The PGIA Hostage Situation (TWI ONLY | CLOSED)

[Atnaia]

OOC Found Here

The Port Gray International Airport Hostage Situation

August 31 2016
04:30
Port Gray International Airport Terminal C

"Do they have a Cinnabon at this terminal?"

Gozzer looked up from what he was doing. "What?"

"Do they have a Cinnabon at this terminal?" Baby Face repeated. "There's one over at Terminal A, but I can't remember if there is one here."

Gozzer blinked at the man. "Seriously?"

"I mean, I figure we'll get hungry, right?" Baby Face said. "So if there's a Cinnabon, we could get one of them to make us stuff..."

"You're a goddamn piece of work, man," said Oni from the other side of the supply cupboard. He was tugging a duffel bag out from behind a pile of paint cans and unzipping it. He tossed Gozzer a WWII-style gas mask painted with yellow stripes. "There's no Cinnabon, but there's a Starbucks."

Baby Face frowned. "Don't like it. Nasty coffee anyways."

"Be quiet," Gozzer said. He slipped his mask on over his scarred face and threw on his yellow rainslicker. "Effectively immediately, we're working. We'll cross the food bridge when we get to it."

Baby Face sighed. "It's just called foresight, Goz."

"It's called annoying," Oni said. He pulled on his samurai-style half-mask. He loaded his AK with a click.

Gozzer slipped a Bluetooth headset over his ear and clicked it on, then dialed out from his phone.

"Hello?" came the reply.

"You lot ready over there?"

"Clear," came the reply. "So are the other teams."

"Good," Gozzer said. He glanced at Baby Face and Oni. "We're clear. Let's go. And remember, no English."

The others nodded. They turned, flicked the safeties off on their weapons. Gozzer gripped the handle of the door, counted to three, and burst out.

"Get the hell down!" he yelled, spraying fire upwards. People nearby started screaming. Oni and Baby Face popped out, targeted security, and fired.

At several other points around the terminal, other groups of masked men were bursting out of doors and screaming in Atish, directing people back towards the center of the terminal. There weren't many this early in the morning: a few early morning arrivals, a few waiting for flights, groggy morning workers and caffeine powered security guards. An alarm started blaring, but the masked men were already firing at security.

Hostages were hustled backwards as alarm claxons blared. This had all been planned, and the masked men were already covering every entrance. As more unprepared security swarmed in, they were either shot down or disarmed and added to the hostages who were still gripped in the sheep-like panic of the situation.

It took less than ten minutes of orchestrated terror for the SOAR hostage-takers to shepherd the some fifty or so hostages towards a clear area of the terminal, set aside for this purpose in their plans. Free of open sight lines and relatively contained, the area would act as their holding and staging area.

Gozzer climbed up on a counter as the people were forced down by the twenty or so terrorists. "Good morning, Port Gray. We are here as representatives of SOAR, and you will be our collateral for the moment. Do not do anything stupid or heroic. The large duffel bag being carried by my associates into your midst contains an explosive device. Do anything stupid as a group, and we detonate it. Do anything stupid individually and we shoot you. If you would all please hold out your hands with any communications devices, a few of my friends will be coming around to collect them and ensure that you are all comfortably but securely contained. If you are all smart, this will be over soon and only a few of you will be dead. If you are stupid, you will all be dead. I recommend using some game theory in your decision making. Thank you."

There was a moment of hush, with only the alarm claxons sounding. A few of Gozzer's men were clsoing doors and barricading them, while a few others were going around with ziploc bags collecting cellphones and tablets and ripping away laptop bags, while another was taking plastic zipties and restraining the hands of the hostages.

Gozzer hopped down from his perch. Suddenly, a hostage in a business suit darted forward, making a dash for an emergency exit door. Gozzer sighed, drew his sidearm and fired. The bullet slammed through the back of the man's thigh and the bussinessman fell forward and slid several feet across the textureless airport carpetting. Gozzer walked forward, put his foot up on the man's back and glanced down.

"What did I just finish saying?" he said, and pulled his trigger again. The man's body was added to the count.

By the time police and security could organize, the SOAR terrorists had already secured the area and set up a perimeter. Most were ex-military, and had a knack for this sort of thing, and the police knew that storming the place would go bad. And so a hostage situation began...

[Atnaia]

"Jesus Tapdancing Christ," Detective Jane Peterborough said. "This type of shit always ALWAYS comes at the end of a contract period, doesn't it?"

