/// INCIDENT TRANSCRIPT - NOT FOR PUBLICATION ///[The following recording was transmitted in pieces from the microphones installed on the top floor of the Monitoring Station. Begins with muffled gunfire. Surveillance footage confirms Specialist Trent returning fire on GySgt Kowalski. Surveillance equipment adjusts at 0:30. Team Leader Gardner is at this time attempting emergency aid to Specialist Trent.]
/// REMOTE STATION PERSONNEL ASSESSMENT SUBSECTION A.4 ///
*** RECORDING START***
GARDNER: Hang in there. YOU! Company man! Come here. Hold down, keep pressure on this and don’t let up.
V.D.HOEK: What happened?!
GARDNER: We’re under attack. One shooter, maybe two. You four! Outside, lower exit. Suppressing fire - stay in cover. Keep his head down. HEY! DON’T LET UP, OR HE DIES. Bishop!
BISHOP: Sir?
GARDNER: Get a drone up. Even with thermals, I don’t want anyone sticking their heads out any further than they need to.
BISHOP: On it.
GARDNER: Alright, I’ve got this. Move - MOVE! What’s your name?
[REDACTED]: Sasha.
GARDNER:: Great. Sasha, I want you to take those bloody hands of yours and find Dr. Leander. If you can’t find him, look for Dr. Hatfield, she’ll know where he’s hiding. Hey - look at me. It’s going to be fine, but we need to get Dr. Leander here right away. Tell him we’ve got a gunshot wound here, and we need help. Understand? Go.
TRENT: I’m s-sorry.
GARDNER: Don’t be.
TRENT: I fucked up.
GARDNER: Yeah? How’d you fuck up, Trent? Looks like you got shot.
TRENT: N-no. Batteries. For the thermals. I let him g-go. S-sh-ould’ve kept on top of th-things
GARDNER: Sounds like that’s on Denis, not you.
TRENT: He’s - he’s… right there.
GARDNER: Hey. Don’t look at him, look at me. You’re going to be fine, alright? We’ve got Dr. Leander, fucking - some kind of genius surgeon. If anyone can fix this, he can.
TRENT: What are we - what are we doing here? Where am I?
GARDNER: John! We’ve been here before. Keep your eyes open.
TRENT: We - haven’t been here before. Last time was - was you got shot - in the arse.
[Spc. Trent laughs, and then breaks into a coughing fit.]
GARDNER: Yeah. I still don’t sit right.
TRENT: I don’t want to - I - [REDACTED] , they don’t know. They don’t know where I am.
GARDNER: You’ll make it home and tell ‘em one hell of a cover story, John.
TRENT: Pat. Please.
GARDNER: We all signed the forms. Your people are gonna be looked after no matter what.
LEANDER: Step aside.
GARDNER: Excuse me?
LEANDER: Do you want this man to live, or not? Step aside.
[Footsteps on recording are of Team Lead Gardner, leaving for the lower floor. Recording details process of Dr. Leander’s attempt to treat Specialist Trent’s wound. He is ultimately unsuccessful.]
—
[Surveillance Recording of the Tactical Team’s quarters in the Monitoring Station, colloquially referred to as the ‘barracks’ by installation personnel.]
GARDNER: So? Who was it?
BISHOP: Who we thought, the marine. Kowalski is his name, the RF tags confirmed it.
GARDNER: What’s this?
BISHOP: I used the sample scoop to fetch some brass. Looks like 54r, from the SVD.
GARDNER: Motherfucker iced two of my guys with a goddamn secondhand Dragunov?
BISHOP: I uh - followed the heat signature a ways out. Looks like he had some sort of makeshift ghillie suit. Covered himself pretty well, all things considered. I think even if they’d had their sights fixed, they might not’ve seen him.
GARDNER: Well, we’re never going to know that, will we? Fucking idiots couldn’t keep their shit squared away. They knew Janus-Hayes armed those fucking kids. What were they thinking?
BISHOP: Well…
GARDNER: Yeah. They weren’t thinking. And the Company loosed a fucking sharpshooter on us. That’s why they’re dead. Kowalski - what’d he do in the Corps?
BISHOP: Looks like he drifted out a little while ago. Saw combat in Iraq and Syria, but his most recent stint was pushing paper in Camp Pendleton, did some Drill Instruction before that.
GARDNER: So now’s his chance.
BISHOP: Sir?
GARDNER: You think that guy ever felt like a hero before all this? Doing that? He’s finally got a chance to have a fight he feels good about, and we gave it to him.
BISHOP: Did we? I mean, we’re just holding the fort here. Sycamore is -
GARDNER: Fuck him. We’re the ones actually here, on the island, we’re the faces of this thing for those people out there. As long as we’re here, as long as those things are out there, they have an enemy to fight.
BISHOP: You think that’s the idea?
GARDNER: Maybe. I dunno. They let me read the paper, I couldn’t make a lot of sense of it.
BISHOP: You read Survival of the Fittest? I thought that was classified.
