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> Operation X: Lockdown
Director Ned Grossberg
post Oct 2 2006, 06:10 PM
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Crayven Securities Inc. | Crayven Financial
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Crayven Securities Compond 'Equinox' - Corporate Boardroom
Gellen's Heights, Sheratan
17 October 3069 - 1648 Hours
__________________________________________

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"I certainly hope you know what you're doing, Saxon. If you're wrong about any of this - "

General Saxon allowed himself a rare flash of emotion, a scowl crossing his face momentarily as my words resonated through the darkened corporate boardroom. A few mutters of agreement echoed through the chamber, affirmations put forth by the gathered directors from each department.

"With respect, Acting Chairman, I believe I have a far firmer grasp of the situation than any corporate bean-counter such as yourself could possibly - "

" - you are out of order, General! Another remark like that and I will have you removed from these proceedings!"

Saxon looked taken aback. With a silent resignation, he sunk back into his chair, conceding momentary defeat.

"Now, I ask you again," I began, speaking with exaggerated patience, "is there any further intel?"

"There is not," Saxon replied. "As I have already stated, all we have is that the fleet was intercepted and overpowered at Deneb Kaitos. The bulk of the surviving Legionnaires and Crayven personnel were evidently taken prisoner. We have reason to believe they have been transported to Kittery."

"The re-education camps..."

Daxon nodded.

"Disavowment and identity erasing of the Crayven personnel involved has already begun. Including," Saxon continued, turning in his chair to face me, "General Maxwell."

"Dear lord..."

Saxon allowed a moment for the words to sink in.

"Corporate policy is very clear in these cases, Chairman. The chain of command dictates that, should the CEO become unable to carry out the responsibilities assigned to his position, he will be stripped of said title and the next corporate officer in the chain of command will assume his duties."

A deadly silence fell across the boardroom.

"That officer - is me."

"And as CEO, will you authorize a rescue attempt?"

Saxon stared imperiously at me, sending a chill down my spine.

"I will not."
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Captain Desparado
post Oct 3 2006, 03:51 AM
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Elsewhere...

[ - Soundtrack - ]

Word of Blake Reeducation Camp RBMU 105
Kittery, Former Territory of House Davion
30 October 3069
___________________________________

I coughed blood onto the gritty floor in my damp cell. My sleep was frequently wracked with interruptions of this sort. The jungle air on Kittery wasn't very freindly and the frequent beatings I had received weren't helping much. I rolled over onto my back and wiped my mouth as clean as I could with my grimy hand. The work-worn skin on my hands dragged harshly on the sensitive skin on my lips. I breathed shallow and slow for a few moments before I coughed more blood on the ground close to the first spattering. Crawling to the window I was able to prop myself up underneath it and collect my consciousness. The indirect moonlight cast a dim glow over my cell block, allowing me to see a melancholy silouhette of a dismal place. The shadows cast by the dozen gaurds, all patrolling on their respective levels slurred from one dark corner to the next. Neighboring my cell was Ian, she slept as far from the front of the cell bars as possible, balled up next to my cell. I gave her my tattered blood-stained shirt last week when we arrived here for a blanket or pillow and it was always in her corner. The cell beside hers was Yeoman Hobson, who had miraculously been allowwed to live after the Dropship Liberty's capture. The Major Frank Reade was on the other side of my cell, we had been collaborating quietly with eachother since the wreched day we arrived here, sharing different gaurds' habits, areas commonly patroled, any possibly exploitable weakness for when we busted out of this hell hole. Everything that we saw on work detail or en route to interrigations we exchanged. We had most of the defensive routines memorized by this point. The Major was asleep, or what appeared to be sleep. He sat upright with his head sagging slightly and his eyes half open. Perhaps sleeping with his eyes open to discourage the gaurds from randomly beating sleeping prisoners when they got bored. It was not as fun to the sadistic bastards unless someone looked like they were getting rest.

The compound I was in was shaped like an elongated rectangle three-stroies high. at one end were administrative rooms and the medical facilities for the inmates, the gaurds and staff had better medical facilities elsewhere. the other two thirds of the rectangle was one enormous room, cells filled its peremeter and a catwalk ringed them. The empty space in the middle allowed for overlapping lines of sight for the gaurds. The average cell was about five by five feet and ammenities were poor to say the least. The only feature in most were the delapidated ruins of a latrine. Several cells, like my own, had long since had their destroyed and never replaced. Those cells simply had a hole in the floor leading to a pipe that water trickled down constantly. The building was mostly cheap concrete in fabrication, bits of rebar shown through more worn areas, exposing the bones of our prison. Most of the time it was damp from the moisture in the jungle air. During rain days, which were often in the jungle environment, most surfaces were slick to own worn shoes. The means of our containment were simple. A grid of some metal succeptable to rust kept each cell seperate and a simple curtain bars made of the same metal prevented access to the catwalks. A simple door with hand identification pads trapped us in our exposed cubicles. From any one point on my level, I could see any person at any point across the room. It was terrible to have to witness the gaurds thrashing someone or shooting them point blank no matter where you were. Major Reade continued his shallow slumber uninterrupted because the gaurds were occupied with such brutal acts across the cell block. The poor man receiving his chastisement didn't bother to yelp in pain or cry out for help because he knew help would not here him in this place.

