Chapter Text
Closed eyes, tilted head, music that I could barely hear on full blast over the roar of the plane engine: all were in a vain attempt to distract myself from the upcoming mission. I usually tried to take solace in the calm before the storm during a deployment such as this, but the gravity of the situation I was going into crept over the usual stoic calm I could cloak myself with. I opened my eyes, ditched the music, and turned to the pilot’s chair.
“How much longer to descent?” I shouted into the headset.
The pilot casually checked his watch and flight log, then waved a hand nonchalantly. “Five, give or take.”
I inhaled sharply, noting that this would probably be the cleanest air I would breathe until I completed my errands in the quarantine zone. “And the boat will be waiting at the harbor nearby?”
He shrugged coolly. I envied the apathy he held for what he did. To him, this was just another routine flight that took him near an active hot zone. And fortunately for this bastard, he’d never be ass-deep in the turmoil that actually took place inside.
“Not my job. But if your people did their jobs, then yeah, it’ll be there waiting by the time you drop.”
I let the conversation go and leaned back in my seat. That response was honestly more than I was expecting to get out of him after the start of the talk. What he said got to me. If my people did theirs, I scoffed to myself. That question was always on the mind of agents, whether we cared to admit it or not. The Global Relief Effort had a special way of dealing out class-act bullshit even in the middle of the most sensitive missions.
This assignment in particular was the result of their own fuck up, and that was something they definitely didn’t want to admit to. Light poured from the still active city below, calling to me as a last safe haven before my destination; Harran. The quarantine erected to contain the viral outbreak flashed through my mind in the form of pictures I’d seen of it during my few briefings. Kind of like renting a vacation home: the owner will show you the best, most decent photos of the area in the hopes that you’ll rent it without you realizing they might not have been completely honest about the condition. I knew what I was getting into, but I was still holding out for how shitty it would really be inside the quarantine walls.
Because of a past failure, it was now my job to make a tactical jump into the nearby still-functioning town before boarding a boat that would take me into the quarantined town. All this travel had to be vigorously cleared through the local Ministry of Defense, as they would normally shoot any boat heading to or from Harran on sight. I hoped to hell that the GRE at least did their job of confirming that I didn’t need to be shot. Today, at least. Not over this.
“All set.”
The pilot’s voice in my headset jerked me out of my thoughts. “Shit, now?” I struggled to get my oxygen mask over my mouth and goggles over my face as he gave the sign to drop now. The side door of the plane was stuck shut with years of rust, but I managed to get it open with a few tough yanks. The end of the city’s glow was rapidly approaching, giving me little time to prepare before I launched myself through the opening.
Even without bracing myself for the gut-wrenching drop of falling from such a height, I felt a slow calm creep over my previously tense muscles. Missions had become the center point of my life after devoting all of my time to my job with the GRE, and the only time I really felt right lately was in the act of carrying out mission plans. The ground sped toward me at an alarming pace, and I pulled my rip cord after a few minutes of freefall.
Thankfully, my quick decision making had prevented me from landing too far from my original drop point. I steered clear from the buildings littering the outskirts of the other city that apparently didn’t sleep and took in the night life noise as the rushing wind slowed around my ears. The ground came up quickly, and I winced at the jolt sent through my hips as my feet contacted the ground. Good thing I didn’t want kids.
I quickly unbolted the straps holding me in and discarded the parachute on the ground. This far from the quarantine, no one would ask about it, which kept up my cover. Another part of the so-called ‘GRE plan’ thought of by yours truly, I snorted to myself. Armed with only a light military backpack containing the essentials, I took off at a jog to the harbor.
The GRE plan consisting of three, in my opinion, obnoxiously unnecessary and time consuming parts, irritated me to think about. As the harbor came into view, I resented them even more so for it. I spoke with the Military of Defense officer waiting for me, and he set me up with a local fisherman paid to ship me close enough to the quarantine to swim to the ferry dock that once carried Harran natives from their town to this one. After the quarantine, the ferry was promptly sank when survivors from the hot zone attempted to escape the literal hell that had encompassed their lives in just days. The ferry harbor was to be my entry point, and I would continue into the city from there.
