Forums » Sci-Fi Roleplay » Comfortably Numb (Semi Open, Ask First)

"Eight? That little? Tell me, do you shoot at cans?" Jacob said, pulling up a chair next to her, and sitting down on it. He had a miserable life, and everything about it was horrible. No one would be able to understand it, or even think about it. He had been shut out by almost everyone he knew, insulted, picked on, blamed. Then, later, he tried to kill himself with a knife. It didn't work, but it scarred him. He had a wife, but she died when the bombs dropped. On their wedding day.

And now he was trying to break this girl in any way possible, to make her talk. "Oh, I will. Trust me. There are some things in this world that will make you scared, and this will be one,"

Jazmine struggled a bit more before concluding the straps were solid and new. It's like they knew I was coming. Jazmine though as she giggled a bit, before she heard the last part. "What are you planning to do to me? Cut me? Whip me? I've been through much worse." Jazmine said turning her head away from Jacob.

"I don't need to do any of those things. There are some things out there that would make any of us sh*t our pants, and I am one of them. I see no reason to hurt you, unless you want to give me one," Jacob said, and he stared her down. He had a glass in one hand, and a cigarette in the other, and he was going to make sure that she told him everything she knew about the Russians.

Jazmine looked in his eyes. "Do your worst." she growled, ready for anything he could possibly do to her. Or so she thought. She had failed many missions trying to kill reds and traitors and been punished severely, sometimes not being able to move afterwards and having to have the medics deposit her on her cot.

"I will... If you don't give me the information I need," Jacob said, setting his glass down and putting the cigarette in his mouth. He'd seen random shots in the night before, but nothing serious. Sometimes he'd find a random body when he'd go to check it out, but other than that, not much. He decided, though, that he'd only take a shot he knew he could hit. And there was plenty of those. However, he had to get down to business. "Tell me, what do you know about the Reds?"

Jazmine shut her mouth and stared at he ceiling. If she could, she would tell this man about the Red's, but it was physically impossible to talk about the red's to anyone other then her squad, If she did, her COM on her left arm would shock her almost to death, even if it was deactivated. It couldn't be taken off because it was now infused into her kin from a fire a couple years ago. Jazmine kept her mouth shut for her own safety.

((Cold War Kids know what I talk about when I say Reds. The United Socialist Soviet Republic, USSR, or Russia, had a red flag. They called the Russians "Reds" because of that. Just wanted you to know in case you didn't))

"So, you won't tell me anything about the Russians? Hmm? You must have a reason why not," Jacob said, acting a little nicer, but not too nice. He wanted to come across as sadistic, but not too sadistic. The kind of person who could be Hell when he wanted or needed to, and nice when he wasn't.

((I kinda figured. ))

Jazmine glanced into his eyes again, seeing his emotion soften just a tiny bit but not enough to not consider torturing her. She looked again at the ceiling and bit her lip to keep from telling him, scared what her COM would do to her. Last time she talked about it she almost died from the shock and the medics had to come get her and take her back to base, she couldn't walk for a week. It was humiliating, so she hasn't talked about it anymore.

((. I feel mean now))

"Listen, you'd better give me a damn good reason, or I just might break your other leg. I'm in no mood to do this, I'm in no mood to hurt anyone, but if it means the end of this war, then so be it. I'm looking for Vladimir's hideout. Where is it?" Jacob said, getting a little angry and frustrated. His fists were clenched.

"I-I can't tell you." Jazmine said a single tear escaping her eye. She continued staring at the ceiling and kept her mouth shut, hoping he wouldn't do anything to bad. "Anything you could do would be a thousand times better then it would do it me." she said avoiding telling him about the COM too. She couldn't say anything about the COM, The Reds, or her training.

"Scan her. She said It, and I'm assuming it ISN'T Vladimir," Jacob said, and the attendant walked away to get a scanner. Whatever she had, it was going to leave her, and then questioning would start. If she had the will to not talk after that, then it would be good.

"Sir, we have found a device, and it appears to be... Active. I don't know how they did it, but that emits a powerful electrical signal. Should we remove it?" The attendant asked, getting the tools ready. If the order was given, the device would be removed.

"Do we have pain killers?" Jacob asked, knowing full well that it would hurt a helluva lot with it anyways.

"No,"

"Do it anyways. I'll find a way to keep her quiet while we dig it out," Jacob said, and he returned to Jazmine, who was still restrained. The attendant had a knife in his hands, and rubber gloves, preparing to cut out the device. Jacob had a rubber piece in Jazmine's mouth, and he was holding her down. "This will hurt a helluva lot,"

And the knife descended onto her skin, digging through it.

Jazmine screamed best she could with the rubber piece in her mouth. The COM had been infused into her skin, down to the bone. They would have to cut about half of her bone out to get the whole thing out. "MUMFMUFNFM" she tried yelling at them that there was an off switch at the end closest to her shoulder on the side of the COM. It would turn the thing off to prying ears, but not to the electric shock.

