The Journeyman [STORY ONLY]

[Caulder]

Prologue

Spoiler

The year is 2203. While Humanity has advanced slowly along the path, they are still reaching for the stars, as always. But, even with dreams of the stars, America still faces the usual scrutiny. Other nations disagree, and wish to destroy them and take their technology for themselves. This has prompted a certain project to be put into action..............

It was early. Around 8 AM, Drake thought, as he rolled out of his broken and worn bed in his 3rd story apartment.. As he shambled out of his bedroom, he had realized he was still wearing his Marine fatigues from yesterday. He had just gotten home late last night, and hadn't even bothered to undress before laying down in his mildly comfy bed. After stretching and making sure he was still in one piece, he proceeded to enter his bathroom, looking over his features. His almost non-existent black hair barely growing back from his monthly shave in the Service. He looked at his thin beard and mustache, sighing as he reached for his electric razor, shaving off what scraps of hair were on his face and smiling as he then set the razor down. Looking in the mirror, he examined his wide chin and high eyebrows, wondering if he should thin them or not, then thinking nothing of it. He then turned on the faucet, waiting for it to warm up and cupping his hands, then splashing his face with the warm water to wash off the few hairs that remained on his face after his shave. His blue eyes looked back at him in the mirror, and he noticed his teeth had grown yellow from all the cigarettes he had smoked overseas and the lack of ability to properly brush. As he reached for his toothbrush, a knock at the door caught his attention. As he walked away from the mirror, he brushed off his shirt and tried to make himself presentable. "Yeah, Yeah, I'm coming." He yelled, as the knocking began to intensify. Upon opening the door, an older man in full US military uniform stood ahead of him. Drake instantly stood at attention as he noticed the Colonel wings on the man's collar, his legs straight as the Marine sergeant stood at attention. The Colonel smiled as he stepped forward, saying in a gentle tone, "At ease, Sergeant Conners." The Sergeant sighed as he let his arm down to his side and allowed the Colonel in, closing the door behind him

The Sergeant listened, handing the Colonel a mug of coffee as he sat down on the couch, Drake himself sitting in the nearby easy chair. The Colonel looked about the bland apartment, smiling as he took a sip of his coffee and set it down on the table in front of him. "Sergeant. I know you just got back from the front. But this is a matter of national security. You have been selected, along with four other servicemen for Project Freerunner. Each of you unique in your own way. This project could very well be your end, and it is fully voluntary. But know, that should you survive..........."

The Colonel stopped, looking down at the coffee ahead of him, then looking up to the stone-faced Sergeant. "You will become one of our greatest military assets. Do you accept, Sergeant Conners?"

The Colonel continued to scan the Sergeant's features, looking for something, anything, to indicate his answer. Suddenly, without warning, the Sergeant stood and saluted, standing at full attention "Sir! I would be honored to be a participant in Project Freerunner." the Sergeant said in a firm tone of voice as the Colonel stood and reached out his right hand. "At ease, Sergeant. Welcome aboard. Pack your things, and be at the Airport in four hours." Drake reached his right hand out to shake the Colonel's hand as the older man spoke, a broad smile on his face as he shook his hand.

When the Colonel departed, Drake busied himself finding new clothes, eating breakfast, and cleaning himself. Before he knew it, three hours had passed, and he was practically charging out of his apartment in a rush to get to the airport.

The flight had been.......boring. He and the Colonel flew via private jet across the country. From Manhattan, New York, straight to Las Vegas, Nevada. From there, they disembarked, and climbed aboard a black limousine, where Drake and the Colonel sat. There, across from Drake, the older man handed Drake a file. Contained within was something that scared even Drake. Files on Human-Robotic combination, neural implantation for telekinetic control of machines, body strengthening devices, and many more things that not even the Jarhead could comprehend. Most of it, though, just disappeared from his head as soon as he stopped reading it. "Sir. What is this all about?" he asked, handing the folder back to the Colonel, who began laughing lightly and took back the folder.

"Project Freerunner has been in development for the past 13 years. We hypothesized that if given the proper augments to the human body and mind, a normal soldier could become a new weapon of mass destruction. The project, headed up by General Edmond Grant, will take you and the other four candidates. And turn them into a new hope for the United States. The problem is, all of our scenarios usually result in Graft Versus Host syndrome, which essentially causes the body to destroy itself, thinking the augments to be foreign invaders that the immune system must attack. You five were chosen because of the medical history you have. You show an innate resistance to most foreign diseases. As such, that strong an immune system can be controlled with the first implant. All other simulations on other subjects resulted in either total immune failure or Graft Versus Host Syndrome. But the General and his science staff say that you five each have a 70% chance to receive the intended effect."

The Colonel stopped talking when he noticed that Drake was staring at him with a questioning look. "A Jarhead to the core. In laymen's terms, you five are the only viable candidates because of your unique immune system. We're going to turn you into a super soldier. On par with Superman, my boy." The Colonel drew a cigar out from his coat pocket, lighting it and puffing it gently as he rolled down the window, the howling desert wind echoing into the car as the sped down the desert road. Drake himself, mixed up in feelings of both excitement and regret, thought about what he was getting into.

When they reached their destination, at half past 3 local time, Drake looked out the window at what appeared to be nowhere. The Colonel stepped out of the limo, prompting Drake to follow. As the limo pulled away, the Colonel began sifting the ground lightly with his foot until a quiet clank was heard. The Colonel pointed to a small ring on the ground, about the width of Drake's wrist "Open it, Sergeant. You'll see why we have it like this later."

Drake complied, grasping the ring and heaving with all his might, to reveal a stairwell hidden under a large metal door. As he heaved it open, the Colonel quickly moved to his side and assisted until it was open enough for the two of them to enter, at which point, Drake grasped a handle inside and slowly closed it as he descended into the darkness, the Colonel pulling out a flashlight and lighting the way.

After what felt to Drake like a hundred steps, he began to notice a change in the room temperature, as if he was in a house that was air-conditioned. As they stopped, the Colonel pointed his flashlight at a door ahead of them, reaching into his coat pocket and drawing out a small key card, finding a keypad and swiping the card, then entering eight numbers into the pad, at which point the door opened, revealing a long hallway lined with innumerable doors. "Welcome to Project Freerunner's base. You'll be spending the next year of your life here, so get used to being underground." The Colonel stated, smiling as he put away the flashlight and keycard, turning to face the Marine.

"I never told you my name. I'm Colonel Morgan, and I will be in charge of your physical augmentation oversight. Now, let's go introduce you to the team." Colonel Morgan then turned and placed his hand on Drake's shoulder, leading him down the corridor until they stopped at a door marked "LAB 3" in bold black letters, standing out against the silver door. As the Colonel opened the door, a loud scream fo frustration could be heard as a scientist came into view from the slowly opening door. The Scientist grasped at his brown hair, practically ripping it out as what appeared to be a human arm lay in front of him, the Colonel clearing his throat as they entered.

