《Task Force Wizard: That Time my Special Forces Team Got Sent to Another World.》
EPISODE 1: The beginning of the end.
EPISODE 1: The beginning of the end.
"Theright manin thewrong place can make allthedifferencein theworld." ¨C Unknown
[0320 HOURS - TOKYO SUBURBS - DECEMBER 26TH 2032]
This operation was bullshit. None of this shit made any sense.
Regardless, the sedan lurched ever forward. Light from the streetlamps danced by, making the pitter-pattering rain drops on the windows shine like jewels. The smell of burnt gunpowder, and blood permeated the expensive vehicle. Hell, the car even had heated seats. Sure he was ruining them at the moment with the mud and dust on his uniform, but that was besides the point.
Hudson looked at his team''s liaison. The man had identified himself as first name John, last name Doe. Real clever.
Doe was sitting next to Hudson in the back of the car. Factory creases still on the man¡¯s uniform. Even in the dark his boots were shining. Meanwhile Hudson still had sand from Tehran pricking him in his boots. Doe pulled out a bottle cologne and sprayed himself with it. They were a few minutes out from an operation and this guy cared more about smelling nice than telling Hudson what was going on.
Hudson clenched his fist in the dark. What he wanted to ask the man was, "Are you trying to get us killed? What the hell is going on? Where are we going? Who''s our target? Why did you take us off theater to do a sightseeing tour of a fucking Japan?!"
Instead, Hudson had to be diplomatic.
"Sir, could you please elaborate on the mission? We''ve almost arrived on site."
Doe stared at Hudson for a minute, face unmoving. And then he smiled. A smile too wide. A smile too thin.
"Ever the inquisitive one Mr. Hudson." Doe said.
Hudson¡¯s eye twitched. It was Staff Sargent Hudson. Not, Hudson. He decided not to correct his superior.
Doe continued as if nothing had happened. He pulled out a dossier and started rifling through it like it was a chore for him.
The driver yelled out, "ETA 5 minutes!".
Five minutes out and they were getting their briefing now. Ridiculous. Actually, he still wasn¡¯t getting his briefing, because Doe was taking his sweet time going through the files. At least it gave him an opportunity to run scenarios. Was it an Al-Qaeda safe house filled to the brim with foreign fighters? Or Red terrorists with suicide vests and sarin gas? North Korean infiltrators? Chinese MSS? What if the operation was compromised? One PKM machine gun nest overlooking a stairwell could turn his entire squad into pink mist. Shit, what if the whole damned house was rigged to detonate?
In fact, what the hell was even the composition of the house? Or was it an apartment?
All Hudson knew was one moment he was door knocking IRGC remnants. Then next he was on a plane to Tokyo being stuffed in the back of a luxury Japanese Sedan. His team got put in a Range Rover behind him. Hudson sighed, he had to play ball. He had to protect his team.
Doe finally picked up a picture and held it up.
Hudson''s hands went cold.
"Shiro Kuroi. Age 17. Student at Sakuragaoka High School. Capture or kill."
Doe''s smile was gone. His tone had switched, as if he could finally drop the act and be his actual self. Doe continued.
"Of course that''s what the lawyers make us say. I wouldn''t mind an unfortunate accident."
Doe¡¯s eyes were distant, far away. The eyes of a man who had done too much, seen too much. Reached the point where ordering the death of a high school student was the same as if reading off the profit and loss reports.
Doe held up the next picture, "This is his domicile, he is alone. Electricity and fiber to the neighborhood will be cut by support elements. Electronic Warfare jammers will be activated to prevent any cell signals in or out."
The house was a two-story building. No outer concrete wall. No barbed wire perimeter. No metal reinforced door. A far cry from what he was used to. Next he was shown a layout of the house, three rooms on ground. A staircase leading to a second floor, where he¡¯d be met by a hallway with three doors.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!
Doe next pulled out a signed and sealed document, "You are no longer assets of the US Military for the duration of this operation. By order of the President of the United States you now operate under Title 50 of the United States Code for covert operations."
Doe put down the order. The shifting beams from streetlights for a moment illuminated a scar on his neck. A scar Hudson had never noticed before. As if Doe was only now allowing Hudson to view the truth of the matter.
Before Hudson was a killer of men.
"Welcome to the third option."
Third option, or Tertia Optio.
The motto of the Special Activities Center (SAC), the premier covert paramilitary arm of the CIA.
When diplomacy is impossible, when military action is unwise, there is the third option. The invisible hand.
The ice spread through Hudson''s body, into his chest. They''d brought out Presidential Authorization, the SAC, a whole host of support assets and to top it all off Hudson and his unit as trigger pullers.
All to take out some Japanese teenager.
Obscene.
Hudson''s mouth was dry as he spoke finally, "Why sir?"
Doe''s leaned back.
"Vital national security interests."
He let out a curt laugh and continued.
"You really shouldn''t let appearances cloud your judgement so much. They can be deceiving. ¡°
The car¡¯s driver hit the pedal and the engine revved to life.
¡°Time is of the essence Mr. Hudson.¡±
The world flashed and when it returned, it was pitch dark in Tokyo. It should never be pitch dark in Tokyo. The heavy grey clouds above would not even let a glint of moonlight in. The rain continued to come down. Harder now, louder.
The car stopped as Doe added his final remarks.
"Your team has been briefed. Make contact, disrupt, apprehend." There was a pause, "If he resists, do not hesitate."
The driver clicked open the locks, and Doe gave that smile again. Too wide. Artificial.
"Good luck Mr. Hudson. Be seeing you."
Ice had at last frozen Hudson¡¯s being. He clicked the door open and stepped into the rain.
He could have continued to complain, continued to dither, continued to think.
But time had run out. He had to protect his men the best he could. Now was the time for instinct.
His boots hit the wet pavement. In one swift movement, he pulled up the Arabic scarf around his neck and pulled down his night vision. The city was lit up again. Now in a dark blue. The dual thermal overlay lit up any objects warmer than ambient in a silver lining.
Three men exited the SUV behind him. Four tubes jutting out from each of their heads, demons of the night. They were his demons, and he was their king. The vehicles behind the men drove away. Hudson keyed his comms, still set up from the battlefield they''d just left.
"Move out."
In the top left of his vision he had a small mini-map. Blue dots corresponded to his teammates with him at the center. The image updated live with their movements and his own.
Hudson pushed forward towards the house. The blue dots on the map formed a tight line behind him. They sprinted forward. In a flash the operators were on the front door.
Hudson''s team did not ask him any questions. Of course they didn''t. In the hundreds of direct-action raids they¡¯d done in hostile territory, there had not been a single casualty or injury outside. That trust he¡¯d earned through blood, even if it was the enemies. Especially if it was the enemies.
He was in front of the stack, as always. First one in, last one out.
The world lit up for a second, as lightning streaked above him. This was the perfect night, the perfect weather. The cold was a comfort. As was the darkness.
He pulled out a lockpick and got to work. Thunder echoed through the neighborhood. The door unlocked in seconds. He stood back up, held up a thumbs up and put his hand on the door handle.
¡°Breach.¡±, he whispered.
Making sure that it didn''t slam he pushed the door forward. They flowed in. Rifles up. Textbook. Room after room. Silent death dancing. Performance perfected. Beams of infrared laser light emanating from their rifles cut across the air under a surreal symphony that played only in their heads. Details faded. Instinct was the order of the day. Ultimate mastery. Speed was the only thing that mattered.
