[THE ASSAULT ON BOYD'S PIANOS]

The night was dank and humid...just another typical summer night
in the Washington D.C. area. Through the darkness, a black-clad and
armored figure moved slowly and surely towards it's goal.

Pulling out a pair of night vision goggles, the figure placed them
onto it's head.

The darkness disappeared as night became day (although in green
tones).

The figure smiled, showing pearly white teeth. Soon, the Boyd
infestation would be removed once and for all from Rockville,
Maryland.

Sheppard checked his kit. Everything was there. He was a walking death
machine (both literally and figuratively).

Using the zoom feature on his goggles (a great deal he'd gotten at
CostCo), Sheppard zoomed in onto the building that was his target.

On the side of the drab warehouse, the sign "BOYD'S PIANOS" could
be seen. Sheppard rotated his head slowly, checking for guards. None
could be seen.

Pulling back the bolt on his suppresed MP-5SD 10mm sub-machine gun,
Sheppard chambered a round. Taking careful aim, he fired.

The sound of the bolt slapping back to chamber a fresh round was
louder than the sound of the sub-sonic bullet.

In a shower of glass, one of the floodlights that lit up the loading
dock shattered.

Sheppard waited silently in the bushes, for any clue of movement that
meant that someone had noticed the light going out.

Five minutes later, Sheppard concluded that nobody had heard or seen
anything. In rapid order, the four remaining floodlights were shot
out, plunging the loading dock/parking lot into darkness.

Under the cover of darkness, Sheppard quickly walked across the
parking lot.

Climbing up onto the loading dock, he found it to be deserted, with
only a single door.

The door was locked and alarmed. Taking out his handy portable
electronics kit, Sheppard pulled off the alarm keypad panel and began
to work his mojo onto the alarm system.

Minutes later, he'd bypassed the (relatively) simple alarm system. No
matter how many times he tripped motion sensors or touchplates, the
alarm wouldn't go off.

Boyd was such a fool, thought Sheppard. He sets up this elaborate
dummy corporation for the sole purpose of eliminating me, and he
doesn't even bother to get a decent alarm for it. Idiot.

With a single shot from the MP-5SD, the lock on the door shattered,
allowing Sheppard to open the door.

His heartbeat racing, Sheppard slowly crept into the dimly lit
hallway. Above his head, a faint 'EXIT' sign glowed. Well, at least
Boyd followed the building codes. Suddenly, Sheppard heard footsteps.
Quickly hiding in the bathroom near him, he watched the night watchman
slowly make his rounds.

Even in the dim phosphorescent green glow of Night Vision afforded by
his goggles, he could tell that the face wasn't Boyd's. However, the
motions told a whole different story.

Everything about this man screamed 'BOYD!', right down to the little
mannerisms. Apparently Boyd had managed to plant his consciousness
into different clone bodies.

He'd have to deal with the guard, but how? A suppressed shot, even
from the MP-5SD, would be audible enough in such a confined space.

That left only one other option. He wrapped his fingers around the
hilt of the KA-BAR Combat knife he carried in a sheath on his
tactical vest.

Sheppard whistled softly from the bathroom. The sound carried over
into the hallway. Boyd #679-A heard it. Pulling out his Walther PPK,
Boyd #679-A slowly began to inch towards the source of the noise.

It was coming from that bathroom. Heart racing, Boyd #679-A slowly
opened the door and moved his free hand across the wall, searching
for the light switch. He felt something...

The moment Boyd's hand touched his arm, Sheppard leapt into motion.
In a blur of motion, he quickly wrapped his left hand around
Boyd's mouth, effectively silencing any screams from the now-doomed
Boyd.

With his right hand, Sheppard brought the KA-BAR to Boyd's throat and
began to hack away fiercely (contrary to what the movies want you to
believe, slitting someone's throat is damned hard. The trachea's
pretty tough; in order to kill someone like that, you have to damn
near hack their head off.) Warm blood spurted out, covering Sheppard's
hands.

After two minutes of struggling, Boyd #679-A gave up the ghost and
died. Flicking on the lights, Sheppard saw that the walls were coated
with blood. Apparently, the arterial blood spurting from Boyd's throat
had splattered the walls pretty good.

Damn. This was gonna be hard to conceal. Quickly frisking the body,
Sheppard discovered a keycard. Pocketing it, Sheppard grabbed the
ankles of the body and began to pull.

Dragging the rapidly-stiffening body, Sheppard placed it in the stall
farthest away from the door, sitting upon the toilet. Taking out an
Improvised Explosive Device (IED) out, Sheppard wired the stall, so
that if anyone forced open the stall door, it would take them out and
destroy the evidence as well.

The body now rigged, Sheppard methodically shot the lights out. Now
anyone coming into here would have to go back for night vision goggles
or a flashlight, which would increase the amount of time before
the body was discovered.

Before leaving, Sheppard took the time to wash his hands clean of
blood. Dammit! Boyd in a fit of P.C-ness had decided to not to
install old-fashioned paper towel dispensers, but those damned
hand blow-dryers.

Sheppard wasted nearly a minute getting his hands dry with
that infernal device.

Finally, he was ready. Slowly and silently, he stepped out of the
bathroom, leaving behind the cooling body of Boyd #679-A.

Slowly, he made his way down the hallway, avoiding those
rare pools of light from the nighttime lights, which had the effect of
blinding his goggles.

Finally, without further incident, Sheppard reached a big, important
looking door with a standard keycard reader.

Taking the card he'd recovered from Boyd #679-A's body, Sheppard
swiped it in the reader. The red LED went out, and a green LED lit up,
signalling that the card was valid.

With a 'snick!' the door unlocked.

As a precaution, Sheppard activated the laser sight on his MP-5SD. You
never knew when it'd come in handy.

Slowly swinging the door open, Sheppard saw a short hallway leading to
a elevator. Punching the 'Down' button, Sheppard waited for the damned
elevator (or lift for you Engles :p) to get there.

