STF

Side Sim - No Man Left Behind (Closed Thread)

Posted Jan. 13, 2021, 3:05 p.m. by Captain Alexander Cochrane (Commanding Officer) (James Sinclair)

The Denoblian runabout was much more than it seemed, evidenced as it cloaked itself and entered the atmosphere of Menolit XII. The planet was average for inhabited bodies in this part of the quadrant: A few large cities, numerous smaller towns, and few industrial and manufacturing areas scattered about where natural resources were concentrated. The invisible craft made a long, sweeping arc of entry, ensuring no one and noting detected their presence… which would be a feat considering the stealth of the craft and the capabilities of its pilot.

“On approach. You sure you don’t want me to drop ya closer?” the young Denobulian male at the helm asked without looking away from his sensors and the view through the windscreen. “Did I stutter, Hallans? Just do what I say, and keep your smuggler’s mouth zipped… or I’ll zip it for you.” came a growl of a response form the only passenger on board.

The man was human, probably in his late forties or early fifties. Crew cut salt-and-pepper hair covered his head, and he was dressed in clothes that varied in color from black to purple to dark gray. The lack of pattern and clash of colors broke up his silhouette as he stood motionless in the back of the small ship, one gloved hand hanging onto an overhead shelf. A black backpack hung from his shoulders and there was an assortment of objects stored on a heavy black belt around his waist. Restraints, phaser, knives, a small axe, and various pouches were visible; and the man carried them with an ease bred from years (if not decades) of familiarity. Just as easily carried was the rifle slung over one shoulder.

“Whatever, man…” the pilot mumbled, but low enough the man hopefully wouldn’t hear him. Soon the craft was hovering over the canopy of forest about five kilometers from a large group of red brick buildings. The sun was just beginning to rise on the horizon. “We’re here.” The pilot said flatly. The man in the back said “Go over it again.” The pilot took a deep exasperated breath, but knowing the man as he did he simply started talking.
“I’ll be back in twenty-four hours. You’ll signal and I’ll drop the line. If I don’t get your signal, I’ll wait ten minutes. No signal, no pickup. I boogie. Simple enough.” The man grunted “And?” The pilot sighed again and said “No signal, no pickup, I contact the CO of the USS Manhattan and give him your message.” “And what’s the message?”

“The message is Pikelsimer is dead.”

A few hours later, on a hill less than a hundred meters from the group of buildings, the wind rustled the leaves of a bush that hadn’t been there yesterday. Through the cover, high-powered optics scanned the buildings and relayed information to a small computer laying on the ground in front of the prone figure covered in native leaves and other such foliage. Floor plans and life signs were plotted and replotted, vehicles tagged, energy signatures scanned and power sources identified. As he lay there, a ground craft rolled up to the front gate of the complex and stopped under a sign that read ‘Menolit Mental Health Hospital’. A guard came out of the guard house and looked in the window, then tapped his wrist and the gate opened. The bush chuckled softly.


It was dusk. Evening shift at the hospital had just come on duty. Miger Sallisam was on gate duty, feet up on the desk and watching his favorite vid. Honestly, he liked gate duty at night. There was no one coming in to deal with the crazies until tomorrow morning. He chuckled to himself. The place had a reputation, that was certain. He figured anywhere that housed the criminally insane would. But this place? This place was creepy. One of the reasons they paid so well. “Just do your job, and keep your mouth shut. That’s all you have to do.” was what his Supervisor always told the Security team. The odd whispers always leaked out, though. Missing patients and staff. People being brought in the middle of the night but not being checked in. Screams coming from rooms that had been closed off for years. All the standard creep stuff. “Hell, I bet that the Docs do that as some kind of psych treatment. Keep the crazies off-balance. Yeah, that’s it.” He mumbled and then chuckled. “I shoulda been a shrink. Not hard and pays better. I’d have these nuts jum-“ and he fell to the floor under the blow from behind him.

