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At Carolyn’s command Aleksa withdrew her drones. The EMP would definitely make them inoperable. That being said, that is the only precaution she could make. Unfortunately, with her AI down, she could only handle driving controls and nothing artillery. Shit. If only the bad guys would jump in front of her tank so she could roll the over. Of course, that wouldn’t be the case. She thought of hollering out, asking one of the infantry to man her guns, but everyone took a position. There was this odd, cold silence over the radios. Without proper training, they probably would be better with their rifles, shotguns, and pistols, and not with her weapons. They involved a certain sort of finesse.

It was then that Carolyn was called out. Aleksa wished she could turn her cannon towards the voice. Instead, she just swiveled her tank to get a look at it. She was surprised that she saw nothing. Maybe she heard wrong. No, the signal and vibrations were strong in the way she was faced. There was something eerie about this all. She swallowed hard. Let me get back to my daughter, she thought. It was all she wanted. Sure, she’d go out into the field again, but not after she gave her a long hug and a kiss on the forehead.

After that, the infantry hopped onto her tank like rats did to a lifeboat. She slowed to let them pile on as they wished, and then she joined the other two tanks in the escape. There was something wrong about this mission. Sure, it had gone to hell. Sure, they were all scratching their heads as to why. Still, something seemed surprisingly easy about it all. Aleksa’s hands were too busy piloting her tank to fiddle with anything else. So, she let her mind survey what happened.

Chat was idle and speculative. They all spoke their thoughts before their radios latched onto Bunker Chicago’s. Aleksa rubbed the controls of her tank. “Bare with me, I’m about to go full matron mode,” she said with a gentle laugh. “But I remember when Priss was a small thing. She’d dart everywhere. Everything was a race to her. I found her energy delightful but exhausting. As a single mother in Bunker Chicago, handling a listener daughter was hard. Still, when she would come back to the house, usually dirtied, I would always check her out. She’d bring home things she’d never intend to bring home. In all the excitement, she’d track back some of the nastiest junk the city had to offer in her hair or on her boot. She’d never see it. No, her eyes were always forward.” Aleksa paused. “Let’s be sure that we’re not doing the same. That fog was thick. There was a lot out there we couldn’t explain. We were also let go very easily.”

Aleksa knew they had a survivor. While she was all about the sanctity of life, she nibbled on her lip. She didn’t like it, and she didn’t trust it. And Box was right. They were being listened in on. There was a rat in their midst. Box probably wasn’t it, why point fingers at herself. But that still left a lot of possibilities. Aleksa usually wasn’t paranoid. In the battlefield, she was honed and ready to fire. Still, they were going back to Bunker Chicago. They were going back home. Priss was there. Aleksa had to protect her home, no matter how big it was.
 
Ozzy watched and listened to the exchange between Carolyn and the figure in the mist, eyes wide in recognition and awe as he read the subtext beneath the figure's words. He kept his laser rifle trained on the figure in the mist, but held his fire. Boarding the tank, he kept quiet until they managed to escape the fog. When Carolyn prompted discussion of the events, Ozzy spoke what was on his mind.

“Did you hear what they called us? They named us Children of Sodom, and that is worth noting. Long ago, there was a city named Sodom, one of the Five Cities of Pain, that were part of an alliance... much like the Bunkers, I think. When the people of Sodom offended the Nameless Lord 's chosen, he smote the city with fire and salt. The name Sodom stood as a symbol of vengeance and retribution against sin ever since. By naming us children of Sodom, they have made their intentions clear: they were not telling us to leave them in peace, they were telling us that we are next."
 
As the group escaped from the oppressive air of the fog, Florence removed the bulky gas mask from her head and breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Although she was disappointed that she wouldn’t get the chance to set Bosho ablaze with holy flame, it seemed that the bandit had been dispatched by the mysterious Children of Adam and Eve, whoever they turned out to be. Florence was intrigued by the wording used in the ultimatum their messenger had delivered. It had a biblical quality to it, something that troubled Florence. In all her travels, God had never spoken to her about any other servants, mortal or otherwise. Yet just now she had borne witness to something (or some things) that had dispatched hardened raiders with great ease, as if to prove a point. If they were not human, what were they?

While the others were bickering amongst one another, Florence kept quiet, staring back towards the ruins they had just escaped from, before letting a single question escape from her lips, speaking to no one in particular as she did so. ”Are they angels or demons, servants of God or rebels against Her?”
 

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From the point Kiku had noticed the figures in the fog, Dimas' brain put him in a sort of auto-pilot mode. He listened carefully uneasy at the whispers lapping at his conscious. Any orders he heard, he followed with great caution and as soon as Carolyn told them to retreat his heart began to flutter less. What the heck was he thinking, leaving the labs for a mission as dangerous as this? Dimas couldn't fathom what had annihilated the other groups, was it a mutant like him? His thoughts crowded his mind as they retreated until a figure called out Carolyn herself.

From the direction, he could see nothing. But the whispers were almost louder at this point. Familiar in some way, but he couldn't quite place it. As the unknown person told them to never enter the ruins again, Dimas was thankful that's all they wanted…for now. As soon as they had clearance to head out of the hell hole that was once a great city, Dimas hitched a ride on the Tank he remembered was the Aleksa girl's and held fast. His hand slid to his pocket, where the tiny six shooter that he had completely forgotten about was resting. Dimas made a face and smacked his forward in annoyance. How was he so naïve in thinking his mutations could only help him? Dimas cursed himself over and over again at his stupidity. At least he was still alive.

At the point before the radio would sync with Bunker Chicago, Dimas voiced in.
"Ve are lucky to have come out alive. Hovever, I don't believe those….unknovns are finished with the Bunker just yet. I feel as this…this is only the beginning." he let go of the voice button and looked at the moving road that passed by the tank. Dimas knew one thing for sure, and that was he would be practice that much harder with his mutations and learn more about this side of him. In hopes to overcome whatever the future brought upon his plate.

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"Crap," Shlan's voice politely chimed in over the radio, "I've been dragged into a cult of pessimists somewhere along the way." With the immediate danger past, and the group making their way back to the Bunker, most of Shlan's professionalism melted away. "As much as I hate to agree with our fair weather friend, we're alive and out. Hell, the raiders seem to be taken care of as well, even if a bit more mysteriously than some would've hoped. Let the higher-ups worry about the details."
 
Hewitt nodded at Shlan's proclamation, though he didn't quite agree with her passivity towards the details. Higher authorities might well take it upon themselves to process these details, but it was ultimately the grunts in the field who would act on them. Excepting where conflicts of interest lay, a soldier always fought better knowing what he faced then blind.

Still, he deigned not to speak, enjoying the brief silenc, as it allowed his battle-ready heartbeat to settle to a rate more befitting their new situation.
 
“It is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory; it is sown in weakness, it is raised in power.”
-1 Corinthians, 15:43​

Aftermath

It didn't take long for the remaining survivors to reach Bunker Chicago's main entrance. There, they stopped to see a few other scraps and pieces of surviving squads. They had all been stopped at the entrance to recover survivors, and do a final headcount of equipment and persons after the fact. Strangely, members of The Coalition's special forces were heading the tallying. Carolyn's squad was the last to arrive, and though it took them all a few minutes, it rapidly started to become clear what had happened. Between information given to them by The Coalition, and information leaked to them by Mouse—the informer who had saved their lives in the first place, who continued to communicate to them via their text communicators.

Over 80% of the forces sent out did not return from the fog. Only 30% of those who did not return are confirmed to have died. Listeners who had an especially powerful set of mutations or talents sometimes walked away from their squads, vanishing into the fog without warning. The fog began to take on an orange hue soon after Carolyn's squad escaped, and is now enveloped in it as opposed to the grey state it had before. Indeed, the few atmospheric samples aboard Carolyn's tank had also taken a visibly orange hue as they were taken out by Coalition special forces and placed into specialized containment units.

All injuries and loss of equipment are being taken care of by The Coalition at no cost to their original owners, and everyone is being allowed to keep their gas masks—as TC forces have begun to distribute them freely given the significant number of unknown circumstances, to help calm the local population down. U-ARM's illegal smuggling of items have also seen a sharp 300% rise in bartering and sales where it concerns certain types of medical drugs. Bunker Chicago has been placed in a heightened state of alert, with military police being stationed on every street in full combat gear, though no military vehicles have been deployed.

The survivor who had boarded Carolyn's tank, vanished into the small crowd of survivors the moment no one was looking at him. There is no sign as to where he has gone, but everyone in the group—listeners especially—would feel as though it was not the last time they would see him. In spite of searching for the man, no person by his description was found by TC special forces. With the entrance locked down, it would surely make his ability to simply be part of the crowd to get in an impossibility, as each person was allowed in one by one and searched first. Vehicles were searched as well, thoroughly.

Tension in the Bunker is now at an all time high. While others were allowed to walk away after being searched, Carolyn's Squad was not. Instead, they were led to the heart of Bunker Chicago, and one by one, admitted into a pitch dark room. There, a middle aged man with a thick slavic accent would debrief them...
 
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Kiku - The Interrogation.


As Kiku stumbles through the room, a single, bright light appears, hanging a few feet above it. The chair is bathed in light, and through a hidden intercom system in the room, she could hear the telltale sign of a microphone coming to life. There, a thick, foreign, male accent comes through. It is however much unlike Morai's accent, having much more of an Eastern European tinge to it. Go on. Sit on the chair, and we will begin.

As Kiku made her way into the darkened room, her vision still a little fuzzy from the over-use of her mutation, she was suddenly blinded by the single bright light, and she physically blocked her eyes with her forearm as she reached for the place her knife normally hung on her belt. She’d of course handed it over, along with her other gear, and when she finally lowered her arm to let her eyes adjust to the change in lighting, she was surprised to hear the thick European accent. Looking at the chair, she frowned, realising that this was not going to be a fun experience at all. She walked over to the chair, boot heels scraping on the as she scuffed her way forward, and when she looked like she was about to sit down, she quickly spun the chair around on one foot, turning it 180 degrees so that the back was to the front, and the front was to the back. She then finally ‘sat’ down, looking towards the wall opposite the door with a frown as she leaned her head on the chair’s back. “So…? How you doin’? Had a good day so far, mister?” She said, offering with a chipper smile before she let her head slump back down onto the chair’s back.

There is a minute of silence before Kiku would hear someone enter the room behind her. The door the man entered closed behind him quickly, though a second light turns on, a bright and focused search light of sorts, mounted to the wall. It seemed guided as it followed the man, illuminating him wherever he stepped on the cold, concrete floor. Based on the echo, she could discern the room was likely empty, save for the chair, and the two of them. The man was wearing a metallic but light looking armour, all black. At his waist was a sidearm, and he wore an ear piece--a specialized communicator, so that he could likely modify his questions on the fly at the behest of his employers. His white skin contrasted with his short black hair. There were hints of grey coming in at the roots, as he looked down at Kiku. As he speaks, it was clear he was the same man as was on the intercom earlier. "I will make this simple for you. Answer the questions asked, and you are free to go. You are being monitored and recorded, and if we suspect you of lying, the question will be repeated. If you avoid the questions, we will go to any lengths necessary to extract the information required. Not because we want to hurt you--no, Marie would have my head for that--but because it's necessary for the security of the State."

Without waiting to see if she understood, he continues.

"Here are five questions. Answer them in order. Who are they? Why did you not open fire at targets you knew killed your allies? What do you think of Carolyn's disobeying of orders? What is your prior relationship with The Coalition? Do you suspect any of your allies of treachery? If so, name them. See? Simple. Now, answer."

Kiku waited for the silent minute, tapping her nails against the back of the chair and trying her hardest not to count the seconds as they passed. It wasn’t until the strangely dressed man entered the room, highlighted by the spotlight as he was, that Kiku stopped tapping nail on chair, and she craned her neck to face him. “Sooooo…bit of a rough day, I’m guessing?” She said, as she sized the man up, noticing his greying hair, and his side-arm, and the strange metallic suit of armour. He looked like a threat. Not necessarily a friend or a foe though, just a threat.

As the man began to speak, rattling off various scenarios and making it out that she had as little power as she did, Kiku reached up and fiddled with the necklace bound ring tied around her neck. She sighed heavily as the man got to talking about Marie, and the ‘security of the state.’ She glanced up at him again, her skin-tone shifting from its normal pale-peach to an almost chocolate brown. “Anything you say, tin-man. I just wanna go and relax after a loooooooooong, disappointing day.

He started to rattle of questions then, asking her to answer them one-at-a-time, in order. First off: Who are they? “I dunno.” She said, shrugging. “If you’re talking about the spooky voice that called us out that is. I’m guessing it’s whatever killed Bosho’s boys, and attacked us.” She continued, rattling off her response like she was talking about how to cook an egg. His next question had her pause for a second, as she thought about it. “I didn’t open fire, because I don’t like starting fights I can’t win. I was the only one who could actually see the spooks in the fog, and they weren’t actively attacking us. If I opened fire, I’d be making every single person in the squad a target, y’know? Besides, they killed Bosho’s boys as well; our mission was to kill him, not whatever spooks were hiding in the fog.” She said, a bit more interested now, revitalised by the idea of killing Bosho’s boys, and of Bosho himself. She suddenly started to wonder about whether Bosho was dead…Really dead, that is. A part of her hoped not, because whatever death he might have endured wasn’t enough.

The third question had Kiku look up at the man surprised. Carolyn as a traitor? Was she? “I think…Carolyn made a call, and we’re all alive because of it. How many other squads can say that everyone made it out, huh? Besides, our mission was to destroy Bosho’s Boys and his stronghold. Whatever spooks were in the fog clearly did that for us; so mission accomplished, right?” She said, flicking her wrist out so the necklace flopped up, and then sailed back down to thud against her chest. She did it again as she started to answer the fourth question. “I’ve worked with a couple of the Coalition docs before; they help monitor my mutations and stuff. Don’t really have much of an opinion on you all. I think a lot of you folks have a stick up your ass, and Marie never really disagrees…No offence. Still, you seem better than those U-ARM whackos, so…” She said, shrugging as she flicked the ring up again. Letting it once again glide up, and then down. Thwapping against her chest and highlighting Kiku’s overwhelming boredom. At the final question, she just shrugged. “I dunno. I suspect lots of my squad mates are stupid, but that ain’t treacherous. Like that guy who spelt out that our coms were hacked; that was pretty dumb. I was a bit worried about that Morai guy, at the start; but he seems okay. Quiet, but I can respect quiet, y’know?” She said, ending with a question as she looked up at the man, smiling as her chocolate-toned skin turned paler, to match his. “So am I free to go, boss? I could reaaaaaaaally use some chow and someone to share it with.

The man pauses, and taps his ear piece. He listens carefully as he stops walking, then turns to face Kiku. "Many listeners reported hearing voices from the fog. Did you? How did you feel about them?"

Kiku openly huffs at the continuation of the interview. She tapped her fingers against the table’s edge as she spoke up to respond. “I did, and I dunno how I feel about them. A little spooked? A little confused? They didn’t really say much, but the fact that I could hear anything in there at all was a bit of an eye-opener. Like us Listeners haven’t got enough shit to worry about.” She said, pouting a bit before her face eventually lit up a little. “Heh, ‘eye-opener’.” She giggled a little to herself, before she eventually fell back into quiet; waiting for any more questions.

"Right..." The man mumbles as he taps on his ear piece. He then takes it out, and turns it off. The door into the room opens, letting bright light flood in and showing how empty it really was. A pair of Coalition guards step inside, then stand by the door. "I have one further question for you. Answer it, and after one last piece of information from me, you will be free to go."

He stops circling around Kiku and stands between the light of the door, and her, casting his shadow over her. "This situation with the orange fog will rapidly escalate. Do you plan on continuing to pursue it? If so, to what end? Understand that failing to answer this question honestly will result in your being shot the moment you leave this room, and I have conducted thousands of questionings. Do not think you can lie to me, and do not think it would earn you favours to do so, because this is off the record."

The sudden tone shift caught Kiku off guard. The man, with the removal of the ear-piece and the opening of the door, seemed far more sinister and threatening than the previously blank-slate of a blank-face of a man. It caught her attention in a very real way, and had her smirking. “I’ve been telling nothing but the truth so far, Mister. Marie would tan my hide if she caught me lying. Not very Christian, she’d say.” She said, as she slowly rose from her seated position and stretched like a cat. Her skin coloured changed hue again, shifting from the pale skin he’d worn to a dark, brackish blue colour. It lasted for about a second, before her skin tone became her normal peachy-pink again. “As for the fog… It’s certainly interesting. My main goal is still Bosho’s head, worn around my waist like a fucking belt, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit the Orange fog wasn’t…” She paused, trying to think of the right word. “…fascinating. I want to know more about it: the voices, and those ‘Children of Adam’, and the monsters that attacked Bosho’s boys and ours…It’s enough to get a girl all excited.” She said, smiling at the man as she took a step closer to him, walking into the light.

But seriously; can we wrap this up? I’m suuuuper hungry, and I could kill for a rub.” She said, looking at the man infront of her with the fearlessness of ignorance.

"I believe you." He motions to the door. The two guards lower their rifles, and stand shoulder to shoulder in front of the doorway. Yet, the man grabs Kiku by the collar, and pulls her close, speaking quietly. "I have no intention of hurting you, believe me. Which is why I will now enlighten you as to why all of this was necessary." He tucks the ear piece away into one of his pockets, then continues speaking. "We have reason to believe that mutants from the Orange Fog are attempting to infiltrate Bunker Chicago, much like U-ARM has. However, I think we can both agree, that whatever those things are is a far greater threat than U-ARM is. This entire time, the spotlight you have been sitting under has been hiding a scanner, measuring your brain waves to see if you were one of them, or whatever scientific crap the lab rats say they do. I have my own test."

