shatteredskies042

[shatteredskies042]

NaNo Day 25

“I’m all for it,” the blonde said, “I’ve taken targets and just hung them on trees and walked back before, but a more structured range might be nice,” she agreed. “I’ll tell Cole and see when he and the guys can come out and work on it with you,” she said.

“Shouldn’t take that long to put together,” he stated while he finished cooking and started to eat. “I need a computer, too,” he told her, looking up at the blonde.

“You’ll have one,” she promised. “As for today,” she stretched on the barstool and spun lazily, toned arms reaching above her head. “We’ll do more training, keep training you with swords and with using Excalibur,” she told him.

“You want an excuse to kick my ass?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t need one,” she shot back with a smile, “but you need to train with your weapon, and you need to know how to deal with attackers with swords,” she added. “They’re more prevalent than firearms for the supernatural, something about being stuck in their ways.” She affixed him with a stiff gaze, then held up her hand, “I know, I’m guilty of it too. But think of it this way, how new are guns?” she asked. “Two or three hundred years, only in the last hundred-fifty or so they started getting good, and swords have been around for much longer.”

Michael nodded along with her explanation, although it still made little sense for him to carry a sword: He was untrained with one and would prove to be more of a liability than an asset with one. He’d go with the training, however, until he got a computer loaded with decryption software he couldn’t make a pass at the Talon drive and work on their secrets. He finished eating and began to clean his dishes, then glanced back at Allyson when she stood up.

“When you’re ready, meet me in the sparring ring,” she told him with a soft smile before she disappeared into the halls.

Michael took his time, first recovering his famed weapon from his bedroom then returning to the exercise area. He held the pen in hand, and decided he would try to surprise Allyson with it. He stretched a bit more, before he ascended on the platform and saw her waiting form.

“I’ll only come after you with one sword, for now at least,” an eager smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “Not a lot of people use two anyway, but you’ll learn that too,” she promised as she raised an eyebrow. “And did you forget to bring a weapon?” she asked pointedly.

“Why don’t you come here and find out?” Michael responded with a grin, palming the pen and waiting for her charge.

Instead of charging, she slowly advanced on a curve. Michael advanced towards her and curved away from her, as not to lose territory he might need to retreat. He focused on the pen in his hands, and it formed into the sword he needed. Ally caught this, and smiled approvingly, “not bad,” she complemented with it. “Takes a bit more than fancy tricks to win a fight like this though,” she stated, before she crouched slightly and launched off her haunches at him. She drove at him, and Michael quickly parried her first attack and sidestepped her charge. Unlike the last time they sparred, he felt more comfortable, less stiff with the sword in his hands as he moved. Like some kind of intuition, or instinct.

While Ally turned to face him again, he went on the attack, and instead of thinking of his actions and executed, his body moved seemingly on autopilot. He simply watched his actions as he fluidly moved and struck, Allyson parrying his strikes without the same ease as she had earlier. When he tried to get involved, and move of his own volition, his attacks felt off, more easily parried or stopped by the angel. However, when he let these instincts, or muscle memory, guide his hand, he seemed to do better.

They danced around each other for several minutes, neither landing a strike on the other until the blonde flashed her wings enough to fly away from him. “Enough,” she called, breathing evenly and barely even breaking a sweat. Michael relaxed, and felt agency return to his body as he took back control. “Very interesting,” she mused.

“If I’m being honest,” Michael said, panting lightly, “I didn’t even know what I was doing,” he admitted.

Ally furrowed her brow as she looked at him, “what do you mean?” she asked.

“That’s the thing, I’m not sure,” the soldier said. “I wasn’t even thinking about it. I was just moving and doing,” he explained, “when I tried to act, and sort of take control, it didn’t feel right and you could probably tell the difference.”

Ally cocked her head to the side a bit, then stepped closer, “attack me,” she directed, “first with these instincts, I’ll stop you when I need to,” she promised.

Michael nodded and closed his eyes for a moment, before he stepped ahead and swung at her. They entered another game of strike, parry, and counterstrike, an almost familiar routine as he let his reflexes guide him.

“Stop,” Ally cut off after a moment, stepping back. She took a second to regain her footing and get set again, before she looked up at him, “now, do it the other way,” she told him.

The soldier advanced again, attacking her out of his own agency, the attacks less fluid and sloppier than he had been before. He tried to incorporate the things he had seen himself do before, but couldn’t execute with the same precision and accuracy. She cut him off a bit earlier, stopping and stepping back.

“Okay, swords down,” she told him. Her swords disappeared from her hands, and Michael condensed Excalibur down to the pen form and pocketed it again. “Let’s see how good you are with your hands,” she grinned with an almost teasing tone before she advanced on him, following much of the same patterns as she did with a sword in her hands.

Michael brought his hands up and adopted a defensive stance, feeling comfortable fighting like this. He’d trained for this, after all, not something he was completely out of his depth in. He advanced first, and they devolved into a game of dodging strikes and absorbing body blows. She was a bit faster than he was, and by the force of her impacts when she did strike him, quite a bit stronger.

She kicked at him, a move Michael easily caught before her other boot cracked into his face and staggered him slightly. She fell to the ground and quickly rebound, but not before Michael dove on her and pinned her to the ground. That did not last long, as with a few carefully placed elbows she was able to wiggle out of his grasp and get to her feet. She allowed him the same, smiling a bit. “Been too long since I had a good fight,” she remarked, watching him carefully.

“You must not be fist-fighting the right people then,” Michael responded with a grin before they advanced at each other again. They traded blows, but Michael managed to take her down with a leg sweep just before she could do one of her own. He backed off again, “let’s say we’re evenly matched,” he told her.

“We’re not,” she grumbled as she got back to her feet and relaxed. “But I’ll let it slide, now what I want you to do,” her sword appeared in her hand, and he prepared his own. “Try to mix that in,” she told him. “When you let your instincts take over, you’re good,” she admitted, “but you know your fights won’t be clean and orderly like ours are.”

“And I need every advantage I can get, got it,” he nodded, “it’s not new to me, but mixing it in with fighting with a sword,” he shrugged.

“It’s different, and you’re adapting well,” she promised, before she smiled disarmingly, “let’s see it at work then.”

Ally advanced on him again, and this time their fight was a bit more brutal, with both their blades being locked together and punches and strikes being thrown. By the time Ally called it off, they were both fairly bruised by the other’s hand, but it felt good. This was training, and he was learning what he could and couldn’t get away with in a fight like this.

Ally smiled approvingly at the soldier before she walked to him, “relax,” she urged, before she laid her hand on his shoulder. She closed her eyes and started to heal the soldier, looking at him after a minute when she finished. “Good work this morning,” she said quietly. “It’s actually refreshing to have somebody to spar with who can come close and give me a challenge,” she noted, before she turned on her heel and strode away. “Who knows,” she added, “maybe soon you’ll be able to make me break a sweat.”

Michael was on her heels following beside her, glancing at the blonde. He should have felt proud for having done well, but instead the only emotion was disappointment. He wasn’t good enough, not yet. That was the mentality that got him into special operations, and kept him alive until this point. He had to keep training, until he was as good as her, if not better. Once they reached the common room again, a phone rang on the bar. Ally stepped quickly to pick it up, carrying on a short conversation and quickly tapping notes out on her laptop. In short time, she hung up and looked at the soldier.

“I think Rani has a lead on the Ivory Tower,” she said, looking at the notes she’d written down. “A man named Charles Dufrane, his father was a Huntsman, was spotted in the area around the burned out coven,” she said. “Caught a flight to Chicago.”

“Could be coincidence,” Michael postulated, believing her, but playing the Devil’s Advocate.

“It could be,” the blonde agreed while she nodded, “but it’s not something we can ignore. We’ve got his home and work address, so I think it might be prudent to pay him a visit,” she said. “And I want to see you operate in a low profile setting,” she added with a bit of a smile. “Up for it, Michael?”

“Of course I am,” he nodded, “how long are we going to be working there? And what’s the temperature like?”

Ally quickly turned to the computer again and pulled up a weather forecast, “not too warm, but there’s a wind blowing. Tonight it’ll rain there,” she stated.

“I’ll bring a jacket then,” he noted before he retreated to go upstairs. “I’ll be ready in a few minutes,” he promised. He returned to his bedroom, and put on more casual clothes, but instead chose to carry more spare magazines for his USP. He secreted the handgun on his person, as well as the tenants of his carry kit. He kept pen-Excalibur on his person, then wandered back downstairs to find Ally also dressed casually.

“I took the liberty of ordering a bunch of extra mags for your pistol, too,” she told him, “when they arrive I’ll carry a handful, just in case you run out,” she smiled. “Got everything you need?”

“I’d like to have a bit more protection, but we can talk about that later,” he said as he followed her to the garage and her red jeep.

“What do you mean?” she asked as they mounted the vehicle.

“When I was in the military, we’d do low profile missions like this,” he explained as they drove, prudent enough to bring along a pair of dark, wraparound sunglasses to shield his eyes. “Our clothing was specially made with a thin layer of body armor, not enough for a serious firefight, but enough to feel safe and catch a bullet or two.”

Ally nodded, her own sunglasses covering her eyes. “I’ll see if Andi knows a tactical tailor like that,” she smiled.

“I would appreciate it,” he remarked as they drove down the stone path to the bridge. “Some of the clothing I requested is exactly the same as what we used,” he added. Before he knew it, they transferred through a large portal from the forests of Goddess Island to the outskirts of Chicago. “Where are we stopping first?” Michael asked.

“First we’re going to scout out his workplace,” the blonde said as they approached the city. Her vehicle was probably too much for city streets, and they got an occasional look from people on the street. “Dufrane is the vice president of a shipping company, and they have an office close to the port,” she explained.

“Good excuse to move lots of equipment,” Michael reasoned, “that’s the cover James Bond uses,” he snorted as he remembered a Hollywood fact.

The blonde laughed, and in short time she rolled to a stop on a secondary street lined with shops. “It’s just around the corner,” she explained, looking at a couple of the taller buildings on the next block, “one of those.”

They alighted her vehicle and merged onto the streets, heading towards the next block where their target lay. “I’ll meet you around the corner,” Michael told her quietly, breaking away from her and walking on the other side of the street of their target as Ally made the close approach. As he walked, he peered at the buildings until he picked up a billboard advertising a shipping company, then he knew he had the right building. The doors were semi-reflective glass, but through them he could see the outlines of a metal detector. Made sense, after all. Michael didn’t pick up on any extra security measures on the outside.

Word Count: 50076

[shatteredskies042]

NaNo Day 24

“How do you like your eggs?” Michael asked.

“Scrambled, or omelettes,” the blonde mused with a smile as she looked at him. “We’ll go see Rani tomorrow and see if she has anything new on the Ivory Tower,” she stated, thinking for a moment back to their outing earlier. “Did you find anything when you walked off before we were attacked?” she asked.

Michael idly picked up a fortune cookie that came with their meal and cracked it open, eating the hard cooking and unrolling the crumb caked paper inside: Look to the past and you will find yourself there. He stared at the statement for a few minutes before he looked at the angel. “I found some casings, probably from a grenade launcher, and a couple of shot witches,” he said as he looked back at the statement. “Then one of the men I killed in the ambush was wearing white gear, had unmarked weapons, brass, these guys are bona fide ghosts,” he stated.

“What was that explosion?” she asked.

“The others in that ambush threw an incendiary at the body I found, I guess they were trying to demo the body,” he shrugged, “and I was a dumbass and threw it back.”

Ally smiled and laughed, “you helped take out one of their operations teams, that’s a win,” she promised him. She thought for a moment, opening up her own fortune cookie and taking a look at the fortune she was granted. She seemed to mull it over for a moment before she looked up at him again, “I have a few people I could ask and see if there was any credibility to the claims of the Ivory Tower’s existence,” she promised.

“That’s how you beat ghosts,” Michael agreed, “just have to throw some light on them.”

Ally nodded slowly, before she stood and walked away from the table. “I’ll put out some feelers in the morning. I might as well order some stuff too,” she mused, glancing at him. “Did you have a list of gear you wanted?” the blonde asked.

“It’s incomplete, but I can give it to you at breakfast,” Michael promised, remembering that he had the list in the armory.

“All I ask,” she stated while looking at him. “I’m going to call it a night, long day,” the blonde said quietly. She strode away, to the stairs up to the second level and stopped two steps up, leaning on the guardrail looking down at him, “and Michael,” she urged, a gentle, caring look in her deep brown eyes. “Do sleep well tonight,” she wished, smiling at him before she completed her ascent up the stairs.

Michael nodded, watching her go and subconsciously tracking her before she disappeared into her bedroom. He cleaned up the remnants of the takeout, then headed to the armory, to recover his list and Excalibur. He picked up his weapon and took it to his bedroom, using the last of his energy to practice shifting the weapon’s forms. He got faster and more familiar with the weights of the unloaded forms of his signature firearms. He would still have to build a target range and plink targets with his new tool, just to test accuracy.

Finally, he returned the weapon back to its sword form, setting it on a table and looking over its surface, inspecting every inch of it. The surface was simple, but an elegance permeated the blade. It wasn’t the weapon of a common soldier, it was the weapon of a king. Who had held this before? He wondered, before he left the sword on the table and went to bed, getting comfortable as his mind worked over the odd weapon. Allyson had said someone worthy could possess the blade, but how was he worthy?

The soldier shook his head, climbing in bed and wishing for sleep to come. A sleep devoid of his nightmares. Sleep came, but his typical demons did not trouble him tonight.

He stood on a grassy field, a castle in the distance, but an army arrayed in front of him. He looked around, and saw his own army following him, before his body moved without his urging. He and a select few moved forward to meet a select few of the other side, a figure wearing red armor met him in the middle, with a face so familiar he could have sworn he knew.

“Father, welcome home,” the red armored knight greeted, carrying a pike in one hand and using it almost as a walking stick.

“My son,” he said unbidden, “you see what you’ve done?”

“I have, father,” the knight responded, “but I’m more than willing to stop all this, stand my army down and return things to the way they were.”

“In exchange for what?” he asked.

“The truth,” the knight said stiffly, “and an end to your war.”

“Lancelot must pay for his crimes,” he insisted, “it’s not something-”

“-That you expect me to understand, yes father,” the knight responded with a bit of a smile tugging at his lips. “We can discuss it, but I believe he can be forgiv-”

The sound of a sword singing came from someone on the two parties. With the tension thick enough to dull an axe, it was the final straw. More swords and weapons were presented, and the armies charged as the advance parties fell on each other.

The knight had a look of betrayal in his eyes as he presented the lance and lunged for his father. Michael’s form dodged the strike and let a sword loose, and when he saw the designs knew it intimately, Excalibur. The weapon of his present.

The two dueled for quite a while, the other members of their armies giving them the space to fight, seeing the two fight. Parries and strikes deflected off armor, until Michael’s form landed a decisive strike on the knight, breaking away his armor and leaving him bleeding profusely.

“It’s over, let me grant you mercy,” he said, staring down at his son.

The look he received in return tore his heart apart, and it made him falter just long enough for him to drop his guard. He barely felt the pike enter his chest-

Michael snapped his eyes open, grabbing his handgun off the nightstand and aiming at where his killer had been. He breathed heavily, aiming at the ceiling and nothing, even with a burning hole in his chest just below his heart. Michael forced himself to relax, calming his racing mind and crossing the pistol on his chest as he stared at the ceiling. He felt fine, but after he replaced the pistol on his nightstand, he reached under his shirt and ran his hand over the burning pain and felt something strange.

Michael rolled out of bed, walking to the bathroom and flipping the light on. He blinked to adjust his eyes from darkness to light as he lifted his light cotton shirt to inspect the damage. A faded scar was left where the pain subsided, and he furrowed his brow in confusion. I don’t have any scars there, he thought. His chest had always been protected by armor or ballistic plate, bruises from impact sure, but never a shot to the chest he remembered.

Had that scar come from my dream? How can that be? He wondered, leaning on the sink and thinking about the ghostly vividness of the dream, of his sword’s presence in the dream. His memory of the dream faded like the fog, and he was left with just scant details. Thinking quickly, he scavenged for and found a notepad. Without a pen, he grabbed Excalibur and forced it into a gold and silver pen to take down his notes. Castle, son, excalibur, death, large battle, the harder he tried to remember, the more the fog dissipated, Michael leaned on the nightstand, then sat back on the bed. He looked at the pen, and tossed it on the notepad next to his gun.

“What the hell have I gotten myself into?” he asked himself quietly, walking to the window and leaning on the frame to the side. He stared out at the midnight sky and forest, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness again. Witches, odd dreams, angels, he shook his head at the absurdity of it all. Was all this a dream? When would he wake up back in his bed at Hereford, scratch his head and start his morning routine?

He looked to his door and almost started for it, but remembered Allyson’s words, and did not want to disappoint her even if he had to lie to her about his rest. A true sleep never quite came to him after he crawled back into the sheets, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom.

He just did not understand, he felt like an alien in this new world. In over his head and out of his depth. For the first time in his life, in the darkness of that room and the shroud of confusion surrounding him, he thought about running. Not the physical act, but simply away. Distance himself from all this, just find somewhere quiet and contemplative to think.

Maybe something he could do in the morning, after breakfast and his workout.

He forced himself to sleep, at least his body. He could be physically rested and it would have to be enough. The hours crept by in real time as his mind never quite shut off, giving him the reprieve of sleep. When the sun rose, he woke and headed for the kitchen to prepare a meal for both himself and Allyson. He did not know when she would wake, but he would put off his training until she had been taken care of. Michael cooked a fluffy omelette with a mixture of cheeses he had found in the fridge, similar to what his father had used when he first taught Michael how to cook. Some pepper jack for spice, cheddar for taste, and mozzarella for extra taste.

Ally joined him shortly after he began, taking up her typical perch at the bar looking into the kitchen. Her appearance was silent, but Michael felt her approach and entry into the scene with the same subtle realization that the stars were out at night. Once he was finished, he looked up at her and suppressed a small smile as he set a plate in front of her on the bar with the omelette, sausages, and hash browns.

“Not going to eat with me?” she asked, cocking her head slightly as she took the first bite of the egg and cheese.

“I need to go for a run,” Michael said, glancing at the blonde, “just routine,” he promised disarmingly before he slipped out the back door into the crisp morning. He took off around the Institute, hugging the perimeter like he had yesterday morning, but finishing faster as he wasn’t focused on looking around. Once he completed his run, he headed for the gym of the Institute, and put himself through the paces and worked up a good sweat. Just like he had back in the military, he did now, and felt the same chemical impulses return reminding him that he was alive and ready to operate.

Michael jogged back to his bedroom and took a shower, preparing for the day and trying to use the regimented approach to life as a way to manage his stress and the nightmares plaguing him.

When he returned to the kitchen, he found Ally in the same spot, but this time a laptop in front of her as she ordered gear. She sipped at a steaming mug of coffee as she looked up at him, “your rifles and gear should be here in a few days, once my supplier gets her hands on everything.”

Michael nodded as he went for the coffeepot first, and poured himself a cup. He glanced at the blonde before he started cooking his own breakfast, “do you mind if I train with my weapons outside?” he asked, “there’s not really a range here,” he reasoned.

“I don’t see why not,” Ally shrugged. “I have a bunch of targets for you to use, too,” she promised. “I have thought about asking Cole and the boys to come out and bring shovels so we can build backstops at different ranges, so maybe that’s something you guys can do,” she offered.

“I’m all for getting my hands dirty,” he admitted, “I’d like to, ideally, build a killrange like I had back during my service with the Task Force.”

“What would that look like?” the blonde asked curiously.

“Obstacles and some prefab structures and target stands,” he explained simply. “Start at one corner, move up through the course,” he said. “You can double it as a static target range,” Michael added.

Word Count: 47700

[shatteredskies042]

NaNo Day 23

Ally watched him carefully, a longing in her eyes and emotions Michael could not decipher as he got comfortable in the chair. “What’s wrong?” Michael asked, meeting her gaze and furrowing a brow in confusion.

“Nothing,” the blonde said quickly, tearing her eyes away and looking at the fire. “Nobody has sat in that chair for sixty years. Since I put these chairs in,” she told him, glancing back at the soldier with a gentle smile.

“It’s a comfortable seat,” Michael promised, taking the final sip from his lemonade mixture. “This library is huge,” he noted.

“It’s the third largest surviving supernatural library in the world,” Ally said proudly, watching him. “The next is under New York, the largest is a magical academy in France,” she explained as she looked at him. “Those have more modern texts and are constantly updated,” the angel added. “This library stopped being regularly restocked when the Huntsmen collapsed, and while I’ve got some newer books, the majority was written up to and before 1942.”

“What happened to them?” Michael asked, “and what exactly were the Huntsmen? You mentioned they were a peacekeeping force.”

“They kept the supernatural world hidden and enforced the laws. Huntsmen were feared for their abilities and respected for them. There were Institutes all over Europe and North America. They were incredibly skilled fighters, magic users, sometimes they operated in teams, but for the most part they worked alone. The War led them to their downfall,” Ally remembered sadly as she looked at the fire. “They were straining to keep everything hidden, and communications between the ones trapped on the European continent were cut off from those in Russia, Britain, and the U.S. only made matters worse. The breaking point, or what everyone calls it, was when the Berlin Institute was bombed. The leadership there believed it was the work of the other Institutes, as their importance really wasn’t known to the allies. They struck back at the London Institute, and the infighting tore them apart,” Ally shook her head sadly.

“How many total are there?” he asked, listening to the tragedy intently.

“Well, here,” she waved to the building around them. “Outside New York City, London, Paris, Berlin, one to the south of Moscow, and there’s one in Rome. Most of them are hotels now, still focused on the supernatural,” she stated. “There’s a bunch of crazy rumors about a few other Institutes, like one in the West or one up in Alaska.”

“How did they keep the peace?” Michael wondered next.

