Navy's Kraffen



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Summary
Amidst a cold war with Arkany, the Krobian military scrambles to find its footing to protect its country. Panick-stricken by the Arkanian threat of an atomic attack and the hostility presented by other countries, three people - a low-life drug dealer, a chemist, and the commander of the military - work together behind the scenes to create a material that will ensure victory.

Prologue
A man rubbed his head in frustration as he attempted to read the fine print of a dull document he was obliged to read regarding a government investigation. The familiar flashes of lightning and splits of thunder ravaged his eardrums. Neon screens surrounded him from every odd angle of this space. It was the same news on television every day. Always endless streams of unwelcome news detailing the economic decline of Krobia and the rising crime rates. He exhaled a subtle sigh.

A drug called oramania was once again finding itself in the dirty hands of the low-life junkies that plagued the streets of Kraffen. This had been going on for months already, with the drug inconsistently rising and dropping in popularity, but thus far it had not risen back as quickly as it did this particular time. The man was not looking forward to having to dig at the source of this new drug. He didn’t quite understand what it was, anyway. It had been described to him by officials as a purple powdery substance with strange supernatural-seeming qualities unseen in other drugs. So the man knew what it looked like, but not what it actually did.

Just then, a woman walked into the man’s room and stood before him. “Hey, Grant!” she said enthusiastically.

Grant waited a moment before realizing she was expecting him to respond. He spread his fingers and said quietly, “Hello, Sarai. Do you have something for me?”

“Yeah, we have news.” She looked at his emotionless gaze and her smile fell. “Uh, we have information on a potential drug transportation route through Kraffen. It’s in this doc,” she said, handing Grant the document.

“Thank you,” said Grant. He slipped a map out of the document and unfolded it. A street was highlighted with a marker, from a building to what appeared to be the middle of nowhere.

“Why does it end right here?” asked Grant.

“The street fades off into a dirt path,” said Sarai. “We don’t know what’s out there.”

Grant inspected the map closely. The highlighted route, indeed, went off the street and out into the forest. “And you are sure they are coming from this particular spot?”

“Yeah,” said the woman.

Grant stood up and slid the map back into its file. “I will be back shortly.”

“Are you going off to investigate…?” asked Sarai.

He washed his face and looked at himself in the mirror. “Yes.”

“You don’t think you’re going to find anything, do you?” asked Sarai.

“I do not,” he said, putting on a vest.

Grant walked outside his office and continued down the corridors of the Kraffen City Police Station. He grabbed a gray machete out of the arsenal of weapons in the station armory and pulled open the glass doors to the outside world.

Kraffen looked disgusting as always. Slimy gunk cluttered the gutters bordering the streets and clogged up the sewer drain panels. Rain pounded on the rooftops all around. Clouds of smog obscured the sun in the sky and blocked any light from reaching the muddy ground. He took in the smell of smoke and pollution and squinted through the fog at the streets ahead.

He walked through the streets and looked at the buildings all around him. The only people crazy enough to be out in this weather were the muggers and thieves that used the fog for cover. Any regular, unarmed citizen would surely get robbed out here.

At the turn of the street, barely recognizable through the layers of fog, a taxi was parked. The driver was relaxed back in his seat, and a soft country song was playing through the radio. He wore a tweed cap on his head, presumably as a shallow attempt to hide his all-too-obvious baldness. He was an older gentleman with black skin.

Grant walked up to the car and rattled his fingers on the window. The driver’s head jumped with shock and he rolled the window down. “Yeah, what?”

“I need a taxi to this area in the forest,” said Grant, unrolling a map and showing it to the driver.

The man shook his head in response. “I’m sorry, sir. That’s outta my boundaries. Can’t go that far out.”

“Then take me as close as you can,” said Grant, annoyed. “I am with the military. This is official business.”

“You’re military, eh? Don't you have a vehicle?” asked the man.

“That is none of your concern,” said Grant. “Unlock your passenger door.” The very last thing he wanted to talk about with this stranger was the military's financial issues, which all started when they shoved him and his squad into the city's police station because they couldn't afford to build a proper base.

The man reached over to the other side of his car and lifted the lock. “Come on in.”

Grant took his seat in the car. “Can you take me to Vigon Street?”