He taps his sidearm. "If after everything you have seen today you would claim to have no interest in the fog that could end you and this entire Bunker, I would know you to be either a liar, or a fool. In either case, in case the lab coats fail..." He lets go of her collar, takes a step back, and grins. "... My intuition doesn't. Now, go ahead. The guards will guide you to the exit of the bunker. Maybe you will work with Marie and Carolyn's Old Guard, or come back here and help us. I understand either way, for at least right now, we have a common enemy."

Kiku smiled as the man cleared her to leave, and moved to walk through the door when she was yanked back by her collar and spoken to briefly about what was really going on. She nodded as he explained about the Fog, and the threat of U-ARM, and how she was really being zapped with a bunch of the tech’s lasers to try and figure out if she was actually a threat. The thought of a threat that could infiltrate the Bunker in secret was pretty shocking, and she nodded along to the man’s explanation.

When the man released her collar, and mentioned his future and hers, she offered the man a smile. “Who knows, mister? If you give me a name to work with, I might be inclined to help out in the future. I’ve always been a ‘follow my gut’ sorta gal, and I owe your nerds for helping me with the Mutie stuff as well.” She said, walking past the guards and towards the exit. She turned back just before the door was closed, calling back to the Slav with a smile. “Oh, if that cutie Jenvive asks for me, feel free to send her my way. I’d happily listen to some of the benefits of working with the Coalition from her.” She said, blowing the Slav a kiss before spinning on her heel and moving to climb up the stairs.

The Slavic man simply watches her leave. Both of the guards help lead Kiku out, though one of them pauses about halfway to the exit and taps the side of his helmet. He nods, then looks at Kiku. "His name is Adrik Ivanov. If you wish to see him again, simply ask for his name at the entrance of the Bunker." He makes a simple motion to the other guard, and the two continue to lead her out to the exit.
 
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Tristan - More of an Interrogation than a Mission Debriefing

As Tristan Sovres stumbles through the room, a single, bright light appears, hanging a few feet above it. The chair is bathed in light, and through a hidden intercom system in the room, he could hear the telltale sign of a microphone coming to life. There, a thick, foreign, male accent comes through. It is however much unlike Morai's accent, having much more of an Eastern European tinge to it. “Go on. Sit on the chair, and we will begin.”

Tristan made his way to his seat, stumbling and perhaps almost tripping a few times. The truth was, he was rather nervous, normally mission debriefings were held with the whole squadron. Given the events of the day and the private debriefing, it was enough to make anyone afraid, much less the scientist who always desired to know what was going on. When he reached the chair, Tristan pulled it a couple inches towards him, then, looking at the seat briefly, he sat down. His hands came together, his fingers fiddling with each other in an attempt to keep Tristan's nerves down. After about a second of waiting, he broke the silence with "Tristan reporting sir." awaiting a reply from the disembodied voice.

Silence follows for a minute before the door which Tristan entered opened once more. A figure steps through it, and slams the door shut behind himself. As the door shuts, a spotlight on the wall turns on, and lights up the man. His echoing footsteps made it clear that nothing else was in the room aside from the two of them, and the chair Tristan sat on.

The man was wearing a metallic but light looking armour, all black. At his waist was a sidearm, and he wore an ear piece--a specialized communicator, so that he could likely modify his questions on the fly at the behest of his employers. His white skin contrasted with his short black hair. There were hints of grey coming in at the roots, as he looked down at Tristan. As he speaks, it was clear he was the same man as was on the intercom earlier. "Answer the questions asked and you will be free to go. You are being monitored and recorded, if you are suspected of lying, the question will be repeated. Avoidance of questions will be treated as an invitation for the unlimited use of enhanced questioning techniques, which may result in extreme pain for you both now and in the distant future." He taps his ear piece. "It is not because I desire to do you any harm, it is simply because the protection of the State by extension protects the people who live within it. So do yourself a favour, and speak honestly."

Without waiting to see if he understood, he continues with the questions. "Who are they? Why did you not open fire at targets you knew killed your allies? What do you think of Carolyn's disobeying of orders? What is your prior relationship with The Coalition? Do you suspect any of your allies of treachery? If so, name them. Rapid compliance will be rewarded."

Tristan made a slight grimace when he saw the man come in. Definitely an intimidating individual. he thought, trying to keep his nerves in check. The nerves in his body were screaming at him to get out of the room away from this person, but his mind knew that would lead to nothing good. His fears were only further exacerbated when the man opened his mouth, especially the "enhanced questioning techniques" part. Torture. his blood ran cold at the thought It looks like it's going to be one of those interviews. he remembered reading about things like this in one of his books. Overall, this was a rather nasty predicament he had found himself in, and he was rapidly regretting ever choosing to go on this mission.

His thoughts were interrupted by a barrage of questions from the mystery man. He was able to catch them all, but was momentarily alarmed at their rapidity. All right, cool yourself down Tristan. Just answer the questions, and we'll get out of here alive and well, and put this sordid matter behind us. he thought. The scientist figured that it would be best to answer them one at a time, and as concisely as possible. Too many details and they might suspect him of treachery, too little and they will think he is hiding something.

He took a deep breath and started answering. "If by 'they' you mean the mystery mutants who attacked us, the one told us they were the 'Children of Adam and Eve' as I understand it. Sadly, I do not know anything else. Anything else would be merely unfounded conjecture on my part."

"As I recall, we only ran into one of these targets. I...did not wish to breach protocol by firing while my commanding officer was talking to them. Should he or Carolyn have initiated combat I would have followed suit."

"Carolyn disobeyed orders...were it up to me we would have stayed at that location and defended, at least until Arrowhead's survivors were extracted and could tell us more about the situation. As it stands, I think leaving the location immediately was a poor decision."

"My prior relationship with the Coalition...I have been interested in their ideal of keeping order throughout the Bunkers. However, I have had no formal connections to them."


Tristan halted a bit at the question of treachery. What did he mean exactly? Was he referring to the ones who left their posts despite Carolyn's orders? Or was he referring to more overt betrayal? For now, he had to assume the latter, if the man had to repeat the question he could attempt to talk about the ones who left. However, Tristan preferred to avoid throwing people under the bus if he could avoid it. "I do not suspect any allies of treachery sir."

With that, he hoped he would be allowed to leave, though the realistic part of his mind doubted that highly.

"Did your commanding officer explicitly order you not to open fire on hostile targets?" The slavic man questions, with a raised eyebrow.

Tristan was taken aback by the man's follow up question. "No sir." he said. Then he realized what was going on. Military protocol is usually to shoot hostiles first and then ask questions, and the interrogator clearly didn't buy that. A few seconds later Tristan clarified "Ah, perhaps I have misspoken sir. By that I meant that firing upon the enemy could endanger the mission objectives, at least the ones that were still... feasible after the unexpected demise of Arrowhead squadron. Near as I could tell, we were being followed, if not surrounded, by these 'Children', who have demonstrated the ability to defeat a far larger squadron. Should we have opened fire, they likely would have descended upon Carolyn's tank, endangering our CO's life, the data, and the tank containing both. We would gain very little from such a confrontation at that time. So that is why I was unable to engage the hostiles at that time." He could only hope that explanation would satisfy the interrogator.

"Good. You were thinking." He continues his circling walk around Tristan. "It is once said you took a trip out into the ruins, and, came back changed. Why? What did you find then?"

A feminine voice, so quiet as to be almost inaudible, reaches his ears. It sounded eerily familiar, in how soothing it was to him. "Tell him they were raiders. That will satisfy him. Telling him the truth will only make him look at you with suspicion... Trust me."

Tristan hesitated a bit So, they know about my trip, though they seem to be clueless as to what I found out there. He was swiftly interrupted...by that voice. Ah no, it's that voice...the one from two years ago. At the very least, it sounded very similar to him. Still, it seemed to give salient advice. Tristan hesitated a bit, attempting to come up with a lie while giving the man the impression that the secret was a painful one. "Well...I hate to state this only now, but what I saw out there was a pack of raiders. You see, I was going about my scrapping business as normal, save I was going to an area dangerous because of the raiders. Suddenly I was approached by two men in a jeep, raiders by the looks of it. They drove straight for me, they may have been carrying some kind of cargo, supplies of some kind most likely, and then I tried to drive away. However I was captured, I bribed them with what scrap I had collected up to then and they agreed to let me go if I told nobody what had transpired. I've kept that promise because up until recently I was living on the outskirts of the bunker, so I was afraid of retaliation should I have alerted the proper authorities." Tristan stopped, taking a deep breath, then continued. "I apologize for keeping the info for so long, but from what little I know the supplies were likely for a raider gang called the Yowlers which no longer exist." The Yowlers were a raider gang that Tristan knew were discovered sufficiently close to the area and taken out by a strike a few months ago. The man just hoped his lie was watertight enough to pacify the man.

The man pulls out his pistol once more, only to turn the safety on and put it back in its holster. The door to the room opens, two guards step in and stand by. Light floods the room, showing how empty it really was. "One more question, then I explain something to you, then you are free to go." He takes his ear piece out and lets it hang down his chest.

"This situation with the orange fog will rapidly escalate. Do you plan on continuing to pursue it? If so, to what end? Understand that failing to answer this question honestly will result in your being shot the moment you leave this room, and I have conducted thousands of questionings. Do not think you can lie to me, and do not think it would earn you favours to do so, because this is off the record."

Tristan felt a wave of relief wash over him, the man had bought the lie. Of course, he was careful not to show that he was relieved. Just when he thought he would get out though, the man had one last question, with the intention to shoot if he lied. It was to ask if he was going to pursue the orange fog more and more. His mind was screaming at him to just say no and be done with this entire mess, but his heart had a different idea. One thing was clear, whatever he saw...whatever he really saw that day, needed to be stopped or his dream was going to be in trouble.

It was a weakness of Tristan's really, sometimes he listened a bit more to his heart than his head.

"I...I intend to pursue this to the best of my ability. I wish to secure the safety of the citizens of the bunker, and this orange fog is the biggest threat to it yet. As such I intend to figure out what it is and how I can stop it." The scientist said.

"I believe you." He motions to the door. The two guards lower their rifles, and stand shoulder to shoulder in front of the doorway. "I have no intention of hurting you, believe me. Which is why I will now enlighten you as to why all of this was necessary." He tucks the ear piece away into one of his pockets, then continues speaking. "We have reason to believe that mutants from the Orange Fog are attempting to infiltrate Bunker Chicago, much like U-ARM has. However, I think we can both agree, that whatever those things are is a far greater threat than U-ARM is. This entire time, the spotlight you have been sitting under has been hiding a scanner, measuring your brain waves to see if you were one of them, or whatever scientific crap the lab rats say they do. I have my own test."

He taps his sidearm. "If after everything you have seen today you would claim to have no interest in the fog that could end you and this entire Bunker, I would know you to be either a liar, or a fool. In either case, in case the lab coats fail..." He leans in and grins. "... My intuition doesn't. Now, go ahead. The guards will guide you to the exit of the bunker. Maybe you will work with Marie and Carolyn's Old Guard, or come back here and help us. I understand either way, for at least right now, we have a common enemy."

The feminine voice speaks once more in his mind. "A well recited speech. All the tests in the world will not reveal me, do not worry. He is right, about a common enemy, but I would be concerned by the 'right now' part..."

Tristan took a deep breath, it seemed the interrogation - it was more an interrogation than a mission briefing - was over for now. His ordeal was over, for the time being, though this business with the orange fog was going to become a critical issue, he knew that much. It looked like one way or another his destiny was tied to what he had seen in the orange fog two years ago. He felt a ping of nervousness when the man mentioned the spotlight Did they expect to find something? he mused. His fears were changed when he heard the voice again. Reveal...me? Who or what are you? he thought, not believing the voice could hear him.

Regardless, it seemed the bunker officials were keen to escort him out. Without saying anymore, Tristan started following them out of the bunker. His first thought was to visit the lab with Carolyn's data, and see that data if at all possible. He decided to ask his guide "Sir, is there a lab here I could visit? I was wanting to check on something." he said. He had a feeling the data might be classified, but the worst they could do was to say no after all.

Well, actually the worst they could do would be to strap him to a table and start with the torturing, but Tristan tried not to think about that.

"Access to the laboratories either requires an appointment or high level access." One of the guards replies, as he helps Tristan out of the bunker. Once at the exit, he looks at the man. "If you wish to work with The Coalition in the future, simply come here and ask. We have your name on file in case you're looking for future work."

Well, so much for that plan.
 
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Ozzy's Interrogation
A collab with @Brovo

As Ozymandias stumbles through the room, a single, bright light appears, hanging a few feet above it. The chair is bathed in light, and through a hidden intercom system in the room, he could hear the telltale sign of a microphone coming to life. There, a thick, foreign, male accent comes through. It is however much unlike Morai's accent, having much more of an Eastern European tinge to it. “Go on. Sit on the chair, and we will begin.”

Ozymandias did as asked, wearing a friendly smile. "Where do I start?"

There is silence for a minute in the room, before Ozymandias sees the door he previously entered through opening again. A figure steps through, then slams the door shut behind himself. A spotlight, attached to the wall, lights up and begins to follow the man as he walks around Ozymandias. From the sounds of his footsteps on the concrete floor, it was clear that the room was empty of everything save the chair, and the two of them.

The man was wearing a metallic but light looking armour, all black. At his waist was a sidearm, and he wore an ear piece--a specialized communicator, so that he could likely modify his questions on the fly at the behest of his employers. His white skin contrasted with his short black hair. There were hints of grey coming in at the roots, as he looked down at Ozymandias. As he speaks, it was clear he was the same man as was on the intercom earlier. "I will make this simple. Answer the questions asked and you are free to go. You are being monitored and recorded, if you are suspected of lying, the question will be repeated. Avoidance of questions will ensure that I will be authorized to use any force necessary to ensure you answer the question when repeated." He taps his ear piece. "I don't want to hurt you, but the protection of the State and all the people who live within it comes before any pitiful ego you might have."

He clears his throat. "Here are the questions. Who are they? Why did you not open fire at targets you knew killed your allies? What do you think of Carolyn's disobeying of orders? What is your prior relationship with The Coalition? Do you suspect any of your allies of treachery? If so, name them."

Ozzy leaned forward in his chair, maintaining his innocent smile the entire time. “Is it who they are that interests you, or is it really what they are? Who they are is yet another band of religiously motivated fanatics who named themselves after a piece of scripture that they have apparently misinterpreted and twisted to their design, as most scripture is. If you want a name to go with that picture, then you can call them the 'Children of Adam and Eve', or probably just 'the Children'. As for what they are: they are dangerous. They are people with not just advanced, but new bio-chemical weapons at their disposal, who are adept enough at utilizing psychological warfare and ambush strategy that they were able to overwhelm and annihilate two armies in the same day.

“Which leads to your next question of 'why didn't you shoot'. That was purely a tactical decision, as I would have loved nothing more than to kill them. They wanted a messenger to come back and talk about the big, bad, scary guys who kicked our asses yet oh-so-mercifully let us go.”
Ozzy's voice was sopping with sarcasm. “A common intimidation strategy. They had us dead to rights. We were undoubtedly surrounded, though we never would have known; the fog was so thick I could hardly see the muzzle of my gun, much less something to shoot at.” An exaggeration, but an innocent one, likely nothing that could be picked up as a lie by the truth-telling listener they doubtlessly have behind the scenes. “And if they had destroyed everyone else, it proved that the fog was no hindrance to them, and they could easily do the same to us. So I didn't shoot because they let us go. If I shot, they would have killed us all, and we wouldn't be having this wonderful debriefing.”

“'Were Carolyn's actions justifiable?' Absolutely. To tell the truth, I was spoiling for a fight so bad that I didn't fully grasp the tactical situation's utter shittiness until she ordered us to fall back. In a way, she saved our unit, myself included.”

When asked about his relations with the Coalition, Ozymandias smirked. At least it's nice to know who's doing the interrogation here. “Either you don't know, or you're testing me with that one.” He shrugged, “I am a new arrival to the Bunker, and have only been here a few weeks. My 'prior relationship' with the Coalition is nonexistent. I had never even heard of you a month ago.”

“And finally, 'who dunnit?'”
Ozzy leaned back and rolled his eyes, “The only person I suspect of anything is Florence, and then it's only of ignorance.” He leaned forward again. “No, I do not know any of my squadmates well enough to accuse them of anything, much less treachery.” Smiling again, he shrugged. “I am sorry, but this all just seems quite out of my league.”

The slavic man pauses, and scratches his chin. He looks Ozzymandias over, and walks toward the man. He lifts his foot and presses it on the edge of the chair, between Ozzy's legs. The man takes his ear piece out and lets it hang over his shoulder. It appeared he was going to speak bluntly. "You know them surprisingly well. You are a man of the faith, but which faith I wonder?" He rests his hand on his sidearm. It didn't seem overtly threatening, moreso a gesture of self-defense in case Ozzy tried anything. "Take it from me, some are... More dangerous now than they ever were. You are either far more intelligent than the men behind the ear piece gave you credit for, or something else. I need to know." With his free hand, he grasps the ear piece and squeezes it in his hand. None would be able to hear Ozzy or the man until he let it go. "Just to prove I am not your enemy... My name is Adrik Ivanov. I am a member of The Coalition's special forces. Whatever you think of us, we have a far greater threat ahead. Now, speak. We won't have long."

