The Return of the Man In Black Pt. II
Planet LG-54309, Cygnus system, the distant past.
The rebels are holed up in a commandeered Imperial fortress.
"They won’t dare a frontal assault, Morak." whispered a rebel to his leader.
"Our power field is at full, brother." replied Morak.
"They won’t bombard this base, but they are planning something."
They scan the darkened skies above. They know the Imperial forces are up there. Their ships circle slowly in the clouds, like sharks around a kill.
The quiet is deafening. The men are sick at their guns with waiting. The smell of perspiration hangs in air.
"I..I have a bad feeling about this, Morak. Maybe we should surrender."
"Delmag, if I hear that from you once again I'll shoot you myself." replied Morak quietly.
"Leader, this is foolishness! What have we gained from this??"
Morak pushes the muzzle of his rifle against Delmag’s face. "Silence." he growls.
Just then, three thunderous detonations explode over the fortress, filling the sky with blinding light.
The rebels are temporarily blinded by the flash, the shouting begins.
A fourth detonation rocks the fortress, a basso profundo rumble felt in the bones.
The power field shimmers and winks out of existence.
"The field! They destroyed the generator! They must be inside the walls!"
More shouting and cursing as the rebels take up positions.
Beam rifles scream out into the night.
The main gate implodes inward and a multitude of black armored figures flood in.
"It's the Legion!" screams the rebel leader. "Forward, men! Protect the gate!"
But it is too late.
The Legionnaires surge forward like a wave, crashing through the barricades.
They draw their power swords and begin a methodical slaughter of the rebel forces.
Screams and cries fill the cool night air. The sky is illuminated by angry red glowglobes.
"They're coming this way! Morak, get ready! Morak!! Where are you going?!"
The cowardly rebel leader flees the battlefield, leaving his brother to his fate.
In his panicked flight he runs straight into the Legionnaires commander.
Reflexively he swings his rifle at the commander’s head. "Die! DIE!!"
It bounces off the helmet with an unsatisfying clang.
The commander casually backhands the rebel into unconsciousness, like swatting a fly, sending him sprawling.
The battlefield begins quieting down, though still accented by occasional rifle fire.
The commander removes his helmet, the seals cracking with a hiss of air.
It reveals a brown skinned man of indeterminate age with black hair.
He surveys the scene around him and comlinks to the ships floating above.
"Strikeforce, this is the Forward Commander. Landing zone is secure. Begin your descent."
"Affirmative, Commander." is the crackled reply. "Glory to the Empire!"
The black armored man frowns, the smell of smoke burning his nostrils.
"Glory to the Empire." he mutters darkly.
------
Earth, somewhere in France. The very recent past...
Rene closed his boulangerie for the evening. He locked the door, smiling. Business was good today. The life of a baker was hard but sometimes satisfying.
On his way home he noticed two large men following him.
He tried to ignore this, picking up his pace a little.
The two men increased their pace as well.
Rene felt nervous, and a little frightened.
Who were these people? Why were they following him?
Home was right around the corner. He broke into a run.
The two men cursed and ran after him.
His flat was in sight! Safety!
But the men were too fast for him, tackling him on the steps of his own building.
They struggled violently.
"Hold him still! Damn it, hold him still!" said the smaller of the two.
"I'm trying! I'm trying!" the second larger man said. "You know you’re just making this hard on yourself!" he growled at Rene.
The large mans face hardened. "Fuck this. You want it hard? You got it."
The man's fist rocketed out, slamming Rene in the gut.
Some of the fight went out of him but he continued to struggle.
"Help! Help me! Aidez moi!"
The smaller man pulled a device resembling a small, handheld camera out of his pocket.
He held it in front of Rene's face.
It began strobing beautiful, multicolored flashes into his eyes.
He tried to look away...but found he could not! His gaze was fixed on the lightshow.
His limbs began to slacken.
"That’s right, friend," he said soothingly. "Look at the pretty lights. Nothing to be afraid of."
The look of wonderment became a look of horror, as if he were seeing or remembering something too terrible for words.
"No!...noooooo...!"
Presently he fainted.
The men left Rene lying on the steps as they straightened their suits.
"I tell you, it gets harder each time. I hate these missions." said the large man.
"Belay that talk, trooper." said the smaller man. "I think he's coming around."
Rene struggled to his feet. He looked about in shock as if he'd just awoken from a dream...or a nightmare.
The two men snapped to attention, their postures formal.
"Where...what...?"
"You are the Imperial assassin, codenamed 'Baker'. We are with Imperial Naval Intelligence. Our orders were to 'reactivate' you via Strobe."
Rene's eyes hardened.
"Sorry about the rough treatment, sir." said the large man, patting Rene on the shoulder. "Just following orders." he said with a wicked grin. "No hard feelings?"
"Non. I mean, no, of course not, trooper." he replied, smiling.
Then, almost faster than the eye can see, Rene's fist lashed out like a cobra.It connected with the larger mans mid section, bringing him to his knees.
Rene lit a cigarette, towering over the crumpled man at his feet.
"Now, troopers...tell me." he said flicking his ash. "Who do they want me to kill?"
The rebels are holed up in a commandeered Imperial fortress.
"They won’t dare a frontal assault, Morak." whispered a rebel to his leader.
"Our power field is at full, brother." replied Morak.
"They won’t bombard this base, but they are planning something."
They scan the darkened skies above. They know the Imperial forces are up there. Their ships circle slowly in the clouds, like sharks around a kill.
