Project Jade Serenity [Supers/Technothriller]

[Icelander]

Originally Posted by johndallman

I take it he hasn't told Onyx Rain this? Does he have a limited range? If so, there's an easy way to coerce him.

As far as Dr. Anderson is concerned, Onyx Rain should be treated like a prize crop of mushrooms, i.e. kept in the dark and fed crap.

He hasn't told them a single thing about his dreamweaving powers. As far as they are concerned, the only effects Dr. Anderson has experienced from his massive accidental exposure to experimental chemicals are robust health and an overall increase in cognative performance (as far as can be estimated, as traditional IQ tests aren't all that informative at the intellectual heights occupied by Dr. Anderson).

And, yes, he does have a somewhat limited range. Can't recall exactly how far, but I know he's fine several rooms away and that he can reach almost a mile, but that might require some exertion or at least exceptional familiarity with the target.

[RogerBW]

Originally Posted by Icelander

If we're looking for ship-teasing, Anderson and Taylor touch, hold hands, hug and otherwise demonstrate affection a lot more often than Anderson and Bell.

What I got out of the bits I quoted was a massive ongoing self-delusion. "Oh, I'm above all that messy emotional stuff those people feel. I have reasons for helping her. I'm not going to get myself heartbroken."

[Icelander]

Originally Posted by RogerBW

What I got out of the bits I quoted was a massive ongoing self-delusion. "Oh, I'm above all that messy emotional stuff those people feel. I have reasons for helping her. I'm not going to get myself heartbroken."

Sure, but that's your humble scribe providing my personal speculations in the form of Anderson's inner monologue.

As Anderson's player continually describes him as aloof, detached and coldly rational, but the character doesn't have Callous, Indomitable, Sexless or other traits that actually make him immune to messy feelings stuff (just very resistant), I figure Anderson's image of himself is a lot more Vulcan-esque than is really the case.

But I'm trying to leave it open for future revealations from Anderson's player. All I know is that the PC has a positive Reaction to Bell and Taylor (and Dr. Emma King) and a neutral or worse Reaction to O'Toole.

His positive reaction could stand for anything; physical infatuation, a romantic crush, genuine friendship, avuncular affection or the kind of indulgent, amused care people give to pets. Maybe Bell reminds him of his little sister. Maybe he views test subjects as somehow his children, given his involvement in the experiments. Or he sees them as a new race and feels kinship with them that he doesn't feel for normal humans.

[Icelander]

Dr. Anderson is most interested in the dreams of the lovely Dr. Emma King, but another attempt to find her consciousness among the sleeping people at Manhanock Asylum yields no more than the first. Presumably she is having trouble sleeping after the excitement of the night. Anderson makes a note to check after later and moves on to anyone else who might have information of interest to him… or possess knowledge that might endanger Cherry Bell.

Mindful of the fact that the night is already half over and there are a lot of dreams to visit, Dr. Anderson develops a routine for the guards. First, he looks for memories of terrible things that they associate with Cherry Bell, which he finds with depressing regularity. Dr. Anderson then either recasts the situation so that the true culprit is Dr. Cotton or tries his best to remove all damaging memories of Bell, depending on which seems to work better.

Realising that a perfect success rate is as unattainable with dream-weaving as any other endeavour, Dr. Anderson takes care to weave his alterations into the fabric of Dr. Cotton’s hypnotic memory blocks and to leave the occasional clumsy memory of Cherry Bell as the cause of a guard’s terror. Even if someone from Onyx Rain were to realise that the guards’ memories have been altered, the conclusion that Anderson wants them to come to is that Dr. Cotton has implanted and modified the memories to frame others for his crimes.

If anyone with the same knowledge, skills and experience as Dr. Anderson were to examine the people whose dreams he visited, they would probably be able to unravel his interference with their memories. In fact, given how quickly he has to work with some of them, anyone formally trained in forensic dream analysis should be able to spot his tampering. In any case, the dream-mediated reprogramming isn’t permanent and any false memories will eventually fade.

Dr. Anderson relies, however, on the fact that as far as he knows, there is no one in the world aware that it is even possible to enter dreams the way he can do. While it is certainly within the realm of possibility that Onyx Rain has more information than they’ve shared with him and someone there knows or believes that such powers are possible, Anderson estimates that even the most open-minded psychologist would be more likely to ascribe any anomalies in witnesses’ memories to the drug-induced hypnosis that Dr. Cotton is known to have performed than to a third party outside their experience.

By the time the tampering that Dr. Anderson has performed wears off, the staff and guards of Manhanock Asylum will hopefully have given several statements in exhaustive detail, to Onyx Rain and whatever law enforcement entity is allowed access to witnesses. Assuming, of course, that the witnesses aren’t “disappeared” en masse as part of the cover story, in which case the first statements will be the only statements. Even if Onyx Rain eschews such drastic solutions, the necessity for rapid and decisive action on the cover-up means that the official narrative will have been set in the bureaucratic equivalent of stone after the first week of interviews.

