QCS Interval 1: Thunderhead

[United human countries]

OOC: Sign up thread here - http://forum.nationstates.net/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=28077

IC:

We live in a world ruled by machines. Artificial intelligences work our hospitals. Machines perform our menial labors. Androis hush our children in hallowed school halls. Nanites swim in the elderly, the infirm, the soldiers, the young. In this world, a slight error in code could cause our hospitals to burn, our mechanical servants to turn on us, our children slaughtered by their very instructors, our bodies, eaten from the inside out by millions of microscopic machines. But here, as always, our greatest enemy is humanity itself. Through it's cunninc, that slight error becomes intentional, nano machines swarm the body, the dead rise. In this world, this very nightmare is becoming a reality.

January 7th, 2012

"Deck officer!" A muffled shout through the rain. "Deck of-" A shape looms through the blurred landscape. "Sir?" A voice queries. "Have the new recrouts routed directly to briefing. No delays at all. Understood?" "Sir." The voice answered.

OOC: Just post your intro here.

[Ruthless Slaughter]

Captain Michael Hawkins was leaning against a bulkhead, the open hatch revealing the rain-washed deck beyond. Reaching into the chest pocket of his black fatigue jacket, he pulled out a cigar and cutter. Cutting the tip and exchanging the cutter for a lighter, he puffed thoughtfully away as he stared into the darkness beyond the door. The uniform was totally unmarked, as per standard procedure with Dominion Black Operatives. They had no country of origin, no rank, history, no existence. All he had to denote identity were his transfer order and his dog tag from the Dominion Defense Forces.

He had a basic gear loadout, as he was instructed not to bring his typical body armor. As it was, he had his DM-33 slung over his shoulder

As well as his Dominion Service Pistol

He had plenty of extra magazines and tons of ammunition, as the rounds used by his weapons were not the normal 5.56 and 9 mm, but 6.5 Grendel and .40 caliber ammunition. He had yet to meet his new squad-mates yet, and was still slightly bitter about his new posting. He was a recent inductee to the Dominion Intelligence Ministry's secretive right hand, and had wanted to engage in something more...conventionally unconventional. Typical infiltration operations, or even assassination. His new duty sounded more like janitorial work.

"Quarantine and Containment?" he muttered to himself, "Sounds like secretively killing off infected individuals to prevent a virus from spreading. Desperation if you ask me, and all kinds of Geneva violations to boot. I didn't sign on to join a death squad."

He dropped the cigar butt to the ground and crushed it out underneath his boot. Blowing out the last of the smoke, he made his way belowdecks, only to be intercepted by a deck officer directing him to the briefing room. Shrugging, he changed direction and found his way over.

[United human countries]

"So, you're the first to show." A wisened soldier with wispy gray hair was seated behind the lone desk in the sparse briefing room. "Now, let me ask you. Do you have an qualms about killing unarmed, yet infected civilians?"

[Ruthless Slaughter]

Mick raised an eyebrow, "Killing unarmed civilians I do have a problem with, depending on the situation. With all due respect, I'm used to dealing with secrecy, but I'm not usually on this end of it. What type of infection are we talking about that would require me to wear gear that you've issued and would be dire enough to entail killing innocent people?"

[United human countries]

"Let's put it this way. They'll eat you alive. And shooting center mass isn't a good idea. Between having that nightmare, or having a clean corpse, what would you pick?

[Ruthless Slaughter]

"I've been in the business too long to question the literal meaning behind that, and I wouldn't be here if it wasn't serious," Hawkins regarded the soldier across from him, "Sounds like it's going to be one big ball of fun. Count me in."

[United human countries]

"Take it literally. It's the only thing standing between you and a well chewed corpse."

[Ruthless Slaughter]

The Black Operative nodded and extended his hand, "Captain Michael Hawkins. My affiliation is unimportant though I'm sure you have a good idea. No center of mass huh? Headshots, then, if it's shoot to kill. Some infection."

[United human countries]

"Colonel William Lawrence, late field and base commander of the Stryker Island facility. I won't be leading you in containment, my second in command, First Lieutenant Harrison will." Colonel Lawrence cleared his throat. "Keep the First Lieutenant bit quiet. He doesn't know yet."

[Ruthless Slaughter]

A smile crept across Mick's face, "When it comes to keeping things quiet, you have the right man for the job. Stryker Island will be our base of operations, then? I look forward to seeing it."

[United human countries]

"You won't see it until after this mission. For now, your home base is the UNS Formidable. Terrible name for a ship, but, it's all we were allotted."

[Ruthless Slaughter]

"All we were allotted? Then I'm to understand we're not a priority project," Mick asked, "Not that it bothers me particularly, and I'm sure resources are thin in the Union just like the-my home country, but how big a threat does the military view this outbreak?"

