The room was more silent than a funeral, the sounds of the rain splashing against the clear windows, the sky a vortex of ashen grey clouds that obscured all the light from the sun. Casting the world in shade. Lightning flashed, a yellow streak, a slash across the clouds. The thunder roared along with each flash, as if shouting out the anger of the failure it had observed. A streetlamp outside the office flickered, its glow dim and pale against the storm. More rain splattered onto the well beaten down road, as if a shower of meteors trying to barrage the land, trying to destroy it. But like the mission, it had failed. But never mind. They could try again right? Wrong. Dead wrong. This was the only chance they could get. And they had blew it. Big.
The man sitting inside the room glanced around, taking in every detail with his keen eyes. The cracked, slightly chipped walls, the plaster and paint peeling. The occasional droplet dripping from the ceiling. The wooden table, its drawers ajar. A single piece of paper hung out of it, as if begging to be noticed. It read two simple words that had been issued from a fax machine lying beside the desk. Extraction failed. The man blinked once, looked away instantly, refusing to accept the reality of the situation. He turned his attention to the leather chair that was remarkably out of place here, its surface polished, shiny, clean and new. Unlike everything that was in here. Including him. The computer on the desk was still on, a soft hum issued from the processor every now and then. The man took a sniff, a deep one. Blood, the stench of it filled his nostrils, and he stared blankly at the gaping wound on his right arm, the deep cut that was still open, the crimson fluid that dripped down it onto his combat fatigues. Then he looked at his shoes, and saw the mud, the thick soil that caked his soles. And he gingerly reached forward to touch his wound, wincing at the pain from it. He shook his head, as if trying to clear out some event from his mind. But it was all true. All real. He let out a sigh, closed his eyes and thought back to the horrific events that had occurred earlier. As his eyes closed, the door behind him swung open. And then closed again. And then the grating sound of the key turning once to its left - locked. And then being pulled out. And then the soft deadly click of a gun’s safety catch being flipped. And being primed. And then held to his head, the cold metal touching it. But the man heard, felt, nothing of that. He was already in a place far, far away…
0327 hours, Greenwich Mean Time
Blade looked up into the night, the individual stars shining in the sky. The pale full moon hung above he and his men, casting a silvery sheen upon them. Taking a deep breath, Blade stared at the complex again through a pair of heat sensitive goggles. But nothing was detected, the shapes remained blue. Which meant cold. Or otherwise disguised men. Blade hoped it was not the latter. He activated his UHF transmitter radio, and spoke into it. “Okay people, this is our last mission. Remember, we’ve only one shot at it, its all or none. Lets do a head count.”
“Cobra, all’s fine here.”
“Hawk Down, all safe and sound.”
“Brainac, I’m good to go.”
“Demon, The ways ain’t blocked here.”
“Blade here, okay men lets go get SH and liquidate him before we are detected. Over and out.”
Iraq is a hot place, and the streets, or at least the streets they were standing at, were plagued with filth, the stench of horse dung unmistakable in the air. A wind was blowing towards them, and the darkness of the night helped to provide cover for their mission. Dressed in black fatigues, exhibiting a muscular physique, complete with serious expressions, each hefting various assortments of weapons, you might mistake them to be some form of futuristic warriors. Blade raised his hand up, and the rest nodded in agreement. The all clear signal. It was time to go. They were fast and efficient, following their training, moving not as individuals but as a single whole, coherent and quick. They were all crouching, silently sweeping across the streets, towards the destination: A huge fortress like thing on the top of a craggy hill. The fortress once had gigantic large stonewalls, but they had been knocked down. Now all that remained was a huge rectangular building and two guard towers. The fortress had 5 entrances in, and several escape routes, though the routes were only able to be opened from the inside - nothing short of a charge of C-4s could grant them access; which would jeopardize their mission by alerting their hosts of their arrival. Blade glanced his watch, the numbers pulsing a radioactive green. 0332 hours. Approximately 2 hours till sunrise. Activating his countdown timer, muscles tensed with caution, Blade proceeded to the junction.
The junction composed of a large fountain at the very centre, 3 abandoned shop houses and 5 roads. A signboard hung by its end off one of the shop houses, the remains of a previous raid by the United States Army, the Delta detachment. All the roads lead to the same place. The fortress at no man’s land. “Okay team, split up. Remember, eliminating SH is our primary objective. Nothing else matters. This is no time to show forms of remorse or hesitation. Just do what you do best. Signing out.” Blade whispered into his mike, and then cut himself off the communications. Standard operating protocols. And at once the team split up, now once again different individuals. With different techniques to achieve their goal. But that didn’t matter. As long as they achieved their objective. Looking at the side road warily, Blade pulled out his MP-7 and started to make his way to the top.
As he passed by an overturned dustbin, Blade’s heart was thumping loudly, it seemed to him, as there was not a sound to be heard - it was unnerving. He pictured his teammates now, each silent, readying themselves for the kill. The action. The danger. And preparing themselves for the cruel fact - they might not leave this place alive. The silence seemed deafening, and Blade felt his heartbeat quicken as he proceeded down what might be the last stretch of road he would go down. He wished they could keep their channels open, any noise was better than no noise. But it was still safety protocols. Blade had done this so many times he should have been full of confidence. But this wasn’t so today. On this particular mission. Anything can happen. Bear that in mind. He reminded himself, constantly, his senses heightened, listening for the tell tale sign of a gun being loaded. Or anything like that. As he neared the end of the path, he felt a strange sense of foreboding come over him. Something was not right here. But what? The fortress loomed ahead of him, the top of it covered in faint mist. Then it came to his mind. This was easy. Too easy. He paused in his tracks, not moving an inch, blending in perfectly with the shadows. There was something amiss. But what. His mind raced. Blending in with the shadows? Wait. Shadows? A moment ago there hadn’t been any lights on. “Oh s**t…” He breathed. And then someone suddenly spoke out of the shadows. “Surprise!” Blade leapt back, barely avoiding a hail of bullets that had escaped from a dark patch behind him.
He immediately whipped around, and in seconds, his gun was up and blazing. Bullets seemed to run back and forth, from him and the unseen enemy, as if running a relay. But the odds were against him, the spotlight shining at him, the enemy concealed in the folds of the shadows. Fighting an invisible enemy. Well that was just helpful…Blade dove behind a huge metal dustbin, ducking behind it for cover. But as he sprung out of his hiding place to take aim, the enemy blazed a trail of bullets towards him. And then Blade scowled in annoyance as one of the bullets met its target, colliding into his right leg. Knees buckling under the pain of the hit, he dropped to the ground. But he was still moving, his hand reaching for his belt. Plucking out something. A metallic something. And then he let go of his MP-7, letting out a undeniable angry swear. Mistake. But whose?
