Round 2 - George Shipley (Adam)

George sat alone in the mess hall with a bowl of instant noodles. There were other people in the room, but when George had decided to sit, he had, as he always did, sat at the small table in the corner away from everyone else. He faced the wall and did his best not to hear what other people were talking about. This was, he told himself, his way. He was a lone survivor, and had little interest in making friends, and a special interest in not making any more friends here.

Unfortunately that special interest didn't extend to Molly. She'd started at the base shortly after the Markham incident six months ago, which the company had made clear was absolutely a part of his non-disclosure agreement, and wasn't to be discussed with anybody else, either on the base or off. George had the pleasure of picking Molly up in the Bell and bringing her to the base, and she had immediately decided that they were going to be friends, regardless of George's wishes.

At first, he found her irritating. She was young, barely thirty, and of a generation that, in George's eyes, held onto childish things for far too long.. She spoke too fast, smiled too much, and was prone to touching his arm when she talked, which made him incredibly uncomfortable. Despite the things, like a fungus, she grew on him, and now the best days were the ones when she left the larger group in the cafeteria and came to sit and talk with him. He always maintained his surly attitude with her, because heaven forfend anybody should think he could smile, but inside the deepest recesses of his aging, blackened, unhappy heart, despite the fact that her skin was the wrong colour, and despite there being no chance that this strange, childish woman could ever reciprocate the feeling, George Shipley, for the first time in his long life, was the tiniest bit in love with Molly Patel.

As he sat, hearing her voice and her laugh from behind him, he sincerely hoped today would be one of the days where she came to see him. He nursed his noodles with his fork, trying to eat slowly so that it wouldn't look like he'd be leaving soon if she came over. He heard approaching footsteps behind him, and a hand rested on his shoulder. It didn't belong to Molly Patel.

"Captain Shipley, Doctor Donaghue would like to see you in his lab." It was Steve... something? He was one of the other replacement researchers brought in to replace the Markham team after... that whole thing. George hadn't bothered to remember his name. 

"I'm eating. Fuck off."

"He said it was very urgent. Please come with me." Steve's grip on George's shoulder tightened.

"Listen buddy, you better take your fucking hand off me right now or I'll rip your pissing arm off. If that prick wants to talk to me so urgently, he can get off his fucking magical throne and come down here to my level, alright?"

"I... You don't understand Captain. You... you have to come with me. I can't..." The man's hand tightened even more, and a twinge of pain went through George's body. The kid was strong. Stronger than he looked. George winced, and batted Steve's hand off his shoulder. Steve responded by reaching out with both hands and grabbing George, lifting him out of his seat on to his feet. "We have to go to the lab, now."

George was surprised for a second, but then his military training and martial skill, unused for so long came flooding back. Muscle memory guided his hands as he reached up and grabbed Steve's wrist and twisted hard, turning his own body to guide Steve towards the ground. He felt a satisfying pop as the torque on Steve's wrist brought it past its natural limits and the man smashed into the ground with a broken arm.

"Oh God. Steve," Molly said from across the small room. George looked over to her, and made eye contact. She looked disappointed. "Well, shit," he thought, and hobbled quickly out of the cafeteria, leaving a moaning Steve to be attended to by a table full of scientists.

There was a knock on the door of his bunk.

"Piss off," he shouted.

"I can't do that Mr. Shipley." It was Donaghue. "I have need of your services."

George got up off his bed and went over to the door. He opened it and saw the great man himself standing in front of him.

"Donaghue. Long time no see. Glad to see you're still alive." The doctor somehow looked younger and stronger than he ever had. Another reason to hate the bastard. "Not really Of course," he added. "I'm actually quite disappointed."

"You're a funny man Mr. Shipley. Can I come inside?"

"No. The memory of you even standing at the door to my room is likely to keep me up at night. What do you want?"

"Okay. Brass tacks then. I need to go back."

There was no need for Donaghue to say where. George knew exactly where he wanted to go. The Markham base. The place where VanderTuin had died. The place where Finn and Maggie still were; where George had left them.

"Go fuck yourself, Donaghue. If you want to badly to go back there, you can walk."

"Well that's just not practical. Mr. Shipley..."

"And stop calling me Mister. It's Captain, you old fuck." Donaghue took a deep breath.

"Okay. Captain Shipley. I want to go back to recover the bodies of our dead comrades. Off the books of course. The company would never give the thumbs up to going back out there after what happened last time..."

"When you pointed a gun at me and made me leave a deaf woman to freeze to death or get killed by whatever it was that killed Finn and VanderTuin?"

"Yes, if you like. I saved our lives Captain. I won't apologise for that. I want to do right by them though. I want to give them a burial. I want to give their families some closure."

"Bullshit. You don't give a fuck about their families."

"I mean it. Captain Shi... George, please. I'm an old man. I have few regrets, but leaving that poor woman behind is... it's a special kind of pain. I just want..."

"Fuck. Fine. Tomorrow. Eleven-hundred. Bring three others, armed and experienced, okay? No scientists unless they know how to fire a weapon."

"You have a deal Mr. Shipley." George shot Shipley a hard look. "Oh, Captain. Yes."

George closed his door. Donaghue turned and walked out of the residential unit. Harmon waited in the corridor.

"Why didn't you just convert him?" Harmon asked.

"I know that man too well," Donaghue replied. "He doesn't deserve it."

Round 2 - Marcus "Fish" Jones (Justin)

Marcus “Fish” Jones was reeling.  First a bad wipeout on his ATV, then Dr. Donaghue miraculously cured him of his injuries and addiction, and now he’s supposed to… to… convert everyone else?

He felt better than he had in years, no, decades.  He was fit, strong, and he could actually feel his broken arm mending and strengthening.

{It won’t be long now, Marcus.  In another few minutes you’ll be ready to go out there and execute the plan.}

“And what is the plan, Dr.?” Marcus asked aloud. 

