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['New RPG'] Confinement
Posted: Sun Sep 04, 2011 6:00 pm
(OOC: This thread is for Blackjack to expound about the Fallen in.)
Posted: Mon Sep 05, 2011 12:39 am
It was a triangular slab, once entombed into the wall of one of the chambers inside the one of the pyramids of Giza.
The Egyptians that had created the chamber had made it secret and hidden, and it was not meant to be accessed from the outside. They had hidden it in order for the evil to be locked inside forever.
However, such things rarely do stay buried, even if it takes hundreds or thousands of years.
And the secret chamber was not discovered until the ninety-eighties. 1984, to be exact. Renowned archaeologist Susan Hoffman had, all by accident, stumbled upon the room, but the nondescript slab was the only thing inside. Hieroglyphics carved on the walls of otherwise barren room warned about curses and plagues, but the modern-day humans passed it off as another one of the Egyptians' now extinct religion.
It had seemed far more rushed and urgent than the other heiroglyphs, but there were more studies to be made, more pyramids to explore.
The slab itself had strange engravings on the rims, although it is not in any script known to mankind. It seemed unearthly, as it resembled several different scripts at the same time. The main portions of the slab itself is flat. A pretty unremarkable item, for all the effort of finding the hidden room.
However, what was strange was the composition of the slab. It was made up of an abnormal composition of strange metals, even some that couldn't have possibly came from the local area... or anywhere on Earth.
But like so many urban mysteries, like the Bermuda Triangle or Bigfoot or UFOs, it was, after a while, quickly forgotten by mankind, the scientists dismissing as the ancient Egyptians probably stumbling on a meteor and getting all superstitious about it.
And now the slab, not really the most impressive of artifacts, sits gathering dust in a far corner of the Egyptian section of the Smithsonian Museum in Washington.
Nobody ever gave it a second thought.
Not that it would make a difference if the humans knew what the slab really is.
Posted: Mon Sep 05, 2011 3:49 am
This was his prison.
From outside, it looked like just a tiny triangular slab. But in reality it was a complex mechanism which led to another dimension, a dimension of literal nothingness.
Even he did not completely understand the properties of this formless dimension. It was one created by his accursed brother, Vector Prime, and his powers over space and time.
He used to be a Prime.
He used to be a member of the Thirteen, of the Firstforged, of the Seven Great Primes.
He was cast out, banished, stripped of his power.
His name had been forgotten by the sands of time, scrubbed away by his brethren, as if doing so would erase him from existence. The fact that Prima and the others did not just kill him outright proves that he was more powerful than they thought.
Let his name disappear; he had no desire to become a Prime again.
He is the unnamed, the accursed, the betrayed, the fallen. That was his name, his title. The Fallen.
He sat cross-legged, floating, inside his little pocket dimension. He was a silent, unmoving statue of jet-black metal, all dark. There was no hint of life. He was a still object amid the storm of colourful energy surging silently around him. Space-time energies, dimensional ebbs and flows.
His dark form was the only constant there.
His brother Primes had banished him here, instead of killing him. They were too weak. Too scared. It had been millennia upon millennia. But he could wait.
He was, after all, the living avatar of evolution, the lord of entropy, and change will always happen. It is the only constant in the universe. Like how he was the only constant in this swirling vortex.
Without change, without death, life itself has no meaning. Death and rebirth. Entropy will lead to destruction, and then recreation.
Change will always happen. Fallen knew all he had to do was wait.
He had been waiting for thousands of years.
And come, change did.
There was a rip. A rip in the space-time dimension.
Immediately as the rip appeared, a glow apepared inside Fallen's insides, and he began to light up like a furnace. Grooves in his torso and abdomen lighted up with the bright glow of flames, and indeed these flames began to creep through his entire body, dancing around him but not harming him. His optics was the last to slowly glow to life, two pinprick balls of fire which focused on the rip in space-time. The ridges on his faceplate also lighted up with the same blazing glow of fire, which danced up his head and formed some sort of twisted, burning crown.
The Fallen lunged and thrust out an outstretched hand, flames dancing around his wrist, at the rip and tried to reach through the rip in dimensions.
Fallen focused on his dark energies, his flames and shadows, and willed the rip to become bigger. His brothers had sealed away his powers... but not all of them.