“But sort of doing what we just did,” Ally said, “responding to conflicts and mediating. If somebody had to be hunted down, send a Huntsman. They solved the supernatural world’s problems, until they fell apart.”

“But if, like you said, the European Institutes were at war with each other, what about the New York one? Or Goddess Island?”

“They saw and heard what happened, and realized just how corrupt and flawed their system was as the world came apart around them. While the European Huntsmen died with bangs, the American Huntsmen just sort of faded away. I cleaned my fair share of skeletons out of this place,” Ally told him. “For the most part, they faded into society, some of them did their jobs as Huntsmen until their deaths, but the prestige of the profession was tarnished.”

Michael nodded slowly in understanding as he looked at her, then looked at the flickering fire. He listened to it crackle softly, and looked at the window at the brightness outside. It had felt like an entire day had passed already, but the sunlight would linger for a few hours still. He still had the Talon drive to decrypt, and now the Ivory Tower were worth looking into as well. “I think I’m going to head into town for a little bit,” he told the blonde.

“Want to pick up dinner while you’re there?” The angel asked with a raised eyebrow and a smile tugging at the corner of pink lips.

“Just tell me where to go,” he offered with a smile.

“I’ll text you, you still have the phone I gave you?” she asked.

“Yeah, thanks for reminding me,” he said, “is it secure? I don’t trust phones,” Michael admitted.

“These are pulled carefully and overwritten for members of the supernatural community,” Ally promised. “Don’t ask me how to explain how it works, but they essentially operate on another network and are scrambled so they’re hard to intercept. Unless of course the baddies get ahold of your phone,” she noted.

“Unlikely,” Michael promised, then rose from his chair, “see you in a bit with dinner,” he promised as he headed for the door. Michael did not know it, but Ally craned her head to watch him go, before staring at the chair he had sat in with a gentle smile, before returning to reading the old book.

Michael headed for his car and headed into town, referencing his shopping list from earlier where he needed to get more clothes and mundane things like a toothbrush. He could order some things online, more tactically focused gear, or just have Allyson order it for him. He found his way to a grocery store in the midst of town, wandering inside and taking a look around. Michael decided to take his cart and walk the aisles, searching meticulously for both things he needed and wanted along the way.

Years of training with the best special operators in the world, and I’m putting some of that to use shopping, he smiled to himself and laughed. His cart grew as he wandered upon things to store in the kitchen of the Institute, things he could cook with. As a guilty pleasure, he bought large bags of candy peppermints and sugared candy orange slices, knowing a good snack now and then would be a benefit. He finally found the health and self-care aisles, and picked up many of the things he needed. A toothbrush and paste, as well as shampoo and soap, and he felt that he had picked up what he needed.

Michael survived through the checkout process and carried the bags out to his car and secured them in the trunk. Next, he headed for a strip mall he had spotted near Scarlet’s coffee place. There were a few small clothing stores and a thrift store, only a handful of the former seemed like they would have clothing for him. Clothes shopping had never been his strong suit, but he needed to find things to wear: Things functional enough to pack his carry gear and low profile kit, but inconspicuous enough to blend in. The Grey Man look, they had a wardrobe of inconspicuous clothing and accessories back at their base in Hereford and Germany when he had been with Task Force BLACK. They had used them during low profile surveillance operations, or covert missions in urban spaces.

Even though he wasn’t going to be kidnapping important targets, or smashing a cyberwarfare den, being able to become a grey man and disappearing was an important equipment option he wanted to have.

He only found a handful of things in both stores, neutrally colored and generic clothing, just enough to blend in. He had tried on the new clothing in a fitting room with his handgun and magazines strapped to his body and rejected anything that printed at any point during his quick testing.

After loading the bags into his car, he felt his phone buzz. He had not remembered actually getting Ally’s name or phone number from her, but both and a picture were already present on his phone. She had sent him a number of pictures, captures of a menu. He sat in the driver’s seat of his Camaro and went over the information for a Chinese place in town. It was a good choice, he thought, his mind instantly going back to stakeouts and surveillance missions with BLACK. They had to eat, and as a joke they would usually get takeout from a Chinese place. They were almost ubiquitous, and rarely posed a health threat to the team the same way Mexican food or a greasy burger would.

He responded with what he wanted, and the blonde promised she would let him know when it was ready.

Michael smiled a bit, then looked at the thrift store. He had to give it a try, he decided after a moment of thinking. Maybe he would find something good there, if not, it killed more time until their takeout was ready. The inside was well lit, and something caught his eye almost as soon as he found his way to the clothing section: a flat black leather jacket. Pulling it off the hangar, he tried it on and stretched, moving to see if the leather would make any noise. It failed to, and Michael noted that the measurements were very similar to the semi-covert tactical jackets he had been issued in BLACK. With some minor modifications, he could easily conceal a pair of magazines in the jacket itself, and have plenty of pockets and storage space for equipment. Instantly enamored by the garment, Michael took it off and headed for the checkout counter, paying for it without much bartering and returning to his silver car.

There was also the possibility of reinforcing it, he thought. Like the gear he had previously, a thin layer of Kevlar Diamond Weave could be added to the interior, giving some ballistic protection. Maybe Ally knew a vendor or someone trustworthy to do it. He could hardly wear a ballistic vest or plates around everywhere he went, and with the possibility of both Talon goons and Ivory Tower operators out there gunning for him, he needed all the protection he could get.

As the sun’s light faded from the sky, Michael drove around, familiarizing himself with the town and the territory. Once Ally told him their food was ready, he drove to the address provided and headed inside, waiting in a short line until he was directed to the pick up counter.

In and out was fairly quick, and he walked out with two bags of pungent Chinese food. He returned to the island, and found Allyson standing in the garage when he backed in. “Welcome back,” she greeted with a smile as he got out of the car.

“Hey,” he replied. “The food is in the passenger seat, I bought some stuff I have to bring in, too,” he admitted as he crossed over the trunk.

“Catch,” Ally bid as she tossed him a small black box. “Garage door opener,” she explained as she claimed the two bags of Chinese food. “I’ll put these in the kitchen and then come back and help you with the groceries,” she promised before disappearing into the Institute.

Michael leaned into the open passenger door and mounted the device Ally had given him to the visor on the driver’s side, then retreated to get the groceries from the trunk. It took the two of them a pair of trips each, and once they were done Michael stored the refrigerated goods before doing anything else. Once that was taken care of, he joined Ally at the table and took arrayed his meal around his eating space while the blonde chewed on a piece of pork.

“You bought clothes too?” she asked, looking up at him while he opened the white containers and looked at his meal. He speared a piece of orange chicken with his fork and took a bite before he responded.

“Most of the clothes I got from my storage unit were a bit small,” he told her. “They still fit me, of course, but I can’t easily conceal a weapon while wearing them.”

Ally nodded affirmatively, “I see,” a smile curled at her sauce stained lips before she ran over them with a napkin. “You’re not going to be bringing diva levels of clothing with you on our missions, right?” she teased.

“Only diva levels of equipment,” he promised with a returned smile. They ate in a comfortable silence, and afterwards Michael thanked the blonde for dinner.

“Don’t worry,” she responded with a sly smile, “pay me back by cooking breakfast in the morning,” the told him.  

Word Count: 45626

[shatteredskies042]

NaNo Day 22

Once the explosive left his hands, Michael dove for the grassy deck and covered his head. There was a pop, and a hissing filled the air. He recognized the scent, even before he rolled over and saw the white smoke and blazing flames: White phosphorus. He doubted war crimes were a concern of the men in white operating against them, and reasoned they had been trying to demo their dead friend’s body. Michael aimed his rifle as a figure bathed in white flames flailed about, firing several times into his body to put him out of his misery. Nobody deserved that death, even the men who had perpetrated it against the witches.

As other figures appeared, Michael engaged them and ended their burning misery. The forest fell quiet but for the quiet crackle of the chemical fires. He crouched, sweeping his eyes and the barrel of his rifle over the verdant battlefield, before he stepped back to the first body he had found. He knelt by the bloody man in white, inspecting him and his gear. His armor and gear was devoid of patches and markers other than a blood type indicator.

High quality weapons, Michael thought as he pulled the rifle from his stiff hands. He cleared the weapon and rendered it safe, looking over the Heckler and Koch G36 rifle, devoid of any kind of markings other than fire selectors. There usually were serial numbers stamped somewhere on the weapon, but he’d have to do a full disassembly to find it. His handgun was again, an unmarked Glock. Armor appeared to be standard SAPI plates, but with some kind of reflective paneling over the plates, perhaps a magical countermeasure. Searching the man’s pockets, he only found tools of the trade, ammunition, a knife, tools and aid kits. Michael shook his head and stood up, returning to Allyson with a sour look on his face.

“You okay?” the blonde asked first, a concerned look dominating her tired features.

“I’m fine,” he promised. “These guys are ghosts. Unmarked brass and ammunition, no personal items,” he shook his head, and looked at the witches, lowering his voice. “They knew what they were doing, and these guys are serious customers.”

“Their shooting wasn’t too good though,” Ally noted with a small smile, “they didn’t hit you, me, or any of the witches.”

“I was trying to keep them suppressed,” he agreed, but knew they could not rely on poor accuracy. “They all wore white outfits, same as what Samantha and the others saw. The only guys who wear white are either in snow, or doctors,” he added.

“Brides, too,” Ally added, smiling slightly before shaking her head. “Rani is dead set on this Ivory Tower group,” she stated. “Something goes bump in the night, she blames it on them.”

“There’s truth to some conspiracies,” Michael did offer in counter. He had been a part of a few of them, and with the new facet of the world he had been injected into, anything could be true.

Ally pursed her lips and shook her head, looking back at the witches. “Once our reinforcements arrive, let’s head home,” she said softly, “healing all these wounds took a toll on me.” For but a moment, the bulletproof mask she wore faltered, and it was plain to see the angel was in great pain.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Michael asked, suddenly concerned with her well being.

“I’m fine, I’m just not used to healing people in a situation like this in these numbers,” she admitted, the strong mask coming back onto her smooth face as she forced a smile. “Just don’t worry about me,” she implored him.

He would have to ask just how her healing worked, but that was another question for another time. “Is that your backup?” he asked, seeing a vehicle bounding towards them over the grass. Michael stepped around the angel, and interposed himself again between the witches. The vehicles were driving in a loose single stack, and he would not take any chances as he reloaded his rifle.

Ally put a phone to her ear, speaking indistinctly for a minute. “Michael, it’s them, it’s okay,” she told him, watching the soldier scantily relax. At least, she took relaxing his posture from aiming at the convoy to ready-low as relaxation. Before the others loaded up the witches, Ally watched Michael move from the convoy and back to the sides of Samantha and Carla. He spoke gently to them, her senses only picking up snippets of conversation.

Samantha called him a superhero, and that drew a shaken head from Michael. He wasn’t a superhero, he explained, they had fancy suits or miraculous powers. He only had training and the will to win, things that she could learn, he stressed to the little girl. It brought a smile to Ally’s lips, watching their interaction and just how he handled himself. She turned away to hide this fact, before she heard Michael approach her and stand at her side.

“Ready to go?” he asked the blonde.

By way of agreement, and after a moment to think and focus, Ally opened a portal home and followed her partner through it. They appeared in the living room, and Michael looked over at her for a moment.

“What will happen to them?” he asked, as the two tiredly walked back to the armory.

“I don’t think their whole coven got wiped out, and if their elders survived they’ll rebuild,” Ally said quietly as she took off her belt and secured her sidearm, then leaned on the table heavily. “I’ll keep tabs on them for you,” she promised as she watched him disarm.

“Thank you,” he said gently as he cleared his rifle and set it down on the bench. “I’ll clean it here in a little bit,” he promised, looking at the blonde, “I just want to take a shower and clear my head.”

The angel nodded slowly, looking at him as he took his vest off and set it down. “Yeah, I could use one too. After you clean, you should wander around the Institute a bit,” she urged, “learn the building.”

Michael nodded at her suggestion, then cocked his head to the doors of the armory and wandered back towards the bedrooms. “How does your healing work?” he asked the blonde, looking at her as they slowly moved to the main room.

Ally took a long breath, then looked at him, “it isn’t perfect,” she stated, “and I don’t fully understand it.” She held up her hand, looking at it for a moment, “what I’ve noticed is I can heal the damage, close wounds, ease pain. Think back to when I accidentally cut your ankle,” she directed as she looked at him: “I healed you, closed the wound and stopped the bleeding, right? But it still hurt for a bit and you have a mark there. I take that injury on myself, it isn’t physical, I didn’t get a cut on my ankle to match,” she stated as they climbed the stairs. “It’s on my soul. And it still hurts,” she explained. “Healing the witches, I don’t heal more than a couple people at a time, or someone badly hurt at a time,” Ally stated, stopping at the top and looking at him before going their separate ways. “It takes a toll,” the angel told him quietly. “I’m usually fine after a rest, but an injury like that will stick with me. I can deal with a lot,” she promised, “but it takes a toll and drags me down.”

Michael nodded slowly at her explanation, understanding but not at the same time. “Thank you for healing me,” he said quietly, thinking about how badly he’d been hurt when they first met, and again. Physically, at least. Her powers didn’t extend to wounds to his psyche or conscience.

“Don’t mention it,” Ally said with a soft smile that warmed the man across from her, “I’ll see you in a bit,” she wished, before heading for her room. Michael did the same, and they both did much of the same things.

Michael got into the rather spacious shower and leaned on the wall as the water rained down. His eyes closed as he processed the sounds and sights and smells from earlier, letting them free before he compartmentalized them again. The smell of burnt hair, burnt flesh, seeing the blackened and twisted bodies. Fire was always horrifying to him, such an inhuman way of death, uncaring and destroying all in it’s path.

Seeing people shot had lost an effect on him, something Michael wasn’t proud to admit. It was the principal way he had seen life taken, and taken life itself, and immersion in it had reduced his sensitivity. Maybe he had just grown cold, had to as a result of the violent world he lived in.

But what about those moments with Samantha, or the cop? Another part of his mind asked. Perhaps while he had grown cold in some areas, he was far from an angry, isolated person. Innocent people, only doing their best, and it was his job to protect them from threats they didn’t know how to deal with. It was his burden, but his duty. Maybe living with Allyson, working with her, would bring a warmth to his life and give him peace. Working with someone in public, and not sharing the same compartmentalized gallows humor of soldiers in life or death situations would do him good.

His thoughts drifted to the blonde, just wondering about her, and why she had helped him. She saw something in him that he did not see in himself, and he could not fathom why she felt the way she did. He knew she wasn’t telling the truth about something, but he was not about to call the blonde on it.

In due time, Michael got his act together, compartmentalized the horrors he had seen, and left the shower. He dressed, including his holster and trustworthy handgun, and headed back into the Institute. Ally was nowhere to be seen, so he headed to the kitchen to find something to drink. He would have to eat, but he would probably explore the Institute and clean the rifle he had used earlier. Looking through the fridge, he found a container of iced tea and some of lemonade. A thought from childhood struck, and a wide smile crossed his face He pulled both out and set them on a counter, getting a pitcher and a large spoon to stir. Michael first found a cup and tried the lemonade first, seeing how potent the blend was.

His first sip was pleasant, noting the tangy taste of the lemonade. He added a small bit to the larger pitcher, then filled the rest with the iced sweet tea and stirred. Satisfied, he tried his mix and smiled to himself, before returning all the ingredients to the fridge.

Michael took his glass to the armory, and pulled up a stool at the workstation he had left the rifle at. He found a cleaning kit and bore brushes around the room, and gathered everything neatly around his workspace. In several seconds, Michael had the rifle stripped and neatly arranged around the workspace. Cleaning weapons was a simple, manual task, but something he loved doing. He’d volunteered at the armory previously to get more experience, and had often thought about getting an armorer's certification.

It took him almost an hour, of slow, methodical cleaning before he was satisfied with his work. Once he was finished, he returned the rifle to its home among the racks and searched for a notepad. He found a pen and scribbled down the gear he wanted and needed: A SCAR assault rifle and accessories, as well as load-bearing vests and equipment that he had used prior and desired for familiarity in operating now. He took a long pull of the lemon-tea mix and looked around slowly as he contemplated the sweet and sour taste. Before he left the armory, he spotted Excalibur, resting in it’s sword form. He picked it up at the hilt, and thought deeply for a moment, closing his eyes and focusing. After about a minute of concentration, he held the form of his preferred SCAR assault rifle in his hands. It felt lighter than the real thing, but maybe he could use Excalibur as that as well. He would have to test it’s accuracy, against the real thing, but it would be worth experimenting with the weapon. Again, Michael thought about the weapon, and formed it down into a pen, tucking it into one of his pockets before heading out into the Institute.

Michael simply wandered then, looking around and getting to know the layout. It was rather easy to tell where Ally went typically, as it was clean and lit. He wandered into the training wing they had visited earlier, and found a stairwell that led him above the ground floor and the sparring wing, where he found more training equipment and dummies. Nothing too solid to use as a range, but if he really wanted to he could construct one outside.

Weights and other training equipment was present too, a nice revelation for him. A skylight lit the chamber, and behind closed doors seemed to be classrooms almost, but untouched for years. He continued wandering, until he entered a space he assumed was the central building: It was built like the sparring chamber, tiered balconies around a skylight that cast pools of light, but this room was much different. Water trickled and flowed, the bottom floor was a beautifully manicured garden with a pristine water feature. The smell of the water and plants put Michael at ease, letting him release some of the tension he had been holding in as a force of habit. Tables were arranged around the balcony he was on, and he concluded this had to be some kind of common area for the whole complex.

Michael peered through doors and windows, and it only added to his conclusions as he looked into meeting rooms and more space for entertainment. He would have to come back here at some point just to relax, read a book maybe. He wandered down another hallway, and came to a wide set of double doors. He pushed through curiously, and walked to a raining in awe.

He must have found the Institute’s library, easily the largest repository of books and knowledge he had ever seen. Five floors stuffed full of shelves loaded down with books. The upper floors were all connected by open spaces irregularly spaced on every floor, a safety measure that none could fall more than a story at a time. Small nooks were carved out of the rows upon rows of shelves for couches, chairs, benches, places to sit and reflect.

At the other end of the room, against the outer wall of the building, lay a wide stone hearth. A comfortable looking spread surrounded it, with a pair of wingback chairs faced the fireplace, a fire crackling behind a wrought iron fence. He wandered slowly into the area, towards the aura of comfort the small enclave presented. He saw a table beside one of the chairs, and a glass of dark liquid filling it.

As he approached further, he saw Allyson’s form, curled up in a chair and reading a thick leather bound book. Her eyes caught his staring, and she smiled brightly as she closed the book.

“I see you’ve found my favorite place in the Institute,” she noted with a smile. “Come on, take a seat,” she urged while she shifted in her own chair.

Michael drifted closer and to the other chair, plush and red, looking almost brand new where Allyson’s had a good bit of wear on hers. He settled down into the chair and found it cold and hard, despite the warmth of the room, almost like the chair had never been sat in before. He looked at the fire, then at the angel, who was curled up in her chair with both a regality and relaxation, like a queen on her comfortable throne.

Word Count: 43578

[shatteredskies042]

NaNo Day 20-21

They reached the edge a few minutes after making their deployment into the forest, and Michael crouched in the midst of the bushes. Ahead of them, a large home smoldered, covered in black ash and soot. The structure had collapsed partially, likely from the heat melting the supports. Smoke still rose from the structure, despite the fire not being fresh. Michael surveyed the scene with his rifle mounted optic, scanning for human shaped forms around the building or in the forests beyond.

“How many people were inside?” Michael whispered to Allyson, sitting on her haunches a few feet away.

“Hundred, two hundred, something like that,” she replied quietly. “The house used to be much larger, not as big as the Institute, but lively.” She thought for a moment, closing her eyes. “There might be a shelter in the basement, we should look there first after we secure the area.”

Michael nodded, finishing another scan of the area. “Either they’re dug in good, or we aren't walking into an ambush,” he mused. “I’m ready.”

“Go,” Ally whispered, before she rose to her feet and advanced into the clearing. Michael jogged alongside her, separated by a few feet in case they came under attack. His rifle held at ready low, as his eyes watched suspiciously.

They ran across the open field without incident, until they reached the perimeter of the scorched building. The acrid, offensive smell was thick in the air, but there was something else. Michael had to sniff the air a few times, almost comically, before he got it. “Ally,” he whispered, looking over at her. “Bodies,” he whispered.

“I smell it too, not just a couple,” she agreed grimly. “Let’s skirt the edge of the building, I don’t really want to go into a burned out house,” she said.

“Yeah, me neither,” Haghn agreed. He peeked through the openings of the destroyed house, sweeping the inside from what he could see. There were a few bodies he could see on the floor, scorched beyond recognition of a human shape.

He’d seen worse.

He stepped carefully behind Allyson, at her back and alternating between looking out at the fields and forest and back into the ruined structure as she advanced. “Wait,” she whispered, and he fell into a crouch as he felt her move and walk ahead a few steps. “Come and help me,” she urged quickly.

Michael lowered his weapon and spun a hundred and eighty degrees as he moved to her, struggling over a beam fallen over a pair of steel doors. Leading down to a basement, and possible survivors. He stepped around the blonde to the end of the frayed beam, blackened by fire. Together, he and Ally strained and managed to push the beam off the hatch. “Open it,” he directed, standing just off to the side and making his weapon ready.

Allyson grunted as the hinges screamed in protest, but one door gave with it’s partner not far behind. Michael peered down into the basement, before Ally stepped into the hatch. “Michael,” she called out breathlessly, “there’s survivors down here,” she pronounced.

Michael let out a sigh he didn’t know he had been holding, relieved to have found some life. He reached into a pocket and drew a compact flashlight and used it to illuminate the basement. The basement was unfinished wood and concrete, with modern additions tacked on. The ceiling had collapsed in several places, and the air was thick with the smell of fire. Burnt hair was an addition here, and the smells of charred flesh less so. Human shapes were huddled against the walls, and Michael crouched by a handful while Ally explored further. “How many are there?” he asked quietly.

