Day 8 (Stacey)

Stacey’s breathing was ragged and her body strained from exhaustion. Sweat dripped into her eyes, but she wiped them away with a gloved hand. She couldn’t stop now. Not like this.

Her opponent smiled wryly under his blue headgear. He was tall, at least two heads taller than her. And his reach far longer than hers. So she couldn’t attack his face. Too much distance and she would be wasting strength for a definitive hit. No, she would need to take the body. But the enemy was clever. He knew his weakness. And protected it. Every time she advanced near for a body hit, he would jab out, forcing her back, landing a couple of blows to the top of her head as she retreated. Those attacks did little damage, but they wasted her time. Her strength. Stacey had yet to land any serious hits on the man and time was running out. It didn’t look good.

But she couldn’t stop. She lifted her arms, and moved in for another attack, this time from the left. Seeing her advance, the man dropped his arms lower for defence. She didn’t care.

She ran in.

His left arm snaked out for an attack but she saw that straight away, and side-stepped it. She moved in for a one-two combo to the ribs, one she knew would do maximum damage.

His right fist was faster than she’d anticipated. It careened into her with such force that her head snapped back on impact and she saw black for a split second. Desperately, she skipped backwards, her arms up to prevent a follow-up.

It came. In her haste to retreat, she did not pull back far enough. She had merely landed in his range. Her opponent took advantage of that. He attacked.

Several one-two combos smashed into her arms as she protected her head from further injuries. The man’s long reach meant more power behind his punches. Her arms absorbed as much punishment as they could but something had to give. One of the punches managed to push through her defence with brute force, slamming into the side of her head.

Her world exploded into light.

When she became of aware of her surroundings, she was on the floor. Her opponent was standing away from her. In the distance, she could hear the referee counting.

3... 4...

Get up.

She shook her head to clear it. It was so heavy. Everything was so heavy.

5...

Get up. You said you would show them. You said you would not lose.

6... 7...

She was on one knee now, but was still swaying. Nausea threatened to overwhelm her.

8...

You’ll never lose! YOU PROMISED!

With a force of will, she got to her feet. The referee came to her, asking if she could still continue. Stacey waved him away. She could dimly hear the roar of approval from the spectators.

“You’re pretty persistent,” said her opponent above the noise, this man of height and reach, “for a girl.”

She grinned. “Shut up and fight.”

He gave a mock bow, and raised his gloves. He moved to attack, to not give her space to recover. But Stacey was quicker. She darted forward before him, her arms poised for attack. The left arm snaked out once more, forcing her back. Unperturbed, she started her run again. Same run, same pattern. The left arm jabbed out, which she dodged easily enough. Then the right upper cut. The same one that had felled her before.

Her right hand reacted instantly, swatting that attack away, allowing Stacey space to move in more. Suddenly, she was in range.

Gotcha!

She let out a quick yell as her gloves crashed into the man’s ribs in quick succession. They were fast, but not without power. Her opponent moved to defend himself but he was too slow. She danced out of range. Then, in again, to the right this time. Same run. Same pattern. However, the man was even slower and she managed another two-punch hit on the body. She easily evaded a feeble counterattack and delivered a hefty uppercut into his stomach. He doubled over in pain, his head dipping a little lower.

A little lower was all Stacey needed. In a roar of triumph, she threw out a right hook with all her weight behind it. It smashed into his jaw, whipping his head back. His eyes registered pain, then glazed over as he fell to the ground heavily.

She let the referee push her to a safe zone as he began the countdown. She watched as the fallen man stayed down for all ten counts. Then she allowed the referee to declare her the victor amidst cheers and boos. When that was done, she walked over to the fallen man and his cohort that were attempting to rouse him.

“Tell Viet he fought well, and that he was close,” Stacey told them with a grin, “And also, he owes me two thousand dollars. Cash. Thanks!” Her grin grew wider.

She was still smiling as she exited the ring but that slowly dissipated as she noticed the man standing next to the doors. He was in an officer’s uniform, and his markings labelled him as a Lieutenant. He started walking towards her.

“Private Lang,” stated the man when he reached her.

She saluted briskly. “Sir!” she said.

He nodded. “You’re not bad. Quick. And tenacious.”

“Thank you Sir!”

“Though,” he continued, a frown forming, “it doesn’t seem like this is an official match. Not an actual tournament anyway.”

“Uh... It was a friendly challenge from Private Doan Sir! We thought to compare skills in boxing between men and women,” she quickly explained, “Sir!”

The man waved her excuses dismissively. “I don’t really care,” he said, “I’m just a messenger. This is yours.” He took a white envelope from his pocket and handed it to her.

“Transfer orders, effective in two days. You’re to be transferred to a quick response unit in Melbourne,” he explained as she read the missive, “We’ve had an accident with one of our personnel and you’re the replacement. Seems like it’s urgent too.”

