In the hull of the old freighter, Michael looks down at the small group of people who are waiting for his employer. If he wonders whether they will survive the ordeal that they are about to embark on, he shows no signs of it on his grim face.
"Are they ready?" He does not have to turn round to know that the man who has stepped on the gangway next to him is his employer, Mortimer Humes.
"Yes, sir." He simply replies.
"Excellent! Hand me the microphone." Humes' lackey complies.
"Good morning, everyone! I trust that you have had a pleasant night and a hearty breakfast?"
They are murmurs from below.
"Good! Because where you are going, you will need them both!"
Humes pauses for dramatical effect.
"Where are we?" shouts someone.
"Ah! That same question. One which I can now answer. Yesterday, my private satellites picked up a body mass in the middle of the Pacific Ocean where there should be nothing but water. It turns out to be an island. An island that has not been in seen by human eyes in recorded history. We are now anchored off that island."
"Now I hear you ask 'What does that have to do with us?'"
"Good point. All you need to know that hidden somewhere on that island is an artifact. An artifact that I want you to find and bring back to me. For the person who will do that, I will pay them 100 million dollars in gold!"
"and what if we don't find this so-called artifact?" Shouts a voice.
"Simple! Then you don't get anything."
Humes again pauses, listening to their disgruntled murmurings.
"Ladies and gentlemen. I am offering a huge fortune but I do expect something in return. I am giving each of you the opportunity to be richer than you have ever dreamed. Go to the island, find my artifact and return it here. That is all I ask."
"Well, I ain't interested!"
Humes looks down and sees one man making for the door.
"These other geeks may be stupid enough to go on a fool's errand. But not John S. Sheppard the Third. No sirree!"
"If that what you want." Humes motions to Michael who speaks into his ear-piece.
A moment later, a man in a black uniform steps out on the gangway and cuts the hapless John S. Sheppard down. Immediately, the crowd reacts by bringing out their guns and assorted weapons.
"Ladies and gentlemen. I have not brought you all this way only to allow you to turn back. You knew that this is a risky assignment when you accepted."
"And what if we all want to turn back?"
Humes looks at the new speaker. A bald man with a goatee wearing black leather and equally black shades.
Grimm!
Grimm by name. Grim by nature. Admittedly, though there isn't much on the man, he gets results. Even so though.
Another motion to Michael and the gangways surrounding the hull are suddenly full of uniformed men, their weapons trained.
"As I said. Turning back is not an option. Now you can either go to the island and get that artifact for me. In which case, you will get your gold....or...... I can have you executed right here. Now I know that individually and as a group, you are formidible. But I doubt that even you can stand up to an army."
"What if we kill you?" It is Grimm again.
"Then my men have instructions to kill you all!"
Humes listens again to them murmuring but no-one speaks out.
"No more objections? Good! Then you should be going. You will find the launches waiting for you outside."
Humes turns to leave and then stops.
"Oh by the way. If you think you can escape in the launch, think again. This may look like a clapped out old freighter but rest assured, this ship has more armourment than one of Uncle Sam's most powerful warships and my men have been instructed to blow out of the water any launches that do not head for the island. Good luck!"
From the Bridge, Humes watches the launches as they speed off toward the island. One by one, they disappear into the black mist that envelops the entire landmass.
"Do you think any of them will survive?" asks Michael after the last launch disappears from view.
approached and people began to climb out onto the seemingly deserted beach. She had not seen another person for longer than she could remember. She had just attained her cycle of the moon when the last boats came... and when they left there had been no one left alive in her small village.
The only reason she had survived was because her father had hidden her in the cave behind the falls. The cave where she still made her home.
She felt panic rising in her throat as she watched them from her perch in the treetop where she had been picking fruit. Still. She would stay as still as a small animal caught in the shadow of a hawk's wingspan as it hunted for prey.
She would watch. And she would wait. Perhaps the roles would be reversed this time and she would become the huntress.
She had been named for one of the uppity wimmin of herstory as her father liked to say. Never quite living up to the reputation of the wife of the Emperor Claudius of Rome, Messalina Bishop had had a wild youth but had finally settled down in her twenties and hit the books (much to her parents' relief) earning a major in archaeology and a minor in cultural anthropology.
Messa had heard of Mortimer Humes before she joined this little expedition. In certain circles he was revered, in others abhorred. In all, he was considered to be untrustworthy. She, however, didn't have an opinion of the man. She was bored and this seemed like the perfect fix.
Dressed in jeans and a tee shirt and shod with a sturdy pair of hiking boots, Messalina hoisted her overstuffed backpack onto her shoulders and headed in the direction the others were going. She had a weird sort of take on things where this particular artifact was concerned... sort of he who follows leads. In other words, she'd let somebody else take the first risk and she would clean up behind them.
As soon as the groups start to disembark onto the beach, the dark mist thickens even more, plunging everyone into, almost, pitch darkness.
"Can't see a Gruddamn thing!" curses Grimm as he reaches into his satchel and fishs out a torch attached to a band which he fastens onto his arm. Switching it on, he finds all it does is illuminates layer after layer of dense fog.
"Still can't see a Gruddamn thing." He says as he wades into shore.
"I say! Where in the devil are we heading?" The voice to his left sounds distinctly British.
"Inland. Apart from that, hell do I know!" They are now on the beach. "I'm just walking forward."
"Good point. M-may I introduce myself? I am Rupert W Winslop, the Second and may I have your name?" The British man says.
"None of your business." Grimm replies, continuing walking slowly.
A few yards later, a tall object looms into his vision.
"Eeek!" Shouts Winslop.
"It's only a tree." Grimm responds. If he wonders how can someone like Windham can be on this expedition, he does not show it. Instead, he reaching for an overhanging branch and finds that it simply disintegrates at his touch.