I settled back to the floor satisfied that I was through with my coughing fit and tried to get more sleep while it was still dark. It would be another long day, just like the others but soon Major Reade and I would have a plan. I was determined to leave this place, dead or alive.


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Position : Captain | LEGIONNAIRES
Callsign : Libra - 1
Current BattleMech : Sunder Leviathan
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MechWarrior Kazuki Kintaro
post Oct 3 2006, 10:30 AM
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For three long days I had been handcuffed to the secure chair in the interrogation cell. Why was I here again? It was very simple. I refused to take part in the backbreaking labour. I was one of twenty ‘randomly’ picked prisoners, none of which were Crayven or Legionnaire employees. The guards had told us we were digging for natural water springs. It was a plausible story for anyone naïve enough to believe it. The truth of the matter was, we were digging graves. I was, however, certain that they were not our own graves. How did I know this? Each morning at 0400 hours, we would begin work. We would finish at roughly 2000 hours. And at 2030 hours… the shootings would begin. I couldn’t see them, but I could hear them plain as day. From what I had overheard, the guards would round up all those unable to work and take them out into the main courtyard for execution. These people included the elderly, the crippled, the sick, and the injured. It even included small children who were of no practical use to the Word. The screams and gunshots would sound off all through the night, killing any chance of a good night’s sleep. Their final vain pleads and their ultimate howls of pain were enough to strip any hardened listener of their sanity. The following mornings after these atrocious acts we would discover that our natural water springs we dug the previous day had miraculously filled themselves. I wasn’t a firm believer in miracles. The mornings that we would begin digging for springs only deepened my disbelief.
Though I knew about these mass graves for quite sometime I continued to dig. I felt that by going out and digging I could slowly begin to understand the terrain of the place. The more a learned the more information I could piece together. The more information I had, the easier I could create a map of the camp. If I had a map, I could plan our escape.
This all suddenly changed when our digging team discovered what the Word was trying to cover up. We had dug so many holes that even the guards had forgotten where to dig. Clarence was a man of huge proportions. His heavyset frame allowed him to dig faster and deeper than anyone else could. His spade tore through the thick, clay like jungle mud with relative ease. More so than usual. The reason soon became apparent. With one powerful lunge his spade sliced into ground with an unusual, splashing sound. It sounded like a cleaver slicing a melon in half. Clarence stared at the ground for a moment, instantly attracting the attention of the guards. Gently, he pulled spade from the ground. With it came the top portion of a decomposing head. The skin had changed from a healthy pink into a rotting brown. His tool dripped thick, black blood. As Clarence looked down his puzzled expression quickly changed into one of pure horror. His face screwed like a fist, his eyes becoming small slits as tears formed at the corners. His hyperventilation quickly calmed as he took a long deep breath as he began to cry. Before he could release his breath (and emotion) there came a sudden and loud bang. Clarence’s colossal body fell into the hole he had just dug.

“Anyone else feel like taking a break?” A guard grunted as his combine rifle cycled another powerful round.

God only knows what Clarence saw. Quite frankly, I didn’t want to know. However, it was enough for me to throw down my shovel and take a beating. I had awoken several hours later in the interrogation cell.

For three long days I sat in that cell with barely any food or water. I sat and waited. There was nothing I could do but prepare myself for a new routine of pain and torture…


More to come...


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Position: Mechwarrior | Legionnaires
Callsign: Sabre
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Captain Desparado
post Oct 4 2006, 08:52 PM
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The first labor shift of the day came too soon for my tastes. I made it a point to never to anything productive to the Word's operations. Mainly when I worked, I was a common "rock breaker," any work that accomplished something helpful to the Word usually ended in me getting beaten and thrown back into my cell. Today luckily was a pointless task, which required me being yanked from my cell. Several others from my detention level were selected today as well as a few others from the second prisoner compund. Jason was amoung them, I didn't let anything on my face show but I made it a point to work my way towards him and stand alert for the simple briefing before work. A tall skinny officer stood ontop of a Swiftwind delagating responsibilities to gaurds and assigning them a handful of prisoners each to supervise. I grew to hate this man over time more than anyone else here in this wreched cesspool.