One woman coughed, pale skin under the ash and soot, with deeply bloodshot green eyes. “There’s-” another cough. “A d-dozen here, I think I heard voices somewhere else but-” more coughing stopped her.

Michael nodded, “keep coughing, that’s good,” he told them, recalling what he knew about dealing with smoke inhalation. Deadlier than the fire itself, if he remembered right. “Okay, listen up,” he called out to the others, stepping back. “If you can walk,” he gestured with his light towards the open door to the outside. “Go there, get outside into the grass. And keep coughing,” he added as an afterthought. “You guys need to get all the smoke out of your lungs,” he told them. “Anybody who can’t walk?” he asked.

A couple of feeble sounds came from a trio of the witches, and he made his choice: “Ally!” he called out for the blonde.

“I’ve got a few more over here,” she called through the thick air.

“I’m taking them outside, and starting triage,” he announced back, before he walked to the closest witch. “What’s your name?” he asked quietly, quickly assessing her for injuries before gingerly lifting her up and slinging her over his shoulders.

“Carla,” she responded through clenched teeth, holding the pain back as her wounds were jolted. Out in the light, Michael took a few steps into the grass before taking a knee and laying her down. Her wounds weren’t extensive, but her underarms were scorched. She hissed in pain before she opened her eyes and looked at him. “You-you look like one of them,” she said in quiet shock.

“Like who?” Michael asked.

“The men who did this, but,” she searched for the right words. “They wore masks, and they wore white.”

“They wore white,” Michael repeated, furrowing his brow and thinking. He did not linger long, before he stepped back into the smoky, dusty cellar to carry more out. On the way, he passed Allyson, who was carrying two people on her shoulders. “Ally,” he stopped her, “ask them about who did this, men in white, see if they saw anything.”

The blonde nodded, then coughed, “there’s two more deeper back there I’m going for. You know first aid?” she asked.

“I do, but not enough,” he said quietly before he passed her and moved back to the others. He knew enough to care for general wounds, and for injuries common on the battlefield. Burn victims were outside of his experience, and all he could do was make them comfortable until more advanced help could arrive.

Michael pulled the other two out in one run, before he laid them down in the grass and began to take note of their injuries. For many of them, the wounds were well hidden in black soot and burned skin, and just like with a rifle, he couldn’t hit what he couldn’t see.

He started at one end of the line, assessing the witch there and treating what injuries he could. His first aid kit was small, but he had to stretch it and make things work. As he worked, he talked quietly with the patient, asking their name, where their pain was coming from, and finally, what had happened.

Stories varied as he moved down the line, using the minimum of gauze and bandages to wrap wounds. Some said they hadn’t seen anything until the fire and flames hit, some had heard broken glass before the inferno began. Only one other could corroborate Carla’s theory about the men in white. When Ally arrived with the last two survivors, she laid them down and started to heal them.

“Ally,” Michael said with a quiet, hoarse tone, “I’ve done everything I can,” he professed.

“I’ll do what I can, but I’m going to be here a while if we don’t get somebody to come and help us,” she agreed, before lapsing into a period of intense coughing. After it subsided, she looked to him, “I’m going to call Rani, see if she can send us help.”

Michael nodded, then looked at the others. “I’m going to check the rest of the perimeter, see if there’s more survivors,” he said, before he picked up his rifle and stood. He jogged away from their grassy trauma ward and approached the house again. He did not hug the perimeter like they had earlier, instead walking a fair distance around and listening. He found a scorched body in the grass, and knelt by it to investigate. He gingerly, rolled the body over, and furrowed his brow in confusion. While her back had been burned, the front of her body was untouched, instead damaged by some other kind of physical attack. Her nose appeared broken, as did her arms, Michael rocked back, and looked at the house. With the amount of burned material there, it was hard to tell just how tall the building had once stood.

Maybe she had jumped to escape the flames? He wondered, an interesting phenomenon where the slim chance of survival, or other form of death, was better than being consumed in a fire. But perhaps there was more to it, judging by how badly she was burned. Thrown, perhaps? As he noticed shards of glass in her broken arms, causing him to look back again.

Think, he told himself. Use Ox’s Wooden Shoe rule. It was a common thing that came up in training, when someone protested over a presented security measure or action. The tall Scot’s response was typically, “well, wouldn’t you?” The operators used it all the time in the field, and he thought it worked well.

He had to think like an attacker, how would he have taken down this place. The abundance of fire and the devastation wrought could only be the work of explosives, but he doubted they came from the inside. Michael leaned back towards the body of the witch, and closed her eyes before returning her to the state she died in, then strode away.

He carefully peered in the grass, looking for any clue, any mistake the supposed men in white made. He searched the grass with his light, even though it was still daytime, perhaps he could get a glint off metal to point him in the right direction. He walked to the treeline, and there he caught his clue:

Next to a tree, just deep enough to be concealed, but with a great line of sight to the broadside of the house, was a spent casing. Crouching by it, he found the steel unmarked, but the coloring told him all he needed to know. It was common in every military in the world, or at least everyone used the same supplier, who marked incendiary shells with red paint. The casing was most likely from a forty millimeter launcher, of which there were dozens to choose from.

Things came together further, and Michael could almost see it happen: patrolled in, small groups, between two and four. Probably one grenadier packing the launcher, the others carrying rifles and maybe reloads for the grenadier. A good spot here, with good line of sight into any window on this side of the house. Launching grenades was easy, but placing them through windows was not, which means at least the demolitions man was a professional, but easy to extrapolate that the rest are too.

Michael looked around slowly, looking for signs of disrupted foliage and found plenty. Crushed leaves and flowers, bent branches, either they were adverse to operating in these woods, or didn’t care about discovery later. Tracking had never been his strong suit, and he would waste more time attempting to follow them.

He left the suspected sight of the attack and knew he could return to Ally, but he had more area to cover before he could say the area was fully reconnitiered. He returned to the house, and saw more bodies laying in the grass. Strangely, these were not burned, but in some cases trails of dried blood marked the path they took in their final moments. Michael again crouched by their bodies to investigate, feeling much like a heavily armed and poorly trained detective. Immediately, he had a dead giveaway, with three large exit wounds in her back. A tight grouping, professionally done, fatal, she was dead shortly after hitting the ground. He again looked at the treeline, first back at the hide he had discovered, then at the forest in front of them. It looked more likely that a second unit had been in the area, probably with the same mission as the first, and reinforced a new theory in his mind: This wasn’t a demolition to send a message, this was a kill team.

Grim discovery in mind, he found at least four more bodies in similar states, all shot from the front. Hard to tell from the entry and exit wounds, but it was easily a rifle caliber, probably not a heavy round. The destruction was too clean for that, and on a possibly long hump through the woods like the kill teams took, nobody would want to lug around their kit, ammunition for the grenadier, and carry a heavy rifle. Most professionals used lighter rounds anyway, he reasoned.

He strode back to the house, seeing a collapsed archway and reasoning that this was likely an entrance. Wood around still smoldered, likely a deck or some kind of overlook that had been torched with the rest of the building. He gingerly stepped inside, slowly releasing a breath as he tried to avoid breathing in the ash.

“Help me,” a weak voice beckoned from inside.

Michael’s eyes lit up, and he snapped to look for the source. “Where are you?” he called back, shining his flashlight around the charred rubble. “Can you move?”

“A a-a little,” the voice responded, small and meek.

“Do you see my light?” he asked, slinking low and shining it as far as he could through the rubble. “Move towards it the best you can, keep talking to me,” he urged the witch. He brought his shoulder under a beam and with a loud grunt and straining effort shoved it out of the way, before crouching low again. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Samantha,” she responded quietly, “I see the light,” she told him, and small shuffling and grunting sounds were heard. “I-” she stammered a bit, “I think my leg is broken,” she stated.

“I’ll help you,” Michael promised, before he saw the moving form. He leaned down as far as he could, then reached out with his free hand to help pull her through a small gap in the collapsed building. It took some work, but he pulled the girl free, then helped bring her outside.

“Who are you?” she asked, before she coughed.

“Keep coughing,” Michael urged, “its how you get the smoke out of your lungs.” He could see now Samantha was just a girl, probably not even a teenager, caught up in all this death and destruction. He shook his head at the absurdity of it all, before he answered her question. “My name is Michael, I’m here to help,” he promised, before he lifted her up and slung her over his shoulders.

“Why-” she cut herself off with another round of hacking, “why do you have a gun?” she asked, almost frightened.

“Because I’m a soldier, Samantha,” Michael said simply.

“I thought soldiers just fought bad guys,” the child replied, voice full of wonder.

“We do that, but we help people when we can,” he responded quietly before they reached the others. Ally was healing as she went, but he could tell she was getting exhausted. “I found one more,” he announced.

“Samantha?” a voice asked, the voice of Carla. “Are you okay? Is she okay?” she asked Michael.

The soldier took her to the witch he had rescued, and laid her down gently next to her. “Her leg is broken,” he announced, “and she has some minor cuts and burns,” he said, looking at Allyson. “I’ll use what I have left to try and help you,” he promised the blonde girl.

“I called Rani’s people, and she got in touch with a couple other covens in the area. They’re sending people to help, but they’re still at least an hour away.”

“Long time to wait,” Michael grumbled before he started to gingerly wrap Samantha’s wounds. “Samantha, think back to before this happened,” he directed gently. “What do you remember?”

“I was-” her voice drifted off, and she repeated the statement a few times before she came up with a solid answer. “I was in the kitchen,” she said, “getting some lemonade that Miss Rune had just made and I saw something out the window. I told a couple others by the table about it and they ran out the door, then there was loud sounds and-”

“Shh,” Michael soothed, seeing the girl on the verge of tears. “What did you see?” he asked her.

“It looked like a person, but they were doing something weird,” she brought her arms up to her face, and capped fists over her eyes. “Like that.”

Binoculars, Michael knew immediately, scouting the target just before they hit. “Do you remember anything else?” he asked, “like what they were wearing?”

“White, I think,” she responded. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, it is,” Michael promised the little girl and gently pat her head. He looked to Allyson as she settled down by Carla, her wings showing as she healed the injured witches.

“Are you an angel?” Samantha asked Allyson, looking over at her with wonder.

“Yeah, she is,” Michael said, looking at his partner. “She needs to concentrate though,” he urged.

“Are you an angel, too?” she asked Michael, looking at him. He shook his head and pursed his lips.

“No, Samantha, I’m just a regular guy,” he promised.

The blonde girl nodded, then looked at Ally and watched her work. Even in the light it was clear that she was using her healing aura, or whatever it was she had as an angel that let her help people.

Michael was quiet for a few minutes, alternating between watching Allyson work and watching the forest around them. Being in an exposed position made him uneasy, with only hope and the cover of a destroyed building to shield them from some attackers, and then nothing but empty air between him and threats at other angles.

He sensed Ally moving on, not just as an extension of the senses but feeling her move. Like something bound them together. It was a bond he had when he had operated with Task Force BLACK, forged through years of training together. But he seemingly had it with Allyson after only a couple of days of knowing her. He chalked it up to her otherworldly state, being an angel and all.

“Michael, I hear something,” the blonde whispered, stopping her act of healing.

“Not your reinforcements, is it?” he worried, going on alert as he took his rifle up.

“No,” she said darkly.

Movement came from the treeline, and Michael aimed at it, setting his rifle over a white suited figure’s chest. His finger gently depressed the trigger, but he waited to fire until he saw:

Gun.

“Contact,” he announced, before he squeezed the trigger and sent a round flying. A puff came from the man’s chest as he fell, and gunfire sparked back in return. Michael stood, and advanced a few steps while firing at the disruptions in the foliage.  

He tried to make himself as big of target as he could, to draw fire and attention away from Ally and the witches. Rounds hit the dirt around him, and he knew it was only a matter of time until one caught him. He saw an arrow blur past him, headed towards their attackers as Michael kept up the booming gunfire from his battle rifle. He knew he had hit some of them, and it would have taught them a lesson about spacing, as the gunfire slacked off.

“Ally, stay here, protect them,” he told the blonde, looking back at her and the crowd of injured, scared witches. “I’ll push up and see if we got any.”

“Be careful,” the blonde wished before he started running.

Michael advanced, rifle held high as he sprinted for the treeline. He tracked his optic over where the gunfire had been coming from, his heart pounding in his ears. He controlled his breathing, but he couldn’t help it, the stress mounting as he entered the treeline.

Michael crouched low, then saw a figure slumped in white against a tree. Michael looked around quickly, then stepped towards the body. He heard a metallic click, then something flew towards him. He had but a second to realize, then act. Michael dropped his rifle, the black shape hanging off his chest and bouncing lightly as he raised his hands to catch the object.

He wrapped his hands around it like catching a baseball, and just as quickly cocked his throwing arm back and let it fly on a reciprocal course. In hindsight, right as he caught the device, he knew it was stupid. But he was not about to let himself get exploded or torched, whatever the payload was. 

Word Count: 40,880

[shatteredskies042]

NaNo Day 19

“You’re taking to a demon in full armor with many times your combat experience?” Ailkir asked, a note of sarcasm in his voice. “Are you serious?”

“You sound scared,” Michael noted, with the grin living on his lips.

“Michael,” Ally whispered, sounding unsure.

“Trust me,” he responded, glancing at the blonde quickly before stepping forward and adopting a defensive stance.

The captain of the guard drew a short sword, and with a cry, charged Michael. As he watched the approach, and analyzed his attacker and his options in the blink of an eye, he noted just how slow he was. Ally had been much faster than this.

He could deal with that.

Before he came into range of his weapon, Michael slid forward a step and acted. He brought his far leg up, then kicked out and cracked down on the armored kneecap of the demon. There was a sickening crack, the knee twisting over and taking Alkir on a pained fall. However, Michael’s attack was far from done, as he lanced his right arm up into his falling cheek. Another lurch and crack, before Michael stepped back while Alkir fell into the grass.

“You done?” Michael asked, enough distance between them that if Alkir decided to stand, he could act before he got his weapon into anything resembling range of him. The demon stood shakily, then spit blood into the grass, staring at the soldier’s cheeky grin with hatred.

“You won’t beat me so easy,” he promised, before charging again, this time swinging his weapon well before he approached the soldier. Again, Michael thought, too slow. He bowed quickly, stepping forward and away from the guard and into his dead side, reaching up to grab his armored arm. Pressure on his elbow forced his arm to hyperextend, and a blow to his hand knocked the sword loose, falling into the grass. As it fell, blade first, Michael kicked the flat side away, well out of reach of the demon as again he retreated.

“Oh and two, want to give it a third time,” Michael offered confidently as Alkir turned around. He stepped forward to take him up on the offer, but Michael was a step ahead. In a blur, his pistol filled his hands and was held high by his face, aimed at the demon. “Strike three,” he said simply as the other guards leveled their pikes at Michael.

“Enough!” Came a voice on a balcony above them, Alkir looked up, but Michael kept focused on him and the other guards. “Human, lower your weapon,” the same voice urged.

Michael caught Ally’s form in the corner of his vision, and she nodded. Michael slowly relaxed, and returned his handgun to it’s holster behind his back, fixing his shirt and jacket before he rejoined the blonde. She had an impressed look on her face, before she looked up at the figure. “He didn’t start it,” Ally shrugged, speaking back to the woman Michael saw now, short with jet black hair.

“But he’s made his point, come inside, I’ll meet you in the throne room,” the voice said, before retreating back inside.

Ally and Michael were permitted access past another Blackstone door, following a guard. The blonde looked at the soldier for a moment as they walked the ancient looking halls, strange art adorning the walls and candles flickering every six feet. “You handled him well,” she noted, “but you got lucky,” the angel chided. “Alkir has always been full of it and blinded by just how good he things he is, so his own overconfidence got him beat just as much as you did.”

“He was slower than you,” Michael pointed out. “That’s why I had a chance.”

“He was slower than me at my slowest, you still have a long way to go,” she reminded him, but smiled to soften the blow. “Still, nice work.”

The red carpet, dark walls, and silver piping felt like something out of a Hollywood villains lair, at least to Michael’s unrefined tastes. The tour to the throne room was designed to awe, to remind the visitor just who they were visiting and how they had to measure up. The White House did the same, but it hardly fazed Haghn.

The throne room was equally impressive, backed against admittedly beautiful views of the lake at the back of the fortress with wide windows casting long wells of light. The throne was oversized, the back at least seven feet tall, with a bored looking woman sitting in it and leaning on the arm. She was short, with raven black hair and dark red eyes. “Welcome, Ally,” she greeted. “Please introduce me to your companion, who embarrassed my best general.”

“Do I have to bow?” he asked Ally as they approached.

“I never do,” she whispered back before raising her voice. “Queen Rani,” she began officiously, an act she put on plainly, “this is Michael Haghn, ex-Special Forces, and my new partner,” she lowered her voice to address the soldier, “Michael, Queen Rani,” she gestured to the throne. Her tone shifted back to a more casual bent, “first of her name, lady of the castle, etcetera,” she rolled her eyes.

“Appearances have to be kept,” the queen said from her perch. “Allyson is a frequent problem solver of mine, so I hope you can assist her in those efforts,” she said, looking at the ornately armored guards around her throne. “My guards have been adequate protectors of this throne for a long time, but perhaps things are changing, as evidenced by your actions earlier. New threats are emerging, ones that I hope you will help us deal with.”

“Are you on about the Ivory Tower again?” Ally asked.

“Yes, I fear they’re behind a recent strike my spies have caught wind of,” she nodded, “I have no evidence to prove this, yet. Those capable of finding out are occupied elsewhere,” she explained with a note of sadness.

“Naturally it falls to us,” Ally agreed, looking at Michael. “What can you tell us?”

“Please, follow me,” she bid them, rising from her throne and striding down the steps towards the two. She led them to a set of double doors, leading to a conference room stuffed with maps and clocks. “This room is well kept by my spymaster and my generals, detailing threats to my throne and actions I am taking against them,” she explained, walking to a flat map of the world filled with annotations. “This is what I was concerned about,” she stated, handing Ally a folder.

The blonde flipped it open and read the report, “interesting,” she mused, before glancing at Michael. “One of the biggest covens of witches in North America just lost their home,” she stated.

“Where was this?” he asked.

“Upstate New York,” she responded. “Details are very thin.”

“Details I hope the two of you can expand on,” Rani stated, looking at the two. “I fear the Ivory Tower’s involvement, and if they are, they pose a larger threat than I initially believed.”

“Back up, Ivory Tower,” Michael stated. “Give me a quick rundown.”

“Human supremacists, bent on destroying the supernatural, magic, everything,” Rani said simply. “They’ve been a myth, a legend, the boogeyman.”

“Something goes wrong, it gets blamed on them,” Ally added, looking at Michael, “despite there being almost no concrete evidence to support their existence.”

“So we’re looking for ghosts,” Michael noted, looking at the map. “We know where this site is?” he asked, just wanting to make sure.

“Yes, and we’ll head home to grab gear before we head up there. I’ll get us close,” the angel promised, looking at Michael for a moment.

“I’m ready whenever you are,” he told the blonde.

“Let me know what you find,” Rani reminded them.

“Always, your highness,” Ally bowed with a smile, before she opened a portal back to the Institute. They emerged into the armory, and Ally looked at Michael: “before we go, I want to test something. Can you grab your sword?” she asked politely. “I want to test a few things before we go.”

Michael nodded, then returned to his bedroom. He took the opportunity to change from low profile clothing into something more tactical. He chose slate gray cargo pants and a black shirt, before grabbing the large form of Excalibur and returning to the armory. He found Allyson in similar attire, but wearing more form fitting pants and a tank top exposing her back. “What is it you want to test?” he asked, seeing a piece of paper on a workbench.

“Just something I read about the weapon long ago,” she explained, looking at him as he set the sword on the bench. “How familiar are you with other weapons? Like your pistol?” she asked. “Can you replicate the weapon perfectly in your mind?”

It was an odd request, but Michael nodded.

“Put your hands on the sword then,” Ally directed, and with some hesitation Michael followed. “Imagine the pistol,” she told him, her voice gentle as she tried to guide him. “Every piece, how it fits in your hand. All the moving mechanical parts,” she whispered, watching his weapon.

It glowed gently, and began to compact from the longsword shape. It slowly formed something resembling a pistol, and once Michael opened his eyes, the weapon resembled his own. The slide was engraved with subtle patterns and a language not seen on the Earth, but it was a perfect replica of Michael’s USP.

“Let’s go outside,” Ally said quietly, before running over to where the racks of pistols laid. She searched through green ammunition cans, before picking one up. She followed Michael to a door, then looked at him. “Load it, and fire,” she told him, excitement creeping into her wide brown eyes.

“At what?”

“I don’t care what,” she said quickly, “we just need to see if it fires.”

Michael shrugged, and inserted one of the magazines from his hip. He racked the slide smoothly, feeling the familiar weight and snap as he put the weapon in battery. He extended out, and slowly squeezed the trigger. A satisfying crack erupted from the barrel, and a fountain of dirt appeared thirty feet in front of them.

Allyson smiled broadly, she was right. Decades of wondering, and she had been proven right. “Since Excalibur is yours,” she explained, “you can mold it’s shape. As long as you’re intimately familiar with its workings,” Ally said excitedly. “You just need to supply it ammunition. Think Michael,” she looked at him with a grin. “You can have it as a pen on your person, walk into a secure area, then you have a gun, or a rifle, or a sword.”

Michael looked over his weapon, closing his eyes. It had the same weight of his normal handgun, but he would keep carrying his standard pistol. “I know my rifle fairly well too, but I can test that later,” he told her, before ejecting the magazine and the one in the chamber. “For now, I’ll use what I know.”

Ally nodded, it was prudent, and there were undoubtedly kinks with using Excalibur that he hadn’t gotten used to yet. “Are you sure you’re okay with operating without the rifle you like?” she asked concerned as they returned to the armory.

