Isolation Suit Three, Freeport 10. Project: 'Dourtime'. Subject: D, Arlston

[Enkidu]

"Pretty comfortable for a rat run." Alston thought blankly, his eyes roving the teak walls of his elaborate prison, searching for the bugs, cameras and dictaphones that they would inevitably contain; oppressed by the grim opulence of the suite, the tinny archways, the brutally upholstered chairs and the irrepressible clicks of the analogue clocks that sapped at his wits. Not that the place was unpleasant but...

"Wouldn't you rather just turn that off?" he snapped, possessed by an uncharacteristic, aging curtness that appeared to run with the room, his eyes straying towards the impregnable door, pleadingly. Twice he'd nearly given them reasons; excuses really, to let him off, to find somebody else to fiddle with, to fill with poisons. Yet a new life, was, indeed a new life, an offer just as tangible as the five million credit sweetener they'd unnecessarily thrown in. That's more than you'd get from your standard run-of-the-mill pharmaceuticals guinea-pigging.

"Turn exactly what 'off', monsieur, the oxygen?" a certain, overly conversational Gallic voice chirped from the walls.

"The clocks, the ruddy clocks!" Arlston sweated, searching for the thermostat. "Damn Gauls" he added quietly.

Achille cleared his throat. "Excuse me my decidedly Bretonian compatriot, but would you not stand? Your first injection of... ahem... anti-space sickness serum is due to occur imminently."

Arlston blinked. "Pardon"?

A long, drawn out sigh rolled from nothingness. "A rather... interesting man is going to stick an enormous needle into your arm". The voice rolled with cynicism; "Is that clearer for you?"

A bead of perspiration trickled down Alston's neck. "Perhaps it wasn't just the heat" he grimaced silently.

"Arlston"? Achille queried, nonplussed by his lack of reply.

"Ah yes, sorry. I'll just, wait for him shall I?"

"To use a Bretonian archaism; capital. Don't resist now."

The intercom twinkled into nothingness, and Arlston perspired some more.

---

THE SYNDIC LEAGUES
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[JaaY]

After Kenji finished watching the transmission, he sighed and looked at his documents. He was slightly upset that he had to pause his experiments to fiddle himself with something completely different. In fact, he joined Commonwealth to examine extraterrestrial lifeforms, their anatomy, their behaviour. Moreover, he was supposed to perform tests on a human-being. Although he thought that doing so would be peculiar, it was necessary to understand how NOX worked and what effects it would have on a consumer.
Kenji was well aware that Commonwealth would sell their gathered information to the highest-bidding. He never had to deal with NOX, so he looked up the Research Division's archive and read the relevant articles about it.

Two days later, Kenji entered isolation suite three. He saw an bretionan, middle-aged man sitting on the chair, apparently waiting for him, soothed in sweat.
He walked towards him and reached out his hand.

"Konnichiwa. My name is Kenji Sato. I'll perform the tests. Please take a seat and relax."

---

[Enkidu]

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THE SYNDIC LEAGUES
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[Enkidu]

"Good lord, a Kusarian… Ahem, ah…"

Arlston started, shivering in his chair, eyes scanning the room for some form of escape route, anything but fix gaze with the implacable Kenji, sanity violated by his very presence. He hadn't watched all those BAF propaganda posters for nothing, you know, and several years of institutionalised racism was a daunting force to confront with.


Finding no reprieve, he turned to the walls for comfort. "Good gracious Nadeau, but is this really nessarary… I mean, A Kusarian, ahem, it's hardly appropriate don't you think… Of course…"

"…Really my good man, to re-familiarise myself with your somewhat uneruite linguistics, do you really perceive an issue here?" The walls chirped back, desiccating the Bretonian's tirade. "If a certain Bretonian somebody is more than happy to accept a considerable bung… ahem, payment of commonly accepted sirian credits from an impeccably Gallic barbarian such as myself then surely my trusty little Nipponese co-worker here is hardly a menace to you, is he?" Achille rolled, clearly revelling every second.

This silenced Arlston. The flamboyant, narcissic squit had a point, Arlston murmured to nobody in particular. The money was good, and there was plenty of it. He succumbed.

"Ah, ahem, well, Mr Sato, San, whatever, it's a pleasure to… y'know… greet you." A line of perspiration pooled at the nape of his neck, soaking his collar and cracking perseverance. "Look, could you just get on with it will you..." Arlston shot out his arm for injection with such rapidity you could have safely assumed he was attempting to dismember it.

"That's the spirit Monsieur!" Achille unexpectedly chimed. "I admire your demand for haste".

