X

In the Darkness: Redux

Light the Fire


The sky was marbled with low gray clouds that stretched for miles and miles around, dampening the midday sunlight into a dreary gloom. It was the kind of weather that made most people want to stay indoors, get under a comfy blanket, and curl up by a warm crackling fire while reading a good book and drinking something hot.

The man eyed the clouds for a moment, watching as they moved swiftly across the vast sky. The wind seemed to be blowing stronger with each passing minute, as if trying to bring the storm in from the sea faster. The clouds grew darker as the time passed, steadily growing a more menacing black than the dismal gray.

A fitting day to begin the journey towards his ultimate vision.

His steady gaze drifted downward, taking in the sight of the bustling city sprawled out before him. It was a view the likes of which only a few had a privilege to enjoy on a daily basis, and he was one of them. Sitting in his fine leather chair in his top-floor office, several hundred feet off the ground, he would often watch as the city moved beneath him.

Today, he was standing by the window, his face so close to the glass he could almost kiss it. Each breath fogged the glass a little, but it was only the portion near his chin so it didn't really obscure his view.

Some distance away to his right, he could see the famous London Eye, a giant Ferris wheel situated next to the Thames River. He had never ridden on it, nor did he ever plan to, having no interest in it whatsoever. He could see parts of the Thames River itself as it snaked its way through the city, it's normally dark and mysterious waters even more so thanks to the weather.

Close to the Eye stood Big Ben, the famed clock tower of London as it continued it's timekeeping vigil over the city for well over 150 years now. Though in actuality, the name "Big Ben" referred to the largest of the tower's five bells, with the tower itself being aptly named the "Clock Tower". However, the tower was now officially renamed to Elizabeth Tower to commemorate the Diamond Jubilee of Queen Elizabeth II, the largest bell of course was still to be called Big Ben.

Beneath it was Parliament, in the Palace of Westminster. The heart of the British government. A fair number of them counted him as a friend and ally, though only a scant few could really call him that. Once things were in motion, he would of course offer those few sanctuary. The capable ones, at least.

Gaze sliding even lower, he watched the traffic already clogging the streets and the people scurrying along, living out their little lives, oblivious to the tall man in a finely tailored suit observing them from high above. He wondered how many of them would survive what was to come, and how many would come to appreciate what he was trying to accomplish.

The sound of his office door opening echoed across the largely silent office, the ensuing footsteps on the marble floors loud and unapologetic.

"Everything is in place, sir. We're ready to begin whenever you give the order," said the voice of his right-hand man from behind him.

Those words caused his heart to pump a little faster, nerves tingling with excitement. He breathed in slowly, a deep breath that filled his old lungs, and then he exhaled just as slowly in an attempt to calm himself. He turned away from the enormous floor-to-ceiling window that spanned the entire width of the office, one of three that made up three out of the four walls of his cavernous office.

He turned around and walked back to stand by his desk, placing his perfectly manicured left hand on top of the full-grain dark brown leather chair situated behind a heavy, ebony wood desk. The desk itself had various carvings on its different faces, the most prominent of which was a giant bird – a feathery phoenix in full flight – that was carved into the front face of the desk.

His subordinate was dressed in a dark outfit that could only be described as military, and stood at attention a few paces in front of the desk, a dark-haired man with an eye-patch over his left eye and a long ugly scar running across the side of his face and over that eye up to a little past his eyebrow. According to him, it was a battle wound during some long ago conflict in whatever eastern European country he was originally from.

Black facial hair, neatly trimmed to about an inch thick, encircled the man's mouth, and a well-kept beard ran along his jawline. His posture was impeccable, as much a testimony to his military past as his scars and his well-built physique.

His own steady gaze was returned by his second, not a shadow of emotion crossing either of their faces. Blue eyes met a lone gray eye, the former seemingly testing the will of the latter through a staring contest. Eventually, when it appeared that neither was willing to budge, he finally replied, though his gaze did not leave the eye of his second.

"I am pleased to hear it, Viktor. And the helicopter?" He was by now used to the sound of his own voice, and didn't think much of it other than he liked it. It would be a poor life indeed if you lived it hating your own voice. Others described it to him as strong and cultured, the voice of a man of privilege and intelligence, and he thought it most appropriate.

His second responded in his rough voice, "Fueled and waiting, sir."

"Excellent."

A bottle of fine scotch sat, waiting to be used, next to some crystal glasses on a side table several feet away, and he made his way to it. He gestured to the bottle and looked towards Viktor, who shook his head politely enough. With a single nod of understanding, he filled up a glass of it for himself, neat.

He took a sip, and savored the expensive alcohol running over his tongue and down his throat. He nodded in approval and then turned back towards the windows, glass still in hand.

"Do you believe in our cause, Viktor?" he asked, glancing at the dark-haired man and noting the slightest hint of surprise in his features. Though it quickly faded back into his expressionless mask.

"Of course I believe, sir." The answer came without hesitation.

"Of course you believe," the man in the suit repeated slowly as soon as Viktor had finished speaking, taking another sip of scotch. "But can you tell me why?" His eyes watched the dark-haired man with interest.