The enemy heard him, and saw the gun clatter to the ground, and let out a laugh. Big mistake. Not his. Because if the enemy knew him well, he would know something about him. There was a reason why he was called blade. It was because his knife never missed the target. The telltale laugh instantly revealed his foes position, evening the odds against him. And Blade hurled the commando knife through the darkness. And then a soft thump was heard, and Blade turned around. One dead corpse lying there on the ground, the upper half of the body no longer concealed in the shadows. His arms were still clinging on to the gun, his mouth still half open in a laugh. He studied the Iraqi’s corpse. “Never misses the spot.“ He whispered to no one. And then he retrieved his gun, he picked himself up and pulled out the knife out of the victim’s heart. After fishing out some extra ammo and a fragmentation grenade from his enemy, he proceeded down the graveyard drive…
The fortress was a huge building, a piece of rock on an even bigger piece of rock. Blade crouched beside a bush, as the spotlight carried on its wide sweep over the entrance. Peering through his binoculars, he spotted the occupants of the guard tower closest to him. Two Iraqi males, dressed in desert camouflage fatigues, carrying AK-47s and other assortments of weapons, were sitting on chairs and having a chat, their mouths moving vigorously. Then he activated the heat scope on his binoculars, and spotted the red dots that were security cameras. Taking in a deep breath, steadying himself, he pulled out a weird device. It was sort of a cross between a crossbow and a pistol, and it housed a 30 metre steel rope and a grappling hook attached to it. The handle featured a powerful winch system and there was a fresh cartridge of propulsion gas loaded into it. It was an F-27 grappling hook. However, this hook had some other features. Aside from being able to reel in a person two times faster than an ordinary harpoon gun with an ability to reel people in, it allowed the user to select a stun function, making the gadget become a taser. With 30 metres of rope. You could also select the propulsion level - which allowed the hook to fly at you faster than a harpoon does. And though blunted, flying faster than a harpoon does at an animal results in bone breaking kinds of injury. Blade held it tightly, and as the spotlight completed its sweep again, he took flight. Straight into the centre of it all. The main entrance. It was like a little black spot traveling to the door from the tower. The first guard caught sight of him and motioned for his other partner to look. But at their second glance, the dot was gone. Vanished. “But I coulda sworn he was there. Seriously! I swear I’m not joking.” The first guard said.
“Yeah, and I’m Bill Gates…”
As the two guards continued their banter of who was right, Blade found himself dangling precariously from the tower, the hook attaching itself to the surface. Pressing the green button, the F-27 begun to reel him up. And so he climbed up the tower. Until he came to the spotlight. It was about to reach him now, and the security camera would immediately pick that up. And the two idiots on top would surely notice it. He stopped the ascent, and started to sway to the left. Then right. Then left. Then right. And he let go, falling down, hands out stretched. And he caught hold of the spotlight itself, and hauled himself up, onto the top of the light! Which made him immune to the lights sweeping beam! Focusing on keeping his balance on the rotating thing, he pulled out a normal hook and rope, and threw it up. And he started to climb. Soon he was nearly at the top. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out 2 some-things. Small knifes. Then he decided against it, and leaped into the tower, crashing through a window. Both man whipped around, pistols drawn. Blade grabbed the first man, and before the man had time to react, delivered a staggering punch in between his legs. The man moaned loudly, and Blade used his feet to swipe him to the ground. And kicked the body to the second man. The second man collapsed awkwardly, and Blade was moving again, and he grabbed the man by both arms and without any hesitation, used his knee to hit the man’s spine. Hard. A sharp crack was heard and the man died on the spot, his body bent in the wrong position, his head touching his a*s. He first man was all still, unmoving, and in fact trembling. Blade held the man in a chokehold, and pressed his knife against the man’s cheek. “What’s the damned access code.” The man refused to speak. Anger fueling him, Blade dropped the knife and used his free hand to cover the man’s mouth. Then he grabbed the man’s index finger and pulled. It broke easily, and the man let out a howl, which was suppressed by Blade’s gloved hand. “Please no more…” The man groaned.
“Wrong answer.”
A second crack followed the first. And then a third. “All right, all right…the code’s 2207 and I don’t know anything else. Please spare me.” The man was at his knees now, voice in a desperate plea. Blade looked at him coldly, staring daggers into the man. Then he spoke a single word. “No.” And then the knife went in and out and a second dead body joined the first. Blade proceeded to turn off the cameras and wipe out the feed from the system. Then he jumped off the window, neatly grabbing onto the F-27 that was still dangling by the side and lowered himself to the ground. The single keypad stood in front of him, small compact and metallic, the screen displaying yellow letters - password required. Blade typed in the code, his fingers moving across the keypad: 2207. Access granted, read the screen, the words glowing green. And the door swung open. Blade stepped in, clutching his weapon. He had gotten this far right? But he failed to notice something. The door behind him swung shut silently, and the keypad inside read a single word. In red. Intruder…
Blade crept forward in the darkness, the unnatural chill of the air conditioning disturbing him, making him frightened. Well at least more than usual. Because this was the one. The one chance he, no, they, would get, at assassinating SH. He had just recently begun to negotiate a peace treaty with the US, and the UN was putting pressure on the US to comply. So this operation was under wraps, and no one would know about this. Except for the splinter cell head and the president himself. The room was more like a large hall, the air conditioner units humming above him. Air conditioning, he noted. Which meant one thing. SH was in here. You wouldn’t turn on the air conditioning if there was not a living soul inside right? He bent his body into a crouch, exchanging his MP-7 for another pistol, on that he favored over the others. It was a Heckler & Koch MK23 Mod 0, complete with laser aiming and silencer. He weighed it in his hand, feeling the sweet balance of the gun in his hand. The gun was him. He and the gun were one. Which made shooting so much easier. Once he had grasped the concept, he rarely missed. Probably some psychological concept. Or maybe he was just plain good.