The quiet is deafening. The men are sick at their guns with waiting. The smell of perspiration hangs in air.
"I..I have a bad feeling about this, Morak. Maybe we should surrender."
"Delmag, if I hear that from you once again I'll shoot you myself." replied Morak quietly.
"Leader, this is foolishness! What have we gained from this??"
Morak pushes the muzzle of his rifle against Delmag’s face. "Silence." he growls.
Just then, three thunderous detonations explode over the fortress, filling the sky with blinding light.
The rebels are temporarily blinded by the flash, the shouting begins.
A fourth detonation rocks the fortress, a basso profundo rumble felt in the bones.
The power field shimmers and winks out of existence.
"The field! They destroyed the generator! They must be inside the walls!"
More shouting and cursing as the rebels take up positions.
Beam rifles scream out into the night.
The main gate implodes inward and a multitude of black armored figures flood in.
"It's the Legion!" screams the rebel leader. "Forward, men! Protect the gate!"
But it is too late.
The Legionnaires surge forward like a wave, crashing through the barricades.
They draw their power swords and begin a methodical slaughter of the rebel forces.
Screams and cries fill the cool night air. The sky is illuminated by angry red glowglobes.
"They're coming this way! Morak, get ready! Morak!! Where are you going?!"
The cowardly rebel leader flees the battlefield, leaving his brother to his fate.
In his panicked flight he runs straight into the Legionnaires commander.
Reflexively he swings his rifle at the commander’s head. "Die! DIE!!"
It bounces off the helmet with an unsatisfying clang.
The commander casually backhands the rebel into unconsciousness, like swatting a fly, sending him sprawling.
The battlefield begins quieting down, though still accented by occasional rifle fire.
The commander removes his helmet, the seals cracking with a hiss of air.
It reveals a brown skinned man of indeterminate age with black hair.
He surveys the scene around him and comlinks to the ships floating above.
"Strikeforce, this is the Forward Commander. Landing zone is secure. Begin your descent."
"Affirmative, Commander." is the crackled reply. "Glory to the Empire!"
The black armored man frowns, the smell of smoke burning his nostrils.
"Glory to the Empire." he mutters darkly.
------
Earth, somewhere in France. The very recent past...
Rene closed his boulangerie for the evening. He locked the door, smiling. Business was good today. The life of a baker was hard but sometimes satisfying.
On his way home he noticed two large men following him.
He tried to ignore this, picking up his pace a little.
The two men increased their pace as well.
Rene felt nervous, and a little frightened.
Who were these people? Why were they following him?
Home was right around the corner. He broke into a run.
The two men cursed and ran after him.
His flat was in sight! Safety!
But the men were too fast for him, tackling him on the steps of his own building.
They struggled violently.
"Hold him still! Damn it, hold him still!" said the smaller of the two.
"I'm trying! I'm trying!" the second larger man said. "You know you’re just making this hard on yourself!" he growled at Rene.
The large mans face hardened. "Fuck this. You want it hard? You got it."
The man's fist rocketed out, slamming Rene in the gut.
Some of the fight went out of him but he continued to struggle.
"Help! Help me! Aidez moi!"
The smaller man pulled a device resembling a small, handheld camera out of his pocket.
He held it in front of Rene's face.
It began strobing beautiful, multicolored flashes into his eyes.
He tried to look away...but found he could not! His gaze was fixed on the lightshow.
His limbs began to slacken.
"That’s right, friend," he said soothingly. "Look at the pretty lights. Nothing to be afraid of."
The look of wonderment became a look of horror, as if he were seeing or remembering something too terrible for words.
"No!...noooooo...!"
Presently he fainted.
The men left Rene lying on the steps as they straightened their suits.
"I tell you, it gets harder each time. I hate these missions." said the large man.
"Belay that talk, trooper." said the smaller man. "I think he's coming around."
Rene struggled to his feet. He looked about in shock as if he'd just awoken from a dream...or a nightmare.
The two men snapped to attention, their postures formal.
"Where...what...?"
"You are the Imperial assassin, codenamed 'Baker'. We are with Imperial Naval Intelligence. Our orders were to 'reactivate' you via Strobe."
Rene's eyes hardened.
"Sorry about the rough treatment, sir." said the large man, patting Rene on the shoulder. "Just following orders." he said with a wicked grin. "No hard feelings?"
"Non. I mean, no, of course not, trooper." he replied, smiling.
Then, almost faster than the eye can see, Rene's fist lashed out like a cobra.It connected with the larger mans mid section, bringing him to his knees.
Rene lit a cigarette, towering over the crumpled man at his feet.
"Now, troopers...tell me." he said flicking his ash. "Who do they want me to kill?"
"Stroboscopic mnemonic alteration or 'strobing' first came into Imperial use after the Second War of Succession. It was shown that soldiers returning home from campaign suffered from post traumatic stress. 'Strobing' was used to remove the horrific memories of war, sensitive military data, and sometimes an entire military career. The medical field has used this technology to help treat certain mental illnesses brought on by trauma. The transition from soldier to citizen became almost instantaneous. There have been stories of memories being forcibly returned or artificial memories being induced but so far these have proven to be just fables. If only these stories were true! Just imagine what possibilities there could be for education or training! However, no hard concrete data exists to correlate these 'urban myths'." -Prelate Agriphon, Imperial Medical College. 'Lectures on practical stroboscopy'.
posted by Thousand Sons at 10:46 PM
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