Lazarus Corporation Headquarters

@Elephantom


It took a few minutes for a figure to appear in the courtyard beyond the security checkpoint. The man coming closer was shorter than the rest but there was something about him. When he came closer, his small but sharp, blue eyes scanned the street before anything else. Then his eyes ran across the surrounding buildings. Finally, they landed on the newcomer. The merc. The man's tiny eyes were almost gray in their paleness. He looked over the merc. "You must be Mickey." He said the name as if he was reading it from a card. He was cleanly shaved and his completely white hair was kept short.


While he was thin, his black uniform was carefully tailored to suit him. "I'm Mr Keyes." Keyes said, his tone a flatline. Not even the slightest change in pitch. Not even a blink of his eye since they landed on the merc before him. "I will be your handler for the duration of your assignment with us." Nothing but a few muscles of his mouth moved as he spoke. Even his jaw made the barest attempts to make him appear human. Still, every word he said came out clearly and with the weight of a judge delivering a sentence.


Even though there were a few wrinkles on his face, Keyes was unmistakably older than he appeared to be. Anyone could tell he was a veteran soldier from the first look. Many soldiers found work in corporations when governments started making cutbacks. Few lasted long, their skills needed reshuffling, and fewer still managed to reach high ranks in corporate armies. And Keyes was in the clouds of the corporate ladder.
"Come with me." He gave the order and turned back to the courtyard, taking a few steps ahead.
 
@0stinato


The door of the room opened, revealing a Specialist looking over the three recruits. He was holding a metal box with red text on it, taking a pause. Through the door, behind the Specialist, was a clear view of the same thing. Specialists were opening the doors as loud as they could to wake up any sleeping recruits and dropping off boxes in the rooms. "Get geared up." The Specialist said with an unspecific European accent, putting the box down with a thump. "Wait for your new officer." He kicked the box in and slammed the door shut.


All Specialists were ignoring any questions the recruits had about the new officer or the contents of the box. The box labeled Tekhnologiya Moskva.


Shark gave her axe a few test swings. Feeling the weight. Familiar. Like an extension of her arm. The cold metal deadly against any soft target. Nothing could survive being


within her reach when she was given the order to kill. She dashed into oncoming fire, through shields, and sliced into any opening in the armor. So many manufacturers were focused on defending their customers from firearms that they ignored the openings anyone in close range could exploit.


Shark closed her eyes, focusing first on the grip of her axe in one hand and then of her shotgun in the other. This is what she was made for. Her hands weren't meant for holding someone. For caressing the skin of a lover. They were made to crush bones and wield weapons of death. She wasn't made to have friends. She was made to murder.
Tethys was just a part of the mission. Nothing more. Just a part that Shark added.


Keeping her eyes closed, Shark began making acrobatic moves in the small room, imagining enemies and calculating the best ways to eliminate them. A swing of the axe here while firing the shotgun there. Slide into one enemy, use as a shield from another. Confuse with rapid movements before intimidating with a dash into the least experienced enemy.
Shark stopped. She was ready. It was nothing she didn't face already. Just no safety net. She was ready.
 
It would be a great mistake to say that Mickey expected the handler to look so like that; in all honesty, he expected the man to look, even by a vague measure, like the corporate officer from before. But alas, in the end, he was wrong, for not only did the man perfectly fit the description of what many would call a considerably wooden person, but he also fluidly maintained a strict orthodox air, which demanded attention, even at his meagre height — the man possessed the demeanour of a soldier, a former soldier, as he supposed. Furthermore, his bold voice added to his solid presence even more. Mickey felt — though slightly, but large enough if you consider how bold he normally is — intimidated, but he wasn't certainly going to be one to back down, not now, nor ever. He had the least of intention to do so, and in turn, forfeit a chance at striking it rich. 


Mickey feigned normalcy for the moment being, and prudently examined the stranger as he arrived. The man, of course, was dressed in usual business attire, as fitting for an officer of Lazarus. What was strange about him, was his thin, pale palor, and his dense, grey eyes; Mick had seen a lot of people with peculiar eye colours, even pale ones too, but this one unnerved him. Although, he failed to know why, the choicest guess would most likely be the man's noticeable facial stillness, resembling closely an entity which were to stroll in a man's body for the first time. Very forced, very synthetic, only on the borders of humanity. For a greater chunk of his realization, he was just confused — maybe it was the man's bold assertions that threw him off guard, or the fact that he couldn't interpret him properly, is certainly a topic up for debate. 


The eerie wailing of the wind that clung tightly in between the gaps in the densely packed regions didn't serve to alleviates Mick's tension, yet even then, he remained mostly unperturbed, his mind drifting to other subjects, which his sudden sickness seemed to have commanded him to do so — in plain words, he was sidetracked him to other bounds, the world seeming strangely ephemeral, in a blurry sort of way, Mick supposed. Made his usual diligence blurry too.


"It's Mickey all right." Mickey replied, eyes reduced to thin slits — and in it, evidence  he was suspicious of the person, who later identified himself as a certain Mr. Keyes. He was to be his handler, or so it seemed like.. Acknowledging his order with a single, tiny nod, Mick followed him through the gates. He had no distinct anticipation for what was to come, but still, he maintained a sense of basic caution.


@Mr_DC
 
@Elephantom


"Mickey." Keyes weighed the words as he walked. "Mickey Harrison." He grumbled out the last name as well, thinking over all of the information Lazarus bought from the noisy streets. As he passed one building, entering the plain, empty courtyard, a pair of Lazarus Specialists started following the pair. Those men were the bulk of Lazarus security troops, the main force of any engagement. Unlike the massive, heavily armoured Enforcers of MosTech or the light and swift Samurai of Ronin, Lazarus struck a balance. Keeping the soldiers heavily cybernetically augmented provided them an extra edge against both sides. Like most Specialists, the pair following them had cybernetic limbs covered with heavy, black trench coats which didn't do much to hide the bulk of armour below. They carried assault rifles, their fingers avoiding the trigger. After all, they were on home turf.


"Mr Harrison." Keyes continued, settling on a way to call the future recruit. "I'm glad you came, even if my predecessor arranged the meeting too early for me to give you anything more than the most basic of information." He explained, walking towards the tallest building of the complex. The heart of Lazarus Corporation. As the double glass doors parted quick enough for them continue at the same pace, a pair of Specialists from inside joined the group as well but on the front this time. "You understand that we need to have this conversation at a suitable place. The nature of your assignment is highly covert."


"I'm sure you understand." He said, not giving the feeling that he cares if Mickey understood. The inside of the building was clean with dark marble floors and white marble walls. The hallway lacked any kind of plants or paintings along the wall but there were security cameras covering every inch. A keen observer or someone with experience in such matters would notice the difference in some floor and wall sections which probably hid turrets or some other form of automatic security. "We did pick you over all else because of your capabilities, after all." Keyes said, subtly hinting at the fact that there are other candidates waiting to take the opportunity. He stopped in front of a relatively large elevator - large enough to take all of them in their current formation - which had glass doors and walls. Thick glass. Bullet-resistant but glass is glass and doesn't do much against lasers. A new technology, so far good against meat and shielding but awful against any kind of armour. Glass might as well not be there.
 
Sharp, heavy thumping on the door, followed by it being yanked open made Tethys immediately get up, standing up straight, a well-trained recruit reporting for duty. The two men to the side of her stirred, jumping out their sleep and the bald guy even throwing the blanket off himself. She looked at him out of the side of her eye as he pulled himself up, sheepishly staring at the officer who threw in a case with a crash, as well as kicking in their uniforms.


"At least one of you can do basic things," he spat into the room, "Get ready, now! Report in the hallway in five! And that's being generous - usually I'd give your asses two minutes," he paused, and no one did anything, waiting for him to continue. The man with long hair jumped from his bunk and looked at the officer, but that was it. This somehow infuriated him more, "I said now!"


He slammed the door, moving along to torment the next room down. Though, surely, the next room was already awake what with his yelling. Tethys stared at the other two for a few seconds as they picked their thin uniforms up and began dressing. The bald guy opened the container too, discovering equipment. Though Tethys knew it would fit the category of 'shite' fairly well - it looked shoddy. A hack-job of fixing dead guns, giving them an artificial extension of their life. They'd probably break if they went over a particularly unforgiving bump in the road. Just fall apart in the recruits' hands.


