The tempered glass had a door, in front of the final two men's desks. Also had two scanners, the machinery and wiring showing through the transparent glass, revealing an alarm mechanism, a wire being the only one to go into the wall, supposedly through to security.
He was nearing minute in, his hadn't been cloaked since a few seconds after he walked in the reactor room, security had to have seen him by now.
He would force it, as it was faster, but he didn't want to trigger a fail safe mechanism and have the reactor shut down. So he dragged one of the techs over, propping him up, opening his eye, pressing his thumb against the pad.
The door clicked open, and he dropped the body, rushing in, checking his two grenades at his belt. Cryo-tempered metal was far too much of a pain to- took far too long to shoot through, it would endanger the mission.
He glanced quickly over to a monitor, checking the temperature and energy readings. Right on schedule, the reactor was reaching a peak in energy production, and would start to wind down soon.
He pulled the shotgun off his back, silently bemoaning that he didn't know anything about these weapons beyond basics- silently vowing that if he got out of this (unlikely) he would practice more, he had to be on the top, he had to be the best he could be for the Project.
He fired a shot at the torus, piercing metal, shattering ceramic, and warnings went off on computer screens behind him. Another shot, and liquid hydrogen expanded upon meeting air, and more ceramic shattered, metal buckling outwards and flinging him against the glass, his ears ringing and pain vibrating through his body, the tube lying in pieces, he looked down and some pieces were in him, he looked up and saw security guards frozen in the doorway, two turning and running, the third collapsing onto the floor, crossing themselves repeatedly.
His HUD was flashing temperature warnings, radiation warnings, shock warnings, low oxygen level warnings, suit compromised warnings. There was a siren blaring throughout the room, red lights flashing, and after a while, he realized his ears had stopped ringing, and his vision cleared (when did it blur, when did it tunnel, black and red creeping in the edges?). He realized there was a voice in his ear, talking to him, asking him what his status was, Recovery was being alerted, what was his status?
He sat up and raised his shotgun again, he knew the cooling was gone but this place wouldn't be decimated like the Director wanted unless the tube to the actual reactor chamber was punctured.
He took a breath to reply to the dispatcher, then coughed, his abdomen protesting the movement. His head spun and he felt himself listing sideways before righting himself.
He hefted the shotgun up again (was it always this heavy?) and managed to still his coughing and gagging long enough to say, "No Recovery." When the dispatcher started to say something else, he managed, "There won't be anything left, don't worry."
He fired at the torus, creating a small dent in it, recoil jarring his body, bringing on another coughing fit. The dispatcher was still going on about recovering the technology in his suit, and he croaked out, "Too much radiation" before coughing again, gagging as his body slumped forward, curling up to defend itself although he was already as good as dead.
He pulled out of fetal position a few moments later, feeling a headache pushing in at his temples, and knowing it would only worsen to where he would pass out or be a screaming mess of burned nerves and ruined muscles.
Command came back, a new voice this time, more composed than the previous, but still unfamiliar. "Agent New Jersey, are you able the complete the mission? Over."
His mind flashed through mission objectives, from this mission to previous, to his very first, when he first was sworn in and took up his life long- his mission to defend and protect for as long as he was contracted for.
His head pounded now, and he felt too sick to speak, to move, and he flashed through every moment he thought his superiors were wrong, every moment his orders went against his morals, and none of those decisions were as stark as this, felt as heavy.
None of them were the last thing he'd ever do.
Through teeth gritted against heat and pain and the knowledge that he was dying in the next few hours no matter what he did now and that didn't he care when he first came up with the plan, he forced out again, "Don't send Recovery," before he muted his comms.
He sat in his suit, painful spasms starting to wrack his body as his wounds worsened, imagining he could feel the radiation seeping in through the breaks in his suit, burning his skin, down into his bones.
He came to after his first seizure, and as his head cleared enough for rational thought, he decided he had enough penance. He pulled his pistol out, staring down at it. His vision swam as he tried to focus on it, and he blinked hard, expecting tears to fall but feeling nothing on his raw face. His eyes reopened and they felt too dry, and he still couldn't focus on anything.
His arm was shaking, he felt it as the only thing he could register besides pain as he stared at the blurring image of his gun in his hand. He tightened his hand around the gun, pain shooting through his arm (when did that shrapnel get in his shoulder?) and reverberating back up through his head.
His headache was near unbearable now, all sounds feeling muted and amplified, vision too dim yet too bright, and blurred out of focus. There was a spike being driven through his head with every heartbeat, and it felt erratic to him, adrenaline trying in vain to sustain his failing neurological system, but that could just be his faltering consciousness.
Each movement brought a surge of red-hot pain, and it was no longer a matter of what hurt, but rather what hurt the most.
As he raised the pistol up to his visor, he could only think in flashes between pulses of pain through his head and muscles.
Greater than 100Gy exposure-death
Reactor responding to failsafes, shutting down
Radiation may only contaminate a 10 mile radius
Is this the right thing
The Project- the Director, the Counselor, his fellow Agents
No
His family- his parents, his planetside friends, his SEAL team
Yes
He had never been so unafraid to look down the barrel of a gun.