GARDNER: For you. I think he thought it’d keep me loyal.
BISHOP: And?
GARDNER: We’ll see. They’re back. Report?
MEYIR: Visibility is - we don’t have it. If he’s out there, we’re not finding him. Not in this shit.
V.D.HOEK: If we can’t cross the Fence, we can’t find him.
CHERNYSHEV: Then we cross Fence. He must pay.
V.D.HOEK: Are you insane? You know what’s out there.
SEVERN: Why not? We’ve got gear, the sleds. The rest of them are probably keeping their heads down.
V.D.HOEK: I meant the Prototypes.
SEVERN: Which we can track. Nothing’s taking us by surprise. Danya, come on mate. You with us?
MEYIR: I - I don’t know. We don’t have a choice, do we? Our orders-
CHERNYSHEV: Hell with orders. If you do not make example of him, the rest will follow.
SEVERN: See? Mikhail gets it.
V.D.HOEK: Fool. You think they’re keeping us inside an honest-to-god forcefield for no reason?
GARDNER: We’re not going. Our orders are clear, we don’t leave the base under any circumstances.
SEVERN: You taking the piss? That grunt killed Trent and Martin. We can’t let him live. What if he wins this thing?
GARDNER: I didn’t say that. I said we weren’t going out there. Is Dr. Leander still out in the hall?
BISHOP: Yeah, he’s been pacing. I think he thinks you don’t believe him about John.
GARDNER: That works. Mark, get him in here.
[Severn leaves.]
V.D.HOEK: What are you doing?
GARDNER: My job. Leander's one of the ones holding a leash. I'm thinking maybe he gives his dogs some new orders.
[Severn returns a moment later, with Leander.]
LEANDER: I just wanted to be clear - there was no saving your man! His injuries were far too severe, and-
GARDNER: I get it. Shit happens.
LEANDER: So what do you want with-
[The sound of a pistol slide racking is audible on the footage.]
GARDNER: Alan, can you kill the feed? The surveillance mics.
BISHOP: Uhh - yeah. Sort of. Why?
GARDNER: Plausible deniability.
[Feed turns to static after thirty seconds of silence. See Subsection A.4B for further assessment of tactical team.]
NRV Frontier
20:00
At this point in the night, most members of the Frontier’s crew had settled into their bunks, or at least into a place where they could find some comfort amidst the near-constant rocking of the ship. Despite mooring in a small bay on an island south of Severniy Norin, it still had to contend with high winds and a constant barrage of sleet. The windows of the ship were caked in snow and ice, though there wasn’t much point in looking out them; the world seemed to simply end a few meters off of the deck of the ship, giving way to a gray and frigid darkness.
Nevertheless, Dr. Finch sat alone in the ship’s observation lounge, watching ice build up on the deck and occasionally taking sips of an apple cider. It was a bit too hot at first, so she’d poured some rye whisky in it.
There were no feeds to watch, or researchers to corral back into their working groups. Most everyone had taken the opportunity to find some much needed rest. Even the most avid workaholics were doing little more than touching up notes, at this point. Once they returned to broadcast range and downloaded the feeds from the past day, there’d be more than enough to do then. For now, she guessed, most of them just appreciated the peace.
Somewhere out in that cold, there were people huddled and freezing. Fighting for their lives. Somewhere out there were monsters.
There wouldn’t be any peace for her, not until this was over. Not until-
“H-hello?”
Finch blinked the slow, heavy blinks of someone who’d had a bit too much rye whisky, and looked behind her. By the stairs into the observation lounge stood a short woman in a pullover sweater, her hair tied into a messy bun. Finch noted that she’d seen her before on the research campus, and that she’d typically worn the same hair in a meticulous french braid. Even with the rocking of the ship, she had an uneasy look to her. Frayed, slightly. It was clear she felt like she was intruding on something. Finch smiled gently, and motioned for her to sit nearby.
“Hey. It’s okay, come on in. I’m just brooding.”
The researcher attempted to return the smile, nodding and heading over. In her hands she cradled a small travel mug, hands clasped over the edges of the lid as if it might slip off. Her sea legs left something to be desired, and she slumped into the small sofa a bit harder than she’d intended. A small drop of hot chocolate spilled out of the lid and landed on the floor, causing her to flinch.
“Ope! You alright?”
The researcher nodded, and then gave her a strange look.
“Ope? You from the midwest, too?”
“Is that a midwest thing?”
“I think so, I mean I guess. My folks are from north Minnesota, I grew up out there. People made fun of me for it when I moved out west. You?”
“Canadian, actually.”
The researcher brightened up at first, before backpedaling as the momentary familiarity brought with it a rush of fear.
“Oh, neato. I wouldn’t have guessed. I mean, I wasn’t trying to guess. Ma’am, I mean. Sorry Ma’am. I know we have to be careful about our - oh and I just said I was from Minnesota, I, uh, shit. Sorry, I-”
Finch sighed, and waved off her concerns. She pointed to the hot chocolate in the researcher’s trembling hand.
