Stealth Division

Fisher had spent his last days locked in a more sophisticated cell of sorts after he had sedated and moved from his last prison. This one where he was in was deep inside the building of the NSA itself: a place where they kept dangerous 'traitors' like him while the higher-ops of the NSA decided what to do with them. 'Traitors' like him usually ended up being eliminated from existence, or, if lucky, transferred to a federal prison where they would feel the whole weight of the law against their actions.

Sam's case was different. He had information that could put the whole agency at stake now. Grim's project? He knew it was backed up by the NSA. If not, then she wouldn't have gone as far. Regardless, he knew that this situation had to be taken carefully. He agreed with the NSA and with Third Echelon in one thing: this couldn't get out. This needed to be solved behind doors, without causing panic, just like it had happened back in 2007 with what could've been turned into World War 3.

For now though, he had spent most of his hours reading what Grim had clarified to him and preparing an escape out of this place. He stared at the bulletproof thick glass: new and improved aluminum oxynitride, better known as ALON. It was basically impenetrable and could stand impact from .50 cal bullets. There were not a lot or prisons like these, and there was no map as to how to get there in the first place.

Fisher sighed...

"Not hungry even?" Luke had stayed around as ordered by higher-ops, guarding the new prisoner from the outside and preparing everything for when it came the time to move him to... wherever it was they were moving him to. One thing he denied himself to, was to kill the veteran. He respected Fisher as the soldier he was and because of the many things he had done, not only for the country, but for the world when he thought about it.

"Shut up, Luke..."

Luke sighed, riffle resting on his lap as he leaned back on the chair and stared at the food that he had passed inside the prison before, while Fisher was sedated. It was still in the same spot where he had placed it: right in front of the closed iron door. "Grimsdottir will kill me if you don't eat something, Fisher."

 Fisher looked up at him with the corner of his eyes sighed again and shook his head from where he sat. "That's cute..."

"For you, probably..."


(( Open to all who feel like either get him out, or talk to him... whatever, lol ))

 

Location: Third Echelon - Grim's Office
Time: 1:00 AM
Open post: That is, if you'd be at Grim's Office at these obscene hours of the night/morning with those laser grids working with you.

( Collapse )

 

How many years had passed since he had finally been able to find his daughter, since he had stepped through the doors of Third Echelon? How many months and days... Fisher wasn't so sure. It had been quite a while for him to even reconsider Grim's offer in coming back to his old agency. He didn't trust anyone but her in that place since there was just no-one else to trust actually. Sarah was good at convincing him too. She knew Anna enough to confirm Sam that she could be trusted, once again, that with Grim in charge of Third Echelon things would be relatively better, like old times used to or close at least.

As the old man entered through the doors using the key-card that Grim had given him, he had to wonder if he had done the right thing coming back. He knew Grim still needed help when rebuilding Third Echelon, but so far it seemed as if she had done enough by herself. He looked around. Fisher remembered the building, his sometimes home from back in the day, burning when Reed's desperation destroyed it trying to kill Sam inside and every other trace of evidence against him. He had sacrificed innocent lives, and Sam had only managed to safe just but a few, the nerd from the sonar goggles in between them. Now the place was back with its past glory and at the same time humbleness.

A nostalgic smile played on Sam's lips for a second or two as he swung his duffel bag over his shoulder and stepped out of the elevator that led him to the lobby. There they were, ghosts from the past... ghosts of Lambert and Grim entering Third Echelon, Lambert always with his cup of coffee and Grim seemingly following his example. Ghosts from the past from where Lambert was still in charge, and Grim saved his live countless times; ghosts of a better time that he stupidly hope could come back again, for if they didn't he was simply going to walk out of the building and and leave everything he once held dearly to his heart.


(( Here is the after-Conviction Sam from cannon point. This means that years passed since the last threads, LOL, which seems fitting, LOL. ))

Daniel Robert Sloane-Suarez started working at Third Echelon after graduating from Harvard. He thought maybe being an Intelligence analyst would be pretty good career instead of economics. Now...that wasn't the case anymore.

 "I'm getting out of here. I hate all of this BS I have to deal with." He frowned as he stared at himself in the mirror as he stood in the men's restroom. "I'm about ready to beat the crap out of Lloyd...I could care less if he wears glasses or not...freaking hate the guy. Do this. Do that. No, I can't let you do that." He frowned in disgust as he turned on the sink and washed his hands.

Behind him, a toliet flushed and out came a short lanky man dressed in a business outfit; a complete contrast to what Daniel was wearing, which was a black shirt over a long-sleeved light gray shirt with the sleeves worn up his arms a bit, and both shirts were tucked in a pair of khaki cargo pants, and regular shoes. He was another intelligence analyst, but older and worked in that field longer than Daniel.

