Operation: Pacifica, Phantasmagoria by CyberPyro (deadlock@one.net) The spirits came unbidden. Turning, tossing, mumbling in his sleep. Sheets wound around his legs and torso. Worlds changing, phantoms arising and falling to the abyss as the breeze changed. ... [...Sioux Falls, South Dakota, Summer 1995...] "..You've heard rumors of the Moose warriors in Canada as well?" asked Ensign Stakes, momentarily forgetting her secretarial duties. The front door of the recruiting office snapped open. An imposing figure walked crisply through it, covering ground at a decent clip. "ATTEN-SHUN!" shouted Lieutenant JG Miles. "Lieutenant Commander Dwight, please," requested Commander Marburger as he returned the salute. He sighed inwardly, not exactly fond of the formality. "This way, sir," gestured Miles, opening a secure door to the office's interior. ... "Thank you for the visit, Commander," responded Lt. Comm. Dwight as they emerged from the interior. "It's routine. I... who's this?" A young man walked through the front door. The slight tremor of his fingers as they released the metal handle betrayed his nervousness. He stood an even 6 feet tall, his tanned skin fit snugly across a well-muscled and proportioned body grown from hours of labor on a farm. He wore a stunningly bright red mane of hair on his head, contrasting sharply with icy blue eyes that indicated an active, powerful, and naive mind. "Yes?" demanded CP, standing to his full stature. "I..," swallowed the young man, the commander's tone taking him off guard, "I wanted to apply for.." He hesitated, unsure he should name these people for who they were and what they did. It looked to be an accounting office, but it was designed to deceive. The group looked at him levelly, awaiting a response. "I .. want to apply for TRES Corps. I know of the Hell Wyrm and its intent. I want it to be destroyed," he finished, his voice faltering at the end. "How old are you?" replied CP. 'This kid's as innocent as Mickey Mouse. Grimace help us,' he thought to himself. "18, sir." "Name and date of birth?" "Christopher Butler. July 21, 1977." "Nice to meet you Mr. Butler, my name is CP. Today is the 20th, and you are 17 years old and ineligible to join. Dismissed." "But, my.." replied Chris, flustered and crest-fallen. "Dismissed, civilian." ... "I want to join," stated Chris. He marched up to the secretary's desk, waiting for an application. "The time is 1:14pm," replied CP from a side room, "You were born at 5:47pm. The office closes for a week at five, come back later." Chris turned away, leaving the office quickly. ... Thunder rumbled in the sky. Shadows rolled across the land bringing ozone laden winds with them. Cold rain fell is thick sheets, obscuring the world after 20 feet. CP looked up from his desk in the darkened office. Everyone had gone home for the day, leaving him alone to work late. It came again, the tap-tap of knuckles against glass. He glanced at his clock: 5:56pm; grumbled, and went back to work. The tapping came again, more insistent this time. He stood up from his desk and walked toward the door with a mild explicative under his breath. Standing in the wind, blasted by frigid sheets of rain, stood 'Mr. Innocent.' He peered into the darkened office, determined to wait for someone he knew was present to answer. "You're very persistent," remarked CP as he opened the door to admit a soaked-to-the-bone and shivering Chris. "I-I-I said I want to join," chattered Chris. The rain had chilled him, caked his clothes to his body, and wetted every square micrometer of his body. "This way, civilian," ordered CP. He led him into the back office, past subtle security features, and to a medical style examination room. Butler stopped, looked confused, and began to voice a question. "Change out of those cold, wet clothes before you get hypothermia," replied CP as walked towards the door, "you can find dry replacements in the cabinet next to the sink." He pulled the door closed behind his receding footsteps. ... Chris sat in the chair opposite CP's desk and shivered a little. He didn't want to be interviewed by this man, but he had no choice. The Jihaddi's disappearance elsewhere into the office for the past several minutes didn't make him anymore at ease. It's almost as though the other wanted him to stew in his own doubts before forcing him away again. ... "Here," spoke CP as he set a large steaming cup of spiced tomato soup and a bowl of crackers in front of a startled Chris, "this will warm you up." The civilian blinked, uncertain of what to say. CP sat down across from him, logged into the network, and began working on several things. He paid Chris no attention, clearly waiting for him to