His name was Lieutnant Schuvaltz. Most of the goings on in the camp were under his charge, there were higher ranking officers here but they were usually engrossed with whatever the Word of Blake outside of this place was up to. This meant that for the most part, he had free reign within these terrible walls. It was this lanky tyrant that stood atop the Swiftwind before the group of five dozen weary denizens of what the gaurds had nicknamed "The Black Yard." I thought that everything was smothered by the color grey but that was a different story. Gaurds clad in olive drab jumpsuits marched forwards to carry out Schuvaltz's orders and divide us up. It took only a few moments to organize us all, we knew refusal or inability to comply would be met harshly. My work group was Jason and I and six other haggard individuals. We marched off towards our assignment away from the yard and towards the vehical storage hangers.

There were machine guns everywhere so the though of resistance never crossed my mind, running wasn't an option here. A flatbed of push brooms and otehr cleaning equipment was awaiting our unwilling hands inside. Another two gaurds joined the first and enforced out mediocre task. I grabbed a push small sturdy brush and Jason did the same, soon we were scrubbing hard a greasy stain on the ferrocrete speaking quietly to one another. I learned of where the other Legionnares were being held from Jason and that he had been getting information and a few small odd items from pickpocketing gaurds as they walked past his cell. An ingenious idea, one that I resolved to apply as well. Our quiet conversation was interrupted by a tech traveling past who absentmindedly tripped, spilling the tools in the tray he held all over the floor. A small flat bladed tool skittered to my foot and I tucked it into my shoe as the gaurds rushed us. We stood up and raised our hands until the tech collected himself again and the gaurds walked away. We scrubbed the dark stain for an hour or two before we were dragged back to our respective cells.

Now that I had a means to aquire a few rescources by, I began stockpiling my tools and scraps in a space behind a block I had managed to loosen in my cell. Bits of wire, a rusty screwdriver, a small hyper spanner, a few peices of paper and whatever else I could snag from the gaurds or find by chance. I was also able to receive information from Major Reade on where he had been during work details until I could draw myself a crude map of this camp. Its accuracy was only approximate but it would serve for now. I labored to make copies in secrecy and distribute them to the others in the second compound. Day by day and only bit by bit did we learn about this place and progress was slower still to assemble that knowledge collectively and make it know to the legionnaires. Progress was slow but it was still progress.


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Position : Captain | LEGIONNAIRES
Callsign : Libra - 1
Current BattleMech : Sunder Leviathan
Loadout : 4 ER Large Lasers, 1 Clan LBX AC20, 3 ER Medium Lasers, 1 Clan LRM20, LAMS
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Corporal James Norrington
post Oct 5 2006, 01:15 PM
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A clap of thunder roared through my prison cell, a horrific eight foot by four foot chamber that terminated at one end in a barred door, and at the other end, in a toilet, above which a rectangular window with security mesh and no glass allowed all manner of elements to pour in. It wasn't the most inhumane cell I had ever occupied...no, that honor belonged to a certain gulag on Port Royal...but it was most assuredly reminiscent of it.

The length of the cell was just long enough for a normal-sized human to lie down in, yet short enough that doing so would force one's head to lie against either the cell door's bars, which usually resulted in a severe kicking by guards suffering from bouts of boredom, or by the toilet, a grusome affair at best. I opted for the latter.

Over the period of time we had been in the custody of the Blakists (I had long ago lost track of the days), I had come to learn that my cell was one in a block of seven. The prisoners on either side of me were Sergeant Hobson and Captain Desparado, an odd arrangement by our captors from a security standpoint, but an effective psychological tool as it forced us to listen to our comrades-in-arms being repeatedly and savagely beaten whenever the impulse struck our sadistic hosts. Hobson seemed to be the victim of a great deal of these assaults...apparently the Blakists had captured the Liberty intact, but, much to their chagrin, the Sergeant had locked out the flight controls, and wasn't giving up the command codes. I couldn't tell why, but Desparado had, on several occasions, also attracted a flock of kicking and punching guards. To be fair, it didn't seem that the Blakists really needed a reason to engage in these forms of 'corrective' torment - I had been the victim of such assaults myself, and I was never asked for any information whatsoever.

As I attempted to fall asleep to the lulliby of screams, crashes, gunfire, and explosions that had become the prison's nightly concertio, the sound of paper being crinkled caught me by surprise. I slowly turned my head toward the source of the sound, attempting as best I could to make the movement seem natural and in so doing avoid attention by the guards. A small scroll of paper was making its way through a discrete hole, bored in the concrete wall between cells. Ensuring that no guards were presently studying my actions, I quickly took hold of the paper, and snatched it from the carving. Slowly, I unrolled it.

