leaves
patreon
Chapter 2 - Girl on the Moon
🕑 Added 2024-06-22 15:45:59 +0000 UTC“Alright people, listen up because I hate repeating myself.” Mr. Sun spat out the words in gravely tones. The man himself was of a body type most people would never consider intimidating. Rotund to the point that his doctors were beginning to raise concerns, a face that normally had a cheerful smile pasted across it, and a sharp wit that was often more preoccupied with revealing the terrible pun of the day than actually doing work. A man like that would be more likely to be seen working in a mall as Santa Claus.
In fact, early in Mr. Sun’s career, he had done just that. No one ever suspected the mall Santa was actually on a stakeout mission to observe the shoe store a few feet away for cartel activity. If Santa pulled out an Uzi, a badge, and a wicked smile upon seeing his target? Completely unexpected.
Today there was not a single glimpse of the usual Mr. Sun in that man’s face and body language.
“At 0200 this morning, a whole heap of manure officially hit the fan. One of our black sites was raided by a strike team of those godless Russkies. KGB, obviously. A mole on the inside let them in through the back while the guards were on shift rotation. Moon, before you ask, yes. It was that black site. They did steal what you think. Without it, the Nirvana Project is dead in the water. Fortunately, due to a small twist of fate that Lady Luck sent us, there is still a chance to fix this screwup of colossal size before I have to tell the director he needs to send the DEFCON 1 notice to the president.”
Mr. Moon raised an eyebrow. “There’s a chance to fix this? If they wanted it badly enough to raid a black site, then the Reds should already know what it can do for the project, even if it’s only in the broadest terms. And if they know what it can do…”
“Then the third World War immediately starting would be the least terrible outcome of the bunch.” Mr. Sun finished. The mood of the room instantly dropped to freezing temperatures. He cleared his throat and gestured to the large map of America pinned to the wall of the conference room. “We managed to take one of their men alive in the raid. ‘Duke’ Statnik lasted until 0800 this morning before he got sick of waterboarding and squealed. As it turns out, it was a local team the Russkies had embedded just outside D.C., just past the city limits. Long term, deep undercover, near-zero contact with Moscow.”
Mr. Sun paused and pointed out a few locations on the map. “The mole got wind of the team’s existence and connected with them to sell the info for cash. Now, the Russkies got what they came for, but they know we have ears listening in on nearly every phone in the U.S.A.
They know that this is too important for them to lose, so that means those guys won’t risk mail either. Ships are out since the Russkies know I have eyes on the docks. The mob hates them just as much as we do. A plane would be suicidal considering the vigilance of the Federal Air Marshals. That leaves what ‘Duke’ said was their extract point in case things ever got too heated to stay. Couldn’t get any specific names, but he said it was out West. In Kansas. Once the extract is successful, Moscow will likely know the whole story within a day.”
“Are we getting boots on the ground for this one?” Mr. Moon asked in mild tones. “Casing a whole state would be tricky, but if we get army and police presence up it would be harder for them to move around. If my memory is correct, Fort Riley and Fort Leavenworth are well-stocked and in the area.”
Mr. Sun shook his head. “No can do. As of now, the fact that the Nirvana Project exists is only known to the people in this room, the men living at the black site, the director, and that team of Russians. The more people that know, the higher the chance that the existence of this project gets leaked to the world. By accident or on purpose, at that point it would hardly matter.”
Mr. Moon fell silent and nodded his head in understanding. If that happened, then the entire world would likely be their enemy. That would make the ‘going to DEFCON 1 if the chance to fix things fails’ be sensible.
“Anyways, time is ticking. Moon, I’m giving your contingency plan ‘E’ a go. I’ve already gathered a team to fit your specifications. You’re on point and I’ve got ears working overtime trying to narrow down the search radius.” Mr. Sun announced. He swept his hands to gesture to the other people in the conference room and motioned for Mr. Moon to take the floor.
Mr. Moon looked around at the different faces. He hadn’t paid much attention to the other people in the conference room before, simply understanding that Mr. Sun had, for one reason or another, decided they were necessary personnel. Any information past that hardly mattered until the man saw fit to bring the topic up. Two were somewhat familiar faces while the third was new to his eyes.