Ozzy's smile vanished at his interrogator's implications at his faith, though he listened quietly and carefully. He wondered if this was all an interrogation strategy or something worse. He nodded when Adrik took out his earpiece and started speaking, all semblance of coyness gone. “I'll get to my point: Bunker Chicago is in danger. I know this because they called us 'Children of Sodom'. Sodom was a city that was destroyed by God in a story from the same holy book that mentions 'Adam and Eve'. They asked to be left alone, and going by the story of Sodom, so long as they are left alone I believe we should be fine. I signed up for this mission to kill raiders and make a name for myself. I did not know any of this would happen. I do not have a stake in this fight yet, so I have no reason to lie to you, and I would be willing to answer any other questions you or the Coalition have. I am not your enemy, Adrik, but these 'Children' are, and I want them dead for my own reasons.”

The slavic man pauses, then puts his earpiece back in. He takes a step back from the chair and taps the ear piece, giving an all clear signal of some sort. The door opens, and two guards step inside. He then pulls the ear piece back out, simply letting it hang over his chest. "I will ask one more question, you will answer. I will then give you some information, and you may do with it as you wish when you leave."

He takes another couple steps back, to give Ozymandias some breathing room. "This situation with the orange fog will rapidly escalate. Do you plan on continuing to pursue it? If so, to what end? Understand that failing to answer this question honestly will result in your being shot the moment you leave this room, and I have conducted thousands of questionings. Do not think you can lie to me, and do not think it would earn you favours to do so, because this is off the record... Yes, I am aware you have already stated you won't lie."

“In all my wanderings, I have never found such a clear and present antithesis to my faith." Ozymandias said, standing. "I will do all in my power to bring about their end because my faith demands it. If our goals align, I would be grateful to call you an ally. If not, then I will find allies elsewhere. Even if I do nothing, I believe it would only be a matter of time before they come to blows with Bunker Chicago.”

The man stands still and seems to evaluate the answer for a few moments.

"I believe you."
He motions to the door. The two guards lower their rifles, and stand shoulder to shoulder in front of the doorway. "I have no intention of hurting you, believe me. Which is why I will now enlighten you as to why all of this was necessary." He tucks the ear piece away into one of his pockets, then continues speaking. "We have reason to believe that mutants from the Orange Fog are attempting to infiltrate Bunker Chicago, much like U-ARM has. However, I think we can both agree, that whatever those things are is a far greater threat than U-ARM is. This entire time, the spotlight you have been sitting under has been hiding a scanner, measuring your brain waves to see if you were one of them, or whatever scientific crap the lab rats say they do. I have my own test."

He taps his sidearm. "If after everything you have seen today you would claim to have no interest in the fog that could end you and this entire Bunker, I would know you to be either a liar, or a fool. In either case, in case the lab coats fail..." He leans in and grins. "... My intuition doesn't. Now, go ahead. The guards will guide you to the exit of the bunker. Maybe you will work with Marie and Carolyn's Old Guard, or come back here and help us. I understand either way, for at least right now, we have a common enemy."

Ozzy was pleased to learn that he was right to surmise that his interrogator had some kind of ace up his sleeve. His eyes widened when he heard there were infiltrators in the Bunker already. Excellent. I won't even have to go far to start hunting. His expression mirrored Adrik's as the interrogator grinned. “I'll look forward to working with you, then,” Ozzy said once Adrik finished. He left the bunker with his escorts, head held high and smiling contentedly.

The guards silently lead him out of the bunker. As he reaches the entrance, one of the guards looks over to the man. "If you wish to work with The Coalition in the future, simply come to the bunker entrance and let us know. We'll have work lined up for you." He is them escorted out of the bunker, peacefully.
 
Shlan Fletcher and Adrik Ivanov

As Shlan Fletcher stumbles through the room, a single, bright light appears, hanging a few feet above it. The chair is bathed in light, and through a hidden intercom system in the room, she could hear the telltale sign of a microphone coming to life. There, a thick, foreign, male accent comes through. It is however much unlike Morai's accent, having much more of an Eastern European tinge to it. “Go on. Sit on the chair, and we will begin.”

Shlan hesitated a moment before sitting, the atmosphere understandably unnerving her. As she settled in, she began idly picking at the arm of the chair. "Is this a debriefing or an interrogation?"

Silence follows, for about a minute. Then, through the same doorway Shlan entered through, another figure enters. He slams the door behind himself, and after a moment's hesitation, a spotlight on the wall comes to life. It begins to follow him wherever he steps, the echoing of which makes it clear that the room was empty. The only people inside were himself, Shlan, and the chair that she sat upon.

The man was wearing a metallic but light looking armour, all black. At his waist was a sidearm, and he wore an ear piece--a specialized communicator, so that he could likely modify his questions on the fly at the behest of his employers. His white skin contrasted with his short black hair. There were hints of grey coming in at the roots, as he looked down at Shlan. As he speaks, it was clear he was the same man as was on the intercom earlier. "Answer the questions asked and you will be free to go. You are being monitored and recorded. If you are suspected of lying, the question will be repeated. Avoidance of questions will be treated as an open invitation to do whatever it takes to spur your memory and tongue into speaking what we need to know. Not because I particularly want to harm you, but because the protection of the State ensures the protection of those who live within it... So for that, any individual's obstinate behaviour can be... Dealt with. Cleanly."

He starts to circle around Shlan as he continues. "Answer these questions. Who are they? Why did you not open fire at targets you knew killed your allies? What do you think of Carolyn's disobeying of orders? What is your prior relationship with The Coalition? Do you suspect any of your allies of treachery? If so, name them."

"I don't know who they are but I'd guess some listener cult. I held my fire because of shit visibility and not caring to provoke the things that killed the arrowhead so easily. I agree with Carolyn's decision; orders should change when the situation does." Refusing to be intimidated, Shlan fired back her answers as briskly as the man had asked them. "I've been a TC citizen for eleven years now, though I've been working out of Bunker Chicago for the past while. As for treachery, definitely the four that ran. Morai, Peter, Box, and Convict. If there was a rat, I bet it was one of them."

"Straight and simple. Good." The slavic man nods approvingly as he stops circling around her. He continues. "What do you know of Morai, Peter, Box, and Convict?"

"Never met or heard of any of them before today," Shlan said, "so all I have for you are first impressions. I didn't pay much attention to Box, but at least she warned us about the raiders that had gotten behind us. Peter strikes me as a plain coward, through and through. Convict is off her fucking rocker. Don't know who gave the okay for her to come along, but I want to give them a piece of my mind." Shlan grimaced. "Then there's Morai. What worries me is that of the four of them, he's the one that strikes me as competent. But it's pretty obvious to me that he's just out for himself; doesn't give a shit for anyone that might be counting on him.

"So yeah,"
Shlan held up four fingers and counted them off one by one. "Rookie. Coward. Bitch. Dangerous."

"Don't worry about Convict. She won't find herself in another mission again." The slavic man replies cryptically as he taps his ear piece. He takes it out as the door to the room opens, bathing the room in light. Two guards step in, but wait at the door, as the man looks at Shlan. "I am going to ask one more question. You will answer. Then, I will give you some further information of interest for you. Then, you can leave."

He pulls out his sidearm, switches on the safety, then puts it back in his holster. "This situation with the orange fog will rapidly escalate. Do you plan on continuing to pursue it? If so, to what end? Understand that failing to answer this question honestly will result in your being shot the moment you leave this room, and I have conducted thousands of questionings. Do not think you can lie to me, and do not think it would earn you favours to do so, because this is off the record."

Shlan's brow furrowed and her eyes flickered nervously towards the door as the man threatened her for the second time since she entered the room. "Escalate how?" She asked, "Because to be honest, I don't have much loyalty to Bunker Chicago. Just to one friend who lives here. Everyone else close to me is spread out throughout TC, most of them in Toronto. If there's reason to think it'll spread, then yeah. I'll stick around, continue to offer my services. Otherwise, it's probably past time to cut ties here and check on my family."

"If it isn't stopped here, it will continue to grow until it is beyond our capacity to reach the center anymore." He replies bluntly. He rubs his knuckles against his sidearm, then shakes out his hand. "It is growing even as we speak now. Steadily, slowly, like a creeping tumour. You can always request The Coalition to check in on your family."

"At any rate, I believe you." He motions to the door. The two guards lower their rifles, and stand shoulder to shoulder in front of the doorway. "I have no intention of hurting you, believe me. Which is why I will now enlighten you as to why all of this was necessary." He tucks the ear piece away into one of his pockets, then continues speaking. "We have reason to believe that mutants from the Orange Fog are attempting to infiltrate Bunker Chicago, much like U-ARM has. However, I think we can both agree, that whatever those things are is a far greater threat than U-ARM is. This entire time, the spotlight you have been sitting under has been hiding a scanner, measuring your brain waves to see if you were one of them, or whatever scientific crap the lab rats say they do. I have my own test."

He taps his sidearm. "If after everything you have seen today you would claim to have no interest in the fog that could end you and this entire Bunker, I would know you to be either a liar, or a fool. In either case, in case the lab coats fail..." He leans in and grins. "... My intuition doesn't. Now, go ahead. The guards will guide you to the exit of the bunker. Maybe you will work with Marie and Carolyn's Old Guard, or come back here and help us. I understand either way, for at least right now, we have a common enemy."

"Some formal report isn't the same as seeing them myself," Shlan sighed. "But if this is spreading, then like I said, I'll stay and fight. I'll put together a video message or something to send back home."

Standing, Shlan held out a hand to shake before making to leave the room. "Probably past time I paid back TC for taking us in, beyond freelance mercenary contracts."

The slavic man shakes her hand. "My name is Adrik Ivanov. If you want further work with The Coalition, simply ask for me by name at the bunker entrance later, we will have worked lined up for you. Otherwise, go." The guards easily lead Shlan out of the bunker, silently, and peacefully.
 
Bob and Adrik - A Friendly Interrogation
A Collab with @Brovo

As Bob stumbles through the room, a single, bright light appears, hanging a few feet above it. The chair is bathed in light, and through a hidden intercom system in the room, he could hear the telltale sign of a microphone coming to life. There, a thick, foreign, male accent comes through. It is however much unlike Morai's accent, having much more of an Eastern European tinge to it. “Go on. Sit on the chair, and we will begin.”

Bob grimaced in the direction the sound came from, but he walked toward the chair nonetheless. He'd been through a couple similar spots before, discussions where he couldn't see the other person, but this was the first time it was done at the hands of an organized group. The mostly dark room with the intercom was a nice touch though, much more professional than the petty smugglers from his youthful mercenary days who wanted to have prospective hires blindfolded as a precaution against plants and rats. It was almost nostalgic.

He sat in the chair with a grateful groan, pleased to be off his feet after a day of work. "Alright, let's get this over with." Bob looked straight ahead and affected a casual stance, yawning for good measure. It wouldn't do to let the speaker and whoever else was watching think they had him spooked with this nonsense, after all.

A minute of silence follows. Then, the door that Bob entered through opens once again, and a figure steps through. The figure slams the door after it enters, and as the door closes, a spotlight on the wall lights up and begins to follow the figure, bathing him in light. From the way his boots echoed on the concrete floor, it was clear that the room was empty of everything except for the two men, and the chair.

The man was wearing a metallic but light looking armour, all black. At his waist was a sidearm, and he wore an ear piece--a specialized communicator, so that he could likely modify his questions on the fly at the behest of his employers. His white skin contrasted with his short black hair. There were hints of grey coming in at the roots, as he looked down at Bob. As he speaks, it was clear he was the same man as was on the intercom earlier. "Answer the questions asked and you will be free to go. You are being monitored and recorded, if you are suspected of lying, the question will be repeated. Avoidance of questions will be treated as an invitation to escalate the nature of the questioning up to any level, which may inflict long term harm. I don't wish to harm you, it's clear you've seen as much fighting as I have... But, you must understand, The State requires it to protect the people it rules over, given the unique circumstances of what has occurred in the city ruins."

He simply stands in one spot, a few feet from Bob. There was no hint of malice in his voice. "Answer the following questions. Who are they? Why did you not open fire at targets you knew killed your allies? What do you think of Carolyn's disobeying of orders? What is your prior relationship with The Coalition? Do you suspect any of your allies of treachery? If so, name them. The sooner we're done, the sooner I can let you go."

As the man went through his spiel, Bob listened without much of a response, just a few neutral nods and grunts of acknowledgement here and there. Once the fellow fell silent, he reached up and stroked his jaw through his beard, the age old sign of a man in thought. The silence extended for nearly a minute before Bob nodded again and shifted in his chair, retaining his casual slouch with legs spread wide. "Straight and to the point, talk or suffer. It ain't graceful, but at least it's not a bunch of bullshit hiding the fist behind a smile. I like it. I'm too old for the bullshit, and for the threats or torture or whatever else you've got ready, so I guess I might as well cooperate." Bob thought over the questions again and figured his ass was pretty well covered by events, so there was no need to try lying. Probably wouldn't be worth the effort anyway since a lie would stand out amongst the majority telling the truth.

"I was hoping someone here could tell me who the fuck they were, y'know. Didn't seem like U-ARM work, too many Coalition casualties to make sense trying to blame them, never heard of bandits around here being equipped to take out so many soldiers. I bet that fog shit's got your answer. Figure out what that is, where it came from, and you'll know who it was. My money's on some kind of mutant bullshit, goin' by the creepy whispers I heard as we were leaving. I didn't fire at any targets because the only one I saw well enough to aim at only popped up to talk to Carolyn, and it seemed a damned safe bet that we were surrounded and would've been taken down quick if we tried anything. Whoever it was that talked to her wanted us to carry a message, some crap about Sodom and staying out of their domain. Wouldn't have done anyone any good to get us killed by whoever wiped out the forward groups. Oh, and that seems to be what Carolyn figured as well, the mission was well and truly fucked before she went off orders and her hand was a little forced by some damned fools running off before being given the go ahead from her. I got no problem admitting that I suggested we cut and run at that point, for the same reason I already said: it was all fucked and we weren't gonna un-fuck it, so best to just get out alive."

Bob went for another little beard rubbing session as he considered an answer to the next bit. The first few questions were pretty standard considering what had happened, but the last two were both more interesting and more likely to cause some problems. "I'd say if I put it in terms I'd use for a person then my relationship with the Coalition is less than friendly, but civil. I figure the folks listening in know that I've worked with the Coalition on clearing out the bandits, and that much and the other bits of help provided are things I can appreciate, but I'm not real keen on the other stuff. I grew up here, saw Bunker Chicago build up into what it is today, and I can't say I'm happy to see people from elsewhere come around and try to take control from the folks who did that building and then say it's for our own good. The whole thing's got good parts and bad parts, so I guess I come out feeling right in the middle of good and bad about it." Bob scratched at the back of his neck, letting the man stand there for a little while longer in silence before he plowed on to answer the last question. "Treachery, hmm. If you mean like this whole mess was an inside job, like someone was working with whoever was doing all that killing in the fog, then I got nothing for you. Already told you I think it was some mutant bullshit though, so if you're looking for traitors I'd start with them. We did have some more spur of the moment betrayal though, with them dumbasses who were supposed to watch our west flank bailing out before Carolyn called for retreat, and I guess that could be the treachery you're looking for. Might've been able to hold out for a couple minutes and pull out more than just the one guy if they hadn't run away early. If you want names, I think that was Morai, Peter, the one calls herself Convict, and Box." He grimaced at the last name, but he left it without further comment.

"I think was all your questions answered. Probably more'n needed saying, but I always have liked to hear myself talk. We done here?"

"Unfortunately, no." The slavic man seemed amused. He pulls out a small tin container from his pocket and pulls out a cigar. "Want one? We're both too old for this shit, so I'll get to the next question already. You heard the voices in your mind, do you know what they said to you?"

Another voice, distinctly quiet but feminine and soothing, enters Bob's mind. "'Who are you?' That is the answer he is looking for. He will be suspicious of any other answer... Trust me." It was clear that the man didn't hear whatever it was that Bob just heard now.

Bob was looking at the cigar and considering his answer for a moment, unsure if this might be some kind of ploy to get on his good side, when the other voice chimed in. He knew he must've looked real confused for a second there, but he played it off with a brief chuckle. "A man after my own taste, but I didn't think these kind of questionings would include a gift. Reward for good behavior maybe? I ain't one to turn down a kindness though, so thanks pal, I'll take one." He shifted in his chair, sitting up a little straighter now. There was no telling where that other voice came from, and odds were it was some creepy mutant shit going on, but he'd been honest about accepting kindness from strangers so he went for it. "The voices were mostly, y'know, whispery. Like when you hear people whispering across the room, can't make nothing out. All I heard for sure was a question: 'who are you?' Didn't know how to answer, didn't want to even if I could, so I guess they were left as confused as me with the whole thing. You got any idea what that shit was about?"

He pulls out a lighter and lights the cigar and then hands it to Bob as he listens to his answers. He puts the tin case of cigars and lighter back into his pockets, then shakes his head. "No. Can't say I know anything about it. I am not told the reasons I ask my questions." He pulls out his ear piece, and the door to the room opens. A pair of guards walk in, but wait by the door rather than go any further. "I will ask one more question, you will answer. I will then give you information, and then you are free to go. Simple as can be."

"This situation with the orange fog will rapidly escalate. Do you plan on continuing to pursue it? If so, to what end? Understand that failing to answer this question honestly will result in your being shot the moment you leave this room--obviously--and I have conducted thousands of questionings. Do not think you can lie to me, and do not think it would earn you favours to do so, because this is off the record. You know the drill."