He stood at another sink beside him and started to wash his hands too. "Look, Dan," he said, "I like you buddy, but you really should cool it on the hate of the superiors before they throw you out."

"Like I give a shit, chief..." muttered Daniel, turning off the water and walking over to take some paper towels to dry his hands off.

"If you don't, then quit."

Daniel thought about it, slowly finishing drying his hands off, and then shrugged his shoulders lightly. "I've been thinking about it."

"Then what's stopping you?"

Daniel threw the wadded wet paper into the trashcan. "Two pointer..." he smirked, looking at the older man and raised his arms in the air. "I don't know." He backed up, turned and went out of the door, but the man stopped him.

"Oh, and about Lloyd," the man chuckled, "He really does need to get his ass kicked. I'm sure you'll lose your temper one of these days and do just that. Just do that when I'm around, kid.."

Daniel laughed. "I'll keep that in mind, Saul." He smirked and left the restroom to head back to his desk.

The old man had been walking around the building for a while, looking other fathers around him having letters from his kids, smiling and telling each other that they were taking the day free to spend a time with the treasures that made them be fathers. But, Sam was here. There was no free day. There were many days he could've taken free in order to spend some time with Sarah, but he didn't. And now it was too damn late.

 

Fisher decided to visit the bar as he took a seat at the farthest corner of the bar, away from people. Only one dim light above him lit his hands as he stared at an old picture, his fingers gently moving over it in times. He was thinking if to drink or not, but this was certainly a day for drinking until he couldn't take anymore. He was still fighting against it, but the more he looked at the picture, the more he held on his tears, the more memories came... Sam just wasn't sure if not drinking today was that healthy. Alright, he knew it wasn't healthy to down his pain in a bottle of liquor or beer, but he knew that his sole mental status wasn't healthy either way.

 

He turned the picture of his daughter around, only to find the 'Happy Father's Day, dad!' written on the back by Sarah's own hand. Sam let out a tear, but quickly wiped it off as he took a breath and continued to stare at the picture of his daughter in his hands.

 

((I would say Happy Father's Day... but you know... I can't say it any better considering the character I'm writing (damn you angsty character!). So, go ahead and step inside the bar if you wish to try and lift Sam's spirit on Father's Day.

However from the bottom of my heart: HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!))

 

Jenny was cold and calm on the inside. Zen, even. Her breathing and her movements hardly made a noise as she shimmied along the air shaft.

An outside observer could have never known that this woman was on a mission to kill the man she'd made a child with. The man she had once upon a time loved... and maybe still did.

She came to a vent cover, and unscrewed it, sliding it aside with a small rasp. She studied the room and then dropped down into it. When she hit the floor it did not go... quite as usual. Her legs folded up awkwardly when she landed, and when she got up, she stumbled like a newborn calf.

This kind of embarrassing screw-up never happened to her. Something was different. Something was wrong.

But there was the mission, and so she collected herself and wiped the perplexed look off her face. She looked around the door frame and into the hallway slowly, cautiously-

((Okay, so I really didn't know where to put this. But, anyway, I just realized that I really need to start typing up my story. And since it's going to be taking up a lot of my time, I regret to say that I won't be posting here until I finish the story. So, sorry and hope to post back here soon!))

Fisher had been trying with the guys at DARPA to figure one or two thing out about Mitchell's blood. At first there was some chemical on him, but it seemed as it had been there for a while. Later results came  negative of such chemical. This was worrying him since he knew the headaches were still there... the sudden change of attitude was still there... Mitchell was still a thread...

 

"So you're saying you really didn't find a thing."

 

Right now he was trying to talk this out with the employees at DARPA on that 7th floor. It was like the Twilight Zone for him.

 

"No... Besides Fisher, you ain't supposed to be here either way. If Marcus knew...."

 

"To hell with Marcus..." Sam sighed and tried calming down as he reached for the counter in front of him and placed both hands to try and calm himself. That's when some yelling was heard and an alarmed busted out loud through the floor... probably the building.

 

"What the hell is going on?" Sam made his way to the nearest room where he heard the constant yelling... children... screaming now? What was going on indeed? However, as he reached for the door, the scientists discussing Mitchell's situation with him stopped him.

 

"No very good to get in there, Sam. We don't really know what..." But then he looked terrified as he looked at one spot in particular.

 

"What? What is it?!" Fisher followed his gaze... There was some sort of blue smoke coming from the ventilation shaft above their heads. The smoke moved fast... way too fast... It was worrying him. "Get out of here and tell Lam-" But the smoke hit his face and he gasped for air. At least, the scientist was smart enough to make a run for it, but Sam was not that lucky. He tried to stay standing but his back touched the wall behind him as he slid down to the floor and soon enough he was knocked unconscious...

