《Contracted in Chaos》


 Wasteland Warrants

    The toxic wind howled outside the town¡¯s crumbling walls as the sun began its descent. In the fading light, the sound of an engine shattered the usual silence. In the distance, a sleek, all-black car emerged¡ªa custom-built armored coupe with tinted windows that hid secrets behind its gaze. Its metal plating, expertly welded and perfectly contoured to the body, hinted at advanced modifications designed to handle the harsh wasteland. Unlike the rusted trucks and beat-up vans common in these parts, this vehicle exuded menace and precision. A robust ram bar¡ªsalvaged from pre-war police cruisers¡ªguarded its front, a relic repurposed for survival. As the car approached, swirling dust trailed in its wake, and the town guards watched intently, uncertain of what this arrival might herald.


    As the car approached the gate, it came to a stop. Two guards moved forward as the tinted window rolled down.


    "State your name and business," one guard commanded.


    "My name is James Grayson, and I''m seeking refuge from the toxic storm that''s on its way. I''ll be on my way as soon as it passes," James replied, his voice calm and confident, his rugged charisma evident in a wry smile.


    James¡¯s face bore a light tan and a rough-hewn quality¡ªa prominent scar stretched from the middle of his left cheek down to his jawline. His hair, dusted with the remnants of the wasteland, was a muddled blend of blond and dark tones. He could be called handsome, though not enough to ever be remembered by most who saw him in passing. What truly set him apart, however, were his eyes¡ªan unnaturally striking Cherenkov, radium blue. Their vivid glow hinted at a secret past, distracting onlookers from the vacant look that sometimes betrayed his inner thoughts.


    The guard¡¯s eyes narrowed with weary suspicion as he scanned James. "What''s your gene mod?" he asked.


    James smirked lightly. "Just the eyes. I got them from my parents before the war."


    The guard''s expression shifted into one of measured skepticism. "I see," he said slowly. "Splicers like you aren¡¯t looked upon kindly around here." With a curt nod, he added, "That''s a three hundred-dollar toll."


    Before James could inquire about which bill was acceptable, the guard cut in, "We only take good old USD. In God we trust."


    Sighing, James reached for his wallet and pulled out the cash. "Here you go," he muttered as the guard waved him through.


    "You''re going to want to head over to Fontels Bar," the guard advised. "They''ve got room and board."


    "Thanks for the intel," James replied, then shifted into gear, driving his sleek, armored car into town.


    As James drove through the shabby town, the structures around him seemed ready to collapse at the slightest breeze. Passing a large, weathered sign reading "Fontels Bar," he parked strategically¡ªits front facing the way he had come, ensuring a quick exit if needed.


    James stepped outof his car. He wore a black, weathered leather jacket¡ªits surface marred by time and trials¡ªover a fitted, dark tactical shirt that accentuated his lean, agile frame. His slim-fit combat pants, loaded with numerous pockets for essential gear, and heavy-duty boots, worn in yet resilient, completed his look. Around his neck, a multipurpose scarf lay ready to double as a face cover or hood when a toxic storm or duststorm hit, while a discreet wristband with hidden compartments secured his small tools. He pulled on a pair of sleek sunglasses to shield his eyes.


    Despite his otherwise unassuming presence, something about his appearance betrayed him. His clothes, surprisingly clean and well-maintained, set him apart from the typical drifter this deep into the wasteland


    He retrieved his bag and a discreet device from the trunk before approaching a nearby SUV marked with the faded letters "GME." With a cautious glance to ensure he wasn¡¯t observed, he affixed the device to the back bumper and stepped inside the bar.


    The interior was a dusty relic, reminiscent of old-west saloons. As James settled in, his thoughts wandered to the world that had been lost. Before the bombs fell, global tensions had reached a boiling point in what came to be known as the Second Cold War. The United Continents of America (UCOA) had been locked in bitter rivalry with the Socialis Republic of Europe (SROE), a conflict sparked when the European Union fully embraced its communist ideology. This move forced the United States to invade Canada and forge a continental alliance across the Americas¡ªa union that held for about forty years under a single flag until that fateful day.


    The devastation did not come as a drawn-out military campaign but in one swift, catastrophic burst, leaving no one unscathed. Even nations like China, which had retreated into isolation after a brutal civil war, were not spared. On the last news station before it went down, he had seen reports that even Africa had been reduced to a nuclear wasteland¡ªa grim testament to the wrath unleashed by a world leader whose ambition led to global ruin.


    In the wake of this sudden collapse, corporate entities, cartels, and remnants of former governments scrambled to seize power, reshaping the shattered world into a patchwork of wary alliances and lawless territories. James¡¯s thoughts were interrupted when the bartender approached and asked, "What¡¯ll it be?"


    "A glass of water is all I need¡ªand perhaps a room," James replied. The bartender handed over the drink and went off to fetch the inn''s owner.


    As James sipped his water, his mind shifted back to the task at hand. One of the factions he worked for¡ªa company known as Sentinel Defense Systems (SDS)¡ªcontrolled a significant portion of the east coast, with its capital located where Norfolk once stood. SDS had contracted him to track down one Ryan Qwincy, a man notorious for leading multiple raids on their warehouses and for killing the son of a high-ranking leader during one such assault. Needless to say, SDS wanted Qwincy alive and were willing to pay a handsome sum for his capture.


    The only complication was that Qwincy had fled into the wasteland formerly known as Virginia. It had taken James three grueling weeks to finally pin him down, but the promise of 100,000 SDS Credits made it worthwhile. With that payout, he could upgrade his car and stock up on the fresh ammunition.


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    James looked up to see an older man, about sixty years old, approaching with the bartender in tow. The man spoke, "The name''s Fontel. I heard you''re looking for a room?"


    "Yes, I''m only staying the night to ride out the toxic storm," James replied in an easygoing tone.


    "That''s understandable¡ªseveral others like you have come for the same reason, so we don''t have many rooms left," Fontel said.


    James raised an eyebrow. "No need to put on an act to upcharge me¡ªjust tell me the price."


    Fontel smiled wryly. "A direct man, I see. It''ll be 150 USD."


    James handed over the cash and received a key. "The second door to the left," Fontel instructed.


    James nodded and took his leave, feeling the weight of many eyes on the back of his head. Something felt off¡ªnot just the usual disdain for Splicers, but something deeper, he thought as he made his way to his room.


    Instead of going straight to his room, James scanned his surroundings for anything useful and spotted a window overlooking his car. He knew Ryan was here¡ªon a direct path, urgently heading his way¡ªbut he couldn¡¯t decipher the reason. James wasn¡¯t a lightweight; his experience had taught him to never ignore the subtle signs of impending danger. He wouldn¡¯t stick around long¡ªhe planned to leave under cover of night during the storm. His car had been built with air scrubbers precisely for situations like these. He¡¯d grab the target and vanish before anyone even knew what hit them.


    With that resolve, James returned to his room and opened the door. The space was shabby and filled with dust¡ªa bed that looked uncomfortable, a nightstand that barely passed muster, and not even a window, just a single light bulb hanging overhead. James hated leaving the comforts of the city and the tamed lands; the wasteland settlements always left a taste of dust in his mouth, both metaphorically and literally.


    He set his bag down and sat on the bed. Opening the bag, he revealed a collection of carefully curated gear. His prized possession was a 1911¡ªa metal-gray pistol with a dark, stained wooden grip. Over 200 years old, it had survived World War I, World War II, the Union War, and even the end of days, yet it still kicked ass. Its design was timeless, though its ammunition was drastically different now. The pistol was loaded with seven rounds of Durasteel armor-piercing ammo¡ªbullets nothing but five inches of armor could stop the round.


    Also tucked inside the bag was an HK416, chambered for 5.56 rounds. Loaded with anti-Splicer rounds that were designed specifically to take out splicers; unlike conventional ammunition, a direct hit would temporarily destabilize a splicer''s system, sending them into a coma until their body could recover. Of course, if the shot didn¡¯t kill them outright, it would still be devastating. As for normal humans, James had never seen exactly what happened when they were hit¡ªhe assumed they simply died.


    James holstered his pistol at his side and slid on his plate carrier beneath his leather jacket. He then donned his kevlar gloves and began his pre-mission ritual. With meticulous care, he disassembled his cherished 1911, inspecting each component before reassembling it. Everything was set¡ªnow he just had to wait.


    Hours had passed since the storm struck, and as the tempest reached its most violent peak, James knew it was time to act. He rose, turned off the lights, and his eyes glowed in the darkness¡ªuntil he slid on his sunglasses. His vision was unnaturally acute, seeing as clearly as if it were daylight; his eyes needed no extra light.


    Silently, he made his way to the door and slipped out into the hall. Each step was measured until he reached the room where Ryan was holed up. Earlier, James had tracked Ryan''s location by intercepting encrypted communications¡ªa rare miscalculation on Ryan''s part that left a digital breadcrumb leading directly to this room.


    Waiting until the booming thunder from the storm provided the perfect auditory cover, James kicked down the door as if it were made of tissue paper. However, the scene that greeted him was not what he had anticipated. Ryan was not alone, nor was he unprepared. He was surrounded by a group of five armed men, their eyes as vigilant as his own, clearly waiting for his arrival.


    "Well, well, well, if it isn''t the¡ª" Ryan began, but his words were cut short by the staccato burst of James''s HK416. In one heartbeat, five shots rang out, tearing through the group before they had a chance to react. Ryan¡¯s eyes widened in disbelief. "H-how¡ª" he stammered.


    "And why would I tell you that?" James replied coolly, his voice steady. "Now, you can either come quietly or end up in a coma. Trust me, the hangover after isn¡¯t fun." It had only taken a millisecond for his enhanced body to see, interpret, and act on the threat¡ªbut even James felt a brief flicker of disappointment at the split-second delay in his reaction.


    "As if I''d ever go," Ryan started, only to be interrupted by a sharp pain in his shoulder. Before James could secure him, a heavy fist slammed into his back, sending him crashing into the wall.


    James whirled around, his gaze locking on one of the remaining attackers. The man bore a bruised forehead¡ªa splicer, and not just any splicer, but one with some sort of skin-thickening modification. James knew that while his anti-splicer rounds worked wonders when their serum entered a splicer¡¯s bloodstream, if they couldn¡¯t penetrate the skin, they were no more effective than ordinary bullets.


    In a heartbeat, James was back on his feet with his 1911 in hand. Before he could fire, the attacker threw a wild punch. James blocked the blow with precision¡ªit stung, but he managed. In one fluid motion, he leveled his pistol and fired a Durasteel round straight into the man¡¯s chest. The bullet tore through him, and the assailant collapsed instantly. James grimaced; those rounds were expensive, and this job was spiraling out of control. Without missing a beat, he hoisted Ryan over his shoulder and headed for the door¡ªonly to be met by what seemed like half the damn town waiting in the corridor.


    A storm of shouts and rattling boots erupted around him, forcing James to fall back. A thug rushed in from the side, but James pivoted and unleashed a burst from his HK416. The 5.56 rounds tore into the attacker, sending him to the floor in a spray of crimson. In the melee, a second assailant emerged from a side passage, catching James off guard. A sharp crack rang out as a bullet slammed into his shoulder, pain lancing through his body. He ignored the burn, pressing on to protect both himself and his bounty. Two more men charged from opposite ends; James dropped one with a well-placed shot from his 1911, while a brutal elbow strike sent the other crashing into a wall. Amid the chaos, James¡¯s vision narrowed to each target in turn, his enhanced senses detecting the slightest movement in the dim light.


    With the corridor littered with bodies and the sound of more reinforcements echoing from behind, James knew he had to leave. He sprinted toward a narrow window, slamming his shoulder into the glass and shattering it.


    Landing on a heap of debris outside, James cradled his wounded shoulder but hauled Ryan with him. The icy night air and the roar of the toxic storm galvanized him, driving him to limp across the yard toward his car. Each step was powered by adrenaline and the urgent need to escape. At last, he reached his vehicle and heaved Ryan into the back. Sliding behind the wheel, he started the engine and gunned it, screeching out of the settlement.


    Within moments, a black SUV roared to life behind him, joined by a couple more. Gunfire peppered the reinforced plating of James¡¯s car, sparks dancing in the rearview mirror. He gritted his teeth and aimed for the main gate. The flimsy barrier splintered under the car¡¯s momentum, and the SUVs followed close behind. With a grim smile, James thumbed a button on his console. The lead SUV exploded in a blinding fireball, taking two more vehicles with it and obliterating the gate and wall in a single, thunderous blast.


    He probably just signed the death warrant for that settlement, but that¡¯s what they got for being a bunch of cousin-fucking hillbillies, James mused as he sped into the toxic fog. The wind howled around his car, swallowing him in the swirling darkness as he vanished from sight.

 Arrival in Norfolk

    The roar of the toxic storm had lessened slightly; they had to be at least an hour away from that shit hole. James pulled to the side of the road¡ªit was time to deal with his wounds before his body healed over a bullet in his shoulder and glass in his arm. He reached into the glove box and took out a pair of needle-nose pliers, a bottle of vodka, and a roll of gauze. Having an enhanced healing factor and coagulation capabilities had its benefits, but if he didn''t act quickly, too much would heal over the injuries.


    James took a big swig of vodka before starting to remove the bullet. It hurt even more than when he got shot, and a steady stream of blood followed until he quickly packed it with gauze. It would stop bleeding soon, and with the bullet gone, the wound should seal up in the next hour or two, likely leaving him only sore by the time he reached Norfolk tomorrow. He cleaned the rest of his wounds and discovered he had broken a rib in the fall¡ªthankfully just a hairline fracture that hadn¡¯t dislodged.


    He let out a sigh, realizing he''d need an easier job next time. Though he healed fast, the soreness lingered about as long as it would for anyone else; his body simply did enough to keep him functioning without the risk of dying, then slowed back down. Taking another swig, James started the engine again and got back to driving.


    James eased his car back onto the highway and regained speed; he still had a few hours until the storm ended and many more to escape the wasteland. Getting comfortable in his seat, he inserted a HoloDisc he had scavenged from the ruins of Atlanta¡ªa job that wasn¡¯t fun, some scientist had wanted a live sample of a Viber Rat. The city was full of mutants; a massive worm had nearly eaten his car once, which was exactly why he modified it to emit electric shocks.


    As the music started playing "Toxic Highway," the track erupted with a distorted electric guitar riff, drums building into a relentless beat. The opening line¡ª¡°Riding through ruins of a world gone mad¡±¡ªcut through the chaos. In that moment, as the rhythm took over, James¡¯s mind faded into his thoughts and his body slipped into autopilot, the familiar cadence of the anthem merging with the hum of the engine as he sped further into the desolate night.


    Sometime later, James finally emerged from the wasteland. It wasn¡¯t an instant transformation, but a slow and steady change¡ªthe landscape gradually filled with cleaner, healthier-looking plants. No place he¡¯d ever visited before boasted the vibrant plant life and colors of old; even the tamed lands had taken on a dull, muted tone. He felt a tinge of pity for those without implants or gene mods that could recall memories on command and bring them to vivid life.


    Now, with the sun just beginning to rise, James was only a few hours away from Norfolk.


    As the sun crested the horizon¡ªnearly midday¡ªJames arrived at the City of Norfolk. Nothing remained of what it once was; now, the city was encircled by a massive steel wall, four stories tall, complete with barricaded terraces, watchtowers manned by heavily armed guards, and turrets. Just outside this formidable barrier, a makeshift town had sprung up¡ªhome to those who either farmed the barren lands or couldn¡¯t afford a life within the wall¡¯s protection, even if they still longed for its security.


    James approached the main gate¡ªa colossal structure, one among several similar ones along the wall¡ªand joined the line of vehicles awaiting entry. When his turn came, a guard clad in what appeared to be an advanced exo-suit stepped forward, an Argus Carbine slung over his shoulder. His eyes gleamed with a mechanical glint. He must be an augmenter,James thought.


    "I need your ID, sir," the guard said in a clipped tone.


    James handed over his ID card without hesitation. "Here," he replied.


    The guard examined the card for a moment before returning it with a nod. "Enjoy your stay here, James Grayson," he said before moving on to the next vehicle. James then drove through the gate and into the city.


    Inside, Norfolk was as close as one could get to pre-war splendor these days, though the glass towers were long gone. Instead, the skyline was dominated by imposing towers of brick and concrete¡ªrelics of an older era. The city streets, though worn and cracked, pulsed with life, and the familiar aromas of engine exhaust, street food, and lingering industrial smoke filled the air then James needed to slam on the brakes to avoid a car¡ªa reminder that even a nuclear holocaust couldn¡¯t erase traffic.


    Neon signs flickered intermittently, advertising everything from fuel to makeshift tech repairs and other illicit activities, while crowds of people moved through the narrow avenues. Amid the chaos of modern life, James drove straight to the SDS main headquarters.


    As James continued through the city, the buildings gradually became smaller and cleaner. Eventually, they morphed into a suburban sprawl with neat lawns and even a few pools. The closer he got, the lighter the traffic became. Finally, in the middle of a perfectly manicured field, the SDS HQ loomed¡ªa twelve-story building, the largest in the city and possibly one of the biggest still standing anywhere. A gleaming tower of glass and marble.


    James drove up to the front, parked, and climbed out to stretch. ¡°Yahaha,¡± he yawned loudly, his body protesting from weeks without a proper night''s sleep. His brain implant and enhanced healing factor let him go a day or two without rest, but he hadn¡¯t slept well during his hunt. The thought of a hotel suite and a comfortable bed made him feel almost giddy.


    Just as he finished stretching, four guards in exo-suits approached. ¡°What¡¯s your business here?¡± one demanded.


    ¡°I¡¯m James Grayson, and I¡¯m making a delivery,¡± James replied, flashing his trademark smile¡ªthe one he always wore when he came to collect his payment.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°One moment while we confirm,¡± the guard said, speaking into a built-in mic. After a brief pause, he continued, ¡°Your identity has been confirmed. We¡¯ll take the package, but your presence has been requested to attend a meeting. Someone will be here shortly to escort you.¡±


    With that, James opened the passenger door and hauled Ryan out, drool still dripping from the side of his mouth. He handed the unconscious man off to the guards.


    Just as James was about to step into the lobby, a man in a black suit emerged. Standing around 5¡¯11¡±, a little shorter than James, he had neatly combed black hair and piercing brown eyes. Spotting James, the man walked over and asked, ¡°Are you James?¡±


    ¡°The one and only¡± James replied coolly.


    ¡°Follow me,¡± the man said, turning back into the lobby. James followed. The lobby was beautiful¡ªa stark contrast to the dilapidated place where he had dragged Ryan out. It was hard to believe the world had ended.


    They passed the front desk and reached an elevator. The man placed his arm on the door, and it slid open smoothly. Once inside, he pressed the button for the 12th floor. This was unusual; normally, when SDS gave him a contract, it was on the 6th floor.


    ¡°So, can you tell me what this is about?¡± James asked, or perhaps, ¡°What''s your name?¡±


    ¡°My name is Danial. I¡¯m Mr. Matenze¡¯s assistant,¡± Danial replied.


    ¡°You mean the CEO, Victor Matenze?¡± James said in shock. ¡°Why would I be seeing him?¡±


    "You''re not going to be seeing him; you''ll be attending a meeting and then be given a contract," Danial said in a cold, measured tone. An awkward silence fell over the elevator as it ascended to the 12th floor. When the doors slid open, Danial stepped out and gestured toward a conference room filled with people. "Go in there and take a seat."


    James nodded and walked inside. The room was bright, warmed by sunlight streaming through large windows. In many ways, it looked like any other corporate conference room: a long table made of dark-stained wood sat at its center, and at the head of it, a man was in mid-speech¡ª¡°¡­over here is the last known position of¡­¡± He trailed off upon noticing James¡¯s arrival. ¡°Oh, Mr. Grayson, it took you long enough. Sit,¡± he said, glancing up from his notes.


    James picked a seat near the back, settling into a surprisingly comfortable swivel chair. Moments later, three more individuals filed in, each wearing gear similar to his own.


    ¡°Now that you all are here,¡± the presenter continued, ¡°we can go over the details of the escort contract you all signed.¡±


    Before he could explain further, James interrupted, ¡°I didn¡¯t sign any escort contract.¡±


    The presenter shot him an irritated look. ¡°Mr. Grayson, if you had read the fine print on the contract we had you sign for bringing back Ryan Qwincy, you would have seen it was a test to see if you qualified for this. Now, as I was saying, let¡¯s go over the details of the escort contract.¡±


    Just then, someone handed James a folder. Opening it, he skimmed the mission details, planning to read the finer points later. All he really needed to see was the payout: 1.5 million SDS Credits. That kind of money would easily cover a brand-new fuel cell for his car¡ªhe¡¯d been wasting thousands every few weeks on cheap cells that barely held a charge. With a top-of-the-line model, he¡¯d be set for at least a year, plus some extra credits left over. His mind made up, James turned back into the briefing. After all, how hard could an escort mission really be?


    ¡°Fuck, fuck, fuck!¡± James yelled, slamming the gas as he screeched out of the SDS parking lot, tires squealing in protest as they struggled to gain traction. ¡°They have to be fucking crazy,¡± he thought. ¡°A mission to D.C.? That place is nothing more than an irradiated crater. I¡¯ve heard rumors that not a single person survived. Most cities had at least a few survivors¡ªwhether they got lucky or something¡ªbut not D.C. The place got hit so many times by direct nuclear blasts that its anti-missile system fried itself trying to compute what to shoot down. But the money... it¡¯s so much money.¡±


    He knew the route would be brutal: the trip alone would take at least fourteen hours, since most roads were obliterated. On top of that, D.C. was one of the worst wasteland zones, plagued by toxic storms that could last for days. The creatures there were beyond terrifying. James had hunted crazy things before¡ªhe once took down a Skymaw, a massive bat-like monstrosity also nicknamed the Skyripper for how it tore planes apart midair. But that would be considered weak compared to the mutants lurking in the D.C. wastes.


    ¡°No way I¡¯m doing this job,¡± he muttered, though deep down he knew the moment he saw the payout, he was already in. One could hope common sense might kick in, but James just laughed at himself as he pulled up to his favorite SDS-owned hotel, Harbor for the Weary.


    As he parked his car, James pushed thoughts of the mission aside. It wouldn¡¯t start for another two days, and for now, he just needed to relax and recover. Grabbing his bag, he headed into the hotel. The lobby stretched out before him¡ªa vast space bathed in sunlight from floor-to-ceiling windows, supplemented by strategically placed overhead lights. The floor was polished stone, bearing faint cracks and scuffs that hinted at the world¡¯s decay, yet still exuded a veneer of luxury. Towering planters of genetically modified flora¡ªunnaturally vibrant¡ªlined the walls, while a few security personnel patrolled discreetly, ensuring nothing disturbed their wealthy clientele.


    A crowd of travelers stood in line to book rooms. Unlike the SDS HQ, this building was only four stories tall, but it felt far from shabby¡ªcertainly nothing like the room James had rented at Fontels Bar. In fact, it was about as close to a pre-war resort as one could get these days, complete with a pool area, a bar, and several restaurants. Though much smaller than its pre-war predecessors¡ªtourism was nearly extinct now¡ªit catered almost exclusively to affluent merchants and mercenaries like him, many of whom relied on the hotel¡¯s clandestine services. Rumor had it they could source nearly anything here, from illicit weapon modifications to black-market medicines, no questions asked.


    Bypassing the long line, he made his way to the VIP desk, where Zack greeted him. ¡°Hello, James. It¡¯s been a while¡ªlong mission?¡± Zack asked, already prepping a suite key.


    ¡°That it was. He was a slippery bastard,¡± James replied, recalling his most recent target.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m glad you¡¯re still around. It¡¯d be a shame to lose such a valued customer,¡± Zack said, handing him a key card. ¡°Your room is number 24 on the fourth floor, as always. Enjoy your stay with us.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I will,¡± James said with a small smirk. ¡°I¡¯ll probably have some supplies sent here¡ªmaybe a few things that don¡¯t exactly fly under normal regulations. Make sure they reach my room.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Zack replied with a subtle nod, understanding the implications. ¡°Just let us know what to expect.¡±


    With that, James turned and headed toward the elevators, ready to leave the bustling lobby behind. His body ached from weeks out in the field, and the thought of a real bed¡ªplus a chance to momentarily shut out the apocalypse¡ªfelt like a luxury he¡¯d earned.

 Preparing for Tomorrow

    It was around 6 p.m. when James finally entered his room¡ªa massive, well-appointed suite that was a far cry from the grim shelters of the wasteland. The room boasted a spacious living area with a plush couch, a compact cooking area, and a bathroom outfitted with a state-of-the-art tub and a shower whose jets sprayed gently from the sides. But what captivated James most was the bedroom. The massive bed, soft and inviting as if sculpted from a cloud, immediately caught his eye. Without a second thought, he threw off his jacket, shirt, and pants, leaving him in nothing more than his boxers and a dogtags gleaming at his chest. He collapsed onto the bed, drifting off into a deep sleep long before his head even met the pillow.


    The next day, at around 11 a.m., James awoke to a surprisingly clear mind. His brain implant had done its job, dispelling the lingering fog of sleep. Groggy but determined, the first thing he did was head to the shower. As he stepped under the cascade of warm water, he noted with grim amusement that he was covered in dried blood¡ªand possibly some brain matter, though he couldn¡¯t tell for sure. The shower rinsed away every trace of the previous night¡¯s rough-and-tumble, a welcome luxury compared to the wipes and spray he was forced to use in the wastelands.


    With the last droplets disappearing down the drain, James moved to his desk where his travel bag lay waiting. Methodically, he unloaded his weapons: his venerable 1911, the reliable HK416, along with two spare magazines for the pistol and six for the rifle. He retrieved a coil of sturdy rope and assorted oddities that might prove useful in unexpected situations. He mentally accounted for everything¡ªhe would eventually need to unload his car to take a proper inventory of his gear and determine what additional supplies to purchase. But that could wait; now was the time for a brief respite.


    Next, he opened his travel bag. Inside, he found a fresh change of clothes: a set of shorts that doubled as bathing suits and a snug t-shirt that fit him perfectly, accentuating his lean, muscular frame. The fabric was soft against his skin, a rare comfort in a world where even basic clothing had been reduced to utilitarian scraps. Despite it being winter and the temperature hovering around 23¡ãF¡ªand the fact that the global temperature had dropped by about 10 degrees after the fallout and the end of the nuclear ice age¡ªhe allowed himself a small smirk. After all, in a twisted twist of fate, the best way to stop global warming was by nuking the planet to hell. James wasn¡¯t sure that was what climate activists had in mind, but the thought brought him a brief, bitter chuckle.


    The resort-like accommodations were kept to a comfortable 85¡ãF by a high-tech heating sphere that enveloped the entire complex¡ªa stark contrast to the unforgiving cold outside.


    Then he pulled out a pair of comfortable flip-flops, gathered up his merc clothes, and grabbed his boots before heading toward a section of the wall that opened as he approached. He stowed his dirty clothes inside a secure compartment designed for laundry and repairs¡ªservices that came at a fee, of course, as nothing was ever free in this world.


    With that done, he took a few moments to stretch, loosening his still-sore muscles. The bullet wound had healed completely, leaving no lasting scar, though his rib¡ªwhile no longer broken¡ªstill hadn¡¯t fully recovered. Bones, after all, always took longer to mend.


    Feeling a bit more limber, James headed down to enjoy the resort¡¯s amenities. As he rode the elevator, he noticed a man¡ªone he recognized from yesterday¡¯s meeting¡ªheading into a room smeared with gore. The sight made James chuckle darkly; he recalled how he¡¯d been so out of it during the meeting that he forgot to clean up, ending up in a similarly disheveled state among suited men.


    James stepped out into the pool area, a sprawling complex that exuded pre-war luxury. The pool itself was vast¡ªa sparkling, crystalline expanse that stretched nearly the length of the building. Surrounding it were comfortable loungers and cabanas, while a hot tub bubbled invitingly at one end. A stylish bar served up a range of drinks from classic cocktails to offbeat concoctions, and just beyond, a modest restaurant offered a menu of gourmet dishes that belied the wasteland outside.


    After a while, his attention was drawn to a woman at the far end of the bar. She exuded an effortless charm¡ªconfident yet approachable¡ªwith a glint of mischief in her green eyes and light brown hair cascading softly to her shoulders. She wore a two-piece bathing suit that appeared entirely black¡ªor so he assumed, since the top was concealed beneath a light hoodie cover-up. The outfit revealed just enough to pique his interest while keeping him guessing.


    Unable to resist, James slid off his stool, paid his tab, and made his way over. Leaning casually against the bar, he flashed his trademark half-smile and removed his sunglasses, letting his unnaturally striking Cherenkov blue eyes meet hers. ¡°Hey there,¡± he said, his tone warm and teasing yet edged with danger. ¡°Mind if I join you?¡±


    She returned his smile with an inviting warmth. ¡°Sure, no problem,¡± she replied, her voice soft but confident.


    James eased himself onto the adjacent stool, savoring the brief moment of calm amid the chaos. ¡°I¡¯m James,¡± he offered casually. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen you around here before.¡±


    Her eyes sparkled with a blend of amusement and curiosity. ¡°Call me Celeste,¡± she said. ¡°I usually keep to myself, but something about today felt¡­ different.¡± She tilted her head slightly, her gaze lingering on his face as if weighing his words.


    ¡°A different day in this city?¡± James asked, leaning in. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s the storm finally washing away all the usual gloom, or maybe it¡¯s just you.¡± His words were half-joking, yet there was earnestness in his eyes.


    Celeste chuckled softly. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s a bit of both. I like the idea of a storm that clears away the old mess and lets something new shine through.¡± Her fingers tapped lightly on the cool surface of the bar¡ªa subtle invitation to continue the conversation.


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    James nodded. ¡°I¡¯m all for a fresh start, especially if it means meeting someone who can make reality fade¡ªeven if just a bit.¡± His tone combined sincerity with his characteristic roguish charm.


    Their conversation flowed naturally from there, touching on the absurdity of corporate enclaves that were once unimaginable before the war, the irony of a world rebuilt on ruins, and the rare, beautiful moments amid the decay. Celeste¡¯s wit and candid demeanor drew him in, each flirtatious remark building a bridge over the harsh reality looming just outside the hotel¡¯s walls.


    As the evening progressed, their banter deepened into a shared indulgence in laughter, stories, and fleeting escapism. They drank, dined, and found solace in each other¡¯s company¡ªa brief respite from the endless struggle of survival. By the end of the night, memories were forged over clinking glasses and whispered confidences.


    The next morning James awoke in a bed that wasn¡¯t his own. The room was empty, its silence a stark contrast to the previous night¡¯s warmth. Though he stirred as Celeste got up, James decided to remain silent. He didn¡¯t want to burden her with an awkward encounter; instead, he resolved to let their time together remain a happy memory for them both.


    James¡¯s body never really allowed him to get drunk¡ªunless he managed to down five times the amount of liquor that would kill a normal man. With his enhanced physiology and neural implants, every detail of the previous day was ingrained into his memory, available to be replayed with startling clarity at any moment. Even so, as he lingered on those fond recollections, a hint of melancholy crept into his thoughts. He knew that tomorrow¡¯s mission might very well be his last, and that realization spurred him into action.


    Determined, James left his room and headed to his car. Under the dim glow of the early morning light, he carefully packed three heavy-duty bags with his essential gear. For discretion, he took the private elevator, the metal doors sliding shut behind him as he ascended to the higher floors of the hotel.


    Upon reaching his room, James set about creating a functional space. He pushed the plush, well-worn couch aside to clear a sizable area, the soft fabric brushing against his calloused hands as he moved it. With precise, almost ritualistic care, he unloaded his bags and arranged his belongings.


    Sometime later, James stood above his gear, methodically inspecting it as he carefully laid out his essentials on the carpet of the lounge room. His eyes swept over the familiar contours of his trusted 1911, the sleek profile of his HK416, and the imposing presence of his Remington 870 Tactical. Next, he ran his fingers over the smooth, cold surface of his Gauss Rifle¡ªa weapon he rarely used, reserved for taking out targets from a great distance. It had been a long time since he¡¯d fired it.


    His hand then moved to the Plasteel Tactical Sword, its hilt sturdy in his grip, while the custom 8-inch Vibro Knife, designed for swift, precise strikes, lay neatly beside it. A compact tactical drone was secured in its case, and nearby, the remaining three Helexoin platinum mines were arranged with military precision. He also had about twelve Helexion Grandes tucked away in his bag.


    James then checked his plate carrier; 2 inches of plasteel plating protected both the front and back. He picked up his portable welding laser¡ªa tool that had saved his ass more than once; he remembered the time when a target had lured him into an old bunker and sealed the door from the outside. Nearby, a coil of 12 feet of high-tensile synthread rope lay coiled neatly. Finally, a small hacking module blinked quietly in standby mode¡ªa potent device against digital fortresses, one that had once helped him crack an old UCOA AI in the ruins of a fort deep in the wastes of South Carolina.


    Turning his attention to ammunition, James took stock. He had 19 .45 Durasteel armor-piercing rounds in reserve, though he¡¯d need the full 21 before the trip. For his HK416, he carried about 300 rounds of 5.56 anti-splicer ammunition and 500 rounds of 5.56 plasteel-tipped rounds. He was considering swapping the plasteel-tipped rounds for full-plasteel ones, as the current load wouldn¡¯t be as effective against the thick skins of the mutants in the DC wastelands, and, importantly, he wasn¡¯t planning to capture any splicers as bounties, so there was no need for specialized incapacitation rounds.


    As for the heavier weaponry, the Remington 870 Tactical had no place on this mission. He¡¯d debated bringing the Gauss Rifle, but the extra weight and risk of loss were too high. After an internal debate, he decided to leave the Gauss Rifle, the hacking module, and the tactical drone in his truck. Instead, he¡¯d take the essential tools¡ªthe rope, the welding laser¡ªand all 12 Helexion Grandes in his bag.


    Satisfied with his inventory, James turned his attention to his personal belongings. He retrieved his clean, freshly laundered, and repaired clothes from the wall-mounted storage. Now, he needed to decide what else to buy; he couldn¡¯t afford to go unprepared on what might be his last mission. In the end, he spent a total of 50,000 on ammo¡ª15,000 of which was spent just on two Durasteel bullets. He then shelled out an additional 20,000 on rations, water, cleaning spray, four lure flares, and one very illegal combat drug. This drug was notorious for its horrible after-effects, which would normally kill an average user, but his enhanced healing factor only made it feel like a terrible hangover or so he assumed he¡¯d never experienced a real hangover from alcohol before.


    With the day drawing to an end, James methodically returned the gear he wouldn¡¯t need for tomorrow¡¯s mission to his car. He set aside the extra equipment and began preparing his outfit, running through every detail with a practiced, almost sacred ritual. He examined each part of his guns, every component of his devices¡ªeach check a reminder that this was a mission with deadly stakes. It was a ritual he performed every time he had a particularly dangerous mission, a way to ensure that nothing was left to chance.


    For the final part of his ritual, he reached for one of his two worn, old dog tags. Holding it up, he read the name: Tylor Grayson. Tylor was one of his brothers; they both survived the initial chaos of the bombs falling. They were only 12 at the time, seeing the outside world for the first time only for it to be in a state of collapse. But Tylor didn¡¯t have the same resilience¡ªhe lacked the gene mods that allowed James to shrug off the bitter cold. James could still remember, with painful clarity, the long, relentless descent into the nuclear ice age. He recalled watching, powerless, as the world grew colder and colder, and his brother¡¯s warmth slowly faded away. Tylor died seven years ago at the age of 15, a casualty of a new era where even survival was a cruel game of chance.


    The weight of that memory, of his brother¡¯s untimely death amid the frozen ruins, mingled with the grime and scars of his own past. It was a reminder that no matter how much he prepared, the past was never far behind. Sometimes, having a perfect memory wasn¡¯t such a blessing after all.


    With a heavy sigh, James secured the dog tag and rose from his makeshift inventory station. He gathered his thoughts and, with a final glance over his meticulously arranged gear, he headed down for one last meal¡ªa quiet, solitary moment of sustenance before the chaos of tomorrow.