"How long do you have left on your current contract again?" asked Nero Little, the other detective on the scene. The pair of them were on friendly terms, but weren't exactly friends. They had contracts at different departments, drank at different cop bars, had different circles of cop friends. Their precincts were close enough together that they sometimes ran into each other during cases or at holiday parties. This wasn't the first time they had worked together, but it had been awhile.

"This precinct was a six month contract, short-term until I could get moved over to Hastings or New Stratford on a long-term draw," Jane replied. "I have a month left."

"Ah," Nero replied. "Tough luck, pulling a hostage case."

"Whatever, I'm not the only one," Jane said. "How many cops you think we have around here right now?"

"Couple dozen?" Nero said.

"Yeah," Jane sipped her coffee. "We get eyes on them yet?"

"Only through binoculars," Nero replied. "Whoever the hell these guys are, they're professionals. Managed to cut the interior video feeds, plus the back-ups."

"Shit," said Jane. Then she leveled a look at Nero. "You know who we're dealing with, right?"

"Until they establish communication and accept responsibility, we can't assume diddly," Nero replied.

"Can we get boots on the ground in there?"

Nero squirmed. "Actually, we can't do anything other than surround the place."

"Afraid for the hostages?"

"Afraid of LISA. This isn't our jurisdiction. It's an airport. That means its a LISA case."

"Fuck jurisdiction," Jane replied. "We've got people in there."

"And they'll be shot or worse if we screw it up, and then its our butts on the line," Nero replied. "Either way, I'd rather some LISA G-Man take the bullet if this all goes bottom-to-top."

Jane sighed. "Yeah, you got a point. That means we wait 'em out until LISA gets here..."

As if on cue, a pair of black vans pulled through the media lines to the police base that was being set up on the tarmac. The LISA sigil was emblazoned in silver on the sliding doors, and the people who got out wore black peacoats or windbreakers and yellow armbands marking them as LISA agents. One of them, a tall man with dark hair and a stoic expression, approached as the others began fading into the police lines and giving orders.

"Morning," he said, holding out a leather-gloved hand. "Agent Root. I've been assigned to oversee the situation. What do we have?"

Jane glanced at Nero and they shared a moment of the natural unity of distrust cops, especially Stone Wallers, had for government suits like this LISA guy. Then she shook his hand with little enthusiasm and answered. "Jane Peterborough. Detective Littler here was first investigator on the scene."

Nero glanced over at Terminal C. "We've got 20 masked men, maybe 50 hostages...hard to see, they've limited sightlines. We've got reason to believe that they may have some form of explosive as well, we can't be sure."

"Have they attempted contact?" asked Root.

"Not yet."

Root frowned. "Cut power to the terminal. We need to shut the airport down and divert flight traffic to Harbour Mills. And we need eyes and communication with the terrorists."

"We're calling them terrorists?" asked Jane.

"For simplicity," Root replied. "We have to assume this is SOAR until proven otherwise."

[Ostehaar]

Fuck! William thought to himself, as he realized he had left his backpack with Sara near the departure gate. The puncturing sound of gunfire echoed into the restroom he was in and caused him to instinctively crouch down and look for a door.

He had only mere seconds to think about his actions. Should he head outside and "join" the rest of the flock in their ritual of screaming and perhaps dying? What about Sara - how did she react to the first burst of bullets, and was it directed at her? Would she even want him to join her in suffering or would she rather allow him the chance of escape by staying put? He couldn't stop the images in his head, and for a second which felt like an hour he imagined how Sara was getting shot right through the chest, uttering "run away, Will, save yourself..."

He coughed a downward blow of air from his lungs as he forced himself to disengage from the floor and run senselessly as fast has he could into a side service cupboard. Knowing the sound wouldn't be different than that of far away gunfire, he slammed the door as hard as he could, hoping to lock himself inside. A pile of brooms fell on him as he did and blocked the door, pushing him backwards and dropping him to the floor. He spat out a sigh of pain as the back of his head hit the back wall of the small chamber, and the world enfolded around him in a dark blanket until he lost consciousness completely.

A few dozens of meters from there, still holding Will's backpack, Sara fell in line with the other hostages. She knew he went to the restroom, but had no idea if the terrorists searched there or not. She had no idea if he was dead or alive.

[Athara Magarat]

Light of the world, I am at your mercy. Here I am to worship, here I am bow down. Here I am to say that, you are my lord...Here I am to pray to you...