finish eating before acknowledging him. ... "... and you are here because of why again?" demanded CP, his inquiries became more and more pointed, each iteration acquiring a harder edge than the last. "I told you," replied Butler, just a tint of anger creeping into his voice. "Yes, it's not the whole story!" exclaimed CP, "you have more reasons than what you are discussing here. I want *those* reasons as well." Chris sat in his chair, unsure he wanted to reveal his inner reason, unsure he wanted to risk rejection by not being completely honest. The struggle played across his eyes as CP watched in stony silence. "I want to destroy the Hell Wyrm, to be a man who defends his future children from an incredible evil," spoke Chris, his voice heavy with emotion, "To be a man who accomplishes something meaningful with his life. The joyous laughs of our children and their freedom from the Hell Wyrm is the only thanks I will ever need, all I will ever desire." CP held his gaze for a couple of moments, his expression unreadable. He reached across the desk, grabbed a pen, and signed the papers to clear Butler for the final screening processes. ... [...TRES Corps Academy, Fall of 1995...] Today was graduation. Hundreds of cadets marched across the Academy's main quadrangle in tight formation. White uniforms, steel swords, and brass buttons flashed and glittered in the crisp autumn air as the procession made its way towards the main ceremonial grounds. Leaves fell from the reeling elms overhead, spotting the white columns of cadets as though the Academy itself were weeping at the departure of another class. Each man and woman marched onwards, intent on their destination and the solemnity of the occasion. Across the Academy on the main stage sat several of TRES Corps' top-ranking officers. Lord Tilden Owsen reclined in his chair, trying desperately not to look too bored before the ceremony. Admiral J. Foxglov fidgeted uncomfortably in his formal uniform. His usual checkered shorts and blue T-shirt were replaced with crisp white uniform and officer's jacket. "I'm a goin' fer a walk," spoke Owsen as he stood and walked towards the edge of the stage. "Don't be late, again," replied CP from his seat next to J. FoxGlov. Owsen replied with a soft snort and disappeared from view. "So are you going to tell me why you made Cadet Butler's entrance into TRES Corps so difficult?" queried J. FoxGlov, "I reviewed the records and you did everything justified under regulations to discourage him. In fact, more than is ever done to discourage someone. Care to explain?" "I didn't think it was unreasonable," replied CP as he shifted his gaze to watch the distant white columns of new TRES personnel approach from the north. "I do. I want an explanation, Commodore," replied J. CP sat in silence, leaving J to wonder how difficult this was going to get. "It was my opinion at the time he wasn't fit for duty," CP replied after a lengthy silence. "His exams and performance at the academy prove that in error." "I know.." "Then what is it?" CP didn't answer. The cadets drew closer, the distant sound of their collective step bouncing faint echoes around the grounds. "I want an answer," spoke J, his ears tilted back slightly to indicate his patience was eroding. "He's too innocent to be here, J," replied CP with careful, measured words. "He may know what Reality is, but he can't handle the gory, visceral details of it. I don't.." "What?" interrupted J, his eyes narrowing to stare at the man next to him. "I don't .. want him exposed to the nightmares that live behind the Veil of Mundania." "How protective of you," smiled the Vulpine, amused despite himself, "Didn't know you came with a concern feature for those entering the Corps." "So would you like to shoot me now or wait?" grumbled CP. J didn't answer immediately, just sat smiling softly to himself as the cadets began their grand entrance to the ceremonial grounds. "Mmf." J paused, and scanned the crowd a bit before replying. "I'm not sure what would have worried me more... too innocent to make a good officer, or fanatic enough to come back after being sent away three times." With this he gave CP a toothy grin. ... "..And is my honor to present this class' valedictorian: Ensign Christopher Butler," announced Owsen from behind the marble podium. The assembled cadets, officers, and civilians rose in unison and applauded the young man as made his way to the stage. He passed before Owsen, J. FoxGlov, Admirals J-Rock and Piper, CP,Commodore Svartalf, saluting each in turn before taking the podium. ... "So maybe I was wrong," thought CP to himself as Butler's speech concluded. The cadets through their hats into the air, seemingly