OMICRON REPORT
- Instigation
-
- Whitehall. Stone Mountain, Georgia. 0200 030101
- New Years day. Boring. Deacon sat behind a desk in the interior circuit of the security wing at Whitehall. It took alot to bore Deacon, but after reading a English and Spanish dictionary he was now officially bored. Then the phone rang holding the promise of excitement. "Get on a Mark I, head ten miles south of the Albuquerque and then report. Three SecOps to accompany you. Cleanup. Crash-stie."
- Deacon marched down the hallway to the shooting range: his favorite place to grab agents for a short term mission. There was always somebody there. He strode in and looked around. Ten on the pistol range. Walking up to them he shouted, "STM. Volunteers." All ten ran up and formed a line abreast to him. All in black suits with short haircuts. Looking them over he pointed at a large muscular boyish looking blond haired agent, "One." Another was a short stump, using a revolver, "Two." For his last choice, the tall gangly one who could have been an NBA center, "Three." Each stepped out of line and got behind him. "Lets go. Everyone else, as you were."
- Albuquerque. 0500.
- In a buick sedan, at this time of the morning there were few reasons to be on the road. "UFO" crash-sites were low on the list. Driving up to the old drive-in theater wasn't very exciting. Their passes over the site ready to fast-rope in, with full CID armor on and heavy weapons proved unnecessary when they found out it was a cold site and a more low profile would be acceptable. Now they pulled up and all got out. 'One' stayed behind the wheel, 'Two' got behind the trunk ready to use a gatling carbine or a flame thrower if need be, and 'Three' went with Deacon. The Geiger counter in his hand and rad scanner on his belt would let him know if anything was too harmful, but all radiation signs looked normal now. As they walked up to the silver pancake mashed into the ground and stopped by an uprooted tree, they peered down into the shallow crated the craft's crash had made. Sleek beyond words and polished to an unbelievable luster the shiny craft was almost beautiful. The agent beside him gawked for a second and Deacon made a mental note he had chosen poorly. Both of their laser rifles were lowerd a bit more when they saw the six bodies of Grays each sliced in half laying on the crafts dorsal area. Round holes were cut or burned into the ships skin. Whatever had done that was incredibly tough. "Cover me Three." Deacon climbed down and onto the craft. Pushing the bodies around they felt like jello and had none of the strength and toughness a normal dead (or alive Gray did.) Something had pounded them like a meat tenderizer.
- Cut up Gray, beaten to a pulp. Holes in a crashed Gray ship before we get here. The holes look like plasma cutting or Morgan's force blade, but she couldn't have gotten here that fast. Nothing added up. He stood up and ordered Three back to the car while talking into his radio implant, "Green Giant come in for pickup. Area clean. We will proceed with peripheral search."
- Twenty minutes later the helo was picking up the craft, and dropping off a bulldozer to fill in the crater. The theater was set on fire to look like arson and was prepared to crash over the former crater. Then Deacon and his boys searched the town for traces of Gray passage in case there were any survivors.
- If there were, they left no trace.
|