It was a map!


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Position : Corporal | LEGIONNAIRES
Callsign : Command-2
Current BattleMech : Centurion
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Captain Charles Maxwell
post Oct 5 2006, 01:37 PM
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AEGIS DIVISION | Commander
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Elsewhere within the prison...

"YOU WANT ME TO CONVERT?!?" I screamed, tensing against the interrogation chair's straps, and spitting a mouthful of blood onto the room's ferrocrete floor. "There's my fucking signature! Now give me a FUCKING cigar!!"

The Blakist Deacon stared impassively at me, shaking his hooded, shaved head as he folded his hands piously before him.

"My child. Your resistance to accepting the love of the Blessed Order is most distressing. Do you not see the - "

"What I see is a bunch of fanatic psychopaths hell-bent on the extermination of all those who don't choose to accept their warped dogma or their - " I spit another mouthful of blood "looney tune teachings! Now, are we finished here?? Or do you want to break a few more bones??"

The Blakist took a few short steps toward me, close enough to bring his face into focus, but far enough away that the threat of me assailing him was neutralized.

"My child...confession is a painful process. We are only beginning."


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Position : Commander, Aegis Division
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Frank Reade
post Oct 5 2006, 02:02 PM
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My eyes burned, their lids feeling like sandpaper dragging across my corneas as I woke from the quasi-slumber I had found myself in. It was nighttime...what hour was anyone's guess...and gales of rain were gusting through the high, narrow window of my cell.

A gentle, near-rhythmic tapping on my cell wall caught my attention, drawing my focus away from the mindless chaos of my surroundings. The tapping was coming from Desparado's cell. After listening for a few moments, I realized that the Captain was using an ancient communications technique - Morse code - a means of sending a message that the average Blakist guard would likely not notice.

Slowly, hesitantly, I began to tap a response.


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Position : Lieutenant | LEGIONNAIRES
Callsign : Fox-2
Current BattleMech : Hollander
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Captain Garrett Garland
post Oct 5 2006, 07:27 PM
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I was the luckiest prisoner in the entire camp, of that I was sure. Even as the blood clotted and then dried around the gash above my eye, I knew that I had it infinitely better off than any of my cell mates. Sure, I still took the beatings, still did the backbreaking labor, and still scavenged for a last crumb at our daily meal, but all that time I knew I had power. With each blow I took, I knew that I could vaporize my assailant’s head, subliming their brain into a carbon gas. Somehow, I had made it through the security check where so many others had been executed. A man with a shrapnel wound had been executed less than 10 people in line ahead of me as we entered the camp for attempting to bring in a weapon; his weapon a one inch piece of steel embedded in his lower chest—he would have died anyways from the infection.

I still hadn’t made contact with any of the other Legionnaires, but I knew it was paramount that I communicate with them somehow—my left arm could very well be the beginning of our ticket out of here. From what I could tell though, I was alone, and none of the other prisoners had the courage to communicate with me for fear of reprisals.


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Position : Captain | LEGIONNAIRES
Callsign : Fox
Current BattleMech : Shadow Hawk [55 tons] [97.2 km/h max] [120 meter jump range]
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Captain Desparado
post Oct 6 2006, 01:00 AM
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Rhythmic tapping with the handle of my flat edged tool telegraphed the morse code message to Major Reade's cell. A man of his military experiance was sure to know Morse code and I began my message. Word... From... Group... 2... Resistance... Found...

I picked up pickpocketing gaurds when they weren't paying attention and have found a few hasily scribbled messages in their pockets, planted by Jason in compound 2. They were coded of course just in case they were intercepted or never made it to my hands. As the gaurds' patrols rotated, the gaurds in the second compound relived the gaurds here. The reverse was not true however, the gaurds patroling our building usually went off duty or to a different part of the camp. Messages from us to the other group were usually rare and often not expected. Jason's correspondence had alerted me of an underground planning a breakout or a possible takeover. He knew better than to try to do anything stupid and act immediately without the rest of us so I knew that I didn't need to bother with a warning. I was hopeful about this news but at the same time I guessed that the resistance probably didn't have the combined military experiance that the Legionnares had. Major Reade began tapping a response but it was cut short when my cell slammed open.

Blocking the entraceway was a large gaurd clad in kevlar armor and several more peices protecting his joints and fore arms. Behind him stood a gaurd with a Machine gun rifle. The larger gaurd stompped towards me and bellowed.
This one is wanted by Lt. Shuvaltz. I jumpped to my feet and the gaurd lashed out in his cruelty, a fist flew towards my gut but I dodged it. I used my momentum to kick off og the walls in the narrow cell and drove my knee crashing through his visored helmet. He fell to the ground and another gaurd dressed in similar fashion crashed in past the armed gaurd. He caught me by suprise and brought a heavy strike to rest on my shoulder. I crumpled to the ground on top of the fallen man and was dragged out to the center of the camp into an unmarked building.