“Very well.” Mr. Moon drily said and stepped to the center of the room. “Introductions first. I’m called Mr. Moon. I was brought in as one of the lead security assets for the Nirvana Project three years ago.”
A woman with brown, curly hair stood up as Mr. Moon’s brief introduction ended. She adjusted her glasses and nodded to him. “Cathy Miller. Intelligence Branch, Communications Division.”
After Cathy sat down upon completing her even briefer introduction, a large, bald man with several brutal scars on his face stood up. His bulk dwarfed the seat he had just vacated, and his every action was like a veritable mountain moving. “Dag Sterner. Counterterrorism.” Dag rumbled in a deep voice that fit perfectly with his appearance.
Finally, the last person in the room stood. He was nearly the complete opposite of Dag. Where the previous man was a hulking mound of solid muscle, this man looked more like an everyday salaryman. Like someone who would sell paper to other companies. He even wore a clean pair of brown slacks, a pure white dress shirt, and a pair of suspenders with little mouse pictures decorating them. The only feature on his body that betrayed his true occupation was the man's eyes. Sharp and calculating, as if he was mentally cataloging the details of every person in the room one by one to commit to memory.
“Mornin’.” The man said in an easygoing tone. “Steve Jones, it’s a pleasure to meet you fine people. Mr. Moon, it’s a pleasure to work with you again. Oh, and I guess I’m on loan from the Criminal Investigation division.”
Mr. Moon’s eyes drank in the details of the two men and the woman who were to be on his team. Small, yet balanced. Not bad for a search and destroy mission. “We’ll meet in the garage in two hours. Cathy, go downstairs and get a surveillance van from the Service Center. Make sure it has standard gear for a long-term stakeout, and tell them to keep it light in case we need to move it out of the vehicle. Any extras you think we’ll need, make sure to ask for them. If anyone has problems, tell them it’s on Sun’s orders.”
“It’s Ms. Miller, please.” She gently mentioned before walking out of the door at a speed that wasn’t quite running, but wasn’t quite walking.
Mr. Moon nodded and made a mental note of the correction. “Dag. Go to the locker, get standard kits for four.”
Dag nodded. “Can never be too careful.” He rumbled.
“Just in case.” Mr. Moon confirmed. “Steve, get a list of available assets in Kansas. Prioritize equipment acquisition. We may need to improvise on gear, and those will be our best avenues to get what we need quickly.”
Mr. Sun stayed silent until everyone had cleared out of the room, aside from himself and Mr. Moon. “This is all I can give you, but each and every one of them has skin in the game, just like you. Motivation won't be a problem. The team knows they lose the reward if this ends in failure or the details of the project get leaked.”
“Good.” Was Mr. Moon’s only answer before he too headed for the door.
“Moon!” Mr. Sun’s raised voice stopped him in his tracks, though Mr. Moon didn’t bother to turn around. “Get it done. No matter the cost. With stakes this big, I can justify just about anything I need to the director as long as the project gets back on track and no one else finds out about it. A phone call warning in advance before you do anything too big would be nice, though. Oh, and if you pull from local assets… you know what to do afterward.”
Mr. Moon curtly nodded. “I’ll do what needs to be done.”
“Good man.”
Those words rang in Mr. Moon’s ears as he departed the conference room. When was the last time he’d heard Mr. Sun say that?
‘Get it done, no matter the cost.’
Not since Saigon.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
The beer can was half empty.
Or was it half full?
Mark wasn’t sure if that mattered, other than he was getting closer to emptying out his twelve-pack with each gulp that slid down the back of his throat.
An ugly frown contorted his face into a nearly unrecognizable scowl, and he suddenly threw the half-empty can out the open car window. He couldn’t even see where it landed, but Mark hardly cared. The press of the accelerator and his Corvette continued to roar down the empty stretches of the highway like a blue streak in the night.
“Damn it all!” Mark's slurred voice suddenly began to shout and rave into the thin air as the car began to weave across the road in his anger.
