A Spy to the Gods

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12/09/2005 - 00:00

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Gundam Seed Spy Thriller

CE73, during a time of war, ex ZAFT soldier Jack Browning enters the scene of espionage at a time when rival intelligence agencies fight for the position of most prized servant to the PLANT Supreme Council.

  1. I had shut the door, but his muffled screams could probably be heard as I rammed the damp cloth down his throat. His hands and legs are tied to the chair. All he could do was squirm and shake his head around like a man on fire. I push the cloth further and further into his mouth and down his throat.

    'Are you going to talk or not?' I ask in a harsh tone. I diverted my attention from the cloth to his eyes to see his reaction. His eyelids are red from crying for his life. His eyes tell me that he is very scared. He breaths frantically through his nose.

  2. I wake up to chime of a bell. I open my eyes; my vision is blurred slightly. I regain my senses one at a time. I breathe in the air around me, and sit up. I rub my eyes of any sleep in them. I hear the chime again.

    'Yeah, just a minute.' I reply to whoever is on the other side of the door. I lift my weight up off the bed, and proceed towards the door. I rub the back of my neck, as I feel for the 'open' button. The door automatically slides open.

  3. The three-day shuttle flight to the Lagrange point five was as uneventful as one could expect. I was able to get a shuttle out of the Minerva after begging for one from Captain Gladys. They got me one. However she wasn't keen on lending me a pilot, so I told her I'd pilot it myself. At first she was reluctant, as well as her executive officer, one Arthur Trine. Again I had to convince her that I was fully capable of piloting the shuttle on my own. She eventually wavered, much to Trine's disapproval.

  4. What a way end up. But I guess about fourteen shots of Jack Daniels will do that to anybody. I was lying on the torn sheets of my bed, stained with vomit, blood, and the stink of my un-showered body. My guts are probably liquid now. I feel like dispensing them on the floor.

  5. After we left my apartment at about some minutes to some hour. We left via, what I presumed was, Neil's car to the spaceport I had only just arrived at no more then twenty-four hours previously. We had a little while before the flight so he decided to have an early breakfast at the food court. I skipped it though, my stomach still hadn't settled, anything I put in would only come back up again. It's better that way really, like what the ZAFT PT Instructors would say if anyone started chucking up on a run; 'Better out then in.' And if that was the case, I don't put it in.

  6. After Neil had picked me up from outside the Radford club, he took me to a small office within the same city where some staff from the SSC's Executive Branch was based. Although these guys were all paper pushers at heart, they didn't skip security for their one floor office. Heavies in suits waited outside the doors with their hands buried down the inside of their jackets, fingers brushing the butt of their pistols, ready to draw them from their shoulder holster at a moments notice.

  7. After I had flashed my card to the MPs at the gate. I had to sit around in there little hut for a while until some superior of there's came to collect me. I wasn't allowed to walk about freely on the base. I didn't really have much of a problem with that, but it was taking to long for this guy to arrive. After about twenty minutes of being on guard from the MPs offering their excuse for coffee to me, a black uniform eventually arrived with a false smile and generosity. I didn't return the gesture; I just stayed quiet nodding along with what he said, taking no real interest.

  8. The Minerva launched without haste, same day I arrived. Heading out into the Indian Ocean it was announced. Not alone though, there was support in the form of a Vosgulov-class attack submarine carrier, the Nyiragongo.

  9. I had awoken to the announcement that we were closing in on the Mahamul Base; it was my cue to get my arse in gear. I showered, finally, and suited myself back into the regular morning ritual that had been hindered for the past week due to constant moving back and forth between the intelligence community and ZAFT. I went to the galley and downed a bland breakfast meal and a coffee that was more suited as a brown muddy puddle at the side of a county road rather then being poured down my throat; I should've grabbed a few more packets of sugar.

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