Because simply dropping into the city was too easy. No, a convoluted plan such as this was always the best way to enter a mission, especially into a zone as dangerous as this. Dangerous, I was assuming. The true nature of the inhabitants of the zone (fucking zombies, apparently) was yet another thing I was sure the GRE downplayed in briefings. But I had to admit, the fault that my plan was so complicated instead of a straight-forward drop was the fault of one other person.
Kyle Crane.
He was the reason that, after a quick and wind-whipping late night boat ride through choppy waves, I was leaping into chilly, salty water. I spat out a sour mouthful, cursing his name as I worked my way through the mile-long swim.
Crane was another GRE agent that I had been fortunate enough to never meet. A cocky but powerful agent who generally always managed to get shit done, from what I’d heard. Crane had been selected by the GRE to infiltrate the quarantine zone and recover a file stolen by rouge GRE agent Kadir Suleiman. Crane had been dropped into the quarantine directly, and due to his actions, that drop apparently ended in an ambush for him and the death of one of our other agents.
Now Suleiman, I’d met a few times before. He had been hired on missions before this. His no-nonsense approach to assignments made him more capable than most to handle the morally questionable missions of the GRE over the last few years. The public face of the GRE was relief effort by the people, with the people in mind, but if the public knew some of the shady missions that they had been involved with, I’m sure the organization would be depended upon much less in times of crisis. I had doubted that, as someone who had always questioned the rules, Suleiman was the right man to send into the now government-less and rule-less state of Harran when the outbreak first happened, but what the fuck do I know about anything?
After the death of his brother, Suleiman blamed the GRE and then promptly went off the deep end. Whole situation brought out the kinds of traits that only those of us who had worked with Suleiman before knew he had. After finding several like-minded survivors, he set up shop as the area’s newest asshole dictator with not a care for anyone but himself. How he treated his thugs was nothing compared to how he treated the locals, but the only time that became a problem for the GRE was when he stole a top-secret file about the outbreak. Tempest, it was called. How fitting.
Crane was the agent sent in after Suleiman, to figure out where he was and to figure out if stealing the file back was possible. Leaving Suleiman dead or alive was up to Crane, as long as he was able to get the document back before Suleiman was able to use or publish the file in any way.
My arms cut through the chop of the waves, and I took in shallow breaths as I sped up my strokes. I didn’t want to be in the water longer than I needed to, although it was probably safer than being on land at night. I wasn’t looking forward to dealing with something like zombies in the dark, even after all of my night training.
Slowly but surely, I reached the barge protruding from the ferry dock. I slowed my pace to quiet my strokes and edged around with my head barely above water. In between waves, I could hear the sounds of quiet conversation, of muffled shuffling, and I squinted in the glare of tinted, violently blue UV lights surrounding the barge. Definitely set up as a camp for survivors. According to my intel, this wasn’t where Crane would be, and that was a good thing.
My mission cover was to pose as just another survivor unfortunate enough to be trapped in the city when the outbreak happened, so I couldn’t afford to run into anyone this early. That could label me as a newcomer to the city, and I’d seen how well that worked for Crane.
I floated closer to the cement edge and grasped it with my fingertips. When I was comfortably sure that no one else was around, I hoisted myself up and slid over the ground in a crawl. Nobody was present near me, but I could still hear the whispers of nearby conversation. I stood slowly and edged around the outside to keep a distance from the chatter, my intact cover the most important thing on my mind. Once I left the concrete, I stepped backwards into the darkness, grateful that I would soon be far enough from the camp not to have to worry.
Of course, nothing is ever allowed to go that easy when you’re running missions for the GRE.
At that moment, my back connected with something solid. I turned and realized I’d hit the back of a man, presumably a guard. He was also pacing nearby, gun holstered to his hip, machete in hand. A muted look of shock came over his face as he turned to see me. I froze in place. My eyes darted toward the camp. His gaze followed and returned back to me rapidly.
Fuck. He was going to assume I was trying to attack the camp, or assume something else sinister of my intentions. And he’d be right. Fuck if I was going to let my plan and stealth be blown minutes into the operation; I’m no Kyle Crane.