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

The dim room came into focus and orentation returned to me as I raised my chin off of my chest. My hands were tied behind the chair I was in and I felt a heat on my eyebrow, it was probably bleeding or had recently stopped. Across the simple table before me sat Lt. Schuvaltz, we often met under these circumstances. they often ended in the same fashion as well, with me regaining consiousness. His calm demeanor always unnerved me but my face was like a stone nonetheless. He took a slow breath and began.


Ah, Captain, how are you today?
I'm fan-fucking-tastic. And you?
I slept quite well last night. Thank you for asking.
Despite my mocking, he continued on unabated. He had all the time in the world to try to get from me what he wanted. Ignoring my sneer, he continued.
Well, you've been here many time and I assume you know the drill.
Why don't you humor me and refresh my memory?
At my insolent remark a gaurd stepped from a darker corner of the room and punched me hard across the face, rocking my chair onto two legs.
Is it comming back to you now? Well then lets not delay, time is a limited resource. He placed a small file on the table and opened it.
Now then, the dropship Liberty has almost everyone in your unit listed on the crew rosters except for a few. Now, this would mean that you are not with the Legionnares, correct? Yet you aided in the distruction of the Crimson Platform and were found with Legionnare personnel. So who are you exactly? Where do you come from? Why are you with these offenders of Blake?
I was out for a stroll and got a little turned around and then you came along.
His face tensed and he calmly shut the folder before glaring across the table into my eyes. My face was still stone, neither anger nor a smug expression. I suddenly ended up on my back with the print of the butt of a rifle on my forehead. The same gaurd who inflicted the damage set me back up by my hair where Schuvaltz looked across at me with a much calmer face.

There were others who were found with you in your exact situation. Not part of the Legionnares. I have been bringing you here in in hopes of procuring an answer from the highest ranking man of this group of misfits.However, my patience is not limitless, nor is my mercy. The door opened and Ian was brought in, escorted by another gaurd. My face was still stone but beneath the surface, I was prepared to kill every man in this room. I verywell may have been capable of it but how far I would get after that was unforseen but I was certain it could not be far.
I was afraid that I would have to resort to this, it is not one of my favorite... He paused, searching for a word that justified himself in his own mind methods. Yet sometimes circumstances may require special needs.
Ian's eyes were filled with terror. Her hair was a greasy mat that clung together in many slender tendrils that shaded her face. Her hands were bound behind her back as well and though she stood a head taller than most men, her posture was timid as a dog often beaten. Schuvaltz stood and dismissed her gaurd, who sealed the door behind himself.

My eyes were fixxed on Schuvaltz's, his cruel glassy blue eyes mirrored mine in intensity. He brushed his brown hair back from his face and sighed, his lanky figure stood fully erect. He turned from me and towards Ian.

If you touch her, I will kill you.
My words were deliberate and articulate dispite the severe hits to the jaw I've suffered in the past week. He turned with an amused look on his face. There was a sickening elation that his eyes beamed with, he had found what broke my defenses down.
I can gaurantee your death if she is not returned to her cell unharmed immediately.
Lt. Schvualtz walked clamly over to me and bent down, bringing us eye to eye. His voice was cool and level, his words were audible poison.
I'm afraid that you're in no position to be making any promises that you cannot keep.

He stood up, his eyes burning into mine. He turned to Ian again and walked from me.
I will kill you Schuvaltz. I swear to you that I will kill you. He chuckled but I never heard it over Ian's wimpering.


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Position : Captain | LEGIONNAIRES
Callsign : Libra - 1
Current BattleMech : Sunder Leviathan
Loadout : 4 ER Large Lasers, 1 Clan LBX AC20, 3 ER Medium Lasers, 1 Clan LRM20, LAMS
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Wedge Lourde
post Oct 6 2006, 05:17 PM
Post #10



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From: Kentares IV
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I opened my eyes, to see a basic hospital room. Confused, I sat up and looked around. From the look of things out the window... I was in a hospital somwhere in Gellen's Heights.

"Oh, Wedge, you've woken! We weren't expecting you."said a man in a white apron. A nurse followed him, and a detective from the local militia.

"Who are you people? Why am I here? Why am I not with the Legionnaires?"

"Son, we found you laying by a trash recepticle on the street. I'm not sure who these "Legionnaires" are, but perhaps it's best that we keep you in for a while. And by the way... i'm Dr. Remlos. You're in a coma for some time now."