{Ah ah ah.}  Donaghue warned as he tapped his index finger against his temple.  {In here, now.  Can’t risk anyone else finding out.}

{So can you read my thoughts, or does this just let us communicate?}  Marcus asked.

{For now it’s just communication, but I hope to develop this into something far more… comprehensive.} replied the Dr.

Marcus shuddered at the thought.  

{Marcus, you were asking about the plan.  Well here it is: we need to get everyone on this base on our side.  I have studied the duty roster and selected the most suitable recruits.  We will convert them one a time.  Every person you recruit will make the task easier, as you will begin working in a pack to recruit more and more subjects.}

Fish felt the plan saturate his mind.  He didn’t want to be part of this, he didn’t want to force unsuspecting people into something so invasive, but he felt compelled.  Marcus’ willpower was already weak from years of giving in to his substance abuse.  He gave in.

{Yes Dr.}  The words left Marcus’ mind unbidden.  He no longer felt in complete control.

Dr. Donaghue nodded, a smile creeping from ear to ear as he began mentally transmitting the detailed instructions directly into Marcus’ brain.        

It took only moments, but Marcus understood who he had to get and how.  On his way out of the lab, he glanced at the statue in the shrine.  It was an ugly, alien thing that seemed to reach out to him.  He felt it’s presence too.  He got the hell out of the lab and got to work.

Hours later:

The lab now boasted three new occupants, each on his own operating table under a clean white sheet with an IV of the special serum administering the drug cocktail in a steady drip.  Dr. Donaghue moved from body to body like a bumblebee, obviously pleased with his results.

Marcus stood in a corner of the lab opposite to the shrine with his head bowed.  He had kidnapped the nightshift while they were sleeping, one at a time.  He choked them unconscious and brought them here.  It was as easy as subduing children, his strength and speed easily overpowering his unsuspecting victims.  What was he doing?  How was he letting this happen?

{This is excellent work, Marcus.  You’re getting stronger and the subjects are responding well to the serum.  Soon you’ll have your own pack and we won’t have to go after the easy ones.  These three are almost ready to join you, but first I have one more target for you to bring me: Ryan Miller.  You’ve developed a friendship with Ryan.  Use it to lure him back here without violence.  By the time you bring him here, these three will join our hive mind and our strength will triple!}

Dejected and guilty, Marcus nodded solemnly.  {I will bring back Ryan Miller.}  It was just easier to go with the flow.  Fish tried to convince himself that the Dr. knew what he was doing.  He tried to rationalize it, justify it.  From the shrine, the alien idol thrummed with subtle vibrations that gave Marcus a horrible feeling way down in the pit of his stomach.  Marcus left the lab quickly.

Away from the Dr., Marcus began to think.  I can’t do this.  YES YOU CAN, AND YOU WILL.  Marcus shook his head.  I need to find a way out of this.  This feels so wrong.  YOU WILL OBEY.  Ryan has been a friend to me, I can’t just trick him like that.  YOU WILL OBEY!

“No I won’t!”  In frustration, he smashed his fist through a wall in the corridor and slumped down.  He wanted to cry but he had no tears.  He wanted to sleep and then wake up from this nightmare, but his body wasn’t tired.  He wanted to inject the morphine he swiped from Miller’s quarters, but the he found absolutely no pleasure in the idea.  He was strong and his body was urging him to move, to complete the task the Dr. had set out for him.  In a desperate act of defiance, Fish sat on the ground in the corridor and hugged his knees to his chest.

Down the hall:

Ken Rhee had been back from the sub for an hour.  He heard through the grapevine that Marcus had made his way back from the crash somehow.  That old man was far more resilient than he gave him credit for.  He would need to talk to him and find out what he knew, and, if necessary, eliminate him some other way.  Ken’s mission could not be compromised at this stage.  Rhee was on his way to his lab station when he heard somebody yell from around a corner.  He cautiously peered down the hall.  Was that Marcus?  Was he sobbing?  Ken thought of 10 ways to quietly kill Marcus on the spot, but decided he’d find out how much Fish knew first.

“Fishy?  You okay?” Ken asked, feigning concern.

Marcus looked up, eyes bloodshot but curiously tearless.  “Ken.”  Marcus croaked.  “Ken, I need help.”

“What is it?  You can tell me.”  Ken purred reassuringly.

Marcus told him EVERYTHING.

Round 2 - Evan Donaghue (Eric)

October 10th, 5AM. B-141 Medical

Dr. Evan Donaghue watched with glee as four laboratory mice moved through a three-dimensional maze with military discipline and cohesion. Their objective was a large food supply guarded by a group of eight mice, located at the centre of the maze. 

"Eureka is clearly executing his training exactly as we practiced," Donaghue spoke into a portable recorder. "But more significantly, Donner, Blitzen and Dasher are all cooperating without any overt signs of communication. Their behaviour is every bit as practiced and confident, despite them having never seen the maze or the objective before today. This is encouraging, but the true test lies ahead."

He paused the recording as he watched the augmented mice approach the centre of the maze. All four attackers stopped simultaneously, despite being out of each other's sight. The guardian mice sniffed at the air nervously, seeming to detect that something was amiss, but unable to decide how to react. In an instant, the attacker mice pounced into the centre of the maze from their four different approaches and began mercilessly executing the guardians. Despite being outnumbered two to one, the attackers eliminated their rivals in seconds. With the guardians dead, they pounced on the food supply and began devouring it. 

"Eureka, you did it! You prince among mice! You make me proud! What did Rhee call your brothers? Super soldiers! Yes, you are that and so much more."

Just then, Marcus Jones came tumbling into the medical lab, visibly wounded. 

"Doc, I'm hurt," he said, oddly calm. 

"Yes, I can see that. Come lie down on the table here and let me have a look."

Jones complied quietly. 

