Roads Untraveled- An Elfen High Documentary

[Nightkill the Emperor]

"Welcome to Roads Untraveled, a documentary recording of the ISSR and their work in exploring the supernatural. I am your host, Howard Harker." a distinctly British voice said, greeting a camera and speaking directly into it. This concept had been difficult to make happen, in absolute and frank honesty. Government interest and funding had not been high. It had been downright hateful, really. They had blocked it as much as possible since they did not want average people to be too well informed on the state of Hell or the ISSR base- that was secret, classified and touchy stuff.

But the idea had leaked out to the common public somehow and they were very firm on wanting such a thing. And then what happened was TV executives who wanted that show as a prime-time slot. So what they did was go around recording people at the ISSR and on their missions (provided they were not too classified) and would then edit things out to fit in an hour's show.

Howard nervously took care of an itch behind his ear, a tic of his. "Anywho now, we'll be talking to-"

"Me." Rick Sanchez said bluntly, walking toward Howard and the three cameramen he had with him. The crew were there also as general aid and support, the cameras there for show. They actually had contact lenses which also worked as cameras. Expensive as hell, but the executives had considered it worth it.

Sanchez looked at the crew with no expression, Howard shuffling slightly under the gaze of the Puerto Rican soldier. "I will assign you to the ISSR soldiers and such whom you shall cooperate with." he briefly told Howard before they walked along deeper into the building.

Alexander Horn was having a discussion with another man, a white Namibian, also dressed as a doctor. They seemed to be having a heated conversation, Horn speaking in his native French and the Namibian in German. The ISSR tended to be or become highly multilingual due to necessity- it was a very international institution. As Vidur had once said, "sub-munitions made in Kenya are delivered to India for installation in rockets that are shipped in Greek freighters to Hell, where they are issued to American batteries that gained their mobility from oil that had been drilled in Saudi Arabia and refined in Singapore before being carried by Norwegian tankers to Dutch-built storage facilities built a mile or so from this location. An economist killed himself early on trying to figure out how to pay for this, then he apologised for acting rashly and went right back to work."

Though English was the main language used, the ISSR officially operated under and delivered all information in English, French, Russian, German and Hindi. These, coincidently, were also the main languages of the countries that primarily paid for the ISSR's upkeep and management. They also tended to be the most useful, so a certain degree of natural fluency had developed between the workers in the ISSR.

Howard went up to the two and extended out his hand. "Hello there, quite good to see you all. My name is Howard Harker and-"

"You're the host of Roads Untraveled, that bloody show. We know." the white Namibian said testily in English. "Not particularly thrilled by playing housekeeper..."

"Calm down Neil," Horn said mildly. "It's an irritation but one we'll get over."

Howard looked annoyed by the insulting of his show. "Look, this is a good plan and it'll get information out-"

"Shut up." Sanchez, Neil and Horn said in once, annoyed by this stupid reporter.

"In any case, we'll wait for our your troop to join now..." Sanchez sighed, glancing at his watch. "Then we'll send you out to your first little trip. Don't fuck up."

[The Inritus Extraho]

"Welcome to Roads Untraveled, a documentary recording of the ISSR and their work in exploring the supernatural. I am your host, Howard Harker." a distinctly British voice said, greeting a camera and speaking directly into it. This concept had been difficult to make happen, in absolute and frank honesty. Government interest and funding had not been high. It had been downright hateful, really. They had blocked it as much as possible since they did not want average people to be too well informed on the state of Hell or the ISSR base- that was secret, classified and touchy stuff.

But the idea had leaked out to the common public somehow and they were very firm on wanting such a thing. And then what happened was TV executives who wanted that show as a prime-time slot. So what they did was go around recording people at the ISSR and on their missions (provided they were not too classified) and would then edit things out to fit in an hour's show.

Howard nervously took care of an itch behind his ear, a tic of his. "Anywho now, we'll be talking to-"

"Me." Rick Sanchez said bluntly, walking toward Howard and the three cameramen he had with him. The crew were there also as general aid and support, the cameras there for show. They actually had contact lenses which also worked as cameras. Expensive as hell, but the executives had considered it worth it.

Sanchez looked at the crew with no expression, Howard shuffling slightly under the gaze of the Puerto Rican soldier. "I will assign you to the ISSR soldiers and such whom you shall cooperate with." he briefly told Howard before they walked along deeper into the building.

Alexander Horn was having a discussion with another man, a white Namibian, also dressed as a doctor. They seemed to be having a heated conversation, Horn speaking in his native French and the Namibian in German. The ISSR tended to be or become highly multilingual due to necessity- it was a very international institution. As Vidur had once said, "sub-munitions made in Kenya are delivered to India for installation in rockets that are shipped in Greek freighters to Hell, where they are issued to American batteries that gained their mobility from oil that had been drilled in Saudi Arabia and refined in Singapore before being carried by Norwegian tankers to Dutch-built storage facilities built a mile or so from this location. An economist killed himself early on trying to figure out how to pay for this, then he apologised for acting rashly and went right back to work."

Though English was the main language used, the ISSR officially operated under and delivered all information in English, French, Russian, German and Hindi. These, coincidently, were also the main languages of the countries that primarily paid for the ISSR's upkeep and management. They also tended to be the most useful, so a certain degree of natural fluency had developed between the workers in the ISSR.

