talien
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Welcome to the Show: Part 9 – Satan’s Playroom
They were all assembled in an austere waiting room: Hank, Jake, Jim, Joe, and Kurt.
It had been a rough week for all of them. They exchanged stories, although each edited out the details of what had really happened. Hank had been put in an isolation tank, and was only removed after he started having lucid visions of aliens stabbing him in the forehead. Kurt was forced to answer inane questions with a hypodermic needle pointed at his neck, inching closer and closer each time he got an answer wrong to questions that had no right answer.
Satan’s Playroom, they discovered, was a lot more realistic than any of them had thought.
An old man entered, his features hollowed and his white hair was slicked back. He had a short white beard and a gray moustache. He was dressed all in black and walked with the assistance of a cane. He was easily in his seventies.
Jim squinted at him. “Are you…?”
“That’s right, creampuff,” the man replied with his distinctive Scottish accent. “I’m ex-PISCES. And ex-SAS. So don’t expect any special treatment from me!”
“Uh, who is that?” asked Hank.
“My name, you inquisitive little bastard, is Jonathan Drake.” The man’s steely eyes were threatening despite his advanced age.
“I thought you were in prison?” said Jim, incredulous. “Something about stealing microfilm.”
Drake smirked. “That was thirty years ago, and I was in prison for about five seconds, until Majestic-12 decided to put me to better use. And it’s a damn good thing too, because someone has to whip your puff asses into shape. For better or worse, I’m your case officer. So you’ll be reporting to me, and I’ll be reporting back up to the Company. And for your sake, you’d better do well, because what you do reflects on me. Do I make myself clear?”
They looked at each other and nodded.
“Good.” Drake pressed a button on his cane and an alcove opened against one wall. “Here are your weapons and gear. Get used to them, you’ll be using them in the field.”
They grabbed their gear and suited up.
“So what are we doing, exactly?” asked Jim.
“Surviving,” said Drake. “This is an exercise in restraint and control as much as combat ability. The object of this session is to overcome your opponents without getting seriously hurt. I will be monitoring you and providing some... additional challenges from the room’s systems. Begin!”
The entire wall on the far side of the room slowly lifted up. They stepped out into simulated sunlight.
The room was as huge as a football field. A waterfall ran down one side to form a small pool. A raised cliff formed of faux rock defined one corner of the room. Two towers stood in the center, along with trees, rocks, and scrub. There was the false sound of birds playing over and over in exactly the same pitch.
“So this is Satan’s Playroom,” said Kurt. He loaded his Glock. “Let’s do this.”
“Do what?” asked Jim. “Let’s all think about this for a moment, shall we? What exactly are we supposed to do here?”
“You heard the man,” said Jake. “Survive.”
“Survive WHAT, exactly?” asked Jim.
“Is this sort of a last one standing thing?” asked Joe.
Suddenly, a dome punctuated by five holes down its center rose up from the grassy floor. Fwoosh! One after another, the holes lensed open and closed, releasing slow moving rockets that circled the room.
“I recognize those!” shouted Hank. “They’re heat-seeking missiles! They’re slow but you can outwit them!”
They dove for cover as the missiles suddenly locked on to each of them.
Hank jogged over to the tower. He waited by it as his missile turned towards him.
At the last moment, Hank dodged to the side. The missile tried to follow and exploded on the side of the tower.
“Like that!” he panted.
“Well, you all have a good time dancing with rockets and such nonsense,” said Jim, clambering up the other tower. “If you don’t mind I’m going to wait up here until this ridiculousness is over.”
Jake and Joe dodged and weaved to try to avoid the rockets. They ran straight towards each other.
“Look out!” shouted Hank.
The big Native American smacked into the hefty arcane investigator with predictable results. Their only saving grace was that their collision separated them just long enough for their two missiles to collide where they were standing, hurling both men into the dirt.
Jake shook his head to clear the cobwebs.
“Are you all right?” asked Joe.
“I’m—“ but that was all Jake got out. A pit opened up beneath him. Jake windmilled for a second before falling in. The pit lensed shut.
Kurt stood his ground, firing shot after shot at the oncoming missile. He dodged sideways just as it closed within striking distance…
Only to have a huge metal cage slam down around him.