Odds are, most of the witnesses will end up believing that the stories they’ve repeated over the past week or two are their real memories, especially when contrasted with fragmented and incomprehensible traumatic experiences they had months or years ago. For those who retain any clear memories of Ms. Bell’s “indiscretions”, few of them will be willing to re-open painful and terrifying interrogations merely to correct ancillary points and, in any case, the precise role of Cherry Bell in events will be a matter for interpretation. A befuddled witness coming up with an entirely new interpretation of events, days or weeks after the fact, will naturally be received with healthy scepticism by most investigators.

---

Sitting outside Cherry Bell’s cell block, Chase Taylor does his best to rest. Every time he closes his eyes, however, he sees Dr. Cotton’s face just before he shot him. Incomprehension mixed with relief in his eyes as Taylor starts to lower the gun, then raising his weapon arm again and with an almost simultaneous discharge, the three 9mm rounds entering the cerebellum too fast for Cotton ever to realise that death is coming. No time for fear, regrets or pain. No judgment, no justice, no vengeance. Just a flickering instant separating life from death.

Taylor thinks about the man he murdered and knows he should atone. Repent. Implore God for forgiveness. Regret his pride and his wrath, the irreparable harm caused by his intemperate lashing out, his hubristic assumption of the role of Lord the Redeemer. To his shame, Taylor cannot do it. He regrets, yes, but what he regrets is that Dr. Bruce Cotton is forever gone beyond his grasp and will never suffer the way he ought to suffer.

Despite being raised in a typical fire and brimstone Baptist congregation, Taylor’s belief in a loving God does not include a fiery hellscape where eternal tortures are inflicted upon a flawed humanity. Hell is simply the absence of God’s love and it is not a punishment, it is a choice. Taylor is horrified to find himself wishing that he is wrong and J. Frank Norris is right. That Dr. Cotton will burn in eternal torment, never know a moment’s peace until the end of days.

To distract himself from his dark thoughts, Taylor grabs the little notebook and pencil he brought with him. Gnawing on the end of the pencil, he tries to write something to Betty Rose and Savannah Belle, but has a hard time composing anything that Onyx Rain is likely to allow him to send his daughters. Eventually, he settles on short notes telling them he loves them. Hopefully Onyx Rain will want the outside world to keep believing that he is still incarcerated at Fort Leavenworth and will keep forwarding their mail to him.

Next, Taylor starts to write down everything that he couldn’t put in the letters to his daughters. Well, almost everything. An after-action report of events since they arrived at Jewell Island, not leaving out anything except those things which might endanger Sherilyn Bell. It is surprisingly close to the truth, only glossing over two conversations with her and any inferences that might be drawn about the nature of her powers.

Taylor knows that he’s a terrible liar and hopes to get away without having to tell any direct lies to professional interrogators. Much easier to simply not mention certain things.

After producing a rough outline of his report, Taylor looks around him for something else to distract himself with. He realises that it’s coming up on Saturday morning. About thirty-six hours until kick-off. Ripping out another page, he starts writing down a long shopping list and clicks the radio:

Taylor: “Hey, it’s Taylor; you there, O’Toole? Over.”
Agent O’Toole: “What the [fornication] do you want?”
Taylor: “Did y’all take care o’ Co-colas an’ food for everybody? You know, ‘cause the doc said stuff here might could be contaminated. Over.”
O’Toole: “No. I’ve been dealing with a fire, seriously wounded people, potential escaped basket cases, biohazards and other[faeces] that actually [fornicating] matters!”
Taylor: “Sorry, jes’ wanted to offer my help. I figure if’n you can get back to me with a number o’ people, I kin write up a requisition slip for some supper an’ thangs. Over.”
O’Toole: “Sure, fine, buddy, knock yourself out. We’re a 101, five EMTs here already, with at least fifty people coming from Onyx Rain. Just bring it to me when you are done.”
Taylor: “I really hate to be a bother, Danny-boy, but the doc asked me to stay put. Send an orderly you trust, half an hour? Over.”
O’Toole: “Damn it, you’re a pain in the ass even when you’re helping! Expect Bob in thirty.”
Taylor: “D’ya mind if’n I put on some Super Bowl snacks an’ candy from Walmart over yonder? Worley and Kowalski can stop by. For morale an’ stuff? Over.”
O’Toole: “Hell, put nuts, chips, candy and as many cases of beer as you want on there. Either they’ll give that [faeces] to us or they won’t.”
Taylor: “Roger that, Danny-boy. Out.”

Writing rapidly, Taylor finishes a huge list before Robert comes by to take it from him. Bob also hands him half a Snickers bar and a bottled water.

