the impact sight begin to panic.
>> "Good hit."
>> "Allllright, the rest are running now. Hit 'em with the gun."
It's all that's said, before the crosshairs quickly move across the screen, tracking the now frantic herd of fleeing bovines. This time, there's the distinct sound of somewhat muzzled cannon fire, and only a small quiver of the camera, before a line of small explosions ripple across and infront of one of the lfeeing groups. More warms bits of flesh fly up; the ones not hit with high explosive shells scatter.
The process repeats, over and over, and over again. The cattle flees; the gun keeps going. Burst after burst, volley after volley. Giblets of mammals, still hot, litter the cool grass, which is now sickly slathered in warm liquid. It goes this way for three full minutes... nothing left alive. A bit of detached chatter here and there accompanies it, calm 'They're down's and 'Engaging those runners, going gun'.
A few wide strafes, and a quick quip ends the video.
>> "Hotel, this is Typhoon, confirming.. We've got nothin' left. Don't know if there's anything for Bravo or Echo to get, we caught everything we could. Fuckers can't hide from us. Repeat, nothing left on the farm, we're coming back."
It's an incredibly calm voice, completely removed from the massacre that had just occurred. And with it, the video is over, going dark as a 'Replay?' button appears on screen.
"...Holy shit."
"Yeah, I know."
"Did You se-"
"Yeah, I did."
"...They picked out the calves?"
"I guess whatever it is, the calves carry it?"
The speculation bounces back and forth a bit, and the girl puts her eye back on the video. In the corner, a live view feed.
1,932,023,934.
1,934,142,239.
1,935,567,831.
Something was foul in Despolt, and nobody who knew anything was talking about it.