“Damn it!” shouted Kurt.
On top of the tower, Jim was having his own problems. Metal tentacles unfurled from the ceiling, grabbing at him. He nearly fell off the tower as his missile struck, leaving the tentacles a sparking mess. Jim slid down the tower’s ladder and made for Kurt.
“I really don’t think this is representative of battlefield conditions!” Jim shouted at the ceiling. “In fact, I think this is all rather ridiculous.”
Joe took a step forward to help Kurt and heard a click. He froze.
A roar of flames encircled him. The fiery jets formed a cage of sorts. The heat was such that he flinched, shrinking towards the center of the circle.
Hank made it as far as the edge of the cage. “I can’t lift it!” he shouted after a moment of straining.
“Get a lever!” Kurt shouted back. “Something sturdy!”
Hank made for the ladder lying on the ground near the tower. It had fallen off from the impact of the missile.
He returned a second later as Jim closed. “Jim, help me!”
Jim jogged forward and then suddenly had his legs cut out from beneath him, disappearing into the long grass.
That left Hank. He came around the other side of the cage and dug into the dirt with the ladder.
There was a shriek of metal as something heavy whistled towards Hank. He looked up just in time to see a bell-like weight slam into him, knocking him unconscious.
The flame jets around Joe shut off for just the briefest of moments. He counted the seconds. Screwing up his courage, he dove through as the jets turned back on…
They scorched his pants and he dove into the water. He made it!
Joe stood up. Kurt was gone; the cage had sunk into the floor. They were all gone.
Joe caught a glimpse of something in one of the twenty-foot high towers. The missile that was aiming for Hank had torn a hole in it. It looked like a…leg?
The thrumming of robotics whirring to life reached his ears. Joe swallowed hard as a massive robot lumbered out of the tower. One arm bristled with two snub-nosed machineguns. The other was one long rocket.
The robot stumped towards him. Joe drew his Glock, but it was pointless.
The robot loomed over him. Its shadow blocked out the faux sun above. It aimed the huge missile at Joe’s head.
“Congratulations,” Drake’s Scottish accent came from a speaker on the robot’s head. “The only idiot to pass the simulation is the voodoo contractor.”
They were all assembled in an austere waiting room: Hank, Jake, Jim, Joe, and Kurt.
It had been a rough week for all of them. They exchanged stories, although each edited out the details of what had really happened. Hank had been put in an isolation tank, and was only removed after he started having lucid visions of aliens stabbing him in the forehead. Kurt was forced to answer inane questions with a hypodermic needle pointed at his neck, inching closer and closer each time he got an answer wrong to questions that had no right answer.
Satan’s Playroom, they discovered, was a lot more realistic than any of them had thought.
An old man entered, his features hollowed and his white hair was slicked back. He had a short white beard and a gray moustache. He was dressed all in black and walked with the assistance of a cane. He was easily in his seventies.
Jim squinted at him. “Are you…?”
“That’s right, creampuff,” the man replied with his distinctive Scottish accent. “I’m ex-PISCES. And ex-SAS. So don’t expect any special treatment from me!”
“Uh, who is that?” asked Hank.
“My name, you inquisitive little bastard, is Jonathan Drake.” The man’s steely eyes were threatening despite his advanced age.
“I thought you were in prison?” said Jim, incredulous. “Something about stealing microfilm.”
Drake smirked. “That was thirty years ago, and I was in prison for about five seconds, until Majestic-12 decided to put me to better use. And it’s a damn good thing too, because someone has to whip your puff asses into shape. For better or worse, I’m your case officer. So you’ll be reporting to me, and I’ll be reporting back up to the Company. And for your sake, you’d better do well, because what you do reflects on me. Do I make myself clear?”
They looked at each other and nodded.
“Good.” Drake pressed a button on his cane and an alcove opened against one wall. “Here are your weapons and gear. Get used to them, you’ll be using them in the field.”
They grabbed their gear and suited up.
“So what are we doing, exactly?” asked Jim.
“Surviving,” said Drake. “This is an exercise in restraint and control as much as combat ability. The object of this session is to overcome your opponents without getting seriously hurt. I will be monitoring you and providing some... additional challenges from the room’s systems. Begin!”
The entire wall on the far side of the room slowly lifted up. They stepped out into simulated sunlight.