Howard went up to the two and extended out his hand. "Hello there, quite good to see you all. My name is Howard Harker and-"

"You're the host of Roads Untraveled, that bloody show. We know." the white Namibian said testily in English. "Not particularly thrilled by playing housekeeper..."

"Calm down Neil," Horn said mildly. "It's an irritation but one we'll get over."

Howard looked annoyed by the insulting of his show. "Look, this is a good plan and it'll get information out-"

"Shut up." Sanchez, Neil and Horn said in once, annoyed by this stupid reporter.

"In any case, we'll wait for our your troop to join now..." Sanchez sighed, glancing at his watch. "Then we'll send you out to your first little trip. Don't fuck up."

Jade shrugged, watching the exchange, and then stepped up. It had been so long, so so long, so very long since she had been on a mission. And now Crowley had sent her to this 'documentary' team. As an "act of goodwill". Goodwill my ass, she thought, Crowley just wants more irons in the fire, fingers in pies, contacts everywhere. Whatever that saying is. She affected a smile, and stepped in front of the cameras, nodding to Sanchez.

"Jade Gates." she said quietly to the man. "I'm here as an escort for your little party, sent by Elfen High, courtesy of Aleister Crowley." As she turned, a slight shimmer flickered around her as the shields she kept herself constantly enshrouded in caught the light, barely visible for a moment. She stood straight as a ruler, her outfit pristine once more, the only sign of relaxation how her hand rested almost-lazily on her sword by her hip. She felt like she knew the real reason for Crowley sending her, though. Besides the contacts... Crowley's not dumb. I'm sure he's trying to get me away from something, or at least keep me away for long enough that I recover. It's... probably a good thing, to be honest. The thought brought a smile to her face, and the set of her shoulders relaxed slightly, sloping downwards as her head tilted up once more.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

Sanchez nodded at her. "Good to see you." he said, taking a seat in a circle of seven or so chairs that were there in the hallway. He folded his legs and almost seemed to nap on the spot.

But Howard had a new angle. "So, just how old are you, Ms. Gates? You seem quite young to be coming along with us here." he said, the camera crew moving closer to Jade to get a view of her. "Are you not worried this will be unsafe? I mean, young girl like you in Hell?" he asked in his Scottish British accent.

Neil, standing behind Howard and the crew, winked at Jade and started to mock Howard by shoving a finger down his throat and making a gagging sound, followed by miming a gun with his right hand's fingers and mock firing at Howard's head.

[The Inritus Extraho]

Sanchez nodded at her. "Good to see you." he said, taking a seat in a circle of seven or so chairs that were there in the hallway. He folded his legs and almost seemed to nap on the spot.

But Howard had a new angle. "So, just how old are you, Ms. Gates? You seem quite young to be coming along with us here." he said, the camera crew moving closer to Jade to get a view of her. "Are you not worried this will be unsafe? I mean, young girl like you in Hell?" he asked in his Scottish British accent.

Neil, standing behind Howard and the crew, winked at Jade and started to mock Howard by shoving a finger down his throat and making a gagging sound, followed by miming a gun with his right hand's fingers and mock firing at Howard's head.

Jade almost burst out laughing at the question, but restrained herself, merely raising an eyebrow at Neil. She smiled, more of a smirk at this point, and then shook her head. "No, no, I'm fine." She shrugged. "With what I've been through... I've already seen enough that I'm fine. The first time in Hell was a cakewalk, this time will be no different. As I said... I'm here on Mister Crowley's orders; I'm here to go along with you all and make sure the cameramen don't die." She strictly avoided the question of her age, slipping past it, and was explicit in mentioning that she was only there to keep the cameramen safe. "Even if I was worried, Mister Crowley told me to; I'm not about to ignore a command from him."

She shrugged once more, and then nodded, almost to herself, eyes scanning the room past the cameramen. Her foot restlessly tapped against the floor, marking out a quick rhythm - one two three, one two three, one two three... But that was of no consequence. It made no noise, not actually connecting with the floor; she floated a centimeter above the ground, skating instead of stepping as she slipped to the other side of Howard.

[Nude East Ireland]

Andrew Redford Crawford, III, sighed. Just who the fuck does Sanchez think he is? he thought, as he strode down the hallway. He was wearing a wrinkled white dress shirt, the collar of which was bent in all different ways, and the bow tie he was wearing was pulled down to his upper chest, and hung there like a loose necklace. His pants were either a dark brown or a strange shade of gray, but the lighting made it difficult to tell. He wore dirty, worn boots that went up to his knees, which was odd. Attached to his belt was a pouch, which would hold normal anthropology equipment. A holster was also clipped to his belt, and it held a Sig Pro pistol. He felt that he needed to cough, and quickly moved towards the nearest 'Emergency Gas Mask Station'. He removed a mask, and coughed into it, before neatly returning it.

Three years ago, Crawford had proven that coughing into one's elbow slowly decreased bone mass, until the entirety of the elbow bones were gone.

He noticed Sanchez, and approached him. He reached into his shirt pocket, and tossed a drawing onto Sanchez's lap. "Where is my raise? You said that when I completed my studies of the Demonic rectum, I would get a raise. We even discussed the price! And do you have any idea how hard getting a Demon to show you his rectum for a few hours a day, over the course of a two-week-period, is? Because... well, truth be told, it wasn't that hard..."