The man with long hair looked up at them, "Shall we, like... turn our backs. Change that way. There's even new underwear here." The bald guy agreed, and Tethys inwardly sighed. God, that was actually a good call. Beneath her jacket, done up and loose on her, she felt the strain of the thin vest Shark had given her push against her skin. That would've been a odd thing for the two men to see, especially as they'd probably both had a look at her in her bra last night. Maybe not looked. Maybe just glanced, happened to have seen it. But they'd probably have noticed a new, navy, sleek-looking official vest if Tethys had stripped her jacket off now.


They each took a corner, climbing into their respective clothes, Tethys hastily switching her jacket for the underlayer and topcoat provided. Thin as crepe paper, they'd do nothing to stop any attack. But, she realised, none of the other recruits realised what they'd be running head-first into pure and quick death. So they'd assume this was appropriate for their activity today. She leaned over to do up her boots, allowing a grimace to escape her. Jesus. Death or life. She had to be the one to make that decision. She couldn't let others come to her, ruin her, kill her. No, she had to be in charge of her decisions today. Keep herself alive. Don't give a shit about anyone else. Not even Shark - she herself had somehow made that very clear. The last look she'd given Tethys before she'd left without so much as a goodbye - the giving-in glance of an owner knowing their pet will be put down after lunch. It was dry, dire and unwavering. But at least Tethys had noticed. She could learn now. She could try now.


While she was at her feet, she tightened the straps on the ankles of the trousers. As she was at that angle, she noticed the bald guy was looking at her. He'd got dressed fairly quickly, and was sitting on his bunk to do up his laces. But he wasn't looking down at his shoes - he was looking at Tethys. At the view she was displaying as she was bent over.


Well.


He'd be practice.


Pretending she hadn't noticed at all, Tethys finished adjusting the straps and straightened, brushing out the permanent creases in topcoat. She wasn't about to leave her jacket here though - she could use that to hide the rifle. So she folded it a couple of times and tucked it into the waistband of her trousers, to one side. It wouldn't fall out there, and it might make a decent place to hide her rifle and pistol. She could feign the weight as the weight of the shoddy gun she'd have on her person too. The one she'd immediately abandon on arrival in the middle of the fray.


"You want first pick?" she said cheerfully to the bald guy, nudging the case with her toe. He gave a slow nod and went for the top gun. His face when he had it in his hands was honestly sad - he looked like he thought he could take on a lot now. An almost-hidden smile. God. It was frightening, how little he realised. How little he knew, how ignorant he was.


The long haired man looked at her with a winning smile, one that Tethys found attractive somehow, "I'll be more polite, ladies first?" he said.


Tethys gave a forced laugh, trying to make it sound real, "I'm no lady, mate. Go on, get one."


She waited until the long haired guy was on his knees, eyes distracted by the case's contents. She put one fist into her other hand, stepped up close to the bald man, and swung her elbow into his jaw. He, too occupied by his new toy, had no idea about the direct attack on him and actually stumbled upon the impact. Tethys recovered, a snarl on her lips and her dark eyebrows pulled over her eyes, hands at her sides, ready to strike for the gut if need be. And her elbow didn't even hurt. But his jaw clearly did.


"What the fuck?!" he yelled, accent striking and loud, directed at Tethys. The long haired guy had got to his feet, own gun in his hand, staring, shocked, at Tethys.


"You know what that was for," she said firmly. "Dun't you dare play thick with me, I'm not having none of it! Get the fuck outta here."


And he did know what it was for. Unable to offer a defence, the strike probably having stunned him a bit, he looked between Tethys and the other man a few times before edging towards the door and skedaddling instantly. The long haired man followed suit, hastily trying to get away from this clearly crazy bitch they'd shared a room with. And... truth be told, Tethys didn't mind getting looked at. She appreciated it, actually. Even in her current mood, she felt a little flattered. But still, she had to hit him. She had to quickly, and that meant really quickly, learn to be indifferent towards everyone. Literally. Everyone. Predatory. Calculating.


She had to care for no one.


She had to be a shark.


@Mr_DC
 
@0stinato


"Agent." A Specialist nodded as Shark exited the building. Agent. What a fancy title. She was an agent of Lazarus. A particularly large cog in the machine which hummed, producing goods and selling them for money. Taking flesh and putting out resources. Using time and giving none back. Lazarus. A man raised from the dead. Odd name for a company. It was a powerful sounding name but it didn't make sense. MosTech made sense. Militek made sense. Even Ronin made sense. Naming a corporation 'Lazarus' didn't.


But she wasn't the one to question. Not the one to care about why to name things which way. She was an agent, her name was Shark, and she worked for The Lazarus Corporation.


"Agent." A Specialist nodded as Shark passed one of several black vans with red MosTech logos parked in the courtyard. Not particularly clever. The plan itself was dumb, if Shark was asked of her opinion. Get some recruits, give them some gear MosTech guys wouldn't be caught dead carrying, and send them to attack another corporation because why not? Not to even mention keeping the vans in the Lazarus HQ. It's not something Steele would approve. They would get busted within a day. Within a few hours, if Ronin was particularly interested in who attacked them. No, it's not something Steele would approve.


Unless that's what he wanted.


Unless he wanted to start a war with Ronin. But why? He had to have something big in his sleeve to start a war like that. MosTech would probably squeeze whatever money they can from it and piss everyone off to such a point that they themselves become yet another participant in the war. But it still didn't make sense. Why start a war with Ronin? Try to push them out of the security business? Try to cut off their weapon research programs? What was the point and what was Shark's role in it?


"Agent." A Specialist nodded as Shark entered the building where the recruits were being held.


She was an agent. She wasn't meant to think about any of that. Just do as you're told. Shark entered the elevator. "Just follow the orders." She mumbled as the elevator stopped and opened to a pair of Specialists, carrying boxes into the barracks. They weren't much different from her. The only reason why she outranked them was because Steele ran over each order she got. Whatever Shark was doing was sanctioned by Steele himself. That probably wasn't the only reason. If she was doing anything, getting in the way wouldn't be a smart move.


"Agent." A Specialist nodded as Shark observed the recruits come out of their rooms and enter makeshift formations in the hallway. That's what she was. An agent. A killer. Something they were far from. Recruits. Meat. The first thing they would do when the vans reach their location would probably be staring slack-jawed at Shark as she showed why she was an agent. Then those that survived the initial few seconds would start fighting, taking the attention off Shark. Making her seem like less of a threat. If she was surrounded by blumbling idiots, staring at what was going on, every enemy would focus on her. She needed to give out an explanation. An order. The officer from last night wasn't there. Probably having a short word with Steele. Maybe complaining about Shark's behaviour.


Shark looked at her hip. A few black balaclavas were hanging out of her pocket. Same thing with the other. That did seem like a Steele move. Shark was meant to wear one but if the only soldier with their identity hidden survived, it would be a bit suspicious. Just give a few random recruits masks and leave the enemy wondering what made them special - if anything.


"Put these on." She ordered and started flinging them at the recruits. She kept two. One for herself - she couldn't have her face known. It's far easier to target someone with a face. The other was for Tethys. Someone with an actual identity to hide. Her friend.
 
Back in these vague and unsettle ranks, every recruit clutching a terrible black gun to their chests as she was, Tethys at least found a bit of comfort in their numbers. With the chaos that would certainly ensue when the recruits realised that what was being fired on them weren't blanks, perhaps she could break away and hide, find a good place to keep out of sight, somewhere to keep herself alive. Unfortunately, she still had no idea what the place looked like. The fuck was Ronin? The fuck did it look like? The fuck was she here, she didn't even want to be a security guard in the first place, why had she decided to sign on?


She was getting angry and panicked. Not two things that went well together. It was like trying to mix milk and olive oil together and calling it a cocktail. No. Each was useful on its own but together it was useless and unwanted. Anger was good, and Tethys had always thought that. Unlike something like depression or sadness, anger was an Active emotion. It made you get up and actually do things. You wouldn't just sit there, you'd get up and go for a jog to calm down, or you'd go punch the sandbags at the gym. With depression and such, you just moped around and procrastinated and didn't bathe for long periods of time. And panic was even useful too. If at a certain point, panic would shut off the human side of the brain and switch control to the animal, survival side. Panic could make you hold onto a thistle branch for dear life, or keep hold of a computer tower and not dropping it on your foot, even though it was shocking the hell out of you.