“All my fault, every damn time! And now look at me. Back to this pointless town of failure. Ooohhh Marky Mark, you’re sooooo cool! Sooo special!”
Mark spat a thick wad of saliva out of the window as if to accentuate his disgust at those words. “Absolutely worthless.”
Another can of beer was drained in seconds and haphazardly tossed out of the car. “And of course, it’s all my fault.” He chuckled humorlessly. “I should have seen it coming. I really should have. I had eyes but could not see the mountain in front of my feet. Who can blame a guy! I was good! I thought I was good! And now look where I am.”
A moment of near silence, only broken by the roar of the engine, followed.
“As usual.” Mark somberly remarked. For a moment he actually sounded partially sober. “Cass was right.”
Green signs poking out from the night along the roadside informed Mark that he was only a few miles away from the next town. The next town would have a refill of alcohol. Maybe a strip club too, with some good-lookin’ gals. Best of all, it would be a town where nobody knew him.
That part was the absolute worst. Not the part where nobody knew him in the town Mark was driving to, but the fact that everybody knew him in Carlston. In every direction Mark turned, he could see somebody in Carlston looking at him with expectation in their eyes. It was something that he took for granted in the past. The warm glow of their attention. Now? It was a feeling that brought waves of acidic bile rushing up his throat in a heartbeat.
The final can of beer from his twelve-pack crumpled into an unrecognizable shape in Mark’s meaty fist once he finished draining it in a single go. The green signs denoting miles and town locations and other crap he hardly cared to pay attention to rushed past his car faster and faster as Mark brought the speed of his vehicle to the limit. Wind burst through the open windows to batter the sides of his neck and cool the inside of the car. The air conditioning had broken many years ago, and Mark had long since given up keeping it fixed. Not much of a point, if each fix would only last maybe a month at the most.
Not much of a point. Mark bitterly shook his head. These days, it felt like a lot of things in his life hardly had much of a point. Picking up a twelve-pack at the Gas N’ Shop? Pointless. The beer tasted like crap, and the small talk from Sandy’s mom felt like it was driving him insane with every word. Who the hell even bothers with small talk in the middle of the freaking night? Sandy’s mom, apparently. Stopping by Dino’s Diner to grab a bite after running out of microwave dinners at home? A waste of time. He’d spent the entire meal being bombarded by questions from Marty and Dino. Just one chicken fried steak sandwich, a Cola to drink, and some hot fries on the side. Preferably the curly ones. That’s all he wanted. Well, that and to tell Marty and Dino to bugger off, but despite his yearning to do so, Mark couldn’t bring himself to utter the words that were so easy to say back in Ohio.
The main difference, Mark figured, is that Marty and Dino were at least sincere in wanting to catch up with him. A large change from the assholes of Ohio State University. So, Mark ended up giving the pair of guys at least a few answers. Mainly one-word answers in between hurried bites so he could get out of there as soon as possible, but answers all the same.
The only question he’d left well alone was why Mark was back this early, a week before college finished for the summer.
Any further contemplation on the subject was brought to an immediate halt as a black van suddenly appeared out of the night… and on Mark’s side of the road. As the two high-speed masses of metal closed in on each other, it felt like time itself had ground to a near-halt. In those few seconds, Mark’s alcohol-muddled mind was able to realize two things:
One, he was driving on the wrong side of the road.
Two, the black van was driving without its headlights turned on, and it was around midnight.
Any other thoughts that would have normally gone through his brain were intercepted by the airbag breaking his nose as the front of his car began its solemn journey to meld with the front of the black van.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Mark gingerly opened his eyes to explore the world of pain it felt like his body had been teleported into. Unlike what he expected to see after reviewing his most recent memories (as in, recalling the car accident), Mark was neither in his car being crushed by the airbag, nor was he lying on the side of the road.
He was in his bed, probing an alarmingly loose tooth with a tongue that tasted like warm iron.