"FREE." Fallen growled, his voice a rasping growl.
The rip, however, did not bend to Fallen's will. Whether it was effort from a still-living Vector Prime, or simply luck, the rip dissipated. Fallen floated where the rip was, and let out a deep, dark chuckle. The flames danced around his him, as if responding to his glee.
His prison has a weakness.
He will find a way out.
And he will be free.
Revenge will be his.
Mika Miramond was a twenty-year old college student, working part-time as night security in the museum to earn money for her tuition fees. It was, in her opinion, the more preferable option than modeling, and crazy working hours aside, it was a pretty good job.
She was moving through the Egyptian section when a loud crack split the air, she whirled around, torchling searching for the source of that sound.
Seeing nothing, she frowned, before walking away again. The statues of animal-headed gods here creeped her out.
As she walked out, she could swore she heard a deep, dark voice that sounded both metallic and demonic, like something out of the movies, speak. Mika turned around, half-expecting a demon out of hell to charge out. Nothing there. No living Anubis statues, no living mummies.
She took no chances and quickly trotted out of the room, silently blaming her boyfriend for making her watch that stupid horror movie the night before.
And on the nondescript, plain triangular slab on the corner of the room, a small, almost inconsequental, tiny crack had appeared.
Posted: Tue Sep 06, 2011 12:35 pm
He was the Lord of Entropy. He oversaw that chaos and decay and death happened. This was necessary for new creation, this was the only single constant in the universe.
Death is a natural thing. Only with death that life has a meaning. Too long philosophers have searched for the meaning of life, its meaning is death, death to pave path to a new life.
His brothers could not see this. They were blinded by their foolish mortal prejudices, and branded his efforts to bring about global entropy as evil.
Trying to stop entropy was like trying to stop time. Sparks will fade, metal will crumble, organic beings will rot, memories will fade, computer data will corrupt, stars will implode, even entire dimensions will one day be destroyed. It was the law of entropy, that creation and destruction have to alternately occur.
All he tried to do was to hasten the process of destruction so a new universe could be created. They refuse to accept the inevitability of their death, and brand him evil instead. They could not see the truth.
He had found a way, before his imprisonment.
Whispered in hushed tones was the dark god Unicron. Fallen had studied the so-called dark arts concerning Unicron, and he knew that this dark god, the Chaos Bringer, the Eater of Worlds... was eternally hunger, was a force of nature that would eat planets and stars to sustain its existence. Its mere power warps reality.
Had his brothers had not stopped him, he would probably have known more about this mysterious Unicron.
Fallen allowed the flames on his hand to dance a little. These flames were magical, an ironic punishment from his brethren. They were supposed to hurt. But he had controlled them. The pain fed him now. The flames were part of him now.
Another proof of evolution, that he could overcome anything the universe throws at him.
He will be free.
Freedom, after all, is the right of all sentient beings.
It was what the Primes believed.
Freedom will be given to all, yes. Fallen will usher in freedom, through death. Everyone will be free from their yokes of life, and they will be free.
Posted: Tue Sep 06, 2011 5:04 pm
Finkleberg was an artist who took his work seriously, developing some concept art for props and settings for this movie set in ancient Egypt. It involved aliens and pyramids and mummies, and Fink had no idea how the director were to make them gel together. Mindless explosions, most likely. He was paid to draw Egyptian stuff so the props would look detailed, so he did what he was paid to do.
But there were limits, and he couldn't go to Egypt per se. Thus, the Smithsonian. He looked for he cool stuff, of course. Statues of Anubis and Ra, giant sickles, hawk-headed gods, gryphons with wings made of blades, Rosetta stones... men-headed chicken ghosts...
He passed by the dusty triangular slab without a word, it was unremarkable not worth a second look. As he walked away, at the edge of the vision something seemed to suddenly glow.
Nick turned around and saw that the wacky-looking symbols on the rims of the slab burn brightly as if they had burst into flames... and then they disappeared. Nick bent down to look at the slab. He was an artist, but he knew his material. These were not hieroglyphs or any ancient script, not Egyptian or Hebrew or Sumerian or whatever. Heck, they actually resemble a disemboweled version of Chinese or Japanese script.
Nick shrugged it off as watching too much movies, and walked away.
As the footfalls faded, the glyphs burned bright again.