 The DC Contract Part 1

    The next day, James drove into the SDS HQ parking lot, deliberately choosing a far corner spot so no one would mess with his car while he was away. When he stepped out, he pulled on his backside jacket and quickly donned his plate carrier, which was already loaded with extra magazines. His trusty 1911 sat securely in its holster, and his HK416 was slung over his right shoulder. On his left, his Plasteel Sword rested against his side, while his Vibro Blade was holstered at his thigh. Finally, he put on his sunglasses, completing the look, and headed toward the lobby.


    Inside, he was waved through and escorted to a back room that lacked the glamour of the rest of the building. Instead, its concrete walls and dull colors gave it an austere, utilitarian feel. As he passed a room labeled ¡°The Armory,¡± he was brought into what resembled a pre-war locker room. However, instead of the nostalgic mix of sweet cologne and BO, it reeked of recycled air and sterile practicality.


    In the room, he found three other mercenaries¡ªtwo men and a woman¡ªalready gathered together. They were huddled in a discreet corner, speaking in hushed tones, separated from the group of sixteen SDS guards stationed nearby. As James approached, he said, ¡°You were the one covered in gore yesterday. Never heard of a rest,¡± extending his hand for a handshake, his signature smile playing on his lips.


    The man shook his hand and replied, ¡°I¡¯m Laim.¡± Laim was a Black man, about 5¡¯7¡± with a buzz cut, looking to be in his early forties. He wore a thick jacket and heavy pants suitable for this time of year. ¡°Aren¡¯t you going a little light on the clothing?¡± Laim remarked, eyeing James¡¯s attire. ¡°The DC wastes this time of year are probably around 10¡ãF and drop below zero during the night.¡±


    ¡°The cold doesn¡¯t bother me much,¡± James grinned, ¡°but thanks for the concern.¡± He then looked over to the other man. As if anticipating the unasked question, the man said, ¡°The name¡¯s Mason.¡± James shook his hand. Mason was clad in clothing similar to Laim¡¯s, though James noted that his right arm was made of some type of metal¡ªclear evidence he was an augmenter. Mason was a white male, around 6¡¯2¡±, and appeared to be just coming of age¡ªperhaps 18 or 19. He had short black hair.


    James¡¯s attention then shifted to the woman. She had short black hair and, oddly enough, striking orange eyes. Standing about 5¡¯5¡± and looking to be in her early thirties, she carried herself with quiet confidence. ¡°And what would your name be?¡± James asked, adopting a casual charm.


    ¡°Raven,¡± she replied in a cold tone.


    James then turned back to the rest of the group and sat down, asking, ¡°So, what are we talking about?¡±


    "We were just talking about how this doesn''t make any sense¡ªescorting a group of scientists to retrieve a crashed satellite in the DC wastes. It''s a crazy risk," Liam said, his voice low as he glanced around at the armed guards standing by. He added, "And they''re paying a large sum to hire us."


    Raven leaned in, her tone measured yet edged with cynicism. "They don''t think we''ll all make it back alive, which is why the price is so high. But they''re risking a lot of men for a satellite."


    Mason grinned, a mix of youthful bravado and reckless confidence. "Yeah, it''s a weird mission, but if they think they won''t pay me, they''re dead wrong¡ªI ain''t dying." His tone carried that strange invincibility of someone who barely remembered the bombs falling, maybe around eight years old, when the true danger of the world was still a blur in his memory.


    James folded his arms and interjected, "It doesn''t make too much sense, but the money doesn''t change. No point in asking why; what we should be asking is what we''ll be facing. After all, the Skymaw is at the bottom of the food chain out there." His voice was steady, almost amused at the absurdity of it all.


    "You''re right," Laim agreed, his tone pragmatic. "What weapons do you all have?" he began, clearly ready to hash out the details.


    Before anyone could answer, a group of people entered the room, their sudden arrival cutting off Laim''s question and shifting the conversation to a new focus.


    It was the science team¡ªa group of six people: five men and one woman. The men looked nothing special, just your average lab geeks, but the woman stood out entirely. She carried an air of superiority and nonchalance, as if she didn''t care at all. Her piercing violet eyes and her hair¡ªa mix of dirty blonde with streaks of black that fell to her shoulders¡ªset her apart. She wore sleek, self-regulating thermo-fabric attire known as "CryoWeave," which maintained the perfect temperature without weighing her down. James never liked the idea of such high-tech clothing; they could be finicky. On her head, he saw a worn Yankee cap¡ªa relic that shocked him.


    One of the men stepped forward and said, "Alright, we''re ready to move out. We''ll be going in two light Bradleys and two jeeps." He pointed to the group of mercenaries and added, "One of you in each vehicle¡ªlet''s move, people. The window is already starting to close."


    With that, the group began to mobilize. James decided to take the second jeep at the front, while Raven took the rear Bradley. Laim moved to the Bradley behind him, and Mason, ever impulsive, insisted on taking the lead jeep¡ªand no one was going to stop him.


    James hopped into the jeep and noticed two guards¡ªone sitting in the back and the other in the driver''s seat. As he settled in, he quipped, ¡°Well, since we¡¯ll be seeing each other for a while, we might as well get to know each other¡¯s names.¡±


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    The driver grinned and replied, ¡°My name¡¯s Ryan, and this here is Luke.¡± He nodded toward the guard in the back.


    ¡°Huh, small world¡ªI knew Ryan,¡± James said with a wry smile, already anticipating where the conversation might lead.


    ¡°Yeah? So, what¡¯s he like?¡± Ryan asked, his tone light.


    ¡°In the custody of SDS, he¡¯s probably wishing he were dead after a fun session,¡± James replied with a chuckle, his eyes twinkling with dark humor.


    Before they could continue, a scientist strode into the jeep and occupied the empty seat with a brisk efficiency. ¡°That¡¯s enough chit chat,¡± he commanded, his voice clipped and impatient. ¡°Your job is to help us make it in the wastes, not to make friends. We¡¯re leaving now.¡±


    With that, the mood in the jeep turned awkward as the driver hit the accelerator and followed the car ahead. The convoy veered onto a back route through the city¡ªan area off-limits to normal traffic¡ªwhich allowed them to exit the urban sprawl relatively quickly. With two Bradleys in their formation, James doubted that raiders would test their luck unless they were truly desperate, so he expected the ride into the wastelands to be peaceful.


    Or so he thought.


    Within ten minutes of leaving the city, chaos erupted. Out of nowhere, one of the Bradleys hit a hidden mine and was violently detracked. The opening blast was catastrophic: four guards were blasted to pieces on the pavement, and several more inside the Bradley likely met the same gruesome fate. Instantly alert, James unstrapped himself and slid out to join Laim and Raven, who were crouched behind the battered Bradley for cover.


    In a heartbeat, James sprang from behind cover, unleashing a rapid burst from his HK416. He picked off four bandits who were reloading what appeared to be a makeshift RPG¡ªthough it looked like it wouldn¡¯t even fire. Nevertheless, when shot, it exploded in a dazzling display of fire and shrapnel, ripping several more bandits to pieces.


    Peering over the edge of his cover, James watched as the remaining attackers methodically cleaned up the carnage. Bodies lay sprawled across the ground, and scattered equipment glinted harshly in the light.


    Once the firefight subsided and the immediate threat was over, James decided to partake in the age-old practice of looting¡ªafter all, in the wasteland, it was always "the winner takes it all," and James was certainly the winner. While most of the spoils were of little value, one detail caught his eye: several of the fallen bandits bore the unmistakable mark of the Crimson Viper Cartel (CVC). This ruthless organization, notorious for using a potent battle drug that numbed pain but was terribly addictive, was known to control a small portion of Upper Old New York State¡ªthey were far from home. Even stranger, some of the bandits had coins stamped with the insignia of Eclipse-Horizon-Dynamics (EHD) in their pockets. The two groups¡ªCVC, ruling what remained of Upper New York State, and EHD, based in the remnants of New Jersey with one of the only operational fleets ferrying them to offshore holdings¡ªshould never have crossed paths, let alone this far from either territory.


    James scooped up the coins and other useful items with practiced ease, his mind already racing through the implications. Regret began to gnaw at him¡ªthis mission was turning out far bloodier than expected¡ªbut the money was too good to ignore. Shoving his darker thoughts aside, he moved forward to assess the full extent of the damage done to the convoy.


    As he approached, he saw Raven, Laim, and Mason grouped together, deep in conversation. They glanced up as he drew near, clearly taking note of the odd details he¡¯d picked up during the firefight.


    "It makes no sense that they''re here¡ªsetting up mines and anti-armor rockets. They knew we were coming," Laim remarked, his tone laced with disbelief.


    "I agree," James replied. "I don''t think this is a satellite recovery mission. If anyone wants out, now''s the time." The other mercenaries shook their heads in silent agreement. In this line of work, risk was expected.


    Turning his attention to Raven, James asked, "What''s the inside of the Bradley look like?" He pointed toward the wreckage of the detracked vehicle.


    Raven¡¯s eyes darkened as she described the scene. "It''s a total mess," she said. "The explosion was mostly contained at the front¡ªI got lucky that there were enough guys in exo-suits ahead of me to take the brunt of it. The interior is like a slaughterhouse: blood is everywhere, shredded metal hangs in the air, and limbs are mangled beyond recognition. I got a couple of cuts, but I''ll be fine. My gene mods help my blood coagulate quickly, though the side effect is that my eyes turn orange."


    Her words painted a gruesome picture. Inside the Bradley, shattered glass and twisted metal lay amid pools of dark. Bits of flesh and bone were strewn about like macabre confetti, and the air was thick with the acrid tang of burning materials mixed with the metallic scent of spilled blood.


    James managed a wry smile to lighten the mood. "Damn, do we get a bigger cut if one of us dies?" he joked. Then, turning serious for a moment, he asked, "Any other survivors in there?"


    "Three others made it out, though one of them is probably going to die," Raven replied.


    With that, James glanced over to the leading group of SDS scientists deep in conversation. Moments later, the group seemed to reach a decision, and an order was issued to load back into the remaining vehicles. The decision was clear: move forward. However, a separate group broke off with the wounded and headed back toward the city, leaving behind seven guards and the four of them.


    Once reassembled, the convoy resumed its journey in a relative lull. After four hours of steady driving, they finally reached the outskirts of the Vergina wastelands. Had it been pre-war, they would have been on the edge of what used to be DC, but a death zone now lay around the area of the old city of Richmond¡ªa place ravaged by a new type of bomb. It was something James didn¡¯t understand, but it left behind corrosive acid rain that reduced everything to a state of decay. In those depths, the very land seemed to eat away at you, slowly reducing you to fragments of what you once were. It was a horrible fate for those who ventured too deep.


    Deciding to avoid that, the convoy headed southwest until they reached the old Interstate I-81. They traveled along this stretch for a while, but eventually, they would have to leave the highway and venture into the DC wastes. Beyond the highway lay a network of overgrown forest paths and open clearings, where hardly any roads remained intact. James had been in these wastes before¡ªby accident, during a return trip from the Eclipse-Horizon-Dynamics territory. That trip had taught him that the DC wasteland was a merciless environment; even without a raging storm, the toxic air nearly burned through his air scrubbers.

 The DC Contract Part 2

    It had been several hours since they got onto the remnants of I-81, passing through the shattered vestiges of the old world. Whatever quiet they enjoyed quickly faded¡ªit was time to enter the DC wasteland. The jeep shook violently as it veered off the cracked pavement onto rough, uneven earth. A dense forest towered before them, and clearing a safe path through would take hours. Fortunately, that job belonged to the grunts, not James.


    He watched with mild amusement as seven guards, each clad in a full-coverage exo-suit, hopped out and began carving a route through the thick undergrowth. It was a slow, painstaking process, but at least they wouldn¡¯t have to do it again on the way back. They managed several miles without incident, nearly emerging from the forest. All the while, the toxic levels steadily rose¡ªnormally expected as you approached any wasteland epicenter, but here the increase was nearly double what James would have anticipated.


    Then he noticed a discrepancy: there were only six guards. ¡°Hey, where¡¯d the other one go?¡± he asked over the radio.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± came a reply. Then someone else called, ¡°Hey, Luke, where are you?¡±


    No response.


    ¡°He¡¯s pinging over this way,¡± another guard said, glancing at a readout on Luke¡¯s exo-suit locator. Curiosity getting the better of him, James quickly donned his rebreather¡ªhe preferred not to reveal his own peculiarities to onlookers¡ªand followed the guards deeper into the woods. Suddenly, they halted and began to back up. Spurred by urgency, James jogged forward to see what had rattled them.


    It was a gruesome sight: Luke was entangled in a massive snarl of vines, which had corroded his exo-suit and started burrowing into his flesh. ¡°Damn, never get used to seeing a Vaulter Vine,¡± James muttered. Without hesitation, he pulled out a grenade, set a thirty-second timer, and lobbed it near Luke¡¯s feet before sprinting back to the jeeps.


    A moment later, a roiling fireball engulfed the twisted vines, incinerating the tree and everything nearby. The blaze would likely spread, devouring a large portion of the forest¡ªbut no one was about to step in and stop it.


    With the path cleared, the convoy emerged from the forest into a sight that caught everyone by surprise: an actual desert. Most wastelands had  scrub, or jagged patches of mutated foliage, but here there was nothing but rolling dunes of fine sand. No streams, no lakes, no half-dead bushes¡ªjust an endless, pale-yellow expanse shimmering under a toxic sky. As soon as James set eyes on it, he felt his chest tighten. The Toxic counter clipped to the side of the second jeep screamed, indicating a sharp spike in the radiation and chemical toxicity levels. They still had three hours of driving to reach the target coordinates, somewhere just outside of old DC, and if the environment was this hostile here, he dreaded what awaited them the closer they got to the epicenter.


    ¡°Sand. Actual sand,¡± muttered Laim over the radio. His voice carried a mix of awe and unease. ¡°I just don''t get it, we''re hours from the shore and for there to be this much .¡±


    James nodded to himself, though no one could see the gesture. Sand definitely meant easier traveling¡ªno more undergrowth for the vehicles to trudge through. But the desert¡¯s lifelessness felt uncanny, even by wasteland standards. He watched as Mason checked his instruments in the lead jeep; he looked unsettled. Then James looked at his own, the air scrubbers that clean every breath they took had been modified to heavier toxicity levels, but even they seemed to be struggling. James didn''t know if his Physiology would let him live if he got exposed for too long to this toxicity level.


    They pressed forward, the two remaining jeeps and the heavily-armored Bradley rumbling across the dunes. The lead jeep¡ªMason¡¯s ride¡ªpicked up speed, raising a plume of dust in its wake. James sat in the second jeep, scanning the horizon for any sign of trouble. Even though they had a vantage in every direction, the desert¡¯s hazy mirages made it hard to distinguish illusions from threats.


    Suddenly, the sand several yards ahead rippled like water. Before anyone could shout a warning, something colossal burst from beneath the surface. James had seen giant worms before¡ªone even tried to eat his car but it was only 20 or so feet long. But this beast made those look like children¡¯s pets. At nearly the length of five school buses end to end, its massive, segmented body towered above the desert floor, glistening with greenish yellow slime.


    The worm opened a maw lined with rows of hooked teeth and, with terrifying speed, swallowed the lead jeep in one bite. Metal crumpled like paper, and James thought he caught a glimpse of a single, horrific moment¡ªMason¡¯s wide eyes behind the windshield¡ªbefore the vehicle disappeared into the creature¡¯s gullet. The worm roared, a sound like grinding metal, then slammed back into the sand, causing the earth to quake.


    Chaos erupted on the radios. ¡°Jesus Christ, did you see that?¡± one of the guards shouted. ¡°It just¡­ it ate them!¡±


    James clenched his jaw, forcing down a surge of shock and regret. Mason might have been young and reckless, but he didn¡¯t deserve to go out like that. The second jeep and the Bradley gunned their engines, the drivers desperate to put distance between themselves and the monster. But an even greater threat appeared in the worm¡¯s wake: the ground where it had emerged collapsed, forming a wide crater. From that hole, hundreds of mutant insects poured out¡ªeach roughly the size of a large dog, carapaces glinting with acid-green streaks.


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    ¡°Open fire!¡± someone yelled over the radio. The Bradley¡¯s cannon boomed to life, sending explosive shells screaming into the swarm. Chitin and green ichor splattered across the sand as the shells impacted, ripping through the first wave of insects. Limbs and torsos flew, painting the dunes with a grotesque collage of gore. Yet despite the devastation, the horde pressed on, driven by primal urges or some savage hive mind. Within seconds the horde had caught up.


    James braced himself as the jeep slid sideways, trying not to flip under the driver¡¯s frantic maneuvering. He leapt out, hooking his HK416 over his shoulder as he landed in a crouch. He raised the assault rifle and squeezed off controlled bursts. Bullets tore through the grotesque exoskeletons of the insects, sending spurts of neon fluid into the air. Each creature screeched in pain, a high-pitched wail that reverberated in James¡¯s skull.


    A few yards away, the last guards had disembarked from the Bradley and jeep only 4 remained of the 16, exo-suits whirring as they advanced. One of them had a flamethrower with him. Unleashing a torrent of liquid fire, incinerating dozens of the creatures in a matter of seconds. Screams filled the desert as the insects writhed in the flames, exoskeletons popping and sizzling. The stench of burnt chitin and flesh assaulted James¡¯s nostrils.


    The swarm was relentless, closing the distance with nightmarish speed. One guard¡ªa young woman¡ªlost her footing in the sand, and in a heartbeat, three of the insects pounced on her. She managed a single strangled cry before their razor-sharp pincers tore into her exo-suit. Blood sprayed through a breach in the armor, spattering the creatures¡¯ mandibles as they fed. Her screams abruptly died, lost beneath the swarm¡¯s hissing and clicking.


    ¡°FUCK¡± James swore under his breath. That was one guard down. He fired again in short, controlled bursts, stepping forward to cover another guard retreating to reload the fuel in the flame thrower. The HK416 spat shell casings, each clang of metal echoing over the dunes. Another insect lunged at James, serrated forelimbs slashing the air. He sidestepped and drove the butt of the rifle into the creature¡¯s skull-plate, cracking it before riddling its body with bullets. Thick, greenish slime oozed onto the sand.


    The Bradley¡¯s cannon thundered once more, cutting a swath through the horde, but the insects simply kept coming. Some of them began to circle the rear, attempting to flank the jeep. A guard tried to fend off a half-dozen of the beasts with a shotgun, but one managed to leap onto his back. Its pincers clamped down, crushing the exo-suit¡¯s reinforced plating. In a final act of desperation, the guard rolled, toppling onto the insect. The shotgun barked once, point-blank, and blew the creature apart¡ªsplattering gore across the sand.


    Yet, it was too late for him. Another insect sank its stinger-like appendage into his visor, shattering the faceplate. James heard the man¡¯s strangled gasp cut short, replaced by a wet crunch. In seconds, the guard¡¯s body went limp. That made two casualties in under a minute.


    ¡°Fall back!¡± someone yelled, but there was nowhere to go. The worm was somewhere below, and the insects were everywhere. The jeep driver slammed the engine into high gear, wheels spinning, trying to keep the vehicle from moving forward. The Bradley pivoted to protect the jeep¡¯s flank, its turret rotating methodically to track the largest clusters of insects, raining shells upon them.


    James saw Laim and Raven picking off the swarm from one side¡ªthe muzzle flash of their rifles lighting up the swirling dust. Each shot echoed across the desert, accompanied by the sickening splatter of chitin and gore. He tried to move closer to them, kicking aside the twitching remains of an insect that refused to die quietly.


    A renewed wave of insects surged from the crater, streaming across the sand like a living carpet. ¡°We¡¯re gonna get overrun!¡± a guard screamed.


    James knew they needed a miracle¡ªor at least a temporary distraction¡ªto break away. Gritting his teeth, he reached into his gear and grabbed one of the lure flares. He hadn¡¯t planned on using it this soon, but there was no alternative. Fumbling to tear off the cap, he twisted the activation ring, and the flare hissed to life, emitting a high-pitched screech along with a swirling pattern of bright, flashing lights.


    ¡°Cover me!¡± he shouted, moving to a vantage point behind a half-buried slab of concrete. Taking aim with the launcher he fired the flare into the air it flickered like a beacon. In theory, this would draw the attention of anything with a pulse. In practice, it was a gamble¡ªif the insects were as attracted to stimuli as their smaller brethren were, it might give them a single chance to regroup. Or it might simply provoke them further.


    Fortunately, the result was immediate. The swarm shifted, a large portion of the insects orienting toward the flare¡¯s noise and light. They scuttled over each other in a frenzied attempt to reach the new disturbance. ¡°Now!¡± James bellowed.


    Seizing the moment, the Bradley¡¯s driver backed up, turning to create a small corridor. The jeep driver revved the engine, and the remaining guards piled onto the rear cargo bed, firing sporadically at any stragglers that deviated from the lure. Raven took the lead, barking orders to ensure no one else got left behind.


    Firing a final burst into the swarm for good measure, James turned and sprinted after the others. The stench of gunpowder, chemical residue, and burnt chitin hung over the battlefield like a suffocating veil. Behind him, the giant worm roared underground, shaking the sand. He didn¡¯t look back. The lure flare still howled, sparks flying, drawing the insects like moths to a flame¡ªif they could get enough distance, they might have a chance to regroup and continue the mission.


    After a head count only the two guards lay dead in the sand, their bodies left behind for the insects to feed on, and the lead jeep was gone¡ªdevoured by that monstrous worm along with Mason and any hope of retrieving vital gear. Yet, for the moment, they had escaped the worst. The Bradley and the remaining jeep churned away across the dunes, battered but operational, leaving the swarm and the worm behind.


    As James climbed into the Bradley, he allowed himself a grim nod. They had managed to keep their clients alive. Above the swirling dust, the sun beat down mercilessly, and the toxic air continued to gnaw at their filters. Though they had escaped certain death this time, James had a feeling the DC wasteland still had plenty of horrors in store for them. Survival here would demand every bullet, every cunning trick, and every ounce of resolve they could muster

 The Dc Contract Part 3

    James watched as the Bradley¡¯s hydraulic system rumbled and the heavy door closed with a final, resonant clang¡ªthe only sound echoing in the tense silence. He turned around and surveyed the group gathered inside the vehicle. Seated in the back were the team of scientists, accompanied by the two remaining guards and Raven, whose steady gaze never wavered. Laim had managed to climb into the jeep just before it pulled away. James was beginning to grow fond of Laim; the man gave off an old-timer vibe. They¡¯d had a few chats¡ªLaim was a father of two, both children from pre-war times. He had them for a week when the bombs fell. How he managed to keep his kids alive during the nuclear ice age, James didn¡¯t know, but he respected the man¡¯s grit. He was determined to make sure Laim got home to them.


    The atmosphere in the vehicle was charged with simmering tension. Breaking the silence, Raven leaned in the face of the lead scientist. ¡°Okay, that¡¯s enough. What the hell is so special about this satellite?¡± Her voice carried equal parts anger and urgency, and her tone was sharp as she demanded, ¡°What is so important that twelve people had to die?¡±


    James tried to do the math in his head¡ªpiecing together fragments of the dead¡ªuntil he finally shrugged and gave up. He simply didn¡¯t care about the dead as much as he cared about finishing the mission. The lead scientist snapped back, ¡°That¡¯s none of your business. Do your job,¡± his eyes narrowed as he glared back at her.


    Raven¡¯s lips curled into a snarl of anger. ¡°Not my business? Listen here, jackass, if you don¡¯t tell me now, I swear I¡¯ll¡ª¡± Her threat was cut short when the driver¡¯s voice interrupted from the front ¡°We¡¯ve got a toxic storm coming from the west. Our scrubbers won¡¯t be able to clean the air enough for life.¡±


    At that moment, for the first time, the woman whose name James still didn¡¯t know took action. With a calm movement, she reached into her jacket and produced a sleek digital device that James had never seen before. The driver clearly knew what it was as he immediately recognized it and inserted the device and read the data produced. Then speaking, ¡°We can make it, but it¡¯ll be cutting it close. We won¡¯t have much time to get inside¡ªare you sure this is still here?¡±


    Her voice, soft and soothing¡ªsomething you could listen to for hours¡ªyet her tone carried an unmistakable commanding force, responding Coldly, ¡°I am.¡±


    ¡°Alright, ma¡¯am,¡± the driver said with a mix of urgency and respect, ¡°we¡¯ll be there in five. Get ready¡ªit¡¯s going to be bumpy.¡± His words sent a ripple of tension through the group of scientists as he relayed the order into the jeep.


    Bumpy was a fucking understatement, James thought as he braced himself against the wall with his feet, trying desperately to prevent further impact. Moments ago, the Bradley had jerked downward violently, sending him face-first into a piece of equipment before he tumbled to the floor. But just as suddenly, the violent motion ceased, and the back hatch dropped open. Without hesitating, James scrambled out of the vehicle. Outside, the wind was already blowing at hurricane speeds, whipping up sand that stung like a barrage of tiny knives.


    James quickly wrapped his scarf around his face, pulling it tight for protection against the abrasive particles. He looked up, squinting against the relentless sand and swirling dust, to see the ruins of a massive concrete complex. From what he could discern, there were at least four distinct buildings, with perhaps the remnants of a fifth barely visible through the choking haze. The structures had long lost their windows, leaving gaping voids. Even the interior of the Bradley, would offer better protection. He couldn¡¯t see any refuge from this savage environment in those ruins.


    Just then, he noticed the woman emerge from the Bradley . She pointed toward the third structure and said, ¡°There¡¯s an old research lab.¡± The group quickly took off for the building, and with every passing second, the wind grew stronger and more violent. The temperature, already a frigid 20¡ãF and dropping further, bit into everyone¡ªeven without the wind, it was unbearable. With the wind, even the exo-suits offered little warmth. While James¡¯s enhanced physiology allowed him to shrug off the chill, he knew the freezing air was taking its toll on the rest of the team.


    They ran across the open desert, where the sand had churned into a near-black, abrasive blanket under the howling wind, making every step a struggle. James¡¯s vision blurred intermittently as the sand whipped across his face, turning his peripheral view into a shifting, nightmarish swirl of darkness and grit. He could barely distinguish one landmark from another in the desolate maze of ruined concrete and endless dunes.


    After what felt like an eternity, James finally reached the entrance to the building. The structure, once a bustling hub of desks and offices, had long been abandoned to the elements. Everything had been reduced to a thick layer of dust and decay by relentless, corrosive weather. James activated his brain implant on overdrive, scanning the room for any sign of the hidden lab. And then he saw it¡ªa barely visible outline of a secret passageway, hidden in plain sight, camouflaged by layers of dust and neglect.


    Without a moment¡¯s hesitation, James rushed over to the concrete wall and punched a hole through the fa?ade. The impact was brutal; the concrete shattered around his fists, and he winced as pain shot through his arm¡ªhe might have dislodged a finger, but he ignored it. The interior of the building was shrouded in darkness; however, James could see the hallway leading to a door with the letters (MGI) the name instantly came to James mind Mutagenix Genomics Industrie. It was one of their labs James realized.


    Just then, the woman came running, stumbling into the hall. She fumbled around in the dark, searching for the panel. James turned on his flashlight and shone it over her, allowing her to scan her arm against a reader mounted on the wall. With a soft beep, the contaminant door slid open. Without hesitation, James rushed in right behind her, his heart pounding with a mix of adrenaline and endorphins. The rest of the group followed closely behind him.


    The interior of the lab stretched into a long, sterile hallway, its stark white walls broken only by thin blue lines that traced their way down the corridor in evenly spaced intervals. The floors, once pristine, were now scuffed and dull, coated in a fine layer of dust that had settled over the years. The air smelled stale, like recycled oxygen and long-forgotten chemicals, untouched by time or fresh air.


    With a loud mechanical clang, the reinforced door behind them slammed shut, sealing them inside. James instinctively did a headcount. The two drivers and remaining guards had made it, as had Raven and Laim. The girl was accounted for, standing quietly near the scientists, though she seemed on edge. Only three of the six scientists remained. That left their group at eleven.


    ¡°How long until the storm passes?¡± one of the scientists asked, glancing uneasily at the sealed entrance.


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    James, already taking in the layout, responded absently, ¡°Most storms only last a few hours.But who knows that wastles different the the rest¡± His eyes followed the hall ahead, curiosity tugging at him. Without waiting for permission, he started walking down the corridor, boots echoing in the silence.


    Raven and Laim exchanged glances before following him.


    ¡°Hey, where are you going?¡± one of the scientists called after them.


    James didn¡¯t bother looking back as he answered, ¡°To see if there¡¯s a couch.¡±


    They turned the first corner, revealing a wider corridor with several branching doors, each labeled with faded plaques that had long since begun peeling at the edges.


    James glanced at the first door¡ª "Lab 3A"¡ªand pushed it open. The stale air inside was tinged with a faint chemical odor. Rows of shelves lined the walls, each filled with old, dust-covered vials containing unknown liquids. Some were still sealed, their labels faded or smudged beyond recognition. Others had cracked or leaked, leaving behind crystalline residues on the countertops. Large test tubes were suspended in metal racks, the contents long since separated into unsettling layers of different colors. Some of the tubes still contained murky, gelatinous substances, while others held dried remnants of whatever experiments had once taken place here.


    James ran his fingers over one of the counters, disturbing a thick layer of dust. Whatever they had been working on here, it had been abandoned in a hurry.


    He turned away and continued further down the hall, approaching the next door¡ª "Facility Restroom." Inside, the once-clean white tiles were stained with time, grime settled in the corners of the floor. A row of sinks lined one wall, the mirrors above them cracked in places, reflecting distorted images. Several stalls stood slightly ajar, their doors creaking eerily with the shifting air pressure in the room. One of them had deep scratches along the metal, as if something had clawed at it, desperate to get in.


    Uninterested, James left and moved to the next room¡ª "Testing Chamber 2." The moment he stepped inside, a chill ran down his spine. The walls were lined with reinforced glass panels, some fogged over, others shattered, their jagged edges glinting under the dim emergency lighting. Metal examination tables sat in the center of the room, restraints still attached as if waiting for subjects that would never come. Scattered notes and data pads lay discarded across the floor, some of the pages splattered with dark stains.


    Something had happened here and james couldn''t help but smile.


    James exhaled slowly and left, moving to the final area at the end of the hall. His path was blocked by a large security door, its reinforced plating still intact, preventing access to whatever lay beyond. A terminal blinked dimly to the side, but without clearance, there was no way through¡ªat least, not without time he may be able to get in but he wanted to sleep for a bit.


    Beside it, however, was something far more inviting¡ª a break room. The glass-paneled door was slightly ajar, and inside, the space was untouched by time. The tables and chairs were still neatly arranged, a vending machine stood dead in the corner, and a few old coffee cups remained on the counter. A couch¡ªworn but intact¡ªsat against the wall.


    James stepped inside, brushing dust off the armrest before sitting down. He leaned back, letting the silence settle over him.


    ¡°Looks like I found my couch.¡±


    Soon after, the rest of the scientists entered the break room, their postures stiff, their eyes darting nervously toward every shadow. It was clear they expected something to emerge from the dark corners at any moment. Their unease was palpable, thickening the already stale air.


    James remained leaning back on the couch, observing them with mild curiosity. Then his gaze shifted to the girl. She surveyed the room with an almost detached expression before silently lowering herself onto the other side of the couch, crossing her legs with a calculated grace.


    Raven, never one to let tension sit unchallenged, folded her arms and asked bluntly, ¡°Okay, what¡¯s going on? Why are you all so scared?¡±


    The scientists exchanged uneasy glances but said nothing.


    James exhaled through his nose before deciding to break the silence. ¡°This is an old Mutagenix Genomics Industries facility,¡± he said, watching their reactions carefully. ¡°Or, as most people called them, MGI. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve heard of them.¡±


    Raven nodded. ¡°Yeah, they were the biggest name in gene modification before the war. But what¡¯s so scary about that?¡±


    James let out a dry chuckle, but there was no humor in it. He stared off toward the far wall, his fingers tapping against his knee as if recalling something unpleasant. ¡°They didn¡¯t just mess with human DNA for cosmetics or enhancements. They created all sorts of shit.¡± His voice was distant, his mind drifting to old files, things he had seen firsthand.


    Raven frowned, but before she could ask for clarification, something clicked in her mind. She slowly turned her attention to the girl sitting across from them. ¡°Wait¡­ if this is an MGI lab¡­ then how the hell did you have access?¡±


    The girl¡ªstill composed, her expression unreadable¡ªfinally glanced at Raven before replying flatly, ¡°That¡¯s none of your business.¡±


    James, who had been watching the exchange, leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. His tone, however, was anything but casual.


    ¡°I disagree.¡± His eyes glow intensified beneath his sunglasses, the lenses unable to fully mask the eerie light emanating from them. He locked his gaze onto hers. ¡°It is my business. How did you unlock a sealed research facility, and while we¡¯re at it, what¡¯s your name?¡±


    The girl tilted her head slightly, her violet eyes unreadable in the lighting. Then, with deliberate slowness, she replied, ¡°Aurora.¡±


    Her voice was soft but there was a steel edge to it. She wasn¡¯t just some scientist tagging along¡ªJames knew that now.


    Aurora shifted slightly on the couch and turned her full attention to him, her gaze scrutinizing.


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you why I have access,¡± she said smoothly, ¡°if you tell me how a man¡ªwho isn¡¯t in an exo-suit, isn¡¯t wearing any filtration gear, and has no visible protection against the toxic air¡ªmanaged to not only find the hidden entrance to this facility but also punch a hole through five inches of reinforced concrete.¡±


    She leaned in just a fraction, her expression unreadable.


    ¡°And let¡¯s not forget how you¡¯re sitting here, unbothered by the storm¡¯s 20¡ãF temperatures and hurricane-force winds. Winds that would strip flesh from bone in minutes for anyone unprotected.¡±


    Her words were slow and deliberate.


    James felt a flicker of realization in his mind. Shit.


    He had forgotten to put his rebreather on in the chaos of the escape. His cover had slipped, and she had noticed.


    For a brief moment, he considered trying to talk his way out of it. But the way Aurora was looking at him¡ªlike she already knew the answer and was just waiting for him to lie¡ªmade him reconsider.


    James shrugged, flashing his usual easygoing smirk as the glow in his eyes dimmed back to normal.


    ¡°You¡¯re right. No need to tell us,¡± he said, brushing past the question like it wasn¡¯t worth addressing.


    Aurora studied him for a moment longer, her gaze lingering, before letting the subject drop.


    Raven and Laim, however, weren¡¯t so quick to move on. James could feel their eyes on him, filled with curiosity¡ªand maybe even suspicion.


    James leaned back against the couch again, closing his eyes for a brief second.


    Great. This mission just kept getting more interesting.

 The Dc Contract Part 4

    James stirred from his light nap to find the rest of the group broken into their own circles. Laim and Raven were sitting at a table in the back, talking quietly. The two remaining guards and drivers had formed a small group of their own, their body language making it clear they weren¡¯t exactly pleased with their employers. Even Ryan was still alive¡ªsomehow. The three surviving scientists stood huddled near the door, peering out into the hall as if expecting something to emerge from the shadows at any moment.


    Aurora, however, remained exactly where she had been¡ªseated on the opposite end of the couch, legs tucked beneath her, arms loosely folded. She was fast asleep, completely unbothered by their situation. Her breathing was slow and steady, her expression peaceful, as if she had no doubt she¡¯d make it out of this alive.


    Now that James could get a proper look at her, he noted just how well-built she was. The Cryoweave jacket clung to her frame, snug around her chest and waist, accentuating her toned stomach and the curves beneath. She was fit¡ªmore so than any scientist he¡¯d dealt with. Not just built for looks, but for something else. The way her body moved, even in sleep, was fluid, controlled¡ªtoo practiced to be natural. Someone trained. Someone dangerous.


    His eyes lingered for a second longer than necessary before he forced himself to look away. Now wasn¡¯t the time for distractions.


    With a quiet sigh, he pushed himself up and made his way over to Laim and Raven, the wooden chair groaning slightly as he pulled it out to sit. Both mercenaries shot him a look¡ªnot one of hostility, but of suspicion.


