Logs:Mission Report

Mission Report
Dramatis Personae The Winter Soldier, NPC-Tobias
In Absentia	2020-05-13 The Winter Soldier receives his orders.
Location New York City Harbor
The stench of the river sweeps across row after row of recently arrived intermodal freight containers; 40 foot long corrugated steel boxes designed for transporting cargo across sea, air, and rail. Each colored container is stacked in rows -- like giant, oversized LEGOs. Over a hundred are arranged across the lot, contained by a perimeter of temporary fencing and plates of rusted iron nailed to planks of rotted wood. The guard at the front-gate barely looks up from his phone when the slender and pale young businessman arrives. Tobias Whyte resembles a disgruntled scare-crow; his expression of perpetual disgust may as well have been carved into the bone. An associate once heard him laugh: They described it sounding like 'something he caught from a man who died of it'. His custom-cut suit is a dark charcoal, with a cornflower blue collared shirt beneath -- and matching tie. The slim briefcase also matches. He flashes his TWIC card into the reader and steps through the turn-style. After waving off the security guard, he makes his way through the lot, examining each box for its ID number. Once he finds the one he's looking for, he sets the briefcase down, extracts a slender metal bar from its edge, and goes to work disengaging the container's doors. They open with a harsh metal CLANG. Sunlight seeps in. Tobias steps inside, briefcase in hand -- then closes and locks the entrance. He flips the switch on the wall. The enclosed space hums with electricity. Fluorescent lights spasm to life, flooding the narrow office-space with a dull, energy-sapping glow. Tobias sets his briefcase down on a desk, then proceeds toward the large, cumbersome stainless-steel vessel near the back. After some work, it produces a pneumatic hiss; a cold shot of expanding nitrogen gas rushes out. Webs of frost extend out from the chamber's seams. Twenty minutes later, the Asset emerges from a dreamless sleep. He is seated in the chair opposite Tobias Whyte, who sits behind his desk. An IV drip is stationed to his left. A slim tube is inserted into his flesh-and-blood arm, feeding him a steady trickle of chemicals. Tobias Whyte leans forward. His eyes are a frightful shade of electric-green; his expression is that of a man who finds everything before him an inconvenience. His hands fold into a pyramid as he meets the Asset's gaze: "Report." The head hurts. Nearly as much as the left shoulder, the ribs, the back. Slowly blinking, the Asset stares back at the handler with a blank gaze, hair falling into his face. It isn’t until the order comes that some form of outward life seems to seep into the Asset. The eyes focus, the spine straightens. “Mission accomplished,” he answers in a flat, empty voice. “All three targets terminated.” This seems to satisfy Tobias for the moment. The pyramid unfolds; he grasps the bridge of his nose and proceeds to rub. "Good." The briefcase besides him opens with a sharp CLK. Several laminated cards are retrieved, along with an elegant-looking pen. "I'm going to say a word. When I do, tell me the first response that comes to mind." The pen is poised above the paper; with each response, he scribbles something down: "War." The eyes blink as the briefcase opens. The mouth swallows dryly, the throat clicking. War. There is a feeling in the mind. Almost like an echo. “Victory,” the Asset flatly answers. Scribble. Scribble. Tobias doesn't look up; his eyes are locked upon the paper in front of him as he speaks the next key-word, never missing a beat: "Soldier." The fingers of the flesh hand twitch against the arm of the chair. “Weapon.” At that twitch, the scribbling of the pen instantly stops. Tobias looks up -- and removes his glasses, staring the Asset directly in the eyes: "Home." Cold splinters in the sternum. The Asset does not look away from the Handler’s eyes, save for a blink. “Hydra.” Tobias smiles -- or, at least, the closest thing to a smile he can manage. It resembles a 'smile' in the same way the widening jaws of a shark resembles a 'grin'. His green eyes are suddenly... greener. The pattern of his irises are distinct, and changing; like prismatic droplets of oil flowing through an ocean's depths. As he speaks, his words roll in like the tide... and, like the tide, take something with them when they roll back. The mission. The targets; their names, their identities. Like candles being snuffed, one by one -- in their place swells an implacable void. Absence. A hole. The documents from the briefcase are pushed toward the Asset, arranged in a neat stack. Tobias retains eye-contact. "Review the contents. Commit them to memory." The head aches worse. The Asset does not show it. Mutely nodding, the Asset takes the mission intel to read. Nicaragua. One target with heavy security. It is not to be made to look like an accident. Unlike… The mouth pulls into the barest frowns. Unlike something. It is not important to the mission. “Ready to comply,” the Asset reports, placing the documents back onto the desk. The documents are retrieved and placed inside a folder. Tobias's silver lighter appears without fanfare; the documents are lit ablaze, the fire crawling its way upwards as he dispenses of them in a nearby metal wastebin designed specifically for this purpose. Those green shifting eyes never lose contact with the Asset's. The tide rushes forward again, swelling over him; this time, it takes with it Tobias himself. His face, his presence -- his memory. "Good. Now, sleep." Forty five minutes later, Tobias Whyte emerges from the corrugated steel container, locking the door behind him. He adjusts his tie, dusts off his coat, lifts his briefcase, and walks back toward the gate. As he exits, he notices the security guard from the front is now hovering near his car. The guard is using his phone to take a picture of the license-plate. Tobias's scowl deepens. The elderly guard turns to confront him, only to meet Tobias's eyes. The piercing green once again flows like liquid. The guard's expression goes slack. The phone nearly slips out of his fingers. Tobias plucks the phone from him as if he was taking a toy away from an impudent child. He then gets into his car and drives off -- leaving the now-panicking guard to deal with his sudden complete inability to recall how one breathes.