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Born in a small coal mining town in western Wyoming, Serrin grew up in near poverty level conditions. He never knew his biological father, but his mother remarried around his sixth birthday to a relatively rich man. His mother always spoiled him the best she could, he was her only child, she was over protective and doted on him quite a bit. But about his step-father, Serrin took a liking to this man and the things he had. He was a small time hacker and cable thief. He hung out with few others but this man learning the fundamentals of electronics and other arts of "Kung Fu." Gary always treated Serrin as an adult and not like a son, he let him help in his business and in his small shop. In school he was taunted and beaten up so he avoided other children even more and withdrew into books and computers. He was hacking and surfing the very young net at age eleven. Besides dodging bullies he also made some friends among the native American children on the reservation. Neither bunch went to school much, the native Americans because their culture doesn't encourage it, and Serrin because school to him made little sense (they seemed to go by the maxim "catch up by going slower.") They called him bright eyes for some reason, he learned from them and the medicine men much of his early moral philosophy and how to live his life. He learned the rest in books like "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance."
Living on the reservation and being a whiteman, he learned allot about the U.S. government and life in general. Their philosophy on the earth and community are strong in him. Being honest, doing what is right, giving to the greater good, are all strong beliefs; what he values most in others is straight-forwardness and friendship. Serrin also learned about the cycle of life, everything dies, and you rarely pick when. He sees killing and death as just another step in this cycle. But all of this was learned along with a hatred and utter dislike for his native country, their government, and agencies. To call them a incompetent conglomeration of liars, cheaters, thieves, and bigots is only a fraction of his feelings.
Spending some of his days with them gave him his fondest childhood memories, running in the forest hunting small animals whose hide he would sell to make money for his next gun. They also had a good deal of fun walking on hot coals. Serrin tried this and didn't give up, despite the blisters he got that would keep him pinned to his computer while they healed. He mastered it eventually and that gave him a tremendous boost in willpower, he knew then there was nothing he couldn't do.
During high school he "Bloomed." He played hockey, wrestling, and rugby. He still loved books and computers and spent tons of time in the County library where he worked as a librarian assistant. Going to high school meant leaving the reservation, but he never forgot his friends there, and still went to see them when he skipped class. Then, his mother died of surossis of the liver when he was seventeen, just before he graduated. This was the first person close to him to die; he didn't cry or feel any remorse, if a psychologist would have cased him, they would have labeled him a sociopath. After his mother died though, he was put into the custody of his crazy uncle Edy. His step father left town days before his mother died, all he left Serrin was an old Tandy. Edy though proved to be a real fun guy. He was more commonly known as three fingers Edy, because he only had three fingers on both hands. Not that that stopped him from building and selling bootleg fireworks. Serrin actually picked up a little bit on these goodies while he lived with Edy for those ten months before he went to College in Boulder.
Since Serrin was taking nearly all college credits when this happened, his junior year in high school, he graduated early and went to the University of Colorado-Boulder and majored in Computer Science and Electrical Engineering. This only added to his hacking, but he was an unlikely hacker, for he disguised himself as a jock by spending long hours in the gym and on the rugby field. Besides extra curricular activities, Serrin also took may courses including philosophy, theology, and astronomy. Mostly out of interest, but also because he always preferred to have a little bit of knowledge in everything. He also began to study Aiki Jutsu with the local club and he progressed rapidly. He also volunteered service with the international department acting as a guide and first friend to many of the foreign students that came to Boulder. He had a way of quickly picking up their words, and eventually took courses in Japanese and French (where the majority of students came from.)
After college he was recruited while at the airport waiting for a flight out to his first job. He never made it to the job interview. His step-father had just died and he felt that killing anything was better than working in a lab (no matter how much they were gonna pay him.) The recruiter asked him if he could take a moment to help his nation, and strangely he complied (despite his hatred of the U.S. Government) he was unable to refuse this man. When the recruiters laid it all out on the table, he was utterly shocked, but he never batted an eye. He had always known there had to be life elsewhere, but never thought it was here. This seemed like his chance to do a real service to the greater good. More so than writing software for networking. He signed on and disappeared from the world of mortals.
The first person he met was a cybernetacist named Eric Brodey. A brilliant computer scientist and bioelectrical engineer from Boston. After the fourth day they were moved into different areas. Serrin didn't hear anything about Brody until he saw the laser torch team etching a name on the Spire, he approached and saw who it was. That shook him and it took a day to get it back together. After that he only saw two cadets die, in a live fire tactics drill during year three. Shot through the heart at 45 yards by an instructor, Serrin made it to him, but was unable to do anything. That incident prompted him to study medicine and apply for those classes. The first year he was always playing catch-up. Serrin wasn't the fastest, the strongest, the smartest, the most cunning, or the toughest; but he never quit. He never quits.