The lab was......Strange, most things not fully understood by Drake's quick scan of the room. Numerous computer screens and metal tables were spread about the room, as small glass cases around the walls held numerous vials and what Drake presumed to be computer parts. As the Scientist turned around, he released his brown hair and attempted to make it look mildly presentable. As Drake looked upon his features, he notice numerous pimples and zits covering his face, as well as a thick set of Cokebottle glasses covering his brown eyes. As Drake opened his mouth to speak, the Colonel cut him off. "Professor Zead. I'd like to introduce you to our other Marine candidate, Sergeant Drake Conners. Drake, this is Professor Zead. He is our top cybernetics specialist, and will be overseeing the medical procedures relating to your physical modification."

The colonel spoke in a firm tone, the Scientist looking over Drake as he hopped out of his chair, examining every aspect of the Marine, before sitting down and speaking firmly. "Yes, Yes. Please go, as I am on the verge of a breakthrough!" Drake could sense the agitation in his voice, saluting and walking back towards the door, the Colonel following. "What is his problem, Sir? Did someone spill his chocolate milk?" Drake asks, joking about the nerd-like features of the good doctor, the Colonel obviously not impressed. "Drake, Zead is probably older than you. And as such, he deserves the respect he is due. After all, he'll be the one turning your body into a compact freight train." Colonel Morgan says, a smile creeping to his face as he turns and leads Drake deeper into the facility, stopping at a door labeled "MEDLAB 1," opening it and allowing Drake to enter first.

Inside, Drake saw three hospital beds, as well as a large window to his left that spanned most of the wall, overlooking three operating tables assembled with separating curtains between each bed. After scanning the room, he saw a desk off to the right, behind the three beds, with what appeared to be a young woman, barely in her thirties, sitting behind it, typing away at the computer set upon the desk. Upon hearing the door open, the woman looked up to meet Drake's gaze, then blushed as she went back to her work. "Sergeant, this is Doctor Ford. She's one of the five physicians in the project, and is the lead surgeon. She will be handling any and all medical issues in the facility." Morgan speaks, waving to the doctor as she sheepishly waves back, the pair departing from the room and closing the door.

Drake looked over at the Colonel, and opened his mouth to speak. "Sir. Is she always that sheepish? I don't want an easily unnerved doctor operating on ME." Drake states, crossing his arms as the Colonel laughs and pats Drake on the back. "Don't worry! She only gets like that around new people. She'll warm up to you, don't worry." Morgan says, as he directs Drake down the hall to the final door, opening it and smiling. "This is the barracks. Really, it's just a room with three bunks. Get accustomed to it. Because you'll be spending most of your time here." Morgan stated, smiling as he looked over at drake. He then pointed to a bunk that was devoid of and bags or clothing, then turned for the door. "Get some sleep. The other candidates will be showing up tomorrow. For now, get as much sleep as you can. I hear the process can cause insomnia." The Colonel laughs, as he exits the room, Drake himself walking over to the bunk, plopping down and laying down, both of his hands behind his head as he stares up at the bed above him, wondering what he had gotten himself into.



Day broke the next morning with a loud trumpeting noise inside the barracks, played through a speaker, as Colonel Morgan began to speak. "Drake. Get your ass up and head to Medlab 1. The Doctor needs to make sure you're in one piece after you tour of duty." The Colonel spoke, then the speaker clicked as if a phone was hung up, Drake, climbing himself out of bed, exited the barracks and headed to the medlab he had examined yesterday. When he entered, there was a man sitting in the bed closest to the door, wearing what appeared to be Ranger pants and a matching shirt. The two soldiers locked eyes, and practically assaulted each other in their minds.

Drake had always hated Rangers, and this man was no different. "Name and rank." Drake stated firmly, crossing his arms and waiting. "Staff Sergeant Little. Army Rangers. What about you, Jarhead?" Drake smiled as he opened his mouth to speak "Gunnery Sergeant Conners. Marine Force Recon, 3rd platoon." he stated, knowing full well that, either way, they were both damn good warriors. The Ranger began to laugh to himself, his right arm raising to a salute. "Didn't think they'd be bringing in a Gunny for this project. Welcome aboard, Jarhead. Looks like we both get to kick some ass." The ranger spoke, before inhaling sharply through his teeth, reaching his left hand for his right forearm.

"Dammit, Doc. That hurts! You gotta shove that big a needle into my trigger arm?" he exclaims in pain, the doctor from earlier taking out a vial of blood from a needle she had inserted into the Ranger's arm, withdrawing the needle itself and then covering it with a gauze pad. "Poor baby. I thought you Rangers were tough as nails. Looks like the Marines beat you." The doctor says in a very light voice, the Ranger laughing as Drake walked over and sat in the bed next to him. Drake decided to start a conversation, beginning with where he was stationed before being sent home.

As it turned out, he and Little had been stationed on opposite ends of the front line, both men leading their squad in pushing deep into the Russian-controlled Poland. It was one of many operations designed to take back Europe and liberate them from the Russians, who had slowly began a push from their motherland into Europe. As another doctor arrived to do a physical exam on Little, Ford began running a battery of tests on Drake. By the time both men were done, they both slowly walked back to their barracks, both aching all over from the repeated shots and injections, and from certain..........Aspects..........Of the physical. By the time they managed to get back to the Barracks, it was almost 9 PM Eastern time. But what had surprised Drake most, was that there was a female soldier sitting on Drake's bed, her legs covered in desert camo pants, and wearing a brown T-shirt with USMC plastered on the front in black. She immediately stood and saluted, stepping aside, noticing Drake. "Corporal Heartford, reporting for duty, sir!" she said, then a wry smile cracked over her face as she crossed her arms and laughed. "Not really. But seeing as how you two seem eager to sleep, I figured I'd introduce myself." The woman says as Drake sighs, then walks to his bed, half-assed saluting the Corporal and then plopping his head down "Gunnery Sergeant Conners. Find your own bed before it gets taken." he says, exhaustion apparent in his voice. As he pulled his feet onto his cot, he heard both the soldiers breaking into light conversation as he himself wondered what was to become of him.

Comments thread is here: http://www.ulmf.org/bbs/showthread.php?t=8733

 

[Caulder]

Re: The Journeyman [STORY ONLY]

Chapter One: Awakening

Spoiler

Day two kicked off early for Drake, as the trumpeting sounded through the speakers once more, all three soldiers inside the barracks waking, Drake bumping his head on the bunk above him, then rubbing that area. As he got out of bed, he looked down at his fatigues and sighed, deciding not to change his clothes. After making sure his extremely short hair wasn't growing any longer, he looked up at the speaker as the Colonel's voice came over again. "Little and Heartford, head down to Medlab 2. Conners, head to Medlab 1. Time to give you all some improvements." As Drake heard his name, he practically jogged out of his barracks and over to Medlab 1.

