By: Dark Knight Gafgar
Disclaimer: I own nothing that is not mine, and everything that IS mine. Capiche?
April 24th, 2002
It was not a pleasant experience for them, warriors more accustomed to facing their enemies head on: men and women perfectly willing to die for their cause. But fighting, now, was pointless. They were outnumbered, outgunned, and - if their intelligence was correct - their current location would cease to exist in just a few short minutes. The order had been given - escape. Split up. Go to ground.
Survive, and await the day of reckoning.
And so they ran.
The transports scattered in all directions, carried on the four winds to sow their seeds wherever they found root. Many were overtaken. Others were not so fortunate.
Yet others escaped.
The black helicopter was one of these, men scrambling aboard it and nine others like it as their superiors waved them onward. It was an eerily silent, controlled panic. None spoke, not even the officers directing their subordinates about the hangar. The only sound the soldiers made was the sound of their boots upon the concrete floors, and that was drowned out by the noise of the helicopter engines as the pilots readied themselves to lift off at a moment's notice.
Behind the men came the crates. Black, metal, with a shield of thick glass over the top, revealing several cannisters of glowing green liquid within. The men who carried them did so as if they carried the Ark of the Covenant itself.
They thought this fitting. The crates were, after all, the key to their salvation.
The men and the crates aboard, the helicopters rose quickly into the sky, fleeing in all directions. The first of these turned west. It continued on it's course for a full minute before a missile found it, the helicopter and it's contents disentigrating in a ball of fire. The second turned north, only to find itself above the enemy's main force. Ground fire brought it down within moments. The third turned south, escaping towards Africa. The fourth turned east toward the Orient, narrowly evading antiaircraft fire before making good it's escape. The fifh followed the third, and the sixth died before even clearing the landing pad, the flaming wreckage falling upon and disabling it's remaining fellows as the enemy turned it's attention - and fire - toward the fleeing transports.
Ten helicopters. Three survived.
Behind them the landing pad - and the temple beyond it - disappeared in a pillar of light.
Narita International Airport
Narita, Greater Tokyo, Japan
October 19th, 2002
The explosion rocked customs on the first floor of Terminal 2, killing dozens, wounding hundreds, and starting a stampede that killed or injured even more as the crowd of survivors panicked. The police response was fairly swift, and within half an hour Narita International Airport was flooded with a sea of flashing lights and sirens. Incoming flights were redirected to nearby Haneda International Airport, all outgoing flights were cancelled, and Narita was entirely closed to the public. Investigators combed the scene of the crime, discovering grisly evidence of an apparent suicide bombing. The news, though hardly noticed in other countries that had their own problems to deal with, spread like wildfire throughout Japan. Television channels across the nation disseminated every scrap of information made available to them as soon as they heard of it, paying little heed to factual accuracy. It would take over a month before the full, true story would become known to the public.
None noticed as several young men and women disappeared into the crowds, having passed through security unsearched and undocumented in the immediate wake of the blast, or the truck that had also slipped out of the airport grounds in the minutes immediately after the explosion.
They would be noticed later.
Hinata, Greater Tokyo, Japan
Two Hours Later
Keitaro Urashima stood quietly at the top of the stone steps that led up a tall hill on the city outskirts. Before him lay a large, sprawling complex of wood, mortar and tile.
The Hinata Inn.
Or so the note in his hands said.
Keitaro frowned, reading through the note again. 'Hinata Inn, 1 Hinata Street, Hinata, Miura District, Kanagawa Prefecture'. The address, certainly, was correct, if repetitive.
The sign reading 'Hinata House Girl's Dormitory' hung next to the front entrance was certainly unexpected, however.
Keitaro sighed and shifted his pack. "This better be some kind of joke, grandma..." he muttered to himself, and then proceeded through the front door.