“Yeah, not an inch out into the woods, though. Car ain’t built for that,” said the driver, turning the key in the ignition and beginning to cruise down the street. “So, what brings you out here?”

“Business,” Grant responded.

“Not a man of many words, eh?” asked the driver.

“I do not have much to say. Make a turn here.”

The taxi rounded the corner and began to head north, towards the edge of the woods. Rain pounded on the windshield, effectively blinding Grant - the driver continued as normal, however.

“How do you navigate through the fog?” asked Grant.

“I just know my way around town. Been doin’ this for a while,” responded the driver. “Used to live in this part of town a while back. ‘67, that’s when I moved out. Know why?”

“Because of the crime rates, I assume,” said Grant.

“The killings, yeah. Too much crime on these streets these days, couldn't risk having my family there,” responded the driver, disgusted. “Name’s Bob, by the way.”

“Grant Rene.”

“Just wish these policemen and law enforcers would do their damn job,” muttered Bob. It took him a minute to realize what he said when Grant stayed silent. “Hey man, sorry. It’s just stressful, y’know? I don’t mean to offend.”

“I know,” said Grant. “Drop me off at the bend here, would you?”

“Yeah, sure.” Bob pulled over at the side of the road, just before the turn of the street. “Want me to wait here for you?”

“Yes, please. I will probably be back shortly,” said Grant.

“Whatever you say,” said Bob.

He pulled his machete out from over his shoulder and began to wade through the mud and sticks that consumed the woods. His driver had gone back to playing his country songs on the radio. Occasionally he’d stop to wipe his boots on the bark of a tree and continue onwards. He didn’t truly know what he was supposed to be looking for. Presumably a run-down old shack in the middle of the woods. Nobody lived out here.

After around forty minutes of walking, Grant began to make out a structure through the fog. He walked towards it, blade in hand, and got a closer look at it. It was a small wooden shack hidden between two trees, overrun with vines and foliage. It was a miracle he had seen it at all.

He stepped inside and whipped a tiny handheld flashlight from his pocket. He shined it over the wall, the light uncovering a small desk with some broken lamps and lights littered around the room. The windows were stained and cracked. There was a dark red stain on the wooden wall behind the desk. There had, evidently, been a struggle here.

Grant walked around the desk and opened the top drawer, revealing a pile of papers and a busted-open dial phone. He picked up the paper on top, which was and held it before him. It was extremely sloppily written, and the borders were torn up. He could just barely make out the words.

''Meet me at the OASIS out over Karma with the chems, let’s do some business!! - Iceman''

Who the hell is this Iceman figure, and what could he possibly be doing at Karma Hill? That area was restricted to government officials only. Grant folded the paper back up and stuffed it in his pocket, and then flipped through the rest of the papers. Receipts for miscellaneous chemicals and cheap carton foods. And a tiny plastic bag with a purple, powdery substance in it…

Oramania.

He unfolded his map and marked the general area he believed himself to be in. Right smack in the middle of the woods, near the flooded Panto Lake. If he was where he thought he was, then Karma Hill was east of him.

Grant walked outside of the shack and began marching the direction he determined to be east. He felt the temperature drop around him and the rain began to come down upon his world like little lightning bolts all on their own. It felt heavy enough that it might beat him down if he were a smaller man.

The ear splitting sound of the heavy rain and thunder nearly distracted Grant from his entire purpose for coming out this far into these woods, and he nearly tripped over a stone slab sticking out of the ground. He caught himself on a rough, elevated surface, and stumbled backwards. He failed to catch himself on the ground before him and sat back.

Lightning struck and the thunder was deafening and immediate. The flash of light lit the concrete slab in front of Grant. He squinted through his fingers as the light was almost blinding. It was horrible and intimidating, the stone shone through the fog and its engraved text was revealed by the sky’s wrath.

SIREN

Grant helped himself up and looked over the slab. Lightning shone over the hills and uncovered a gray fortress in a small clearing of land, surrounded by trees and plants, vines twisting and turning all over the place. He walked down the short path to the fortress and through the gates, occasionally cutting a small branch or thorn-bush out of his way with his machete. Weeds broke through the cracks and crevices in the walls. There were all sorts of rusted bits of broken machinery littering the ground, but what caught his eye through the darkness was a firepit sticking out of the ground. He came to it and peered through the grate at the bottom. It felt strange, out of place, like there was more to it. Grant lifted the grate out of its hole. It came off easily, like it was supposed to. He took a coin out of his pocket and dropped it down the hole. The sound of it dropping never came.