Bob the orderly: “Doc says to eat it, stay hydrated and try to rest up. Well, he actually said you ought to be asleep on an IV drip, but I declined to force you to go anywhere.”
Taylor: “Thanks, Robert. You’re a real good man.”
Bob: “And you’re probably crazy, but from what I can tell, there’s a lot more of us alive now than Warden Tyrrell would have left. Or the rats. So I guess you’re alright with me.
[beat]
Just stay away from Inmate Bell. She’s not the cute, whimsical, indie movie kind of crazy. Maybe she got a raw deal, but the way she is now, she’s malicious, destructive, bad to the bone.”
Taylor: “Ain’t nobody bad to the bone. Everybody got both good an’ bad in them. Jes’ gotta give the good some time an’ love to grow.”
Bob: “That some New Age philosophy?”
Taylor: “Naw, Bob. I’mma jes’ fixin’ to be a good Christian. The best I can, anyhow.”
Bob: “God help you, then.”

After Robert leaves with the list of supplies, Taylor returns to his after-action report, starting to refine it. For all that it's meant to conceal the truth about Sherilyn Bell, some vestige of professional conscientiousness causes Taylor to care that the report is clear, concise and comprehensive. Onyx Rain may be going to kill him soon, but Taylor judges that Director Gujarat is serious about defending the US from any and all threats that emerge from Project Jade Serenity. Might as well give her the best information possible.

[Icelander]

Envelope address:
723 South Candler Street,
Decatur, GA 30030

Daddy’s dearest Betty Rose.

I received your drawing and the letter you sent with it. It is a very nice doggie and I am sure you would be great friends. But doggies need to be fed, taken for walks and their poo-poo cleaned up, every day. Not just the days you don’t have anything else to do, but every single day. And if Mommy says that she can’t deal with doggie poo-poo every day, we’ve got to respect that, because Mommy is in charge. I’m sure you loved her present even though it wasn’t a doggie, right honey?
What you might could do, however, is writing to Aunt Lexi and ask her if she minds keeping one of the little doggies next time her Thelma pups. If your Mommy allows and Aunt Lexi doesn’t mind, you could pick out the doggie and name it, but it would live with Aunt Lexi and you could see it whenever you visit Grandma, your aunts and cousins down yonder in Luverne. Wouldn’t that be a nice solution?
When we were kids, Aunt Lexi, Uncle J.C. and me were the ones who mostly took care of Muddie, our old coonhound. Aunt Lexi's always had doggies since and I reckon she can add one more, especially if she has help with it.
You and your sister both, you got to mind your Mommy well, because she has a very hard job, taking care of a family alone. And make sure to keep telling her how well she’s doing and how much you love her. And how grateful Daddy is that she’s there when he can’t be.
I’m always glad when you find time to write and I especially love your drawings. Maybe next time you can tell me what’s going on at school. Are you getting on any better in math after the Christmas break? Daddy used to have a hard time with math, too. You’re lucky to have Mommy there, she’s good at everything and can help you with your homework.
Daddy loves you and misses you, little angel. A thousand kisses and hugs.

Your Daddy,
Mackenzie Chase Taylor.



Dear Savannah Belle Esquire.

Mommy is quite right that ‘Esquire’ is usually added to men’s names in formal correspondence and that young women use ‘Miss’ instead. But as I’m sure she’ll tell you, that shouldn’t bother you none. Being born Daddy’s little princess doesn’t mean you can’t also be a prince, king, chairman, president or esquire. Use any title you want, sweetie Belle, it’s a good first step to becoming anything you want.
I’m glad you liked my present. Daddy never read enough when he was young, but I liked the movies. I’d warn you not to be scared of the Ring-Wraiths and other bogeys, but I remember that you’ve told me that you’re not scared of anything. All the same, you’ll have to convince Mommy first before I’ll buy you those direwolf-books. From what I hear, they’re violent enough to scare Daddy.
I’m sure Betty just forgot to mention in her letter if she likes her fishing kit. That doesn’t make her ungrateful, sweetie. We all forget things sometimes. Even you, honey, at least you must, though Daddy can’t remember you ever forgetting anything since you were about two years old.
I know it seems like Mommy and Daddy keep harping on the same thing, but you’ve got to get on better with your sister. It’s easy to focus on what makes us different and forget about what we have in common, sweetie, but Daddy wants you to try your best. You can find a reason to love most any person, let alone your sister, who is just as wonderful and lovable as you are.
Siblings fight and argue sometimes, but they’ve got to make up at the end of the day. Uncles Junior and J.C. and Aunts A.B. and Hailey made Daddy furious sometimes when we were young, but now that we’re grown up, Daddy loves them all and is grateful that you girls have them as a family.
Daddy is fine, sweetie, and thank you for asking. There's really no news to tell, at least not yet, but I did hear from some old acquitances and if something comes of it, I'll make sure to let you know.
Keep telling me what you learn in school. That way, Daddy will at least have a chance at understanding all you know when you grow up.
I love you very much, sweetie-Belle. Keep holding the fort and kiss your Mommy and sister from me.

Your Daddy,
Mackenzie Chase Taylor.

[Icelander]

After a long and depressing sojourn into what passes for the dreams of the security staff at Manhanock Asylum, Dr. Anderson feels the need for more restful dreams. Sending tendrils of his awareness into the J Wing, Anderson frowns slightly upon discovering that Chase Taylor not yet asleep. Dr. Anderson is concerned with possible symptoms of acute stress reaction. It is a worrying sign that he should still be awake despite his wounds and state of extreme exhaustion.