Hudson never noticed the family pictures up on the walls with the father''s face scratched out, or the note on the refrigerator, or the dirty dishes in the sink. Those details didn¡¯t matter. He only made note of entrances, exits, and windows.
Ground floor clear.
The team moved up the wooden stairs, each step creaking through the silent house, echoing.
Eventually they made it to the top. He stopped. He stopped the flow, held up his fist.
Something was wrong.
There was only a single door here. No, that couldn''t be right could it. He¡¯d memorized the layout perfectly, where were the other two door?
Tick tock Mr. Hudson.
He had to push through.
He creeped up on the door before stacking up on it.
It was quiet now.
Dead quiet.
Almost as if the storm outside had stopped in an instant. As if the rain drops had just been frozen in place. Had the storm stopped? He looked back at the staircase he had just come from.
It was a lifetime away. The hallway was longer than he¡¯d remembered. How long were they walking? It had only been a few seconds.
Then, scratching. It was coming from the door.
He twisted his back around and faced the sound.
A voice greeted him from the other side.
"You''re not supposed to be here."
It was hushed. Raspy. It was old. God, it was so old.
"You¡¯re too late." It spoke again.
There was no time to think, he was compromised. He had to protect his team.
Hudson kicked the door open and forced a step forward. He would eat the bullet meant for them.
A snap.
The world went black, and he started falling.
Falling.
Falling.
Falling.
Oblivion greeted him.
[???? HOURS - UNKNOWN LOCATION - UNKNOWN DATE]
Consciousness at last came to Hudson.
He was at peace.
And then the memory of who he was struck him like a cane.
His eyes bolted open.
He was greeted with a broken moon.
He blinked.
The moon was still broken.
Fuck.
EPISODE 2: Broken Moon.
Episode 2: Broken Moon.
¡°I come in peace. I didn''t bring artillery. But I''m pleading with you, with tears in my eyes: if you fuck with me I''ll kill you all.¡± - Marine General James Mattis
[???? HOURS - UNKNOWN LOCATION - UNKNOWN DATE]
Hudson''s eye twitched as the world mocked him.
This wasn''t real. He was dreaming. This was nonsense.
He closed his eyes and decided the next best course of action.
He punched himself in the face.
It was not feeling of punching underwater he was accustomed to in his dreams. Instead, his hand had obeyed him resolutely. The hit was quick, sharp, and hurt. It hurt a lot in fact. So much for dreaming.
He opened his eyes. The moon remained a collection of cracks, as if it had been speared by the heavens. He sure as shit didn¡¯t want to face whatever caused that.
A defeated "What the actual fuck¡" was all he could muster.
Then, a question popped up in the far recess of his mind. Quiet at first. Then louder. Until it was all he could hear.
Where the hell was his team?
His mind jolted to a 110% wake. The exhaustion disappeared as a chain of dominoes went off in his head. He had to find them. He had to protect them. In an instant, he threw himself up. Rifle raised, he scanned his surroundings.
A tight cobblestone alleyway awaited him. He was standing at the edge of its exit. Darkness cloaked him. But a source of light beyond the exit glinted off the metal of his rifle.
It was from a streetlight. But it wasn¡¯t the halogen he was so used to. It was an oil fire. Periodically placed oil lamps lit up the road in front of him. The architecture was foreign. Ornate. Wood carved buildings with intricate designs, with brick constructions. Bright storefronts lined the sides of the main road. Goods littered beyond their well-polished glass windows. Some of the windows were broken, and he could make out a burning building a blocks down being reflected off the glass. Letters of an unknown script atop them signifying some sort of name or brand. Great, now he was illiterate too.
Figures ran past the alleyway entrance dressed in formal, extravagant attire. Flames crackled in the distance. It was a familiar sound. The first familiar feeling he¡¯d run into so far.
Whatever the hell was going on over there he wanted no part in it.
He took cover behind a dumpster. The stench of puke and rotten eggs attacked him.
Oh well. Not the worst stench he¡¯d experienced in his life.
He had to formulate a plan. He sure as shit wasn''t in Kansas anymore.
All bets were off. He had to take this slow. Methodically. This was a hostile land. He was surrounded, with no support. He was at best an illegal immigrant. At worst a foreign invader.
His outfit wasn¡¯t helping dispel the invader theory. The 4 tubes protruding like demonic horns from his helmet along with the camouflage and the shemagh scarf covering his face sure weren¡¯t doing him any favors in that regard. Attention was the enemy.
He had to gain intel. Then link up with his team. If they were even here.
He keyed his comms, "All elements. This is Delta-Actual. Radio check. Over."
His reply was static. Goddamn it.
He pulled out his Information Systems Augmentation Unit Tablet (ISGUT) Gen 6. It was called a tablet officially but it was more the size of a large cellphone. He hit the button on its side to turn it on. Blinked to life.
On the top left of the screen was the satellite comm link signal strength indicator. Zero bars. He¡¯d expected as much.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.
Plan B. He sent out a local area ping. A low frequency radio wave emanated in all directions. If it hit another ISGUT unit, it would ping back and give him a rough directional fix.
He hit the button and waited.
Nothing.
He hit it again.
Nothing.
One last time.
Nothing.
Just great. His surroundings were probably blocking the signal max signal range. He¡¯d have to find a better spot and try again. Someplace higher up.
Roger that, another thing to add to the to do list. At least he was finally gaining some semblance of stability. For now, he¡¯d have to trade for some clothes. Time to mov-
A man fell from the roof of one of the adjacent buildings. He crashed into the dumpster Hudson was hiding behind with an eardrum shattering crunch.
Hudson didn¡¯t flinch. He backed up, rifle trained on the target.
The man was covered in a cloak. He groaned and tried to pick himself back up. He failed. He slipped on the slick metal cover and finished his impromptu rendezvous with the ground. He clutched a bag close to his chest, as if letting go would spell his death.
The man jumped up, grabbing his head. Then the man noticed Hudson. His eyes went wide.
They inspected Hudson up and down with the deepest of suspicion.
¡°Are¡ are you a guard?¡±, the man asked. But before Hudson could reply, the man flared his teeth at Hudson. Sharp fangs glinted under the moonlight. And there was something furry and pointed under that cloak. Animal ears?
Hudson was no longer surprised by anything he saw. He¡¯d overdosed on ¡®what the fuck¡¯. In fact. So, he just laughed.
¡°So much for cats always landing on their feet. Are you okay buddy?¡±, Hudson said.
Instead of reciprocating Hudson¡¯s joke, the man rather rudely drew a dagger instead.
¡°Get out of my way!¡±, he yelled before charging Hudson.
Hudson smiled.
Ask and ye shall receive. Guess he¡¯d just found his new clothes.
The knife shined under the moon, Hudson pivoted under it in one movement. His fist close lined the man. Right in his jaw. A crunch rang out.
No delay in the follow-up shots. Hudson launched a swift kick to the back of the man¡¯s calf. He went down. And for the coup de grace, he stomped his boot on the man¡¯s throat then stood on it.
The poor bastard couldn¡¯t even resist. Couldn¡¯t even claw at Hudson¡¯s leg as his oxygen supply steadily dwindled. This was Hudson¡¯s trade.
Sheer violence of action.
The man stopped twitching. Hudson raised his boot. The man was out cold but still had a pulse.
Hudson dragged the man behind the dumpster. Then, as the parlance in Hudson¡¯s small native hometown of Harlem New York went, ¡®ran his pockets¡¯.