Bob nodded and puffed on the cigar as the man gave the expected answer. He rolled the smoke around in his mouth and could immediately tell this was a higher quality product than he was used to. Not surprising, since the cigars Bob could get his hands on were only barely work smoking. Once the guards entered and waited by the door he knew something more was up, and for a moment he was worried that the strange voice had misled him to his doom, but then the man kept on talking and made it clear that Bob had not in fact made a fatal mistake, but that the option was still very much on the table. Seemed the fellow knew a lot more than he was letting on if he knew the fog shit would get worse quickly. 'Can't say I know anything about it' didn't mean he didn't know, just that he couldn't say what he knew. And the off the record bit was pretty cute. That and the threat were meant to encourage honesty, but probably the real reason for no record being made, which Bob wasn't even sure was true, was that the Coalition wouldn't like leaving evidence of the threat and potential killing for folks like U-ARM to get their hands on and use against them.

Bob grinned around the cigar and let the smoke out in a brief laugh. "Aw, and here I was thinking we were buddies. I was gonna offer to buy you a drink and swap stories some time. Ain't no need for the song and dance, I got nothing to lie about." He pulled in another mouthful of flavorful smoke and held it for just a couple seconds before blowing it up toward the ceiling. He grabbed the cigar between the thumb and first two fingers of his left hand and held it off to the side so he could say the important part clearly. "I wanna say I'm staying away from that fog and anything to do with it, but hell, I know myself too well for that. Yeah, I'll pursue it, whatever the hell 'it' is. The only ends I care about are staying alive and keeping Bunker Chicago safe, and I get the feeling that this fog shit is a bigger threat to both of those than your pals with guns or the Coalition folks you work for." With that said, Bob went to put the cigar back in his mouth but paused with it just a scant inch away. "Oh, and if you decide that was a lie or not a good enough answer, I'd appreciate it if you and your pals could let me finish this off before putting a bullet in my head. Ain't had a cigar this good in years, wouldn't want it to go to waste. Or if we're good here, lemme know how to get in touch if you want that drink." The cigar finally made its way back where it belonged, and Bob puffed away without giving any sign of fear or worry. He'd always had a good poker face, but it also helped that he'd stared death in the face far too many times to be afraid of doing it again.

"I believe you." He motions to the door. The two guards lower their rifles, and stand shoulder to shoulder in front of the doorway. "I have no intention of hurting you, believe me. Which is why I will now enlighten you as to why all of this was necessary." He tucks the ear piece away into one of his pockets, then continues speaking. "We have reason to believe that mutants from the Orange Fog are attempting to infiltrate Bunker Chicago, much like U-ARM has. However, I think we can both agree, that whatever those things are is a far greater threat than U-ARM is. This entire time, the spotlight you have been sitting under has been hiding a scanner, measuring your brain waves to see if you were one of them, or whatever scientific crap the lab rats say they do. I have my own test."

He taps his sidearm. "If after everything you have seen today you would claim to have no interest in the fog that could end you and this entire Bunker, I would know you to be either a liar, or a fool. In either case, in case the lab coats fail..." He leans in and grins. "... My intuition doesn't. Now, go ahead. The guards will guide you to the exit of the bunker. Maybe you will work with Marie and Carolyn's Old Guard, or come back here and help us. I understand either way, for at least right now, we have a common enemy."

He pauses for a moment, then takes a couple steps back. "As for my name? Adrik Ivanov. Simply tell the guards at the front of the bunker you want to work with me, and I'll have work lined up for you. Though I admit, it would surprise me to see you walk away from the Old Guard... Old dogs rarely change their ways."

Though he'd known there was something more to this whole thing than just a debriefing, Bob hadn't expected anything like this. He wasn't fond of the doctors and scientists and such messing around checking his head, but he could understand the intuition approach. Harsh though it might be, Bob couldn't fault the man if he shot any damned fool who didn't realize that fog was a problem. Loyal or not, mutant infiltrator or not, anyone who'd been there and didn't come out knowing something was fucked up and needed to be dealt with was too stupid to live. Bob pulled in another mouthful of rich smoke and blew it off to the side before he nodded and stood up.

"Well then, good luck finding any of the bastards that made their way in. Here's hoping they're few and stupid. Always my favorite combo in enemies." He let out a low chuckle. "I did say getting in touch was in case you wanted to go for a drink on me. Old dog is me through and through, ain't about to learn any new tricks since the old ones still work. Long as we got the same enemy though, well, that's almost like being allies, temporary or not. And I owe you for the cigar."

Bob turned to go, but stopped as he remembered something that had seemed odd at the time but he'd been too busy to worry about then. "We pulled some guy out of the fog before we retreated, only survivor we saw. Had blood on his armor, and his knee pads were broken. I can't think of many ways that could happen without hurting the legs too, but he walked just fine. He rode back with us, and he felt weird. The listener kinda weird. If I was looking to sneak into enemy territory, well, I can't think of a better disguise than a wounded ally." He popped the cigar back in his mouth and headed for the door, giving some parting words as he walked away. "I'll see you around, Adrik. Happy hunting."

The guards lead Bob out of the bunker, uneventfully. They nod and show him respect, however, as they let him go--it seemed veterans were respected in general with The Coalition.
 
Peter

As Peter stumbles through the room, a single, bright light appears, hanging a few feet above it. The chair is bathed in light, and through a hidden intercom system in the room, he could hear the telltale sign of a microphone coming to life. There, a thick, foreign, male accent comes through. It is however much unlike Morai's accent, having much more of an Eastern European tinge to it. “Go on. Sit on the chair, and we will begin.”

Peter raised his hand in an effort to shield from the sudden bright light, and swiftly threw himself in the seat as the mysterious entity over the intercom had so politely suggested. He wasn't exactly fond of surprise blackroom interrogations, not like anyone really is, but he was particularly perturbed as it were. He drew a half-finished cigarette from his jacket pocket and rolled it between the two remaining fingers on his left hand, "I hope you don't mind me smoking, but recent events have been... Stressful, to put it lightly." The pawner produced an antique lighter from his other pocket, deftly lit the cigarette and drew deep, "So, mystery man, what can Petey do for you today?"

Peter got no response as silence permeated the room for a minute. Finally, the door he entered through opens again, only briefly, as a figure steps through. The door then slams shut behind the figure, as he walks further into the pitch black room. It was clear from his footsteps that there was nothing else in the room except for the two of them, and the chair Peter sat in. A spotlight on the wall comes to life, and starts following the figure, clearly illuminating him for Peter to see, as the man circled him in a predatory fashion.

The man was wearing a metallic but light looking armour, all black. At his waist was a sidearm, and he wore an ear piece--a specialized communicator, so that he could likely modify his questions on the fly at the behest of his employers. His white skin contrasted with his short black hair. There were hints of grey coming in at the roots, as he looked down at Peter. As he speaks, it was clear he was the same man as was on the intercom earlier. "Answer the questions asked and you will be free to go. You are being monitored and recorded. If you are suspected of lying, the question will be repeated. Avoidance of questions will be seen as an invitation to use any force necessary to obtain the truth from you... Not because I particularly have a desire to torture a cheapskate who hawks garbage at passers by, but because it is necessary for the safety of the State, and those the State protects."

Without waiting to see if Peter understood, the man continued. "These are the questions. Who are they? Why did you not open fire at targets you knew killed your allies? What do you think of Carolyn's disobeying of orders? What is your prior relationship with The Coalition? Do you suspect any of your allies of treachery? If so, name them... Remember, we are monitoring you."

"Oh, uh, that's quite the inquisition you have there, just... Just give me a second to get my thoughts in order, alright?" Any shred of confidence Peter may have possessed upon being dragged into the interrogation room had been thoroughly shattered by the unexpected physical presence of the interrogator. So much so that is didn't even cross the pawner's mind to make a witty retort in response to the 'cheapskate' comment. Peter just sat obediently in his little chair, shrinking cigarette sitting loose on his lips and growing discomfort wrapping tight on his mind.

"Uhh, to start,"
He started, "I think they called themselves Children of Sodom, er... No, they called us Children of Sodom, they called themselves Children of Adam and Eve or some other religiously charged crap. Seemed to think that they were of a superior being and, well, considering what they did to us I'm quick frankly inclined to agree. Other than that... Speculation. If I were a betting man I'd say they were of some sort of listener cult, very powerful ones. The sort that melt minds with a look. The sort you can't fight against unless they let you."

A fat wad of ashes fell from the tip of Peter's now depleted cigarette and he raised a finger to signal for a moment, retrieving and lighting a fresh one before continuing, "For your second question, well, I think I already answered it. None of us were equipped to fight whatever these Children types were. Even I-, I'm not going to pretend for a second that you don't know what I am- Even I was essentially helpless. Why Carolyn disobeyed orders was simply survival. There was nothing to gain for fighting these things head on, 'cept dying, and enough of us were killed already. She was just salvaging the best of a fucked situation."

Peter paused again, taking a long, hard draw and releasing with a heavy sigh. The subject of treachery was trickier than the others, in that his little stunt with the other three miscreants probably constituted 'treachery' by the TC's standards. "I can think of no traitors," he finally blurted, "What anyone did was to save their hide in a difficult situation, I don't think any of them were acting against your interests. Not on purpose anyway." He shrugged and fidgeted into a more comfortable position on his chair.

"That's all I know, am I free to go?"


"No." The man replies bluntly, before hesitating to receive further instructions via his ear piece. He rests his hand on the handle of his pistol, looking coldly and squarely at Peter's face. "You were one of two listeners in Carolyn's squad to be affected negatively, and with pain. You heard voices. You heard words. Did you understand anything they said? Any key words jump out at you? Questions, perhaps?"

As he hears this, another voice enters his mind. A whisper, barely audible, with a hint of femininity. Yet, it was soothing, instead of surprising. As though it had always been there. "'Who are you' is the answer he is looking for. Be careful, they don't trust listeners like you."

Peter eye's followed the interrogator's hand as it came to rest on his firearm and what was once merely stress escalated into a mild panic, not helped by the sudden invasion of his mind. "Heh... Don't, uh, get too hasty there chief. I know who's in charge here, no need for the pistol. Anyways..." As concerning the mysterious voice was, Peter had to admit it was quite useful. Thinking under duress wasn't exactly his greatest strength, "... All the voices asked was 'Who are you', over and over again. That's it."

"Ah." The man's hand drifts away from his sidearm. He pulls out the ear piece as the door to the room opens. Two guards step inside, but wait by the door. "I will now ask you one more question, then after you answer, I will inform you of something, and you will get to leave." He walks closer, then plants his foot on the edge of the chair, between Peter's legs. "This situation with the orange fog will rapidly escalate. Do you plan on continuing to pursue it? If so, to what end? Understand that failing to answer this question honestly will result in your being shot the moment you leave this room, and I have conducted thousands of questionings. Do not think you can lie to me, and do not think it would earn you favours to do so, because this is off the record."

Peter, again, hears the feminine voice in his mind. "I am here if you need me."

Peter looked down at the boot which had been planted far too close to his crotch and shook his head, "Are you kidding me?". He had managed to finish off his second cigarette in record time and discarded the butt onto the floor, not bothering to reach for a third, as incredibly tempted as he was, "Why would I have any desire to go back to that damned hole of death and misery? Have you heard what I've been telling you? There's nothing in that fog but madness, supernatural fuckery and God knows what else. I've no plans to contend with that bullshit, the only way I'm going back in there is if it fucking rolls over me while I'm sleeping or some shit."

He quickly turned his mind's attention to that of the voice, "Not a good time sudden schizophrenic voice in my head. Perhaps save the chatting when I get out this chair, eh?" He wasn't sure if the voice received the message, or even there was an owner of the voice to receive. He was just going to own this whole 'going crazy' thing.

"You realize it is going to continue to spread, right?" He leans forward, his glare was icy. "Nowhere will be safe if this Bunker falls. You know this, right? You aren't so stupid as to think yourself immutable to that fact?"

"Wh-what are you looking to get out of me here? I just told you I want nothing to do with the fog, that's the truth." Peter wiped the sweat that was quickly building on his brow, "Is-is this some sort of recruitment thing? You think you can scare me into fighting against... Against whatever those things are?"

"Recruit you?" He laughs. "I could care less who you join right now. It will take this whole bunker working together to stop that growing mess. At this point I would work with fucking U-ARM if it meant getting rid of those things outside the fucking walls! There is nowhere to run if this place falls. Nowhere. Trust me on that, I know enough about these things to know."

"Then... Why- Ahh, fuck it. Just let me go, I've told you what you want."

He sighs, and takes a few steps back. "Fine." He motions to the door. The two guards lower their rifles, and stand shoulder to shoulder in front of the doorway. "Well, I will now enlighten you as to why all of this was necessary." He tucks the ear piece away into one of his pockets, then continues speaking. "We have reason to believe that mutants from the Orange Fog are attempting to infiltrate Bunker Chicago, much like U-ARM has. However, I think we can both agree, that whatever those things are is a far greater threat than U-ARM is. This entire time, the spotlight you have been sitting under has been hiding a scanner, measuring your brain waves to see if you were one of them, or whatever scientific crap the lab rats say they do. I have my own test."

He taps his sidearm. "If after everything you have seen today you would claim to have no interest in the fog that could end you and this entire Bunker, I would know you to be either a liar, or a fool... So, technically, you failed my test, and I should shoot you..." He pulls out his pistol, and aims it at Peter's head. For a moment, he partially depresses the trigger, then, lets it go, and lowers his pistol instead. "... Except you are neither a fool, or a liar. You are simply a coward, and it would be a waste of a good bullet. No, when death comes for you, it will be slow, and painful, because you won't fight it. You'll just cry in front of it. It makes sense why you ran, you're a traitor, without any care for any cause... The fact that you will die alone is enough satisfaction for me. Now, get out. If you ever come slinking back for work, The Coalition will hire you, I'm sure. I genuinely hope you don't, though." He motions toward the door once more with his pistol, looking disgusted by Peter's presence.

Peter said nothing, just nodded and wiped the rapidly building front of sweat from his brow. He sat up from his chair, legs almost from under him as he came to his feet, "W-was my pleasure chief." he managed to eke out as he slithered from the room, frustrated in that he couldn't even properly deliver one last line of snark.

The two guards guide Peter out of the bunker. Once out of the bunker, one of them looks at him, and speaks. "If you wish to work with The Coalition, simply come here to the entrance and ask. We will have missions lined up for you." Though he didn't say it, his tone implied strongly that he looked down on Peter.​
 
Boxed In, Head Out
Collab ft Box Copter, Interrogator, & Ryan Dufont (@RedWillow & @Brovo)
_________________________________________________________________



As Box Copter stumbles through the room, a single, bright light appears, hanging a few feet above it. The chair is bathed in light, and through a hidden intercom system in the room, she could hear the telltale sign of a microphone coming to life. There, a thick, foreign, male accent comes through. It is however much unlike Morai's accent, having much more of an Eastern European tinge to it. “Go on. Sit on the chair, and we will begin.”
As she hears the voice but can't see anyone, Box realizes what kind of situation she was in. Her hand reaches for the back of the chair and she pulls it diligently to remove it from directly under the spot light, making as little noise as possible. The woman felt exhausted, and she hadn't quite processed everything that had happened about the mission.

"Sir," Box acknowledges the foreign man. You're a soldier, act like one! You're not a civilian. Keep your cool, keep your cool...

Tentatively, she concentrates her hearing, wondering if she can hear other people directly in the same room or through the microphone system. The effort makes her stumble a little as she sits. Box takes a deep breath and joins her hands on her lap, crunching her own fingers to keep focused and to avoid bringing attention to what she was trying to do.

"T'was quite a mission, sir. Sorry to hear less than half our forces made it back. But we're strong and we'll make it through, sir." The woman nods to her own words, tempting a smile at the darkness staring back at her.

She does hear a couple unintelligible whispers in the background of the microphone as it cuts off, but otherwise, little else. A minute passes, and she hears approaching footsteps, followed up with the door she entered opening suddenly. A figure steps through, and slams the door shut behind himself. A spotlight on the wall lights up, illuminating him. The spotlight follows him wherever he goes. He taps his ear and whispers into it, but thanks to her powers, she can hear it. "Track her." The spotlight she attempted to scoot away from turns and begins to follow her and her chair, wherever they go. It was clear from the echoing of his footsteps on the concrete floor that there was nothing else in the room except for them, and her chair.

The man was wearing a metallic but light looking armour, all black. At his waist was a sidearm, and he wore an ear piece--a specialized communicator, so that he could likely modify his questions on the fly at the behest of his employers. His white skin contrasted with his short black hair. There were hints of grey coming in at the roots, as he looked down at Box. As he speaks, it was clear he was the same man as was on the intercom earlier. He begins to circle her. "Answer the questions asked and you will be free to go. You are being monitored and recorded, if you are suspected of lying, the question will be repeated. Avoidance of questions will be taken as an open invitation to use enhanced questioning techniques which may cause significant pain in you both now, and in the distant future." He looks her over, and narrows her eyes. She could tell from the look in his eyes that he recognized her.

Without stopping to see if she understood, he continues. "Here are the questions. Who are they? Why did you not open fire at targets you knew killed your allies? What do you think of Carolyn's disobeying of orders? What is your prior relationship with The Coalition? Do you suspect any of your allies of treachery? If so, name them." He momentarily pauses in his circling of her as he gets behind her. He whispers to her. "I lament the things done to your sibling. Let me stop it from happening to you by complying with the State." He then continues to circle her.

FUCK!

Breathe, breathe, breathe. Don't let your temper get the best of this. Fuuuuck!