The man put the grate back in its place and went backwards through the gates of the fortress. As he stood outside this strange relic of the past, he unfolded his map once more and marked its position on the map. This clearing and its contents were completely invisible on the map.

He continued on his way east towards Karma Hill, where this supposed "OASIS" was. He saw the cliff in the distance and walked towards it. A flickering neon light hit his eyes, constantly changing colors. Grant slowed his walk to a crawl and held his machete out, as he approached the lights. He saw another gray structure.

It was a bunker that had been built right into the hill. It had an enormous blast door and a neon bar-esque sign that read, THE OASIS. This is the place that that mysterious note had mentioned. Grant grabbed the wheel and began to turn it, just when he started hearing a duo of approaching footsteps extremely closeby. If it weren’t for that damn thunder, he wouldn’t be on the spot like this. The soldier dived into a nearby patch of tall grass and crouched down.

“...yep, this is the Oasis,” said a man.

From what Grant could make out, the man seemed to have combed-back blonde hair and a black jacket. He wore a scarf, and underneath that scarf a strap went back under to one of his pockets. The man looked like a total, utter jackass. His partner’s face was hidden by a black hood.

The other man stopped and examined the building. “You’ve been cooking here?”

“Like I said, I ain’t a cook,” said the blonde man.

“Well, what are you then?”

“A merchant, dude. Where do you think all these new players are getting their stuff?” asked the blonde man.

“Alright, yeah, fair,” said the other man. “What do they call you these days, anyway?”

“Iceman. Cool, right?” he said.

“Sounds pretty fucking stupid.”

“Shut up, Leo. Anyway, yeah, help yourself inside,” said the Iceman.

Leo walked over to the blast door and tried to turn the wheel. He stood there for a good 15 seconds trying to turn the wheel, visibly straining himself. The man finally let go and supported his hands on his knees, gasping. “It won’t budge!”

The Iceman laughed and clapped his hands together. “You’re so lucky you have me here. Watch and learn!”

He walked forth and began to turn the wheel. It still didn’t turn. The Iceman bent over and began to exert the entire force of his body against it - it still did not turn. He gave up and began gasping.

“Watch and learn!” mimicked Leo in a high-pitched voice.

“I’ll, uh, fix that later. But I got some good stuff in there,” said the Iceman.

“Yeah, wish you could show me,” said Leo.

“Next time, maybe. I’ll deal with the, uh-” he stuttered as Leo began walking away. “I’ll fix that later…”

The Iceman began walking away with his partner. Grant pushed the grass aside and peered through to try and get a better profile of him and his partner, but it didn’t take long for the fog to consume his vision. He stood up, rubbed the dirt off his shirt, then went on his way back towards the city of Kraffen. It occurred to him that he had left his driver sitting out in the rain by himself hours ago. He never even paid.

He unfolded his map and marked the Oasis’s location, right on the top of Karma Hill, perfectly angled so that the city couldn’t see it over the cliff. He began to make his way back towards his city.

Grant Rene sat at a bar-stool. He hadn’t paid attention to where he was. It was now late in the night and there was no way in hell that he was going to go back out there and brave the harder-than-ever onslaught of rain. The bartender was flipping through the channels and Grant was just staring at it, contemplating the discoveries he had made that day. The SIREN fortress deep into the woods, the Oasis hidden in Karma Hill…

The bartender finally settled on the TV channel KNN. Grant groaned. As expected, that pushover Claus Armstrong appeared on television, talking about the scientific effects of oramania. Grant could not think of a worse channel to watch when he was already in a bad mood.

“Right there with you, buddy,” said a man sitting nearby.

Grant looked around and realized it was just him, the bartender, and this other character in this bar.

“I am just sick of watching this shit every night,” said Grant, keeping his voice low. “Armstrong comes on television and talks everyone to death about this oramania that has hit the streets. I do not want to listen to it anymore.”

“I agree,” said the man, who grabbed his drink and moved closer to Grant. “You come here often?”

“No,” said Grant. “It has just been a long day.”