He made it through the first year without using any of his "excuses." The second year though he developed an intense sense of competition both in Chess and Rugby. Having played Rugby at home he was quite good at it and ranked in the top 15%. He did less well at chess, but only because he doesn't like the game. He knew it before he came but never got into it. His style is definitely blitzkrieg aggressive. At the end of year two he was drafted at number 55 to the SecOp division, his first choice. During year three he learned more about weapons than he will ever care to share. The unarmed training was also insanely intense. He actually had to fight a drill instructor once. The DI asked if there was anyone in the platoon that had hand to hand training. Serrin and one other recruit raised their hands (foolishly honest). The DI pointed at the other cadet and he stepped out onto the mat. That recruit was buried. The DI pointed at Serrin, who fearing for his life, but having no intention of running or dying, moved onto the mat. After avoiding a startlingly quick heatstroke and shin kick he disabled the DI with a side step in thrust that dislocated his shoulder and KO'd him. His favorite weapon is the HK USP in any caliber, but like all things weaponic "The bigger the better." His favorite part of year three was blowing things up, he realized his true calling in life is destroying things and since then has viewed everything as just one more thing that would be neat to blow down. The fourth year Serrin loved, not failing once during the 'field trips.' During the generals ball he maneuvered away from a gaggle of crazed mages and outwitted one psi-op to get in the sac with one of the Female Black Ops who was posing as a influential head of state. That it was the only sex he'd had in the last three years made it even more incredible (he still keeps in touch with her--Science Op.)
During year five he was hooked up with his squad. They managed to make it through the Maze with only the Combat Op getting shot while getting the weapon from a Robot sniper. Another Squad member made the sacrifice; that done, Serrin will trust them for the rest of his life. Serrin was the squad leader for The Log. One science op got shot, Serrin shouldered him and they made it to cover, there the science op bled to death. During some of his final classes in year five, specifically a class on Theology and Philosophy, he earned the nickname Deacon. He wrote his final essay analysis on The Company as a religion; as a personal essay exploring the beliefs of the author on duty and honor. He wrote that duty supersedes honor but without honor, duty is meaningless. He placed the Conspiracy as the gospel, Argus as the prophets (or the disciples), and the ops as the followers. His comparison earned him the nickname of Deacon by the Prof and students when he presented. The presentations were a bonding exercise between the ops; his conviction about his thesis were never questioned and the other Ops gave the name in seriousness.
He made it through the five years of training to become a SecOp, placing high in his class. The team he met there were his buddies. They trained, ate, slept, lived, and shat together; never once did one die. Then they were assigned to section eight. After training he was radically changed. He reverted back to his old way of no/little competition, he doesn't try to better himself against other team members. He is increasingly violent, sees violence as a tool, is good at violence, function before form, and makes it is duty to be more violent than his enemies. He now lives between hotels; as the consummate Company Man and Shadow. He patiently awaits the wonderful buzz of Omicron.
- The Academy in Nevada 970620
- As fate would have it he didn't have to wait long. After getting settled, well walking into the dorm room at the Academy, he felt the buzz. Deacon and his team members, Gypsy the flighty Tech op and Shadow the dark and mysterious Sci op, were called in for an immediate briefing with Mr. Johnson. Their controller reclined in his plush chair in the otherwise Spartan briefing room. The gray walls held nothing but the pair of white boards and Johnson's flat screen advanced PC station. "Gentlemen, please be seated."
- Outside Jerico. 970623 2100
- The wind whipped in his ears as the HMMWV cruised across the open desert with Shadow at the wheel as they were returning to Jerico to finish what had started with the slaughter of the foolish team of archeologists that only left one student alive. Even at night he couldn't overlook the irony in this places name: The Dead Sea. Gypsy's seismic sensors had proven very useful in locating the monsters, and now they ringed Jerico, but showed no activity. The beast in the back of the Deuce and a half was still sedated and in its cage, also showing null activity too.
- All that remained now was to finish the job and destroy their lair with the foul ghouls in it. Ghouls had haunted this locale long enough, they were here to rout them out. The cold desert air brought him back to reality as a bright white spot flared to life on his thermal headset. The HMMWV crested the dune and just got air as Shadow let off the gas to keep from pitching. The nearly instantaneous return to earth jarred Serrin as he stood in the Mk-19 copula and radioed, "Contact, 200m one o'clock, relative." After the response clicks from Shadow, and Gypsy in the 2 1/2 a quick squeeze of the trigger and a quartet of crumps later the ghoul was gone. "Contact negated," he said into his throat induction mic. "Roger. Jerico should be about 1.5 clicks out," Shadow said. Serrin didn't even look up at the stars as they raced on their gruesome way.
