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| - It had taken the hooded figure two days to decide how they were going to do it. It needed to be substantial and meaningful. The figure smiled under the cover of their hood. They moved through the castle courtyard slowly and quietly and among the shadows. Carrying the equipment they had selected for the job. A large glass bowl acquired from the alchemist enough to hold 10 liters of liquid. To the bowl four leather straps glued on with powerful adhesive. The last piece of equipment was a small box. The crucial ingredient. Perfect "I knew you would come....eventually." The old man looked at the box.
- A decision must be made over a clandestine program. "Remind me again," she said as her lips pursed over several sheets of paper. "One hundred and fifty is the number, correct?" "Yes, ma'am," her assistant replied. He was almost fifteen years younger than herself, but he was capable and that was all Erin Danielewski needed. "One hundred and fifty?" She asked again. "One hundred and fifty," the assistant repeated. "All to be housed and trained on Reach until the age of fourteen and then..." He paused for a moment. "There's a lot of black ink here." Derek's face reddened slightly. "Understood." "Yes."
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| - It had taken the hooded figure two days to decide how they were going to do it. It needed to be substantial and meaningful. The figure smiled under the cover of their hood. They moved through the castle courtyard slowly and quietly and among the shadows. Carrying the equipment they had selected for the job. A large glass bowl acquired from the alchemist enough to hold 10 liters of liquid. To the bowl four leather straps glued on with powerful adhesive. The last piece of equipment was a small box. The crucial ingredient. The hooded figure reached the large wooden door. The guard manning it nodded at the hooded figure and left his post. Perfect The dark figure moved down the winding steps into the dark dungeon below. It didn't take him long to find the dungeons only occupant. The imprisoned man lay on the floor. Old, thin and frail he looked up at the hooded figure. He had grown a long grey beard he spoke with a rasp. "I knew you would come....eventually." "Yes.....eventually....I couldn't leave it there." The hooded figure placed the items down. The old man looked at the box. "So it's to be a blade then? "Oh no. The box doesn't contain a blade." The hooded figure removed the key to the cell from his pocket and opened the cell. "You will not resist old man. Otherwise it will be much worse for you." He picked up the crate and lifted it's lid pouring the contents of the box into the large glass bowl. Twelve rats fell into the alchemists largest bowl. "These rats....we're selected from the Bowerstone sewer. I caught them myself as it happens." The old man looked confused. "Rats? I don't understand." "Yes. Rats. You see rats are dirty rodents that have lived off the waste of others. Much like yourself. Unfortunately for these rats they haven't been fed or let out of that box for days." The rats were climbing over each other in the bowl squeaking as they did. The old man kept quiet. "Okay well it's time." The hooded figure grabbed the old man singly handed and put the open bowl of rats on his naked stomach and tied it in place rightly with the leather straps. "What are you doing? They are scratching and biting? Just break my neck or stab me on the heart!" It was the hooded figures time to remain quiet. He strapped the old man to the bars of his cell. With the bowl of rats firmly attached to his stomach. The rats has started to bite his flesh. The old man started to scream in pain. "Unfortunately old man. These rats are going to get worse. You see the rat has an amazing will to survive. They will do anything to live." The hooded figure went to the single flame torch lighting the dungeon. He placed the flame below the glass bowl. The bowl heated up immediately and the rats inside became frenzied. The old man screamed in pain. "You're going to get them to eat me to death" he screamed. "Actually no....they want to escape....to survive. However unfortunately it's going to be clawing and biting through your gut old man." "That's barbaric! Please I don't deserve this! The pain! Please." The bowl was starting to fill with the old man's blood as he pleaded the rats biting and clawing through his entrails. "It's what you're used to old man. I am going to leave now. And this dungeon is getting locked and no one is ever coming back down here." The old man's screams had turned to gurgles as blood started pouring from his mouth. "Please.....end it....mercy" The hooded figure stood in the exit to the dungeon. "No" And slammed the door behind them.
- A decision must be made over a clandestine program. "Remind me again," she said as her lips pursed over several sheets of paper. "One hundred and fifty is the number, correct?" "Yes, ma'am," her assistant replied. He was almost fifteen years younger than herself, but he was capable and that was all Erin Danielewski needed. "One hundred and fifty?" She asked again. "One hundred and fifty," the assistant repeated. "All to be housed and trained on Reach until the age of fourteen and then..." He paused for a moment. "There's a lot of black ink here." Erin laughed. "Apologies, Derek. That's because the higher ups knew you'd be reading it. I've got my own personal copy on my computer." Derek's face reddened slightly. "Understood." "Anyway," Erin finally said as she steered the conversation back to the topic at hand, "I don't know how she thinks Parangosky is going to accept this proposal." Erin took the thick-rimmed glasses off her face and set them gently on the top of her desk. She lifted her lipstick stained coffee cup and brought it to her lips, taking a sip of the lukewarm coffee. If she disliked the taste, her face didn't show it. Erin pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "Christ, what a task." Derek grunted as he continued to methodically look over the notes. "All right," Erin said finally after a few moments of silent contemplation. "Time to make a decision." Derek turned on the lamp at his desk and took out a clean piece of paper. He scoured the desk for a moment before he found a pen. "Run the numbers again," Erin asked. "For all one hundred and fifty." Derek nodded and spent the next few minutes working everything out. His hands working feverishly on the page. Writing sums and calculating them. "It's too much," he said after a while. "One hundred and fifty candidates, subjects, whatever. It's too much. The scale of the funds we'd need to divert for that number is unfathomable. It's just not possible. Not with the parliament breathing down our fucking necks." Erin ran a hand through her unwashed hair. "What if we cut it in half? Seventy five?" Derek looked over the numbers. "It's... It's viable." "Just viable?" Erin replied raising an eyebrow. "Viable," Derek said. "If it were up to me, I'd lower even more to around thirty or so." Erin looked astonishingly at Derek. "You really don't want this job, do you?" Derek raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?" "We can't very well say to them 'our proposal is thirty'," she said gesticulating. "Seventy five is the minimum they would accept." There was a pregnant pause. "So," Erin began. "Seventy five candidates - it's doable?" "Yes."
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