Finally, with a 'ding!', the doors to the elevator opened, and
Sheppard stepped inside.

There were only two floors: 'Ground' and 'Subterranean'. Well, well.
This was *so* obvious. Sheppard punched the 'Subterranean' button.
Immediately, the doors closed, and the elevator began to pick up
speed.

Sheppard felt himself suddenly be lifted upwards. Damn, this elevator
must be going at a pretty good clip to make me free-fall.

Finally, after nearly a minute of travel, the elevator reached the
Subterranean level. With a 'Ding!' the doors opened, to reveal Boyd
sitting at a desk at least a dozen feet in front of him!

Boyd #680-A suddenly looked up from his Mac at the sound of the lift
arriving. Who could it be? There were no visitors scheduled today, and
definitely not at this hour.

The lift doors opened to reveal a chilling sight; a figure clothed
completely in black, cradling a MP-5.

Instinctively, Boyd #680-A reached for his Walther PPK and for the
alarm panel. Suddenly, his vision was filled with a bright red light,
blinding him.

Calmly, Sheppard centered the laser dot right between Boyd's eyes and
pulled the trigger. The MP-5SD bucked in his hands as a trio of 10mm
hollowpoints were loosed.

Travelling at subsonic speeds, the three highly-lethal hollowpoint
bullets smashed into Boyd #680-A's face, blowing the back of his head
completely open and splattering his brains all over the wall.

Sheppard watched Boyd slump back in his chair, dead. Keeping an eye
open for other threats, Sheppard slowly walked up the desk. Apparently
it was a security checkpoint.

Pretty shitty guards you got here, Boyd. thought Sheppard.

At that, Sheppard smiled. The guards *were* Boyd.

With practiced ease, Sheppard pulled the chair holding Boyd #680-A's
body away from the Mac. It took several minutes more than it
should've, due to those damn single-button mouses Macs used, and their
sloppy layout, but he managed to disable the alarm system and security
cameras in this level of the complex, as well as the keycard entry
system.

Using the cumbersome Mac interface, Sheppard called up a diagram of
the complex. Hmm....there were several interesting rooms.

The first room was just down the hallway. It was protected by a
keycard entry system, but the status LED, like all the others, glowed
green.

Slowly swinging the door open, Sheppard was greeted with a horryfing
sight: hundreds of cylinders stretching away in a long corridor.
Glancing into each one, he could see various bodies in differing
states of completeness.

Some were missing skin, others were just skeletons, but all of them
had on their cylinders, the words 'BOYD #' stenciled onto their
fronts. Next to the numerical symbol, a LED panel could be seen, with
the number of the clone inside. Stenciled next to the LED panel was
the number B. Glancing a peek at the nearest panel, Sheppard saw
that Boyd was up to 250-B.

Some of the clones had well-enough developed faces for Sheppard
to see the resemblance to Boyd, but others didn't.

Even the CIA, etc. would get interested if hundreds of
people who looked exactly the same were running around.

In the cylinder with Boyd #195-B, Sheppard found a horrifying
sight. He was in it!

Dammit! That SOB must be planning to kill me, and then replace
me with a clone!

Snarling with rage, Sheppard removed the clip of 10mm JHP (Jacketed
Hollowpoint) and slapped in a clip of teflon-coated FMJ (Full Metal
Jacket). That done, he aimed the laser dot right between the
Sheppard-clone's eyes and pulled the trigger, loosing the entire
30-round clip in a cleansing fury.

The cylinder shattered, the clone inside now hamburger. Suddenly,
alarms began to wail.

Shit! I've been detected!

All pretense of stealth now abandoned, Sheppard sprinted into
the main hallway and into the closest room. He closed the door
just in time, for only seconds after the door closed, the sound
of booted feet could be heard.

For the first time, Sheppard took note of what was in the room.
The first thing that hit him was the stench. Raw, unwashed
flesh and fur, combined with shit, hit his senses.

The room was full of holding cages for animals. Taking a peek
inside one of them, Sheppard saw a white-tailed deer cowering
in the back of it's cage.

Of course!

Scottish Highland sheep would be *too* conspicious here on the
East Coast of the US for executing Boyd's main method of attack:
the planting of tactical nukes in vital locations.

So...he's planning on using Bambi...if this wasn't so horrifying,
i'd congratulate him on such a fiendish plan. The animal rights
activists here on the East Coast of the US would prevent
hunters from thinning out the herds of tac-nuke equipped
deer.

Looking around the room, Sheppard counted the number of cages.
A few hundred or so cages lined the walls of the room. However,
all but about four were empty.

A cold fear gripped Sheppard's guts, and he slapped a fresh magazine
of 10mm FMJ into the MP-5SD.

[The Base Command Room]

Boyd #3-A looked across the bank of dark security monitors. A few
minutes ago, they'd gone dead. Even though they were having a lot of
problems with the new base complex and it's systems, Boyd had read
the Evil Overlord list quite thoroughly, and had increased the
alertness level of the base. You could never be *too* paranoid as
an EO.

His suspicions had been confirmed shortly, as Boyds #679-A & #680-A
missed their regular check-in. Moments later, Cloning Capsule #45
reported multiple error codes. Boyd #3-A had memorized the capsule
numbers of important clones. The (now) screwed up clone had
been his special Sheppard clone. Certainly not a coincidence. He
slammed his hand down onto the alarm panel.

In the background, alert klaxons began to blare, and the sound
of troops grabbing their gear could be heard. Pressing the PA button,
Boyd #3-A began to speak.

"All units, this is Number Three. We have an intruder in Section 1-B.
Repeat, we have an intruder in Section 1-B. Remember, stay in pairs,
and search *each* room throughly and report any irregularities."

[Section 1-A - Animal Confinement Area]

Suddenly, the door began to open.