((Not cutting the bone out. I got a better idea. Do you know who Picard is?))

They reached the device, and the medic could see it clearly. It had fused with the bone, and he was amazed at how it worked. Instead of the first idea of cutting it out, they had decided to deactivate the device. But not by a simple off switch, no sir. They would do it permanently. Carefully, they inserted an EMP device right next to it, and they activated it. Anything within a centimeter of the device didn't work, and that was the entire thing. Now it was being sewed up.

"Better?" Jacob said, and he got his brandy out. This was what he knew would work, and he gave her the entire glass, which numbed the pain and made the arms feel warm.

Sweat covered Jazmines face and she was holding back a second scream as they stitched it back up. She laid her head back down on the pillow and closed her eyes, feeling a glass being set into her hand. How the hell am I supposed to drink it when I'm restrained? Jazmine wondered lying still on the bed.

Jacob unhooked the restraint holding her drinking hand down, and trusted her enough that she would be smart enough to NOT jump up like a crazy B**** and attack him. That would be stupid for her. And not too fun for him, either.

“Good morning, group. This is your captain speaking. We are experiencing extreme turbulence. Please fasten your seat belts and put your trays in an upright position until otherwise told. Thank you, and have a nice day,”
The speakers shut off, and the man relaxed in his chair, closed his eyes, and nodded off to sleep. He dreamed of wonderful things. The time wore on, the flight grew shorter, and they soon passed over a great city. The airport was in sight.
“This is your captain speaking,” The speakers blared. “We are going to begin our de- What the hell is that?”
The passengers looked out the windows and saw a barren wasteland in the place of a city, a smoking ruin of a life long gone.
“We won't land here. Hold on, we're leaving,”
A loud boom filled the air, followed by several more. They did not shut the speakers off.
“Hold on. Evasive maneuvers, co-pilot. Start going for the head on. That's right, spin. Spin like you never spun in your S.O.B. life! Give those Reds a scare that will engrave a look on their stupid faces forever, goddamn it! Hold on for your life, and pray to God we survive!”
Everyone screamed. All of them screamed in terror, except for three. Those smart three, even though they knew what the hell was going on, they screamed in joy. The attackers fled heir positions rats, and at the last second, the plane pulled the nose up.
The force was awesome, something that not even dive bombers could ever feel. And something no one ever wanted to feel again. They eventually leveled out, and continued going straight.
“Well, that was fun, wasn't it?” The captain joked. “We should do that ag-”
The plane rocked with an explosion that ripped the plane apart in the back, ten thousand feet above the ground.
Matt woke up just as that dream ended. Except, he didn't know that it wasn't a dream. Hell, it was real. He heard the wind blow, but it was just a person whistling.
“Phew. Just a dream.” Still wrong. He looked up, seeing a strip of black clouds descending onto the city below. “Or was it?” Better.
*********************************************************************************
“Military plane, sir. 747 disguised as a passenger plane. A big one, too,” The radar operator reported from inside the mobile command center. “What should we do?”
“Fire upon plane. Let burn. Let burn long,”
The order emitted from a massive, seven foot tall man with broad shoulders and bulging muscles from his head to toe, and a long, black trench coat. His hair was brown, light brown, and he had a lot of it. He wore a military suit underneath it, with dozens of medals pinned upon it. On his chest was a belt with knives, clips, and grenades attached. On his waist was two holsters.
His arm came to a stop around the lower arm, and a metal fist began. It was larger than a normal hand, and by a lot. It was prosthetic, from an old war wound. On the back of the hand was a double barreled machine gun. The knuckles grew into spikes.
“Kill American Scum,”
“Yes, Lord Vladimir,”
The radar man rang up the AA guns, and told them to open fire. He sat down in his chair. “Anything else, sir?”
“No,”
“Yes, Sir.”
Vladimir walked outside as the guns opened up with 45mm shells. The noise was nearly deafening. Soon, the plane disappeared in a cloud of black smoke from the shells, and they could hear the engines roaring towards them.
“Ha! They won't stand a chance!”
Vladimir turned around to see the imbecile. How wrong that man was. He knew that unless a shell hit directly in the engines, or near the windows, nothing would happen. And that was true. For the plane had taken on a descent, the engines roaring. They were heading straight for them.
“SIR! RUN!” And the operator abandoned his post. Fools. Fools they were. Vladimir didn't run, and instead, held out his arm, and open fired. 20mm shells exited the barrel at high speed, killing the co-pilot, and wounding the pilot. Still, they pulled up. But the electronics were shot to s***.
“FIRE THE MISSILES!” Vladimir ordered, and walked into his armored transport. They were going to follow the plane. As the doors closed, a dozen AA missiles streaked into the air, and exploded upon the plane. The AA guns began moving, being on flatbeds, and the entire base was going where Vladimir went. “Americans...”
*********************************************************************************
“We did it! We made it!” The captain shouted in triumph, bleeding profusely from shrapnel. He never noticed the co-pilot, who was torn to shreds. “Take that you R-”
He was knocked back by a massive explosion that tore the plane asunder. Two rows of chairs simply disappeared from the missile, which hit the bottom. One of the wings was hit by three, another by two, and an engine shattered. The tail was hit twice, ripping open. The elevators were locked in place after being shredded by another, and the rudder and top fin was gone. Completely gone.
Two more rows were blazing violently, and were angled up, following the metal, which was curved up like a book. On the worst side possible was a well known General. He was on the tail side when the explosion happened. He stood nearly six feet tall, had an agile figure, and a lean face with blue eyes and blonde hair. His name was General Jack Sanders.
He unbuckled after the blast filled the cabin with fire, and with the place the same pressure as outside, he short of breath. But he had to get to the other side. He knew he wouldn't survive in the back, because they couldn't glide.
The metal above screeched loudly, bending and contorting as it longed to rip apart. Four people fell to their deaths, including the co-pilot, but he already was dead. The captain tried to jump, but he bled to death as his parachute opened. Sandars ran forward, leaping over bodies and debris. The plane was falling fast. Then the metal ripped.
He ran faster. Faster and harder. Then he jumped.
For a moment, as the back was lost in sight, he was in peace. It was quiet. Then he knew the situation. He was in trouble. Sanders missed. And he was falling. So, he angled himself to speed himself to the plane. Faster and faster he flew, until landing back inside the plane, at the front. The air wooshed around him, and dozens clung to the chairs as if it was their lives, which it was.
“HOLD ON BOYS, IMMA LAND THIS BABY!” He shouted, kicking open the door. What he saw was hell. Blood and gore everywhere, and 20mm bullet holes. But he finally got into the chair.
The engines had shut off, and he turned them back on. Suddenly the plane burst to life, an engine exploding as it burst to life, too. That was one he didn't need anymore. Now he was gliding the plane down. He later told his friends that landing a military grade 747 with two engines, and no tail control, was like “Riding a horse that suddenly got the notion to kill itself, and it's rider.”