Stacey looked up at this mysterious man. “With all due respect, Sir... why me?”

He shrugged, “Beats me. Major Lee asked for you personally. It won’t be an easy assignment, but the perks are pretty good in the long-run.” He gave a wry grin. “However, I’m just a messenger as said, so good luck Private Lang.”

“You’re gonna need it.”

Day 5 (Vincent)

All who witness Vincent's ungainly gait, can see that he is obviously drunk. He sways and he staggers. He whistles a jaunty tune. He carries a bottle of beer in his hand. The contents of the bottle swish as he swings it with abandon.

He is drunk. So drunk that he doesn't see the group of men before him. There are four men, rough-looking to bystanders. Some have scars. All have an air of danger about them. They have their hands in their pockets.

One sees Vincent's inebriated state, points him out to his comrades. They all do a bit a chuckle. And head straight for him. A man, bald and with a sneer on his face, bumps his shoulder into Vincent’s. It is a hard shove, and Vincent stumbles. The bottle falls from his hand and onto the hard ground, shattering on impact. Its contents not much use anymore.

Vincent manages to right himself just as the bald man turns to him.

“Hey! What the fuck man?” he shouts in a show of intimidation, “Why the fuck did you do that? You wanna die man?” His comrades start surrounding Vincent, the sneers more apparent. There is a big guy in green on his left, and a scarred fellow on this right. There is somebody behind him as well.

“You gonna apologize? You gonna give me compensation and fucking apologize?” the bald one screams.

Vincent doesn’t reply. He still stares at the broken bottle. His eyes barely focus on the golden liquid drying on the ground.

“Well? You gonna apologize or what motherfucker?” the man repeats. He pulls out a wicked-looking knife. He seems the type to use it to. Now it is a mugging. Insidious. Common. Vincent still doesn’t respond. So, the man moves the knife nearer to his chest.

“Hey! You listening to me? Motherfucker!” The knife hovers nearer.

Vincent moves. His left hand whips out in a blur and rips the knife out of his assailant’s own. It slashes across the man in green’s throat, a red mist in its wake. Then, the knife changes its angle and impales itself into the bald man’s throat. Vincent pulls the knife out in fluid motion and as the victim claws at his throat to stem the bleeding, stabs the scarred one in the chest. Once, twice. Three times and the man goes down. There is a dark stain forming on his shirt.

There is movement from behind and Vincent sways to the right. A tattooed arm holding a serrated knife ghosts past his left shoulder. Vincent’s right hand grips it, and his left hand slashes down, his weapon slicing the veins of the tattooed arm. There is a cry and the serrated knife falls. Vincent turns to see a man in a blue T-shirt falling to the ground, clutching his hand in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding. It does not succeed. Vincent watches as the man slowly joins his comrades on the ground. The whole scene ends in less than thirty seconds.

There are now sirens. And the familiar flashing red lights.

“Police!” someone shouts, and he hears the clicking of readied revolvers. “Hands above your head!”
Vincent decides to comply. He drops the knife onto the pool of blood gathering at his feet, then raises his hand in surrender. He smiles.

An officer with a thick beard runs at him, grabbing him roughly and placing his hands behind his back. Vincent feels cold metal on his wrists as the officer cuffs him.

“They started it,” he said while his rights are being read to him, “They spilt my beer.”

The Police place him in an isolated cell. He has to be treated such, they tell him, as he has just murdered four people. He shrugs at that. The dead men started it. He sits in the cell, and closes his eyes.

He opens them again when he hears the rattling of keys near his cell. He looks at the clock. It’s been almost four hours. This one is longer than normal. Vincent shakes his head. There will need to be words.

The officer with the beard opens the cell door. There is puzzlement and anger on his face. He doesn’t understand.

“I don’t how the fuck this happened, but you’re free,” he says, the rage evident in his voice, “A guy kills four men in public and walks. What the fuck!”

Vincent doesn’t explain. He shrugs, gets up and exits the cell.

When he leaves the police station, he sees a man waiting for me. This man wears a black trenchcoat. Behind him, also in black, is a van. Its engine is running.

“Major Lee needs to talk to you,” says the man, and starts walking towards the van.

Vincent watches the man leave. Then he smiles and follows.

He begins whistling.

Day 3 (Jordan)

GREY AREA PROTECTIVE SERVICES
CLASSIFICATION: NONE

OFFICE OF PROCUREMENT
PROC. OFF. RAJESH B.
SHIPMENT DELIVERY DELAY NOTICE

ATTN: JORDAN L., MAJ, REAPER COM.
DATE: 030112012-2132
 
Dear Sir,

Due to administrative error, your armament shipment (ARS#10593991) was delayed. The new expected delivery date is now 29-NOV-2012.

Please take this information and do the needful.

We are very sorry for any convenience caused.