Viktor shifted a fraction, belying his discomfort at being asked that. "I... uh.." he struggled to respond, unsure of what answer his leader was looking for, and he furrowed his brow as a result.

Sensing his uncertainty, the man in the suit gave a small smile. "It's okay, Viktor. I know you are loyal, this is not a test. But please, indulge me... you may answer freely without any repercussions."

Nodding, Viktor thought some more and a few patient sips of scotch later, the man finally gave him a proper answer. "I believe in the cause, sir, because I believe in you. I believe that you know what is best for us, that you alone can lead us to the future we need and deserve."

"I guess I should say that's a good answer." A light chuckle and a smile followed that statement from the man in the suit. "Now, do you know why I believe in our cause?"

Viktor shook his head, failing to see where this was going.

"I believe in our cause, Viktor, because I see the future that mankind, our people, is running towards," said the man in the suit in a grave tone, "And it is a dark one. Rampant corruption and struggles for power plague our governments. Corporations pillage and exploit both resources and people. Too many people are oppressed and afraid, many struggling to live in a world that has lost its way."

"The planet that we live on is beginning to fail as we consume more than it can sustain. In short, this path that humanity now walks on... it leads to our destruction, Viktor. But we have the opportunity to change that, to bring about a better world. A chance to wipe the slate clean and start over."

He paused, drinking in the rest of the scotch and setting the empty glass back on the side table. "While the coming chapter in humanity's history will be dark as the world we've come to know burns painfully to the ground, once the world is cleansed and reborn, F.I.T. will emerge to lead humanity to a better and more righteous path. A path that will lead us to greater heights the likes of which we could only envision in our dreams."

He added with conviction, staring straight into the lone gray eye of the man who faithfully followed him, "I believe in our cause, Viktor, because in order for the glorious phoenix to rise anew, it must first burn to ashes. To build a better world, the old one must be cleared away."

Viktor was swept up by his words, as he usually was, and gave a firm nod to indicate that he understood, and that he would do whatever he could to help the man accomplish his vision.

A broad smile, baring perfect white teeth, stretched across the face of the man in the suit. "Well, I think I've said more than enough. The time for speeches has ended. The time to act... is now. Tell them to begin, Viktor. It is time to light the fire that will cleanse this world and begin the rebirth of our civilization."

-xxxVxxx-

Eleven days later...

The table surface was made entirely of glass, propped up by four rounded metal legs. A big chunk of the center portion of the table was a touchscreen for a giant computer display on which were open multiple files full of written words, pictures, and maps. Other than the area immediately around the table, the rest of the room was dimly lit.

"His name is Cato Fenix, a British billionaire eccentric who built his fortune on pharmaceuticals, technology, and agriculture, though mostly pharma. He started as a boy with a trust fund worth north of a a hundred million. Old money. Now his estimate net worth is close to a hundred billion," said the briefing officer, a petite brunette woman in a fairly standard black and white suit.

She looked to be no older than thirty, with minimal makeup and a serious look to her sharp eyes. "Our spy within the so-called Phoenix Corps says that he is the true leader of the terrorist group, though of course there is very little actual hard evidence to prove that. Particularly since the official leader on paper is an eastern European known only as Viktor," she explained further.

Standing to either side of her around the table were two men. The much older of the two sported an impeccable suit and tie while the younger was in a fitted dark gray shirt, black cargo pants, and matching black combat boots.

"Do we have pictures of Viktor?" asked the younger man. He looked to be in his early thirties. His close-cropped hair, slightly longer at the top, was brownish black like a crude mix of mud and oil. His face had a few lines and was beset with stubble as if he hadn't seen a razor in a few days. Hard amber eyes with dark circles underneath looked out into the world with an intensity that made the woman subconsciously squirm.

The woman shook her head. "Only a few blurry shots taken from high altitude surveillance. Angles aren't very good, but it's the best we've got. No one in the Phoenix Corps ever sees or hears from Cato, of course, but barely anyone interacts with Viktor. Only the lieutenants of each cell report to the man, and they are extremely loyal," she continued.

"Can you pull 'em for me?"

She pulled up the tablet she was holding on to at her side and tapped a few buttons. The display on the table changed to show the images of Viktor that she had mentioned. They were as blurry as she described, but at least gave a rough idea of what the man looked like.

The younger man leaned forward on the table to look at the photos closely. His muscles bulged underneath his shirt. There was a gruffness and confidence about him that signaled that this was a man who had seen much of the hard roughness of the world and survived even in the thick of it.

"What's his background?" he asked, using his hands to enlarge one of the pictures on the table display, making an even bigger, blurrier image.

"We're still trying to piece it together," said the woman. "So far all we know is that he was a mercenary who was heavily involved in several flashpoint incidents all across eastern Europe and the Middle East over the last decade and a half."

"Probably using a different alias than before," remarked the man astutely.

"Most likely," the woman agreed.

"So... what's this all got to do with me?" He looked up at her and then rested his gaze on the older gentleman across the table from him.