Mark’s eyes narrowed. Did someone come across the wreck before he regained consciousness? If that was the case, then why drop him off at home in his bed? It wasn’t like Carlston or the other town Mark was driving to lacked a doctor’s office or a hospital. Huh. Maybe he’d stumbled home drunk? It wasn’t impossible.
Mark stumbled out of his bed with a pained grunt. Now… how had get gotten here? All he remembered was that black van rushing through the veil of darkness out of nowhere before he could properly react. The impact of the airbag breaking his nose…
Crapola. He had a broken nose.
After that… Mark shook his head helplessly and began to search the room for something to cover up the mask of dried blood that made up half of his face. After that, his memories were nonexistent. He must have blacked out from the booze and dragged himself home out of instinct. Mark had seen it before, back at college. Heck, one of the more memorable instances was still fresh in his head. It was a football player that Mark had seen that night. Completely blackout drunk, and the angriest Mark had ever seen a man. That same football player proceeded to viciously assault a stop sign, denting it into a nearly unrecognizable shape and completely destroying his own hands in the process, and then the guy just walked right back to his dorm room on the other side of town!
If that guy could get back to his place safely in that state, then Mark had no doubts about his own ability to do so as well.
"Okay, Mark." He said with an unsteady voice. “Broken nose, loose teeth, maybe a concussion, but nothing too dangerous so far. Now time for the bad part.” Mark gave his shoulders a rub and proceeded out the door to the garage.
“Come ‘on Mark, you can do this. You can do this.” Mark psyched himself up with each and every step.
Mark opened the door to the garage. His mind took one second to process the information contained within before he let out a bloodcurdling scream.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
‘RRRRRIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!!!’
Cass mussed up her hair in despair as the agonizing sound of the phone by her bedside ringing dragged her away from sweet, sweet dreamland.
"’Yello?" She groggily muttered into the receiver. Mentally, Cass repeated the words 'This person better have a good reason for waking me up in the middle of the freaking night', but she was nice enough to keep those thoughts to herself.
However, once she processed the panicked voice that came from the receiver, Cass sat on her bed in stunned silence.
“Mark? Um… yeah. Yeah. Just gimme a minute and I’ll be over.”
Cass swept the sheets off her legs. Part of her, the cynical part, had shouted in her mind to hang the darn phone up as soon as Mark’s voice revealed itself. His panic was bogus, the cynical voice claimed. An excuse to get Cass over to his house in the middle of the night. Well, more like two in the morning, but close enough.
That cynical part, however, was quickly drowned out by the other part in her head. The part gently mentioned the fact that she had never, ever heard Mark that scared or freaked out before.
One single sentence by that part of Cass’s head was enough for her to instantly make up her mind without any further contemplation on Cass’s part. A stretchy hair tie was snapped around her hair to keep it in check. The fuzzy bear attached to the keys belonging to her car was snatched up from where it sat beside her lamp. Jeans and a light cyan jacket were pulled over her Superman pajamas in preparation for stepping out into the lukewarm May air.
“Gosh darn it Mark.” Cass grumbled sleepily. She rubbed the weird sleep gunk out of the corners of her eyes and opened the door into the two-car garage. As expected, her Rambler was still sitting ready in the garage, so she wouldn't have to worry about accidentally waking her neighbors up with the noise of the car starting outside. It was a cars could only be so quiet, something she took for granted most days. Nice and blue, old yet reliable. That was one thing American Motors managed to get right.
Without further ado she hopped into the pale-blue car and gave the keys a twist. The ticking of the engine, as quiet as it was, still reverberated around the otherwise empty garage.
“Ugh. Gosh darn it Mark.” Cass repeated. “This better not be bogus.”
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
A pair of rough, scarred fingers adjusted a battered suit and tie as the man waited. If it weren’t for the circumstances, he would have appreciated a night like this. A full moon overhead, a quiet night with no sounds of traffic in the distance, and the always-lovely sight of fireflies dancing through the distant blades of grass. A good night for drinking.
But the circumstances were what made the night what it was, Vladischov reckoned. He took another swig of the potent brew contained in the glass bottle in his other hand as he waited. Waited for news. For information.
