Comm-Link #0016 [Finale]

Day 4,186, 19:06 • Published in Ireland Japan • by Violence Seth

Last Episode: Comm-Link #015
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Séan Murphy's Journal: When we took off back to base via a black site in Bavaria, Germany I never would have imagined how bad these "Type 4's" truly were. As we sat in the red gloom of the Airplanes cargo hold I could see Chance Unit slowly deteriorate. Ratel was the only one strong enough to curse out Dr. Mcleod for not treating their comrade JP. He looked gaunt and was involuntarily puking up bile. Ratel, strong a man as he was could only mutter his hatred. Dr. Mcleod professed her ignorance but Ratel was having none of it. He still had the strength to hold himself upright, while the rest were limp and groaning, like they were about to snuff it.

When we finally landed at the black site in Bavaria I immediately took Veritas on a hunt for Type 4's. The partisans Goshawk were paying to hold the airstrip had a few but not enough. I sent Flinch back with a couple of pills for JP, who was suffering the worst. We met with their Commander, Dr. Schuster. He claimed there was no more Type 4's on base but his mouth betrayed him twice over. It was stained grey. Gad held him at gunpoint and I braced him. He'd enough to get the Chance Unit home. We offered his partisan group twice the money they'd being receiving and he directed us to a cache of a measly forty-odd more. We took around half of them then made our way back to our plane, our weapons still drawn.

The Chance Unit slowly recuperated on the flight back to base. JP was finally conscious again but his left arm had suffered necrosis and needed amputation according to Dr. Mcleod. Ratel was incensed at the idea and I had to break their argument up with the help of Flinch, Gad and Bic. Tempers eventually cooled as we got closer to our base. Muis, who'd been silent the whole time even proposed a poker game for the remaining Type 4's. Both Benji and Ladybird seemed keen. I resigned myself to the fact that Chance Unit were insane. Thank G*d the plane began to land before they started.


Ramat haGolan, Israel
Day 4187, 13.00 eRT

"Welcome home Commander, if you'll come with me please. Dr. Fogarthy is waiting for you." some pale little runt said with a salute. "Tell him to wait." He stood tensely. "Oh f*ck off, fetch me a stretcher now! Where is the Medical team!?" He looked stoned, his lips were gray. I slapped him so hard he fell over. Ratel burst into laughter, weak as he was. I patted his twitching body and found a few Type 4's. I threw them to Ratel. Other than JP, he'd went the longest without his fix. I dragged this "envoy officer" up by his collar. "Who gave you permission to talk to me!?" I raised my hand again and he bleated meekly "Dr Fogarthy sir, he want's to see you." I let him go. Ahead was H.Q and safety, I didn't have time for this. "Run, get the Medical team down here now!" I pulled out my sidearm and cocked it. He began to run off slowly. I shot into the air. He picked up his speed. "You're a ruthless booitjie ne." said JP with a grin, holding his bruised left arm. Too f*ckin' right I am.


Goshawk took JP to the Medics and we retired to our respective quarters. Gad, Flinch and Bic hit the common showers. I'd my own in my private quarters and oh G*d it was good to stand beneath hot water. My mind soon began to drift. What was Mac Allistar saying, what did it mean? I'd snatched a book from Rasa Blanks hideout. Once I'd finished my shower I sat by my window, looking out over the Kinneret, towards Tiberias. The far off lights of the town shimmered peacefully, no Simulation Wars tonight. I lay the book on my lap and cracked open a beer.

The more I read the more uncomfortable I became. It felt too coincidental at first but the levels of complexity layered upon each other until they became alarmingly understandable and soon I was stunned by this hyper-real text. "Pay to Play: Simulacra of Nations" by Dr. W. M Fystner. What if this lunatic was right? Surely none of the conflict or strife in the world would exist? It would have been preordained by higher beings than us. But why such inconsistent outcomes? Why such horror? So many questions flooded my mind. I was soon broken from my trance. "Chance, Veritas are immediately required to report to level 6 by order of the Base Commander." a buzzing voice said flatly over the inter-comm. I earmarked the book and got dressed into my black Goshawk Officers uniform.