"The reason we're briefing you on this is because there's been a lot of activity lately with the Phoenix Corps. Far more chatter and movement than we've seen over the past two years since we started tracking them. From what we can tell, they seem to be gearing up for a major operation." She sighed. "We've been working hard on this, utilizing every asset we have, and unfortunately we barely know anything. Which is why," she glanced to the older gentleman in a suit, "This has become a top priority case, because something big is coming and we have no idea what it is."

"You want me to find out? Poke the bear and see what cave they run to?" The man crossed his arms, his jaw set. He didn't sound all too eager.

"Only a few hours ago, we received the best information we've gotten from all our efforts to date. We're sending you in to infiltrate one of their cells and retrieve a supposedly special package that's being kept there. Whatever this thing is, it's apparently of vital importance to their upcoming operation. We don't exactly know what it is or what it even does, but if we can take it from them that will surely put a big wrench in their plans while also giving us more time and opportunity to figure out what they're up to."

The other man, a graying wrinkled figure with a thick gray-white mustache, finally spoke.

"This is our biggest break yet, Joel." His voice was steady and serious. "Everything about this organization is well choreographed and compartmentalized so far, which makes getting actionable intel damn near impossible. You must retrieve that package at all costs, and deliver it to us intact to give us a chance to counteract their plans. If you can find any additional information from that cell while you're at it, go ahead and take that too, but that is secondary to your main objective of securing the package. Is that clear?"

Joel nodded, scratching the stubble on his chin. "I understand, sir. Package is primary, all else secondary. Failure isn't an option."

"Is it ever?" mused the older man, receiving a humorless grin from the man.

The briefing officer added, "You'll be dropped off by chopper ten miles from the target site to avoid detection. There'll be a ground vehicle at the LZ. Extraction will be at the same spot if possible. We don't have much intel on security on the ground, but we'll give you the latest satellite scans while you're en route. At the very least, expect it to be heavily guarded considering how valuable the package seems to be. We'll have a couple of fireteams at the ready to back you up in case things get too hot, but try and keep that as a last resort. Keep a low profile for as long as possible. We'd rather not give them a heads up that we're onto them."

"Got it."

"You're one of the best operatives we've had in years, Joel. I do have faith in you, but still, do not fuck this up," said the older gentleman, giving him a stern look. "We've only got one shot at this."

Joel shot a halfhearted glare back at him. "I'll get it done, chief. Like I always do."

"Right. Your flight to London leaves in an hour. Good luck, Joel," said the older gentleman dismissively.

Getting the hint, Joel left the briefing room located deep in the bowels of the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) headquarters in Langley, Virginia and made his way through the many halls and elevators to the surface.

Getting into the Agency car that would take him to the private airfield from where he would be leaving on his mission, he took out his personal smartphone. He had a few calls to make before he left.

-xxxVxxx-

Her dad had woken her up a little after sunrise that morning, telling her to pack for a short last-minute stay at her uncle Tommy's place, much to her confusion and surprise. She asked him what the occasion was but he didn't answer and he didn't seem to be in a talkative mood all the way to the airport.

Once there he checked her in for her flight and handed her over to the care of an airline representative, since Sarah was still too young to travel alone and was considered an "unaccompanied minor". He quickly left after that, telling her that he loved and that he was sorry, but promising to call when he could.

Sarah knew that her dad worked for some government contractor or something or other, but beyond that she didn't know what he actually did for his job. Whatever it was, it involved a lot of travel. Most of the time it was only for short periods, but sometimes he would be gone for weeks and she'd be forced to stay with one of their neighbors if it was the school year, or at her uncle Tommy's if it was summer or holiday break.

She imagined him as some kind of super spy, especially because of all the travel and how vague he was when she asked him about his actual responsibilities at work. Whenever she pressed him, and she had several times over, he would always give her the same response: that he was only a paper-pushing desk worker for the State Department. She vaguely remembered him saying he was a Cultural Attaché, whatever the hell that meant.

She didn't believe him, or at least not fully. Not that she would ever think to call her father a liar. He was many things, but a liar was not one of them. He had promised, after all, to tell her the truth. Always. And she trusted him to never break that, but she was also wise enough to know that promising to tell the truth didn't necessarily mean he would tell her the whole truth, and she figured that this Attaché position was only partially true.

He was on trips far too often for a desk worker, in her opinion, and he more often than not came back from those trips with all manner of bruises, cuts, and scrapes. Injuries that he tried his darnedest to hide from her, and that she pretended not to notice, because believing him a super spy dad was far more awesome than thinking he might be getting into stupid bar fights or something.

Oh, and there was also the fact that her dad happened to make a decent amount of money as an Attaché, enough to buy them a beautiful two-story, three bedroom house in a nice neighborhood in the suburbs of the nation's capital, Washington, D.C.

It was definitely an upgrade from the cozy two bedroom house they first had in Texas, although she missed the countryside and found the suburban life to be so strange and different.

The airport wasn't too crowded so early on a Tuesday morning, with only a handful of people around waiting at her gate. Sarah was sitting close to the gate half-asleep when she received the call from her dad. She jolted when the phone vibrated in her pocket, and she quickly fished it out. Very few people called her, so she immediately knew who it was.