In the medlab, Doctor Ford was dressed in operating scrubs, putting on a mask as she walked towards a door in the back of the room, as Drake looked over through the observation windows, he saw as two sets of surgical staff worked away on two different people, then quickly turned back towards the doctor as he chuckled lightly. "Drake. It's time for your first round of implants. We need to get you decontaminated and ready for surgery." she says in her light voice, as he nods and follows her.

Inside the door, there was a set of three sinks aligned next to each other, and a row of racks that had some surgical scrubs hanging on it. The Doctor turns her head away as she hands him a hospital gown, which he takes. He then strips down and puts on the gown, clearing his throat after he was done. The doctor lead him into a small glass chamber, where there was a low whine as the Doctor passed him and headed for the nearest operating table, motioning for Drake to lay down as more surgical staff began to gather. Drake felt a lump growing in his throat as he approached the table and lay down upon it, a man with an anesthesia device walking over and placing it over his face. The man asked for Drake to count to 10, and he did so, his consciousness fading after three.

Doctor Ford nodded as she checked to insure Drake was out, and began the procedure. It started in the head and his legs. His head was cut open in key locations, where the skull was removed and small black squares and triangles and all manner of shapes were attached to his brain, each surgeon wiring them into his head as quickly and precisely as was possible. In his legs, the flesh was cut in specific areas, with the same precision that his head was. Once his muscles were exposed, the surgeons began to carefully open those areas, exposing the bone below. Each bone was covered in a strange silver liquid that seemed to form over the bone, then slowly grow and spread. Once that had been put in place, they began to move the muscle back over it, lacing the muscle with countless extremely thin threads. When all was said and done, it had been four hours of work, and Drake lay on the table, still unconscious from the anesthesia. After, they made sure to stitch up the areas on his legs they had cut, and covered his head in a special bandage to prevent infection. After ensuring the head wrap was secure, they placed him on a bed and moved him back out into the medlab, next to the two other soldiers.

It was two days later that Drake awoke, to a tingling in his legs and a ringing in his ears. As he looked straight ahead, he was staring at one of the ceiling lights. He tried to sit up, but his muscles didn't respond. He tried to move his eyes over to look to his side, but they wouldn't move. The only muscle that responded to him was his eyelids. The Doctor was standing next to him, as was the Colonel, but he couldn't see them. He could only hear them talk. "Colonel, all of my readings show he's conscious. As we feared, his brain hasn't adapted to the technology yet, and he's lost motor control. It should be soon that he recovers it, as for how long, no one can say." The doctor says, as Drake begins to pour every ounce of his consciousness into at least moving his mouth to talk. His lips moved, but his vocal cords wouldn't work, so he mouthed silent words. The Doctor grasps his right hand, squeezing it to test if he could feel pain. He couldn't, for some strange reason. But he could feel his fingers slowly regain feeling, as they wrapped around the doctors, she bent over and smiled in his eyes. "The feeling should come back to your limbs. But you probably won't be able to speak for a few days." she speaks, patting him on the head twice as his eyelids begin to grow heavy from a morpheme I.V. the Doctor had turned on.

The next day, Drake felt his legs still tingling, but his entire body felt like it was on fire as he raised his right hand to look at it. After checking all of his limb muscles, he felt his legs were heavier than normal, as if he was wearing weights on his ankles. When he turned his head to his left, he saw the doctor tending to another soldier. Drake tried to grunt as he sat up, but again, his vocal cords made no noise.The Doctor turned to face Drake as he sat up, then pulled out a pen from inside her coat pocket. She reached her left hand up and opened one of his eyelids, then waved the pen back and forth, a light moving back and forth over his eye, then Doctor Ford proceeded to do the same with the other eye. After ensuring that all of his senses were working, she looked him directly in the eyes. "Drake. Try standing up. You might lose your balance at first, but that's normal. Your body needs to re-adjust to your new muscle and bone mass." Bone mass. Drake wondered what that meant, and slowly stood. Before he could even stand fully upright, he fell back onto the bed with a silent grunt. The doctor moved over, and reached her right hand out to help him stand. "Your balance won't come back easily. We've put the equivalent of a small refrigerator inside your body. Your voice is gone due to the brain enhancements. It has to re-learn how to send the signal properly, even though it still knows the information." Doctor Ford said, as she helped Drake to regain his sense of balance, telling him about the increased weight on his legs and arms, and how it would feel awkward to him until he had grown used to his 'new body'.

Hours later, Drake was at the shooting range, a standard-issue M4 Carbine in his hands as he checked the weapon and ensured it was ready to fire. Already, his mind had adapted to his body, despite what the doctor had told him. He could calculate the exact distance of each target on the range, down to the millimeter, based on just his depth perception and his newly acquired mathematical skills. He wanted to test his aim, and was checking the clip when he heard the door to the range open. He set the rifle down on the table in front of him when he saw the Colonel enter, who gave him a nod to continue. Drake nods as well, picking the gun back up and loading it, pulling back the slide and chambering a round, then clicking off the safety. He presses a button on the side of the rifle, setting it for semi-automatic fire, and aims down the iron sights as he breathes in, then exhales as targets begin to pop up one by one. To the colonel, they appear for only a second or two, but to Drake, it seems like minutes as he swings his rifle back and forth, firing off a single round at each target until the clip had run dry and the targets had stopped. He clicks the safety for the gun, setting it on the table as his hands begin to tremble, the Colonel walking over and looking him over. "Drake. Are you alright?" he asks, Drake looking at the colonel and shaking his head, holding up his shaking hands. The Colonel nods, and they depart the shooting range, leaving nothing but splinters on the range and an empty rifle as proof of their test.

In the Medlab, Drake sits on a bed, the doctor examining his trembling hands, his wrists, and is arms, as well as taking a small blood sample. As she ran it, Drake tried to speak, and all he managed was a hoarse "What?" as she sighed. She returned with a frown on her face, and pulled the colonel aside, though Drake could still hear her speaking. "Colonel, the Adrenal supplement in Drake isn't working. His immune system is actually preventing it from interacting with his system. It needs to be fixed soon, or he could be looking at cardiac arrest in his near future." Ford says, as the Colonel nods, and departs, off to wherever he seems to disappear to. "Drake. You're clear to move around the bunker, but do not engage in any stressful activity until the Colonel has given you the okay." she says, as Drake stands and salutes, trying to speak and once again failing to utter any words, though he was getting closer to getting his speech back.

Later that day, he was laying on his bunk, reading a book, when the Ford dropped by, and promptly stabbed him in the left arm with a needle with no warning whatsoever. He yells in pain, and then gasps, holding his mouth, this being the first time he's had his voice back since the operation, and then realizes he' just been injected with something "What's the big idea, missy?" he demands as he stands up out of his bunk and crosses his arms, staring the doctor in the face. "That was to cure your silence. And it had a little pick-me-up for your adrenaline problem. Try not to destroy the whole bunker, okay?" she says, smiling as she turns to exit the room, waving to him as he looks down at his arm, the hole where the needle went in completely gone. He began to think about it, but then decided that thinking about it would just arouse more questions, and decided to head to the shooting range for some target practice. There, however, he found Staff Sergeant Little, checking an M16. Drake decided to leave him be, as he never had liked regular army. He returned to the bunk room, looking up and noticing it was almost 10 at night. As such, he decided that some quality rest was in order after today's events. He wondered if he could really turn the tides for his country. Only time would tell.

