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CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'

[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford | Intelligence Suite | Deck 05 | Vector 1 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @BipSpoon @Stegro88 @Swift @GroundPetrel @Pierce
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“Don't hit at all if it is honorably possible to avoid hitting; but never hit soft!” ~ Theodore Roosevelt

Samantha had heard this phrase quoted first by her grandfather, when she was about eleven years old. It was part of his lectures in patience and self-control, but also in understanding the very polarity of Vulcan culture. Peaceful and logical to the brink, but relentless and unforgiving once pushed over it. And while her upbringing to this point had been innately human, for the most part, it was in this time that her dormant Vulcan character and ideology broke through, was groomed, and became a vital ingredient to her professional success. Because as much as people assumed that diplomacy was predominantly about understanding the feelings and sentiments of your opponents – and it was – the required professional skill to accurately quantify and exploit these was logic, not emotion. And it as exactly this duality in nature that made the blonde so perfect for the job: The ability to appreciate emotion, and the capability to factually categorize them.

But coming back to Roosevelt, his quote struck close to the core, especially in situations such as these, where the Commander felt as if negotiations had run their course. There was no shame in admitting that. There was, however, in conceding defeat, just because the answer was no. Because the appropriate reaction to that was a different kind of diplomacy, one that didn’t rely on words and phrases to subdue the enemy. And in that regard, she was very much aware that you had to be decisive, strict and quick, if you wanted to catch your opponent still dizzy from the ambrosia that was victory.

Gorka had made one fatal mistake in dealing with Starfleet, or a rogue faction thereof, and that was limiting they ways in which a mutual understanding could be reached. He’d backed them into a corner, claiming superiority by doing so, but in reality only spaded out his own grave. Because to get a message across you never hit softly, you never half-assed something. To show your conviction the display had to be exemplary. And with all the cruelty and personal affection of Fisher’s torture, it had done a half-assed job in sending a message. No, if you wanted to send a message, it had to shake your opponent to the very core, leaving them no way but to submit. And by not doing so, Gorka had shown a blatant weakness, his incapability to be the leader he saw himself to be, he had given them the opportunity to react. Samantha was not going to make the same mistake. She was going to hit the hollow pride and courage of the Klingon like a frilly piñata. And when honor and diplomacy had run their course, she never hit soft.

Walking into the Intelligence suite, like the woman on a mission she was, her entry and dominant air conquered the attention of the room in stride. Admittedly, it was not a very big one. Present were the Lieutenants Pierce, Byron and Anh-Le, all at their duty stations, as well as Amarik and Lorad, whom she had ordered up from security. Representing the stentorian slap of justice, she was going to send to Gorka. And if the mission to retrieve Martok’s grandson had been any indication toward the woman’s resolve in completing a mission, then he would be lucky to walk away with his life.

Pacing a few feet into the room and then halfway back and forth, like a pendulum slowly tuning into its resting position, hands clasping either extremes of her swaying hips, the diplomat finally turned to the group that had gathered before her.

“Alright, I’ll make this introduction brief, as we’re a little pressed for time.” she started out, her voice slightly hoarse and panted. “We were just informed that Gorka has managed to take Commander Fisher hostage and demands cessation of our involvement in securing Martok’s legitimate role as chancellor … obviously, this isn’t going to happen.”

Although Stark seemed on the fence still, about whether following the extortionist’s demands was maybe the better solution. So some unpopular decisions, and potentially in defiance with the chain of command, had to be made.

“Since we’re running low on executive officers, as of …” Samantha took a brief look at the chronometer. “… 1723 hours, I am taking command of the intelligence detachment and the security details necessary to complete its mission: The rescue of commander Fisher, and thus the continuation of our mission to stabilize the Klingon Empire and forge an alliance. I won’t let this glorified trilobite take away the progress we’ve made with the sweat, blood and lives of every crewmember on this ship!”

Scratching the side of her forehead, right below where the small, untreated cut at her hairline had closed beneath a dark crust, now infusing a gentle itch of healing, the blonde readjusted her stance. While she did not have a firm plan yet, it would have to do if they could not come up with anything better in a timely manner. Because that was the only thing they did not have: time. Martok and Ives were potentially gone, Gorka under the impression he would now have free reign to claim the throne his own, while a heir to the chancellor’s legacy was still unrevealed to the council, as was the traitor in their midst … things were never this dire and that primed to blow up any second.

“Let’s hear it, everyone.”

Re: CH07: S [D03|17:43] Operation: 'Dinner Out'

Reply #1 –
[ Lt. Alana Pierce | Intelligence Suite | Deck 05 | Vector 1 | USS Theurgy ] | ATTN: @BipSpoon  @Stegro88 @Swift @GroundPetrel @stardust | [Show/Hide]

Alana Pierce was partially startled by the speedily emergence of Commander Rutherford into the Central Intelligence Suite, but she half expected it since news of Fisher's capture had hit the audio streams Ta'rom and that he was being sent planetside. She swiveled in her chair as she leaned forward to press into the console and stand upright. The woman had given that vibe that she was on a mission and wasn't in the mood for pleasentries or other people's bullshit, just answers. Not that Alana could blame the diplomat since the chain of events could have been prevented had the Klingons been a reasonable people and responded to her in kind.

Her hands pulled on her uniform to straighten it. Thankfully since her altercation with the Gorn in the security suite earlier she'd opted to change her skirt for some nice Starfleet issue slacks allowing her more mobility should the shit hit the fan as she expected to happen. Several of the security officers and what remained of Intelligence stood idle as they awaited what the Diplomat planned to divulge to them now about her plans.

Slight surprise struck her however as she heard that Rutherford was taking over at present of the Intelligence wing but not all that unexpected. As she stated, executive officers were on short supply at present. A little taken aback with the Commander's almost erratic behavior, she could sense something else was at play that she wasn't yet privy to. Had she been completely human, Pierce would have thought her to be both pissed and panicking.

Deciding to stake some claim to Intelligence, she stood at the ready lifting a dainty finger on her hand to signal she wanted to speak. As she was acknowledged, she placed her hands on the control board to send it to the CIS screen.

"Commander, although there are no senior officers here we at present we look to you for your guidance. Although many of us in the Intelligence department have had experience flying solo on the occasional mission. That being said, I have an idea. It would require a small group to travel to the surface. Something where we could potentially mask the signatures of several individuals. Maybe security would have something that masks bio-signatures from the Klingon's scanners." She paused to lick her dry lips and continued. "I'd suggest a diplomatic approach as a front to gain access to the planet and negotiate for Fisher's release." A slight smirk split her lips as she continued on once more.

"The Klingon's would likely expect a sneak attack from a cloaked vessel and so a more direct approach might warrant better results. I suggest sending a few officers down while on approach without a transporter but with anti-gravity boots and freefall skydiving from the back hatch of the shuttle. Masked in our impulse signatures we might be able to drop undetected close to the facility wherein Fisher is being held. From there we would need someone capable of hacking into the entry and along the way to retrieve the Commander."

Letting everyone soak up her suggestions, she paused and walked over to a rough visual of the complex. "As you can see the data on this facility is a bit outdated and we're missing exact specs. Exiting the facility we're going to require a vessel, possible cloaked with a high speed to rendezvous on the outer wall. Destruction of the facility is likely as we break the Commander out, and we're going to need weapons fire to provide the path we need for escape and transport back to the shuttle. It's crazy, but sometimes crazy works. The Klingons won't expect crazy when Starfleet typically follows a protocol on mission. We're renegades according to the Fleet so that gives us extra leeway."

She brushed her hair back and stepped back to allow for others to speak up. "I'm all ears for anyone's opinions or other options but this might be the most direct route with a little finessing."[/b]

Re: CH07: S [D03|17:43] Operation: 'Dinner Out'

Reply #2 –
[ Lieutenant Valyn Amarik | Intelligence Suite | Deck 05 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Pierce @Stegro88 @Swift @GroundPetrel @stardust
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Valyn had taken the call up to the intelligence suite without hesitation. Admittedly, it had taken asking a passing Ensign to figure out exactly where she needed to get to, but she did manage to arrive in a decent amount of time. She stood off to the side, and leaned up against a vacant console. She still looked a bit disheveled from the battle, but she’d clearly at least attempted to put herself together, her hair having been freshly pulled back. She was still armed with her pistol and the Tal Shiar officer's blade that was strapped to the back of her belt. Her uniform itself had been changed as well, luckily no longer being covered in Targ blood.

An eyebrow rose on her face at the mention of a kidnapped officer. She didn’t know who he was but she was all ears. A kidnapped officer, be it in Starfleet or even back on Romulus was a serious matter. Perhaps for different reasons and motivations. With the Romulans, because of the risk of a potential breach of information. With the Federation for the same concern but there was also a larger aspect of loyalty and duty. It wasn't something to be left ignored. She gave an audible chuff of amusement when she heard their demands. Even if they met the demands, there was no guarantee that Gorka wouldn’t just kill Fisher anyways. She’d seen what some of his soldiers were capable of, and Klingon honor or not, she’d seen enough war to understand that lust for power drove men; be it Romulan, Human, Or Klingon alike, to actions of madness. She looked to Rutherford, "I'm with you." A simple statement, but she didn't think she needed to say much else about it. The Klingons had done and taken enough from them. They weren't going to take another officer if she could help it.

Her attention shifted to Pierce as she spoke up, and her head tilted to the left as she listened, eyebrows narrowing slightly in thought. “A jump?” She finally spoke up after a while, letting the ghost of a grin hit the corner of her lips. Clearly amused by the idea, she said nothing else, and listened. She let her eyes trace over the specs a few times before she did decide to speak up. “Sounds pretty good.” She gave a nod and took a step towards the image of the specs, to get a closer look.

“I have some experience with hacking but I’m by no means an expert.” She looked around those gathered, to see if anyone else was perhaps a bit more skilled. “If we do manage to get into the system, we can probably try and find some updated specs, not that it helps us much here, but once we get down there it’ll give us an idea of where the hell we’re goin’ at least.” She turned her attention away from the monitor and then back towards Pierce with a small smile, “Might want to bring a few charges for the door just in case though.” For a Romulan, it was obvious that she had a strange, and very Human accent. She spoke with a fairly strong Alabama accent, not a hint of Romulus in her voice.

“What’s the saying...hope for the best, plan for the worst?” She crossed her arms and gave another glance over the schematic. “As for crazy, I’m all for it, when it’s warranted. These bastards have done enough damage for one day.” She pushed herself off of the console she had been leaning on, and pulled her uniform down.

“How do we go about concealing ourselves down on the surface?” She wasn’t sure what tech they had on board, not completely anyways and thought it best to just ask instead of assume. “And are we going to steal a cloaked ship to get out of there, is that what you’re suggesting?” She had saved all of her questions for the end, but she did have questions, though she wasn’t against the plan, quite the contrary, she was all for it. She just wanted to execute it perfectly.

Re: CH07: S [D03|17:43] Operation: 'Dinner Out'

Reply #3 –
[ Petty Officer Third Class Lorad | Intelligence Suite | Deck 05 | Vector 01 |USS Theurgy | Orbiting Qo’noS ]  attn: @stardust @BipSpoon @Swift @Pierce @GroundPetrel
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Lorad had just finished suiting up in a replacement security exosuit when he had been paged to report to the intelligence suite on Deck 05. Checking his equipment a final time, making sure that he had everything that he needed, he picked up his accipiter rifle and slung it across his back. The oversized weapon was bigger than he was used to, but he was growing to like its utility in situations where a phaser or disruptor would be more of a hinderance than help. And if that failed to work, then he had his new blade, a kukri, strapped to his left hip and thigh.

Arriving, he had stood at the back, staying motionless in the shadows of the room as much as possible while others had arrived, and the briefing had started. The Romulan’s presence was curious to him, but Lorad understood that she was not his enemy. Not anymore, and perhaps never was. Still, she was not inexperienced, and her questions were valid. Fortunately, Lorad believed he had the answer to at least one of them.

“The Apache,” Lorad’s distinctive voiced sounded out in standard from the corner where he stood. Shifting his weight, he stepped forward, turning his head away from the screens to shield his eyes as best he could. Looking about, he saw that everyone had their combadges so he switched back to his native Reman tongue. "My sister Samala is preparing it for battle, going so far as to send me away. She would be our best option for escape as we cannot rely on a craft being present for us to utilise,” Lorad proposed as another thought occurred to him.