The prayers seemed to never reach Baln. Smriti Praja was one of the hostages in the terminal. She was surprised, like most other people around her, to know that SOAR had taken them as hostages to demand whatever they wanted with the Atish government. Holy Father, please save these innocent souls who are on the mouth of death. Please forgive the sins of these people who are taking the wrong path.

She was the sort of nurse who would always pray to her lord for every patient's health. Right since the age of ten, she had felt herself to be in contact with the lord. She was a member of the Chepangic Church of Athara Magarat, who believed that Baln was a divine figure not a mortal who had preached food things.

As the guns were pointed to them, the hostages screamed and the terrorists said something in Atish every once in a while. Lord, what can I do? What else can I do than pray to you? She clutched the Book of Baln in her hands and whispered slowly. "God, lend me your strength..."

[Atnaia]

"We got 'em all bound, Goz," said Bugs, her voice half-muffled behind her happy rabbit mask.

Gozzer sighed and pointed at his bluetooth headset. "Headsets, please. These masks make us all sound like we are underwater."

Bugs started at the realization that her headset was off and quickly pressed the button on its side.

"That better?" she asked, he voice coming in clear through the bud in Gozzer's ear.

"Better," he said. He glanced around. "How many do we have?"

"Forty-six," replied Mr. Red. He was uncreatively wearing a red balaclava.

"It'll do," Gozzer replied. He pointed at Mr. Green (in his green balaclava) and Koko (in his gorilla mask). "You two sweep the businesses. Ninja, Jason, you take closets and cupboards and stuff."

He turned to Beelzebub, who was pulling recording devices out of a duffel bag. His smiling pig mask and shapeless coveralls made him look fat, which was funny to Gozzer. Underneath all that, Beelzebub was a grass-thin waif of a woman.

"How long until we can shoot out a broadcast?"

"Ten minutes, tops," Beelz replied. Gozzer nodded and looked at Batman, again getting the thought that the man was an idiot. "Have they tried to make contact?"

Batman lowered his binoculars.. "They've got scopes on us but are afraid to pull the triggers unless we set off the bomb or start killing hostages or something. They've got Men in Black out there, I bet you. Saw a van pull up. Anyways, looks like they're grabbing a megaphone..."

---

Agent Root held the megaphone up to his mouth in one of his leather-gloved hand. In the other was a script, prepared by some LISA negotiator. Jane leaned on the hood of a black, white and blue Stone Wall cruiser as the agent carefully enunciated his words.

"Individuals inside of Terminal C," he read. "My name is Agent Root of LISA. This doesn't have to go bad. Explain to us your demands and we will do our best to be amenable to them..."

[Athara Magarat]

LISA? Negotiators? Smriti thanked her lord for listening to her prayers. She didn't knew what LISA was but she knew that it was a talk of negotiations when she heard the words "explain to us your demands..."

I wonder what these masked men will do? Smriti looked, as well as a few other hostages, patiently at the armed men who just had received calls for negotiations. She whispered in a soft low voice that nobody wold hear. And add to that the language she was speaking was the Chepang language, a language rarely heard even in Athara Magarat. "I hope the negotiations become successful. Lord, we are at your mercy. Please make these negotiations successful."

[Atnaia]

Gozzer heard the negotiators and could see a visible ripple of hope in the hostages he frowned behind his mask. Beelzebub gave him a thumbs up. "We're ready," she said.

Gozzer walked over and stood in front of the camera Beelz had set up. They had hooked into the airport wifi and were streaming the video online, and were also recording a copy to upload and send to news stations. Gozzer made sure his weapons were visible, as were the hostages and the bomb.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen," he began. Beelz held up a finger.

"I still have to hit record, Goz," she said.

"Baln's balls," he murmured. "Come on then."

Beelz fumbled about and a moment later held up a thumb. "We're good."

"Alright then. Good morning, ladies and gentlemen," Goz said, his voice half-muffled by his gas mask. "I am here in Terminal C of the Port Gray International Airport. Behind me, you will see forty-six hostages and a very large explosive device. That should be enough to grab your attention.