suspending them by their shouts of joy. ... "Man, I cannot bee-leave the crap you said up there!" teased Ensign Lackey. "Yeah, I made it all up," laughed Butler as he and his comrades changed out of their graduation uniforms and into civilians clothes. They'd have one night last night in each others' company, and then their assignment would scatter them across the globe. "How'd you stand it up there, anyway?" asked Peterson, "Next to all those mages, anthropomorphics, and assorted strange people?" "Heck if I know," smiled Chris as he hung up his dress shirt and slipped on a T-shirt, "All I know is CP makes me really nervous." "Didn't that thorny MoFo interview you, Chris?" smiled Lackey, "Wonder you survived. That guy makes me uneasy, like I wanna run half the time." "Yeah," sighed Chris as he leaned back against the lockers, "thorny is right." The interview still left an impression on him, even though it was months ago. "I don't recall dressing in rose bushes," spoke CP from the entrance to the locker room. Several new Ensigns jumped in surprise, and stood at attention a moment later. "Sorry to disturb all of you," CP spoke in a clear voice, echoing from the bare brick walls. He sighed inwardly: he hated it when everyone made a point of snapping to attention and getting official on him. "But Admiral Moore and his staff are busy in meetings with Grand Admiral Owsen and the other visiting Admirals. "As such, none of the staff was able to finish your assignments in time, so I took the duty upon myself to complete them," he announced. CP pulled a thick stack of envelopes from his interior coat pocket and starting reading names off. ... "NEW YORK?! Man! I hate the cities!" Anderson furrowed his forehead in distress. "Hawaii!! Woo hoo!" Lackey yelled for joy and did a small dance. "Darn, San Antonio for me," sighed Peterson, "What did you get Butler?" Chris opened his letter and sat down heavily. He re-read the top, not believing what was printed in black and white: Assignment: Clear Springs, Colorado. TRES HQ construction. Job Title: Assistant Foreman "This has to be a mistake," breathed Butler. Work on the HQ was a highly demanded, prestigious assignment in the Corps. He, a raw Ensign, had been picked for a job over officers with years of experience. "Oh no, my man, it ain't!" cheered Peterson as he sat beside Butler and draped his arm across his shoulders in congratulations, "see, signed right there at the bottom by Admiral J Period Space FoxGlov himself." Chris stared at the page in shock. Him? Why? ... [place: Clear Springs, Colorado] "Oh, no..." moaned Chris. The embossed name on the Foreman's office read: 'Commodore Marburger' and below it on a sheet of notebook paper 'This had better be important.' Chris knocked softly and was surprised to hear a terse 'Enter' from the other side of the door. CP looked up from some blueprints directly into 'Mr. Innocent's' eyes. A brief pause and then: "Lemme see your work orders." He read them over, his expression distant and impassive. "Sir, I.." "The Vulpine apparently wants us to work together. So be it. Report at 0600 hours." "I.." "Dismissed." ... [time: mid-winter, after the TRES HQ Battle in Op: Phoenix] [place: TRES Corps HQ] "This place is mess," sighed Lieutenant Butler as he crossed the blasted, charred, and debris littered main courtyard. He'd worked harder than he'd ever worked in his life with CP to make the HQ a reality. And now? 'Well,' he thought gloomily, 'maybe we can salvage enough parts to build a trailer part.' "Why so glum, Chris?" wondered CP as approached someone he'd begun to call a friend during the months of working on the HQ. "It's all destroyed." "Obviously, but we'll rebuild it. For now, the X'hirjq are driven back and we've won our first battle." "But at what cost? There's *nothing* left here!" Chris complained as a fresh snow began to fall. ... [time: end of the Turning Point Battle, Op: Phoenix] [place: top of the 801 Grand Building, Des Moines, Iowa] CP stood on the blasted rooftop and watched the cataclysmic events of the Turning Point Battle unfold again. Except this time, he watched from outside his body as he fought his evil half. What was going on here? The battle unfolded with the speed of memory, resolving itself before anyone could understand what had happened. The Jihaddi, the Evil Triad, Grimace, and the X'hirjq swept away as snow drifting under a strong wind. CP looked across the platform at the X'hirjq Empress. She stared hard at him, her gaze unflinching. Her reptilian eyes held as accusation, a command for action. 'You cannot forget,' thought the Empress as she faded from the dreamscape. - CP Copyright, Pyrokinetic Productions, Inc. (1997)