“A rifle is a rifle, Ally,” Michael reminded her, setting Excalibur on the workbench from earlier and walking to the rows of rifles she maintained. He finally settled on a long barreled M417, racking the action back and forth to make sure the weapon was properly maintained. “Where do you keep your 7.62?” he asked, looking back at her with a smile.

The two spent about ten minutes silently packing magazines, both rifle rounds for Michael, and a small backup pistol Ally chose to carry. She gave him a dragonscale vest and a mag carrier, before she disappeared to gear up further. It took them both several minutes, but she returned wearing a pistol belt with a handgun prominently at her side.  

“You think we’ll encounter trouble?” he asked, training quickly with his rifle and switching from the small optic to the angled backup sights, as well as practicing magazine changes. He had trained with the 416/17 platform before, but had not carried or used it extensively in the last few years.

“Trouble seems to follow me,” the blonde said, “the sights should be zero’d for two hundred yards or so.”

“I can do that with irons,” Michael noted, holding the weapon over his armored chest. The blonde simply shrugged, before she closed her eyes and a portal opened. Michael stepped through, his rifle held high as he fought off the nausea from the portal transitions. He could tell he was slowly getting used to them, but it still turned his stomach inside out every time he stepped through.

Ally was on his heels, looking around cautiously. They were in the middle of a forest, and the blonde closed her eyes, letting her senses reach out to the land around them. After a moment, she opened her deep brown eyes and looked north. She tapped Michael’s arm, and started moving that way.

As he walked behind her, he watched her bow appear in her hands. Out of thin air, a fully loaded quiver materialized on her back, and from her hands her bow formed. She readied an arrow, and stepped silently. They moved through the forest with absolute quiet, a pair of predators on the hunt.

Word Count: 37350ish

[shatteredskies042]

NaNo Day 18

“My island is far from stuffy, Cole,” she responded smoothly, watching the male descend the stairs.

“And you are?” he asked, looking to Michael and assessing his defensively postured form.

“Michael Haghn,” the soldier introduced, glancing at Allyson quickly. “I’m her new partner,” he explained. “And yourself?”

“Cole Hammond, I’m in charge around here,” he responded, offering his hand for Michael to shake. “We also help out Allyson when she needs a hand, mostly with things around the Institute of hers,” he added as the two shook hands. “And we keep tabs on who comes through town or the area. It’s hard to slip by us,” Cole said proudly. “I do apologize for Anthony’s behavior, some of us take the territorial aspect a bit too far.”

“And, pardon my asking,” Michael said delicately, “what exactly are you?” he asked curiously.

“You didn’t explain us?” Cole asked Allyson, looking at her for a moment.

“I’m letting him learn,” she responded, “I could have gone to the library and given him a waist high stack of books to read but it’s not the same as coming out and meeting the players.”

“Fair enough,” the silver haired male agreed, looking back at the soldier. “We’re werewolves, as in, everyone on this property and the lands around can turn into wolves and run around.”

Michael nodded slowly, absorbing the information, “can I hazard a few guesses?” he asked.

“Of course, guess away.”

“Then I’d say that some of the traits from the other, wolf sides, you have, carry over. Things like territorialism, maybe enhanced senses and physical abilities,” Michael said, looking at Cole.

The werewolf grinned slightly, impressed, “not bad. Not everything carries over, you don’t see me cocking my legs up and scratching behind my ear,” he smiled and shrugged. “But in a nutshell, yes, most things carry between our two forms.”

“So how does the hierarchy work around here?” Michael asked.

“Quite simple,” Cole promised, “there’s the alpha, who you’re looking at, and they call the shots. The alpha’s mate is also fairly important too. Below that is the beta, who is essentially my lieutenant, best way of explaining it,” he said, before eying Michael carefully. “You were ex-military, right? Military, cop, something like that,” he stated.

“How can you tell?” Michael asked.

“You have that pseudo-gray man look. Just enough so you have everything you need, but you can still blend into whatever crowd you choose. Your stance, posture, and I can smell the metal of a gun on you,” Cole stated, looking at Ally, “you’ve got good taste.”

The blonde smirked, and waved him off, “I got lucky.”

“Takes a decent bit of training to pick that up,” Michael stated, “where’d you get yours?”

Cole waved them to the living room, encouraging them to sit. This time, Michael joined Allyson on a couch and Cole took an overstuffed chair. “My father was alpha before me, and he thought I needed to learn a bit more about discipline and how to work with others. So, he got me to join the Army,” he stated. “I was stationed in Saudi Arabia before the missiles started falling from the sky, and later ended up being part of the advance once we got our act together.”

“As part of the crew that took out a lot of missile batteries, you’re welcome,” Michael grinned confidently.

“Snake eater type, huh?” Cole raised an eyebrow, “ended up being part of the offensive that took Hamadan Air Base, took it without blowing a single hole in the tarmac so the Air Force could use it,” he said proudly. “My unit was slated to move into Tehran when we got there, but the Ayatollah skipped town and peace was declared before we got into position.”  

“Yeah, he skipped town on our watch,” Michael said sadly. “Towards the end a lot of Special Forces types inserted into Tehran to take out strategic targets we couldn’t hit with aircraft. We almost had that bastard then, but he got to their airport and hid behind a wall of tanks and civilians when he made his escape,” he remembered.

“Until the Russians caught him in Chechnya,” Cole nodded, “it was a mess. Glad I missed Korea, though.”

“Not just the Russians,” Michael smiled cryptically. “I was in Korea,” he said, “almost didn’t make it out of that one.”

“Not a lot of guys did,” Cole said quietly. “Horrible thing.” He looked at Allyson with a slight smile, “your new partner has a sign of approval from me.”

“Gee, thanks dad,” Ally shot back with a smirk.

“He’s not some rear-echelon nut, and you need somebody capable to watch your back,” Cole told Ally, “he’ll do fine.” He then looked at Michael, “make sure Ally gives you my number, I’m more than happy to help you or lend some hands to help you out around the Institute or around town.”

Michael nodded thankfully, “I appreciate it. And it’d be nice to have somebody beat me up in training that isn’t Ally,” he noted, with a side glance at the blonde.

“I only cut your ankle,” she reminded him.

“She gets a bit rough sometimes,” Cole agreed.

“Okay, let’s go,” she said good naturedly to Michael as she stood, “I feel ganged up on,” she winked at Cole. “It was a pleasure,” she told the werewolf as she made for the door with Michael hot on her heels.

“Remember, we have the pre-Thanksgiving game,” he called out as the two left the large house.

Once they were back in the Jeep and heading back to the Institute, Michael looked at the blonde. “You known Cole a while?” he asked the blonde.

“Like with Scarlet, I’ve known the family and the pack long before him,” the blonde said. “They moved in just after I found and moved into the Institute. They helped me through a tough time until they moved to the mainland. They still help me if I need something replaced in the Institute or a bunch of bodies for something,” she told him. “We have a good relationship,” she promised with a smile. “As for now,” she leaned her head back as she drove, “we’re going back then we’re going to portal somewhere.”

Michael simply nodded as they drove through the woods and returned to the island and her home. Once inside, they left the Jeep and Ally opened a portal. He stepped through, and could have almost sworn they only went outside. The scenery was incredibly similar to the Institute, forest and gentle rolling hills, and a grassland around a massive complex. Ally waved him towards the building, and the closer they got, the more Michael realized that the building dwarfed the Institute. “This is?” Michael asked, hopefully getting Allyson to fill in the blanks.

“Enara Fortress,” she responded as they approached the dark walls. “The building is actually called a Bastion, a remnant of the last big war between Heaven and Hell. There’s no more than a dozen left in any good condition around the world, and about half of those are either buried underground or underwater,” she explained. “Enara, specifically, was a demonic fortress, as evidenced by the walls,” she explained as they drew closer. “Blackstone. Super hard rock scorched by the fires of Hell and tougher than concrete. These forts are hard to assault, and taking them boiled down to brutal wars of attrition until the angels could open the gates,” she added.

“So, fly over the walls and get the gates down?” Michael surmised the strategy.

“Essentially, but the walls and gates are swarming with things that would love to kill you,” she smirked. “The only two still in use are in Eastern Europe, one inhabited by a really powerful clan of vampires, and the other is host by one of the last groups of dragons in the world.”

“There should be three more,” Michael noted.

“There is,” Ally nodded, looking at the soldier, “nobody knows where they are. The documents from that time are hard to get your hands on, as they’re only in Heaven and Hell respectively, and even then they’re not accurate to the world today,” she explained while they reached the gates. Ally raised her voice, shouting at the guards then, “it’s Allyson, Rani is expecting us!” she shouted over at the dark armored guards.

“One moment,” a voice shouted back, before the great gates creaked open.

“Not creepy at all,” Michael muttered as they advanced through the crack in the gates. He carefully eyed the guards on the other side of the gates, three flanking the pair on each side. He inspected the armor and deduced that he would need to score headshots to put them down. Hopefully it would not be needed, but he would rather be prepared for a fight than not.

“You guys can relax,” Ally urged, looking at the guards. “He’s with me, there’s no need for the third degree,” she promised them.

“We’re not going to let any strangers into the grounds without scrutiny, or without taking their weapons,” one of the guards said, before another set of doors opened from the Fortress itself, the great gates closing behind him.

“Allyson, you know the rules,” a blonde male stated, stepping down the stairs gracefully. He wore the same carapace armor that the guards did, but with extra silver piping along the edges and without a helmet. “Visitors to the Queen have to be thoroughly screened.”

“And he’s with me,” the blonde promised, “he doesn’t even know who the Queen is, and he won’t make a move against her. So, call the dogs down Alkir, before things get messy.”

“Were it just you, I would, but your human doesn’t scare me,” the blonde man stated, his accent a high, almost royal and pompous sound.

“Looks can be deceiving,” Michael promised, looking at the pikes of the three guards closest to him.

“True, but humanity isn’t,” he responded threateningly. “Surrender your weapons.”

“He does this,” Ally said, loud enough so they could all hear. “Gets a power trip out of it.”

“How about this then,” Michael looked around, then at Alkir. “You and me, mano y mano, you win, I surrender any weapons I might be carrying, and you prove yourself right.” The soldier grinned, “I win, I keep my weapons and the satisfaction.”

Word Count: 35100

[shatteredskies042]

NaNo Day 16-17

Michael watched her go and sipped his coffee, watching the sunrise for several minutes before he finished his mug and headed up to his quarters. He showered quickly, making a note to try and find some basic hygiene products in town next time he went. His travel gear worked well enough, but he did not want to be using that regularly.

Once he was dry, he dressed and found a jacket. The garment fit, but too snugly. He would be printing his firearm if he wore it, and added a new jacket to the list of things he needed to get. He would do well with some shopping, but clothes shopping had never been his strong suit. He eventually found a tan, fleece lined jacket and slipped it on, loose enough that concealing his weapon was hardly an issue. He secreted a pair of magazines on his person, then headed back into the living area.

He saw Allyson, dressed similarly to him, just casual enough to blend in with the crowds. “Ready?” she asked when she saw him, leaning on the same handrails they had conversed on last night. At his nod, she grabbed a shiny ruby red, leather half jacket from the behind her and slipped it on, before starting down the stairs and to the garage.

Michael fell in behind her, and followed her up into her Jeep. The blonde turned the vehicle over and withdrew a pair of sunglasses from the visor, glancing at him. “Gets you familiar with town, too,” she mused as she toggled the door and they headed for the bridge away from the island. “I’ll get you a garage door opener, and one of the keys to get inside,” she added.

Michael wished that he’d brought his own pair of sunglasses, choosing to lower one of the visors of the skeletonized cabin of the Jeep to shield his eyes. “Your travels take you off road a lot?” he asked her, reaching up with his off hand to wrap around one of the rollbars over the passenger’s side.

“It’s nice to have,” Ally admitted, “and I’ve always really had a thing for these since they came out,” she told him. “And it’s just fun,” she smiled as she drove, merging onto the highway for the second leg of the drive into town. “Going out some back road and tearing it up, splashing through the mud, or climbing over rocks. Great for the snow, too,” she added. She glanced over at Michael for a moment, before speeding up to pass a slower car, the wind whipping through the open cabin.

“I’ve always wanted to get an SUV or something,” Michael admitted, “we got a lot of snow where I grew up, so driving the Camaro isn’t super realistic for two or three months out of the year.”

“And you can’t really take her onto the backroads, or off road, either,” Ally pointed out, with a hint of a proud smile at the corner of her lips.

“Pass up the opportunity for a walk through the woods?” Michael raised an eyebrow, “besides, it’s much quieter to walk through the woods instead of following the road.”

“You’re not wrong,” the blonde admitted as the town came into view. None of the buildings he could see were over three stories tall, and everything seemed to be grouped together fairly well. Ally navigated through the busy early morning city streets, before they stopped in front of a coffee shop. The window etching said Scarlet’s Beans, both the cold neon signage and a placard in the door said the store was closed. However, Ally climbed out, and Michael followed after her as they walked to the door.

The door was unlocked, and they both walked into the clean storefront, a bell over the door dinged to announce their entry. “Sorry!” Came a voice shouted from the back, “we’re not open yet!”

“Scarlet?” Ally called back, “it’s me.”

“Oh,” she responded, “I’m just in the back,” she responded.

Michael and Ally headed for the rear of the storefront until they reached a door clearly marked Employees Only. With Allyson’s blatant disregard of the sign, she pushed through the door and held it open for Michael into a lounge, then through an open door into a humid room. A single figure stood hunched over a row of green plants, inspecting the small green bushes with a notepad nearby. She perked up when she saw the blonde, making a few last notations as she looked up. “I’ll meet you two in the lounge, just give me a minute,” she smiled disarmingly.

The two retreated to the lounge, Ally gracefully flopping back into an overstuffed couch while Michael took a chair across from her over a low coffee table, having to adjust his posture a few times as he sat on his gun.

It took over a minute, but finally Scarlet appeared. She had a head full of fire-red hair the same length as Allyson’s, but much paler than her with the inky lines of tattoos running across her arms. The designs were lost on Michael, as her clothing obfuscated much of the artwork as she sat in the other table around the coffee table. “Sorry,” she apologized as she crossed her legs. “I’m trying to figure out a new, faster method to grow the beans,” she explained.

“Tell Michael what it is you do,” Ally urged with a small smile.

“You don’t know?” the redhead looked at the male, then sighed, “sorry, I’m a horrible entertainer. I’m Scarlet, I run this establishment, and I’ve known Allyson since I was a child,” she told him. “And you are?”

“Michael Haghn,” he responded, “I’ve known Allyson for less than three days.”

Scarlet laughed, “so I guess that means you’re new to the world behind the veil, and all the things that go bump in the night.”

“Greener than those coffee plants of yours,” Ally quipped with a smile.

“Well, I’m a witch,” she shrugged, “and before you ask, yes, I can make a broom fly, and no, I don’t kidnap children to boil in a cauldron. I don’t even own a cauldron,” she said, the latter part mostly to herself. “Can I get you two anything?” she asked the pair. “I just got done getting the pastries and such ready for today,” she stated. “Coffee?”

“I’ll take one of those apple danishes,” Ally stated, smiling a bit.

“What do you have?” Michael asked, “haven’t been to any coffee shop in a while,” he admitted.

“Bagels, danishes, muffins, cookies,” Scarlet shrugged, an easy, automatic routine for her. “What do you like?”

“How about a plain bagel and some cream cheese?” he asked politely, “and do you have any of those home grown coffee beans ready?”

“Of course I do, I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said with a polite smile, before heading back into the storefront.

Michael looked over at Allyson at the same time she looked at him, the blonde starting to explain: “I’ve known Scarlet since she was born, her mother was a good friend, too,” she stated, “her mom and I worked together back during the second world war.”

“Doing what?” Michael asked curiously. “I love history, so I’ve studied that in pretty good detail.”

“Nothing that made it into your history books,” the angel promised with a smile. “There was a whole other war that was fought at the time, between much of the same enemies and some others,” she explained. “And before you ask, yes, I worked for the Allies. I even borrowed some of their support a few times,” she said quietly, staring past him into a memory before focusing on him again.

“Like?”

“Couple of heavy bomber raids, some paratroopers,” she shrugged. “When I worked in the East I got to use Soviet artillery a few times, I still love the sound their rockets made,” she laughed. “Scarlet’s mom, Rose, got hurt early in the war, and she wasn’t exactly cut out for the front line in the first place. She ran things for us pretty much,” Ally crossed her legs as she leaned back in thought. “Without her, the world would look much different than it is today.”

“Other than ideology and the Nazis being well dressed assholes, what was the war over?” Michael asked.

“Some of it was use of magic, some of it was vampires who’d grown comfortable and too bold,” she shrugged. “A lot of it was focused around the Academy of Destructive Arts, both because they were absolutely full of themselves and the fact they were teaching and harboring practitioners of banned magic. Stuff like necromancy and demon summoning. The rest of the world thought what they were doing was unacceptable, and went to war over it.”

Scarlet returned with a tray in her hands, setting it on the coffee table. “Here you are,” she smiled at the two slightly, looking at Ally, “are you two talking about the war?”

Ally nodded, reaching out to take the small plate her pastery was on. “Michael is still very new to all this,” she explained. “Tell him about what you do,” she urged before taking a bite of her snack.

Michael turned his attention to the redhead as he picked up the bagel, coating the interior in cream cheese. “I need to learn as much as I can if I’m going to be effective,” he explained.

“Well, as Ally told you, I’m a witch. I do things with magic,” she stated as he took a sip of the coffee. “The coffee beans, what you’re drinking,” she nodded, “I grow them with the help of magic.”

Michael stopped mid sip, before slowly setting the mug down and looking at her. “Is it-”

“Yes, of course it’s safe,” Scarlet assured as Ally chuckled. “I only use magic to accelerate the development of the plants,” she explained further. “Any dangerous issues I’ve already worked out. The early testing was far from perfect, but I’ve figured out just the right amount to cut the time to grow from two or three years to just a handful of months.”

“And the taste?” the soldier asked.

“The magic does affect it somewhat, but I’ve only heard positive reviews about my homegrown coffee beans,” she smiled. Michael nodded slowly, then took a sip of the coffee again, until Scarlet stopped him, “do you want sugar or creamer or something? I forgot to ask, I’m so-”

“It’s fine,” Michael promised, “I like mine simple,” he stated. He took another bite from his bagel shortly after, chewing as he thought of questions to ask. When he was finished, he had one, he thought at least. “How do you tell if you have magic abilities?” he asked.

Scarlet laughed, “you either do or you don’t,” she stated. “I was almost guaranteed to have it, because my mother was a witch, and my father was also magically inclined,” she explained. “There’s ways to tell, and very few capable people get missed,” she added. “There’s no concrete theory on it, nothing concrete at all about magic, you see,” Scarlet told him, “the only thing that seems to work is two magic users, or otherwise magically capable people having kids, and even then it’s hit or miss. I had a sister who didn’t have any affinity for magic at all.”

“I don’t even have a real ability to use magic,” Ally pointed out. “I have some abilities, but that’s because I’m an angel. I can’t learn anything new like Scarlet can,” Ally explained quietly as she finished her bagel.

“And I’m going to guess I don’t have any aptitude for it either,” the soldier mused, shrugging. “No big loss for me.”

“There’s a few perks,” Scarlet noted with a grin, flicking her wrist. A door flew open to a small closet, and a broom flew around sweeping the floor in concentric rows. Michael watched curiously, eating his bagel, as Scarlet laughed. “The shop and my apartment over it would be an absolute mess if it weren’t for easy magic like that,” she smiled.

“So what can you do?” Michael wondered, “what’s within the realm of possibility?”

Scarlet stretched out, and rest her socked feet on the coffee table. “I work with plants and animals a lot,” she said, “I’m also really good at healing. Not so much where I want to go into business as a healer full time, but when I need to,” she said proudly, looking at Ally. “Fixed up your new girlfriend a few times,” she said with a pointed smirk.

“We’re not dating,” Ally responded quickly, looking everywhere but at Michael.

Scarlet didn’t seem impressed, but nodded anyway. “Sorry,” she apologized to Michael, “I’m not the best person to ask about this. I’m just a user, not a scholar,” she said. “If you want a straight answer, and you probably won’t even get one then, you’d have to find one of the magic academies and talk to their faculty.”

“If they let you in,” Ally noted. “They’re not the kindest people.”

“Speaking of unkind people,” Michael responded, “you mentioned the Destructive Arts, is that offensive magic?” he asked.

Scarlet furrowed her brow and tilted her head back and forth a few times in thought as she mulled over his question. “Looking at it from a very, very broad angle, yes,” she confirmed as she looked at him. “It’s not just fancy stuff like fireballs and shooting lightning out of your fingers,” she explained. Scarlet put her hands together, then separate them for a second, before arcs of lightning sparked between her fingertips.

“It’s stuff like making diseases, inciting violence in others, not just direct means of attack,” she explained. “The vast majority of magic users are just like you and me,” she gestured between her and Michael. “Human, and the human body can’t tolerate a whole hell of a lot of punishment. Sure, you can learn ways to create constructs to stop an attack or wards to take the blow for you, but you won’t often find a witch on the front lines.”

Michael nodded slowly, “what would they be capable of?” he asked in wonder.

“A lot of the records and books were lost when the Academy was destroyed in the bombing, the real reason for attacking Dresden,” Ally explained. “The knowledge still exists in what survived, but it’s few and far between,” she promised, looking to Scarlet, “witches do know self defense spells for if push comes to shove, but nobody really uses magic offensively since then.”

“As for what they were capable of, use your imagination,” Scarlet said with a shrug as she looked at Michael. “Giant fireballs, manipulating the weather, making it rain horribly corrosive and dangerous toxins, using cursed beasts as mounts of war,” she shook her head. “There was a reason it was destroyed.”

“And if we were to encounter one on our journeys,” Michael said quietly, “humor me, how to I take them down?”