"I am here as a representative of SOAR. We have taken these fair individuals hostage with the purpose of offering an ultimatum. Said ultimatum is simple. Nations of the world take note. You will immediately cease diplomatic endeavours with the corrupt so-called government of Atnaia until such a time as they reveal Prince Henry and hold him for trial, or these individuals will die. Since the end of the Crisis, the Hegemonic Quorum has claimed they have been holding Prince Henry in a safe location pending trial, but have not allowed him to make any public appearances, nor have arrangements been made for his trial. While the Quorum stands as a vile edifice of the ego of a single man, Prince Henry stands as a symbol of the bourgeois, aristocratic fist of the old ways, and until he has been properly punished for his corruption, the taint of aristocracy will nto eb washed away and the rise of a true state of the people, controlled by the people and their vote through purchase cannot begin.

"In addition to this demand, we also want the attached list of twenty-eight individuals released from debtors' camp facilities around Atnaia and provided transportation to non-extraditing countries. We also ask for our own immunity and similar transport out of the country once our demands have been met.

"There will be no negotiation. We will execute prisoners, and if anyone attempts to enter this terminal, we will detonate our bomb. And to prove we are serious..."

Gozzer drew his handgun, wheeled suddenly and pulled the trigger. A hostage, a young man in a ruffled business suit managed to get his zip-tied hands up to defend himself, but the bullet passed through them like butter and exploded into his head, pinwheeling the hostage away and driving him to the ground in a pool of his own blood, which began to soak into the pants of the nearest other hostages. They began to scream. Gozzer turned back to the camera.

"We await the swift response of the international community and the Atnaian government."

[Atnaia]

Jane watched the message on her tiny cellphone screen. Root was off near the LISA van, watching the same message with a furrowed brow. As it came to a close, Jane tucked the phone in her pocket and sighed. Root slammed his fist on the hood of the van.

"Jesus Christ," he said. "Jesus goddamn motherfucking tapdancing Christ. They're serious. They're really fucking serious."

Jane bit her lip. She didn't know what the play here was. Hell, she didn't know if there was a play. What the terrorists were demanding was impossible. She knew her government, and she knew that they weren't about to give up Prince Henry. Whatever hole they had buried him in was deep, and they weren't about to go digging him up. Wessich would want the bastard to rot. She didn't blame him, the Prince had tried to have Wessich killed.

Root calmed himself and the rage fell from his face. Jane leaned against the hood of her car and looked at Nero. He shrugged. Root seemed to be calculating something in his head.

"What's our move?" Jane finally asked.

"They're willing to kill hostages," Root said. "And I don't doubt that is a real bomb. God knows its payload. If we go in half-cocked they could blow us all up."

"I doubt its nuclear," Nero said.

"Assume the worst until you have proof of the best," Root said. "We don't know who is backing these guys. They could be sitting on anything from a firecracker to a Fat Man. We don't know."

"I really doubt its nuclear," Nero repeated, but left it at that. Jane was wont to agree with him, but also didn't want to lock horns with LISA. Not yet, at least. She had a month left on her contract to shoot herself in the foot.

Root paced. "If this goes tits up, we'll have an international incident. We'll be blamed for the deaths of all those people, half of whom are foreign nationals."

"Who'll be blamed? Stone Wall?" Jane asked. "LISA?"

"Atnaia," Root growled. "The Quorum. Wessich. Our hegemony is at stake."

That was a bit high-minded for Jane, but not inaccurate. They needed to be careful, lest the blame for a disaster fall on them. Jane bit her lip.

"Wish we could get direct contact with them," Nero said.

Root frowned. "It's not like we have their cell phone numbers. We don't know who they are, and the signals we are getting are burners."

Jane's eyes went wide. "Can we ring through to any of the businesses in the terminal? They might answer!"

"What, call the Cinnabon?" Root asked.

"No Cinnabon in this terminal," Nero mumbled. "There is a Starbucks though."

"Doesn't matter," Jane waved a hand. "All we need is a line."

Root nodded. "Yeah. Yeah," he turned and waved over a uniform. "Get me a line to the Starbucks in that terminal."

[Vancouvia]

James Park was thirsty and the line at Starbucks was nonexistent. Not much of a coffee drinker, but wiling to get his hands on anything that would wake him up for his 5:30 flight back to Vancouvia, he awkwardly charged over to the lone employee and ordered a iced coffee.

"Extra ice, too, please, if you don't mind," he called after the barista after she had already turned to make it.

James rubbed his eyes and pulled out his phone. 4:29. But it was worth it, seeing the sights and sounds of the Atnaian capital. It was one of the hallmarks of his gap year so far. He enjoyed his brief three day visit so much that he had even considered applying for university in Atnaia instead of Yorkford.

"James!" shouted the barista as she finished his order and moved it towards the counter.