“As we cannot transport the commander free, nor use them to deploy us, forcing us to either fly in ourselves or jump, as you have described,” Lorad said, looking down at the flame-haired female. “They must have a transport inhibitor at this place. We must prevent them from turning it off or we will be overrun with Klingon reinforcements. Samala can provide support and interfere with any that seek to approach the facility conventionally.” Having said his piece, he glanced at each of the faces present before reaching the slender sand-haired female that was now in command.

“If you want in,” Lorad said in gravelly Standard once more. “Lorad get you in.”

Re: CH07: S [D03|17:43] Operation: 'Dinner Out'

Reply #4 –
Lt. JG Dantius Thi Anh-Le | Intelligence Suite | Deck 05 | Vector 01 |USS Theurgy   attn: @stardust  @BipSpoon  @Swift @Pierce  @Stegro88

"It's a good plan," Anh-Le said.  Pumped full of painkillers and with the itchy sensation of newly-protoplased skin over her half-repaired  oblique muscles, she wasn't in the mood for talking too much, but there was work to do.  "We've got our hands on a map of the facility that Commander Fisher's being held in, and I'm fairly certain it's up to date.  Since I got my ass kicked pretty good by a Klingon for insulting his mother, I'll be here on coms to guide the assault team through." 

She switched to her best High Rihan for Lieutenant Amarik and Petty Officer Lorad's benefit; the main Romulan prestige dialect was mostly intelligible with Havran, and though Anh-Le wasn't good with Havran idiom, pronunciation, or grammatical idiosyncracies (you didn't get many intercepted comms in Reman dialects, whereas there were a lot of files that had to be translated from High Rihan...and then  examined for code words and phrases once the cipher was dealt with...there were a lot of frustrated nights that she could remember all too well, damn.)--well, she could speak enough High Rihan to get her point across, and not so much that she'd get lost on a tangent. 

She'd been doing the latter a lot recently.  Missing  too much sleep, probably. 

"<I'll try to help you make it fast so we don't leave your evac waiting on you for half an hour,>" the Orion said.  Well, she was pretty sure she said that, she might have mispronounced the slang for "evac".  Then it was back to Federation Standard for the whole group, and hope that the universal translators caught her previous comment.  "Security's going to be tighter than usual, but if our hacker can get into the defense network we can probably shut down most of the grid from here, it's a pretty well-interlinked system.  That'll let us take out automatic disruptor turrets, laser defense grids, forcefields, gravy traps, all that.  Downside is, there'll be a silent alarm, which means we're on a clock the moment automated security goes down.  It also means that our end is responsible for distracting the enemy and making sure that that clock lasts as long as  possible." 

Hopefully this would go off without too many hitches.  Anh-Le liked Fisher, he seemed to be pretty competent and just enough of a hardass to get the job done without being an asshole.  And while Rutherford and Pierce seemed fine, well, a good CO wasn't something you wanted to lose, no matter the replacement.  "Obviously," she said in conclusion, "if you see something I either didn't mention or don't quickly mention, tell me immediately so we can start figuring a way around it." 
Really enjoying writing a halfway stable character for once...

Re: CH07: S [D03|17:43] Operation: 'Dinner Out'

Reply #5 –
[ Lt. Alana Pierce | Intelligence Suite | Deck 05 | Vector 1 | USS Theurgy ] | ATTN: @BipSpoon @Stegro88 @Swift @GroundPetrel @stardust | [Show/Hide]

Pierce took all of this information into account as she stood at the conference table looking at the diagrams Lt. Dantius had fashioned for them. The fact she'd gone toe to toe with the Klingons only improved her opinion of the woman. Having had a few bouts with the Klingon's herself and the current predicament no exception, she was amused by the remark about her recent expeditions and the status of the map. A crease appeared near her reddish lips as a smirk broke out of it.

Intending on taking things into consideration as she'd done in past missions, she wanted to assert her dominance here and now. Regardless of whether she was in charge or not, she knew that in order to move up again in the fleet, she needed to be commanding. Or it could simply be the male thought patterns that she still possessed which made her compete for control. She wasn't sure which.

"Great work Lt. Dantius." Alana turned and placed her other arm resting beneath her bust for support so her remaining elbow had a place to lay itself as she thought. "We don't have the time for much debate everyone. As Commander Rutherford stated, time is of the essence. Lt. Amarik, we'll definitely need your specific skillset once we're planet side. Lorad, I like your thinking. Bring a small security detachment with us. We'll need stealth and speed people."

She waltzed over to another panel before turning back to the group. The Apache would do nicely she thought to herself. This ship certainly has very, very qualified individuals on staff. Too bad the brass at Starfleet HQ were likely untrustworthy with the exception of Anderson.

As if forgetting something she faced the group again as she stood in close proximity of Samantha. "Those of us going planet side. We're going to need special ops suits. The Klingons will know and suspect a likely rescue attempt. Let's make it a little harder to pin on the fleet. Let's meet in the shuttle bay and be ready for sendoff."

Remembering that she was new and didn't want to ruffle too many feathers, she deferred to Samantha. "That is if everything sounds good to you, sir." She had an almost childish grin when she was sure she was done with the conversation, but returned to a somewhat stern look as she addressed her direct superior.

OOC: Likely this will be the last post I have prior to going on vacation unless there's a need and time tomorrow for me to write before leaving.

Re: CH07: S [D03|17:23] Operation: 'Dinner Out'

Reply #6 –
[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford | Intelligence Suite | Deck 05 | Vector 1 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @BipSpoon @Stegro88 @Swift @GroundPetrel @Pierce
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Over the years, Samantha had learned that to any negotiation, and to any presentation, you could never turn up without a plan of your own. For if you wanted to show the resolve and integrity necessary for a position of power, you could not be caught with your pants down. Figuratively and realistically. That’s why she’d formed a strategy to free Andrew, and deal with the potential of Martok’s death in one fell swoop. In that order, no matter what she let on professionally. But granted, her plan was not fool proof or perfect, she’d only had about ten seconds to cook it up when the current situation presented itself on the bridge. But it was a good enough going off point should everyone else fall flat on their asses … which she also knew, was only a minute possibility.

The moment the diplomat had relayed her rundown and query, Lieutenant Pierce had sprung to action, the way she’d anticipated her to. The young redhead had earned a token of respect from the blonde in the little amount of time she’d been on Theurgy so far. Not only in extension of whatever professional pride Fisher felt, over her being on his team. Her plan was falling in line closely with what she had thought out herself, only proving that the two women thought much alike strategically. But it went even further than that, because Sam had actually intended to let the mission take care of itself, once the away team had landed at the compound. At which point any planning would likely have to make room for improvisation anyways as the situation unfolded before them.

Giving the woman a faint smile and appreciative nod, the commander’s attention moved on to Lieutenant Amarik next, a capable security officer, from what she’d hard. Keeping appraised of the gems in Theurgy’s all-star team was a favorite past time of the duty obsessed 1/4th Vulcan. The Romulan’s conviction, in line with her species' resolve, was impressive. No matter how at odds their respective ancestries stood. Planning for any contingencies, certainly, was where everyone’s personal experstise came in. And it was sort of poetic, almost, that the mention of backup explosives cleared the floor for Theurgy’s resident Gorn, Lorad. Another capable security officer.

The line of conclusion, in its habitual grammatical incorrectness, almost made Samantha snort a gentle chuckle with easy glee. But she had to also conceded that it was a great idea to involve the Apache as an extraction plot, maybe more.

Then the plucky Orion officer, Lieutenant Dantius offered her professional remarks. And while the blonde almost regretted her staying behind, after getting to know the woman as a rather capable hands-on person TWICE now, she nodded gratefully at the proposed support given. It seemed there were talents to the green-skinned lass that she hadn’t yet discovered, but soon would.

As Alana brought the conversation full circle, with a glance at the clock, Samantha gave one definitive nod, before crossing her arms in a stance of defiance to the odds they were facing.

“Great work, everyone.” she said with a telling glance around the team. She thoroughly appreciated everyone’s selfless involvement, even after days of being stretched as humanly thin as possible without going completely postal. “I have already instructed my new assistant chief and Ensign L’Nari to prepare for a diplomatic mission to the great hall. There is a time-sensitive matter that needs to be resolved there as well. They’ll be your decoy. A Type-11 is being prepped as we speak. Officers Amarik, Lorad, make sure we get 4 security exo-suits to pad C. They should mask the team's bio signs.”

Moving forward to the large wall of screens the commander pulled up a haphazardly drawn out flight path from her short moments on the turbolift between alerting her department peers, sending a message to K’Tal and coming here. It showed a slightly curved line from Theurgy through the atmosphere that leveled out towards the first city. Indicating a target point about three quarters of the way there.

“Away team will jump from the shuttle here, while on final approach to the Great Hall. I have sent notice to our ally K’Tal, head of imperial intelligence, to grant us landing privileges. Once Ensign L’Nari has arrived, she will establish a secure diplomatic channel that Lieutenant Dantius can piggy back our communications on. I will follow in the Apache with Crewman Samala, to disguise the cloaked craft's atmospheric turbulence in the shuttle’s wake. We will stop here at the jump-off point and remain stationary to oversee both missions, giving operational oversight and awaiting the signal for exfiltration. There we’ll be able to lend air-support as well.”

Erecting her slim figure back up straight, from where she’d let dainty fingers brush over the sleek console, the commander turned to face the team once more.

“Once you’re on the ground you’ll have to improvise, but I have full faith in each and everyone’s capability to do so. And as this is an intelligence operation, if not a matter of honor, I’ll put Lieutenant Pierce in charge of the away time, while Lieutenant Madsen will be in charge of the diplomatic mission to the Great Hall. So, if there is nothing else, let’s suit up and get ready … we depart at 1740 hours.”

A definitive nod as the blonde detached her posterior from the console she’d been leaning on the past minute or so. Clutching the PADD she’d brought once more, giving an ear to any last comments, Samantha excused herself out of the intelligence offices to make last preparations, including a small briefing of the recently decided plan to Crewman Samala before departure.


OOC: So we can skip forward to where both craft depart from the shuttle bay, if no one has anything to add, or to play out in between … though of course anyone can bridge the gap by filling in how your characters got on to the shuttle and how they’ve prepared.
Madsen, L’Nari and Sarresh – the diplomatic decoy crew – can be mentioned in passing, piloting the Type-11, as they will be predominantly writing out their part of the mission in the “All or Nothing” thread.

Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'

Reply #7 –
[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher | Makeshift Holding Cell | Sub-Level 03 | House of Mo’Kai Staging Compound | Qo’nos ] Attn: @Stegro88 @BipSpoon @stardust @GroundPetrel @Pierce

As he lay unmoving upon the cold hard floor of his makeshift cell, arms bound behind his back and ankles similarly tied, Fisher struggled to determine his current surroundings, as even though he’d managed to maintain a level of consciousness during the transfer from Gorka’s ship to wherever this was, the Klingons had wisely opted to hood their ensnared saboteur. Yet he still had some clue, thanks to details that he’d pieced together; he was on Qo’nos, affirmed by the inane chatter of several unwitting Klingons that he’d overheard, and furthermore he could discern by the distinctive scent of trees in the air and the ambient sound of wilderness that he was among a forest of some kind. It’d been a little while since he’d perused any geo-political intelligence reports regarding the surface of Qo’nos, but he felt comfortable in assuming that he had been brought to a facility or compound wherein he could be held captive, and his interrogation could be conducted without the threat of Starfleet interfering. Though, that latter assumption depended on whether Gorka and his retinue could effectively encrypt any communications which might have mentioned the captured spy in their midst.

In his experience, Fisher had found that Klingon Intelligence, if it was under the right lead, could be just as difficult to counter-opt as the Tal-Shiar or Obsidian Order, but again that was under the right lead. More often than not however, Klingons succumbed to pride and brazen arrogance in the conduct of their duplicitous activities, just as Gorka had, and it was then that the cracks and holes in their defenses could be capitalized on.

Grunting as he attempted to roll onto his other side, a surge of intense pain wiped clean any course of thought he’d been attempting to focus on and explore, as any pressure against the numerous fractured ribs within his chest assailed and overwhelmed his senses. Everything hurt. Everything ached. His head was throbbing from having been thrashed about without let or hindrance, at least half of the ribs on his right side were broken, and he felt certain that his left orbital had been decimated by a gauntleted fist at some point during previous interrogation sessions. Through it all though, he had thus far maintained a level of snark, sarcasm, and subterfuge which had effectively driven his interrogators insane with rage. Rage that they had been all to happy to alleviate with brutality and violence against him, but in a way, it was his satisfaction at so thoroughly frustrating them that was helping to assuage any thoughts of giving up any useful information.