Sheppard gripped the MP-5SD tighter, rasing the gun until the laser
dot was at roughly eye level for an average-sized person.

However the person who stepped into the room was anything but average
sized. The figure stood nearly 7 feet, and was rippling with muscles
under his combat armor. Thick, meaty hands cradled a 9mm L34A1
Sterling silenced sub-machine gun.

Atop this gigantic body was a (relatively) tiny head. The head of
Boyd. Instinctively, Sheppard fired without thinking. The 3 round
burst of 10mm teflon-coated FMJ blew right through Boyd #900-A's
combat armor, and out the other side, after penetrating the rear armor
as well.

Boyd #900-A staggered back, and steadied himself.

Holy *Shit*! This guy must be pumped full of so much steroids and
other crap that he's not even *feeling* it!

As Boyd #900-A raised his Sterling, Sheppard frantically thumbed the
mode selector switch from 'burst' to 'auto' and pulled the trigger.

The Heckler & Koch bucked in his hands as he burned off the rest
of the clip downrange at Boyd #900-A, whose chest simply *exploded*
under the sustained barriage of 10mm FMJ.

'Clack!'

The MP-5SD fell silent, it's last round expended. At that moment
Boyd #900-A fell to the floor lifeless, his entire chest riddled with
bullet holes precisely 10mm in diameter.

Sheppard's problems weren't over however, for directly behind
Boyd #900-A was Boyd #901-A, who was staggering back from the
impacts of the still dangerous 10mm rounds which had passed
through Boyd #900-A. His chest armor plate was dented severely,
but was still intact. Heart racing, Sheppard slapped his last
magazine into the MP-5SD and cocked it.

This time, Sheppard aimed better, and the trio of 10mm rounds
smashed into Boyd #901-A's face, ruining his good looks
permamently.

Sheppard sprinted out the door, over the pair of corpses. Whirling
his head both ways, he spotted a gaggle of Boyd Grunts (his new
nickname for them) methodicially seaching the other rooms in the
hallway.

Once again switching his MP-5SD to full auto, he mowed down the
Grunts, splattering blood all over the walls.

The MP-5SD fell silent for good, his last round of 10mm expended.
Dumping it, he kneeled onto the blood-soaked floor and began
to assemble his secondary weapon from it's individual parts that
he'd carried in his backpack.

It took all of 20 seconds to assemble the weapon and load it with
it's first round, a procedure he'd gone through many times before
until it became instinctive.

With a evil laugh, Sheppard stood up, a MG-42 Light Machine Gun in
his hands. Kicking open the door that granted access to Section 2,
he stepped onto a catwalk above a rectangular-shaped room.

The room continued downwards for about 10 floors, reminding him of
a jail, with it's hundreds of doors on each floor. A noise caught his
attention, and he looked down. Dozens of Boyd Grunts were pouring out
of a room 3 floors below him.

Dropping to a prone position, he aimed the MG-42 at the Boyd Grunts
and pulled the trigger. Immediately a loud canvas hissing sound
erupted from the MG-42, and the gun bucked wildly as nearly 60 rounds
a *second* of 7.92mm spat from it's barrel.

The Boyd Grunts never had a chance.

Most of them died instantly, chopped in half by the hail of 7.92mm
fire from Sheppard. A lucky few managed to crawl away, harboring
fatal wounds that would kill them in minutes.

As Sheppard began to get up, the door to his left opened, spilling
out even more Boyd Grunts. Without wasting time aiming, Sheppard
simply pulled the trigger and waved the barrel in the general
direction of the Grunts, blowing them all over the walls.

Sheppard began to laugh manically. This was the best Boyd could
offer?

Now, he knew that there had to be a control room somewhere...most
likely at the very bottom of the faculity. With that thought, Sheppard
began to trot down the stairs, his footsteps reverberating loudly.

As he reached the ground floor, Sheppard looked around. Suddenly,
without warning, he was pitched back against the wall by the
hammerblows of multiple rounds impacting.

A round managed to nail him in the helmet, giving him a nasty
concussion, and causing him to see double of everything.

Sheppard slumped down onto the floor, the MG-42 falling out of his
grip. Through blurred vision, he could see a black-clad figure slowly
approaching him.

Boyd #3-A slowly walked towards the figure of Sheppard slumped on the
floor, his anger burning brightly. How *dare* this mongrel challenge
the bloodline of the Boyds?

Well, even though Sheppard had managed to massacre his entire
complement of guards, Boyd #3-A had gotten the drop on him. The Boyd
(the original one back in Northern Ireland had decreed that Sheppard
must die if their plans for a Boyd-ruled Scotland were to ever come
to fruition. As a bonus, they'd get to rule the United States of
America.

Thumbing the magazine release, Boyd #3-A dumped the empty clip from
his Walther PPK and slapped a fresh one in. Time to make sure Sheppard
was really dead, once and for all. With that, he began raising the
pistol towards Sheppard's face.

Suddenly, so fast he couldn't have believed it was possible, until he
saw it, Sheppard produced a Colt M1911A1 .45 automatic pistol and
fired.

The heavy, large caliber .45 round smashed into Boyd #3-A, mushrooming
on it's way out to become even bigger than it was already, and in the
process, turning several vital organs into hamburger.

Even as Boyd #3-A began to pitch back, Sheppard fired again
repeatedly, emptying most of the magazine into Boyd #3-A.

Slowly, painfully, Sheppard got up from the floor, still smarting
where his body armor had absorbed the small-caliber 7.65mm rounds from
the PPK that the Boyds seemed to prefer.

Fool. When you want to kill someone, use a large caliber
automatic.

With that thought, Sheppard emptied a final round into Boyd #3-A's
head, causing it to explode like a overripe watermelon, splattering
all over his tuxedo.

Can never be *too* sure.

"What the fuck is it with you guys, Walther PPKs, and tuxedoes?
Do you think you're James Fucking Bond?"