Box squeezes her fingers until her knuckles are white. She was resisting with all her might from punching the man from TC. He knew about Colt.. how... how?! She had not seen or heard about him for over 10 years now, she didn't want to think about it. Sweat pearls on her forehead, instantly absorbed by her beanie hat. She could not go in tunnel vision right now, and it takes almost all her concentration to keep a straight, relaxed face.

"I see. I'll answer your questions, don't worry!" Box shifts on her chair ever so slightly, taking a deep breath. Like a habit of nature, Jane's teachings about deception in times of high stress come back to her. After another long breath, the woman relaxes in her chair, trying to show whomever was watching, that this interview was not freaking her out. People who tell the truth are not nervous, right?

"This happened very suddenly, so I think a lot of things got out of hand because the well-being of the squad members was more important than the certain death ahead of us." Box clears her throat and rubs her face, pretending to be weary of this whole ordeal.

"Carolyn did the best she could, sir. We had sudden communications that the first squad had been completely wiped out. If that had been true, we were the remaining ones -- the only force left. I strongly believe Carolyn did the right call, it was the most strategic thing to do at that moment."

"I think... No, I know, sir -- we have a mole in our squad. Someone... someone gave our radio coordinates to the raiders, and we could confirm that they knew what we were doing all along. If you ask me, it's that crazy bitch, Convict, who ratted us out. Some of us... turned and left once Carolyn gave the order to retreat. It looked cowardly, but..." Box shakes her head and smiles a little, "But we saved everyone's lives, sir. We caught some of Bosho's gang, and they had set up explosives behind us. We were trapped like animals, and thanks to us we took some of them down and avoided the total wipeout of the squad."

"Now... This thing, we saw? I didn't know what it was. There weren't any order to open fire, the enemy didn't shoot first. It sounded like a peaceful communication, though it ended with a threat. I can confirm you, sir, that this is a whole new shit ground. We overheard some of Bosho's perps talkin', and they were freaked out like everyone else. I heard Bosho's dead, got himself snapped in pieces by this new weirdo. But there's no proof of what I'm sayin', is there?" Box chuckles to herself and stretches her legs out.

"You know who I am, sir. If you know about Colt Copter... About Weapon K Test Subject 15-08, then you know The Coalition spent many years reforming me and other raider bastard kids so we were productive members of the Bunker. T'was 16 years ago that I joined TC, and then I went off to be a citizen of Bunker all on my own."

Box feels cold after she gives those answers. She doesn't mention Morai, because if anyone could be suspicious in this whole gang, that was him. He was a drug addict, a foreigner, and she doesn't know where his loyalties lie. All she knows about him, is that he helped save everyone back there, and Convict was nowhere to be found, so she was gonna have to be the fishy one. As for Peter, she really hopes the little mutant shit doesn't spill the beans either.

As Box states the name of her brother, the man rips the ear piece out and grips it tightly in a balled up fist, preventing whoever was on the other side from hearing the details. He pulls out his side arm and, in a single, practiced, rapid movement, fires at her.

Though her ears ring a little from the sound of the loud blast, she would find a hole about the size of a small fist in the chair, just beside her head. The sidearm had a deceptively powerful cartridge of some type, perhaps explosive in nature. Whatever it was, it was most definitely above and beyond what most possessed. He lowers his sidearm. "Monitored and recorded. Don't be stupid. Some things never happen, and never go on records. Your brother had an unfortunate accident, and his body was not recovered. That was the official story. Stick to it, or you will never learn what happened to him." His tone almost sounded sympathetic in spite of the cold look in his eyes. He puts the ear piece back in, and taps it. "It's fine, don't send anyone in here. The woman spat at me, so I gave her a warning. Continue with the session."

Smoke still came from the end of the pistol barrel as he puts it back in its holster, then continues. "Why did you not open fire at targets you knew killed your allies? What previous relationship do you have with The Coalition... Don't test my patience again."

Box's eyes water from the pain the shot had caused to her ears; it had been exceptionally loud, especially in this closed room. She stares straight ahead, a single tear drop rolling down her cheek. The officer's words strung her deep, igniting the smoldering fire that was her anger towards The Coalition. They erased him. They erased him. They erased him. They erased him. She repeats the words in her mind, barely understanding the man's repeated questions.

Open fire at targets. Killed allies.

"There was no order to shoot, sir. We had no official confirmation of the body count yet, sir. Bosho was the main target, sir, we had no other targets except the raiders."

Box couldn't feel her hands anymore, she had been gripping them extremely tight the whole time.

Targets. Killed. Erased. Colt. Bosho. Sodom. Coalition. Colt. Erased.

The woman, furious beyond the point of no return, turns her head towards the officer questioning her. Her previous self-control was slowly slipping away, and she didn't even know how to get it back. She takes a short breath.

"The Coalition, sir, rehabilitated me into a good serving citizen, ssssir. They saved me from the raiders, of course. We may have met, sir, you seem well-respected enough to investigate TC's own recruits." Her voice comes out straight and emotionless. Her mind was slipping out of control, and before she knows it, she smiles coldly at the man. Her next words come out honeyed and more gentle, but her crisped hands do not reach to wipe away the lone water trail on her face. "I hope you find the traitor, and I apologize for... spitting at you, sir. Let's work together from now on. Box here knows a lot of people in the Old Guard."

They erased him. They erased him. They erased him. He erased him.


"Nobody was erased. Hush." Came a quiet, barely audible, feminine voice. It seemed to come within the confines of her own mind, but it was certainly not her own. It has a soothing quality to it.

"Good. Further compliance will be rewarded with freedom. Now, another question. Many listeners reported hearing voices in their head. Did you? If so, did you understand anything they said to you?" The man begins to circle around her again, in a predatory fashion.

Again, the feminine voice speaks to her. "Be careful how you answer. He expects something from you. He does not trust you... Stay calm, child..."

Had Box been more in control of herself at that moment, she might have listened to the feminine voice. It was gentle, it was soft, it was almost motherly. The woman's throat tightens until she can no longer breathe properly. Keeping a straight face just as she had been doing since a few moments ago, Box feels her own heart pumping in her ears.

"Stay calm, child..."

Box gets up and instantly falls on her knees, her numbs hands reaching for her throat as she tries to gasp for air. She is unable to remain calm, she wants it so badly but she cannot.

Her heart races faster to the point of dizziness, air still difficult to come through.

Someone is in my mind. In my mind. Invasion. No freedom. Invasion. HELP, CAN'T BREATHE, CAN'T BREATHE, HELP ME!

If the officer spoke to her after this, she would not hear him and would pass out from the panic in the next minute.
The last thing that Box sees as she collapses onto the ground, is the concerned and confused face of the slavic man standing above her. He taps his ear piece, his lips move, but she only picks up on two words as she falls unconscious.

"She's here."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Box wakes up, she finds herself in a white room, on a cold, metallic bed. She recognized this place: It was a laboratory room. One made for helping diagnose mutagens. Her wrists and ankles are bound by metal restraints, built into the bed. She hears the scraping sound of a chair beside her, followed up with a man walking over to her. It was someone else, not the slavic man. He looked well groomed, his hair was short. Yet the look in his eyes was, admittedly, rather gentle. "You may not recognize me, but I am Ryan Dufont. I am a member of The Coalition's council, and the political head of this Bunker's Coalition divisions..." He glances down at the restraints. "These are for your own safety." He lightly touches her neck--it was sore, bruised. "I would much rather you not kill yourself... Especially knowing that you hear her voice too."

As Box wakes up, she feels so incredibly weak -- otherwise, she might have tried to break the restraints. Her vision is blurred, her head is throbbing, and more importantly, her stomach is growling loudly. She hears a somewhat familiar voice in this dizzy mess.

"Wh... what happened... Where am I?" She tries to reach for face to rub her eyes before remembering the restraints. Her voice is scratchy like gravel.

"Whose.. whose voice did I hear?"

Box clenches her fists with what little strength she has left, breathing deeply and trying to focus her thoughts on the previous events. She remembers the interrogation, and the voice in her head. She had felt so terrified -- no one should penetrate her mind.

"I don't want to kill myself. I need to leave, please... I... need to eat, sir."

"You want to eat? What would you like to eat?" He walks away from her side and to an intercom panel by the wall. "I'll let you go, as well, don't worry about that, but let me get you something to eat first, then I will release you, and we can talk about the voice... I have heard it too, lately. Trust me, I won't hurt you."

"I can eat anything, sir."

Box tries to clear her throat but instead she begins coughing. "Maybe... some water too, sir."

Ryan Dufont's words are oddly calming, and help Box focus despite the fatigue and dizziness. He seems like someone she could trust, and having no one else to be her friend right now, she decides to tell him what she knows.

"I.. yes, sir, I heard the voice as well. It... she, doesn't want me to... to talk. I don't want to hear her again, please, sir. Also... how long have I been... passed out?"

Her thoughts are still a bit foggy, but she manages to recall most of the interrogation. The man with an accent... Box groans silently, not loud enough for Dufont to hear her. She had tried to weasel her way out of it and cooperate without giving any important... information in regards to her squad, but in the end she had freaked out and failed them all.

"About four hours." The Council Member replies as he hits a couple of switches on the panel, then the intercom switch. "Bring something inoffensive, easy on the stomach, to Testing Room 4. Oh, and a bottle of water." He flicks off the intercom broadcast switch. A moment later, a voice replies affirming the orders. He walks over to the head of bed, where a small control system was. "Oh, and don't call me sir, Ryan will be fine." He presses in a combination, and the restraints hiss as they unlock. He walks over to her side and looks down at her with a soft expression. "I really rather dislike formalities when in private. I'm just a man, you're just a woman--equals, nothing more, nothing less."

As soon as she hears the restraints come off, Box tries to sit up -- a little too fast. Holding her head between her hands, she takes deep breaths in hopes of clearing the dizziness. After a minute or two, she sits with her legs crossed in the middle of the bed. She doesn't trust her legs to fully support her for more than a few minutes.

"All right, Ryan." Box tries not to show her surprise and hint of fear when he calls her a woman. Not many people knew, but then she had passed out... maybe they had to search her, and they figured out she did not have a male body.

Box massages her wrists, hoping to rub off the stiffness caused by the restraints. She hadn't been in such a vulnerable position for a very, very long time. How could I let myself slip off the edge like this? Damnit, woman...

As they wait for her food and water, Box thinks back on the interrogation. She had tried to be cocky by mentioning Colt and his experimentation, and it had backfired. She could have gone off much more easily if she had complied. But... even though she had not really set her loyalties anywhere, she couldn't help but feel torn between the Coalition and the Old Guard. She didn't want to have to choose between both.

Play them both until you have what you need.

The thought crosses her mind. It feels almost too lucid to be her own, and yet she did not hear other voices. Maybe she could indeed play this whole thing in her advantage once she is out of here...

Ryan pulls his chair up beside the bed and sits on it. He waits, silently, for a couple of minutes. There is a knock on the door. "Come in." Ryan replies simply. A tray with a simple sandwich and a bottle of water on it are the first things Box would likely see. A man in a lab coat was carrying it. She could see a pair of armed guards outside the door, briefly, before it closes. The scientist walks over and puts the tray of food down at the foot of the bed, then nods to Ryan, turns, and leaves the room. "Go ahead, eat." Ryan states plainly as he motions to the food. "It's there for your comfort."

Without a second thought, Box reaches for the food. She had no reason to distrust Dufont in that particular moment - if anything, he had just proved that he trusted her by removing the restraints. She opens the bottle of water, not really paying attention if it was sealed, and takes in small gulps. Her throat burns to the contact of the cold liquid, and she has to concentrate on not coughing it out. Once her mouth feels normal, she takes a bite off the sandwich - cold meats and some green vegetable spread. Box wolfs down the sandwich in no time and finishes the water, slowly forgetting she even noticed the two armed guards at the exit of the room.

"Thank you s--Ryan," the woman sighs as she her posture relaxes. "I must apologize for my behaviour, Ryan -- I must've caused quite a ruckus for someone like you to have to babysit me."

"It is no problem, really." Ryan replies, nodding and smiling pleasantly enough. "I just need you to answer one more question for me. Can you do that for me? I promise, I am far more gentle than that brutish thug from earlier."

Box breathes in deeply, nodding to Dufont's words. She knows that the Coalition needs brutish thugs like the man from the debriefing, and also that she was in this predicament by her own fault. "Sure, Ryan -- I can answer anything you ask."

"Don't worry, it's a simple question, really..." He clears his throat. "This... Situation, in the orange fog, it is going escalate. Rapidly. Do you plan on continuing to pursue it? If so, to what end? Don't worry, this is all off the record, you can say anything."

Box thinks about Dufont's questions. Clearly, it was off-record only because there isn't a spotlight over her head. This man was an important member of the Bunker's leadership group -- she doubts he was being her confidante.

"Bunker Chicago is... it's my home, Ryan. I'll protect my home, no matter what it takes. I don't know much about the fog, but if it proves to be a threat to the Bunker's peace? Fuck, you'll have one more soldier at your side."

Box finally looks up at Dufont and tries a confident smile, but the recent events have left her rather... confused. She had one last question.

"Ryan... I'll fight for you and Chicago, but I need some peace of mind, you know? I need to know where my brother is. I'd do anything to be able to put this... worry to rest, please."

"Your brother?" Ryan asks, with a hint of genuine confusion in his voice. "Whatever happened under the previous administration I was not made privy to. I can, however, put in a few calls and look into it. As it stands, it will take a while. I would imagine if I was not automatically made privy to it, then such information is... Highly restricted." He wrinkles his nose, seemingly irritated momentarily, before sighing and smiling. "I will let you know if I find anything. As it stands, there is no functioning satellite for me to use right now. The next one will head into range in about two hours I think. Then I can put in an inquiry."

He stands up from his chair, and pushes it back as he does so. "There is something you should know. Coalition agents have every reason to believe that entities from the Orange fog are attempting to infiltrate Bunker Chicago, much like U-ARM. However, unlike U-ARM, I think we can agree that whatever those things are poses a much greater threat. We can contain U-ARM, I'm not sure we can contain this." He pauses, then walks over to the door. Knocking on it, the door opens from the other side, with the two guards stepping into the room. They are armed, but keep their weapons lowered. "Now, you may leave, but you will need to be escorted to the entrance. Security, and all that. Whether you work with The Coalition or The Old Guard, it's your discretion. Just know that we will always be here for you, and everyone else in the bunker." He smiles. "Always."


Box hides her fear with a smile, nodding to Dufont's answer. Of course the information about her brother was classified -- her own information from when she had been picked up by TC was under key as well. "I understand, it's all right. It's not... a priority, Ryan."

As she finally hears the explanation for the concern about the orange fog, it becomes clear now why all of those interrogations (masked as debriefings) occurred. "You can count me in, Ryan. I've been working with The Old Guard for years now -- I can also work with The Coalition, whichever needs me."

The black woman gets on her feet, still a bit unsteady, and follows Ryan to be escorted out of the facility. "Thank you for everything. Take care."

The two guards help guide Box out of the bunker. Ryan does not accompany them, instead leaving to investigate other affairs. As she reaches the bunker entrance, one of the guards speaks up. "If you wish to work for The Coalition, come back here and knock on our door. We'll have missions lined up for you." The two guards then enter through the bunker door once more, and leave her outside.
 
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Adrik Ivanov & Hewitt Ziegler
A collab between @Brovo and @Holmishire.

As Hewitt Ziegler stumbles through the room, a single, bright light appears, hanging a few feet above it. The chair is bathed in light, and through a hidden intercom system in the room, he could hear the telltale sign of a microphone coming to life. There, a thick, foreign, male accent comes through. It is however much unlike Morai's accent, having much more of an Eastern European tinge to it. “Go on. Sit on the chair, and we will begin.

Without hesitation, Hewitt strides himself over to the chair and takes a seat upon it. "I've no problem with the inevitable interrogation, but first, I have to ask." He eyed the room, looking for a hidden camera at which he might direct his attention. "Under whose authority is this being undertaken? The Coalition?"

Only silence followed Hewitt's question. A minute passes before a figure enters through the same door she used, quickly slamming it shut behind himself. A spotlight on the wall lights up, shining down on the figure and tracking him wherever he steps. From the sound of his footsteps on the concrete surface, it was clear that the room was empty of all but the two of them, and the chair that Hewitt sat upon.

The man was wearing a metallic but light looking armour, all black. At his waist was a sidearm, and he wore an ear piece--a specialized communicator, so that he could likely modify his questions on the fly at the behest of his employers. His white skin contrasted with his short black hair. There were hints of grey coming in at the roots, as he looked down at Hewitt. As he speaks, it was clear he was the same man as was on the intercom earlier. "Answer the questions asked and you will be free to go. You are being monitored and recorded. If you are suspected of lying, the question will be repeated. Avoidance of the questions will be treated as an open invitation to help you jog your memory through whatever means necessary to ensure the safety of the State, and all who live under its protection."

He clears his throat as he starts to circle the man. "Who are they? Why did you not open fire at targets you knew killed your allies? What do you think of Carolyn's disobeying of orders? What is your prior relationship with The Coalition? Do you suspect any of your allies of treachery? If so, name them. See? Simple. Answer questions honest and quick, go home."