The reward for his efforts would be a few copper and silver coins, and the mysterious cloth bag the man had been clutching. He opened it and looked inside. Multitudes of shining red crystals, the size of fingers. The glowed under the darkness, and had some sort of inscription on them. Yeah he had no idea what the fuck these were. Future problem. He put them away on his belt.
Most importantly however, Hudson took the man¡¯s black cloak. He dawned it and it fluttered in the wind.
Now he was in business. Just like how he¡¯d dressed up in the local shalwar kameez clothing in Afghanistan. Almost nostalgic. Those were the days.
The cloak went all the way down to his feet.
As a final thank you to the fluffy eared man, Hudson zip tied his hands and threw him in the dumpster. When he woke up surely someone would come to get him. Believe it or not, but this wasn¡¯t the first time Hudson had dumped a body in a dumpster.
Hudson took a deep breath. Thank God that was ove-
"Reveal yourself thief, turn around slowly!", a voice of a women cut through Hudson''s celebration from right behind him.
It clicked. Hudson looked down at the cloth bag on his belt.
And the cloak of the former thief he was now wearing.
He clenched his fist.
Of all the worthless spots on the entire planet to be dropped into, he just had to be thrown into the middle of an active goddamned robbery.
She yelled again, "I said turn around!"
She had an accent. Not of a geographical region but an accent that told her she''d grown up rich. Hudson couldn¡¯t figure out how he knew that, or how he could understand their language. More magical bullshit probably.
One more deep breath. Calm down.
He had to be intelligent about this. He was not going to let himself be captured under any circumstance. He wasn''t about to test this places prohibitions on torture through trial and error.
It was time to play a game.
"There''s been a misunderstanding.", Hudson said as he started to inch his hand towards his belt.
"Turn around, this is your last warning!", was the women''s rather uncourteous reply.
Hudson at last did as he was told.
Infront of him stood a marvel. She was silhouetted against the bright light behind her. She wore an eloquent white dress, accented silver plates for some kind of armor.
Her red hair flashed through the air, and in an instant the steel of an engraved silver saber soon found it''s mark resting on front of his face. Damn. She was fast. Too fast.
"Identify yourself." she said.
Fear started to spread through Hudson''s soul.
Not the panicking kind of fear that weakens and destroys. No, this was the fear that focuses your soul into a single point.
Alert. A new challenge.
Succeed. Or die.
Roger that.
Hudson smiled and let his hand wander ever closer to his waste belt, "Come now, this is no way to greet a guest."
Hudson removed the cloak from his head. His face was still covered by his shemagh.
She was so close now. Her eyes looked him up and down. The color of gold. Hypnotic. Accusatory fury shifted soon shifted to a deep puzzlement. Her eyes continued wandering, next locking onto his rifle.
A SIG MCX Spear with an assortment of attachments. Then she looked at the quad tubes protruding from his helmet. Hudson¡¯s hand dropped a few more inches. Closer.
She spoke, all the righteousness robbed from her sails.
"You... don¡¯t exactly match the description¡¡±
Then her eyes reached the cloth bag he¡¯d clipped onto his belt. The cloth bag the man had been carrying.
The fury returned twice as strong and her eyes lit up, glowing in the darkness.
Fuck it. Go time.
Hudson pulled the pin on the grenade.
EPISODE 3: Dance With The Devil
Episode 3: Dance With The Devil.
¡°Be polite, be professional, but have a plan to kill everybody you meet.¡± ¨C James Mattis.
[who_cares HOURS - near_death_probably LOCATION - mondays_am_i_right DATE]
Hudson¡¯s mother had taught him well to never hit a woman. This however, was just business. The currency was violence and Hudson was cashing checks.
The grenade dropped. He aimed his leg right for her knee and launched it like a steel baseball bat. A crack rang out and she keeled over with a pained grunt. Before Hudson celebrate a white blur flew past his head. A blade. He twisted his head and dogged it by the faction of a second.
The fear in his gut spiked and it told him if he got stuck on defense he¡¯d be dead. Offense was the only acceptable policy.
He pushed forward and attacked right into the saber¡¯s deadly arc, slipping it by inches. The rest was instinct, his uppercut connected straight with her face.
She took a jagged step back, hand grabbing the side of her face, eyes wide with shock.
Now to execute his finishing blow.
A swift turn.
Hudson ran.
The flashbang started working its magic.
It wasn¡¯t a regular one, this one here was called a 15-banger, cooked up by those crazy fuckers at the ordinance department. They¡¯d stuffed some mighty bangs into that tiny cylinder.
The kinetic shocks started. Each detonation shook the bones in his chest, rattling them loose. His headset mercifully protected his hearing. His target would not be so lucky. His eyes squinted to survive the flashes behind him. A couple million candela per bang. It was a work of art.
Yeah let¡¯s see how fast you are now mother fucker.
Hudson sprinted down the corridor, his stamina felt limitless. The adrenaline made it feel like that. He was going to ride this wave for everything it was worth. At the very least he was out of stabbing range and after all, what else could she do? Shoot him?
Just case though he threw a quick glance behind him to make sure.
A concentrated bolt of flames flew past his head and slammed into the wall next to him and exploded in a fireball, covering him in shards of rock and dust.
Oh. As it turns out, she could indeed shoot at him.
Great, now there¡¯s magic. He filed the piece of information in the ¡°are you fucking kidding me¡± folder. The size of the folder was by now reaching a rather concerning level of thickness. Fuck it, new plan.
He dropped a smoke grenade from his belt and continued running. Another bolt flew past him and into some poor bastard¡¯s front door. The smoke grenade however started doing its job behind him. Soon, he came to an intersection in the maze of suffocating alleyways he had been trapped in.
People had started to gather to see the commotion. He had to decide quickly. He saw a black cat cross the path on his left. He turned left.
It was bad luck. Bad luck for his enemies.
He kept running, turned a slight bend, and reached a dead end.
So much for that bad luck.
Flashes of flames echoed from alley he¡¯d just left, getting brighter after every detonation.
She seemed a bit mad. Before Hudson could start planning out the next contengey, a man materialized in front of him out of thin air.
He wore a suit. White embroidery on his black tie.
¡°Good afternoon, would you like some assistance?¡±
Hudson frowned and weighed his options.
Either the magic invisible man offing him sanctuary, or¡
Another detonation rang out. The flames peaked past the edge of the alley.
Hudson sighed, ¡°What gave you the idea¡¡±
The man laughed, ¡°Oh I had a hunch. So, what¡¯ll it be?¡±, he extended out his hand.
The women turned the corner. At least the guy in front of him wasn¡¯t actively trying to kill him.
Hudson took the mystery man¡¯s hand. The man snapped his fingers.
Shadows clung to both men and evaporated like steam off hot springs. They started fading, the shadows taking them.
When Hudson looked down again, he couldn¡¯t see his legs. Or any part of this body for that matter.
But he was still there, still observing. And the man was still holding his hand. It pulled him.
They started to walk towards the women, their footsteps made no noise.
She looked up and down both all pathways.
¡°How dare he¡¡±, she said in between breaths. She stumbled forward, limping, flames dancing off her frame.
They walked past her and continued deeper through the slums. The futher they walked, the more poverty stricken and broken everything around them became. Hudson memorized every turn. Every step. Left, right, left again, and so on. This was one skill he could credit to the thousands of hours he¡¯d spent running VIP convoy security, plotting and tracing routes through the streets of Baghdad and Tehran.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.
