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Ceramic DM Modern/Spycraft (need 3 more)
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<blockquote data-quote="NoOneofConsequence" data-source="post: 1052545" data-attributes="member: 5400"><p><strong>Time to give it a go</strong></p><p></p><p>Modern/Spycraft Ceramic DM.</p><p></p><p>“I don’t get it!” mumbles Johnson, looking at the burning ring of fire.</p><p></p><p>“It’s a test of nerve,” I reply quietly, my voice almost drowned out by the sound of Goldsmith’s heavy fireproof boots as his feet thud over the bitumen. He reaches the flaming ring and throws himself through it headlong[pic 2]. He falls to the ground and comes up in a regulation tumble. The next man in line starts off. </p><p></p><p>“Besides,” I say steeling myself for my turn. “It’s better than that diving training.”</p><p></p><p>“You blitzed diving training,” says Johnson, perplexed.</p><p></p><p>“Yeah, but only because I thrive on stress. I was climbing the walls by the end.”</p><p></p><p>“Black,” calls the drill instructor and I set off towards the burning circle, adrenalin flooding my veins. With my eyes focussed on the flames, I don’t see the instructor until he’s fully blocking my path. With a deft motion he flips me over on my back and lands on top of me with an expertly applied choke-hold crushing my windpipe.</p><p></p><p>“Cadet Black, you need to pay more attention,” he says matter-of-factly, his face so close to mine that I can feel his hot breath on my cheek. “Inattention will get you killed, cadet.”</p><p></p><p>“Sir! Yes, sir!” I manage to choke out.</p><p></p><p>“Good,” approves the instructor, not relinquishing his hold on my life. With a nod he indicates a junior cadet standing at attention to the side of the training area, a slip of blue and green paper in his hands. “Report to briefing room two.”</p><p></p><p>Released, I stand and salute then trot off across the bitumen to the main building. Behind me the sound of running boots resumes, each punctuated by the sudden silence of the leap through the ring and the sound of a body tumbling over the ground.</p><p></p><p>----</p><p></p><p>I make my way quietly into briefing room two and stand at the back, unwilling to interrupt the meeting already in progress.</p><p></p><p>The projection screen on the main wall shows video footage of two teenage girls in sports uniforms fighting. [pic 4] The two lunge at each other with untrained movements and their relative ineptitude is cause for quiet jokes amongst the twenty or so men seated in the room. The jokes and laughing quickly evaporate as the extent of the conflict becomes clear. With a lucky hit, one girl gains the upper hand. As her opponent is knocked to the ground the winning combatant follows her down. The fall is heavy and the girl is clearly stunned. Her opponent uses the opportunity to seize her by the hair and proceeds to smash her face repeatedly into the concrete. Even among soldiers who have been blooded in battle, the brutality of the scene is shocking and gasps are heard from around the room. The winner is soon drenched in gore as she batters her opponent’s face into a bloody pulp. At this point in the film, a sound becomes audible; a strange, tittering noise that almost sounds like…</p><p></p><p>“That’s the cameraman laughing,” announces Colonel Benning from his post at the podium to the right of the screen. “We have no clear idea as to his identity, because this happens…”</p><p></p><p>On the film the bloodied teenager looks around, clearly realising the presence of the cameraman, and with a primeval scream, lunges towards the camera. The screen flickers and goes blank.</p><p></p><p>“As near as our epidemiological team has been able to piece together, one of these three is patient zero, the first one infected,” says the Colonel. A new picture flashes on the screen, a map of a small town in the Canadian Rockies. “However, we do know that the entire community of Evans Falls, population 1,517, fell victim to this thing over a space of only a few days.”</p><p></p><p>There are whistles from the audience; that’s a hell of an infection rate. The Colonel continues, “Contact of any form was lost on August the 17th. By the 20th, it was decided to send a contingent of MP’s from a nearby military installation.” The screen now shows a group of uniformed men, batons in hand, making their way cautiously down the main street of a typical small country town. Notably absent are any citizenry. “They found only one person alive; this man Jonathon Bramblett, attorney at law, loving husband and father of two; contributing member of amnesty international; no military service; no criminal record. An upstanding citizen.”</p><p></p><p>On the screen the MP’s are converging on Mr Bramblett, who is standing outside his law offices, dressed apparently for work, a tan coloured trenchcoat over his suit. He smiles in a friendly fashion as the military officers approach. [pic 6] When one of them is within three paces, Mr Bramblett reaches into his coat and draws forth a machette, encrusted with dried, black blood. Without ceasing to smile, he strikes down the nearest MP with a stroke to the carotid artery. As the man goes down, Mr Bramblett happily moves on to the next MP. In the fracas that ensues, several of the MP’s land numerous blows with their batons, all of which Mr Bramblett seems to shrug off as if not even feeling them. By the time three MP’s are wounded and downed, several of those remaining have drawn their sidearms and are firing repeatedly at the “upstanding citizen”. His neat clothing is shredded by the impact of the bullets, yet Mr Bramblett continues to struggle against the weapons’ lethal effects.