Panic is what made reflexes exist, why the trembling in the legs didn't vanish after a big dog had chased you, why your heart beat faster when you'd heard of your friend being taken to hospital. Perhaps not a comfortable emotion, but highly necessary.


Just, mixing anger and panic together was ridiculous. Anger relied on emotion and panic shut off emotion. Perhaps that's why Tethys' hands were shaking. In an attempt to hide it, she tensed her hands, squeezing her grip on the gun so terribly, her knuckles were white within seconds. Pressing her hands as close to her body as possible, she tried to look at something else. The Specialists at the front, their blank expressions and better-made uniforms a sure sign they didn't give a shit about what happened to every life before them.


Only then did Tethys realise that Shark was at the front. She'd returned. From abandoning Tethys in the showers, she'd come back. Tethys wasn't sure what to think - on the one hand, she was so glad to see Shark there. A comfort, someone who'd given up her time to help Tethys save herself. But... on the other, it was hard to describe. She didn't want to meet Shark's eyes. Something inside her was telling her to avoid those blue irises. The odd behind-the-eyes perfection that was the half-robotic, half-human clone.


Maybe if she looked... she'd fall again.


Fall into them. Like a kitten. Tethys, helpless and soft, Shark the tough fist around her. Maybe Tethys would see her own insecurities, see her own weaknesses. And all she saw in Shark was something akin to angelic. Somewhere. No matter how many people she'd killed, how many lives she'd turned around, Tethys was still willing to believe she'd have the whitest soul of all of the people here. And she still wasn't sure why. Shark was a killing machine, named after one, probably for good reason. And she probably enjoyed it, doing whatever it was the company told her to do.


Or maybe that was it. Shark... she'd described the recruits as tools. So why would Lazarus see her as anything different? They wouldn't, that was the short answer. And you can't blame the hammer for what the blacksmith does with it... was that why Tethys saw her so pure? A mere tool with no independence, with possibly no opportunity for independence in the future. Somehow... innocent. Despite the lives she'd taken.


A woman who'd never been a woman. Had Shark had sex? Did she get periods? Did she get weird food cravings, enjoy warm, cosy fires, like her hair played with, or even have someone tell her she was beautiful? Or was she literally just there to be a hand-puppet for the bigjobs upstairs who didn't want to get their hands dirty? It was sort of sad, if it was true. And maybe that's why Tethys didn't want to look her in the eye now. Human Tethys. And Shark, someone made to be more binary than biological.


@Mr_DC ((That whole 'Bring a man back to life' Lazarus thing is giving me false hope for Lull!))
 
Granted, Mickey might not have been the most selfless person, but at least, he didn't — or rather, didn't have the guts to — cross excessive bounds like Lazarus corp did; purchasing an entire, formerly public, sector to feed their secretive researches. Of course, Lazarus did their fair share of charity, but that's probably to keep their readily ill image floating, seeing that rumours often fly around concerning their allegedly illegal experimentation. Not that anyone cared, for politically and economically, they were quite the necessary contributors to the country, and essentially, serving as the only crutch left available for the decaying country, even if bringing blight and corruption with it. Mickey didn't care a bit for it — it was where he was ought to be, and damn anyone who thought he wasn't happy with the lax law enforcement around town. 


It would be a blunder to call Mickey and Keyes' walk a mere stroll. Despite the air he gave off moments ago, Keyes sure was a productive walker. Mickey could hardly keep up with him, at his terrible state. The buildings which neatly occupied their respective places at the sides of the roads, separated by a thin line of straightforward pavement, were flatly coloured though obsessively maintained. The few traditional buildings that had remained, possessed a fresh coat of stucco, far from stripping off by itself as is common. Construction was a priority, and from what Mickey could see, they were probably devising a plan to transform the entire block into a fortress-like complex. Lazarus corp ought be quite rich, Mickey thought, to have acquired the entire premises in quite short a time. Be that as it may, for what exact purpose they needed it for, Mickey had only the most vaguest of ideas — could've been for the extra security, or to house their properties and establishments, or for all he knew, they could've bought it just to show off their immense potency in the economical scenario. Hell, why was he even worrying himself over it? Neither was it his job to scrutinize them, nor there was to be any aught should he manage to crack this dilemma. It'd only serve to bring about some excessive trouble, and the last thing Mick wanted was to end up dead, or worse, brainwashed by some thin, cogency bullshit.


As they passed by a couple of houses, empty or so he supposed for they emitted only the tiniest of noises, Mick noticed two brawny soldiers quietly — although their presence could be clearly felt — emerging from the murky shadows around the edges of the houses, proceeding to tail them then afterwards, and as Mick observed, with lax yet sullen stances; they were, after all, in their own base. He himself possessed little threat to them, at this position. Even then, they were surely none to be underestimated, for — as Mickey's eye suggested — they possessed state-of-the-art advanced armour and guns. Their wide trench coats obscured much of their equipment, and prevented Mick from digging any further, and probably to preserve his morale too. Too much an inquisition was toxic to self-preservation. Mickey shrugged — of course, they were significant threats, but still, should he stay wary, what good would it serve to him? Chances of fleeing successfully was slim in a fortified compound such as this, much less, actually evade the soldiers. He had directly acknowledged the job, and he should follow it to the end, and that was a matter ended skillfully.


He thought about asking the fleeting Mr. Keyes about it, but decided against it. No good it would bring him, of course. Increasing his own pace, Mickey kept up with the man as they both stopped near the building, or rather, the tallest building in the sector. The core of the complex, and while not exactly a gem, it had 'straight-cut business' written all over it — precisely the opposite of Lazarus Corp, who're infamous for their deceptive guile. 


The doors dutifully receded as they entered the building.


"Glee." Mick muttered as he stepped through the border dividing the indoors from the outdoors. He glanced at Mr. Keyes as he talked, nodding every now and then to signify that he was following his words carefully. A few strides in, and two soldiers — formerly meshed in with the wall — joined them on the front. Too much security. Mick winced. It reminded him of that one incident with Ronin, and had it not occured, he probably


would've still had both eyes intact. 


He listened attentively; Mr. Keyes wasn't joking, that was for certain. Mickey made sure not to let his impulses get the best of him. Sassing wouldn't be the best course of action right now, especially considering the many abstract designs and the misplaced linings, which could clearly hold many objects a la turrets. Automated or otherwise. 


Mr. Keyes abruptly stopped in front of an elevator of sorts, so did the guards. Mick, however, was less fortunate. He almost bumped into the man, before quickly regaining his posture. He was, after all, not in the best of conditions right now. 


He checked his watch again; his patience sure was growing thin, so was the rhythm of his low clicks made by his overly energetic foot. 


[SIZE= 11px]@Mr_DC[/SIZE]
 
@0stinato


Shark watched the recruits before her. So many of them. So many personalities, lives, emotions which will perish soon. But she didn't feel sad. There were too many of them to care. Just numbers. Just blips on the screen of a commander. It would take a better person than her to care about the recruits. It would take an actual person to care about them. Shark didn't care. She couldn't. No point in caring.


Yet, she cared. Not about all of them but one in particular. She cared about one she considered a friend. A friend she knew for barely a day. The only person who was actually polite and spoke to her like she was a person. Tethys didn't as about how many people she could kill within a minute with a certain weapon. Tethys didn't ask about her success rate. Tethys asked if she watched sitcoms. There was only one other person who asked similar questions. The person watching over all of them.


But she didn't consider Steele a friend. He was her boss. The CEO. There was something in his eyes as well. He was as close to being human as Shark was. She saw a familiarity in Steele's eyes. A man incapable of having friends. A man rotting from the inside with suspicion. Wanting more power and control so he would feel safe. Making himself increasingly more uncomfortable in hopes of relaxing one day. At least, that's what Shark saw in his tired eyes.


There was a seed of the same thing in Tethys' eyes. She was growing more and more distant. Like a young man turning grey overnight as bombers flew above him and ground trembled, getting closer and closer but never hitting. Tethys put herself in the same thing. Threw away her humanity, just to make more of herself in life. And now she was turning more and more into a tool. A machine for killing. A sword. Eyes sharp like steel, no mercy in them. That was her future. All Shark could do is make sure she was alive when she reached that point.