"I'm going to give you a sedative to help you relax," Donaghue explained as he filled a syringe with clear fluid. "I'm afraid your arm is broken and it will be quite painful to repair it."

Jones looked impassively at the needle and said nothing. Donaghue gave him the injection and soon, he was asleep. Donaghue quickly wheeled the table into the adjoining B-142 lab. 

--------------

October 10, 10AM. B-142 Medical. 

Donaghue held Eureka the mouse, lovingly scratching the fur on his head, as he watched Marcus Jones, laying on an examination table, next to the table supporting VanderTuin's body.  Jones slowly regained consciousness. 

{Welcome back, Marcus,} thought Donaghue silently. 

{Doctor? Is that you?} came Marcus' thoughts. 

{Yes, it is me, be calm.} Donaghue projected soothingly. 

{What is happening? How can I hear you inside my head?}

{Thanks to my greatest achievement, finally perfected. You and I are now linked. We have become a human hive mind.}

Marcus sat up, a look of astonishment on his face. {Hive mind...} his thoughts were interrupted as his eyes fell upon something behind Donaghue. 

Turning, Donaghue contemplated the small shrine he had erected in the lab. At its centre was a small, ancient statue. 

{That is Guiher'inkel, an alien entity that visited our world long ago. The statue was discovered nearby, at the Markham base in 1913. It is much more than a simple statue, of course. It has become the corner stone of my hive mind research.}

Marcus climbed off the table, looking more shaken than before. 

{Do you have any morphine, doc? I'm still in pain} Marcus complained. 

{Ah yes, your addiction. If you stop and examine yourself inwardly for a moment, I think you will find that your pain is in fact, gone.}

Marcus concentrated for a moment before a look of awe spread across his face. 

{Now, I relieve you of your psychological addiction,} projected Donaghue. 

{I feel... I feel great!} 

{Excellent} thought Donaghue, as he put Eureka on the ground and released him. {Now, we have work to do. It is time to grow our fledgling hive mind. First this base, and then, the world!}

Round 2 - Ryan Miller (Makou)

Massachusetts General Hospital 

3 years ago...

The doctor asks if we have any questions but we'd already asked them all last time, when my wife had received her diagnosis. Through the door I can faintly hear the lullaby my mother-in-law is singing our baby boy. In that moment I envied her. To her there was still uncertainty, still a 50/50 chance that her grandchild hadn't inherited the disease that was now quickly decimating her daughter's body. The blind hope I'd had just moments ago.

I turn to look at Elizabeth and I see her spirit break. Her shaking had been under control the last few days but now, in light of the news that her genes had doomed our child share her fate, her body just gives out. She falls back into her hospital bed sobbing and convulsing. I move quickly to hold her to keep her from falling off the bed and to offer what measure of comfort I can. 

The doctor excuses himself to give us our privacy. 

I lie holding her tightly, listening to her breathing patterns to make sure it doesn't become too irregular. This has become my habit over the last year and I catch myself wondering how long it will be until I start to do the same for our son.

Eventually her tremors weaken and her sobbing slows. 

"Do you want to try sitting up?", I offer mechanically. 

She wipes her eyes on her sleeve and nods. I gently slide my arms behind her back and neck for support and whisper a slow-paced, "1... 2... 3". We pull her upright and I sit back down in the visitors chair. As I lean back I close my yes and sigh as I realize just how exhausted I am. Even still my mind won't stop spinning.

"Do you think he'll hate me?", Elizabeth's words pull me from my reverie. 

"What?"

"Do you think our son will hate me for doing this to him?", she pauses and fidgets with our son's teddy bear as my overtired brain struggled to put words together, "I hated my dad for so long. I blamed him for every spinal tap, for every time I had to fed and for very time I had to be bathed by a complete stranger. I barely remember him but I still hate him. And he didn't even know what he had. I knew damn well and I chose to have him anyway." 

"El, we didn't plan. I mean we thought it was a sign. Remember?" I offer weakly.

"A sign of what? We're both smart people Ryan, you study genetics for fuck's sake! We could have ended it. I could have!", her voice startle to crack again. She struggles against her own damaged nerves to form word, "I just, I can't stand the thought of him hating me this much."

I move back back onto the bed but just sit next to her in silence. Words had never been my forte and I doubt there's any permutation of sounds that would serve any positive purpose right now. I grab her hands so she'll stop playing with the bear and look at me instead. 

"What do we do, Ryan?"

"Whatever we have to baby. Anything it takes."

_______________________________________________________________

Residential Unit A-114

October 10th, 4 am GMT

Ryan woke to the sound of someone banging loudly on his bunk's door. He looked to the clock, despite the sun shining brightly through his curtains it was the middle of the night. He couldn't help but draw his eyes to the tiny stuffed bear resting on the shelf beside the clock. The one memento of home he had taken on this trip to steady his resolve if ever he questioned his own actions. 

"Anything it takes..." he repeats to himself like a mantra before the banging started again. 

"RYAN! Wake the fuck up!", Marcus Jones' voice was desperate. The urgency in his voice spurred Ryan into action. He opened the door to reveal a severely injured Marcus. His left eye was swollen over and purple, his left arm was obviously broken, and Ryan was pretty sure his ear was supposed to be where he was looking, but all he saw was a deep crimson mess. 

Despite his obvious physical distress Marcus pushed into the room with the strength of a man possessed and headed straight for the first aid kit containing the morphine. His frostbitten hands fumbled to open the latch. 

"Jesus Christ Marcus we have to get you to medical now!"

Marcus ignoring Dr. Miller's objections had popped the safety latch on the first aid kit and was currently tearing the needle out of the plastic wrapper with the teeth. 

"Shit, let me help you at least.", Ryan reached for the syringe only to have Marcus jump at him bearing his broken teeth like an animal. An moment later Marcus seemed to come to his senses and handed the syringe over. Ryan quickly disinfection a patch of skin that didn't look too mangled and skilfully slipped the needle into a veins. Within moments Marcus visibly relaxed. 