“I feel you, man. It’s Wesley, by the way,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Grant Rene,” said the soldier, accepting the handshake.

“I’m something of a chemist myself, and let me tell you, this oramania stuff ain’t as bad as they all make it out to be,” said Wesley.

Grant looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“You hear the news- they all call it a miracle drug,” said Wesley. “Rumor is that it totally buffs people up, like steroids on steroids. Without all the shrinkage.”

“Does not seem to do much good for all the addicts falling on the streets,” said Grant.

Wesley sipped his beer. "Who knows, man. With the right tweak of chemistry, the government could do something real special with it.”

“The government?” asked Grant.

“Think about what this could do to soldiers. The military could use it as a weapon,” said Wesley. "In theory."

Grant glanced at the bartender to make sure his back was turned and he turned on his seat to face Wesley. “What do you think they should do?”

“I think they should give it a shot, at least. Hell, I’d do it myself if I could,” said Wesley.

Grant looked him directly in the eyes. “Are you being serious?”

“Yeah,” said Wesley.

"Okay, listen to me," said Grant, scooting his barstool closer to Wesley. "The country has been shot down to its knees. We are in agreement that we need a weapon, right?"

"I mean, I guess," said Wesley.

"We both know that the government would not greenlight such an idea if we were to propose it. Not unless we had evidence that it works," said Grant.

"What are you saying?" asked Wesley.

"We need to work to that point on our own," said Grant. "We are on the brink of breaking into war with Arkany. We cannot afford to not take such a chance."

Wesley rubbed his forehead. "Man, do you have the connections you need to make this happen? Because I sure as hell don't.'

"Yes," said Grant. "I do. I work for the military. For Kraffen."

Wesley slumped back in his chair. "And nobody knows that you want this?"

Grant leaned in and said in a low voice, "Hell, I did not know that I wanted this until you told me the details. We cannot skip on any opportunities. We need a weapon. You in?"

Wesley sighed. "I guess? But I'd need a sample to work with. I've never worked with ora."

Grant quickly scribbled his phone number on the bag of oramania he had swiped from the wooden shack that he had stumbled upon earlier that day. He passed the bag to Wesley. "Is that enough?"

Wesley's eyes sparkled as he looked at the pile of gold in his hands. "Uh, yup, that'll do it."

“Very good.” Grant stood up. “Put that away and give me a call when you get home.”

Wesley looked up at him. "Wait, where are you going?"

"Call me," said the soldier.

Grant headed back out through the bar’s doors, and looked out over his city. Times were changing in Kraffen. Today, he had discovered a military fortress, a bomb shelter, and now he had a profile of the man he thought to be pulling the strings of Kraffen’s underworld.

Maybe, just maybe, he would need the Iceman’s help in this new operation he was planning with this “Wesley” character. But Grant was ready to do whatever it would take to keep his country going, amidst the cold war, endless thunderstorms, and the drug war that his station had been fighting for years. If he played his cards right, he could use some of this information to land him a high position in law enforcement someday. Soon, possibly.

When he arrived at the station, he took a binder full of documents of criminal records and began flipping through them. He looked for the man he had seen earlier that day with the blonde hair and hoodie. And then Grant found him. Clear as day, under the Q section, was the man he had seen earlier that day at Karma Hill.

“Marley Quarrel…” he muttered under his breath. He ripped the document out of the binder and stuffed it in his pocket. His heart was pounding, for he knew that his actions from that point onward would change Kraffen forever.

Chapter 1: No Oasis
A man woke up at 11:15 PM on a cold October night in 1970, in Kraffen, Krobia. He got up from his sleeping bag on the floor of his cold apartment and quickly got up upon checking the time and realizing that he was running late for his job.

Marley Quarrel did not have a normal job in Kraffen. The average man would be working the register at Crop Corp or doing mind-numbing work at an office at Rainco Tech, but Quarrel preferred something a little more interesting.

There was an old, abandoned military bomb shelter out in the woods built into the obscure government-protected Karma Hill that Marley had re-purposed as a drugstore months before. He sold all sorts of products, just about anything that he could get his hands on. Before quitting his job there, Marley had worked as a janitor at the Kraffen Hospital, where he stole a large amount of equipment and chemicals for his supply at his new shop. He wasn’t a cook himself, no- he never really got the hang of chemistry nor had any interest in it. His shop was an essential cornerstone for the oramania trade in Kraffen.