    James arched his brow. ¡°Why are you looking at me like that?¡± he asked, his tone casual as he leaned against the table.


    Laim didn¡¯t answer right away, studying James with a calculating expression. It was Raven who finally spoke, her voice low and edged with curiosity. ¡°You hide your capabilities really damn well.¡±


    James shrugged, his usual smirk creeping onto his face. ¡°Of course I do. It¡¯s better for me to be underestimated by my enemies.¡±


    The two exchanged glances, considering his words before Laim nodded, seemingly satisfied with the explanation. ¡°Yeah,¡± he admitted, leaning back in his chair. ¡°You¡¯re right.¡±


    He gestured for James to take a seat.


    James smirked as he leaned back in his chair, glancing around at the others before asking, ¡°So, what are we talking about?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re telling tales of our contracts to pass the time,¡± Raven replied, rolling a knife between her fingers before planting the tip into the table with a soft thunk. ¡°It¡¯s a story for a story.¡± She exhaled. ¡°This was a few years back. My contract was simple: track down and eliminate a guy called The Preacher. Sounds harmless, right? Except this bastard wasn¡¯t preaching salvation he was leading a cult that was gutting people alive and calling it purification. They¡¯d take in survivors, travelers, stragglers anyone desperate enough to believe their bullshit¡ªthen rip ¡®em apart under the guise of ¡®cleansing the soul.¡¯¡±


    Raven¡¯s orange eyes darkened slightly. ¡°The payout was good. Real good. But I took the job because I¡¯d seen what was left of one of his ¡®ceremonies.¡¯ Bodies strung up like decorations, faces twisted in agony, carved into scripture. The worst part? Some of them were still alive when I found ¡®em.¡± She flexed her fingers as if shaking off the memory. ¡°The hunt took me to an old cathedral in what used to be Charlotte, North Carolina. Place was half-collapsed, but these freaks had rebuilt it, made it look all holy and untouchable. I spent three days watching. The Preacher didn¡¯t just run the show, he was the show. Wore this golden mask, walked around like some goddamn prophet, and had people hanging on his every word.¡± Her lip curled. ¡°Night four, I moved in. Slipped through the ruins, managed to avoid the patrols. Got inside just as they were starting a ¡®sermon.¡¯ They had a girl, maybe fifteen. She was bound and crying on the altar. The Preacher was making a speech, knife in hand, ready to spill her blood in front of his flock.¡±


    She clenched her jaw. ¡°I didn¡¯t let that happen.¡± The smirk returned, sharp and predatory. ¡°I dropped his guards first, silent and clean. A death to good for them. But someone always screams. Soon enough, it was chaos. I remember the way the Preacher turned to face me, that golden mask reflecting the firelight as I tore through his people. He tried to run like most cowards do. But I pinned him down before he could escape.¡± Raven¡¯s fingers twitched. ¡°I ripped that mask off his face. You know what I found? A scared little man with eyes that begged me to let him go. He tried to barter. Said he could make me ¡®pure.¡¯¡± She let out a dry chuckle. ¡°I cut him up like he¡¯d done to so many others.¡± Her voice was flat, matter-of-fact. ¡°The cult fell apart after that. The survivors looted what was left. The girl lived. I never asked her name. Never saw her again.¡± Raven leaned back in her chair, picking her knife up from the table. ¡°So. That¡¯s my story.¡±


    Laim chuckled, shaking his head. ¡°Not bad, but I got one better,¡± he said, stretching his arms before settling in. ¡°This was back in the wastes of North Carolina, not far from the ruins of Raleigh. Place was crawling with raiders, but there was one gang in particular people feared¡ªthe Highway Butchers. They weren¡¯t like most gangs that just wanted loot and power. No, these bastards took pleasure in making people suffer.¡±


    Laim¡¯s expression darkened, the usual warmth in his features fading. ¡°They¡¯d ambush travelers, drag them back to their hideout, and take their time killing them. I don¡¯t mean a a couple hour I mean days, sometimes weeks of torture. And they didn¡¯t just kill for sport¡ªthey ate their victims.¡± James and Raven exchanged a glance, but they let him continue. ¡°I was hired by a group of traders. They were sick of losing people to those animals and wanted the Butchers wiped out. I took the job without hesitation.¡±


    Laim¡¯s fingers drummed against the table. ¡°They had a fortress of sorts¡ªan old truck stop reinforced with scrap metal, tires, and bones. Yeah, bones. These sick fucks decorated with their victims. I had a plan: wait for their next ambush and turn it against them. Took me a week, but I got my chance. They set up on an old overpass, waiting for a caravan. What they didn¡¯t know was I was waiting for them. When they sprung their ambush, I sprung mine.¡± His lips curled into a smile. ¡°I had set charges along the bridge supports earlier. Soon as they got comfortable, I blew the whole damn thing. Half of them went down in a rain of steel and stone. The rest? I picked them off one by one.¡±


    He exhaled, shaking his head. ¡°But I wasn¡¯t done. I made my way to their hideout that night. Stealth wasn¡¯t an option; they were already on alert. So I went in loud. Grenades first, shotgun second.¡± James smirked. ¡°Let me guess things got messy?¡±


    Laim laughed. ¡°Messy is an understatement. These bastards fought like cornered animals. Had to put two in the head just to make sure they stayed down. Their leader, a big son of a bitch named Cutter, came at me with a machete¡ªnot a gun, not a club, but a goddamn machete.¡± He mimicked a wild swing. ¡°Nearly took my arm off. But he got too confident. I let him think he had me, then put a knife through his eye.¡±


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    Laim leaned back, satisfied. ¡°By morning, the Butchers were no more. Traders moved through that stretch a lot safer after that. Got paid, got a bottle of whiskey as a bonus, and left before anyone could ask too many questions.¡± Laim glanced between James and Raven. ¡°Well? Who told the better story?¡±


    James smirked, leaning back in his chair. ¡°Damn good stories from both of you.¡± He took a sip from his flask, grinning. ¡°But I gotta admit, I might have one that tops ¡®em both.¡± Raven raised an eyebrow. ¡°Oh yeah?¡± Laim chuckled. ¡°Alright, Grayson. Let¡¯s hear it.¡± James set his drink down, eyes gleaming with mischief. ¡°Alright. Story for a story.¡±


    James leaned forward, cracking his knuckles as he began. "Alright, first thing you gotta know¡ªI wasn¡¯t in Virginia at the time. I was all the way up in what used to be Maine. I was looking for an old friend, I¡¯d heard rumors about him moving up there. And let me tell you if you think this wasteland is cold, you haven¡¯t felt real cold. Even I had to put on heavier clothing, and that doesn¡¯t happen often¡±.


    ¡°Anyway, I was searching for him in this rundown town called Black Hollow. Place looked like it had barely survived the war¡ªhalf-collapsed buildings, people bundled up in rags, scavengers watching your every move like starved wolves. I was poking around for information when this elderly man approached me. The guy looked like he was about to keel over at any moment, shaking like a leaf in the wind. He asked me if I was a mercenary, and, well, I said yes. I needed whatever passed for currency in these parts.


    ¡°When I gave my answer, his face did this thing¡ªlike he was about to cry from happiness and heartbreak at the same time. He asked me to find his granddaughter. Which, on paper, sounded simple, right?¡± James let out a dry chuckle. ¡°Wrong. It took me two whole weeks to find a single lead. Turns out she had been taken by a group called the Bloodfangs.¡±


    Laim let out a low whistle. ¡°Shit. Them?¡±


    James nodded. ¡°Yeah. Nasty bunch. Slavers, cannibals, raiders¡ªyou name it, they dabbled in it. Now, I don¡¯t make a habit of doing rescues. Too many variables, too much chance for things to go sideways. But I took on the contract, so I followed the trail. Led me all the way into what used to be Canada. Figured I¡¯d try to buy her back sometimes, it¡¯s the easiest way. But when I got there, I found something I didn¡¯t expect.¡±


    James leaned back, smirking slightly at their reactions.


    ¡°The whole damn compound was in flames. Gunfire echoed through the trees, and from what I could tell, someone had beaten me to the punch. I had two choices: turn around and call it a loss or go in and see what the hell was happening.¡±


    James gestured toward himself. ¡°Obviously, I went in.¡±


    The ruins of the Bloodfangs'' camp were hell on earth. Smoke clogged the air, thick with the scent of burning flesh and gunpowder. The corpses of raiders were scattered across the compound, some riddled with bullets, others torn apart as if an animal had ripped into them.


    James moved in with his rifle raised, keeping his steps quiet. Whoever had done this was still here¡ªhe could hear the gunfire in the distance.


    He slipped through the ruins, stepping over bodies, passing through corridors of shattered wood and twisted metal. A pair of Bloodfang survivors were dragging a wounded member into cover. James took aim¡ªtwo clean shots, one in the skull, the other through the throat. They crumpled, dead before they could react.


    The deeper he went, the clearer it became that this wasn¡¯t a raid¡ªit was extermination. Whoever was attacking wasn¡¯t leaving anyone alive.


    James moved quickly. He reached the main hall just as a group of Bloodfangs were making their last stand. In the flickering flames, he saw them exchanging fire with another gang, from the look of them.


    It was over fast. They swept through like a goddamn storm, cutting the raiders down in a hail of bullets and steel. James took cover behind a crumbling wall, watching. Then, he saw her.


    A woman, no older than twenty, stood at the front of the attackers, her coat billowing behind her. She moved like she owned the battlefield, issuing orders with a voice that cut through the chaos. Her eyes burned with a ruthless fire, and her men followed her without hesitation.


    James wasn¡¯t stupid. He¡¯d been in this game long enough to recognize who was really in charge. Then he took out the picture the old man gave him and it was her.


    She was the one leading the slaughter.


    He watched as she walked through the wreckage, stepping over the bodies of the Bloodfangs like they were nothing but insects beneath her boot. This wasn¡¯t just revenge¡ªthis was her claiming the throne. The Bloodfangs were gone. She had taken their place.


    James exhaled through his nose. Well, shit James left calling this job a bust.


    But that wasn¡¯t the end of it.


    Three months later, James got another job. A hit. Someone powerful, someone who had a lot to lose if the new leader of the Bloodfangs kept expanding her influence wanted her gone.


    And they were paying very well.


    So James did what he always did. He took the contract.


    Tracking her down wasn¡¯t hard. She had set up in the ruins of an old hydroelectric dam, using it as her stronghold. When James infiltrated the place, it was like stepping into a warlord¡¯s palace armed guards, stolen tech, banners of their new sigil hanging from the rusted beams.


    She was in the control room when he found her. Alone. No guards. No gun in hand. Just standing there, looking out at the frozen landscape beyond.


    She somehow knew he was coming.


    He leveled his rifle at her back, but she didn¡¯t turn. Didn¡¯t flinch. Just exhaled and said, ¡°I thought it would be you. After he only hires the best¡±


    James hesitated for a moment. Just a moment.


    Then he pulled the trigger.


    She dropped.


    And just like that, it was over.


    James dragged her body back through the frozen wasteland. He didn¡¯t know why. He could¡¯ve just taken a picture, sent proof, and been done with it. But something in him told him to finish what he started.


    When he got back to Black Hollow, he went straight to the old man¡¯s shack.


    He didn¡¯t say a word. Just laid her down in front of him.


    The old man didn¡¯t cry. Didn¡¯t scream. He just knelt down beside her, ran his fingers through her hair, and whispered, ¡°You found her.¡±


    James turned and walked away. He didn¡¯t ask for payment. Didn¡¯t want it not this time.


    Laim let out a low breath. ¡°Shit.¡±


    Raven just shook her head. ¡°That¡¯s one hell of a story, Grayson.¡±


    James smirked slightly, though there was no humor in his eyes. ¡°Yeah. Guess it is.¡±

 The Dc Contract Part 5

    ¡°That certainly was an interesting story,¡± Aurora said, her voice smooth and composed. James barely stopped himself from tensing. She was standing right behind him¡ªhe hadn¡¯t heard her approach. Either he had gotten too emotional in his retelling, or she was even better than he had originally assumed.


    ¡°So, did you ever find your friend?¡± she asked, her violet eyes studying him carefully. ¡°And who was it that hired you?¡±


    James exhaled lightly through his nose, shaking his head. ¡°No, never did. From what I gathered, he took off on a ship heading for Europe. Doubt I¡¯ll ever hear from him again.¡± Then, his signature smirk returned as he leaned back slightly, meeting her gaze with a flicker of amusement. ¡°And as for who hired me¡­ well, I don¡¯t kiss and tell.¡±


    Aurora arched a brow at that but didn¡¯t press further. Instead, a small, unreadable smile played on her lips. James noted how it didn¡¯t quite reach her eyes¡ªanother thing to add to the growing list of questions he had about her.


    With that, Aurora turned away, heading back toward the group of scientists. James¡¯ gaze lingered on her for a moment as she walked. There was a quiet confidence to her, an assurance in her steps that didn¡¯t match the panicked, uncertain energy of her colleagues. But he pushed the thought aside, refocusing on the task at hand.


    His attention returned to the mercenaries as he leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on his knees. ¡°So, with storytime over, shall we see if there¡¯s anything interesting in that locked-off section of the lab?¡± His tone was casual, but his mind was already running through possibilities. He wasn¡¯t just looking for any old scraps of abandoned tech¡ªthere was something in particular he wanted to find. But that was for him to know and him alone.


    Raven didn¡¯t seem convinced. She crossed her arms, shifting her weight as she cast a wary glance toward the hallway leading to the sealed section. ¡°Hmm¡­ I don¡¯t know,¡± she admitted, her orange eyes narrowing slightly. ¡°We¡¯re not being paid to poke around in this place. And from the looks of it, something got out.¡± Her voice was sharp with suspicion, her instincts clearly telling her to leave well enough alone.


    Laim let out a slow breath, rubbing his hands together as if to warm them, despite the stable temperature inside the lab. He shot James a look ¡°I¡¯m not one to shy away from danger,¡± he said, shaking his head, ¡°but this mission is already difficult enough as it is. Sorry I¡¯m out.¡±


    James nodded, as if taking their words into account, but he had already made up his mind. There was a chance he could find it in this lab, and he wasn¡¯t about to leave without at least taking a look. Whether or not they wanted to join him was up to them.


    James didn¡¯t waste any more time trying to convince the others. He had already made up his mind. Without another word, he left the group and made his way toward the sealed-off section of the lab. He doubted any of the guards would join him anyway¡ªif anything, they¡¯d probably stop him.


    As he approached the reinforced door, one of the scientists finally spoke up. ¡°Where do you think you¡¯re going?¡± the man asked, his voice carrying a mix of disbelief and irritation.


    James didn¡¯t even break stride. ¡°To look around,¡± he answered simply, pushing open the outer lab doors before the scientist could object. The door sealed shut behind him, leaving him alone in the dimly lit hallway.


    The sealed section of the facility loomed ahead. James walked up to the primary security door and ran his fingers over the cold metal. It was thick¡ªtoo thick. His welding laser could cut through it, but it would take too long, and the noise would draw unwanted attention. He needed another way in.


    His eyes scanned the walls and ceiling, searching for vulnerabilities. He moved along the corridor, carefully pressing against the panels and checking for weaker spots. Dust and debris covered the floor, remnants of long-abandoned instruments. Exposed wiring and shattered glass from old light fixtures crunched beneath his boots as he explored. He tested a side panel next to the ventilation shaft¡ªtoo solid. He moved further down and knocked against another section of the wall. A hollow sound echoed back.


    Bingo.


    This section of the wall was thinner¡ªlikely an access panel or a maintenance bypass that led into the sealed area. He set down his bag, retrieved his welding laser, and got to work. The blue light of the cutting torch hissed as it sliced through the metal, sending glowing embers drifting to the floor. Minutes passed as he traced the shape of an opening, the stale air growing warmer from the heat.


    Finally, with a soft groan, the cut-out section of the wall gave way, tilting inward before falling through to the other side with a heavy thud.


    And that¡¯s when the smell hit him.


    James immediately recoiled, his senses overwhelmed by the unmistakable stench of death. This wasn¡¯t just the decay of a single body¡ªthis was the scent of dozens, maybe more. The putrid mix of rotting flesh, dried blood, and something even fouler filled his nostrils.


    The emergency lights had been completely destroyed. Normally, there would have been faint red or blue indicators flickering along the walls, but here, there was nothing. Something had torn through the backup systems. His night vision kicked in automatically, painting the world in a dull, monochrome hue.


    Blood was everywhere.


    It coated the walls, the floor, even the ceiling. It looked like something or many things had been completely torn apart, their remains splattered across the entire area. There were no bodies. No bones. Just blood, and an eerie silence that set his senses into a heightened state.


    James tightened his grip on his rifle and moved deeper into the hallway. If this lab worked on similar stuff to the others he''d need to be careful.


    He reached a T-junction. To the left, a corridor stretched into darkness, lined with shattered glass panels that once separated different lab rooms. To the right, the hall led further into the unknown.


    He went right.


    The first room he passed had a gaping hole in the glass wall. The interior was a disaster¡ª overturned desks, shredded documents, and broken lab equipment were strewn everywhere. A row of test tubes had been shattered, their contents long since dried into sticky residue. Vials filled with an unidentifiable black liquid had spilled onto the floor, forming thick, tar-like pools.


    A few monitors still flickered, displaying garbled text and corrupted data logs. One terminal, however, remained intact, its cracked screen frozen on a single word. ¡°Breach¡±


    James chuckled. Yeah, no shit.


    Moving forward, he came across another room, this one even worse. Signs of a struggle were evident¡ªdeep gouges had been carved into the walls as if something had tried to claw its way out. A reinforced observation window had been completely shattered, its edges curled inward, something inside had broken free. Blood trails led from the broken restraints on the operating table, streaking toward the exit. James hoped the thing starved to death this lab had to have gone down during the Nuclear war.


    His pulse remained steady, but he knew deep down he felt that the thing would be roaming somewhere down here.


    As he ventured further down the hall, he found a security station. The reinforced door had been forced open, its frame warped and bent. Inside, chairs were overturned, lockers broken open, and weapons racks empty. There were old bullet casings scattered across the floor, signs that someone had made a last stand here. The walls were riddled with deep impact marks from gunfire, yet no bodies remained.


    James took a slow breath, scanning the scene. There had been a battle here¡ªone-sided, judging by the destruction. Whatever they had fought against had torn through them without leaving a trace.


    At the end of the hallway, he finally found it¡ªa massive, reinforced security door. Unlike the other destroyed entryways, this one remained intact, locked down with multiple layers of security. It was clear this was the real heart of the facility, the place that had been most protected. And right next to it was a break room.


    James exhaled sharply, staring at the large supercomputer core behind the security door in front of him. ¡°Finally,¡± he muttered aloud. ¡°Just the place I was looking for.¡±


    He would be able to turn it on and search to see if the lab had what he was looking for. He would also be able to download all the research data to his implant. That''s how he came across anti splicer rounds. The info sells for a pretty penny too.


    Problem was, he didn¡¯t have access.


    James clenched his jaw, cursing under his breath. Damn it. I should¡¯ve brought the hacking module. He had left it back in his car, thinking he wouldn¡¯t need it for the escort job. Big mistake. Without it, he needed an access code. And that meant searching through the rest of the lab¡­ which also meant he had to go looking for whatever had eaten everyone in this place.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Great.


    His eyes flickered toward the break room, hoping for some miracle¡ªa carelessly left access key, a terminal left logged in. But after a thorough search, he came up empty. He sighed. No easy way out of this one.


    James turned back toward the hallway, this time heading down the other path¡ªthe left wing of the facility.


    As he ventured deeper, the destruction became worse. The walls bore deep gouges, the kind that metal wouldn''t leave. The floor was cracked and uneven, marked by the impact of heavy, uncontrolled force. Blood was splattered in erratic patterns, dried into grotesque smears, evidence of desperate attempts to flee.


    James was starting to piece it together now.


    Something had broken out from the left side of the lab¡ªsomething fast, something brutal. It had torn through the facility, killing almost everyone before they had a chance to respond. Only the guards in the security office had managed to mount any resistance, but judging by the results¡­ The extra time didn¡¯t help.


    James examined the scene closely, following the trail of destruction. Bullet holes riddled the walls, concentrated around what would have been defensive positions. Claw marks, deep and unnatural, marred the surfaces, overlapping the gunfire.


    Further down, a large smear of blood streaked across the floor¡ªa body had been dragged. Another set of spattered remains indicated a more violent kill. James imagined the guards standing firm, holding the line against an abomination they barely understood. He could almost hear the panicked shouting, the frantic gunfire as whatever-the-hell-it-was got closer and closer.


    Then, the first man had gone down.


    James followed the trail. One poor bastard had made it nearly to the end of the hall, his desperate attempt to flee written in crimson across the walls. But it hadn¡¯t mattered. The thing had caught up to him, and his last stand had been just as futile as the others.


    The hallway led to a series of rooms. The first was a storage archive, filled with stacks of paper documents and scattered oddities. James sifted through them quickly, but there was nothing useful, mostly research notes and inventory logs, outdated and irrelevant.


    The next room was cold storage¡ªor at least, it had been. Large containment units lined the walls, their surfaces covered in frostbitten rust. Whatever had been kept here had long since evaporated or rotted away, leaving behind nothing but empty, malfunctioning containment chambers.


    Then, James reached the final room.


    He stopped just outside the door. The air felt different here. If the creature was still alive¡­ It was behind this door.


    James tightened his grip on his rifle, his muscles coiling like a spring. His enhanced senses sharpened, his breathing slowing. He listened for any sound¡ªmovement, breathing, a whisper of something waiting on the other side.


    Nothing.


    But that didn¡¯t mean it was empty.


    James reached for the handle, every instinct screaming at him to be ready for whatever came next.


    James opened the door, his rifle raised, prepared for anything. But as he stepped inside, he saw¡­ nothing.


    Most of the equipment had been destroyed, shattered glass and broken machinery littering the floor. But in the far corner, something caught his eye¡ªa pile of bones and tattered clothing.


    A lot of bones.


    James stepped closer, his boots crunching against stray fragments of shattered glass. His enhanced eyes picked apart the grotesque heap, recognizing the sheer number of remains. Everyone from the lab¡ªthe scientists, the guards¡ªmust have been dragged here. Picked clean. The clothing remnants were shredded and blood-stained, some pieces still vaguely resembling lab coats and others uniforms.


    He exhaled slowly. What the hell happened here?


    Then, he heard it.


    A whisper of movement¡ªso faint his enhanced hearing barely registered it in time.


    James didn¡¯t think. He moved.


    His body reacted on instinct, muscles coiling as he leaped backward, just as a massive clawed limb crashed down where he had been standing. The force of the impact cracked the floor, sending debris flying.


    James rolled to the side, rifle snapping up as he got his first real look at the thing.


    And thing was the only word that came to mind.


    It was wrong.


    A grotesque mockery of nature, something his mind refused to categorize.


    It stood at roughly seven feet tall, its body an amalgamation of twisted muscle and bone. It had two sets of legs, one pair supporting it upright while the second smaller set jutted from its sides, twitching and writhing like some malformed evolutionary afterthought.


    Its arms¡ªif they could even be called that¡ªwere something out of a nightmare. Elongated flesh-like limbs ended in curved, scythe-like appendages. Not bone. Not metal. Something else entirely, something organic yet unnaturally sharp.


    Then, there was the face.


    It had the broad, powerful structure of an ancient short-nosed bear, but hairless, with taut, leathery skin that resembled that of a skinned feline. Its exposed flesh was grotesquely raw and pink in some places, scarred and calloused in others.


    And the worst part? The growths.


    Bulging, pulsating flesh sacs were scattered across its torso and limbs, throbbing with a sickening rhythm. James had no doubt¡ªthey were some kind of biological weapon, waiting to burst. The creature reeked of decay and something else, something sharp and chemical, like a blend of rotting meat and industrial waste.


    James steadied his breathing, rifle locked onto the thing¡¯s center mass.


    "What the actual fuck are you?" he muttered under his breath.


    The creature didn¡¯t wait for James to finish processing. It moved with terrifying speed, its grotesque limbs a blur as it lunged.


    James ducked just in time to avoid being cleaved in half, feeling the whoosh of the air as the scythe-like appendage cut through where his head had been a second ago. The impact of the missed strike sent cracks spider webbing through the concrete wall behind him.


    Fast. Too fast. He now understood why it wiped out the lab if it were anyone else they would be on the floor cut in half right now.


    James rolled to the side, raising his HK416 and squeezing the trigger. The muzzle flash illuminated the dark lab as a burst of full plasteel armor-piercing rounds tore into the creature¡¯s flesh.


    But it didn¡¯t go down.


    The rounds hit, tearing through its exposed muscle and sending thick, blackish fluid spraying against the walls. The thing jerked from the impact, but instead of collapsing, it twitched. It barely hesitated before launching itself at him again.


    James sidestepped, but not fast enough.


    One of its bladed arms swiped out, narrowly missing his chest but catching the barrel of his rifle. With a sharp clang of metal on an unnatural bone, the creature ripped the weapon from his hands and sent it skidding across the floor.


    Shit.


    James barely had time to react before the thing rammed into him. It was like being hit by a freight train. The sheer force lifted him off his feet and slammed him into the far wall.


    His back exploded with pain as the concrete cracked beneath the impact. His vision blurred for a second, his enhanced body working overtime to keep him conscious.


    The worst part? The hit dislodged his 1911 from its holster.


    James barely caught a glimpse of it clattering across the blood-stained floor before a shadow loomed over him.


    The creature had him pinned.


    Its massive, grotesque form loomed close, its broad, flayed-bear-like face inches from his own. Up close, James could see the pulsing of its flesh sacs, the sickening undulations of whatever biological nightmare this thing carried inside. Its breath reeked¡ªlike rotting flesh and chemicals fused into a nauseating stench.


    James struggled, trying to push it off, but its strength was overwhelming. One of its clawed limbs pressed against his chest, pinning him down, while the other rose.


    He knew that if it swung down, there¡¯d be no dodging. No blocking.


    This is bad. This is really fucking bad.


    Then, a gunshot rang out.


    The creature jerked its head up, its attention snapping toward the source of the shot.


    Aurora.


    She stood at the entrance of the lab, pistol in hand, her violet eyes cold and calculating. Smoke curled from the barrel of her weapon.


    James didn¡¯t waste the opportunity.


    With the creature momentarily distracted, he moved. Twisting his body with every ounce of strength, he wrenched himself free from its grip, rolling to the side just as its blade-arm came crashing down. The impact sent concrete shrapnel flying.


    Without hesitation, James unsheathed his plasteel tactical sword in one fluid motion.


    The creature turned its gaze back to him, but this time, James was ready.


    He lunged.


    The blade sang through the air, cutting a deep gash across the thing¡¯s torso. It screeched in pain, flailing wildly, but James was relentless.


    He ducked under its desperate swings, moving with deadly precision. Another slash¡ªthis time, severing one of its smaller side-legs. The thing staggered, throwing off its balance.


    James pressed the advantage.


    He twisted his grip, shifting his weight, and brought the sword up in a brutal arc.


    The blade met flesh.


    And sliced.


    The creature barely had time to react before the plasteel edge tore through its midsection.


    It let out a final, gurgling shriek as its body split clean in half, its top half collapsing backward while its lower half crumpled in the opposite direction. The sacs on its torso burst upon impact, releasing a sickly, putrid-smelling fluid that sizzled against the floor.


    James exhaled, standing over the bisected corpse, blood and viscera pooling at his feet.


    His fingers clenched around the hilt of his sword, heart still pounding. His body ached from the hits he had taken, but the adrenaline kept him moving.


    He turned his gaze to Aurora, who was lowering her gun, a smirk tugging at her lips.


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± she said.


    James let out a breathless chuckle, wiping the black ichor from his blade and picking up his 1911.


    ¡°I had it handled,¡± he said, flashing her a grin.


    Aurora raised a brow. ¡°Sure you did.¡± and for the first time a smile reached her eyes.

 The Dc Contract Part 6

    James picked up his HK416, checking it over for any damage before slinging it back over his shoulder. His gaze shifted to Aurora, and now that the adrenaline had begun to wear off, he found himself more confused than anything.


    "Why are you here?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. Then another realization hit him. "Wait¡ªhow can you even see? You didn¡¯t bring a flashlight."


    Aurora smirked, kneeling beside the pile of remains as she sifted through the tattered clothes and discarded bones. "Do you really think you¡¯re the only Splicer out there with the ability to see in the dark?" she asked, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. "And besides," she continued, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face, "I have my own reasons for being here. This lab was marked as a secondary objective¡ªsomething to investigate if time allowed, after recovering the main asset."


    James studied her for a moment, his instincts kicking in. There was more to it than that¡ªhe could tell by the way she moved, by the way she had appeared just in time. She hadn¡¯t just stumbled upon him mid-fight; she had been looking for something. But pressing her for answers now wouldn¡¯t get him anywhere.


    "Now then," Aurora said, shifting through the remains with disturbing ease, "let¡¯s find that access code or keycard."


    James scoffed. "Wait¡­ is that the only reason you came to help?" he asked, crossing his arms.


    Aurora didn¡¯t even look up. "I thought you didn¡¯t need help," she replied, the smirk still present in her voice.


    James exhaled sharply, shaking his head. He wasn¡¯t going to win this battle¡ªnot this one, at least so he gave up on it. Dropping to one knee and starting to search through the grotesque remains himself.


    For now, the priority was getting into that computer core. But James knew one thing for certain¡ªAurora wasn¡¯t just here to help. She had her own game to play, and sooner or later, he¡¯d figure out exactly what it was.


    "Got it," James said as he pulled a keycard from the tattered remains of a lab coat. He gave it a quick once-over, wiping the blood and grime off on his sleeve before nodding toward Aurora.


    With that, the two turned to leave. As an extra measure of security, James reached into his vest and pulled out one of his Hexelon grenades, arming it with a flick of his thumb. Without hesitation, he lobbed it into the room. The moment the two stepped through the doorway, an explosion erupted behind them. The corridor flashed red as the heat wave rushed past, sending a ripple of scorching air through the space. Any remaining organic matter inside the room was instantly incinerated, leaving only blackened, charred remains.


    James glanced to his side and caught Aurora flinching. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was enough. More interesting was how she looked momentarily disoriented¡ªblinded. Interesting, he thought. Infrared vision? If that was the case, then extreme light or sudden heat sources would throw off her sight. He made a mental note of it.


    Catching up with her in a single stride, James tilted his head slightly. ¡°You okay?¡± he asked, keeping his tone neutral.


    Aurora recovered quickly, her expression smoothing out as she shot him an annoyed glance. ¡°I¡¯m perfectly fine,¡± she said sharply, her voice cool but clipped. Yeah, he was definitely right.


    Pushing forward, the two made their way back through the ruined corridors toward the sealed security door guarding the supercomputer core. James swiped the bloodstained keycard against the scanner. For a tense moment, nothing happened. Then, with a soft beep, the lock disengaged, and the reinforced metal doors slid open with a quiet hiss, releasing a gust of pressurized air into the lab.


    A subtle temperature shift rolled over them. The air inside the room was stale but sterile, as if it had been untouched for years, sealed off from the decay outside. A thin mist clung to the floor, swirling around their boots as the cold air met the warmer environment of the main lab. James took a quick scan of the space¡ªit was surprisingly barren. The only object of significance was the towering supercomputer core itself.


    The core stood in the center of the room, a massive, cylindrical structure built from interlocking segments of reinforced metal and smooth polymer. Thick coolant tubes ran from its base to the walls, where massive industrial-grade fans remained silent, their job long since abandoned. A faint, rhythmic hum filled the air¡ªthe system was still operational, running at a steady, controlled 32¡ãF. The white frost clinging to its lower sections of the floor.


    An access terminal was mounted on a nearby control station, its surface untouched by dust or decay. It had been waiting¡ªpatient, unbothered by the apocalypse outside.


    James walked over and inserted the keycard.


    The screen flickered to life, lines of ancient code scrolling before forming a solid message in bold text.


    WELCOME, DR.Reed.


    James scrolled through the terminal¡¯s database, his eyes scanning the long list of encrypted files and project names. Some were marked with high-level security clearance, others with ominous red tags signifying restricted access. He methodically read through the titles.


    <ol>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Project Genesis Rebirth ¨C Human DNA recombination with non-terrestrial material</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">VSM-12 Development Logs ¨C Weaponized synthetic mutation prototype series</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Toxin Adaptation Trials ¨C Forced evolution through controlled radiation exposure</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Chimera Cell Experimentation ¨C Hybridization of human and predator species</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Neural Overclocking Serum ¨C Attempted augmentation of brain function beyond natural limits</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Adrenaline Suppression Implant ¨C Developing soldiers incapable of experiencing fear or fatigue</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Forced Metamorphosis Program ¨C Inducing controlled transformation in human test subjects</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Memory Implantation Research ¨C Artificially creating memories in test subjects</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">MGI Containment Failures ¨C A record of previous lab incidents and breaches</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Hyper-Regeneration Project LOCKED¨C Accelerating cellular recovery beyond safe parameters</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Synthetic Organism AI Integration ¨C Combining biological life with artificial intelligence</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Parasitic Control Serum ¨C Experimenting with parasites to override human cognition</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Cryo-Suspension Advancements ¨C Research into perfecting indefinite human hibernation</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Post-War Survival Logistics LOCKED ¨C A contingency plan for high-ranking MGI personnel</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Mutation Stability Report ¨C Analysis of failed and unstable test subjects</li>


    </ol>


    James exhaled through his nose, trying to suppress a sinking feeling in his gut. What the hell was MGI really working on here? He clicked on the Security Footage tab, hoping for answers.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    The last recorded log, dated 5/13/2184, displayed an archived security feed labeled ¡°Containment Breach - Research Wing¡±. James clicked on it, and the grainy footage flickered to life.


    The camera angle was from an overhead view of the lab¡ªone of the containment rooms where test subjects were restrained. In the center of the room lay a massive, unconscious figure strapped to a reinforced metal table. Even through the low-resolution screen, James could see its grotesque form: pulsating muscle growths, elongated limbs, and grotesque, jagged bone protrusions where hands should have been. A true monstrosity.


    Then, the chaos unfolded.


    One of the scientists¡ªDr. Nathaniel Aves, if James read the ID badge correctly¡ªmoved into view, looking over his shoulder nervously before stepping closer to the creature. The rest of the research team was busy elsewhere, seemingly unaware of what was happening. James watched as Dr. Aves hesitated, then suddenly disengaged the restraints¡ªone after another¡ªhis fingers trembling as he moved with urgency.


    What the fuck are you doing? James thought, leaning in closer.


    The moment the final restraint came loose, the thing moved. The twitch was almost imperceptible at first, but within seconds, it exploded into action. Its eyes snapped open, glowing with an eerie, unnatural light. In a single motion, it lunged forward, jaws unhinging unnaturally wide as it tore Aves apart¡ªripping him clean in two before the man could even scream.


    Blood sprayed across the camera lens.


    Panic erupted in the lab. Scientists scrambled, alarms blared, and security personnel rushed in, opening fire with high-powered weapons. The beast barely reacted. It carved through them with terrifying speed, limbs moving in erratic yet efficient motions, cutting them down one by one. The footage became a chaotic mess of gunfire, flashing emergency lights, and blood splattering against sterile white walls.


    Then, as abruptly as it had begun, the screen cut to static.


    James clenched his jaw, his fingers instinctively tightening around his rifle as he replayed the footage in his head. But what truly sent a chill through his spine wasn¡¯t the massacre¡ªit was the timestamp.


    5/13/2184.


    That didn¡¯t make sense.


    His gut twisted as he checked it again, making sure his mind wasn¡¯t playing tricks on him. The bombs fell in 2178. That meant this base was still active six years after the world ended.


    ¡°What the hell¡­¡± James muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.


    Aurora, who had been watching over his shoulder, followed his gaze. Her eyes narrowed, and for the first time, James saw something akin to genuine surprise on her face.