[END OF NOTICE]

---

These fucking clowns. This is what happens when you outsource your procurement department.

If I ever meet the moron behind that decision, I'm going to rip his balls off and feed them to him through a straw.

Day 2 (Vic)

New orders came in this morning. I tried to fight it... why am I being sent to Fiji?!! Fuck!! I want to be here in Melbourne. I need to be here. But apparently there is a 'conflict of interest' and 'it's an order!'

Fuck him.

Tropics might keep my mind off things over here. I'm sure she'll be alright. I heard Team Charlie was sent in last night. I tried to join in as a consultant, but the CO didn't let me.

Fuck him.

But rumor is that things are ok back at the lab. Team Charlie seems to have 'mission accomplish'.

Fuck it. Some sun, beach, blood and guts might do me good. Heard it's bad down there in Fiji. Some merc camp or something. Team Foxtrot has gone dark.

Fuck.

Hope we find them.

Day 2 (Jordan)

GREY AREA PROTECTIVE SERVICES
CLASSIFICATION: GREEN

OFFICE OF PSYCHIATRIC ASSESSMENTS
PSYCHOLOGICAL REPORT
PSYREP RC-05-142583
REF GP159-31

ATTN: JORDAN L., MAJ, REAPER COM.
DATE: 020112012-1115

Hey there. Haven't seen you in a while. You should drop by sometime. Maybe we can go through an assessment of our own ;)

As you requested, here's a copy of the psych report prepared for your new guy. Quite a character you picked up. Between being batshit insane and the drug addiction, I don't know which is worse - having him as an enemy or an ally.

Stay safe.

V.

REPORT PREPARED BY: DR. V. TUCKER
SUBJECT: PVT RAYNER L. (REAPER COMPANY)
ASSESSMENT DATE: 29102012-0930

PHYSICAL ASSESSMENT
The subject presents as a pale-skinned, slightly emaciated Asian male of average height. He appears unkempt, with overly long and unwashed hair. Based upon the foul pungent stench that permeates his clothing and the degree of filth present upon every part of his body, one may surmise the subject has not showered for several weeks.

Initial questioning revealed the subject was incoherent and shivering uncontrollably. Further analysis suggested the subject was under the influence of methamphetamine. The subject was pacified after several doses of Bupropion.

Despite his disheveled appearance, the subject scored phenomenally well in combat fitness assessments, placing him in the top seventh percentile among existing GAPS combat personnel. The subject displayed particular aptitude with long-range firearms.

MENTAL ASSESSMENT
There is no obvious sign of clinical depression or anxiety, however, the subject's apathy towards basic hygiene is troubling. It is likely this is a preexisting condition which has been exacerbated in recent weeks by heavy methamphetamine abuse.

Despite having spent a lifetime engaged in murder, rape, theft and robbery, the subject exhibits no sense of guilt or remorse. This apparent lack of empathy indicates a signficant probability of sociopathy. Presumably, the subject's prolonged exposure to violence has normalized such anti-social behaviour.

The subject also shows a high level of irritability and aggression, requiring very little provocation before engaging in violent altercation. This impulsiveness is again perhaps a preexisting condition exacerbated by methamphetamine usage.

Unlike classic sociopathic behaviour, the subject has displayed a limited ability to form and maintain relationships with others. In particular, the subject revealed he was in a steady relationship with a female - 'Connie' - although this relationship is understandably characterised by regular conflicts.

I would certainly like to interview this 'Connie' if the opportunity presents itself.

RECOMMENDATION
With a known history of violent and unpredictable behaviour, the subject would be ideal for operations in third-world environments where no strong legal enforcement agencies operate, and where extrajudicial killings are the norm.

Recommend a strict regime of anti-psychotics administration.

And keep him off the damn meth.


[END OF REPORT]

Day 2 (EePin)

Doc, if you’re reading this, I jumped leave and joined an assignment. Gotta take my mind off things you know? Don’t report me. I mean it. Still can’t fucking sleep.

Simple assignment today. We just had to protect a guy, a banker while he travelled from Tullamarine airport to the Treasury House in Melbourne. I was paired with Rayner this time round, our resident long-range expert. Sharp as a tack, and quite the talker too. Not the best guy to have at your back though, he... gets a little jittery if the going gets too tough. Word has it he’s a bit of a junkie, and I’ve seen him pop pills and all, but that’s another story. This one’s about a banker with a briefcase handcuffed to his wrist. We met him, took a Humvee (black for the classy look), and went on the freeway.

Rayner was quiet today, sulking most likely. Didn’t answer me when I asked why the Treasury House was still in use. It’s like 200 years old or something like that. I prodded him again. He bit. Told me of his latest argument with his girl, Connie.

