Post by Santy on May 23, 2017 19:47:49 GMT
Appendix 85
Transcript of Meeting #1171-85-04
Meeting was conducted on 02/24/17 between Dr. Luó and Col. Haddad regarding the future of subject 1171, real name - [REDACTED].
L: Good evening Colonel.
H: Doctor.
L: As you were made aware at our last meeting, we are having on going issues with subject 1171.
H: Still?
L: After our previous meeting, we adopted a more sedate medication process in order to alleviate his violent episodes during periods of isolation. However, this has lead to a growing distrust and disdain for myself and the support team in place to monitor the pod.
H: Dr, as long as he is operational, I don’t care too much for his feelings toward you.
L: Operational would be a stretch, Colonel.
H: Care to expand on that.
L: It should go without saying that the medication course we have administered would invariably affect his motor skills and cognitive function. However, the emotional state he has since devolved into is, well, for lack of a better word - disturbing.
H: Are we talking his current state, or is there the potential for long term damage? You know how important a figure he could be in coming years.
L: My recommendation would be to discontinue the medication as soon as possible. The withdrawal has known to elicit certain behavioural issues though.
H: Can it be any worse than his behaviour before?
L: It is hard to say. I believe the environmental impact on his persona would be a determining factor. He has been with us for eight months and shown a clear decline in mental state. This is common with those who have suffered trauma in the field or have simply been exposed to prolonged periods of warfare. The cage we have kept him in has done more damage the medication.
H: I see. Unfortunately, given the significant role he may play, I see no alternative to incarceration. He is too unstable to be housed, too high a flight risk, too large a target. I can go on.
L: No need. I do have one idea. It is a little left field, but I feel, under the right terms, it could be beneficial.
H: We’re not known to operate in such a field, Dr. But I am open to suggestions. Bare in mind, however, your last recommendation has been detrimental to the subject’s health.
L: You are correct, Sir. For this though, I believe, if possible, a step away from the medical approach could produce results. During recent sessions we have delved into the childhood of subject 1171, specifically his teenage years. We questioned his motivations, aspirations, hobbies and such, with a particular interest in physical sports. The answers were largely uninteresting, until he recalled several years involvement in a certain contact sport.
H: He boxed?
L: Not quite.
--
-
[DATA EXPUNGED]
-
--
Las Vegas Police Department
Las Vegas, Nevada
15th March 2017
Brandon Garcia backed away from the reception desk, showing no physical signs of his internal struggle. The urge to vigorously assault police officers wasn’t a wise urge, but it was a difficult one to contain nonetheless. A lesson he’d learned the hard way. He took a seat in one of the cheap, plastic waiting room chairs that shifted uneasily with his weight. The little alcove off of the reception had an aged feel to it, and smell. The urge to do something else surfaced.
Brandon aimlessly scrolled through his iPhone, browsing his usual tabbed sites, and resisting the call of Twitter. He had never been a big user, but it was often an insight into an industry he had largely left behind him. It was also a great platform for calling someone a cunt, and not have to put up a fight afterwards, an activity that had been good for his health in previous years. It was a world behind him now though, and the world ahead of him was locked in one of those cells he was so incredulously denied access to.
The evening began to slip by, the officers around him often too occupied to hear his complaints, unless they involved a nefarious word or two, but those only resulted in him being forced back into the wasteland of the waiting room. He tried calling his lawyer for the twentieth time that night, but her incessant voicemail only further drove his frustration. Relief only came at the sight of approach, an officer he had verbally tussled with a couple of times already. He seemed hesitant to involve himself with Garcia, “Come with me,” he ordered.
“About goddamn time!” Garcia spat as he jumped to his feet, kicking the old, worn chair out behind him.
The destination, however, was not the cell that held his daughter, but one of the small, interrogation rooms nearby. He thought he heard her call out, but it could have been the crazed woman in the far corner, who appeared unhappy with her new cellmate for the evening. Garcia bit his lip as they led him into the room, another couple of hours in the waiting room would have sent him over the edge, and he happened to be an expert on how that never ended well.