Marley arrived outside of the store and watched the old neon 'The OASIS' sign flicker. The colorful sign, however, did not reflect the contents of the bunker. The entrance was a large steel blast door designed to protect the shelter from a nuclear explosion. The shelter was windowless and the walls were made of steel. Dirt poked through the cracks in the walls and ceiling and was piled up in the corners of the main room. It was a large shelter but the only room in the building that was at all accessible was the main room, all the other rooms would only open up in the event of a nuclear attack.

He turned the valve on the blast door and pushed it open with all his might. He walked in and hung his coat on a rack that had been hastily nailed into a split part of the wall when he first began utilizing this old place. The room felt ominous and quiet, as always. Like he wasn't supposed to be here.

It sure was a strange sort of quiet.

“Quarrel.”

Marley spun around and whipped out a handgun. “Whoa, holy crap! Who was that?!”

A pull-cord light was turned on above the transaction counter on the other side of the room. “Take a seat,” said a young man, who was already sitting down with a gun pointed directly at Marley’s head. “Drop the weapon.”

Marley kept his gun pointed at the young man. “Who do you think you are? Get out!”

The man spoke with a clear, quiet voice. It sounded like a low growl. "Quarrel, there is no use hiding any longer. I am Grant Rene, commander of the military. And this," he said, indicating the room, "is an old military-operated bomb shelter. I expect you to sit down and drop the weapon right now!” The commander stood up, cocked his gun and pointed it directly at Marley’s head.

Marley gasped and threw his handgun to the side, then proceeded to sit down with his hands raised. He got a closer look at the commander, who had an intimidating appearance. He had a head of black, messy hair and eyes too dark for their color to be made out. Instead of wearing a typical camouflage uniform, he appeared to be wearing some sort of heavy-duty black armor. An assault rifle hung on his back and a military combat knife hung at his side. He had a utility belt with all kinds of strange, unidentifiable tools on him.

“Very good. Now you see, we have been watching these activities of yours for months. We know everything about this operation. The average amount of customers you get daily, their names, where they live, drug history, and where their labs are,” Grant said calmly.

“Just arrest me already,” Marley snarled.

“If you do not cooperate with my demands then I am going to have to,” the commander responded.

“What do you want from me?” asked Marley.

“I need this..." Grant looked around, seemingly trying to find the words to explain to himself what exactly he was looking at. "...'drugstore' free of oramania. Every little grain. I think you will find that it is in your best interest, too."

Marley stood still and felt dumbfounded. Never once in his life had he seen anything like this, or heard of anything like this happening to anybody. His mind felt numb with fear and nervousness that his life was falling apart. And this man, this completely random stranger, was requesting him to miraculously clean up every grain of ora in this store. "How?" was all he managed to spit out.

“Oramania has some interesting properties that makes it stick out from any other drug or mineral known to man. Here, hand me that tool over there, please?” He pointed at an unidentifiable tool he had left on the other side of the counter.

Marley slowly stood up and walked to the other side, eyeing the soldier's handgun still, and slid the strange tool to him. Grant took the tool and outstretched a rod from it, and pressed a button. Marley jumped as the lights in the room flickered off, and tiny grains of oramania began to light up in a bright purple color. Grant pressed the button again and it all stopped, and the room’s lights flickered on again.

“What the hell was that?” Marley looked

“Oramania detector. The drug attracts electricity and will brighten up when charged with it.” Grant explained.

“Now," he said, handing Marley a small rectangular object from his belt, "we will vacuum it all up.” He pressed a button and a tube extended from the object.

“Yeah, man, thanks for the science lesson! Appreciate it!" Marley said sarcastically.

A very subtle smile of amusement formed on Grant's face. “Oramania has some interesting properties. Some of these properties are dangerous ones that I would rather not be exposed to, and I certainly would not want the public exposed. Please go grab some face masks from your supply."

“Whatever you say, man,” said Marley unenthusiastically.

The two of them worked at vacuuming up all the oramania until there wasn’t a single speck to be seen anywhere in the room. They vacuumed the walls and ceiling, sometimes having to stand on each other’s shoulders. Grant worked both himself and Marley to the bone until there was nothing left to vacuum. Marley noticed that the commander would also sometimes spend long amounts of time staring at the wall or scrubbing other kinds of dirt off the walls needlessly.

