Where am I, and what the hell is this, now?
The swaying, bumpy ride awoke Commander Radfield. His senses returned one-by-one, vision and sound dampened to anything outside of the blackout bag placed over his head but still there, as far as Christian could ascertain. With it on, he could only gather few details from his situation:
A) He was being held in a transport of some kind. The jostling of the vehicle had made him wonder, albeit briefly, just how he could have slept at all with the jarring motion.
B) He had been kidnapped, drugged, and handcuffed against his will, that in itself being a federal crime when committed against an undecorated civilian. Committed against an authority figure, it was grounds for automatic sanctioning.
A large bump in the road knocked Christian from his seat and his thoughts, landing him hard on the floor. The blackout bag, made of a vibration-absorbent soundproofing fabric, slipped off his head as he went face-down, allowing Commander Radfield to see his surroundings in part for the first time since the kidnapping. The first thing he noticed was the grey-black plastic along the bottom of the bench seat he had been perched upon. He admired the sterility of it, the cleanliness that was so imperative of--
I know who have me. Damn it! Why didn't I see this before?
Without preamble, he called out, "Who's the senior officer here?"
"No senior here, boy," came a rough voice nearby. Christian was unable to locate the direction; between the remnants of the blackout bag near his head and the vibro-proof armor plating that coated the interior of the transport, determining the location of a sound was next to impossible.
"What do you mean, 'no senior', guy? This is an A-Class Federal Transport Van, utilized only on the authority of the Sanction Corps, am I correct?" Christian sat through the barrage of stammers and jabbering before he decided to press on. "Let me tell ya something asshole, what you're doing is illegal! See this here? This is grounds for sanctioning, man! You could get kill..."
He never saw the boot coming for his face. But he did feel the impact. Lucky for Christian, the pain didn't last long before unconsciousness took over.
* * * * * *
He awoke again some time later, the throbbing on his left temple having reached a fever pitch. His sight was the first to return this time, as his head lacked the blackout bag, but he still saw nothing at first but murky shadows that alternated between grays and reds. His vision was improving by the minute; vague shadows grew more defined in their outlines, and he was sure that, given time, it would restore to functionable. He put that fear to rest and began to check his other facilities. He was handcuffed and shackled, kneeling on a rough floor of unknown substance, but couldn't tell if he was chained in place or not.
He could hear the sounds of civilization nearby, of people walking to and fro, and even make out snippets of conversation when they passed close to where he was. Screaming could be heard faint in the background, piercing sounds crying out in the darkness around Commander Radfield and filling the air of the area with hopelessness.
He needed to leave. Now.
The metal hand cuffs and leg cuffs that held him in place rattled as he tried to stand up, echoes reverberating throughout the confined space until the sound was overwhelming. Christian stopped, fear of alerting any sentries on duty guiding his caution, and the rattle of the chains died away at once. All was still and quiet while Christian planned his next move. He could try for a forced escape, using what charge he had left in his ElektriShok implants to break the chains and attempt a blind run while his eyes came to. Or, alternatively, he could scream for a guard to come see him, his voice joining the chorus of those seeking retribution for the crime they felt was committed against them. Time to weigh options.
The former was too dicey; if he tried running blind, he could inflict harm on an unwitting bystander, or, should the presumably rogue officer be nearby, he could walk right in to his arms and invite death quite by accident. The latter would be tantamount to giving up, the situation rife with the potential for being at the mercy of his captor (Captor or Captors? I don't even know how many there are, Christian noted with a sigh). Instead, he opted to wait it out and see what would happen, hoping for an opportunity to present itself.
What seemed to be hours passed while Commander Radfield waited for his chance. He whiled away the time meditating on his predicament, on the sequence of events that led him to this point, and, after dozing once or twice, trying to remember his favorite films in as much clarity as was possible.
The tell-tale tapping of Federal issue boots pulled Christian from his memories, bringing him to the here and now. His muscles began to tense when the tapping stopped close to his cell. Christian turned his head to face the noise, vision still not returned in full, and waited for whatever was to come. Three clicks, followed by a scraping noise as the door swung open to admit the intruders.
"Christian T. Radfield, Commander: Nuevos Refugios Peace Department. Given prisoner number C-L-P-one-one-three-eight. Can you confirm your identity?” The voice was as sterile as the air he emitted.
“Yes,” Christian croaked. His voice was scratched and raw from disuse. How long have I been captive? “Confirm everything except the prisoner number. Didn't know that beforehand. Hell, I didn't even know I was being taken legally!” He felt his voice grow stronger the more he used it. Bolstered by the sound of his voice returning to its normal tenor, he started shouting in the perceived direction of the officer. “What kind of freakin' gestapo tactics are Sanctions using now-days? Kidnapping? Christ Jesus, man!”