"Why?" I wanted anwsers."That's something i'm unable to tell you at this time." "But wait, Doct..." I felt the painful sting of a needle, then I was out.


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Position : MechWarrior | LEGIONNAIRES
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Captain Charles Maxwell
post Oct 6 2006, 06:55 PM
Post #11



AEGIS DIVISION | Commander
Rank: General



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Posts: 108
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Member No.: 4





"How does it feel, Mister Maxwell?"

"Your breath is a hell of a lot worse, asshole," I snarled through clenched teeth, the firey pain of the 'repentance rods' that had been driven under my fingernails nearly overwhelming. The Deacon shook his head sadly.

"My child, why do you continue to prolong your own suffering? Simply accept the Word as your personal savior, and you will begin the walk of truth and light that is the love and joy of Blake."

"You can take your love and joy and ram it up your fanatic ass! And while you're at it - "

A subtle chime interrupted the Deacon's spiel and my rant. My eyes were searing with pain, my ability to blink having been immobilized by some manner of sadistic contraption designed to keep my eyelids open. Through the agony, I was able to make out my Blakist interrogator speaking on a telephone handset.

"No, Father. He has not. Yes. Yes, I have, and his resistence to pain is remarkably - I see. Yes, I believe that would work well. Yes. Yes, we'll bring him over. Two minutes, please."

The Deacon placed the handset back on the receiver, and moved to stand before me once more.

"Free him."

Two sets of arms the size of telephone poles reached from either side of the interrogation chair, removing the eye restraints and unceremoneously ripping the needles from beneath my fingers. As I frantically blinked to clear my vision, the Deacon began to speak.

"Mister Maxwell, there's something Father Drexler wishes you to see. In order to accomplish this, we will need to remove you from your restraints. Cooperate, and you will live. Resist, and you will be executed. Do I make myself clear?"

"That's the first thing you've said that's made any sense," I growled. "Now get these fucking restraints off me."
____________________

The armored door rolled aside, revealing a dim and dingy interrogation room. A single, forty-watt bulb dangled from the ceiling, casting a dim pool of light over a metallic table. On one side sat a man outfit in a uniform not unlike that of a Nazi S.S. officer from one of Earth's more unpleasent eras. On the other side was a battered and bloodied-looking man, his hands bound securely behind him. I recognized him as belonging to the detachment of troops from the Liberty - making him one of ours.

Desparado...

On the far side of the room, partially cloaked in shadows, a woman with whom I was unfamiliar, in tattered clothes and bearing horrific injuries, stood bound, flanked on either side by masked Blakist guards.

"Mister Maxwell, I believe you recognize these two lost souls," the Deacon intoned.

My eyes flickered toward Desparado.

"I recognize him," I began. Desparado's eyes grew wide, and I realized in an instant that I had given the wrong answer.

"Do you, Mister Maxwell?" the Nazi exclaimed, rising from his chair. "And who might he be?"

My eyes flickered back and forth between Desparado and the woman. Both had the same imploring looks in their eyes.

"He's...no one of consequence. A laborer from the Whelen Farming Community on Somerset," I improvised, drawing from Gen Miyamoto's dossier, a document I had memorized. It seemed an odd choice, but in my depleted mental and physical condition, it was all I could think of.

"Really..." the Nazi replied, his tone taking on a dubious air. "And what, pray tell, was a farmer from Somerset doing on the Liberty in the middle of an engagement with Our Blessed Order?"


"He was seeking passage from Deneb Kaitos to Terra. One of the astechs took a liking to him, and arranged passage for him. Since we didn't count on running into - "

"Enough!" the Nazi bellowed. "What proof do you have of any of this?"

"Look at him," I replied. "Broad frame, calloused hands, muscular build - and the scars from years of manual labor. You can't possibly believe that this man has ever seen the inside of a briefing room, let alone a BattleMech."

The Nazi stared at me, a mixture of irritation and doubt dominating his countenance.

"We'll see about that," he grunted. Pacing back and forth for several moments, the Nazi finally stopped angrily, whirling toward the guards holding the woman.

"Get them both out of here," he snarled pointing at the woman and Desparado in sequence, before turning toward me. "Your story better check out, Maxwell - or it's going to be your ass on the line!"


--------------------
Position : Commander, Aegis Division
Callsign : Eden
Current BattleMech : CPLT-C1 Catapult
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Captain Desparado
post Oct 6 2006, 10:55 PM
Post #12



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Genaral Maxwell was shoved rudely out the door, he looked to be in about the same condition. Batterd and tired. My current physical state didn't prevent the fire in my blood from burning in my veins. Ian was physically not much worse than when she had entered the room, psycologically it was a different story. My face was tight with anger, both eyes were pouring tears hotter than molten ferrosteel alloy. Adrenaline coursed through me, every muscle was weary from trying to break the chair or the restraints. Lt. Schuvaltz was finished toying with my head for the day. He smiled at me as a final insult but my vision was so hazy with tears that I never saw it. I continued screaming threats, curses and oaths well after he left the room and until I was knocked out again by a sharp rapping on my skull. As was the customary way to end our meetings, everything faded to black and I awoke, feeling ragged in my cell hours later.