‘Eventually, everyone breaks.’ He remembered Hurley’s warning once again, the sentiment haunting him.

With a reverberating metal clank, the latch to the only door leading into his cell unlocked and it swung open as a trio of Klingons strode in. Through the blur in his vision, at least through the eye that hadn’t been swollen shut, he didn’t recognize any of them from before. Shifting so that he could curl his legs underneath of him, he strained against pain as it shot through him, causing a wince, but he rose up enough so that he was in a kneel at the center of the room, rather than just having been laid there.

“Mister... Hogan? Or was it Bourne? Or Bond perhaps?” one of the Klingons, evidently the leader of this trio, began listing all of the names that Fisher had thus far offered up to them, which naturally drew a smile from the spy. “I am Commandant Kle’enk. I am in charge of this facility.” Looking to his companions, they soon snatched up their captive at either side of his arms and manhandled him until he was sat upon a simple steel stool that had been bolted to the stone floor. “High Chancellor Gorka has entrusted me with the remainder of your stay on Qo’nos.” Stepping around so that he might stand behind Fisher, Kle’enk cast a short glance at one of his guards, who responded by grabbing a handful of Fisher’s thick mane, painfully contorting, and twisting his head so that he could face Kle’enk again. “I should inform you of course, that your ship... this, Theurgy, has been destroyed, and that Martok has been expelled from the Chancellorship as a traitor. There is no one coming to rescue or trade for you. As such, you have been declared an enemy of the Empire, and sentenced to execution upon the completion of your interrogation.” With another glance, the guard released Fisher’s head.

Gritting his teeth as his neck now ached in addition to all the other pangs of his body, Fisher recognized the schtick being leveled at him. It was an old technique, as tried and true as they come, meant to deprive a captive of any hope, and elicit their cooperation. As thinly veiled as it was though, he decided not to entertain the notion at all, and kept quiet as with one sage-green eye he glared at the Commandant.

“That is unless you know something of value that can atone for your crimes against the Empire.” Raising a thick pointed eyebrow higher than the other upon his ridged forehead, Kle’enk waited for a response, but when nothing but silence permeated, he once more cast a glance at one of the two guards, who on queue slugged Fisher in the left side of his face, further aggravating the injury to his likely broken orbital. A second, third, and fourth punch followed immediately, tearing away any scabs that had formed in addition to a plethora of new wounds that began to bleed profusely. A simple nod later, and the assault ended, leaving the human-man slumped over on the stool that he’d been perched, the world seemingly spinning about him as they had brutalized the left side of his face. “Well?” asked the Commandant, the Guards grabbing and wrenching Fisher’s head so that he could see Kle’enk again. “Anything to say now? No? Very well.” A fist was drawn back, ready to resume the punishment.

“Wait!” interrupted Fisher, and the attacks were momentarily halted. Spitting out a rope of crimson saliva down the center of his bared chest, he breathed with raggedness as a shit-eating grin soon crossed his face. “Did you say your name was Commandant Kle’enk? Then that would make one of you, Sergeant Schulz, right?” a bout of laughter soon escaped him at the absurdity of coincidence at play, aware that his amusement would result in more torture, but uncaring.

“Insolent worm, stop your bellowing!” barked the Commandant as he back-handed Fisher hard, knocking him from the stool. He didn't know the references being made by the spy, only that he was being toyed with, and that enraged him.

Landing in a heap, pain surging throughout him, Fisher felt renewed with enough piss and vinegar to go at least another bout or two.

“I've had enough! Administer the drug, and shut him up!” ordered Kle’enk, and the two guards descended on their prisoner with violent intent.

Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'

Reply #8 –
[ Tesserarius  Lorad | Shuttle Bay | USS Theurgy | Orbiting Qo’noS ]  Attn: @Swift @stardust @BipSpoon @GroundPetrel @Pierce
[Show/Hide]
 
Lorad stood on the deck, looking across at the craft that he and his sister had used to flee Romulan space. It had saved their lives several times over and now Samala was going to take it into battle once again, this time to save someone neither of them knew. The Apache was built by Remans to go where only those same desperate Remans would be willing to go. And with his sister at the controls, he held no fear that they acquit themselves well. Yet, there was still the concern that one or both would not return. 

Seeing that the others of his team had gathered, Lorad cast a last glance at the Apache before boarding the Federation Type-11. 


[ Samala | The Apache | Hawk-class Runabout | USS Theurgy ] 
[Show/Hide]
Samala reached across and made a subtle adjustment to one of the manoeuvring thrusters. It had been damaged during their escape from the Ta’rom and been hastily repaired once they finally made it back to the Theurgy but she hadn’t had time to test and calibrate it and now, wouldn’t get to. She could only hope that her experience had allowed her to do it correctly the first time.

“Samala,” came a nervous voice from behind her. Samala spun her seat around and looked at the Terran that sat at the console on the port side of the cockpit. “I think I have everything ready to go like you taught me, but can you check it just in case?”

“Of course,” Samala acknowledged, standing and moving over to lean over the console, her eyes playing across the screens. “Perfect. Just remember that while the Apache is based off stolen plans for the Danube, it isn’t one. This craft is capable of a few things that will surprise you if it is given the chance.”

“I will,” the Terran said. Satisfied, Samala moved back to her own seat, her confidence growing at the first member for her cockpit crew. Crewman First Class Tashanna Ford was a shuttlecraft engineer that also had decent flight aptitude results and Samala was counting on being able to cross train her for all three roles on the ship.

“Any idea where our third is?” Samala asked the ebony-skinned Terran.


1740 hrs

“This is the Apache. We’re cloaked and clear,” Samala announced, both for those in the cockpit and the Theurgy’s benefit. Glancing back at the Starfleeter positioned at the Tactical console, familiarising themselves. She’d been told their name, but it hadn’t stuck yet. “How are you coming along with the controls?”

Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'

Reply #9 –
[ Lieutenant Valyn Amarik | Intelligence Suite | Deck 05 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Swift @Stegro88 @stardust @GroundPetrel @Pierce
[Show/Hide]
Valyn took a long look at the Reman. It had been a long time since she’d seen a Reman, particularly in a peaceful manner. The last time she’d been in the presence of the Remans it had been on the Enterprise, and before that during the Dominion War. Both times, under the brutal watch of Shinzon, the human pretender. This time however, he was notably absent, and the exchange was noticeably more peaceful. Still, old prejudice was hard to break.

“A good idea, but we might wanna have a contingency. If we need to get out o’there in a hurry we may want a way to take down the inhibitor ourselves.” She raised her brows and gave him a nod. Her attention then shifted to Anh-Le then and her jaw tightened when her voice shifted to Romulan, just slightly, and her face soured with it. She didn’t elaborate on why. It was a sound plan.

“You got it.” She smiled lightly to Rutherford, a bit of anticipation evident. She’d been itching to get in one of the suits ever since she’d come aboard, and she was getting the chance pretty quick into her assignment abroad Thuergy. She crossed her arms and stood a bit taller, her expression growing more serious as the final details were laid out. It was how she was wired, in the lead up to a mission, part of her shut down, and she focused. She looked at the screens and looked at the jump point and the stationary point, judging the distance and response time.

1740.

She took a breath and as soon as they were dismissed, she took note of every face there, and made her way to suit up.

[ Lieutenant Valyn Amarik | Shuttle Bay | USS Theurgy | In Orbit of Qo’noS ]
Valyn made her way into the shuttle bay, in the undersuit of the exo-suit that suit on the pad waiting for her. Strapped to her side, was her usual officer's knife, clearly Romulan, Tal Shiar for those who paid attention to such things. She was never without it. Her weapons were slung over her shoulder, her rifle by a strap, and the rest in a small hardcased bag. She walked up to the suit and ran a hand across it, gingerly. An impressed whistle escaped her lips and she started to put it on.

It fit perfectly and she moved her arms around in it, watching the joints move perfectly. She smirked and gave a nod as she prepped her gear, then walked into the shuttle, taking a seat towards the front.

Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'

Reply #10 –
[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford | Intelligence Suite | Deck 05 | Vector 1 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @BipSpoon @Stegro88 @Swift @GroundPetrel @Pierce
[Show/Hide]


Right after leaving the intelligence suite Samantha made her way back to the diplomatic council to brief both Enyd and L’Nari on the plan they had just hatched. Even though they only were a distraction to the grander scheme. Which didn’t make their contribution any less valuable, of course. Professionally the mission the great hall was the diplomat’s priority. To ensure that the relations with the Klingons would continue to prosper and not fail at the mere demise of some of the chess pieces. Through Enyd she would be kept appraised of the goings on at the council, all while focusing on her second, much more personal mission.

Truth be told, the blond had never felt this divided. Taking care of two departments concurrently was a first, and it only reminded her of how difficult it must be for Stark to currently be overseeing a whole myriad of them. Granted, diplomatic and intelligence departments were somewhat in the same zip code of subjects. They were both after the same thing, albeit in slightly different manners, and she would never be able to appreciate it any more than she did right now.

So, after getting her department prepped the blonde briefly sent crewman Samala a summary of their plan as well, so she didn’t have to do the majority of explaining on the way. Joining in with Enyd and L’Nari subsequently, the three made their way to the shuttle bay where their paths would diverge. Wishing both of them their best, alongside Sarresh who had joined them, she gave the man a gentle smile before turning on her heels to cross the remaining few feet to the Appache in stride. The two had met only a couple of days ago and had grown considerably close in a short amount of time. Yet so much had gone down the past few hours alone that there was now a certain feeling of neglect present, in regards to how their last engagement had ended 2 nights prior … a perceived measure of weeks seemingly spanning between. But, that was a matter which had to wait. Samantha could only oversea two issues at once.

Slipping into the back of the Reman shuttle, the commander made her way straight through the hold and corridor onto the bridge, where last pre-fight preparations were already underway. Ver well so, considering the chronometer was just skipping to 17:40, as the shuttle bay doors slid open to indicate their take-off window establishing. Taking up the last remaining console, tactical ironically, Samantha placed a couple of PADDs with data pertaining to both missions into the designated tray to the side, before shooting both Samala as well as her co-pilot a thin-lipped smile, cocking one brow gently at the inquiry.

“Not exactly my forte.” The blonde replied, letting her pale blue eyes sink to the Reman console, while clasping her hands together behind her back. Leaving it open whether her comment was hinting at the alien symbolisms or the tactical designation. “Let’s just hope I won’t have to use it, shall we.” Not really a question, the diplomat looked back at the pilot again. It would’ve been a failure on many levels.

“Crewman, open a comm line to the Rosalind Franklin.” she prompted at Tashanna Ford, readjusting her stance as if she was going to address a foreign envoy, rather than talking to her peers over and audio connection. “We’re ready to depart. Franklin, take the lead and follow the predetermined trajectory. I’ve transmitted the landing permits to you, in case you’re being contacted by traffic control. Everyone, keep communications silence until Ensign L’Nari has been able to establish secure communications with Lieutenant Dantius from the surface.”

Taking a small moment to let a dramatic pause sink in, Samantha let her blue eyes transfix to the black void beyond the glowing frame of the shuttle-bay door. The crescent of the Klingon homeworld below. Somewhere down their not only Theurgy’s destiny was hanging in the balance, but that of Andrew, Martok, Ives and his team as well.

“Good luck everyone, Appache out.” A deep exhale left her lungs, causing her squared shoulders to dip back into a more feminine curve. “Take us to the drop point.”


OOC: Next jump :) Soon quite literally!

Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'

Reply #11 –
Lt. JG Dantius Thi Anh-Le | Intelligence Suite | Deck 05 | Vector 01 |USS Theurgy   attn: @stardust  @BipSpoon  @Swift  @Pierce   @Stegro88

"Cà phê sữa đá, double sweetener," Anh-Le ordered from a replicator.  Then, as the drink materialized, "And give me a shot of espresso with that."  She needed the caffeine.  Probably wasn't 100% advisable with the painkillers, but whatever.  She'd survived worse. 

The Orion took a seat in front of a set of commandeered monitors, pulling up the building schematics and putting a comm earbud into her left ear to prepare for L'Nari's check-in.  She sipped her coffee as she went over the mission plan again in her mind. 

Simple in and out.  Nothing was ever simple, though.  She'd have to hope there were no comms jammers, for one.  At least with caffeine countering the soporific effect of painkillers, she could be on the ball from the start.