Chapter Two: Flight

Spoiler

Two weeks. It had been two weeks of adjustments and squad training for Drake and his team of five. They were no longer marines or rangers. They were merely Freerunners. They served no one but Morgan, who, upon showing the success of the project, had been promoted to General. Now deployed to eastern Poland, their objective was merely to survive the Russian onslaught, and ensure that the Red Menace made not a single step forward.

The little hamlet on the river was quiet. The moon illuminated bits and pieces of the village, but the cloud cover constantly shifted the darkness around. The village was crawling with Russians, and, had they been paying attention, they might have noticed the five shadows slowly creeping through the fields. One of the shadows suddenly leapt up from it's crouch as it's area fell dark, then leapt into a roll behind an old farm truck, the whole maneuver making noises that could easily be mistaken for a raccoon or a fox. As all the shadows crept up on different areas of the village, the one behind the truck draws a combat knife, a KA-BAR, and approaches a guard having a smoke. He places his free left hand over the guards mouth, the slits the mans throat while dragging him into the darkness near the truck, taking the guards clothes and replacing them with his own, as well as snagging his weapon.

The now-disguised assassin raises his right hand to his ear, holding a button and speaking quietly "Foxtrot Actual here, I'm Incognito, How about you guys?" he says, then takes his hand away to listen as all four of his squad report in. "Foxtrot Bravo here, changing as we speak." "Foxtrot Charlie, I'm in position, ready to take the shot with Echo." "Foxtrot Delta, they don't have anything my size. I'll head back to Charlie and let you boys do your thing. Toodles." Delta speaks, a feminine tone in her voice as 'Actual' begins to move about on a fake patrol about the village. Command had ordered them to take the village, by any means necessary. It was a major choke point on the soviet's march west into Poland, so them holding it would dampen the war effort.. Luckily, he would be able to move about easily, as his outfit had a balaclava, but he wouldn't be able to identify his squad mate by face either. He looked down at the weapon he now held, a modified AK-74u with one of those grenade launchers that loved to backfire, and six notches on the handle, probably kills he had claimed, the bastard. He began to scope out the village, listening to the conversations of the guards and trying his best to translate them. His one weakness was languages. But he was slowly getting the gist of where to go. First job was to take out the radio. No radio, no backup. Second, was to take out the CO. And lastly, kill everyone else. He liked the last part.

He ducked into a house, and raised his right hand to his radio "This is Actual. Bravo, look for a brown three story building with a dish on it. The radio is on the second floor. And the CO should b on the third floor. Knock out the radio, then when you come out, grab your balaclava's nose and snap it onto your face so I know it's you." the man finishes, then climbs up to the second story of his current house an looks out on the enemy command center. After almost ten minutes of waiting, he watches a soldier exit and grasp his balaclava, then snap it onto his nose as he walks away from the building. Deciding to act now he quickly heads down the stairs and out the building, and proceeds into the command center at a regular pace.

As he goes up, he eventually reaches the third floor, and sees a set of double doors, guarded by two soldiers wearing Spetznaz colors. "Shit. I hope this works." he thinks, walking towards the guards, then saluting them, as they ask for his name and rank in Russian. He chuckles lightly, then, in the blink of an eye, has his left hand on the left Spetznaz soldier's throat, and his right hand drawing his .45 silenced as the right guard moves to aim. Drake is faster, bringing the silenced weapon to bear first and pulling the trigger, the soldier dropping to the ground in a heap as his weapon clatters to the floor. The guard struggling in his left hand's mighty grasp begins to make quiet noises for air, but soon passes on from suffocation. Drake drops the body with a thump, hearing footsteps behind the door and moving the the side. The doors swing open as the CO stomps out into the hallway, then looks down at the bodies, a boot coming up to meet his gazing eyes, breaking most of his facial bones and causing the bone inside his nose to ram inside his brain, killing him instantly.

With the CO down, Drake was ready for the final step. But that would mean he would need a big diversion to attract their attention while he gunned them down. His planning session was cut short, however, as a soldier walked into the hallway and noticed him standing over the bodies, aiming his weapon and opening fire, screaming something about traitors and help. "Foxtrot Actual. I have been compromised in the upper level of the command structure. Fire at will, kill them all." he says, then picks up his AK from the floor, making sure the grenade was still loaded. He breathed in, then exhaled as he exited the room, then bolted down the hallway for the stairs, dashing down those and ducking into a door as bullets whizzed past him. He reaches his left hand up, judges where the enemies might be based on the angle of the incoming bullets, then dashes around the corner and fires the grenade, hoping to hell it wouldn't backfire.

It doesn't, flying down the hallway and exploding, sending bits of wood and some blood flying towards Drake as he trots towards the stairway, hopping down three steps at a time as he did so, reaching the lower landing and coming under fire, ducking into another doorway and sighing as he reached for his radio "Anytime now Bravo. I'm up to my ass in Communists!" he yells into the radio, looking across the hallway at a closed door, doing the math and thinking on how much he weighed, combined with the velocity he would have, and deciding to screw it and try it anyway. The steps back away from the doorway, then takes a leap across the hallway, turning in midair to fire his AK downrange at the Soviets, nailing three of the five shooting at him as his heavy body knocks the door off its hinges, allowing him to roll out of the line of fire. He sighs as he checks his person for bullet holes and removes his balaclava, finding no holes that God hadn't given him, then moves to the doorway, noticing that the shooting had stopped. He readied his weapon, then ducked around the corner to be met with an AK and Bravo staring him in the face.

"Drake? You okay? I thought you were up to your ass in communists." Little says in a mocking tone of voice, pointing over his shoulder with his left thumb "I got the other two, i that's what you're wondering. But we gotta move. Soviets'll be crawling all over soon." Little says as Drake checks his ammo and motions for Little to take point. He does so, and they proceed out of the building onto the street, ready for a firefight. What they find is a ghost town, deserted and empty. "I don't like this, Little. This place should be swarming with Reds by now." Drake says, as the sound of a vehicle can be heard in the distance, and Little grabs Drake's arm to pull him back inside the command center. The sound of the vehicle grows louder, and a soviet APC comes into view of the command center, stopping at the end of the street and sweeping it with it's anti-personnel turret.