Maybe there was another outcome. Where Shark was a cube of ice, Tethys was a warm cup of tea. If they stayed in the cold, outside world, Tethys would freeze over, just like Shark. Maybe even throw her to the dogs when the situation called for it. When. That situation will come. It was her existence and Shark knew it.


But if they were together, a two woman team, acting alone, maybe they could meet in the middle. Shark could cool Tethys enough to survive and Tethys... Maybe warm her enough to be human. Do I want that? Shark asked herself, watching Tethys the whole time. She raised the hand with the second to last balaclava. She wasn't going to throw it to Tethys. Take it. She was going to offer it. Warm me. A half smile appeared on Shark's face. I want to be like you.
 
Tethys had to step out of rank a little in order to reach what Shark was handing her. She was still confused concerning her emotions; what she wanted to do was have a few minutes to do something meaningless while she ordered her thoughts. Like dishes. Or anything like that. Sorting out her old comics. Anything of the sort. Unfortunately, she doubted very highly the Specialists had any dishes lying about.


So she had to resign herself to be a mess for the next few hours. But a mess that was ready, of course. Finger always on the trigger, hand at her hip as soon as she'd fired the last shot, reloading while taking cover. Hopefully, though, she'd not shoot that much, but it wasn't worth waylaying a backup plan. Tethys knew what she'd do - she'd try to get a seat on whatever vehicle they'd be shipped off in next to Shark. Unless Shark was going to ride in a more comfortable location, being a special piece of equipment. It wasn't healthy or comfortable to think of her friend that way, the one who was offering her something now, but she'd got used to it. And surprisingly fast.


Tethys was a quick learner. She just wasn't good at retaining information. If she was shown something, taught it, she'd know how to do it herself for a few hours after. It'd been like this all her life - whether it was learning a foreign language or memorising a new formula in maths, Tethys would feel like she was sailing along for a few hours. She could recount it, effortlessly. Like the time she'd learned the quadratic equation. That was a particularly memorable day. Of course, Tethys had to go to college to learn the usual 16-year-old-sitting-exams stuff, and she was about 22 then. So maybe it was more... maybe it was easier for her. Given she didn't have the stress of puberty overwhelming her now, like the GCSE-ers.


But the quadratic equation had stuck with her for a while. And she was impressed with herself, and her friends seemed surprised she'd memorised it. But, after a few days, when Tethys finally dragged her arse to the desk to revise, she couldn't get past x= and she was upset. She had no idea. She couldn't write it down as easily as she did a few days ago.


But such was her memory. Very quick at picking things up, bad at retaining. But, give her a bit of repetition and Tethys would be fine. She'd understand before long. So maybe that was why she was getting used to thinking of everyone in the room as a different type of spanner.


You had Shark, maybe less a spanner more a monkey wrench. Looked cool. Felt weighty. But was good at one thing and did it well. Could adjust to suit that one purpose. Could tighten and loosen to ensure maximum efficiency in that one task. And all the recruits, and Tethys herself, they were all spanners and screwdrivers in various degrees of life. And most would be broken by the end of the day.


You might think it'd take quite a bit of force to break a spanner or a screwdriver. And Tethys could swear they used to take more weight than they did now. Sure, she'd grown a bit from when she used to play with spanners and screwdrivers but... maybe... maybe there was something else. After all, these numerous huge corporations ruled the world. They'd have monopolies and control of numerous resources. So it would be natural to take proper steel for use in armour or weaponry and produce everyday commoners' tools out of shit like reinforced aluminium to save money. Tethys had broken many screwdrivers in her lifetime, and even more spanners.


But she was still using the same monkey wrench she'd used for 20 years.


Tethys took a slight sidestep out of her rank and felt the soft material as it passed into her hand from Shark's. She also felt a few eyes on her. Suspicious ones. But who cared. They'd be dead. She might be dead. They'd not be suspicious for long, Tethys knew. No time to be--


Tethys felt her fingers brush Shark's. Oddly... warm? Was that warmth? Or was it hard to tell? Maybe it was both. In an instant, as Tethys looked up in surprise and caught Shark's gaze. Wait. Here was a moment of tenderness. From Shark. Now. Now. Was Tethys just not reading the situation right or was Shark even more confused than she was? After all, Tethys remembered her steeling and harsh glare she'd given Tethys in the showerroom. And now... she was gently letting go of the dark fabric, slowly pulling her hand away from Tethys.


What was more human than confusion?


"Thank you..." Tethys let herself whisper, "friend."


@Mr_DC
 
@0stinato


Shark's eyes went wide. Tethys actually said it. Friend. She froze in place, not able to force herself to suck in a breath. Friend. Her heart drummed in her ears. Friend. Tethys felt the same. Shark had a friend.


That's not what was meant to happen. That's not what they expected. That's not why she was created. That's not what she was meant to do.


That's exactly what she was meant to do.


The voice inside her head was silent. No more whispers to make a friend. As Shark took in a breath, she felt a relief. Like she could just keep inhaling forever. Like a burden on her back disappeared. Like the grey clouds above her stopped raining and cleared. She had someone to help her. Someone to rest on when she was out of breath. Someone to share the weight of her weapons. Someone to be a lookout.


No. She had a friend. She had someone by her side. Someone to give her a word of comfort. Someone to tell a joke and to hear her rare joke. Someone to calm her hand when she was nervous.


Her hands. Shark's hands were shaking. Trembling. It was something she experienced only when facing overwhelming odds. When her backup plan failed. She needed to do something and knew exactly what.


Shark reached out for Tethys' shoulder and pulled her in. She had to embrace her. Her friend. Shark pressed Tethys against herself, holding one hand across Tethys' back while the other hung lifelessly by her side. Tethys was warm. Human. She could feel her friend's heart beating. Her breathing. Like a watch, ticking along. Like clockwork.


Shark closed her eyes and squeezed slightly harder, wanting more, but recoiled. She didn't want to crush her. Shark blinked a few times. Puppy. Shark looked at her feet. Tethys was a bit too fragile and Shark was a bit too rough. One of was too human and the other was too... Not.


But it didn't matter. Shark smiled. A soft smile, barely noticeable as just the corner of her lip arched upwards but a smile. She had someone who considered her a friend. It felt... Right.


"Agent Shark." A Specialist cleared her throat, not particularly interested in the scene but needing to end it for the sake of time. "We should head up."
 
@Elephantom


"You in a rush?" Keyes asked in an almost accusatory tone, somehow catching a glance of Mick checking his watch. "The first part of this won't take long, I assure you. We'll see about the second one." He said, getting into the elevator and turned around on his heel. "I advise that you don't rush." His tone turned slightly ominous. "We have other candidates if you turn out to be less cooperative than what we expect." A textbook example of a good corporate threat. Too subtle for a corporation like MosTech to grasp - they prefer public executions - but big corporations didn't have to be loud. Just a hint at the consequences. Simple as that.


Keyes didn't really expect Mick to refuse. He pressed the button to B-2 and continued talking like there was no question about the job. "You used to be a police officer, isn't that right, Mr Harrison? The knowledge you gathered there should serve you well. Another reason why we chose you but... It's not the most important reason, Mr Harrison."


His tone shifted to a sharper one. From a hammer to a screwdriver. "The CEO - Mr Steele - is personally interested in the outcome of your assignment." He noted, clearly aiming to convey the importance of the mission. "We know you will not fail us. There are few ways you could fail. At least, if you do as you're told." Keyes looked at Mick, somewhere in the area of his chin. "You have the reputation of a decent contractor who gets the job done." Keyes looked up at Mick's eyes. "We expect you to carry out your assignment down to the letter, keeping it to yourself, and not questioning orders." He paused to look away and continued after a couple seconds. "I believe our offer will be more than enough encouragement to do what we require."


(Sorry for the short post. I'm kind of rushing this part to keep things interesting)
 
"Just being punctuate, is all." Mickey muttered in response, not paying much attention to the initial words. Still, he heard as much as he needed to hear; refusal isn't usually an option in potentially lethal situations akin to this, especially if the penultimate offer had already been made, or worse, a detailed lay of the objective given — one could only speculate the consequences that are to follow. Forced asphyxiation? Bullet to the head? Poison? Many possibilities, and the more powerful the company, the more subtlety it held. It barely applied to the ever-rusty Mostech Corp, notorious and well-disliked by everybody.