Eventually they came upon a steel door. The man at last turned visible, and pulled out some sort of a crystal card. He put it up to the door which came alight with complex glowing sigils.
Three circles. He quarter turned the first one. Half turned the next. And did a three hundred sixty degree turn on the last. The sigil turned green, and clicked open.
The man signaled for Hudson to enter.
Yeah. No.
Hudson shook his head, ¡°I¡¯m very grateful for your hospitality sir. But I''m afraid I can¡¯t follow you in there.¡±
The man looked stunned by this, ¡°Really now? Don¡¯t you want to know the state of your current condition? I¡¯ll explain everything. Please you needn¡¯t worry, and we can¡¯t exactly talk out here.¡±
The man pointed at the rough conditions of the slums. Broken windows, and the stench of danger permeated the environment.
Objective numero one flashed in his head.
Gain intelligence. Then objective two, find his team. He couldn¡¯t do two if he didn¡¯t have one.
Goddamn it.
Hudson nodded.
¡°Attaboy.¡±, the man said.
Hudson kept one hand on his Glock 17 handgun as he was toured around.
Inside was luxury. It was bright, beyond bright. Fire lit chandeliers hung from the pristine white roofs and golden inlays were on all the walls. Hudson made counts of exits and entrances.
¡°Make yourself home, warrior. I must say, that was quite the spectacular performance you managed. All while being a man with no essence.¡± said the man.
¡°Essence?¡±
¡°All will be explained in due time. Dinner will be ready soon so please come down.¡±
One more file for the folder. Prick.
¡°Of course, thank you for your hospitality.¡±
The mystery man smiled, closed the door behind him and left Hudson alone with his thoughts in the room. A fluffy bed, carpeted floors, large cabinet, and a¡ bathroom. Hudson¡¯s eyes went wide. A warm shower at last?
Hudson showered with his Glock clutched tight. And God did that warm water feel life changing. He spent a few moments washing the blood, brain matter, and bone fragments out of his uniform and hair. His last mission in Iran had been a tad bit messy.
He put his uniform back on while it was still wet. He wasn¡¯t taking any risks with thefts.
Then he left the showerhead still running and started taking stock.
He was down a flashbang and a smoke. Thankfully he still hadn¡¯t had to fire a bullet in anger yet. Who knew when or if ever he¡¯d get resupply. He counted out his available ammunition and moved onto the rest of his gear. Night vision, tablet, and drone were battery powered, but thankfully he had a solar charger.
Next order of business, he removed his tomahawk hatchet out of its case on his belt. The blade was still covered in blood.
He placed it under the running water, letting the sink fill with red, before putting it back into place.
Next he got his handgun ready. Glock 17. Austrian perfection. It was modified like everything else he had on him. Tan spraypainted. With a red dot RMR sight jutting out at the back. A dual flashlight IR unit along with a compensator decorated the end of the gun. The compensator had deep groves cut into it that gave the gun a look that said please give me an excuse¡¯. He ran the slide a few times, before inserting a magazine, loading a round, and clicking it onto his leg holster. Last order of business, he stuffed a small knife into his boot, and several bobby pins into his hair, making sure they were invisible.
Off pure muscle memory, checked his tablet again.
His eyes widened.
One out of ten bars. How the hell was he getting a satellite signal here? It wasn¡¯t strong enough to call home base yet, but this must have meant something. Before he could continue down that train of thought, a women knocked rapidly and loudly on the door to his room, ¡°Sir, the dinners ready.¡±
Hudson sighed.
Roger that. New plan. Gain intel, play ball, and then get the fuck out of this place as soon as possible.
Hudson slung his rifle.
Worst case scenario, shoot his way out. He was ready.
Hudson opened the door.
The servant led Hudson to the dining room, and it was just as extravagant as everything before. The table was large. All assortment of foods were laid on it. The reds and oranges of cooked meats mixed with the greens, and yellows of different vegetables. Hudson tried to admire the cooking, but the death glair the pink haired maid was giving him made it hard to focus. What was her problem? Then he noticed her furry ears too. Oh. Did she know what he¡¯d done to her compatriot?
Hudson took his seat, hand never leaving his gun. Coincidentally enough, the maids hate glair also never left him.
The man in the suit waved towards to food.
¡°Please enjoy¡±
Pinstripes all over his suit. The tie was even more complex now in the light. White and black embroidery mixed together in complex patterns that must have taken a hand waver months to do.
The white gloves and white handkerchief folded into his pocket square contrasted off his charcoal suit. The man had put a great care into all aspects of his clothing.
¡°Please, no need, you¡¯re too kind. You have already done so much¡±, Hudson said, rather expertly hiding his distain for the situation.
¡°No I insist, help yourself. I was merely helping out a man in need. You must have questions.¡±
That was the understatement of the century buddy.
The servant brough out a pitcher of tea and started pouring it for the two men. When it was Hudson¡¯s turn, she bumped the pitcher with the tea cup. The cup flipped and the burning hot liquid poured over Hudson¡¯s arm.
The man yelled, ¡°Camilla, clean this mess up this instant. You have hurt our dearest guest!¡±
The maid, Camilla apparently, nodded and started wiping up the liquid.
¡°Sorry sir it was an accident.¡±
Yeah, sure. Accident. Hudson refused to flinch at the pain, he wouldn¡¯t give her the satisfaction. Once the area was cleaned up she poured Hudson another cup.
The mystery man raised his cup to Hudson, ¡°But first, a drink. It is customary.¡±
Hudson sighed and grabbed his too.
¡°A toast. To interesting times.¡±, the man said.
Hudson swallowed. His face lit up. Its effects hit instantly. The aches in his body started to disappear and the world seemed brighter, fluffier. It reminded him of the opium laced tea the Afghans would serve him. The memory brought out a pang of nostalgia and sadness.
¡°Where am I?¡±, Hudson asked.
¡°Of course. Introductions. My name is Duke Umbra, and this is the Empire of Avaloria. And you are good sir?¡±
Hudson decided to lie.
¡°I don¡¯t remember.¡±
¡°You don¡¯t remember?¡±
¡°I don¡¯t remember anything. How I got here. Not even my name.¡±
The man was silent a moment and rubbed his chin.
¡°I see¡±, then a laugh, ¡°My my, fate smiled upon me today.¡±
Hudson¡¯s eyes felt heavy. Maybe it was the adrenaline come down. When was the last time he slept? He shook his head.
¡°Duke, what did you mean by essence earlier?¡±
¡°You my boy, you.¡±
Hudson¡¯s head was getting heavier.
The man continued, ¡°I look into you, and I see¡¡±, he paused, ¡°Nothing.¡±
He stood up, ¡°You went toe to toe against a High Arcanist and almost came out on top. All the while I can¡¯t sense an ounce of essence from you. And trust me, I am good at such things.¡±
The man stood up and started closing the distance. The world became blurry and started spinning. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Hudson pushed the table away from him, food and drink spilling everywhere. He attempted to stand up, but everything was so heavy. He only managed to get himself halfway standing straight. The spinning only increased.
¡°Why are you doing this?¡±, Hudson said to the man, of whom there were now three. In fact, there was three of everything. He drew his three Glock 17¡¯s with his three right arms.
The man kept the same smile he always had, ¡°I don¡¯t like things that don¡¯t make sense. You don¡¯t make sense. It¡¯s perfectly fine though. I will figure you out.¡±
Hudson pulled the trigger, but it weighed a thousand pounds. His finger wasn¡¯t strong enough.