Never let anything stop you from protecting your cover or from completing the mission. That was GRE agent ‘rule number one.’ A rule I had been repeatedly reminded of from the likes of people like Kadir Suleiman.
As the guard turned toward the camp, raising a hand as if he was going to shout to them, I muttered, “Fuck me in the head,” and seized my opportunity.
I smoothly inched closer until my front was up against his back, locked his neck in a fierce grip in the crook of my arm, tipped his legs out from under him with a well-placed swipe of my own leg, and took him to the ground quietly. He struggled, and as I applied more pressure to his windpipe with my forearm, I placed my other arm over his mouth to mute the struggling cries. He fell still after what felt like a friggin’ eternity. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding and eased the body off of my own.
Great. Less than 10 minutes into the mission and you’ve already killed a guy.
I glanced down at the sightless eyes that reflected the harsh blue lights streaming around us.
But at least your cover is intact.
The damn zombies would take care of the body for me, provided I leave it somewhere they could find. I was sure that the other guards would assume he’d met an unfortunate end after leaving his post for some unknown reason, and that sat just fine with me. I deftly unbolted his gun holster from his leg and clipped it to my own. Waste not, want not, I guess. I slid the machete through the straps of my backpack and dragged him over the dirt to the nearby road.
Abandoned cars littered the street, some open and gutted for whatever goodies may lie inside. The windshields glinted in the moonlight, eerily quiet and unlike the cars zooming through the streets in the city I’d just come from. There was something alien, something not right about how looking at the landscape made me feel. I left the guard on the other side of one of the cars, out of the line of sight of the camp. He’d be gone by daybreak. And what did it matter, anyway? He probably would have been dead inside a week anyway. This entire place was a graveyard; not just for people but for the cars, for the aspects of life considered so normal and essential to others. A graveyard for everything, really.
I breathed in, breathed out. Keep calm. Continue on.
Following closely next to the cars for cover, I made my way up the street. The sky to the east was lightening. I glanced at my watch: 4am. It would soon be light, which meant that I could continue on the mission to find Crane. But for now, I needed to find somewhere safe to wait out the night.
That point was emphasized when suddenly, a guttural wail echoed through the spaces between the cars around me. I froze. It was a sound unlike anything I’d ever heard before. The wail was followed by chattering that was punctuated with loud breathing.
Fuck.
If I could hear breathing, whatever it was had to be close. Too close for comfort. I forced myself to put one foot in front of the other slowly, spreading the bones of my feet to make for softer steps. The breathing continued. I passed one car, and then another, and slowly the dread began to be replaced by calm.
Wrong assumption.
As I rounded the hood of the last car, I turned and saw what looked like the silhouette of a tall man. But there was something as equally alien about the shape of the figure as the abandoned cars I’d just weaved through. Red eyes stared back at me and there was a moment of pause before the same terrifying scream ripped through the street, louder than before.
You’ve got to be shitting me. I abandoned all hope of stealth and took off sprinting. The haggard breathing followed at an alarming pace. I panted through my sprint; the screams that were following me were considerably more concerning than those of my lungs. I continued up the street. Another row of cars came into view on the street down the hill from me. I weaved my way down a slightly steep rock face until I hit the pavement again and began vaulting over the hoods of the abandoned cars with intentional force. Come on, come on, come on…
Finally, on the fourth car, I bounded over the hood hard enough that the force set the car alarm off. The noise shattered the otherwise silence of the night, evoking other primal cries from further away. The thing chasing after me gave pause to the car alarm going off, darting around it to look for the source of the noise. I heard tearing and scratching at metal, and another frustrated scream as the alarm was abruptly cut.
Ahead of me, I recognized the harshness of UV lighting, surrounding what looked like chain link fence. With renewed vigor, I raced toward my only hope of survival. No holes in the fencing meant it was indeed a safe place, but how to get in? I spotted a large, metal sliding gate under a sign and headed that way. Bodies ambled around the entrance, close to what looked like large spiked traps set to keep them from getting too close to the gate.
Fucking zombies.