As soon as Keyes entered the elevator, Mickey too, slid into the elevator after the man, casting a quick glance towards the two men following them. Mickey couldn't help but act cautious, more out of habit than a necessity. He wiped off a trail of sweat on his forehead with a quick flick of his wrists; a nervous impression wasn't the best impression, nor will it ever be. Mick straightened and stood just a few inches behind Keyes, maintaining a modest amount of distance from the reach of the soldiers — one could never be too careful. He watched Keyes press a button, and return to his original position, and his speech.


Keyes maintained a position of subtle flattery, and a bit of bold confidence. Mickey nodded, occasionally murmuring a 'yes' or two. For the most part, he stared ahead at the blank space that was the front of the elevator, or rather, the backs of the two needlessly stoic men. And equally needless to say, Mick viewed them with little importance. They were just grunts without even a sliver of true command, as much as any corporate green should be like.


"I understand." Mick replied, looking at Keyes as he finished his short, frankly one-sided conversation. He understood it all right; in all honesty, he wasn't even expecting himself to stray from his objective, as long as it wasn't too tightly planned. Impulses often got to him more quickly than it should. Mick shrugged. Who cares? Nobody, to be exact.


[SIZE= 11px]@Mr_DC[/SIZE]
 
@Elephantom


The elevator sank into the ground, passing by the hungry darkness of the basement floors, safely behind the glass doors. "Of course you understand." Keyes nodded as the elevator doors opened into another basement level of complete darkness. "This assignment won't be right down your alley, though, Mr Harrison." Keyes said, leading the group out. His footsteps echoed, bouncing off the walls in the darkness, preceded and followed by the clanging of cybernetic feet of the Lazarus Specialists. "We did pick you for one main reason." He turned to face Mick, Keyes' eyes staring back with an almost triumphant frown.


"Your family." He said and the lights turned on. The room was simply a foyer of a sorts. Just a plain, concrete room in front of a large blast door. There were, however, several automated turrets around them. A group of four smaller ones in the ceiling, all aimed at them. Another pair or larger turrets on either side, facing them as well. The Specialists turned to Mick as well. "You see..." Keyes took a few steps back. "With matters so delicate, it's difficult to guarantee loyalty. So many mercenaries follow the shift of the wind, trying to go along with the winning side and not sticking with who they started with. It's usually difficult to pin mercenaries down with something." Keyes said, almost rolling his eyes but focused back on Mick halfway through. "We like to hire mercenaries so loyal to something." He clasped his hands behind his back.


"In addition to the funds we intend to reward you with upon completion, your family will receive a monthly grant for urban development, courtesy of the Lazarus Corporation. Your kid needs braces - we take care of it. Your wife wants to move to a better part of the city - we take care of it. Your kid wants to go to college, guess what? We take care of it." Keyes smirked. A disgusting smirk of a person who believed they held all the strings. That was how professionals did it. You don't blatantly say you're going to butcher their family if they don't comply. You've got a nice family there, would be a shame if something were to happen to them. Corporations were the a legal version of the mafia, just more elegant about their business. As long as a person is working for them, wealth rains down upon them. When you stop working, though, death tends to wait around the nearest corner. "We take care of our employees. I'm certain you will see that the pros outweigh the cons when you hear the details." He motioned his head at a turret to their side.


 That was it, then. The details. The fine print. That's what they were great with. Packaging all the horrible things to go so well with all the good things.
 
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The basements, so it was. Mickey pondered about the depth they've reached, and in essence, how hard it was going to be to get out — to attempt to get out, to be precise. Ultimately, death occupied a large chunk of possibilities should Mick try to flee like the crazy man he was and he wanted to be — he was thinking about it in the first place, wasn't he? Sucks, he always wanted to be an action hero, or more accurately, he was led to believe he wanted to be an action hero. Naivety, Mick hated it.


Mickey noted to visit the shadow brokers at some point, if he was rich enough, that is. Or more importantly, if he survived to tell the tale — an absurd, theoretically acrid tale. One where he'd just scoot out from this facility. Release the inner anarchist, that's what the anti-corporate, gung-ho punks like to describe it as. Maybe, his job was to rout this quasi-rebellion after all. Mickey let out a stifled chuckle at the thought of this.


He looked at the various floors they had passed, all of them look similar. Soon enough, it was becoming a tedious job looking at them. Too repetitive, if Mick had to say something. Escape was, Mick thought, only vaguely possible.


Too bad it was an action bordering the near, and almost on, the impossible, Mick presumed. Still, malfunctions and errors were all a very strong possibility in a world like this — especially in a world like this. And there's the constant threat of spies and terribly-disguised junkies. 


Of course, it had stricken Mick's mind before that Lazarus corp was going for a bunker, but who cares? It wasn't like this information was going to be spectacularly valuable. There was some silver linings, though: he'd get to muse on the fact that his hunch was correct after all. Perhaps even deal with the constant disappearance of his solar panels. 


Nevertheless, he wouldn't be surprised if they had a vile, fitting dungeon as well. A clean room isn't guaranteed to come with interrogations. The absence of subtle torture was thorough in the air. Very thick. Dull levels being pulled, of cogs turning, and computers computing, the sounds all clung to the air, blending in and creating a very vague, hollow moan. Not peculiar but queer enough to make his subconscious shudder ever so slightly.


Shit, why was he pontificating about them at all? Can't be helped, he thought.


Time had long since past without Mick realizing it, only coming to a thorough conclusion once they reached their floor.


There was a narrow hallway — or was he perceiving it wrongly? — which was completely dark, not even a sliver of light existed. Unfazed, Keyes and the soldiers moved and with them moved a reluctant Mick. He nodded every now and then, acknowledging Keyes' words; oh, he understood it all right, but still, he couldn't fend off the nagging feeling that irked his guts. Something was wrong. 


Abruptly, the group halted to a definite stop, with the exception of Mickey who had to totter to his feet to regain both his wits and his stance. He couldn't see anything, but his eyes could — and he could see Mr. Keyes facing him. Uncanny, Mick thought. Initially, Keyes' words made little sense to the dumbstruck Mick, until he got to the point. 


 "Your family."


The lights suddenly turned on, a glaring pain surging through his cybernetic eye as it switched back to its normal vision. Slightly more monochromatic than it should be, but nevertheless, still in fair condition. 


Mick stood there, more in awe than raw stupidity. His family? He should've realized it sooner. There are stakes, there's always some form of guarantee. Mick almost let out a dramatic gasp, but luckily didn't. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He suddenly felt parched — the entirety of his mouth and half his throat went completely dry, and despite that, he managed to gulp. A bit painful, to be honest.


The room they stood in was an empty, plain concrete room — likely reinforced on the outside — with nothing distinctive except for the large blast door that lay still in front of them, and the tons of turrets that were directed towards him, in particular. Lots of turrets, on the ceilings, and on the corners and sides of the room. He felt the specialists shuffling, probably to face him, but he decided to concentrate on Keyes, trying his best to maintain an air of uniformity. The last thing he wanted was to appear nervous, though one could notice it if they tried hard enough.


Mr. Keyes stepped back and then started to monologue. Mick listened with sharp attention, digesting every word with careful effort. He wanted to yell, he wanted to get his hands on that guy. It was shitty, cliche antagonism. Still, it was a necessary. Of course, Keyes' words made absolute sense, and Mickey would be lying if he said that he didn't think of a possible betrayal at least once. Mercenaries tend to be very ambivalent, after all. They needed someone loyal but also one that was expendable and untraceable. 


Keyes continued to speak. Mick felt slightly less flustered. Classic corporate discussion, Mick thought. Keyes was essentially closing off all possibilities that unsavory to their company. He gazed, half-focused for his mind laid on other subjects, at Keyes — him and that filthy smirk of his — and the turrets. He was cornered from all four sides. He had only one choice, it seemed.


Mickey ran a hand through his hair, brushing it back. Clearly, this conversation was very one-sided. His wavered from Keyes to the ground, as he squinted, more in confusion than terror.


"I understand." He muttered a slurred response, only faintly understandable. Of course, what else was he going to say?


[SIZE= 11px]@Mr_DC[/SIZE]


[SIZE= 11px](A bit of a hurried response, but I want to wrap things up quickly.)[/SIZE]
 
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Ay!  It's not bout not trustink. It's about trusting the right bastads.