"Dad?" she said tentatively. Either it was her dad, or it was her uncle Tommy.

"Hey baby girl. You at the gate yet?" asked the voice of her father through the phone, and she smiled.

"Yeah, I'm here," she said, yawning, "Kinda hungry."

"Honey, I gave you more than enough spending money to go buy yourself some breakfast, and you're way too skinny to be on a diet or anythin'. You've got some time to eat before your flight so please get some grub before Tommy accuses me of not feeding you."

"Yeah, yeah, dad, I know. I'm twelve. I can take care of myself," she replied dryly.

Her father snorted, "Okay. Remind me again why you're traveling with airline personnel escorting you around everywhere like a little puppy?"

"Hey! It's not my fault the airlines have that policy. And besides, I'm pretty sure it's a law too so that's definitely not my fault or nothin'." She tucked her legs up against her chest, heels resting on the edge of the seat that wasn't quite comfortable. "And aw, I love puppies! Is that why you're going on this 'business trip'? Are you going to surprise me with a puppy when I get home?!" The excitement in her voice was palpable.

"What? No, honey, that's not why..." Her father sighed, realizing that she had been joking, and she couldn't help but giggle.

Well, half-joking really, because what if he had said yes? There was always a chance he'd say yes, or at least she hoped there was a chance. She'd been casually bringing it up for a few months now, the idea of getting a puppy. No dice so far.

"Gotcha!" She giggled some more.

"Very funny."

"So when are we going to get a puppy? I'm old enough, you know," she said a little more seriously.

Another sigh sounded from the other end of the phone. "Look, honey, maybe we'll talk about it some more when I get back. But only if you don't bring it up until I do, understand?"

"Yay!" Sarah jumped in her chair and cried loudly enough that a few people glanced in her direction. "It's a promise, then. You can't back out now!"

Her father chuckled on the other end of the call. "Sure, baby girl."

"Sooo... are you going to tell me what this whole deal is?" she asked hopefully.

Impromptu trips for him rarely happened like this, because even though he traveled a lot there was usually advanced warning and he could arrange either a babysitter or her neighbors to take care of her, or even for her to stay at her uncle's in Texas.

"Oh just a last-minute business trip like I said, honey. Something... unexpected came up that they're asking me to take a look at in-person," he explained as vaguely as she was used to hearing. "I should be back in a few days at most, and when I do I'll go straight to meet you at uncle Tommy's."

"Where are you going then?" she asked innocently enough.

There was a pause and then, "Europe," came the unspecific reply. He clearly did not want her to know exactly where, not that it bothered her. She was used to it. All the more reason she thought he must be some kind of spy or something. So cool! And dangerous.

"Please be careful, dad," she implored in her most serious tone of the conversation yet.

"Always." Her father said it with a firm confidence that alleviated some of her sudden worry.

"So Europe, huh? Sounds fancy," she said to change the subject.

He laughed. "Yeah, they've got me in first class and everything. Champagne and cavi-whatever it's called. Really pampering your old man up good," he said jokingly.

"I wish I was in first class," she mumbled with a tinge of jealousy, thinking that even if he wasn't first class, he was probably in business class since this was a business trip. Far better than her economy class seat. Plus he was going to Europe! She'd never been to Europe.

"Well, if you help pay for it, I'll split you the fare fifty-fifty for first class some day," said her dad with a hint of amusement.

"Ummm... I was thinking more like... ninety-ten. Ninety percent you, ten percent me, you know?" she countered, a big smile on her face that she wished he could see.

"You're a terrible negotiator," he dead-panned.

"But I'm also your one and only daughter, the best to ever do it, so that's got to count for something right?"

Another chuckle. Then, "Well, since you're my favorite... I could be convinced to go sixty-forty."

"Seventy-thirty?"

"Don't push your luck," he growled with good humor.

She giggled. Then her expression changed completely as she quietly put a hand to her face, shaking her head for being so stupid. "Oh shit!"

"Language," her dad warned seriously.

"Sorry," she said meekly, "But I almost forgot... Happy birthday, dad!"

In the sudden and groggy rush that they were in earlier that morning, she had forgotten that it was her father's birthday. The birthday card that she had made for him was still sitting atop her dresser, and she had worked hard to draw and design the darn thing herself too.

"Huh. That's today, ain't it?"

"Yup! Sorry I forgot to greet you earlier."

"I forgot it was my birthday too so it's alright, honey," her dad said truthfully. "And thank you."

Sarah couldn't resist teasing him. "That's what happens when you get as ancient as you are."

"Hey now," he said with a chuckle.

"I got you a present and everything too..." she pouted.

"You got me a present?" he asked dubiously.

"Yeah. You'll have to wait 'til we're both back home to see it though. I ain't tellin' you what it is now, so don't ask!"

Her father snorted humorously. "Where'd you even get the money for a present?"

"Drugs," she deadpanned. "I sell hardcore drugs."

"Well good," he replied evenly, "You can start helpin' out with the mortgage then."

"Tch. You wish!" She giggled.

"Anyway, I gotta go kiddo. You behave yourself, you hear? Say hi to Tommy for me."