[United human countries]

"Well, we were considered a back water. Just this side of penal battalion, at least, when I got here it was. But, now that outbreaks are occurring with a frightening frequency and size..the budget is up for debate in the Union. It'll make the voting floor in six or seven months."

[Ruthless Slaughter]

"I'm sure it'll be explained in the briefing. We've been hearing rumblings about it back home," Mick looked the Colonel square in the eye, "But tell me sir, just how bad is it?"

[United human countries]

"This one, pretty bad. Wiped out an entire city of several.." Colonel Lawrence swept through papers. "Twenty two thousand. Clean off the map. Our job for this, just to inform you, is to pop in, rescue a small group of survivors, then get out before the place is carpet bombed."

[New Azura]

In the dream, he was never fast enough.

Scout Sergeant Mordecai Praxiteles, the pride of the Azuran intelligence community, stood aimlessly upon the rain-soaked deck, rubbing at his eyes. A man that could sleep leaning against a wall was a man prepared for anything, after all. A chill clung to his bones in the soaking rain, though it had never bothered him much before. The man that everyone had wanted to call Mighty Mouse had done his fair share of time at Celeste Island during the S.R.S. SURVIVE Program, not to mention a taste of Hell through the ELITE Program's gauntlet. A cold rain was Fillet Mignon by comparison. Yet for all that training, what had it gotten him in the long run? Although he'd made a career out of inventing new ways of ending lives in secretive fashion, all the merits of knife play meant little in the end. A knife did nothing against dreams.

Or nightmares...

This was true. Every time "Prax" had let his eyes close for more than five minutes, his mind kept racing to the same sorry scenario.

Everyone faceless, staring at me. A loaded gun in my hand... I'm firing, how am I firing... one man goes down, then another... three down, four down, but I'm out... I'm running, yet they don't fire. Why do they chase me... No door... No hope...

The nightmare had been occurring for awhile, but it wouldn't effect much in the long run. He'd managed to perform his tasks with distinction while he'd had worse spells. Discipline, that was the trick. If you convince your mind that dreams mean little to your mental acuity, your actions wont suffer as a result.

"No time like the present, eh Mordecai?" The question was rhetorical, of course. He didn't enjoy the job, but he was good at it. Taking another life had only bothered him the first time he'd had to do it. After that, the only feeling he'd felt was the recoil of the rifle. Once you've been accosted with the Mark of Cain, you can either lambaste one's self in loathing pity, or you can dust your shoulder off and embrace the warrior. Though God surely waxed sore displeased with him, it was a price that Mordecai Praxiteles would pay for his country. Once his service was finished, Mordecai would have the rest of his life to answer for his sins.

In all actuality, it was the thought of having a long and distinguished life following his service that often troubled Mordecai more than dreams or notions of meeting his maker had. Being a career tactician in the Azuran S.R.S. Corps was hardly a fast track to political greatness. Though Prax held no real political aspirations per se, having options after his career wound down would be helpful. Of course, managing to survive in the world's most dangerous occupation for twenty-five years would be a good start at enjoying the fruits of a long and semi-healthy life, but still...

Mordecai checked his watch, sighing; his thoughts had already begun to bore him. The small hand on his water-proof Weiss-model watch bore out "9:25" in the evening, more than thirty-five minutes before his appointed arrival. Punctuality was one thing; scoping everything out before things start happening is something else entirely. In this line of work, one needs to be sure to be fast, silent, and prudent. Having plenty of ammunition can occasionally render itself as a value, too.

Luckily, firepower was something he enjoyed on this particular assignment, whatever that assignment ended up being, exactly. The regimental command had offered him carte blanche in terms of weaponry and materiel, though food, they'd said, would not be an issue. Mordecai had opted for a helicopter's worth of weaponry and equipment, taking full advantage of the loose terms of his "employment". Mordecai had selected a few items from the Azuran Military's "official" catalog of weaponry: the FG-20 Sub-Machine Gun, the FG-22 Military Carbine, and the FG-07 Military 9mm Pistol, all stocked with various operational attachments and ammunition out the yin-yang. Though he figured such precautions wouldn't be necessary, it never hurt to display one's preparedness. Several boxes of HG-01 Frag Grenades had also been shipped, along with his baby: the FG-27A .50 Caliber Rifle. The incendiary-round spewing sniper had become a soldier's wet dream back in Basic, and was the weapon of choice used amongst Sniper Corpsmen. The military, in its infinite generosity, had also been kind enough to ship a state-of-the-art ELITE Combat Armor Suit, employing the latest liquid metal body armor designs to ensure that each individual soldier was capable of annihilating an entire platoon before needing to take cover.