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t make any sense,¡± she murmured. ¡°How the hell did they stay here? There¡¯s no food in this place¡ªnothing to sustain them.¡±


    James exhaled sharply. ¡°That means MGI wasn¡¯t just still around¡­ They had a way to get here. A reliable one or at least they did 4 years ago.¡±


    His mind raced with possibilities. Could they have had secret supply chains? Underground transport routes? Or worse¡ªhad they never really fallen with the rest of the world?


    Whatever the truth was, it meant one thing: someone kept this place operational long after the rest of the world burned.


    James wasn¡¯t sure he wanted to know what that implied.


    Pushing aside his unease, he retrieved a data storage device from his vest and plugged it into the terminal. His neural implant automatically ran 1000 integrity checks before initiating the transfer, scanning for corruption, security triggers, or hidden viruses. Information of this scale could be dangerous in the wrong hands, and James wasn¡¯t about to let himself get burned.


    Aurora followed suit, inserting her own device into the system. The two stood in silence, watching as the files transferred, both lost in thought.


    When the download completed, James began skimming through the documents. His stomach twisted when he reached the VSM-12 Development Logs. His eyes darkened as he read the details.


    They had twelve different versions of that thing.


    James shuddered, his mind flashing back to the creature he had just fought. That thing was one experiment. One failure. And there had been at least eleven others¡ªor worse, successes.


    Aurora unplugged her device first, straightening up. ¡°So,¡± she said, her voice unreadable, ¡°did you find what you were looking for?¡±


    James let out a disappointed sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. ¡°Not all of it but a piece i didnt have before. Did you?¡±


    She smirked, pocketing the drive. ¡°Yeah.¡±


    James rolled his eyes. ¡°Alright, great. Then let¡¯s go before the scientists accidentally shoot themselves in a panic.¡±


    Aurora chuckled softly, the briefest glint of amusement flashing in her violet eyes before she turned toward the exit.


    James cast one last glance at the terminal, at the remains of a past that refused to stay buried, before shutting it off and following her out.


    Something told him this wasn¡¯t the last he¡¯d hear of Mutagenix Genomics Industries.


    As the duo stepped back into the break room, the atmosphere shifted. The others, who had been anxiously waiting, immediately turned their attention to James and Aurora. Their expressions ranged from relief to curiosity¡ªthough some, like the scientists, merely looked impatient.


    ¡°The toxic storm should be letting up by now,¡± one of the guards informed them, adjusting the straps on his exo-suit. ¡°We were waiting for you to return before heading out.¡±


    ¡°Well then, let¡¯s get moving. Time is being wasted,¡± snapped one of the scientists, the one who had been uptight and demanding from the start.


    James, still walking beside Aurora, leaned in slightly and whispered, ¡°Hey, what¡¯s his name?¡±


    Aurora smirked slightly before responding in a hushed tone, ¡°Bradford.¡±


    Then, in a louder voice, she addressed the group, her presence naturally commanding attention. ¡°Let¡¯s move.¡±


    With that, the group gathered their gear and made their way toward the exit. As they ascended back to the surface, the shift from darkness to daylight was almost blinding. The sun hung high in the sky, its unforgiving rays reflecting off the endless expanse of sand and rubble. They must have been down there longer than they thought. The remnants of the toxic storm still lingered on the horizon, a murky haze twisting in the distance, but the immediate threat had passed.


    Without hesitation, they loaded up once more. Aurora, Laim, Raven, the remaining scientists, the last two guards, and Bradley''s driver all climbed into the armored vehicle.


    James made his way to the jeep, sliding into the passenger seat. He glanced over at the driver, raising an eyebrow. Ryan. Again he was surprised to see him still alive. He let out a short chuckle, shaking his head. ¡°You really just don¡¯t die, do you?¡±


    Ryan smirked, gripping the wheel with a little more confidence than the last time James had seen him. ¡°What can I say? Luck¡¯s always been on my side.¡±


    James exhaled, adjusting his rifle as he glanced out the window at the wasteland beyond. ¡°Let¡¯s hope it stays that way.¡±


    With that, the convoy roared to life, engines rumbling as they pressed onward, leaving the ruins of the lab behind.

 The Dc Contract Part 7

    The convoy had been driving for nearly two hours, cutting across the vast wasteland under the oppressive midday sun. It was so bright, yet the temperature sat at a frigid 15¡ãF. James sat comfortably in the passenger seat of the jeep, resting his arm on the door, taking in the peace. For once, there were no bullets flying, no creatures lunging from the darkness, and no scientists breathing down his neck. Just open land, an empty sky, and the distant hum of their convoy moving steadily toward its objective.


    Ryan, gripping the wheel, seemed more at ease now than he had been at the start of the journey. He had survived a firefight, mutant insects, and a near-death experience, and somehow, he was still here. James couldn''t help but find that amusing.


    ¡°You really don¡¯t die, do you?¡± James mused, glancing over at him.


    Ryan chuckled, keeping his eyes on the shifting dunes ahead. ¡°I¡¯d like to think it¡¯s skill, but honestly, I¡¯m starting to think it¡¯s just dumb luck.¡±


    James smirked. ¡°Might be both. How¡¯d you even end up on this job, anyway? SDS doesn¡¯t just hire anyone.¡±


    Ryan shrugged, his grip tightening on the wheel as the terrain grew rougher. ¡°Used to be with a trade caravan. Good at driving, good at not getting shot. Got picked up as a contractor. Figured I¡¯d be running cargo, not dodging RPGs and giant worms.¡±


    James let out a short laugh. ¡°Yeah, welcome to the real world. You get used to it.¡±


    Ryan scoffed. ¡°Do you, though? You seem to handle it like it¡¯s just another Tuesday.¡±


    James exhaled, watching the endless dunes roll by. ¡°After a while, you either learn to deal with it, or you don¡¯t last long enough to complain.¡±


    Ryan shook his head. ¡°See, that¡¯s what bothers me. You¡¯re too good at this. You don¡¯t flinch when bullets fly, you don¡¯t panic when things go sideways. Hell, you barely reacted when that bug almost gutted you.¡±


    James said nothing for a moment, his gaze fixed on the horizon. Then, with a smirk, he replied, ¡°Maybe I¡¯m just lucky too.¡±


    Ryan huffed, clearly unsatisfied with that answer, but he didn¡¯t press further. Instead, he focused back on driving as they crested the next dune.


    That¡¯s when they saw it.


    The alleged satellite site wasn''t visible because something else was in the way and it caught James¡¯s attention.


    There were other vehicles surrounding the location.


    And one of them was a Bradley.


    ¡°What the hell?¡± James muttered, his muscles tensing.


    Ryan barely had time to react before James grabbed the steering wheel and yanked it hard to the right, forcing the jeep into a sharp, jarring turn.


    Then, the explosion hit.


    A shell tore through the air where they had just been, impacting the dune behind them in a fiery blast. Sand and debris rained down as Ryan fought to regain control of the vehicle.


    James didn¡¯t hesitate¡ªhe grabbed the radio, his voice sharp and commanding. ¡°FIRE BACK!¡±


    The roar of the Bradley¡¯s cannon echoed as it launched a retaliatory shell. The impact struck the enemy Bradley square in the side, sending a shockwave of dust and flame into the air¡ªbut it wasn¡¯t enough. The enemy vehicle held firm, its armor absorbing the brunt of the attack.


    Bullets ripped through the air as the enemy forces opened fire. The jeep swerved violently as rounds pinged off the reinforced plating. James ducked low, gripping his rifle tightly as he surveyed the battlefield.


    Ryan¡¯s knuckles were white against the wheel. ¡°What¡¯s the plan, boss?¡±


    James locked eyes with him, a wicked grin spreading across his face. ¡°Get us as close as you can.¡±


    Ryan didn¡¯t hesitate¡ªhe floored it.


    The jeep barreled forward, weaving through the incoming fire as the two Bradleys exchanged explosive rounds. One shell struck the sand just ahead of them, sending a geyser of dirt skyward. Ryan swerved, barely avoiding the blast.


    James steadied himself, raising his rifle and firing controlled bursts at the enemy soldiers taking cover around their jeeps. One dropped instantly, another staggered back, clutching his gut. The return fire was relentless, but James kept his focus sharp.


    The enemy Bradley adjusted its aim, its cannon swiveling toward their advancing jeep.


    James cursed. ¡°We need to take that thing out now!¡±


    Before another order could be given, the ground beneath them trembled.


    At first, it was subtle¡ªa deep, rumbling vibration beneath the sand. But then it intensified, turning into a violent quake that sent small dunes collapsing in on themselves.


    And then the worm came.


    It erupted from the ground in a monstrous surge of sand and debris. It moved with horrifying speed, its segmented body writhing as it lunged toward the battlefield.


    The enemy Bradley didn¡¯t stand a chance.


    With a deafening screech, the worm crashed down upon it, its massive jaws snapping shut around the armored vehicle. Metal groaned and twisted as the Bradley was lifted from the ground, its treads dangling uselessly before being crushed in an instant.


    The men who had been taking cover nearby screamed, scrambling to flee, but there was no escape. The worm, having claimed its victim, dove back underground.


    Then the swarm came.


    James shouted into the radio, ¡°FALL BACK! NOW!¡±


    Ryan needed no further encouragement¡ªhe spun the wheel, the jeep kicking up dust as they tore away from the carnage. The remaining soldiers, now in full retreat, ran for their lives as the bugs descended upon them, the massive swarm devouring everything.


    James reloaded his rifle, though he knew there was no fighting all of them. ¡°We need to get out of here before they finish their appetizers and decide we¡¯re next!¡±


    Ryan nodded furiously, pushing the jeep¡¯s engine to its limits. The Bradley followed suit, speeding away as the monsters ravaged what was left of the enemy forces.


    As they put distance between themselves and the chaos, James glanced back¡ªonly to see the horizon swallowed by an incoming sandstorm. A massive wall of dust and debris surged forward, dark and unrelenting, like a tidal wave of earth set on devouring everything in its path.


    Shit.


    They would lose visibility in seconds.


    James snapped his head around, scanning the terrain. Through the thickening haze, his eyes caught the remnants of a city block¡ªcrumbling towers, skeletal remains of once-thriving buildings, half-buried in shifting dunes. He couldn''t tell if it had once been part of a city or just a densely populated district, but right now, it didn¡¯t matter. It was cover.


    "Over there! Go!" James barked, pointing toward the ruins.


    Ryan didn''t hesitate. He yanked the wheel hard, the jeep swerving violently over the uneven sand, tires barely finding purchase. James grabbed the radio, trying to contact the others. Static.


    God-fucking-damn it.


    The sandstorm slammed into them like a sledgehammer. The world turned to chaos. The sky disappeared, swallowed by a churning, suffocating cloud of grit. The force of the wind nearly flipped the jeep, and for a moment, James thought they were done for. Ryan fought to keep control, knuckles white on the wheel, but the storm had its own plans.


    The jeep skidded wildly.


    ¡°Shit¡ªHOLD ON!¡± Ryan shouted.


    Then, out of nowhere, a looming shadow¡ªtoo late.


    Ryan slammed the brakes.


    The vehicle screeched to a halt, missing the shattered remains of a concrete wall by mere inches. The impact sent a shockwave through the frame, nearly throwing James forward. The sudden stop combined with the relentless wind almost tipped the jeep over. James grabbed the dashboard for support, the entire vehicle trembling under nature¡¯s fury.


    ¡°We need to get out of here!¡± James yelled over the howling wind.


    Without waiting for a response, he yanked his scarf around his face. He turned to Ryan, who was still gripping the wheel like it was his lifeline.


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    ¡°Hold onto my backpack¡ªdon¡¯t let go, no matter what!¡± James ordered.


    Ryan gave a shaky nod, reaching out and grabbing a strap. With that, they disembarked into the storm.


    The moment James¡¯ boots hit the ground, he felt the full force of the wind threaten to rip him off his feet. The sand was a living thing, pushing, pulling, trying to bury them alive. He could barely see more than a foot in front of him, his enhanced vision barely piercing the suffocating veil. The world was reduced to nothing but sound and sensation¡ªdeafening roars, biting sand, and the oppressive weight of the storm bearing down on them.


    It felt like an eternity of struggling against an unrelenting force, their bodies bent forward, every step a battle. The wind was so strong it threatened to lift Ryan off his feet, forcing James to tighten his grip and drag him forward. Seconds stretched into minutes¡ªor maybe it was the other way around. Time had no meaning in the storm.


    Then, as suddenly as it had started, the wind eased for just a moment, allowing a fleeting glimpse through the swirling chaos.


    There.


    The outline of the building they nearly crashed into.


    James wasted no time. He maneuvered around its wrecked foundation, pushing forward until he found what was left of a standing corner¡ªhalf a wall that could serve as a windbreak. It was barely standing, its edges crumbling but it was better than nothing.


    He turned to Ryan, voice sharp. ¡°Get in front of me in the corner. Move!¡±


    Ryan stumbled forward, pressing himself against the fractured concrete. James followed, shoving his own body against the younger man to shield him from the storm. The wind clawed at them viciously, dragging at their clothes, their gear, as if trying to pry them from their fragile sanctuary.


    James gritted his teeth as the sandstorm lashed against his back like a whip. He could feel the grains grinding into his skin, tearing at the exposed patches where the storm had already eaten away at his leather jacket and undershirt. His body became a barrier, absorbing the worst of the storm¡¯s wrath, shielding Ryan from being torn apart.


    Pain flared along his back and arms, the relentless abrasion wearing through layers of fabric and flesh. Every nerve screamed in protest, but James remained unmoving.


    Just a little longer.


    The wind roared, demanding submission.


    James refused to give it.


    Through sheer will, he pressed harder against the wall, his muscles locked in defiance against nature itself. The sand burned, but he held his ground.


    He didn¡¯t know how long they stayed like that, braced against the storm, but eventually¡ªmercifully¡ªthe howling winds began to ease.


    The chaos lessened.


    The world, once nothing but a violent, screaming void, started to settle into silence.


    James exhaled sharply, the taste of dust thick in his mouth. His body ached, his skin raw, but he was still standing.


    With the storm finally gone, James felt an overwhelming urge to collapse. The pain radiating across his back and shoulders was enough to make any normal man pass out. But his neural implant refused to let him succumb to exhaustion. The artificial override kept his mind sharp, forcing him to stay alert despite his battered state.


    As he took a moment to survey his surroundings, he finally had a chance to take in the sheer scale of the ruins around them. They were in what was once a city, no doubt about it. Stretching in every direction, the skeletons of old skyscrapers and collapsed buildings loomed¡ªit was the remains of a fallen civilization. Twisted rebar jutted from broken concrete, and shattered glass sparkled faintly under the thin, cold light filtering through the dissipating storm clouds. It looked like the remnants of a warzone, frozen in time.


    A noise caught his attention¡ªRyan, pushing himself upright with a groan. His clothes were caked in dust and sand, but aside from a few minor scrapes, he seemed unharmed, though James noticed a slight bluish hue to his skin. He was probably freezing. While his clothing allowed him to endure the cold, it had been a long time since he had gone without direct heat.


    "Your back," Ryan muttered, eyeing the damage James had taken.


    "It''s fine, kid. I heal fast," James replied, rolling his shoulders with a wince. His enhanced regeneration was already kicking in, stitching torn flesh back together at an accelerated rate. Still, the pain wasn¡¯t going anywhere anytime soon. "I''m more worried about you freezing to death."


    James turned his attention to their jeep. The vehicle had flipped during the storm, lying on its side, half-buried in sand. The windshield was shattered, the roof dented inward, and the tires still spun lazily, as if the machine hadn¡¯t quite accepted its fate yet.


    He exhaled sharply. "We need to find the others. I can¡¯t flip the jeep in my state."


    Ryan nodded, still shaking, and followed James'' lead as they began sifting through the scattered wreckage. The storm had ripped open the cargo compartments, strewing supplies across the ruined street like discarded debris.


    James crouched, picking through the scattered gear. Most of it was either buried or damaged beyond use, but there were a few salvageable items. His first priority was finding the heating packs. It took some searching, but he eventually found them, handing them to Ryan to tuck under his jacket. Then, he focused on securing their water supply. While James had enough for two days in his pack, there was no telling how long they¡¯d be stranded here without a vehicle. He grabbed the remaining canteens from the wreckage and secured them in his bag.


    Next, he took stock of their weapons. Ryan¡¯s rifle had been flung several feet away, half-buried in a mound of sand. James retrieved it, checked the magazine, and then handed it back. Ryan gave him a nod of thanks, still trying to warm up.


    Further searching yielded some extra rations¡ªmostly protein bars and dehydrated meal packs¡ªand a few undamaged flares. James pocketed the flares, knowing they might come in handy if they needed to signal the others. A broken radio sat half-crushed near the wreckage, sparking uselessly. No chance of making contact.


    Finally, James picked up a broken gas mask and removed the filter, tucking it into his pack in case Ryan needed to switch his out. James would be fine as long as another toxic storm didn¡¯t hit, but Ryan wasn¡¯t as genetically blessed as him.


    James sighed, rubbing a hand through his dust-covered hair. His back still burned, the exposed patches of skin raw from the sandstorm¡¯s merciless assault. He wouldn¡¯t be at full strength for a few hours at least, and until the pain fully subsided, flipping the jeep was out of the question.


    With the looting done, the duo set off toward the tallest standing building in the ruins, hoping to catch sight of the others from a higher vantage point. The remnants of the city stretched before them, a jagged skeleton of a once-thriving metropolis, now reduced to silence and decay. The distant sun cast long shadows over the wreckage, making the ruins appear even more desolate.


    James adjusted his gear, tightening the straps of his backpack before slinging his rifle over his shoulder. His back ached but he pushed the discomfort aside. Ryan, now warmed up thanks to the heating packs, walked beside him, his rifle held tightly in his hands, eyes darting to every dark alley and collapsed structure.


    "Any idea what this city used to be?" Ryan asked, his voice cutting through the eerie quiet.


    James scanned the ruins. "Hard to say. Could¡¯ve been part of D.C.''s outskirts, or maybe just a dense suburb. Either way, it¡¯s just another dead city."


    Ryan exhaled sharply. "Yeah, well, dead cities give me bad feelings. Feels like something¡¯s watching."


    James didn¡¯t respond, but he had the same gut feeling. He¡¯d been in enough ghost towns to know that places like this were never empty. Something always lurked in the forgotten corners of the world.


    They moved carefully, weaving through rusted-out husks of old cars that had long since fused with the asphalt, their frames corroded by time and exposure. Some still had skeletons inside¡ªformer citizens who had never made it out when the world fell apart. Their remains sat slumped against shattered windshields or half-spilled onto the pavement, their bones stripped clean by time and scavengers.


    The silence was oppressive, broken only by the sound of their boots crunching over debris. James led the way, his sharp eyes scanning every building, every pile of rubble, every darkened doorway that could be hiding something unwanted.


    Then, as they turned a corner, James stopped abruptly, throwing a hand out to stop Ryan.


    Ryan tensed. "What?"


    James gestured forward. A few hundred feet ahead, half-buried beneath collapsed concrete, was a bloated, pulsing mass of flesh¡ªa mutation, one that had spread its grotesque tendrils across the ruined buildings. The thing looked like an overgrown tumor, veins of dark red and sickly yellow running along its surface. It expanded and contracted as if breathing, the tendrils twitching ever so slightly.


    "Shit," Ryan whispered. "What is that?"


    James narrowed his eyes. "Mutant hive. That thing is alive, and it¡¯s probably got something nesting inside it."


    As if on cue, movement stirred within the fleshy growth. A second later, the chitinous head of a Stray Mutant emerged from the mass, its elongated jaw unhinging with a wet, gurgling noise. It had hollow, sunken eyes that gleamed in the dim light, and its skeletal frame was covered in patches of sickly flesh. It sniffed the air, then let out a low, clicking sound.


    James didn¡¯t hesitate. He raised his rifle and fired.


    The first bullet slammed into the creature¡¯s skull, snapping its head back in a spray of dark fluid. But before it even hit the ground, more movement came from the hive.


    "Move!" James barked.


    Ryan didn¡¯t need to be told twice. The two broke into a sprint as more mutants tore their way out of the bloated hive, their twisted limbs scraping against broken concrete as they lunged forward. They were fast¡ªfaster than most wasteland predators. Their long, clawed fingers reached out, their shrill screeches echoing through the ruins.


    James turned mid-run, firing off two more bursts. The first burst caught one in the chest, tearing through its thin rib cage and sending it sprawling. The second burst clipped another in the leg, causing it to stumble.


    But they kept coming.


    Ryan turned and fired his rifle blindly, cursing under his breath. "How many are there!?"


    "Too many," James growled, reloading.


    The ruins worked to their advantage. The collapsed buildings and wreckage made it difficult for the creatures to pursue them in a straight line, forcing them to scramble over debris and squeeze through narrow gaps. But James knew they wouldn¡¯t last long if they didn¡¯t get to higher ground.


    Up ahead, he spotted a fire escape attached to the side of an old building. "There! Climb!"


    Ryan was up first, scrambling onto the rusted metal ladder and hauling himself up. James covered him, laying down suppressing fire as the creatures closed in. He fired short, controlled bursts, each shot dropping another mutant, but it was clear they weren¡¯t slowing down.


    James grabbed the ladder and climbed, his boots clanking against the rusted steps. As he ascended, he heard the creatures below, clawing at the base of the fire escape, their screeches growing more frenzied. He reached the first landing and pulled himself over the railing, breathing heavily.


    Ryan stood at the edge, looking down. "They¡¯re trying to climb!"


    James turned and fired down at them. The creatures were swarming the base, some leaping and clawing at the metal. A few even managed to grab onto the lower rungs, their twisted bodies jerking as they tried to pull themselves up.


    James gritted his teeth and tossed a grenade. "Catch, you ugly bastards."


    The explosive dropped into the mass of mutants below, and a second later, the alley was filled with fire and gore. The blast sent limbs flying, blackened blood splattering across the ruined walls. The ones that hadn¡¯t been shredded by the explosion scattered, screeching in pain and confusion.


    James exhaled. "That should do it."


    They continued climbing, making their way up the fire escape until they reached the rooftop. From there, they had a clear view of the ruins.


    James scanned the horizon. The others had to be somewhere nearby.


    Ryan leaned against the railing, catching his breath. "I never want to deal with those things again."


    James smirked. "You will. Welcome to the wasteland."


    Ryan groaned. "Great."


    James pulled out his binoculars and looked across the landscape. Somewhere out there, Aurora, Laim, and the others were waiting. He just had to find them before something else did.

 The Dc Contract Part 8

    James stood at the edge of the rooftop, scanning the ruins his enhanced eyes letting him see for miles. The building they had climbed was about four stories tall, the highest point in this part of the city. If the others had made it to the ruins, he should be able to spot them.


    Then, he saw movement.


    ¡°There they are,¡± he muttered. A battered Bradley and a few figures moved along the outskirts of the ruins to the west. They were still intact, thank whatever god was left in this hellhole he can still get paid. It should take them about thirty minutes to reach the others, provided nothing else decided to try and kill them.


    ¡°I know where we have to go,¡± James said, turning around.


    Ryan, however, wasn¡¯t paying attention. He stood frozen, his back pressed against the rooftop¡¯s water tower, his face pale. His grip on his rifle was tight, his knuckles white.


    James smirked. ¡°What¡¯s the matter, kid? Not one for heights?¡±


    Ryan swallowed hard. ¡°Can we just get the hell off this roof?¡±


    James chuckled, shaking his head as he led the way down the fire escape.


    The descent was quicker than their frantic climb up, but James remained cautious, scanning the alley below as they neared the ground. He didn¡¯t hear anything scuttling around, but that didn¡¯t mean they were alone.


    Once their boots hit solid ground, they set off, keeping their pace brisk. The ruins stretched around them like a maze of broken streets and crumbling buildings. Ryan stayed close, his rifle raised, eyes flicking to every shadow. ¡°You think there¡¯s more of those things?¡±


    James nodded. ¡°Always. You''re never alone in a wasteland even if you never noticed it before there will always be something waiting.¡±


    They weaved through the shattered remnants of the city, moving between rusted-out cars and piles of rubble. James kept an eye on the western horizon where the Bradley was stationed.


    They had covered about ten minutes of ground when Ryan stopped suddenly. ¡°Wait. You hear that?¡±


    James stilled, listening. A faint clicking sound echoed through the ruins, followed by a wet, dragging noise.


    He motioned for Ryan to move into cover behind an overturned bus. They crouched low, rifles aimed at the street ahead.


    From the remains of a collapsed building, a lone mutant emerged. It was smaller than the ones they had fought earlier, but its elongated limbs twitched unnaturally, its jaw hanging open as it sniffed the air.


    Ryan tensed. ¡°Shit.¡±


    James raised a hand, signaling him to wait. The creature was alone¡ªprobably a stray. If they didn¡¯t make noise, it might move on.


    It didn¡¯t because things could never be easy.


    The mutant¡¯s head snapped in their direction, its hollow eyes locking onto their position. Then, it screeched and charged.


    James fired first, the round tearing through its shoulder, spinning it sideways. Ryan followed up with a burst 2 shots going wild with one hitting the creature''s chest dropping it to the pavement.


    They waited, listening.


    Nothing. No more movement.


    James exhaled. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s keep moving.¡±


    They picked up the pace, keeping to the shadows as they navigated through the ruins.


    The Bradley loomed closer now, and James could make out Laim and Raven standing outside, keeping watch while the driver crouched near the tracks, working on repairs. As James and Ryan approached, the two mercs turned, their expressions shifting from surprise to something resembling mild amusement.


    ¡°Damn, you¡¯re still alive,¡± Raven said with a smirk.


    James grinned. ¡°Good to see you too, Raven.¡± His eyes flicked to the damaged Bradley. ¡°What happened here?¡±


    Laim let out a tired sigh, crossing his arms. ¡°We ran something over in the storm. Must¡¯ve been some buried debris¡ªit knocked the track off. Should be fixed soon.¡±


    Ryan wasted no time, heading straight inside the Bradley, no doubt eager to get warm after nearly freezing to death. James, however, took a moment to catch up with Laim and Raven. The exhaustion on their faces was evident¡ªnone of them had expected this mission to be this much of a mess.


    After some time, the driver finally stood, wiping grease from his hands. ¡°Alright, we¡¯re all set.¡±


    With that, everyone piled into the Bradley. James had barely settled in, expecting at least a moment to breathe, when shouting erupted.


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    ¡°What do you mean you want us to go back?! We don¡¯t even know what we¡¯re looking for!¡± Raven¡¯s voice echoed through the cabin, her glare locked onto Bradford, the lead scientist.


    Bradford, just as furious, shot back, ¡°YOU WERE HIRED TO DO A JOB!¡±


    The argument spiraled into a screaming match, neither side willing to back down. James, watching from the side, sighed heavily and glanced at the other scientists. They looked more like they wanted to be anywhere but here. The remaining guards also seemed uneasy, clearly not thrilled with the idea of pressing forward.


    Only Bradford was fighting to keep going.


    Then, Aurora spoke up, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. ¡°That¡¯s enough.¡± Everyone turned toward her. ¡°Bradford is right. We¡¯ve come too far to turn back now. But I don¡¯t need all of you to come. If you want to stay here, you can.¡±


    Silence followed. Then, Aurora met James'' gaze, waiting for his response.


    James sighed. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I got your back.¡±


    The astonished looks from the others were almost comical. Raven and Laim looked like he had just lost his damn mind. Even some of the guards glanced at each other in disbelief.


    Bradford, of course, just had to open his mouth. ¡°Finally, you¡¯re doing your job.¡±


    James turned his head and shot him a glare that could kill. ¡°My only requirement is that he remains behind.¡±


    Bradford¡¯s face twisted in outrage. ¡°You can¡¯t be¡ª¡±


    ¡°Done.¡± Aurora cut him off without hesitation, her tone final.


    The scientist opened his mouth to protest but quickly realized he had no ground to stand on. His face burned red with frustration, but he said nothing more.


    Ryan, still looking worse for wear, tried to volunteer, but James shook his head. ¡°Not happening. You¡¯re barely standing as it is.¡±


    The kid looked like he wanted to argue but stayed silent.


    James took a deep breath before addressing the group. ¡°Alright, here¡¯s the plan. We need to flip the jeep back over. I¡¯m not walking miles through the wasteland.¡±


    Nods of agreement followed. With that settled, the Bradley rumbled to life, moving toward the overturned jeep. James leaned back against the cold metal interior, closing his eyes for just a moment.


    James took the brief moment of travel to do what he did best¡ªshut off his mind and rest. He had long ago trained his body to fall asleep on command, conserving energy whenever possible. The rhythmic hum of the Bradley¡¯s engine was a familiar lullaby, and within seconds, he was out.


    A gentle nudge roused him from his sleep. As he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Raven¡¯s face, her sharp gaze watching him closely. It was just the two of them in the cabin now.


    ¡°Are you crazy or something?¡± she asked, arms crossed. ¡°Why the hell are you risking your life for this?¡±


    James exhaled through his nose, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before meeting her stare. ¡°I risk my life every time I take a contract. I knew full well what I¡¯d be facing by coming here. Sure, I didn¡¯t expect to get into a firefight, but I knew the risks all the same.¡± He leaned back slightly. ¡°The real question is why are you so wary? You had to know this was the kind of job where you were more likely to die than walk away.¡±


    Raven hesitated, her fingers tapping idly against her thigh. After a moment, she admitted, ¡°You¡¯re right. But knowing it¡¯s deadly and actually going through it are two different things.¡±


    Before James could respond, the cabin door swung open, and Ryan stepped in. ¡°The jeep¡¯s all good,¡± he announced, looking between them. ¡°We even managed to fix the radio.¡±


    James gave him a nod before standing up, but before stepping out, he glanced back at Raven. ¡°If you make it back, you should reconsider this line of work.¡±


    She scoffed but didn¡¯t say anything as he left.


    Outside James saw the jeep freshly flipped and back in working order. Laim was already sitting in the passenger seat, giving Ryan a grin as he saw him approach.


    ¡°So, you chose to come, old-timer?¡± Ryan teased.


    Laim smirked. ¡°Who you callin¡¯ old? I¡¯m forty-seven, kid. And someone¡¯s gotta have your raw back.¡±


    James winced at the remark, feeling the dull ache still lingering in his muscles. The wounds had all healed by now, but his body was still sore.


    ¡°Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,¡± James muttered as he climbed into the driver¡¯s seat.


    As they were getting ready to leave Aurora finally entered the jeep, moving with her usual composed grace. Without a word, she input the coordinates into the system.


    James glanced at her before asking, ¡°So, do we finally get to know what¡¯s going on now?¡±


    She didn¡¯t even look at him as she replied with a simple, flat, ¡°No.¡±


    James sighed, gripping the wheel. ¡°Figures.¡±


    With that, James took off, guiding the jeep back into the endless expanse of the desert. The midday sun loomed high, casting harsh shadows across the dunes, but James barely registered the heat¡ªor rather, the lack of it. The desert may have looked like the ones from old pre-war holovids, but it was nothing of the sort. The wasteland was frigid, unforgiving, a graveyard of a world long gone.


    It didn¡¯t take long for their destination to come into view. They had only been fifteen minutes out when they first spotted the remnants of the previous battle. The insect swarm had moved on, leaving behind the shattered remains of vehicles and bodies, both human and otherwise. However, what caught James¡¯s eye were the few jeeps still intact¡ªeach one marked with a familiar insignia EHD.


    Eclipse-Horizon-Dynamics.


    James¡¯s grip tightened on the steering wheel. This was no coincidence. That was the second time in one mission they had run into these guys, and he doubted it was by chance. Whatever was going on, it was bigger than some classified SDS operation.


    As they pulled up, James immediately saw that whatever they had come here for, it wasn¡¯t a satellite.


    What lay before them was a concrete foundation. Whatever structure had once stood here was long gone, eroded by time or perhaps destroyed intentionally. But what stood out to James the most was the breaching equipment¡ªheavy drills, cutting torches, and a few scattered detonation charges¡ªall laid out around a massive steel hatch embedded in the foundation.


    James let out a dry chuckle. ¡°Nice satellite,¡± he said, stepping out of the jeep.


    Aurora didn¡¯t respond. She walked straight toward the hatch and placed her wrist against a nearby scanner. The mechanism let out a soft beep, then, with a deep metallic groan, the locks disengaged, and the hatch slowly lifted open.


    She turned to James. ¡°Follow me.¡± Then, shifting her gaze to Laim, she added, ¡°Guard the entrance.¡±


    James arched a brow but didn¡¯t argue. He glanced at Laim, who gave him a small smirk and a nod. ¡°Good luck,¡± the older merc said.


    James exhaled before gripping the ladder¡¯s rungs and descending into the unknown.

 The Dc Contract Part 9

    James emerged from the ladder tunnel into a vast underground structure, his boots landing with a dull metallic thud against the grated flooring. The air was stale, thick with the scent of rust, old machinery, and something else he couldn¡¯t put a name to. The architecture around him was brutal and utilitarian: raw concrete walls reinforced with thick slabs of metal, pipes running along the ceiling like veins, and exposed wiring dangling from broken conduits. There were no decorations, no signs of human comfort¡ªthis place wasn¡¯t meant to be seen by the outside world.


    He took a step forward, his enhanced eyes cutting through the pitch-black corridor stretching infinitely in both directions. Even with his sight, the tunnel had no clear end. This place was deep. Deep enough that even time had likely forgotten about it.


    Aurora stepped past him, her posture tense, her hand lingering near her sidearm. The faint glow of her violet eyes flickered in dim light coming from above, betraying her unease. James caught the shift in her demeanor immediately.


    ¡°What¡¯s the matter?¡± he asked, keeping his tone neutral but his senses sharp.


    Aurora¡¯s fingers curled slightly. ¡°Be on alert. We don¡¯t know what¡¯s down here,¡± she murmured, scanning the tunnel as if expecting something to move in the darkness. ¡°We lost contact with this facility when the bombs fell. Thought it was destroyed, just like the others. But last year¡­ we picked up a signal.¡±


    James arched a brow at that. ¡°And you¡¯re telling me this now? After we¡¯re already inside?¡± His voice carried a touch of irritation, but he kept his focus on the shadows ahead.


    Aurora glanced at him, unphased. ¡°Because now you need to know. Laim didn¡¯t.¡±


    James exhaled through his nose, rubbing his jaw. Typical. SDS wasn¡¯t known for transparency, even with their own operatives. ¡°Alright,¡± he muttered, stepping forward as they began their trek down the metal walkway. ¡°Since we¡¯re sharing, mind telling me what exactly you guys were working on down here?¡±


    Aurora was silent for a moment before she finally spoke. ¡°Project Prometheus.¡±


    James stopped mid-step, processing the name. He immediately ran a search through his implant, scanning through classified documents, old-world archives, and restricted files he had collected over the years.


    Nothing.


    That alone made his stomach tighten.


    He had data on things no one should know about. Weapons projects, failed experiments, hidden war crimes from the old world¡ªbut this? This was a ghost.


    That meant it was either buried too deep for even him to uncover¡­ or it was deliberately erased.


    His eyes narrowed. ¡°What the hell is Project Prometheus?¡± he asked, his voice quieter now, more serious.


    Aurora kept walking, her tone steady. ¡°A highly advanced defense AI.¡±


    James frowned. ¡°A defense AI?¡±


    ¡°If it had been finished,¡± Aurora said, glancing at him, ¡°Then about 85% of the nuclear warheads would have been intercepted before impact.¡±


    James let out a low whistle. ¡°Well, someone really dropped the ball on that one.¡±


    Aurora¡¯s lips thinned. ¡°We were close. But war doesn¡¯t wait for perfection.¡± She exhaled, her breath barely visible in the cold subterranean air. ¡°By the time the system was ready for live implementation, it was already too late.¡±


    James glanced at her, the gears in his head turning. ¡°But isn¡¯t it a little late for that now? What¡¯s the point of a defense AI when there¡¯s nothing left to defend?¡±


    Aurora hesitated, and that small pause told James everything.


    ¡°That,¡± she said finally, ¡°is something you don¡¯t need to know.¡±


    James scoffed. ¡°Figured.¡± He didn¡¯t push her further¡ªnot yet. But now, more than ever, he had the feeling that whatever they came here for wasn¡¯t just about securing old-world tech. There was something bigger at play, something SDS wasn¡¯t telling even their own people.