Crawford's eyes moved towards Howard and the cameramen. "Ah, you're from that documentary show. What was it? Roads Underrated? No, that's stupid. Rednecks Untraveled? No, again, stupid. Hmph. I'll figure it out. Bah, but you must be here to investigate me and my research!" He stepped forward, towards Howard. He shook the man's hand, and kissed him on the cheek.

"It's a sign of respect in the Beelzebubbish culture," he noted. He turned towards the camera. "My name is Andrew Redford Crawford, III, but you already knew that. I'm an anthropologist, and I've been studying the cultures of Hell for the last several years. You may know me for my many novels, including the biography about the Demon Lazrian."

[Nationstatelandsville]

Andrew Redford Crawford, III, sighed. Just who the fuck does Sanchez think he is? he thought, as he strode down the hallway. He was wearing a wrinkled white dress shirt, the collar of which was bent in all different ways, and the bow tie he was wearing was pulled down to his upper chest, and hung there like a loose necklace. His pants were either a dark brown or a strange shade of gray, but the lighting made it difficult to tell. He wore dirty, worn boots that went up to his knees, which was odd. Attached to his belt was a pouch, which would hold normal anthropology equipment. A holster was also clipped to his belt, and it held a Sig Pro pistol. He felt that he needed to cough, and quickly moved towards the nearest 'Emergency Gas Mask Station'. He removed a mask, and coughed into it, before neatly returning it.

Three years ago, Crawford had proven that coughing into one's elbow slowly decreased bone mass, until the entirety of the elbow bones were gone.

He noticed Sanchez, and approached him. He reached into his shirt pocket, and tossed a drawing onto Sanchez's lap. "Where is my raise? You said that when I completed my studies of the Demonic rectum, I would get a raise. We even discussed the price! And do you have any idea how hard getting a Demon to show you his rectum for a few hours a day, over the course of a two-week-period, is? Because... well, truth be told, it wasn't that hard..."

Crawford's eyes moved towards Howard and the cameramen. "Ah, you're from that documentary show. What was it? Roads Underrated? No, that's stupid. Rednecks Untraveled? No, again, stupid. Hmph. I'll figure it out. Bah, but you must be here to investigate me and my research!" He stepped forward, towards Howard. He shook the man's hand, and kissed him on the cheek.

"It's a sign of respect in the Beelzebubbish culture," he noted. He turned towards the camera. "My name is Andrew Redford Crawford, III, but you already knew that. I'm an anthropologist, and I've been studying the cultures of Hell for the last several years. You may know me for my many novels, including the biography about the Demon Lazrian."

The camera stopped rolling.

"Get the fuck out of my shot before I give you a colonoscopy with my camera!" demanded Charles F. Welles (but you can call him Gopher), who stormed up to Crawford, "Can't you see I'm shooting a fucking interview here, you goddamn idiot? Just sit the fuck down and wait your turn."

Unseen to anyone but who he intended, Gopher made a sign with his hand. It was, in terms of American sign language, the sign for "F" (or, perhaps more obviously, an "OK" sign with the fingers) - in Gopher's terms, it meant for his other cameramen (there were two) to focus on Crawford, in case he did something useful. If the guy blew up, Gopher could shoehorn it in during editing and make it out to be some kind of emotional breakdown due to Hell's... fuck, he didn't know. He'd figure it out later.

[Rupudska]

Yuzuki Kurayami, wearing a rather expensive - and revealing - kimono, sat to one side of the cameras, casually not getting in the way of Gopher or his crew. She found him a bit annoying, to be brutally honest, and rather uneducated. Of course, she considered all broadcast and television reporters to be inferior to journalists.

She fanned herself with a large Japanese fan, reclining her seat back further. It was getting rather boring, watching them. "Calm down, Gopher, before you pop a vein or something."

[Nude East Ireland]

Andrew Redford Crawford, III, sighed. Just who the fuck does Sanchez think he is? he thought, as he strode down the hallway. He was wearing a wrinkled white dress shirt, the collar of which was bent in all different ways, and the bow tie he was wearing was pulled down to his upper chest, and hung there like a loose necklace. His pants were either a dark brown or a strange shade of gray, but the lighting made it difficult to tell. He wore dirty, worn boots that went up to his knees, which was odd. Attached to his belt was a pouch, which would hold normal anthropology equipment. A holster was also clipped to his belt, and it held a Sig Pro pistol. He felt that he needed to cough, and quickly moved towards the nearest 'Emergency Gas Mask Station'. He removed a mask, and coughed into it, before neatly returning it.

Three years ago, Crawford had proven that coughing into one's elbow slowly decreased bone mass, until the entirety of the elbow bones were gone.

He noticed Sanchez, and approached him. He reached into his shirt pocket, and tossed a drawing onto Sanchez's lap. "Where is my raise? You said that when I completed my studies of the Demonic rectum, I would get a raise. We even discussed the price! And do you have any idea how hard getting a Demon to show you his rectum for a few hours a day, over the course of a two-week-period, is? Because... well, truth be told, it wasn't that hard..."

Crawford's eyes moved towards Howard and the cameramen. "Ah, you're from that documentary show. What was it? Roads Underrated? No, that's stupid. Rednecks Untraveled? No, again, stupid. Hmph. I'll figure it out. Bah, but you must be here to investigate me and my research!" He stepped forward, towards Howard. He shook the man's hand, and kissed him on the cheek.