“Preparing for the apocalypse, huh?” asked Marley jokingly.

“Alright, I do not see any more. We are done here.”

“Awesome. So I’ve been meaning to ask you something," said Marley.

"What is it?" asked Grant.

"So...you’re the commander of the military, right? Where are your, like, guys at?” Marley asked.

“I cannot let them know about what comes next,” said Grant.

Marley glanced at him. “What?”

“Get moving.” Grant put his hand on Marley's back and guided him out the blast door. The commander shut the large blast door behind them.

The two of them walked a few miles in silence until they reached a large stone fortress hidden away in the woods. In large cement letters, the word SIREN was engraved on a stone block.

Marley looked at the fortress. “Where are we?”

“Fort SIREN. Large military fortress that was active during the Kraffen War. Just me and my partner working here.”

“Just you and some other dude, huh?” Marley said, eyeing Grant suspiciously. "None of your other military friends are here?"

"The fort is retired, of course not. You would not find this on a map if you were to look.

Inside the fortress, the ground was dirty and trashed with chunks of the wall that was falling apart and a bunch of litter and rusted war machinery. There was a fire pit in the center of the grounds with an old unidentifiable war automobile with the rubber on its wheels burned out sitting next to it.

“Well, where’s your guy?” Marley asked.

“Not out here.” Grant gripped the grate of the fire pit and lifted it off, revealing a long ladder reaching far down below the earth. “All of these old fortresses came equipped with underground bomb shelters. Nobody knows about these but the military. Go on, then.”

Marley gulped and slowly descended down beneath the ground, occasionally finding a missing bar on the ladder. He noticed that Grant seemed to know the steps by heart and wasn’t having any trouble climbing down. Once they reached the bottom, Grant flicked a light switch and a dim yellow light came on, revealing a large tunnel with several rooms off to the side, each with its own number and its owner’s name engraved onto a sign.

“We will be going through here,” Grant said, forcing a lever to a door open. This room’s sign was labeled “Porter Rene”.

Inside, a man in a lab coat was working with his back turned to the others, bent over a table and slowly moving his arm around.

“Hey, friends! Sorry that I’m a tad pre-occupied here. I’ll be with you guys in a minute,” the man said.

“Understood,” Grant said.

“So have you given him the scoop yet, Grant?” the man said, turning his head back a bit to look at them.

“I suppose I should,” the commander sighed. “What we are doing here is not within our legal rights and you must keep everything you see down here quiet.”

“Uh...what? I thought you said you were military?” asked Marley.

“Have you ever consumed oramania?” the commander asked Marley.

“Well, uh, not yet,” said Marley.

“It has several dangerous properties. So many that they are not all documented yet. Scientists are still running experiments and trying to determine what exactly it does to the body,” explained Grant.

“That sounds bad,” said Marley.

“These dangerous properties include the ability to give those who consume the drug extreme durability, numbed senses, and more. It is a weapon that I wish to optimize and utilize for the military,” Grant continued. “It could make us virtually invincible. Our fathers just barely won our last major war. This drug will transform our soldiers and, by extent, our country.”

“You want to use drugs ,” said Marley.

“What with the current cold war with Arkany, I believe it is necessary,” Grant said. “This country cannot afford to lose more soldiers if another war were to happen.”

“So that’s why we’re here,” said the man in the lab coat, finally turning around. “I'm doing the chemistry. I have stay here with my work and, of course, Grant has his military duties. Wesley Coraham, by the way,” he said, extending his hand to Marley.

"Not to sound, y'know, but why am I here?” Marley asked, shaking Wesley’s hand.

“Well, you see, we need somebody to pass the drug around,” Wesley said. “We don’t have anything else to experiment on reliably, so you’re going to be selling some of this to the druggies in the area, and try your best to document the results.”

“Cool...so they, like, don't care?” Marley asked.

Wesley shrugged. “Most of them practically need the stuff to live at this point. If anything, I think we're doing them a favor.”

“You would get your 33% cut, of course. Quite a lot of money for a man like yourself, perhaps you can get out of that apartment of yours,” said Grant. “So what do you say, Quarrel?”