</p><p></p><p>“Forty nine millimetre slugs were later removed from Mr Bramblett’s body,” the Colonel informs us. “Subsequent to this encounter the MP’s were withdrawn and the entire site was handed over to an Aegis containment team. We discovered that this little blighter is what’s responsible.”</p><p></p><p>The screen shows a photograph from an electron microscope. It appears to be some form of micro-organism.</p><p></p><p>“Epidemiology are calling it the VISR syndrome, Virally Induced Sociopathic Response. This little bugger has been genetically engineered by someone and they used Evans Falls as a field test. It’s contracted by ingestion only, in this case the water supply. It induces a homicidal mania while at the same time providing increased stimulation of the adrenal gland and other elements of the body’s fight or flight system. In short it gives your body a supercharge and then puts Hannibal Lecter at the wheel. We don’t know exactly who’s behind this yet, but intelligence believes that they’ve traced to the laboratory where the VISR virus was produced.” The Colonel pauses and I take the opportunity to discreetly notify him of my presence.</p><p></p><p>“Ah sir…” I say. Heads swivel to look at me and the Colonel looks up from his notes.</p><p></p><p>“Yes, Black,” says the Colonel. “Come in, take a seat.”</p><p></p><p>“Uh…I’m not sure why I’m here sir,” I say as I move hesitatingly towards one of the aisle seats.</p><p></p><p>“We want you on this mission Black.”</p><p></p><p>“But sir, I’m just a senior cadet.”</p><p></p><p>“That may be, Black,” says the Colonel. “However, you, like everyone else in this room, possess the necessary skill set to serve on this mission.”</p><p></p><p>I’m about to push my luck and ask how that could be when the next slide flashes onto the screen. The picture shows a pleasure cruiser at anchor near a tropical atoll. The pale blue shallows contrast with the impenetrable black depths of the atoll’s centre [pic 5]. A heavy weight in the pit of my stomach sinks me downward into my chair as fear of the depths begins to squeeze the breath from my lungs.</p><p></p><p>“You see gentleman,” says the Colonel, continuing his briefing. “The laboratory is hidden at a depth of ten fathoms in the middle of this atoll, off the coast of Costa Rica.”</p><p></p><p>I swallow heavily and the briefing goes on. Doubtless my face is pale, because the man next to me leans over and, apparently thinking to be comforting, says “Just think of it as a test of nerve.”</p><p></p><p>Funny, but I never realised how much an island in the middle of the tropics could look exactly like a ring of fire.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="NoOneofConsequence, post: 1052545, member: 5400"] [b]Time to give it a go[/b] Modern/Spycraft Ceramic DM. “I don’t get it!” mumbles Johnson, looking at the burning ring of fire. “It’s a test of nerve,” I reply quietly, my voice almost drowned out by the sound of Goldsmith’s heavy fireproof boots as his feet thud over the bitumen. He reaches the flaming ring and throws himself through it headlong[pic 2]. He falls to the ground and comes up in a regulation tumble. The next man in line starts off. “Besides,” I say steeling myself for my turn. “It’s better than that diving training.” “You blitzed diving training,” says Johnson, perplexed. “Yeah, but only because I thrive on stress. I was climbing the walls by the end.” “Black,” calls the drill instructor and I set off towards the burning circle, adrenalin flooding my veins. With my eyes focussed on the flames, I don’t see the instructor until he’s fully blocking my path. With a deft motion he flips me over on my back and lands on top of me with an expertly applied choke-hold crushing my windpipe. “Cadet Black, you need to pay more attention,” he says matter-of-factly, his face so close to mine that I can feel his hot breath on my cheek. “Inattention will get you killed, cadet.” “Sir! Yes, sir!” I manage to choke out. “Good,” approves the instructor, not relinquishing his hold on my life. With a nod he indicates a junior cadet standing at attention to the side of the training area, a slip of blue and green paper in his hands. “Report to briefing room two.” Released, I stand and salute then trot off across the bitumen to the main building. Behind me the sound of running boots resumes, each punctuated by the sudden silence of the leap through the ring and the sound of a body tumbling over the ground. ---- I make my way quietly into briefing room two and stand at the back, unwilling to interrupt the meeting already in progress. The projection screen on the main wall shows video footage of two teenage girls in sports uniforms fighting. [pic 4] The two lunge at each other with untrained movements and their relative ineptitude is cause for quiet jokes amongst the twenty or so men seated in the room. The jokes and laughing quickly evaporate as the extent of the conflict becomes clear. With a lucky hit, one girl gains the upper hand. As her opponent is knocked to the ground the winning combatant follows her down. The