The room was as huge as a football field. A waterfall ran down one side to form a small pool. A raised cliff formed of faux rock defined one corner of the room. Two towers stood in the center, along with trees, rocks, and scrub. There was the false sound of birds playing over and over in exactly the same pitch.
“So this is Satan’s Playroom,” said Kurt. He loaded his Glock. “Let’s do this.”
“Do what?” asked Jim. “Let’s all think about this for a moment, shall we? What exactly are we supposed to do here?”
“You heard the man,” said Jake. “Survive.”
“Survive WHAT, exactly?” asked Jim.
“Is this sort of a last one standing thing?” asked Joe.
Suddenly, a dome punctuated by five holes down its center rose up from the grassy floor. Fwoosh! One after another, the holes lensed open and closed, releasing slow moving rockets that circled the room.
“I recognize those!” shouted Hank. “They’re heat-seeking missiles! They’re slow but you can outwit them!”
They dove for cover as the missiles suddenly locked on to each of them.
Hank jogged over to the tower. He waited by it as his missile turned towards him.
At the last moment, Hank dodged to the side. The missile tried to follow and exploded on the side of the tower.
“Like that!” he panted.
“Well, you all have a good time dancing with rockets and such nonsense,” said Jim, clambering up the other tower. “If you don’t mind I’m going to wait up here until this ridiculousness is over.”
Jake and Joe dodged and weaved to try to avoid the rockets. They ran straight towards each other.
“Look out!” shouted Hank.
The big Native American smacked into the hefty arcane investigator with predictable results. Their only saving grace was that their collision separated them just long enough for their two missiles to collide where they were standing, hurling both men into the dirt.
Jake shook his head to clear the cobwebs.
“Are you all right?” asked Joe.
“I’m—“ but that was all Jake got out. A pit opened up beneath him. Jake windmilled for a second before falling in. The pit lensed shut.
Kurt stood his ground, firing shot after shot at the oncoming missile. He dodged sideways just as it closed within striking distance…
Only to have a huge metal cage slam down around him.
“Damn it!” shouted Kurt.
On top of the tower, Jim was having his own problems. Metal tentacles unfurled from the ceiling, grabbing at him. He nearly fell off the tower as his missile struck, leaving the tentacles a sparking mess. Jim slid down the tower’s ladder and made for Kurt.
“I really don’t think this is representative of battlefield conditions!” Jim shouted at the ceiling. “In fact, I think this is all rather ridiculous.”
Joe took a step forward to help Kurt and heard a click. He froze.
A roar of flames encircled him. The fiery jets formed a cage of sorts. The heat was such that he flinched, shrinking towards the center of the circle.
Hank made it as far as the edge of the cage. “I can’t lift it!” he shouted after a moment of straining.
“Get a lever!” Kurt shouted back. “Something sturdy!”
Hank made for the ladder lying on the ground near the tower. It had fallen off from the impact of the missile.
He returned a second later as Jim closed. “Jim, help me!”
Jim jogged forward and then suddenly had his legs cut out from beneath him, disappearing into the long grass.
That left Hank. He came around the other side of the cage and dug into the dirt with the ladder.
There was a shriek of metal as something heavy whistled towards Hank. He looked up just in time to see a bell-like weight slam into him, knocking him unconscious.
The flame jets around Joe shut off for just the briefest of moments. He counted the seconds. Screwing up his courage, he dove through as the jets turned back on…
They scorched his pants and he dove into the water. He made it!
Joe stood up. Kurt was gone; the cage had sunk into the floor. They were all gone.
Joe caught a glimpse of something in one of the twenty-foot high towers. The missile that was aiming for Hank had torn a hole in it. It looked like a…leg?
The thrumming of robotics whirring to life reached his ears. Joe swallowed hard as a massive robot lumbered out of the tower. One arm bristled with two snub-nosed machineguns. The other was one long rocket.
The robot stumped towards him. Joe drew his Glock, but it was pointless.
The robot loomed over him. Its shadow blocked out the faux sun above. It aimed the huge missile at Joe’s head.
“Congratulations,” Drake’s Scottish accent came from a speaker on the robot’s head. “The only idiot to pass the simulation is the voodoo contractor.”