With that, Sheppard began to walk towards the room that Boyd #3-A had
come from. Entering it, he found it full of computer monitors, and
other electronic wonders.

Yep. This is the control room, all right.

Sitting down in the plushly padded chair in front of the central
bank of monitors, Sheppard began to dig through Boyd's computer
systems.

Frustrated once again by the idiocies of the Mac OS (no physical
On/Off button and external floppy drive eject button), Sheppard
muddled around for several minutes before hitting paydirt.

[MEMORANDIUM]

FROM: THE BOYD
TO: BOYD #3-A
PRIMARY SUBJ: ASSASSINATION OF RYAN CRIERIE
(aka Mark Sheppard; MKS; MKSheppard)
SECONDARY SUBJ: ESTABLISHMENT OF BOYD CONSCIOUSNESS IN AMERICA

Due to your age (the Second Boyd Clone ever produced),
I am assigning you the vitally important task of eliminating
the sole threat to the Consciousness; one Mark Sheppard.

(NOTE: I refer to him as Mark Sheppard because that alias is
the one we are the most familiar with)

You will build a cloning complex in Crierie's hometown,
Rockville, Maryland on the East Coast of the USA.

Once you've produced sufficient numbers of Clones, (who will
be assigned the suffix 'B' to designate them as having come
from the new plant, as opposed to our primary cloning plant
in Northern Ireland, which will retain it's 'A' suffix) you
will kidnap Sheppard and have him killed.

Once he has been killed, you will replace him immediately with
a specially-grown Boyd-inhabited clone of him, to keep up
appearances in the newsgroup.

Once this objective has been accomplished, you can move
onto your secondary objective: the establishment of the
Boyd consciousness in the USA

As you well know, our customary method of planting small
nuclear devices (in the 1kt to 14kt range) through
Scottish Highland Sheep would fail miserably on
the East Coast of the US. They're too conspicious.

To this end, I have ordered the Boyds in R & D to
come up with a solution to this problem.

You have no doubt recently recieved the first prototypes of
the BNP-2s. They are basically heavily modified white-tailed
deer of the type so disgustingly common all over the
Eastern Seaboard of the US.

These prototypes are *not*, repeat, *not* to be used to
iniate our strike. They are to be used only to defend
the complex from large-scale enemy attack.

Boyd #2-A (The first Boyd Clone) will be assigned the task
of transporting the final copies of the BNP-2 to you, as
well as the new, secret A/PB-1 'roid.

He will cross the North Atlantic in a UK-flagged ship,
carrying the following:

150 BNP-2s
1 A/PB-1
500 AK-47s
1,000,000 rounds of 7.62 ammo

Once you have recived the ship's cargo, you will be sufficiently
armed to effect our hostile takeover of the US Government.

However, the plan is for a simultaneous takeover of the
Scottish Government, as well. So wait for the 'go' code to
be given.

This plan must be followed to the letter. Failure to do so,
will result in the plan's failure. DO NOT FAIL ME.

Signed
THE BOYD

[Appendix 1 - Description of Shipped Items]

BNP-2 (Boyd Nuclear Planter - Model 2)

Consists of a genetically-engineered white-tail deer with
a small, variable yield tactical nuke embedded in it's chest
cavity to minimize chances of detection. A direct descendant
of the BNP-1, which were Scottish Highland Sheep. Can be
programmed to seek out specific targets prior to detonation,
which can be triggered by:
a). Timer
b). Remote Control
c). Proximity Sensor


A/PB-1 (Assassin/Pleasure Bioroid - Model 1)

This is a vital ingredient in our plan to effect a takeover of the
US Government. We have studied Monica Lewinsiky, and discovered
the factors that helped her...do it.. with US President Bill Clinton.

We have devised the perfect assassin. Due to our advanced genetic
engineering, she/it is completely irrestible to Bill Clinton. Plan is
for a A/PB-1 to use her wiles to get close to Clinton, then detonate
the several kilos of organic C-4 she carries in her breasts. Scratch
one US President.

THIS MESSAGE IS CLASSIFIED TOP SECRET BY ORDER OF THE BOYD.
IT MUST NOT FALL INTO ENEMY HANDS.

[END MEMORANDUM]

"Daaammmnnn me."

"So...Boydie wants to turn most of the East Coast into a glowing
crater...that's bad. But, on the other hand, he's planning on offing
Clinton...that's good."

"The hell with it. I'll destroy the BNP-2s, but keep the A/PB-1."

Sheppard turned back to the Macintosh.

"Now...where the fuck are you, Boydie?"

With that, he called up the global tracking system
that showed the location of every Boyd Clone on Earth.

The screen flashed.

WARNING WARNING YOU HAVE ENTERED A CLASSIFIED SECTION.

PLEASE ENTER YOUR ACCESS CODE NOW:

Sheppard racked his brains for a minute, thinking of possible
codes that Boyd would use. Then it hit him like a ton of bricks.

"Of course!"

Carefully typing in the letters, as to avoid a mistake, Sheppard
entered the words "JamesBond007" and pressed 'enter'.

CODE VERIFIED. THANK YOU.

WHAT IS THE # OF THE CLONE YOU WISH TO KNOW THE LOCATION OF?

"Boyd...2-A."

A map of the globe appeared, and lines appeared, converging on a point
in the middle of the Atlantic.

"Aha! There you are, Boydie!"

He had everything he needed. The evil overarching plan of the Boyds,
and the location of the ship. It was time to book. But first...

Calling up the cloning program, Sheppard began to play around.

The Mactintosh beeped.

WARNING WARNING - YOU HAVE SELECTED TO OVERRIDE
THE MIND ENGRAM PATTERNS CURRENTLY STORED IN
MEMORY WITH A NEW SET OF ENGRAMS. DO YOU
WISH TO CONTINUE?