"And you expect me to keep track of all that," he grumbled, refusing to look the man in the eye. Hewitt sat slouched in the chair, resting a hand lazily over his brow. "First of all, there weren't any targets to shoot. Couldn't see a thing in the damned thick fog. Even had I seen something—at that moment, the only thing on my mind was getting our people out safe. Carolyn made the best of the situation she could, and I don't blame her one bit." Hewitt gestured with his hand. "As for the Coalition, I've dealt with them on occasion. I worked as a mercenary, and three of your cities happened to be places where I did business. I've no ill will for them, I assure you." Finally, he dropped his hand from his face and looked at the interrogator directly. "Does that answer all your questions?"

"Do you suspect any of your allies of treachery?" He repeats, looking mildly irritated himself.

Hewitt did not turn his gaze from the man, but visibly hesitated. "… No."

The slavic man also pauses, tapping his ear piece. He listens, then nods. "Why did you come to Bunker Chicago?"

Hewitt took a moment to gather his thoughts before responding. "I was born here. My family lives here. After my father died, someone had to take care of them." He grimaced. "I take care of my own, and for now, fighting off the raiders seemed to be the best way to do it."

He pulls his ear piece out of his ear as the door to the room opens. Two guards enter, but simply stand by the doorway. "I have one more question to ask. Then, you will answer. Then, I will give you some information. Then, you will be free to go."

He clears his throat. "This situation with the orange fog will rapidly escalate. Do you plan on continuing to pursue it? If so, to what end? Understand that failing to answer this question honestly will result in your being shot the moment you leave this room, and I have conducted thousands of questionings. Do not think you can lie to me, and do not think it would earn you favours to do so, because this is off the record."

"I was under the impression that 'off the record' was supposed to be a comforting gesture, not a threatening one." Despite the now open door, Hewitt remains sitting—perhaps not wanting to appear threatening with his imposing bulk. "I'm no scientist. I don't know what the fog is, or what it can do. But if it starts to creep close to the city—to my home—I will not hesitate to march on in there and kill or destroy whatever is spewing that shit." He shrugged. "Beyond that, I think you'll forgive me for saying that I'd rather avoid getting anywhere near it."

"I believe you." He motions to the door. The two guards lower their rifles, and stand shoulder to shoulder in front of the doorway. "I have no intention of hurting you, believe me. Which is why I will now enlighten you as to why all of this was necessary." He tucks the ear piece away into one of his pockets, then continues speaking. "We have reason to believe that mutants from the Orange Fog are attempting to infiltrate Bunker Chicago, much like U-ARM has. However, I think we can both agree, that whatever those things are is a far greater threat than U-ARM is. This entire time, the spotlight you have been sitting under has been hiding a scanner, measuring your brain waves to see if you were one of them, or whatever scientific crap the lab rats say they do. I have my own test."

He taps his sidearm. "If after everything you have seen today you would claim to have no interest in the fog that could end you and this entire Bunker, I would know you to be either a liar, or a fool. In either case, in case the lab coats fail..." He leans in and grins. "... My intuition doesn't. Now, go ahead. The guards will guide you to the exit of the bunker. Maybe you will work with Marie and Carolyn's Old Guard, or come back here and help us. I understand either way, for at least right now, we have a common enemy."

"Repeatedly threatening a man's life after he risked his own under your employer's orders is no way to foster loyalty." Finally, Hewitt rose to his feet, and offered his hand to the man. "Still, what I said before remains true—I have no ill will for the Coalition. We both want Chicago secure, and so long as that continues to be your goal, I hope we can continue to fight as allies, not rivals."

The man pauses, then shakes Hewitt's hand. "This is simply protocol. As I said, I do not desire to harm you, but at the same time, I won't lie to you." He clears his throat and motions to the guards. "My name is Adrik Ivanov. If you wish to work with The Coalition in the future, we'll have work lined up for you. Simply come back to the bunker entrance here and ask for it."

When Hewitt leaves, the two guards escort him to the bunker entrance. There, they let him out, then go back inside the bunker themselves.[/hr]
 
The Interrogation
Collab of @Brovo and @Rain of the Night



As Gabriel Desrochers stumbles through the room, a single, bright light appears, hanging a few feet above it. The chair is bathed in light, and through a hidden intercom system in the room, he could hear the telltale sign of a microphone coming to life. There, a thick, foreign, male accent comes through. It is however much unlike Morai's accent, having much more of an Eastern European tinge to it. “Go on. Sit on the chair, and we will begin.”

Nothing of how their return was being handled made him comfortable in the least. He was gently brought to the room, but pulled… He wasn’t resisting, but he certainly showed a little bit of disdain for how he was being brought. A single push and in he was.

Dark room, no one present, single light… Was this going to be a torture session? Was he being… interrogated? He looked around, but he did as he was asked; he took a seat and just looked around, not too sure what this is about. “What’s the treatment about? I could have just said yes and came.” It was the truth; he wasn’t about to ‘hide’ anything nor withhold information. Gabriel was decidedly nervous, not used to any kind of situation like such.

A minute of silence passes before a man enters the room through the same door that Gabriel came through. He slams the door behind himself, and as he does, a spotlight on the wall comes to life and illuminates him. It follows him as he walks around the chair. Based on his footsteps, it was clear the room was empty of anything except the chair, and the two of them.

The man was wearing a metallic but light looking armour, all black. At his waist was a sidearm, and he wore an ear piece--a specialized communicator, so that he could likely modify his questions on the fly at the behest of his employers. His white skin contrasted with his short black hair. There were hints of grey coming in at the roots, as he looked down at Gabriel. As he speaks, it was clear he was the same man as was on the intercom earlier. "Answer the questions asked and you will be free to go. You are being monitored and recorded, if you are suspected of lying, the question will be repeated. Avoidance of questions will be treated as an open invitation to convince you to become more straightforward through any means necessary. Not because I wish to harm a skilled pilot, but because the safety of the State and the people it protects come before the life of any individual man."

Without waiting to see if Gabriel understood, he continued. "Answer the following questions. Who are they? Why did you not open fire at targets you knew killed your allies? What do you think of Carolyn's disobeying of orders? What is your prior relationship with The Coalition? Do you suspect any of your allies of treachery? If so, name them... Make this easy for yourself, don't withhold your answers."

The eerie silence did not come to comfort the already nervous soul. Why was he being brought here in such a matter? It would have been simpler to just discuss it, over a drink or something; not like it was a fucking interrogation session… Gabriel was tempted to attempt and withhold information… However, when the man entered in with the light coming on, he could only imagine tings becoming worse.

He looked up, seeing the sidearm, then the man’s face. Now, Gabriel had a slight panic. He swallowed down the clump of saliva that had formed and he leaned back onto the chair. His words came forth, and normally, he wouldn’t take this kind of shit. However, he was alone, in a room with an armed man. His eyes widened at the intention of ‘making him ‘speak’ if he didn’t satisfy his answers. Great position to be in…

The questions were asked, and Gabriel did take a moment to think about how he would answer each of them… Though his thoughts were hurried, simply because of the circumstances. He looked around the room, as if searching for an exit, a way out… But he then sighed.

Calisse d’position d’marde. (Fucking shitty position)… Alright, well, let’s start with the ‘who they are’; I have no fucking clue. I couldn’t hear much of what was being said from whoever they are because of the rotors. You’ll have better luck with the others who were able to comprehend anything…” The pilot shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “… I didn’t fire because my ATS system had to be put down because of a possible EMP. IT left only my missiles… To attack a single figure. One man isn’t worth a Bunker Buster to himself.” He leaned forward now, elbows on his thighs. “And even before that, my ATS was acting up because of the fog; it was saying there was targets every second, disappearing the other, never clinging on to anything. A lot of equipment that required electronic sights or sensors were acting up.”

Now, Carolyn disobeying orders was something he knew many would get in trouble for, but he wasn’t about to let her take the entire fall. “She did what she had to do; some members had bailed before orders were even shouted, we had no vision, no details, nothing to move forward. I was one of the few, or many, that suggested a retreat…” He looked up to him, a little more courageous, but definitely still nervous. “She returned with Intel, alive with her crew, with us able to inform you…

His relationship with the Coalition? “As for my relation with the Coalition… Can’t say I have any. I’ve always helped out the Old Guard. I plan on keep helping them or whatever is best for the Bunker.” Not totally true; it was more for his family’s sake, but they were Bunker members too. The last piece… The last answer. “Morai, Box and Convict. They fucking bailed before anything really hit the fan. If they fucked off so easily, not sure what the hell their worth are… Ok, maybe Box is not as bad, but Morai refused to speak about any of this and Convict is… Well, the name implies it. She couldn’t be trusted to live ‘freely’ before, can’t fucking trust her to live with the Bunker now.” There, that should about do it, right?

Anything else?” He asked, curious, nervous, and beginning to become frightened. What the hell were they going to do to him now?

A few moments pass as the man listens to information received through the ear piece. He then turns to face and look at Gabriel directly, eye to eye. "You once fired on and, through an act of friendly fire, caused the fatalities of squadmates. If you were ordered to do so again by The Coalition's high command, would you?"

The man stared straight into his eyes, and that moment, he knew that there was something more he would be asked. Gabriel initially narrowed his eyes and leaned back into his chair again, not really wanting to know what would come next. The question came and immediate guilt and disdain rose to his face... He didn’t like being reminded of the decision he took. He still felt responsible, but he also knew that it was for the best, rather it be for saving more lives or making sure an important task was done.

However... “No... I’d only do it if the situation leaves little to no choice, not because I was ORDERED to do it.” He was bitter with this answer, not liking that this was brought up like this, out of the blue. “Are we done?” Gabriel was losing his cool; the mix of fear and disgust wasn’t a good concoction. He remained seated though; he was still in a tight spot and anger or boldness wasn’t going to spare him.

"Disappointing answer." He pulls out his pistol and switches the safety on, then puts it back in its holster. The door out of the room opens, and bright light floods into the room. It was as empty as it appeared to be. "But, an honest one. Which is all that was asked from you. I have one further question for you. You will answer it. After, I will inform you of one more thing, and you will be free to go. That question is, rather simple really."

He pulls his ear piece out, and turns it off, as a pair of Coalition guards enter the room, standing by the door. "This situation with the orange fog will rapidly escalate. Do you plan on continuing to pursue it? If so, to what end? Understand that failing to answer this question honestly will result in your being shot the moment you leave this room, and I have conducted thousands of questionings. Do not think you can lie to me, and do not think it would earn you favours to do so, because this is off the record."

Gabriel tensed when he saw the pistol come out of its holster. Was it really how it was going to go? Just because of an unsatisfactory answer that he gave that was truthful? He was ready to pounce out of his chair once the flick of the safety was done... His eyes remained on the firearm even as more floodlights invaded the room... Was it the moment to go? He wasn’t really a soldier; yes, he was a skilled pilot who was able to conduct himself quite well with a helicopter, but he wasn’t a grunt to someone else.

The gun went back into the holster and Gabriel could breathe a little... Though, it wasn’t done. There was one more question... a really simple one at that, or so he says. This situation was made much more complexing when two guards came in. Gabriel’s fingers were fidgeting rapidly, a clear sign that he wasn’t staying calm. The earphone came off, and he went straight to the point... Warning that a dishonest answer will result in his death. He swallowed his saliva again, clearly shaking.

Gabriel looked back at the two guards, than the interrogator. He was hesitant to answer, not sure what he SHOULD answer. He wondered if anything he would say would get him killed at this point... “Écoute bin (Listen carefully); I don’t know what the fuck you guys are worried about with me, but I have no ill-conceived ideas on whatever the Coalition is doing. Sure...” He put his hands up, as if admitting or giving up something. “... I’m not a fan of what you guys are doing here in the Bunker, but I’m not out to get you. I’m fucking engineer and pilot here, I build and fix helicopters when I’m asked or paid to do it, I improve on designs I already have. That’s what I do, more than being a helicopter pilot.” Like this would save him...

So, for the answer, yes, I might get involved with this fog if it threatens the bunker. And who knows, maybe I’ll find something there to improve on the designs of my tech, but otherwise, I don’t see any other intentions.” Nervousness was making him talk a little too much and he was feeling like a trapped animal.

"I believe you." He motions to the door. The two guards lower their rifle, and stand shoulder to shoulder in front of the doorway. "I have no intention of hurting you, believe me. Which is why I will now enlighten you as to why all of this was necessary." He tucks the ear piece away into one of his pockets, then continues speaking. "We have reason to believe that mutants from the Orange Fog are attempting to infiltrate Bunker Chicago, much like U-ARM has. However, I think we can both agree, that whatever those things are is a far greater threat than U-ARM is. This entire time, the spotlight you have been sitting under has been hiding a scanner, measuring your brain waves to see if you were one of them, or whatever scientific crap the lab rats say they do. I have my own test."

He taps his sidearm. "If after everything you have seen today you would claim to have no interest in the fog that could end you and this entire Bunker, I would know you to be either a liar, or a fool. In either case, in case the lab coats fail..." He leans in and grins. "... My intuition doesn't. Now, go ahead. The guards will guide you to the exit of the bunker. Maybe you will work with Marie and Carolyn's Old Guard, or come back here and help us. I understand either way, for at least right now, we have a common enemy."

Those first few words brought clear relief to the helicopter pilot. A long sigh escaped him as everything was said to him about why the light and all of this was necessary... The sudden realization had the eyes of the man widen, mostly in shock. Was there something about the orange fog... The way it seemed to work, or what he say from the field, definitely made Gabriel rethink about how it could possibly evolve.

The final words of the man interrogating him brought some solace to him... However, he felt like maybe further cooperation would be effective for the safety of the Bunker. Gabriel got up from his seat, still clearly relieved that this was over. “Well...” The man wasn’t sure if it was the best move, but it was certainly the right one to him. “... If the Coalition needs a few minds to work on this, some of the Desrochers family will probably help on figuring this out.” The Desrochers definitely had a few smart minds, given how they had developed useful tech for vehicles and a few weapons of choice. “If I do some work related to this with the Old Guard, I’ll let you guys know about anything we find out.” The pilot thought it was best that those that were for the protection of this Bunker should at least all be informed on any developments. One thing was for sure; he’d be making sure he gets involved now; this threat was too dangerous to just let go.

The guards escort the man out, uneventfully. Once at the bunker entrance, one of them speaks, to leave him a final message. "If you want to work with The Coalition in the future, simply come up to the door here and ask for it. We'll have missions lined up for you... Adrik Ivanov told me to give you his name as well. If you mention it, he'll be more than happy to employ you himself. Good day." The two guards then enter the bunker once more, and leave Gabriel outside.

Now that he had a name, Gabriel could act accordingly to what needed to be done. He would simply return to his helicopter and take off to get back to the Desrochers shop, just in case he might find something out of place on it.
 
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“You fuckers are the wolves in the chicken pen.”
-Box Copter, Page 2.

An Uneasy Moment

A week had passed since the terrible loss that The Coalition and Old Guard forces sustained at the hands of whatever now laid in waiting within the orange fog. Speculation ran rampant about it being anything from angels of God, to mutants gone insane. Listeners with more obviously physical symptoms found themselves being eyed with distrust, with even a few incidents of violence being put on record against petty thieves for simply being listeners.

Still, there were others who felt sympathy toward the listeners. Who offered medical treatment to those victimized by those living in fear, and from those who were filled with hatred. A small rift was starting to form between those that feared them, and those that sympathized with them. One that various political factions seemed intent on either capitalizing upon, or trying to mend. The Old Guard are ushering for people to remain calm and remember that listeners are their family and friends. The Coalition is remaining oddly silent, but is continuing its program of free mutagen therapy at its laboratories.

Two days ago, additional forces from other colonies controlled by The Coalition were dropped in via transport helicopters. Elite units, it seemed, who moved to protect the bunker and up the number of guards around its laboratories. One day ago, they announced that their mission statement has expanded to include the latest threat to Bunker Chicago's existence. The Old Guard's uppermost members—most notably Carolyn Antoinette—noted that they were not contacted about it.

Rumours have started to flow openly that various factions across the bunker are starting to prepare for another operation. Mercenaries are still welcome, but it seems that the ability to remain strictly neutral is becoming harder and harder as distrust and rifts are growing each and every day. It seems if anyone wants a say in their future, they're going need to act—sooner, as opposed to later. Those who have already survived the fog are bound to be seen in a more positive, employable light...

The Old Guard – Machine Shop

It was clear that whatever was going on between The Old Guard and The Coalition was starting to see them drift a little from one another. Within the most robust machine shop of The Old Guard, Carolyn worked away at her tank, and watched over others using some of the more delicate equipment. The sounds of welders and engineer's tools constantly ran throughout the large structure—it seemed they were getting ready for something, on the double.

On the second floor of the machine shop, Marie Black and Devin Antoinette were working on paperwork and requests of various sorts. Those two could often be found there, as it was an easy location for regular people to access in order to speak to them about how to repay their generous free usage of the machine shops.

Today, however, people commented that Devin and Marie could be heard yelling at each other occasionally. It seemed there was an issue that was shaking up the usually easy-going offices on the second floor...

Whispers and Rumours – Dark Alley

Listeners all across the bunker—strong or weak—could hear the occasional hint of something they couldn't discern, or feel flashes of emotions that were distinctly not their own. Rumours circulated, that certain strange persons with orange irises kept watch from the shadows. Regardless, whether through a little detective work as a non-listener, or through following the incoherent whispers and flash feelings as a listener, it does seem possible to discover the source of these things.

Following these rumours—or whispers—would lead one to a series of dark alleyways. Where rats gnaw on their brethren, and drug addicts lay in various states of incoherence—needles still sticking out of their arms. One particular alley is devoid of all of these things however—and it seems here, a woman wearing a lab coat stood alone. As though waiting for any brave enough to answer the calls...