    And that meant James wasn¡¯t going to stick around here for too much longer. Maybe it''s time to see florida.


    James followed Aurora as they passed through the threshold of the heavy metal door, stepping from the raw, industrial tunnel into something entirely different. The contrast was stark. The facility beyond was pristine.


    Unlike the cold, concrete halls outside, this section had the sterile, polished look of a high-tech research base that had somehow been untouched by time. White panels lined the walls, some flickering slightly from old age or battle damage. The air was cleaner, processed, controlled¡ªartificial even. The smooth floors barely had a speck of dust, but the eerie silence made it feel abandoned in a way that was almost unnatural.


    James¡¯ eyes immediately scanned the walls, noting the scorch marks. Not just regular gunfire¡ªthese were plasma burns. The once-pristine white walls were marred by deep, molten streaks, the residual energy from the blasts still faintly visible.


    He narrowed his eyes. ¡°You guys were making plasma weapons?¡± he asked, glancing at Aurora.


    She barely reacted, her expression calm. ¡°Yes.¡±


    James let out a low whistle. Plasma weaponry was supposed to have been a dead-end technology¡ªfar too unstable, too power-hungry for practical battlefield use. But if SDS had actually cracked the code.


    ¡°Let me guess,¡± he muttered, stepping over a scorch mark where the floor had melted from an impact. ¡°Whatever happened here didn¡¯t exactly stay in the testing phase?¡±


    Aurora didn¡¯t answer immediately. Instead, she ran a hand along a nearby panel, brushing off a layer of dust. ¡°This isn¡¯t good,¡± she finally said, her voice quieter than before. ¡°All of the droids should be shut down.¡±


    James stopped mid-step. ¡°Excuse me droids?¡±


    Aurora gave him a look. ¡°This facility was meant to be fully automated. The only personnel were high-clearance engineers and security staff. Everything else was handled by defense drones.¡±


    James exhaled sharply. ¡°And let me guess those ¡®defense drones¡¯ had plasma rifles?¡±


    Aurora nodded. ¡°Among other things.¡±


    James dragged a hand down his face. ¡°Of course they did.¡±


    He turned his focus back to the hallway ahead. It stretched long and straight, lined with doors on both sides¡ªeach marked with codes he didn¡¯t recognize. Some were slightly ajar, while others remained tightly sealed, their digital locks flashing error messages. The damage wasn¡¯t chaotic like in other ruined labs he had explored. No. This was methodical.


    The further they walked, the more unnerving it became.


    Doors that had been welded shut from the inside. Panels that had been ripped off walls, exposing gutted wiring.Some lights flickered erratically, but there was no sound¡ªnot even the hum of a still-active power source. It was like a corpse of a facility, perfectly preserved but completely lifeless.


    At least, for now.


    James¡¯ grip tightened on his rifle.


    The deeper they went, the worse it got.


    They passed an open door leading into what looked like a security checkpoint. The sentries were gone, but the turrets above were melted¡ªnot shot down, melted¡ªas if something had overridden their systems and turned them against one another.


    Next, they found a room with shattered observation glass, its insides resembling a firing range or weapons testing chamber. The walls were riddled with scorch marks, the remains of something big having been torn apart inside. Half-melted mechanical limbs lay scattered across the ground, severed by something far hotter than standard weapons fire.


    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    Aurora stopped at a terminal, trying to boot it up. The screen flickered before shutting itself off.


    James ran a hand over the table, brushing aside layers of dust and soot. The edges of the burned documents curled and crumbled at his touch, revealing fragmented words scorched into the paper. But among the wreckage, something else caught his eye¡ªa tablet, half-buried under melted wires and shattered glass.


    Carefully, he pulled it free. The screen flickered weakly as he tapped it, glitching with distorted text before stabilizing. He could barely make out the messages through the fractured display, but what he could see made his stomach sink.


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">"Thanatos shutdown failed¡ªError Error"</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">"Forced entry of Prometheus Core failed."</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">"Thanatos lockdown failed."</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">"AI Recalibration Failure¡ªDo Not Proceed."</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">"Lockdown Code Expired¡ªImmediate Action Needed."</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">"ERROR ERROR¡ªInitiating Rogue AI Fail-safe."</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">"ERROR ERROR¡ªSelf-Detonation overridden by nuclear detonation in DC."</li>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">"ERROR ERROR¡ªSYSTEMS DAMAGED. REPAIRS NEEDED¡ªD3A7D¡ª..."</li>


    </ul>


    James stared at the screen, his mind working through the implications. Then, without looking up, he spoke.


    "What is Project Thanatos?"


    Aurora was quiet for a moment, reading over his shoulder. Then, in a measured voice, she answered, "It was meant to be the other side of Prometheus. If Prometheus was a shield, Thanatos would¡¯ve been the sword. But..." she hesitated, scanning the corrupted data, "...it wasn¡¯t even close to completion."


    James finally tore his gaze from the screen, his grip tightening on the tablet. "Then why does it look like Thanatos didn¡¯t just survive¡ªbut took over?"


    Aurora shook her head. "This doesn¡¯t make sense," she murmured, mostly to herself.


    James turned toward her fully now, eyes narrowing. "Let me ask the real question," he said. "Did you guys make a true AI?"


    Aurora¡¯s expression turned sharp in an instant. "No. Of course not," she said firmly. "Who would be that stupid?"


    James exhaled slowly, but he didn¡¯t believe her¡ªnot completely. The messages on the tablet painted a different picture. If Thanatos had been incomplete, then something had finished it. Something had let it out.


    ¡°So where is this Prometheus? I¡¯d prefer to get out of here¡ª¡± James started, but his instincts flared, cutting his words short.


    In an instant, he grabbed Aurora and slammed her against the wall, shielding her with his body just as a plasma bolt ripped through the air where she had been standing a second ago. The energy blast sizzled past them, scorching the metal behind them.


    Aurora barely had time to process what had happened. One second, she was standing freely; the next, her back was against cold steel, James pressed close, his arm braced against the wall beside her head. The sudden impact knocked the breath from her lungs, leaving her stunned for just a heartbeat too long.


    James didn¡¯t hesitate¡ªhe turned and fired back, his HK416 barking in controlled bursts as he engaged the unseen threat. Aurora, however, was still locked on the moment before the gunfire.


    She had been taken by surprise.


    Her.


    She never got caught off guard.


    And yet, in that instant, James had moved faster than she had. Reacted before she even registered the danger.


    Her violet eyes flicked up to him, catching the glow behind his sunglasses, the sheer focus carved into his expression. He wasn¡¯t just acting on impulse. How fast does his mind work?


    Something stirred deep in her gut, a feeling she didn''t have time to analyze.


    Instead, she smirked, masking it with sarcasm. ¡°What, no dinner first?¡±


    James barely spared her a glance. ¡°Next time, duck faster,¡± he shot back before shifting his aim, putting down another hostile.


    James was taken aback¡ªthese droids weren¡¯t just humanoid, they were hulking monstrosities of metal and reinforced plating. Their frames were broad, standing nearly seven feet tall, with arms thick enough to rival industrial machinery. Their heads were sleek and featureless aside from a single, glowing red optic that flickered and scanned with eerie precision. Their joints moved with unsettling fluidity, a perfect blend of machine efficiency and combat adaptability.


    And worst of all¡ªthey could take a hell of a beating.


    James cursed under his breath as his rounds sparked uselessly against their armor. Even with full plasteel rounds, it took concentrated fire just to bring one of them down.


    ¡°There¡¯s four of them left!¡± he called out, dropping to the floor for cover as Aurora raised her pistol and fired. Her shots punched into one of the droids, but it barely even staggered.


    ¡°Yeah, I noticed!¡± she shot back, dodging as one of the machines locked onto her and unleashed a barrage of plasma fire.


    James rolled out of cover, raising his HK416 in one fluid motion. He aimed for the weak spots¡ªthe neck, the knee joints, anywhere the armor looked thinner. The rifle barked, and sparks erupted as he sheared the arm off one of the droids. The severed limb twitched on the ground, the machine still pushing forward undeterred.


    Then, one of the droids rushed him.


    Its massive metal fist slammed into the ground inches from James'' head, denting the steel plating beneath it. He kicked off the floor, narrowly avoiding a follow-up strike, pivoting just in time to see **Aurora take a risky shot¡ª**a perfect round straight into the optic of one of the droids.


    The red light burst in a shower of sparks, and the machine collapsed with a heavy thud.


    ¡°Three left!¡± she called out, her voice carrying a competitive edge.


    Another droid lunged, its arm swinging down like a hammer. James ducked under the strike, snapping his rifle up and firing point-blank into its exposed knee joint. The limb buckled under the force of the shot, and as it crumpled forward, James emptied the rest of his magazine into its skull. The second droid crashed to the floor, its systems going dark.


    ¡°Two more!¡±


    Before they could regroup, one of the remaining droids lifted its arm, revealing a built-in Gauss cannon.


    James¡¯ stomach dropped.


    ¡°MOVE!¡± he yelled, grabbing Aurora¡¯s wrist and yanking her aside just as the entire hallway behind them disintegrated in a violent explosion.


    Chunks of metal and debris whipped past them as the gauss blast carved through steel like paper. The sheer force of the impact sent shockwaves through the facility, leaving nothing but a smoking crater where the corridor had been.


    James hit the ground hard, coughing from the impact, his ears ringing. He turned his head toward Aurora, who was sprawled beside him, her hair singed from the heat.


    James barely had time to process what had just happened before he shouted, "YOU GAVE THEM GAUSS CANNONS?!"


    Aurora groaned, shaking dust out of her hair as she pushed herself up. "I DIDN¡¯T COME UP WITH THIS!" she snapped back.


    James let out a breath, brushing the dust from his shoulders as he slung his rifle over his back and drew his 1911 in one smooth motion. The two remaining droids locked onto him, their weapons charging again¡ªbut they never got the chance to fire.


    Two thunderous shots rang out in quick succession.


    The Durasteel armor-piercing rounds tore through the droids¡¯ heads as if they were made of nothing more than reinforced paper. Their glowing optics flickered violently before shutting off completely, and with a final, mechanical groan, the machines collapsed into motionless heaps of metal.


    James exhaled, spinning his pistol once before sliding it back into its holster.


    Aurora, still dusting herself off from the shockwave of the gauss blast, gave him a look¡ªone he couldn''t quite place between disbelief and annoyance.


    "You had the ability to do that this whole time?"


    James shrugged, kicking at the smoking remains of one of the fallen droids. "They¡¯re Durasteel armor-piercing rounds," he explained nonchalantly. "They cost a fortune, and I like to use them sparingly."


    Aurora scoffed, shaking her head before muttering, "Unbelievable."


    James ignored her tone, stepping forward to inspect the wreckage. The droids¡¯ armor was charred from plasma fire and riddled with bullet holes, but it was what lay beneath that mattered. He crouched down, prying open a panel on one of them. The exposed circuits and inner components were unlike anything he''d ever seen.


    He let out a low whistle. "These things weren¡¯t just standard security units. They were combat models¡­ and not the kind you throw into just any facility."


    Aurora, standing behind him, crossed her arms. "We were testing a lot of shit."


    James stood, cracking his neck before rolling his shoulders. "Then let¡¯s find Prometheus."


    They moved cautiously through the corridors, each turn revealing more destruction.


    The deeper they ventured, the worse the damage became. Walls were torn open, massive gashes carved through solid metal like a predator had clawed through them. Overhead lights flickered erratically¡ªsome areas were completely swallowed in darkness.


    A collapsed section of ceiling forced them to crawl through a narrow gap, twisted rebar and shattered glass making every movement dangerous. James gritted his teeth as he maneuvered through, his reinforced jacket ripping against jagged steel.


    They passed more bodies some human, some machine.


    A security checkpoint had been reduced to charred corpses and melted weapons. The stench of burned flesh and scorched circuits hung heavy in the air, making Aurora cover her nose with her sleeve.


    "Looks like they made a last stand here," James muttered, nudging a half-destroyed turret with his boot. The weapon had overheated and fused into the floor, a testament to just how much firepower had been unleashed.


    Aurora¡¯s gaze swept over the scene. "And they still lost."


    They pressed on, stepping into a central atrium.


    The room was massive, filled with shattered terminals and ruined consoles. A holographic display flickered weakly,flashing distorted schematics and system errors across its surface.


    Then James saw it.


    A reinforced blast door stood at the far end of the atrium, its surface scarred with deep, jagged marks. The words etched into the steel plating sent a shiver down his spine.


    PROJECT: PROMETHEUS CORE


    James glanced at Aurora.


    She was already moving forward.

 The Dc Contract Part 10

    The two entered the room; however, this time, James didn¡¯t search the database or download anything. He didn¡¯t want to risk it. Instead, he watched as Aurora moved around the core, her fingers gliding over its surface with practiced precision. Her movements were careful, deliberate, as if she knew exactly what she was looking for.


    Then, after a moment of searching, she found it.


    A concealed panel clicked open at her touch, revealing a small compartment embedded within the core itself. Inside sat something important, though James couldn¡¯t immediately tell what. Aurora reached in, carefully extracting the object¡ªa sleek, metallic device, no larger than her palm, its surface engraved with faint, glowing circuitry.


    The moment she pulled it free, the facility reacted.


    "WARNING: UNAUTHORIZED REMOVAL DETECTED."


    The intercom¡¯s cold, automated voice echoed through the chamber.


    Then, the lights flickered¡ªand died.


    For a second, there was nothing. No sound. No movement. Just an unsettling silence hanging heavy in the air.


    Then, suddenly, the emergency lights blared to life, bathing the room in a deep, blood-red glow.


    "SELF-DETONATION INITIATED. 180 SECONDS UNTIL COMPLETE FACILITY FAILURE."


    James¡¯ stomach dropped.


    Aurora whipped around, eyes wide.


    James didn¡¯t hesitate. ¡°We have to go. NOW.¡±


    Aurora wasted no time, tucking the object securely into her jacket before sprinting after him.


    James had run through collapsing buildings, dodged enemy fire, and even walked out of places no one else had survived¡ªbut a nuclear-powered lab going critical in under three minutes? That was cutting it close even for him.


    They bolted through the atrium, their boots slamming against the metal flooring as they retraced their steps. The alarms blared louder, and the walls shuddered with the first signs of structural instability.


    James kept his rifle ready, scanning for anything in their path. The place had been abandoned for years, but that didn¡¯t mean it was empty.


    140 seconds.


    They ducked into the main corridor, the way they had come, only to find that the old facility had already begun sealing doors.


    ¡°Shit! Over here!¡± James barked, motioning toward a side route.


    Aurora followed without hesitation, moving just as fast.


    The hallway ahead was already cracking, fissures forming along the ceiling as dust and debris rained down. Sparks flew from broken light fixtures, and the ground trembled under their feet.


    110 seconds.


    They rounded a corner and came face to face with a collapsed passage. A support beam had given out, sending an entire section of the ceiling crashing down.


    Aurora skidded to a stop. ¡°We can¡¯t go through that!¡±


    James gritted his teeth, scanning for an alternate route. His eyes locked onto an old maintenance access hatch along the wall.


    ¡°Through here!¡± he shouted, already moving.


    Aurora followed. She grabbed the panel and wrenched it open, revealing a cramped ventilation passage barely wide enough for them to crawl through.


    James went in first, dragging himself forward as fast as he could. The metal creaked beneath his weight, and for a second, he thought it would collapse completely.


    Behind him, Aurora moved just as quickly.


    80 seconds.


    They dropped down into another hallway, landing hard on the cold metal floor. James pushed himself up, his muscles burning, and turned¡ªonly to freeze.


    A heavy thud echoed down the hall. Then another.


    A silhouette emerged from the flickering red haze.


    It was bigger. Four-legged.


    Heavy armor plating covered its body, thicker than the droids they had fought earlier. Its head was a sleek, featureless slab of reinforced metal, and a high-powered rotary cannon was mounted on its back, already spinning up.


    James had seen a lot of things. But this?


    This was something designed to fight tanks on equal footing.


    ¡°MOVE!¡± James shoved Aurora aside just as the rotary cannon screamed to life, tearing through the hallway in a hail of high-velocity rounds.


    They ducked behind cover, debris exploding around them as metal was shredded to ribbons.


    James whipped out his 1911 and fired two shots straight into the machine¡¯s plating.


    The rounds bounced off. IT BOUNCED OFF.


    ¡°Goddamn it.¡± James swore, he knew he would regret not bringing his gauss rifle.


    Aurora returned fire, her pistol doing just as much damage¡ªwhich was none.


    The droid advanced, relentless, stepping over the bullet-riddled floor with mechanical efficiency.


    50 seconds.


    James gritted his teeth. They didn¡¯t have time for this.


    ¡°Aurora, go!¡± he shouted, shifting to his rifle and unloading an entire magazine at its joints. Not a single shot penetrated.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    She hesitated. ¡°James¡ª¡±


    ¡°GO!¡± he barked, already moving to draw the droid¡¯s attention away.


    Aurora swore but listened, sprinting for the exit ahead.


    The droid turned its cannons toward her.


    Not happening, she was his pay day after all.


    James grabbed one of his Hexelon grenades, primed it, and hurled it straight under the droid. The explosion ripped through the hallway, sending shockwaves through the facility as the reinforced walls trembled under the force. The blast staggered the mechanical beast, its legs struggling for stability as molten shrapnel lodged into its undercarriage.


    James didn¡¯t waste the opportunity.


    He sprinted forward, ducking low as the droid reeled from the concussive force. In one fluid motion, he unsheathed his Plasteel blade. The moment he slid beneath the towering machine, he struck.


    The blade tore into the crevice between its armor plating and leg servos, slicing deep into the exposed wiring and mechanical joints. Sparks erupted, illuminating the narrow passage with violent bursts of white-hot light. The machine lurched, its balance faltering as James twisted the blade with all his enhanced strength, severing critical support structures.


    With a deafening groan of metal, one of its massive legs buckled.


    James had no time to celebrate.


    The moment the limb gave out, the machine collapsed under its own weight, and his blade was ripped from his grip, still embedded deep within the servos. He rolled out from underneath just as the droid crashed down, sparks and smoke pouring from its damaged frame.


    20 seconds.


    He didn¡¯t stick around to watch it recover. He ran.


    Aurora was already at the ladder, climbing out with desperate urgency. James sprinted after her, every muscle in his body screaming in protest. His lungs burned, his legs felt like they would give out, but he pushed harder.


    10 seconds.


    His hands grasped the ladder just as the droid behind him forced itself back up. Even crippled, it wasn''t done.


    5 seconds.


    James hauled himself up, arms trembling with exertion as the countdown echoed through the facility. Aurora and startled Laim grabbed his arms and yanked him up just as the hatch detonated beneath them.


    A fireball erupted, engulfing the entrance in a catastrophic explosion.


    The shockwave hit like a battering ram. James barely had time to register the blast before he was thrown violently across the sand. His body crashed into the ground, rolling with the force, pain flaring in every nerve.


    He coughed, inhaling a mix of scorching heat and dust as he forced himself onto his back. His vision swam, ears ringing with the aftermath of the explosion. His muscles ached, his body battered and bruised from the escape.


    Aurora lay beside him, equally breathless, her chest rising and falling as she stared at the massive plume of fire and smoke rising from the wreckage of the facility.


    James wiped the grime from his face, spitting sand from his mouth. Then, still sprawled out on the ground, he turned his head toward Aurora and smirked.


    ¡°That,¡± he exhaled, ¡°was way too close.¡±


    Aurora let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head. ¡°You think?¡±


    James sighed, turning his gaze up to the sky as the last embers of the inferno below began to die.


    Whatever the hell Project Thanatos was¡­ at least it was buried now.  Or so he hoped


    "What the hell was that?" Laim asked, his voice still laced with shock as he took in the smoldering ruins of the underground facility.


    James pushed himself off the ground, dusting off the layer of ash and sand coating his jacket. His body ached from the escape, but what really caught his attention was the sheer amount of insectoid corpses surrounding them. The creatures were piled in heaps, their twisted exoskeletons cracked and charred, some still twitching from residual nerve impulses.


    James let out a slow breath, scanning the battlefield. "The real question is... what the fuck happened up here?" He looked at Laim, expecting answers.


    Laim exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple as if trying to piece together the madness himself. "They came out of the wormhole while you were down there," he said. "One minute, it was all clear. The next? I was fighting off a goddamn horde."


    James narrowed his eyes at the massive insectoid corpses, his mind working through the thought.


    "Well, alright then," James muttered, running a hand through his hair. He wasn¡¯t in the mood to dwell on whatever eldritch horrors the wasteland had in store for them next.


    Aurora, brushing sand off her Cryoweave jacket, sighed heavily. "Enough chit-chat. Let¡¯s get the hell out of here. If I don¡¯t see sand again, it¡¯ll be too soon."


    James couldn''t help but smirk. "Yeah, good luck with that."


    With that, they made their way to the battered jeep, its frame still dented and the windshield still missing.


    Laim climbed into the passenger seat, muttering something about being too old for this, while Aurora settled into the back, arms crossed, clearly exhausted but too proud to say anything.


    James turned the key, and the engine rumbled to life, coughing up a cloud of dust before settling into a rough, uneven purr.


    "Damn thing¡¯s on its last legs," Laim muttered.


    "Just like you" James quipped, shifting the vehicle into gear.


    The ride back was bumpy and tense. The wasteland stretched endlessly before them, the distant, hollow sound of the wind whispering through the dunes. The only remnants of the battle were the piles of broken insectoid corpses, half-buried in the shifting sands.


    James kept his grip firm on the wheel, keeping an eye on the horizon as they closed the distance to the Bradley.


    Aurora finally spoke up. "We¡¯re burning daylight. You think the others ran into trouble?"


    "With our luck?" James replied. "Wouldn¡¯t surprise me."


    As the jeep rumbled closer, James felt the familiar chill of unease creep up his spine. Something was wrong¡ªdeeply wrong.


    The Bradley wasn¡¯t moving. That alone wouldn¡¯t have been too alarming, except for the battlefield surrounding it.


    Cratered earth.


    Scattered corpses.


    The bodies of mutants, some twisted beyond recognition, were strewn across the sand like discarded dolls. Burn marks, claw gouges, and fresh pools of blood painted a gruesome picture.


    James tightened his grip on the wheel. ¡°Shit.¡±


    They rolled to a stop, the quiet of the wasteland pressing down on them like a suffocating weight.


    James and the others disembarked quickly, weapons raised.


    ¡°Keep your eyes sharp,¡± he muttered, scanning the wreckage.


    The first body they found was one of the guards. Or, what was left of him.


    His carcass lay sprawled across the sand, his arm missing from the socket, ripped away with brutal force. His exosuit, meant to be high-end protection, was torn apart like paper.


    James crouched beside the corpse, inspecting the damage. Long, deep slashes had ripped through the chest, exposing torn muscle and shattered ribs. His organs spilled from the gaping wound, glistening in the dim light, already swarmed by desert insects feasting on the fresh kill.


    The sand beneath the body was soaked dark red, still wet, meaning whatever had done this was recent.


    James exhaled sharply, standing back up. "These exo-suits are shit."


    Laim let out a low whistle, his expression grim. ¡°Poor bastard didn¡¯t stand a chance.¡±


    Then James saw her.


    Lying in a pool of her own blood.


    ¡°Shit.¡±


    It was Raven.


    Laim froze beside him, his voice quiet. "Oh..."


    James walked forward, dropping to one knee beside her.


    She was a mess.


    Her body was mangled, her leg torn clean off just above the knee, leaving jagged flesh and splintered bone exposed.


    But she hadn¡¯t gone down easy.


    Around her, mutant corpses littered the sand, their twisted, inhuman forms riddled with deep stab wounds. One lay slumped over her, her combat knife buried to the hilt in its eye socket.


    Another mutant, missing a chunk of its throat, had her boot lodged against its skull¡ªa final, defiant strike before she had bled out.


    She had fought to the last breath.


    James clenched his jaw. " Danm."


    Aurora crouched beside him, pressing two fingers to Raven¡¯s throat. She didn¡¯t say anything.


    She didn¡¯t need to.


    They already knew. She was gone.

 The DC Contract Part 11

    The group pressed forward, the stench of blood and rot thick in the air as they neared the Bradley. The remains of the last guard lay in their path¡ªa horrifying sight.


    His torso and lower body had been completely severed, the cut jagged and brutal, as if something had ripped him apart with sheer force rather than slicing cleanly. His intestines were spilled across the sand, coiling like grotesque ropes, steaming in the cold air. His ribs were shattered outward, fragments of bone jutting from the gory mess of his chest cavity.


    James let out a whistle.


    His face was still contorted in agony, eyes frozen wide open, mouth twisted in a silent scream¡ªwhatever had done this, he had felt every second of it.


    Aurora knelt briefly, examining the corpse, her fingers gliding over the mangled remains with unsettling precision. ¡°Torn apart. Something strong did this. Not a blade. Not claws. Just¡­ raw power.¡±


    James nodded grimly. ¡°Let¡¯s move.¡±


    They stepped around the ruined corpse, pushing on towards the Bradley.


    And that¡¯s when James stopped in his tracks.


    The inside of the armored vehicle was a slaughterhouse.


    Through the open hatch, James could see bodies piled on top of one another, their forms so torn and mangled that it was impossible to tell where one ended and another began. The interior was painted red, blood coating every surface, dripping from the ceiling in thick, slow-moving rivulets.


    Limbs.


    Chunks of flesh.


    Pieces of armor and torn clothing, embedded in the walls like shrapnel.


    James couldn¡¯t even count how many bodies were in there. There was no distinction between them anymore¡ªjust a pulped, shredded mass of what used to be people.


    Then Laim saw it.


    He stumbled back, his breath hitching. ¡°Jesus¡­ holy fuck¡­¡±


    Laim bent over removing his mask and vomited violently onto the sand. His entire body shook with each heave, retching up everything in his stomach.


    James didn¡¯t blame him it was a nasty sight.


    Aurora, however, just stared.


    Her violet eyes flicked over the scene, expression unreadable, but James saw the way her jaw tensed. Even she wasn¡¯t unshaken by this.


    James took a slow step forward, gripping the hatch for a better look. The stench hit him full force¡ªcoppery, thick, and suffocating.


    James spotted him¡ªRyan¡¯s body, half-buried beneath a pile of rubble and twisted metal, his limbs sprawled unnaturally, like a discarded doll. His face was barely visible, his head slumped forward, a deep gash running from his temple down to his jaw, dried blood matting his dark hair.


    His torso had taken the worst of it¡ªhis chest plate was caved in, jagged metal piercing straight through him, pinning him to the debris. His arms, once tense with life, hung limply, one bent at an impossible angle. His fingers twitched slightly, but James knew it was just the nerves shutting down.


    James exhaled, stepping closer. He crouched down beside the wreckage, taking in the kid¡¯s final moments. A brutal death. Probably quick. Probably.


    ¡°Damn, kid,¡± was all James said.


    His face didn¡¯t change¡ªnot a flicker of emotion. At this point, almost nothing fazed him anymore. Death was a part of the job, but that didn¡¯t mean it didn¡¯t leave something behind. A quiet, lingering disappointment settled in his chest.


    Ryan had been tough, resilient despite the odds, despite the shitstorm this job had thrown at him. But dumb luck runs out eventually.


    James reached down, gripping the chain around Ryan¡¯s neck, lifting it free from beneath the torn remains of his gear. A simple silver cross, its surface dull and scratched from years of wear. A personal thing. Something that had mattered to him.


    James slipped it into his pocket.


    Then, with practiced care, he reached up and closed Ryan¡¯s eyes, holding them shut until the cold did the job for him.


    James stood, turning toward the others.


    Aurora was rummaging through the wreckage of the Bradley, retrieving something¡ªhe didn¡¯t ask what. Laim, however, was kneeling beside Raven¡¯s lifeless body, his head bowed, whispering a quiet prayer over her.


    James watched as Laim finished, pressing his fingers to his forehead, chest, and shoulders¡ªthe sign of the cross¡ªbefore standing. His movements were slow, heavy. He looked drained, his face pale and hollow.


    James spoke, his voice steady. ¡°Let¡¯s not wait around for whatever did this.¡± He slung his rifle over his shoulder. ¡°Everyone back to the jeep.¡±


    No one argued.


    They moved with purpose, silent, no words needed.


    James climbed into the driver¡¯s seat, starting the engine. As the jeep rumbled to life, he cast one final glance back at the blood-soaked battlefield.


    Then he drove.


    It was time to get the hell out of here.


    The drive out of the desert wasteland was eerily peaceful. Too peaceful.


    James kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting lightly on his holster, scanning the horizon. No movement. No more mutants, no swarming insects, no sign of the horrors that had pursued them just hours before. The only sound was the steady hum of the jeep¡¯s engine, the occasional creak of their gear shifting with the bumps in the sand.


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    The silence felt wrong.


    James had seen it before¡ªthe calm after the storm. The world didn¡¯t just let people walk away from places like DC. But for now, it seemed content to let them leave.


    The remnants of the ruined city faded behind them as they approached the irradiated forest once more. The trees, once twisted and gnarled, had been blackened to their roots by the fire. The inferno James had set back at the Vaulter Vine incident had done its work¡ªentire sections of the forest had been reduced to smoldering husks, clearing the once-dense, suffocating path ahead.


    James drove slowly, navigating around charred logs and fallen debris, the ground beneath them still cracking from the heat. He could see where the fire had burned hotter than it should have, where the mutated plant life had reacted violently to the flames. In some areas, strange pulsating growths had burst open, leaving behind nothing but ashen craters.


    They didn¡¯t see a single living thing.


    No scavengers. No stalkers. No remnants of whatever had once ruled this place. It was as if the forest itself had accepted its fate, its monsters burned away in exchange for their passage.


    James¡¯ grip on the wheel tightened as they pushed through the last leg of the journey. The hours dragged on, the road a long, winding path through destruction. The farther they went, the thinner the air became¡ªnot in a physical sense, but in that unnatural, oppressive way that reminded him of places that had been tainted for too long.


    By the time they emerged from the burned-out woodland, twenty minutes had passed¡ªa fraction of what it took them to get in.


    As they left the DC Wastes, the others finally pulled off their masks, breathing in what passed for fresh air in the Virginia Wasteland. It wasn¡¯t clean, it wasn¡¯t great¡ªbut at least it was breathable.


    The jeep shook violently as James maneuvered it back onto I-81, the worn asphalt groaning under the weight of their battered vehicle. The road ahead stretched long and empty, a desolate ribbon cutting through the wasteland. And just like that, they were finally heading back.


    James exhaled, easing his grip on the wheel as the tension settled, if only slightly. ¡°We should be back in about seven hours,¡± he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.


    Then, in an attempt to break the heavy silence, he glanced over at Aurora, smirking. ¡°Still expecting my pay to be increased since the other two died.¡± His tone was casual and joking.


    Aurora gave him a sidelong look, raising an eyebrow. ¡°That wasn¡¯t in the contract, but¡­ I¡¯m sure something can be arranged,¡± she replied, her voice carrying a rare trace of amusement.


    In the backseat, Laim perked up at the exchange. He had been quiet, the reality of the past three days of hell still settling in. He felt the loss but at the same time, it was a strange kind of grief. They had only known each other for a short time.


    Still, even in that short span, they had fought, bled, and survived together.


    Laim leaned forward, resting his arm on the front seat, flashing a tired smirk. ¡°You better split that with me.¡±


    James let out a chuckle. ¡°Hell no.¡±


    Aurora scoffed. ¡°I thought mercenaries were all about honor?¡±


    James grinned, shaking his head. ¡°We are. But I¡¯m also about getting paid.¡±


    For the first time in hours, laughter filled the jeep. It wasn¡¯t forced, it wasn''t hollow. Just three survivors, riding through the wasteland.


    As the hours rolled by, the tension from earlier faded, replaced by the rhythm of casual conversation. Three hours had passed since they got back on the road, and for once, the ride was smooth. The wasteland stretched endlessly around them, the cracked asphalt of I-81 a rare piece of stability in the shifting, chaotic landscape.


    Laim leaned back in his seat with a sigh. ¡°Feels weird¡­ actually having some quiet after everything.¡±


    James smirked, eyes still on the road. ¡°Don¡¯t jinx it.¡±


    Aurora chuckled from the passenger seat. ¡°You really believe in that?¡±


    ¡°I believe in not tempting fate.¡±


    Laim stretched, rolling his shoulders. ¡°Well, when we make it back, I already know what I¡¯m spending my cut on.¡±


    James glanced at him. ¡°Yeah? What¡¯s the plan?¡±


    Laim grinned, his voice carrying something rare¡ªgenuine warmth. ¡°I¡¯m putting my kids through college.¡±


    James gave him a skeptical look. ¡°They still have those?¡±


    Aurora laughed, turning toward him. ¡°Yes, they do. But they¡¯re expensive. We have two in Norfolk.¡±


    Laim shrugged. ¡°Well, someone¡¯s gotta give them a better life.¡± There was no hesitation in his voice. No bitterness. Just a simple truth.


    Aurora smiled, seemingly caught off guard by the sincerity. ¡°That¡¯s actually a good answer.¡±


    Then she turned to James. ¡°What about you? What are you gonna do with your cut?¡±


    James kept his eyes on the road. ¡°I¡¯m buying a battery.¡±


    Silence.


    Laim blinked. ¡°A battery?¡±


    Aurora frowned. ¡°That¡¯s it?¡±


    James shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world. ¡°Yeah. An off-the-line fuel cell¡ªonly the best for my car.¡±


    Laim looked genuinely baffled. ¡°You¡¯re telling me you survive all that bullshit, get a fat payday, and you¡¯re spending it on your car?¡±


    James smirked. ¡°Yep.¡±


    Aurora shook her head in disbelief. ¡°That¡¯s ridiculous. Where are you even planning on going?¡±


    James tapped the wheel, a subtle smirk tugging at his lips. ¡°That¡¯s my business.¡±


    Laim scoffed. ¡°Man, I was expecting you to say ¡®a bunker¡¯ or ¡®enough booze to wipe a country off the map¡¯¡ªbut a damn battery?¡±


    Aurora crossed her arms. ¡°Are you secretly a machine? Is that why you don¡¯t freeze to death?¡±


    James chuckled. ¡°Nope. Made of flesh through and through. And got every bit a man should have,¡± he added in a light, teasing tone, his eyes never leaving the road.


    Aurora rolled her eyes. ¡°You¡¯re dodging the question.¡±


    James shrugged. ¡°And you¡¯re asking too many.¡±


    Laim laughed, shaking his head. ¡°Man, you¡¯re seriously the weirdest merc I¡¯ve ever met.¡±


    The radio crackled to life, the static breaking through the peaceful lull inside the jeep. All three of them instinctively turned their heads toward it, their moment of ease instantly shattered.


    A distorted voice, calm yet menacing, cut through the interference.


    ¡°Pull over NOW and you will be spared.¡±


    James frowned, his fingers tightening around the wheel. ¡°What the hell¡ª¡±


    Before he could finish his thought, a gunshot thundered through the air.


    James barely had time to react before Laim jerked violently, his body slamming against the seat as a massive hole exploded through his chest. Blood sprayed across the dashboard, hot and thick. His head lolled forward, eyes wide in shock as a gurgling sound escaped his throat..


    James cursed, instinctively yanking the wheel to the right just as a second shot rang out. This one tore through the left side of the engine block, sending a burst of steam and oil spraying into the air. Almost simultaneously, another round punctured the front left wheel.


    The jeep lurched violently.


    James fought for controls, but the vehicle had already lost its stability. The back end swung hard to the left, sending them into an uncontrollable spin. The tires screeched against the cracked asphalt, the entire world outside blurring into a chaotic swirl of dust and sand.


    Aurora braced herself against the dash, her breathing frantic. ¡°James¡ª¡±


    ¡°HOLD ON!¡± James roared.