Two men were awaiting him in the room, one was a colleague of the un-eager officer who had escorted Brandon. The other was instantly identifiable as an agent, of what bureau, Garcia was unsure, but this guy definitely got the memo regarding acceptable attire in the workplace.
Garcia chuckled, “She really is a chip of the ol’ block! You guys going to tell me what the hell is going on?”
Officer uneasy motioned for him to take a seat and swiftly exited the room. The other two barely took notice, until one quietly confirmed that the everything had been shut-down. Instantly Garcia felt his body tense, the hackles metaphorically rose, and he locked eyes on the agent.
The man in the fine suit thanked the officer and requested he leave before he finally turned his attention toward Brandon, who store him down like a cornered animal. “Mr Garcia,” he said, softly, “thank you for your patience.”
Garcia gritted his teeth, his patience left behind in the remains of the waiting room. “I want to know what is happening, and I want to know now!”
“Firstly, you can call me Agent Walsh,” he attempted a reassuring smile, but Brandon saw the falter, “Secondly, this isn’t solely about your daughter, Mr Garcia, or the allegations made against yourself, or the ongoing lawsuit you have with her mother. This is about seeing all that go away, depending on how interested you are in hearing what we have to offer you. And, of course, what you can offer in return.”
Garcia scoffed, “You wouldn’t come out here and organise an off the books one to one sit down with me if you weren’t already aware of what I offer. Get to the point.”
Agent Walsh didn’t falter in his faded smile this time, “Let me rephrase. The proposal we have in mind, we are hoping the reward would be sufficient motivation, but the higher ups, they would also require further insurance.”
“Such as?” Garcia twitched, “Also, who is we? And why me? And what the fuck are you actually offering? I don’t have the attention span for this shit.”
“I will try to get to the meat of it for you. You are towing the line on several legal suits, and the lack of respect for the law from your daughter, with her questionable VISA status, has you headed toward one helluva mess. We have a solution to that. Does that interest you? If it does, you only have one question to answer for me and I will arrange for you to see your daughter. Do you still have connections within the wrestling industry?”
Garcia felt for the phone in his pocket, it was a lot to take in, a lot to digest, to filter out the bullshit from the truth and what it all meant. But one thing was certain for Brandon, and that was the threat levied against him and his family. He sized the agent up, the forced smile had gone, his eyes mirroring the intensity flaring from Garcia’s own glare. How did he end up here? It was a question he found himself asking often, but never to this degree. A quick glance to the door, and what lay beyond, and he nodded, “Yeah, I think I can help you.”
Antigua Bodega de Papel Bar
Tijuana, Mexico
20th May 2017
It was a small, almost claustrophobic place to have a drink and enjoy some music. But it was local, and that was all that mattered to Brandon Garcia and his new found employers. Close enough to their government funded hotel and just around the corner from the building in which Garcia’s enforced protege would make his long awaited debut, Las Pulgas. Garcia preferred the dark, confined interior of his current location to the vulgarity of Las Pulgas, but that was of little importance. His comforts were not significant, but then again, neither were the comforts of the shadowy figure sat across from him. His large frame dominated the booth they had sheltered within, his features hidden beneath a lengthy hood. Only darkness could be seen, but Garcia knew the horror beneath it.
He stretched out tired limbs and slouched further into the tattered leather of his seat, “So, Red, there a reason you were so adamant we go get this drink? That little mechanical device around your ankle is not keen on us being tourists down here.”
Garcia couldn’t argue with that, “Too fucking right. Should I ask why they consider you and airports a no go? Don’t recall me being your fucking chauffeur written in the contract.” He slammed back his drink.
“Walked?!” He couldn’t help but laugh, “I’m sure they made you run those kind of distances during your indoctrination. I would've paid to see their faces at the border though.”