A crack to the back of his skull sent him falling to the carpeted ground.
¡°But before I solve you,¡± the man¡¯s voice was so far away, ¡°I must take back what you stole from me.¡±
The cloth bag was ripped from his belt, and the darkness took him once again.
EPISODE 4: Not a Warcrime
Episode 4: Not a War Crime.
¡°No person in the custody or under the control of DOD, regardless of nationality or physical location, shall be subject to torture or cruel, inhuman, or degrading treatment or punishment, in accordance with and as defined in U.S. law¡±
- U.S. Army Field Manual FM 2-22.3.
Hudson¡¯s awoke slowly. He knew he was conscious. The world was still spinning, and his stomach begged him to empty it¡¯s contents. He swallowed hard, and gritted his teeth. He could not puke. He could not let them know he was awake. The spinning reduced, becoming bearable, but still a constant. He could at last gain some kind of bearings regarding his surroundings.
Handcuffs bound his hands. It seemed those pricks had tossed him in the back of some kind of a car. At least this place had something resembling self propelled transportation. There wasn¡¯t any engine hum, only the low reverberation of wheels on pavement. It echoed through the leather seats where his head lay. Even in the darkness the scroll and floral design patterns on them were visible.
They¡¯d taken everything from him. His uniform, vest, guns, all gone. Replaced with hole strewn tattered garbs barely fit for a prisoner. His shoes were missing, but not his thick socks. The metal of the blade still stuffed inside them gave him a cold comfort. It gave him something to focus his unrelenting fury at.
He peaked at the forward seats. It seemed this place hadn¡¯t yet invented the idea for a headrest yet. Two targets sat having a conversation. The Duke¡¯s voice was hard to miss, a gentle polite cadence.
¡°Xaiver. Slow down. We¡¯re here.¡±
¡°Of course, sir.¡±
The car slowed down.
The Duke¡¯s tone switched, ¡°I said stop the car you imbecile!¡±
The driver hit the brakes, momentum carried Hudson forward like a ragdoll. In the chaos he brought his hands in close to his head.
The Duke¡¯s friendly tone returned, ¡°Thank you Xaiver. I will be taking my leave then.¡±
The door clicked open and the Duke took a step outside.
¡°Oh, and please don¡¯t forget Xaiver, take care of our cargo.¡±
¡°Of course, sir.¡±
The door clicked shut.
As the car went back into drive, Hudson began to orchestrate his rage.
There¡¯s something that happens to you when you face death a thousand times, and then a thousand times more. The very composition of your soul changes. You no longer process emotions, or situations like a normal person.
You only have two modes.
Zero.
And a hundred.
Hudson was now in the latter.
He removed the bobby pin from his hair and shimmed it into the handcuffs. In seconds, they were off.
The driver hummed along in a song Hudson couldn¡¯t recognize.
One more speedbump let him get the small knife his socks.
The driver began singing.
This was the eternal problem of war. Clausewitz called it friction. Murphy made an entire law about it. Hudson however liked to call it the rule of, ¡®shit happens¡¯.
People make mistakes. They get complacent. They forget to dot their i¡¯s and cross their t¡¯s. Because they had trained to a level where they got the right answer once.
Delta had trained him to the point where he could never get it wrong.
Hudson placed the knife right under the driver¡¯s throat.
¡°Heya buddy. Dangerous cargo you¡¯re carrying.¡±
Xavier¡¯s knuckles went white as he gripped hard on the steering wheel.
Hudson laughed.
¡°Wait, how about I call you Exy. Can I do that Xavier, can I call you Exy?¡±
¡°Un-unfortunately-¡°Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
Hudson dug in the knife harder.
¡°Sorry my hand slipped, you wanna repeat that?¡±
Silence.
¡°That¡¯s better. Please, just turn off this road, take us some where secluded.¡±
Xaiver did as he was told.
Until he began speaking, ¡°Y-you''re making a big mistake you know, Sir Umbra merely wished to speak with you.¡±
Xaiver turned off into another dark alley.
¡°Sure he was Exy, I¡¯m sure he only wanted to talk. And I''m trying to talk to you too, just like him. Stop here.¡±
The vehicle dragged itself to a halt. From his new vantage point, he could make out the dashboard now. It was covered in runes. They were all glowing and moving in different directions. There was no wheel, or speedometer. Hudson couldn¡¯t figure out the mechanism.
¡°Y-you¡¯re an evil man.¡±
Hudson laughed.
¡°Sure I am Exy. Hey, have you ever by chance seen what happens when someone gets their throat slit?¡±
There was silence.
¡°I¡¯ll take that as a no. See, it¡¯s a real show. All you need is a jagged piece of metal and a willing, or unwilling participant. One jab. That¡¯s all it takes.¡±
More silence from the man.
Hudson just laughed some more. The empty weight on his hip where his handgun should have been pushed him forward.
¡°And you¡¯d think right Exy, that oh it¡¯d at least be over quick. But no. Sure, all that blood is going down into your lungs, but you don¡¯t drown quick from it. It¡¯ll sure feel like drowning though.¡±
The man started to shake.
¡°Afterall, you¡¯ll still be able to drag down the occasional bubble of air in between all the gargling. You know, I remember this one guy, who after getting his neck opened started to puke. Oh man you should have been there Exy. God it was a sight. Now this guy actually did end up drowning, but that was in a mixture of yesterday¡¯s spaghetti and-¡°
¡°Okay okay! Please stop I¡¯m begging you, what do you want!¡±
Oh. What a shame. Hudson had at least a few more minutes of conversation in him.
¡°Glad to hear that. Where¡¯s my shit Exy?¡±
The man took a moment to compose himself.
¡°Of course, of course just give me a moment.¡±
¡°I¡¯m running out of moments here Exy. My hand might slip.¡±
Hudson put his left arm around the man¡¯s neck.
¡°Okay¡ it¡¯s still where at the safe house where you were¡¡±
¡°Drugged and kidnapped?¡±
¡°Subdued.¡±
Hudson shook his head. ¡°Sure, subdued. Who cares. Next question, that bag you stole from me. Where is it?¡±
Hudson didn¡¯t know what the hell those crystals were but he was sure they were important for something.
At this he hesitated. Hudson dug in the knife, ¡°My hand might slip. Answer the question.¡±
Xaiver relented. ¡°Half are with me. Half are still at the safe house.¡±
Hudson loosened his hold. Okay, progress.
¡°Got it, where is this safe house?¡±
¡°The path is simple¡¡±, Xaiver started.
Hudson¡¯s hands felt so tired, so heavy.
¡°You¡ you first turn around.¡± Xaiver said in between sniffles, ¡°turn left and go down the road until you hit an intersection¡ after that, take a good long second, and you can go fuck yourself.¡±
Xaiver threw his head backwards and it collided right with Hudson¡¯s nose.
The knife dropped from his hands. Xaiver started clawing at his arms. Hudson fought through the pain, and connected his left arm with his right. His gambit paid off. A noose tightened around Xaiver¡¯s neck. A perfect rear naked choke. He pulled hard. Any blood flow to the man¡¯s brain ceased.
Hudson started counting.
One. Two. Three.
Xaiver kept kicking, and clawing.
The car started moving. Fuck, the car started moving.
Four. Five. Six.
The kicking grew more frantic. The car only gained speed. It drove through a trashcan and its contents decorated the windshield. Through the day¡¯s filth, the image of a glass storefront slowly became larger and larger.
Seven. Eight. Nine.