"Thank you, I think this stuff is the only thing holding me together right now." 

"Mr. Jones, you need to get to medical right now. I have no idea how you're even standing. What the hell happened?" 

"Snowmobile accident, I think. I was at the sub and my fucking vehicle just exploded or something. I had to drag my ass all the way back, I have no idea how I made it. This is some good stuff though, I'm already feeling a lot better." 

"What Sub? Look Mr. Jones, you're not better you're just high. We need to get you to medical right now. Come on, I'll help you."

"No really, I'm fine now, see the color is coming back to my hands already. Do you have a real first aid kit? I'll just wrap my head up." 

"Marcus, I'm telling you you're not fine. Your arm is broken, you're missing an ear for God's sake let me help you.", Ryan reached out slowly and tried to take his colleague's arm. 

"I said I'M FINE!", Marcus Jones pushed Ryan with his good arm and the next thing he knew Ryan was on the other side of the room. The wind was knocked out of him and his ears were ringing. 

Marcus looked down at the other man apologetically. 

"Shit, I'm sorry. Look, I gotta go, I'll talk to you tomorrow.", Ryan was still too disoriented to get up. He could only watch as a still bleeding Marcus turned to the door before pausing to grab the handful of morphine doses that remained and left. 

Round 1 - Ken Rhee (Marc)

"Minutes. You've only got minutes to get this done." That's what Ken kept telling himself as he rifled through one of Dr. Donaghue's many disorderly piles of notes. The doctor was notorious for his self-styled "orderly chaos". He said there was a system to it, but Ken suspected this was nothing more than a ruse to cover up one of the doctor's few weaknesses. What made his mess a weakness wasn't it's lack of aesthetics though. The weakness lay in the fact that it meant he was also terrible at securing important and proprietary notes from people willing to search for them, like Rhee.

The mouse bites on his fingers were barely a distraction, though that didn't keep him from cursing himself for being so sloppy. He had let his excitement get the better of him. He knew this was the day. This was the day he would prove himself and complete the task he had undertaken so many years earlier. Today, he would vanquish his mentor by taking what was most precious to him. The Formula.

Donaghue had recently made a breakthrough. Ken had been in the lab when he heard the Doctor exclaim the cliche "Eureka!" from the adjoining building B-142. What an insufferable academic... It wasn't long until Ken was assisting the doctor with the next stage of his trials: human testing. Soon the term super-soldier would become a household name. The only question was who would take the credit. After years of waiting and playing the student, Ken wasn't about to let that be Dr. Donaghue.

"Ahah!" Ken blurted, despite himself, as he lifted a tattered old leather-bound notebook the Doctor always carried around with him. The fact that he wasn't carrying it when he made his way to building B-142 did not go unnoticed by Ken. If there was one thing Rhee had in spades, it was attention to detail. It would only take minutes before the old bastard noticed he had forgotten it, but that was all the time Ken needed.

With the notebook in hand, Ken moved to the doorway to B-142 and locked it. The doctor wasn't trapped, but he would now have to go through the complex the long way to get back to the common lab. He'd be none to pleased, but Ken didn't plan on being there when he got back.

Slipping on his thick arctic rated coveralls and his goose down filled parka, Ken slipped out of the lab and into the white wastes surrounding it. He headed north. After about 20 minutes, his destination came into view: the Khlebnikov. Something was wrong though. As he approached, Ken realized he wasn't the only one at the sub. Finding a small snow drift to hide behind, Ken pulled out his small pair of binoculars, intending to spy on this unexpected intruder. The stumbling gait gave him away instantly. Fish. What the fuck was Fish doing here? Ken swore under his breath as he saw Fish react to something on the ground next to the Khlebnikov. He'd been sloppy, and now he would have to clean up after himself. He could let Jones go and hope his pain killer induced ravings would be dismissed summarily by the rest of the inhabitants of the compound, but they might also decide to send a party out to investigate immediately. Ken couldn't take that chance.

He watched calmly as Fish stumbled to his ATV and gunned it in the direction of the compound, following the tracks he had made getting here. Pulling his soviet-era PSS silent pistol from one of his parka's pockets, Ken took aim at his moving target, training the sights on the front-left tire of his vehicle. This had to look like an accident. The diminutive weapon only had an effective range of 25 meters, but Ken knew he could hit a moving target from 40 meters with it about 8 times out of 10. Exhaling slowly, he pulled the trigger. "PFFT!" was all the sound the weapon made, easily lost among the arctic winds gusting all around him.

Ken saw Fish fly off his ATV like a rag-doll, with the vehicle subsequently rolling over on top of him. He might have survived the crash, but there was no guarantee anyone knew he was out here, so he'd probably end up freezing to death. Ken wasn't worried about any fallout from the incident. Fish was always high on pain killers, so it wouldn't surprise anyone to find he had killed himself in an ATV accident.

Confident that he'd tied up any loose ends for the time being, Ken made his way to the sub. Popov's body was now completely frozen and covered in snow, so there was no way Ken was going to move him. He moved some snow over his exposed hand, careful to remove the medical bracelet the Doctor had placed on him a few weeks ago near the start of their trials. "Das vidanya, commerade", Ken whispered as he buried the body.

Stepping over Popov, Ken climbed his way up to the top of the sub, finding the hatch and opening it with practiced ease. The thing creaked like mad, but no one was around to hear it. At least no one living.