The heady mix of sugar and caffeine hit, shocking Anh-Le's system with ferocious speed.  She didn't like harder stimulants--methylphenidate was a nightmare, for example.  But for a combination that made most people hyperactive, coffee and sugar in vast quantities instead sent her through that state of unfocused energy and to a plateau of pure nervous vibration that she could channel. 

She flexed her fingers, pulled her chair closer to the monitors, and waited for the comms to crackle on. 

Fortunately, she didn't have to wait very long...
Really enjoying writing a halfway stable character for once...

Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'

Reply #12 –
[ Lt. Alana Pierce | Shuttlecraft: Rosalind Franklin] | ATTN: @BipSpoon @Stegro88 @Swift @GroundPetrel @stardust | [Show/Hide]

Pierce had left briskly from the Intelligence Suite to get changed prior to the mission. She had zero intention of going in wearing Starfleet garb. Despite having the Security suit that would protect her from the suborbital drop, she wanted to be comfortable. Well, as much as can be had in an undercover intelligence extraction. Not to mention she discovered that clothing was both a blessing and a curse as a female. She now has more options of what to wear but she also had much more to wear. The wire from the bra digging at her chest a little more snugly than she'd like. Aside from that, she'd replicated a uniform similar to things she'd wear undercover in the 23rd Century but for her new physique.

Despite that, she finally arrived at the designated shuttle, the Rosalind Franklin. On approach of the shuttlecraft, various suited up personnel were at the ready for this extraction. Alongside those suited up were some in standard Starfleet uniforms from the Diplomat department waiting for their part of the mission to kick into high gear. Being she was taking point on the extraction, she took the last remaining steps before signaling for the hatch to be closed on the small vessel.

Soft boot sounds hit the deckplates as the vessel was activated. "Are we on schedule? Is everyone accounted for?" She asked to no one in particular awaiting an answer.

The sounds of internal comms blipped on the console towards the front of the Rosalind Franklin. The glow of the button stopped after the officer at the station pressed it and the voice of Commander Rutherford was heard.

"We're ready to depart. Franklin, take the lead and follow the predetermined trajectory. I've transmitted the landing permits to you, in case you're being contacted by traffic control. Everyone, keep communications silence until Ensign L'Nari has been able to establish secure communications with Lieutenant Dantius from the surface. Good luck everyone, Apache out."


Alana acknowledged Rutherford's command. "Aye sir. It seems we're all ready for launch. And thank you."

She turned her heals as she straightened up from leaning on the console. All eyes were on her. "As Commander Rutherford said, let's follow it. But don't be afraid to improvise on the spot should the need arise, which I'm guessing will happen. A cornered Klingon can be unpredictable so stay sharp. In the meantime, I have every confidence we'll get Fisher back on board. Let's do this." Her soft southern sounding voice explained. 

Smiling softly she projected her voice a little louder than the pep talk that was just presented to the residing crew. "Take us out."[/b]

Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'

Reply #13 –
[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford | Intelligence Suite | Deck 05 | Vector 1 | USS Theurgy ] attn: @BipSpoon @Stegro88 @Swift @GroundPetrel @Pierce
[Show/Hide]


The aft silhouette of the pale grey Rosalind Franklin, shifting ever so slightly along the center of the Appache’s viewscreen, as it descended towards the ever expanding surface of the Klingon homeworld, was a sight to behold. The artificial lines, the glimmer of its composite hull against the sun, in stark contrast to the natural beauty of Qo’nos. And as both ships leveled out their descent into the atmosphere slowly, the planet started to fill the view, its curved horizon slowly straightening, as if being stretched across the surface. Soon the flicker of friction sparked from the Type-11 shuttle ahead, as denser gases turned into plasma against the aerodynamic hull. Yet in a short burst of flickers and flashes they both punctured through the outer layers, slowing down, as in one last burst of pale haze the sound barrier breached at the ship’s bow.

Dipping into the upper layers of the clouds, both ship lazed through the mountains of vapor, in and out of pale shadows, towards a blinking reticule on the augmented reality display.

“Get ready for deceleration and hover mode.” the blonde diplomat prodded, hunched slightly over the backrest of the pilot’s chair, seeing little purpose in manning the tactical station for now. The numbers next to the marker were running into three and then two digits, until a green message popup reminded them of having reached a safe velocity for the high-altitude jump.

Now it was time for Samantha to hold her breath. She didn’t like the implication of her relinquished power. Having to rely on the self-governance of the team ahead, at the lack of open communication between both ships. Time seemed to slow down, as they were crossing into the window of opportunity, which would only last for so long. Seconds stretched into minutes as pale blue eyes transfixed on the backend of the ship they were tailing under cloak.

They were missing their drop-off point. Which would mean the team could not reach the compound. Dammit.

Opening her plush lips, strained from the tense constriction from seconds prior, the Commander was about to order Crewman Ford for a channel to be opened, despite her self-ordered communications silence. But the breath caught in her throat before making those vocal cords sing, as the backwards facing hatch of the Franklin unlatched and slowly opened up, revealing the obscured shapes of the away team in the dark airlock.

Clenching her hand a little tighter around the precipice of Samala’s backrest, the blonde watched the first member of the team to drop off the plank and dash away underneath them as if propelled by an impulse engine themselves.

“Let’s slow down and make sure our cloak is working at absolute efficiency.” Samantha ordered, detaching from the forward portion of the cockpit as the shuttle slowly drifted away into the distance on its final approach towards the Great Hall. Slipping back behind her tactical console she then proceeded to keep track of all individuals of the away team, as well as the diplomatic team on their continued journey.

Biting her bottom lip at the readings, readjusting some of the sensor telemetry for better resolution, the blonde ultimately settled her hands down onto the small frame around the panel.

“Anyone bring any cards?” she asked, looking at the prospect of just sitting there, having to watch and wait, with little anticipation.

Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'

Reply #14 –
[ Crewman Samala | The Apache | Hawk-class Runabout | Upper Atmosphere | Qo’noS ] 
[Show/Hide]
 
Samala had always considered herself a gifted pilot. From the first time she had sat in the pilot’s chair, she had been told that she had a gift and that it should be nurtured and developed. That despite her talent, she still needed to pair it with experience to become the best she could be. And she had trained, for years. She had completed basic combat training like everyone else but then she had been transferred to the hanger for her flight and engineering training. She had never completed it thanks to the Romulans arriving at Bacury III.

None, and all, of that mattered now as she struggled to keep the Apache aligned with the Type-11 shuttle ahead of it. She had heard about how the Breen had been able to track the Allegiant through the denser atmosphere of their homeworld despite it being cloaked. Taking that into account, Samala was using the atmospheric entry of the Rosalind Franklin to conceal her entry into the lower reaches of Q’onos. All she had to do was keep the Apache inside the slipstream of the smaller shuttle ahead of it. Easier said than done.

The Apache bucked as atmospheric turbulence buffeted it, threatening to push it off course and risking it being detected. Their descent felt like it was taking forever to Samala as she continued to adjust the craft’s course to correct against the forces acting on it. 

“Burn through,” Tashanna announced behind her and Samala saw the visible effects of their descent subside along with the difficulties in her piloting of the Apache. Still being careful, Samala kept her craft tucked in tight behind the Type-11 as the diplomat behind her directed her to prepare. She bit back the remark that threatened to escape at being told how to fly. It was the downside of having signed on to the crew; she was now subject to the chain of command. And there were always those higher ranked that needed to give directions; even when they weren’t needed.

“Understood,” Samala acknowledged evenly, careful to keep her tone neutral and professional. Now was not the time for a discourse on her knowing how to fly, especially in her own ship. Ahead of them, the Type-11 began to slow as well but Samala could tell that it wouldn’t slow enough for the team to depart before they were inside the window. The tension in the cockpit grew palpable and Samala was tempted to try and reach her brother across the void between them. The distance was far too great to reach any of the others and even her brother was a long way off. She was only considering trying it due to her familiarity with his mind. Before she could decide though, the shuttle’s rear opened, and she watched the team depart one after another. It was shocking to see them just step out of into the air, but Samala forced herself to stay calm; their suits would protect them.

Thankfully, once the team had jumped and the Type-11 moved off to continue its own mission, Commander Rutherford seemed to relax, if only a little, and retake her seat.

“Cloak at 98%,” Samala confirmed as she touched the controls again, adjusting her course and speed. “Heading to standby position.”

Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'

Reply #15 –
[ Lt. Alana Pierce | Cargo Bay Doors Vicinity | Shuttlecraft: USS Rosalind Franklin] | ATTN: @BipSpoon @Stegro88 @Swift @GroundPetrel @stardust | [Show/Hide]

Pierce watched the viewscreen and the diplomatic crew as she paced back and forth awaiting the drop point with bated breath. She felt her heartbeat thumping a little harder than it had in the past. No doubt dealing with the fact this was her first of sorts mission and semi-command since her journey to the 24th century and all the changes it entailed. The coordinates were flagged and a few of them had moments before finished clasping the remaining portions of their protective gear for the jump.

She glanced over the navigator of the shuttlecraft as she nodded and exhaled back to normal breathing patterns. "Alright. This is it. Expect a bumpy ride and if we get separated, rendezvous by the facility to coordinate our plan of attack." Her hand swirled a motion to the crew as it was time to round up by the exit. Despite the danger of it all, the thrill of jumping out of a moving shuttle slightly excited her, but now wasn't the time for that.

Padded fingers tapped a few controls activating a force field behind them to prevent atmospheric pressure from interfering with the flight patterns. Finally, she activated the back door on the Rosalind Franklin. Slowly the door opened which unfortunately didn't open fast enough as they slightly overshot their drop point. Which looking at it, leaving them in a better position to gain access to the facility but also to get caught if they didn't land quietly enough.

Alana was about to jump as someone larger than she took the dive first. She smirked and figured she knew who it was but left it alone. Quickly she took a few steps back and ran forward into the jump that sent her catapulting to the surface. Her thoughts were about the day's events, the attack on the ship, the near-death experience while interviewing the doctor for details on the infested on the Klingon Homeworld. A lot had transpired already and she had added another high-stakes mission to it all. A snicker was stifled as she realized that she'd not yet been on the ship a full 24-hours yet.

As the ground neared, she activated the low-energy thrusters to cushion the descent. Careful not to use it too much to not alert any sensors or listening ears. What appeared to be some brush and a rather large hill seemed to be in her near vicinity as she descended closer. Before finally landing, she let the thrusters deactivate as she took the final landing into a run and a barrel roll behind what had to be the equivalent of a Klingon tree.

Lt. Pierce reached over and tapped her built-in PADD on the arm of her Exo suit. She pulled up the recent specs from the facility as well as her tricorder to scan for the others. She lifted her head from the display and glanced around seeing a few other souls approaching her position. The facility was nearby. Likely a few hundred meters from their current positions. Now all they had to do was get in with minimal contact and extract Fisher.

Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'

Reply #16 –
[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher | Makeshift Holding Cell | Sub-Level 03 | House of Mo’Kai Staging Compound | Qo’nos ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @Stegro88 @BipSpoon @stardust @GroundPetrel @Pierce

The world entire that was this confined space had become little more than a blurry mess of whispers, echoes, and ghosts.

The ache within Fisher’s head seemed to be the only constant as it was gradually getting worse, accompanied by a throbbing which perfectly coincided with the all-too-slow rhythm of the heart thumping inside of his bruised and broken ribcage. As for the rest, arms legs and other, they had all gone numb, yet he could still control and even to an extent make distinct sense of the sensations being brought on by them. But again, next to nothing felt right or even familiar. It was all wrong, and try as he might, he couldn’t recall ever being in such a strange malaise of disconnectedness. Hell, something as simple as blinking eyelids over glassy sage green orbs triggered a hazy and vague reminiscence of hallucination, making Fisher wonder if anything he was seeing was even real. The general sense of confusion only continued to mount as he could hardly even remember the circumstances of where he was, what he was doing, and worse still he was having trouble maintaining a cursory understanding of who he was.

With a shake of his head, the world whirling about him as a result, he tried to clear his thoughts and focus. Transfixing his blurred gaze on a solitary point of reference as if to anchor himself, he searched the periphery of his consciousness for something to latch onto and found something. A face. It had stared back at him; a slight yet soft smile drawn across its beautiful features which would quicken his heartbeat.