 

~~A few hours later...~~

 

Fisher woke up with a sudden gasp. The laboratory still smelled like that blue smoke he saw before. His eyes tried adjusting to the surroundings, to the light around him. The place seemed so big now... oh so big... He tried blinking and shaking his head to try and remain conscious. Maybe getting up would help... So he did, but still the place looked... so big! He started to freak out for a moment there and his hair caught his eyes... his hair? He always remembered having it short!

 

"W-What?"

 

He placed both hands over his mouth. His voice sounded different, way too different. Then he pushed his hands back to look at them... they were so tiny. And now he looked way too confused, freaked out even. What was going on? Sam kept staring at his hands as he tried walking but foind himself going to the floor pretty fast as his face touched down first.

 

"Owwww..." Now he was more annoyed than anything else. He quickly got up. His cargo pants were now hug around him. So out of instinct he pulled them up to his knees and tightened the belt around his waist a bit more. Hs shirt was too big for himself too.

 

"A mirror... a mirror..." He muttered as he tried looking for one. He remembered one behind the door and neared the door to look at himself. What he saw was something he wasn't quite expecting to see... He had long hair that covered his eyes, short on the back, but it was still a bother. The freckles he thought gone were again there and well... he looked... way too young...

 

"I'm a kid again?!"

 

((Seems that DARPA has gone crazy with their experiments. So before the NSA gets sabotaged by Big Boss and Raylione... might as well just have some fun, LOL. Effects will last for three days...))

Doctor Lee Armstrong was in his office of the medical bay, and sat comfortably in his business chair at his desk. Yes, he was a medical doctor. He was also an ex-soldier of the US special forces, who also worked for ten years in the intelligence community. After all those years, he finally realized his closest friend was right about the Government, and how the United States needed to be "renewed by any means". He wasn't fond of the idea of killing innocent civilians, his own countrymen, but unfortanetly, it needed to be done to show the government that the country was weakened by it's very own politics and policy toward other countries. Overall, he was proud of working with his friend and his friend's company.

He looked at the screen of his laptop that was next to his work computer. One the laptop's screen was a program he built to monitor the microchip he injected into Captain Scott Mitchell. A lopsided grin formed on his face as he pushed his reading glasses up the bridge of his nose. This microchip was the newest invention his friend's company made. It worked a lot better than the injections that causes a subject to lose memory of certain events for a while, but it still wasn't perfect. So, a way to study the drugs and the microchip he recently put into Scott weeks ago after he woke up from that incident with the one called Big Boss, his friend decided to let the ex-Ghost Lead live in order to experiment. Of course, his friend had another reason on letting Scott be allowed to live, but his friend never mentioned it. That was fine, he didn't care.

Now, as he sat here in Third Echelon, he was sent here to keep an eye on Scott and how things were going. If anything else happens, he'd have to take him out of here and bring him back to Serbia, where his friend's main headquarters was hidden.

Lee typed in a few strings of code on his laptop's keys, and brought up another screen, which showed abnormalities in the monitor of Scott, which included: brain waves, heart waves, and temperature. He noticed right off the bat a small fraction of change, but nothing too severe to take action. He sighed through parted lips, and took a sip of his warm coffee before typing in more strings of code he was working on for the microchip. Later on when he is finished with the long line of code, the microchip would be used to plant false memories into Scott. A way to keep control of him. It was something new. Third Echelon don't need to know what was really going on in the world, or their plans, and Scott doesn't need to mention it if he remembers. While he worked, he had a funny feeling something was about to happen, and finally something good for their side.

(( locked to oldbastard and railyone ))

Where am I...?

The only way Annie could describe that moment was to say she had been... called into existence. She didn't know how birth felt, but she imagined being born to be something like what had just happened. Although birth was less abrupt than...

I wasn't even aware of myself a moment ago, and now to have a body, memories, feelings...? What's going on?

Everything from her past life came rushing into her all at once as she landed on her feet in the seventh-floor hallway. She was Annie Emmerich, married to Arthur, and with a young son named Hal. At least in her mind, he was still young. How much time had passed since the last time she'd seen him and now?

But there wasn't time to worry about that. First things first: to find out where she was... after she glanced in a mirror.
"Goodness, time really does fly, doesn't it," she murmured as she touched her wrinkled face and adjusted her glasses. She shook her head. "Annie, you're really in for it now." She laughed.

((Yep, this is Hal's biological mom, who is not a ghost. Now, I wonder who will find her first...))