"Shit. Where the hell did they get a Cockroach? I thought those were reserved for frontline use only?" Drake asks Little in a quiet tone of voice, looking out on the village and sighing "You wouldn't happen to know where the armory is, eh?" he asks, the other man shaking his head as he readies his weapon. "We're taking that Cockroach. It'll be nice to use against the soviets they send to take the village back. Little, stay here and draw their attention. That gun wasn't made for taking out buildings, and so it shouldn't be able to do more than pierce the walls. Just keep your head down and keep it firing." he says, as Little nods. Drake then sets his weapon down, drawing his .45 and preparing to dash for a building across the street, then giving the go signal as he begins his dash. He runs, and Little opens fire on the APC. The Cockroach opens fire on him first, the shots impacting mere millimeters from his footfalls, one catching him in the left ankle as he dives through a window, escaping the line of fire and groaning as he skids on the floor, the bullets from the twin fifties chewing the small house apart as he reaches his left hand down to grip his ankle, his immune system already clamping down to prevent infection. "Foxtrot Actual to Delta." Drake says with a grunt into his radio as he manages to sit up. "You see the APC lighting up the command post? It caught me in the leg and I need first aid. Get your fine ass down here and patch me up, would you kindly?" he asks with a smirk on his face as all he gets is a mildly angry "Yes Sir." out of Delta.

Thirty minutes later, the APC had stopped firing, and Heartford, in all her beauty, was busying herself with removing the bullet from Drake's ankle as he kept an eye on the shattered window for Soviet reinforcements. He looked down at his ankle, and then at the .50 bullet Heartford removed from it, groaning as he felt his ankle repairing itself. "God dammit that hurts." he says as he stands, Heartford handing him the the bullet, which had mushroomed on impact with his bone. He checked his outfit for pockets, and slid it into one, He checks his .45, then nods. "Heartford, go back out the back door the way you came and lay low in the bushes. May need your help soon." he says, following her out the back door of the house and then hopping over fences until he had the general location of the APC, then checking the back door of the house whose yard he stood in. It was locked, so he stood back and put all his effort into a shoulder charge into the door, knocking it down and grinning as he looks through the front window at the APC, and begins to plot exactly how to take it down without being torn to shreds.

Cockroaches were difficult to take down except with AGM missiles or hand-held anti-tank weapons, but they were lacking either, so he had to do it the old fashioned way. He had to climb up onto the tank, peel back the access hatch, and shoot the men inside.Easier said than done, considering the access hatch was at the front of the APC, and the fifties were mounted on the rear. Meaning, if the gun operator noticed him at all, he was as good as dead. He took a deep breath, then exhaled, and slowly moved to the front door, opening it slowly so as not to attract attention. After opening it enough, he squeezes through, quickly moving to the side of the APC and clambering up it as quietly as possible. Once on top, he noticed the gun was still fixated on the command building, which meant that the gunner had less a chance of seeing him. He takes another calming breath, then reaches his left hand for the access hatch, grabbing the handle and pulling with all his might, as the hatch begins to groan, then the locking mechanism breaks and the hatch flings open. A Soviet yells out something about a breach, and Drake aims his pistol into the hole. He fires multiple times, hopefully taking out the gunner and the driver, then moves away from the hole as pistol bullets fly back up out of the hole. He aims, and waits, one of the soldiers stupid enough to stick his head out of the APC and promptly be shot in the temple. He moves back to the hole, and looks down, listening for signs of life inside the Cockroach. Confident the Cockroach is empty, he jumps down inside and checks for life, moving the body out of the driver's seat and checking the instruments.

"This is Foxtrot Actual, Cockroach secured. Let's take this puppy for a test drive, shall we?" he says, sitting down in the driver's seat, looking over the instruments a short while and reading the numbers on them, finding the speedometer, fuel gauge, and the gas and brake pedals. As he places his feet on said pedals, they begin to spark, though he doesn't notice until he places his hands on the wheel and they begin to spark as well. When he tries to remove them, they feel glued to the pedals and wheel, and his whole body begins to emit sparks. He presses the gas pedal, but notices the vehicle is in neutral, as it begins to glow a light blue "Please tell me this is a dream." Drake says plainly. Outside, Little had been watching as the APC began to glow blue, then just......Vanished.

Drake awoke inside the APC hours later, his head spinning and his ears ringing. He turned, and saw the entire back end was completely gone, as if it had been sheered off by something. He heard gunfire, and shouting. and noticed out the back of the destroyed APC a whole lot of desert and, in the distance, he could see a small village. Deciding that it was better to investigate than to stay here, he checked his pistol and removed the silencer, knowing that this was no longer a stealth mission. He checked his tags, made sure they were on him, and departed for the village, knowing the people there would know where he was.

 

[Caulder]

Re: The Journeyman [STORY ONLY]

Chapter Three: Calling

Spoiler

Drake had trekked across the desert for nearly an hour before reaching the village, dehydrated from the hot desert sun and his lack of water from the stealth op beforehand. Once there, he saw numerous US Army humvees parked around the village, and US soldiers patrolling the area. One of them spotted him, and began to walk towards him, though his finger moved for the trigger when he saw the gun in Drake's hand "Halt. Who are you, and what are you doing here?" the soldier asks, Drake looking him over and panting from thirst. "Gunnery Sergeant Conners. First Recon." he says, looking around at all the other soldiers, struggling to stay upright "Please. You have any water? I feel dryer then that sand out there, man." he says, sliding his pistol into the back of his outfit, the soldier handing him a canteen. As Drake took a drink, the Soldier reached for his radio. "This is Jackson. Get Captain Duglass. We got a leftover Jarhead from First Recon in the east quadrant." he says into the radio, then releases the button. "Show me your tags, soldier, and I might believe you." the soldier says, Drake reaching into his shirt and pulling out his dogtags, then remembering he was disguised as a russian army trooper. "And about the getup.....I don't know how I got here, but the last thing I remember was trying to infiltrate a Russian base dressed like this, and my cover was blown. Something hit me in the head from behind, and I woke up here." he says, then places the tags back inside his outfit.

A few moments later, the Captain came jogging up, looking Drake over. "Lieutenant, why is there a Russian soldier standing in front of me?" the Captain asks, reaching for his sidearm, as Drake raises both of his hands beside his head. "Sir. I'll have you know I am not a Russian. I'm just a marine. Now get on the horn to command and have them contact Colonel Morgan, Army R&D, he can explain everything." Drake says, the Captain scowling at the marine and then scoffing as he raised his left hand to his radio, and began going through the necessary channels to reach Morgan. "Hey, Jackson. What's the date and year? I want to know how long I've been out." he asks the Lieutenant, the officer thinking for a moment. "August 8th, 2007. How long would that mean you've been out?" Drake listens to the date, then his heart drops when he hears the year. It meant that he hadn't just changed locations, he had changed times. He moves over to the nearby humvee and sits down, lowering his head and sighing as he rests his right arm up on his right knee and extends his left leg. "It's only been a few days. Thank goodness." he says, feigning relief in his voice as he waits for the Captain to finish, knowing full well he isn't going to get in contact with Morgan.