"It's a sign of respect in the Beelzebubbish culture," he noted. He turned towards the camera. "My name is Andrew Redford Crawford, III, but you already knew that. I'm an anthropologist, and I've been studying the cultures of Hell for the last several years. You may know me for my many novels, including the biography about the Demon Lazrian."

The camera stopped rolling.

"Get the fuck out of my shot before I give you a colonoscopy with my camera!" demanded Charles F. Welles (but you can call him Gopher), who stormed up to Crawford, "Can't you see I'm shooting a fucking interview here, you goddamn idiot? Just sit the fuck down and wait your turn."

Unseen to anyone but who he intended, Gopher made a sign with his hand. It was, in terms of American sign language, the sign for "F" (or, perhaps more obviously, an "OK" sign with the fingers) - in Gopher's terms, it meant for his other cameramen (there were three) to focus on Crawford, in case he did something useful. If the guy blew up, Gopher could shoehorn it in during editing and make it out to be some kind of emotional breakdown due to Hell's... fuck, he didn't know. He'd figure it out later.

"Listen here, bru," Crawford replied, "I'm an award-winning anthropologist and author, working for a powerful international organization. You're a cameraman for a documentary show. I've got more awards than you have rolls of film." He stopped, not wanting Sanchez to yell at him, though that wouldn't be abnormal. He looked at Howard, and nodded. "We'll talk later, once these savage men are behind glass walls."

Crawford sat down next to Yuzuki, and crossed his legs. "Hello. Do you work here? It doesn't matter, but you seem rather... attractive," he blurted out, though in more of a whisper than anything.

[Rupudska]

Yuzuki nodded, lowering her fan to reveal more of her cleavage, almost all of which was showing. Like a lamb to the slaughter... except he'll probably enjoy it. She adjusted her position to get a little more comfortable, although she took care not to show him too much. No use being too aggressive, people tended to get scared away by that.

"Yes, I'm an English teacher at this school. Head of the department, in fact."

[Nude East Ireland]

"English teacher? Interesting..." He looked away, staring away from her cleavage. Intelligent, perhaps. And cultured. Not to mention her beauty. But I have an entire documentary to butter her up. I saw that bum walk into the room, and I'll see it walk out of my bed as well. Do I even have a bed? Shit, where do I sleep... wait, I don't sleep. Shit. I need to lay off the coffee. And the cocaine. Fucking Brit. When I see the wizard and the millionaire who got me hooked on coke, I'll knock their lights out. But I digress. He turned back, and smiled at Yuzuki.

"You can call me Andrew," he said, extending a hand towards her.

[Nationstatelandsville]

The camera stopped rolling.

"Get the fuck out of my shot before I give you a colonoscopy with my camera!" demanded Charles F. Welles (but you can call him Gopher), who stormed up to Crawford, "Can't you see I'm shooting a fucking interview here, you goddamn idiot? Just sit the fuck down and wait your turn."

Unseen to anyone but who he intended, Gopher made a sign with his hand. It was, in terms of American sign language, the sign for "F" (or, perhaps more obviously, an "OK" sign with the fingers) - in Gopher's terms, it meant for his other cameramen (there were three) to focus on Crawford, in case he did something useful. If the guy blew up, Gopher could shoehorn it in during editing and make it out to be some kind of emotional breakdown due to Hell's... fuck, he didn't know. He'd figure it out later.

"Listen here, bru," Crawford replied, "I'm an award-winning anthropologist and author, working for a powerful international organization. You're a cameraman for a documentary show. I've got more awards than you have rolls of film." He stopped, not wanting Sanchez to yell at him, though that wouldn't be abnormal. He looked at Howard, and nodded. "We'll talk later, once these savage men are behind glass walls."

Crawford sat down next to Yuzuki, and crossed his legs. "Hello. Do you work here? It doesn't matter, but you seem rather... attractive," he blurted out, though in more of a whisper than anything.

Gopher gave Crawford the finger, before returning to his camera.

"Howard," he said, "Maybe ask Ms. Gates and Boobs-san about their experiences at Elfen High. That place shits documentary gold. If that asshole with the mustache hadn't tried to strangle me when I suggested filiming there, I'd have made a goddamn franchise out of that place."

He turned the camera back on, focusing on the host ("OK"ing the other cameramen to do the same). How Howard handled the situation was up to him, he was the expert. Gopher's job was to make it look good - as well as change it into a good story later on, because integrity in journalism is dead.

[Rupudska]

"English teacher? Interesting..." He looked away, staring away from her cleavage. Intelligent, perhaps. And cultured. Not to mention her beauty. But I have an entire documentary to butter her up. I saw that bum walk into the room, and I'll see it walk out of my bed as well. Do I even have a bed? Shit, where do I sleep... wait, I don't sleep. Shit. I need to lay off the coffee. And the cocaine. Fucking Brit. When I see the wizard and the millionaire who got me hooked on coke, I'll knock their lights out. But I digress. He turned back, and smiled at Yuzuki.

"You can call me Andrew," he said, extending a hand towards her.

She warmly shook his hand. "Very well, Andrew, you may call me Yuzuki." Andrew, eh? Well, I've heard worse names. Heard better ones, too, but don't bring that up or he'll think I'm insulting him. Looks good, too, so that's a plus. Got a nice strong grip, too, so he's likely got either strength, stamina, or, more likely, both. All in all, likely good in the sack. Unless he's a complete white knight or has a... well, obviously.