Not far from Taylor, Sherilyn Bell is sleeping soundly in her cell, but from what Anderson can tell, her dreams are far from a restful retreat. Deciding that doing anything about Ms. Bell’s dark dreams would be strenuous, time-consuming and possibly even dangerous for his own mental health, Dr. Anderson moves on from contemplating the scene in J Wing.

The orderlies Dr. Anderson is able to visit do not seem to have been involved in Dr. Cotton’s experiments. Other than Nurse McCrae, the nurses might have had dark suspicions, but no actual knowledge of what Dr. Cotton was doing. Anyone who revealed such suspicions was intimidated by Deputy Warden Tyrrell or hypnotised by Dr. Cotton, usually both.

Sherilyn Bell was usually present during hypnosis. She appeared able to cause hallucinations that are indistinguishable from reality and either she or Dr. Cotton had an uncanny knack for tailoring her illusions to target mental weaknesses and phobias, with the result that several orderlies and all of the guards are suffering from severe PTSD and numerous psychological issues aggravated by extreme stress.

The delusions shared by the guards and Warden Tyrrell involved their role as the last line of defence against a powerful and sophisticated race of subterranean lizard people who had infiltrated human society wearing flesh suits. If any of them were to give a hint to anyone on the mainland that they were aware of the true situation, the lizards would certainly send covert operatives to kidnap or kill their families.

Warden Tyrrell had shown several of his closest subordinates documents and photographs in support of his outlandish claims. From the fact that Ms. Bell had been unobtrusively present every time he did so, Anderson hypotheses that all the supposed ‘evidence’ consisted of controlled hallucinations caused by Bell’s powers, but it does not appear that Warden Tyrrell was aware of the deception.

Drawing from the subconscious of dreaming guards, Dr. Anderson has no access to any memories that could shed light on whether Dr. Cotton was truly forcing Bell to use her powers in this way or whether she was a willing participant in the sadistic ‘experiment’. Unfortunately for Dr. Anderson, the same applies to Dr. Emma King, who is clearly assisting Dr. Cotton with the ‘treatment’ of several guards in the newer memories.

Sighing, Dr. Anderson subtly modifies the recollection of the guards so that Ms. Bell and Dr. King appear more frightened than frightening, taking advantage of the fact that memories of Dr. Cotton remain unchanged with any guards who were unconscious when Dr. Cotton spoke his post-hypnotic trigger phrase in the intercom,. Even without embellishment, Dr. Cotton’s villainy is unquestionable and should satisfy Onyx Rain. Most investigators would be predisposed to perceive Emma King and Sherilyn Bell as his victims rather than co-conspirators.

For his part, Dr. Anderson is far from certain they were always unwilling. Even so, he hardly hesitates in removing or altering memories that might incriminate Dr. King while he is doing the same for Ms. Bell. Whether Dr. King was a willing helper or not, Dr. Anderson would prefer that no one other than him get too much information from her about Dr. Cotton’s experiments. And he certainly does not want her killed or imprisoned somewhere he will not get a chance to interview her at length later on.

Collecting data for future interviews, Dr. Anderson contemplates the evidences of the memories he experiences. Dr. Emma King seems to be working without supervision in many cases, completely trusted by Dr. Cotton to restrain the subjects and inject them with drugs. Ms. Bell was clearly carefully watched and secured with medical restraints, but she appears to enjoy some of what she did.

While a guard by the name of Mike Seward was being berated by a hallucination of his mother, mocking him as a failure for not studying to be a lawyer like his brother, Ms. Bell laughed merrily at his distress. When other guards were confronted by situations which triggered their phobias, Ms. Bell’s reaction appeared to be excitement, even exhilaration. Ms. Bell’s ecstatic reaction to their fear of her hallucinations seems to be erotic in nature, but Anderson cannot tell if that is a genuine response from Bell to the use of her powers or a false interpretation arising from the highly sexualised way that most of the guards view her.

Not that Dr. Anderson is dwelling on the sexual fantasies that most of the guards appear to have had about Ms. Bell or looking to experience any memories of sexual crimes they might have committed against her. While mildly curious about whether it would help with her therapy to have such details, there is simply too little time to spare for exploration. Consequently, Dr. Anderson makes no attempt to examine every memory relating to Dr. King or Ms. Bell. With every dream he visits, he grows more and more practised in drawing out only memories relating to Ms. Bell’s powers and Dr. King’s assistance to Dr. Cotton.

Despite his narrow focus, Dr. Anderson can’t help but notice that Ms. Bell looms large in in the subconscious of Benjamin Hewitt, the guard who originally escorted them to Ms. Bell’s cell block. Hewitt is clearly obsessed with her, with highly charged sexualised images of her imprisoned or helpless playing a large role in his dreams, but he’s also terrified of her. Terrified enough, in fact, that when Bell and Taylor encountered him in the main building, Hewitt started to go into a panic attack, which was only arrested when Taylor knocked him out after a savage beating.