Of course, that was what the military was aware he had. In secret, as he always did, Mordecai had brought along a few goodies from his personal collection, including a Kudzai-Lao Kitana for silent butchering and a stocked .357 Magnum Revolver for not-so-silent butchering. The HK416 Assault Rifle was a mere-formality; he hadn't got a chance to use the pride of the Britannic Army yet, though he'd heard it was more than capable of handling its own in the field.

Such firepower, and nary a reason or rationale for it. Mordecai wondered, and not for the first time, why such an arsenal of weaponry was being called upon for "any" assignment advocating the usage of Special Forces, let alone one as secretive as the one at hand. Surely, Mordecai thought to himself, that something more troublesome than terrorists lied in wait. But no, it was of no concern. He was a professional, and he would do the job with whatever toys were handy.

Unless bloodthirsty monsters were rampaging about, he had the situation under control...

[United human countries]

OOC: New Azura, in order to prevent god-modding...I'm gonna have to strip you of that fancy liquid armor suit. Official reasoning being QCS members wear the same armor, always.

[New Azura]

OOC: New Azura, in order to prevent god-modding...I'm gonna have to strip you of that fancy liquid armor suit. Official reasoning being QCS members wear the same armor, always.

OOC: That's fine. The liquid-metal armor is actually a RL design, and not the T-1000 of Terminator 2. I could send info on it if you ever want to upgrade

[Ruthless Slaughter]

"This one, pretty bad. Wiped out an entire city of several.." Colonel Lawrence swept through papers. "Twenty two thousand. Clean off the map. Our job for this, just to inform you, is to pop in, rescue a small group of survivors, then get out before the place is carpet bombed."

The Captain nodded, is expression becoming grave, "I was told not to bring my normal clothing and equipment loadout. Whatever this virus is, we have suitable protection from it being easily transmitted to us, right? I mean, we've confirmed it's not air or waterborne, right?"

[United human countries]

OOC: I know what it is, I think. Kind of a spray on thing that hardens when bullets impact it. Got Kinetic gel for my boys, slows the velocity of rounds as much as it can.

IC:

"It's transmitted by bodily fluids only. As for protection, well, not much beyond Kevlar coverings on the arms. We're going for mobility. And public funding."

[Ruthless Slaughter]

"Of course," the smile was back, "After all, it's hard for the taxpayers to want to fund something we try to keep from them. If it's fluidborne then I see little risk of exposure while engaging at range. All the same, I'll hold my other questions until after the briefing. A pleasure to join to your team, Colonel."

[Sylvonia]

OOC: EDITING SOON.

[United human countries]

OOC: Syl..you're on a boat.

[Sylvonia]

OOC: Fixed.

IC: Tobias was not exactly the person to relax on his vacation. He was one of those people that always needed busy work or would go insane. As such, he volunteered his services when he found out of some kind of infection breaking out in the Union. Sure they were an "enemy" nation, but Tobias ignored such political descriptions when humanity needed help. Despite his usually grouchy demeanor, Tobias really did believe that when help was needed, it should be given. His commanding officers however were not so approving. He had been allowed to bring only his standard issue 9mm handgun and a stash of ammo with to the Union. Civilian clothes, although slightly more comfortable than his military uniform, did not seem to suit him well and he felt out of place in them. He was half assuming, half hoping, that the QCS folks would provide him with arms and armor.

Upon leaving the airport with his single bag he rented a non-descript, domestic-to-the-union but still comfortable sedan which he used to travel within the Union. He spent the first couple days doing the typical tourist thing to unwind, seeing various landmarks before reporting for duty. It was one of those mandatory things the military required, to at least attempt to relax when given time. When he was through with that, he followed the directions he was given, he ended up on a ship soon enough, the car safely returned to the rental company. And then he was given the orders to report for briefing, which he did so without question, and waited patiently to be addressed.

[Heaven Hieghts]

A rather small guy who looked to be more of a boy than a man approached quietly. His boots making almost no sound. On the contrary of looking rather weak he was actually more than physically able, and reasonably good shot as well. He had to be, being the one who spear-headed the Rhosian Guard when it was of its prime Well, he supposed they still were, just running under a different name having decided to turn to the side of liberation at the time of the Revolt. Now they were led by Conlan Zar Hayse, a man more than capable of keeping them in line. He hoped well for him, knowing that perhaps Conlan would serve as a better general than he. Hayse however had said the exact opposite of that and said that if Florian wanted his place back as First he'd willingly give it.

He approached the two men, having been directed there. Stepping into view he said in a rather thick accent but not so much that they would be unable to understand him. "Excuse me Sirs? This is where the new recruits are to be briefed? Oh, excuse me for introducing myself." He held out his hand to the Colonel first. "Florian Fascienne. Former First General of the Currousian Armed Forces."