BANG, BANG

"Oh shut up, Yuri", said Ken, climbing down the ladder into the sub's entrance vestibule. The noise had come from the aft section of the vessel, but Ken was headed toward the bow. He opened a small panel next to the door, revealing a surprisingly clean and modern looking panel of LED lit buttons, showing various Russian characters. Ken performed a quick succession of key-presses and a pneumatic hiss could be heard from the forward hatch. Into a humming control room stepped the medical research assistant. He sat at one of the nearby consoles, with a small vacuum tube screen flickering to life as he typed something on the keyboard in front of him. A series of screeches could be heard coming from the computer bank, the unmistakable sound of a 56.6 kbaud modem firing up. Ken pulled a small hand-held scanning device out from under the desk, plugged it in and proceeded to scan the last few pages of Donaghue's notebook. He then leaned close to a small microphone built into the side of the console and spoke with a heavy accent, before pressing a large green key:

"Rheenovsky, Kenskei"

***

His task complete, Rhee headed back to the base, giving Fish a wide berth. He managed to get back to the common lab in building B-141 without being noticed. The good Doctor either hadn't noticed he was without his notebook, or he was slowly making his way around the compound. Ken placed the notebook right where he had found it, careful to arrange the mess exactly as he had found it.

Minutes later, Donaghue burst into the lab breathing heavily. "Ken, boy! Where were you! I was banging on that damn door for minutes!"

Ken pulled his earphones down, the unmistakable sound of Pink Floyd flowing out of them. "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry Doctor! The door must have latched itself shut again!"

"Oh, no worry. A slight delay that's all. Now where's my notebook?".

"I'm not sure sir. I can never make sense of your ordered chaos."

Round 1 - George Shipley (Adam)

6 Months Ago

The Bell 212 flew along low to the ground. It was the fourth time this week that George Shipley had flown a group out to the Markham base, but the first time he'd flown a group out there that was this small. For the last few weeks he'd been carrying work crews out to the small abandoned compound so that they could dig out the buildings, refortify the building exteriors and create canvas entryways to the different structures so that the doors wouldn't get blocked in with snow again if a storm blew through. Save for a single utility shed whose door had fallen inwards with the weight of the snow up against it, nobody had seen inside any of the buildings in 103 years, despite the work crew's increasing curiosity about the nature of the work done at the base. That honour was being saved for Dr. Donaghue; Nobel prize winner, and the head of the research team at the Orwell Arctic station. Nobody knew what had happened to the team that had been established at Markham. The only historical record of the Markham base was a report of its establishment in 1910, that it was manned by a four-strong team of British scientists, and that the base had still been occupied in 1913.

Donaghue had come out to the base for the first day of the engineering work in a supervisory role, but hadn't returned since. He'd left management of the project to Ben VanderTuin, a foreman and engineer who'd been hired for this express purpose. VanderTuin was a nice enough guy, but George didn't like him anyway. He didn't like most people.

Today though, Donaghue was here. He sat apart from the rest of the small crew at the rear end of the helicopter, looking over his notebook, and occasionally scribbling something within its pages. VanderTuin was also on board, sitting opposite two members of Donaghue's research team: Maggie Holness, and Finbar Douglas. VanderTuin had earphones plugged in to his head and was staring at the ground. The man didn't enjoy helicopter rides, which entertained Shipley to no end. Holness and Douglas were signing to one another. They had become fast friends, having started together about eight months previously. Maggie was deaf, and by all accounts one of the most promising scientists and comedians on the base. Several others on the base had learned sign as a way of communicating with her, but George didn't see the point. 

Douglas suddenly burst out laughing. The sound came through George's headphones in a piercing burst.

"Fucking hell," George yelled. "Turn off your microphone if you're going to cackle like a fucking queer." George knew that only Douglas would hear the comment. VanderTuin was likely listening to some smooth jazz bullshit, and Donaghue always turned his headphones mute.

"Ah, sorry mate," replied Douglas in a thick Scottish accent. He undid his belt and slid sideways in to the seat behind Shipley, before buckling himself back in. "We far out now?"

"Couple more minutes. Can't you tell from all the landmarks?" George motioned out of the front canopy at the empty white wasteland.

"You know what, I really can't. I should probably pay better attention."

"You said it," replied George. Douglas was one of the few people on the base that George sort of liked. He wouldn't go so far as to call the man a friend, but he could keep up with George's drinking, and he didn't do too much that actively pissed him off. Douglas went quiet, and George realized he was signing over at Maggie again. He wondered if there was something going on between them. The base was so small, it was unlikely they would be able to keep it quiet if there was, but nobody really spoke much to George anyway, so it was possible there was and he'd been too oblivious to notice. 

A minute or so later, the Markham base materialized in front of them, and George Shipley lowered the old helicopter and touched down in the centre of the base, whipping up snow and pushing it in waves against the sides of the abandoned buildings. George was pleased to see that the work of the last few weeks had hardly been affected by the ongoing poor weather.

VanderTuin unbuckled his belt as the twin blades atop the 212 slowed to a halt, and pulled the door open in its frame. Cold air rushed in to the cabin and the man jumped out. Donaghue went next, climbing out a little too nimbly for a man who was, as Shipley understood it, in his mid to late seventies, followed by Maggie Holness. George's only job was to bring the team in, and fly them back out once their business at the base was complete. Until then, he was under express orders to stay inside the 212 and be prepared to take off at a moment's notice. Douglas pulled off his headphones, unbuckled his belt and punched George in the back of the shoulder.

"Ah! What the fuck are you waiting for?" George asked. "Get going. Sooner you get in there, sooner I can get the fuck back to my nice warm bed."

"Ha! I just wanted to get a good look at your face while your still alive. I think we're gonna be in there a while. You might freeze to death sitting in here on your big fat arse."

"Ah, well, that's where you're mistaken." George reached under his seat and pulled out a clear glass bottle full of a warm looking brown liquid. "I have an old friend to keep me warm." Fin's eyes widened at the sight of Shipley's home brew.

"Cunt! You kept that a secret, didn't you? You best save me a bottle for the trip back."

"Sorry Finbar. Last bottle. All mine. You can keep drinking that piss water you call beer. Shipley's Own is for real men."