The hallucination that sent Hewitt into such a panic was subtle, a suggestion of serpentine features emerging from Taylor and Bell’s human forms, with Taylor’s limbs extending impossibly far before an outside low kick crippled Hewitt’s knee. In Dr. Anderson’s judgment, the physical changes from what Hewitt would have seen without interference were minimal, with his fevered mind filling in the blanks.

It is a vivid testament to Ms. Bell’s facility with her power in the absence of Dr. Cotton’s influence or control. With only a single breath to prepare, she wove an illusion which completely convinced Hewitt and neutralised him as a threat while he was still holding a shotgun aimed at her and Taylor, by homing in on a fear Hewitt held with phobic intensity. Either Bell already knew that Hewitt was terrified of both her and lizard people in human skin suits or she was intuitive enough to unhesitatingly guess at a hallucinatory scenario that paralysed Hewitt with terror.

Taking advantage of Hewitt’s concussion, Dr. Anderson eschews any complex modifications of his memory and settles for scrambling any coherent memories of Ms. Bell using her powers. Short-term memory loss should be ascribed to the massive blow to the head.

Moving on to the dreams of Ethan Ball, the guard who was on duty at the guard post in J Wing at the start of the evening, Dr. Anderson is both shocked and pleasantly surprised. The shock is because the sexual debauchery on display in the dream would put Caligula to shame, but what pleases Anderson is the artistic imagination, lifelike texture and incredible detail of the dream. Ball is a secret Michelangelo of sex dreams; an unsung genius of extravagantly erotic fancy.

From other dreams, Dr. Anderson recognises several female figures with active roles. He presumes that they are celebrities or perhaps pornographic actresses, as they often feature as lust objects with dreamers who have no connection with each other. Most starring roles in Ball’s bacchanalian revel are reserved for eidolons of Sherilyn Bell, however, in a bewildering variety of erotic poses, provocative outfits and sensual scenarios.

Almost without volition, Dr. Anderson starts to elaborate upon the fabric of the dream, changing it as he moves through it. Moaning phantasms of Ms. Bell become gibbering monkeys, sleek vacuous lovely ladies become grotesque naked dwarves and the bass-heavy beat of the fantasy changes into the jazzy saxophone rhythm of Phil Harris’ Bare Necessities. Leading the inhabitants of the dream, new and old, on their merry dance, Dr. Anderson takes on the form of a female centaur with Bell’s upper body.

Approaching Ethan Ball, the host of the dream saturnalia, Dr. Anderson glides sinuously around his body in his centaur shape, somehow initiating sexual activity with the front of his horse part. Surrounding them in a circle, the gibbering monkeys touch themselves and screech as the centaur-Bell figure overpowers Ball. With a grin, she tears off her face, revealing a baboon’s ugly muzzle, before she turns Ethan Ball around to sodomise him with horse parts that are suddenly very male.

In that schizophrenic way dreams have, the centaur-ape is also Dr. Cotton. Grinning maniacally, he pats Ethan Ball on the lower back, where he suddenly sports a ‘tramp stamp’ tattoo: “Cotton Was Here”. As the music soars to a crescendo, the centaur-ape-Cotton groans his satisfaction and the choir of screeching monkeys throw their ejaculate over them.

A noise at the door jerks Dr. Anderson back to his physical surroundings. When he comes to, the door is ajar and a silvery-white, vaguely humanoid figure is emerging through it. A threatening weapon in its hands shines a bright light that reflects from its empty, faceless head.

Figure: “Dr. Anderson!”

[johndallman]

Originally Posted by Icelander

A noise at the door jerks Dr. Anderson back to his physical surroundings. When he comes to, the door is ajar and a silvery-white, vaguely humanoid figure is emerging through it. A threatening weapon in its hands shines a bright light that reflects from its empty, faceless head.

Figure: “Dr. Anderson!”

Humm ... is Dr Anderson not quite as awake as he believes himself to be?

[Icelander]

Originally Posted by johndallman

Humm ... is Dr Anderson not quite as awake as he believes himself to be?

Now, that would be telling.

Dr. Anderson's player, however, was the only one present during the gaming session in question who was entirely sober, as he was driving after it. And, no, I can't explain the thought processes and I'm pretty sure he wasn't on any drugs.

First PC to successfully* commit rape 'on screen', as far as I can recall. I've never been shy of allowing PCs to be terrible people, as long as they had a solid motive to be a part of the campaign framework and work with the party, but wow! Dr. Michael Anderson is a super-creepy super-villain who is on the side of the PC party because he just happens to experience some mysterious form of affection for one PC and one McGuffin-esque NPC.

*At age 12-13, one player decided his PC would try to rape another PC. She resisted, the rest of the party helped her and the attempted rapist PC was killed. And the player didn't game with us again.