As he crept along the north-west corridor, something beside him beeped. Silently. He couldn’t hear it, or know it, but he had accidentally triggered a motion detector. But something else could hear it. Animals. Such as dogs. And the two Rottweilers, deprived of food for several days, opened their eyes and got up, growling, their steel cage doors sliding open. With their large canines and claws, they were cast in a menacing shadow under the dim lighting. The sound only meant one thing to them. Mealtime. They got up, the two slim black streaks moving, no, gliding across the floor, their yellow eyes burning with a sinister look.
Blade grasped his MK23 tighter, as he heard the unmistakable sound of something growling. Growling equals danger. Danger equals…The dog leapt, its teeth bared in a snarl as it dove for Blade’s gun. They had done this many times, the get-the-metal-object-away-from-dinner-then-you-can-have-it routine. Blade found himself knocked off balance as his guns tumbled away. He reached out to grasp his MP-7, which was lying just next to him. But he was stopped. By a paw that was stepping firmly on it, with drool of a promising dinner leaking out onto the gun. “Oh you have got to be effing kidding here!” He cursed as the second dog went slamming into him. This dog was larger than the first. Which added up to one thing. Heavier. Blade went sprawling across the concrete. And something else started to beep as he collided with the wall. You know how some sounds turn animals crazy? Well this beeping did. To the dogs, it seemed unbearable. If they had any sense of sanity or something resembling that, they lost it.
They went charging at Blade, and completely scratching and biting him. Blade screamed agony as the heavy dog bit down - hard onto his arm, and the teeth just reduced his supposedly bullet proof armor into shards. The shards went in along with the teeth, burying themselves deep in Blade’s shoulder. And the second dog jumped head first into Blade’s stomach. Instant and total pure unadulterated pain. Pain like a dozen bullet wounds cutting into you. But not killing you. Pain like boiling oil gushing down upon your corpse. Blade roared with fury, completely forgetting he was meant to be “silent”. “Ahhh ***k you b*tch!” He grabbed the second dog by its neck, as they wrestled around on the floor, the dog’s claws practically digging into his flesh. And the first dog still held on with a vice-like grip, as the crimson blood streamed down onto the floor. The sight of the blood seemed to excite the dogs more, and they renewed their onslaught with renewed vigor. But this time, things were different. Blade was ready. Which equaled one thing. They were dead. Blade caught the dog hanging on to his shoulder by the tail, and gritting his teeth, flung the dog off. Pieces of his skin were still stuck onto the teeth of the dog. The dog looked as if it was licking its lips, and is eyes seemed to glow with carnal hunger for more dinner. But Blade was up and running, he withdrew a knife and jammed it through the lower jaw of the dog. It howled and the other dog raced toward Blade.
But Blade was fast, furious, and deadly. He pried the dogs mouth open, and heard the sickening crack of its jaw breaking apart. With a single swipe, the dog’s severed head lay on the ground, the various organs spilling out. Moving his arm in an arc, Blade whipped around just in time to greet the jaws of the other dog. And he jammed his arm into the mouth, the blade entering first, shooting through the animal, stabbing into something. And going right through. The dog’s head, which had been trashing around wildly, immediately became limp, its brain switching off, however its limbs were still unknown to the fact that the bodies CPU had shut down, and still trashed about wildly. But Blade held the dog up high, and slowly the dog’s struggles started to ebb away, like a storm fading into the horizon. Blade grabbed the neck of that dog and extracted his arm from the bloodied mess of intestines and internal organs. Flinging the corpse to the ground, Blade took another breath, trying to ignore the tendrils of pain biting at him. What kind of maniac kept Rottweilers here?
His body armor seemed as if ripped to shreds and his mission objectives were probably crushed. It was over, wasn’t it? He had probably been discovered. Time to leave this place. Switching on his headset, he spoke firmly into the mike, “This is Blade on emergency control channel 17, all team members please pull out immediately. We are in a flight 2 position and our objectives are not within our grasp. Assemble at extraction point. I repeat, pull out and assemble at extraction point.”
Emergency channel No.17 was a special channel that would switch on the headset instantly, even when off. It was sort of a fall back measure when there was something urgent to report. Even if their headsets were “off” the signal would still be broadcasting and the headsets would come to life, translating the all-too-important message.
But silence greeted Blade. The deafening cold deadly chill of no one. The only reason why the headsets would not work was if they were damaged. But there was a special harness that connected the headset to the user. They could only be removed after the mission at the debriefing room. So if the headsets were damaged…that could only mean one thing. The headsets were destroyed. But so were the heads. The weight of this fact came crashing onto Blade. His team was dead? Obliterated? No way. Noooo-way at all. This mission was under wraps. No one, except the head of the Splinter Cell unit and his team members knew about the mission details. Which could only mean one thing. There was a mole in his team. Details of the people in his team flickered in his mind as it worked overtime, rushing to come to a conclusion about who the mole was. Was it Hawk Down? He had been rather withdrawn. Or was it someone else. Who could it be? This trip had been suicidal from the start. As if on cue, a loud blast of a shotgun echoed in the room. Blade grabbed out his MP-7 again, raising it in the direction of the blast. He crouched down, minimizing his surface area, minimizing the enemies target. Him. Then he heard a language which he instantly translated into “Lights, Camera, Action.” And then spotlights suddenly lit up, casting Blade in their blazing glow. And at once the whole complex was alive, rows of lights cascading on, their glow all trained at one person. Him. And then the place became hell.
It was fast. It was lethal. It was sudden. It was his death. Several people shot at him, bullets racing at him. Blade jumped away, trusting his life to his reflexes, as the bullets made their mark on the floor, a deep dent in the METAL. Casting away his useless body armor, which had been ripped to shreds by the dogs, Blade immediately started to run. It wasn’t a cowardly act. But more of “common sense”. There were at least 7 people trained at him. 7 against one. Nice odds for him, he thought. Ducking behind a couple of crates, Blade reloaded his MP-7, and got ready to shoot.