“Commander Radfield, we advise you to please lower both your tone and the harshness of the language used, as all conversations are currently being recorded.” Typical bureaucratic pipesmoke, Christian thought in the direction of the voice. “To answer your accusations, you were taken in a legal and binding manner; having been on the run from Sanctions units for the past three days-” Three days? How long have I been out of it, now? And on the run from Sanctions? What kind of icejob is this? “-bounty tactics were granted for your capture and reclaimation in this instance. However, instant Sanction rights were repealed on direct order from the Senate.” The orator stopped his bureaucratic cadence, evidently waiting for a response.
“What the hell are you saying?” Christian raised his head to the voice. "I was apprehended by Lieutenant Hetlich of MY department in response to my assassination of a Zuqqamogg gang leader, not by Sanctions! What the hell hallucinogen are you on, man?"
The tapping of the shoes was near nonexistent as the faceless bureaucrat flew forward and pressed his face near Christian's, close enough that Radfield could start to make out the encroacher's features through his still hazy vision. His breathe was a reflection of the inner putresence the bureaucrat held, gagging Christian with a scent that could draw flies.
"Commander, once more I do advise you to shut the hell up. We have no record of an assassination in your area of command. This is misdirection and lies. As your adviser on affairs, I suggest you stick to the real facts and not a daydream, understood?" His breath held, allowing Christian a moment of respite from the maelstrom of halitosis. He drew in a deep breath, savoring the clear air.
"I am sticking to the facts, you pompous dick!" Voice growing stronger still, eyesight growing sharper. The Adviser took an involuntary step back from Commander Radfield as he sprung forward, veins bulging in rage. "This is bullshit! This is a freakin' icejob and you know it!"
"I am sticking to the facts as they are presented to me, Commander. I--" A new set of footfalls sounded in the enclosed space, the sound radiating upwards as they approached the Advisor. Christian could make out a short exchange of whispers and a brief grunt of approval. The muddled form of the Other walked away then, with the sound of footfalls fading at a rapid pace.
"It seems you have a visitor, Commander." Radfield could practically hear the smug smirk on the Adviser's face. "The Zuqqamogg Ambassador has heard your admittance of assassination and has requested to meet with you in person. As your Adviser, I will remain present to assist in any matter what might be brought up. Agreed?"
"Do I really have an option?"
"Not particularly, no."
"Well then, bring on the king bug. Maybe he'llactually believe what the hell I'm saying."
"That's warning number three, Commander. A fourth will result in immediate expungency of your trial, an automatic 'guilty' verdict, and automatic sanctioning, are we clear?"
"No, we are not!" The new voice entered the room in a flash like lightning, his voice the bass of thunder, audibly rattling the chains holding Christian down. The thunder reverberated, pressure in everyone's skulls reaching a tempest pitch until the final vibrations cleared moments later. The voice must have sensed the damage being done, Christian thought, for he lowered his pitch for the next words spoken. "He is not to be sanctioned. I have him under my protection from this point forward, including the authorization to release him from this wretched facility."
"Now wait just one blasted minute!" Christian smiled at the Adviser's rage. "He is a Federal prisoner! I have him under orders--"
"--That have just been rescinded on grounds of political sanctuary. He is now a member of the Zuqqamogg peoples until such time as we release him from sanctuary at his request or our discretion. Stand down, human."
"This is preposterous."
"Be that as it may, he is mine now. Release him or join in his sentence."
The Advisor stepped forward, the jingling of keys now added to the staccato footfalls. In a moment the heavy cuffs were released from his wrists and ankles, a burden he hadn't realized was weighing him until they were gone. He unfolded himself gingerly from his kneeling position, the screaming in his knees plaguing his every microsecond of movement until the painful stiffness eased away. The urge to stretch seized him on a whim and he obliged, joints popping with the slow movements.
The swaying, bumpy ride awoke Commander Radfield. His senses returned one-by-one, vision and sound dampened to anything outside of the blackout bag placed over his head but still there, as far as Christian could ascertain. With it on, he could only gather few details from his situation:
A) He was being held in a transport of some kind. The jostling of the vehicle had made him wonder, albeit briefly, just how he could have slept at all with the jarring motion.
B) He had been kidnapped, drugged, and handcuffed against his will, that in itself being a federal crime when committed against an undecorated civilian. Committed against an authority figure, it was grounds for automatic sanctioning.
A large bump in the road knocked Christian from his seat and his thoughts, landing him hard on the floor. The blackout bag, made of a vibration-absorbent soundproofing fabric, slipped off his head as he went face-down, allowing Commander Radfield to see his surroundings in part for the first time since the kidnapping. The first thing he noticed was the grey-black plastic along the bottom of the bench seat he had been perched upon. He admired the sterility of it, the cleanliness that was so imperative of--
I know who have me. Damn it! Why didn't I see this before?