The kicks slowed. Everything slowed. The twitching stopped. Xaiver went limp, and the car hit the raised side walk with a thunk.
They crashed through the glass storefront.
Chaos reigned around them. Glass mixed with food, bricks, breads and meats. The car embedded itself into a brick wall with a sharp jolt signaling the final stop.
Hudson¡¯s world was spinning. The front of the car started to glow a bright blue. Yeah he wasn¡¯t too sure if these things had internal combustion engines but that didn¡¯t look good.. He jumped over the bench into the front seat with only a few moments to get whatever he could from the man. He found a small, familiar bag. It was half as heavy as before. A quick shake confirmed it¡¯s contents. Good enough.
He pushed the door open and dragged the unconscious man out before throwing him far. The unconscious man flew through the air landing headfirst into a display of cabbages. Hudson turned to run.
¡°Hey get back here, you ruined my shop!¡±, a new voice yelled at him.
¡°Put it on his tab!¡±, Hudson yelled to the shop keeper, pointing to the unconscious man.
Hudson ran, back into the street, the cold pavement reminding him of his complete lack of shoes.
A detonation rang out behind him.
Not his problem.
Hudson kept running. Through streets and alleys. The world turned into a maze, and he let it consume him. He ran until the burning screaming in his chest became all he could hear. He ran until the faintest hint of twilight began turning the black sky into a dark navy blue.
He ran until his legs gave out under him.
He collapsed under his own weight. A million pounds. Every breath hurt. How, how had he become so weak, was it the tea still in his system? He used to run marathons with weighted vests, it was sickening. This weakness. He had to face the facts.
Everything. They¡¯d taken everything from him. He¡¯d lost it all.
He¡¯d poured so much blood. So much pain. So many hundreds of hours at the range. All to hone his craft. All to be the best. The best in the world. And he had. He had made it to the top, to the elite of the elite of the elite.
And now look at him.
Reduced to nothing. A broken man heaving face first down on the pavement, dressed in the garbs of a beggar.
He¡¯d lost his home. His country. His team. His mission. His support. His weapons.
Everything.
And now he was facing down impossible reality benders. Masters of fire, monsters who could bend the very nature of light to their whim. There was no hope. How the hell could he ever hope to match these entities. He was just a man.
Get up.
Something within him spoke.
You¡¯re not done yet.
Louder.
Have you forgotten your promise?
The spinning stopped.
The pain flowing through his body became more manageable.
He moved his left hand first. He put it under his body. Then his right.
He threw himself back up, against the thousand-pound weight that his body had become. His body obeyed.
His legs shook beneath him, and he leaned on a wall for support.
But his body had obeyed.
His head arced upwards at the broken moon that had been laughing at him ever since he woke up.
The moon was painted by stars and a smokestack.
A Smokestack.
A plan crystalized in his head.
EPISODE 5: Best Laid Plans
Episode 5:
"ONE OF THE SERIOUS PROBLEMS IN PLANNING AGAINST AMERICAN DOCTRINE IS THAT THE AMERICANS DO NOT READ THEIR MANUALS NOR DO THEY FEEL ANY OBLIGATIONS TO FOLLOW THEIR DOCTRINE." ¡ª From a Russian Document
What is greatness?
Is it effortless victory? Is it never sweating? Never feel the weight on your shoulder. Because after all, every challenge you face is so beneath you that you need not even expend the tiniest effort?
No.
Greatness was¡ª
A coin struck Hudson in the face.
¡°Ha, I got him, direct hit!¡± The well-dressed man said. Not even bothering to break his stride as he continued past. Arm and arm with a woman. Hudson pressed his back against the cold wall, letting the chill seep through his torn clothes.
¡°Please honey, I¡¯d really appreciate it if you wouldn¡¯t accost the less fortunate like that.¡± The women chided softy, clutching the man¡¯s hand.
¡°Oh please, I¡¯m helping him!¡± The man sneered, ¡°More than he¡¯s helping himself. He could work you know.¡±
Hudson glanced at the shining copper coin at his side. He grabbed it, weighing it in his hand. One throw. That''s all it would take to wipe the smug smile from the man¡¯s face.
¡°I¡¯m not a beggar.¡± Hudson managed to get out.
His body still felt underwater and before Hudson could launch the coin, the couple had disappeared into the fog. Whatever bullshit they¡¯d used to knock him out was still in his system. He put the coin back down and just stared blankly at the sky.
So, this was greatness huh?
Sitting by the curb in rags, next to the smoldering remains of a building. Waiting. And waiting.
One hell of a plan.
A twilight sky hung above him. Occasional passerby¡¯s unfortunate enough to be out at this godforsaken hour, would shoot him a look of disgust, contempt and pity. He was ruining their morning walk by his mere presence.
It was a familiar look. The same he¡¯d give the junkies he¡¯d walked past in New York. Hell, if he compared the rags he was in now to what those homeless unfortunates wore, they were practically kings.
This plan, if you could even call it that, was one hell of a long shot. But it was the only shot he had.
He may have lost his weapons, his gear, his team, his country, his sanity and a whole lot else but he still had his instincts.
There was a cordon around the burned out building. Charred stone and broken glass littered it¡¯s front. A fog had descended over the city now, and the sun was only a vague memory. Strangely enough, no water damage. The wood was remarkably dry.
Maybe this world had wind magic?
Who was he kidding, of course this place had wind magic.
The crime scene seemed abandoned of all life, but Hudson knew better.
It was the faintest trace of instinct, an inner light that guided him through the chaotic dark storm.
It was a thread he¡¯d learned well over years to pull and trust on.
So, he just closed his eyes. And continued to wait.
Time seemed to lose its meaning as moments merged, until a soft voice drifted into his conscious experience like silk.
¡°Here. Take this.¡± She said with a familiar formal accent.
Bingo.
He opened his eyes.
Golden eyes. Red hair.
Of course she¡¯d be back. She had to double check, no triple check the crime scene. He¡¯d pegged her as an obsessive, and he was right.
Her white gloved hand was outstretched, containing a number of gold coins.
He might have been half drugged, but he could still tell this was a lot of money. Way too much money.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.
Hudson looked her dead in the eyes, unflinching.
¡°Sorry. I¡¯m not a beggar¡±
She froze. Hand still outstretched. As if the words coming out of his mouth weren¡¯t computing.
¡°Ex¡excuse me?¡±
¡°I¡¯m not a beggar. Thanks for the offer though.¡±
She blinked a few times. Then something clicked. She snapped her hand back curling it into a fist.
¡°How dare you? Do you not know who I¡¡±, she stopped herself, searching his face for any hint of recognition, or fear. Most certainly looking for fear.
Hudson maintained his deadpan stare, well-practiced over years of midnight poker games in the desert.
She shook her head, rage replaced with something softer.
¡°Guess you don¡¯t.¡± She said at last. Now that the rage was gone, there was nothing to cover up the exhaustion. Bags under her eyes, tired posture. She took a step forward, on her bad leg. She winced as she sat down next to him. Her back pressed up against the same icy stone wall was leaning back on. Her intricate dress picked up a layer of dust and soot. A fact she seemed to not seem to remotely care about.
A few silent moments passed between the two strangers.
¡°What¡¯s your story.¡± She asked. The question had an authority that made it clear it was in Hudson¡¯s best interest to answer. As if a wrong answer would be his last.
¡°That¡¯s a strange thing to ask a vagrant.¡±
¡°People have always said I was strange.¡±
She was the first person so far to treat him like an actual human being.