And then he saw something next to him. A word. C-4. “S**t.” He leaped out of the way, just in time, as the crates burst into flames, the angry raging things that licked the metal floor. And then another word. “Starten Sie das zeigen…” Which meant, start the show. And liquid kerosene started to pour from the skies, and someone lit a match. The kerosene became a river of fire, the crimson demon rushing all around him. Now it was truly hell, the flames blotting out the room, the place a sea of fire. And then he heard the click of a gun again, and rolled away. A bullet clipped his leg, and he fell t the ground groaning. “Damn. Damn.” He was thinking quickly now, knowing that this was probably his last few minutes, no, seconds of life left. “Ah f**k it!” He cursed wholeheartedly, and dove to the side. And salvation came to him in the form of a new weapon. Recently developed by the US Sp. Ops operational infantry centre, it was a mix of a flash bang AND a chaff grenade AND a fragmentation grenade. Which led up to one thing. Instant total smokescreen escape. He threw the 3 grenades up, and they detonated in mid air, sending a stream of white particles floating about. Now weapons could not be used. But then another stream of bullets made him change his mind, as they buried themselves right next to him. The grenades haven’t hit everybody yet, his mind screamed at him. Then he saw the big, big fan. He started running, while pulling out his F-27. And then things started to get faster. They shot at him again, and he half leaped and flipped his body to the right! The bullets moved past him, scraping his right knee. But Blade was all action, and he blasted the F-27 in mid air, and amazingly, it hit its target, smashing straight onto a lever. Then he threw the remainder of his chaff grenades into the fan, in total 4 of them. Quick as a flash, attached the handle of the F-27 to a firm place, and pressed the green button. Which stood for reel in. The rope pulled hard, retracting. And the lever went down. Sending the blades clashing on his grenades, cutting them apart. And the strong gust of wind blowing the particles throughout the room. And the smoke also, it moved to one side. In spite of the fatigue, Blade couldn’t help smiling. Mistake. Theirs. Pulling out a gas mask from his belt pocket, he put it on, slid a pair of goggles over his eyes, and went into the smoke. Heading away from the locked exit. Going straight into the heart of hell itself. And above him, someone barked angrily in German, “Stone, gehen Sie nach ihm benannt. Und bringen ihn zurück, lebendig. Ich will ihn zu sterben langsam, wie der Rest seiner Freunde …”
“Yes sir. I will bring him back alive. For a nice slow death.” Replied a cold distant voice.
Blade was running, despite his bleeding shoulder and knee’s protests. He already felt faint and knew that he could not hold on much longer. He came to an intersection. Two doors. One white, one black. Glancing at his black bulletproof vest, already stained with blood, Blade decided to choose the white door. He grabbed the doorknob of the white door and turned it. And gently pushed it open. The door swung shut, and Blade found himself with two more doors confronting him. Taking out his commando knife, he jammed it into the side of the door and pried off the handle. The door was made of metal, which would hold the bullets. But without the doorknob, there was no way in from there. But no way out either, he reminded himself. Looks like he had to find some other way out. Pausing for a moment, Blade proceeded along the roads of hell.
A man sped into the corridor, looking at two doors. One black, one white. He reached out and tried the black door. It opened without any form of resistance. He turned to the white door. This was the one. As he placed a stack of C-4 in front of the door, he thought to himself. “Americans, oh-so efficient. Which makes us oh so predictable…” And the white door burst open, its metal surface already melting, covered in flames. Ignoring the
flames, the man just walked across them.
Blade was only several metres after him, when suddenly, something made him stop and think. There was a mole. In his team. Which meant? Would the mole know how he acted. Yes, most likely so. Time to break a few rules. Rule number 1: Make sure the areas you have passed are guarded. Do not let anyone else pass by there. Blade opened one of the doors, pried off the inside doorknob and let the door swing shut. Then he took the next door and proceeded along his way, without prying the doorknob off! Several crates greeted him. He pried off the lid of one, and found several canisters. He recognized them at once. The queen’s cocktail, a form of steroid which would remove feelings of pain and boost your adrenaline levels. And inside, he found some more stuff. Long sheets of cloth, which were coarse. Coarse, but better than nothing. He smiled, and retrieved the canister and a syringe. And a length of cloth. Bandages and medicine. He put back the lid and opened the next door. Closing it, he ducked behind another stack of crates and tied the bandage around his leg.
Then he took out a dosage of chemical, and injected it into himself. He felt the pain ebb away and his fatigue be replaced by energy. Taking one more dosage in the syringe, he stuffed the item in his belt pocket. And carried on his way.
The man behind him went to the second door. Resistance. This was the one then. He placed yet another set of C-4 and walked away. The door burst open instantly. Gripping his weapon, he swung in, pointing it around him. No one at all. He saw another door set in front of him. An only door. He walked over to it and placed a stack of C-4, without bothering to check the door. The door opened and he went through. Then he spotted something, in the flaming wreckage. Actually two some things. Doorknobs. Two doorknobs, on each side, badly scorched by the C-4, but still evident to him. “Blade, blade, blade, you certainly are having new tricks…” Calm and collected, he turned around to back track.
Blade was now moving to the last few doors. He looked at both, and took a breath. Fresh air seemed to radiate from the last one, and he went to it. A keypad lay there. “F**k it.” He stabbed his knife firmly in, and it burst open, sparks racing around. And the door slid open, showing the sun, the ball of fire in the early morning sky rising. The road in front of him showed a long spiraling one. Down the mountain. But he would not be denied now. Freedom was here for him. Taking a breath of the sweet air again, Blade ran out into the light.
The man had caught up now, and he had seen the ajar door. He had made a mistake and it had cost him. Mistake. Big one. His. But he still had an ace in hole. Pulling out a knife, a curved deadly thing, he started to run down the spiral, after his prisoner. After Blade. In his left hand was a remote control, the polished surface glinting in the light. And somehow, that control was sinister, more sinister than the blade held in his hand. And more deadly too. And he pressed the activate button and somewhere, someone’s assortment of knifes begun to pulse softly, the explosives on it turned on.
They called it a sixth-sense. Or a gut-feeling. Or perhaps intuition. Or even maybe a premonition. But whatever it was, it saved Blade’s life. Barely. Blade spun around to see the mole crashing into him viciously. The sight of the mole turned his mouth dry. He recognized the face, the scar stretching down the left temple to the lower right jaw, splitting the face into half. It was his best friend. And it was possibly the second most efficient member after him. Well not exactly. This member was better at him in killing people. It was Stone. Devril “Demon” Stone. The cold merciless killing machine. Blade brushed Demon off him, his eyes in an accusing stare. The first words that left his mouth were, “Why. Why the goddamned hell did you do it.” And Demon just smiled coldly at him, as his left hand moved up, revealing a silver remote. The silver remote. And on it was a red button, with a switch at the side. It was already flipped to on. Blade gazed at it, dreading what was about to happen next.
“Boom.” Demon whispered only to Blade.