Said the large, slender man who, although from South London like Tethys, had adopted the name Alessandro. It was comical of him, but Tethys couldn't imagine him under under a different name. Less a big brother than an uncle, he'd taught Tethys to shoot and swear. She'd heard him scold someone for their excessive paranoia - the woman had refused to go anywhere with someone accompanying her - and Tethys had heard the the harsh but true words fly from Alessandro's mouth.


She'd unwittingly recalled them now. Within Shark's strong, unyielding one-armed hug. The arm was weighty on her shoulderblades, the gun in her hand sticking at an awkward angle out of the side of their embrace, and Tethys was far from comfortable but... she didn't want Shark to let go. Even through where they would be going, walking into death, Tethys wanted Shark's arm around her neck at all times.


"I..." Tethys sighed. She didn't know what to say. She had no idea what to say. If she had to say something, she'd simply make a lot of gibberish noises, stuttering and spluttering all over the place. But no one was asking her to speak. So she only sighed.


And then, all too suddenly, Shark was away from her and Tethys was left standing apart from her regiment. Under the stern eye of the specialist, Tethys was scared back into her row. A hot blush of uncertainty rushed from her feet to her head. Other recruits were sneaking unhappy looks at her. They knew something was up, surely.


Who was she to the Agent?! How does she rate?! What makes her special?!


Or that's what Tethys suspected they were thinking. To reassure herself, he looked back to Shark, but the confident woman had moved away again, at the Specialist's command.


Aware of hating eyes on the back of her neck as the recruits were beginning to move, Tethys felt insecure for a moment.


Whatever. They'd all be dead. In due time.


With this sudden realisation though, Tethys swallowed her embarrassment and put her chin up a little further. She'd live. They wouldn't. She and Shark would live. They had to live. Well, obviously Shark would live. But Tethys was going to live too. She had to. She really had to. No idea why she had to. But she did.


She gripped the gun even tighter and felt a badly repaired bit of its chassis give way under the force of her fingers.


@Mr_DC ((Wrote this all on my phone so there may be typos I've missed.))
 
@Elephantom


"Of course you understand." Keyes nodded. "We knew you would." As he said that, the Specialists relaxed somewhat. "I guess it is time to tell you what you will do." He cleared his throat, getting serious, if it is possible to be more serious than what he was before. "Lazarus created a super-soldier. We trained her over the last few months and now we are expecting her to succeed at a first actual mission." His eyes seemed tired as he explained it, barely interested in his own words. Keyes explained the situation countless times to people both more and less important than Mick. Only one person was truly important enough to know all the details, in Keyes' mind, and that was his only superior. Steele himself.


"The mission should go perfectly well with no problems but there was an... Unforeseen consequence of having her interact with other soldiers. She formed a bond with a new recruit. That could make the mission more difficult for her because the recruits are not meant to survive. Now, our first intention was to eliminate the recruit and be done with it but there is a risk that this would lead to other unforeseen consequences. That is why we are taking you." Keyes finally got to the point, giving Mick a nod.


"Your task will be to monitor Agent Shark - who I will refer to as 'agent' from here on - and report back any and all behaviour you find suspicious or worth mentioning. Simple, isn't it?" Keyes inched an eyebrow up. Probably not as simple as it sounds. Corporate things never were as simple as they sounded. "You will be working closely with the agent, keeping your true assignment a secret."


"You will not see your family while on this assignment but Lazarus will ensure they are taken care of. If you would like..." Keyes motioned his hand at the elevator. "You may go and explain your situation to them in as little details as possible. Be quick about it." Keyes raised one bony finger, looking at Mick with a frown. "Their mission is starting soon and you are to be their extraction." Keyes returned to his usual posture. "I will be your only official contact with Lazarus and your only superior. You do not do anything anyone tells you but you also do not give orders to anyone." Keyes tapped the side of his head. "If you, again, agree to all of this, we will take you to get a quick surgery right away which will allow us to know where you are..." Keyes smirked. "To ensure your loyalty. It's what every corporation does. Non-negotiable, I am afraid."


At least that was one certainty. Working for a corporation meant you belonged to them. Every employee had a chip somewhere in them, monitoring everything that the corporation cared about. Those working in delicate matters had slightly modified chips which ensured their betrayals were explosively punished.
 
@0stinato


Shark took a deep breath and followed the Specialists out. The first time she was going on a mission with so many people. Sure, she occasionally had a target she had to protect but being grouped up with so many people was new. She was meant to be an army, not a part of one.


But it didn't matter. They were about as useful as decoys. That's what they were, after all. Just something to get the attention away from Shark. Away from Shark and her friend.


Her friend. Wearing armor which would get her killed and weapons barely in one piece. A civilian with the most basic knowledge and gear Shark could give. Someone facing impossible odds but having a monster by her side. But Shark couldn't go against everyone targeting Tethys. That would just end up bloody for everyone involved. She knew what she had to do. All the gear and skills Shark tried teaching Tethys wouldn't matter with the plan she had. Just finish the mission. It was as simple as that. Her mission wasn't to kill everyone or assassinate someone in the compound. It was to get out.


No need to fight or shoot, all Tethys would have to do is follow and escape.


As most the Specialists entered the elevator, heading up, and others leading the recruits up the stairs, Shark stopped. Tethys still needed her weapons. The recruits would notice them. So would the Specialists. No one would probably say a word. And if they did, so what? While Shark didn't have the authority to tell them to be quiet, her presence alone should do the trick.


She locked eyes with Tethys and slowly looked at where she stashed the weapons. "My bag is in the room." She looked at Tethys. "Get it." She ordered and headed up with last of the recruits. That should be enough to excuse her staying back and getting her weapons. She should understand what Shark meant. Right? It didn't matter now. Shark did what she could to help, as little as that was. Everything will in the end come down to Tethys being clever. Clever and fast.
 
The only sound was the clomping of different types of footwear, likely jumbled together from the unwanted piles of clothes left behind in corners. Tethys hadn't put on the boots she'd been given, but kept on her sturdy dark brown ones. Might look suspicious to Specialists, but Tethys was sure they wouldn't care. It didn't matter anyway, what the cannon fodder wore.


Tethys could hardly keep walking in a straight line. She was giddy for some reason, blood rushing to and from her head in waves. Everyone was heading up the stairs, all colour leaving the room. As the numbers diminished, she was reminded of that too-white colour of every surface, and her nose was filled with the scent of old dirt badly masked by cleaning fluid. Maybe the general dirt smell was from all the recruits - none of the uniforms looked too clean, and every single one was creased in some manner. From months of sitting tangled together in a drawer somewhere, probably. Stale sweat from other people unwashed and uncared for.


Tethys became aware of Shark's eyes on her. And then her voice. She hadn't spoken in any kind of friendly or even subtle tone - no, she had actually commanded Tethys to do something. Just as an agent would. Get the underlings to do the dirty work. Tethys heard what she said, looked at her, and blinked. My bag is in the room. Shark had a bag?


But, she had to look the part. Without waiting another second, she gave a prompt, "Yes, ma'am," in her cockney tongue, and power-walked towards where Shark had been looking. Maybe Shark'd put a bag under the bunk she'd slept in. Though she wouldn't have just left without it. And Tethys was sure Shark didn't have a bag, not even when they'd met. Still, Tethys decided to check the room quickly. However, to her dismay, she had been right about the lack of bag. Not unless Shark wanted the case the piece-of-shit guns had been in, there was no bag in that room.


Tethys backed out, letting the door close, and suddenly she had to supress the urge to express an "Oh, my GOD," that had formed in her mouth. What kind of idiot was she? An airhead, that's what kind. On the scale of idiocy, from fly that keeps bumping into walls to highly efficient car-building robot, Tethys was very far down. Doy! Weapons, duh.


She moved away quickly to the panel she'd stashed the rifle and laser pistol behind before, shaking her head and telling herself over and over Get it together, get it together. It's all like in the spy films, they always have li'ul codes they say. Like, "get my bag" is "go grab yuh gun y'moron". Lawdy, you're gonna get yourself shot.