Pikelsimer knelt down and felt his neck, the slapped an adhesive patch on the inside of one of the guard’s wrists. He pulled the guard’s security cuff and then pressed both wrists together, the adhesive gluing his arms behind him. A gag and toss into the cold weather gear closet, and the guard was no longer an issue. Pikelsimer opened the security cuff and attached to wires to it. The computer on the other end made quick work of the encryption, and soon he had access to the facilities network. He scrolled through the data, but didn’t find what he was looking for… not like he expected to. “Ok… the hard way it is.” He downloaded the names of the doctors on duty, nodding at one, and then slipped the cuff on his wrist. Outside the door, the personnel gate opened and Micah slipped into the hospital complex.


Dr. Madeline Markoc was not a nice person. But it was that fact that made her very * effective at her job… well… both* of her jobs. On the surface, she was the Assistant Chief Clinical Psychologist for Menolit Mental Health Hospital, an ‘asylum’ for the more troubled and problematic patients from around the Quadrant. Beyond that, she was a gifted interrogator… although she preferred the title given her by her ‘alternate’ employer; that of ‘Inquisitor’. As she walked down the hallway of the hospital, nurses and aids very quickly found other things to do elsewhere in the vicinity. This attitude had caused her no small issue in finding an appropriate assistant. Thankfully, there was Tor. He had arrived a little over a year ago. His demeanor and penchant for painful ‘extra curriculars’ had endeared him to the Inquisitor. So much so that he was now learning the trade at her feet, so to speak. She glanced at her watch and smiled. Soon it would be time to visit Mr. Stickland. She and Tor had something special in mind for him today. After all, he had given her so much data on how people respond to ‘enhanced interrogation’ that she was finalizing her draft on an academic paper on the subject. So today would be her and Tor’s gift to him for all his help. She was still a bit perturbed that he hadn’t broken completely, but they had the rest of his life to try, now didn’t they?

As she opened the door to her office, she looked up from the PaDD she held and at the Tor’s desk. He wasn’t there, but a glance at her door showed the ‘occupied’ light on the door. Usually meant for orderlies so they didn’t barge in in the middle of a patient’s session; here it brought a smile to Madeline’s face. Tor only used that light when he was prepared for her more intimate attentions. Visions of tools and droplets of blood filled her mind as she smiled and licked her lips. She palmed the switch and the door slid quietly open.

Madeline screamed. The scene before was not anything like she had expected. Four chains had been secured to the floor in the recessed tie-downs. A chair was set in the middle of them, and a figure sat strapped and bloody on it.

It was Tor.

His beautiful tanned skin was a bloody mess. His handsome face was a wreck of bruises and swollen, bloody tissue. One eye was swollen shut in an ugly, dark purple mass. The other, barely open, was dark red where the white of his eye should be; and the deep green was black. Blood dripped from his hands where it ran from wrists raw with struggle against the restraints holding him in place. His ankles were bound to the leg of the chair. A wad of white cloth was shoved in his mouth and covered with a clear film. As the door opened, a muffled scream and a look of terror came from the remains of Tor’s face and he shook his head violently and he began trashing around trying to break free.

Madeline rushed to him and put her fingers up to his face to remove the gag when a gravelly voice came from behind her. “Naw naw naw… you leave him be, Doc. We gotta have ourselves a chat.” Spinning around, she saw a man leaning against the wall near her bookcase. He was a human, average height for the species, but built solidly. Somewhat older. Short salt-and-pepper hair, and a wearing a black t-shirt and black pants. An arm of silvery metal on the left side with some kind of emblem etched into the shoulder like a tattoo. The metal hand held a knife that was cleaning under the nails of the right hand… and both had blood on them.

“Your boy here was really helpful after a fashion. Showed me where to find your session tapes. Perused over those for a bit before sending them off to the local Magistrate.” And he laughed heartily. “Man, what I wouldn’t give to see the look on his face when he opens his messages tomorrow. Hot damn, I bet he just plain s&^ts himself.” he said with some kind of joy in his voice.