Garcia shuddered, partly at the idea of this man silently appearing behind, and partly because he has been around him long enough to know this was his sense of humour. His cold, broken English, only added to the sensation. “Anyway, whilst we are here, and you have scared away all the locals. Should we discuss your upcoming match? Is there anything you want to know? Stepping in the ring for the first, well, legitimately, it is unlike anything else I have experienced. And I have lived an interesting life!”
“Opponent.” Garcia waved toward the bar for another round. “The man is your opponent, Oni Kamigawa. We have already discussed him.”
He sighed, “Right, right, I don’t know when to shut the fuck up. I get it. But we spent plenty of time prepping you for just this type of guy. Big, strong, quicker than you’d think. Most likely some Magic The Gathering nerds wet dream. We looked into his background, what dojo he trained in, all the usual. Tell me you remember all of this?”
“Good,” Garcia attempted a smirk, “Now like we said, we couldn’t get a lot on him, but we saw what everyone else watching PW saw. He’ll come at you quick, so you’ll be quicker. More ruthless. You’re not going to get some satisfying, competitive, back and forth contest with this guy. You put him down, and you put him down quick. You hear me?”
There was that shudder again. And on such a warm, Spring Saturday. “Exactly...”
Antigua Bodega de Papel Bar
Tijuana, Mexico
20th May 2017
It was a small, almost claustrophobic place to have a drink and enjoy some music. But it was local, and that was all that mattered to Brandon Garcia and his new found employers. Close enough to their government funded hotel and just around the corner from the building in which Garcia’s enforced protege would make his long awaited debut, Las Pulgas. Garcia preferred the dark, confined interior of his current location to the vulgarity of Las Pulgas, but that was of little importance. His comforts were not significant, but then again, neither were the comforts of the shadowy figure sat across from him. His large frame dominated the booth they had sheltered within, his features hidden beneath a lengthy hood. Only darkness could be seen, but Garcia knew the horror beneath it.
He stretched out tired limbs and slouched further into the tattered leather of his seat, “So, Red, there a reason you were so adamant we go get this drink? That little mechanical device around your ankle is not keen on us being tourists down here.”
It was a long ride.
Garcia couldn’t argue with that, “Too fucking right. Should I ask why they consider you and airports a no go? Don’t recall me being your fucking chauffeur written in the contract.” He slammed back his drink.
You go where I go. I would have walked otherwise.
“Walked?!” He couldn’t help but laugh, “I’m sure they made you run those kind of distances during your indoctrination. I would've paid to see their faces at the border though.”
They would have never seen me coming.
Garcia shuddered, partly at the idea of this man silently appearing behind, and partly because he has been around him long enough to know this was his sense of humour. His cold, broken English, only added to the sensation. “Anyway, whilst we are here, and you have scared away all the locals. Should we discuss your upcoming match? Is there anything you want to know? Stepping in the ring for the first, well, legitimately, it is unlike anything else I have experienced. And I have lived an interesting life!”
Who is my target?
“Opponent.” Garcia waved toward the bar for another round. “The man is your opponent, Oni Kamigawa. We have already discussed him.”
It was a long ride.
He sighed, “Right, right, I don’t know when to shut the fuck up. I get it. But we spent plenty of time prepping you for just this type of guy. Big, strong, quicker than you’d think. Most likely some Magic The Gathering nerds wet dream. We looked into his background, what dojo he trained in, all the usual. Tell me you remember all of this?”
Vividly.
“Good,” Garcia attempted a smirk, “Now like we said, we couldn’t get a lot on him, but we saw what everyone else watching PW saw. He’ll come at you quick, so you’ll be quicker. More ruthless. You’re not going to get some satisfying, competitive, back and forth contest with this guy. You put him down, and you put him down quick. You hear me?”
Shoot to kill.
There was that shudder again. And on such a warm, Spring Saturday. “Exactly...”
--
Word Count: 1955
Word Count: 1955
Edit: Fixed formatting