Post by Annasiel on Aug 17, 2023 6:08:33 GMT
It was the sort of helicopter you expected a three letter government agency to use. Pitch black, unmarked, equipped with a spotlight on the front - currently dark - and, with the dual propellers at top, cut through the night sky with the silent swiftness of a predator. As spartan as its exterior was, its interior was even more so. Floor lined with crimped metal, it had eight seats. Two at the front - one occupied by the pilot, one by Agent Fisher, the current handler in charge of this operation. The six in the back, on the other hand, were filled by seemingly ordinary people, though that illusion was somewhat dispelled by the guns holstered at their sides and the metal collars locked around their necks.
"Remember, Fisher. We need this to be a success. We need to show the public we aren't only able to confront it, but control it."
The voice, distorted and deep, came through Agent Fisher's headpiece. It wasn't a voice she knew the face of - in fact, all of the higher ups in Michael's Sword weren't known to her or to any of her dogs. It was the most clandestine project in the DoJ and Pentagon combined, and for good reason. The last time they'd tried this, everyone had died. Almost everyone. While the effects of the demons were still largely a mystery, one thing was nearly certain: It required direct interaction for the influence to spread. No names, no faces, no contact. Only voices, hidden by layers of distortion.
The figure talking to Fisher was one that had only introduced itself as Bailiff. He - or, perhaps, she, or even they - had introduced themselves over call a week prior, and given a debriefing on what they expected from this first outing. Limited civilian casualties. Location of the demon and, if possible, live capture and interrogation. If not possible, short and clean execution.
"The American people need a win. We can give that to them. Do you understand?"
In the back of the helicopter, one of the passengers, a young woman in an oversized jacket, tugged at her collar and grimaced, then turned that look of thinly veiled disgust on the people sitting closest to her. While they knew of each other's existence, this was the first time they'd spent any more time than a few minutes in the same room. Once they'd proven able to resist the effects of the demons, they'd been kept separate from any more than one individual for any extended period of time. No effect, in a way, was almost as scary as vulnerability. What if it meant they already had something in them?
What if there was something more insidious at play, there?
Better safe than sorry. Better to not take any more risks, if only to protect the pure.
"You're all - like - psychos, right? Baby eaters? Pedos? Killers?" She bit her lip, and tugged at the collar again, nails leaving red imprints in the skin of her neck. "If you even think about pulling creepy crap, I'll shoot you, y'know. Just a bit of a heads up, cause I'm nice."
"Remember, Fisher. We need this to be a success. We need to show the public we aren't only able to confront it, but control it."
The voice, distorted and deep, came through Agent Fisher's headpiece. It wasn't a voice she knew the face of - in fact, all of the higher ups in Michael's Sword weren't known to her or to any of her dogs. It was the most clandestine project in the DoJ and Pentagon combined, and for good reason. The last time they'd tried this, everyone had died. Almost everyone. While the effects of the demons were still largely a mystery, one thing was nearly certain: It required direct interaction for the influence to spread. No names, no faces, no contact. Only voices, hidden by layers of distortion.
The figure talking to Fisher was one that had only introduced itself as Bailiff. He - or, perhaps, she, or even they - had introduced themselves over call a week prior, and given a debriefing on what they expected from this first outing. Limited civilian casualties. Location of the demon and, if possible, live capture and interrogation. If not possible, short and clean execution.
"The American people need a win. We can give that to them. Do you understand?"
In the back of the helicopter, one of the passengers, a young woman in an oversized jacket, tugged at her collar and grimaced, then turned that look of thinly veiled disgust on the people sitting closest to her. While they knew of each other's existence, this was the first time they'd spent any more time than a few minutes in the same room. Once they'd proven able to resist the effects of the demons, they'd been kept separate from any more than one individual for any extended period of time. No effect, in a way, was almost as scary as vulnerability. What if it meant they already had something in them?
What if there was something more insidious at play, there?
Better safe than sorry. Better to not take any more risks, if only to protect the pure.
"You're all - like - psychos, right? Baby eaters? Pedos? Killers?" She bit her lip, and tugged at the collar again, nails leaving red imprints in the skin of her neck. "If you even think about pulling creepy crap, I'll shoot you, y'know. Just a bit of a heads up, cause I'm nice."