“Provided you encountered one, and weren’t vaporized or mutilated the moment they spotted you,” Scarlet shrugged, “unless they’re waist deep in the real dark arts, they’ll die just like any other person.”

Michael nodded thoughtfully, adding it to his personal mental index of how to kill and destroy various things and people. “And if they are waist deep in the real dark arts?”

“Run,” Ally said simply.

“Pretty much, then you get into the real nightmarish stuff,” Scarlet agreed. She craned her neck to look at a clock, then back at the two, “I hate to do this, but I have to get ready for the day and my opening workers should be arriving.” She stood, and the two visitors followed shortly after. “It was very nice meeting you, Michael,” she professed.

“Thank you, Scarlet, it was-” he thought for a moment to find the right word, “enlightening.”

“Always a pleasure, Scarlet,” Ally smiled.

“Oh hush, I’m not some scholar or important person,” she waved off their thanks. “My door is always open if you need a warm drink, snack, healing, or magical advice,” she promised the two as she led them back into the cafe. Ally pushed the door open as Scarlet flipped the placard on the door around and turned on the neon signs.

“I don’t have to worry about stuff like hexes and voodoo dolls, right?” Michael asked as they returned to Ally’s red Jeep.

The blonde shrugged as she put her sunglasses back on, having hung them from a pocket of her jacket while indoors. “I’ve been cursed a few times, all you really have to do is find whoever put it on you and convince them to lift it,” she stated while climbing up into the vehicle. “It also ends on the caster’s death, so there’s that too,” she added.

“How bad is it?” he asked.

“A big part of magic is the ingredients used,” Ally stated. “Don’t quote me on any of this, okay?” she said quickly, to dispel any reliance he may put on her advice, “but say, Scarlet wanted to curse you. Right now she has maybe a couple strands of hair. With that bare link to you, she could put something minor on you. Like, every hour you get an itch in the same place, or every third thing you eat tastes sour, something mundane.”

“Something annoying,” Michael continued.

“Whereas if she had say, blood, or an organ, or your body, she could do much worse,” Ally finished. “It’s actually something you have to try for, getting cursed,” Ally shrugged as she drove them through the more lively streets of town.

“Good to know,” he stated, shifting in his seat as the blonde drove. As they stopped in traffic, he glanced over at her, “where now?”

“Now, we’re going into the woods,” she told him, “more than just Bambi out there,” she warned.

They drove for a couple minutes in comfortable silence as they left town on the backroads, taking a few dirt paths off the road deeper into the brush. Michael couldn’t help but look around and wonder where it was they were going, “how far in the woods are we talking?” he asked.

“Not far left,” Ally promised, as they came around a gentle bend and the vehicle rocked as they passed over a small, rocky creek. Around the corner was a large house, paling in comparison to the Institute, but impressive nevertheless. They stopped in front of the house, and Ally motioned for him to get out. “Just don’t make any sudden movements, okay?” Ally warned, “some of these guys are pretty jumpy.”  

Michael nodded as he stepped down into the grass, then followed Ally to the door. He caught a few eyes from people walking around, and mostly ignored it. There was something off about this place, but he couldn’t quite tell yet.

“Ally,” a voice greeted as the door squeaked open, causing Michael to turn to face the speaker. “Who’s your friend?”

“My new partner, where’s Cole?” she asked pointedly.

“Cole’s inside, but I’m not quite sure having an outsider here is safe.”

“I wouldn’t be worried about his safety, I’d be worried for yours,” Ally replied with a cold smile, before the door opened. The two entered, and Ally led Michael inside.

The man who had opened the door was easily taller and heavier than Michael, and stood in an aggressive manner designed to intimidate him as he passed. Michael simply stepped past into the living room with the blonde. “He doesn’t look like much,” the man who had opened the door said aggressively.

“I’ve been here less than a minute and someone is already threatening me?” the soldier mused.

“They’re territorial, Michael, and you’re on their territory,” Ally did say.

“And who exactly are they?” Michael asked, glancing at the blonde.

“Werewolves,” came another voice from above them. A tall, well built man with silver hair descended the stairs, joining the pair. “Tony, it’s okay, you can leave us,” he urged the man at the door as he smiled at Allyson. “Good to see you, Allyson,” he wished, “glad to see you get out of that stuffy island too.”

Word Count: 33400

Note: Was unsatisfied with the writing from Day 16, and reworked it all today.

[shatteredskies042]

NaNo Day 15

Michael did not turn quickly in alarm, accepting the blonde’s stealth and her presence. “You’d make one hell of a cat burglar,” he said quietly.

“I was one,” she promised with a thin smile, “if I need to, still can be.” She came closer, leaning on the railing above the kitchen next to him, staring at the forest and mountains beyond. “I don’t think you’re up this late to admire the scenery,” Ally said softly.

“I wish I was,” Michael said honestly, knowing it would be hard to hide the demons lurking just at the edge of his mind. “Just couldn’t sleep,” he told her simply. He knew the blonde was not buying the explanation, but she did not need to. “I’ll be good to go for tomorrow,” he promised.

“Sounds hollow,” she noted as she listened to him. “Being a fighter isn’t just about how well you can shoot or swing a sword, or how fast you can run,” she reminded him, “the real strength comes from dealing with what happens along the way.”

“Yeah, I know,” Michael responded, looking at the kitchen below then back out the window as he thought. “I’m fine, I told you,” he pressed.

Ally looked at him, a wry smile on her face. She’d seen it before, the stubbornness. It would take an extraordinary effort to break through it, or just a bad enough night to get him to crack. “How long has it been?” she asked him quietly.

“Since what?”

“Siberia. You never told me what really happened,” Ally said softly.

Michael sighed deeply, and she watched his eyes as they glassed over, as he remembered. “We’d done things like it a dozen times, we knew what we were doing. We called for our experts to secure the bombs and make them safe. We lost our drone coverage, then our command post went silent. The experts landed, but with their own guards, and they all started shooting, they had a helicopter too, and it started making passes against us as we were engaged. I watched my commanding officer get shot in the back of the head, before I got taken out,” Michael said, scarcely stopping to breathe during his explanation. “I managed to shoot one, some ginger, before I got blown into the river below,” he told her. “The others were either torn up by the Talon operators or by the helicopter. We didn’t have heavy weapons, and between the two, nobody had much time to react.”

Ally listened silently, “how did you survive?” she asked.

“I was the furthest sharpshooter out, so I was last to arrive. I took up a defensive position on the outskirts of the perimeter when it happened, and rockets exploded in front of me,” he remembered. “It threw me through the ice below, and the current carried me into the water. I was in and out of consciousness, until I was able to slip onto their ship and hide. I should have died there,” he whispered.

“You didn’t,” Ally said softly, “and you have to carry on.”

Michael stayed silent at this, running through the scene and the possibilities in his mind: “if I had stayed up in my perch, I would have been able to take out a few of them, save more of my guys for a bit longer. Maybe take out the helicopter, if I got lucky. I could have kept them from taking the trucks. Or if I was late, going down the side of the hill I was on, I could have had good position for a while until they saw me. We could have turned it back, fought them off and kept the nukes, finished the-”

“Michael, stop,” Ally snapped gently, looking at him with an intense look in her eyes. “You can play the what if game for weeks, and all it does is tear you apart,” she said forcefully, with good intentions backing her statement. “You’re here,” she stated, “and you’re going to train with me to get better than you were, to make a difference.” She took a long breath, and resumed looking out the windows with him. “You have a choice: you can either let this tear you up, until you’re a basket case. Or, you can accept what happened, learn to live with it, and move on.

“What would they have wanted?” Ally asked finally, before she pushed off of the rail and walked behind him. “I know you’re carrying a lot of baggage, Michael, even if you want to deny it,” Ally said quietly, looking at him with troubled eyes, “if you ever need someone to talk to, my room is the first door on the other side,” she told him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Ally,” Michael stated, spending a few more moments looking out the window at the island. Her words picked at his mind with the subtlety of a jackhammer, and he hated it. Hated that she had a point, and was entirely correct. He just wasn’t ready to let go of the loss, not until the account was settled between him and Talon.

The return to his bed and second attempt at rest was no less successful than the first, but at least the nightmares stayed at bay. The rest of the night passed in an odd blur, as he never fell truly asleep, but was not fully awake either. When the morning sunlight breached his room from the corners of his curtains, he cracked his eyes open and rolled out of bed. Michael stretched, then decided to occupy his mind. He was going back to the familiar, back into his routine. He slipped on socks and his boots, then made his way downstairs. He poked at the coffeemaker first, before his brain had not warmed up enough to attempt to figure the machine out.

He slipped out the French doors, setting the timer on his watch and then starting to run. Michael pushed himself hard at first, as he ran over a wood-floored deck and then down onto the grass, but slowed to a fast clip as he ran around the perimeter of the Institute. He stayed close to the walls, making wide loops when breaks in the building were seen. He ran hard around the complex in the cold morning, the barest hints of fog hiding from the sun’s rays below the treeline as the sun rose in the east, dew clinging to the peaks of grass. As he ran, both his brain and body warmed up, coming alive and ready for the day. Close to what he felt was halfway on his route, he started measuring and guessing distances and lengths: how tall to the battlement walkways, the total height of the Institute, and the distance from the wall to the edge of the clearing. He clocked it as close to fifty yards at the closest, some places stretching to just over a hundred. The Institute itself looked to be made up of several, interconnected buildings, all sharing the same construction style and cohesion, but each wing of the complex different. The two tallest points were the central structure, and looming over that, a tower at least thirty feet higher than it’s apex.

Michael’s legs burned warmly, almost grateful for the exercise. The last time he had been on a training run like this was the day before they boarded the plane for Siberia, and he needed this. He had to get back in the mentality of a special operator, training every day, and for the first time, learning a new skill from scratch.

It was close to ten minutes for him to run around the perimeter of the building, not a perfect loop, but good enough to give him a feeling for the size of the complex. He was going to take a tour of the facilities today, learning about his new home. He had a feeling the old fortress had it’s secrets from both him and Ally, and secret passages abound through the structure.

He returned to the deck, then began a calisthenics regimen to exercise the rest of his body. He hoped that the Institute had a gym or some form of weights, something he could use to keep in shape and better his form rather than just running with full ammo cans, or any number of creative exercises he and others had come up with in remote deployments like Chechnya or Iran.

When he finished, Michael entered the kitchen again, surprised to find Ally awake and cooking breakfast. “I see you tried to make coffee,” the blonde pointed out, her hair up in a messy ponytail as she cooked, glancing back at him with a still sleepy grin.

“I didn’t try,” he corrected, breathing steadily to calm his heartbeat. “I saw it was too complex for my early morning brain and decided to go on a run instead.”  

This drew a laugh out of Allyson, who turned back to her frying pan. “The coffee is still hot, and there’s a mug for you,” she promised, before she heard him find it and pour his drink.

Michael also found a container of white chocolate behind it, and furrowed his brow, looking at the back of the angel. “How did you know I like white chocolate in my coffee?” he asked, as he mixed the ingredient into his mug.

“Lucky guess,” was all Ally had to say. While there was a measure of truth to the answer, it was not the full truth. He’s not ready for it yet, Ally knew, focusing on the eggs in the frying pan.

“Good one, then,” he mused as he leaned on the island, slowly sipping his coffee and looking out the window. “So, what’s the plan for today?” he asked, watching the long shadows of the trees fade as the sun climbed.

“Now? Breakfast,” she replied, before she glanced back. “Get me some plates, please,” she requested, as Michael joined her in the kitchen to help prepare their breakfast. In a matter of minutes, she dished out eggs, bacon, and french toast for both of them, before heading for the bar to sit and eat. Michael headed for the table, sitting and eating quickly, but unable to miss the taste of the meal she had prepared.

“This is really good,” he complimented the blonde, looking up at her, the angel only returning a smile for the moment.

“Thank you, I’ve had plenty of practice,” she told him. “But it’s nice to have somebody close who can cook, too,” she stated before turning back to her meal. Somewhere along the line, a phone appeared in her hand and she checked off the messages. Once she finished, she put her plate in the sink and looked at Michael, leaning on the countertop.

“First, I’ll take you around the Institute. The only real place we’re going to skip is the old academic wing,” she told him. “It’s old and dusty and I never go in there,” she said. “Then we’re doing some more training, with your sword this time.”

“Going to chop my ankles off again?” he asked with a raised eyebrow,

“Not this time, this isn’t combat, it’s about those tricks I mentioned,” the blonde smiled slightly. “Then we’re going into town. We’ll meet Scarlet, Cole, then come back and take a portal to Enara Fortress and meet Rani, then we come back and do more combatives,” she told him. “How’s that sound?” she asked.

“What am I supposed to wear?” Michael asked.

“Clothes,” the blonde shot back with a grin. “Nothing too formal, nothing too casual, that’s my usual guideline for visits like this.”

Michael rolled his eyes at first, then nodded, before he stood and joined her in the kitchen to start cleaning. “Starting when?” he asked.

“Now,” the blonde said, walking away. “I’m going to get ready for the day, and I suggest you do the same. I’ll meet you out here when I’m ready,” she promised, before she took the stairs up to the second level and her bedroom.

Word Count: 30,000

[shatteredskies042]

NaNo Day 14

“I don’t mean to be rude or crass about this,” Ally prefaced, looking at one of the pieces of garlic bread before taking a bite out of it. “But there’s bigger problems and things you need to be dealing with that’s not just these mercs,” she told him, looking up at the soldier. “I understand, I do, but if you focus on this, you’re going to suffer in other places.”

Michael fell quiet, quieter than he did when talking about his loss earlier. “You’re not gonna talk me out of this, Ally,” he promised her.

“I have to try,” she implored quietly as she watched him, “you need to let this go, before it eats you alive and gets you killed.” When she got no response, she sighed deeply, “I’m not helping you with this.”

“I never asked,” he said softly. “It’s my fight, not yours.”

Ally fell quiet too, knowing she wouldn’t get to change his mind. She kept eating, as did he, until they were both finished. Without a word, she took both their plates and started to clean as he rested against the table. Once the dishes were clean, or otherwise soaking, she turned to him. “Come on,” she told him, cocking her head and walking for the hallway.

Michael stood and followed her, looking around their surroundings before they reached a heavy door. A smile came over the blonde’s lips as she pushed the door open, and turned the lights on inside. “I know you’ll appreciate this room,” she told him.

He looked around, a smile coming to his lips. “You know me fairly well,” he grinned. It was a large room, one of the interior rooms in the structure, but he foresaw himself spending a good bit of time here: The walls were lined with weapons, one wall had rifles and other long weapons in neat racks, another rows of swords and hammers. Other sections had rows of handguns, knives, body armor, “how long have you been building this arsenal?” he asked as he walked around the workbenches.

“A while,” she promised with a grin. “Funny enough, I only had to make a few minor adjustments to the room to update it,” she said as she walked to a row of metal cages. She opened them for him to inspect, and he strode over to peer inside: some held crates of ammunition, grenades, others cases of heavy weapons.

“Planning on running an insurgency?” Michael asked as he wandered, inspecting the gear. “What’s this armor made of?” he asked, running his hand over the rough, scaled surface.

“One of my dreams is to restore this place to what it was, bring back the Huntsmen as a peacekeeping force,” she said, “teach what I know to them. As for that,” Ally joined him, and took one of the vests off the rack. “Dragons, they shed scales a lot, just like dead skin,” she explained. “I’m on good terms with two of the biggest groups of them, and they have people who make armor out of the scales, and I get a fair sized cut of the production,” she grinned.

“And how good is it?” Michael asked.

“Lightweight, so it doesn’t restrict your movement,” she promised first. “But it resists small arms fire better than anything out there right now, as well as providing good defense against heat and fire.”

“Would have loved to have that,” he mused as he looked back at her. “What about the rest of these weapons?” he asked.

“I’ve got a friendly neighborhood arms dealer,” she grinned, “I’ve actually been using the same one for years, Sol has always been good to me,” she told him. “If you want anything specific, I can let her know and she’ll be more than happy to accommodate you,” she said with a smile. “You’ve got your handgun, but I suspect you want more.”

“You’d be correct,” Michael agreed as he looked over the rifles. Some were a mix of older M4 rifles, while some were the newer 416 model. “I’ll get you a list in the morning,” he promised.

“Tomorrow I’ll teach you how to manipulate Excalibur,” Ally promised, before gesturing for him to follow her again.

“Excalibur?” Michael asked, before his tired mind put the pieces together. “Wait, as in, King Arthur’s sword?”

“Only someone worthy may wield it,” Ally told him as they walked, “and those the wielder designates or allows. And that old sword has quite a few tricks you’ll enjoy or come in handy,” she promised with a smirk as they entered a large room. It was almost like a gym, with a raised platform in the center. She stepped up onto the white platform, walking to the far side. Moonlight streamed down from a skylight ceiling, and Michael looked around cautiously. “As for now, I want to test something,” she grinned wickedly, then a pair of swords appeared in her hands.

“This doesn’t look like something I’ll survive or enjoy,” Michael observed, taking a defensive posture.

“Don’t worry,” she promised, a dangerous look in her eye as she tossed one of the swords to him on a flat trajectory. “I won’t hurt you, much.”

Michael reached out and caught it by the handle, feeling the lightweight of the weapon and the way it molded to his hand. “I don’t know how to fight with a sword,” he told her, holding it up as he examined the weapon. The blade glowed in the dim light, with a gold guard and some sort of upswept material running part of the blade.

“Then you’re going to learn,” Ally told him, before she ran at him with the other sword.

Michael tore his eyes from the blade and onto her and her attack. He had trained for defeating an opponent with a knife, and he tried to apply that training here. He quickly committed to the objective of disarming her so he could fight her hand to hand, where he felt he had a better chance. As she approached, he swung the sword to meet her oncoming attack, bracing against the coming strike. He pulled everything he had seen in movies to the front of his brain for reference, hoping it would do him some good.

The first parry came as a hammer blow that shuddered through his tired arms. Michael retreated a step, then swung, almost using the sword like a baseball bat. The blonde parried it easily, a look in her eyes that he could do better. He caught her body weight shifting, and dove into a roll to the side as she kicked out at him. Once he got to his feet, she was on him, swinging at his half crouched form. Michael met each oncoming blow, feeling his hands move to block without thinking about it.

He was losing ground and barely holding off, but he thought he was doing good. At least, until Ally kicked one of his legs out from under him as he was focused on blocking. Michael stumbled, and she took advantage of his poor position.

He barely had time as she levied a powerful strike against his sword, knocking it to the side. The blonde spun, one of her hands coming off the hilt of her weapon and latching onto his hands, while the blade of her weapon stopped at his neck. She wore a proud smirk, holding the position for a moment before she backed away with a flourish of her blade.

“Not bad, for a beginner,” she said, looking at the panting and defeated soldier. “You still have a long way to go,” she told him. Ally had a hunch, and was going to explore it. “Again?” she asked, after giving him enough time to recover.

Michael nodded, looking up at her, before he adopted the same posture until she came after him again. He parried her initial strike, then formed a plan in the milliseconds before the next. He stepped backwards quickly, putting some space between him and the blonde, and waiting for her to attack again.

As he expected, she came at him with a downwards strike, and he made his move. Michael sprung under her, driving his shoulder into her torso to stagger her back. Her strike followed through, and instead she hit him with the pommel of her sword in the ribs. Then she did something unexpected.

Ally pushed off her hands on the sword on his back, and acrobatically jumped, using where she struck him as a pivot point around him. Before he could get out of the way, she was on his other side, and he dove away as he felt a slice of pain come from his calf. He landed oddly, and stumbled, coming up to look up past the entire body of Ally’s sword and at the grinning blonde. “At least you’re trying,” she said, “get up,” she told him, backing away.

Michael hesitated for a minute, looking down at his cut and bloodied pantleg, she’d barely nicked him, but it spoke to the otherworldly sharpness of the blade. The soldier stood up, favoring his other leg and adjusting his stance so he wasn’t putting as much weight on his injury.

“You’re not going to last long on that,” Ally pointed out, twirling her blade around.

“I’m not going to last long anyway,” he told her, before he charged her, taking the initiative and hoping things would work out differently.

She entertained the thought, easily and almost boredly blocking his untrained strikes. “You’re putting too much into your attacks,” she told him, dancing around him and blocking his strikes. “Use the sword as an extension of yourself, it’s not a club or a baseball bat,” she chided, putting separation between them. “Slow down,” she told him, looking in his eyes. “You’re taking things too fast, trying to make something happen when you don’t have a clue as to how to bring it about,” Ally told him. “Breathe, feel the weapon in your hands, then come at me,” she instructed.

Michael slowed as she started teaching, adjusting his tight grip on the sword as she spoke to him. His inexperience was getting him beat, and the injury wasn’t helping. Michael forced the idea from his mind before he advanced again, breathing steadily as he watched her movements as she moved to block his attacks. She was just too fast, too good at this, and he had to change something, get her unarmed, something.

He went to strike at her again, to lock their blades together before he acted. He drug the blade down almost to where their guards were together, and stepped closer to her. He slid one of his hands off his blade and onto her hands, like she had done to him earlier, and tried to pry her weapon away.

She pulled one hand away from his grip, cocking back into a fist, telegraphing the strike and knowing he could not do anything about it. He lowered his head so she struck his skull instead of something softer, and felt the stars erupt in his vision as he moved. He tore his other hand away from hers and wrapped around her bicep, trying to throw her or move her off her base, and actually succeeded. However, he lost his sword in the process, the blade clattering to the floor as Ally rolled to her feet, then sprung at him.

Michael turned to face her, bringing his hands up defensively as she marauded towards him. He stepped out of the way of her attack, and on his sidestepped began to move to strike her until he felt something poke at his side. Michael froze, then looked over, and saw her sword laid flatly against his side.