[Nude East Ireland]

"English teacher? Interesting..." He looked away, staring away from her cleavage. Intelligent, perhaps. And cultured. Not to mention her beauty. But I have an entire documentary to butter her up. I saw that bum walk into the room, and I'll see it walk out of my bed as well. Do I even have a bed? Shit, where do I sleep... wait, I don't sleep. Shit. I need to lay off the coffee. And the cocaine. Fucking Brit. When I see the wizard and the millionaire who got me hooked on coke, I'll knock their lights out. But I digress. He turned back, and smiled at Yuzuki.

"You can call me Andrew," he said, extending a hand towards her.

She warmly shook his hand. "Very well, Andrew, you may call me Yuzuki." Andrew, eh? Well, I've heard worse names. Heard better ones, too, but don't bring that up or he'll think I'm insulting him. Looks good, too, so that's a plus. Got a nice strong grip, too, so he's likely got either strength, stamina, or, more likely, both. All in all, likely good in the sack. Unless he's a complete white knight or has a... well, obviously.

"A pleasure, Yuzuki," Crawford replied. Yuzuki, eh? Well, I've heard worse names. Haven't heard better ones, because 'Hell-Mongerer Zorgon' isn't the sexiest name. Unless you're into that kind of thing. She's got nice hands. She's either submissive, dominant, or, more likely, both. She does come from the magical school, after all. Unless she's from the Elfen High in New Jersey. Nothing magical there. Besides spray-tanning. That's black magic of the Devil.

[Constaniana]

Corporal Alanstols walked into the room/place/whatever the PC's were in, slightly surprised that there was a television crew there. "This ough tae' be guid," the Glaswegian muttered, swigging a drink from his flask of Irn Bru. You would have expected a Glaswegian to be drinking whisky, but I decided to troll Andrew Craig Murthy Alanstols and have him be allergic to alcohol of all things. Which should have made things awkward for him whenever he had to drink communion wine, although he managed to do so because plot holes. Andrew looked at the other people in the room, wondering if he was supposed to be here, because I realize this is a lame introductory post.

[Hardened Pyrokinetics]

Meanwhile, away from the documentary crew, Master Warrant Officer Michael Dubois was in full combat gear, rifle slung over his back, inspecting the perimeter defenses. He didn't really have to, his soldiers were some of the best from around the world. He remembered watching Stargate Atlantis when it was on TV, and still owned the DVDs back home on Earth, and greatly admired how so many people from so many different backgrounds could work and function together as one unit, and wanted to emulate that here, where it mattered most.

That said, there weren't going to be any solar systems exploding on his watch.

Anyway, while he didn't have to carry out the inspections, he didn't want to be anywhere near the documentary crew. Better to do something relatively unnecessary than be forced to talk in front of cameras with some loud-mouth civilian greenhorn with delusions of grandeur by Brigadier Sanchez.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

Sanchez's voice came over the intercom in Michael's room. "Sorry to bother you, Mike. But the bloody* civilians are here now..." A sigh. "We'll likely start heading out soon and you should meet them." Unspoken was This is a really, really shitty idea. You don't need to say a thing everyone is thinking. "Come by to the lobby."

---

Meanwhile, Howard sat down in front of Yuzuki. "So, ma'am, how's your job at Elfen High like?" he asked. "How do you feel about the ISSR and coming along on this mission and FUCK YOU WHO DID THAT?" he suddenly roared off screen, a sound of laughter from other soldiers in the background. Someone had fired spitballs at Howard, and now he was pissed off. "FUCKING HELL, I SPENT TIME ON MY HAIR!" he flipped out on camera while Neil laughed and put away his straw.

Sanchez glanced at Neil. "You likely shouldn't have done that." he whispered.

"Eh, wat the fok, ja?"

"Considering it's that guy...I'll let you by this once."

"'Ery exceellent, lanie."

"I'll pretend I understood that."
*After hanging out with so many people from the Commonwealth, "bloody" automatically became a part of the American Sanchez's vernacular.

[Hardened Pyrokinetics]

Sanchez's voice came over the intercom in Michael's room. "Sorry to bother you, Mike. But the bloody* civilians are here now..." A sigh. "We'll likely start heading out soon and you should meet them." Unspoken was This is a really, really shitty idea. You don't need to say a thing everyone is thinking. "Come by to the lobby."
*After hanging out with so many people from the Commonwealth, "bloody" automatically became a part of the American Sanchez's vernacular.

"Understood, sir, on my way." Michael responded, his own distaste evident in his response. He quickly finished checking over the locking mechanism of the main gate before heading inside. Before traveling to wherever the documentary crew was, he quickly made his way to the motor pool and signed out a LAV III supplied by the Canadian Army, this one given a Hell camouflage scheme and detachable armour hanging down over the wheels, protection against spears, bows, and magic. The vehicle would be ready and waiting once everyone was ready to go.

Michael also ensured that air support and a fast response force of Humvee's would be ready to go should they encounter any trouble, before finally making his way to the room with the documentary crew. Barging in still in full combat gear, boots thudding on the ground, he pretending to ignore the cameras and went straight up to Brigadier Sanchez.