The Captain walked up to him, stopping to his right and handing him an MRE, which he gladly took and began to slowly ingest. "Sergeant, there's no one in R&D by the name of Morgan. And, for that matter, no one in Force Recon by your name, either. So, you mind explaining to me what the hell you're doing here?" the Captain asks, as the Sergeant stops eating and stands, sighing as he hands the Captain his MRE, swallowing the bite in his mouth. "That's classified. All you need to know, Captain, is that I've been separated from my unit and need to get back to them." he says, the Captain and Lieutenant exchanging bewildered looks as Drake stood, slowly fabricating a completely fake reason for him not to be in the system. "The Op I was on was compromised. The reason they didn't find me in the system is because I'm not in any system. My Unit operates off the grid. Less chance of us being compromised." Drake says as he folds his hands behind his back and stands at at Parade Rest stance, looking at both the officers in front of him. "Until I can regroup with them, my primary objective will be to provide support for you, Captain Duglass. Think you can handle a jarhead tagging along?" he asks the Captain, who begins to chuckle to himself, then finally calms himself enough to speak. "I don't know if the heat's gotten to your head or if you're really a spook, but you talk and act like a jarhead, which means you're an American soldier. And I've seen weirder shit in this place then a random spook from out of nowhere. Get in the humvee and let's go. Sand patrol's almost over anyways, let's head home early, ladies!" the Captain speaks, then at the very end yells, as all the rangers begin to pile into their humvees. The convoy then proceeds out of the village, and, after almost an hour of rough terrain, they arrive at the Forward Operations Base.

As the convoy begins to pull into the motor pool of the base, a low whining can be heard in the air as the rangers and Drake climb out of the humvees. Drake can barely manage to get the words off before they scream overhead. "MIGS! TAKE COVER!" he yells, as the Rangers all hit the deck, the MiG pair's payload impacting all around the base as they begin to circle around for another pass. "Here they come again. Captain, where's the armory, and do you have Stingers there?" Drake asks as he begins to stand, the low whine of the MiG's engines drowning out the screaming of the soldiers throughout the base as an army of Russian soldiers begins to seemingly appear out of the sand, and begins rampaging across the FOB. Captain Duglass looks up at Drake from his prone position in the sand, then looks off to his left "That way, Conners. If you can take out those MiG's, it'll at least save us from being blown to holy hell from the air." the Captain says, pointing Conners in the direction of the armory, as the sergeant begins to take off across the FOB, reaching his right hand up and grasping the head wrap on his neck, tearing it off and tossing it aside, then grasping at his collar and tearing it enough so that his dog tags could be seen on his chest. As he ran, he could hear the screams of Rangers around him, men and women of his country, fighting for what they believed in, and he knew right then and there, why he had been sent here. As he ran, bullets, both friendly and unfriendly, whizzed past him, both sides seeing him as a threat due to his appearance, but he continued across the FOB, until he reached the armory, where three functional stingers rest. He grabbed one in each arm, then as he turn to exit the small shack, he heard American service rifles cocking, as well as a gruff, African-american voice speaking. "Where do you think you're going with our Stingers, Red?" the man asks, his face hidden behind a black balaclava and his right eye blocked by the sights of his M16, which was pointed directly at Drake.

"I'm Gunnery Sergeant Drake Conners, I'm with the Marines. Captain Duglass rescued me while on patrol. We had just gotten back when the MiG's dropped their bombs. He sent me to get these stingers and shoot them down." Drake says, the man in the Balaclava noticing his dogtags and scoffing "Okay, jarhead. We'll cover you while you blast those flyboys out of the sky. Carl, get the other stinger. I have a feeling we're gonna need it. I'm Staff Sergeant Grey, by the way. And if I suspect you are, in fact, a russian spy, I'll shoot you myself, deal?" he says, one of his men moving to grab the other stinger. Drake then exits the armory building and looks up at the sky. The MiG's had finished their turn and were on the way back for another run. He had to act quickly, he thought, so he dropped one of the stingers, then dropped to his right knees and shouldered the other stinger, the tracking module unfolding and beginning to beep as it locked onto one of the MiG's engines as it's target. As the MiG came screaming towards the FOB, Drake pulled the trigger on the Stinger, the projectile flying from the launcher and flying directly towards the jet, impacting in less than 3 seconds with both the speed of the projectile and the speed of the MiG, leaving the pilot little room to deploy any form of countermeasure. The MiG erupts into flames, then streaks over the FOB, landing in a flaming wreck several miles away as it's wingman breaks off from the bombing run and screams off into the distance. As it does so, the soldiers around him begin to cheer, though the sounds of the massive battle soon remind them that the fight hasn't been won yet. Grey taps Conners on the right shoulder, then gives him and handshake after he turns around. "You're alright, Conners. I'm sure Duglass needs you more than we do. Get out there." he says, then points a thumb to the armory "Get a rifle before you go. Can't have you throwing rocks at them." he says, then turns and jogs off towards the combat. Drake watches him jog off and says aloud to himself "Semper Fi, Grey." then heads back into the armory building to grab an M4 Carbine and then back out, slinging the stinger over his shoulder via a thick strap as he heads back to the motor pool.

The trek was fierce, firefights had broken out all over the base, and the perimeter had been breached, allowing the Russians to pour in like water. Halfway to the Motor Pool, Drake had to stop and take cover from a squad of Russian infantry. He poked his torso up from out of cover to fire a three round burst at one of the soldiers, catching him in the shoulder, and then changes the rifle to semi-automatic, slowly moving at a crouch below the top edge of the crate he was hiding behind, then inhaling and leaping out to the side to land on his side, firing single shots as he exited cover, pegging two of the Russians in the head and nailing a third in the collarbone, before landing on the ground and switching it to automatic, standing and advancing towards the Russians on full-auto as they fired on him, catching him in the stomach several times and once in the left shoulder before he felled the last Russian soldier, before groaning and sitting down on the crate he had taken cover behind. He would reach his left index finger and thumb into each bullet hole, fishing around until he pulled them out, allowing natural healing to take its course, except for the bullet in his left shoulder, which he knew had struck a major artery, and would require medical supervision to assist the healing. He left it as it was, and headed for the Motor Pool. The rest of the journey was uneventful, save a few random bullets heading his way from the numerous firefights breaking out. Once he had arrived at his destination, he entered the main building, where the Captain lay wounded with a bleed in his right leg. "Conners! I heard one of the MiG's go down. You shoot that basTARD! DAMMIT DOC!" he begins to ask Drake as his voice raises and he begins yelling at the medic tending to his leg wound, who had just pulled a bullet out of him. Drake nods as the other soldiers gathered around keep a watchful eye on the door, the Medic bandaging the wound and tying it tight before putting a splint on his leg "Okay, Captain. you're good to go. Just have it treated once the fighting's over." the medic says, helping the captain up and rushing off with several other soldiers as he gets a call for his aid elsewhere. "Alright Conners. Not the best way I was hoping to prove your loyalty, but..." The captain cuts off as he takes a step forward on the splinted leg, inhaling through his teeth and groaning as he quickly steps onto his uninjured left leg. "We've got Russians sacking the base, our Blackhawks and Apaches were shellacked before we could get off the ground, and we're on the shortlist for mobile strike teams. Think you can handle that, Jarhead?" the Captain says, cradling his M16 in his hands as he stands shakily. Drake smirks as he stands at attention. "Sir. It'd be a privilege." he states, and turns for the door, waiting for the Captain to regain his breath and roll the squad out.

