Thread: A Fresh Start (Razgriz x Candira)

Smith hung up the phone, feeling a bit peeved of course the club manager wouldn't be there. She was the person he needed to talk to the most, and she wasn't there. Of course, there were only scant details that Smith could provide one thing he could only mention in private was that Tank was part of Project ATLAS. Of course, the Project itself was common public knowledge at this point the war had gotten off to a very rocky start, and a symbol of reassurance in victory was needed, so the military decided to reveal the existence of the ATLAS Project. However, they only disseminated the identity of the subjects themselves when it was appropriate to do so, for obvious reasons. Well, perhaps he could make Tank seem like a reasonable applicant......to give him competition of course he knew Tank would be the perfect repellant for all manner of scum and bottom-feeders, making him almost unbeatable for the job. One look at the behemoth would tell anyone that pissing him off - if that was even possible, as Tank's tolerance for aggravating factors was unusually high - would be a very bad idea. Still, there was much to be done to prepare for Tank's moveout to the prospective employment position forms to fill out, troops to arm and make up the guard detail. Ironic that a guard detail was beign assembled, not to guard Tank, but to guard the public. All this trouble for one of those damned freaks he grumbled as he marched stiffly out of the office, his comments earning him both supportive nods and looks of utter contempt. Smith still didn't see the point of all this a high-caliber bullet to the head would end all this 'touchy-feely' crap in a heartbeat. But he had his orders, and hell be damned if he got court-martialed for disobeying an Executive OrderMartial Law signed by the Commander-in-Chief and President of the United States of America. But that didn't mean he had to like it he just had to do what he was told. The next day The base itself was a flurry of activity as they prepared to head him out to the Blue Moon Club and Brothel Tank's medicine - normally a dose of six orally administered 750 milligram pills - was now given as an IV solution to help increase its effectiveness. Normally this wasn't necessary, but given that he was going to be in a relatively highly-populated area, they needed to take every precaution they could. I don't like this medicine it makes me feel weird Tank said as they clamped his limbs down after injecting him with 2000cc of a RisperdalLibrium mixture to keep him sedated. The doctor, one Darren V. Williams, smiled reassuringly and replied as he patted the large man on his bicep, I know, Tank, I know. But just like you, I have to follow orders. But hey, if all goes well, you'll be normal! Well, that was stretching the truth a bit, but at least Tank would get some much-needed exposure to the public, help show that the ATLASs weren't just violent killing machines. Tank's expression seemed to brighten a bit, his body relaxing somewhat as he laid back and waited for the dosing to end. Regardless, a high-gauge needle was soon inserted into the now-prominent vein in Tank's elbow, a slight pneumatic applicator hissing as it forced the thick cylinder into Tank's arm to get past his relatively thick hide. Clear fluid was soon pumped into Tank's bloodstream, the fact that it was in a liquid solution made it act that much more quickly. They then sat and waited for the medicine to kick in and the tranquilizers to wear off when that was done, a small troop of no less than ten Special Operations Soldiers - the best that branch had to offer, handpicked by Commander Smith himself - armed with M416 assault rifles rechambered for the SOCOM .458 Match Round. Commander Smith himself was also present to take Tank to his meeting he was his handler and would likely be the main voice speaking at the interview. Come on, you....We're running late. And straighten your uniform. You're a soldier, not some unwashed street rat. he said stiffly to the large soldier as Tank was set free from the doctor's chair of course, he ran his day much like a German train schedule Efficiently and unforgivingly precise. His remarks earned him pointed glares from the doctors in the room the medics always viewed Smith as too harsh on Tank, but knew that arguing with him was a fruitless endeavor. Many medals and honors decorated his chest hell, there were so many it seemed like he'd earned just about every single one the Armed Forces had to offer bar the Air Force and Navy, as Tank was neither trained nor enlisted in either branch , from the valorious Purple Heart to the much-recognized Medal of Honor. And even more strangely, his chest was wide enough to where he could wear them all. To say that Tank hadn't doen his duty as a soldier would be the very embodiment of blasphemy, After some encouraging words to the man and helping to straighten out the few small, barely noticeable kinks except to Smith, apparently in his uniform , Tank followed his handler out to a large, limo-like Hummer that would transport him. Two others, armed with 30mm Gatling guns, would be positioned in the front and back of Tank's car, respectively, as added security. The convoy would look like they were transporting someone important though perhaps the implication of 'important' might get a bit skewed in this case. Once they were all settled in, Smith had them ship out. The interior was big, almost like a limo. But a damn site more comfortable Smith and Tank sat on opposite ends of the circular seat layout, his soldiers lining the sides. Smith just stared at Tank, his contempt-filled eyes hidden by the reflective sunglasses he wore how he wished he could just end this damned abomination once and for all. Smith then spoke up, his voice clear and authorative, as one might expect from the Commander of the Special Operations Division, Alright, listen up, all of you. We're entering a place that I'm sure many of you have frequented. It's going to be likely crowded, and yes, there are women who love men in uniform, but this is a purely business venture. I catch anyone acting unprofessionally, let it be on record that the harshest of punishments will befall that unfortunate, idiotic soul. Am I understood? A unanimous Sir, Yes Sir! rang out as Smith finished, then turned his attention to Tank, And as for you, Tank....Just sit down, be polite and leave the talking to me. Understand? to which Tank replied, his soft yet oddly deep-natured voiced stating timidly, Sir, Yes Sir! Smith snorted derisively this was going to be tricky. After a somewhat extended trip, they eventually arrived at the presitigious established Smith personally didn't see the point of a den of depravity such as this, but he figured most people were just too lazy to face their problems head on, so they went here and acted stupidly to let out tension. What a waste of space he commented under his breath as he turned and waited for Tank and his men to exit. Needless to say, a guarded transport convoy wasn't something that went unnoticed. Many passerby stopped on the sidewalk leading to the club itself however, the big surprise came when ten well-armed soldiers filed out neatly into two rows, each one standing on either side of the door before being followed by what could be considered one of the largest men in history. Tank's massive form towered over everyone, some of the bystanders turning right around and leaving the scene as fast as they could. Smith then said, Move out! and turned to lead the way. The doorman on duty - a well-built bald man of 5'9 dressed in a plain black shirt and jeans, his eyes hidden by dark shades - who was due to retire due to some slight back problems, had to crane his neck back to look up at Tank. Jesus H. Christ, you're a big fucker he said, prompting Smith to reply, Yes, yes, now if you don't mind... he then pulled out a document and said as he held it up to the man, We have an interview appointment at 245pm with the head of security. Tell your Boss Commander James Smith is here to see him. The man took the document and looked it over before radioing to the security head via walkie-talkie, Hey, Boss, we got a suit by the name of Commander James Smith and a bunch of armed goons here saying he has a 245 appointment with you. Is he tellin' the truth?. Of course, the security head probablywasn't expecting what he was about to see, though he was notified of the armed guard that would be accompanying him. James just crossed his arms and waited somewhat impatiently, his soldiers waiting for the order to follow Tank and their commander into the establishment. Sorry for the delay trying to get caught up in the RPs. Been dealing with a lot of stuff as of late