[Icelander]

A noise approaching J Wing interrupts the reverie Taylor slipped into after finishing his report. It’s a couple of hours past dawn. The loud footsteps are two men, wearing uncomfortable, heavy boots and walking with excessive caution. They may be attempting tactical room clearing, but every movement is clumsy and very, very slow. Taylor recognises the way people move when they are wearing sealed protective clothing that must not snag on anything.

Almost automatically, Taylor checks for a weapon and an observation point with decent cover. As he realises quickly, he has no weapons more effective than his pencil or notebook and it is by no means certain he could get up from his sitting position against the cell block door leading to Sherilyn Bell’s area. Making a virtue of necessity, then, Taylor maintains his position and waits for the footsteps to finally reach the second level of J Wing. When he can hear them climbing the stairs, but before they are in line of sight with him, Taylor speaks out in a calm voice:

Taylor: “Y’all the rescue we done call in?”
Distorted voice below: “We’re police, yeah. Remain calm, keep your hands away from any weapons and don’t move. We’re gonna have to secure this building before we can get you medical attention.”
Taylor: “That’s jes’ fine. I ain’t armed an’ I wasn’t fixin’ to move anyhow.”

Still moving in a tactical formation, two men wearing Saranac hazmat suits emerge into view on the stairs. The one slightly forward is wielding a short-barrel carbine that Taylor identifies as an Mk 18, i.e. an M4A1 equipped with a 10.3-inch barrel QCBR upper, loaded with SOPMOD accessories, and the one walking behind and to the side has an M4 with an Aimpoint collimating sight and SureFire flashlight.

After scanning for other threats, entrances and hiding places, they move closer to Taylor, focusing on him. They do not point their weapons directly at Taylor, but close enough so that they could engage him quickly if he moved. Their hazmat suits hide their faces and the SCBA breathing devices they wear distort their voices, making them appear threatening and otherworldly. As far as Taylor can tell, however, they are making an effort to be friendly.

CPO Jansen: “I’m Chief Master-at-Arms Eric Jansen. Are you a part of the guard force here?”
Taylor: “Naw. Mackenzie Chase Taylor, consultant, Department of Homeland Security. Here with Col. Burr, an’ Agents Banks an’ O’Toole, along with a doc an’ a lawyer, to interview a patient by the name o’ Sherilyn Bell. Y’all oughta recognise us from yer mission brief an’ if not, yer bosses will know.”
CPO Jansen: “We recognise you, Mr. Taylor. The people you came with are already under medical care and seem to be doing fine. Before you can join them, though, I need you to tell me two things. One, are there any more hostiles nearby? And two, is… patient Bell located in this area?”
Taylor: “Ain’t no more human hostiles, Chief, but this place got rats contaminated with somethin’ experimental. Treat them lower levels an’ any place you see a rat as a biohazard an’ seal up the tunnels in the cellars as soon as there’s no more survivors down there.
Other hazmat-wearer: “Jesus [fornicating] [faeces]!”
Taylor: “Not my preferred phrasin’, but you done got the gist o’ it. Take it this serious an’ we might could avoid an outbreak o’ something real scary. Them rats seemed to be plannin’ an’ communicatin’, at least a whole lot more than is normal for ‘em.”
CPO Jansen: “I can see that you believe what you are saying and will inform my superiors of your warnings. Petty Officer Coleman here can radio it in right now.
[…]
Now, what about patient Bell? Is she in her cell?”
Taylor: “I reckon Ms. Bell is sleeping over yonder, yeah. She ain’t a patient here no more, though, an’ I figure with one thing an’ another, probably be best to wait a spell afore we wake her. She done had herself some bad shocks an’ she’s real cut up. Might could startle her, havin’ armed strangers in space suits a-walkin’ in on her in the mornin’.”
CPO Jansen: “With respect, Mr. Taylor, this is still the scene of an active shooter incident. We’ve got orders to secure this wing and our orders don’t account for Southern courtesies. I’m sorry, but you’re gonna have to stand aside while we do our jobs, Mr. Taylor.”
Taylor: “I’ma real sorry to make trouble for y’all, but I reckon I cain’t do that. Look here, I ain’t sayin’ no one kin go in this here door, jes’ askin’ y’all to let me go in first.”
PO Coleman: “Hell, no!”
CPO Jansen [with irritated glance at Coleman]: “You know we can’t do that, Mr. Taylor. No offence, but you’re both officially suspects until things clear up a little around here.”
Taylor: “I reckon y’all got yer orders, sure enough, but I got mine from Homeland Security jes’ like you did. An’ there wasn’t any mention of y’all. After we done evaluated Ms. Bell an’ sign her as a consultant, we were fixin’ to take her to our boss. An’ begging your pardon, neither one of y’all look much like Director Vani Gujarat to me. So I figure you’d best get her on a line afore we start fixin’ to have a dying duck fit.”
CPO Jansen: “The Incident Commander is a DHS bigshot called Curtis A. Ford. He’s in charge of Jewell Island now. If he has a boss, nobody introduced us to her and we don’t have any private line to call her on. I’m sorry, Mr. Taylor, but you’re going to have to accept that we’re in charge here for now. If we’re stepping on any toes, I’m sure we’ll hear about it from our bosses later, but for now, we’re the men with the guns securing a potentially dangerous location. Your director will understand that you had no choice but to obey.”
Taylor: “We all got us a choice, Chief. I figure you gotta make a choice here. Call your boss an’ see if you kin get Gujarat on the phone or decide by your lonesome to fly off your handle. An’ take the consequences.”
PO Coleman: “Oh, c’mon! There’s two of us, with carbines, and you’re alone and unarmed. And so hurt you can’t even get up! How could you stop us?!”