"Shitpea's Own?" he replied. "Sounds delicious. See you in a bit." With that he got up, and jumped out of the helicopter, and jogged off after the others. He left the side door wide open.

"Prick," said George to himself. He unbuckled himself from his seat and clambered in to the back of the helicopter, pulling the side door shut. He stood up as straight as he could manage. His back had been crooked for years, and his right leg was mostly lame from an injury he'd sustained in a fight with an enemy combatant after crashing in hostile territory when he was in the military. He bent the leg at the knee backwards and forwards a few times to try and loosen up the tight joint. It was a persistent pain he felt, and it was worse in the cold. He frequently questioned his own judgement for taking a job flying in the Arctic where it was cold, but what other work was there for a man like him? He didn't see himself giving exciting helicopter tours in the Caribbean; he had all the charisma of a dead fish.

He looked out of the window, and watched as Douglas pulled a crowbar from his pack, and the four members of the research team went under the canvas tunnel that led to the door of the largest building, and disappeared from sight. He sat down in the passenger area of the Bell 212 and banged off the bottle cap of his beer on the edge of one of the seats, settling in for a long wait.

George's eyes fluttered open. He looked out of the window and the sun had moved across the sky noticeably. He looked at his watch. Four hours. He'd fallen asleep, and it had been four hours. The team hadn't returned in four hours. He supposed this wasn't really much cause for concern. He knew they were out here for the long haul today, but nobody had checked in. This was a science team though; they didn't exactly go much for military procedure. It was likely they were just wrapped up with whatever it was they had found inside the base.

George looked out towards the canvas tunnel where the team had entered the largest building a few hours before. The wind was picking up. The fabric flapped heavily in the breeze, and snow gusted across the ground in thick waves of powder. Something blue poked out of the ground near the entrance to the canvas tunnel.

A glove.

George wrapped his scarf around his face and pulled his hat over his head, before pulling the side door open and dropping out gingerly into the snow that had built up around the landing skids. He limped over quickly to the canvas tunnel, cursing his stupid leg, and reached down to the glove, taking hold of the hand inside it and pulling.

He dragged VanderTuin out from inside the tunnel. He was dead, his face twisted in horror. There were no wounds that George could see. 

"What?" George whispered to himself. He stepped over the man, and entered the canvas tunnel, walking cautiously down the fifteen foot corridor, and pulling the combat knife he'd taken from the man who'd crippled his leg after he'd crushed the life from him with his bare hands from its sheath at his thigh. He reached the wooden door and pushed it open slowly, peeking his head inside. The room was empty but for a table and some chairs, the walls padded with an old wool-like material that had yellowed with age. Across the room was another door, this one open.

 He entered, and hobbled as quietly as he could over to the second door. He look inside, but it was too dark to see anything. He pulled his torch from his belt, and held it in the same hand as his knife. Switching it on, he saw more nothing. No supplies or food; not even furniture. The room was barren. There were no other doors in here.

It didn't make sense. This building was much larger than the two rooms that he had seen. Where was the rest of the research team? Who or what had killed VanderTuin?

Cautiously he made his way back to the entrance of the building, and back down the canvas corridor in to the snow. VanderTuin still lay dead and the opening. George grabbed his wrists and painstakingly dragged him back over to the helicopter. Pulling open the side door, he picked the man up and loaded him in to the passenger area. He scanned the entirety of the compound that he could see. There were three other buildings, each smaller than the main one. He couldn't see any other entrances to the main building. He climbed in to the back and closed the side door, checking VanderTuin more thoroughly for signs of a wound. He found it on his back; a thin jagged slice cut deep into his flesh that had turned an angry purple. Veins stood out around the wound, looking black and swollen.

Something banged on the side of the helicopter. He span around, and fell on to his rear, expecting to see some large animal, but instead see Maggie Holness dragging Dr. Donaghue, who was looking much more his age. He jumped up and pulled open the door, grabbing the elderly man by the wrist and dragging him inside. He reached down for Maggie next, but she shook her head and ran back towards the large building again.

"What the hell? Where is she going?" said George.

"Back for her boyfriend I imagine," replied Donaghue. "Pointless. He's dead."

"What? What the fuck happened out there?"

"There's no time for that Mr. Shipley. If you could please start the engines, it is about time we left."

"But what about Maggie?"

"We won't be seeing her again Mr. Shipley. Start the engines. We need to go, before they finish with her and come for us."

"Who?"

Donaghue reached in to his coat pocket and pulled out a pistol, pointing it at George's face.

"The engines, Mr. Shipley, now."

Round 1 - Marcus "Fish" Jones (Justin)

Marcus “Fish” Jones couldn’t get the sound out of his head. 

 

BANG…  BANG…

 

It all started the day before while he doing some personal research on the Khlebnikov, a Russian sub trapped in the ice about a kilometer off base.  A storm had been brewing and he should have left much sooner, but Fish’s curiosity got the better of him and he continued to explore.  Despite his age, Fish felt like a kid on a jungle gym, and he climbed all over the sub.  He was inspecting the periscope when he heard it.

 

BANG…  BANG…

 

Two loud noises, then nothing.  The thing that sent shivers down his old spine was that it sounded deliberate.  Measured.  As if there was something in the Khlebnikov…

 

He broke from his reminiscing and got up from his bed, his bones aching.  He turned to his small worn pill bottle and opened the cracked top.  The bottom of the bottle was still legible and read ENOL.  This was his emergency stash of painkillers, horse tranquilizers to be exact.  He was desperately waiting for a new supply of morphine to help him overcome the lingering effects of a devastating motorcycle crash decades earlier.  He had survived, but chronic pain became his constant companion. 

 

The tranqs worked immediately and Fish pulled himself from his bed where he had spent a sleepless night the night before.  He needed to get back to that submarine.  He needed to listen, to prove to himself that he hadn’t actually heard anything.  He needed to nip this one in the bud. 