Without preamble, he called out, "Who's the senior officer here?"
"No senior here, boy," came a rough voice nearby. Christian was unable to locate the direction; between the remnants of the blackout bag near his head and the vibro-proof armor plating that coated the interior of the transport, determining the location of a sound was next to impossible.
"What do you mean, 'no senior', guy? This is an A-Class Federal Transport Van, utilized only on the authority of the Sanction Corps, am I correct?" Christian sat through the barrage of stammers and jabbering before he decided to press on. "Let me tell ya something asshole, what you're doing is illegal! See this here? This is grounds for sanctioning, man! You could get kill..."
He never saw the boot coming for his face. But he did feel the impact. Lucky for Christian, the pain didn't last long before unconsciousness took over.
* * * * * *
He awoke again some time later, the throbbing on his left temple having reached a fever pitch. His sight was the first to return this time, as his head lacked the blackout bag, but he still saw nothing at first but murky shadows that alternated between grays and reds. His vision was improving by the minute; vague shadows grew more defined in their outlines, and he was sure that, given time, it would restore to functionable. He put that fear to rest and began to check his other facilities. He was handcuffed and shackled, kneeling on a rough floor of unknown substance, but couldn't tell if he was chained in place or not.
He could hear the sounds of civilization nearby, of people walking to and fro, and even make out snippets of conversation when they passed close to where he was. Screaming could be heard faint in the background, piercing sounds crying out in the darkness around Commander Radfield and filling the air of the area with hopelessness.
He needed to leave. Now.
The metal hand cuffs and leg cuffs that held him in place rattled as he tried to stand up, echoes reverberating throughout the confined space until the sound was overwhelming. Christian stopped, fear of alerting any sentries on duty guiding his caution, and the rattle of the chains died away at once. All was still and quiet while Christian planned his next move. He could try for a forced escape, using what charge he had left in his ElektriShok implants to break the chains and attempt a blind run while his eyes came to. Or, alternatively, he could scream for a guard to come see him, his voice joining the chorus of those seeking retribution for the crime they felt was committed against them. Time to weigh options.
The former was too dicey; if he tried running blind, he could inflict harm on an unwitting bystander, or, should the presumably rogue officer be nearby, he could walk right in to his arms and invite death quite by accident. The latter would be tantamount to giving up, the situation rife with the potential for being at the mercy of his captor (Captor or Captors? I don't even know how many there are, Christian noted with a sigh). Instead, he opted to wait it out and see what would happen, hoping for an opportunity to present itself.
What seemed to be hours passed while Commander Radfield waited for his chance. He whiled away the time meditating on his predicament, on the sequence of events that led him to this point, and, after dozing once or twice, trying to remember his favorite films in as much clarity as was possible.
The tell-tale tapping of Federal issue boots pulled Christian from his memories, bringing him to the here and now. His muscles began to tense when the tapping stopped close to his cell. Christian turned his head to face the noise, vision still not returned in full, and waited for whatever was to come. Three clicks, followed by a scraping noise as the door swung open to admit the intruders.
"Christian T. Radfield, Commander: Nuevos Refugios Peace Department. Given prisoner number C-L-P-one-one-three-eight. Can you confirm your identity?” The voice was as sterile as the air he emitted.
“Yes,” Christian croaked. His voice was scratched and raw from disuse. How long have I been captive? “Confirm everything except the prisoner number. Didn't know that beforehand. Hell, I didn't even know I was being taken legally!” He felt his voice grow stronger the more he used it. Bolstered by the sound of his voice returning to its normal tenor, he started shouting in the perceived direction of the officer. “What kind of freakin' gestapo tactics are Sanctions using now-days? Kidnapping? Christ Jesus, man!”
“Commander Radfield, we advise you to please lower both your tone and the harshness of the language used, as all conversations are currently being recorded.” Typical bureaucratic pipesmoke, Christian thought in the direction of the voice. “To answer your accusations, you were taken in a legal and binding manner; having been on the run from Sanctions units for the past three days-” Three days? How long have I been out of it, now? And on the run from Sanctions? What kind of icejob is this? “-bounty tactics were granted for your capture and reclaimation in this instance. However, instant Sanction rights were repealed on direct order from the Senate.” The orator stopped his bureaucratic cadence, evidently waiting for a response.
“What the hell are you saying?” Christian raised his head to the voice. "I was apprehended by Lieutenant Hetlich of MY department in response to my assassination of a Zuqqamogg gang leader, not by Sanctions! What the hell hallucinogen are you on, man?"