(This is going to be terribad, I apologize in advance)

"NICE DAY?!" Randall yelled at some point, his body completely stiff as he clung to whatever was available to him at the time. "SURE, THIS IS A GREAT DAY!"
His sarcasm tended to come out at the most inopportune times, and this was one of them. He was frightened out of his mind, so much that he couldn't even think straight. One of the things he and Josh had in common was the fact that they tended to ramble when they were nervous, and this was exactly what he was doing now.
Josh wasn't entirely sure what was going on and he originally thought he was still asleep and this was some sort of horrible nightmare. He soon realized however that this was not a nightmare when a piece of shrapnel grazed his cheek, giving him a nice slash there on his pale skin. A few more inches and it would've killed him.
The two brothers were quite clueless and this was one of the few times when they couldn't run and escape the situation. Doubtlessly neither would come out without a fear of heights of some sort, or at least of planes. Flying death traps, those things were.

The plane glided forwards, going at over five hundred miles an hour, and descending fast. They skimmed the tops of buildings, sending them to the ground as their weakened frames were ripped apart, and sending concrete flying. He had to be careful. One wrong move, and the military cargo would send them halfway to hell and back in half of a second. Behind him, a burning trail of debris followed them as the engines spat fire and air at high speeds. The left wing hit a hotel, shredding off the top of the building, and ripping part of the wing off. Less fuel now.

The fourth engine blew up in a massive fireball, taking half the right wing with it. Less fuel there, too. And there was only one engine left. But Sanders had a feeling that they wouldn't need it much longer. And suddenly, his eyes widened. Ahead of them, what was left of it, was the John Hancock building. Not too good for them.

"HOLY MOTHER OF -!" He never got to finish that sentence.

The plane's nose ripped straight through the front of the building as Sanders jumped out of the cockpit, which was compressed, shredded, and shattered into nearly a million pieces. They entered through the south side, flattening half of the building, and taking the top half with them. They exited the north, trailing debris from half the plane, and the building. They stopped at another building, where everything came crashing down, igniting the fuel. In less than five seconds, the whole place would turn into a massive, explosive, burning fireball hotter than hell.

Sanders kicked open the emergency, door, and ran out, getting only twelve feet, like the twins, before it happened. The fuselage caught fire, the engines exploded, and the fuel tank detonated, sending rubble, shrapnel, and liquid fire into the air, and all in that order. The noise was deafening, and Sanders was picked up by the shockwave, and thrown ahead, nearly 100 feet away, or more. He could feel the heat baking his back. His clothes caught fire instantly, and his gun fired off, exploding the bullets. He could feel his back burning.

And the world, to him, went dark.