And on the flat edge of the slab, there were two cracks. The cracks glowed... and they looked like eyes.
Posted: Tue Sep 06, 2011 5:21 pm
It hurts so much to use his powers, to give it his all, especially without his full range of powers. But he'll be damned if he will die in this slagging prison.
Oh, the pain!
They will all pay for this!
Fallen roared, slamming his fist repeatedly against the wall, that wall mocking him, in rage. No matter how long it took him, he will get free. He must get free.
He willed it and he felt another thin layer of Vector Prime's binds shatter. Yes. Freedom.
Posted: Sat Sep 17, 2011 4:26 pm
Fallen punched at the wall. The rip had grown wider, and now it appeared to him like a wall. Why was it a wall? Was it a tangible adaptation of his surroundings, or just his subconscious visualising his prison as such? Or, dare he hope, was it the prison weakening?
Fallen struck the wall again. He had to get out, it was the only thing that mattered.
Why did he want to get out? Why does he need a reason? Well, revenge, obviously, and the relative end of the universe as everyone knows it. But really, other than that he didn't actively have a reason. Really all he ever wanted was chaos, glorious chaos. Everything else was secondary.
Besides, why does he need to put reason, to put logic behind what he was doing? He was a being of chaos, for crying out loud.
Some people just want to see the world burn for no reason.
Just for chaos.
Posted: Sat Sep 24, 2011 4:41 pm
The slab, for a split second, seemed to catch on fire. But the old security guard, Joe Anderson, thought it was a trick of the light.
After all, who had ever heard of something suddenly bursting into fire for the time it takes one to blink?
They'd say he forgot to take his medications again.
The crack? Oh, that little crack about ten centimetres wide, you mean? The experts who came around had dismissed it as coming from humidity and the odd composition of the slab, before going on to talk about mummies or somesuch.
Posted: Tue Oct 04, 2011 11:11 am
It's been a while, it's been some time.
Chaos transcends time. Time will end. Entropy will never end.
But even the Lord of Entropy, the Avatar of Evolution, was starting to be affected by the millennia of imprisonment here.
The Fallen raised his arms and cannons slid out. He fired, sending mortars which exploded against the wall. They exploded and created a swath of hellfire, and it stripped yet another thin layer.
And set off a bunch of images running across Fallen's vision. What was this -- different versions of him? They were odd. It seemed like they came from other universes. Fallen frowned. In one instance he looked very... complex. Different. He was standing atop a triangular machinery on an alien planet, battling what seemed to be a young Prime.
Fallen was curious at this version of him, and let the flames wash over his body.
And, like he had done several times before, like he had seen Amalgamous Prime do every single day, Fallen changed his own form. Grooves sprouted all over his body, his blocky limbs became more slender and spiked, his legs bent inwards, his feet splayed out, his flames receded into his frame and fueled his furnace-like core... and finally a long, tall mask with moving energy panels formed atop his face.
He moved experimentally. His body was... different. Spindly. He could, of course, always revert to the form he was familiar with, but he felt that he would keep this configuration for a while.
The transformation had allowed him access to something he previously locked away. His now eleven-fingered hands grasped around a small cyclider, which, upon touch, expanded to a two-pronged staff with a blue crystal inset at one end. His Command Staff... or, as Solus Prime had called it, the Void Scepter.
He's got a weapon now. Perfect.
Posted: Tue Oct 04, 2011 5:14 pm
Fallen stopped his ceaseless hitting of the fracture in space-time.
It has been some time, or a short time, or no time at all. Time flowed, yes, but Fallen's interdimensional prison makes time askew. It's chaotic. He likes it.
Fallen tested the 'door' with his palm. With his flames. He extended his power, mentally, physically. There was no response. He had almost broken through, so near, yet so far.
He could see the world outside. It was... strange. Something else for chaos to consume. Assuming he could get out. Fallen sent another surge of hellfire. No, no more budging. This was Vector Prime's final barrier.
That was fine. He could wait. After a few milennia, he could stand to wait just a while more.
Posted: Fri Oct 07, 2011 4:14 pm
The vehicle that pulled up beside the museum was not exactly strange. It was a jet black Cadillac Escalade SUV, not exactly a common car but not out of place either. Unknown to the average bystander, the Escalade, however, was reinforced enough to withstand anything less powerful than an RPG, and could drive through a steel wall.