I met up with Veritas near the elevators. Gad, Flinch and Bic were dressed in their gray private's uniforms. They joked about my more formal, severe looking outfit. Chance Unit showed up soon after, scruffy as they'd arrived. The lot of them were clearly hopped up on Type 4's. JP was up too and looked surprisingly lively. He'd a sling for his left arm. They teased us about our formal dress and we teased them back. We'd made a connection. The general air of hostility that had once divided us had dissolved, we were now truly comrades. The little envoy officer that had met us at the airstrip arrived from the stairwell with a key-card for the elevator. I snapped it from him. "G'wan, run! I won't miss the second time!" I shouted placing my hand on my pistol. "Pick on someone your own size Blackie." said Ratel with a wink as I placed the card on the elevators comm-pad. We waited as the light drifted down to us and the doors opened, revealing a strange, pure white interior.


It was myself, Ratel, Muis, JP, Ladybird, Benji, Gad, Flinch and Bic. We remained silent as the elevator jerked about then began to rise. The doors opened on an bizarrely opulent hall. Books adorned the walls and balconies ran through the higher levels. I could hear the sound of Beethoven's 6th coming from somewhere deeper within. We walked past Greek Statues, huge renaissance paintings, curiosities from every corner of the world until we found Dr. Forgarthy and his daughter and a long table lit with candles. There was four Goshawk agents we could see, dressed like restaurant waiters. One of them held out a bag asking for our weapons. When we began to refuse, red dots appeared from above. Goshawk Spec. Ops were up in the balconies.



After (involuntary) disarming ourselves we sat around the table. Dr. Fogarthy had a smirk on his face. His daughter looked as pale as milk. "Welcome, it's time for a celebration don't you think?" said Fogarthy. The agents poured wine into the glasses in front of us. "L'Chaim!" he held his glass out. "I'm not thirsty Commander." said Ratel, crossing his arms. "Nonsense, drink, drink, this is a celebration! We've quashed our enemies! Drink up!" None of us were buying it. "Have a drink of mine." said Gad, pushing his drink forward. Fogarthy downed the drink in one, his daughter sipped along. Gad's glass was refilled immediately.

"We've some honoured guests tonight." said Fogarthy, drunkenly. I'd heard of them, Doctors Yossi and Rachel Assouley, both handcuffed. They looked terrified. He sat them down and unshackled them. "Drink everyone, drink! To the destruction of Rasa Blank!" he said triumphantly. The two Doctors drank, their eyes were sad beyond tears. "What is this!? Some grotesque charade to amuse yourself!?" I demanded, standing up. The agent/waiters wouldn't dare touch me. "No dear boy, this is a celebration!" said Fogarthy with a leering grin. I wanted to kill him but I felt Ladybird snatch my arm.

There was a distant echoing sound of boots. No one else was expected. Everyone at the table turned to see Captain Petrov marching towards us, his face half torn off and his body covered with a thick black-red cloak. "Don't let me disturb you Doctor." he said in a chilling robotic voice. "Ah, Captain, I won't insult you by saying this is a surprise, but me and.." Petrov soon circled the table and sat where Fogarthy was sitting. I looked up to see if the Special Ops had him in sight, but the rafter balconies were filled with black-clad faceless mercenaries. "Bring me wine!" Petrov's voice was modulated, he sounded like a demon. Fogarthy rushed to fetch him some. "Will this do? You must be tired from all your.." Petrov shoved a knife into Fogarty's neck. Blood burst out like a fount. Petrov filled his glass with the gushing blood and sipped it. "No. Too bland." he said in his monstrous voice. Fogarty's daughter screamed but he silenced her, grabbing her neck and snapping it with inhuman strength. All we could do was run for our lives.


Created by Cat Sith and Sethesin