 

Marcus got his gear together and pulled on his multiple layers, skin pulling tight over old scar tissue.  He signed out one of the two arctic ATVs in the garage and sped out, wheels kicking up a spray of fine grained snow.

 

The day was crisp and clear.  In the distance he saw the sub’s radio antenna emerge over the horizon, then the conning tower, smooth and black against the white of the endless snow.  The storm had kicked up some loosely packed snow and blown it around, leaving more of the hull visible than he’d ever seen.  He fought the creeping dread of hearing the sound as he got closer.

 

Fish parked the ATV next to the Khlebnikov and began walking around.  He was looking for a way to get up on top of the sub when he noticed a piece of dark blue fabric sticking out of the snow in the shadow of the hull.  The storm must have blown the snow drifts around revealing this new artifact. 

 

Fish got close enough to determine that he was looking at the sleeve of a navy uniform, but recoiled in horror when he saw that the sleeve ended with a dead, white hand encircled with what looked like a medical bracelet.

 

Trembling, he got closer, close enough to read the name on the bracelet: Uri Popov.  His breath caught in his throat when he read the date on the bracelet.  It was dated one month ago.

 

BANG…  BANG…

 

As quickly as his old bones allowed, Marcus Jones turned and ran.  He hopped on his ATV and fumbled with the ignition until he peeled out from the shadow of the Khlebnikov.  He needed to tell someone, anyone.  But first, he would need to finish off his bottle of horse tranquilizers.   

Round 1 - Evan Donaghue (Eric)

October 7th, 8:00 PM GMT

"How is MA-14 looking?" asked Evan Donaghue as he walked into unit B-141.

Ken Rhee looked up from the lab mouse he had been inspecting, and watched his boss walking toward the door to unit B-142. Donaghue was an elderly man, but moved like he was much younger. Looking at the doctor, Rhee would have figured him to be in his fifties, but Rhee had once found a paper that Donaghue had published almost 50 years earlier, so he guessed that Donaghue's real age had to be at least 70.

Donaghue reached the door to B-142 and pulled out his security pass. Pausing, he turned to look at Rhee, who realised that he hadn't answered his boss' question.

"Uh...", he stumbled, "what was that, doctor?"

"MA-14", Donaghue repeated. "That is the specimen that you're inspecting, isn't it? How does it look? Has the swelling around the implant gone down?"

Rhee looked down at the mouse and noticed that his hands were shaking.

"Um..." responded Ree, realising that his mind had gone blank. He hastily grabbed the mouse, and roughly turned it over, trying to find the scar left from the surgery. The mouse reacted angrily to his rough handling and bit his finger, breaking the skin. Rhee gritted his teeth, forcing himself not to react to the bite and to focus on the animal's abdomen. The scar was clearly visible in the centre of the shaved patch.

"Yes," Rhee answered at last, relieved to have something intelligent to say. "The swelling is coming down nicely. It looks like the subject is not adversely reacting to the implant."

"Excellent,"  said Donaghue. "Don't look so surprised," he added with a charming smile, "I've done this sort of thing before."

Rhee tensed up again. "I'm not surprised!" he said in a near panic.

Donaghue laughed casually. "Don't worry, my boy. I'm only teasing you," then adopting an air of genuine concern, he added "are you feeling alright?"

Rhee shrugged. "It's this place," he answered. "I think it's starting to get to me."

"Courage, my boy. If you think it is hard now, just wait until it is permanently night time. That's when the isolation really sinks in."

Rhee swallowed hard, suddenly imagining never seeing the sun again.

"But you'll get through it and the next thing you know, you'll be on your way home with quite a story to tell," Donaghue continued encouragingly. "I'll even be sure to mention you by name when I am collecting my next Nobel prize!" Donaghue laughed good-naturedly.

Rhee managed a smile, while feeling intellectually dwarfed by the mere presence of his boss. No slouch in his own right, Rhee had never managed to even understand the work that Donaghue had completed to earn his first Nobel prize.

Swiping his badge at the security scanner, Donaghue swung open the door to B-142 and walked in. Rhee craned his neck trying to see into the neighbouring lab. He had never been allowed in and could only guess at the nature of Donaghue's work, despite working full time as his assistant.

Donaghue strode out of sight, and as the lab door slowly swung closed behind him, Rhee caught a rare glimpse at the inside of the lab. He saw an operating table, covered by a clean blue sheet. Something fairly bulky was hidden from sight under that sheet. As Rhee watched through the narrowing crack of the doorway, he swore he saw a pale human arm slip out from under the sheet and hang limply.

The door closed with a loud click and Rhee jumped at a pain in his hand. Looking down he realised he was squeezing the poor lab mouse, who had bitten him again. He struggled to keep hold of the squirming animal while relaxing his grip, but his hands were uncooperative as they shook violently.  The mouse leapt from his grasp and in another moment, it was out of sight.

Swallowing hard again, Rhee frantically began searching the lab.

-------------------------

Conditional Failure - Donaghue has inadvertently made Ree suspicious, while also possibly losing a test subject.

Round 1 - Ryan Miller (Makou)

October 7th, 7:00 PM GMT

The sound of the helicopter blades was deafening, even with the noise cancelling headset on. Ryan Miller had heard that this operation was underfunded but hoped that this was not an indication of the quality of the equipment in the base. Captain Shipley, the crafts sole other occupant, motioned for his attention as he spoke. Ryan had to press his earphones to his head tightly to make it out.

"We'll be there in 15 minutes. If you want to go over anything now's the time, 'cause if you get caught doing anything while on the base you're on your own."

"We're clear Captain, we appreciate your assistance." 

"The only appreciation I care about are the zeroes in my bank account. I'll do my part, and I'll do it well, but I am not getting involved anymore than what I have been paid to do."