Blade felt his knifes shaking, and he quickly flung them away before they detonated loudly, fire spreading upon them, eating them up. Demon gave another cold smile. “You were always good at avoiding these things. But can you avoid this?” Demon hurled himself at Blade, and they wrestled angrily, like a pair of wild animals. They rolled to and fro, both trying to inflict as much pain as possible. Demon pulled Blade’s hair hard, and Blade gave a yelp of pain. Moving upwards with his knee, he nailed Demon right in the abdomen. Cursing and swearing, Demon recoiled as Blade tackled him now, using a swift uppercut to Demon’s face before slamming Demon to the ground. Demon seemed knocked out, and Blade knew it to. He held Demon in a chokehold, his arms firmly pressing against Demon. As Blade was about to inflict the final blow, he paused, hesitated.
Mistake. His. Big one too.
And Demon smiled coldly. He knew this was going to happen. “Mistake. Soft hearted losers like you never win.” And he drove something into Blade’s abdomen. A blade. “Bye-bye sucker…” And with a kick, he pushed Blade’s limp body off him. Blood practically shot out, as Blade half collapsed on the floor. He got to his feet, drew his hand back to punch, and missed. Blade was losing the fight for consciousness, the world spinning madly before his eyes. And Demon knew it too, his mouth wide open in a laugh. Blade was confused and bleeding, his senses wild and off, himself off balance, swaying on his feet. His vision spun and he knew it was over.
Then he remembered something. For this mission, he had been given several grenades, all kill, no survivors kind. RHX grenades. They had been developed by the U.S military Sp. Ops and were as Demon would call it, deadlier than death. And Demon had clipped one on his own belt. Reaching forward blindly, he plucked out the grenade and pressed the red activation button. Red Blue And Green. RBG. Red = 5 seconds. Blue = 1 minute. Green = 5 minutes. “Laugh while you still can, f****r” He closed his eyes, and tossed the grenade into the air.
First second…
Demon’s expression on his faced changed as he saw the grenade fly towards him, the polished metal glinting in the sunlight, spinning through the air. The red button pulsed once, and the grenade seemed to be the angel of death, coming ever closer to him.
2nd second…
The grenade flew in an arch, flying at his…mouth! Demon realized and immediately shut it closed. The red light pulsed again. Two seconds…
3rd second…
But Blade had other options, in a single fluid motion, he pulled out the blade and drove it into Demon’s chest. A Demon let out a scream, JUST AS THE GRENADE TUMBLED INTO HIS MOUTH!
4th second….
And Blade kicked him away, the body sprawling over the edge of the hill. He seemed to look at the full moon one last time, his eyes staring up.
And then he fell to his death, detonating in mid air, the flames shooting upwards. Gratefully, Blade closed his eyes, and as he did so, pressed something into himself. The needle of a syringe. Blade 1, bad guys 0.
The extra dosage of the queen’s cocktail helped to give Blade the extra energy he had required. Standing upright, watching as his chest leaked, no practically rained out red droplets, he tied around the last remaining cloth on himself. It soon became saturated with blood. Blade glanced down at the rocks, looking for a sign of Demon’s corpse. Demon truly was a demon through and through. But he had met his end hadn’t he? He had met his fiery demise. But something told Blade that it would not be the last of Demon. No. People like him always found a way of defying death, and returning for a quest of vengeance…
There were 3 them. Dressed in black, wearing chemical gas masks. They all held various forms of revolvers, some of them even carrying Uzis and other assortments. Like a Glock 29 for example. They were moving fast and yet at the same time, not making any more noise than a mouse. Absolute stealth, combined with speed and skill. Adding up to one thing. They were deadly.
Blade saw them moving up towards the entrance, despite the fact that they made less noise than himself. Possibly, it could be that he had very sharp ears. Or maybe it was a feeling. His gut feeling had never failed him yet and it wasn’t about to now. Not when he was still alive. Not when he had brushed past death. And lived to tell the tale. Blade pulled out his MP-7, though he knew it could not be used. The chaff grenade would prevent it. But he still had one shot. A single shot, against 3 people. On the mountain top with nowhere to run. Blade let himself relax as the men still made their way up. They were getting closer now, and Blade felt his breathing come out in short gasps, as fear gripped him. There had to be someway to get rid of all of them. It didn’t have to be kill. Just stun. And then he saw it.
It, referred to a pile of rocks lying by the side of the path. But Blade had seen this in movies. The actor would shoot one of the rocks, and it would dislodge the other. And bingo, chain reaction. But somehow, the actors always had more than one shot. And the rock they were supposed to shoot at was already highlighted out to them. Oh, and they would not be gutted if they missed. Less pressure right? The 3 men were now nearing the pile, and one of them kept glancing around nervously. But why? Blade pushed the question out of his mind and started to focus, concentrating on the rocks. A small rock at the bottom seemed to “hold” up the rest. It was that rock needed to hit. But how the damned hell was he supposed to? It seemed to him really far off, and smaller, much smaller, than a human body.
Which was what he had been trained to do. Aim at a body. Not an itsy-bitsy rock. Blade shot once, and the sound rang out. The men immediately sprung into action, pulling out their guns. The safety catches were already off. But nothing happened. The rocks did not move an inch. And the men were now on red-alert. Blade took out his second pistol. Then he held both in his hands, weighing them. One of the men spotted him, exclaiming, “Hey look it's someone. Get him!”
And all 3 rushed at him. Blade lashed out furiously, swiping the man off his feet. Then he threw the pistols, both at the rocks. One rolled away and the chain reaction started. The smallest rocks rolled away first, followed by the larger ones. And at the very top of the pile, was a big, big boulder. The big boulder was flying down now, right at the men. Where he was standing at. “Oh f**k, bad aiming. F**k, f**k, f**k…” Blade cursed and leapt for the only place he could think off. The cliff.
It was a long way down, and Blade knew it. But it was better than being squashed to death. Then again, falling on hard stuff ain’t too appealing either. But Blade had already leaped off, his hands out stretched. And he fell, racing down to the ground. Failing around desperately. Grasping onto a hand hold. And he swung there, suspended in mid air. But safe. Safe at last.
Yeah right. It was a handhold. Literally. Hand + hold. The human above pulled him in roughly, and Blade found himself face to face with a person. He had a scarred face, the scars cutting cleanly across his eyes, and Blade realized that the man was indeed, missing a ear. The man stared at him with cold unfeeling eyes. And his face narrowed in a frown. Blade turned around, only to see something arching through the air and colliding with the side of Blade’s head. Bang. And all Blade could see now was the world turning black, and the ground abruptly slanting up to greet him.