“Just call me Marley, man,” Marley said. “And yeah, whatever, plan makes sense. Hope it works out.”

“Don’t question it, man. You have no idea what was going through my head when he went to recruit me. Remember that, Grant?” Wesley asked.

“I had to be more subtle with you, Marley, I apologize,” Grant said.

“It’s fine. What should I do about the Oasis?” Marley asked.

“Never return to it. My soldiers have already gone through the place. It is now on military watch,” Grant said. "Apologies, I understand that this may come as a disappointment to you.

“...Nah, it's alright. When should I start?” asked Marley.

“Right now. It’s only 1 AM, you have all night to make a few sales,” Wesley said.

“Here,” Grant said, handing Marley a medium-sized bag full of oramania. “That is a pound of oramania. The whole pound is worth about $5080. Try not to sell it all at once, try to spread it out between customers.”

“Got it,” said Marley, beginning to climb up the ladder. “Nice meeting you, Wesley. Hey, we’re not going to be doing this for too long, are we?”

“As long as it takes to perfect the recipe,” Wesley said, deepening his voice at the end to mimic Grant. He smiled. “Nice meeting you too, brother.”

Marley ascended the ladder back out into the world, oramania tucked inside his shirt and a blade in his pocket, and walked outside the fortress towards the city.

A young man with hastily combed-back brown hair ran through the halls of Kraffen’s famed research facility, Rainco Tower, with a plastic bag of oramania in his hand. He was wearing a stained, gross business suit and his clip-on tie was coming loose. He bumped into a few people who simply rolled their eyes at him - he was well-known around the building as the company lunatic. He was well educated in the fields of mechanics and technology, and was somewhat obsessed with his job as an oramania effects researcher.

The man burst through a door into a large room with a stage, an enormous screen, and a big audience. There was already somebody else making a speech and showcasing some sort of unidentifiable and neatly put together machine to the crowd. The man ran up on the stage and watched as everybody turned their heads to him. He waited impatiently for the other person to finish up his speech, and audibly groaned when the other man began to stutter nervously.

“Just give me the lectern, Paul,” the man said.

“H-hang on a second, just let me finish this up-” Paul said.

“Paul,” the man said. “This can’t wait! This is important!”

Paul reluctantly stepped away from the lectern and watched, annoyed, as the other man grabbed the mic and started his speech.

“Hello everybody,” he said. “My name is Claus Armstrong, I am a researcher of the dangerous properties and effects of the most recent infection to plague our streets. Oramania.” He held up the bag for the audience to see.

He waited in silence for some kind of reaction from the crowd that he didn't get. It was becoming evident that the people of Rainco Tech were beginning to become fatigued of him.

“This is the first sample of pure oramania that we’ve been able to get our hands on. Having this sample and understanding its effects will no doubt start us down the path of eradicating this disease from this wonderful city of ours. Any questions?”

The people in the crowd remained largely silent, with a few murmurs of conversation sprinkled in the audience. Finally, a man requested to take hold of the audience microphone.

“Uh, where’d you get the sample?” the man asked.

“Straight from the military, about half an hour ago! They entrusted us to handle it,” said Claus.

“And they gave it to you specifically? Is there any more?" asked another man.

“Apparently somebody who worked at the place they got it had some kind of foresight to their arrival, because it was apparently clean by the time it was raided," Claus said. “But it was undoubtedly the main source of the drug. Well, any other questions? No? Well, here’s the other thing.”

He went over to the side of the stage, did some tampering with a hidden wall projector, and an image of a map of Kraffen was projected onto the screen behind the stage. Certain streets were highlighted on the map.

“These are the drug delivery routes of Kraffen," Claus said. I’ve been looking these routes over recently and it all comes together perfectly, except for one thing."

He pointed at a highlighted route that stretched out into the woods.

"There’s a path that leads off into the forest, which we now know is because it points directly to the Oasis drug store,” he said. “But the thing is, that was just a store, not a laboratory. And according to some of the soldiers who raided the shop, it was selling all sorts of products, not just drugs - gas masks, lab equipment, chemicals, you name it."

Another man spoke into the audience microphone. "Where’s it coming from? Have you found a lab?"

The people in the crowd began to speculate amongst themselves about that particular question.