James looked around at the virtually empty hall and laughed to himself that she had even bothered to announce it.

"I think that's me," he laughed as he pulled out his wallet. The barista rolled her eyes. James was about to feel self-conscious when a loud series of bangs went off behind him. Instinctively, provocatively, he jumped the counter and grabbed the barista by the shoulder. "Shit!"

They rushed to the back of the store and the barista located a series of ground-level cabinets filled with coffee bags and cups. With the sound of gunfire still erupting, they together worked quickly at pushing them to one side and squeezing into the alcove. The close quarters was the last thing on their minds.

The barista had begun hyperventilating despite her relative calmness earlier. The darkness, the shock, the jolt from morning to survival -- all had stirred them both. Yet James smiled to himself when he realized he was still holding his coffee.

"Hi, I'm James," he whispered.

[Atnaia]

A phone rang. Somewhere, a phone rang. Gozzer frowned behind his mask and glanced around. "Where's that coming from?"

"Over here," yelled Harambe in his gorilla mask. "Starbucks phone. Must not have heard the news..."

"It's the negotiators," Gozzer said. "Get me the phone, if you would?"

Harambe moved over to the Starbucks, leaned over the counter so his rifle made scratching noises across the surface, and grabbed the receiver for the phone. He tossed it to Gozzer, who pressed a button and spoke.

"Hello, pigs," he said. "What enticement are you going to offer me?"

---

The barista panicked. "Oh god," she said. "Oh god."

"Hi, I'm James," whispered the guy in front of her.

She blinked at him. "What?"

Suddenly, the phone nearby rang. She glanced from the guy to the phone and back again. Around the corner, she saw an arm snake over the counter and snatch the receiver. Her eyes went wide. She felt like screaming.

[Vancouvia]

James nearly dropped his coffee when he heard the nearby ringing. Suddenly grown serious, he put his finger to his lips to convey that they needed to be quiet, then kicked himself when he realized that the barista probably already knew that.

James couldn't understand what they were saying. His bilingual skills ended at English and Korean, but he figured the girl crammed against his feet would translate after.

He assessed his situation. With what little information he had, he assumed that either a robbery or shooting was taking place, but he couldn't be certain. Why an airport? Why in the brutal morning hours? He shivered and then held his head closer to the cabinet door, peeking through the tiniest cracks to see if he could get a view of them. His heart beat faster and faster until he realized he had to slow his breathing lest he give them away.

[Atnaia]

Gozzer held the phone up to his ear.

"Hello, agent," he spoke smoothly. "I assume this is an agent and not a confused customer looking to complain about their low-fat, half-soy mocha frappacino, correct?"

The response took a moment. "Correct."

"Then I am sorry, agent," Gozzer said. "I think I made it rather explicit that I would not be negotiating. It is Pricne Henry or nothing. Freedom or nothing."

"You know I don't have the authority to do that," came the voice.

"Of course," replied Gozzer.

"Then let's work out something else so that those people don't have to die," the agent said. "My name is Root. The first thing I can offer you is a way out of there. You know how these things usually go, I can tell. Wouldn't a way out be so much better than the alternative?"

Gozzer strolled between the rows of hostages as he spoke, his eyes behind the mask searching their terrified faces. "I am not looking to 'get out', Agent Root. None of my men are looking to 'get out'. We signed on for the long haul, so to speak. This isn't about the demands. I am not here to negotiate. I am here to prove a point. And if the Prince is dragged into the light as a result...well, so much the better."

Gozzer stopped and looked at the face of a Magarati woman, then moved on. He stopped again at an older woman, in her late forties or early fifties. "What's the point of this all if you are just going to die?" asked Root.

"I've been here before, Agent Root," Gozzer said. He waved over Seabiscuit and had the horse-masked man drag the woman to her feet. "I've stood where you stand. They called me a hero. But why should we save them if they stand for nothing? They don't want heroes. They want martyrs. They want statues and ceremonies. I've given everything I can, and I only have one last thing to give."

"Your life?" Root asked.

Gozzer shifted the phone to the woman's ear. "Tell the nice man your name, please."

The woman stammered, so Gozzer put the barrel of his side arm up against her spine and pressed his body weight into her. He whispered in her ear like a lover. "Your name."

"Jane Winstead," she said through tears. "My name is Jane Winstead."

Gozzer pulled the trigger and the woman slumped to the ground. He put the phone back against his ear. "No negotiations, Agent Root. No negotiations."

He hung up.