I dashed through the crowd, avoiding the hands that grabbed at me. Adrenaline coursed through my system, and as I felt a hot clawing at my arm, I launched myself up toward the top of the gate. My hands gripped the top edge as my feet scrambled on the wall, and with one heave, I hoisted myself up, out of reach of the moaning monsters grabbing at my retreating feet. I hauled myself over and fell ungracefully onto the ground, grunting as I tumbled, until I finally came to a stop on my back. The pounding of feet accompanied by continual chattering reached the area around the gate and suddenly stopped, followed by one last angry growl. I knew then that I was definitely safe, and I let out a shaky laugh as the adrenaline in my system faded slowly.
“The hell do you think you’re doing?”
I turned to face the man approaching me and managed to sputter out, “Sorry.”
“I’d hope so. All that noise? You think it’s a good idea drawing that many Volatiles here?” The man glanced down at me, disapproval showing on a face shadowed by a baseball cap. His features were stern, although I wasn’t sure if that was from me or just his normal face.
Volatiles. So that’s what those things were. Figures there were different, more deadly kinds of monsters here that the GRE shitheads hadn’t warned me about. Thanks for the heads up, assholes.
I fought to keep my features light and unsurprised at his comment. “I know, I know.” I sat up. “I really am sorry. I got caught in a shop and just managed to make my way out. Figured it was safer to make a break for here than to wait it out there. Volatiles and all, ya know?”
My upbeat attitude didn’t seem to convince him completely. He still stared at me through narrowed eyes. I hauled myself upward and repeated, “I really am sorry. I won’t be here long, I promise. I’ll be getting back to the Tower to help with things once it gets light.”
The weight of name dropping the Tower seemed to relax his tense stance a little. “You’re one of the runners from the Tower?”
Here’s where I had to tread carefully. I knew from my briefings based on the information from Crane that there were several people that made errands for the Tower and helped secure the area. Runners, they were called. “No, but I figured that surviving on my own out here probably isn’t the safest option anymore. Safety in numbers and all. Figured I’d drop by and start offering help to keep safe.”
He nodded slowly. The people of the Tower seemed to do enough good that their reputation slowed the guy’s vetting. “Well. Yeah. Just be more careful next time. These fences aren’t indestructible.” With that, he turned back to where he was, in fact, working on said gate, crouched next to an open tool box.
I headed further into the camp towards the first building. The downstairs was split into a shop and a resting area, separated by a stone wall. I raised my hand in a wave to the shopkeeper, who responded in like, before I noticed a couch in the patio area. Good a place as any, I guess. I removed the machete from my back and dropped onto the couch. Tomorrow, the real task would begin. Getting into the city was the easiest part of this endeavor, I realized. The red, unblinking eyes of the Volatile were imprinted on the backs of my eyelids. This would be like no other deployment I’d faced as an agent. In more ways than one, too. My job here wasn’t to retrieve any data, or to regain control of a foreign country through helping the local military.
The importance and effects of Tempest were far reaching. My mission was Kyle Crane. The GRE felt, after his latest transmissions and actions, that they weren’t sure he would get the job done. Getting too attached to subjects, that was the most obvious tagline in his agent file. There was doubt from upstairs that he would be able to infiltrate the city and reclaim the file. The file was everything; it couldn’t be left in the hands of Kadir ‘Dictator’ Suleiman. My mission was to get close and watch Crane for signs of failure, signs that he wasn’t capable to do the job.
The very last briefing before the plane came to mind. The Director of the GRE circling me, showing me the quarantine files. All you have to do, she had said, is babysit. Track him. See if he’s complying with our orders.
How? I’d questioned. I didn’t know him, sure, but how would I keep cover?
You’re smart. You’re pretty. You take no bullshit. No way Crane wouldn’t be ‘interested’ in you. If you have to play that angle, do it. Do whatever you can to get as close to him as possible. That way, if necessary, you can take him out no problem. We have no room for insubordinate agents here. Everything we have built, and even keeping the rest of the world safe from the Harran quarantine, rests on getting this file back. And if Crane becomes a problem for us, we’ll need you to handle it.
Handle it. The GRE’s favorite euphemism for murder.
I wondered briefly when I’d let myself sink low enough to become an assassin for hire, but the job perks and the insane salary (and bonus for the risk associated with the quarantine) came to mind. I let the machete lean against the side of the couch and tipped my head back to rest my eyes.