 

[Caulder]

Re: The Journeyman [STORY ONLY]

((Holy shit major necro, also a good way to come back. Without further ado, we resume your regularly scheduled broadcast after two years of derp.))

CHAPTER 4: Fleet

Spoiler

Drake was the first to respond when Captain Duglass gave the hand signal to advance, taking up a forward recon position ahead of the squad under Duglass' command, which had picked up several other stragglers, including Sergeant Grey, who was also on forward recon with him, albeit several dozen feet to his right, as they pushed forward through the base, sweeping for hostile Russians that might still be lurking around on the base. According to Duglass, the Russians had switched to hit-and-run tactics as they retreated, most likely due to their loss of air support. As Drake swept his left side, noting Grey on the other side of a pallet full of crates of what he assumed to be weapons or rations, he head footfalls to his right, and began swinging his torso to face that direction, his left shoulder practically screaming at him due to the bullet still lodged there, though he made no effort to show his pain, because as he swept his rifle to the right, two Russian soldiers, most likely falling back, spotted him, and shouting something akin to "Hostile, shoot him!" in Russian, opening fire on the Marine without a second thought, though he did wonder why they were so quick to shoot at someone wearing camouflage similar to their own. Drake responded in kind, firing his own weapon at the Russians while sidestepping towards a forklift, intending to use it as cover, and shouting out loud "Contact! Two hostiles, right flank!"

It was at this point several more Russians on the retreat began to take cover behind crates and cargo bins to make it harder for Drake to get a clear shot between the bursts of AK fire. Many more Russians, fleeing from the base for their lives, chose to completely ignore the firefight and run, leaving the two-turned-five Russians to fend for themselves. Drake pokes his head up over the forklift's operator's seat, and is greeted by a hail of bullets whizzing past his head, one actually grazing his left temple, causing him to duck in response. "Uh, Captain? Make that five Russians, all armed with AK's and looking very pissed." he says into his radio, taking the magazine out of his gun and checking it, only ten rounds left, and him, being so eager to rush into battle, forgetting to bring a spare magazine or two. "Ten rounds. I think I can make that work." The thought runs through his head shortly before he leans out from behind the forklift, aiming and firing a shot at one of the Russians, catching him in the upper right arm, causing him to drop his gun and recoil in pain. Drake then fires a second shot, catching another Russian in the shin, being as that was the only part of him he could effectively see. That one slides onto the ground in pain, holding his shin as Drake ducks back into cover. He can feel his heart-rate slowly climbing, and becomes aware that the gunfire from the Russians is ringing louder in his ears than he remembered. His breathing becomes labored, and he can feel his heartbeat in his fingertips, his mouth dry. He gulps once, then leaps out to the side, everything feeling slower to him, yet it has a strange clarity to it. He opens fire mid-flight, shooting five rounds downrange at the hostiles, four of them impacting living flesh and the other off past one of the Russian's heads, causing two of the three combat-capable Russians to fall over, one with a hole in his throat and chest and the other with two holes in his collarbone.

As Drake flies to the side, feeling like an eternity is passing midair, his left shoulder hits something. Hard. His flight is disrupted and he crashes into a stack of plastic cargo crates, one of them landing on top of his torso as he lays on his back. He can feel the world returning to normal, the clarity his adrenaline surge afforded him fading as his heart slows to a normal...At least for him....heart-rate. He groans as he pushes the crate off of his torso, the sounds of gunfire nearby reporting that the remaining Russian, and most likely his buddies, are dead now. Drake stands and dusts himself off, picking his rifle up off the ground and checking it, only then noticing that Grey and two other Rangers were standing with their guns pointed in the direction of the Russians, Grey eventually declaring the area clear. "Conners, what the hell happened here?" Grey asks, Drake gripping the bottom rail of his rifle with his left hand and reaching his right up to grasp at the wound in his shoulder. "I killed some Russians, no biggie." he says in an almost casual tone, the Captain speaking up over the radio "Sergeant Grey, fall back. Russians are retreating and disengaging from all their firefights." Grey then turns and looks at Connors, giving the rally hand-sign and then patting both of his rangers on the back, then pulling back the way they had come.

Drake begins to start towards the last known position of the Captain, when a loud ringing fills his ears, and the rest of the world slowly goes silent, his view distorting and the environment seeming to melt away into the village in Poland where he was fighting before this mess. Drake reaches his left hand out, and sees that is also distorted, like looking through clouded glass being turned and moved. And in an instant, he's back in the village, standing in a shallow crater where the APC had been. And when everything seems to come back into focus, Drake's vision begins to fade shortly afterwards, everything darkening until his conscious mind is overridden by his subconscious.

"Where am I?" is the first thought he conjures up, standing in complete darkness, looking down and seeing his arms, torso, and legs, his body fully intact but his world gone. "Why, you're in your head, which just so happens to be a jar." A familiar voice speaks, but he can't quite place it. When he opens his mouth to speak, no words come out, and he begins to think. "Why the hell is my head so dark?" runs through his head, and the voice responds to it. "Because you've got no good memories to remember. At least, none since you became a cyborg." the voice seems to giggle after speaking to him, Drake's face forming a scowl. "What are you? Show yourself!" Drake begins to look around, but still, darkness everywhere. "Why, I'm you. Well, not you-you but me you." the voice says, a mirror suddenly appearing in front of him, a silhouette of himself in place of a reflection, the eyes glowing red. "See? I may not look like much, but you can change that. I want to see new places, see your memories. I want to see what you see." the silhouette says, reaching his right hand out and touching his side of the mirror. "Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just going to take us to interesting places." he says, Drake holding up his left hand and looking at his palm. "Fine. But a bit of warning next time. I DO have a job to do." Drake thinks, placing his hand on the mirror where the silhouette is. "Goody goody! We're going to have so much fun!" the voice says, the mirror shattering and the world slowly brightening around him. He was still in the crater, still standing, looking down at his left hand, when a familiar voice calls out his callsign. "Foxtrot Actual here. I.....Have absolutely no idea what just happened." he says into his radio, Foxtrot Bravo waving his hand for Drake to move behind some cover. As Drake rushes into an alleyway, he notices the amount of bodies in the street, his right hand raising to his radio "How long was I gone, Bravo? And what's with all the bodies in the street?" he asks, realizing he still had his M4 with him, and only had three bullets in the magazine. "Actual, you were gone for over four hours. I had to fight off half the Russian army while you were gone!" Bravo speaks into his radio, clearly angry. "Well it wasn't my fault that bloody APC was a time machine. Just call Morgan and get him to pull us back. If what I experienced can happen to any of us, then the Russian army is the least of our problems."

