2011 06 23: Purple Haze

Searching database...
Mission report found.

Mission Name: Purple Haze
Date of Mission: June 23 2011
Locale: Weapons Lab — Division HQ

Argyle is minding his own business when he experiences what seems to be a hallucination.


The reason Argyle is so good at pies is because he's so good at weaponry. Or, perhaps vice versa. Each require careful measurement, patience, and a precise assemblage of parts. He could have been an engineer of any other kind of machinery, but he focused on weaponry. Just like he could have been an all-around good cook, but chose instead to be a great pastry chef.

Right now, the pie he's making can deliver a payload large enough to blow up a house. A rocket launcher. For when Percy decides subtle isn't working. The payload isn't anywhere nearby, thankfully. He's working on the guts of the thing.

It seems to be quiet in the weapons lab. Argyle might have a pie or two 'baking' right now, but something more interesting happens shortly. A man in a white doctor's coat enters the room. He's handsome, perhaps in his forties, and speaks with a Russian accent. "I see you are awake. That's good. We were worried that you wouldn't be up for sometime." He reaches into his pocket for a bit of scrap paper in order to review something on it. "It would seem that everything is in order. How do you feel? Are you lightheaded at all?" The apparent doctor asks Argyle.

Argyle was busily humming "Sweet Home Alabama" off-key before the apparent doctor apparently came strolling in to his actual lab. He fits a piece into place. There's a satisfying /click/. Then, a voice. He lifts his head and blinks slowly. "…excuse me?"

"Ah. Coherent so soon too. Better than I'd expected." The man smiles at Argyle in an unsettling sort of manner, the same kind of smile that someone totally creepy might use. And is using at this very moment. He eyes the other man. "Have you experienced any side effects so far? Perhaps shaky hands? Bad memory?" The doctor looks to the other man expectantly, gauging his reactions.

Argyle just…stares at the man. Something is strange. Something is /very/ strange about this. "Who…I've never seen you before. You new down in Medical?" And then, a beat, "…I think you have the wrong patient, doc."

The doctor shakes his head. "No, no. I don't think that I do. You're the one who we made into someone else, aren't you?" He asks. "I don't have my clipboard so you might have to remind me." The doctor seems to be getting a sick sense of satisfaction out of Argyle's confusion, and he looks at the man with a rather observant eye. "Are you feeling dizzy, Lieutenant?"

Argyle opens his mouth to respond, but instead, he just draws his brows together and purses his lips. "Listen, I don't know who you are…" he reaches for a screwdriver and palms it, then tilts his hand under so that it rests against his forearm, out of sight. He moves around the table towards the doctor. "…but this is a restricted area."

"I have full clearance." The doctor smiles still. "It does seem you're having memory problems after all. This will never do. But I'm glad that we're going to nip this little problem in the bud once and for all." The doctor withdraws a syringe from his pocket and moves toward Argyle, his eyes taking on a menacing look. "I'm going to need to give you your injection now. It won't hurt a bit…"

Despite the fact that he gets weekly injections, something about the sight of this particular doctor with this /particular/ needle hits a nerve. A primal instinct is triggered. He steps out from around the table and slips the heavy screwdriver down into his hand. He swings it around, aiming for the doctor's wrist - at the hand holding that needle.

And in a flash, the doctor is gone. It's not the usual sort of 'gone' that one usually deals in with spies. He's not just around the corner, nor is he on the ceiling or low to the ground. He's literally gone. The doctor that was once standing in front of Argyle with the needle and threatening to stick it in him is no longer there. A figment, perhaps?

And the result of the magical disappearing doctor is that Argyle's swing with the screwdriver is overextended. Because, well, there was nothing there to hit. He nearly wrenches his shoulder with the arc that hits nothing but air. He winces, then regains his composure to look around for the disapparated target. "What…what the…fuck…I…" a hand goes to his forehead. His other hand still tightly grips the screwdriver.

There's a brief whisper coming from somewhere in the vicinity. It's loud enough for Argyle to easily hear it, but there's still no one out and about. "No one can help you now… no one can save you. Submit and we'll take care of you. We'll make you into someone better. Stronger. We'll give you a new life…" It's not the voice of the doctor that's just disappeared, but this time a woman's voice, soft and lulling. And then it stops just as abruptly as it began, returning the room to the silence that it was first encloaked in.

The whisper causes fingers of pain to dance across Argyle's forehead, to throb deep behind his eyeballs. He clasps both hands to his temples and tries to keep upright. It starts to pulse. Between the pulses, the sensation is oddly pleasant - like a heating pad on sore muscles. But that only serves to accentuate the sharp pulse of pain. The throbbing stops a few seconds before silence sets in. He's force to drop to one knee. He drops the screwdriver. The sound of metal on the stainless steel floor breaks the sudden silence. He kneels there, trying to absorb just what the hell happened.

Previous Log
« 2011 07 26: Lagniappe