The Coalition – Food Line

Meanwhile, a food line a few streets away from the bunker itself wafted the scent of food through the air. Potato soup and bread—standard daily rations for any who couldn't afford their own lot. The lines were long, but organized, as people worked hard in the back baking food. The person directing the food lines was none other than Jenive Rousseau—the one The Old Guard considered a traitor—out of her uniform and working hard to ensure maximum efficiency. To a certain extent, even compassion, as she ensured that families with young children got double the normal rations.

Outside the food line, the two doors leading inside—both the one right beside the food line windows, and the one where supplies went in the back from the bunker itself—were guarded by lightly equipped soldiers. Volunteers from Bunker Chicago itself. On the doors were posters, proclaiming that anyone who wanted to repay The Coalition for its free food, would in addition be given free lodgings, and equipment, and camaraderie. Inside, in the recruiting room just behind the kitchen, was none other than Adrik Ivanov. If it wasn't for the overwhelming smell of boiling potatoes and baking bread, one would be able to smell the cigar smoke that could visibly be seen seeping out of the room.

U-ARM – Pamphlets & Churches

Whenever the street patrol of guards were changing shifts, or simply not present, the occasional cloaked figure ran down the streets throwing pamphlets out of a basket. The pamphlets spoke of the liberation that U-ARM could bring the people, and not to listen to The Coalition's lies. It appealed to the fear mongering of listeners, speaking of how The Coalition's laboratories would change everyone into obedient drones one day if they weren't stopped. Most interestingly however, it spoke of the importance of remembering freedom and liberty for all who sought it. Training, black market weapons and other... “Goods and services” like drugs.

If one were interested by such things, they could simply follow the trail of smoke-filled bars and common street peddlers to find themselves walking toward a church on the outer edges of the bunker. There, inside, a preacher read from the bible, all day—only taking a few minute's break every hour to speak to those who sought him out. It was rumoured that this was one of the spots U-ARM kept an eye out for recruits...

Sleeping Dragons – Foreigner's Apartment Complex

Wind chimes blow to signal when one is passing by the Foreigner's Apartment Complex—a five floor tall building, large, with several rooms that housed both families and loners. It was located in a more run down part of the bunker colony, where foreigners ended up going when the rest of the colony had no space for them. There, the scent of incense could be smelled merely by passing by it.

Rumour had it that another group, worked from the shadows out of the foreigner's district. Those same rumours circulated around Morai—a man who had apparently completely erased his history before ever arriving in the colony. Yet his history would imply someone of significant training, if they looked close enough.

He sat alone, in a common prayer room. A few beads of sweat roll down his face, his breathing was deep, and slow, and rhythmic. His head bowed, in meditation. Yet, beside him, his shotgun rested. The room, illuminated only by candles, showed a flickering red reflection from the blackened metal.​
 
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Kiku and Marie - The Old Guard and the New Pup
(Feat @Brovo as Marie Black and Devin Antoinette.)
It had been a crazy day.

After some nutjob who'd seen Kiku’s skin shift colours took a swing at her, Kiku had been looking for any excuse to vent and blow off steam. Things had been tense since the additional forces arrived from the other bunkers. She’d been a bit peeved, and a bit stressed, and she couldn’t find anyone to blow off any steam with. That left only one person to talk to.

Making her way to the Machine shop that Marie often used as her office, Kiku was ushered in easily enough. She had been to the Machine shop more often than most, even if she could only operate some of the more basic kit. Truth be told, she’d never been much for technology; people were always more fascinating.

She found her way onto the second floor, any posted guards already well aware that if she wanted to see Marie, she would. She’d once stripped off all her clothes and went invisible to see Marie; and she’d been found talking to the woman in the buff about this and that: mostly fears about her mutation, and tips on shooting a pistol from the hip, and asking the older woman questions about times she’d been out with the Old Guard.

Now though, she had something else to talk about: a number of things, actually. She knocked on the Second Floor door, waiting to hear the familiar voice before she barged her way in. She had something in a little bundle wrapped up behind her; a little something she’d brought with the money from the wallet she’d pinched from the mug who’d taken a swing at her.

As Kiku knocks on the door, she could hear yelling beyond it. Silence follows for a few moments after her knocking, followed by Marie's voice--sounding a little coarser than usual. "COME IN!" Beyond the door was a large room with a single desk, and upon it, a mess of papers. Marie Black and Devin Antoinette were both beyond it. Devin had his armed crossed as he leaned against the wall, and Marie glares coldly at whoever interrupted them. The room had a single large window to illuminate it, though blinds filtered the light into a few lines that coated the room in layers of light and shadow. A single fan on the roof turned slowly, seeming to be in dire need of maintenance--perhaps recently abused and damaged. Papers were scattered across the room in a disorganized mess, and there were a couple of chairs in front of the desk.

Kiku winced as she heard Marie’s coarse shouting. She imagined that Marie had probably been having to bust her ass for the last few days since the chaotic changes to the Bunker began to destabilise the power of the Old Guard. She’d heard rumours that they’d been blanked from the reinforcements arriving, after all. That sort of thing would get right up Marie’s craw.

Peeking her head around the door, Kiku offered a toothy smile to Marie. The room itself was a bit more disorderly than she remembered. She noted the way the fan was chuntering on the roof, barely doing much more than spin around the warm air of the room. She lifted the brown bag she’d been holding onto, letting the sound of glass rattling against glass alert Marie that she came bearing gifts. “Uh…Hey boss, and, uh…other boss.” She said, nervously looking at Devin Antoinette before glancing back at Marie. Her predatory eyes flickered around the room, to see if there was anyone hiding between the shadows, before she sort of slid her body through the crack and closed the door behind her. I…uh…Thought we could like, catch up. Maybe chat about the mission and…stuff.” She said, eyes glancing towards Devin every so often. “If it’s a bad time though, I can leave. I’m sure you probably got the debriefing and…well…y’know.” She sort of offered a nervous chuckle onto the end of her words, tacked on like an out-of-place hat.

Devin rolls his eyes and picks up a few of the papers on the floor and desk. "It's fine, we need a few minutes anyway, or we'll be at each other's throats." Marie shakes her head, but seems to smile nonetheless. "You're a stubborn old bastard." He raises an eyebrow as he places the papers in a file folder. "And you're a damnable old cunt." His tone seemed almost playful in its wizened age, and Marie punches him in the shoulder with a chuckle before motioning him out. As he leaves, she sighs, and grabs the bottle out of Kiku's hand. She takes a swig of it, then sighs again, but this time, with more satisfaction. "I can always depend on you, can't I?" She says, almost seeming to ask herself the question more than Kiku.

She turns away from the light of the window, and leans against her desk, as she continues to speak. "I ain't gonna lie to you Kiku. Things are uglier than they look." Her tone is grave, as she swirls the swill in the bottle around. "The Coalition, U-ARM--they're in it for keeps this time. They're bringing in everything they've got that they can spare. Our position as kingmaker is growing less relevant by the day, and we need to know why." She glances toward Kiku sympathetically, and places the bottle of liquor down on the desk. She crosses her arms over her chest, and then looks down at the floor. "I can't say anything about the mission unless I know that you're with us."

Kiku stepped to the side for Devin as he left, feeling a little nervy around the older man who basically ruled the Old Guard roost. She didn’t hold anything personal against the man, she just felt a little intimidated by him. Here stood a man that she couldn’t touch: Aloof, Powerful, and probably not that interested in sex. At this junction, at least, she had no way to interact with him other than as a complete subservient; and that always left her nervous. She didn’t like being on the wrong end of the power scale.

Left alone with Marie however, the tension seemed to melt out of Kiku’s shoulders as she handed the older woman one of the bottles. She set two of the spare bottles on the table, and picked up a third for herself; popping the screw top and drinking the swill; choking the stuff down more than drinking it. She looked up at Marie, a little taken aback by the sudden uncertainty in her tone. It felt weird for someone she associated so much with strength to be anything but strong. She took a few steps closer; placing a hand on top of Marie’s. She looked up at the woman, offering a goofy grin to try and reassure her. “You know me, Marie. I’m with you. As long as we never end up near those U-ARM fucks, I’ll be on your side.” She said, before lifting her hand off of Marie’s and onto her head, scratching her scalp. “I may have a few obligations to TC's smart-asses, but you’re the one who actually helps people like me, outside of the Bunker. So my loyalties are with you.

"Heh." Marie smirks. "The only way we're going near U-ARM is if we're going scalp collecting, like I used to in the old days with the raiders." She puts aside the bottle for a moment and reaches into one of her pockets, pulling out a cigar and a lighter. She lights it, and smokes it--the weakly turning fan had almost no impact at all on where the smoke filtered, but just enough to show it was there. Determined not to die just yet. "The Old Guard is an old bird. They stop flying eventually. Just the way things are..." She takes a puff from her cigar and blows out the smoke toward the door. "We ain't done yet though. We've got a couple chances left." She pulls one of the papers off the desk. Without looking, she seemed to know which one it was--in spite of them all being a mess. "Sign this. We're collecting a list of allies. Confidants. People can we rely on. Once you do that, then I'll tell you more, Kiku."

Kiku's nose crinkles a little at the cigar's smoke. She never had gotten used to the stink, even though she tried to spend decent chunks of time with Marie. She looked up at the weakly rotating fan, wondering why the boss hadn't replaced it with a new one yet. It still clung on though, refusing to be completely outdated yet. If she were more educated, she might see the irony in its existence.

Kiku looked down at the piece of paper, frowning a little as she heard about what it was. Signing herself up to any organisation had always been a bit of a bugbear for her. It felt like a limitation of her freedom. "If I sign this, am I banned from talking to The Coalition's people? You know I'd never tell any secrets or nothin', but a couple of them seem alright. Plus they feed people and stuff, which is pretty cool."

"You can talk with them, but... You can't work with them. At least, not until our next operation is done." Marie states simply. Her tone rapidly turns blunt after inhaling another bout from her cigar, though it comes out with a couple of coughs. "You can't tell anyone what we're going to do. I sympathize with The Coalition, I do, but... My ties lie here. I can't just abandon The Old Guard, not without giving them a chance to prove they still might make it." She flicks some of the ashes off of her cigar onto a tray, overflowing with them. The loose ashes roll down onto the desk itself. "If you're with us, you're with us for this mission. Because beyond this point, lies information that, if it got into the hands of the wrong people... Would screw us all over before we would even have a chance."

Kiku pauses, looking down at the sheet of paper, and then at Marie. She seemed to be agonizing other the choice for a moment, torn between her instincts to work with Marie and her curiosity about the Coalition, who were helping her with her Listener powers and who were helping feed the people who couldn't feed themselves. Her hand hovered over the nearest pen for a second. "I'm with you, not the Old Guard. That means they get one chance. If they start spluttering, I'll start looking elsewhere." She said, picking up the pen and signing her name to the document. She dropped the pen as soon as her scruffy signature was scrawled onto the waiver, as if it might bite her. She let out a long, drawn out grumble; slapping her thighs before she paused, inhaled, and looked to Marie; this time painting on a goofy, toothy grin. "At least that Carolyn Antoinette's pretty cute. Almost makes it worth it." She said, laughing a little as she put the bottle to her lips and chugged down a few mouthfuls of the awful beer, before pulling the bottle away and wiping her mouth.

"Come on then, what's so important that I have to sign my voice away?" She said, walking over to stand next to Marie.

Marie grabs a file folder off the floor, and dusts it off. "Careful about Carolyn. Her father's a little protective." She sticks the cigar in her mouth and holds it there as she opens the folder. Inside were a few photographs. "Mouse got us some treats from Coalition databases. Appears these things are weaker outside of their fog." She hands the folder to Kiku, for her to finger through. "That one is outside of the fog and appears to be alone. It engaged with some U-ARM forces, and though it won, it appears too weak to make it back to the fog. This is a chance to capture one, alive, and figure it out. Officially, we're working with The Coalition in a two-part operation, where we're going to try and corner it from two sides. Unofficially, at the last minute, we're going to snatch it away and take it back to the colony ourselves. Interrogate it ourselves."

As Kiku goes through the photos, she would see one of the entity looking up at the sky, directly toward the camera. "These are satellite photos. Somehow, it knew that it was being watched, and went indoors. There are a half a dozen satellites keeping an eye on it." She pulls the cigar out of her mouth, and blows smoke all through the room. "We're going for it this evening. No time to lose. That's why we're all rushing to get ready. That's why we need to keep it quiet."

Taking the folder, Kiku started to thumb through the pictures as was expected of her, looking at the strange being portrayed in the pictures. "He doesn't need to know about his daughter's sex life. That's just creepy." She said, her voice chipper as she kept staring at the strange...thing. It was human-enough to be worrying, but something about it gave her the heebie-jeebies. It made her spine crawl a little, and suddenly she was starting to wonder about just how the hell she was supposed to convince a thing, even an injured thing, to come back to the Bunker alive; let alone without the Coalition knowing.

She offered the folder back to Marie, waving her hand in front of her nose in a vain attempt to paw away the smoke. "I dunno Marie; this seems like a pretty mad mission. Capturing this thing alive, getting this... whatever he is back to a Mech Shop or a Safehouse without tipping off the Coalition, or anyone else. It's a hell of an ask." She said, swishing the bottle in her hand to check what she had left. She downed the last two mouthfuls, before slamming the bottle on a nearby table. "Maybe he'll be friendly if we send some Listeners. The dumbass U-ARM fucks probably led with their cocks in their hands and got gung-ho about their stupid Anti-Listener ideas..." A brief idea struck the back of her mind, but she kept tight lipped about it. "Being honest, I don't think this...thing is coming back to the bunker alive unless it wants to." She said, glancing back at the rickety ceiling fan.

"But hell, I could do with some big-wigs like you and Boss Dev'n owing me a favour or two." She said, smiling as she patted Marie on the shoulder. "I could do with not getting shot by him, if I do... uh... knock boots with anyone I shouldn't. Oh, and you'd owe me a couple more lessons at the range, too. I need more practice shootin' and scrappin'."

"Naturally, Kiku." Marie glances at the door, a little nervously, then puts her cigar out. "I'll be honest with you... You're not alone about The Coalition. I could work with them just as easily so long as this colony is safe. However... The Old Guard deserves a chance to prove it can survive first." She glances at the slow spinning fan. "Its friends haven't come out for it yet. So perhaps it was abandoned. As for it listening to a Listener..." Her eyes fall down onto Kiku, knowingly. "Perhaps so. Keep that in mind. Any other questions?"

"I think that's it for now, Marie. I'll be sure to be ready for this evening. Might even go and visit some of my...Teammates for the evening's events." She said, smiling at Marie with her big, over-enthusiastic smile. "Lets just keep doing what's best for the people who actually live in the bunker. If that means The Oldies, I'll stick with the Oldies. If that means cuddling in with the Coalition a bit, I'm sure I can find a nice cubbie." She shrugged, before turning on her heel to move towards the door.

When she got to the door itself, she paused for a second; her hand tense as she grabbed the door nob. For a gentle moment, the normally chipper woman's voice seemed to shift; losing the charming inflection and the bubbly inclination for something a bit more clinical and measured. Somewhere between angry and just emotionally dead, "Oh, and if you hear any more news about him still being alive, you better tell me first. I'd a bottle of beer on that cockroach still being alive." She said, pausing in the doorway for a cold moment, letting the words settle for a second in the air.

After a moment of pause, she then spoke one last time, her normal mirth returned. "See you later Marie. I'll bring better beer when I get paid more."

"Bosho is most probably dead, Kiku." Marie replies, equally coldly. "If he somehow isn't, I'll skin him alive myself. Take care, kiddo."
 
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Florence Morgenstern - A Bit of Slap and Tickle

As Florence Morgenstern stumbles through the room, a single, bright light appears, hanging a few feet above it. The chair is bathed in light, and through a hidden intercom system in the room, she could hear the telltale sign of a microphone coming to life. There, a thick, foreign, male accent comes through. It is however much unlike Morai's accent, having much more of an Eastern European tinge to it. “Go on. Sit on the chair, and we will begin.”

At the insistence of the voice over the intercom, Florence took a seat in the chair in the center of the darkened room, leaning back and crossing her arms as she did so. ”I’m sure you have all sorts of questions from the sinners and heathens in charge, and I want you to know that I’ll be just about pleased as punch to answer them for you. Provided of course, that you answer a simple question of my own beforehand, friend. Now, since I doubt that you’ve embraced God in all her radiant glory, my question is this: Do you consider yourself a sinner or a heathen? Answer carefully now, because there’s a very important distinction between the two, y’understand?” As the words leave her lips, Florence smiles a little, her zealous eyes looking straight at the intercom, waiting for a response.

Silence follows for a minute, before the door into the room opens once more. A figure steps through, his clothing dark for the brief moment that Florence can spy it before the door slams shut. A spotlight on the wall lights up and illuminates the man, following him wherever he steps. Judging by the scraping sounds his boots made on the concrete floor, it quickly became clear that the room was empty of everything except the two of them, and the chair Florence sat upon.

The figure was a man, wearing a metallic but light looking armour, all black. At his waist was a sidearm, and he wore an ear piece--a specialized communicator, so that he could likely modify his questions on the fly at the behest of his employers. His white skin contrasted with his short black hair. There were hints of grey coming in at the roots, as he looked down at Florence. As he speaks, it was clear he was the same man as was on the intercom earlier. "Answer the questions asked and you will be free to go. You are being monitored and recorded, if you are suspected of lying, the question will be repeated. Avoidance of questions will be treated as an invitation to pry the answers from you using any means necessary to do so. I don't particularly desire to harm you--fool though you may be."