Likewise, the agents inside the Escalade were trained intelligence agents, with badges that could as well as read 'do whatever I want and get away with it'.
Technically, they don't exist. Just another part of the government's large budget divisions.
The men that stepped out of the vehicle were dressed in formal clothes. Not exactly Men In Black, but it was quite close enough. The leader of the group stepped out of the shotgun seat, wearing a pair of sunglasses, walking with a swagger like he owned the place. Unlike the other three, who had perfect poker faces and body language that said 'do not mess with me', the leader was far, far more relaxed.
If it were not for the rather goofy grin on his face, this airheaded posture would've caused any other intelligence agent to mark him as the most dangerous of the group.
The four men walked towards the museum. Technically it was rather eye catching. People, however, tended to mind their own business.
They exited about an hour later, carting a large package which they placed on the rear of the Escalade.
Fallen felt his prison being moved. It wasn't the sense of being carried around in a cage, wasn't in the physical sense, but he felt it nonetheless.
The first thought was the Primes, and he very nearly prepared for combat.
But no. It was the hyu-mans. He had been recently aware of these bugs walking around his prison. No prison was completely impenetrable, especially one with a half-open dimensional door such as this.
Escaping was impossible for the moment, but the Fallen could send trickles of his power out. He has to be conserve his power, but these protoplasmic slugs have so primitive brains it was so mind-numbingly easy.
In no time Fallen had absorbed most of the humans' culture. It was so deliciously chaotic.
A species much like the Cybertronians. Sentient. Social. And ultimately selfish. Divided by nations and borders, by ethnic groups and castes, by beliefs and social status... the humans were even more fractured than Cybertron, and they were such a young species.
The Fallen chuckled. Perfect.
Seymour Simmons was giddy with excitement. A rather smooth extraction mission. Get to the museum, take the Egyptian slab which had the mysterious glyphs on it, transfer it to Sector Seven HQ.
Although you can't be too careful. These aliens can be anywhere. The kid that looked at him funny, that big woman with a flannel hat... they could even be invisible, or intagible... maybe they've infiltrated society as well. Project: Supernaturalist is working on checking out reports of psychics or people claiming to have telekinetic powers and the like.
Definitely aliens built the pyramids, Simmons was sure of that. Ergo, anything strange connected to Egypt must be connected to aliens.
Really, so many people pass off the strange things in the world as freak occurences, or just attention seekers making up stories, or the media. Alien abductions, the Loch Ness monster, Bigfoot, the pyramids, Atlantis, UFO sightings... too many evidence brushed aside because they do not fit society's norm of 'explainable by science or religion'.
Oh, yeah, the media covers up these stories.
The public can't know, of course. National security and all that. They're not ready.
Simmons will uncover the truth, will play a great role in the advances of mankind... ah, to be an unsung hero...
"This is Agent Simmons. Target has been acquired, en-route to base. Operation Black Knife is underway."
Oh, how nice it was to be saying these things.
Posted: Mon Oct 24, 2011 1:18 pm
Sector Seven R&D. Location: Classified
Simmons strode towards the group of computer analysts analyzing possible extraterrestrial activity, tapping into NASA's chatter, tapping into those Soviets and Englishmen, watching. Just, simply, watching. Another group of analysts were working on sorting out sightings of mutants or paranormal activities, although most time than not it is just the result of alcohol or an overreactive imagination.
Operation Black Knife, the first operation he had been assigned to, was quite a bit of a mysterious dead end. Just like the Project Luna so many years ago, which could not be continued because of funding issues, Black Knife failed to garner any results.
And with silliness like the COBRA war, resource allocations have hardly been good for a government agency whose tasks is, at beast, to uncover myths and conspiracies.
Oh, the President knew very well the importance of Sector Seven, of course. It's just that, it's hard enough as it is to siphon the taxpayers' money.
Fortunately, things were not that bad for them.
"We really need to get men on the moon again. Make sense of Impact Luna." Simmons mused out loud. The other agents ignored their senior agent. Simmons brought results, yes, his obsession helped out on that, and it's an unerringly powerful tool. But with it also comes a tendency to ramble, and the others have known well enough to ignore Agent Simmons when he is rambling.