“Never lose your weapon,” Ally chided, the swords disappearing as she looked at him with a hint of a smile. “Not bad,” she complimented. She reached out slowly and touched his shoulder, her hand glowing as she closed her eyes and healed his injury. “You’ve got the training and dedication,” she said quietly, “but there aren’t many who can go toe to toe with me.”

“I’m all for training and learning,” Michael stated, “but I don’t fight with swords,” he told the blonde once she finished, stepping away to give her space.

“You do now,” the angel told him, walking back to the living area. Michael gingerly followed after her, still feeling the remnants of pain in his leg. “It’s another important tool you can carry and use, and knowing how to defend against someone using one is important too,” she promised.

“But you’ve been doing this for a while,” Michael observed as they walked.

“Who better to teach you?” she grinned as she glanced at him. “And that? About a quarter speed, faster than any human attacker you’d face,” she told him, to at least build him up a little after the defeat. “You start beating me then, and I’ll step it up, until you’re beating me consistently again, until you can stand toe to toe with me at full speed,” she told him, outlining her entire training method.

“There’s one problem with that,” he said, looking at her to point out the one big flaw: “I’m not an angel, I don’t have any supernatural powers,” he reminded her.

“All the more reason for you to train harder and harder,” she countered. “So you can fight vampires and angels and demons and whatever else you’ll face working with me. Besides, have you ever backed down from a challenge?” she tested him with a smirk.

“I don’t intend to start now,” he told her.

“Good,” the blonde said affirmatively as they returned to the living room. “For now, go upstairs and rest. Tomorrow, I want you to explore the Institute more, then I’m going to take you to meet some of my friends.”

“Are they going to attack me?” he wondered quietly.

“They shouldn’t,” she grinned, “sleep well, Michael,” the blonde wished, before she turned on her heel and walked into another wing of the Institute.

Michael watched her go, then went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. He drank down a cup, then refilled it and headed upstairs to his new bedroom. He changed into shorts and a simple shirt, finding his sword and handgun on one of the dressers. He would have to put pictures up at some point, but for now, he moved his handgun to the nightstand just out of sight.

He slipped into the stiff sheets, and laid his head down on the pillow. It was like sleeping in a hotel, somewhere unfamiliar, it was strange at first. He stared at the ceiling for a good while, thinking about what had happened today, what he had learned, and knew this was the beginning of something. Something that would probably get him killed, but he had to try and see it through.

Sleep finally came for him, but it proved hardly restful. Even as busy as he had been, the nightmares plaguing him attacked in this barely guarded moment. Playing horrible images of the ambush in Siberia, seeing the people he knew and care about die horribly, and being powerless to save them. Then came the events of Georgia, of a struggling family of a man he had killed, of the body of the innocent... what? Technician? Analyst? The innocent, unarmed man he had shot and killed just out of reflex.

The whole scene played through in his mind again, but the man did not die, instead looking accusingly at Michael as he stood with the pistol in hand. He spoke in Russian, speaking of his wife and infant son, how they would be at risk without him.

About how much of a monster Michael was for killing him.

Fire and light engulfed him, and Michael bolted awake with his hands coming up to shield his face from the onslaught. He breathed deeply, his lungs burning, seemingly from disuse. Once he calmed down, he palmed his hands over his face, wiping the sweat from his skin.

He pulled himself out of bed, and found his watch on the nightstand, checking the time. He’d only slept for close to three hours, and he knew he needed more, but after that, he doubted it would come to him anytime soon.

Michael shuffled out of bed and out the door to the bedroom, back towards the walkway over the kitchen and living area. He leaned on the railing and stared out at the dark, moonlit forest out the second-floor windows of the Institute. This was dangerous, he knew, just letting his mind think and work over problems, knowing it would only feed into his issues and problems recursively. The moment he stopped occupying his mind he put himself at risk.

“Can’t sleep?”

Word Count: 28000 something

[shatteredskies042]

NaNo Day 13

Compressing his lips together, he decided on boiling some noodles he had found in a cabinet. The noodle packaging was old, another odd thing he had found since living here. He also recovered some pasta sauce, and discovered some beef in the fridge that looked good. He brought it all together and started to cook. He boiled water for the pasta, and began to cook the meat with salt and garlic, finding a dusty rack of spices. Once the meat was browned, he started the pasta sauce, chopping up the meat up before he added it to the sauce. He added a bit of sugar that he found, something sweet to counter the acidic flavor of the sauce.

He heard Allyson behind him take a seat on the bar, resting her head in her hand as she watched him with a small smile. “You’re a natural,” she told him.

“My mom said the same once,” he responded as he finished mixing the beef and sauce together. He set it for a low simmer while he boiled the noodles, moving to a loaf of french bread he had found earlier. He cut pieces out and set up the oven for broiling, giving the tops a coating of butter and a good helping of garlic. “She wanted to be a cook, before she became a nurse,” he explained as he managed the multiple pots and sheets. “She hated it, they wanted her to get it down to a science, to repeat every time,” he shook his head as he slid the garlic bread under the broiler of the oven and shutting the door. “She couldn’t do that, every dish was different, even if it was the same meal,” he glanced back at the blonde, oven mitt in hand. “Some things just can’t be taught,” he mused as he looked for more bread. He found what he wanted in hoagie rolls, and set them on another cookie sheet for later grilling. He scavenged through the refrigerator, then looked back at the blonde, “what do you have for cheese?” he asked.

“Nothing too fancy, but I don’t suspect you’re wanting to use some weird hundred-year old French cheese,” she mused.

Haghn found the cheese, and took the packages out by the handful and threw them out onto the counter. He returned after he removed the garlic bread from the oven, setting it on the counter to cool a bit. The tops were browned, on the verge of going darker, but saved just in time. “What do you like on a sandwich?” he asked the blonde, “and how many?”

“What are you making?” she asked curiously as she watched him build his own. “I’ll take two?”

Michael laid out two sandwiches for her, then guessed and started laying cheese out. He selected pepper jack for himself, then explained: “I’m using the leftover beef and some vegetables to make beef sandwiches.”

“Swiss and cheddar, then,” she requested, watching him work as he managed the heat on the pasta and stirring the simmering red sauce. “And your plan is, exactly?”

“Spaghetti and sauce, garlic bread, and beef sandwiches,” he said as he added the pasta to the sauce and mixed it together, letting it simmer together. “Simple, tasty, and hard to mess up,” he told her.

“I’ll say, it smells delicious,” she noted before pushing off the bar and walking around it. “What about to drink?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. “I owned a bar once, you know,” she informed him, opening her liquor cabinet. “I can make just about anything.”

“Typically, I prefer scotch, the good stuff,” Michael admitted. “But I’m not opposed to vodka, as long as, again, it’s not the cheap stuff. I was spoiled by one of my hosts when my unit deployed to Russia,” he said with a fond smile.

“What happened in Russia?” the blonde asked, starting to mix herself a drink as she watched him.

“Remember the big manhunt for the Ayatollah of Iran?” he asked, “you’re looking at one of the men who was responsible for his capture.”

“Really?” the blonde said with an amused smile, taking a small sip of her drink, before adding more of one ingredient to it. “So, tell me about them,” she asked, looking up at him as she walked away and to the massive table. She sat her drink down one one side, then returned to the kitchen to retrieve plates and bowls.

“You ask a lot of questions,” he noted, glancing at the angel with a wry smile.

“I want to get to know you, Michael,” she said, looking at him with soft brown eyes, “especially if we’re going to be working together.”

Michael pursed his lips together, then stepped back to let her create her dish. “Unofficially, we were UN’s sword. The security council were our bosses, and we deployed to counter threats before they materialized. We also reacted to important or dangerous crime scenes where it was clear that a military presence was needed instead of a law enforcement one.”

“So, what, you’ve stopped bank robberies?” she asked, glancing around a curtain of flowing golden hair.

“We stopped one, in Denmark, but mostly we deployed against actual terrorists,” Michael clarified as he watched her. The blonde took hefty servings of the noodles, but still left plenty for him. “I was in Korea before then,” he told her.

“I’ve sat out the major wars,” Ally told him, “since World War II, that is.” She took her plate and bowl to the table, then sat them down and watched him, waiting for the soldier to join her. “Where were you?” she asked, “when it happened?”

“Protecting a forward recovery field,” he told her, “I was going to be a part of a unit taking a Korean airfield, but the helicopter we would have rode in on broke down,” he remembered. “That airfield was between two of the detonations, and there wouldn’t have been enough of me to bury,” he said quietly as he dished his dinner.

“You were lucky,” Ally mused before he joined her at the table, sitting across from her on the massive oak table.

“Surviving has always been what I was good at, or my curse,” he said quietly as they started eating. Michael fell sullen, remembering the flashes and what it entailed. He was far enough away from the fallout, but it still horrified him.

“Who would do that,” Allyson whispered, “I’ve seen tragedies, seen madmen, stopped them, but that was another level of crazy.”  

“He didn’t care,” Michael reminded the blonde. “The reason we never directly attacked the capital and command infrastructure, people moved in close to them and became shields. It’s why the madman is alive, because if we hit his bunker, we very publicly execute a couple hundred innocent people just to kill one man.”

“If you had the chance,” Ally said, looking up at him as she spooled a bite of spaghetti, “would you kill him?”

“Absolutely.”

“Even if the replacements were worse?” Ally raised an eyebrow as she took the bite.

“Then I keep pulling the trigger until we find someone who plays ball.”

“You might be doing that for a while,” she stated once she finished her bite, smiling approvingly.

“I might,” Michael admitted, “and I don’t like doing it. But a lasting peace, the chance for change, what’s it worth?”

Ally contemplated, spooling another bite and eating, savoring the rich flavor of the sauce. She’d gotten lucky, and they would have to make this a regular thing. “What about Avalon?” she asked, “if you weren’t looking for the tomb, why were you there?”

“The mercenaries,” Michael said simply. “They killed my unit in Siberia. I’m going to find out who is responsible, who pulled the trigger, and who gave the order, and every one of them is going in the ground.”

[shatteredskies042]

NaNo Day 12

Recovering his car was easy enough, but DC traffic made the drive back to Allyson’s safehouse difficult. They reached it just past dusk, and he waited in the street for her to leave and join him to make the trip back to the Institute. Ally emerged out of the front door, then climbed into the passenger seat of the silver Camaro. “Nice car,” she complimented. “Let’s get out of town a bit further,” she told him, buckling her seatbelt as Michael shifted and accelerated out of the neighborhood. “Now I understand,” she told him, glancing over with a soft smile on her lips.

Michael looked back at her for a second, then a realization came over him. This was something he had never known he wanted, not just to drive his car and enjoy it, but to share it with someone else. “You don’t know the half of it,” he responded as he looked out the front window.

Ally reached out, and curled her fingers around the ornamentation hanging from the mirror. “I would have expected you to have fuzzy dice or something, not a rosary,” she told him, looking at it closely.

The soldier took a deep breath, looking at the thin fingers around the metal beads. “They belonged to my mother,” he said simply. He knew another question was coming, and cut her off before she could ask: “she worked in a hospital, and those were the only ones she could wear on her person. Easy to disinfect,” he explained. “She kept a nicer one like that in her car, and it’s just-” his voice trailed off as he thought about her, and his family. A wave of emotion came over his face when he thought about them, something Ally could not miss.

“Tell me about your family,” Ally implored softly, curious about him and his past. “The file I read, that I got from the Archivist, only talked about your military career. Not about who you are.”

Michael sucked down a breath, his eyes locked forward on the road as he drove through the backstreets and heading into Virginia. “The file might have talked about them, but it wasn’t the full truth,” he began. “Mom had me right out of high school, and I never knew my biological father,” he told her, “the man I call my dad came into the picture a few years later. Mom was a nurse, dad was a sheriff’s deputy, they met when he got roughed up by a suspect,” his eyes were focused on the task, but unfocused as he drove on autopilot and played the memories behind his eyes. Allyson twisted in the seat, leaning on the dashboard to face him and read his face as he drove. “They did their best, even with their busy schedules. We managed to spend dinner as a family more nights than not. They taught me a lot growing up, aside from raising me as their kid. Mom taught me how to cook, then first aid and various medical tricks. She didn’t want me to join the military or put myself in danger, she wanted me to be a teacher,” he laughed quietly.

“Is that something you wanted?” Ally asked curiously.

“Even then, I knew the value of real world experience,” Michael told her, “I could tell which teachers in school had actually been out and done things and those who just learned everything out of a book. I wanted to teach, but I had to go out in the world, experience it first, and give what I wanted to teach some impact,” he stated as they drove.

Ally nodded thoughtfully, resting her cheek in her hand as she watched him. “What about your dad?” she asked, throwing him a softball to keep him talking.

“Dad worked too hard,” Michael remembered, his head canting a bit as he remembered. “He was always bringing work home, grumbling about not being able to do much in his shifts. We played catch often, and taught me a lot too: how to grill, he and grandpa took me shooting, and some investigations stuff. He took me out on the job a couple of times,” he remembered with a fond smile. “This car was one of our projects,” he told her as he glanced over at the blonde. “I loved the look of the older muscle cars, especially ‘69 Camaros like this one,” he admitted. “And dad had always wanted to rebuild a classic, so we both learned how to put this thing together. There’s a picture gallery in the glove box that shows the full story,” he told her.

Ally leaned back, and popped the glove box open. The first thing she found was his handgun and magazines, “glad to see you’re prepared,” she smiled, before she found a thick blue book. The blonde opened it, and saw notes sticking out of the side, identifying what the pictures in that section were. She found the Camaro section towards the end, and started browsing. First it was just a frame in a garage, then as she flipped, it came together further and further. Michael became older and older in the pictures, until his dad disappeared from the images, Michael himself even absent from some. It posed a question for her, but she did not want to ask, and pry harder than she already had.

As she flipped through the book, Michael narrated, “we worked mostly on weekends, sometimes no more than an hour at a time. Some things, like sanding, took a longer time than just what we had. So, when I got home and after I did my homework, I’d disappear into the garage to work on the car by myself,” he remembered.

There was more that he wasn’t telling, Ally knew, but this wasn’t the time to ask and press. “They raised a good son,” she said quietly, flipping past one of the last completed pictures and seeing a family picture, the oldest she had seen Michael in pictures with his parents still present.

Michael stayed quiet as he remembered them, choosing to remember the good times and all they had taught him. A small smile lived on his lips, though he was unaware of it. He missed them, but he had little mementos to remember them by.

“Hold on,” Ally told him, closing her eyes. “Just drive straight,” she told him. In but a moment, they changed from driving through a mostly residential area to driving down a forested road. Michael had to look around quickly, slowing before Ally told him to keep driving. “This is the road that leads to Goddess Island, trust me,” she told him. “As for your other things, we’ll use my Jeep, it has more space than this thing,” she promised with tiredness seeping into her voice.

Michael drove further, following her directions until she directed him to turn off the main road onto a side road. He followed the rocky path and slowed, until they reached a red brick bridge that ran for close to two hundred feet. It had to be the bridge connecting the mainland to Goddess Island, wherever the mainland was, that is. The road was not paved, but it was smoothed stone that did not pose much of a risk of damaging his car as Michael followed it up past the beach and into the hills. They drove the path cut through the forest, and over a much shorter bridge crossing a gently flowing river.

Deer ran out of the plains into the cover of the woods as Michael’s car past, and he glanced over at Allyson: “does anyone or anything else live here?” he wondered.

“Those deer, various kinds of birds, fish,” she nodded, “there’s plenty of wildlife living here, but I’m the only person who lives here. Well, not anymore,” she shot a short smile at him, before the Institute came into view. Even in the dark, he got a sense for just how massive the building was. It looked like a veritable fortress, with the weathered gray walls, moss growing off them, to the battlements crowning the upper decks and walkways. Light still poured from the windows, and it raised another question for the soldier as Ally directed him to the garage.

“What powers this place?” he asked.

“Geothermal generator,” Ally told him as he came to a stop, “there’s actually an interesting story from the days when the Huntsmen had this place,” she promised, before she got out of the car, telling him to wait while she ran inside. A few minutes later, one of the large garage doors opened, and she appeared, waving him. Michael turned the Camaro around, then backed into the open bay, the blonde shutting the door after him. He shut his car off, then got out and stretched. The garage had space for at least a half dozen vehicles, a third of which were actually occupied. The other vehicle in the space was, he assumed, Ally’s, a cherry red stripped-down Jeep.

Ally joined him, and raised an eyebrow, “come on, I’ll help you take this upstairs,” she said as she opened the doors and folded the seats forward. She started pulling the totes out of the back, and Michael pulled the handful from the trunk. “You’re cooking, though,” she told him with a backwards glance with flying blonde hair. It was then he noticed the black streaks in her hair, and as he followed her his mind wandered. He did not let it wander too far, as much of his speculation was a far reach.

He memorized the path they took to reach a familiar area, really just traveling down the hall a bit further returned him to the common area. They set the totes in a neat stack next to the bed, then Michael looked at the angel in the close in space, “I’m going to take a shower, then I’ll go down to the kitchen and figure something out. Is there anything in particular you like or want to avoid?” he asked as Allyson walked for the door.

“Well, I do enjoy meat,” she admitted as she looked over her shoulder, “other than that, impress me,” she grinned, before she pulled his door closed.

Michael stood in silence for a moment, before he got to work unpacking. He found some lighter, more casual clothes and laid them out on the bed, then saw something he’d thrown on it earlier: the drive he had recovered from the Talon computer. He had to ask for a laptop or something so he could get to work on deciphering the contents. Hopefully it would give him a clue as to where to look next for the operators who had pulled the trigger on him, and who had ordered that trigger pulled.

He then headed to the bathroom and drew a shower. He spent a few minutes glad to have hot water and space in the shower, as opposed to his last couple of showers. However, in short time, he was out and staring at the mirror. He found a straight razor and some shaving cream, as well as aftershave. The latter looked old, and after inspection, Michael determined that it was from the sixties. He shrugged, and knew it was just as good now as it was then, at least it hadn’t been opened.

Michael slowly and methodically lathered up and shaved with careful precision. He had grown used to a straight razor, and finished the task without drawing blood. Michael smiled a bit to himself as he applied the aftershave and enjoyed for a moment the smoothness of his skin. He returned to the bedroom and redressed, heading back downstairs to the kitchen.

He familiarized himself with the space, then started opening cabinets to find out what options he had available.

Word Count: 23,900ish

[shatteredskies042]

NaNo Day 11

“What do you mean, Ally?” Michael asked, holding the sword and inspecting the weapon. It had no weight, and fit his hand perfectly, forged exactly for him, it seemed.

“This isn’t really the place for this kind of conversation,” she said, before looking at the tomb she had been in front of earlier. “It’s good to see you again, old friend,” she said with a small smile, before she looked at Michael and walked to him. “Let’s go, shall we?” she asked, before she closed her eyes and another swirling portal opened next to them.

Michael did not question her, or it, and stepped through the rift. He had another battle with nausea in the pitch darkness, before he came out the other side. The room was familiar, the place she had taken him after their meeting in London.

“Welcome home, Michael,” the blonde said, walking past him with a smile. The room was fairly large and bright, wood floors and stone brick walls. Michael looked around, this half of the room seemed to be a lounge of some sort, with couches and chairs and tables scattered around, a number of them arrayed around a large brick fireplace. Light spilled in from large windows, casting large bright pools onto the immaculate flooring. The room was bisected by a hallway, and two sets of stairs led up to another level.

Allyson walked away from him and walked to a kitchen at the other end of the room. “Here, take a seat,” she told him, waving to a bar on the outside of the open kitchen. Michael followed her advice and strode to the combined kitchen and dining area, impressed with the setup and the massive table that could seat a battalion. The countertops were a bright quartz, with intricate natural patterns swirling through them. Michael sat on one of the stools, plush red seats absorbing his weight as he inspected the kitchen. Amazingly, modern appliances covered the space, bright stainless steel around another sizable island. If this was to be his new home, he was already impressed. He was a pretty good cook, he liked to think, so he could put the space and facilities here to good use. There was tons of natural light seeping into the room from both windows and a double set of french-style doors.

“Quite a setup,” Michael noted as he watched Allyson gracefully walk around the kitchen. He set his pistol on the countertop, followed by the sword. In the light, he could see some of the more finer details of the latter, from the grooves that ran down the body of the blade, to the almost pearl shaped pommel and counterweight. He knew little about swords, and never had used one in his life, but he felt an attachment to the strange weapon.

“I know you’ve got a lot of questions,” Ally said, graceful fingers manipulating a high end coffee maker. “This place can be your home, if you want. I would suggest it, it’s much safer living here than it is anywhere else,” she promised, pulling away from the machine to lean her elbows on the counter in front of him, looking up at Michael. “But you want to know what you’ve gotten into,” she stated with a grin tugging at the edge of her lips, having read his mind.

“Everything you’ve told me is very confusing,” he admitted, finally coming off the adrenaline rush of battle and feeling his energy decline. He leaned on the counter like she did, watching the blonde as the coffeemaker bubbled.

“I agree, it is,” she nodded. “Michael, you’re now part of a world you never knew existed. How much fiction do you read?” she wondered, “specifically, fantasy?”

“Not much,” he revealed, “don’t have a lot of time and I was never too interested in it,” Michael said.

Ally nodded, shifting her head as she thought about how to explain his new reality, “those tall tales you’ve heard, stories to scare kids, most of them are true,” she told him, pulling away and walking to the coffeemaker. “Witches, vampires, werewolves, zombies to an extent,” she listed as she listened to it bubble and steam, filling the carafe with dark liquid.

“Angels,” Michael added, looking at her, and drawing a look from over her shoulder.

“Technically, I’m a fallen angel,” Allyson clarified, “but yes, angels and demons exist too. As does Heaven and Hell. A whole other world exists within yours, very well hidden,” she promised.

Michael contemplated, absorbing the information as he watched her. It was almost too absurd to believe, but he had to think about what had just happened: he had explored an unmarked ancient tomb, locked by a magical door, and been transported to some place by a fallen angel. “How does it stay hidden?” he asked.