The tapping of the shoes was near nonexistent as the faceless bureaucrat flew forward and pressed his face near Christian's, close enough that Radfield could start to make out the encroacher's features through his still hazy vision. His breathe was a reflection of the inner putresence the bureaucrat held, gagging Christian with a scent that could draw flies.
"Commander, once more I do advise you to shut the hell up. We have no record of an assassination in your area of command. This is misdirection and lies. As your adviser on affairs, I suggest you stick to the real facts and not a daydream, understood?" His breath held, allowing Christian a moment of respite from the maelstrom of halitosis. He drew in a deep breath, savoring the clear air.
"I am sticking to the facts, you pompous dick!" Voice growing stronger still, eyesight growing sharper. The Adviser took an involuntary step back from Commander Radfield as he sprung forward, veins bulging in rage. "This is bullshit! This is a freakin' icejob and you know it!"
"I am sticking to the facts as they are presented to me, Commander. I--" A new set of footfalls sounded in the enclosed space, the sound radiating upwards as they approached the Advisor. Christian could make out a short exchange of whispers and a brief grunt of approval. The muddled form of the Other walked away then, with the sound of footfalls fading at a rapid pace.
"It seems you have a visitor, Commander." Radfield could practically hear the smug smirk on the Adviser's face. "The Zuqqamogg Ambassador has heard your admittance of assassination and has requested to meet with you in person. As your Adviser, I will remain present to assist in any matter what might be brought up. Agreed?"
"Do I really have an option?"
"Not particularly, no."
"Well then, bring on the king bug. Maybe he'llactually believe what the hell I'm saying."
"That's warning number three, Commander. A fourth will result in immediate expungency of your trial, an automatic 'guilty' verdict, and automatic sanctioning, are we clear?"
"No, we are not!" The new voice entered the room in a flash like lightning, his voice the bass of thunder, audibly rattling the chains holding Christian down. The thunder reverberated, pressure in everyone's skulls reaching a tempest pitch until the final vibrations cleared moments later. The voice must have sensed the damage being done, Christian thought, for he lowered his pitch for the next words spoken. "He is not to be sanctioned. I have him under my protection from this point forward, including the authorization to release him from this wretched facility."
"Now wait just one blasted minute!" Christian smiled at the Adviser's rage. "He is a Federal prisoner! I have him under orders--"
"--That have just been rescinded on grounds of political sanctuary. He is now a member of the Zuqqamogg peoples until such time as we release him from sanctuary at his request or our discretion. Stand down, human."
"This is preposterous."
"Be that as it may, he is mine now. Release him or join in his sentence."
The Advisor stepped forward, the jingling of keys now added to the staccato footfalls. In a moment the heavy cuffs were released from his wrists and ankles, a burden he hadn't realized was weighing him until they were gone. He unfolded himself gingerly from his kneeling position, the screaming in his knees plaguing his every microsecond of movement until the painful stiffness eased away. The urge to stretch seized him on a whim and he obliged, joints popping with the slow movements.
Christian looked around, hoping to see the visage of his savior; instead he found his vision still obscured long after it should have returned from a basic head injury. Wiping at his eyes to try and kick-start the return of his vision, instead he pulled away a mass of air-light gel, weightless and transparent, obviously designed to keep the vision of the victim to a minimum. He shook it off of his hand on to the floor and pulled off more gel, less than before, and noticed his vision becoming more defined. Three more wipes removed the rest of the gel, returning his entire sense of sight to normal, and allowing him to gaze upon his accuser and his savior for the first time.
The Adviser was a slight man of later years and reminded him forcibly of the old Nazi scientists he read about in his Criminology courses, with a well-cared for combover and a ruled moustache, all gray and wispy. His well-tailored suit was crisp at the seams and still retained its original color, an amazing feat given what Commander Radfield knew of Federal budgets for its lower-level employees. He turned to the newer voice and took an involuntary step back, impressed by the awesome size of the creature before him. It appeared much like the gang leader he had destroyed earlier, but simply bigger, impossibly larger in scale, topping 3 meters tall easily. Where the fifth arm was in the center of the chest of a normal Bug, he had 2 arms instead, both radiating from the central joint and covered at the base in thorn-like spikes. The second set of pincers under its “chin” were also covered in the thorns, giving him the dangerous look of an unevolved giant ready to tear apart all in its path. The Ambassador started to vibrate with deep laughter, its center arms clasping together in amusement at Christian's awe.
“Commander,” it choked out between chuckles, “Do not be afraid. I am not here to harm you in any way.”
“But... but... You're not angry about the assassination?” Christian took another step back, feeling the involuntary tensing of his calf muscles start as he prepared to run from the behemoth before him.
“Did you not hear what I said before? Come!” His voice reverberated once more as he placed a claw on Christian's shoulder. “We have much to talk about, you and I.”
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