She removed the panel quickly, before anyone came, grabbed the laser pistol and dropped it into her topcoat pocket, before slinging the rifle under her jacket, which still hung at her side. Unfortunately, the jacket didn't do as good a job at hiding the rifle as Tethys would've liked, but there was nothing to be done now. All she could do was to try and not act conspicuous. After replacing the panel, she ran off back down the corridor to Shark, one hand holding the about-to-break-at-a-moment's-notice gun, and the other patting each pocket in turn and doing a rough inventory check - left pocket, mask Shark had given her. Right pocket, laser pistol. At her side, rifle. Left wrist, two spare hairbands.


She was always told to take a hairband with her.


She stopped at Shark's side, watching the few remaining recruits trickle up the stairs, "Sorry! Couldn't find yuh bag, ma'am. I'll... do better next time," Tethys hoped Shark caught the sheepish apology. And it was very sheepish. Sheep were stupid animals too. Maybe that's what Tethys was - a sheep. Baa baa, black sheep. But, despite all this, she was in a good mood. Perhaps the strike she'd given her roommate had helped her release the tension, or maybe Shark's hug had given her a little bit of light to chase, she wasn't sure. But it was never bad to be optimistic.


@Mr_DC
 
@0stinato


Shark nodded, giving Tethys a quick look, spotting a bulge. She got the rifle. Good. Shark smirked as she walked out of the building to the surface with the recruits. Things were going according to plan. Maybe not that impossible now. Yeah, thing were going well. Tethys actually stood a chance and that meant that Shark had a good chance as well.


"Where's the new officer?" One Specialist whispered to another who was waiting by one of a handful of black vans. The vans looked like regular armoured vehicles MosTech used to transport money and weapons. Closer inspection would reveal they were just cheap copies which couldn't handle bullets.


"I don't know." The Specialist replied, giving a bored shrug and a yawn. It was morning, after all. The sun was barely up behind the grey skies and the breeze gently cooled everyone. "He went into a building with some new guy. A mercenary, I'd say. Not a flashy one." She rubbed the back of her head, pushing herself away from the vehicle. "Regardless, we're on a schedule."


Shark listened, half turned away. New officer. Someone made a mistake. She made her smirk fade as she approached the pair of chatting Specialists. There were countless others encircling the recruits and vans, their weapons ready. Percaution, making sure no one got scared enough to run away.


"Are we ready, agent?" The Specialist asked. They all sounded uninterested. Just shipping some pigs to the butcher. They weren't the ones going to a battle, why get excited? Still, the poor security was insulting to Shark. While someone couldn't just walk in, a good team could easily mow everyone down.


"We can go." Shark nodded. She was technically the commanding officer. While she wasn't in power to give orders, they would listen to her. They knew who this mission was for. If she was ready, the mission could start.


"Load up!" The Specialist waved her arm, walking to the back of the van and popping the doors open. "Teams of eight!" She ordered, holding a door.


Shark walked over to the closest van and gave a look to Tethys. Luck would play a part in that entire thing as well. A single bullet cutting through the van could kill either of them. Shark could just run into a bullet meant for someone else. Tethys could take cover in the wrong spot, open to someone unseen.


She looked back into the van. It was small. Too small for eight people to sit comfortably. They would be packed in. Six people would be squeezed together, let alone eight. That was actually good. Shields of flesh to take the bullet for her. It's not like Shark would feel uncomfortable squeezed against others. She had cybernetic limbs, after all. Anyone sitting by her would have a painful ride.


Looking around one more time and seeing recruits started getting into the vans, Shark walked in as well, taking a seat in the middle. Hopefully, Tethys would join her in the van. There was one more lesson she had to share. One that hadn't crossed her mind until now. An possibility. A fate other than death.
 
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How many hours had it been since Tethys felt the breeze of life on her face? Probably not that many - 10, maybe more. No more than 16 probably. But it felt like decades since. Being smothered and suffocated underground, blinded from all sides by the sort of white you'd only experience in solitary-confinement cells, the only sounds being the echo-chamber of noise of muffled voices and sharp footsteps, it was easy to get distracted enough to forget the extremely simple things in life. Such as the wind on your cheek, such as the smooth rush of traffic somewhere, the sound a tornado within the confines of the city, such as the acidy texture the air had out here. Sort of static. Maybe that was why her hair found it possible to stand up at all angles despite its length.


Not now though - she'd kept it in a ponytail all this time. More professional, less likely to get muddy, she'd naïvely thought when she'd come here yesterday. Look the part, ol' girl, you're bound to get the job! Dun't matter what hoops they make you jump through neither. Just gotta keep your hair outta the way. God. Less likely to get muddy than bloody now, wasn't it. Jesus Christ, she was so glad she'd tied it back.


She was so distracted by the simple existence of outside! Wow! that she'd forgotten to keep Shark in her peripheral vision. As soon as she realised, she started whipping her head around, almost catching the cheek of the person standing next to her with her ponytail. She had to apologise, give the laugh appropriate to the situation, and explain that, "although I tied it back, it ain't none less mad, eh!"


Oh, but there she was. Not too far off. Talking to a couple of people, more Specialists by the looks. They were everywhere! How did they get their jobs? In fact, how did anyone in this murderous organisation get anywhere? The simple peasant off the street couldn't be let in. Or he could, but he'd be used in the way every single recruit was being used this morning. Willing animals thinking they were walking into the feed house only to meet the knife. Once one was killed, the rest would realise.


But then, that's what Nevereign - no, this world - had become. Unforgiving. Anyone below a certain line was doomed, no more useful than dust on a chessboard, swept away to make room for the real players. It was hardly a new revelation; nearly every day on the News, Tethys had been caught up with the daily continental death toll per thousand. No one on the News ever mentioned it, the little blue box in the corner that housed nothing but a number, but some days it would move up a few 0.somethings or maybe it'd move down. You only knew what that number meant if you found out - you were never told. At any rate, that number, mixed with the general atmosphere of each street in this forsaken world, it wasn't hard now to put the pieces together.


The world was housing for the Fat Cats. And those catering to the Fat Cats. Any alley-cats such as Tethys, (which was more apt than it should've been) were treated like the strays they were and used. The homeless dragged off the streets for sick performances or tests. And the willing made to walk a tightrope they didn't realise they were on.


Tethys tried to follow Shark as the Specialists started being the shepherds to the mutton, loading eight per van. Shit, Tethys wanted to ride with Shark. There were quite a few people in front of her. It'd be rude to push them out the way.


She had to keep reminding themselves it wouldn't matter once they were dead. And, more importantly, she had to do what she had to. Live for yuhself, no one else.


"Excuse meee!" she sang, stretching out an arm in front of her and using it like a fin to slip her way between people. It was here she was reminded that she wasn't a small woman - any gap she couldn't just take. She'd end up bumping people out the way with her breasts, shoulders or hips (and off the rifle one time, but it was so far down in the crowd it'd be overlooked probably. Hopefully). But still, give them a playful, open-mouthed smile and maybe they wouldn't hate her so much. She managed to wrap a strong hand around a bar on the wall, probably there to hold weapons or helmets or the sort, and hoisted herself up. Thank God her arms could still counteract her weight - she was sure she'd got a little chunkier over the last month. Enjoyed food too much.


"Yo! Again," Tethys said brightly to Shark. Still with no idea why she was excited. She slipped into a position near her friend, who was seated in the very middle. "Almost didn't get a place. Reminds me of a time I almost got left behind 'cus I cudn't find a seat in the van. I ended up sittin' in someone's lap. They weren't too happy about it but... ay I got a seat which wus fine."


@Mr_DC
 
@0stinato


Shark smiled as Tethys got in and started talking. She was talking a lot about things that didn't really matter. It was actually somewhat endearing. Shark got used to getting short replies so having Tethys ramble was a breath of fresh air. "Ssssh." Shark closed her eyes, giving Tethys a nod. It was the time for silence. A form of meditation. Just silence, clearing one's mind and getting ready for the action. No one taught Shark that. No one mentioned it to her. Far from it, she was meant to be ready for a fight at every moment.


She learned, however, that taking a time for herself, for her mind before combat brought better results. She was more 'in the moment'. Just let her body do what she had to do and keep her mind on stand-by for any complications.


The recruits packed in steadily, giving quizzical looks to the silent agent. It was probably a scene one would see in a horror movie. A van with no way out being filled by inexperienced people while there's a silent psychopath sitting inside with her eyes closed. Waiting.