- Outland Nebraska. 970701 1415
- The flat terrain roamed to the horizon as did his mind while riding the '50 Ford pickup out to this Drekhead's house. But Serrin 'Deacon' Fortisque allowed his mind to wander; the plan was made, the intel in, the recon done, he couldn't do anything now but worry and he did enough of that as it was. Things had moved along rapidly after the mission to the Dead Sea, a new helicopter, a Black Helicopter, shaped like a long dragon-fly crossed with a Gazelle helo was their new ride. The pilot was annoying, the co-p worse, but they did their job; maybe he could respect them. Deacon and the team had been to Warehouse 22 in the Minneapolis Mall of America, ironic he thought, there they had been allowed to take a idiotically short glimpse at the new learning on the Greys.
- Their second mission to Aspen CO. had left him with a serious dislike of all things with six legs and sharps mandible chompers. But he couldn't argue with success, they had destroyed the hive, the queen, and no one died. He could still remember the steely look in Gypsy's eyes as they entered the cave with the bitch in it. Words had escaped them all, he glanced over at Gypsy and the Doc, and they all just pulled the trigger.
- Now, barely a day later, they were riding in this POS Ford on the way to the residence of a maniac moron summoner who had intentions intentions of calling Mefestophalize, and asking him to behave. Deacon had to chuckle to himself as he was already talking about this slug in past tense. Arthur and his pal Copperpot would soon meet a fast death after brief interrogation. Nothing would be left behind, just a quick cover-up and a plausible cover story. Then the Orb of Death would be leveled by the Black Helo. Last, the poor old bookseller in town, Mr. Winters, would be erased and his books all taken. Gypsy nudged him in the arm as he sheathed his precious Cystron. "We're almost there."
- "Good. I can't wait." The plan already finished in his mind, all the steps and contingencies worked out, planning his post-action report, and looking forward to the Helo ride home, anything to get away from this never ending sea of corn. It had turned out the pilot was ok, but he still couldn't handle the co-p.
- Somewhere in Siberia. 970716 2245
- Deacon's brain ran through every curse, profanity, and vulgarity he could think of. Even compared to the teams last mission to the hellhole known as the arctic where they faced an amebic slug that crushed his leg and nearly turned then into wall splatter; this sucked. No matter how hard he prepared things seemed to go to pot. Apparently there had just been a 'dogfight' between two UFO's. One of those being knocked from the sky in dazzling explosions of invisible coherent light. Now Deacon, Gypsy, Shadow and the two new team members, Mr. Paterson and Xerox were headed to the crash sight. Cold Siberian snow bit at his face mask as the whole team rushed through the trees after ditching the sleds. The darkness was cut by his night vision goggles, making the world a eerie green. Branches and saplings blurred in his vision as they sped by. His legs burned, pumping madly to keep up with Gypsy and Xerox ahead of him. He flipped up the goggles to get a real look at the world. He could see light through the trees from the stars up ahead in some sort of clearing. Not even one hundred yards ahead. He couldn't help but think how they had gotten here.
- They had been sent by the increasingly inept Mr. Johnson on a recon mission into this Siberian wasteland. Three thousand square miles was small when compared to the whole of Siberia, but when only a team of five were sent on snow mobile with a single Black Helo, that was absurd to him. Mr. J had sent them out after 'anomalous blips' on the radar that randomly showing up every two to three weeks, and this was a one week mission. If there was one thing Serrin didn't like it was getting jerked around by his tool.
- The smell of fresh cut pine and wood pulp caught his attention. The crashing UFO had plowed a swath through the lush forest as it collided with the Earth. They stood at the far end of this corridor, with the trees laying nearly perpendicular to the crash line. Short minutes later they were at the crash site and Xerox was covering from the tree line with the mini-gun. Gypsy barked over the taccom, "Russian Commonwealth Su-31 on us now. Su-27 inbound. Estimated 2.00"
- "Twinkie. Prepare for pick up. We'll rig the craft." Deacon then turned to the others and ordered them away from the craft and out of the way of the inbound -27's. The Frogfoots swooped in at a low altitude and released long fueltank like canisters. The lightened fighters leapt up and banked away. "Back in. Now. Get to the craft. Everyone," Deacon shouted. The canisters had dropped a full load of some kind of disinfecting foam that had bathed the whole site in a thick creamy foam. Radiation warnings were going off as they neared the site. Gypsy, Shadow, Deacon, and the new guy Mr. Paterson climbed through the almost scalding foam and got to the battered craft. All they could do was tie their roped onto it and hope the Helo had a cargo hook. The craft being a new model, it wouldn't surprise Deacon if it didn't.