Miller was not encouraged by the Captain's attitude but it wasn't unexpected. The people that recruited him for this side mission had deep pockets, but not deep enough to to risk your career or your life. If Miller didn't have a personal stake in what was happening he would have never agreed.

"Noted, and since we're talking about what you've been paid to do..."

Captain Shipley, pointed to the first aid kit at the back of the craft. 

"Take a look in there." 

Miller obliged, removing the kit from its holster and opening it. Instead of gauze and antiseptic two dozen syringes each neatly wrapped in its own plastic casing were inside. 

"That's morphine," Captain Shipley continued, "and before you ask it's all clean and I didn't take it from anyone that would ever miss it. The man that can get you access to what you want is going to be real interested in that."

Miller closed the case again and shoved it into his other belongings. "Anything else?"

"I'll handle Donaghue, as agreed. I recommend you avoid him as much as possible. He's a genius and he's a fucking asshole."

The two men said nothing for the rest of the trip. The old Bell 212 landed smoothly on the helipad as a handful of people came out to greet it. Miller was met by a blast of cold air as he opened to door. Despite the sun shining in the sky it was still bitter cold, something he needed to resign himself to for the next few weeks at least. As Miller hoped out of the aircraft a woman separated herself from the small pack and approached him as the others walked right past him without so much as a glance and started to unload the supplies the helicopter had brought with it. 

The woman smiled warmly at Miller as she approached, 

"Doctor Miller?" she spoke with a faint British accent, Miller nodded stepping forward to shake her extended hand.

"I'm Dr. Molly Patel, we spoke briefly during your interview." 

"Yes I remember, it's nice to finally meet you." 

"Likewise," she replied, "I'll show you to your bunk in the residential structures and then I was hoping to get you acquainted with the medical facilities. I'm afraid you'll need to start as soon as possible if we want to keep our timetables. The sun will set for the last time this year in 14 days and we need to be ready by then."

"Not a problem, I'm eager to start." Miller replied, trying keep his hand steady and his nerves calm. If he was lucky he would be gone before 2 months of darkness set in, but he had never been that lucky.

A New Disaster - Cold and Desolate

Setting : Arctic Base

Locations on the base

The base has 12 occupants, and over 40 individual units. All units are labelled on the outside with large black block lettering. The buildings themselves are a garish piss coloured yellow. Units are identified with either an A (residential) or B (non-residential) followed by a three digit numeric signifier.

A-111 Residential 1

A-112 Residential 2

A-113 Residential 3

A-114 Residential 4

A-121 Common area

B-141 Medical

B-142 Medical research

A metal shipping container

*Feel free to add additional units as needed.

Locations off base

Volcanic Sensor Array

The Khlebnikov, a submarine under the ice

The Markham base, abandoned since 1913

Characters

Dr. Evan Donaghue (Eric) needs badly to get even with his rival. He has won a Nobel prize, is at least 70 years old, (though he looks to be in his 50s) and is a manipulative old bastard. We assume his secret experiments in B-142 are unsavoury, and something to do with dead bodies. Turns out he's planning to convert humanity in to an alien hive mind. Go figure. He led a group to the Markham base 6 months ago, and most of the team were killed or are presumed dead. Only Donaghue and Shipley were known to survive. The current subject of his puppet-mastering attentions is...

Ken Rhee (Marc) A.K.A Kenskei Rheenovsky, who needs badly to get out of here, because this place is driving him batshit crazy. He's implanting shit into mice at Donaghue's say-so, and is a nervous little dude, though this may be a ruse. He's a Russian spy or something and he stole a bunch of Donaghue's notes. Thanks to Fish he knows about the hive mind now. Early on in the story, he finds a body with...

Marcus "Fish" Jones (Justin), who finds it harder and harder to survive out here without access to unlimited prescription painkillers. He heard some banging inside the Khlebnikov (it was Yuri apparently,) and went back to investigate. He found a dead Russian with a month old medical bracelet. What the fuck? After that, Ken, hidden from view, shot at Marcus on his ATV, causing it to flip. Ken left him to die in the snow. He made it back to base though, where he stole a bunch of morphine to dull the pain. Then Donaghue implanted him and three others with something that made them part of an alien hive mind and got rid of his addiction. He was sent to "get" Ryan Miller, so he could be converted too, but he broke down and ended up telling Ken Rhee about everything. He's an old timer who has taken newcomer.

Dr. Ryan Miller (Makou) under his wing. He's here to get the truth about what the hell is going on here, particularly in medical B-142. He's had a case full of Morphine, but Fish stole it. He has a clandestine arrangement with...

Captain George "Shitpeas" Shipley (Adam); the helicopter pilot. He is carrying a bit of a grudge against his employers on the base, and feels the need to get even. He and Evan are bitter enemies, and after a cash injection in to his bank by Miller's employers, he's agreed to "take care" of his rival (which is fine by him, because he'd probably do that shit for free). Donaghue forced him to leave the Markham research team behind at gunpoint, which might explain why he's so pissed off.

Dr. Molly Patel welcomed Miller to the base. She was present during his interview. She has a British accent. She's about thirty. George is a bit in love with her.

Steve something?  is a researcher. He's fairly new at the base. He's one of Donaghue's hive. George broke his wrist. 

Harmon is one of Donaghue's hive.

Finbar Douglas (presumed dead) was a research assistant to Evan Donaghue. He was left behind at the Markham base 6 months ago.

Maggie Holness (presumed dead) was another research assistant. She was deaf, and was also left behind at the Markham base after carrying Donaghue back to the Bell 212 and returning for Finbar.

Ben VanderTuin was an architect and engineer. He was killed at the Markham base, having been slashed across the back by an unknown assailant. His body was carried back to the helicopter by George Shipley before they left.

There are 7 other people currently living on the base; 5 male and 1 female. They are unnamed and their roles undefined. 

Items

A child's doll

A secret shrine

A butcher knife

A small, ancient statue

A Bell 212 helicopter