fall is heavy and the girl is clearly stunned. Her opponent uses the opportunity to seize her by the hair and proceeds to smash her face repeatedly into the concrete. Even among soldiers who have been blooded in battle, the brutality of the scene is shocking and gasps are heard from around the room. The winner is soon drenched in gore as she batters her opponent’s face into a bloody pulp. At this point in the film, a sound becomes audible; a strange, tittering noise that almost sounds like… “That’s the cameraman laughing,” announces Colonel Benning from his post at the podium to the right of the screen. “We have no clear idea as to his identity, because this happens…” On the film the bloodied teenager looks around, clearly realising the presence of the cameraman, and with a primeval scream, lunges towards the camera. The screen flickers and goes blank. “As near as our epidemiological team has been able to piece together, one of these three is patient zero, the first one infected,” says the Colonel. A new picture flashes on the screen, a map of a small town in the Canadian Rockies. “However, we do know that the entire community of Evans Falls, population 1,517, fell victim to this thing over a space of only a few days.” There are whistles from the audience; that’s a hell of an infection rate. The Colonel continues, “Contact of any form was lost on August the 17th. By the 20th, it was decided to send a contingent of MP’s from a nearby military installation.” The screen now shows a group of uniformed men, batons in hand, making their way cautiously down the main street of a typical small country town. Notably absent are any citizenry. “They found only one person alive; this man Jonathon Bramblett, attorney at law, loving husband and father of two; contributing member of amnesty international; no military service; no criminal record. An upstanding citizen.” On the screen the MP’s are converging on Mr Bramblett, who is standing outside his law offices, dressed apparently for work, a tan coloured trenchcoat over his suit. He smiles in a friendly fashion as the military officers approach. [pic 6] When one of them is within three paces, Mr Bramblett reaches into his coat and draws forth a machette, encrusted with dried, black blood. Without ceasing to smile, he strikes down the nearest MP with a stroke to the carotid artery. As the man goes down, Mr Bramblett happily moves on to the next MP. In the fracas that ensues, several of the MP’s land numerous blows with their batons, all of which Mr Bramblett seems to shrug off as if not even feeling them. By the time three MP’s are wounded and downed, several of those remaining have drawn their sidearms and are firing repeatedly at the “upstanding citizen”. His neat clothing is shredded by the impact of the bullets, yet Mr Bramblett continues to struggle against the weapons’ lethal effects. “Forty nine millimetre slugs were later removed from Mr Bramblett’s body,” the Colonel informs us. “Subsequent to this encounter the MP’s were withdrawn and the entire site was handed over to an Aegis containment team. We discovered that this little blighter is what’s responsible.” The screen shows a photograph from an electron microscope. It appears to be some form of micro-organism. “Epidemiology are calling it the VISR syndrome, Virally Induced Sociopathic Response. This little bugger has been genetically engineered by someone and they used Evans Falls as a field test. It’s contracted by ingestion only, in this case the water supply. It induces a homicidal mania while at the same time providing increased stimulation of the adrenal gland and other elements of the body’s fight or flight system. In short it gives your body a supercharge and then puts Hannibal Lecter at the wheel. We don’t know exactly who’s behind this yet, but intelligence believes that they’ve traced to the laboratory where the VISR virus was produced.” The Colonel pauses and I take the opportunity to discreetly notify him of my presence. “Ah sir…” I say. Heads swivel to look at me and the Colonel looks up from his notes. “Yes, Black,” says the Colonel. “Come in, take a seat.” “Uh…I’m not sure why I’m here sir,” I say as I move hesitatingly towards one of the aisle seats. “We want you on this mission Black.” “But sir, I’m just a senior cadet.” “That may be, Black,” says the Colonel. “However, you, like everyone else in this room, possess the necessary skill set to serve on this mission.” I’m about to push my luck and ask how that could be when the next slide flashes onto the screen. The picture shows a pleasure cruiser at anchor near a tropical atoll. The pale blue shallows contrast with the impenetrable black depths of the atoll’s centre [pic 5]. A heavy weight in the pit of my stomach sinks me downward into my chair as fear of the depths begins to squeeze the breath from my lungs. “You see gentleman,” says the Colonel, continuing his briefing. “The laboratory is hidden at a depth of ten fathoms in the middle of this atoll, off the coast of Costa Rica.” I swallow heavily and the briefing goes on. Doubtless my face is pale, because the man next to me leans over and, apparently thinking to be comforting, says “Just think of it as a test of nerve.” Funny, but I never realised how much an island in the middle of the tropics could look exactly like a ring of fire. [/QUOTE]
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