- "Deacon. Twinkie inbound to your location. The CAP is hot, but the stealth is holding. About one minute."
- "Roger that. We're here." The following agonizing minutes were spend waiting for the Black Helo to arrive and Xerox shedding his mini-gun to go down into the craft looking for anything to take back. Just as Xerox had been down there for about fifteen seconds, the Helo crested the tree line to the south. Blacked out and silent, running on batteries, Deacon could only see it because he knew where to look. It's rotor beats were only audible when it was a mere 200 meters away. Twinkies bird covered the quarter click to the craft with blinding speed and then stopped on a dime directly above them. The rotor wash from the dual set-up pounded the foam into his mask and clothes. It came down low and Bloomhower-the-idiotic released the cargo hook.
- "Get in! Get in! The Su-27's are coming around. We're silhouetted!!!" Twinkie yelled over the intercom. Mr. P was the last one in and Xerox was still in the craft. The normally agile Gazelle like Helo slowly climbed under the burden.
- "Drop a line to Xerox!" Deacon yelled, as Gypsy and Shadow braced themselves to lower the rope. "Twinkie don't tell me this bird can't shake these commies."
- "It can't with this load and any visual lock. Their guns will eat us up. I'm gonna drop that craft."
- "No! We're bringing back that craft." Deacon shouted over the bedlam filling the helo's interior. Twinkie and Bloomhower frantically punched at their MFD's and did their best to jink with the overloaded helo. As the pair of Su-27 came at the Helo, Twinkie panned and yawed to bring the 20mm chain gun to bear. It let out a long roar as the slugs cut through the air and the blast lit the interior of the Helo. One Su-27 pulled up after firing a AAM, while the other wasn't fast enough and caught the gout of lead amidship and puffed a small cloud of smoke. The first pulled up into the low cloud cover, while the second gracefully arced down into the trees, then the ground, and then the hard earth, leaving just a shallow crater. "Good work fly-boy! I knew you could do it." Deacon yelled into the cockpit as a cheer came up from the cargo bay. "Now just get us out of here."
- "Shouldn't be a prob," Twinkie said as he smiled his patented shit eating grin. "There are lots of hills to hide behind and the weather sucks. Plus, I'm driving. Null perspiration Squealer."
- Warehouse District, Seattle. 970806 1800
- Sitting in his reclining chair, Deacon let the conversation fade. Gypsy, Mr. P., and Shadow were over going over notes, and intel they had gathered. The new warehouse apartment that they had 'liberated' and refurbished was a nice two story, ten thousand square foot, old, worn out, sheet metal construction building that should have been condemned. Things had changed allot since they quit living in the damn dorms. The company policy of letting Protective Agents 'acquire' their own supplies was showing significant savings. Most agents were resourceful enough to get by if not better.
- As their words died down he couldn't help the feeling he had of how lucky he was. Ever since he was young he was never lucky, he made his own luck. At college he'd had a 4.0 not by luck but by busting his ass. He'd made it through the academy not by luck but by the sweat and blood he had left behind. But now here he was, three missions after that debacle in Siberia. Following that they had uncovered the whereabouts of two ops that Deacon greatly feared had gone rogue. That wasn't something he wanted to have to deal with, but thought he understood. Next they had taken down a Grey staging base in Louisiana and recovered a functioning but uncooperative vessel. They had also discovered the form of a new Alien on Earth. Though they still weren't sure it was an alien, they were sure it was bad, and had good weapons. One grenade had exploded in a fifty yard blast area, covering it all in plasma.
- Finally they had been sent to discover the whereabouts of a lost team of scientists in Antarctica who were searching for Atlantis. Deacon feared this was a scrag yank too, but it had quickly turned into the old usual: Genetic clones of US Navy SEALs storm weather station kill everyone disappear without a trace.... yeah right. That was what he loved about this job, nothing was ever normal. Though if it hadn't been for good lady Sun Set, they could never have succeeded in destroying the Grey's Antarctic base and stealing the alien craft. Though now both legs hurt when it was gonna rain, they had made it out. The harrowing battle across the flight deck that ran a minute seemed like forever. He knew they were lucky 'cuz they had made it. Not a single Grey clone had shown up with blaster rifles. Sheer luck. Mr. Murphy hadn't shown up, and then they actually got a whole week off for the first time in nearly two months.
- Then reality came back into focus and he heard Mr. Paterson asking, "So the bugs are in the people and in the penthouse!?!" Nods all around. "So we still have to kill them all, Geek." His bald head shone as he fired the cheap shot at the tech.
- Gypsy didn't even look up as he typed away at the cystron, "Shut up." Ahh, he loved this job.
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