Five Days Later

The medlab still smelled of antiseptic and detergent from the fresh sheets, the same as it had always smelled to Drake. Except now he was sitting up, doctor Ford working a pair of forceps into the hole in his shoulder. She had explained to him once why the bullets had to be removed, something about the body being unable to compensate for a foreign entity and thus being unable to adapt and heal the wound, or something along those lines. Drake's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden yank on the forceps, Ford pulling the bullet out and examining it, placing a piece of gauze over the hole. "You got lucky, Sergeant. The bullet lodged inside your artery. If it hadn't there's a good chance you'd have bled out." Drake chuckles at this, looking at the bullet that could have ended his life. "Mind cleaning that up and wrapping it for me, Doc? It'll make a good start on my necklace." Drake states, referring to a tradition in his platoon: Any bullet that doesn't kill you, you keep and put on a necklace, which you then wear into every fight. "If that's what you want, Sergeant, then I'll clean it up and have it ready for you by the time your debriefing is done." Drake nods at this and grabs his shirt, pulling it on over his head and standing. "Thanks, Doc." he says, then walks out of the room and turns down the hall, walking towards his least-favorite part of the base: The briefing/debriefing room.

Drake put everything on the table during his debriefing. His decision to use the enemy APC for his own purposes, the sudden appearance in the desert, the fight at the army base, and the sudden return. He left out the part about the hallucination, but that was because he didn't think it relevant. "So Sergeant, you were sent back in time AND sent to Iraq?" General Morgan asks as they sit in the briefing room. "I don't know sir. All I know is there was sand, the US Military was still deployed over there, and the Russians were still using MiG fighter jets outfitted with close-air-support weaponry." Drake speaks, his hands folded in front of him on the table. "So how did this happen? Can you recall any details of your sudden translocation to the desert?" Morgan asks, his sagging face grimacing as he thinks about the implications. "I remember when I placed my hands on the wheel, there was a spark, like static electricity. Then when I placed my foot on the accelerator, the whole vehicle began to spark and glow blue. My foot felt like it was glued to the accelerator, and next thing I know, half the APC is missing and I'm in the middle of the desert." Drake says, remembering the entire event clearly. "Alright Drake. We thought something might happen if your implants were given enough time to intermingle, but we never thought this possible. We'll have to analyze your implants to find out just what went wrong. Are you alright with that?" Morgan asks, Drake saluting him with a straight face "If it can prevent this from happening again? Gladly, sir." the Sergeant responds, the General ushering him out of the briefing room and towards the research lab.

Once there, Zead practically leapt on Drake, assaulting him with a battery of questions about his 'experience', though Drake was more interested in the robotic arm that was still sitting on the professor's lab table, still twitching every once in a while. "General, tell me we get to cut him open! I would very much li-" Zead cuts off mid-sentence as he notices Morgan glaring at him with a stare that might possibly kill a lesser man. "You are not dissecting him. Just pull the data from the implants and run a few tests. I need Sergeant Connors in fighting shape." Morgan states, folding his hands behind his back, and turning for the door "That means no lobotomies, Professor." Drake chuckles at this, Zead responding with a growl and sticking something into the back of Drake's head. "Hey, he said no lobotomies!" Drake states, the Professor holding one of his shoulders. "It's not a lobotomy you plebeian, it's how we retrieve data from your imp-" Zead is cut off once more as a bolt of electricity bursts from the base of the needle and strikes one of the professor's fingers, causing him to recoil with a cry of pain. "What in the hell was that?!" Zead practically screams as he asks this, Drake turning and raising an eyebrow, then noting the black mark on Zead's ring finger, where he wore a wedding ring. "Damn, Doc, looks like something didn't agree with you shoving that needle in my skull." Drake says as he begins to chuckle, the Professor brings his hand around to smack the back of the soldier's head. "I'll have you know, I'm a perfectly agreeable person. I think your implants are acting up." Zead comments, turning and walking to a table, picking up a small tablet and pressing the screen a few times in various places, then using his free hand to scratch the stubble growing on his chin. "This.....This can't be right......." Zead thinks, his face taking on a horrified look. "According to this, Sergeant.........Every implant in your body is deactivated." he says, Drake turning to look at him, the professor holding the tablet up so the marine could see.

Connors didn't quite know how to interpret the image he saw on the screen. A full-body image of his skeleton, muscles, and major veins and arteries, highlighted in yellow, brown, and blue, respectively, that he could be sure of. But all the red dots scattered along the diagram were off-putting. Drake looked at the image for almost a minute, wondering what this was. "Sergeant, this isn't physically possible. Half of these implants augment your vital organs to cope with the stress of your enhanced body. If they were deactivated, you'd be dead......" Zead trails off, Connor looking down at his hands and flexing them several times. "But I feel fine, Doc. Better than ever, actually." Drake says, the Professor shaking his head and looking over the image again. It was at that point General Morgan practically knocks the door off of the hinges. "Drake! What happened?!" he asks in a shocked tone. "I got a reading that you had flatlined. ZEAD! What did you do to him?" the General asks, Zead holding his hands up in surrender "I have no idea General! I got the readings from his implants at the cost of my ring finger's dermis, and it showed his implants were completely deactivated." the Professor states, Drake sighing. "I feel fine. If you want to examine my implants, can we at least do it in the medla-" Drake is cut off as the whole world begins to go black, his head feeling lighter, and a familiar laugh echoing in his ears. "Here we go again." he thinks, falling to his right off the table, the whole world shattering like a mirror as he hits the ground, and then, nothing. Absolute darkness envelops him.

After falling what feels like hours, the world begins to take shape, at first, a bright light surrounding him, and then, the details begin to fade into existence. A building here, a car there, and then, the image forms all at once, leaving him sitting in an alleyway looking out at a bustling city. Water drips onto his head, bringing him out of his trance, and he notices the ground littered with small puddles of water, droplets dripping from nearby buildings into them. Drake looks up and is greeted by a drop landing square on his nose, causing him to jerk back and look back out at the city. When he stands, his entire right side burns, as if every muscle had been pulled on that side. "Sorry. You hit the floor before I could jump us. You're going to be in pain for a bit."
That familiar voice. The "You but not you" from his hallucination. Drake sighs as he limps forward, grasping the wall nearby and looking out at the city. "I told you to warn me first." Drake thinks in his head, the voice chuckling. "I couldn't! You were going out of synch and I figured a jump would be better than just letting you slip through the cracks!" The voice speaks with a sincerity Drake almost believes, though he does detect a hint of playfulness hidden deeper. "So. Start explaining. We can explore this world once you tell me just what the hell you are, and what all this means." Drake sighs as he thinks to the voice, sitting back down against a nearby dumpster. "Well, then, get comfortable, because this could take a while." the voice says, as the marine closes his eyes.