“It’s okay, I don’t care. Here. Take the lid off.”
The researcher dutifully followed, as Finch produced a small flask from her pocket and poured a portion of the rye whisky into the other woman’s drink.
“It helps, trust me. What’s your name?”
“Alex.”
“Hey Alex. I’m Erin right now. Nice to meet you. I don’t think you’re on my team?”
“That’s right I - I’m a - I work with Dr. Sycamore, yeah.”
“Doing…?”
“Fournian Heuristics. My workgroup handles a set of evaluations. Used to be a therapist, before I got my PhD. Trauma patients, mostly. So it was an easy fit, I guess.”
Once she got talking, she seemed to calm down. The authority granted to Dr. Finch threw people off, made it hard for them to approach her, even when she was buzzed and sitting alone with a fuzzy blanket on their one night off.
“So you got hired right into this?”
Alex nodded. “There wasn’t much work, and wasn’t really going anywhere. Burned out working with clients, and this sounded like a good job. Once they let me read the paper, I - I guess it seemed like the only thing I could do.”
Many of them felt the same. Finch couldn’t blame them - Fournier’s work was convincing, even as dense as it was. Plus Sycamore had gotten pretty good at selling it, by this point. She couldn’t say as much for her work, which was probably why their teams differed as much in personality as they did size.
“I get that. I didn’t choose to find the Chimera, but I did stick around to keep studying it. Made that first choice to work with Janus-Hayes, and another, and another, and now - well, I guess I feel responsible for all of this.”
All of it. That seemed to need no further emphasis, and Alex nodded somberly. Finch looked back out to the sea, although she caught a glimmer of a tear in Alex’s eye as she did so. In the reflection of the glass, she could see her mouthing something.
Responsible. Unthinkingly, as the researcher stared off into the distance. Finch watched her bite the inside of her cheek, trying to force back tears.
The alcohol made it easy to seem unconcerned. Finch turned and offered a sympathetic look.
“You okay?”
Alex’s lower lip quivered, and tears began to flow down her cheeks.
“I - I don’t want to. I’m sorry. It’s just, it’s so quiet today, and I’ve had time to think, and I just - those people, I can’t stop thinking about them, and you said that - and we’re, I’m - we’re all… oh God, I’m sorry.”
Finch unfurled the blanket from her shoulders and wrapped it around Alex, which the researcher seemed glad to accept as she fought through what seemed like a burgeoning anxiety attack.
“It’s okay Alex. I know it’s hard.”
“Why are we doing this? How is this okay?”
Silence, for a few moments. Whatever fear Alex had felt before around Finch, she seemed to have lost the instinct. This seemed like it had been held back for a while. Slowly, Finch tried to muster something of an explanation.
“It’s not okay. We’re doing something necessary, sure, but it isn’t good. You shouldn’t feel like it’s easy but - we’re not just doing this for no reason.”
“How do you - what do you tell yourself? How do we keep doing this?”
“Well…”
She glanced out the window. Snow gleamed in the ship’s deck lighting against the deep blue arctic evening.
“One day there could be more of those things out there. Free to roam, to grow and multiply. We have to know how to stop them. And, I guess we have to stop people from destroying one another when a whole bunch of them figure out that they’re not the top of the food chain anymore. And this, and Janus-Hayes, and Fournian Heuristics… I guess that’s the best shot we have, right now. I don’t like it. It’s just what it is.”
Taking a sip of her apple cider, Finch listened as Alex tried to mutter out a few attempts at a response, only to quiver and fall into a full crying fit. Finch did her best to offer a shoulder to cry on, eventually giving way to a long hug. It seemed to be what she needed, and after a few minutes Alex managed to calm down. At the end of it, she seemed to remember that she’d just broken down in front of the Assistant Director of the whole Project. Finch noted this, and made a point of handing the researcher back the boozy hot chocolate she’d set down earlier.
After another pause, and a few sips of the drink, Alex finally met Finch’s eyes again.
“Can I stay here?”
“Yeah. I’m not going anywhere.”
00:58:10:30
Hey everyone! Here's the mid-day announcement for Day 3, after a long delay!
Here are the second set of Day 3's death rolls:
P14: Jarrett Bergman (MethodicalSlacker)
P06 - Zandah Udall (MurderWeasel)
The Prototypes continue to maintain the death flags that they may have rolled at the beginning of Day Three.
The Third Announcement will be posted June 30th, 2023. This is the death deadline for the above rolls, as well as any overdue deaths from the previous announcement. You have until Saturday, June 17th to play any swap cards.
Going forward, I'm going to try and push the pace of the game back to where we started at - some OOC events caused multiple delays on my part, and for that I'm very sorry! I'm optimistic that we can get back on track throughout the summer. I'm really excited for where we're headed, and so I'd like to draw your attention to the now-mostly-declassified Endgame Rules.
As always, if you have any issues please reach out to us individually over discord or through the Help_U profile.
Happy Hunting!