"Of course I do."

PLEASE ENTER THE NEW ENGRAM NOW:

Sheppard suddenly smiled. Slowly, he began
to type in the address of a particular web site.

'http://galactec.com/timothy'

NEW MEMORY ENGRAM FOUND. DO YOU WISH
TO UPLOAD THIS TO CLONING COMPLEX A?

"Yes."

UPLOAD COMPLETE. NOW ERASING OLD ENGRAM AND
REPLACING WITH NEW ENGRAM...

Suddenly an explosion from somewhere deep in the faculity could
be heard. The screen beeped.

WARNING WARNING! THE NEW ENGRAM PATTERN HAS
INFECTED THE POWER GENERATOR, MAKING IT UNSTABLE.
ESTIMATED TIME UNTIL DETONATION: 5 MINUTES.

"Guess it's time to book, then."

As he left, Sheppard grabbed a Powerbook. He'd need it
to find Boyd #2-A again.

Making it out of the complex just in time, Sheppard was
thrown into the air as the warehouse facade exploded in
a massive fireball.

Somewhere, the wailing of police and fire sirens could
be heard. Sheppard *definitely* didn't want to be around
when the authorities arrived, so he jumped into his hidden
Jeep and roared away.

[Over the North Atlantic - Two Days Later]

The everpresent noise of the C-130 Hercules' turboprops
filled the cargo bay. He'd managed to hitch a ride on a US
Air Force C-130 that was heading to England. Her flight
plan would take her over the projected course of
the ship Boyd #2-A was on.

Sheppard pulled out the Powerbook he'd taken from the Complex
before it's untimely destruction. Once again pulling up the locator
program, he verified the ship's position. He was right on top of it.

Time to go.

Hot-wiring the ramp control, so it wouldn't show up in the cockpit
when he opened the ramp, he opened it, revealing the inky darkness
of night.

He'd chosen to make a nighttime insertion , since he'd have to
freefall nearly 14,500 feet before he opened his 'chute, and then he'd
have to float down the last 5,000 feet. Even a trekkie fanatic would
be able to see a lone figure floating down towards them in daylight.

"Geronimo!"

With that, Sheppard flung himself out of the C-130 and into the frigid
night.

After free falling for nearly a minute, Sheppard finally could see
the reflection of the moon off the waves. To the north, a few miles
away, he could see a brightly-lit ship steaming west towards the US.

That's gotta be Boydie.

Yanking his ripcord, Sheppard deployed his parachute, and felt a
tremendous pressure in his groin as he was yanked upwards
by the force of the chute opening.

Ugg...that hurt.

Recovering from the pain, Sheppard began guiding his chute towards the
ship.

[M/V BOYD'S PRIDE - Owned by BoydCo]

Boyd #990-A slowly walked across the stern, looking for potential
intruders.

As if anyone could get here, in the middle of nowhere.

Boyd #990-A snorted at that thought.

It was the last sound he made, for at that moment, a trio
of .223 FMJ rounds blew his head off.

Seconds later, Sheppard hit the deck of the Boyd's Pride.
Already, hell was breaking loose. For this mission, he had left
his MP-5SD at home, since the 10mm rounds couldn't reliably
penetrate the body armor worn by the Boyd Grunts and still have
enough power to incapicate them or kill them. So he'd packed a
CAR-15 instead, a chopped down version of the M-16.

Unfortunately, the CAR-15 was completely unsilenced, and the sound
of .233 rounds was like thunder.

Alarms broke out all over the ship, and Sheppard saw more Boyd Grunts
burst out of a hatch 20 feet in front of him. Pulling the trigger, he
mowed them down on full auto. Ejecting the spent magazine, he slapped
in another.

[Bridge of M/V Boyd's Pride]

The sound of gunfire reverberated across the bridge, the small caliber
9mm rounds being drowned out by the thunder of .223 rounds.

Goddamit! Sheppard's here!

Pulling out his Walther PPK, Boyd #2-A began to walk down the hallways
of the ship, towards the stern, the sound of gunfire growing ever
louder.

A pair of guards rushed past him, towards the sound of gunfire.

They hadn't gone far down the ladder to the stern when they were
riddled with gunfire.

Damn, He's getting closer!

Sheppard's face popped up the ladder. Boyd #2-A immediately let loose
with his PPK, emptying the entire magazine at Sheppard.

As quickly as he'd popped up, Sheppard ducked back undercover
fast enough to avoid the rounds, but one riocheted off the ladder's
handrails and nicked him in the arm.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Sheppard held the CAR-15 above
his head and pulled the trigger to clear the deck above of any
enemies. That done, he clambered up the ladder.

He saw a shadow disappear down one of the hallways. A distinctive one.

"BOYD! You're not getting away that easily!" roared Sheppard.

Boyd #2-A slapped a fresh magazine into his PPK, as he heard
Sheppard's footsteps pound on the deck, growing louder as Sheppard got
closer.

Suddenly spying his possible salvation, Boyd grabbed some heavy steel
chain dangling from a crane overhead, and quickly fashioned a trap out
of it.

Loosing a round off to make sure that Sheppard knew where he was, Boyd
hid behind a ventilation duct.

From his vantage point, Boyd #2-A could see Sheppard suddenly slow,
moving his head from side to side, looking for his target.

The moment Sheppard's left foot stepped into the trap, Boyd #2-A leapt
from his position and fired his PPK - Not at Sheppard, but at the
chain.

It snapped under the impact of the round. Sheppard screamed and
accidentially pulled the trigger of his CAR-15, spraying the wall
behind him with .223 rounds as the chain pulled him off his feet. The
impact with the deck made him drop his weapon, but it didn't
stop there.

The chain, being quite heavy, dragged him overboard and into the inky
black waters of the North Atlantic. Boyd #2-A rushed to the side of
the ship, and looked down at Sheppard frantically struggling with the
heavy steel chain, before getting dragged under by it's weight.