“We’ve gotten very good at hiding,” she promised with a smile as she acquired coffee mugs from a cabinet. “If you passed me on the street like this, would you have known I was an angel?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “The vast majority look just like you, me, Joe and Jill Public. They hide their abilities and other traits when in plain sight, or they disappear.”

“Step out of line and get whacked,” he summarized. “Sounds like the mafia.”

“We’re better organized and managing than the mafia ever was,” she smiled proudly. “We’ve always been here, and all you’ve heard is preposterous legends and stories. The people who claim they’ve seen something supernatural are largely regarded as crazies, am I wrong?” she asked, pouring two mugs. She added cream and sugar to one, copious amounts, and in the other scoops of white chocolate. Michael furrowed his brow, how did she know how he liked his coffee?

“Then what’s my role?” he asked as she walked to him, and presented him with a steaming brown cup. “And how the hell do you know how I like my coffee?”

“Intuition,” she grinned at him as she boosted herself onto the island in the center of the kitchen and sat. “As for your role, you don’t quite have one yet. But by picking that sword up, you’ve entered it, and there’s no turning back. I suspect you’ll do the same thing you’ve been doing,” she said as she blew on her cup, cooling the liquid before taking a sip. “Stop the malcontents, keep bad things from happening, just like you’ve done before.”

Again, Michael furrowed his brows at her, but before he could ask, she cut him off. “The Archivist is a mutual acquaintance. I asked for your record and information after what happened in Canada,” she told him. She took another sip of her coffee, closing her eyes as she looked at him. “Your whole time in service has been impressive, not a single black mark. But it told me very little about who you really were. That I have to hear from the source,” she told him, watching the soldier closely.

Michael chuckled darkly at himself as she told him he had no stains on his record, maybe not there, but on his soul. “I’m a fighter, and I do the things I do because nobody else can do them. Because it’s the right thing to do,” he shook his head, not believing the hypocrisy spilling past his lips. He wasn’t noble, he’d killed the innocent. Feeling another wave of disgust wash over him, Michael stood up and walked away from the bar. “Where’s a bathroom?” he asked quickly.

“Down the hall, to the right,” she responded quickly, a concerned look crossing smooth features as he bolted out of sight. Ally followed, but only met a closed door. She pressed against the wall, listening through the door. The sounds seeping through the door were horrid, like he was throwing up. A concerned look came over her features, before she heard a cry and an impact, with the sound of glass breaking. She pulled back and returned to the kitchen, not wanting him to know that she was eavesdropping.

Michael returned a few minutes later, holding his hand and barely hiding his pain. “Sorry,” he said quietly, defeated. “If you’re looking for a hero, I’m not your guy,” he told her.

“Michael, part of my abilities as an angel is having enhanced senses,” she told him as he returned, watching him. “I smell the blood,” she promised, walking from the island and around the bar to him. She slowly took his hands, opening them and seeing his right hand cut and bleeding. “Why did you do that?” she asked, looking into his eyes with a soft expression, trying to convey warmth and caring to him. She started healing him again, a simple task with the simplicity of his wounds. However, her healing was only physical, she couldn’t repair whatever damaged lurked beneath his skin.

“Allyson, I’m not some hero. Maybe I was, but between London and now, things have changed,” he stated quietly, ashamed.

The blonde looked into his eyes, hating what she saw there: defeat, disgust, loathing, but not for her or anyone else, only for himself. “Michael, if you weren’t a good person, you could never have opened the door to Avalon. Or taken the sword,” she told him, “you might have made mistakes, but it doesn’t change who you are,” the blonde promised as she held to his hand. She had finished healing him, but she suspected he needed more than just his wounds to be closed. Physical touch was something she could use for that, something that she suspected he lacked.

“I’ve got innocent blood on my hands, and that’s not exactly the thing you can wash off with soap and water,” he told her pointedly.

“You’re not the only one,” Ally told him quietly, it was very easy to call her a monster if one knew even a fraction of the things she had done. “But I can tell something about you, I saw it in London and I see it now,” she told him, “you’re not one to run from the good fight. If somebody needs your help, you can’t deny it, it’s not who you are.” Her voice took a tougher turn, as she had to make sure he understood what she was to say next: “you can either accept and learn to live with your demons, or you can let them eat you up. You can leave and go wherever, and wait for death to come for you, or you can stand and fight and make a difference.”

Like clockwork, he opened his eyes and looked at her, “why, Ally? You don’t have a stake in me,” he told her, not knowing the truth.

“I don’t,” she lied, “but you’ve got work to do, and I need to get you ready for the threats that you’re going to face.”

Michael looked at her, still wonder in his eyes as a conflict raged in his mind. There was a silence, until he nodded, accepting her terms and her offer.

Allyson smiled widely and pulled away, “come on, I’ll show you around,” she told him, waving for him to follow her up the stairs. “This is actually the third level,” the blond told him, walking through the halls, until they reached a bank of doors. “Here,” she said, opening one of the further doors into a dark room. Michael stepped inside, finding a bedroom. A layer of dust covered everything, like it had sat empty for quite some time. “I’ll clean it up,” she promised, looking at him. “Do you have clothes or something stashed somewhere?”

Michael nodded as he walked through the small room, it was fairly simple: a queen-sized bed, nightstands and dressers, a fair sized closet and a desk. A secondary door led to a bathroom, again, a functional but stark affair. The soldier peeled back the curtains and glanced out the window, at the land outside. Part of the view was obstructed by the structure, but he had a breathtaking view of emerald forests and snow capped mountains.

“Where even are we?” he asked her, turning from the window to face the blonde leaning on the doorframe.

“Welcome to Goddess Island,” she smiled, “this place was officially known as the Goddess Island Institute for Huntsmen, but they’ve long been moved out of this place. As for where it is truly, it’s a good question,” she admitted. “I found this place in the sixties, there’s a small town close by, but this placed is protected by some kind of magic. It hides it from direct attack and sight, that’s the theory anyway, nobody has come after me to test it.”

“If I’m going to be living and working here,” he said, “how do I get my car here?”

The blonde shrugged, “I can make a portal large enough to jump a car through, but it takes a lot out of me,” she explained. “How important is this car?” she asked.

He responded with a deep breath, “it’s one of the last things I have to remember my father by,” he said simply.

Ally nodded, “I can make arrangements, then,” she promised, “what about clothes and the necessary things you need to live?” she asked.

“I’ve got some in my car, and some more in a storage unit.”

“Alright, let’s get your car first, then later we’ll get the things from storage,” she offered, to Michael’s nod. “Then I’ll give you more of a tour of this place. The Institute is large, but I only really use some of it,” she admitted.

Michael took off the vest and body armor he had been carrying and laid them on the dusty bed. “I last parked in DC,” he told her, “at Dulles airport.”

“I can make that work,” she promised with a smile, waving him out of the room as she conjured another portal. Again, Michael stepped through and dealt with the uncomfortable ride as he appeared in a dark house.  

Word Count: 21931

[shatteredskies042]

NaNo Day 10

He debated as he got over the surprise, trying to figure out just what he was going to say. “There’s a facility here,” he said between his shivers. “And it’s run by the people who are responsible for those nukes going off,” he told the blonde.

“The only-” she began, before stopping and biting her lip in contemplation. “Michael, I know what you’re talking about,” she told him. “And I can take you there, but I have to tell you,” her brown eyes bored into his own. “You are not ready for what you’re going to find in there. Please, come with me, and I’ll explain it all to you,” she promised, pleading with him. “Michael you,” she grabbed his shoulders, feeling his tensenes and something else, before a concerned look came over her features. “You’re in no condition to fight these men.”

Perhaps his mind had been affected by the cold and lack of sleep, or perhaps the desire for revenge had consumed him in that moment, but he would not stop. Not until this was finished or he was dead. “I’m going in there,” he stated.

Ally sighed, watching him pull away from him and pick up his rifle to finish assembling it. “You’re going to need more than that,” she told him, before she reached behind her back. Michael watched her, until she offered something to him. He reached out, and when he felt what it was, removed it from her hand. “Where did you get this?” he asked, his fingers falling back into the familiar grip of his USP. He press checked the handgun and saw a round seated, and accepted the pair of magazines she offered him, also loaded fully.

“When you got shot, you dropped it,” the blonde explained quietly, crossing her arms and seemingly unaffected by the cold air around them. “I found it while I was waiting for someone to come and pick the nuke up, and-” her voice trailed off, as her eyes looked past him and the dark ground. “-forget it,” she finished, looking back at him.

“Thank you,” Michael breathed, feeling a huge degree of relief that he had his weapon back.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to come with me?” she asked, watching him prepare for his attack.

Michael had to think for a good moment on that, what choice would he have after this? The Agency and Talon would know he was alive, and both of them would want him dead. He had no home, just a car and a storage unit. Blending back into society and adopting a mundane life after what he had learned was also not an option, but what would going with her truly mean? If she truly was an angel, or some kind of odd being, what? Eventually, the prospect of discovery washed over him, and he made his response: “After this, I’ll go with you,” he promised the blonde. “This is something I have to do.”

He could tell Allyson was considering many responses, but instead she merely nodded. “Go, then,” was all she said, before Michael picked up the scout and started moving towards the entrance.

The entry was covered by camouflage netting, that and the remote setting precluded anyone really approaching. Further signs at the entrance warned of toxic gas and cave ins, and for but a second, Michael hesitated.

“It’s just a sign meant to keep people away,” Ally told him, appearing behind him out of thin air.

Michael turned to her, narrowing his eyes, “I said I would go with you later, I don’t need a babysitter,” he told her pointedly.

“I don’t plan to interfere. This is your crusade, I’m just going to follow you,” she smiled mischievously, before she motioned for him to proceed.

The soldier shook his head and sighed deeply before he continued, stepping into the even darker cave with his rifle held high. He could not tell if Ally was still behind him, but it did not matter. He pressed against the jagged and cold stone walls, sneaking looks around corners before progressing. He saw light ahead, and slowed further, knowing that light meant contact was close. At least it was slightly warmer in the cave than it was outside.

He crept as close as he dared, just before he could come around the corner. Michael closed his eyes and just breathed for a moment, this was the point of no return.

He stayed low, and swung the rifle wide around the stone as he leaned out into the light. Bright spotlights were aimed at him, but he could see human shapes. He brought the rifle up to his eye and fired at one shape as it was moving, before he pulled back to work the bolt. Gunfire rang out, chipping at the stones around his position. He heard a shout, then moved back around the corner, spotting a second silhouette, and pulling the trigger on it. Michael worked the bolt, and advanced, bringing the rifle up once more to fire at the man still moving on the stone floor. He moved up quickly, past the two bodies and crouching behind the spotlights. There was a trail of blood and pieces of skull along a line consistent with the position of his first kill, and he got an idea.

Michael stepped back, and found the body. He rolled the corpse over, and removed his load-bearing vest and body armor. The gear was a touch oversized for him, but it was better than nothing as he strapped on the armor and vest. He recognized the pattern of the armor, Kevlar Diamond Weave, soft body armor that could resist rifle rounds. He hoped it wouldn’t be needed, but he would rather take a bullet on the kevlar than on his skin.

He further took the man’s rifle, a bullpup he could not immediately identify. A rifle was a rifle, and he took it up and could fire it all the same. He also stripped the handgun off the chest mounted holster and replaced it with his before he moved deeper. Lights were strung up on the walls of the caves too far apart, giving pools of light and wells of darkness, but it gave Michael a guide deeper into the cavern. He forged ahead slowly, his rifle high as he searched for targets beyond the red-lit sights. He moved fast through the light to limit his exposure, watching and listening for any movement ahead of him.

Several steps ahead, a dip came in the floor, and with one misplaced footstep Michael was thrown off balance and collapsed down to the cold floor. Movement echoed off the walls in front of him, and he prepared for a fight once he got back to his feet. He pressed up against a crack in the wall, hearing rushing and frantic voices. He touched the trigger of his weapon, waiting, waiting, until a figure rushed past him.

He would have pulled the trigger, he should have, but he abstained for a critical second. They should have seen him, and turned and gotten into a brutal close quarters gunfight. But one after another, a half dozen figures sprinted past him, headed for the entry. Once the noise faded off into the distance, he began moving again, deeper into the cave. There was a definite descent along this path, but he could not tell how deep he had gone.

Further and further, bright lights spilled back into the path down. Michael took a quick peek around the stone corner as he crouched to lessen his visual signature, wondering just what the hell he had walked into. A half dozen tents were pitched in a much larger cavern than the first one, with a pair of pillars running from the floor to the ceiling.

Michael cautiously stepped from the tighter passage and headed towards the pillars, keeping his eyes moving for any potential threats. He heard quiet murmuring from the tents, but he would deal with them in short time, but he had to make sure his cover was secure first. He approached one side, then quickly circled around the corner of the pillar.

He came face to face with another figure, his rifle already aimed at him. Before Michael could pull the trigger, the Talon mercenary did, and he felt a murderously hard punch in his chest. The force of it knocked him off his feet, and onto the stone floor. Michael fired as he fell, his finger reflexively squeezing the trigger and letting off a long burst of his weapon as his back hit the ground. Michael grunted loudly as he rolled over and pushed himself back up, turning around as another crack sounded out, hitting him in the back and forcing him to take a few steps forward. He stumbled and found the magazine release on his weapon, dropping the empty magazine free before he inserted the next and reset the bolt. He spun around, looking for the second shooter, and verifying that the other one was dead. The soldier breathed heavily, and found that every intake of air hurt.

He could see no other bodies or movement, but he wanted to spray and fire into the tents. As he contemplated and leveled his weapon, Michael stopped, thinking back to Georgia. What if there were noncombatants in those tents? He froze and it was long enough for a bullet to rip through his calf. Michael cried out and fell, his leg unable to support him then. He swore loudly, bringing his rifle up and shooting from the floor. He fired blindly into the tent he had seen the flash from, until again his magazine fell empty. Bullets riddled the largest tent in the cavern, the gunshots echoing in the enclosed space.

Discarding the rifle, as he had no further ammunition for it, Michael drew his pistol from his chest and stood. He winced loudly as he put weight on his wounded leg, but hobbled over to the front of the tent with his gun drawn. Inside, he found the dead body of a man holding a pistol and wearing a uniform and beret. If he had to guess, this was the leader of the mercenary detachment.

A hard case computer sat atop a plastic table in the center, and Michael hobbled painfully over to it. He peered at the screen and smiled through the pain, he’d struck an intelligence mine. Weather it yielded gold or just rocks, he had something here. He turned the computer over and pried the rear cover off, sorting through the wires until he found the hard drive and removed it. He tucked it securely in the pouch of his hoodie, under his now compromised armor.

Michael slowly walked out of the tent, and looked at the other half of the cavern. The walls transitioned from jagged stone, to precisely carved shapes. At the other end of the cavern stood a pair of doors, eight feet tall. The surface had been defaced and damaged, as evidenced by blast marks and the pickaxes laying a few feet away from the door. The door appeared to be made of black stone, and above the damage, intricate carvings and details danced through the dark material. Cut stone steps led a way up to the door, and Michael furrowed his brow as he looked up at it. “What the hell is that?” he asked in wonder.

“The doors to Avalon,” Allyson said, walking behind him silently, walking up to him from behind, “come here,” she said softly, wrapping an arm around him and supporting him on her shoulder. She was much stronger than she looked, and she had no problem taking him to the steps and sitting him down. “I took care of the ones that you missed, we won’t be bothered,” she promised as she sat beside him and laid her hands gently on his leg. “Just relax,” she implored.

A warming sensation filled Michael’s body, emanating from her hands and spreading throughout his body and deeper. The pain in his leg subsided, as did the pain in his chest he was just noticing. The bullet he had caught with his chest had probably broken a rib or two, and left a hell of a bruise. He felt revitalized as he watched her, seemingly doing nothing.

It took a few minutes of sitting in silence with Allyson, the latter humming a soft tune with no words, but Michael found himself soothed by it. “There,” she finally whispered, a spent look on her face as she pulled away from him.

“What did you do?” he asked curiously.

“I healed you,” she smiled tiredly, “one of my many talents,” the angel said proudly while she stood up and offered her hand to him. Michael graciously accepted the help, surprised that the pain in his leg was drastically reduced. It wasn’t fully healed, but he could walk on it without difficulty.

“Wow,” Michael breathed, looking at her for a moment, then back to the double doors. “Avalon,” he repeated, what she had said several minutes ago. “What is it?”

“It’s a tomb,” Ally said, walking to the door and touching it, running her fingers over the damaged door. “They never could have gotten in,” she told him, looking back at the soldier. “They don’t have the key,” she smiled.

“And you do?” Michael asked, raising an eyebrow as he drew closer to her and the door. Something pulled him closer, something he couldn’t explain, like he couldn’t take his eyes off the damaged black stone.

“I don’t,” she chuckled, watching him step forward.

Michael reached out carefully, his gun hand holding his USP. His fingertips grazed the door and found it warm, then the door shook and creaked. He stepped back, joining his hands on the pistol and aiming at the door as six centuries of dust fell from the crevasises on the entry. The doors glided open, just enough for him and Allyson to pass through into the darkness of the other side. Once they were through, the doors behind them swung shut, sealing the tomb again. He heard the blonde moving around him, until light filled the space, coming from a wood torch in her hands. “What’s so important about this place?” he asked, looking at her as she led him onwards. “What interest does the CIA have in it?”

“Fools chasing fools gold,” she said confidently. “Even if they were able to get inside, they could not have gotten what they wanted of this place,” she told him, glancing over at him. “You don’t know what you’ve done, Michael,” she said sadly.

“What does that mean?”

“If you had gone with me, I could have prepared you, you would have been ready for what you’re going to find in here,” she told him. “But the moment you stepped inside this cave it was bound to happen,” she shook her head. “You’re the first human to see this place in five hundred years. Five hundred years since I sealed this tomb,” Ally stated whimsically as they walked.

“You sealed this?” he asked, looking at her with a look of surprise. “So, you’re-”

“You never ask a woman’s age,” she reminded him with a side look and a grin as the flickering light reflected a much larger room in front of them.

“Who’s buried here, then?” he asked as they reached a series of steps onto a platform in the midst of the large room. Michael looked around once he took the final step, looking up at the domed ceiling covered in carvings and inscriptions, then at the tombs around. They were all sealed stone sarcophaguses, and he watched Allyson walk through the chamber to the furthest tomb.

“Their names have been lost to time,” the blonde said gently, even her quiet voice audible in this great space. She reached out and touched the largest sarcophagus, almost reverently. “But they were incredibly important.”

As she spoke, Michael walked to the center of the room, to a podium holding a sword. The tip was set into the base of the structure, and he walked around it a few times to properly assess it. Even in the darkness, the blade emitted a faint glow. He took his left hand off the grip of his pistol, and touched the handle of the sword. Amazingly, it seemed to fit his hand, almost molded to it as he looked at the silver and black handle. With but the faintest of movements, the blade sang out and the weapon lifted free of the podium. Michael looked at the sword he now held first, then back at Allyson, catching her staring with longing in her eyes and a tragic smile on her lips.

“You have no idea what you’ve just done,” she told him, showing dread and hiding her happiness.  

Word Count: 19601

[shatteredskies042]

NaNo Day 09

He told the stewardess to inform the pilot that they would be landing in Ireland, as close to his target as possible. He also asked to see the weapon they had aboard. She returned a few minutes later, carrying a relatively small black backpack, which she set on a table in front of him. “This is it,” she promised, “but I’m not entirely sure how it pieces together,” she noted, before leaving him to assemble the rifle himself.

Michael opened the bag and took all the pieces out, arraying them on the table before him. It took him several minutes, but he managed to piece the rifle together. It was a Desert Arms Recon Scout, a compact bullpup rifle, not a weapon he was intimately familiar with, but a rifle was a rifle. He found the scope for the weapon, large enough to cover almost a third of the rifle’s length, that would give him good magnification. He just hoped the weapon would be precise, as he only had five rounds available.

Michael broke the weapon back down and returned the backpack to the stewardess for return to it’s hiding spot. They could not have a customs inspector find a gun as he was trying to enter the mission site.

For the remainder of the flight, Michael slept. His nightmares plagued him as his consiounce grilled him on his failures, ensuring he did not achieve a restful mental pause. Once the wheels kissed the surface of the tarmac, he was awake and ready to go. He still had his luggage from the first flight to Georgia, and he thought a stop at a hotel would do wonders for him. The crew of the Agency plane left shortly after he disembarked with his luggage, lacking orders to stay for him. It suited Michael just fine.

Just like when he flew into Georgia, and his stop in Illinois, he felt naked. Sure, he had a rifle on his back, but it was in pieces that would take him at the least two minutes to put together. No weapon other than his fists, in Northern Ireland, with the distinct feeling that the Agency could be considering him a liability.

With about twenty minutes of walking, he left the airport and had entered the town of Tralee. He found a hotel, a building probably built before the United States was founded, and went inside. He obtained a room, and retreated upstairs after paying and checking the amenities. He had noticed a few banks of computers, but he could do further research there.

In his room, Michael dropped his duffle and his weapon backpack, hiding the latter under the bed for now. He took advantage of the shower, before he realized how tacked on the bathroom felt. In contrast to the rustic hotel, the bathroom looked prefabricated and just shoved in where the owners had space. A crude drain cut in the floor, and barely any room in the shower proper. He remembered that most European establishments had water heaters smaller than that of a normal American house, so he would have to make the most of the hot water.

He crammed into the shower and turned the water on, but he could not help but savor the heat of the downpour. It caused his mind to wander, giving him a comfortable few minutes to reflect, leaning on the wall of the shower lightly as his mind raced. Everywhere from the atrocities he had seen and committed in the last week, to memories of his parents and his worries for the future. Everything happening around him was taking it’s toll, his sleep wracked with nightmares, looking at every shadow like it would jump out at him. He at least had a target now, he had to deal with this private military company. No, mercenaries, he told himself. The former term was too dignified for what they really did, the latter term had hardly changed since the Swiss made the mercenary business successful. They would kill, destroy, and pillage, all in the name of cold, hard cash. No conscience, no remorse, only steadily rising bank accounts.