I rolled my eyes at that. I always do. It’s a usual tale. I hear it every couple of days. Connie and Rayner, we hang out sometimes, and Christ do they argue. Bicker. Shout. Fucking annoying at times. But I didn’t tell him that. I listened. I made the right noises. I empathized, then drifted off. Thought about something else. Then, he said something odd.

‘You know, Command lost contact with Foxtrot?’

Lost contact?

‘Yeah, they dived into Fiji somewhere, sabotage mission against the junta or something like that. Two day mission, MIA for four. Brass is considering sending in another team. Hope it ain’t us.”

This bothers me. Foxtrot is Jon’s team. Jonathan Ho, the best guerrilla specialist around. And a fucking brilliant leader. While it’s not unheard of for a team to go quiet after a mission deadline, this is Jon’s team. He would have found a way. This isn’t good.

The banker chimed in then. Waved his hand and almost threw the briefcase at us. He told us of being in Fiji a couple of weeks before. It’s not a good place. The underground was abuzz with news of abductions. People disappeared regularly. The government denied everything, as they did. A source had told him of a secret location where special forces were being trained, or worked upon to be better.

Worked upon? I asked.

Steroids? The banker could only guess. As bankers did. But the rumour seemed legit. Perhaps that’s where this Foxtrot team was going to.

Of course, we realised we broke protocol by discussing mission parameters, but hey, I was on leave. We shut up after though. And made the usual small talk until the extract point. Left him there with his own security, and buggered out of there. Simple job. Took my mind off things. Added more stuff.

Back at base, when we were preparing to go our separate ways, I turned to Rayner.

They’ll check in soon. Jon always does.

Rayner shrugged, popped a couple of blue pills, and walked off.

They’ll check in soon.

But now, Doc, I’m not so sure.

Might try to sleep now. Doubt it will come. 

Day 1 (Vic)

I'm a bit worried. I haven't seen Lee Yoong in the past two days since she was called in to work at one of Dee Baxter Drake Research Institute (D.B.D.R.I) Melbourne labs. 

"It's just a minor work emergency. It'll be fine, honey. Probably just some quality control issue that trigger the automatic alarm. It'll be funny if it was just a rat chewing through one of those fridge sensors. I'll see you in the morning!"

She gave me a quick kiss and off she went, disappearing down the road at 1 am in her Camry.

I met LY during one of my body guard mission in Russian. She was almost invisible in the background, blending in with Dr. Gudmundsson's myriad of laboratory assistants of Project Lazurus that followed him everywhere. She was intelligent, witty and a smile that cracked my stone, cold facade.

I was tasked with escorting a "sample" between facilities in Siberia; apparently LY was tasked with the unenviable task of supervising its delivery. We hit it off quickly; after all, there isn't much to do sitting at the back of the truck, freezing cold as it slowly made its way across the country in near blizzard condition. Conversation with her was like sunshine, and time passed quickly. By the time we arrived at our destination, I knew she was the one. I would've proposed to her right then and there if it weren't for the fact that we were in the middle of nowhere of Siberia with a cargo with an animal of some sort that growled with an uncannily human voice. But all turned out well as we got married a a few months later. In 2012, we were stationed in Melbourne, Australia when D.B.D.R.I established a laboratory. My unit was assigned to the security of the facility; wasn't too hard to get assigned here when you have friends in HR.

I just got back to Melbourne a couple of days ago from a tour of duty for G.A.P.S in... well, that's actually classified. Suffice to say, it was somewhere godforsaken, hot, and bloody sandy. Oh god, the damn sand. Got into everything!! But I digress. It was a long awaited R&R, I missed LY and It was good change of pace. What I do... well, sometimes we just got to do things that reminds us that we are good, decent human beings.

LY called me the next morning. She sounded a bit stress, perhaps tired.

"Hey babe, looks like its a bit... ummm... com..plex.. More complicated than we thought. I think we have it locked... I mean, its all under control. But we need to just do a couple more tests here before I can come home. Dr G's been on our backs since I got in last night... Don't see what all the rush is for.."

She complained to me over the phone. "I'll be home soon enough... Hopefully if all goes well. Love you!"

"Love you too! Let's take the rest of the week off when you get back. We'll go somewhere nice."

"That's sounds nice... Well, gotta go... Bye..."

That was the last I've heard from her, two days ago. Calls to her mobile and work number only redirected to voicemail. And when I went to the lab this morning, it was cordoned off from public. Luckily my GAPS credentials got me past the police roadblock to a senior GAPS officer that looked harried. Despite my many questions that he refused to answer, the GAPS officer immediately revoked my R&R and ordered me to standby for further orders at the GAPS barracks, a Code Black - possible enemy attack in progress. 

I sit here with my hands clasps together in prayer. Head down and hoping... no... begging whatever supernatural, almighty force out there to protect LY. God... I don't know how I'm gonna live without her.

I suppose I'm more than 'a bit' worried.