¡°I will not ask you a second time.¡± There was an implicit threat in her statement.
Hudson considered his options. The greatest lies are those that have been built on a foundation of truth.
¡°I¡¯m a traveler.¡±
What he meant was of course that he traveled to places. They were across the world. Usually in the middle of the night. Usually to put someone in a box.
¡°Then why aren¡¯t you dressed like one.¡± The words were more accusation than question.
¡°I was robbed.¡±
She turned to study him. "In my city?" A pause. "Well, I apologize then. You must be far from home."
¡°Yeah. Far from home. Something like that.¡±
Wait did she say Her city?
¡°How did you end up here? Don¡¯t you have anyone you were traveling with.¡±
An image of his team flashed before his eyes. Goddamn it. He had to find them soon. He frowned.
The longer this conversation went on the more the heat from his body was being zapped by the concrete.
¡°Guess I got lost.¡± He paused, ¡°Real lost.¡±
She laughed at that one. A dry laugh, as if she hadn¡¯t had much practice over the course of her life.
¡°What¡¯s so funny?¡±, Hudson asked.
¡°You¡¯re lost. I found that to be rather resonant.¡±
¡°Why you got lost too?¡±
She shook her head, considering her answer.
¡°Something like that.¡± She said, trying to mimic his accent and manner of speaking.
¡°Hey that¡¯s my line, give it back.¡±
¡°It seems you have been robbed today twice then Mr. Traveler.¡± She laughed at her own joke again. Her laugh was again slightly off, rusty. At least she was having a good time. ¡°What is your plan now?¡± She asked.
¡°Get my shit back.¡±
She nodded. ¡°That¡¯s rather resonant too.¡±
Hudson flipped the script, ¡°How so?¡±
She paused, before taking a deep breath.
¡°You are lost. I lost something.¡±
¡°What¡¯d you lose?¡±
¡°It is complicated.¡±
¡°I disagree.¡± Hudson said, smiling.
Her eyes peaked up at that one. ¡°How can you disagree?¡±
Hudson flicked up the red crystal before catching it.
¡°I mean it¡¯s not that complicated. Looks like a crystal to me.¡± He said, dancing it in between his fingers like a pen.
The time for pleasantries was over. The peace shattered. The two previously warring souls reignited their battle.
Her eyes flashed a bright orange. They both leaped up. Hudson¡¯s head spun under the added strain, body barely following his orders. Her body was far more responsive. Her was sword drawn before Hudson could even stand up straight.
¡°You are under arrest by order of Grand Marshall Valera! Drop that this instant!¡±
¡°Oh so that¡¯s your name, my name¡¯s Hudson by the wa¡ª¡°
Before he could finish his sentence, her blade flashed. It streaked through the air leaving flames spiraling in its wake, stopping right at his neck.
¡°Drop it!¡±
All this rapport building and he was back at square negative a hundred.
¡°Just listen to me for just one goddamned second!¡± Hudson yelled with a sternness he¡¯d forgotten he possessed.
She seemed to have been impacted by it as well, judging by the fact that she hadn¡¯t decided to remove his head yet.
¡°And why would I do that?¡± She said.
¡°Because I can take you right to where the rest of these whatever-the-fucks are.¡± He ignored the inferno in her eyes, ¡°But you have to help me too.¡±
¡°How.¡± she spat.
¡°The people who stole from you, stole from me. When we kick their door down, I need my shit back. Their safehouse is probably going to be crawling with guards, so I can¡¯t clear it alone. My enemies are your enemies. Do we have a deal?¡±
¡°And what¡¯s stopping me from throwing you in prison the moment we reach the hideout.¡±
¡°Nothing really. Other than your honor as Grand Marshall. If I wasn¡¯t here you¡¯d still be kicking rocks down the street and looking for answers in the same charred building for the thousandth time.¡±
The blade held. Then waivered.
It dropped back into its sheath. The inferno in her eye¡¯s extinguished.
¡°Fine. You have my word, as the Grand Marshal of the Imperial Guard, Protector of the Lower Relms, Arch-Mage of Ignis and Crown Princess of the Empire of Avalon.¡±
¡Crown Princess?
Oh.
Oh no.
He¡¯d broken the kneecap of the Crown Princess of an Empire. And was also currently extorting her.
Hudson was in way over his head.
Okay, okay just play it cool, just play it coo¡ª
A blur, a yank, a twist.
Click.
Cuffs.
Too late. He looked down at his hands, a familiar sight greeting him again.
¡°I thought we had a deal.¡± Hudson asked in a tried monotone.
¡°We do have a deal. I¡¯m not arresting you for now. This is just for my safety. You can¡¯t expect me to completely trust you, can you?¡±
As a final insult, she snatched the pouch containing the crystals from him before walking ahead with a slight hidden limp. Hudson just sighed. How the hell did he let her get the drop on him. If his system wasn¡¯t fucked seven ways to Sunday from getting Cosby¡¯d he would have at least been able to put up a fight.
Excuses, excuses, Mr. Hudson.
Shut the fuck up.
Hudson shook his head. That goddamn Duke. Hudson was going to scalp him for what he¡¯d done to him.
First however, he had to get his shit back. He took the lead, walking past a familiar dumpster. A Muffled thudding rang out from it.
¡°What¡¯s that?¡± She asked, looking at the dumpster.
¡°Dunno, might be a racoon.¡±
¡°What¡¯s a racoon?¡±
¡°Don¡¯t worry about it, come on we have to go faster.¡±
She hesitated a moment. Only a moment.
The two entered the maze.
EPISODE 6: American.
Episode 6: American.
¡°SINE PARI.¡±
¨C Motto of the Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC)
Translated as ¡°Without Equal.¡±
¡°I would strongly advise you to bring some backup,¡± Hudson said to his new captor as the two made their way forward through the suffocating alleys.
¡°Do I look weak to you?¡± Valera said, walking with a concealed limp. She was doing a good job of hiding it, but Hudson¡¯s eyes were sharp.
¡°No ma¡¯am,¡± Hudson lied.
¡°Don¡¯t do that.¡±
¡°Do what?¡±
¡°Don¡¯t call me ma¡¯am?¡±
¡°Seriously? Aren¡¯t you a High Marshall or whatever the fuck?¡±
Hudson was usually more formal, but something about being starved, sleep deprived, drugged, and being pinged from shitshow to shitshow for hours had worn down his capacity to pretend.
¡°Grand Marshall.¡± She corrected,
Yeah, yeah, Grand Marshall of such and such. He could really use an org chart right now. He never thought he¡¯d be thinking this but God he could go for a Power Point presentation right now that would just lay out the rules and regulations of this world. Unfortunately, he wouldn¡¯t be so lucky. So, he¡¯d have to settle for piecing it together in between the gunfights, explosions, druggings and kidnappings.
¡°Sure, sure, whatever. You¡¯ve got the sword.¡± he said.
Hudson retracted his steps. The charred remains of the battle the two had fought only a few hours ago adorned the streets. He walked past the empty smoke grenade he¡¯d dropped earlier and kicked it to the side. At least he was going the right way. All he had to do for now was follow the carnage.
¡°Explain to me how you came into possession of that artifact. Were you an accomplice to the robbery?¡± she asked.
Great, more interrogations.
¡°See I was just minding my own business.¡±
A wall that had been unfortunate enough to have caught one of the fireballs collapsed next to him.
¡°I find that hard to believe.¡±
They continued walking like nothing happened.