Reaching out, he sought to touch her only for the visualization to fade away, the fingertips of his right-hand gingerly touching against the cold wall of his cell, and for the first time in a while, Fisher could remember where he was, and what was happening to him. “Shit!” each letter in his spoken expletive felt uneven, some long and drawn out, others a staccato that defied reality; the passage of time was distorted to him in his disarray. They’d drugged him. Badly. No doubt an attempt to try and crack whatever conscious barriers of obfuscation that he could still muster, in the hope that once thoroughly diminished, his mind could be plundered for any and all secrets that might have been locked away inside. Touching his forehead, he tried to rub away some of the disorientation that beleaguered him, yet instead he found himself focusing on the crude metal cuff attached to his wrist, a heavy chain hanging beneath it. Fisher had sworn that just a moment earlier, his arms had been free from any kind of bonds. Or had they been?

‘Fisher!’ a faint voice called to him from behind.

Spinning about, he looked to find the source, instead reaffirming that he was alone in a small room. There was no one. Only the bleak surroundings of this cell. He had imagined the voice. But it had sounded so clear, and he had even felt the soft brushing of whispered words tickling against the back of his neck. Breathing deeply through his nostrils, instinct which had been honed and bore into him through arduous training was beginning to take over, a subconscious effort to try and maintain some semblance of defense against the effects of whatever drugs had been administered. Like other Intelligence Operatives, Fisher had been taught how to withhold information in defiance of interrogation, regardless of whether that interrogation was active or passive in nature. It was a fundamental aspect of his profession, and one in which he had taken some pride. No doubt the Klingons who were working against him had their own methods and understanding of this process and would attempt to counter any and all attempts that Fisher would make.

In the end, it was a battle of attrition, and despite his victories this far, Fisher was at a decided disadvantage.

‘You’re not going to last much longer. You know that right?’ the voice whispered.

Turning once more to face the other direction, Fisher’s gaze found another face, this one far less appealing than the previous he had beheld; it in fact belonged to the one person in existence he most desired to forget. Lost to the moment, he grew ignorant of his surroundings and the situation in which he was mired. “What the hell are you doing here?!” he spat out aloud, a finger pointed directly at where the visage was leant against a bare wall, the smug confidence espoused eating at the last bit of nerve Fisher had in reserve. Again, his voice sounded like it wobbled in tempo and pitch, the intensity of the ache in his temples spiking with each syllable. It was almost enough to drive him to his hands and knees in disorientation and general overall discomfort. “Never mind. You’re not even real.” He dismissively added, waving his hand freely in a wide are as if to escape the hallucination, which he was having supreme difficulty in disbelieving.



‘Oh I most certainly am. I’m just not here with you.’ answered the other man as he pushed off of the wall, stepping our of the shadows and into the dim light cast by an old fixture high overhead. ‘But I’m out there.’ He waved a hand, the ember of a lit cigarette flaring as it was pinned between index and middle-fingers. ‘Out there, doing my job. While you’re stuck here because you failed at yours. Again.’ Returning the cigarette to his lips, he drew deeply on it before exhaling a column of smoke right into Fisher’s face, and the captured spy could even distinctly taste the acrid flavor of the burning tobacco as it stung his nostrils. ‘Stuck here because you never know when to make the smart move, and deal.’ Walking over to the lone door that led out of his cell, the figure examined it closely for a few moments before looking back to Fisher with an almost amused sense of satisfaction. ‘Oh well, won’t matter much to me. Or anyone for that matter. Klingons will get bored of your schtick sooner or later, and drip dry you in due time.’

“Fuck you, Hurley!” Fisher blurted.

‘Fuck me? I thought you were uhh...’ pausing to make an obscene gesture with his hand, Hurley grinned degradingly at Fisher before resuming his sentence. ‘...y’know, giving *IT* to that blonde diplomat?’ Waiting another moment to enjoy Fisher’s annoyed and disgusted reaction, Hurley waved him off derisively. ‘Won’t be doing much more of that. Or going back home to... where was it? New York? Philadel--'

“Boston. I’m from Boston you asshole!”

Making a mockingly apologetic face, Hurley grabbed a stool from the corner of the room and loudly planted it before plopping himself down on, his stare returning to once more gauge Fisher. ‘How is old Ma Fisher doing this days?’ he laughed, clearly not caring to know, just keenly aware of how sensitive the subject was, and how it would continue to annoy and unnerve his former protégé.

[ Commandant’s Personal Estate | House of Mo’Kai Staging Compound | Qo’nos ]

Watching the monitor as it relayed everything that was unfolding in the makeshift holding cell, Commandant Kle’enk sipped at his bitter leaf tea before peering to his left at his personal attendant, Jurael. The tall brooding warrior was one of the few whom he could absolutely trust with the overseeing of operations at the compound and all of his illicit dealings. For the most part, the compound acted as a storage cache for illegal narcotics and weapons that the House of Mo’Kai had been funneling to various civil uprisings throughout the Empire. Naturally, they would play both sides for profit, which they could then use to bolster the efforts of the House’s push for more glory and power. Kle’enk had been chosen to head up this particular base of operations by Gorka’s grandfather for his organization skills and aptitude, which he had exemplified during the short Klingon campaign against the Cardassians. Since then, his dealings had far outreached even those which Gorka was directly aware of. The way Kle’enk had seen it, so long as he didn’t directly interfere in any of the General’s plans, then there was no harm in garnering a little additional wealth and power on the side.

“The human is surprisingly resistant to the drug. We had to administer a second dosage just to elicit the effects that you’re seeing.” Explained another Klingon, who sat patiently in one of the unusually ornate chairs situated before Kle’enk’s desk.

“...and if we administer a third dosage? What then, would be the results?” posed Kle’enk, a hint of annoyance detected in his voice.

“He would likely suffer a total cerebral shutdown.”

Growling, Jurael stepped away from the large monitor in apparent disproval.

“Something the matter, Jurael?”

“We should just execute the human and be done with it! He is without honor! A spy, who murdered nearly fifty Warriors on the General’s ship!” With a gauntleted finger, he pointed at the seated Kling, then to himself as he addressed the Commandant. “Let me do it, Commandant! We’ve entertained Doctor Pohr’ghek and his ridiculous attempt at interrogation long enough!”

“Give it time, Jurael. Be patient. We’re already seeing some progress. His subconscious is causing his guard to slip.” The Doctor replied, an unnatural evenness to his tone of voice which only further agitated the more aggressive Jurael. “Perhaps it would be better if you returned to your post, overseeing the defense of the base, and leave more delicate matters like this spy to my more... capable... hands.” There was an implicit insult hidden in the carefully chosen words that the slender built Klingon Doctor had used in how he addressed Jurael, and were it not for duty preventing him, it likely would have led to a physical retort from the larger of the two. Instead, the Commandant spun away from the monitor he had been watching, knowing it wise to intercede in the moment, rather than let it go on any longer.

“Doctor Pohr’ghek is right. Return to your post.”

Jurael cast one more glare to the Doctor, before offering an obedient nod to the Commandant.

“Rest assured, when the time comes, I will grant your blade the human’s throat.” Kle’enk knew that the decision to dispose of the captured spy would ultimately come to Gorka, of whom he would keep apprised of the details of the ongoing interrogation. For now though, he understood the danger presented to himself, the compound, and his operations by the very presence of said spy. Each moment the spy was within their custody, they were faced with the very real possibility of an attack, and as far as he knew, the ship from which the spy had originated, this Theurgy, had yet to be dealt with in any final manner. It unnerved Kle’enk to no end to be in such a precarious situation, and he was more than tempted to allow Jurael to do as he so wished, feigning a failed escape attempt by the spy as an excuse, but he also didn’t want to risk losing Gorka’s favor, especially with the fate of the Chancellorship at play.

[ Control Tower | House of Mo’Kai Staging Compound | Qo’nos ]

Exiting the turbolift which led to the upper most level of the central Control Tower that overlooked the modestly sized compound, Jurael peered out of an open viewport at the old solid granite walls which enveloped them. An old fortress from centuries ago, the House of Mo’Kai had taken ownership of and converted it into a secure compound during the consolidation of a lesser house and their assets. For his part, Jurael had only come to take up the duty of Personal Attendant to the Commandant a little over three-months ago, and in that relatively short time he had struggled to bring its defensive capabilities up to a level which he could tolerate. The staff that the Commandant had brought to the compound when he’d taken over some time prior to that, weren’t exactly the best of the best when it came to Warrior tendencies, and it showed. Were it not for the two-dozen Warriors that he himself had requisitioned from other posts across the Klingon home world, Jurael imagined that even a small strike team comprised of Ferengi could have laid effective siege to the facility.

But even with his hand-picked men dispersed among the general staff, Jurael had serious doubts as to how well they could defend the compound. The high perimeter walls which worked well in preventing any wild beasts or insurgent ground forces from penetrating the interior, were also to an extent a weakness, as undermanned as they were, they allowed plenty of blind spots to exist. If anyone was quiet enough, they could quite literally wander up to the exterior of the wall unnoticed, especially with the ongoing issues that plagued the sensor grid. But some sacrifices had to have been made, and when he took over, Jurael had placed a higher emphasis on establishing an effective anti-ship defense, as well as a nigh-impenetrable field of transport inhibitors. This had made the compound next to impossible to assault from a shuttle, or from high orbit. Anyone who was foolish enough to make an attempt would need to storm the walls, and Jurael was betting on his men posting along them to see them coming.

Scowling, Jurael glanced out at the dusk laden sky beyond the walls as night beckoned with haste.

[ Aft Compartment | Type-11 Shuttlecraft | Rosalind Franklin ]

Since their briefing, Byrne had mostly kept to himself as he made preparations for this rescue mission. It’d barely been two-weeks since the new CO to his department had come aboard Theurgy, and he’d already managed to get himself captured. Sure, from what Byrne had read of the reports, it wasn’t necessarily Fisher’s fault that he had been separated from the others during their incursion aboard the Ta’Rom, and thusly left behind as a result, but it still made him wonder. Physically, he shook the thought from his head as he tried to re-focus his attention on the immediate task at hand, in this case running a quick diagnostic on the systems built into this newer iteration of a security suit. The readout on the small monitor built into the gauntlet that encapsulated his left forearm read as good-to-go. An undercover specialist, who had spent most of his career living a double-life on Aldea Prime, he’d had little to no experience wearing any kind of field gear like this suit, so he’d figured it smart to once-over it’s operation before things really got underway in any meaningful sense.

Peering over his shoulder as he sensed the approach of Lieutenant Pierce, he hastily retrieved his atmospheric helmet, and a small black duffle bag in which a portion of the gear and equipment they’d need for this mission was stowed.

It was time.

“This ought to be interesting.” He stated softly, though still loud enough for the other strike team members to hear, a tinge of sarcasm clearly evident in his tone of voice, though he hadn’t meant to elicit any sense of insubordination for the crimson-haired acting Intelligence Chief. Casting her a sort of apologetic look, he slipped on and sealed his helmet as she gave last-minute instructions. “Understood.” He acknowledged, approaching the aft loading ramp just as she’d activated a forcefield to protect against impromptu atmospheric blowout. In addition to Lieutenant Pierce, there was also a Romulan Lieutenant by the name of Valyn, she was recent addition to the crew as far as he knew, and Lorad, the big Reman Security Officer whom he’d seen once or twice but never interacted with. Magnetically stowing his rifle behind his back, he winced as the ramp opened to reveal the brilliant yet dwindling rays of light cast by the Klingon home world’s star as it was gradually disappearing beyond the horizon. An instant later, light filters automatically activated, assuaging the harshness of the sunset.

“Jones, when we land, try and hook up with me, Samuelson, or Lorad. Hebert, same for you with Tucker and Hildebrandt.” Helena Prince slipped her helmet on over her head, a slight hiss audible as it sealed to protect her from the vacuum.

“Why is it called, ‘Dinner out?’ I wonder.” Byrne asked softly, making idle chat while they waited for the go ahead to embark upon the endeavor.


OOC: Some appropriate hype music to accompany the scene aboard the Rosalind Franklin as it’s unfolding. Enjoy!
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Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'

Reply #17 –
[ Lieutenant Valyn Amarik | Shuttlecraft Rosalind Franklin ] Attn: @Swift @Stegro88 @stardust @GroundPetrel @Pierce
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As they breached the atmosphere, Valyn made her way to the rear of the craft. As she moved, she looked down to her feet, narrowing her eyebrows as her feet fell. The boots were surprisingly silent. She filled the temporary silence with a deep breath before she looked up to Pierce, waiting for any last minute information as they approached the drop-point. She checked her weapons one last time, the knife she carried strapped to her hip alongside her phaser-pistol. She tried, and failed to attempt a smirk at the smalltalk besider her. “Not a clue.” She offered him a shrug, giving him a single onceover, trying to study his posture, trying to get a snap judgement of him. However, she didn’t say anything else, and instead looked towards the doorway.