0413 hours Greenwich Mean Time
You’re bleeding, your head is in pain, your hand feels f*****g chopped off and you still don’t know why the goddamned hell your heart’s still beating. But it most assuredly is. Just like the fact that you are now in some hellhole, being chained to a wall. They wanted him alive. But for what? The room was old and cheap looking, cracked up and worse than a kids scribble-ish impression of a room. The roof slanted sideways, touching Blade’s head, and Blade somehow had a feeling that the architect who designed this room had gotten fired. Blade glanced at his arm and saw several knifes wedged in it. Someone had been using him as a dartboard. And judging by the aim, he wasn’t that a good shot. The knifes had missed his head by miles. Knifes ran around him, making it look like someone had used wooden handles to outline his body. Two wooden stools sat in front of him, with a coffee table by their side, two steaming mugs of black liquid sitting on it. Some biscuits on a plate too. Just the sight of it made Blade’s stomach growl with intense hunger, and he couldn’t help but lick his lips. It seemed ages ago since he had eaten and he couldn’t help but notice that irritating factor front of the food. A sturdy wooden door without a key in it prevented his escape. If he could get out of his…predicament.
He used his right arm and pulled hard, tears biting at his eyes as he pulled his arm, complete with the knifes, out of the wall. “Ahhh…” He couldn’t help but exclaim. Blood gushed down from the wounds and Blade felt even more faint. And then he blacked out.
He woke up again shortly after, and used his left arm to extract a knife from his right arm. He managed to cut himself loose, and as he took an unsteady step to the door. Then the ground spun in front of him, and he blacked out again, landing flat on the floor. Finally, after downing the mugs and eating the biscuits, Blade suppressed his pain and opened the door. No go. It was locked. He took one of the knifes they had jammed in him, and stabbed it - hard - into the keyhole, then bending up with it. There was a loud crack and the door opened. Blade stepped out into some form of a hall. Aside from the weird roof that slanted, it seemed okay. The room he had been in was marked torture, in red. Cursing sharply, Blade moved down a flight of stairs. What he saw next alarmed him. And made him feel sick.
Three bodies were hanging from 3 somethings - wooden crosses. Knifes were stuck in them and their bodies were bullet ridden. Pools of red covered the floor and the smell of their rotting corpses made bile creep up his throat. Soldier number 3, Hawk Down, did not have any bullets on him, and his combat fatigues were clean. But he was missing something. His head. A gaping hole where his head used to be was there instead, and Blade could see his esophagus hanging out. Then, as he glanced up, he saw it. The head hung from the ceiling, like a chandelier or something like that. Its mouth was wide open in a scream and its surface was punctured with bullet holes.
3 sharp slashes covered his features, dividing his face into 3 unequal portions. Blade turned away. He walked to his former teammates and cut them loose. Then an inspiration struck him. They had been killed before they had inflicted any damage, and the enemies, presumably SH, had not bothered to undress them from their body armor and weapons. He took off Hawk Down’s completely untarnished set, and wore it on. Then he retrieved some more ammo and an assortment of handguns, rifles and…”oh my god…” Blade breathed. It was a sniper rifle, the SMP-253. A high velocity rifle, with a customized handgrip that somehow fitted Blade’s hand perfectly. It was polished and loaded, the sniper scope on top complete with laser sightings. Then, voices. Blade ran to the stairs and went back into the room marked torture. Moments later, the door opened, and two burly men stepped in.
Wrong move.
Theirs.
Blade was up in a flash, spinning two knifes into the first man. He looked shocked, and dropped to the ground, his eyes wide. The second man had small beady eyes and Blade oh-so hated him. He grabbed the brute and jammed a blade up his heart. The man let out a gasp which sounded much like a whimper to Blade and then dropped to the ground stone cold dead. Blade stared at them, hatred in his eyes, and decided to do something to their corpses. Moments later, he left the hall through the door which the men had come in from. There was a ghost in this complex, and it was here to wreak vengeance…
Later, two men came in again to check on the other two. They were of a higher ranking class, and held two assault rifles firmly. Then suddenly they stopped moving, one of them dropping his rifle in shock, both their faces blank, their mouths ajar, gaping in surprise. In front of them were two heads hanging from the ceiling. Both their mouths were open and something was jammed sideways into it, sticking out of their skull. A blade…
Red lights started to flash, the signal of an alarm. Sirens screeched in their annoying tone. And the leader of this place got up from his chair. He had nearly succeeded. One more person left to kill. But it was unfortunate for him that the last one was the most dangerous. He pressed down - hard - on a red button. All the lights blazed on, basking the entire base in its glow.
Then his hand moved up slowly, to a black button. He pressed this one too. And as he pressed it, his door suddenly burst open. Just as all the doors started to seal themselves shut, the titanium pieces moving together, bolts automatically shooting into place. On the OUTSIDE of the base. Windows suddenly swung shut; with a loud bang, metal sheets shooting up. The base was fortified. Sealed. From the outside. No one, nothing, could leave this base. And hidden nozzles suddenly came to life, spraying out their contents into the base. Hydrogen. Lots and lots of hydrogen…
Blade was standing in the control room, staring at the tall man whose hand was placed on a black button. The man turned up to look at him, not a shred of fear in him. It startled him to find out that it was not SH after all. But instead a German who was looking into his eyes. A freaking German who was running this show. He was quite the opposite of Blade, dressed in an expensive suit, complete with a black tie. His leather shoes were polished and the strong scent of cologne was about him. He appeared to be unarmed, and did not really seem intent on resisting Blade’s wishes. His nails were manicured, and he uttered a laugh as he saw Blade.
Blade however, was already bloodied, dressed in black combat fatigues that were dusty, the strong scent of blood hanging around him. He was gripping his gun tightly, pointing it directly at the man in front of him. His eyes were all serious, and there was no expression of probable mercy from him. Yet, he registered surprise on seeing not Saddam Hussein, but some German person. And moreover, not dressed in battle armor, but an expensive suit. It was almost as if the German had came here as an spectator. “Where the f*****g hell is Hussein. And who the f**k are you?”