He hadn’t given the meetings with the Counselor much thought. Seemed routine, the weekly meetings, the prying questions. SEALs got them once a month. If nothing else, just because of his reaction to causing a nuclear reactor meltdown and killing upwards of a thousand people.
Even if they were soldiers.
But he knew enough to know that he couldn’t be too weak. He told him about how he felt, how it reeked of something too close to genocide and it haunted him, and went against everything the SEALs taught him about restraint and ethics and the value of human life.
The Counselor nodded and typed on his data pad. He remained cool and detached through whatever was being discussed, and it struck him hard, the lack of compassion. Or, the lack of genuine compassion.
He never told him that part, or how he wasn’t sure of how destroying the base so completely helped anyone, or even that he wasn’t sure of the Project’s overall goal. It wasn’t defense, nor offense, and stopping Insurrectionists seemed secondary, reactive.
The Counselor told him one day that they needed him for more offensive missions, no more passive scouting and intel retrieval. Jersey nodded and said he’d been waiting to hear that. It wasn’t eagerness, per se, but simply expectance and acceptance.
His first active mission was to kill an Insurrectionist recruiter that was going around to backwater planets and rounding up recruits by the dozens. A few hours, really, and all he had to do was stand in the back of a crowd in civvies and pull the trigger when the crowd was completely enraptured with the man speaking. The confusion and panicked scrambling made it easy for him to get away.
His next target were some specialists coming in from a system over. A demolition squad, and he didn’t like the sound of that, because match two mid-range fighters and the most likely outcome was death on both sides. He pulled it out though, because most of the team seemed arrogant and impulsive, and utterly baffled by the concept of a stealth target.
His next target was a high ranking leader on vacation. He didn’t expect his family to be there, and cursed whoever didn’t think he should’ve gotten that intel. He cowed the kids and wife into a bedroom, and found his target in a closet, foaming at the mouth and with a blue face. He curled his lip at the waste of time, but as he turned to go he saw one of the older kids standing down the hall, a pistol held tightly by shaking, white-knuckled hands. Instinct made him dive and shoot, and even as he came to his senses, he hoped he had landed a clean shot, because, shit, the kid looked about 15.
An agonized yell had told him quite the contrary, and he quickly got back into the hallway, aiming, firing, and listening to frantic steps racing toward him. The wife and two seven year olds came into view, the wife holding another pistol. She started to bring it up, steady, and with a steely glint in her eye that told him she wouldn’t hesitate like her son did.
He was faster on the draw, though, and the wife went down. One of the kids started crying and the other just stared blankly at his mother’s body.
He had a long talk with the Counselor after that one, but the Counselor was the one doing most of the talking for once.
Apparently he wasn’t broken enough, because he was out on another mission soon enough. This one was akin to his very first, and he was in mission mode while he got the briefing. His distantly recognized this through the fog of obedient soldier, and had time to barely register himself thinking, ‘coping mechanism’, before he reined in his wandering thoughts.
I'm going to have to say goodbye to you all, as I dont feel right having a spot on the roster when I'm hardly online. I feel bad for coming on for a day or two then disappearing for a week and a half.
I really like this rp group, and youre all wonderful rpers. If i ever find myself with some free time, I'll definitely come back.
He smiles as he turns down the corridors, glancing back at her to make sure she's keeping up. "I know what you mean, its nice to just clear your head and blank out." He hesitates at a turn, then goes straight. "This isn't part of the planned tour, but I figured you'd want to know where the rec room is."
She shakes the others hand with a smile glad that he approached her because it would have taken her forever to find him. “That is correct, please call me Mass or Octavia. I think saying Massachusetts is a mouth full. But you but be Jersey?”
[Mass stood up and immediately began to head for the mess hall she was quiet proud of herself for only having to look at the map once on the way there. She stood there awkwardly looking around for New Jersey]
Jersey looks up from a digital book on his datapad, spots Mass, and feels bad because man she looks like she'd been standing there a while. Getting up and walking over to her, he extends his hand and smiles warmly. "You're Massachusetts then?"
Yeah thank god for the data pads. I honestly get lost with it still. All I know what to do is find the mess hall, medical wing and my room. Sad isnt it?
I guess I'm a bit of a wanderer, so I got lost a lot of times. Maybe the whole "guys don't ask for directions" thing, but I just kept going til I figured out where I was. Let me at least show you around to the hangar and shooting range though, you gotta know your way around.
That’s very true. Plus the sugar makes us not want to fall asleep on the floor as we walk to the other side of this ship to grab something or talk to someone.
Eh, the ship isn't too bad. Find the hallways that aren't busy and you have a nice lil jog. I will admit, it is hell when you're trying to figure out where something or someone is.
I have to agree with you. Sure I showed up during one but, going and getting food was the greatest. Gave me an excuse to buy a ton of candy and tea to hide in my room because coffee is gross.
My candy and alcohol stash is absurd. Mostly the candy part, but still. I mean, with all the physical exertion we do, we gotta get calories back somehow, right?
Your so right that it isnt even fair! Man I want cookie dought ice cream too. Or Mint? Ohh many strawberry! Or Cake! Damn it im only killing myself more. Im going to be so upset till we get shore leave.
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