She appeared unphased by the impending jump, even raising up a bit on her toes to peer outside as the hatch opened. “Got it.”

She acknowledged the rendezvous point and rolled her neck, taking one last breath, drawing herself closer into the eerily familial version of herself, one she thought she’d left with the Dominion War. Watching someone go for the exit, she followed quickly after. Her eyes went wide the moment she stepped off, and she fell into a ‘swimming’ pose, guiding herself closer to her target. Their altitude however, didn’t allow for much maneuvering.

Her eyes slowly began to narrow as the ground neared, and she kicked her legs forward, putting her into a standing position. She kicked on her thrusters, cutting it as close as possible as to not alert anyone below. She took a quick look around, and hid behind a dilapidated looking crate. She was close to the facility. She could hear the general traffic and sounds of life in the distance. However, nearer to herself, she heard a voice. It was Klingon, and it triggered an immediate response. Crouching, she crept a bit forward, spotting the Klingon behind a large container, shouting at the console. He gave it a kick and started typing into the screen on the door again.

She brought her eyes just over the edge of the crate and took a quick glance around. He was alone, likely just the man who handled some cargo. He certainly didn’t appear to be a soldier, but she knew better than to not think every Klingon in the vicinity a warrior. She edged closer to him, quickly glancing at her wrist to see where everyone else had landed, and luckily she didn’t seem to be too far off from the others. The warrior however, turned around and she pursed her lips. His hand fell to his waist and in a flash, she’d flicked the knife forward, sending it flying like a javelin at his head. It struck true and he fell. She rushed forward, slowing his fall. She was quick enough to catch him, but she set him down at once. She went to work on the same console, attempting to decipher the Klingon from what little she remembered from all those years ago. It came back to her quickly, and the door opened.

It was an empty container, only having a single crate of disruptors in it. She dragged the body inside and sealed the door, locking out the console before setting off. “Fuck.” She muttered, looking back once. Her day had been filled with nothing but violence, from the moment she’d woken up, she’d been knee-deep in Klingons and battle. What she resented more than that fact alone though, was that part of her felt content, glad to be back into her old shoes, forever a soldier. From childhood, she had always been a soldier.

As she moved closer to the rendezvous, within a hundred meters, she attempted to ‘ping’ another of her comrades, not knowing who exactly, nor if they would even respond, but she sent it nonetheless. Two were better than one, after all. It never hurt to have a friend on the approach.


Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'

Reply #18 –
[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford | The Apache | Hawk-class Runabout | Upper Atmosphere | Qo'nos ] attn: @BipSpoon @Stegro88 @Swift @GroundPetrel @Pierce
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In the history of Samantha’s career there had been too many instances to count, where she had taken operational and disciplinary oversight on away missions. And while these missions were usually more placid, required protocol over ammunition, they had on occasion ended in a more offensive manner. But she could definitely not recall an instance that had started out that way. Not until today.
Granted, the usefulness for diplomacy had passed, at least in regard to Gorka and his following. There was no defeat in admitting that. But her special skillset in rallying people to a sole cause still came in handy. So even though the blonde felt quite like the fish out of water – a metaphor Sarresh on the other shuttle, would’ve surely appreciated – no one could deny the Vulcan logic playing behind the all too human notions of commitment and fear, that were impeccable motivators just the same.

She was easily the most dispensable senior officer in the current stage of hostilities, the Theurgy crew found themselves in. Security and Tactical were needed aboard and intelligence leadership was, obviously, incapacitated. Pair that with the knowledge of Klingon procedures and a decisive command style and you got the perfect candidate for an admittedly crazy missions such as ‘dinner out’.
And on the other hand, there was surely no one more qualified to make sure everything was done to bring Commander Fisher back than the one person who surely cared the single most about him, out of the entire crew. At least the diplomat was in no frame of mind to accept any other reality. She needed him to hang on just a little longer …

Focusing her icy blue hues on the console display ahead, Samantha split the screen into a feed from the optical sensors, zooming in on the live-view of the compound and its immediate surroundings – away team signals superimposed on top of it – while the other half was occupied by life-signs and other sensor data. They still had no clear idea where in the compound Andrew was held prisoner, but intelligence had already narrowed down the search. Updating her data with Theurgy, the circle drew quite literally closer. The satellite buildings were most likely hubs for guards and maintenance, they would not risk harboring a prisoner of war far away from the command center. Which was in all likelihood the best fortified structure in the center, with all the communications equipment. A good place to start …

The screen flickered and the digital overlay vanished for just a few seconds, but it was enough to send the commander into an internal convulsion as her muscles tightened, even bubbling gently beneath the soft skin on the hinges of her jaws. Telemetry came back almost instantly, however, but she wasn’t sure how many of these her heart could take.
Following the markers disperse in the air, as the numbers next to them ran down rapidly, she hoped until the last second that they would draw closer together. But as one after the other touched down it became rather clear that the team was dispersed as if someone had dropped a couple of potato sacks from the back of the shuttle.

Gripping her hand a little tighter to the side of the console frame Sam pressed the tip of her tongue to the roof of her mouth as she pressed those plump lips together with tense contemplation. All there was left really, at this point, was to watch and deal. Until the diplomatic detachment would hopefully establish their communication link soon. Yet even then, she would only be able to talk with Theurgy, not the away team … not until they cat was out of the bag, really. Which, if only for the sake of being able to dictate proper procedure to them, a part of her was hoping would happen rather sooner than later.

But for now, instead of trying to establish some sort of mental connection to Commander Fisher, maybe she should concentrate on formulating an official complaint towards the Klingon government for allowing breach of the Khitomer Accords by taking a war prisoner and likely torturing him.

But she didn’t want to think about that … no. Someone else would have to deal with the formalities of Andrew’s potential hardship. So swiftly she sent a short memo to Foval to deal with it, if he wasn’t otherwise preoccupied with something important.

Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'

Reply #19 –
[ Lt. Alana Pierce | Cargo Bay Doors Vicinity | Shuttlecraft: USS Rosalind Franklin] | ATTN: @BipSpoon @Stegro88 @Swift @GroundPetrel @stardust | [Show/Hide]

The ping came through on the wrist mounted PADD. The blips were nearby according to internal sensors. She lifted her head and glanced in the general direction and saw a movement nearby. Carefully Pierce grabbed her magnetized phaser rifle on her back, holding it at the ready. The shadow moved stealthily from ahead but seemed to have a body lying nearby the individual. She activated her scanners, on the display was one who was named Lt. Amarik, a Romulan. Which under the 23rd century's rules of combat, she'd be under suspicion of, but as of late, the Klingons still had her top slot of biggest quvHa’ petaQ of the galaxy.

Adrenaline had pumped up in her veins since the drop. She inched closer crossing the meters to the facility that Commander Fisher was inside of. As she approached the foliage nearby the building she got a better look and saw that the incapacitated Klingon officer was not getting up for sometime. Whatever the Romulan did, it was effective. Before she got any closer, she was sure to tap the signal to respond to Amarik, that way when she made noise closeby, she wasn't shot on sight.

Her emerald eyes peered at her comrade with the blood to match. Pierce saw the individual raise her head as she stepped closer bridging the gap between them. Quietly she tapped her inter suit comms. "You rang Lieutenant?" She said with an unseen smirk in her helmet. "Let me know when you've cracked this puppy open. I suspect we don't have a lot of time before things really go south. No telling how much he's been through or started to spill either."

The control panel outside was aglow. Pierce tapped her wrist bound console to identify the others in their part and their whereabouts. "Seems the others are close. Let's get this door open and try not to trigger the alarms. We'll wait momentarily for the others to catch up and move out." The blips moved closer yet as Alana stood at the ready. holstering her phaser rifle on her back, she grabbed her hand phaser for closer ranged shots. That is assuming she was to have one of those soon.

As the door popped open, the others were within a hundred meters of the door. She peered inward to the corridor quietly to be sure she wasn't detected. With the sound just as silent, she stepped in. She scanned the perimeter. There was a human lifesign present but faint. And it appeared to be deeper underground in some sort of sub level in the staging compound. A few guards were present at the nearby turbolift. Taking a few steps, the sounds of Klingon laughter was heard ahead with what sounded like drunken tones? A drunken Klingon was not only a blessing but a curse. While they weren't steady on their feet, they were still strong and if struck, it'd be a painful shot.

Motioning her fingers ahead of her, she pointed at the other side of the corridor to Lieutenant Amarik to sneak up on the two guards. With any luck, they could get this done within the hour.

Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'

Reply #20 –
[PO3 Lorad | Shuttlecraft Rosalind Franklin | Upper Atmosphere | Qo’noS ] 
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Standing in the back of the shuttle, Lorad glanced at the PADD on his forearm as he checked how long until it was time to deploy. Despite everything that he had done in his life as a slave, soldier, rebel and now Starfleet crewman, until this point, he had never actively jumped out of a shuttle before into combat. Yes, he had received training, and passed it, but this would still be a first for him. And all made possible by the exosuit that was conformed around his impressive bulk. And then it was time.

The door opened slowly, too slowly and Lorad realised that they would overshoot their drop point slightly. Growling under his breath, he stepped forward, brushing past Lieutenant Pierce as he stepped through the forcefield and out of the rear of the Type-11. For a moment, he imagined being able to look across and see his sister, but the cloaking device of the Apache was active, and he could see naught in the rapidly darkening sky.

Checking his descent in the HUD of his helmet, Lorad realised he was off course. Considering for a moment as the ground rapidly approached, he decided to use the thrusters on his suit to adjust his course. They had tried it during training to varied results among them. Lorad himself had only just barely managed to pass that section of the suit qualifications. Now it was time to put it to the test as the clouds enveloped his form. He would only have seconds until he was through and visible again. Angling his body, he fired his thrusters for the briefest of moments, hoping to push himself back towards the compound. 

As he broke through the clouds and was able to see again, he saw that he had been too successful. Instead of being just to the side of the facility, it was now squarely below him and he no longer had the time to adjust his course again. Looking back into the sky, he tried to spot the other members of the team, hoping that they were having better luck with their descent. He was unable to see them though and the flashing light in his HUD told him that he was out of time to keep looking for them. He would have to do that after he had safely landed.

That was going to be a challenge Lorad realised as the ground rushed towards him. The compound below him appeared to be some sort of ancient fortress that had been updated over the years. He could identify anti-air disruptor cannons mounted on top of weathered stone towers and communication systems abreast a timber roof. It was a confusing mix of old and new technology. Working his eyes across the landscape, Lorad identified a tower on the opposite side of the fortress from where he was supposed land that was unmanned and would provide him a good vantage point over the rest of the compound.

Reorientating himself, he fired his thrusters until he was almost hovering in mid-air, removing all of the velocity that his descent had accumulated. He was still over a hundred metres above the tower but he didn’t want to risk a long burn of the jets so close to the ground. Cutting his jets again, he pulsed them as much as he dared to descend the final distance before landing on the stonework of the tower with what he felt was an enormous echo. Immediately crouching to conceal himself from sight, Lorad waited to see if any alarm would be raised.

He was almost confident that his landing had gone unnoticed when a creaking groan sounded in his helmet and her turned to see a timber hatch slowly rising out of the shadows that covered the floor. He had missed the hatch in his haste to check the rest of the area. Now, it seemed that someone was coming to investigate his less than graceful landing. Mindful of remaining as stealthy as possible, Lorad drew his kukri and padded around behind the hatch and waited. As the Klingon warrior climbed up onto the roof, the hatch slamming shut behind him, Lorad struck. His kukri flashed out, drawing a line across the warrior’s throat. 

As his life drained away over his hands, Lorad caught him and slowly lowered him down, laying his body across the hatch to impede further investigation. Once assured of his death, Lorad left him and took up a position at the parapet, his Accipiter rifle at the ready to provide covering fire as needed.

Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'

Reply #21 –
Lt. JG Dantius Thi Anh-Le | Intelligence Suite | Deck 05 | Vector 01 |USS Theurgy   attn: @stardust  @BipSpoon   @Swift   @Pierce   @Stegro88

Painkillers sucked, Anh-Le reflected as sugar and caffeine banished the fog to a remote corner of her brain, but the alternative was worse. 