“Who- who- who are you? You won’t get away with this! The authorities-“ and the man jerked off the wall and pointed the tip of the knife at her and yelled “Woman, IAM THE AUTHORITIES!!!”, causing her to reel back in fear, grasping the back of Tor’s chair to keep from falling. He glared at her for a moment and then relaxed a bit. “Now… I’m gonna give y’all a choice. Choice number one… you answer me a single question, then depending on that answer you give me what I came here for, and you both live…” and he cast a glance at Tor and smirked, “… well sorta. I mean, y’all are going to prison, sure. And I ‘spect you’ll have a few rounds in something similar to what you two play at here when FedSec gets ahold of ya. But you’ll keep breathin’, and that’s for sure sumthin’, right?” he asked with a smile.

“Choice number two… I ask you a question, and then depending on the answer y’all don’t give me what I want, I kill ya, and I find what I want and take it anyway. Pretty simple. ‘Cuz I know pretty much where it is, but it sure would be a lot easier for everyone concerned if you just gave it up. So you two think about that for a sec while I take care of some business.”

With that he pulled out a small device and held it at eye level. He began taking pictures of the room and it’s two regular occupants. Madeline was starting to gather herself, and decided it was time to see what this person was made of. She had multiple degrees in psychology and psychiatry, years of experience dealing with the worst minds the Quadrant could send her… she knew the tricks and how to play them. With a small smirk on her lips, she looked at the man.
“How do I know you won’t just ki-“ she started to speak. With a speed wholly unexpected for a man his size, he rushed to her and landed a loud and powerful SMACK on the side of her head, knocking her to the floor and leaving her ears ringing. Her eye almost immediately began to swell shut and she cried out in pain as she hit the blood spattered floor.

Did I tell you to start talking, Doc?! NO I MOST CERTAINLY DID NOT, NOW!!” he yelled at her as he bent over her. Stage whispering, he said “Now shut your mouth till I ask my question, or I’ll rip your boy’s eyelids off and feed them to you. Copy? Good.” And he stood back up and kept taking pictures.

Madeline held the side of her head and whimpered. As much as she enjoyed the infliction of pain, like most bullies she didn’t like receiving it. She felt blood coming from her left ear where the blow had landed, and she knew that she most likely had a concussion. Whoever he was, he was no stranger to inflicting pain himself.

“We don’t have money.” She said softly, praying the words didn’t bring another blow. “And the drugs are in the pharmacy. I can open the lockers for y-“ “Woman!” came a sharp retort. “Shut. Your. Mouth. Now. Think about your choices. I’m almost done here, then you can blah blah blah all ya want.” the man said and he took several more pictures and then put the camera away. Looking down at her, he said “Now. I’m done. So… I’mma ask my question, you answer, then we decide what the rest of your life is like? Right? Good.” and he [pulled a chair form the side of the room and spun it so he was straddling the back facing her and said “Now then… Where is Leroy Strickland?”
Madeline’s mouth opened in shock. No one… no one knew he was here except… and a realization swept over her. Her head whipped up and she said “Where is Vector, you bastard?!” and she started to lunge at Pikelsimer… who promptly caught her by both wrists and twisted, sending her sprawling on her back. A thick black boot pinned her chest to the floor and Pikelsimer looked down at her and said “I’m asking the question. Spill it… or I’ll just put you down now.” and the pressure increased and she could feel ribs beginning to reach the breaking point. She pointed furiously at the bookcase as she grabbed his ankle, trying to get the pressure off so she could breathe.

“See, now… simple, huh?” and the boot came off as a metal hand yanked her to her feet. “Open it. Let’s go.” And he shoved her to the bookcase. She lifted a panel on the side to reveal a key pad, which she entered a six-digit code on. The case swung open to reveal a room roughly the size of her office on the other side.
There were three barred cells inside, but only one was occupied. A lone human male lay on the floor. He was curled up into the fetal position and shivering. Wounds, old and new covered his naked body; and when the door opened he let out a low moan.