Alrston squirmed as Kenji started to load the syringe gun. "Look, Gallic fellow, just… how many of these will I have to endure exactly?"

"Oh, only three more, from different individuals. But do not worry sir, you have your money. Think of it this way; you will have advanced the realms of science and will be honoured for it." Achille soothed, his dulcet tones resonating from the floor.

"Do not worry monsieur. After this, you will be a wealthy man. Think of all the pleasure's you'll live to appreciate."

"After all, this may involve some discomfort, but it's hardly murder. Cheer up my friend, you'll persevere". The communicator silenced with a screech.

By now the body odour in the room was becoming distinct, and Arlston perspired some more.

---

THE SYNDIC LEAGUES
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[JaaY]

Looking at Arlston's outstretched arm and holding the syringe filled with NOX in his right hand, Kenji held on for a second. He was sorely shocked to be confronted with racism, especially considering these circumstances. He thought about swapping the syrings and dosing the man instead of NOX nothing but oxygen, so his cardiovascular cycle would collapse and he would die by cardiac failure.
Although it was compelling to show this fool infront of him that he should not treat the one who's about to stick a needle in his arm with scornfulness, it wouldn't result in the way Kenji wanted it to be. Also he was observed by Achille, although he was certain that Achille was actually caring more than less about what would happen to the bretonian.
He fastened him to the seat and attached him to several machines and instruments. Carefully, Kenji began with injecting a average amount of NOX. He took the syringe, pierced the needle in Arlston's artery and dosed him carefully it's substance.
Arlston's pupils suddenly dilated and he began to hyperventilate. On the display was shown a clearly increased brainactivity. A minute later he calmed down again and was starring into space. Kenji took two phials, filled them with Arlston's blood and put them on his workspace. His heartbeat was smaller than before, but his brain activity was still noticably increased. Kenji performed several tests, including injections of different chemical substances; no noticeable effects. He walked back to his workspace and added to the two phials always the most promising substances.
Then he noted the following observations:

Subject: Dennis Arlston
Purpose: analysis of "NOX"
Materials:

• two syringes of "NOX"
  
• several chemical substances
  
• two phials
  

Observations:

• high brain-activity
  
• depressant effect
  
• dilated pupils
  
• minor physical activity
  
• (potential usage as sedative (only very small amounts))
  

It would take hours until the effect of the drug wore off. He assigned an assistant to give Arlston water every two hours to prevent dehydration. Then he left the laboratory in a bad mood and without saying anything to Achille.

---

[Eduard]

As the willing “volunteer” found himself in a despicable stage of near comatose, right under the watchful eyes of Kenji, a new figure decided to surface its appearance in the dark, shadowy confines of the research complex.

The figure, a man embracing his thirties, wearing a peculiar, black coloured hat while styled in dark coloured, finespun clothes, entered the laboraty through the door that separated this sanctuary from the Freeport’s communion of amenities.
He sat there, nearby the entrance, excogitating thoroughly his surroundings and the intricate operations that are undertaken here. All this occurred while the same man took the liberty of holding high above his head, an umbrella. It was obvious by now that this lad sported utter eccentrism in his personality as well as tastes. One would easily classify him as an oblivious, egocentric metrosexual if not for that trait.
Everyone in the room, except for the, now incapacitated volunteer, could notice that this new character on stage was in fact Robert d’Autoine.

Robert glanced upon Achille as he noticed him. Profanating no second anymore from the valorous time he, and the others had at their disposal, he drenched his legs forward in the floor as he approached him.
Passing by Kenji, he exchanged nothing more than a salute, mimicked by a fancy wriggle of his hat performed entirely by his right hand. Robert wanted to exchange something with Achille verbally, and it seemed like he didn’t wanted to delay this errand at all.

Finally reaching Achille, Robert took an effort to grab him by his shoulder and slowly dragged him away from the performace, non-chalantly. He wanted to make sure that the patient could not overhear his words at all and thus, after a few distance was covered, he whispered in his ear:

“ Achille, mon ami, I would like to ask you to perform a request for me “ he said, whispering with an intricate tone, as his entire ego and pride was burned slowly by the words he spoken

Ruminating the thoughts, and his words he was going to say, Robert glanced for a moment at Achille, awaiting for any reply or figure he could have done. After a moment, he resumed his speech:

“ After the procedures are done, I would like you to… Administer a higher dose of Nox to our guest… “ he said

“ Make sure he forgets about all of this and then, have him locked in a pod and transported in my personal ship. Bien? S’il vous plait “ he said.

After that, he offered a slight path on Achille’s back. Taking a little distance, he shoved himself away from him, suggesting that he was waiting for his decision on this bitter request.