This incredible revelation duly sent off to the cerebral equivalent of a desk-side wastebasket, the Orion finished her cà phê and stretched, wincing as her side complained.  The strike team should be nearing position.  When they did, she could...

Her coms hissed, and then came to life with a crackle.  Anh-Le grinned as L'Nari reported in.  Showtime. 

"Alright, ladies," she said in her very best calm professional voice.  "I am your caffeine-fueled host, and today we're going to work on Operation Rescue Our Wayward Intel Chief.  Fun times.  Once you've breached the door, your first objective is to neutralize the guards on the turbolift.  There should be between two and four.  Take them out fast, because there's going to be an alarm panel by the turbolift summoning button.  Don't let them hit it.  Once they're down, see if you can hack into turbolift control.  Obviously, you're going to need to control the logistical artery if you want to escape intact, which we all want." 

The enemy probably hadn't have time to move Fisher yet.  She might not be able to count on that, but it was reasonable given current intel ad typical Klingon policies. 

"Let's try to keep it short and sweet.  Too many Klingons in there to justify sticking it out."  She was going to need more coffee.  Damn, I'm going to become an addict
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OOC: posting after discussion in OOC thread.  :)

Let's see how this goes XD
Really enjoying writing a halfway stable character for once...

Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'

Reply #22 –
[ Lt. Cmdr. Rutherford | The Apache | Hawk-class Runabout | Upper Atmosphere | Qo'nos ] attn: @BipSpoon @Stegro88 @Swift @GroundPetrel @Pierce mentioned: L'Nari @Nesota Kynnovan
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Watching the signals scurry around the superimposed birds-eye live-feed, like little pulsating fire-ants, the Commander managed to quickly discern an autonomous pattern of convergence in their patterns. Which lead her to the logical and procedural assumption that they had managed to utilize some sort of short-range locator technology. Granted as a diplomat, she wasn’t aware of the entire arsenal of gizmos and doodads at security’s disposal, but it was pleasing to see that the officers involved seemed to be. They were admirably evoking the best of the situation, making up on lost time by moving swiftly to their respective positions. All the while sensors could briefly pick up on short range communications between the away team, yet only because the Apache’s array was tuned in on the secret Starfleet frequencies – which the Klingons would have no way of knowing.

… hopefully.

Still, there was no way of giving operational oversight through the mor powerful long-range system, which would’ve undoubtedly reported as a discernible spike on the Klingon’s “radar”. Which brought the officer’s attention to the next spanner in their plans, the delayed establishment of their uplink from the great hall, which was intended to mask such communications. Once the team was inside the compound, where lines of sight were limited, it was essential they could count on Lieutenant Dantius’ intel and their superior’s ability to make decisions on their mission parameters. Something must’ve gone sideways at the Great Hall too, she surmised, given that Ensign L’Nari was too anxious to let her prime objective slip by. Or execute it with even the slightest of delays or discrepancies. Yet somehow, it was.

Leaning back in her seat, the seconds on the mission timer at the top perimeter of the console ticked on … one by one … as the blonde brought thumb and index finger to her plush lips, elbow cupped into the embrace of her other arm, as she idly plucked at the upper central tubercle for stress relief. Maybe they could leave their position, fly closer to the first city and establish a connection of their own. Hopefully fooling everyone into believing it came from the diplomatic detachment. But then the long line of communication to the away team would be a potential hazard the Klingon’s could pick up on … dammit.

Yet luckily, before Samantha could let her Vulcan side submit to a concession on the mission parameters and its safety, a sharp chirp – emanating from her console – cut through her muscles and tendons like a shockwave. The Apache was picking up on a direct communication link between Theurgy and the surface. The Great Hall to be precise. 

“Chaya t'not!” the diplomate exhaled, moving forward hastily, fragments of her relieved voice clinging to the gush of air like spirits to the grand white light. Running her fingers over a few controls, to link the ship into the stream, Anh-Le’s voice soon thereafter crackled to life from the cockpit speakers.

“Ladies.” … the Vulcan quarter of the Commander’s anatomy twitched to attention. Given that a mere 46.1538 percent of the team was indeed female. Well, not precisely, but she had to round somewhere. Which in turn meant the majority was male. Luckily her human nature wasn’t entirely overruled by her alien professionalism in times of crisis, so the understanding of comedic banter, to overcast the dire nature of a given situation, wasn’t entirely foreign to her. And apparently neither was it to the Orion species.

Letting the intelligence officer give her appraisal and instructions of the situation, Samantha only had to add one thing on behalf of not only her position as the operational director, but as the chief diplomat as well.

“If at all possible, try to use your energy weapons as sparsely as possible, as not to leave too many Starfleet signatures in the compound.” Which was likely a ludicrous demand, but not entirely unreasonable when looking at the bigger picture of not wanting to give Gorka yet another thing to use against them.

“And … good luck.”

Alright, so it had been two things, in the end.

Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'

Reply #23 –
[ Lieutenant Valyn Amarik | Klingon Compound | Qo’nos ] Attn: @stardust @Swift @Stegro88 @GroundPetrel @Pierce
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Valyn gave Pierce a quick glance  out the side of her helmet. “Sure did.” She crouched down next to the panel that held the door secure and started browsing through the bizarre, Klingon pictograms that flashed before her eyes. She narrowed them and pressed on two that flashed in unison, the panel making a ‘click’ sound as she did so. Gingerly, she wrapped her fingers around the panel and pulled it back, luminescent wires kept the panel attached to the wall, but there was enough slack for Valyn to look inside the electronics of the frame. She only took a moment before she counted out, and selected certain wires, muttering what sounded like a Romulan rhyme. “Got it.”

She pulled the knife from her hip, and simultaneously, the door opened, and the panel went dark. “I don’t think so either, I’ve seen the shit the Klingons do.” She ground her teeth and readied her weapon. She kept her rifle at the ready, leaving her sidearm and the knife for tighter situations.

The compound was dark, humid, and smelled horrible, at least to her sensitive nose. The sound of the drunken Klingons caught her attention at once. She lowered herself closer to the ground, making herself a more difficult target to spot. They weren’t doing a stellar job of guard duty in the first place, both of them were facing the opposite direction, staring deeper into the compound instead of towards the entrance.

When she was motioned forward by Pierce, she didn’t hesitate and started moving closer, releasing her rifle against the mag-lock on her chest, she instead drew the knife. Weapons fire would be detected immediately, and they had another officer. She knew full well they weren’t treating him to Sunday lunch either. She was within a few feet when she chose. She jumped up from her crouched position, giving herself enough forward momentum to quickly close on the pair. The first Klingon, she gripped by the neck, giving it a firm push-and-twist to the left before she heard a crack. He didn’t even cry out. She dropped him, and threw her arm forward. At first it likely appeared as if she missed her mark. However, the Klingon reached for his throat, and fell to the ground.

“Two down.” She echoed into the comm. She stepped over the bleeding man at her feet, heading back towards Pierce as she stowed her knife and drew the rifle again. Clearly, it wasn’t Valyn’s first time in that sort of operation. She checked her wrist, looking for the other ‘blips’ to close on them. “Lift is ready.” She motioned towards the door the two Klingons had been looking at.

“As much as I’d like to say that two drunken idiots guarding a lift would be the worst of it, I get the feelin’ we’re about to run into the rest of ‘em.” She kept herself alert and at the ready, never breaking her gaze from the lift doors, entrusting Pierce with the rear. “We’re going to need to keep an eye out for an exit. This can’t be the only way in, and if it is...and they raise the alarm?” She just shook her head, but then silenced herself and focused, breaking her gaze every so often to keep an eye on their other comrades.

Re: CH07: S [D03|1723] Operation: 'Dinner Out'

Reply #24 –
[ Northside Exterior of Control Tower | House of Mo’Kai Staging Compound | Qo’nos ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @Stegro88 @BipSpoon @stardust @GroundPetrel @Pierce

Byrne breathed slowly. Steadily. His heartrate barely elevated as he plummeted headfirst, descending like a missile through the thick clouds that hovered high above his target, his destination. He could barely detect the last glimmer of faint sunlight dimming into memory beyond the horizon as he grew ever closer to the ground, and immediately he let a slight smirk cross the features of his face. The timing of this op couldn’t have been any more perfect, he thought. Transitory times worked against the naked vision of anyone who might’ve been standing guard on the parapets of the walls and or towers. After all, It took time for the sensitivity of your eyes to adjust to the darkness of night. It was the optimal moment for himself and the others to get down and situated before making their way into the interior of the compound, giving them the best chance at doing so without being detected. Displayed before him on his helmet’s HUD, he could make out the general positioning of the team as they were each approaching, and from what he could tell, they were about to make landfall in two somewhat even groups. One situated on the interior of the western main retaining wall, and the other to the North just outside of it.

With a grunt he hugged his knees to his chest, using the thrusters attached to the various facets of his armored suit to shift from a headfirst dive into a feetfirst one, the altitude klaxon in his helmet screeching at him a warning that he was just about to touchdown.

“Perfect.” He smugly commented aloud as the thrusters in his boots cut out just a few inches from the ground, and he landed softly unto the forested floor.

Immediately Byrne detached the rifle from his back and shouldered it, sweeping left to right to ensure that no guards or personnel were within his immediate vicinity. Simultaneously, he could hear slightly more noisy landings made by other members of the strike team near, and about his six ‘o’clock. On the north, just inside of the interior of the main perimeter, he saw locator markings in the upper-right corner of his HUD indicating that Prince, Tucker, and Hebert had landed withing shouting distance of himself, and that directly ahead were both Lieutenants Amarik and Pierce. Crouching to a knee, he peered back at the closest team member, in this case, Prince, and saw that she too had shouldered her rifle. Even as exposed as they might well have been, the compound was very poorly lit on the interior, which made moving about something of a cakewalk. As such, he began crossing an open area, aware that his fellows to the rear were following on just behind. He couldn’t yet make out visual confirmation of either of the Lieutenants to the fore, at least not until he’d rounded a corner and saw the both of them inside, a trio of seemingly lifeless Klingons slumped over in a neat pile.

“Lieutenant Pierce. Lieutenant Amarik.” He said softly as way of alerting them of his presence. The others all entered the same building, taking up defensive positions in and around the corridor, just as the resident Romulan on the mission made comment about two drunken idiots guarding a lift being the worst of their worries. “Seems like we’re split into two groups at the moment. From what I can tell and according to IFF tracking, the rest of the team is off to the west, mostly on the exterior of the wall save for Petty Officer Lorad, who is either on or inside of the wall itself. I’m not getting a clear enough signal on him, maybe some interference from the walls themselves.” Finding it prudent to give a sitrep to his fellow commissioned Officers, Byrne waved Hebert over closer to where he, Valyn and Alana were situated. Over comms, he brought up the secure link to Dantius which they could only use sparingly, as it was an absolute eventuality it be detected by someone monitoring frequencies within the base. Still, they needed her logistics support in order to quickly and efficiently find the man they’d come here to rescue.

“Lieutenant Dantius, can our intel confirm any reports of someone being kept in the sub-level?” Not that he didn’t trust what Pierce was reading on her sensors, there was the very real chance that it was little more than an echo, or even a deliberate attempt to draw in any would-be rescuers. Waiting for Theurgy’s newly minted Chief Analyst to get back to them, he held out a gauntlet and brought up on the attached PADD a cursory schematic of the central-tower that his sensors had thus far managed to piece together.

“Hard to tell if there’s another exit or not.” He commented, glancing to Lieutenant Amarik.

[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher | Makeshift Holding Cell | Sub-Level 03 ]

“Go away! You’re not real!”

Hand brought up to bleeding ears, Fisher sought to hide from the sting of reverberating pain that only added to the incredible bout of throbbing within his bruised and battered head. Despite all of the beatings, and the injuries sustained from them, some of which had been hastily healed by the Klingon Doctor in order to stymy any kind of an untimely death, the intensity of pain within Fisher’s skull was far and away the worst ailment he was now dealing with. It was enough to crater the toughest of men, sending them to the floor in a want to curl up and sob uncontrollably in futile effort to alleviate the anguish. Whatever he’d been injected with, it was certainly working in an accelerated fashion as his tenuous grasp of reality was hastily slipping away. Desperately he was trying to control the torrent of thoughts and emotions welling up to the surface, as he knew they would compromise his ability to maintain an understanding of what was real, and what was a hallucination brought on by a subconscious that sought to overwhelm and undo his defenses. He could only clench his eyelids shut, hoping that the person standing before him now would disappear, and leave him be.