Honestly, it was a crying shame that the wreck had been so sudden and so tremendous. One moment the road was clear, the next there was nothing but a mighty impact and then darkness. Vladischov knew that kind of darkness well. The darkness of sudden unconsciousness. He usually only arrived at that after multiple nights of copious drinking, but at the end of the day it was one and the same, apart from how his body felt afterward.
Vladischov paused. His tongue probed around his mouth. Something was off. He had felt it after his most recent swig. A quick flashing pain when the vodka and rum mixture had entered his mouth.
Ah. There it was. Vladischov’s face tightened slightly as he discovered the broken tooth with his tongue and spat it out on the ground.
“Oi!” He suddenly shouted in a fit of sudden anger. “Found it yet?”
The bushes near the roadside rustled as a thin man appeared from behind them. The man licked his lips and used a four-fingered hand to sweep his platinum blond hair back out of nervousness.
“Nothing. I think we’re chasing after the wind here, boss.” Zotov Yakovich grumbled. “That thing never bothered moving before. I can’t imagine it would start now, but I also can’t imagine why else it would be missing from the van.”
Vladischov’s fingers absentmindedly played with his tie once more as he thought. The back doors of the van had been hanging loose when he and his team woke. Further inspection of the doors told Vladischov that they must have flown open during the crash. That made sense. He distinctly remembered making sure they were locked when they were speeding out of the FBI black site. A high-speed impact was the only logical explanation as to why they would be open.
"The other car, then," Vladischov’s cunning thoughts naturally concluded and he spoke the words aloud. “The car that hit us is not here. That means it was still in good enough condition to drive, and the driver was not hurt to the point they could not move. Perhaps that driver took it, either by accident or on purpose. Or that thing decided to unexpectedly move, and it slipped into the other car as the driver made their escape. Either way, if we find out who crashed into us, we may find a lead on the target.”
Vladischov rolled his shoulders and stood up straight. Even though the search had not fully concluded yet, there was little point in continuing it past what his men had already combed through. He took a deep breath and held it until his aching lungs yearned for release. A movement in the corner of his eyes as Zotov Yakovich covered his ears was ignored, and Vladischov let out a mighty bellow that echoed across the asphalt and through the trees.
One by one his countrymen stepped through the brush to stand at his side next to the wreckage of their black, unmarked van. Four in total in the aftermath of the black site raid. Five, with Vladischov included.
Each one of them, men and women sworn to serve the motherland until death. Agents who had honed their patience, their skills, and their willingness to serve through years spent undercover in America. He took a lengthy gulp from his glass bottle and dashed the empty container against the asphalt, where it shattered into a million brittle pieces. At his side, Vladischov’s callused hand patted at his hunting knife for further emphasis to his words.
“The objective has changed. Forget the woods and the bushes. Comb the wreckage. Find out what crashed into us. Once we have a lead, the hunt begins.”
Each of his operatives nodded in unison and split up to swarm across the boundaries of the site. Metal sang its unique crashing song as pieces of the van and the unknown vehicle were thrown into different piles to be sorted through with the delicacy of a fine-toothed comb afterward. Somewhere within those piles would be the answer.
Vladischov nodded and smiled in satisfaction. Few emotions surpassed the joy of finding a proper lead in a righteous hunt.
------
What is this, chapter 2 release on a saturday instead of a sunday? what madness is this?
Let's just say the coffee hit particularly well this morning. Expect chapter 3 at some point in time next weekend. Dunno if it will be a saturday or a sunday yet.
Oh, and chapter 1 was officially released on royalroad, spacebattles, archiveofourown, and scribblehub. Woot woot!
In other news, I can indeed confirm the dlc for elden ring is amazing. Anyways, per usual thanks for reading! And if you find any mistakes, please let me know!
Peace
Comments
Coleman
Soo many questions and soo little time. It looks like the project got up and left on its own. Surely nothing bad will come of a secret government project bonding with a depressed alcoholic.
Rairarku
Oh so he crashed and ended up in his bed, huh? Does the Nirvana project look over teleportation? But why would he go to his bed? Hmmm... Thanks for the chappie, Leafy man