The doors slammed shut, locking them into darkness. Shark took a deep, audible breath and slowly exhaled as the van started. She could feel the other recruit sitting by her side, desperately trying to make themself comfortable against Shark's cybernetic limbs.


Shark opened her eyes. Utter darkness. Almost, just a few rays passing through the thin slit above the back door. The van started moving. "There is something you should know." Shark said quietly, smirking in the darkness at how ominous that sentence might sound. A good moment for a joke. Although, everyone had weapons. Might end badly.


"There is a chance you will be captured alive." Shark placed a hand on Tethys' thigh, wanting to make sure she had her attention. "Say nothing." She looked at Tethys, trying to imagine how she looked. She barely saw the outline of her face. Was she scared? Excited? Feeling nothing?"


"Not to protect Lazarus." Shark added, looking ahead again. "If you give your interrogators what they want, you will die. The longer you are quiet, the more time you will have until rescue arrives." She gave a gentle squeeze to Tethys' leg. The recruits aren't getting rescued. Tethys would.


A tactic like that was something straight from the corporate manual. Literally, it was exactly what security was taught and it was something everyone knew. Just keep your mouth shut and live through whatever horror they put you through. At least, if you want a slightly higher chance of survival. Though, corporations rarely bothered on rescue missions. If a person was missing, they were considered dead. If a person was a hostage, they were considered dead. A brutal world. Shark had no intention of considering Tethys dead. She would get her out.
 
An environment this dark Tethys always expected to be cold. When the heating's off and Tethys gets up for a glass of water in the night, the linoleum floor beneath her feet in the kitchen is cold. Cold and dark. It was odd for her to be shut in a dark place and suddenly feel too hot. The body heat of the other numerous people around her was suffocating. With her back to the van wall in the darkness, surrounded by walking corpses, Tethys felt pessimism rush into her. it made her begin to sweat. She could feel it on her neck.


But at that moment, she felt something oddly chilled on her thigh. It was heavy and, through the thin material, she could feel the lack of heat. Shark. She sat up a little as she heard Shark speak, and got closer to her. Shark was clearly just talking to her and her alone. She had to be close, she had to be the only one to hear these words.


"Say nothing," she heard Shark say, her breath faint on Tethys' cheek. Tethys would obey that. A little subtle way of telling her to not panic. Just hush, listen to her. Completely listen to Shark and ignore everything else. Ignore the vans beginning to move, ignore them picking up speed, ignore the sound of the traffic through the thin metal. Even the vehicles were shit. Tethys knew what a sturdy wheeled-thing was. She'd worked on too many to count. Mostly bikes, but even then, sometimes parts had been fitted that would break at a single harsh bump. She'd worked on vans, the chassis of which she'd been able to cut through in seconds rather than taking minutes getting anywhere with the saw.


She'd probably be killed in the dark here. More pessimism dulled her eyes.


But it was hard to stay happy at all when she heard what Shark said - she might get captured. By the enemy. And... implied by Shark... tortured. She'd be tortured. If there was something Tethys wasn't familiar with it was torture. Aside from the films where victims were Tucker Telephoned, or punched repeatedly, or waterboarded. But even then, the hero always got out. And what would the enemy ask her, if she was caught?


And now Shark was talking shit. It was impossible for Tethys to reveal sensitive information about Lazarus, surely? Because she knew... nothing. Nothing at all about Lazarus. She wasn't affiliated with it. She didn't research, she wasn't a security officer, she wasn't anything. She couldn't spill anything. Nor could she pretend to, probably. What did she know of Lazarus? Research bored her so she'd never done anything. And what information would be available to the public about Lazarus? It was impossible.


But Shark told her to keep quiet. Whether she meant just don't say anything or don't scream, Tethys couldn't be sure. She barely even knew her own pain tolerance. She knew she could recover from a stubbed little toe without a swearword uttered but... she was convinced waterboarding would be worse. Or whatever they would do to her. Maybe they'd cut her. Maybe they'd hit her. Maybe they'd instantly kill her. What if they didn't take prisoners?


She couldn't think about all that now. She was going to think how she had been - follow Shark, hold her own, shoot, shoot, shoot. Try not to let anyone get within inches of her. Attack based on fear and will. Keeping her two feet on the ground at all times. And if she was captured, keep her big mouth shut. Well. Mostly. She'd be sure to let her captors know she thought of them.


@Mr_DC
 
@0stinato


Thump. Ugh. Thump. Ughh...


Sharp opened her eyes with another heavy thump of her heart. She felt like it was a hammer inside her head, beating to get out. With each thump, the veins of her head felt like they were on fire. Mmm... Shark moaned, blinking several times to protect her eyes from the burning white light coming from somewhere. Somewhere off to the side. A window to her side. No, a lamp. There was no window. The pale light, almost blue in shade, bounced off the clean, white tiles of her room. She knew where she was now. Back at Lazarus.


Shark blinked a few times, just to get her vision to stop being fuzzy. A large man with cybernetic limbs and a black trench coat stood on the opposite end of the room, watching the wall somewhere by Shark. He was like a piece of furniture, completely static. Yeah, it was Lazarus.


And there she was. Her friend. On the same bed, looking alive. In for a nasty shock when she wakes up, probably. That painful light was even closer to her.


Shark tried to smile but her face just wouldn't cooperate. She wasn't feeling like smiling. She felt no pain which meant she was done with surgery. Which meant she needed surgery. Which meant she failed Steele. Barely completed the mission and brought shame upon Lazarus. So much for their perfect weapon. Exploded in their hands on the first test.


She sighed, looking away from Tethys. It wasn't the first time Shark was in this position. The thin sheet covering her up was only bulging on her torso. The vulnerable feeling was familiar to her. No limbs. No legs to walk on, no hands to defend herself with. She could just look around and talk. If she ever did talk.


Shark shivered, remembering some tests in this state. Stress tests. The term itself made Shark frown. She was unintentionally conditioned to fear the phrase. To just bow her head and hide away. But there wouldn't be any stress tests now. She had to see Steele. She had to explain herself. If only she could get up. If only she would be given temporary cybernetics. If only she could scratch her cheek. If only she could brush her hair off her pale eye.
 
She didn't remember going drinking - hell, she was struggling to remember much at all, maybe she had gone drinking - but she felt something akin to a hangover throbbing away quietly behind her eyes. She knew the best solution for this - don't open them. Or move. Opening eyes and moving were the things that made hangovers worse. Although it probably wasn't a hangover, Tethys decided to treat it as such. Any other explanation was a little bit scary to her.


The hell had happened anyway? She knew she'd lived through something terrible but whatever the memory contained, it was floating just a little out of her reach. This had happened a few times before, her memory becoming patchy and unreliable, outright lying to her. One of the times was when she was just entering teenhood and she was privy to the view of a woman in her gang being absolutely railed into a wall by the face of a lorry. Out of control and struggling to stop, it had apparently be an accident. But after Tethys had panicked and cried and eventually exhausted herself to falling asleep in someone's lap, her brain was getting rid of the memory. It succeeded to such a degree that Tethys knew something had happened, but she didn't know exactly what and who to. To the extent that she asked around for that particular woman only to be met with a few surprised stares before someone asked her if she remembered what happened?


Tethys didn't. At all. So she had to double the pain by reliving the memory as imagery from verbal communication. As she was told and as she saw it in her head, the memory came back to her suddenly, like a sucker punch to the solar plexus.


She could only imagine she'd be going through that again. Though hopefully no one got splattered by a lorry.


At her side, she heard Shark moan and she was aware she was more awake. On her back. Limb feeling returning. Legs, a little muscle ache but nothing particularly awful. Left arm, fine, if a bit pins-and-needles-y. Right arm. That was where the 'ow' was. Really quite ow. Actually really ow. There were chest ows too. The hell had she done to herself?


Probably best not to ask that question... it would imply she wanted to know.


Shark sounded close, so Tethys said her name. Her voice was a little crackly, as if she'd not used it for a while. And Tethys, a gregarious and talkative person, wasn't used to it. So she tried again, pushing her voice a little more to form the syllable of Shark's name. She didn't ask where they were. She didn't ask what was going on. She just said one word.


"Shark?"


@Mr_DC (I'm not sure it's good to be back at Lazarus, but I'm glad they're safe.)
 
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