    The jeep slammed sideways into a jagged dip in the road, flipping once, twice¡ªglass shattering, metal screaming as it twisted and crunched under the violent force. James felt his body whip forward, his seatbelt biting into his torso. Aurora¡¯s form was tossed violently against the passenger door before everything blurred into darkness.


    The final impact sent the jeep rolling into a ditch, metal scraping against stone before it came to a violent, jarring halt.


    Silence.

 The DC Contract Part 12

    James awoke to pain.


    His body screamed in protest, nerves burning from the violent impact. His ears rang, a sharp, high-pitched whine drowning out everything else, and his vision swam as he tried to process his surroundings.


    Upside down. Wreckage. Blood.


    The Jeep had flipped. The world was a chaotic mess of metal, dirt, and shattered glass.


    Move.


    He didn¡¯t even try to unbuckle¡ªhe ripped the seatbelt from the frame with a brutal yank. Gravity did its job, and he tensed mid-fall, twisting his body to catch himself before he slammed into the crumpled roof. He landed gracefully, years of experience and enhanced reflexes kicking in even through the haze of pain.


    James had seen a lot. Done a lot.


    Killed a lot.


    Watched many die.


    He had hardened himself, honed his emotions into a weapon, dulled them when needed. Attachments were dangerous. Grief was a killer.


    Maybe it was the gene mods. Maybe it was the implants that dulled emotions like sadness.


    But not this time.


    This time, he was furious.


    THESE BASTARDS DARED TO MAKE HIM BREAK HIS PROMISE.


    He had sworn¡ªsworn to himself¡ªthat Laim would make it back. And now he was dead.


    James clenched his jaw so hard it hurt, his vision going red, his eyes glowing so bright they illuminated the wreck before he forced it back under control. Later. The rage would serve him later.


    Right now, he needed to move.


    His gaze snapped to the passenger side¡ªAurora.


    She was still strapped in, her head slumped forward, blood running down her face. Unconscious.


    ¡°Shit.¡±


    James moved¡ªfast and precise. He unbuckled her gently, careful not to jostle her more than necessary, then hoisted her out of the wreckage with ease. He carried her behind the remains of the Jeep, dragging her to a patch of road just below the incline, using the wreck for cover.


    Boots.


    Close.


    He grabbed his bag in one motion, slung it over his shoulder, and reached inside. His HK416 was still intact¡ªthere was a reason he chose his guns. His fingers wrapped around the grip, muscle memory locking into place.


    Kill.


    The first enemy rounded the Jeep.


    James rose up like a ghost, rifle already aimed.


    Three shots. Burst fire. Chest. Throat. Skull.


    The soldier collapsed mid-step, their rifle falling uselessly from limp hands. The others barely had time to register what had happened.


    Too slow.


    James pivoted. One. Two. Three. The enemies crumpled in rapid succession.


    He adjusted fire. Next target. Headshot.


    Another. Gut shot. They screamed before the follow-up round ended it.


    The last of them turned, trying to retreat.


    Coward.


    James put a round in the back of their knee. They collapsed, howling, scrambling, trying to crawl¡ªtoo late.


    James left him there, screaming in pain, hoping to draw more out in a desperate, ill-fated rescue attempt.


    But then¡ªa shot rang out.


    The man fell silent, his body slumping lifelessly into the dirt.


    The silence returned.


    The bodies didn¡¯t move.


    James exhaled, slow and steady. Heart hammering. Controlled.


    James took the brief respite to assess his injuries, his body still thrumming with adrenaline and fury. Pain was everywhere, but pain meant he was still alive.


    He pressed a hand against his ribs, inhaling sharply as a burning sensation flared through his chest. Definitely broken¡ªmaybe two, possibly three. Moving was agony, but he had no choice. He shifted his weight and immediately winced. His left leg wasn¡¯t just sprained it was bordering on fractured. The swelling had already started, and every step sent a searing pain shooting up to his hip. Walking would be hell. Running? Not an option unless he wanted to collapse mid-sprint.


    He reached up, feeling along his hairline. When he pulled his fingers back, they were slick with blood. A concussion. That explained the blurred vision and the slow, dull thudding in his skull. His brain was swelling, pressing against the inside of his skull like a caged animal.


    But internal bleeding? That, he wasn¡¯t worried about. He knew from experience that his enhanced physiology would prioritize life-threatening wounds first. A ruptured organ, arterial bleeding¡ªhis body would fix that immediately. But it came at a cost.


    The broken bones, the concussion, the torn muscles, the cuts¡ªthey would all remain untouched. His body had to focus on keeping him alive. Everything else? He¡¯d just have to endure it.


    Great. Just great.


    With a grunt, James wiped his bloody hand on his already ruined jacket and turned his attention to Aurora.


    She wasn¡¯t just injured¡ªshe was in bad shape.


    A deep gash stretched across the side of her forehead, blood trailing sluggishly down her temple. It looked bad¡ªbut then, he saw it. The wound was closing. Slowly. Not as fast as he would heal, but still¡ªher body was working on it. So, she had a healing mod too.


    Good.


    Her arm, however, was a different story.


    James gently lifted it and hissed through his teeth. Completely shattered. Her forearm was bent at an unnatural angle, and when he pressed lightly, he could feel fragments of bone shifting under her skin. If that didn¡¯t get set properly, she¡¯d never use that arm the same way again.


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    Then there was her ankle.


    James stared at it, deadpan.


    Her foot was facing the wrong way.


    Dislocated at best. Broken at worst. Shattered, most likely. The skin around it was already swelling and darkening, a clear sign of severe damage. She wouldn¡¯t be able to put weight on it. Not without immediate medical attention.


    Internally? He didn¡¯t even want to think about it.


    A punctured lung, internal bleeding, ruptured organs¡ªif she had any of those, there was nothing he could do. No amount of wrapping wounds and setting bones would help if she was dying from the inside out.


    James clenched his fists. He had no time to waste.


    All he could do was hope she wouldn¡¯t die before he killed the bastards responsible.


    Just then, the radio on the first dead man crackled to life. James instinctively tensed, his grip tightening around his rifle as he finally took a proper look at the body.


    EHD.


    Unlike SDS soldiers, who wore bulky exo-suits that made them look more like machines than men, EHD troops were closer in appearance to pre-war military forces. Their gear was practical worn but well-maintained.


    All black. No camouflage.


    Their attire was built for urban warfare, not the wasteland. Heavy-duty hooded jackets woven with some kind of anti-tearing fabric, layered under reinforced plate carriers. Their faces were completely concealed beneath balaclavas, leaving nothing visible but their eyes.


    James'' gaze flicked toward the fallen man¡¯s rifle. MPR-17 "Viper." High-caliber, suppressed, built for precision combat. This wasn¡¯t standard-issue gear.


    These weren¡¯t just normal soldiers.


    They were EHD Black Vultures¡ªthe best their military had to offer without dipping into Splicers or Augmenters. Elite kill teams. Trained for covert operations, sabotage, and high-risk extractions. If the EHD had sent Black Vultures after them, this was bigger than James had initially thought.


    The radio crackled again.


    "If you can hear me, pick up the radio. We can negotiate."


    The voice was calm. Controlled. Whoever was on the other end wasn¡¯t panicked. They knew exactly what they were doing.


    James picked up the radio, bringing it to his lips. His voice was steady, sharp.


    ¡°Who is this?¡±


    Silence. A long, deliberate pause. Then a voice crackled back through the static.


    ¡°James, is that you?¡±


    A flicker of familiarity stirred in his gut. His eyes narrowed. ¡°Who is this?¡± he repeated, more forceful this time.


    Then, a low chuckle. ¡°Holy shit, that really is you. Don¡¯t tell me you don¡¯t recognize my voice?¡±


    The realization clicked like a bullet sliding into place.


    Mr. Apollo.


    James exhaled slowly, rolling his neck. The last time he¡¯d heard that voice, it had been over a different radio, under different circumstances. Maine. A job that involved eliminating a certain  slave girl turned warlord who took over a brutal little empire along the coast. Mr. Apollo had been the one who hired him for that job.


    A professional, through and through. If James was a mercenary¡ªa soldier for hire¡ªthen Apollo was a retriever. A specialist in acquiring objects, artifacts, and technology from places others wouldn¡¯t dare step into. Ruined bunkers, sunken warships, old-world labs buried under collapsed cities. If there was something worth retrieving, Apollo could get it.


    And he was damn good at it.


    James adjusted his grip on the radio. ¡°What the hell are you doing down here? Last I heard, you were still running your business up in Maine.¡±


    Apollo¡¯s response came with a grin James could practically hear. ¡°Yeah, well, when a massive organization offers you an obscene amount of money to do the same job you¡¯re already doing¡ªbut in a warmer climate¡ªand they set you up with a brand-new shop? You take the deal.¡±


    James¡¯ jaw tightened slightly. EHD. They had poached Apollo. Which meant this was more than just a random ambush. They were after something. And considering what he and Aurora had just pulled out of Project Prometheus¡ªhe already knew exactly what.


    James¡¯ eyes flicked toward Aurora. She was still unconscious, her breathing shallow but steady.


    Apollo¡¯s voice came through again, this time more casual. ¡°I will say, though¡ªI wasn¡¯t expecting to run into you. But I suppose it makes sense. SDS would hire someone like you for a job like this.¡± He paused, then continued, his tone smooth and calculated. ¡°Look, we both know you¡¯re not in a great spot. But since I know you, I¡¯ll make this simple¡ªjust hand over the core, and I¡¯ll let you walk away.¡±


    James¡¯ fingers curled around the radio. His mind was already working through the angles. A direct fight against an elite retrieval unit was suicide, especially in his condition. He could stall, play along¡ªbut Apollo wasn¡¯t an idiot.


    His gaze shifted back to Aurora. She was still out cold his gaze lingered just a little too long. A second more than necessary.


    ¡°And the girl?¡± he asked carefully.


    There was a beat of silence before Apollo let out an exaggerated hum.


    ¡°Oh my, oh my¡­ has the unflinching James Grayson finally taken a liking to someone?¡±


    James¡¯ grip tightened on the radio. His voice came out cold. ¡°Answer the question, Apollo. She¡¯s my client.¡±


    Apollo¡¯s amusement didn¡¯t fade, but his tone shifted¡ªlower, more serious. ¡°My clients would prefer she didn¡¯t make it out of here.¡± He exhaled, almost lazily. ¡°But, honestly? I don¡¯t give a damn about their preferences. I was hired to get the core. That¡¯s it.¡±


    James remained silent, his mind racing.


    So it wasn¡¯t just about Prometheus. This was groundwork¡ªa piece of something much bigger. And James had a damn good idea of what that something was.


    His grip on the radio tightened, his jaw flexing as he exhaled slowly. ¡°You know, I have a reputation to uphold, Apollo. I can¡¯t just give you the core.¡±


    A soft chuckle came through the static, one that lacked any real humor. ¡°I know you can¡¯t. But it was worth a try.¡±


    There was a pause, then Apollo¡¯s tone shifted¡ªsteady, certain. ¡°Just know, this truly isn¡¯t personal. If I had my way, I¡¯d rather have you on my side. But alas¡­ it¡¯s just business.¡±


    And with that, the radio went silent.


    James understood how Apollo felt¡ªhe wasn¡¯t the type to take this personally. Business was business. But the sniper? That bastard was going to feel every ounce of James¡¯s wrath.


    Before he could dwell on it further, a hail of bullets ripped through the wrecked Jeep, tearing through metal and glass like paper. Shit. They weren¡¯t wasting time.


    James ducked lower, keeping his head down as bullets ricocheted off the vehicle¡¯s frame. He had maybe five seconds before they flanked him, ten if they were cautious. He needed a plan. Fast.


    He yanked his bag open, searching for anything that could turn this around.


    Ten grenades left. Useful, but only if he could use them without getting shredded first.


    Rope. Climbing gear. No help right now.


    Water. Combat drug. He nearly skipped over it until¡ª


    The combat drug.


    James¡¯s fingers froze for half a second before wrapping around the small, pressurized injector at the bottom of his bag. How the hell did I forget I had this? He almost never needed it. The drug was dangerous and volatile, only stable for about a week after production before breaking down into something even deadlier.


    Designed for enhanced soldiers, it pushed the body beyond its absolute limits¡ªoverriding pain, flooding muscles with raw strength and endurance, and sharpening reflexes to an almost supernatural level. But the cost? It burned through every resource in the body like wildfire.


    For a normal man, it was a one-way ticket to the grave. A single use could shut down organs, overload the heart, and fry the nervous system beyond repair. It was the kind of thing you gave to expendable assets¡ªthose expected to die anyway.


    But James wasn¡¯t normal. His body could handle it.


    The gunfire was getting louder. Closer. Then¡ªa sharp, distinct whine cut through the chaos.


    A Gauss cannon charging.


    James didn¡¯t have time to think. No other choice.


    He jammed the needle into his neck and pressed the injector.


    The effect was immediate.


    Not just dulled¡ªthe pain vanished completely. His nerves, once screaming, went silent. His muscles tensed, no longer sluggish from exhaustion. His heart pounded like a war drum, his blood surging like liquid fire through his veins.


    The world slowed to a crawl.


    James already thought faster than most¡ªhis enhancements, his neural implants, his sheer reflexes put him leaps and bounds ahead of the average soldier. But with the combat drug in his system, it was something else entirely.


    This was as close to stopping time as a human could get.


    His body wouldn¡¯t move any faster¡ªbut this time, there was no holding back.


    His mind processed every detail with inhuman clarity¡ªthe trajectory of bullets, the shifting of shadows, the faintest movement from the enemy encircling the wreckage.


    He rose to his feet, smooth and deliberate, grenades filling his pockets, HK416 in hand.


    And then he moved.

 The DC Contract Part 13

    James moved like a specter, his body a blur as he exploded out from behind the wreckage. He was a phantom of death, faster than the human eye could track, a force of nature propelled by raw adrenaline and the combat drug burning through his veins. The world around him stretched, time crawling as his mind processed every detail with perfect clarity the shifting of boots in the dirt, the rise of rifles, the brief widening of eyes as they spotted him.


    They had no time to react.


    With a flick of his wrist, he hurled a grenade straight into the cluster of soldiers sneaking toward the wreck. The explosion was instant. A shockwave of fire and shrapnel ripped through them, engulfing the darkened sky in a sudden, blinding inferno. The screams followed¡ªa chorus of agony as flames clung to flesh, melting skin to bone. Some staggered, clawing at themselves in desperation, trying in vain to smother the fire. Others fell to the ground, thrashing as their bodies were consumed alive.


    Before they could recover, James was already on them.


    His HK416 roared in his hands, the weapon kicking against his shoulder as he fired with surgical precision. Three shots, three bodies collapsed, their lives snuffed out before they even understood what had happened.


    One soldier turned desperation flashing in his eyes only for a round to tear straight through his throat. He gurgled, hands clawing at the open wound, blood spraying in thick, dark streams. He staggered back, falling to his knees as life drained from his body.


    The last man stumbled, his hands instinctively clutching his gut where a shrapnel had ripped through him. He gasped, his breath wet and ragged, staring at James in horror. James didn¡¯t hesitate. He lined up the sights, squeezed the trigger, and put a round between the man¡¯s eyes.


    Execution.


    Clean. Efficient.


    The others¡ªthe ones still writhing in agony, engulfed in fire¡ªJames left them to their fate. Screaming, flailing, doomed. They were dead already and he had more to kill, and wasting bullets on dying men was a fool¡¯s mistake.


    His gaze snapped forward, scanning for the next target.


    The real slaughter was just beginning.


    James barely had time to react before the Gauss cannon roared to life.


    ¡°Shit.¡±


    The air itself seemed to tremble as the blast fired. The remains of the Jeep ceased to exist in an instant¡ªshrapnel, twisted metal, and burning debris were sent rocketing outward. The shockwave slammed into James, hurling him across the ruined ground. His enhanced body absorbed the brunt of the impact, but even then, his bones rattled, the force momentarily disorienting him.


    Dirt and dust billowed into the air, a thick, choking cloud of ruin. And then, as if the world itself had been waiting for the moment¡ª


    The sun dipped below the horizon.


    The battlefield was cast into darkness.


    The fires from the wreckage and the still-burning men sent flickering, hellish shadows dancing across the ground, twisting and writhing like specters. But for James? This was perfection. This was home.


    He grinned. This was his domain.


    CRACK. A sniper shot.


    James felt it before he heard it¡ªthe shift in air pressure, the microsecond of disturbance as the round sliced through where his head had been moments before. Close. Too close.


    He didn¡¯t hesitate. He dropped low, rolling into cover with feline grace, his movements sharper, faster, perfect under the influence of the combat drug.


    His eyes, glowing faintly with their unnatural blue hue, cut through the darkness like a predator. And there four closing in fast.


    They moved with lethal precision calculated, disciplined, no wasted steps. Their formation was tight, their movements silent. James recognized trained killers when he saw them. He could appreciate their skill, but it wouldn¡¯t save them.


    They were too close for his rifle.


    In a single, fluid motion, his HK416 dropped to its sling as his hand shot to his belt. The Vibroblade hissed to life.


    The first soldier barely had time to react before James was on him. The blade punched through his chest and armor like it was nothing, slipping between ribs and piercing his heart. James twisted the weapon as he yanked it free, the soldier collapsing in a lifeless heap before he could even register the pain.


    The second reacted instantly, swinging his rifle like a club. James sidestepped, the arc of the strike whiffing inches past his face. Before the man could recover, James'' blade lashed out, severing his throat in one effortless motion. Blood sprayed over James in a hot crimson arc, the man gurgling as he dropped, hands clawing at the useless wound.


    Two left.


    His mind had already thrown away unnecessary thoughts. There was no emotion, no hesitation. Just the methodical extermination of those who stood in his way.


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    The third soldier came at him fast, his own combat knife flashing in the dim light. A wild slash aimed at James¡¯ ribs.


    Sloppy.


    James caught his wrist mid-air, fingers like iron around the man¡¯s forearm. With a savage twist, the bone snapped like a dry twig. The soldier barely had time to scream before James drove the hilt of his blade into his temple¡ªhard. The skull caved in with a sickening pop, fragments of bone splintering as brain matter spilled out. The body hit the ground like a ragdoll.


    The last soldier hesitated.


    A fatal mistake.


    James was on him before he could fire. He drove the Vibroblade up under the soldier¡¯s chin, straight through his skull. The blade buzzed violently as it punched through bone, and with a sharp jerk, James ripped it free, letting the final body crumple at his feet.


    Four down.


    His breathing was even, his hands steady. His body was built for this. He was built for this.


    The fight wasn¡¯t over. Not yet.


    James turned, eyes already locking onto his next target. The Gauss cannon operator.


    Then the Gauss cannon fired again.


    James dodged, but the concussive force sent him flying. He hit the ground hard, rolling with the impact. His blade was thrown out of his hand and his sling was broken allowing his HK416 to be lost somewhere in the debris. Before he could fully recover, he heard the whirring of the cannon charging again.


    Move. Now.


    But he didn¡¯t run away, He charged. Straight at it.


    His body was a blur of motion; the operator barely had time to think before James was on top of him. He turned, wide-eyed, his hands moving toward his sidearm. But he was too slow, far too slow.


    James swung his compact shovel like a war axe, caving in the man¡¯s skull with a single brutal strike. Bone, flesh, and reinforced helmet cracked like glass, the body dropping lifelessly to the ground.


    But he wasn¡¯t done.


    James yanked the Gauss cannon, turning it on the sniper¡¯s position. His enhanced vision locked onto the spot, picking out the faintest movement in the shadows.


    A smirk crossed his lips as he overloaded the cannon and fired.


    The blast lit up the night, obliterating the sniper¡¯s perch, sending a massive shockwave tearing through the hillside. Dirt, rock, and metal rained down like shrapnel. James felt the recoil slam through his system, forcing him back, but he dug his boots in, refusing to be thrown.


    Then, silence.


    James took a slow breath, scanning the battlefield.


    Bodies. Everywhere.


    Twenty-two men. All dead.


    But something wasn¡¯t right. His instincts flared, a whisper in the back of his mind¡ªduck.


    James barely moved in time. A sniper round screamed past, the bullet slamming into the dirt right where his head had been seconds before.


    His glowing eyes snapped toward the source, and there he was.


    The sniper had survived.


    James grinned. Game on.


    He darted forward, a phantom in the night, weaving through the battlefield, using the terrain as cover. The sniper fired again¡ªJames sidestepped mid-run, the bullet grazing his shoulder but failing to stop him. He reached a large rock, pressing himself flat against it. His heartbeat was steady, his breath even.


    The sniper was good. However James would be better.


    He moved low and fast, closing the gap, then launched himself forward, clearing the last stretch in seconds. The sniper barely had time to react before James was on him, knocking the rifle aside.


    The sniper recovered in record time drawing his blade. So it would be a  knife fight then.


    The sniper slashed first. James leaned back just enough to let the blade whistle past his throat, then snapped forward, slamming his elbow into the sniper¡¯s ribs the sound of cracking bones could be heard. The man grunted but countered fast, aiming to drive his knife under James¡¯s ribs.


    James caught his wrist, twisting with enough force to break it but the sniper rolled with the motion, yanking James forward into a knee strike. A good move. But not good enough.


    James absorbed the hit, not even earning a flinch. He pushed forward, faster, stronger, driving his forearm into the sniper¡¯s throat, pinning him against a crumbling wall.


    The sniper struggled, eyes burning with defiance.


    In one swift movement James slammed his own knife into the sniper¡¯s chest.


    A gasp. A sputter of blood.


    James twisted the blade, watching the fight drain from the man¡¯s eyes.


    Then he ripped it free, and the sniper collapsed.


    James exhaled, rolling his shoulders as the last echoes of the fight faded into the empty wasteland. It was over. He had won.


    But the job wasn¡¯t finished.


    His body still thrummed with energy, the combat drug coursing through his veins, pushing him to move, to keep going. He knew the crash was coming¡ªthe inevitable toll on his body when the enhancements burned out¡ªbut he still had time. And he needed to use it wisely.


    James moved quickly, gathering his scattered gear from the battlefield. His rifle, his sidearm, whatever ammo he could salvage from the fallen. His mind still running at full capacity, refusing to waste a single second.


    Then, he turned to Laim.


    The older mercenary lay motionless, his body riddled with holes, blood soaking into the cracked pavement beneath him. The man had survived the wastes for years, fought through hell, and in the end, a single sniper round had stolen his life in an instant.


    James knelt beside him, silent. He didn¡¯t close his eyes¡ªhe wasn¡¯t the sentimental type¡ªbut he did reach down, grabbing Laim''s hand. He pulled the ring from his finger, tucking it carefully into one of his pouches.


    For his kids.


    James didn¡¯t linger. He rose smoothly, turning toward Aurora.


    She was still unconscious, her breathing shallow but steady and it had improved. Her injuries were still severe, her arm was still broken along with her shattered ankle. But she was alive and she wasn¡¯t dying.


    James had seen enough people on the verge of death to know. Her body was still healing, slow but steady whatever modifications she had, they were keeping her alive.


    Still, she wasn¡¯t in any shape to move on her own.


    James sighed, shifting his stance before carefully lifting her into his arms. A princess carry. He adjusted his grip, making sure to avoid her broken limbs, and then he began walking.


    The road stretched ahead of him, empty, endless. The stars had begun to pierce through the twilight sky, the last embers of the setting sun dying on the horizon.


    James kept moving.


    One step at a time.


    No hesitation. No looking back.


    There was still a job to finish after all.

 The Aftermath of the DC Contract

    Beep. Beep. Beep.


    The rhythmic sound of a machine cut through the haze. Distant. Faint. But steady.


    Aurora¡¯s consciousness clawed its way back from the abyss, her mind sluggish, body heavy. She could feel the weight of a thick blanket over her, the dull ache in her limbs, the sting of something pinching her skin¡ªan IV? Her fingers twitched.


    Beep. Beep. Beep.


    Her eyes shot open.


    Her heart slammed against her ribs, a surge of panic overriding the grogginess. Her head whipped around, searching, her breath coming fast and uneven¡ª


    Pain. A blinding, searing pain exploded across her skull, racing down her spine, wrapping around her ribs like iron bands. Her ankle burned, sharp and unforgiving, like something had tried to twist it clean off.


    She gasped, squeezing her eyes shut, forcing herself to breathe. Slow. Steady.


    She wasn¡¯t in the field. There were no bullets flying, no screaming, no Gauss cannon ripping through metal.


    She wasn¡¯t dying.


    Blinking through the pain, she took in her surroundings. White walls. Bright fluorescent lighting. The faint scent of antiseptic. An IV stand beside her bed. A heart monitor beeping softly. A hospital.


    The realization hit her like a freight train.


    How the hell did I get here?


    She sucked in a breath, trying to recall what had happened. Flashes. Blurred images. The battle. The wreck. The gunfire. A silhouette moving through the chaos. A voice. A grip. Being carried.


    Strong arms. Blood¡ªso much blood.


    James.


    It was coming back in pieces. The heat of battle, the cold of the night, and James¡ªfighting like something inhuman, moving faster than she thought possible, cutting through men like they were nothing. She remembered the way her body had been weightless, cradled against something firm. The memory was hazy, slipping through her fingers before she could grasp it fully.


    Why?


    Why had he carried her? He could have left her. It would have been easier. Smarter.


    She frowned, a strange unease creeping into her thoughts.


    Before she could dwell on it, the door creaked open.


    Her head snapped toward the sound, ignoring the spike of pain. A figure stepped inside, stopping at the threshold. It was Daniel.


    "You''re finally awake," Daniel said, his tone as cold and detached as ever.


    Aurora blinked, her mind still sluggish, trying to piece everything together. The fight. The crash. The pain. It all felt distant, as though she had been trapped in a fever dream, yet the ache in her body reminded her it had been all too real.


    "What happened?" she rasped, her throat dry and raw.


    Daniel remained as expressionless as ever. "On your way back, you were attacked by EHD assets. In the ensuing battle, 23 operators were killed. The contractor, Laim, was killed in the opening blows. Your vehicle crashed, and you sustained severe injuries. You''ve been unconscious for almost two weeks."


    Her eyes widened. Two weeks?


    She barely processed the number before another thought slammed into her¡ªthe core.


    "What about the core?" she asked sharply, pushing herself up, only for pain to flare across her ribs.


    Daniel didn¡¯t react to her distress. "It''s safe. It has already been implemented."


    Aurora let out a slow breath, allowing herself to relax slightly. At least the mission wasn¡¯t in vain.


    But something still wasn¡¯t adding up. How had they made it back?


    Last she remembered, they had crashed. They should have died out there.


    "How did we make it back here?" she finally asked, her voice quieter this time.


    Daniel studied her for a moment before answering. "We were hoping you could tell us."


    Aurora frowned.


    "All we know is that thirteen days ago, James showed up carrying you before collapsing from exhaustion. He regained consciousness three days later, took his payment, and left without a word. He only said he needed to ''finish burying an old ghost he thought long dead.''"


    Her heart twisted in a way she didn¡¯t quite understand.


    James left.


    She had never known a man more unshakable, more resolute in his actions. But something about the way Daniel phrased it, about the words James had left behind¡­Wherever he was going¡­He wasn¡¯t leaving anything standing when he¡¯s done.


    She felt a strange weight settle in her chest¡ªsomething tight, something uncomfortable.


    He didn¡¯t even say goodbye?


    Daniel continued, his tone as flat as ever. "Based on intel, his last known location was on the outskirts of Virginia. It appears he¡¯s heading south. He crossed out of our borders five days ago."


    Aurora swallowed, her mind racing.


    James left. And she didn¡¯t know why that bothered her.


    Maybe it was because he had been the one to save her. Maybe it was because, despite everything, despite how hard the job was, he had ensured she made it back.


    Wherever he was going¡­He wasn¡¯t leaving anything standing


    10 Days Ago


    James awoke, his mind instantly sharp, instincts firing on all cylinders. No fog. No confusion. Just clarity. The last thing he remembered was the battlefield, the wreck, the drug surging through his system, the bodies hitting the ground one after another.


    Then nothing.


    His eyes adjusted quickly to the sterile white of the hospital room. Monitors beeped in steady rhythm beside him. His body ached, but it was a distant thing, just an annoyance. He glanced down at himself. His wounds were already sealed, scars fading by the hour. Whatever damage he had taken, his body had burned through it like a machine resetting itself. He must have been out for a while.


    The door creaked open. A nurse entered, clipboard in hand. She blinked in surprise, then smiled.


    "Good to see you''re awake, Mr. Grayson. I have to say¡ªyou¡¯re quite amazing. Your body heals at a rate that frankly shouldn¡¯t be possible."


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    James didn¡¯t even blink. "I know."


    He swung his legs over the side of the bed, testing his weight. A dull ache rippled through his limbs, but nothing debilitating. Just enough to remind him of what he had been through.


    The nurse¡¯s smile faltered. "Sir, you were critically injured. When you were brought in, you were in a near-constant state of overdosing . Your nervous system was overloaded, and your body was barely keeping up. You need to rest."


    James ignored her, reaching for the IV in his arm. One smooth motion. A sharp pull. The needle slid free.


    Blood beaded at the puncture site, but his body was already sealing the wound.


    "I appreciate the concern," James said as he pushed himself to his feet. He staggered briefly but forced himself steady. "But I have things I need to do."


    The nurse tried again, "At least wait for¡ª"


    He was already moving.


    James checked out with the same efficiency he approached everything. The doctors asked questions. The administration tried to get him to sign another contract. SDS was eager to lock him down, but James ignored all of it.


    He collected his gear, his weapons, his payment.


    Then he left.


    Stepping outside, the crisp evening air hit him like a wave. The streets were quiet, the glow of artificial lights casting long shadows across the pavement.


    And there she was.


    James grinned for the first time in days.


    His car.


    A sleek, reinforced black machine, built for speed and endurance. His fingers traced along the frame as he approached, feeling the familiar metal beneath his touch. She was still as perfect as he remembered.


    "Hey, girl," he murmured, opening the door. "You miss me?"


    The engine purred to life beneath his fingers.


    It was time to go.


    But not yet.


    James¡¯ fingers tightened around the ring and necklace in his palm. Some people deserved closure.


    He pulled onto the main road, feeling the familiar hum of his car beneath him as he drove out of SDS HQ. He didn¡¯t care about the eyes on him¡ªthe soldiers, the officials, the analysts watching from their offices. Let them watch.


    The city faded behind him, replaced by quieter roads, residential streets. It was sometime later when he pulled up in front of a house.


    Laim¡¯s house.


    James killed the engine, staring at the building through the windshield. It wasn¡¯t quite a suburban home, but it wasn¡¯t fully a city townhouse either. It had a small front yard, enclosed by a low fence, but its structure was sharp, rigid¡ªred brick with defined, harsh edges.


    James exhaled, gripping the ring tighter before stepping out of the car.


    He barely made it to the steps before he saw movement behind the window. A shadow. A presence. They had seen him coming.


    By the time he reached the door, it was already opening.


    A girl stood there.


    No older than fifteen. She had Laim¡¯s sharp features, but softer, untouched by war. She stared at him¡ªsuspicious, guarded.


    James hesitated.


    He had faced monsters, killers, mercenaries, mutants the worst the world had to offer. But this? This was harder. It always was.


    Not feeling anything for the dead didn¡¯t make delivering the news any easier.


    Slowly, he removed his sunglasses showing off his glowing Cherenkov blue eyes.


    "Hey." His voice was steady, careful. "My name is James. I worked with your father¡ª"


    "NO!"


    The girl¡¯s scream shattered the silence.


    She stepped back, her hands trembling, her breathing uneven. Denial. She already knew.


    James didn¡¯t move, didn¡¯t react, only watching as heavy footsteps pounded through the house.


    A boy rushed forward¡ªolder, seventeen, maybe.


    The resemblance to Laim was uncanny.


    His stance was immediately defensive, his arms wrapping protectively around his sister. "What¡¯s going on?" His voice was edged with warning, his glare sharp.


    James remained still. He understood this reaction. He¡¯d seen it before.


    His fingers slipped his sunglasses into his jacket pocket.


    "Perhaps it¡¯s best we take this discussion inside."


    With that, the boy motioned for James to come inside, leading him to the living room. The space was modest, lived-in, but with a quiet emptiness hanging in the air¡ªlike the weight of something missing had already settled over the home.


    The girl sat on a chair, still crying softly, her shoulders shaking with each uneven breath. James took a seat on the couch across from them, exhaling quietly before speaking.


    "I was telling your sister that I worked with your father on his recent job."


    The boy tensed immediately. James could see it in his posture, the way his hands clenched into fists at his sides. They already knew. Maybe not in words, but deep down, they had felt it.


    But confirmation hurts.


    The girl sobbed harder. The more James talked, the worse it got. By the time he reached the end, she couldn''t take it anymore. She stood abruptly, her face buried in her hands as she rushed out of the room, her muffled cries fading down the hall.


    The boy, however, remained.


    Silent. Still.


    James studied him for a moment before standing from the couch and kneeling before him. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small box, setting it carefully on the table between them. The boy¡¯s eyes flickered to it, hesitant, before James spoke.


    "I made a stop before coming here. It¡¯s your father¡¯s ring." James made a stop and had it professionally cleaned.


    The boy swallowed hard but didn¡¯t reach for it. His breathing was slow, controlled, but his fingers twitched like he wanted to grab it and couldn¡¯t bring himself to.


    James didn¡¯t push. Instead, he reached into his pocket again and handed him two cards. One was a debit card. The other, a business card.


    "This has four hundred thousand on it. Use it to put yourself through college¡ªthat¡¯s what your father wanted."


    The boy finally looked up at him, his expression unreadable, eyes slightly glassy. James could see it the anger, the sorrow, the weight of it all pressing down on him. But he took the card anyway, gripping it tightly.


    James gestured to the second.


    "The other is my business card. If you ever need help, just give me a call."


    James would¡¯ve given more, but the SDS was as business-minded as ever, only paying him his 1.5 million cut instead of the full payment from the others. And he still had a fuel cell to buy¡­ and a lot of gear to replace.


    With that, James stood, giving the boy a final nod before heading for the door.


    He didn¡¯t say I¡¯m sorry. He never did.


    James stepped outside, the cool air hitting him as he approached his car. He paused for just a moment, glancing back at the house one last time.


    Then, without another word, he got in, started the engine, and drove away.


    Ryan¡¯s story was different. The man had no family¡ªor at least none that James knew about. Ryan had talked about friends he used to travel with, but who knew where they were now? Maybe dead. Maybe wandering the wastes. Either way, there was no one to give anything to. No one to grieve for him.


    So James would give him a proper send off.


    He found a nice spot on a hill, where an old, stubborn tree stood, its roots tangled deep in the cracked earth. From here, he could see for miles¡ªnothing but rolling wilderness, the scarred remains of a world that refused to die completely. It was as good a resting place as any.


    James knelt down, pulling out his compact shovel and digging a small hole in the tree¡¯s shadow. It wasn¡¯t much, but it would do. He reached into his pocket and pulled out Ryan¡¯s necklace¡ªa simple silver cross, worn down by time and dirt. He placed it in the earth carefully and with respect.


    Then he took out a bottle of whiskey. Not the cheap stuff. A bottle that had somehow survived the end of the world, hidden away in some forgotten bunker until he got his hands on it. He poured two glasses.


    One for himself.


    One for Ryan.


    Lifting his own glass, he took a slow sip, letting the burn settle in his throat. Then, without a word, he tipped the other over, letting the amber liquid spill into the dirt, soaking into the fresh grave.


    "I don¡¯t know if this is your first drink, but I figured your last should be good."


    He let the silence hang for a moment. Then he stood, leaving the half-empty bottle leaning against the tree before walking away.


    There was nothing left to say.


    With that done, James finally got what he had done this whole thing for.


    The fuel cell.


    It was beautiful. Sleek, state-of-the-art, off-the-line tech. It was built to last centuries, and to James, it was worth every damn credit. He ran a hand over its smooth, reinforced casing, feeling a rare sense of satisfaction settle in his chest.


    A single tear escaped him.


    He turned to his car, running his fingers along the frame like it was an old friend.


    "Told you I¡¯d get you one."