Suddenly a thought occured to Boyd #2-A. He wouldn't have a body this
way, but he could insure that Sheppard would drown. Grabbing the
dropped CAR-15, Boyd #2-A emptied the clip in the general area where
Sheppard had gone down, which was marked by white foam.

The moment the last round left the rifle, Boyd #2-A fired the round
that was in the CAR-15's under-barrel M-203 grenade launcher. The
entire surface of the ocean exploded in dark spray as the 40mm grenade
hit the surface and sank a few feet before exploding.

There, the concussion underwater from that explosion should knock
Sheppard unconscious and he'll drown.

Boyd #2-A pulled out his communit. "Helm, this is the Captain. I want
you to crank this baby up to flank speed for the next few hours. We've
got a uninvited visitor that I'd like to put as much distance between
as possible."

Flicking to a different channel, Boyd #2-A resumed speaking.
"Security, this is the Captain. We've just had a penetration of our
defenses by an intruder. Post guards all along the railings, keeping
an eye out for people trying to climb back up the hull, or hang from
our hull."

A few hours later, the Security guard chief reported to Boyd #2-A.

"Sir, we've guarded the hull for the last four hours. Nobody's tried
to climb up, and there's no indication that someone is hanging onto
our hull underwater."

"Excellent. Carry on."

With that, Boyd #2-A began to laugh evilly. Now that Sheppard
was dead, there was nothing left standing between their victory and
the establishment of the Boyd Consciuousness in North America.

MUHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAH!

[M/V BOYD'S PRIDE - Captain's Cabin - One Day later]

Boyd #2-A was lying in his bunk, still relishing his defeat
of Sheppard. This feat would surely make him rise in the Collective.

Turning his head towards his desk, Boyd #2-A looked at Sheppard's
CAR-15, which was lying on the desk. Damn that bastard. He'd managed
to kill roughly half the Grunts aboard before he'd been drowned.

[NOTE - Before this, I was having Boyd refer to the Grunts as guards.
Now that Boyd IRL has adopted the Leader/Grunt naming system, Boyd in
this story will think of them as Grunts instead of guards.]

Well, now that Sheppard was dead, everything was going easier. No
more mysterious explosions in the middle of the night that leveled
BoydCo dummy corporations and their hidden bases.

Suddenly, a thunderous explosion belowdecks shook the entire ship.

No! Not again!

Grabbing the CAR-15, Boyd #2-A rushed out of his cabin, to be greeted
by an inferno. Grunts lay on the deck, engulfed in flames and
screaming horribly. Ignoring them, Boyd #2-A ran on, towards the
Boyd's Pride's single liferaft.

As he reached the area where the liferaft was stored in it's
sealed cannister, another explosion shook the ship.

The deck tilted crazily under Boyd #2-A's feet.

Damn, the kneel's been broken.

With a strength born of desperation, Boyd #2-A tore the raft cannister
off it's mountings and threw it into the water, where it automatically
split open, leaving a fully-inflated liferaft that could hold 30.

Without a further thought, Boyd #2-A jumped overboard and began
to swim towards the raft. The surviving grunts, seeing their leader
abandoning ship, did so too, and soon the water was crowded with
bodies.

The grunts didn't get far, though.

"No! *I* and *I* only should be saved!" shouted Boyd #2-A. With
that, he began shooting the other survivors with the CAR-15.

Within moments, the sea was red with blood. Putting down the smoking
CAR-15, Boyd #2-A opened the survival kit on the raft. Pulling out
a pair of collapsible oars, he unfolded them and began to row away
from the rapidly sinking ship.

Minutes later, the smoking hulk that had been the Boyd's Pride
sank beneath the waves, and with it, the Collective's plans
for an invasion of North America.

Ah, well. At least I'm still alive. Sheppard must have planted
bombs when he was aboard.

As quickly as he'd thought it up, Boyd #2-A discarded that theory.

No. An explosion happened in the bow. Sheppard never reached that
far before I killed him. This must be someone else. Who else hates
Boyd...Robert Williams?

It hit him like a ton of bricks. The Baron. He wanted to conquer
Scotland for himself, and himself only!

Boyd #2-A smiled as he contemplated the horrible fate that would
befall the person who had planted the bombs. Sighing, Boyd #2-A
pulled out his compass. From his last look at the chart on the
map table in the bridge, they had been only 560 miles from the
US East Coast.

Quickly locating west, Boyd began to row in that direction.

[2 Days later - 60 miles west]

Boyd #2-A lay sprawled in the raft. Mercifully, the hot sun had gone
down ten minutes ago, and the cool breath of nighttime was upon the
Atlantic. The only illumination for miles (or kilometers if you're a
Euro :P ) was the portable emergency lantern from the raft's survival
kit.

I'm gonna die here thought Boyd #2-A. He was down to just a few
days' more rations.

Thank God I killed all the others. If I had to feed them, we wouldn't
have lasted more than a day before our supplies ran out.

Suddenly, a splashing noise could be heard in the distance. Boyd #2-A
craned his head to see what it was. His heart leapt at the silhoulette
he saw in the darkness.

Even in the darkness, it was unmistakeable. A dolphin! And where there
was one dolphin, there were others! He was saved!

Boyd #2-A started to jump up and down in the raft, waving his
portable emergency lantern, trying to get Flipper's attention.

It seemed to work, for the dolphin started to swim through
the water towards the raft, occasionally breaking the water
in a flying leap.

As soon as the dolphin got within range of the lantern's light,
it dove underwater. Soon, Boyd #2-A could hear clicking noises.

"Come on, Flipper. Come on. I won't hurt you." crooned Boyd #2-A as
he leaned over the raft's side, straining his eyes to find the dolphin.

A pair of hands erupted from the ocean's surface and
grabbed Boyd #2-A, who immediately screamed in fright.