"And the glyphs. Why were these glyphs never seen in archaeological sites? It's not Egyptian, nor is it Hebrew, Philistine, Roman, Persian, Grecian... heck, it's not even one of the Asian scripts!" Simmons rapped his fist against the triangular slab. "We need more men. We need more help to make sense of these things."
Simmons glanced at the chunk of metal recovered from the Moon in secret after Impact Luna. It looked like an engine, but at the same time like some kind of weapon.
They have analysts and engineers. Now, to find someone to test it...
Simmons began to pull out his iPad. Well, it looked like one of those iPads those kids were fooling around with, but it was made with S7 tech. Simmons began to review the files inside, optics frowning. One name caught him.
Daniel Witiky. Witicikiy. Wichita. Whatever. Who thinks up of these stupid names? Must be Japanese or something.
His great-grandfather and his father were respectively involved in the excavation of the glyph sacrophagus. His grandfather had been approached by Sector Seven before for discovering Impact Luna... excellent service record in the military, and quite smart to boot. Very impressive. Astro-physics?
Simmons' own family had been tied up in these sort of Sector Seven dealings for a long time. To think that there was a kindred spirit, sort of, out there...
"Contact this Sergeant Daniel Witwhacky." Simmons tossed the iPad onto the table, which slid smoothly to the female Agent seated on it. "It's time for him to serve his government."
2011 - USMC Base Camp Pendleton, California
Posted: Fri Nov 04, 2011 10:27 pm
"Sparkplug" was hunched over a work bench, welding together a field modification for the Mark 19 Automatic Grenade launcher. The.... incident earlier on the range showed that something was needed to raise the weapons firing position... and restrict how far down it can tilt...
The music was blaring, the sweat was dripping down his face, but it was easy work. In his mind, he was going over the lecture from last night, specifically about needing to find a commonality in a language. First, within itself (locating, identifiying and catagorizing repeating symbols), then in conjunction with a known language to find a common base or system of interpretation.
This was all well and good for known languages or something that originated in or around known places. But what about something completely unique. There wasn't a magic Rosetta stone for everything we would ever come across. So a lot of it was guess work and luck. Physics and Astronomy were much easier, to him at least. Things worked, followed formula, followed rules (for the most part). He could see it working in his own life, and had a nack for it. He knew, almost instinctually, where to place C4 to drop a building or a bridge. Where to hit with a sledge hammer or a boot to break in a wall or door. How things can fit and work together to achieve what ever goal he needed.
He was so lost in his own thoughts, that he didn't notice two men in black suits standing beside him. One cleared his throat loudly, and then tapped Sparkplug on the back.
Slowly, he turned to look at one man, then the other, raising his welding goggles up:
"Can...... I help you gentlemen?"
"Are you Sergeant Daniel Witwicky, USMC, 2nd Battalion, 5th Marine Company?" The first one said. He was shorter, a little pudgey, with close cropped red hair, that was thinning at the front.
"I might be.... who's asking?" Sparkplug said with a bit of flippancy
"Yes or no please." The first man said again, without a trace of humour. The second man seemed incapable of speech, and was brought along for sheer physical intimidation. Guess they hadn't dealt with Marines before...
"We need you to come with us Sergeant."
"I have work to finish here, and if I'm going anywhere it needs to be cleared with my CO."
"Sergeant, this order has been cleared though your CO and your CO's boss. If you'll please come with us, now."
Sparkplug slowly stood up, closing the valves on his torch and then taking his time walking over and washing his face and hands. Finally he pulled on his cap and turned to follow the two mysterious men.
"Can I ask what this is about?" He asked the only one who seemed to know how to speak.
"You can...." was the only response he was given.
After a few moments of pregnant silence, he spoke up again:
"Alright guys, you need to tell me what's going on."
"I can't do that Sergeant," the red-head stated matter-of-factly. "Your security clearence is higher than ours."
"Wait a minute." Daniel said, shaking his head. "I have security clearence now?"
"Yes Sergeant, higher than ours." Came the response, as they were climbing into the black Escalade. "Our orders were to collect you and make sure you get on your helicopter."
"Whoa..." Sparkplug responded, as door closed and the vehicle started on it's way to the tarmack. "I have a Helicopter?!?!?"