I nursed my wounds by gently rubbing them, trying to estimate swelling. I noticed Ian in her cell, balled up in a corner far from me. She stared blankly ahead, a vacant look burned upon her face. She was very pale and motionless, even her breath was neigh undetectable. I would kill Schuvaltz even if it cost my own life, I would not let anything stop me from preventing his death. The anger heated me again breifly but I pushed it aside.
Ian... Ian... Can hear me? Are you ok?

No response. She remained motionless, balled up in her little corner with her head resting on her knees. Her lower lip trembled so slightly that I thought that I had been mistaken at first but I knew her better than that. I'd kill that bastard...

I left her alone, there wasn't much I could do for her. I took one final glance into her cell. The shirt that I had given her long ago was nowhere to be found. I almost shrugged it off before I caught it in the corner of my eye. She clutched it tightly beneath her white knuckles. I turned to my stockpile of garbage that I had been conceiling behind a loose brick. I had several feet of wire, some coins I didn't recognize, a crude map I had drawn and a small screwdriver. I braided the wire and did my best to splice the lengths together, I had a length approximately the length of my armspan. I busied myself with this for a half hour unitl I noticed that there had been food left in my cell on a flimsy pan. The pit in my stomach felt somehow heavier at this discovery and I began busying myself with stuffing the few handfulls in my mouth. I paused, hoping to offer a portion of my food to Ian but her dish sat untouched so I continued eating.

The footsteps of an approaching patrol tipped me off before they could see me. I propped myself up against a cell wall and dropped my head on my chest, feigning sleep. It worked almost everytime, the gaurds usually passed me by. I listened intently, ready to spring forwards silently and raid this man but something odd happened that never had before. The footsteps stopped just short of my cell, I grew increasingly nervous. Why were they waiting? It seemed like an eternity but I risked cracking an eyelid to investigate. The gaurd was stretching lazily facing away from me, looking over the catwalk. My body rose to a crouch and crawled towards the front of my cell. He was within arm's length, I took the gamble and stretched towards him. My fingers strained closer and closer to him, grazing the outside of his pockets. His arms dropped to his sides and I retracted my hand. The man did not turn around or continue with his patrol, instead he sighed deeply and reached to one of his pockets, revealing a shiny flask. He drank deeply of it as I probed the other pocket, the tips of my index and middle fingers came together on the edge of some paper. I scavenged it as the man returned the flask to its hidden keeping and I crawled backwards into the safety of the darkness at the far end of my cell. I feigned sleep again until I hear the man pass.

Once I was certain I was alone, I sorted out the rumpled wad of filthy paper. A message from Compound 2, a handwriting I didn't recognize but the codewords were consistant with previous messages. The resistance was moving! Four night from now they would attempt to break out from this horrid place. But I still haven't found the others! Why would they move so quickly? Why such a strict window? I haven't even been able to contact anyone within the resistance, or no one admitted to its existance. What the hell was happening? I can't have any others left behind, I haven't even began plotting Schuvaltz's death yet, how could I leave? I needed to find someone in this group and fast. For all I knew, if their plan failed it could lead to the deaths of everyone imprisoned here. There was nothing I could do but wait. Major Reade was not in his cell, never a good sign. There was nothing I could do with this information except wait.


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Position : Captain | LEGIONNAIRES
Callsign : Libra - 1
Current BattleMech : Sunder Leviathan
Loadout : 4 ER Large Lasers, 1 Clan LBX AC20, 3 ER Medium Lasers, 1 Clan LRM20, LAMS
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Colonel Taylor Reese
post Oct 7 2006, 09:22 PM
Post #13



Crayven Securities, Inc. | MechWarrior
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Member No.: 35





Elsewhere...

[ - Soundtrack - ]

C.S.S. Astrid
Crayven Corporation Orbital Drydock
Dneiper, Outworlds Alliance
1 November 3069 - 2204 Hours
___________________________________

"He what? You can't be serious!"

"Serious as a heart attack, I'm afraid. The entire deployment's been written off."

I shook my head in disbelief. The inhumane decision by the now-CEO of the Crayven Corporation was cold even by Saxon's standards. I just couldn't wrap my brain around the idea that an entire detachment of mercenaries was going to be written off in the name of cost-cutting and liability reduction. The General's move was clearly a grab for power, and a poorly-concealed one at that.