“Oh I’m very real. I’m the realest thing you’ve encountered in months.” Taunted the still manifest visage of his old mentor, all the smug and arrogance Fisher had come to despise from him on abject display. “I’m every thought running through that battered head of yours, come home to roost.” Hurley, or at least the image of him that Fisher’s brain had created, brought a little white cylindrical object to his lips, then lit it with a silver zippo and took a deep breath.

Wincing, Fisher clenched his eyes shut as more of his senses betrayed his mind, the scent and taste of a lit cigarette besieging him.

“There it is! I can see the cracks forming. Spreading quick too! You’re starting to have doubts.” Hurley pointed with an accusatory finger, the still burning cancer stick neatly nestled between his index and middle digits. “Welp, can’t say I’m too surprised. The shit they pumped into you could send a Jem’Hadar into a daze of poppy-fields and butterflies.” Pacing over to check on the door that led into Fisher’s cell, Hurley tried at the door handle as if to further tease his beleaguered former protégé. “You can thank the Obsidian Order for that one.” The explanation was of course one that Fisher’s own subconscious had formulated but was being re-routed to him via this hallucination; all the same, it made sense. The Cardassian Intelligence service had a knack for interrogation techniques, especially those which resorted to pharmacology, whereas Klingons generally lagged behind in that regard. “Klingons probably got their hands on it during that little war the idiots at DS9 sparked when they defended Gul Dukat. Smart move. Definitely didn’t come back to bite them, and the rest of us in our asses.” Again, his dementor made an obscene gesture with his hand as if to emphasize the condescension and sarcasm in his tone of voice.

“Right, and nothing ever blew-up in your face over decisions you were forced to make, eh Hurley?” Fisher spat back, gritting his teeth as a sudden pang hit his side, no doubt one of his displaced and fractured ribs reacting poorly to a constricting diaphragm.

“You should ponder that same thing, pal.”

The reality which was presented by such a suggestion plagued Fisher’s thoughts, as he wondered how much of what he was imagining was a result of his own thoughts being brought to the surface. Sure, subconsciously he had created an approximation of Hurley, or rather what Hurley represented to him, but there was only so much he could realistically understand and know of the man and his thoughts. Whatever blanks there were, had to be filled in from somewhere, and it bothered Fisher to think that they were coming from deeply hidden memories and considerations that he dared not share. Was he the one blaming DS9 for the short but disastrous war that preceded the Dominion invasion of the Alpha-Quadrant or was it something he remembered Hurley having expressed. The longer he sat in this room, and the longer the drug in his veins sank into his brain, the harder it was becoming for him to discern the truth. He was already having a hard enough time, as each time he let the situation dawdle away from his active thinking due to the mocking distraction in front of him, he found it increasingly difficult to recall an understanding of his surroundings and the details of his capture.

His grasp on reality was tenuous at best.

[ Makeshift Observation Room | Sub-Level 03 ]

“He’s starting to break.” Commented the Klingon Doctor as he stood watch over a series of screens, each focused on Fisher as he was having his argument with an apparition brought on by the drug that they’d administered to him. It was the result that Pohr’ghek had expected, though he’d certainly figured it to have been far more effective this late in the interrogation. Previous test subjects he’d had under his thumb had broken far sooner, though they all eventually wound up in the exact same scenario at the end, their minds lost to a madness that was essentially irreversible. It was an inevitability as far as he understood; a side-effect of the drug that the Cardassians had crafted, and which he’d toyed around with since coming to know of the formula. The most difficult aspect of the drug was finding just the right balance, otherwise you risked sending the subject into a coma like state, and at that point the only remedy was a swift death. He figured that at some point, he would likely have to tip that balance if he was going to glean any useful information from his prisoner, but for now, the dosage, twice what all previous subjects had been administered, was starting to work.

“Begin cross-indexing our records for suspected Starfleet Intelligence Operatives, originating from this... Boston... and names matching Hurley.” He ordered a Klingon seated at a nearby console. “Continue to add in whatever additional details slip out and forward the preliminary results to the Mo’Kai primary database for the General to consult.”

[ Westside Exterior of Perimeter Wall ]

Crouched at the base of a wall, PO1 Michael Samuelson could hear footsteps from someone atop the parapets directly above him and after checking his IFF indicator he could see that it was Lorad. He offered a soft nod to each of the other team members that flanked either side of him, Hildebrandt, and Jones, before he touched at the controls on his left gauntlet, opening a secure low-band short-distance link to the Reman. “We’re just down beneath you.” He said simply, hoping to raise the other team member’s attention. “Exterior of the wall. Is it clear to advance inside?” From where Lorad was positioned, Samuelson was counting on him to have a better vantage point and handle on the immediate situation inside of the compound. Hildebrandt and Jones each had their weapons at the ready, understanding that they would be entering the interior upon confirmation from their comrade up above. From what he could also tell, the rest of the team had made it down to the planet in one piece and had in fact entered the central tower from the northside.

So far, they’d actually managed to keep things on down-low, which was a fantastic start to what they’d figured to be an exceedingly difficult mission. Though, things rarely stayed so calm for so long, and before he could regret having jinxed things, a pair of armed Klingons emerged from around the bend of the curved wall, their eyes going wide in shock at the presence of three armed and armored intruders.

“Shit!” exclaimed Samuelson as he instinctively raised his rifle, the distance too great to engage and eliminate the pair with physicality. Time slowed to a crawl as adrenaline hit his bloodstream, heightening his senses and reflexes. Once leveled and approximately trained on the enemy closest to the wall, who himself was raising a disruptor rifle, Samuelson depressed his finger against the trigger and fired a ruby pulse that lanced out, crossing the distance in an instant, blowing a hole clean through the center of said Klingon’s chest. The whistle of the fired shot rang out, piercing the relative peace that permeated the exterior of the compound, joined by a gurgling bellow of the dispatched Klingon as he cried out in advance of a descent into Sto-vo-kor. A second later, three glowing emerald bolts surged back at Samuelson and the two other Petty Officers at the Wall as the other Klingon began returning fire.

[ Control Room ]

Throwing back his tankard, Jurael downed the last of the bloodwine from his evening meal and slammed it aggressively against his empty tray, his way of letting an attendant to retrieve and remove it from the Control Tower. It was expressly forbidden for any of his men to eat and or drink within the confines of the control room, a rule he had imposed yet did not adhere to personally. In his mind, he could trust himself not to make a mess and lose his wits while consuming a meal, but not his men, especially when he had so few of them that he could truly rely upon. All around him, they were monitoring the mostly ineffective sensor network that he’d been saddled with, just in case something, anything, was triggered. He had his doubts as to the functionality of poorly maintained equipment, relying heavily on the patrols of his hand-picked men stationed throughout the compound, but he wasn’t so foolish as to ignore the possibility of detection. “Anything. Anything at all, and you notify me!” He barked, reminding the less thoroughly trained personnel that were situated at the various stations.

“Otherwise I’ll slit your throats myself.” He whispered softly under his breath, just loud enough that it was barely audible to them.

A moment later, the surly Klingon emerged from the control room onto a gantry way that encircled the highest level of the central tower. The sun had indeed finally slipped behind the horizon now, and only the darkness of the surrounding wilderness remained, sparsely lit by lights running along the perimeter wall, another security concern he’d expressed to the Commandant in an earlier report. It angered him that the concerns of Doctor Pohr’ghek were taken far more seriously than those of his own, and that it had left the compound relatively under-protected. Snarling, Jurael turned to his left and began to circle the tower in a slow and deliberate manner, glancing at the activity of his men moving about the parapets of the wall. “Fortune will eventually favor our enemy.” He commented to himself, nearing a complete transit of the circuit and about to tuck back inside of the control room.

“What!?” he blurted out as he spun round on his heel, facing the westside of the compound, the sounds and ambient green glow of disruptor fire emanating from the direction. His men were under strict orders to maintain trigger discipline. They wouldn’t have opened fire on something, or someone if it wasn’t an imminent threat, and Jurael knew what the weapons fire meant.

“ALARM!” he hollered out, slamming a gauntleted fist against the door leading back inside.

[ Central Intelligence Suite | Deck 05 | Vector 01 | USS Theurgy ]

“Lieutenant Dantius!” announced Ensign Kaylee Maier, one of the Junior Intelligence Analysts currently on duty, pouring through all of the documents and files that Thea and the ship had managed pilfer from encrypted and un-encrypted databases in and around Qo’nos. Since the word of Commander Fisher’s capture, she and the other Analysts had been working round the clock to try and find any leads which might lead to his rescue. There were hundreds; thousands of documents that they were intercepting, which needed to be checked, indexed, and cross-indexed before being thrown away, or put into the feed that was going right to the Orion Chief. From there, it was up to her to decide which warranted further examination, or which actually contained actionable intelligence. Kaylee didn’t admire the weight of the scenario that the Lieutenant was dealing with, as the strike team down planet side was counting on her guidance while working their way through the compound where Commander Fisher was being held.

“I’ve got one I’m flagging red for you to check ASAP!” she announced, the other Junior Analysts around her not even looking up from their own consoles as their fingers danced staccato across the controls. “Something about an unannounced transfer of material from a Klingon Cruiser down to the Mo’Kai compound. Timeframe fits the window for the Commander’s transfer.” A potential windfall, but also possibly nothing. There were at least six other transfers that had fit the time window, and which had come from ships in orbit of the Klingon home world. Given what they knew about the facility, it made sense, as it had been some kind of a staging area or facility for smuggling and or other illicit operations. “I think...” Kaylee hesitated a moment, worried that maybe it wasn’t worth bringing to her green-skinned superior, only to resume a moment later. “...no, it has to be. Sorry, Ma’am. I think it could be the Commander. The Material. The manifest is relatively concise and detailed, save for one item, which is listed as just that. Material.”

Kaylee waited a moment further, gauging Dantius’ reaction. “It’s also the only shipment, which is listed as having originated from a Cruiser, rather than some random ship in orbit. The Ta’Rom maybe?” She knew the final aspect of the report she forwarded to Dantius was conjecture at best, but it seemed like something worth mentioning, and theorizing over.

[ Makeshift Holding Cell ]

“I’m not listening anymore.”

“Yes, you are.” Restated Hurley as he approached Fisher, standing in close to the man, blowing a cloud of cigarette smoke right into the side of his face. Were it not for the knowledge of his current situation, which he’d still barely held onto, Fisher would have absolutely believed his mentor to be standing there. The heat of the smoke against his face, and the way it lingered in and around his nostrils was utterly and completely convincing. “You’re going to listen to me, and you’re going to listen to her...” Hurley pointed at a beautiful figure emerging from the shadowy corner. “You’re going to listen, and you’re going to talk. Because we’re going to save your life, you idiot. We’re going to give the Klingons reason to keep you alive. Because we care about you.” Hurley grinned, glancing back at the new hallucination of Rutherford that stood just a few feet from him. “Don’t we?” he asked, sending Fisher into a near rage as he felt his blood boil. The idea that Hurley dared to speak to and speak for Sam pricked at the last few strings keeping him grounded in reality. Were Hurley real, he would have snapped then and there, choking the man to death in a display of abject brutality for such an infraction.

“Don’t. Don’t you fucking dare!” Fisher warned.

“It’s alright, Andrew. We’re here for you.” The Rutherford hallucination added, smiling to him in such a manner that it quickened his heart once more.

“See! We’re here for you.” Hurley repeated, returning the cigarette to his lips to take another long drag, eyes narrowed as he seemed to examine the dynamic between Fisher and Rutherford.

“No! She’s not here! You’re not Samantha Rutherford!” Fisher blurted out aloud, pointing an accusatory finger at the beautiful woman he was seeing; the woman he could feel ambient warmth from, and whom he could even detect the lovely scent of. Bringing his hands to his head, Fisher tried to hide from it all, as the ache in his head seemed to intensify tenfold. His ears rang painfully, causing him to stagger and drop to his knees in a huddle. About him, Rutherford and Hurley began to circle, their gaze looking down upon him. Tearing his hands away, he glanced at them, his torso rocking back and forth as he finally felt himself slipping into the cold dark abyss of his insanity. “This is real?” he asked, desperate to convince himself of something, anything at this point. Yet as Sam began to extend a hand to Fisher, one he so badly wanted to accept, Fisher was brought out of it by the whine of something ear-shatteringly loud. Both Rutherford and Hurley looked about in joint confusion as the alarm klaxon of the compound sounded in earnest.

Blinking, a shred of reality returned to the spy, and he remembered where he was, and what was happening to him.
 
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