“Well, we don’t know where exactly the laboratory is, but I think we have a good idea of where the supplies are coming from," said Claus, gesturing to the Kraffen Hospital on the map.

"Hang on," said Paul from behind Claus. "You're accusing a state hospital of supplying criminals with drugs? That's a lawsuit waiting to happen."

“No, Paul, of course not. God!" Claus spluttered out before turning back to the mic. "So! It would seem to me that at least one or more workers at this 'Oasis,' as they called it, might have worked at the hospital. Or might still, who knows!"

"Any idea who it might be?" asked somebody from the audience.

"Nope, not yet. I'm looking into getting permission to investigate the hospital staff myself," said Claus.

“Shouldn’t that be left to the authorities?” asked another man from the audience. “No offense, but your track record isn’t particularly impressive-”

“No, no. This is a brilliant opportunity to make use of our resources and show the media what a brilliant team we are!" said Armstrong excitedly. "We leave this to the police, then we get no publicity and no credit for our findings. You know how they are, based on...uh...past endeavors."

“Ahem,” said Paul loudly. After a moment of being stared at, he whispered “The mic, Claus.”

“Well, I guess that’s all from me, if nobody has more questions,” said Claus. “I’ll keep you all up to date on the situation. Stay tuned, you all!”

Everybody in the audience stood up and left the area. “No!” Paul called over the mic. “Come back! I wasn’t finished! Damn it, Armstrong!”

“Paul, no offense, but nobody’s going to care about your ‘internet’,” said Claus, walking out the door.

He left the building slowly, thinking about his investigation. He didn’t get much recognition for his contributions to the company. He was excited to finally make it on the news for his genius inventions and finally doing some good for the world. As he was walking out the door, he heard a voice.

“What’s up?” asked the mysterious man. His face was hidden by a black hood.

“Hey, how’s it going?” Claus asked casually as he slid into his company car.

“You look like you’ve had a long day, man,” asked the other person.

“Heh, you have no idea,” said Claus as he started the car.

“Believe me, man, I know how that is,” said the man with a sigh. “Took me years to find a way to relieve myself.”

Claus lifted an eyebrow. “Most people figure that out when they’re teenagers.”

“No, not like that. What if I told you there was a substance that could take away the pain and make you feel invincible? What would you say?” asked the hooded man.

“You mean, like, vodka?” asked Claus.

“Hey man, don’t go try and make this hard on me. What I’m sayin’ is, you up for the purple stuff?” asked the other man.

“The purple stuff?” asked Claus.

“Yeah. Y’know...oramania?” asked the man.

Armstrong coughed to stifle his gasp and his hand began twitching uncontrollably. “Y-yeah, sure! Where do I get some of ‘the purple stuff’?”

“Uh, I got some right here, man,” said the man. “You got some place to be?”

“I need to g-go home to, you know, get my wallet! For the purple stuff!” said Claus. “Where should we m-meet?”

“Well, I got a bag right here,” said the man, holding up a bag of oramania. "You could just come back here, c'mon, ain't like anybody's out here looking in this weather.

Claus looked around. “Uh...I’d prefer we d-do this out...somewhere else. Like...in the forest, maybe?”

“Hey man, listen, I get it. You don’t want to meet out here in the public eye. Fine...say we meet up around this time tomorrow out by the old Panto Creek?” the man asked.

“Sounds g-good, see you then!...man?” said Claus, who quickly backed out and knocked over a trash can on his way out of the parking lot.

The man watched Claus head off, then walked over to the nearest phone booth, and dialed a number.

There was a moment of shared silence between the hooded man and the person on the other end. Without saying a word, the man on the other side seemed to know who was calling.

“Did you make a sale?” asked Grant.

“Yeah, I got a guy in a parking lot,” said Marley. “We’re going to meet up this time tomorrow at the old creek in the forest.”

“Excellent,” said Grant. “You have a long and successful career ahead of you with that kind of quick salesmanship. Great job, Marley.”

The commander hung up the phone. Marley stood in the phone booth for a second and looked around him, watching the heavy rain beat down on the roofs around him. Lightning crackled as he contemplated the future of his city.

Chapter 2
TBA

Thank you to for his involvement in the story! Make sure to check out Arc's Kraffen for a far-different version of the story.