Stopping perfectly mere inches from his commander, with a crisp and loud salute, he stared the Brigadier straight in the eyes. "Master Warrant Officer Michael Dubois reporting as ordered, SIR!" His voice boomed, the slight French Canadian accent failing to suppress the professionalism of his words. He kept his arm up until his CO returned the salute.

[Nationstatelandsville]

Sanchez's voice came over the intercom in Michael's room. "Sorry to bother you, Mike. But the bloody* civilians are here now..." A sigh. "We'll likely start heading out soon and you should meet them." Unspoken was This is a really, really shitty idea. You don't need to say a thing everyone is thinking. "Come by to the lobby."

---

Meanwhile, Howard sat down in front of Yuzuki. "So, ma'am, how's your job at Elfen High like?" he asked. "How do you feel about the ISSR and coming along on this mission and FUCK YOU WHO DID THAT?" he suddenly roared off screen, a sound of laughter from other soldiers in the background. Someone had fired spitballs at Howard, and now he was pissed off. "FUCKING HELL, I SPENT TIME ON MY HAIR!" he flipped out on camera while Neil laughed and put away his straw.

Sanchez glanced at Neil. "You likely shouldn't have done that." he whispered.

"Eh, wat the fok, ja?"

"Considering it's that guy...I'll let you by this once."

"'Ery exceellent, lanie."

"I'll pretend I understood that."
*After hanging out with so many people from the Commonwealth, "bloody" automatically became a part of the American Sanchez's vernacular.

Gopher sighed loudly and bowed his head, brow furrowed and clutched between two fingers. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, a slight headache (named Howard Harker) ringing against the sides of his skull.

"Damn it, Howard," he grumbled, "Calm the fuck down and get back in the shot. I'd like to get all the base material now, before some of these guys get eaten by demons. Y'know, sob story military thing. People love it, they eat that shit up like a goose with bread, It's all noble and whatever."

He tapped impatiently on the side of his camera, a single nervous bead of sweat rolling down the side of his forehead. To be honest, he was a bit nervous dealing with these guys - he'd never messed with military types before. Didn't like them much, either, and they didn't like him. Too strict for him, too straightforward. Oh, much like him, they loved lying, but they did it for things like "national security". They tended to get all high and mighty around guys like Gopher, normal people who were just trying to get by.

"It's me, Harker," he added, "I could make you look like Jesus with a supermodel's body if you were 600 lbs. overweight and wearing a chicken suit."

Sanchez's voice came over the intercom in Michael's room. "Sorry to bother you, Mike. But the bloody* civilians are here now..." A sigh. "We'll likely start heading out soon and you should meet them." Unspoken was This is a really, really shitty idea. You don't need to say a thing everyone is thinking. "Come by to the lobby."
*After hanging out with so many people from the Commonwealth, "bloody" automatically became a part of the American Sanchez's vernacular.

"Understood, sir, on my way." Michael responded, his own distaste evident in his response. He quickly finished checking over the locking mechanism of the main gate before heading inside. Before traveling to wherever the documentary crew was, he quickly made his way to the motor pool and signed out a LAV III supplied by the Canadian Army, this one given a Hell camouflage scheme and detachable armour hanging down over the wheels, protection against spears, bows, and magic. The vehicle would be ready and waiting once everyone was ready to go.

Michael also ensured that air support and a fast response force of Humvee's would be ready to go should they encounter any trouble, before finally making his way to the room with the documentary crew. Barging in still in full combat gear, boots thudding on the ground, he pretending to ignore the cameras and went straight up to Brigadier Sanchez.

Stopping perfectly mere inches from his commander, with a crisp and loud salute, he stared the Brigadier straight in the eyes. "Master Warrant Officer Michael Dubois reporting as ordered, SIR!" His voice boomed, the slight French Canadian accent failing to suppress the professionalism of his words. He kept his arm up until his CO returned the salute.

Gopher rolled his eyes.

"Quiet!" he said, pressing his finger to his mouth, "You'll fuck with the audio."

"Actually, sir, my audio's fine," said one of the cameraman.

"Shut up, Cameraman 2," Gopher spat.

"My name's Da-" Camerman 2 began to reply.

"SHUT UP, CAMERAMAN 2!" Gopher shouted, his head as red as an apple. Cameraman 2 shut up.

"Come on, people!" Gopher demanded, "Time is money and Harker needs to pay off some gambling debts."

[Nude East Ireland]

He kept his arm up until his CO returned the salute.

From his seat, Crawford saluted jokingly, and smiled. "Look 'o's 'ere, it's Mr. Militarie," he said, his smirk disappearing. "Come 'ere to make us abide by International hard-ass law, no doubt?"

[Nightkill the Emperor]

Sanchez gave Michael a salute back. Then the civilians started speaking. Sanchez took a deep breath and counted to ten. It was essential, as this was being aired on TV, that they remained utterly polite and gracious when the cameras were on them. The ISSR could not afford to have a black mark on their reputation. He had stressed this to Michael and Neil and many of the others.

He really, really hated publicity and appearances right now.

Sanchez nodded to Michael. "Alright everyone, this is Michael Dubois, one of our most distinguished soldiers. He will be leading much of this expedition toward the Natal area of Hell. We have seen some strange lights coming from that area and feel it is our duty to investigate. We weren't able to pass jets over- well, we were, but there's a black cloud around the area and it makes it risky and dangerous for jets and aircraft to see in- so it's cheaper and easier to go in a small squad and investigate on foot." And it'll be good publicity was the unspoken thought.