"Does Saxon even know, or care, that General Maxwell's son is among the captured?"

Colonel Cheviot nodded, his movement jerky and ghostlike as the HPG network fed his image across hundreds of light-years.

"I think he was counting on it. Knocking off Charles and Ben in one fell swoop guaranteed there'd be no immediate heir to the empire - thus no one to contest his position."

"Bastard," I muttered. "Surely the board of directors can - "

"The board doesn't exist anymore, Taylor. That was Saxon's second act as Commander-in-Chief."

"What was his first?"

Cheviot paused, hesitating.

"Having everyone involved in Operation Cataclysm declared dead."


--------------------
Position : Colonel, Crayven Securities, Incorporated
Callsign : Widowmaker
Current BattleMech : Deimos (Reaper) [Assault]
Loadout : 6x Clan Ultra AC/2, 2x Clan ER Medium Laser, 2x Clan LRM-15
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Corporal James Norrington
post Oct 8 2006, 07:59 AM
Post #14



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"Hey.....lemmie hit that," I slurred, trying to sound as much the part of a junkie as I could. The Blakist looked up from his autoinjector angrily; at the same time a look of guilt began to cross his face as he realized he had been caught in the act of consuming outlawed controlled substances on the clock.

"[i]Shut up, toad," he hissed, moving menacingly toward me. I feigned terror, and slunk back against the rear of my cell. The guard smirked, and returned toward prepping a vein to inject into.

"Come ON! Just ONE! I really REALLY need a fix!" I whined, inflecting a tremor into my voice. My hope was that it would sound convincingly like withdrawal.

"I said NO!" the guard roared, smashing his hand against the bars of my cell. I recoiled again in mock fear, before taking on a threatening, desparate demeanor, and moving back toward the cell door.

"Give me a hit, or next time I hold court with Schuvaltz, your name will come up."

The Blakist laughed a loud, bellowing laugh. "You wouldn't DARE!"

"Wouldn't I?" I replied, raising an eyebrow. The guard looked around shiftily, as though he were weighing his options. At long last, the huge Blakist eased up to my cell door, and covertly passing me the autoinjector, loaded with a vial of neon-pink liquid which I instantly realized as 'ZIP,' the latest craze in recreational neuro drugs.

"ONE HIT...then you pass it back to me, or I kill you. Understand?"

"One is all I need," I replied with a grin. You're supposed to inject ZIP into a vein on your forearm only...never anywhere else. I therefore reached through the bars and injected the entire dose into the guard's forehead. Before the burly man had time to fully realize what happened, he sagged to the floor, out of the game for the time being. He would in short order be receiving unemployment benefits for failing a 'random' drug screening on the job, and I was now the proud owner of an empty autoinjector. =

It was now time to do some reverse engineering.


--------------------
Position : Corporal | LEGIONNAIRES
Callsign : Command-2
Current BattleMech : Centurion
Loadout :
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MechWarrior Alex Thorn
post Oct 8 2006, 11:00 AM
Post #15



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I sat in the corner of a small cell. The cell was only a 6 by 5 foot room that had no furnishings at all. The cell next to me contained Thastus. On the other side of her was the cell that held the General. Although he was not there most of the time. Probably enduring some kind of torture.

Over the course of seeral days I had been beaten just as Thastus was. The guards here seemed bigger, and stronger. There also seemed to be a few more. From what I had understood we were placed in a higher security part of the prison. They deemed us to be more dangerous than the other Legionnaires. I knew they placed me and Thastus here because we were clanners. They probably had stuck General Maxwell here because of his tendancies to be dangerous.

I continued to sit slumped over watching as the guards would go from cell to cell, beating the occasional prisoner who had fallen asleep or just for the fun of it. When I was beaten I was usually asked about the Wolf-in-Exile's. Every time they would be dissapointed, as I would never give any information.

I was sure that they had asked Thastus about the Jade Faclons. If they expected a clanner to give in they were wrong.

After several weeks, I had lost count of the days we had been here, I began talking to Thastus about what we could do to get out of here. Over the course of a copule of days I was able to pick pocket a few guards. Off one guard I was able to grab a small pocket knife, and the other I was able to grab a decent sized string. Both could be used as a weapon and maybe more.

I turned to the wall that seperated me from Thastus.


"Thastus," I said with a raspy voice. The lack of water had dried my mouth out, making my tounge swell.

"Thastus we need to get out of this place." I watched as guards passed by and only talked when one was out of ear shot.

"We need to work together. We need to put aside our differences."

This post has been edited by Sergeant Alex Thorn: Oct 8 2006, 11:03 AM


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