He starts circling Florence, slowly, in an almost predatory fashion. "Here are the questions. Who are they? Why did you not open fire at targets you knew killed your allies? What do you think of Carolyn's disobeying of orders? What is your prior relationship with The Coalition? Do you suspect any of your allies of treachery? If so, name them."

Florence waited for an answer to her question, but when none came, even after her mysterious interrogator entered the room, she frowned slightly. Steepling her hands she spoke again, with a more resigned tone this time. ”Since you so rudely ignored me, I suppose I must take you for a sinner rather than a heathen. It’s a shame, that. You see, a heathen can at least be converted and forgiven for not knowing God’s light, but a sinner? A sinner must be cleansed from the Earth with holy fire.” As the man began speaking, Florence leaned back and smiled as he spoke, watching him and listening to his statement. He was no stranger to this process, it seemed, judging from the words he spoke and the way he spoke them. At the mention of torture her eyes lit up with interest, and she smirked briefly before speaking.

”Well, I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything like good old Southern hospitality out here in the Midwest, but a big scary guy like you, hurting a sweet little thing like me? I shudder with delight at the thought of such fun we could have, you and I. But you have questions, I’m sure. Ask away.” With that, Florence was silent once again, watching the man and listening with interest as he rattled off a list of questions, tittering occasionally as he circled around her. As he drew silent, waiting for a response but still circling, Florence took a moment to think before she answered his questions.

”Who are ‘they’? I assume by ‘they’ you mean the Children of Adam and Eve, they’re mutants, yes, not just any mutants, but powerful ones. They took out Bosho and his men, and that’s something y’all Coalition sinners couldn’t do all these years, if I’m not mistaken. They’re either angels or demons, servants or rebels. Of which kind they are, I do not know. As for not opening fire, there’s a good enough reason for that. If they were angels, it would be untoward for me to fire on fellow servants of God, but even if they were demons, it’s not like there was anything close up for me to fire at. Do these look like long-ranged weapons to you?” She grins after answering, gesturing towards Hellfire and Brimstone as she does so. After pausing for a moment to retrieve her pack of cigarettes from her pocket, she continues.

”Carolyn’s a saint, even if she hasn’t exactly seen the light of God. If it wasn’t for her disobeying orders we’d be dead, and this interrogation wouldn’t even be happening and you know it. As for my relationship with the Coalition, that’s simple. When I was a child, I was raised to believe that TC and all those that followed them were tyrants and oppressors, dedicated to preventing America from rising again out of the ashes.” She stops to pull out a cigarette from the pack, lifting it to her lips before continuing. While she doesn’t explicitly invite him to have one, the pack is open and waiting for him to take one. ”When God revealed her light to me, I saw that those views were false, although TC still has its fair share of sinners and heathens in my opinion. As for traitors? I don’t think anyone’s a traitor, but that Jenive is far too concerned with saving people for her own good. Could’ve cost us our lives if she was in charge. Now then, could you kindly give me a light?”

The man rubs his forehead in irritation, but pulls out a lighter nonetheless and tosses it to Florence. He continues with his questioning. "You were the leader of a cult once. What is this cult's name?"

Florence, grinning, caught the lighter and lit her cigarette, taking a deep drag from it before blowing smoke out towards the ceiling. Cigarette in hand, she leaned back in the chair before responding to his new question about her congregation, which he’d erroneously referred to as a cult. ”We were never a cult, darlin’, more like a congregation. Sure, they followed me and did what I asked, but we were on a mission from God herself to cleanse the wastes. But you asked for a name, didn’t you, not a story about my former flock. Truth be told, I never called them anything formally, but I always wanted to call them the Disciples of Her Cleansing Flame. It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” With that, she takes another drag on her cigarette, this time blowing smoke right at him rather than towards the ceiling.

The man does not flinch as the smoke wafts his way. Instead, he takes a step forward, and slugs Florence across the face, sending the cigarette to the floor. "Don't bite the hand that feeds you." He states bluntly as he steps on the cigarette. He then pulls out the ear piece as he steps back, the door opening and allowing two guards inside. They wait by the door. "One more question, you will answer. Then, I will give you some information. Then, you will be free to go and blow smoke anywhere you like."

He clears his throat. "This situation with the orange fog will rapidly escalate. Do you plan on continuing to pursue it? If so, to what end? Understand that failing to answer this question honestly will result in your being shot the moment you leave this room, and I have conducted thousands of questionings. Do not think you can lie to me, and do not think it would earn you favours to do so, because this is off the record."

Florence doesn’t flinch as her interrogator slugs her across the face, instead letting out a faint sigh of pleasure as she slumps back into the chair. ”My, oh, my, do you know how to treat a girl right, darlin’. Though I do wish you’d put a little more force into it, so we could really have some fun with what time we have left.” Smiling once more, she leans back in the chair as the door opens and two guards enter, with her gaze settling on them briefly as the interrogation continues. Florence hums idly as the man asks about her intentions with the orange fog and the angels or demons within, whether she would continue to pursue them, to what purpose would she pursue them, and a warning about how she’d be shot if she didn’t answer honestly. Once he fell silent to await her response, she took a moment to compose herself before answering.

”To answer your question, darlin’, of course I will continue to pursue the orange fog, it’s what God wants me to do. As far as what I will do with them, that all depends on what I learn about them. If they prove themselves to be angels, heavenly servants in mortal flesh, then I will aid them to the best of my ability. If they are demons, however, they will receive nothing from me but my hatred. God has little tolerance for demons and those who follow them. Now then, will that be all, my charming Mr…?”

He takes a few steps back.

"I believe you." He motions to the door. The two guards lower their rifles, and stand shoulder to shoulder in front of the doorway. "I have no intention of hurting you, believe me. Which is why I will now enlighten you as to why all of this was necessary." He tucks the ear piece away into one of his pockets, then continues speaking. "We have reason to believe that mutants from the Orange Fog are attempting to infiltrate Bunker Chicago, much like U-ARM has. However, I think we can both agree, that whatever those things are is a far greater threat than U-ARM is. This entire time, the spotlight you have been sitting under has been hiding a scanner, measuring your brain waves to see if you were one of them, or whatever scientific crap the lab rats say they do. I have my own test."

He taps his sidearm. "If after everything you have seen today you would claim to have no interest in the fog that could end you and this entire Bunker, I would know you to be either a liar, or a fool. In either case, in case the lab coats fail..." He grins. "... My intuition doesn't. Now, go ahead. The guards will guide you to the exit of the bunker. Maybe you will work with Marie and Carolyn's Old Guard, or come back here and help us. I understand either way, for at least right now, we have a common enemy."

As the man explains the reasoning for the interrogation and the trickery that the sinners had employed during said interrogation, Florence simply stands and stretches. If she was surprised by any of the knowledge he’d revealed, her face certainly didn’t show it. ”It’s a shame our little rendezvous has to end so soon, darlin’, but I’m sure I’ve taken up more than enough of your time for today. Even if we don’t end up working together, you being a sinner and all, I’d still love to spend some time with you and see what sorts of fun we can get up to. Of course, when I’m not too busy doing God’s work, that is.” Having said what she had to say, Florence starts to leave, stopping for a moment to turn back and blow the man a kiss before letting the guards escort her to the exit.

The man has no visible response as the two guards escort Florence out of the bunker. Upon reaching the exit, one of the guards taps his helmet, nods, then looks over at Florence. "If you wish to work with us in the future, simply come to the bunker entrance and ask for Adrik Ivanov. We'll always have work for you." The guards then leave her outside the bunker, going back to their various duties.
 
ALEKSA'S INTERROGATION
Collab between Adrik Ivanov @Brovo and Aleksa Volkov @Tyrannosaurus Rekt

As Aleksa Volkov stumbles through the room, a single, bright light appears, hanging a few feet above it. The chair is bathed in light, and through a hidden intercom system in the room, she could hear the telltale sign of a microphone coming to life. There, a thick, foreign, male accent comes through. It is however much unlike Morai's accent, having much more of an Eastern European tinge to it. “Go on. Sit on the chair, and we will begin.”

Aleksa was not prepared for this. Then again, this entire day had been an exercise in how unprepared one person-slash-an entire army could be. She moved towards the chair, not defiant in her actions. She was a mannered woman that stood with her shoulders squared and her chin tilted slightly upwards. Her black hair had been disheveled by the mask, but it was apparent she'd tried to tuck it back into place as she was being ushered here. Still, the red lines of the mask were evident on her pale countenance.

The accent was rather comforting, actually. Her grandmother had sounded quite close to that. It wasn't the same because dialects were always in fluctuation, but it reminded her of the old woman and her grizzled knuckles and even grislier tales.

Aleksa sat, crossing her legs at the ankles and placing her hands in her lap. "Very well," she said, smiling slightly. She figured she was here for questioning, but there was no need to be presumptive or rude about it. They'd get to their words, and she could get to hers.

A minute of silence passes, followed by a man entering through the same door she entered through. He slams it shut behind himself, and as he does, a spotlight on the wall lights up and illuminates him, wherever he goes. Based on how his boots scrape along the concrete floor, it was clear to her that there was nothing else in the room except for the two of them, and her chair.

The man was wearing a metallic but light looking armour, all black. At his waist was a sidearm, and he wore an ear piece--a specialized communicator, so that he could likely modify his questions on the fly at the behest of his employers. His white skin contrasted with his short black hair. There were hints of grey coming in at the roots, as he looked down at Aleksa. As he speaks, it was clear he was the same man as was on the intercom earlier. "Answer the questions asked and you will be free to go. You are being monitored and recorded, if you are suspected of lying, the question will be repeated. Avoidance of questions will be treated as an invitation to use any means necessary to encourage you to answer, including long term damage. I do not desire to hurt you, but understand that the State needs whatever information it can get to protect the people it protects here."

He begins to circle her as he asks his questions. "Who are they? Why did you not open fire at targets you knew killed your allies? What do you think of Carolyn's disobeying of orders? What is your prior relationship with The Coalition? Do you suspect any of your allies of treachery? If so, name them. The sooner this is done, the sooner you can go home to your daughter."

Aleksa's gaze was drawn to the spotlight. It was hard not to give the man her full attention considering the rest of the room was void of anything else to focus on. His words seemed mechanical. He'd probably asked the same questions to everyone else on the mission. She wondered if he'd spice it up after a while, or if he would stay true to the script. Judging by his face and his tone, she figured he wasn't the type to alter the formula.

He wanted the truth. Aleksa had nothing to hide. More so, she worried about her daughter. She was bound to have heard the nasty rumors flooding into Bastion Chicago. Aleksa hadn't had a chance to get a message off to her. She continued to cradle one hand in the other. "I do believe the creature in the fog called themselves the 'Children of Adam and Eve.' The creature also outright referred to Carolyn as a 'Child of Sodom.' I'm not too familiar with Judaism, but those seem like rather pointed names, considering."

A dark piece of hair fell into her face, she brushed it aside with the tip of her finger. "I did not fire because my radars were flickering on and off, and I couldn't get a visual on the enemies. I didn't feel secure firing ahead of me given the infantry had moved forward. I deployed drones, but their vision was also limited due the fog. I was using them for surveillance and not for their guns. They were too close to the infantry for me to feel secure doing so. Had then battlefield been clearer... well... we probably wouldn't be here, having this conversation." She gave a long and sweet smile.

She paused at the mention of Carolyn disobeying orders. "I wish she hadn't disobeyed orders. I've always lived by orders, myself. But the situation changed in such a manner that the orders we were given quickly lost relevance. Not to say they were bad orders, but the situation was beyond comprehension. Between the fog, the bandit's knowledge of our plans, and losing contact with everyone but ourselves... I do not believe contingencies upon contingencies could have predicted that. That being said, we may have all reacted more in the moment than we should have." Her smile faded. "That was very unfortunate."

"I do not have much of a relation with the Coalition. Apologies. My father had some dealings with the Old Guard, but that was his business and not mine. I just help out where I can in hopes of keeping Bastion Chicago standing and my family safe." It was solely for her family's sake. She wasn't one to play politics, and she figured herself too old and too grounded to start now.

Her lips dipped lowered into a frown. "It is irreprehensible what happened. It's obvious we were betrayed. Everything points to that. That being said, I was sequestered off from most of my teammates in the tank. All I heard was their radio chatter. I didn't hear anything suspicious. Then again, I didn't know to look for it until the tail end of the mission." She looked up. "If I think of anything, though, I will report it. Maybe time and reflection will clear my mind."

That's really what she needed from all of this, time and reflection. Aleksa was a calm woman. Yet, that didn't mean she wasn't internally shaken. So, she kept focused on one thing: the ringing in her ears. That was a constant in her life. Suppressing it and trying to hear over it was what kept her quite composed.

"Do you or your daughter show any signs of mutagens? Have you both been tested?" The man asks, after momentarily pausing to listen to whatever was being told to him through the ear piece.
Aleksa was caught off guard by this question. Honestly, she'd expected more: who, what, when, where, and why. Apparently, she'd answered efficiently, or they'd gotten as much information as the ones that came before her. She'd only given the truth. And they probably figured she had nothing else to offer. Aleksa didn't think she was without personality, but maybe she was a little straight-laced in these matters.

She straightened up but smiled. She looked the man directly in the eyes, her brown ones finding purchase in his face. "My daughter is a Listener, yes. She showed mutations at a very young age." She couldn't even fathom a lie at this point. Priss was the perfect example of someone's body that had become more without a drop of a breath. "After that discovery, I had myself tested. Her father passed away when she was born. So, I don't know if she got it from the both of us, but I tested positive for mutagens. They haven't become active, though." And at her age, she highly doubted they would. Then again, she knew nothing about it. Maybe there were eighty-year-old men who suddenly develop Listener powers. She wasn't going to count herself out, but her body wasn't running hot with all the chemicals it did when one was young. It would take some sort of catalyst for her body to do so.

Aleksa became still. Catalyst. Now, that was a little nugget of information for her to think on. That fog had been alive. There'd been unexplainable things. She'd been happy that she'd worn her gas mask. Still, it had nothing to do with the here and now. She kept her pleasant smile and awaited whatever her interviewer had to say.

The man's face seems to soften, just slightly, as the woman explains the matter with her daughters. He pulls his ear piece out as the door to the room opens. Two guards step inside, but wait by the doorway. "I will ask one more question, you will answer. I will then give you some information, what you do with it is up to you. You will then be free to leave."

He clears his throat. "This situation with the orange fog will rapidly escalate. Do you plan on continuing to pursue it? If so, to what end? This is off the record, and I am supposed to add a threat, but I see no reason to add a threat to a veteran mother."
Aleksa's gaze may have drifted from the man's face. Yet, she snapped back to it when she saw him remove his earpiece. She thought to ask about it, but she figured she'd get an answer soon enough. His face seemed less severe than it had a moment ago. Her red smile deepened. It shifted from the politeness to endearment.

"Thank you," she said, her voice softened. His question caused her to pause. For the first time in this interview, it wasn't a pause to formulate her answer, but a pause to consider the ramifications of what he said. Yet, the same answer pulsed against her skull every time. "I will pursue it. I love Priss, and I want to be there for her every step of the way. Yet, if that fog was to invade Bastion Chicago, what good will it do me to sit aside and let it happen?" Her fingers tightened. "If it threatens our home, the one I've built from near scratch, I will fight it with all my life. My daughter should have the same choices and comforts I had."

She chuckled, though it was strained. "What is a threat to a woman that would do anything to protect her daughter? I'm glad that you understand that." She would have patted his hand or his shoulder had the instant not been so formal. Maybe she'd see him outside this void-of-a-room. There she could show her gratitude.

He nods. "I believe you." He motions to the door. The two guards lower their rifles, and stand shoulder to shoulder in front of the doorway. "I have no intention of hurting you, believe me. Which is why I will now enlighten you as to why all of this was necessary." He tucks the ear piece away into one of his pockets, then continues speaking. "We have reason to believe that mutants from the Orange Fog are attempting to infiltrate Bunker Chicago, much like U-ARM has. However, I think we can both agree, that whatever those things are is a far greater threat than U-ARM is. This entire time, the spotlight you have been sitting under has been hiding a scanner, measuring your brain waves to see if you were one of them, or whatever scientific crap the lab rats say they do. I have my own test."

He taps his sidearm. "If after everything you have seen today you would claim to have no interest in the fog that could end you and this entire Bunker, I would know you to be either a liar, or a fool. In either case, in case the lab coats fail..." He leans in and grins. "... My intuition doesn't. Now, go ahead. The guards will guide you to the exit of the bunker. Maybe you will work with Marie and Carolyn's Old Guard, or come back here and help us. I understand either way, for at least right now, we have a common enemy."

Finally, his grin seemed to melt away into a somewhat warmer smile. "My name is Adrik Ivanov. If you wish to work with us in the future, simply come to the bunker entrance and ask for my name. We'll have work lined up for you."

"Good to know," Aleksa sad. "Thank you, and it's been a pleasure." She wanted to say something else, but her small little world within Bastion Chicago had become overturned in a very brief moment of time. Something dark was coming for them, and everyone could feel it. Adrik's words made it feel impending and maybe a bit political. If her father was still alive he'd tell her to insulate herself with allies. Yet, he'd also caution her about buying into them too much. Her father had been very paranoid, but he always had his reasons. And to his credit, he'd not died of political assassination, just old age and a perpetual cough.

She stood and gave a polite nod Adrik and a little wink to accompany it. The last part was probably a bit unprofessional, but she was still human and his accent had reminded her of home. And speaking off--she needed to get back to Priss. Poor dear was probably annoying all their neighbors in a five block radius.
 
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