Posted: Sun Nov 06, 2011 1:50 pm
2011 - Sector Seven R&D Department, Location: Classified
"Our agents are en route with Sergeant Witwicky, sir." A junior officer informed Simmons, who is observing the scientists working on the mysterious piece of metal recovered from the Moon.
"Excellent, kid. Do tell me when he gets here." Simmons said, nodding slowly. His eyes rested on the triangular slab resting on an adjacent room, surrounded by glass as some researchers inspected it, looking for any sort of clues.
The Fallen was not able to communicate with the outside world, but oh, he was able to observe them from his little window of a crack.
The former Prime snorted at the disgusting little insects who probed and ran their grubby little organic fingers his prison.
But even though he was a fallen Prime, he will NOT be handled by slugs.
"Burn." Fallen growled as he burst into flames.
Before Simmons' eyes, the slab spontaneously combusted into flames, and it was as if a small explosion had gone off. The two researchers studying the sacrophagus were thrown bodily off the slab, slamming onto the glass walls of the room. Their hands had caught fire, and they were sprouting gibberish as if possessed.
"Get them out of there! Get a medic! Nobody touch that thing!" Simmons yelled, barking orders as the highly-trained staff of Sector Seven set off to do what they are supposed to do in an emergency situation.
Part of Simmons felt fear. Fear that an innocuous hunk of rock and metal could suddenly blow up like that without explanation (and now subsiding and looking innocent again).
However... most of Simmons was giddy with excitement.
A supernatural, unexplained, possibly connected-to-extraterrestrials contact.
Sector Seven Landing Pad - Location: Classified
Posted: Wed Nov 09, 2011 4:54 am
Daniel hopped off the helicopter, ducked down and ran towards the new men in black that seemed to be waiting for him. They were worse than the first two for conversations. They guided him into a bunker, and from there, he got lost in the labyrinth. What was worse, there were alarms going off and people rushing around. He passed medics and stretchers, carrying some burnt and wounded people who-knows-where.
He was starting to feel a little off his game. He didn't have any weapons on him, and there were a lot of unknowns. His body tensed and relaxed, his hands clenching and unclenching - he was waiting for the shoe to drop.
Finally they arrived at a large room. To one side was a large glass encloser, with a slab of grey metal/stone with writing on it (hey... that looks like the same stuff that the fragment he had was made out of.... Similar writing too..)
He saw one of them walk up and talk to another man, probably the guy in charge. Since he appeared to be a civilian, Daniel drew himself up to full height, standing like a marine should:
"Sargeant Daniel Witwicky, reporting... as ordered... I assume"
Posted: Wed Nov 09, 2011 2:32 pm
Sector Seven R&D, Location: Classified
Simmons turned to face the newcomer, and gave him a smile. "Ah, Sergeant Witwiticky. Excellent." Simmons said, striding towards Witwicky with a slight swagger. The guards that were approaching Witwicky with guns held in a threatening manner backed off immediately when Simmons approached Witwicky. "I am Special Agent Simmons, Sector Seven."
Simmons winced as some gas tank or something blew up behind him. He looked sheepishly at the sacrophagus room, and was relieved to see the object still undamaged, although instead of glass walls, it was now surrounded by shattered glass.
Simmons turned back to face Sergeant Witwicky. "No doubt you have never heard of us. That's expected, we're above top secret. The FBI, CIA, all of them have no idea we even exist. We're like the ghosts, the wolves, you know what I mean?" Simmons gave Witwicky a knowing smile as he moved in closer. "You are about to see- believe- things that have been hidden from the rest of the world for a long, long time."
He leaned in even closer, and said in a soft whisper, "Aliens are real."
Posted: Tue Nov 15, 2011 3:46 pm
Fallen chuckled. He could see the flesh slugs reeling away from his touch. Let it not be said that the fallen one would submit himself to such a low level.
What appears to be the leader of the insects--Fallen probed his mind slightly, and found his mind to be deliciously messy and chaotic--spoke to another.
Oh, what a pitiful species, playing with things they had no hope of understanding. His brother Nexus would have liked this species.
Fallen himself found them rather... interesting. He would not debase himself to think that these slugs had any right to even touch his prison, but Fallen had to admit that the maggots' chaotic culture intrigued him.
When he get free, he would help these humans on their way to oblivion.