“ I have settled a variety of plans of a bigger grandeur for him “ he decided to add, whispering as always, inaudible to the others in the room.

---

King Eduard is the greatest

[Enkidu]

“Plans of a bigger grandeur? My dear comrade..."Achille sighed, grinning like a serpent, “It’s quite clear you wouldn’t last a moment in Bretonia; if your English discourse becomes any more riddled with grammatical errs and malapropisms than it is at present, it’s quite possible that you’ll lose any trace of the phrase’s original meaning as your mind initially conceived it…” Nadeau breathed, slicing short his tirade before he ran out of oxygen.

“But as to your little boon. Well Robert…” He sighed melodramatically, eyes twitching to the floor in a semblance of trauma, “...To acknowledge such an overt piece of Manichevellianism would constitute a breach of Arlston’s contract. You’re well aware of the deal Robert, we get our collective drug baboon for a week or two, he receives a new, stain-free existence drowning in booze, hookers and wonga until he dies of heart failure. You see, even if I do undertake the little precaution of violating the subject’s memory, well…” Achille poked pensively at his teeth, as though attempting to dislodge one of their number.

“…Robert, regardless of whether Alston is in a fit state to be aware of his plight or not, his opinion is inconsequential. What is somewhat more critical is the irredeemable moral breach, one which…” He suppressed a giggle, wiping the spit from his mouth, “…may require more than a singular bottle of that mediocre Bordeaux you insist upon plying us with to subdue. So tell me Robert...” He drew in closer, voice lowered. The very fact that they probably weren’t under observation provided little solace to his paranoia.

“...What, exactly,” He enunciated, fixing him with his eyes, “Do I… ahem, all of us that is to say, look to derive from this little deviation from the expected of yours? Wealth perhaps, knowledge? I’d like to know your incentive but…”Achille spontaneously stopped, shrugged, and waved a finger, changing the tone with the rapidity of a cruise disruptor. “…Do not tell me mon ami, I appreciate your little surprises. They do, occasionally, serve to alleviate the tedium. So my friend…” He rounded upon Robert again.

“Exactly which “Personal Ship” of yours would you wish me to deliver the damaged goods, as it where, once we have sated our creative curiosities? You’re a wealthy man Robert, and you happen to have a bloody lot of “Personal ships”.

Robert’s shoulder immediately became the recipicant of a heavy-handed, rather condescending pat-on-the-back which nearly sent him off his feet, Nadeau blockading in before protest could be offered.

“...Seriously Robert, as much as I admire your skills at obfuscating information, occasionally human progress requires clarity and erudite detail. So, the ship name, if you will?”

You could have sharpened a mini-razor on Nadeau’s grin, and he knew it too.

---

THE SYNDIC LEAGUES
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[Eduard]

" The Osprey " Robert said, grinning intensively, trying to overshadow Achille's grin

" Now... " He muttered while superficially analyzing the surroundings and the operations going in the lab

" I will leave you to your meticulous and entirely insignificant and abhorrently dull operations here in this beloved " Lavatory " of yours " he said, making sure to emphasize a weird accent on the word "lavatory" as if he tried to tease Achille by purposely underestimating his achievements and workplace in front of him

" But now you must excusez-moi, mes amis, for I will take my leave. Au revoir " he said glancing from Achille to Kenji and back, only to turn around and leave through the entrance he came in from

[Enkidu]

That did it. Time to crush him like gnat.



"...Wait a moment Autoine, if you have the time, It appears that you are missing something, oui? Well, friend, speaking of lavatories..."

"Au revoir to you to, fair Robert; I do certainly hope you don't return to your cosmopolitan (and indeed, once) palatial suit of yours to discover that a certain illusive personage had, but a number of hours previously, casually introduced a copious quality of, hmm, what was it again, oh yes...

*produces something gingerly from a back pocket*

Imepermofine 277 Delta - the emergency buffalo laxative of Texan descent, bound to efficaciously free up a blocked bull's digestive system within thirty seconds of it's consumption. Keep out of reach of children and all other humans unaffiliated with veterinary practice, or any animal you still want to have an arse.

...or so the label reads, into the dietary habits of a certain large terrestrial jungle cat in the domestic setting, as part of a protracted (and no doubt) highly amusing economical experiment to note exactly how expensive the resulting idiocy will prove to the guardian of the aforementioned creature..."

"...So Robert, I do believe it is your custom to lock the panther in your study when you happen to be so delightfully thoughtful as to visit us here, oui? You might wish to unlock the room now, just as a suggestion of course."

"...And now, to science!"

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THE SYNDIC LEAGUES
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