    With the fuel cell secured, James restocked his gear. New armor, new ammunition, supplies¡ªeverything he had lost, replaced. Everything except his blade. That, he¡¯d have to retrieve from New York, where the bladesmith who forged it still worked.


    But he had a feeling Virginia and the upper old state wouldn¡¯t be safe for much longer.


    The air was changing. He could feel it.


    James climbed into his car, started the engine, and drove.


    Norfolk faded into the distance behind him.


    He didn¡¯t know if this would be his last time here.


    But if he made it back from his hunting trip alive¡­


    He knew he¡¯d see this city again.

 Echoes of Rebirth

    James drove down the cracked, uneven roads of a town nestled within the Tamed Lands of what used to be North Carolina. The place had the remnants of old-world civilization¡ªpatchwork power grids, fortified streets, even some working streetlights flickering to life as the sun dipped below the horizon.


    It was one of the towns controlled by what remained of the local government¡ªthe T.N.C.G. (The North Carolina Government). A ridiculous name, in James¡¯ opinion. They barely had any real territory, let alone the authority to call themselves a government. But, it wasn¡¯t his place to question it.


    His main concern right now was finding a place to stay.


    The sky had darkened to a deep shade of purple, the last light of the day casting long shadows against the ruined skyline. James scanned the storefronts as he drove past, looking for something that might resemble an inn.


    That¡¯s when he saw it¡ªa bar.


    The neon sign buzzed weakly, half the letters flickering in and out, but it was still readable: "Coyote¡¯s Rest."


    A bar usually meant a place to drink, maybe some locals who knew what was going on in the area. If he was lucky, it also meant rooms for rent.


    Pulling his car into a dirt lot nearby, James shut off the engine, resting his hands on the wheel for a brief moment. The last town he had stopped in had been a ghost town, barely worth the stop. Hopefully, this one had something useful for him or at the very least, a stiff drink.


    With that, he grabbed his bag, adjusted his jacket, put on his sunglasses, and stepped out into the cool night air.


    James entered the bar, his boots echoing slightly against the wooden floor. The place was nearly empty, save for a few tired-looking stragglers nursing their last drinks. The bartender, a broad-shouldered man with graying hair, looked up from wiping down the counter and gave him a once-over.


    ¡°Sorry, pale, last call was twenty minutes ago.¡±


    James leaned against the counter, unfazed. ¡°That¡¯s fine. I¡¯m looking for a place to stay. Got any ideas?¡±


    The bartender jerked his thumb toward the door. ¡°Yeah, across the block¡ªMonty¡¯s Inn. But you¡¯d better be quick.¡± He nodded toward the remaining patrons, a rough-looking bunch who looked more like drifters than locals. ¡°They tend to take up the rooms.¡±


    James gave a small nod. ¡°Appreciate it.¡±


    Without another word, he turned and headed back out into the cool night air. Monty¡¯s Inn wasn¡¯t hard to find¡ªa brick-built structure with the charm of an old-world roadside lodge. It wasn¡¯t trying to be sleek or modern like the places you¡¯d find in the cities, nor was it a complete shit hole like Fontel¡¯s. It was simple, functional¡ªwarm and welcoming.


    As James stepped inside, the scent of wood and faint cooking oil filled the air. The place was quiet, save for the crackling of a nearby fireplace. His gaze immediately fell on the woman at the center of the reception area.


    She was young¡ªearly twenties, at most¡ªtanned skin, dark wavy hair tied lazily into a loose ponytail, with strands falling free to frame sharp, striking features. She wore a simple fitted shirt, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and sturdy cargo pants, the kind meant for actual work. A knife was strapped to her belt, well-worn but not just for show. Her dark eyes locked onto him the second he walked in, assessing, measuring. Not with hostility, but with a quiet, practiced wariness.


    When she spoke, it was without much inflection. ¡°It¡¯s 200 for a room.¡±


    James pulled out his wallet. ¡°What currency?¡±


    She gave him a look, brow furrowing slightly. ¡°Are you serious?¡±


    James smirked. ¡°I get around.¡±


    She scoffed, shaking her head. ¡°Guess that explains the look.¡± Her eyes flicked over his gear¡ªthe reinforced jacket, the slight bulge where his sidearm rested. ¡°We don¡¯t get a lot of traveling mercs or traders. They normally bypass this town completely, stick to the Creeper Route.¡±


    James raised an eyebrow. ¡°The Creeper Route?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Semi-functional roads, dirt paths cleared through places where the old highways are too torn up. Cuts into the wastelands, but not too deep. Traders and caravans use it since it avoids the worst of the raiders and wildlife.¡± She leaned forward slightly, arms resting on the counter, her posture relaxed. In doing so, her shirt dipped just enough to offer a view James didn¡¯t mind. Whether it was intentional or not, he wasn¡¯t about to question it. ¡°Couple of boomtowns have popped up along it.¡±


    That would explain why this town was practically dead. James nodded. ¡°Must not go far north if I¡¯m only just hearing about it.¡±


    She sighed. ¡°It was supposed to stretch further, with help from the SDS and a few others, but that war broke out a few days ago. Plans got scrapped.¡±


    James rolled his shoulders. ¡°Figures. So do you take SDS credits?¡±


    She exhaled through her nose, tapping her fingers against the counter. ¡°No, we don¡¯t. But, honestly? I don¡¯t care. The drunks from across the bar don¡¯t pay anyway, and there¡¯s nothing else worth buying here.¡± She held out her hand. ¡°200 SDS credits.¡±


    James pulled out the amount and handed it to her. She counted it quickly before slipping it into a small lockbox behind the counter. Then, in turn, she slid a key across the counter toward him.


    ¡°Room four, to the left. It¡¯s not much, but it¡¯s a clean bed and quiet,¡± she said simply, her tone neutral, though there was a flicker of something in her expression¡ªmaybe curiosity, maybe something else.


    James took the key, his fingers brushing against hers for the briefest second. ¡°Clean bed, huh? That¡¯s good. But I¡¯m not much for quiet I might need some company.¡±


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    She raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching upward, though whether in amusement or intrigue, he couldn¡¯t quite tell. ¡°That so?¡±


    James shrugged, smirking. ¡°Long road, longer night. It¡¯s nice to unwind when you can.¡±


    She studied him for a moment, tapping her fingers against the wooden counter. The silence between them stretched just long enough for the invitation to sink in before she exhaled softly and pushed off the counter.


    ¡°I¡¯ll see what I can do,¡± she said over her shoulder as she turned away.


    James smirked, taking that as a maybe before heading toward his room.


    That night, James did not sleep alone.


    Nor did he wake up in an empty bed.


    The early morning sun filtered through the half-open curtains, casting soft golden light across the wooden walls. The room was warm, the air thick with the lingering scent of sweat and shared heat. The sheets were a tangled mess, half pulled off the bed, a silent testament to the night before.


    James lay still for a moment, his body loose in a way it hadn¡¯t been in a long time. It was rare to have this kind of quiet, this kind of indulgence. The woman beside him, he never got her name, and she never asked for his slept soundly, her leg draped over his, her breathing deep and steady.


    He smirked slightly, running a hand through his hair before carefully peeling her arm off of him and sitting up. The old mattress creaked under his weight. His muscles ached, but for once, not from battle.


    James turned, glancing down at her. The morning light highlighted the smooth curve of her body , the faint marks left on her skin. Dark hair spilled across the pillow in loose waves, her lips slightly parted as she remained lost in sleep. He let his gaze linger for a moment, then exhaled with a small chuckle.


    No need to stay. No need to make it anything more than what it was.


    Silently, he moved, pulling on his pants and shrugging his jacket over his bare shoulders. His gear was still where he left it, his weapons in easy reach¡ªnot that he had needed them last night.


    As he reached for his belt, a soft murmur came from behind him.


    ¡°Leaving already?¡±


    Her voice was thick with sleep, husky, slow. She didn¡¯t move, just shifted slightly beneath the sheets, stretching.


    James smirked, buckling his belt. ¡°Didn¡¯t seem like the kind of place that serves breakfast.¡±


    She let out a small, amused breath. ¡°You¡¯re not wrong. However¡­¡± she stretched again, arching her back slightly, her tone shifting to something more suggestive. ¡°There are other things to do in the morning.¡±


    James paused, glancing over his shoulder. She was watching him now, dark eyes laced with something playful, something tempting.


    A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.


    It was a few hours later when James finally left the inn.


    The morning sun was still low on the horizon, its light casting long shadows across the town as James stepped outside. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and wood smoke from the chimneys scattered throughout the town. He walked toward his car, the gravel crunching softly beneath his boots. The town was already stirring locals moving about, preparing for whatever the day held. A few people setting up small stalls, the sound of hammering from somewhere down the street.


    James slid into the driver¡¯s seat of his car. He reached into the glove compartment, pulling out a ration pack¡ªsome dried meat, a protein bar, a small pouch of nuts. Nothing special, but enough to keep him going. He tore open the package and took a bite, chewing slowly as he pulled out his map.


    He marked the town with a small star, one of many scattered across his map¡ªplaces he¡¯d been, places he might return to. But this time, he added a small smiley face next to it, a rare indulgence. If he passed through again, maybe he¡¯d stop by. Maybe grab a drink next time.


    With that, he started the engine. The deep, familiar hum of the car rumbled to life, a sound that never failed to bring a smirk to his face. He adjusted his mirrors, took one last look at the town in the rearview, and then shifted into gear.


    It was time to see what the Creeper Route was like.


    It took James about an hour before he found it¡ªa winding path snaking through the wilderness. At first glance, it looked like any other broken road, but as he followed it, the signs of careful planning became clear.


    Where the old roads were too cracked and ruined to drive on, they had been bypassed by freshly cleared paths, either through dense forest or stamped-down dirt trails. Someone had put in real effort here, making it as smooth as possible given the world¡¯s state. Tire tracks lined the dirt where wagons and vehicles had passed before him, proving that this route was actively used.


    James navigated cautiously, letting the car glide over the rugged terrain. Normally, he had to choose between following crumbling highways for as long as they lasted or cutting straight through the wasteland¡ªboth options full of risk. But this? This route was different.


    He leaned back slightly in his seat, fingers tapping against the steering wheel as he took in the scenery. Dense forests bordered some sections, their trees standing tall, reclaiming the land. In other areas, fields of golden grass swayed under the morning light. Occasionally, he spotted ruins in the distance¡ªshells of old towns, some reduced to nothing but foundations, others still standing like forgotten skeletons of the past.


    James couldn¡¯t help but think about the future.


    The Creeper Route was a step in the right direction¡ªa sign that people weren¡¯t just surviving anymore. They were building.


    Of course, raiders would catch on eventually. It was only a matter of time before some gang staked a claim and started demanding tolls or setting up ambushes. But for now, it was a beacon of progress.


    And progress was rare.


    After six hours on the road, James spotted it¡ªa settlement, larger than he expected.


    The boomtown stood resiliently against the wasteland, its walls a mixture of repurposed concrete, scrap metal, and reinforced timber. Guard towers had been set up at key points along the perimeter, each manned by sentries with rifles, their silhouettes outlined against the afternoon sky.


    But what caught his attention wasn¡¯t the defenses¡ªit was what lay beyond them.


    The town had outgrown its walls.


    Clusters of buildings, houses, and market stalls sprawled just outside the original barricades, with newer walls under construction further out. Workers hauled supplies, hammering and welding together what would become the next layer of fortifications. Smoke from forges and cooking fires curled into the sky, and the distant sound of livestock carried through the air.


    James slowed the car as he neared the entrance, taking in the details. The people here weren¡¯t just barely scraping by¡ªthey were thriving. Farmers sold produce, craftsmen displayed handmade goods, and mechanics worked on battered vehicles, trying to keep them running.


    He drove through the open gates, nodding slightly to the guards stationed there. They watched him closely but didn¡¯t stop him. Mercenaries weren¡¯t uncommon in places like this.


    The main road was bustling. Market stalls lined the streets, selling everything from scavenged tech to freshly cooked food. Children weaved through the crowd, their laughter mixing with the shouts of traders haggling over prices.


    James pulled his car into a small clearing, parking it near a repair shop where a few other vehicles sat in varying states of disrepair. He stepped out, stretching his legs and rolling his shoulders.


    If all the towns along the Creeper Route were like this, then humanity might actually stand a chance at rebuilding.


    The old cities like Norfolk would always be the powerhouses, the places where civilization held on the strongest. But out here? This was where new cities were being born.


    The world was recovering.


    And it was doing so fast.

 Ghosts of the Past. PART 1

    James had been in town for less than an hour before he found himself in a bar.


    Town always had at least one¡ªsomewhere for the working men and women to drink away their exhaustion, where traders and mercs could swap stories or settle grudges. This one was no different.


    It was a rough place, built from salvaged wood and scrap metal, a testament to the town¡¯s make-do attitude. Lanterns flickered along the walls, casting long, jagged shadows, and the air was thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat, and the faint trace of gun oil. The crowd inside wasn¡¯t particularly rowdy, but there was an underlying tension to the way people sat¡ªbacks to walls, hands near weapons. It wasn¡¯t paranoia. It was just the way things were.


    James moved past the scattered tables, noting the presence of a few off-duty guards, construction workers still covered in dust, and a handful of mercs, all talking in low voices. No one paid him any mind. That suited him just fine.


    He reached the bar, leaning against the counter, and the bartender¡ªa thick-set man with a cybernetic eye that gave off a faint mechanical hum¡ªgave him a once-over before nodding in greeting.


    ¡°What¡¯ll it be?¡±


    James glanced at the payment board behind the bar. Multiple currencies were listed, one of them being SDS credits.


    ¡°Whiskey.¡±


    The bartender grunted, grabbed a chipped glass, and poured out a measure of amber liquid before sliding it across the counter. James took a slow sip, savoring the familiar burn. After the long drive it was nice.


    Then he noticed him.


    A man, thin and jittery, standing near the entrance. His clothes were rumpled, his face worn with exhaustion, and his eyes darted around the room like a cornered animal. Every movement screamed desperation.


    James immediately dismissed him as trouble.


    Desperate men always brought problems. And James had enough of his own.


    Unfortunately, the man spotted him. James sighed, already knowing where this was going. Sure enough, after a few moments of hesitation, the man wove his way between tables, his steps uneven, his nerves practically radiating off of him. He stopped just short of James, hovering awkwardly before clearing his throat.


    ¡°Hey, uh¡­ you¡¯re a merc, right?¡±


    James didn¡¯t answer immediately, instead taking another sip of his drink before setting the glass down.


    ¡°Not interested.¡±


    The man flinched. ¡°You don¡¯t even know what I¡¯m offering.¡±


    James exhaled slowly and gave him a glance. ¡°I don¡¯t need to. You clearly can¡¯t afford my prices.¡±


    The man gritted his teeth. ¡°I¡ªI wouldn¡¯t be asking if it wasn¡¯t serious. I need someone who can handle themselves.¡±


    James leaned back against the bar, his expression unreadable. ¡°Yeah, a lot of people do, which is why I make good money. You came to the wrong one.¡±


    The man¡¯s hands clenched into fists at his sides. ¡°You don¡¯t understand¡ª¡±


    ¡°No, you don¡¯t understand,¡± James cut in, his tone like cold steel. ¡°I take jobs for money. I sure as hell don¡¯t do charity work.¡± He nodded toward a table of mercenaries in the corner. ¡°Go ask them.¡±


    The man¡¯s face twisted with frustration. His shoulders tensed, but instead of arguing, his eyes flicked downward.


    Then he reached into his jacket.


    James¡¯s fingers hovered near his 1911, ready to draw, but the man didn¡¯t pull a weapon.


    Instead, he placed something small and metallic on the bar.


    James glanced down.


    And everything stopped.


    It was a dog tag.


    Old. Worn. The edges scratched, dulled by time and exposure.


    Stamped into the metal was a name:


    Kelly Grayson.


    James¡¯s world narrowed to that single piece of metal.


    James hand shot out, grabbing the man by the throat and slamming him against the bar. The force knocked glasses over, making the room fall silent. Chairs scraped. People turned.


    James barely heard them.


    ¡°You tell me where the fuck you got this right now, or I¡¯ll¡ª¡±


    The click-clack of a shotgun being pumped stopped him mid-sentence.


    James turned his head slightly, just enough to see the bartender now holding a well-worn pump-action, aimed directly at him.


    ¡°If you¡¯re gonna get violent,¡± the bartender said, his voice calm but firm, ¡°take your business outside.¡±


    James didn¡¯t let go. He stared down the man in his grip, watching as he gasped for air, hands clawing weakly at James¡¯s wrist. Then he pulled out a thick stack of SDS credits and tossed them onto the counter.


    ¡°Keep my seat open,¡± he said, before dragging the man toward the door by the throat.


    The moment they were outside, James shoved him against the nearest wall.


    ¡°You fucking tell me where you got this,¡± James growled, his voice as lethal as a drawn blade, ¡°or I¡¯m going to make you eat your own heart.¡±


    The man gasped, his hands shaking as he tried to get words out. ¡°I¡ªI¡ªit was my¡ª¡± He wheezed, struggling to force the words out.


    James tightened his grip.


    ¡°My wife¡¯s!¡± the man finally choked out.


    James froze.


    Slowly, his grip loosened. The man fell forward, clutching at his throat, gasping in ragged, desperate breaths.


    ¡°¡­Explain,¡± James demanded.


    The man nodded weakly, rubbing his bruised throat. ¡°She had it for years¡­ she never told me where it came from¡­ I didn¡¯t ask. Then¡ªthen she went missing four days ago. I tried to get help. No one would listen.¡±


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    James stared at him, mind working through the pieces.


    Four days ago. Missing.


    A dog tag from a name that shouldn¡¯t exist.


    It wasn''t a coincidence.


    He knew it wasn¡¯t.


    ¡°Take me to your house,¡± James said, his voice devoid of any emotion.


    Charles hesitated.


    James¡¯s hand hovered near his holster again. ¡°I wasn¡¯t asking.¡±


    Charles swallowed hard and nodded.


    ¡°¡­What¡¯s your name?¡± James asked.


    ¡°Charles,¡± the man muttered.


    James exhaled sharply, then took a step back. ¡°Start walking, Charles.¡±


    With that, they disappeared into the darkened streets, moving toward the mans house.


    Charles led James through the dimly lit streets of the boomtown, tension all but choking the air between them. Lanterns glowed behind drawn curtains, and distant voices drifted through the cool night breeze. But the farther they went from the main road, the quieter everything became, until only the soft crunch of boots on packed dirt and the faint hum of a generator lingered.


    They stopped in front of a small, modest house cobbled together from scavenged materials. It wasn¡¯t falling apart, but it clearly hadn¡¯t been built with an abundance of time or resources. Charles hesitated as he unlocked the door, his fingers fumbling before the latch finally clicked open.


    James stepped inside first. The interior was neat but lived in: a tiny living area with a battered couch, a narrow kitchen off to one side, and a short hallway leading to what looked like a bedroom at the back. The faint scent of something floral still hung in the air, he could tell that this home had a woman¡¯s touch in it, even if she was no longer there.


    A table near the couch caught James¡¯s eye¡ªsome scattered papers, a half-melted candle, and a framed photograph. He moved closer, picking up the frame to study it. The woman in the picture appeared to be in her early twenties, dark hair pulled back in a loose braid, her arm draped casually over a healthier-looking Charles. But it was her eyes that froze James in place: Cherenkov blue, the same unnaturally vivid color only a select few had. His jaw clenched.


    ¡°Where did she go last?¡± James asked, eyes still locked on the photo.


    Charles lingered by the doorway, anxiety written in every line of his body. ¡°She left town to meet someone private business, she said. Never told me who. She was supposed to be back that same night.¡± His voice caught with worry. ¡°No one¡¯s seen her since.¡±


    James set the photo down slowly, scanning the room once more. He turned, heading for the door. Charles tensed behind him. ¡°Wait¡ªare you going to help me?¡±


    James paused in the doorway. His tone was low, words clipped. ¡°You don¡¯t tell anyone I was here. No one. Understand?¡±


    Charles swallowed, hesitation flickering in his eyes. ¡°But¡ª¡±


    ¡°Understand?¡± James repeated, colder this time.


    Charles hesitated, then gave a tight nod. ¡°Why?¡±


    James¡¯s eyes glowed through the tinted lenses of his sunglasses as he glanced back, not bothering to answer. A heartbeat later, he stepped outside and vanished into the night.


    James drove for about half an hour, leaving the bustle of the boomtown behind. The road was little more than a trial, winding through patches of wilderness and the occasional ruin of old-world buildings. As he approached the site. A crumbling warehouse that looked like it might have once been a distribution center. He slowed the car to a crawl. The structure rose out of the surrounding landscape like a wounded beast, its roof partially collapsed and its walls scorched by time and decay.


    He parked beneath a sign, the words too faded to read. Stepping out, he glanced around, hand instinctively hovering near his 1911. No immediate threats. The air was still. No wind, no birds, nothing but his own footsteps crunching through debris as he approached the gaping entrance. If Kelly had come here, he needed to find out why.


    Inside, the place was a mess. Rows of rusted metal shelves toppled over, littering the concrete floor with shards of glass, twisted steel, and piles of dust. James moved carefully, eyes flicking from place to place. He noticed signs of recent activity: footprints in the dust some larger,


    heavier, others lighter and a few broken pallets pushed aside. Something had been dragged or moved, judging by the marks in the grime.


    He crouched near a row of upended crates, running his fingertips over a faint smear of something dark. Old blood, maybe. Though not enough to say someone died here. He saw bullet casings scattered across the floor, spent shells from a caliber not common among casual wastelanders. More like specialized ammo, the kind used by professionals. That piqued his interest.


    He pressed deeper into the warehouse. One corner office still stood, half caved in. The door was jammed with debris, but James shoved it aside, creating enough space to slip through. The air inside was stale, thick with the scent of mold. A battered desk lay on its side, drawers pried open, their contents spilled. He kicked through the mess and paused when he spotted a weathered folder, its edges burned. Most of the pages were unreadable, but one scrap of text caught his eye: ¡°Project Materials¡± and a date that placed it before the war.


    He also found a small piece of cloth torn from clothing, snagged on a jagged nail near the desk. It was dark fabric¡ªmaybe from a jacket. He tucked it into his pocket, then stood, scanning the space one last time. If Kelly had been here, she might have run into whoever left those bullet casings.


    Satisfied he wasn¡¯t missing anything obvious, he stepped back out into the main area. No sign of life. Just echoes of some recent altercation. As he left, he noticed a faint trail of footprints leading away from the building, disappearing into the underbrush behind the warehouse. He made a mental note. If Kelly was taken, or if she¡¯d fled, she might have gone that way.


    James moved carefully, his boots pressing silently against the damp earth as he followed the trail deeper into the woods. His rifle was raised, his body tensed for the possibility of an ambush, but the silence around him told a different story. There was no movement. No animals. No wind. Just the oppressive stillness of the night.


    And then the smell hit him.


    It was thick, putrid¡ªrotting flesh mixed with the iron tang of old blood. He had smelled it more times than he cared to count. His stomach coiled as he stepped into the clearing.


    She lay in the center of a darkened pool of dried blood, her body contorted, left to rot in the open. James scanned the area, rifle sweeping in slow arcs. No tracks leading away. Whoever had done this was long gone. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and stepped closer. The closer he got, the worse it became.


    Kelly. Her body told a story. A long, agonizing one.


    Her fingernails had been ripped out, leaving raw, jagged beds of exposed flesh. Her fingers¡ªevery single one¡ªhad been broken multiple times, the swelling long since settled but still evident. It was the kind of torture meant to keep someone alive, dragging their suffering out over days. She had been given just enough time to let the bones begin mending before they shattered them again.


    Her face was a ruin. Swollen, bruised beyond recognition. Her nose had been broken more than once, her cheekbones fractured. Dried blood crusted around her mouth¡ªbut when James pried her lips open slightly. There were no teeth. They had been removed. Whether by pliers, force, or something worse, he didn¡¯t know.


    And finally, the bullet hole.


    Execution-style.


    A single round had torn through her skull, leaving a dark, gaping wound just above her left ear. No hesitation, no mess clean, efficient. A mercy, compared to everything else.


    James exhaled through his nose, his fingers curling into fists. His whole body felt like it was humming, a tight coil of rage threatening to snap. He had seen men die in all manners of brutality. He had watched suffering, caused suffering. But this wasn¡¯t just about information whoever did this had personal reasons.


    His eyes moved to the ground around her, searching for anything. Then he saw it.


    A broken syringe, its shattered casing glinting in his vision.


    He knelt, picking it up carefully. The letters were stamped on the side (MGI) faint but unmistakable.


    James felt his pulse slow. His grip on the syringe tightened. His mind went still.


    This was it. DC had been a possibility, a whisper of their existence still lurking in the dark. But this? This was confirmation.


    They were still operating.


    His hands moved on their own as he reached down and turned Kelly¡¯s body slightly. Around her neck, beneath the dried blood and grime, he found it. The other dog tag the second half to the one pair. He unclasped it and slipped it into his necklace now numbering three.


    James let out a slow, uneven breath.


    For a moment, he didn¡¯t move.


    His mind wasn¡¯t in the clearing anymore.


    He was remembering old memories of childhood.


    A single tear slipped down his face.


    Then he stood.


    Without a word, he bent down, sliding his arms under Kelly¡¯s limp form. Her body was lighter than he expected, her suffering having stripped away whatever weight she once carried. He lifted her with ease, her head resting against his shoulder, her arms hanging lifelessly at her sides.


    He turned back toward the path.


    Step by step, he carried her out of the clearing, back toward his car.


    His expression was unreadable.


    But deep in his chest, something burned.


    And when James Grayson burned someone always paid the price.

 Ghosts of the Past. PART 2

    James brought her body back to Charles.


    He would have buried her himself. It was something he had done before. His mind drifted back to Tyler¡ªthe way he had clawed through the frozen earth, his fingers raw and bleeding, just to give his brother a proper burial. The ice had fought him every step of the way. It had taken hours. Days. He remembered how his breath had come in ragged gasps, how the cold had bitten into his skin, how his hands had ached even after the job was done.


    But Kelly had chosen Charles. Chosen to love him, to build a life with him. That meant he had earned the right to send her off properly.


    When Charles saw her, he broke.


    The man collapsed to his knees in the doorway, his breath shuddering, his body shaking as he reached out to touch her lifeless hand. At first, no sound came from him, just silent, wracking tremors that overtook his entire body. And then, the sobs started. Raw. Guttural. The kind of pain that couldn¡¯t be soothed, only endured.


    James stood by, watching.


    He didn¡¯t speak. Didn¡¯t offer empty words of comfort.


    He simply stood.


    It took a full day for Charles to calm down enough to function. A full day where James did what he did best¡ªdrinking.


    He sat in the bar, silent, brooding. His fingers tightened around his glass, knuckles going white. The thoughts running through his head were dark enough that even a Blood Fang would have questioned if he was going too far. But James wasn¡¯t the type to second-guess himself.


    When he decided something needed to burn, he didn¡¯t just set the fire. He made sure there was nothing left when it was done.


    By the time Charles was ready, they held a small funeral. No priest, no elaborate words. Just the two of them, standing over a freshly dug grave, the scent of overturned earth thick in the air. Charles placed a single flower over the mound, his hands shaking, his breath unsteady.


    James watched silently.


    Then, without a word, he turned and walked away.


    He got into his car, started the engine, and took one last look at the small, broken town in his rearview mirror.


    Then, he drove¡ªheading further south.


    James had been driving for nearly four hours, the hum of his engine the only sound breaking the silence of the road. The land around him had changed, shifting from the sparse foliage of North Carolina to the thick, overgrown remains of what was once Georgia. Unlike the cracked highways and dry wastelands further north, this area had been reclaimed by nature¡ªtwisting roots breaking through concrete, ivy swallowing the skeletons of old buildings, and dense forests creeping closer to the roads.


    It was beautiful, in a way. Haunting.


    But civilization still clung to life here.


    As he crested a hill, the outline of a town came into view. Unlike the last boomtown, this one was different¡ªmore fortified. The walls weren¡¯t just hastily built barricades but proper defenses. Rusted shipping containers and reinforced concrete blocked off most of the entrance, forming a solid checkpoint. A large gate, wide enough for vehicles, stood half-open, guarded by two men with rifles. Above them, a worn banner hung between two watchtowers, the lettering too faded to read from this distance. Smoke curled into the sky from chimneys and forges, the scent of burning wood and oil mixing in the warm, humid air.


    This wasn¡¯t just a town trying to survive. This was a town preparing for war.


    James slowed as he approached, rolling his window down slightly as one of the guards stepped forward, his rifle resting against his shoulder. The man was older¡ªmid-forties, with a weathered face and a tired look in his eyes.


    ¡°State your business,¡± he called out.


    James tilted his head. ¡°Just passing through. Looking for a place to rest.¡±


    The guard squinted, scanning James¡¯s car and gear. ¡°You a merc?¡±


    James gave a half-smirk. ¡°Yeah, I am. Why? There work to be had here?¡±


    The guard exchanged a glance with his partner before jerking his head toward the gate. ¡°Keep your weapons holstered and don¡¯t start trouble.¡±


    James didn¡¯t ask why. Places like this always had something going on.


    He drove in slowly, eyes scanning the town as he passed through the checkpoint. It was larger than the last boomtown, more structured. The streets were cleaner, with actual roads made from repaired asphalt and gravel instead of just dirt pathways. Buildings weren¡¯t thrown together from scrap but reinforced, repurposed pre-war structures with second stories, balconies, and proper roofs. There were signs of industry¡ªblacksmiths hammering away at metal, mechanics working on vehicles, and traders setting up stalls in a central marketplace.


    But the biggest difference was the people.


    The last town had been rough, but it had families. Kids played in the streets, mothers carried baskets of supplies, and old men sat outside their homes smoking pipes. Here, it was different. James couldn¡¯t see a single child. The people looked hardened, tense¡ªlike they were waiting for the next attack. Every person carried a weapon, even if it was just a pistol on their hip or a blade strapped to their belt.


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    James parked his car near the market square and stepped out, stretching slightly as his joints popped from the long drive. He glanced around, noting a few curious eyes on him, but no one outright stared.


    First things first. He needed a drink.


    He walked through the market, weaving between traders selling everything from scavenged electronics to handmade leather goods. He ignored them, focusing instead on what he was looking for.


    Then he spotted it.


    A bar.


    It was larger than most, built into what looked like an old pre-war diner, its faded sign barely hanging on above the entrance. The front windows were reinforced with steel bars, and a couple of men sat outside on a makeshift patio, drinks in hand, watching the road like unofficial sentries. The sign above the door simply read The Rusted Stag.


    James stepped inside.


    The interior was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat, and aged wood. A long bar stretched across one side, bottles of whiskey and moonshine lined up behind it. A scattering of tables filled the rest of the room, most occupied by locals¡ªworkers still in their dirt-stained clothes, a few traders talking quietly, and a handful of men who looked like they¡¯d seen their fair share of fights.


    James walked up to the bar, resting his hands on the counter.


    The bartender, a stocky man with a graying beard and a cybernetic left hand, eyed him as he wiped down a glass.


    ¡°What¡¯ll it be?¡±


    James pulled out a few SDS credits. ¡°Whiskey. And the name of this town.¡±


    The bartender raised a brow but took the credits, pouring a glass of amber liquid before sliding it over. ¡°Welcome to Red Pines.¡±


    James took a sip, letting the burn settle in his chest before setting the glass down.


    ¡°So why is this place so uptight?¡± he asked, scanning the room. ¡°The last boomtown I came from was much brighter. Sure, not as structured, but the people were happy.¡±


    The bartender let out a dry chuckle. ¡°Figures, you being from out of town. You wouldn¡¯t know.¡± He leaned against the counter, his cybernetic fingers tapping rhythmically against the wood. ¡°A gang¡¯s set up shop nearby. A nasty bunch. We¡¯ve tried to push them out, but most of the volunteers and hired mercs never made it back.¡±


    James nodded, filing that information away. ¡°That so? Any chance there¡¯s another raid coming?¡±


    The bartender¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°Not if¡ªwhen.¡±


    James swirled his whiskey in the glass, weighing the situation. A coming raid meant opportunity. The further south he traveled, the less his SDS credits would be worth¡ªhe needed to start dealing in whatever currency actually mattered here.


    ¡°Speaking of,¡± he said, setting his glass down. ¡°Who¡¯s in charge around here? And what¡¯s the main currency?¡±


    The bartender exhaled, glancing around as if making sure no one was eavesdropping. ¡°Town¡¯s run by a council. Used to be a mayor system, but when the gang problem started, people decided they needed a war council instead. We¡¯re not part of any big faction the boomtowns along the Creeper Route aren¡¯t. But we¡¯ve got a loose alliance with each other to keep trade flowing.¡±


    He wiped down the counter before continuing. ¡°As for currency? Anything from the East Coast works. SDS credits, Carolina scrip, old-world usd, gold and silver¡ªlong as it holds value, people¡¯ll trade. Same goes for all towns along the route that''s why it was made.¡± He leaned in slightly. ¡°But if you¡¯re asking about the real players around here, there¡¯s a few.¡±


    James listened as the bartender listed them off.


    ¡°The Meridian Republic (TMR) holds land up in North Carolina, though they¡¯re more inland than the Creeper Route. They got structure, governance, but they don¡¯t stretch this far south.¡±


    ¡°Then you got the Helix Cartel (HC) running things on the Georgia coast. Smugglers, slavers, and worse. They control the ports and move goods.¡±


    ¡°And lastly, there¡¯s Chromadex Aerial Industries (CAI) down in parts of Florida. Tech-focused, always looking for old-world research and lost infrastructure. They don¡¯t hold hard borders¡ªhell, none of ¡®em do. The wastelands and toxic storms make it impossible to carve out real territories. But they¡¯ve all got influence, and you¡¯ll start feeling it the deeper south you go.¡±


    James took another sip, nodding. He could work with that.


    The crack of gunfire echoed through the town, sharp and sudden.


    James had barely set his glass down when the reaction was immediate. Every able-bodied man in the bar shot to their feet, chairs scraping against the wooden floor as weapons were grabbed and hastily checked. There was no hesitation these people had been expecting this.


    James followed, stepping out onto the street, his hand hovering near his 1911 as he scanned the horizon. The gunfire was coming from the western outskirts of town, beyond the walls. A second later, the town¡¯s alarm bell rang out¡ªa deep, clanging sound meant to rally defenders.


    He followed the movement of the townsfolk, slipping into the crowd but keeping to the edges, watching.


    By the time he reached the western gate, the fighting had already begun.


    From his position on a two-story building¡¯s balcony, he had a clear view of the battlefield. The town¡¯s defenders, hastily assembled militia, were positioned along a makeshift barricade¡ªa collection of sandbags, overturned carts, and scrap metal welded together. A handful of them were crouched behind cover, rifles braced against the debris, taking measured shots at the figures moving through the tree line.


    The attackers were fast and well-organized, using the natural terrain to their advantage. Shadows flitted between the trees, figures dressed in mismatched armor¡ªleather, bits of plate, reinforced cloth. They weren¡¯t just random raiders. These were professionals, or at least men who had fought long enough to know what they were doing.


    James watched as a group of three attackers rushed forward, staying low. One of them, a man with a crude red skull painted on his chest plate, tossed a small object toward the barricade.


    Grenade.


    The explosion sent dirt and shrapnel flying, and one of the defenders went down, clutching his bleeding leg. The others didn¡¯t panic¡ªthey adjusted, moving to cover, returning fire.


    A marksman on the town¡¯s side, perched in a small watchtower, took his shot. A clean hit. One of the attackers jerked back, his head snapping to the side before his body crumpled.


    The rest kept advancing.


    James narrowed his eyes.


    This wasn¡¯t a full-blown raid. It was a probe. Testing defenses. The way they moved, the way they applied pressure without fully committing¡ªthese men weren¡¯t here to take the town. They were here to see how hard it would be.


    A defender with an old bolt-action rifle stood to take a shot¡ªonly for another attacker to put a round straight through his chest. The man staggered back, collapsing against the barricade.


    One of the defenders, a younger fighter, grabbed the wounded man and pulled him back. Another took his place, shouldering an old shotgun and firing into the darkness.