Prima, Vector Prime, Alpha Trion, Nexus Prime, Solus Prime, Amalgamous Prime, Alchemist Prime, the Liege Maximo... all of them, any of the still-surviving members of the Thirteen... they will all die.
Posted: Thu Jan 12, 2012 4:40 pm
Sparkplug instinctively went for his sidearm as the explosions rocked the room, though he wasn't carrying one today. Years of ingrained instinct took over before he realized. Still, this Simmons character just stood there and winced a little.... that should have scared Daniel, but it didn't. That fact, though, did worry him.
Then Simmons really started talking and Daniel started to doubt his own sanity.
"I'm sorry sir... did you just say aliens? Like little green men from Mars, War of the Worlds, and them being after our resources and the like?"
Sparkplug really did wonder if Simmons had lost his mind... or perhaps this was an agencey dealing with Illegals in the US... something he wanted nothing to do with.
Sudbury, Ontario, Canada
Bob didn't really know why this order of Rhodium was being picked up by a sports car, an exotic one at that. When it showed up at the front door, he had looked at it's over-arched curves with awe and wonder. It's purple, light blue and maroon colouring was jaw-dropping. He wondered if it belonged to an excentric computer mogul, as the man who got out reminded him both of his grandfather, Albert Einstein and Walter Matthau all at the same time. Further more, he wondered how such a large order would affect the suspension of such a car.
All these worries melted as he walked away to confirm the order (something he never did.... strange....). He briefly marvelled at how large the trunk space seemed, especially for that kind of car, and at how well it handled the weight. What didn't cross his mind was what a rich man needed with 200 50lb bricks of Rhodium, over 4% of the worlds yearly production. He just smiled and waved as it drove off, not even worrying that the paperwork that was in his hand dissappeared....
Posted: Mon Jan 23, 2012 10:45 am
Sector 7 R&D, Location: Classified
Simmons nodded vigorously, as if he didn't realize that Daniel was being sarcastic. "E.T., Independence Day, yeah, yeah, you get the general idea."
Simmons shrugged and spared a glance at the sacrophagus behind him. "Thing is, real life aliens aren't as eye-catching as little green men or flying saucers or the like. They're more... supernatural, you get me? Or technological. I know this all sounds strange, but follow me."
Without waiting for a reply, Simmons sauntered down towards a table where a huge chunk of machinery that was definitely not part of anything in the market, and rapped his fist against it. "This baby-" Simmons began, "-was recovered by Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin in the project that we called Luna One. We- well, our predecessors, anyway- had evidence to believe a UFO had crashed into the moon, and that was the reason for the space race. Shame that with the time constraints, all we discovered was this chunk of alien ship. Metals that we haven't even gotten charted in the Periodic Table. Definitely not made in Soviet Russia, eh? Eh? Problem is, where did the rest of it go?"
Simmons waved his hand at the sacrophagus. "And this wacky sacrophagus. Been gathering dust in the Smithsonian for years, no one ever suspected that ol' Susan Hoffman's excavation in Egypt would yield something that certainly is not made by pharaohs and camels. You see what it just did, didn't you? A mysterious Egyptian artifact, pyramids, aliens- coincidence? I- think- not!"
Simmons punctuated each of the syllables loudly, driving himself up into a rant as emergency workers were extinguishing the flames around the slab.
Simmons turned to Daniel, an unhinged, excited look in his eyes. "We are Sector Seven, Sergeant Witicky. We are the unknown, we are the unseen, we are the ones that deal with things that would make the average American's brain pop. Anything extraterrestrial, anything supernatural, we're the ones that cover it up, we're the ones that try and figure it out. And you, young man, you've been drafted as a field agent. You're one of the best, and frankly, your family's been involved, on-and-off, for a couple of generations."
Posted: Fri Jan 27, 2012 4:37 pm
Sparkplug tuned out a little when Simmons mentioned the sarcophagus. He had seen it before, in pictures from his father's expedition to Egypt. His fathers notes weren't particularly clear on what it was... but there was a lot of speculation. His, and his grandfathers notes pointed to something greater... if only he could get in to look at it...
He realized, after a few moments of introspection, that Simmons had stopped talking. And then his last words registered with him:
"I'm sorry sir, run that by me again?
"My family and aliens? I think you might be a little confused"