"I always behave myself!" she said, eliciting another snort from her dad, much to her own amusement. "Love ya! Have a safe trip!"

"You too. Love you, baby girl," he said and then hung up.

Rubbing her eyes and yawning once again, she stood up and gathered her backpack and her baby blue gym bag full of clothes. Stomach growling, she set off to get some breakfast at one of the airport eateries. Hopefully the airline representative, who was currently busy talking with one of her co-workers at the gate counter and not paying her much attention, wouldn't mind her skipping off on her own for a bit.

-xxxVxxx-

"Thanks again for doing this, Tommy, and I'm real sorry for the short notice," Joel said on the phone as the vehicle he was in rolled into the private airstrip, passing through a heavily guarded gate. One of the M4 carbine-wielding guards saluted them as they drove through, watching them from behind silver reflective sunglasses.

"Anytime, big bro. And don't you worry about it, you and Sarah are always welcome to drop by. Anytime at all. You know that," replied his younger brother Tommy.

Joel did, in fact, know that. It was why he had bought the tickets and only told his brother about it while he was taking Sarah to the airport.

"Yeah, I know. I can still say thank you for it though," Joel said. "By the way, I'd prefer it if you kept her away from your construction sites... and power tools. Please."

Tommy had a newly established contracting and construction business. It was only a small operation at the moment. From what he was hearing from his little brother, he was apparently doing well and keeping busy with several projects he managed to wrangle out of some old contacts and friends. He always was more of a people person.

A short laugh sounded over the phone. "You know I'll take good care of my niece. Besides, she's tougher than she looks, and it would be kinda nice to have a little helper around."

"Tommy..." growled Joel.

"I'm just messin' with ya, Joel."

Joel could practically feel the big grin on Tommy's face through the phone.

"Okay then. Well, I'm boarding my flight already so I gotta go," Joel responded as the black sedan he was riding in entered the hangar containing the private jet that he would be taking to London. "Please shoot me a text when you've picked her up, okay? My number should still work even though I'm overseas. I got that roamin' thing."

"Got it. You have a safe trip and I'll see ya soon, ya hear?" said his brother before they ended the call.

Joel thanked the driver, got out of the car, and walked the twenty or so odd feet to the only plane parked in the hangar. He quickly made his way up the small set of stairs set and into the main cabin. Greeting the handful of other Agency personnel with a nod, as well as the lone steward on board, Joel took a seat in the back and buckled himself in.

It didn't take him long after closing his eyes to get some sleep as he felt the engines whine to life and the plane lurch forwards, getting ready to taxi for takeoff now that he was on board.

Five solid hours of sleep later, broken up only once by a need to pee mid-flight, and he was woken up by the shuddering of the plane as it touched down somewhere in the United Kingdom. With a mighty roar of its engines as it reversed thrust, the plane slowed slowed its momentum down the runway.

Not long after, the plane came to a rest inside another nondescript hangar on a private airfield owned by the Agency, only a couple of hours away from London.

Checking his phone, Joel noted that Tommy had texted him and he opened the short message that said his brother had picked up Sarah with no issues and that he hoped his flight was a good one. He replied with a simple, "Good, thanks."

He took out his Agency-issued phone and accessed his secure inbox, finding several new messages had been sent to him that included pertinent information for his upcoming mission. He'd be sure to go over it thoroughly while en route.

Stepping off the plane last after the other agents who he had flown along with, he saw that there was one person in the hangar waiting patiently for him.

"Good evening, Agent Graves, and welcome to London," greeted a uniformed agent at the bottom of the plane's steps, his British accent crisp. He was young, maybe only a few years out of college, and his light blue eyes were full of excitement and interest as they stared at him.

"Hey," Joel grunted, stretching to relieve the stiffness from sitting down for too long. The seats on the plane were nice and reclining, but it still didn't beat a good old-fashioned bed.

"So where can I get outfitted?" he said loudly over the whine of the engines. Thankfully, they began to wind down almost immediately after he spoke and the noise level decreased gradually.

"If you'll follow me, please." The agent led him out a side door and in between a few other hangars before going into a two-story brick building. A few more hallways and one staircase up later, and he was brought to a room with racks full of various military-grade combat equipment.

"Grab whatever you need, sir. If you think you need something that we don't have in here, just let me know. I'll be right outside," the young agent informed him. "When you're ready I'll take you to your transport."

With that said, Joel was left alone in what could only be described as a small but very well-stocked armory. He walked around once to see what exactly was available and was happy with the variety of selections, though he would of course not be able to bring all of them. His gaze drifted over to some of the heavier-duty equipment and he wished he could bring some along, but it was far too bulky, too noisy, and too destructive for an infiltration and retrieval mission.

He always had his personal weapon with him, a concealed carry King Cobra .357 revolver hanging off of a left shoulder holster. While the revolver also worked at close quarters combat (CQC), he had a combat knife hidden horizontally across his lower back that he could unsheathe easily by simply reaching back behind him to grab the handle if he ever needed to get really close and personal.

He grabbed a second pistol holster that he attached on his right hip, taking a 9mm pistol with a silencer and several magazines for it. In case he needed it, he strapped a slightly smaller, but no less sharp, secondary knife to his lower right calf too.

