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Story Hour
Modern/Delta Green - The Beginning of the End (COMPLETED)
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<blockquote data-quote="talien" data-source="post: 4036512" data-attributes="member: 3285"><p><strong>Welcome to the Show: Part 8b – Stress Simulation 8.5</strong></p><p></p><p>Jim woke up slowly, blinking a few times, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Nothing happened.</p><p></p><p>Jim wasn’t sure where he was or how he got there. The last thing he remembered was doing training exercises. But where was he now?</p><p></p><p>He uncrossed his arms and tried to sit up, banging his head on something directly above him. As he rubbed his bruised scalp, his fingers brushed against a rough wooden surface. Jim tried to feel around in the dark, but he was barely able to move his arms; his elbows scraped against the rough enclosure. </p><p></p><p>Jim struggled to not panic. He traced the outline of what was confining him. It felt unmistakably like a narrow wooden box—a coffin.</p><p></p><p>“Uh, excuse me?” he asked to anyone who would listen. “I appear to be trapped…”</p><p></p><p>Jim pounded on the lid and yelled, hoping that someone would hear him. But all he did was bruise his fists and use up precious oxygen. </p><p></p><p>“Oh for the love of…hello? HELLO?”</p><p></p><p>He tried to angle his body so he could kick at the lid, but it was no use—there was barely enough room for him to turn over, let alone swing his leg. </p><p></p><p>Jim considered his options. He was trained in dealing with oxygen depravation. A quick calculation in his head said he had two hours in the box before all of it was depleted. But he had no idea how long he’d been unconscious, breathing the air. </p><p></p><p>His heart was racing a mile a minute and he was sweating. That meant he was consuming more air. He had to calm down.</p><p></p><p>Jim rummaged through his pockets for something, anything, that would help. But there was nothing. He was in his fatigues in training. Had he died on the training field? He remembered what the drill sergeant said…Majestic-12 training was so bad that the cadets really DID die.</p><p></p><p>Desperate, he pounded on the lid and screamed at the top of his lungs. Then he decided to conserve energy by holding his breath, but that didn’t help either – it heightened his anxiety and caused him to hyperventilate.</p><p></p><p>As the carbon dioxide built up in his lungs and blood, Jim’s breathing became more labored. Then something whirred near his face. A cool breeze snapped him out of his stupor. </p><p></p><p>Air! Beautiful, glorious air! </p><p></p><p>For a moment he was so grateful he could have cried, just basking in the feeling of the wind on his face. But then it slowly dawned on him that coffins didn’t come with fans. They had buried him on purpose. This was a test.</p><p></p><p>Well Jim wouldn’t give those bastards the satisfaction. He’d show them that PISCES men were made of sterner stuff.</p><p></p><p>Then the fan shut off.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="talien, post: 4036512, member: 3285"] [b]Welcome to the Show: Part 8b – Stress Simulation 8.5[/b] Jim woke up slowly, blinking a few times, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Nothing happened. Jim wasn’t sure where he was or how he got there. The last thing he remembered was doing training exercises. But where was he now? He uncrossed his arms and tried to sit up, banging his head on something directly above him. As he rubbed his bruised scalp, his fingers brushed against a rough wooden surface. Jim tried to feel around in the dark, but he was barely able to move his arms; his elbows scraped against the rough enclosure. Jim struggled to not panic. He traced the outline of what was confining him. It felt unmistakably like a narrow wooden box—a coffin. “Uh, excuse me?” he asked to anyone who would listen. “I appear to be trapped…” Jim pounded on the lid and yelled, hoping that someone would hear him. But all he did was bruise his fists and use up precious oxygen. “Oh for the love of…hello? HELLO?” He tried to angle his body so he could kick at the lid, but it was no use—there was barely enough room for him to turn over, let alone swing his leg. Jim considered his options. He was trained in dealing with oxygen depravation. A quick calculation in his head said he had two hours in the box before all of it was depleted. But he had no idea how long he’d been unconscious, breathing the air. His heart was racing a mile a minute and he was sweating. That meant he was consuming more air. He had to calm down. Jim rummaged through his pockets for something, anything, that would help. But there was nothing. He was in his fatigues in training. Had he died on the training field? He remembered what the drill sergeant said…Majestic-12 training was so bad that the cadets really DID die. Desperate, he pounded on the lid and screamed at the top of his lungs. Then he decided to conserve energy by holding his breath, but that didn’t help either – it heightened his anxiety and caused him to hyperventilate. As the carbon dioxide built up in his lungs and blood, Jim’s breathing became more labored. Then something whirred near his face. A cool breeze snapped him out of his stupor. Air! Beautiful, glorious air! For a moment he was so grateful he could have cried, just basking in the feeling of the wind on his face. But then it slowly dawned on him that coffins didn’t come with fans. They had buried him on purpose. This was a test. Well Jim wouldn’t give those bastards the satisfaction. He’d show them that PISCES men were made of sterner stuff. Then the fan shut off. [/QUOTE]
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Modern/Delta Green - The Beginning of the End (COMPLETED)
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