“Ah. The famous Blade. A pleasure on meeting you.” His English accent was strong and it seemed as if he had lived in England all his life. He opened his mouth again, about to speak some more. And suddenly, his stance changed, quick as a flash. The man dove down, and slammed hard into the wall, which bent to allow him through. And then he was gone, simply gone. Blade’s gun had gone off but it had missed the man. Blade bent down to the wall and started to examine it. It wasn’t a wall at all but in fact a hidden door. The door led to a long metal chute. Blade was about to give chase, when suddenly the computer at the desk let out a shrill warning tone. Blade spun to it and saw numbers come to life on it. 30:00. And then 29:59. It was a countdown timer, set for exactly 30 minutes. And behind him, the doors suddenly swung shut, closing, as sheets of metal slid from the ceiling, cutting Blade off from the outside. What the hell was going on here? Then the screen flashed again, the numbers replaced by three words. Blade gasped in shock. Self-destruct sequence activated. Then the numbers came back again, this time 29:28. Blade ran to the bulletproof windows, watching the men outside look around them, surprised. So they hadn’t been part of the plan. The scene out there was absolute chaos as the men tried to escape the base, hearing the computer blare out their death sentence. He registered with some surprise, that not all the men were Iraqis, several of them seemed…German?
He turned his attention back to the computer now, his fingers flying across the various keys, the mouse pointer moving around, clicking at various options. Password required, read the screen. Blade cursed loudly, tried a series of random alpha numerals, and having no luck, decided to go after the man. There was no other option here. He dove into the concealed flap…
It was a slide. A long metal chute heading in one direction - down. He slid down quickly, then a thought came to his mind. What if the man had planned some form of ambush? He spread his limbs out, pushing onto the wall, trying to slow his descent. Halting just above the entrance, he pulled out a flash bang and threw it down the chute. The grenade detonated, sending blinding light shooting from it. Blade had already squeezed his eyes shut, and continued the remaining journey down the chute. He came out, gun drawn, in a room. There were 3 lockers at the side, one of them open. It read: Combat Fatigues And Weapons, printed in black against the metal lockers. He saw the discarded suit on the floor. Blade then turned his attention to the door, and to his horror, found that it was firmly locked and bolted from the other side.
A bench was at the side of the lockers. Blade did not pause at all, he turned his attention to the two other lockers. They were also marked Combat Fatigues And Weapons. Were they the same? Then why were they untouched? Why did the German go for the one in the centre? Pure coincidence? Blade didn’t think so. He pried the first one open. And saw something waiting inside for him. A bunch of wires, and in the very centre, a bomb. A large bomb. It appeared to be a bouncing betty kind, but it had been altered, and Blade realized that there was a strong scent of hydrogen in this room. The bomb lit up, with a number on it. 5. Then it flickered. 4. Blade was already bolting to the chute, he jumped up it, and in a fluid motion shot his F-27 up onto the metal surface, the hook clanging onto the metal surface. Then, he pressed the green button, and begun to ascend the chute.
He was only just in time. The bomb exploded, the blast scorching the entire room, the sound resounding in Blade’s ears. A tongue of flame shot up half of the chute. But by then, Blade was already at the top, clinging onto the F-27. The flames licked his boots, but then suddenly subsided as quickly as they had came, and Blade slid down the remainder of the singed chute. The explosion was so violent, the door had been thrown open by the blast. Revealing a passage. Blade immediately sped after the elusive person, moving silently this time, as now, he had the advantage of something. The person had most assuredly heard the blast. Which meant that he was a dead man. And being dead, had possibilities.
The man was in front of him, in white combat fatigues. Was he going to somewhere icy? Blade crept forward now. And then he ducked on the floor suddenly, pressing himself against it, not daring to move as the man turned around. The dim lighting camouflaged Blade, and the man, confident Blade was dead, opened the door, and stepped outside, after pressing a complicated sequence in the keypad. Blade immediately got to his feet, catching the door before it closed. Then he slipped out. The man was standing on a platform, which was grafted onto the side of the building.
The sun was beginning to rise now, but the world was still quite dark. Then the man started to run, after looking at his watch. Which could only mean one thing. Self destruct was about to occur soon. Then, Blade found himself staring in shock as the man leaped off the platform. He dashed to it, and peered down. A staircase heading down lay before him. The man landed in a crouch, on all fours, like a cat. Blade considered killing him, then decided against it.
There was something else more sinister going on, and he intended to get to the bottom of it. As soon as the man had completed the first flight, Blade leaped down. He suppressed a shout as the step he was on gave way - it was intended for one, and only one person to exit. One person only. He grabbed hold of the metal plate just in time, before it dropped to the ground and alerted the other man, and at the same time, used his other hand to shoot his F-27’s hook to the platform, grafting himself to it.. How was he supposed to transverse the steps if they would collapse on touch? Then he had an idea. He reeled himself up, while holding the metal piece. Then he put the metal on top, and leaped - down - into the hole beneath him. As he shot down, his F-27 was up and firing, the hook grasping onto the platform. And he lowered himself down.
Now Blade was faster than his fiend. Which gave him severe advantages. And he was going to make use of it…He pulled out his Sniper Rifle, and took aim. Waiting, holding the handle comfortably, weighing the gun and getting ready to fire. And then the man was down, his heart in the middle of the crosshair. Blade gunned it. The bullet sped to the man, and hit him square in his chest. He fell to the floor. Blade was tired, and tired people are careless. Forgetting to do the usual check on dead bodies by firing extra rounds at it, Blade ran to the body. Only to receive a hard kick in his abdomen.
They say chest shots are better than head shots. Sadly, they don’t exactly count in body armor. The man had the wind knocked out of him, but he was still alive. He slammed Blade into the floor, and forced him to the edge of the second platform. Blade struggled but the man was more powerful, Blade tiring after the events, the man fresh and ready to fight. Blade’s struggles begun to ebb and the man flung Blade over the cliff, as he soared down to greet the ground…
Blade whizzed past the next flight of stairs and platform, the side of it speeding past him at a great rate. His tired brain screamed a warning to him, and his first thought was “F-27“. His hand reached to his belt and to his horror, there was nothing there. “F**k!” He cursed wholeheartedly. The ground was now moving up to him now, as he blew past a straight ladder. His hands shot out, grasping the side of the metal. Rope burn, or in this case, metal burn. His hands hurting, Blade let go of it, and continued his descent. He felt about, then realized he had something. A plain old rope and hook. He tied the rope to his waist, and flung the hook attached to the rope up. Luck was on his side, and the hook caught onto something. He stopped with a huge jolt, him being tossed around like a rag doll.