¡°Come on, do I seem like a liar to you?¡±
From behind them, a few more muffled bangs from where a body was tired up in a dumpster rang out.
¡°Yes.¡±
Hudson nodded.
¡°Okay fair enough.¡±
¡°Answer the question.¡±
¡°Hey you¡¯re the one who took me off topi-¡°
She jabbed him in the back.
¡°Okay, fuck, I get it. So I see these people running into a house. I guess they didn¡¯t like me seeing that because the next thing I know I''m knocked out. I wake up in the back of a vehicle, all my gear stolen, tied up and sedated. Anyway, I break out, rob the driver of those crystals and end up here.¡±
She hummed. ¡°So you expect me to believe you fought off a driver, half dazed, alone and then successfully escaped?¡±
¡°Damn right.¡±
Hudson straightened himself as a bit of pride seeped into his visage. Him straighting himself was a mistake however as an errant piece of jutting out wood smacked him in the head. Ouch. Goddamn these alleys were tight. The ¡®houses¡¯ were bolted together with no room between them, making it ambiguous to where one began and the other ended. Just doors and windows.
¡°What cat is your essence?¡±
Cat? Cat as in feline or cat as in category?
¡°Yeah I have no idea what any of those words mean. Last time somebody checked I don¡¯t got no essence.¡±You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Her eyebrow raised at that. ¡°You managed to do all that with no magic?¡±
¡°Yep.¡±
She weighed his words silently before nodding. ¡°Noted. How badly are you injured?¡±
¡°I¡¯ll manage.¡±
They turned the final corner. The alleyways were tight, with stone and concrete constructions rising into the sky. Beyond them was a single sharp bend that you couldn¡¯t see past unless you peaked over.
¡°We¡¯re here. It¡¯s over there,¡± Hudson said, nodding in an awkward motion towards the general location of the building since his hands were still tied behind his back.
Beyond the turn was the final pathway to the safehouse. He peaked over just for a second.
Fuck there was a guard on the door. Tall, strong build, arms like tree trunks. Other than that, two stories, and a single window on each one. Issue was they all had all had metal bars bolted onto them, a staple he was used to from the Middle East. Wouldn¡¯t find that in American suburbia.
He turned around to Valera drawing her sword.
¡°This is going to be a bitch to clear, hand me a weapon and I think I can figure something out. Get these cuffs off of me, do you have a weapon I could use?¡± he said.
She pushed him aside. ¡°Stay here. Don¡¯t move until I return. It won¡¯t be safe.¡±
¡°Hey, hey, what are you doing?¡± Hudson said in a hushed tone.
She walked directly in the direction of the guard, a frontal assault. Wisps of fire began to dance around her fingers, flowing down to her blade.
Fuck, fuck, no way she going to go in guns a blazing. He could not let that happen. He could not risk losing his gear.
A jolt of adrenaline rushed through him, a final gift from his overworked and near capitulation adrenal system. The effects of the tea dissipated. Before she could clear the corner, he leapt forward. His teeth sank into a loose piece of her white ornate dress armor and he pulled hard. They both fell on top of each other, Hudson on the cold ground. At least she was behind a wall now and out of sight from the guard. His arms however were now crushed beneath him underneath his and her added weight.
She twisted around, holding him down. Hudson struggled to explain but before a single word could come out a silver dagger equally as ornate as her sword hovered over his eye. The blade of her arm to his neck jabbed hard into his neck.
¡°What. Are. You. Doing,¡± she spat.
He of course completely ignored the implicit threat of the damoclesian sword, or dagger in this case hanging, over him.
¡°Valera, I would really recommend against doing what you¡¯re about to do,¡± Hudson said, all circulation to his arms cut off from the weight on top of him.
¡°Killing you or killing that guard?¡± The glowing flame in her eyes told him the question wasn¡¯t rhetorical.
¡°Both. Look, we got off on the wrong foot here. Can you explain to me for just one second what you think you¡¯re trying to do here?¡±
¡°I¡¯m going to apprehend the suspect.¡±
¡°By walking up to him in a straight line?¡±
¡°Yes? What kind of question is that? What else am I supposed to do? Do you see any alternative routes? There¡¯s a single path, a single door.¡±
Hudson shook his head in disappointment. ¡°You lack creativity.¡±
Her dagger became enveloped in flames, close enough to start hurting. ¡°I have enough of it to end your insolent life.¡±
Hudson shook his head. ¡°Turn off the fireworks Vale, I do not care.¡±
Her eye twitched. Hudson continued.
¡°I may not have any magical bullshit like you but call me clairvoyant because I¡¯m going to predict the future for you.¡±
She gripped the dagger harder, ¡°Entertain me.¡±
¡°You go in, blow that mother fucker up, mission accomplished right? Screw it, blow the door up too. Destroy everything in your path. Great plan. Except that the moment a single detonation goes off, every single father with a daughter in earshot is going to be out here with a pitchfork and torch. Ready to kill whichever dumb son of a bitch dared threaten their peace. Add to that crowd every other curious bored lookie-loo with nothing better to do and you¡¯ve got one hell of a commotion. And while you¡¯re stuck trying to blow through that reenforced door, dealing with the angry crowd, the thieves are going to grab your shit, and my shit by extension. Then make a run for it through a tunnel or back entrance. And hell, even if you can blow through that door, have fun fighting through layer after layer of defense in close quarters, because now they know you¡¯re coming. Have fun doing that all alone with a bad leg.¡±
¡°Do you think I am a fool?¡±
¡°What?¡±
¡°I know. I know all of what you just stated. The moment I begin the assault I am running on a timer. What you have gotten incorrect in your assessment, is your estimation of my capability. I can crush that guard in an instant, tear through that building before a hat drops. I am not a coward, a fool, or a weakling.¡±
¡°You aren¡¯t listening to me.¡±
¡°You are in the garbs of a beggar, a criminal carrying illegal contraband with an unbelievable story. I am not going to listen to you.¡±
He shook his head.
Goddamn it. He was running out of time here, every second they spent bickering like idiots the chances of his gear being moved to a second location increased. If he could just get one second to think. One second to put his life back together. So many questions circled in his head, the file of ¡°What the fuck is going¡± was breaking appart. How had he gotten here? Where was his home? Where was his team? Where were his guns? Why was the moon broken? Why is there magic? Why did that bitch have cat ears?!
Something finally snapped.
And Hudson remembered who he was.
¡°I am Colonel Hudson Washington of the United fucking States of America, the greatest democracy the world has ever seen. You wanna know why you should listen to me? This is what I do for a living. Every single day of my life for the past near decade has been spent in 6 month cycles either deploying to the most hellish warzones man can create conducting no fail missions or training under conditions even worse. I have buried more men, made more widows than you can count. I do not care how powerful you are, your majesty.¡±
The rage in Hudson¡¯s visage began to cool until it was ice, ¡°Even if you¡¯re the strongest in the world, the enemy can always, always get lucky. You are rolling a dice. Needlessly. We cannot afford the possibility of a loss. I cannot afford the possibility of a loss. You have to win without firing a single shot.¡±
He smiled, ¡°And if you listen to me, and I can teach you how to win without ever even playing the game. Now how do you want to do this?¡±
Silence.
She turned off the flaming dagger, holstering it on her hip.
Hudson laughed, ¡°Come on, I was looking forward to dying. Those flames were just so threatening.¡±
¡°Quiet. I have some questions for you once this is over, American. What is your proposition?¡±
¡°First, can you please get off me. My arms are killing me.¡±