Was his fighting, killing, for his country any different another part of him wondered. He had a cause, like them, but his bank account was far from where a professional mercenary’s would be. He couldn’t even play the clean conscience card, not after what happened in Georgia.

With a cold, wet snap, Michael came back to reality when the once hot water turned cold as it rained on him. He quickly finished up, and dressed once he was dry. In the bathroom, he leaned on the counter, looking around in hopes that a razor was present for him to scratch the stubble off his cheeks. He turned up empty handed, but couldn’t help but see the reflection in the mirror.

His eyes were streaked with red, dark shadows under them. A shadow presided over his cheek and down his neck, but one thing struck him more: disgust, and almost another bout of nausea as he looked in the mirror. He was weak, the fierce warrior but under the surface a cracked mess.

Michael tore his eyes from the mirror and turned around, stepping into the bedroom and just sitting on the edge of the bed. He took a silent moment to gather himself, before he made his way downstairs to use the row of old computers, that struggled with basic maps. He found where the coordinates Charlie had given him were, exactly, high in the mountains outside the city. There were a few popular walking trails that would bring him decently close, but he still would have a hard hike ahead of him to reach his target. There was a nearby trailhead he could begin at, or have a cab drop him at.

Retreating to his bedroom, he sifted through his luggage until he found clothes worth wearing on a potentially very cold and windy hike, a warm thermal underlayer, and a simple, thick cotton sweatshirt. Dark tan cargo pants would keep his legs decently warm, but he would double up on socks to keep his feet warm.

He would have loved to have another weapon, or at least more ammunition for his rifle, but he had to make due with what he had. He could likely source everything he needed at the site, as long as he was able to keep things quiet. A shootout with Agency-hired mercenaries with only five bullets was a horrible idea, but so was assaulting an Agency site filled with dangerous hired guns who would be more than happy to kill him.  

Leaving his outfit for tonight on the small bed, he left the hotel and walked around a bit. He found a pub, and decided to head inside, sitting at the first open table he found and preparing waiting for someone to approach to give him a menu and a drink. When he received one from a kindly old waitress, he tracked his eyes over the menu trying to find something edible. His affair with food in this part of the world had always been a rocky one. When he had first came to England for the first time, he was taken to the Ox and Dagger Pub, near the base. It was run by the wife of one of the senior operators in the unit, and one of the men who had trained him to be as good as he was now. He had nearly thrown up as a result of the interesting concoctions the British called food, and he hoped it would be much different this time.

He decided on a simple sausage, bacon, and potato broth that came with the local take on bread. While the thought of a pint of good Irish beer was tempting, he abstained. He chose to stick with water, and knew he should acquire a thermos or something to hold water while he made his hike up to the black site.

Michael alternated between looking out the windows of the pub, and watching the other patrons. Most were fixated on a flat screen TV playing a soccer game, but he would remain fairly anonymous here. Europe had always been interesting to him, so much of it older than his country, and a strange blend of both the classical and the modern. The food was unlike any other, the stuff he enjoyed at least: German ancestry predisposed him to loving German cooking, and common sense gave him a deep appreciation of Italian dishes. The food of Eastern Europe and Russia also intrigued him, when he was in those states to get them authentic. However, he hadn’t had a burger in too long, and upon returning to the States, he would love to find a good, classy burger joint and get his hands on one.

Pushing away thoughts of other food, he smiled slightly when the waitress brought his dish. He ate slowly, savoring and enjoying the meal. Eating quickly was an ability he had lacked before he joined the military, taking his time and enjoying his food was how he had lived since then. When it mattered, he could scarf down a meal in a few minutes, an MRE faster still.

When he was finished, his plate was clear but for a few crumbs and a few small puddles of sauce too hard to get with a spoon. He thanked the polite waitress as he paid, before making his way back to his hotel room. He still had a fair bit of sunlight left, as the sun had just begun to descend from its apex. It would attract less attention if he headed for the trail now, and would make navigating either. He could get close, and set up observation until nightfall.

Back in his room, he dressed for his assault, feeling warm now but knowing it would pay off later. He slung the gun backpack over his shoulders, then headed for the street. It took him a bit of walking, but he was finally able to flag down a cabbie and direct him to the trailhead.

“Goin’ hiking, huh?” the cabbie asked in a thick accent. He had learned quickly when he came to England that there was no universal British or Irish accent. To an outsider, maybe, but to the residents, accents told much about a person, and could even reveal the block they lived on.

“Yes, sir,” Michael responded easily, alternating between looking at the cabbie and the town around them. “Got my camera and everything,”

He could hear the cabbie snort, “so many damn photographers come through here. Don’t think there’s anything in this country that some tourist hasn’t snapped a picture of,” he grumbled.

“It is a very beautiful country,” Michael pointed out honestly.

“Yeah, once you get past the bloody legions of tourists and photographers,” he responded, falling silent for the rest of the trip. At the trailhead, Michael forked over the money he owed, then left the car and looked up at the jagged green peaks. They were not high mountains, but for Ireland these were the tallest points.

He stepped out into the bright day, looking around to get his bearings. He took a map from a nearby kiosk and looked it over, with his location in mind, he plotted exactly where to diverge from the beaten path to make his approach. He refolded the paper map, then set out on the hike up. The path mostly followed ridges, giving walkers spectacular views of the mountain countryside and glittering lakes. They don’t call these the emerald isles for nothing, Michael thought as he hiked.

The rises were tough, but he kept up a good pace without much complaint. He had hiked harder, carrying more, and with the added stress of combat lurking around him. Now, he only carried a single weapon, and the stress lurked just out of sight, waiting for a weak moment to strike at him. He’d been trained on how to cope with stress, it was always a factor in combat operations, but not deeper issues like he faced.

He laughed at himself, alone on the trail. I can jump out of a plane, assault a compound full of people who want me dead, touch a man with a bullet from almost a mile away, beat any lock and complete any mission. But I can’t sleep at night or look in the mirror without feeling disgust.

The sun dipped over the eastern horizon, and the ridges began to grow dark. Michael knew just about how much further he needed to go, before he descended into a valley, then back up another ridge to set up an observation point on his target. His eyesight adjusted to the darkness as the light dimmed, giving him a limited degree of night vision. No moon rose in the sky, and darkness permeated the cliffs.

Michael slowed his pace as he started to cross to the second ridge, where he would observe and plan for his attack. It was a perfect night for operating, he thought. Under ideal circumstances, he and the men of BLACK would don their dark uniforms and night vision goggles, and set out into the night to ruin some bad guy’s life.

What he would have given to even have a set of NVGs, let alone his full kit from those days, and the teammates he had back then. It seemed like so long ago, a lifetime past, despite it being a little over a week since the deployed members of the team had been betrayed.

His footing remained secure as he worked his way down the first cliff, then once he reached the valley, up the other ridge. He could barely see ten or twenty feet, but he was able to find a small goat trail. Trails like these were what got him the furthest, as thin and treacherous as they were. Goats and other game animals had gotten him and his teams much further than they would have gone on their own, even if they did not have an active role in those operations.

It took almost two hours, and the temperature kept dropping. A cold wind whipped through the mountains and valleys, battering Michael and cooling him down. He had to stop a few times to crouch and rest, regain some heat before moving again.

The last twenty feet was a steep and wild scramble to get to the summit, rocks nearly making him slip as they displaced underfoot. The winds died down up here, down only to a cold breeze that bit at his face and cheeks. He took a few more steps, searching for a relatively flat stretch to assemble his rifle. Michael found one at the base of a rock about his height, and as he leaned down and took off his backpack, preparing to put the Scout together for the beginnings of his assault.

It took him several attempts, cold and shaking hands making fine movements difficult, but he finally got the weapon together. Before he loaded it, he sensed a change, and looked up suddenly. A human figure sat on the rock above him, silhouetted against the stars.

“Who’s there?” he asked, teeth chattering in the cold as he tried to speak, his voice a bit hoarse from disuse in the last few hours.

“Don’t worry,” the figure said, a feminine voice carrying over the cold air and caressing his ear. Then she laughed softly, dropping off the rock and approaching him slowly. Her features came into view, ones he knew clearly, despite barely remembering their first meeting.

“Michael, what are you doing up here?” Allyson asked.

[shatteredskies042]

NaNo Day 08

It was a long hike back to his Land Rover, his battered legs carrying him despite protesting every movement. He would rest soon, he told himself, on the flight home perhaps, if he was lucky to get a first class seat with enough space to stretch out. Then once he reached the States, then what? He didn’t have a home, really. Maybe the Agency could set him up with a place to live, if even for a short amount of time until he could find an apartment or something on his own.

The return trip was without incident, and he hid his gear before he accelerated to leave the scene. Michael kept only his pistol at hand, jammed down between the driver’s seat and the center console. His extraction was along the Black Sea, but he would have to recheck his map for the precise details. His route for now took him through the village he had drove through earlier, and lights ahead caused him to slow. A checkpoint maybe? He had been operational for an hour and a half since he hit the air defense site, and why would they blockade the town? When he got closer, however, he realized things were much more sinister.

Fires raged, the lights coming from fire trucks. He narrowed his eyes and looked carefully, and could see a crater and the buildings around the road collapsed. Michael’s heart sank, there was no way this was a coincidence. He pulled the Land Rover onto a side road and stopped, stepping out of the vehicle and jogging towards the central square. The village had seemed so quaint, just simple people trying to get by in this world as they had for hundreds of years. Now-

A crater almost twenty feet deep ran through the center of the street, and looking closer, Michael could see cracks in the pavement as far back as he was, sixty feet away. The facades had been ripped off buildings, and his boots crunched on glass. Four buildings had collapsed completely around the blast site, and two more had partially come down.

His throat constricted, and breath hung in his lungs. He had caused this when he triggered the failsafe. This carnage was on his shoulders, even if he had not meant to do it. A ball welled up in his chest, and he felt it start to rise before he ran back to his car, holding his twisting stomach. He stepped on the gas, and drove over broken brick and shattered glass to get out of the village and this place as fast as possible.

He barely made it two miles out of town before he pulled over, bailing out the door of his cars and crashing into the ditch. He dropped to his hands and knees, and vomited. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes as the horror washed over him, the nightmares ran unchecked through his mind. He’d killed an innocent man today in cold blood, and indirectly led to the murder of god knows how many people in that village. How much blood was on his hands because of those acts, he wondered. How many families had he destroyed tonight? How many had he indirectly killed in the last week?

He threw up again, this time not out of sickness but out of revulsion for himself.

Michael could not even justify his actions, he wasn’t protecting someone else, or fighting a war or known enemies. He was fighting for himself, killing for himself to clear his name. He rolled and laid on his back for a moment, gazing at the stars. Damn it, he thought. Damn it all. Damn the Agency, the Russians, damn me, he told himself. He didn’t deserve this chance, he made it out of the godforsaken hellhole and gained his freedom. But at what price?

The rumble of another passing car was enough to bring him back to reality with a cold snap. Michael breathed evenly to settle his body down, and wiped his face with his sleeve before shaking his arms out. He returned to the car and found a bottle of water he had purchased at a gas station whilst fueling the SUV. He washed his mouth out with the rest, and spit out the window to clear the last of the vomit from his system. He held onto a vain hope that it was the only time his body would rebel against him, but knew that he had made an enemy of his psyche as well.

Unlike his days back in the Task Force, he had no one to talk with or turn to, nobody to buy a drink at the bar and unload his thoughts. To speak to someone who knew his struggles and what he had been through. Stateside, he doubted there were many people he could talk to that could truly understand and lend an ear to his problems. Had he been religious, church and confession would have been an option, but how did he word it?

I shot an innocent man dead, then moments later set off an explosive that cut the heart out of a simple village in Georgia. Oh, and a week before I lost two nukes that went off in London and Paris. How many Hail Marys do I got to say to buy myself a clean slate?

Even the thought brought another wave of revulsion as he looked at his hands on the steering wheel. The people he’d killed in Korea, Iran, on numerous black ops in his past life, he could wash his hand of them. They were all soldiers, or in some cases terrorists, who knew the risks they had signed up for. His hands would never have been clean of those, but he could live with his choices. The events of the last half hour, he shook his head as he drove, he could never get clean, never wash that stain off his soul.

He just had to live through it, and live with it now. As he drove for the Black Sea, he doubted himself, and every move he had made since he woke up in Colorado. He’d been shown mercy by the Illinois cop, and he showed ruthlessness when criminals had attacked him. However, he hoped the man he had shot back in Washington had survived.

It took him several hours before finally, he reached the extraction. A mist shrouded dock on the water, a crisp fog coming in off the water. Michael loaded the weapons onto a floatplane with the help of the pilot, who he assumed was Agency. He piled into the copilot’s seat and strapped in, promising he wouldn’t touch anything to disrupt his flying.

As the propeller engines grumbled and lifted them into the sky, Michael stared out the window at the water below. They flew low, still in the fog as they relied on instruments to navigate. Thoughts ran wild in his head, him wondering if he had become the very thing most soldiers feared becoming: a monster. Detached from it all, killing without purpose or reason. He had a reason, of course, but it did not hold up under scrutiny from the harsh judgement of his conscience. He ended up passing out in the second seat, head leaning on the window as exhaustion caught up with him.

The rest was a blur, the weapon bag kicked out somewhere over the Black Sea, landing on the water somewhere else, and finally a car to a private jet. It was several hours in and out of consciousness, where the crease in the back never stopped hurting, though his body had calmed from the exertion. Several times, the pretty brunette stewardess had asked him if he needed anything. She brought him water and some tasteless breakfast crackers, and he had to appreciate the effort despite the thick feeling of self-loathing.

Finally, Michael fully awoke again when the stewardess handed him a phone.

“Haghn,” he responded tiredly, shaking his head to clear the mental cobwebs formed in his on again, off again rest.

“I see you had a successful mission,” the Archivist’s voice came through the other end of the encrypted line. “My congratulations Mister Haghn, the paperwork to clear your name and absolve you of your crimes in Siberia have been processed. You are now a free man.”

He had not been guilty of any crimes in Siberia, he would have hastened to add, but he hardly felt like arguing. “Thank you, sir,” he finally said tiredly.

“One thing has come up,” the Archivist stated, “a loose end if you will. They’ve compromised a number of Agency operations and are currently threatening a facility we have great interest in. Completing this mission would be of great benefit to the Agency, and could swing support your way from more of my bosses.”

Michael had to think for a long second, before shaking his head. “I need to find out if there are weapons on this plane. I’m not going into Ireland and asking the IRA for a weapon,” he told the Archivist, then hung up on him. Before he had the thought to talk to the brunette stewardess, he dialed a number from memory.

“Handalay.”

“Charlie, it’s me,” Michael said quietly.

“Still alive, huh? What happened in London?” Michael’s inside man at the CIA asked.

“I messed up,” Haghn admitted with no small measure of shame in his voice.

“You stopped the American bomb, though, that’s something Mike,” Charles responded, before he heard shuffling in the background. “I managed to find something out about the guys who whacked your unit.”

The soldier was awake now, as he leaned forward while saying one word: “go.”

“They’re this private military company that just got on the scene, not even three months ago. But already they have bigtime contracts, executive protection, sensitive industrial sites, even reports of them doing counterinsurgency operations. On the day, almost to the hour of the nukes being stolen, they received three payments of twenty million dollars from an unknown source. It deadends there. I did some digging, and I found,” his voice lowered, and Michael furrowed his brow. “They’re in league with the Agency, too. In fact, they just took over security of a site in Ireland. I can’t do much digging, or it’ll look suspicious, but rumor has it that this site is beyond black. Darker than your former ops, and shit like Cat Nest and Red Zone.”

“What’s the name, Charles?” Michael asked pointedly.

“Talon Tactical Solutions. Mike, these guys are the deep dark, shit goes bump in the night, it’s them. I’m grasping at straws digging this up-”

“Where’s this site?” he asked.

Charlie rattled off some coordinates, that Michael scribbled down on a nearby notepad. “Charlie, you and me are going to have to have a drink and talk about Red Zone. I’ve been to Cat Nest, but I thought Red Zone was a myth,” he mused. “Thanks,” he added, before thumbing the END button. He called for the stewardess, and asked for weapons.  

She told him confidently that the aircraft held only a compact sniper rifle and several rounds of ammunition for it. She also carried a compact handgun, but she explained her secondary role as aircraft security. He then asked to be reconnected to the Archivist.

Michael chose his words carefully as the stewardess made her way forward.

“We don’t have much in the way of gear on the plane, when we get on the ground I’d like to visit this Agency facility and acquire what I need,” he told the Archivist once the connection was reestablished.

“Absolutely not,” the Archivist responded quickly. “You are not cleared to be anywhere near that facility.”

“Funny how that works,” Michael noted, before he hung up, suspicions confirmed.  

[shatteredskies042]

NaNo Day 07

The Georgian fell, and the vale fell silent. Michael pushed himself up, fighting off and ignoring the pain coming from his back as he moved to cover behind the engine block of the truck. He reached back, and felt along the line of pain from his back. His camouflage shirt was ripped, but only a small bit of blood came away off his skin. He was lucky, as such a shot could easily have severed his spine and killed him on the spot.

He stepped forward and cleared the command post, finding no other inhabitants. A radio hissed, and a clipboard sat on a plastic table. Notes were scribbled on its surface in Cyrillic, detailing a manifest of what had been recovered at the crash site. Haghn continued advancing towards his objective, at a cautious pace so that he would not run headlong into an ambush or a waiting gunman. The walk to the front end of the 747 was uneventful, but now the issue became how to get onto the command deck. An issue that resolved itself when he spotted a ladder reaching from the grass to the floor of the aircraft. He slung the rifle over his back, and mounted the steps.

One step before he could see over the top, he stopped, using his dominant hand to draw his pistol. He had to be ready to shoot back if someone lurked at his target. Closing his eyes for but a moment, the soldier breathed, then took the last steps up, his eye on the front green dot of his sights and what lay beyond it.

Nothing. Only twisted circuits and smashed consoles littered the inside. A small generator ran, cables running into a side room just before the cockpit. Where a galley would be on the airliner version of this aircraft. Clearing passenger aircraft was a special kind of hell, and an eventuality he had trained for with Task Force BLACK. Too many variables, too many people to control and get in the way on the path to neutralizing the targets.

Half lost in thought, he did not hesitate to pull the trigger when a shape came through the door he was watching. He fired a quick double tap, and the human form collapsed against the other door. He shook his head to clear his mind, then saw his target had been-

No weapon filled his victims’ hands, even though he wore a military uniform. Breathe, he told himself, compartmentalize. Michael pushed forward, through the door with his pistol high and searching for any further movement. He moved through the door, and spotted two people crouched down among scattered chairs and electronics. They wore uniforms like the man earlier, and like him, seemed unarmed.

“Pokazyvat’ ruki!” Michael shouted in Russian, telling them to show him their hands.

A cry came from one of the men, before they slowly stood and faced him, holding their faces low and their palms out. He held them at gunpoint for a moment, looking between the two: “begi, bystro,” he urged. Run, fast. “Davay!” he shouted, come on. The two technicians looked apprehensive for a moment, before they took the chance to run.

Watching them go, he moved to the console they had been working on. First, he drew the pack of thermite he’d been given, and slapped it on the side of the computer terminal. Before he armed the trigger, he drew the USB that he found in the Archivist’s dead drop. Without knowing how much time he had, he plugged it into the first port he found, after twisting it twice to get it to stick properly. A window on the stick glowed orange for a moment, then shifted to green. The green began to pulse, and he knew it was time to get out.

He ignited the thermite bundle and ran for the nose of the aircraft, finding another ladder into a door right beside the cockpit. He slid down it to the grassy floor, then holstered his pistol and took up his rifle again. He quickly thought about where he had parked his Land Rover, then took off in a sprint towards the woods. He had no idea how long the countdown on the failsafe switch was, but knew he had to put as much distance between him and the crash site as he could.

Minimum safe distance on a thousand pounds of high explosive was something like five hundred yards, danger close and the necessities of combat usually precluded that. But now? Running from the wreck of a 747 jammed full of cruise missiles? He’d prefer to be a mile away, watching the scene in a lawn chair with a stiff drink in hand. Not running blindly through the woods trying to put as much space between him and the crash site as possible.

He had to run, push his damaged body beyond its limits to get him to safety. His bones ached and rebelled from his harsh treatment of them in the last half hour, ribs and back screaming out in pain. His legs were painful masses of jelly, having carried him up and down the valleys and hills and endured years of abuse. One thought was on his mind, and it was go and get as far away from what was about to happen as possible. Math had never been his strong suit, and if he had to guess, he would probably still be inside the blast radius despite the fact he’d probably ran the farthest in this thirty seconds than he ever had in his life. Maybe set an Olympic record for fastest uphill run whilst wearing military boots and carrying thirty pounds of gear.

There was one crump, a sound he heard and felt in his chest as the forest lit up orange around him. He dove for a grassy depression as more explosions split the night, his rifle pressing into his chest painfully. Each blast wave passed over him as he covered his head and opened his mouth to help deal with the pressure of the waves. His very bones rattled as the earth beneath him shook, heat pricking at the exposed skin at the back of his neck and back. The roar of a thousand jet engines dominated the hot air and shockwaves as they passed over the valley, threatening his hearing. Leaves were shaken from their homes, and dust and loose dirt rose as the shockwave washed over everything like a tidal wave.

When the shaking and roaring stopped an eternity later, the soldier stood out of the grassy ditch and looked over the valley of the crash sight. The fireballs lingered, and he stood, hypnotised by the sight. It was a strange type of beauty, but his mind flashed to London a week ago, to that fireball.

To one of his greatest failures.

Michael tore his eyes away, and continued on his path back to his vehicle as the ashes began to fall.

Word Count: 12,197