Then, he swung to the ladder and gripped onto it. The man had seen him fall, and saw his miraculous escape from death, and he started to sprint down the stairs, and finally to the ladder. But when he got to it, Blade was missing. Indeed, he was nowhere to be found when the man reached the ground…
But Blade however, was at the last platform, or to put it this way, hovering several feet above the platform. His rope was tied around the platform above him, and he was camouflaging himself at the “hollow” staircase, directly below one of the steps seconds ago. His rope had been shot, from his MK23 and it was firmly stuck into the rock. Blade lowered himself to the ground and pulled out a remote control, shaped like a lighter but with a button beneath the cap.
He flicked the cap off and pressed the button. And suddenly the ground was lit up with light and the man below grasped at his eyes, howling in pain as the eyeballs watered. Blade immediately threw a knife down, and it buried itself in the man’s lower leg. Blade held the sides of the ladder, and gritting his teeth, slid down it as the fiction burned at his hands. As soon as he touched down, he whipped around with another knife and flung it. It sliced the guy hard, shooting through his other leg. Blade ran to the man now, grappling with him as they wrestled hard. He elbowed the man in groin, watching him howl in pain and grabbed at his neck, and started to squeeze. As they were fighting, he pulled the man’s arm, and suddenly the armor was pulled open and a tattoo of two intertwined serpents was exposed, with a skull in the background. The man gasped in shock and his hand went straight for a button on his belt. He pressed it, hard, and tongues of flame suddenly engulfed him. Blade shot back in shock, the flames singing him. And then the man detonated, and in moments the body was no more, but a pile of ashes.
A serpent and a skull? Blade’s mind raced as he remembered seeing such a logo somewhere. But where? And then the entire complex detonated, the fire destroying the place, smoke filling the sky. Metal pieces fell from the sky, and one hit Blade right square on the forehead. Black clouded his vision and he saw no more…
The man snapped back to the present, feeling the coldness of the gun on him now, after snapping out of his trance. He could feel the hot breath of someone behind him, and hear the thumping of a heart. His, or the persons?
He couldn’t tell. Though he could have stopped the man easily without harming himself, he did not resist. This was what happened when a Splinter Cell agent’s cover had been blown - badly. Reporters had discovered his body. The U.S. had clamped down on the reports, but facts were facts. Blade had screwed up badly. This was the end for Blade now. If a deep cover agent was exposed, the only option was to eliminate that identification of the agent. Blade raised his hand in a salute, seeing the U.S flag before him. He closed his eyes, the fight drained out of him. And then he heard the gun fire once. “I have failed…”
The man at the desert in Iraq got to his feet. He was unlike the other inhabitants there, his skin was ghostly pale and his blue eyes sparkled in the morning light. He glanced up at the craggy hill next to him, the entire hill burned to the ground. Or nearly. He did not know he long he had been asleep, under the shade of a tree, but no one had found him. He was dressed in half a combat suit, the other half of it burnt off. There was a blade driven up his chest and his hair was all messy, the ends wild and much like him - out of control. He absent mindedly brushed it back. From his hip gleamed the polished metal of a submachine gun, and it could be seen that he was carrying an assortment of grenades and knifes. A blowtorch was strapped to his chest. As he turned, if you were there you would have gasped.
For his left side had been hidden from view, but his entire left arm had been burned off completely, and he felt faint and groaned as blood spurted out from the stump. He seemed off balance, and dazed. Using his good hand, he put his hand into his side pocket, groping inside it. A thumb drive, black as the night, hung out of it and he pushed it in. A logo of a skull and two intertwined serpents on the thumb drive was seen, engraved in bloody red. He finally pulled out a black cell phone, while leaning onto the tree. There was no manufacture label on the phone, and it was unmarked, unknown, an enigma. Very much like him. The normal keypad was on it, but there were some buttons on the side of the device which was not found in other phones. Unlike phones now, this phone had an astonishing antenna, but it was pointed and sharp like a dart. The screen was unblemished and the man scrolled to contacts.
A single contact lay inside the list, with single surname only. Then the man paused and put the phone back into the pocket again. First he wrenched out the blade, gasping as it came out, red blood along its edges. Groaning ever so slightly, the man walked to a black Lamborghini parked at the side of the road, hidden behind a large rock. It was simply beautiful, the sides of the car clean, not a dent to be found on it. He slipped into the racing machine now, and the engine purred as he activated it with the DNA scanner, by pressing his thumbprint on it. A computerized voice greeted him with the words access granted. The roof of the convertible slid over, sliding shut.
The gearbox to his right flipped over, revealing some screens. A keyboard also popped out and so did a mouse. The man selected a destination on the map displayed in the screen, clicking it with his mouse once. Then he pulled open the seat revealing a cabinet which contained several guns, and tablets. He popped two of the tablets in, swung the seat back and swiveled his special chair around. The wrapping of one of the tablets had flown onto the floor, and the words glucose & caffeine could be made out. The windows were specially made to prevent people from looking in. The man activated a console, and suddenly the Lamborghini’s engine turned soft. A smile crept across his face as the man turned his attention to the behind. The behind was a medical space, and also included a radar which showed a red dot approaching fast. IT seemed to be approximately 7 kilometers away and was moving at around 120km/h.
The man spun back to the computer now, typing in a name. The computer’s screen flashed with a list of names, then finally one of them was highlighted in red. He plugged in the thumb drive and uploaded a file. IT was labeled Genesis 17. His work done, the man put on some fine bandages on his abdomen, covering his wound. He then pulled a hidden lever and his chair dropped down flat, transformed into a bed, and he heard the familiar sound of “autopilot activated” being emitted from the speakers. Then classical music started to play and the car sped off, without anyone driving it. It accelerated into 170km/h, moving rapidly. The radar beeped once, showing that the red dot was accelerating too. The man opened his eyes once at the beep, glanced at it, then turned away. Only then did the man pull out the phone again and select the single contact. The man pressed the call button, and heard the call tone. It rang once, then twice. And then the receiver at the other end picked up. The receiver had been expecting this call from him. “Good afternoon Henry.” He spoke in fine English, however containing a slight trace of an American accent.
“The job’s done, and I have the data. But first, I need some favors. For a start, do you have a way to replace an arm? A metal prosthetic one would be fine…”
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