<span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><strong>Crash site of U.S. military plane, somewhere near Bonn</strong></span><br/><br/>(http://img444.imageshack.us/img444/7650/032309c17800.jpg)<br/>(Not exact image I wanted, but it was too hard to find a good, crashed c-17 :P )<br/><br/><em>6 months ago...</em><br/><br/><em>"Fire! fire! mayday! mayday! we're going down! I repeat, we're going down!"</em><br/><br/>Jacob rose with a start, having been sleeping for the past thirteen hours, or how ever long the plane flight from New York City had been. The large c-17 airplane was filled with the sound of alarms, and he could see every official bustling about the plane in a panicked sort of way. "Hey, what the fuck is wrong?" Jacob called out, unable to help but yawn as he quickly stood up. "Engine number one caught fire," A solider replied before quickly hurrying past Jacob. Jacob sighed, then began to look around for he was suddenly jolted back into his seat as the plane tipped downwards even further. "Fuck.." he mumbled to himself as he got back to his feet. Jacob was one of the four Blackwater agents assigned to this plane, sent on a mission to secure the borders of Europe from some sort of 'poison'. Poison had been the only thing he'd heard at least. JAcob had jumped at the opportunity, as it had been much better than going back over to Iraq...but now he was almost wishing he'd taken the other option.<br/><br/>Jacob grabbed onto the hand railing as he carefully made his way up to the second floor where the cockpit was. He didn;'t even bother to knock on the door as he opened it. "What the hell is going on?" He asked. The co-pilot turned to him, a grin look on his face. "Engine caught fire, then it spread to the next. We've got no choice but to crash land, sir," he replied. "Better strap in, cause we're approaching fast. Jacob cursed, then turned to make his way back down the steps to the main level of the large airplane. It was a hectic scene. The alarms were blaring, and people were running about, trying to get back to their seats. He could smell the smoke already, and could see the two engines on the right side of the plane on fire. Cursing again, the airplane began to pick up speed, causing him to fall back into his seat. He then buckled himself in for the bumpy ride ahead...<br/><br/>In a few more moments, Jacob was aware of a loud skidding noise, and a thud that nearly shot him out of his seat from the velocity. The next thing he knew, his head slammed back against the wall, and he was out cold....<br/><br/><em>6 Months later, current day...</em><br/><br/>Jacob, along with the other Blackwater agents, had been sent with a military force to oversee the securing of Europe's borders, but then the airplane had caught fire, and they had been forced to crash land. Both pilots had been seriously wounded, and those who hadn't strapped in, were either in critical condition, or dead. There had been maybe ten survivors total, including the other three Blackwater agents.<br/><br/>"We're stuck in this shithole, for who the hell knows how long," Agent Diaz complained. "How longs it been now, 6 months? We'd be better off out there on foot, chancing it with those...things," He said. During the course of the past six months, the survivors had come to realize that the 'poison' had turned whatever human life there had been, into savage, blood thirsty cannibals. The fuckers were fast moving, and loved to come in hordes. Thankfully the airplane hadn't been beaten up too badly. The cockpit had been crushed, and the right wing torn completely off, but the cabin had ended up in good shape. There was no way any of the fuckers could get in, unless someone was dumb enough to let them in.<br/><br/><div class="floatright">(http://img40.imageshack.us/img40/4741/26hurt600.jpg)</div><br/>"Well, there's the door," Jacob replied, somewhat sick of Diaz's constant complaining. "If you want out of here so bad, then go head. No one's stopping you," He replied. Diaz suddenly marched over to Jacob, pinning him against the wall, "What was that, smartass?" he fumed, moving his face close to Jake's. "You know, with no one around, I outta kill you right now, you little shit,"He growled. That was all it took for Jacob to have enough of him..forever. Without warning, his fist lunged forward into Diaz's abdomen, puncturing it with his glock combat knife. "And I've had enough of you," He replied, keeping his cool as the knife blade slid out, slick with Diaz's blood. Diaz staggered back, glancing down to the knife wound. But without warning, Jacob stepped forward and thrust the sharp blade into Diaz again, this time right in his chest. Then in a smooth motion, he removed the knife, watching as Diaz clutched onto his chest before he stumbled to the ground, dead, blood oozing out of the deep knife wounds.<br/><br/>Jacob bent down a little, then wiped the blade of his knife along Diaz's sleeve before sheathing it. If they were all going to survive, then they couldn't be constantly bickering. and with Diaz out of the way, their chances of survival were much greater. Jake had known Diaz had been a bad choice, and he'd argued to try to make sure he wouldn't be apart of the team sent to Europe, but his supervisor had seen things differently. Now the team was down to 5 individuals that could actually do something. The others were critically injured, or had died off from their injuries. Another had had a run in with the infected, and had ended up as one of them....