Taylor doesn’t reply, but stares steadily into the facemask of CPO Jansen. A very acute observer might note the muscles in his legs tensing and the fingers of his right hand adjusting the position of the pencil he was holding. Petty Officer Coleman is aiming his M4 carbine at Taylor’s head from a distance of about ten feet, but as the seconds pass, he looks increasingly uncomfortable.

CPO Jansen: “Stand down, Coleman. Mr. Taylor might not be able to stop us, but he could force us to shoot him. And I’d rather not do that if we can avoid it. Call HQ and see if we can get this Director Gujarat to contact us on a secure line.”
Taylor: “Appreciate it, Chief. Make sure they mind ‘bout the rats an’ see if there’s a mental health professional they can send to Ms. Bell. Psychological first aid trained, to debrief her an’ start her treatment. An’ make her female, if at all possible.”

After a short radio conversation, Coleman informs Jansen that they are instructed to hold tight until further orders. There is a palpable relief of tension and Taylor grins wryly.

Taylor: “I don’t suppose you boys would mind helping me up?”

The two hazmat-clad men haul Taylor up from his sitting position and support him. He indicates that he wishes to go to the bathroom and is able to stagger there by holding on to Coleman’s arm. With a comment to the effect that he’s hurt, not crippled, Taylor is allowed to enter a stall alone and takes care of bodily functions. When he emerges, he washes in the sink, against the objections of Jansen and Coleman.

CPO Jansen: “Water supply is contaminated. Use disinfectant and sanitary wipes. We can also take you to the decontamination showers right now, before getting you to a doctor.”
Taylor: “Thanks for the wipes, Chief, but I reckon I’ll jes’ wait for a shower ‘til I’ve talked to Gujarat.”

Walking back to the second level of J Wing, Taylor leans on CPO Jansen. PO Coleman is talking on the radio and stops at the base of the stairs. When he comes up, he’s accompanied by another man in a hazmat suit, holding a mobile phone. The phone is passed to CPO Jansen, who listens in silence for a while, says several “yes, sirs”, a couple of “aye, ayes” and then hands the phone to Taylor.

CPO Jansen: “It’s for you.”
Taylor: “Taylor here.”
Director Vani Gujarat: “You must think you’re a hell of a lot more charming than you are. I’ve spent the past hour listening to a litany of your failures, with an empathetic suggestion that we bury you somewhere unmarked. Shouldn’t you have something better to worry about than Ms. Bell’s beauty sleep and who is allowed to disturb it?”
Taylor: “Sorry, ma’am, but she done survived serious trauma. For her health an’ if’n you want her operational, she needs to see a familiar face when she wakes up an’ she needs a female trauma counsellor right now.”
Gujarat: “You’re lucky that we got an expert psychologist who agrees with you. Stand tight, Dr. Westman will be right with you.”
Taylor: “Thank you kindly, ma’am.”

[Icelander]

Special Agent Danny O’Toole looks around for something to drink, but the crowded impromptu operations room seems to have only empties. He sighs and swallows a fistful of painkillers dry, biting down on the bitter taste. His head is ringing like a brass band and his eyes sting, but the crushing weight of responsibility feels worse than his physical discomfort.

Even with about thirty Coast Guardsmen from the Atlantic Strike Force and about as many medical and technical specialists from the DHS there, no one has relieved him as the ad hoc and interim Incident Commander. Well, technically, no one has, yet, but you wouldn’t know it by the way they act.

It’s not as if the Coast Guard is bothering to run anything by him before they do it and Dr. Figuroa from DHS clearly expected him to defer to her when it came to setting up the decontamination facilities, but everyone seems to expect him to handle the myriad of small crises and coordination issues that inevitably come up, as well as being responsible for running Manhanock Asylum while the actual senior staff there is either hospitalised, catatonic or detained as suspects.

All O’Toole wants to do is jump into a soft feather bed and sleep for a week. Possibly after downing a six-pack of beer on the way to the bed. If he has to talk a supposedly functioning adult through some incredibly minor organisational issue one more time, he’ll have to check himself into the asylum as a patient. At least they get to sleep.

His reverie is interrupted by someone at the door. All the people in the room, four Coast Guardsmen, two DHS staffers, Cameron Townsend and Special Agent O’Toole, look toward the door as it opens slowly, diffidently. A slight, unshaven, bald man with unsightly skin and comically oversized glasses walks in.