"Now, any questions? Howard Harker, settle yourself down, this is a military base." Sanchez's voice took on a tone of steel. Harker settled himself down.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

A young man with gray hair and a white lab-coat could be seen running through the hallways of the ISSR...

...On all fours.

And interestingly, the people who watched him pass by them didn't seem to be surprised or even care all that much. The reason for this was that they were, to an extent, used to his many, well, excentricities. Erik Newgate, the linguist savage born in Hell, was not a stranger inside the ISSR, after all.

Either way, he was running. He knew he had to be somewhere, but he'd already forgotten where, and what for, so currently he had been running aimlessly through the station for... What? Twenty minutes? Half an hour? It didn't really matter that much. He had set out a bit earlier than he should have, anyways.

Eventually, he saw blurry shapes in the distance, and his nose caught a scent that he didn't quite recognize. He advanced towards them, eventually managing to make out that some of the shapes were cameras. He continued approaching, and once he was close enough, he made a roll on the ground and stood up immediately afterwards, ending up standing next to the cameramen. He dusted himself off, took out his glasses from one of his pockets and put them on, and then looked at the crowd that had gathered there, before waving.

"Fhakyuhall!" He said, greeting them in his rather guttural native language. He then started sniffing the cameraman next to him. "You smell weak." He observed.

[Nationstatelandsville]

A young man with gray hair and a white lab-coat could be seen running through the hallways of the ISSR...

...On all fours.

And interestingly, the people who watched him pass by them didn't seem to be surprised or even care all that much. The reason for this was that they were, to an extent, used to his many, well, excentricities. Erik Newgate, the linguist savage born in Hell, was not a stranger inside the ISSR, after all.

Either way, he was running. He knew he had to be somewhere, but he'd already forgotten where, and what for, so currently he had been running aimlessly through the station for... What? Twenty minutes? Half an hour? It didn't really matter that much. He had set out a bit earlier than he should have, anyways.

Eventually, he saw blurry shapes in the distance, and his nose caught a scent that he didn't quite recognize. He advanced towards them, eventually managing to make out that some of the shapes were cameras. He continued approaching, and once he was close enough, he made a roll on the ground and stood up immediately afterwards, ending up standing next to the cameramen. He dusted himself off, took out his glasses from one of his pockets and put them on, and then looked at the crowd that had gathered there, before waving.

"Fhakyuhall!" He said, greeting them in his rather guttural native language. He then started sniffing the cameraman next to him. "You smell weak." He observed.

"I know..." replied Cameraman 2 forlornly, the smell of human urine now filling Erik's nose.

"Hey, look, a dog-man!" Gopher laughed, "Holy shit, that's awesome. Documentary gold, this place. I told you, Howard, I told you. So, uh, Fido, fuck ya' all too, sit down and wait for your turn, OK?

Harker, you cowardly piece of shit, get back to interviewing the girl. She isn't going to bite, probably. Who fucking knows anymore? If she does bite, I'll get in on camera."

[Ende]

Mary entered the lobby, opening the door and looking inside.

"Sorry. Wrong room." she said quietly, and then she closed the door again.

She looked back down at the assignment.

"That can't be right."

She opened the door again.

Then she closed it.

"No. They didn't assign me to this." she said to herself, turning away and storming back towards the research areas, storming visibly. This was nonsensical. When they told her she was going to be working on "a team", and that it was going to be "high-priority", she assumed that it was likely going to be another research mission - go out into Hell with soldiers, come back with a few samples, test on them, routine work like that.

She had heard about the documentary, but, of course, she had ignored it. That was just a publicity stunt. Nothing serious about it. They'd probably throw a few good-looking scientists on a crew with some soldiers and go into the charted and safe (relatively) areas of Hell, grab some footage, pretend like the ISSR was capable of defending humanity from Hell, and then go directly back to the base. They wouldn't waste any serious researchers on it.

She looked down at the assignment paper again.

Apparently, she wasn't a serious researcher. Her project on orc regenerative abilities, was, apparently, second to a documentary. Inwardly, she raged, because this was ridiculous, and she shouldn't have been assigned to this, but, outwardly, she remained calm, turned around, and headed directly back to the room.

She opened the door again and walked in, and sat down next to some guy with a camera. He seemed to be a bit preoccupied with filming. She was tempted to perhaps rummage around in his mind a bit, but, if he was down here, with the ISSR, he'd likely be able to detect that. And, really, when people knew you were running around in their mind, with all their secrets, memories, thoughts, desires, and dreams...

That probably explained why she was here, assigned to this, to be quite honest. She looked around at the other occupants of the room. There was Sanchez - she recognized him. There were also two other soldiers - she didn't recognize them, because there were way too many soldiers at this place to remember every single one. There were two other people - some woman in a ridiculously absurd outfit for this place - this was Hell, and some other girl, possibly a year younger than her. They were probably from the news. Perhaps she could probe them.

Closing her eyes, she extended a probe out towards their souls, through the ether. Pysking is a confusing ability, and it's hard to explain it properly, but, here, simple explanation: magic. It's like the mind-stuff in Eragon.