After Boyd #2-A had gotten over the initial shock, he looked
closer at his unidentified assailant and received the biggest
shock of his life. It was Sheppard!

Seawater dripping from his close-cropped hair, Sheppard smiled.

"Surprised to see me, Boydie?"

"No...no! It can't be! No one could've survived that!" gasped Boyd
#2-A.

Sheppard's smile became even bigger. "No one *human*, Boydsie."

With that, he bought his tailfin above the water's surface.

Boyd couldn't believe his eyes. A fish's tail had broken the surface.
It curled up and down in a gesture of greetings.

"Boydsie...next time, do your frickin' homework."

"It's generally not considered a good idea to try to drown
merfolk. It just tends to piss them off. Now, it's time to
return the favor!"

With that, Sheppard pulled hard, dragging Boyd #2-A off the
liferaft and into the water.

"Going down, Boydsie!"

Boyd #2-A managed to suck in one last breath of air before Sheppard
dragged him below.

As Sheppard dragged him deeper, Boyd #2-A beat futilely against
Sheppard's tail in an attempt to cause him pain. What he got for
his efforts was a smack in the face with the tail, which being
mostly muscule and powerful ones at that, *really* hurt.

Still, Sheppard continued to dive ever deeper.

At about 50 feet, Boyd #2-A's lungs shriveled to the size
of a ballerina's fists, and his guts began to lambada up into
his rib cage to protect them against the water pressure.

A few seconds later, as they passed 60 feet, Boyd #2-A's
rib cage began to throb fiercely, his body's way of telling
him "How about a fucking breath here?"

Sheppard, being a merman, was completely unaffected by the pressure,
and continued to swim as if he was in a kiddie pool.

At 100 feet, Boyd #2-A felt as if a nine-ton elephant was stepping
on his chest and throat. At this depth, a marshmallow would be
squeezed into a morsel the size of a breath mint.

Boyd #2-A was beginning to feel the effects of Carbon Dioxide bulding
in his blood. Sheppard was still as minty fresh as before.

At 300 feet, Boyd #2-A's blood vessels in his extremities constricted,
forcing blood into his chest cavity to keep it from collapsing under
the pressure.

Sheppard looked over at Boyd #2-A. Amazing. The man was still alive
and ticking. Well, he wouldn't be alive much longer. With that,
Sheppard redoubled his efforts, tail beating the water faster than
before.

At 400 feet, Boyd #2-A's lungs were the size of baseballs.
Unfortunately for Boyd, and luckily for Sheppard, they were close to
collapsing. If their insides binded together, they couldn't be
reinflated. Boyd #2-A was teetering on the edge of unconsciousness by
now.

Finally, the pair passed the 500-foot mark. The pressure at this point
was nearly 16 times greater than on the surface, and could easily
crush a WWII submarine.

Boyd #2-A was cold, and felt horrible. Suddenly, he heard a voice in
his head...Sheppard!

"Relax, Boyd. Your rib cage by now has no air in it, and you can
therefore hack it...maybe. You're pretty much in guinea pig territory
now, Boydsie."

"But, we ain't stopping here, Boydsie!"

Sheppard resumed diving. Seconds later, Boyd #2-A heard Sheppard in
his head again.

"Boydsie, lucky you! You've just broken the world's free-diving record
of 516-feet! If I let you go now, the chances that you'd survive the
perilous 51-story swim to the surface are...minimal. However, I ain't
letting go!"

*MUHAHhaHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHAHAH!*

Sheppard continued to laugh inside Boyd #2-A's head. It was the last
thing he heard, as his ribcage finally imploded from the tremendous
pressure at 600 feet.
Sheppard attached a weightbelt to the mangled corpse of Boyd #2-A
and let it drop further into the briny depths.

It's Davy Jones' locker for you, boyo!

With Boyd #2-A disposed of at last, Sheppard vented the air in his
swim bladder and rocketed towards the surface.

Breaking the waters surface minutes later, Sheppard pulled
himself onto the raft, his tail hanging over the edge and
into the water.

"Now boys and girls, since I've taken care of Boydsie, I'll tell
you why *I* and I only should rule the world."

"For starters, Boyd is just a Scotsman living in Northern Ireland,
with delusions of ancient 'Boyd Kings' who supposedly ruled Scotland.
Williams and the Baron are just fools who cannot comprehend the
overall cackness of their homeland, the United Kingdom."

"I, on the other hand, am destined to rule the world by befit of my
anecestry. My mother's family, the Hanrahans, is from Ireland, with
a bit of German blood to the side. My father's family is from
Scotland, and they have a long and distinguished record serving the
Empire. :)"

"My Great-Great-Grandfather, John Watson Laurie, served in 5 different
war campaigns and lived to tell the story. He was in the British Army
in the Boer war, Afghanistan, and he was in the Reserves during World
War I."

Sheppard paused to clean some seaweed from his tailfin before
continuing.

"My father's family has mostly served the British Crown, extending
enlightened British rule to the ignorant savages. :)"

"My Great-Grandfather is an interesting story. He enlisted in the
British Army. Sometime during his service, someone beat up an officer.
They called out the unit, and the officer fingered my
great-Grandfather (the guy who did it and my great-grandfather both
had red hair)."

"He managed to escape from the brig and made his way to the docks.
There, he caught a boat to Canada. Once he got there, he enlisted in
the Canadian Army. He told his new CO the story, and when the unit
went over there for WWI, the new CO explained it to his old
unit. It got fixed up, and he fought WWI in Canadian service. Once the
war was over, he bought over the rest of his family to Canada."

Sheppard paused to make sure everybody had gotten it, then continued.

"In 1939, he tried to get over there again (he was currently in the
Black Watch Reserves), but they found that he was already receiveing a
pension from WWI (deaf due to shelling) and drummed him out. After
the war, the family moved to the States, and here I am!"

