DEPLOYMENT 1: Reassignment to Mayfield
[PHONE(unfiltered, to all)]
[ACTION(for housemates)]
[It's Monday morning again in Mayfield, and 847 Goldberg Street has a new acting father. Balin Wilbur isn't a heavy sleeper by any stretch of the word-so not long after Mayfield whisks him away, he subconsciously realizes something very wrong has happened.]
[Balin's eyes pop open. He's not in a barracks anymore, and is in a considerably more comfortable bed ... in a house. But there aren't any houses anymore, not since Earth fell to the Bane-]
-Holy shit!
[Combat instincts kick in. Balin leaps out of bed, reaching for his sidearm-only to find it's not there. In fact, nothing he had on him mere hours ago is with him now. Not even his PT clothing or his shooting glasses! Forcing himself to shake off the haze of morning grogginess, he rushes through the house to the front porch, looking around the street as he tries to make sense of what has happened.]
[It ... doesn't make sense. He's back on Earth, back in America ... but the houses, the cars, the way people dress ... it's the 1950's. What the hell?]
[... That's when it hits him. He rushes back inside, and makes a call.]
"Operator, how may I direct your call?"
Yeah, put me through to your commanding officer.
"I'm sorry, sir, you'll need to specify a phone number ..."
Look-just get me through to someone. Okay? Anybody!
[And thus, the operator connects the call to everyone in the town. Have some Philly rage with your morning coffee, Mayfield!]
Ahright, listen up, you Penumbra meatheads. I know you can damn well hear me. Stickin' me innis sick 1950's sim you cooked up. Think you're funny, huh? You better unplug me right now, you sons'a bitches. Whatever sick PsyOps experiment you're runnin' on me, you're gonna fuckin' regret it. Bad enough you spooks think you can do whatever you want with'a rest of'a AFS, but this lab rat shit is goin' too damn far!
When I get out of here, I'm gonna haul your sorry butts to the JAG. Count on it!
[There's a serious edge in his voice, like he went through a high-stress situation before winding up in Mayfield. Any mind-readers listening in will get a clearer picture; this guy is a soldier, and Mayfield snatched him right after a pitched battle to defend a place called "White Oasis Post." He's convinced that a covert operations unit is responsible for spiriting him away.]
[It's Monday morning again in Mayfield, and 847 Goldberg Street has a new acting father. Balin Wilbur isn't a heavy sleeper by any stretch of the word-so not long after Mayfield whisks him away, he subconsciously realizes something very wrong has happened.]
[Balin's eyes pop open. He's not in a barracks anymore, and is in a considerably more comfortable bed ... in a house. But there aren't any houses anymore, not since Earth fell to the Bane-]
-Holy shit!
[Combat instincts kick in. Balin leaps out of bed, reaching for his sidearm-only to find it's not there. In fact, nothing he had on him mere hours ago is with him now. Not even his PT clothing or his shooting glasses! Forcing himself to shake off the haze of morning grogginess, he rushes through the house to the front porch, looking around the street as he tries to make sense of what has happened.]
[It ... doesn't make sense. He's back on Earth, back in America ... but the houses, the cars, the way people dress ... it's the 1950's. What the hell?]
[... That's when it hits him. He rushes back inside, and makes a call.]
"Operator, how may I direct your call?"
Yeah, put me through to your commanding officer.
"I'm sorry, sir, you'll need to specify a phone number ..."
Look-just get me through to someone. Okay? Anybody!
[And thus, the operator connects the call to everyone in the town. Have some Philly rage with your morning coffee, Mayfield!]
Ahright, listen up, you Penumbra meatheads. I know you can damn well hear me. Stickin' me innis sick 1950's sim you cooked up. Think you're funny, huh? You better unplug me right now, you sons'a bitches. Whatever sick PsyOps experiment you're runnin' on me, you're gonna fuckin' regret it. Bad enough you spooks think you can do whatever you want with'a rest of'a AFS, but this lab rat shit is goin' too damn far!
When I get out of here, I'm gonna haul your sorry butts to the JAG. Count on it!
[There's a serious edge in his voice, like he went through a high-stress situation before winding up in Mayfield. Any mind-readers listening in will get a clearer picture; this guy is a soldier, and Mayfield snatched him right after a pitched battle to defend a place called "White Oasis Post." He's convinced that a covert operations unit is responsible for spiriting him away.]