Round 2 - Ken Rhee (Marc)

Ken needed to get off base, and fast. If what Marcus had told him was true, it was only a matter of time before Donaghue started looking for him to add to his band of mind melded freaks, and that didn't interest him one bit. The last thing he needed now was a pack of mind reading freaks spoiling his cover and his mission.

After Fish had spilled the beans to him, Ken had felt oddly sorry for the man, perhaps in part due to the pain he had caused him earlier. It wasn't anything personal after all, but the mission had to come first. As it turned out, Marcus hadn't seen Ken at all and suspected nothing. And so, against his better judgement, he had offered to help him get off base. Marcus, with what looked to be a herculean mental effort, had accepted and asked what was next.

"First thing's first, we need to waste Donaghue's lab. There's no sense leaving without making sure he can't do to more people what he's done to you." Ken's motives for destroyingthe Doctor's work were far more sinister, but Jones didn't need to know that.

"Right. That makes sense." Jones sounded half sure of himself. "But what about Ryan? If I don't report back to Donaghue with him, he'll just send someone else to get him and I can't let that happen."

Ken looked pensive, and a little annoyed. "Listen, I have to take care of this, now. If you want to go get your buddy then fine, you do that. You know where the SnowCat is out by building M-029?"

"The Garage? Yeah I now it"

"Good. Meet me there in 20 minutes. Don't be late. I won't wait for you if you are."

"Jeez, ok. Ken, you sound different... You sure the Doc didn't give you something when you weren't looking?" Marcus was noticing Ken's sudden confidence, or lack of nervousness.

"Trust me, I'm fine. Now get moving, and if you run into the Doc or any of his cronies, just run."

"Ok. I will Ken. Thanks."

With that, Ken headed for his quarters. Once there, he pulled a medium sized metal case from under his bunk and opened it after entering a 3-digit code on locks. Inside were what seemed to be a bunch of medical research journals and random notebooks. Ken dumped all of these unceremoniously onto his sheets and picked up what was inside. Opening the opaque grey ziplock bag, he pulled out what looked like a brick of clay, except it had a small device pressed into it and the code "PVV-5A" printed on it. "This should do the trick", thought Ken.

He grabbed the explosive device and headed for the medical complex, specifically building B-142. He still didn't have access, but with this puppy he wouldn't need it. The halls were eerily empty as he made his way to the lab, but this may have just been due to the hour. Looking out a small porthole as he rushed through the complex, Ken noted how low the sun was in the sky... soon it would dip below the horizon and the slow crawl toward 24-hour darkness would begin.

Having reached B-141, Ken listened intently at the door, making sure he heard nothing from inside the building. Satisfied, he entered and headed for the door leading to B-142. He opened a small first aid kit next to the door, emptied its contents, pulled the PVV-5A from his parka pocket and stuck it inside. He wasn't worried about the door. This Soviet era plastic explosive would be enough to blow the thing off its hinges and destroy anything on either side in a 30 foot radius, or more. Ken set the timer for 30 minutes, enough time for him to get off base and within safe distance. He also made sure to start an identical timer on his wrist watch. As Ken turned to leave the lab, he saw the rats in their enclosure accross the room. Strangely, he felt bad for them. This place really was fucking him up...

Wtih an extra spring in his step, Ken headed for building M-029. He stepped out of the nearest doorway into the harsh outdoors and made a b-line, crossing the central courtyard of the base instead of working his way through the many corridors and buildings that were the only other alternative. Cresting a small snow drift, he set his eyes on the brown beast that was the SnowCat. It had been just over 5 minuets since he set the charge. In another 5 he'd be driving away, no one the wiser, except for Marcus and maybe Ryan, if they made it.

Reaching the SnowCat, Ken scanned his surroundings. Nothing. Despite his promise to the contrary, Ken decided to give Marcus 1 more minute. A sudden loud machine noise startled him and he looked to it's source. The large garage door to building M-029 was opening, it's frozen hinges and wheels wincing and squeaking madly against the motor struggling to pull it open. From the widening gap under the door came 4 figures, led by one whom Ken recognized immediately.

"Ken, my boy! Where are you headed at such an hour? You still need to assist me with the final stages of my greatest work."

Ken moved slowly away from the SnowCat, inching his had toward the pocket where he still kept his trusty PSS pistol.

"Hello Doctor. Unfortunately, I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave you to complete your work without me. I'm finding myself terribly unsuited to work in this climate."

"My goodness Kenneth, what's come over you? You were such a diligent assistant and so obedient. Why don't you come inside so we can talk about this?"

"Sorry good Doc, but I can't do that." With that, Ken drew his weapon and pointed it directly at Donaghue's head. Nothing happened. "What the f..." was all that Ken could mutter before falling silent, frozen in a firing stance.

"No, I'm sorry Ken. Sorry that you couldn't be a willing part of this glorious work of mine. But you will be a part of it, oh yes. Marcu?"

One of the Doctor's followers came forward holding a large wrench in his right hand. Ken could only move his eyeballs and was able to see old Fish Jones walking toward him, raising the wrench in a two-handed grip as he approached.

"Sorry, Ken. I tried, I really did..."

The wrench came down hard on Ken's temple and the last thing he heard was what he assumed to be the crunch of his own skull before blacking out.

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."