Grabbing a Kevlar vest from a rack full of them, he donned it, making sure it was snug against his body. It never hurt hurt to bring a little armor along. Finally, he grabbed a special forces favorite: the MP-5 Heckler and Koch sub-machine gun, also equipped with a silencer.

Compact and with decent ammo capacity, the MP-5 fired 9mm rounds accurately and at a healthy rate. For extra firepower in case shit hit the fan, and it more often did than not, he slung a pump-action 12 gauge across his back, loading it up with the maximum six shells and taking along an extra twelve. He also swiped a few grenades of the explosive and smoke variety, just in case.

Satisfied, he looked around one more time, double-checked all his gear to see if they were in working order, and then stepped out into the hallway where the agent was standing around waiting.

"I'm all set," he told the agent, who looked him over once and gave a nod.

"If you'll please follow me, sir."

The pitch black helicopter started up as soon as the pilots saw them approaching, the engine whining to life as the massive rotor blades swung through the air faster and faster with each passing second. Two men decked out in combat gear and assault rifles stood by the open door as the agent brought him over.

"Agent Graves, these are corporals Rooney and Hunter. Military, but they work for us at SIS. They'll be accompanying you on this mission," informed the agent, causing Joel to frown.

"I work best solo," he said matter-of-factly, not hiding his annoyance. They would only slow him down, he thought. And he was never informed that he would be accompanied by anyone.

"Agency orders, sir," the agent shrugged, apologetic.

Sighing, Joel rubbed the stubble on his chin and gave the man a look of understanding before scrutinizing the two men who were going with him. He hoped they would be competent enough to not get in his way, or even better that they would actually be helpful.

"Alright, let's move out," he said loud enough for them to hear and they both nodded, letting him get on first before following. Joel waved in thanks to the agent who gave him a thumbs up before quickly moving away to a safer distance.

Leaning forward towards the cockpit, Joel tapped the pilot's right shoulder to indicate that they were ready to go. A moment later and the helicopter was off the ground and flying low into the night.

-xxxVxxx-

There were two of them. Both in urban camouflage fatigues and on patrol along the long fence that encircled several warehouses by a wide river.

"Listen!" hissed one of the men. "Did you hear that?" He raised his AK-47, the beam of light from the flashlight attached to the weapon plowing ahead into the darkness beyond the fence.

The second man strained to listen, but heard nothing after a while. He glared at the other man. "You're hearing things. Shut up and let's get this patrol over with so we can get some dinner. I'm starving," he said with annoyance as he continued to walk ahead of his partner.

After a few more seconds of peering into the empty darkness, the first man shook his head and followed after him. They continued on for a little while before reaching the far corner of the high fence, barbed wire running along above the entire length of it.

They didn't get a chance to turn around and continue their patrol as two figures quietly ran up to them and grabbed them from behind in an almost synchronized fashion, slashing their throats quickly and efficiently with knives and leaving them on the ground to die quietly gurgling on their own blood.

Joel nodded to the other man who had helped him out as he wiped his dagger on one of the fallen men. The operative's name was Hunter, he recalled.

The two British operatives he was assigned were politely quiet and thankfully skilled, respecting his lead and obeying his orders with minimal discussion. And when they did speak, it was only to clarify. He was pretty happy with their behavior so far.

Rooney, the other operative who was equipped with a big sniper rifle, was off somewhere finding a suitable perch from where he could cover them. Sure enough, a whisper came from their earpiece radios.

"In position. I see you," Rooney called in.

Hunter raised a hand and gave a thumbs up to Rooney, hidden somewhere in the dark of night beyond the compound.

According to thermal satellite imaging sent to Joel, there were about three dozen enemy contacts in and around the warehouses. More were elsewhere in the compound. That was a lot for a three-man squad to handle, so they wanted to prevent a full on fight for as long as possible.

The chances for a perfect infiltration were slim, but Joel hoped that they could pull it off.

Motioning forward, Joel led Hunter along as they moved between the shadows, hiding behind crates, dumpsters, and whatever else they could find. When they made it to the first and closest warehouse, they pressed their shoulders into the outer wall as they moved slowly around.

Intel had no idea which of the three warehouses the package was in, so they would have to search each one themselves and hope they found it sooner rather than later. Because later probably meant a lot more fighting than they wanted to handle.

Another man on patrol walked close by to where they were hiding, humming softly to himself as he rested a double-barrel shotgun over his shoulder. He went down quickly and quietly to Hunter's knife and was dragged behind some crates, with Joel watching approvingly.

Moving towards a back corner of the warehouse where he had spotted a half-open window, Joel motioned for them to climb through it and into the warehouse. The Brit followed him closely.

Peering over the window sill, Joel noted that it was looked like an office and was currently dark and empty. He signaled to Hunter that it was all clear before pushing it open all the way and quietly jumping through it, his boots landing with a slight thud on the hard cement floor.

Joel still had his knife out, preferring to use as many silent take downs as he could get with it before resorting to firing his guns. Even though their weapons were equipped with silencers, the guns were still loud enough to attract attention when fired, particularly in an enclosed space like this where the sound would undoubtedly echo too.