"I even have some of his medals. There's one for good conduct. Another
one for WWI ('The Great War for Civilisation' or somesuch nonsense)
and WWII."

Sheppard finished his story and curled his tail into the raft.

"In short, while Boyd and the others have a limited anecestry, my
anecesty is Irish, German, Scottish, and Canadian. Beat *that*!
MUHAHAHHAHAHHA!"

Sheppard would've continued laughing well into the night, if a
familiar voice hadn't broken the silence of the night.

"Good girl, Fifi! You've found Sheppard!"

Sheppard whirled around, to see LT. HIT-MAN
standing in the cockpit of a cigarette boat racing
towards him at 50+ knots. Next to him was
an enormous Rancor, which was sniffing
the air constantly.

HIT-MAN rammed the throttle even farther forward.

"Faster, dammit, you piece of Shit! I want IP4!"

Sheppard dove out of the liferaft and into the water scant seconds
before the cigarette boat sliced it in half.

HIT-MAN lowered his Night-Vision binoculars slowly, not believing
what he'd just seen.

"Well, well...Looks like Sheppard's a fishboy."

It would be unique, torturing a merman, and nothing like
torturing a normal person. HIT-MAN smiled in anticipation
of the challenge, and of couse, reading IP4.

[END]

Methinks I better go finish IP 4a before HIT-MAN decides
to have fish for dinner. :)

[BTW - Boyd, you've got the June 1999 issue of _Maxim
Magazine to thank for the in-depth detail of how water
pressure affects your body. :)]
MKSheppard

Hmm...shouldn't this be labeled as [TGOD]?

Inside HIT-MAN's boat, a black-haired man stood hunched over a
small computer screen, busily hacking his way into the NATO
sonar network...you cannot escape, Sheppard. Where the rancor
failed, the sonar net will not.

(In the middle of the ocean, a boat suddenly transforms into
what appears to be a submarine ala Inspector Gadget/Robotech,
and dives down, hunting for the procrastinating merman...)

BWAHAHAHAHH!

> [BTW - Boyd, you've got the June 1999 issue of _Maxim
> Magazine to thank for the in-depth detail of how water
> pressure affects your body. :)]

And today's question, class: What is the effect of a Mk. 48
ADCAP torpedo on a merman? Or a nuclear-tipped edition of it?
Phong Nguyen

>Hmm...shouldn't this be labeled as [TGOD]?

*shrug* Got me there.

>Inside HIT-MAN's boat, a black-haired man stood hunched over a
>small computer screen, busily hacking his way into the NATO
>sonar network...you cannot escape, Sheppard. Where the rancor
>failed, the sonar net will not.

Nice try...but the NATO sonar net is FLOODED with biologics.
(whales, dolphins, etc.)

Since I'm not wearing scuba gear, you really can't detect me.
(well, you can, but you'll have to look through the gill noise
of approximately one bazillion fishes before you find me.)

BTW, the NATO sensor net's called SOSUS.

>(In the middle of the ocean, a boat suddenly transforms into
>what appears to be a submarine ala Inspector Gadget/Robotech,
>and dives down, hunting for the procrastinating merman...)

And you're slapped with a shitload of fines by the US Coast
Guard for multiple violations. (Failure to properly register a
watercraft, etc.) :p

>BWAHAHAHAHH!

MUHAHAHHHAAHAH! I *love* playing the US legal system like
a fiddle!

>And today's question, class: What is the effect of a Mk. 48
>ADCAP torpedo on a merman? Or a nuclear-tipped edition of it?

Bad bad bad bad. Oh, did I say it was bad? :)

[sound of phone dialing -don't ask how underwater]

There! The ACLU, SPCA, PETA, Greenpeace, and the Media are
now on your ass. Why?

I'm an endangered species, and you're violating my civil
liberties. :)

Don'cha just love the US Legal System? :P
MKSheppard

> Since I'm not wearing scuba gear, you really can't detect me.
> (well, you can, but you'll have to look through the gill noise
> of approximately one bazillion fishes before you find me.)

And that's why, in addition to the rancor, the SOSUS net and
HIT-MAN's transforming boat, we have a nice little AnimeTech
supercomputer constantly hunting you down. Besides, what
competent Imperial relies exclusively on primitive 20th century
passive sensor networks? Especially the #2 Hacker in the galaxy?

::Scene shows odd-shaped submarine diving towards Sheppard,
blasting his vector with the sweet strains of Barney::

> BTW, the NATO sensor net's called SOSUS.

Yep, just decided not to call that

>And you're slapped with a shitload of fines by the US Coast
>Guard for multiple violations. (Failure to properly register a
>watercraft, etc.) :p

We are...the Men In Black. You have violated standing order
#48A5 - failing to finish a work of fan fiction within a
prudent and reasonable amount of time.

(Watch as a neuralizer the size of a searchlight turns on
against said Coast Guard cutter, and which we promptly
show our registration)

> I'm an endangered species, and you're violating my civil
> liberties. :)

You be in international waters, sir. And I've "aquired" statistics
showing an abundant Merman population lurking around the remains
of Atlantis. You ain't endangered no more. Now the Media, we can
talk about dereliction of duty, where you got them weapons from,
the list goes on and on...And what about the experiments to create
a merman, hmm? Time to have some more people pounce on you!

Besides, killing you would only mean IP would never be completed,
and we couldn't have *that*, now could we?

> Don'cha just love the US Legal System? :P

You ain't the only one with it twisted around your finger :P

(And now, Phong unleashes his main weapon - not primitive
torpedoes, but a GERTCAM - an amplification system for
magic. Hooked up is a mage we co-opted, and in our sights
is one particular merman. We plan to capture you long enough
for you to finish IP - and the computer you're working on
has MS-DOS editor, DOS 6.22 on a 10MB HD and nothing else.
No Rainbow 6 for you!)
Phong Nguyen

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