She tried being careful - it was easy to force your way into other people's minds, but that was easily-detectable. She learned that the hard way. Trying to be as non-invasive as possible, she tried snatching a few thoughts from the girl's mind. If she did it right, the girl would merely think that she was randomly flashbacking or something like that - an odd, but utterly forgettable few seconds. Mary didn't dare to go deep, into secrets and things like that - she just looked for simple information. The girl's name was Jade, she was from Elfen High, she seemed slightly troubled - but, really, all people were at least a bit - and she was here for the documentary, of course. Mary withdrew, slightly uninterested. Going for basic information was dull. Quite dull. She wanted to probe Jade further, because that was much more interesting, but, really, that never went over well, and it was always slightly disturbing, to say the least.

She looked at Gopher.

"Do you have any idea when we're going?" she asked, slightly annoyed. She hated asking people things. It would be much easier to invade his privacy and find the information she wanted inside his mind, but, one, that wasn't polite, two, that wasn't professional, and, three, people tended to react violently when she did that.

[Zarkenis Ultima]

Erik had been poking the camera of cameraman 2, miraclously not touching any buttons that would fuck something up, when he spoke. Erik nodded at him. "Good. Person who..." He began, but was cut short when his nose caught a rather unpleasant scent. He quickly moved away from cameraman 2, pinching his nose to keep the smell away.

When Gopher addressed him, though, Erik frowned, and crossed his arms. "I am no dog-man! I am a man-man!" He said, quite obviously annoyed by Gopher's comment. "My name is not Fido. My name is Erik. Fucker. That is English, by the road." He said.

[Nationstatelandsville]

Mary entered the lobby, opening the door and looking inside.

"Sorry. Wrong room." she said quietly, and then she closed the door again.

She looked back down at the assignment.

"That can't be right."

She opened the door again.

Then she closed it.

"No. They didn't assign me to this." she said to herself, turning away and storming back towards the research areas, storming visibly. This was nonsensical. When they told her she was going to be working on "a team", and that it was going to be "high-priority", she assumed that it was likely going to be another research mission - go out into Hell with soldiers, come back with a few samples, test on them, routine work like that.

She had heard about the documentary, but, of course, she had ignored it. That was just a publicity stunt. Nothing serious about it. They'd probably throw a few good-looking scientists on a crew with some soldiers and go into the charted and safe (relatively) areas of Hell, grab some footage, pretend like the ISSR was capable of defending humanity from Hell, and then go directly back to the base. They wouldn't waste any serious researchers on it.

She looked down at the assignment paper again.

Apparently, she wasn't a serious researcher. Her project on orc regenerative abilities, was, apparently, second to a documentary. Inwardly, she raged, because this was ridiculous, and she shouldn't have been assigned to this, but, outwardly, she remained calm, turned around, and headed directly back to the room.

She opened the door again and walked in, and sat down next to some guy with a camera. He seemed to be a bit preoccupied with filming. She was tempted to perhaps rummage around in his mind a bit, but, if he was down here, with the ISSR, he'd likely be able to detect that. And, really, when people knew you were running around in their mind, with all their secrets, memories, thoughts, desires, and dreams...

That probably explained why she was here, assigned to this, to be quite honest. She looked around at the other occupants of the room. There was Sanchez - she recognized him. There were also two other soldiers - she didn't recognize them, because there were way too many soldiers at this place to remember every single one. There were two other people - some woman in a ridiculously absurd outfit for this place - this was Hell, and some other girl, possibly a year younger than her. They were probably from the news. Perhaps she could probe them.

Closing her eyes, she extended a probe out towards their souls, through the ether. Pysking is a confusing ability, and it's hard to explain it properly, but, here, simple explanation: magic. It's like the mind-stuff in Eragon.

She tried being careful - it was easy to force your way into other people's minds, but that was easily-detectable. She learned that the hard way. Trying to be as non-invasive as possible, she tried snatching a few thoughts from the girl's mind. If she did it right, the girl would merely think that she was randomly flashbacking or something like that - an odd, but utterly forgettable few seconds. Mary didn't dare to go deep, into secrets and things like that - she just looked for simple information. The girl's name was Jade, she was from Elfen High, she seemed slightly troubled - but, really, all people were at least a bit - and she was here for the documentary, of course. Mary withdrew, slightly uninterested. Going for basic information was dull. Quite dull. She wanted to probe Jade further, because that was much more interesting, but, really, that never went over well, and it was always slightly disturbing, to say the least.

She looked at Gopher.

"Do you have any idea when we're going?" she asked, slightly annoyed. She hated asking people things. It would be much easier to invade his privacy and find the information she wanted inside his mind, but, one, that wasn't polite, two, that wasn't professional, and, three, people tended to react violently when she did that.

"Hell," Gopher replied simply, though Mary gleaned more information from the finger he was giving her.

Erik had been poking the camera of cameraman 2, miraclously not touching any buttons that would fuck something up, when he spoke. Erik nodded at him. "Good. Person who..." He began, but was cut short when his nose caught a rather unpleasant scent. He quickly moved away from cameraman 2, pinching his nose to keep the smell away.

When Gopher addressed him, though, Erik frowned, and crossed his arms. "I am no dog-man! I am a man-man!" He said, quite obviously annoyed by Gopher's comment. "My name is not Fido. My name is Erik. Fucker. That is English, by the road." He said.

A finger which quickly changed its attention to Erik.

"Yeah, whatever, lady," Gopher said offhandedly, "I really don't care. Quit yapping and sit down somewhere. We'll get to you all in due time."