He stepped further into the room and heard Hunter make his way through the window without trouble as well.

As they reached the door to the office, it suddenly opened and Joel reacted quickly by grabing the figure who was walking through, throwing him to the ground as the man let out a surprised yelp and then a grunt of pain as his back and head hit the cement floor. The man looked up at him with fearful eyes as the knife was pressed against his throat.

"You scream, and I cut your throat," Joel growled and the man nodded slowly, eyes wide.

Hunter quickly shut the door and stayed off to the side, assault rifle at the ready and pointed at the door, but he was undoubtedly also eyeing their interaction from the corner of his eye. Just in case something happened and Joel lost control of the situation, not that he would.

"Where's the package?" asked Joel in a low voice.

"W-what package?" the man said. Either he didn't know, or he was playing dumb.

Joel pressed the knife harder against the man's throat, drawing blood and making his eyes go even wider, the man taking in a sharp intake of breath as the cut began to sting.

"I d-don't know what package y-your talking about," he stammered fearfully, and Joel took a second to look into his eyes and believed him. He figured this man didn't know it specifically as a "package," whatever it actually was.

"Let me rephrase that," Joel said evenly, "There's something very valuable in this compound that you guys are guarding heavily. I want to know what it is and where it is, and you're going to tell me."

A look of recognition crossed into the man's eyes and he nodded slowly. "I think... I-I don't actually k-know what it is, but w-warehouse three had the g-guard doubled a few nights ago. This p-package you're talking about... it must be there!"

"Which one is warehouse three?" he asked, pressed up a little more.

The man began to shake, taking quick and shallow breaths. "It's the last one at the end. The f-farthest one! Please, that's all I know! Please don't ki-"

Joel slashed his throat, blood spewing out immediately as the man began to choke and gargle on his own blood. There was a time when he probably would have let the man live, but that was before the last time he did such an act bit him in the ass because the man ended up reporting in after getting only knocked out.

That caused a shit storm to erupt during his mission. He was lucky enough to have made it out, but several Agency operatives went down in the process. He wasn't going to make the same mistake twice.

Hunter seemed to give him a strange look but the man remained silent.

Joel whispered into their comm radio, "Package is in the farthest warehouse. Make sure you've got good sight lines for it. We're probably going to need you."

"Copy that. Moving now," replied Rooney after a few seconds.

"Alright Hunter, let's go get that package."

Now that this warehouse was effectively useless to him, and not wanting to spend precious time searching around for any additional information, Joel jumped back out of the window, boots crunching asphalt as he moved to the edge of the corner and snuck a peek around.

Another two man patrol was heading their way and he communicated as much to Hunter via hand signals.

The guards walked by at a relaxed pace without noticing the two figures crouched low against the warehouse, who immediately crept up behind them and took them out as well. The body count was rising steadily, and while that meant more chances of them being discovered if someone happened to see the bodies, the way Joel saw it, it was better to take them out before the real fighting began in order to lessen the number of enemies they'd have to deal with.

Of course, that all hinged on their being discovered and the alarm being raised. And he had a strong suspicion they were going to have to fight their way out of this place.

Staying low to the ground and against the wall in the shadow of the second warehouse, Joel observed the third warehouse that the man had singled out. It was a little farther from the first two, with a wide open space in between it and the second warehouse. The only thing between were a couple of lamp posts, which made poor cover.

It was going to be difficult to approach without being spotted since there was a lot of ground to cover. Two soldiers stood on a catwalk that hugged around the top edge of the third warehouse, rifles in their hands. They were busy talking to each other, thankfully, and were therefore distracted.

Four more guarded the giant warehouse door with another two by the smaller side door. They all had either sub-machine guns or AK-47's, and it looked like they weren't moving for a while.

Joel cursed as there was no other way to sneak around without being seen, which meant stealth was out of the window now. They would have to go in, guns blazing, and hopefully retrieve the package before reinforcements came.

Joel reasoned that if they retrieved the package and had to fight their way out, the bright side would be that if it was really that important to them, the enemies wouldn't dare use any explosives or heavy ordnance so as not to damage it. That thought gave him little comfort

He turned to Hunter and whispered, "We're going in hot from here on out. Make your shots count, we'll be wide open running across."

Hunter nodded affirmatively, "I've got your back, sir."

"Rooney. You have eyes on the last warehouse?" he asked through the radio. Hopefully the sniper could help them get to the warehouse easier by providing cover, or at least causing panic in their ranks that he and Hunter could exploit.

The response came a second later. "Sir, I've only got eyes on the rooftop guys and maybe one of the men on the ground by the warehouse. Can't get a much better vantage point than this, unless you can wait another few minutes."

"That's good enough for me. On my mark, take out the rooftop guards." He pointed to the two guards by the side door. "Hunter, when I give the signal you go rush to take those guys out first. I'll run around and engage the four by the big door. Once you take your targets down, we sprint like hell towards the side door and get inside."

Hunter nodded to indicate that he understood.