Micah moved the doctor to the cell. “Open it up.” And the metal hand squeezed her shoulder at the collarbone, eliciting a sharp intake of breath. She keyed the pad on the cell and the door opened. “Ok, Doc. Take a nap.” A surge of electricity shot out of the metal hand and the doctor collapsed on the floor. Micah stepped in and did a quick assessment. He then moved into the office and grabbed his bag. Going back to Strickland, he pulled out the computer. Running a scan down to the genetic level, he confirmed his identity. “Ok, my man. Time to get you outta here.” And he rolled the figure over… only to find his eyes had been removed and sewn shut. Micah cursed softly but said “No worries. I got ya. And I’m sure Fleet has a pair of pretty blue ones they can hook ya up with.” He slowly lifted the man and put him over his shoulder. He walked out of the room and then gently laid him on the couch by the far wall. Gathering up every last vestige of his presence, he looked around the room and found a white lab coat with Tor’s name on it. He looked at the man still chained to the chair and grinned. “Mind if I borrow this for a bit? I’ll send it back.” He turned it inside out to hide the name, pulled it on and left the office.

Soon he returned with a gurney. He picked up Strickland and laid him upon it, covering him with a blanket. He then went to the desk and typed a code into the communications system. Almost immediately, the screen went active and a face appeared. =/\= Menolit Civil Police. Who is this? Why are your comms dark? =/\= Micah keyed in a code and the FedSec icon appeared on the screen at the other end of the call. =/\=FedSec agent in distress. Multiple hostiles, heavily armed. Request immediate extraction. Authorization code Beta- Seven-Kilo-Seven-Mike-Omega-Alpha. =/\= and he killed the transmission. Moving to Tor, he said “Your lady should be waking up right about the time the cuffs are put on her. See ya, pal.” and he wheeled Strickland out of the room.

Sirens flashed as the emergency response teams arrived. As the hospital was being evacuated and swept for the agent in need, staff were busy trying to keep patients secured and all staff accounted for. They were so busy, in fact, that no one noticed the gurney being taken into a waiting ambulance. Nor did they notice the ambulance turn and drive off-road a little way down the road leading to the front gate.

Hours later, Strickland and Piklesimer sat by a heater in the middle of the woods. Strickland was quiet, but the medical attention he received from Micah had helped him be upright at least. Pikelsimer simply sat and drank a hot protein drink and waited. It was hours later before Strickland spoke.

“Who sent you? Fleet? Or the Syndicate?” he asked, his head turning in the direction of Micah even though he couldn’t see him. Micah snorted softly. “Naw naw… nothing like that. A guy I know called in a favor is all. Wasn’t even sure what all this was about until I dug through Punch and Judy’s computer back there. Man… they are some nasty S.O.B’s, let me tell you.” He looked at Leroy and then said “Well… guess I don’t have to, huh?” Strickland simply looked down and mouthed the word ‘No’. Micah reached over and took his hand. Lifting it, he set a cup of the protein drink in his hand. “Drink. You got a hell of a long trip ahead of ya. We’ll get you on a medical ship asap, they’ll take you to the station. Hell, you’ll probably have new peepers before you even get there. The Nightingale is a good ship. They’ve patched me up more than once.” Strickland nodded and then said “So who are you? Intel? Special Projects?”

Micah heard the whine of impulse engines from far above them and slowly stood up. Not seeing engines, he keyed a command into his communicator before saying “Nope. FedSec. But not on the clock. Ok, my friend, up and at ‘em. Our ride is here.” Micah removed all trace of their camp site and then stood next to Leroy, letting him lean on him. =/\= Do it, Hallans. =/\= and there was a swirl of golden lights and the two men vanished.

Pikelsimer, FedSec


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