Ford: “Good morning. My name is Curtis A. Ford and I work for the Office of Operations Coordination. As of now, I am in charge of Jewell Island. I very much regret that no one will be leaving and that you are all subject to decontamination protocol.”
O’Toole: “Thank Christ, sir!”
Ford: “You may, I suppose. I prefer to err in favour of a strict interpretation of the Establishment Clause and avoid any reference to a Supreme Being in the course of my duties.”
O’Toole: “Er, yessir. I only meant that I was glad to be relieved.”
Ford: “I can imagine. You look like cat [excrement] warmed over. In a microwave. By someone who can’t cook. And then eaten by a dog and vomited up again. And stepped in.”
O’Toole: “Sorry, sir. We’ve been very busy. No time to keep up appearances.”
Ford: “I wasn’t criticising. My comment was in the nature of an observation. No reflection on your professional capacity was intended. When I feel you’ve earned criticism, I will be sure to tell you. In no uncertain terms.”
O’Toole: “I’m glad to hear it, sir.”
Ford: “I rejoice in your approval, Special Agent. Now, brief me on where we are and then report to the decon tents.”

O’Toole proceeds to lay out the situation on Jewell Island, the disposition of all responders already there, the arrangements made for feeding and housing of everyone, the problems solved, pending and likely to develop. Despite his fatigue and stress, he manages to deliver a clear, concise and coherent briefing.

Cam Townsend interjects agitated demands that Homeland Security immediately arrest the ‘violent rogue killer, Mackenzie Chase Taylor’, but is barely launched on his tirade when a raised hand and a ferocious glare from Curtis Ford silences him. Ford listens attentively to the briefing from O’Toole, ignoring Townsend, and delivers incisive and intelligent questions at the end, which Special Agent O’Toole manages to answer with a modicum of credibility.

Ford: “Now, Mr. Townsend. Find a private room and a secure telephone. Then call the Director. If she’ll still talk to you, tell your story to her again. Then do what she tells you. If she is disinclined to listen to the third or fourth time you tell us the same thing, report to medical. I don’t have time for a panicked civilian, no matter where his degrees are from or who his boss is. I can see that you are personally affected by what you went through, but the personal is not the same as the important. Respectfully, Mr. Townsend.”
Townsend: “But…”
Ford: “If it helps, no amount of arresting or not arresting someone presently on Jewell Island is going to change the fact that everyone here is detained under bioterrorism protocols and that the Coast Guard has orders to fire in the event of an attempt to breach quarantine. No one is going anywhere and everyone who should be taken into custody will be, once investigators get here.”
Townsend: “But Taylor is dangerous, he’s…”
Ford: “Anyone not cleared as part of the response force will be treated as potentially dangerous, Mr. Townsend. The criminal investigators detailed to us will take care of distinguishing between victims and perpetrators. Remember that the names of suspects, as well as consultants to the DHS on classified matters, are not necessarily need-to-know for everyone on Jewell Island.”
Townsend: “Then I need to speak with you in private, Curt, urgently…”
Ford: “No, Mr. Townsend. You need to speak with a criminal investigator, when called upon. Until then, you need to shut the [fornication] up. Dismissed, the pair of you.”
O’Toole: “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Seeming stunned, Cameron Townsend walks quietly away, searching for a private place to call his boss, no doubt to complain about the behaviour of Curtis Ford. Agent O’Toole makes his way to the decontamination tents that have been erected outside of the main buildings of Manhanock Asylum. Mechanically shedding his clothes, he allows the decontamination officers to bag his belongings as evidence and enters the shower area. Emerging into another room, he is examined, helped to towel off and given disposable modesty clothing and protective overalls, the underwear made from some sort of teal coloured polymer and the overalls white.

O’Toole refuses any further medical attention and just requests a bottle of water and somewhere to sleep. He is given some blankets and guided to an apartment block just outside of the wall around the main complex, where the response personnel are being quartered. The walk isn’t long, but well before he reaches his destination, O’Toole has started shambling like a zombie.

Once he’s inside, he stumbles into the small apartment whose number he was given and is going to collapse into the bed, but something makes him refrain. Instead, he paces nervously around the room, checks the door, engages the lock and looks for something to block it from opening. He braces a chair in front of the door, which is unlikely to help, consider that they open outward, and then looks at the window. Feeling defeated and unable to come up with any plan to secure the window, O’Toole crawls into the clothes closet, pulls the closet door closed, wraps his blanket around him and tries to go to sleep.

---

Waking up with a start, Danny O’Toole reached for his gun. Touching the clean, anti-septic material of his Homeland Security overalls, he realised that he was unarmed. Shortly afterward, he realised that he was in a closet and that he could hear voices outside it.

Pleasant baritone: “You’re sure he was assigned to this apartment?”
Hoarse whine: “Yeah, of course I am! What, you think I’m incompetent? They’re our most important witnesses. First thing I did when I arrived was double-check their locations.”
Baritone: “Fair enough. I guess he couldn’t sleep, then. Move on to someone else on the witness list?”