Joel continued. "I'd imagine there'll be reinforcements coming towards the gunfire and we don't want to get caught out in the open like this, so we find and secure the package and then assess the best way out after that." He figured that at least inside they could make a better stand, should they have no route of escape.

"Understood, sir."

Hunter hugged his assault rifle closer and moved off to his side, crouching tensely as Joel turned back and eyed the four guards standing in a circle in front of the big garage door. He figured he'd be able to take them all out with one clip if he ran at least thirty more feet forward and to the right and pressed against one of the lamp posts, but he had to make sure his shots were accurate.

Getting even closer might be the only way to truly finish them off, but he was confident that could at least injure them from the spot he was planning to run towards.

He took a long breath, glanced at Hunter, and then spoke into his ear comm.

"Mark."

One of the rooftop guards was knocked into the railing of the catwalk, his chest erupting with blood. The echoing sound of a shot followed soon after, shattering the silence of the evening. The second guard on the catwalk jumped back, startled at the sight of the man going down so abruptly before him. Before he could do anything else, a chunk of his head exploded in a spray of flesh and bone, followed no more than a half second later by yet another booming gunshot.

Joel moved, and couldn't help but feel more than impressed with Rooney's marksmanship.

Down below, the group of four guards had also jumped at the sharp sounds and the sudden demise of their fellows. By the time the second shot rang out, Joel had already sprinted to the spot he had picked out, inhaled a deep breath and, holding it, aimed down the sights of the MP-5 towards the group of four men.

Joel pressed his finger on the trigger a second after Hunter opened fire on his own targets somewhere to his left.

-xxxVxxx-

Viktor knocked on the heavy wooden door that led into the bedroom. "Sir, it's starting," he called out loud enough to be heard through the door.

"Give me a moment," replied the muffled voice of Cato Fenix from the room beyond.

Viktor leaned against the wall beside the door and patiently waited as instructed.

A few minutes later and the door opened with Cato stepping out wearing another one of his expensive tailor-made suits. He flashed an eager smile at Viktor, eyes alight with excitement and anticipation. "Lead the way," the man said.

They traveled through the interior of the compound, passing by several men outfitted in black uniforms and carrying assault rifles, and entered a large room with a few computer terminals and several couches and chairs. All of this was positioned in front of a wall full of flatscreen TV's, each one tuned to a different news channel from around the world.

A few of them were covering an outbreak of some mysterious illness that had already tens of thousands, with that number climbing by the minute. Emergency services, and in particular healthcare systems around the world, were already beginning to strain under the pressure.

Most weren't equipped to handle such a deadly and unknown virus, let alone the sheer number of patients afflicted with it. To make matters worse, the medical facilities that were handling the infected were so overwhelmed that they were getting their own staff infected, further reducing the supply of medical professionals in a constant negative feedback loop.

Some of the people who were already in the room stood up respectfully as they saw the two men enter, and a careless wave from Cato and a nod from Viktor made them return to their seats, the men's eyes returning to their respective screens.

Cato took a seat in the middle couch of a set of three, with Viktor preferring to stand behind him and clasping his hands together behind his back as he stood in parade rest.

"Where are the first reports coming from?" Cato asked the room, though in truth nobody but Viktor dared to speak to him unless directly spoken to, so it was Viktor who responded. Viktor was technically their official leader, but everyone knew who was really in charge here.

"Brazil, Mexico, India, and China were the first to report a growing mysterious disease problem. They are also the countries we've specifically targeted for maximum impact due to their massive populations, relatively lackluster healthcare systems, and high residential densities. There's already mounting unrest in many of the infected areas as the military forces of those countries are forced into mobilization," Viktor informed him clinically, his accent present but moderate enough to be understood clearly.

Cato hummed pleasantly, a sliver of a smile playing on his thin lips.

"Russia and much of northern Africa," Viktor continued, "Are just beginning to report the outbreak now. It's only a matter of time before the United States and much of Europe are afflicted, sir."

Cato leaned back and relaxed, admiring the myriad of screens with what looked to be joy. "Well, it appears to be time then. Send out the lockdown order to all our people worldwide and commence our own."

Viktor moved around to one of the men stationed at a computer and repeated the order with a bit more specific detail, and the man's fingers flew across his keyboard as he sent the message out to the rest of their global organization. Directing one of the other men to start the compound lock down, Viktor was pleased when the sounds of heavy machinery and gears whining and grinding rumbled through the structure started and finished without any issues.

"Oh, and Viktor? Do get us some champagne while you're at it," Cato added, "I do believe a celebration is in order while we watch this tainted world burn."


AN: With permission from the original author, The Wandering Bard, who sadly doesn't have time nor the inclination to write anymore, I've adopted this fic as my own. Hopefully I can breathe some new life into it. TLOU is one of my favorite games of all-time. I've advanced the setting about a decade, so technology is even better. For each chapter previously published, I'm adding some new elements, rewriting for better flow/readability, and fixing a few errors - new chapters that continue where the story left off will eventually follow once I catch back up to that point (Chapter 8 will be the first chapter with all new content). Also kind of relevant considering all this COVID-19 stuff going on. Thanks and I hope you enjoy :)