    The attackers finally started falling back, vanishing into the tree line just as suddenly as they had appeared.


    It was over in minutes.


    James exhaled, hands still in his pockets.


    The gang wasn¡¯t just testing them. They were setting the stage.

 Ghosts of the Past. PART 3

    James stepped forward, his boots crunching against the dirt and spent shell casings littering the ground. The defenders were still pulling their wounded back, some leaning against the barricade catching their breath, while others simply stared into the darkness where the attackers had vanished. The tension in the air was thick¡ªthis wasn''t over, and everyone knew it.


    His eyes landed on a man barking orders, directing the militia to reposition, his stance firm despite the chaos. Authority radiated off of him. If there was someone calling the shots here, it was him.


    James walked up, stopping just short of him. ¡°You know that was just a probing attack, right?¡± His voice was even, but there was an edge to it.


    The man turned, giving him a once-over. He was older, late forties, maybe early fifties, built like a man who had spent his life working rather than just barking orders. His short-cropped hair was peppered with gray, and the deep lines on his face spoke of years of battle-worn experience. He studied James for a moment before responding.


    ¡°Yeah, we know,¡± the man said, his voice gravelly. ¡°Who are you? Haven¡¯t seen your face around here.¡±


    James extended his hand. ¡°Name¡¯s James. I¡¯m a mercenary. But my price is high.¡±


    The man grunted before clasping James¡¯s hand in a firm shake. ¡°Conrad. I run the militia here.¡±


    James nodded, taking in the man¡¯s grip, the way his stance barely shifted even as the tension of battle still hung in the air. The man wasn¡¯t just a leader¡ªhe was a soldier. He¡¯d seen plenty of them before.


    Conrad exhaled, shaking his head. ¡°Look, I don¡¯t have time for overconfident mercs looking to make a quick buck. We need real solutions, not some lone gunman thinking he can¡ª¡±


    James cut him off with a smirk. ¡°I always take my payment when the job¡¯s done.¡±


    Conrad narrowed his eyes. ¡°And what job would that be, exactly? Because I don¡¯t see how one man is going to change our defenses that much.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯d definitely be help with the defense,¡± James admitted, his tone casual, ¡°but my specialty isn¡¯t waiting behind walls. I take the fight to them.¡± He let his words hang in the air for a moment, watching as the weight of them sank in. ¡°For the right price, I can kill them all. Or at least enough to break them.¡±


    Conrad let out a short, incredulous laugh. ¡°We sent twenty-five men after them. Six of them were high-level mercs.¡± He crossed his arms, shaking his head. ¡°None of them came back.¡±


    James shrugged, unfazed. ¡°And yet my offer still stands. You don¡¯t have the men to take the fight to them, and you sure as hell can¡¯t afford to sit around waiting for them to hit you again. I¡¯m offering you a solution.¡±


    Conrad''s expression remained skeptical, but James could see the gears turning in his head.


    James leaned in slightly, voice lower but still sharp. ¡°What do you have to lose?¡±


    That made the older man pause.


    Conrad rubbed his jaw, looking past James at the battlefield, at the bodies being dragged away, at the blood-soaked dirt. He was weighing it. Considering every angle.


    Finally, he asked the only question that mattered. ¡°How much?¡±


    James¡¯s smirk widened just a fraction. ¡°Ten thousand per kill.¡±


    That made Conrad scoff, a mix of disbelief and irritation flashing across his face. ¡°That¡¯s a steep bounty.¡±


    James nodded. ¡°It is.¡±


    Conrad let out a slow breath. ¡°Even if I agree to this, you¡¯d be going in alone?¡±


    James tilted his head. ¡°That¡¯s how I prefer it. No dead weight.¡±


    Conrad thought for a long moment, glancing at the defenders still tending to the wounded. The gang wasn¡¯t going to stop. If James could cripple them, it would buy the town time¡ªtime they desperately needed.


    Finally, he gave a slow nod.


    ¡°Fine. You bring me bodies, I¡¯ll bring the cash.¡±


    With the deal struck, James shook Conrad¡¯s hand one last time, sealing the agreement. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and made his way back toward his car.


    The sun was already beginning to set, bathing the town in a dim, golden light. It wouldn¡¯t be long before darkness swallowed the land, and that was when he would make his move.


    But first, he had to prepare.


    James popped the trunk, the heavy metal creaking slightly as he lifted it open. Inside, his arsenal lay neatly organized¡ªa collection of tools meant for one thing only. Killing. He reached in, grabbing his gear piece by piece.


    First, his plate carrier.


    This was new as the last one was destroyed beyond repair. This time he had opted for three inches of plasteel instead of the two. He adjusted the straps, feeling the familiar weight settle against his chest, pressing down with comforting security. He pulled on his Kevlar gloves next, flexing his fingers as the reinforced material molded to his hands.


    Then came the weapons.


    He reached for his Remington 870 Tactical, pulling it free from its secured spot. He grabbed a box of 12-gauge plasteel slugs, loading them into the tube one by one. The heavy rounds slid in with a satisfying click, each one packing enough force to tear through armor, bone, and flesh alike.


    Next, he secured a bandolier across his chest, loaded with extra shells.


    Satisfied, he slung the shotgun over his shoulder, letting it rest against his back before reaching for his HK416. He checked the magazine, ensuring it was fully loaded with plasteel-tipped rounds. He had switched them back from the full plasteel rounds he used in DC. He hated wasting money.


    Then he put 4 grenades on the bandolier.


    After ensuring everything was in place, he double-checked his sidearm¡ªhis trusted 1911, still holstered at his side, its familiar weight reassuring.


    With his weapons secured, James shut the trunk, the sound echoing in the quieting town. The streets were thinning out as people retreated indoors, wary of nightfall and what lurked beyond the walls.


    James made his way to the west entrance, where the outer defenses were manned by tired but watchful sentries. He found a spot near the barricade, propping himself against a section of reinforced concrete.


    The air was cooling, a soft breeze rustling through the distant treetops. The fires of the town flickered behind him, casting long shadows across the ground.


    He exhaled slowly, eyes scanning the horizon.


    Now, it was just a waiting game.


    When night fell, the hunt would begin.


    James moved like a phantom through the darkness, each step calculated, each breath controlled. The combat drug wasn¡¯t in his system this time this was all him. Pure instinct. Pure skill.


    The two sentries had barely made a sound before he put them down. The first never saw it coming¡ªa quick, silent slice across the throat, blood pooling in the dirt as the body slumped over. The second had just enough time to register his presence before James drove his vibroblade up under his chin, piercing through soft tissue, silencing him instantly.


    Now, crouched in the overgrowth just outside the ruined building, James studied his target.


    It was a three-story structure, or at least what was left of it. Time and nature had reclaimed most of it, vines snaking up the cracked walls, sections of the roof missing, exposing skeletal beams to the night sky. The gang had fortified the lower level, using makeshift barricades of rusted scrap and broken furniture to funnel attackers into kill zones. Fires burned in barrels, their flickering light casting moving shadows against the ruins. At least a dozen men milled around the entrance, some talking, others tending to their weapons.


    James remained still, watching, counting. His glowing Cherenkov blue eyes cut through the gloom, picking apart their positions. There were two snipers posted on the second floor, their scopes scanning lazily, but they weren¡¯t expecting anyone. That worked to his advantage.


    He adjusted his HK416, resting it against the bipod he had just deployed onto a fallen tree trunk. He wouldn¡¯t have time to relocate after opening fire¡ªthe moment he pulled the trigger, his muzzle flash would give him away. That meant he needed to drop as many as possible in one go before repositioning.


    His breathing slowed.


    One heartbeat.


    Two.


    The first shot cracked through the air, a whisper of death in the night. The second-floor sniper¡¯s head snapped back, the round punching clean through his scope and into his skull. Before the body could even fall, James adjusted slightly, sighting the second sniper¡ªanother squeeze of the trigger, and the man''s chest exploded outward, sending him tumbling over the ledge.


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    Chaos erupted below.


    Shouts rang out, men scrambling for cover, reaching for their weapons, but James was already moving. He switched to burst fire, sighting a group huddled near the main entrance. Three bursts. Three men dropped.


    A fourth ran for the alarm¡ªa rusted old pre-war siren rigged to a car battery. James led his shot, putting a round into the back of the man¡¯s knee, sending him sprawling face-first into the dirt. One more round into the skull to finish the job.


    A spray of automatic gunfire ripped through the air, tearing into his previous position. They had pinpointed his location.


    Time to move.


    James exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders as he felt the familiar weight of the Remington 870 Tactical in his hands. His fingers traced the rough, well-worn grip, the cold steel a welcome companion. It had been a while since he had really used a shotgun in combat.


    Rifles were cleaner. Precise. Efficient.


    But this?


    This was something primal.


    He pumped the shotgun with a satisfying ch-chunk, loading a plasteel slug into the chamber. The weight in his hands, the anticipation coiling in his muscles¡ªit was thrilling.


    Forty-five men stood between him and the finish.


    God, he had missed this.


    The first poor bastard barely had time to register the threat before James stepped out of the shadows and fired.


    The plasteel slug punched through his chest with a sickening crack, detonating ribs and shredding lung tissue. He was sent flying backward, slamming into the hood of a rusted-out car. His body slid down, leaving a thick, smearing trail of blood and shredded muscle.


    James pumped the shotgun again, the thick recoil slamming into his shoulder.


    God, he had missed this so much.


    A man rounded the corner, rifle raised, but he was too slow. James pulled the trigger mid-step, the shot catching him square in the stomach.


    The sheer force ripped the man in half, his upper body flipping backward while his legs collapsed into a twitching heap.


    The other gang members screamed, scrambling for cover.


    James just kept walking.


    He moved through the ruins, a specter of death, methodical and unstoppable.


    A fool rushed him, a makeshift machete raised high, thinking he had an opening.


    James didn¡¯t bother aiming for center mass¡ªhe angled the barrel up and fired.


    The man''s entire head disappeared in a red mist, the explosion of bone and brain matter painting the cracked pavement. His decapitated body staggered forward, then crumpled at James¡¯ feet. Ch-chunk. Another slug loaded.


    The scent of gunpowder, burning flesh, and blood filled the air.


    A group of men had taken cover behind an old rusted steel beam, firing blindly in his direction. James took his time, stepping over bodies, moving with purpose.


    He could hear their panicked breathing, their shaky reloads.


    They weren¡¯t warriors.


    They were prey.


    James rounded the cover, shotgun already raised.


    The first man turned, his eyes going wide.


    BOOM.


    His torso imploded, ribs splintering outward, his tattered body flung backward into the man behind him.


    James pumped the shotgun again, stepping forward into the carnage.


    The second man screamed, struggling to push his friend¡¯s mangled corpse off him.


    James ended it with a point-blank shot to the throat, vaporizing his neck, leaving only a gurgling stump.


    The last one tried to run.


    Coward.


    James lined up the shot and fired.


    The slug tore through his spine, snapping it like a twig. The man collapsed, legs useless, fingers clawing at the dirt in a desperate attempt to crawl away.


    James stepped over the fresh corpses, reloading methodically, his movements cold, practiced, efficient.


    His heartbeat? Steady.


    His breathing? Calm.


    Another patrol ran in from the side, having heard the chaos. Five men, guns raised.


    James moved before they could even process what was happening.  He dived forward, sliding across the dirt, firing mid-roll.


    The lead man¡¯s chest exploded, sending him spinning into the others.


    James landed in a crouch, firing again before the second could aim¡ªthe blast ripped his arm clean off, sending him spinning into the ground, screaming.


    The last three panicked.


    One tried to run.


    James shot him in the spine, watching as he collapsed, legs useless, clawing at the dirt.


    He¡¯d let him suffer.


    The other two charged him, one swinging a bat, the other going for a knife.


    James sidestepped the bat effortlessly, twisting and slamming the butt of his shotgun into the knife fighter¡¯s temple, sending teeth flying.


    Before the bat-wielder could recover, James blew his kneecap into red mist.


    The man collapsed, howling.


    James turned back to the knife-wielder, still dazed.


    He grabbed the man by the throat, lifting him slightly, his fingers tightening like a vice.


    The gang member clawed at James¡¯ arm, eyes wide with pure terror.


    James just watched the life drain from his eyes.


    Then, without a word, he turned, leveled the shotgun at the bat-wielder¡¯s head, and fired.


    BOOM.


    The headless corpse slid down onto the floor, blood spewing from the ragged stump of his neck.


    James exhaled slowly.


    Ch-chunk. Another slug loaded.


    The survivors were breaking now.


    He could hear them inside, some screaming orders, others begging to run.


    Good.


    That was the difference between men like them and men like him.


    James reached into his rig, fingers closing around a grenade. He ser the charge with a practiced motion and lobbed it through a hole in the wall. He didn¡¯t stop to watch¡ªhe was already moving further down the ruined building, fishing out another.


    A second later, the blast erupted, shaking the structure. Screams tore through the night, agonized, panicked¡ªthe kind that only came from men who knew they were already dead. The flames flickered through the cracks, casting grotesque shadows as James pulled another grenade and threw it through a broken window.


    Boom.


    The explosion sent shards of glass and bone flying as another group of gang members were shredded by the blast.


    One man stumbled out the front, clothes on fire, skin peeling, screaming as he clawed at his burning face. James raised his shotgun and put him down with a single shot.


    Ch-chunk. Another round loaded.


    There was no movement from the first hole¡ªjust ruin and silence, bodies slumped against the walls, their insides decorating the floor.


    Good.


    James pulled the pin on the last grenade and tossed it toward the main doors, rolling it right into the heart of the interior.


    Boom.


    The force tore the doors from their hinges, sending wood and metal flying inward, revealing the hellscape inside. Flames licked at the ruined walls, casting flickering light over mutilated bodies. Some were still alive, groaning, bleeding out, trying to crawl away from the death that had come for them.


    James stepped inside, his boots crushing glass and broken bone.


    A man coughing blood tried to raise his rifle from the floor.


    James stomped on his wrist, shattering it, then fired a round into his skull, leaving nothing but a crater where his head used to be. He moved forward, stepping over bodies, scanning the shadows. The fire had spread, swallowing parts of the ruined ceiling. Smoke curled toward the open sky, adding a thick haze to the death-filled air.


    Footsteps¡ªrushed, desperate¡ªcame from down the hall. James moved before they could even turn the corner, swinging his shotgun up.


    The first man barely had time to react before a slug obliterated his sternum, sending him flying back into the man behind him.


    James fired again, this time at the legs, shattering kneecaps, leaving the second man screaming on the floor.


    The gang members inside were in full panic, some running, others trying to mount a defense. A few held their ground, taking cover behind overturned furniture, firing wildly down the hallway toward James.


    He moved without hesitation, dropping low, ducking past the wild shots before stepping into a side room.


    A breath. A heartbeat.


    Then he pivoted out, firing twice.


    One man¡¯s chest caved inward, the slug blowing through him and the wall behind him.


    The other lost his face, his head snapping violently backward, his body crumbling to the floor.


    James reloaded casually, each motion precise, controlled.


    The last remaining gang members were whimpering, pleading for their lives.


    James didn¡¯t speak.


    He just kept walking.


    Today he was the reaper.


    James stood in the ruins of the raider base, the fires still smoldering, casting flickering light across the carnage. Not a single soul remained other than him. The metallic scent of blood and gunpowder filled the air, mingling with the acrid stench of burned flesh and charred wood.


    Now, with the battle over, he had time to search.


    He stepped over bodies, bullet casings, and shattered debris, his boots crunching through the wreckage. The gang had lived filthy, their base more of a rotting husk of lawlessness than an actual stronghold. Scattered bottles, half-eaten meals, piles of stolen goods¡ªit was all there, the typical scavenger¡¯s hoard. But James wasn¡¯t looking for loot.


    He was looking for answers.


    His eyes flicked to a desk in the far corner, partially collapsed from the earlier explosions. The wood was scorched, the top covered in ash and soot, but he could still see papers strewn across it.


    James approached, brushing aside the charred remains of a map and flipping through the documents. Most were mundane¡ªlists of weapons and stolen supplies, trade agreements with other gangs, and hit contracts on people who likely weren¡¯t alive anymore. Nothing useful.


    Until he found it.


    A letter, partially buried under a pile of bloodstained rags. The edges were burned, but the paper itself was still intact. James picked it up, his fingers brushing over the wax seal that froze him in place.


    A symbol.


    An eagle with outstretched wings, wrapped in a coiled serpent¡ªthe unmistakable seal of MGI.


    James¡¯ jaw tightened as he carefully unfolded the letter, scanning its contents.


    "Ava,


    The situation is deteriorating faster than expected. Keep the asset in place and maintain control. If the locals resist, remind them what happens to those who refuse to cooperate. Our operation cannot afford another setback.


    You will receive further instructions soon.


    ¡ª R.K."


    James¡¯ grip tightened on the paper, his breath slow, controlled..


    They weren¡¯t just lingering in the shadows. They were active. Influencing things. Moving pieces.


    Ava was still working for them.


    He folded the letter, slipping it into his jacket pocket before taking one last look at the ruins around him.


    Now how was he going to transport all these bodies.

 Ghosts of the Past. PART 4

    The next morning, the people of Red Pines awoke to a grisly sight.


    Just outside the walls, a pile of bodies¡ªthirty-eight in total¡ªstacked like discarded trash. Their weapons were stripped, their gear looted, and the stench of death already thick in the air. The blood had soaked deep into the dirt, forming dark pools beneath the tangled mass of limbs.


    Conrad stood at the edge of the pile, covering his nose with his forearm. His expression was a mix of disgust and reluctant admiration.


    ¡°Well, shit.¡±


    James, standing beside him, leaned against his car with that same, infuriating smirk.


    ¡°Yeah, a few got away, but nothing to be worried about.¡± He stretched and yawned, rolling his shoulders like the night¡¯s massacre had been a simple workout. Then, as if remembering something, he turned back to Conrad.


    ¡°That¡¯ll be 380,000.¡± His grin widened.


    Conrad¡¯s face twitched. ¡°Right¡­ It¡¯s going to, uh¡­ take a little bit to get that together.¡±


    James just shrugged, watching as Conrad reluctantly walked off to inspect the corpses, mumbling to himself.


    It took three full days for Red Pines to scrounge up James¡¯ payment, but by the second day, the town had already changed.


    The fear was gone.


    Where before the streets had been filled with silent, tense faces, now he could see kids running and playing, people working on their homes, guards standing with actual confidence instead of desperation.


    James was finishing up tuning his car, checking the fuel cell level when Conrad approached again.


    ¡°You know, we could use someone like you.¡±


    James barely looked up before cutting him off.


    ¡°Listen, if I wanted to settle down, I¡¯d be working for SDS or EHD.¡± He tossed a wrench into the backseat, shutting the hood with a solid clank. ¡°But I¡¯m a freelancer. So thanks for the offer, but I¡¯ll have to turn you down.¡±


    Conrad sighed but didn¡¯t argue.


    With that, James climbed into his car, the engine roaring to life as he pulled out onto the road.


    This time, he wasn¡¯t following the Creeper Route.


    He was heading into Florida.


    The further south he drove, the more barren the land became.


    Florida had never recovered from the war or some would say that not much of a change actually occurred to begin with.  The mainland was an unforgiving wasteland¡ªmiles of cracked earth, dead forests, and radioactive swamps left over from where the bombings had hit hardest. Some claimed mutants ruled this land, others said it was just abandoned, a natural barrier that separated the peninsula from the rest of the continent.


    James wasn¡¯t interested in stories. He was interested in getting through.


    The first problem came two hours in.


    The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the uneven ground. He had just cleared an old, rusted-out bridge when his instincts screamed at him.


    Then he saw them.


    A pack of muirhounds.


    James had heard of them before¡ªmutated wolf-dog hybrids, grotesquely altered from generations of surviving in the wastelands. They were larger than any normal dog, their skeletal frames twisted, skin mottled with patches of exposed muscle, and their eyes glowing with an unnatural yellow light. Their jaws were unnaturally wide, filled with rows of jagged teeth capable of snapping bone in an instant.


    The lead Muirhound let out a low, guttural snarl, the sound vibrating through the air. Seven more flanked it, circling the car like they were coordinating a strategy.


    James clicked his tongue.


    "Of course."


    One of the beasts lunged.


    James floored the gas, his turbo kicking in with a roar.


    The car shot forward, tires kicking up a storm of dust. The Muirhounds scattered, but two weren¡¯t fast enough¡ªone slammed against the reinforced bumper with a sickening crunch, while another took the hit to its hind legs and was thrown aside, yelping as it tumbled into the dirt.


    But the rest weren¡¯t giving up.


    They ran alongside the vehicle, their endurance allowing them to keep pace, their twisted bodies leaping over obstacles with unnatural agility. They maneuvered through the wreckage like they had done this a hundred times before, trying to cut him off.


    James gritted his teeth. He would¡¯ve gunned it faster, but this terrain was rough¡ªuneven and filled with hidden dangers. Wreckage, craters, jagged steel sticking out of the ground like rusted blades. A crash out here was a death sentence.


    One of the beasts jumped, landing on the roof.


    James growled. His grip tightened on the wheel.


    "Not today."


    He slammed the brakes.


    The car came to a screeching halt, tires skidding against loose earth, sending the Muirhound flying off at 55 miles per hour. It hit the ground hard, its body rolling lifelessly before going still.


    James didn¡¯t have time to enjoy the victory.


    More of them were emerging from the ruins of an old gas station, drawn by the sound of his engine and gunfire.


    He had two options¡ªburn ammo trying to fight them off or outrun them before the pack grew too large.


    His foot pressed harder against the gas seeing a road ahead. It was broken mess, chunks of asphalt missing, cracks deep enough to swallow a person whole. Still, it was better than the dirt path he had been on.


    James jerked the wheel hard, sending the car into a sideways drift as he barely cleared a wrecked semi-truck, the Muirhounds scrambling to keep up. The closest one leaped, jaws snapping just inches from his window¡ª


    James slammed the brakes again.


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    The hound overshot, hitting the ground hard, and before it could recover¡ªhe ran it over.


    The remaining few slowed, their snarls turning into cautious growls, realizing they had lost the chase.


    James exhaled, rolling his shoulders as the adrenaline slowly faded.


    He had made it through.


    As he cleared the last stretch of wasteland, the scenery finally changed.


    James approached the town, his car rolling to a stop as he spotted a figure standing in the middle of the road. A man, thin and disheveled, barely five foot seven, with a rifle slung over his shoulder in a way that suggested it was more for intimidation than actual use.


    James sighed. He wasn¡¯t in the mood for bullshit.


    As he slowed, the man stepped forward, holding up a hand. "Toll¡¯s 200 CAI bills."


    James leaned against the wheel, raising an eyebrow. "That so?"


    "Yeah. Everyone pays." The man¡¯s stance wasn¡¯t exactly confident¡ªmore like he was following orders he wasn¡¯t sure about.


    James let out a breath. "Well, then we have a problem, don¡¯t we? I don¡¯t have any CAI bills."


    The man shrugged. "Then you need to turn around."


    James put the car in park and opened the door.


    "Hey! Stay in your car!" the man barked, but James ignored him, stepping out and towering over him.


    Up close, the guy looked even scrawnier, his clothes ill-fitting, his boots worn down to nearly nothing. He smelled like stale sweat and dirt, and James could see the uncertainty in his eyes the moment he realized what kind of man he had just tried to shake down.


    James took a slow step forward, his gaze sweeping the area. No other guards. No lookout. Just this fool, a good five minutes from the town, with nothing but a rifle he probably didn¡¯t even know how to use properly.


    James turned his gaze back to him, tilting his head slightly. "Give me one reason why I shouldn¡¯t kill you and take everything you have."


    The man stumbled backward, dropping his rifle as his face went pale. "I¡ªI¡ªlook, man, it¡¯s just a toll, I wasn¡¯t¡ª"


    "Everything you have," James repeated, his voice steady.


    The man fumbled into his pockets, pulling out a crumpled pile of cash and dropping it at James¡¯s feet before turning and sprinting back toward the town like his life depended on it.


    James sighed, shaking his head.


    He picked up the cash, flipping through it. Mostly CAI bills, some Meridian notes mixed in. Not bad for a petty toll scammer.


    He got back into his car and drove forward.


    The heat was the first thing that hit him. Even at just 50¡ãF, the humidity clung to him like a second skin, a stark contrast to the crisp air of the north. Sweat beaded at his forehead as he turned up his AC god''s gift to the world.


    The town itself was different from the ones on Creeper¡¯s Route. The structures were sturdier, less patchwork, built to withstand the subtropical weather and whatever else. The streets were wider, lined with market stalls, their owners shouting over one another to push their wares¡ªscrap metal, preserved food, water filters, and the occasional pre-war relic that probably didn¡¯t work.


    James drove through, taking it all in. This place wasn¡¯t just surviving¡ªit was thriving.


    But first things first.


    He parked near what looked like the busiest part of town, stepping out and stretching. He knew exactly what he needed.


    A bar.


    He walked through the market square, ignoring the merchants trying to get his attention, until he spotted it¡ªa sturdy-looking structure with a faded wooden sign hanging above the entrance, the lettering barely legible.


    James pushed the door open and stepped inside.


    The inside of the bar was just like every other he had been in¡ªdimly lit, filled with the scent of alcohol and sweat, a few tables occupied by locals muttering over their drinks. Nothing special. Nothing he hadn¡¯t seen twelve thousand times before.


    James took a seat at the bar, resting his elbows on the worn wood.


    The bartender, a burly man with a thick mustache and tired eyes, turned to him. ¡°What can I get you?¡±


    ¡°Whiskey,¡± James said, pulling out one of the crumpled bills he had taken from the toll scammer. ¡°And some intel.¡±


    The bartender poured the drink, sliding it over before leaning on the counter. ¡°What do you want to know?¡±


    James took a sip, letting the burn settle before speaking. ¡°Which old city is the CAI capital?¡±


    The bartender scratched his chin. ¡°Ocala,¡± he said finally. ¡°Like most of the big companies based in Florida, their headquarters used to be in Miami, but that place got hit too hard. They moved inland after the war.¡±


    James nodded. It made sense. Most major groups had abandoned their main Hq¡¯s like SDS; their HQ was a massive skyscraper in NYC. But that place was hit so hard the island of Manhattan was literally sunk. James had no idea how it was possible.


    How an entire city, one of the greatest in the world, had simply sunk.


    But it happened. He had seen the remains with his own eyes. It was four years ago.


    He had been traveling through the ruins of what used to be the Northeastern States, taking a contract that required him to move close to what was left of New York City. Most people avoided it like the plague, and for good reason.


    The disaster that had wiped Manhattan off the map wasn¡¯t just a nuke.


    There were worse things than nukes apparently.


    James had made his way to what was once Brooklyn, standing on the fractured remains of the old Brooklyn Bridge. The structure groaned under its own weight, its steel framework twisted and corroded from years of exposure to the elements. Entire sections had collapsed into the water, leaving only skeletal fragments jutting out over the abyss.


    He had stood there, staring into the void.


    Manhattan was gone.


    Not destroyed. Not burned. Not leveled. Just¡­ gone.


    In its place, there was only water. Black and endless. He couldn¡¯t see how deep it went. Couldn¡¯t tell where the ruins ended and the abyss began. It wasn¡¯t natural. It wasn¡¯t right.


    And then there were the ships.


    Rusting pre-war vessels drifted like ghosts in the distance.


    He had heard whispers before arriving. Stories.


    That the waters weren¡¯t natural anymore. That something was beneath them. That the city didn¡¯t just sink¡ª It was dragged down.


    James didn¡¯t believe in fairy tales. But as he stood there, the bridge creaking beneath him, watching the waves swallow the bones of a lost empire¡­


    For the first time, he had wondered.


    What the hell really happened here?


    He set his glass down. ¡°Is there a road from here to there?¡±


    The inside of the bar was just like every other he had been in¡ªdimly lit, filled with the scent of alcohol and sweat, a few tables occupied by locals muttering over their drinks. Nothing special. Nothing he hadn¡¯t seen twelve thousand times before.


    James took a seat at the bar, resting his elbows on the worn wood.


    The bartender, a burly man with a thick mustache and tired eyes, turned to him. ¡°What can I get you?¡±


    ¡°Whiskey,¡± James said, pulling out one of the crumpled bills he had taken from the toll scammer. ¡°And some intel.¡±


    The bartender poured the drink, sliding it over before leaning on the counter. ¡°What do you want to know?¡±


    James took a sip, letting the burn settle before speaking. ¡°Which old city is the CAI capital?¡±


    The bartender scratched his chin. ¡°Ocala,¡± he said finally. ¡°Like most of the big companies, their headquarters used to be in Miami, but that place got hit too hard. They moved inland after the war.¡±


    James nodded. It made sense. Most major groups had abandoned their main Hq¡¯s like SDS their HQ was a massive skyscraper in NYC. But htta place was hit so hard the island of manhattan was literally sunk. James had no idea how that was possible but it happened he saw the remains with his own eyes. (make the detailed flashback)


    He set his glass down. ¡°Is there a road from here to there?¡±


    The bartender nodded. ¡°Yeah. It¡¯s not great, but there¡¯s a trade route. Nothing official, but it gets the job done. Most of the settlements use it to move between the bigger hubs. Dangerous as hell, though.¡±


    James expected that much. Most groups that controlled multiple cities built their own makeshift roads, clearing out enough of the ruins and wasteland to connect their territory. They weren¡¯t safe. Not patrolled. But they were faster than trying to navigate the broken remnants of pre-war highways, where entire sections of road had collapsed into sinkholes or were buried under rubble.


    The bartender gave him a knowing look. ¡°If you¡¯re looking for a job, there¡¯s a group leaving tomorrow. Merchants and a few travelers. They could use the extra gun.¡±


    James pulled out the largest bill he had taken from the toll scammer and slid it across the counter. The bartender nodded in approval before turning toward the back of the bar.


    ¡°Hey, Travis! Got someone who might be interested in your escort job.¡±


    A man at a corner table looked up, sizing James up before standing. He was built like someone who had spent years on the road¡ªscarred, sunburnt, with a rifle slung over his shoulder and a cautious glint in his eye.


    James swirled the last of his whiskey in the glass before downing it in one motion.


    ¡°Let¡¯s talk,¡± he said, standing to meet the man.

 Ghosts of the Past. PART 5

    James sat behind the wheel of his car, fingers tapping idly against the steering wheel as the convoy rumbled down the cracked remnants of an old highway. The road stretched before them, broken and uneven, lined with overgrown weeds and the rusted skeletons of abandoned vehicles. The sun beat down hard, casting long shadows across the asphalt, heat rising in shimmering waves.


    Beside him, in the passenger seat, sat a trader named Ellis, acting as navigator. He was in his early thirties, lean and sharp-eyed, with a rifle resting across his lap and a nervous energy about him.


    ¡°You¡¯ve done escort work before?¡± Ellis asked, breaking the silence.


    James smirked, eyes never leaving the road. ¡°More times than I can count.¡±


    Ellis exhaled, shifting in his seat. ¡°Good. These roads are worse than they used to be. A few years back, the biggest worry was mutant wildlife or the occasional desperate scavenger. Now?¡± He shook his head. ¡°Now, everyone¡¯s trying to carve out their own little kingdom. Bandits, warlords, rogue mercs¡­ it¡¯s a mess.¡±


    James just nodded. He had seen it firsthand. The weaker the main players were, the more desperate people became. Lawless lands bred lawless men. And James? He was always for it.  The crazier the place, the more jobs they had to offer.


    The convoy stretched behind them¡ªsix large trucks loaded with goods, flanked by a handful of smaller vehicles carrying guards. They were making decent progress, but James knew that could change in an instant.


    And then it did.


    Ellis tensed beside him. ¡°Shit. Roadblock.¡±


    James slowed the car, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sight ahead. A group of armed men had set up a makeshift barricad husks of old vehicles stacked across the road, wooden spikes jutting out like jagged teeth. Behind the cover stood twelve men, all armed, all watching the convoy approach.


    James exhaled through his nose. Here we go.


    He pulled the car to a stop, the rest of the convoy slowing behind him. Before Ellis could say anything, James was already opening the door.


    ¡°Stay in the car,¡± James said, voice calm but firm.


    Ellis frowned. ¡°What are you¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll handle it.¡±


    James stepped out, boots crunching against the dry earth as he adjusted his jacket. His 1911 rested on his hip, his HK416 slung across his back. But he didn¡¯t reach for either. Not yet.


    The leader of the raiders¡ªa tall, wiry man with a shaved head and a long scar running down his cheek¡ªstepped forward, grinning like a man who thought he had already won.


    ¡°Well, well,¡± the man drawled. ¡°Quite the convoy you got here.¡±


    James stopped a few feet away, hands resting casually at his sides. ¡°And you¡¯re in my way.¡±


    The raiders chuckled, a few of them shifting their grips on their weapons.


    The leader smirked. ¡°See, that¡¯s where we have a problem. This road? It¡¯s under new management. You wanna pass, you pay a toll.¡±


    James arched his brow. ¡°That so?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Say¡­ half of whatever¡¯s in those trucks ought to do it.¡±


    James let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. ¡°Half?¡± He sighed. ¡°You¡¯re either stupid, desperate, or both.¡±


    The leader¡¯s grin faltered. ¡°Watch your mouth, pal.¡±


    James took a slow step forward, eyes locking onto the man¡¯s. ¡°No. You watch.¡±


    Silence hung between them.


    Then the leader chuckled, shaking his head. ¡°Alright, tough guy. Maybe you don¡¯t get how this works. You¡¯re outnumbered, and I got men in high places.¡± He jerked his head toward the ridges flanking the road, where snipers could be positioned. ¡°If things go bad, you and your whole convoy are dead.¡±


    James exhaled. ¡°You talk too much.¡±


    Before the raider could react, James drew his 1911, pressed it under the man''s chin, and fired.


    The .45-caliber durasteel round obliterated the man¡¯s head, turning it into a fine red mist. One second, he was talking¡ªthe next, he wasn¡¯t.


    His body crumpled before his brain even had time to process that he was dead.


    For a heartbeat, there was nothing but silence.


    Then¡ªchaos.


    The raiders barely had time to process what had happened before James ripped the leader¡¯s rifle from his falling body and turned it on them.


    Crack-crack-crack.


    The first three went down before they even raised their weapons.


    A man to his right fumbled with his shotgun. Too slow.


    James swung the stolen rifle like a club, the stock cracking into the raider¡¯s face with a sickening crunch. Teeth and blood sprayed as the man collapsed in a heap.


    Another one tried to flank him. James pivoted and put a round into his throat.


    The man dropped his gun, clutching at the gaping wound, choking on his own blood.


    The remaining raiders panicked.


    Two of them tried to run.


    James didn¡¯t let them.


    He fired two quick shots, hitting both square in the back. They crashed into the dirt, twitching before going still.


    The last man standing dropped his weapon and raised his hands.


    James lowered the rifle slightly.


    The man stared at him, eyes wide with fear.


    ¡°P-please, man. I¡ª¡±


    James shot him. Once.


    He fell.


    Silence returned.


    James exhaled, rolling his shoulders as he let the rifle drop from his hands. The scent of gunpowder, blood, and death filled the air.


    He turned back to the convoy, where Ellis and the others were still sitting in their vehicles, watching in stunned silence.


    James walked back, sliding into the driver¡¯s seat like nothing had happened.


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Ellis finally swallowed. ¡°Jesus Christ.¡±


    James adjusted his grip on the wheel. ¡°Told you I¡¯d handle it.¡±


    And with that, the convoy moved on.


    The convoy rumbled toward the city, a fortress of steel and order standing defiantly against the world. From a distance, James could already tell that this was similar to Norfolk¡ªbut with key differences.


    The walls were towering, reinforced, and industrial, meant to withstand sieges, artillery, and anything short of an orbital strike or a nuke. Not that many had those anymore. The steel plating was thick, layered, and seamlessly welded, creating a solid barrier engineered for war. Watchtowers lined the perimeter, each equipped with rotary turrets, anti-vehicle cannons, and automated targeting systems.


    And above it all¡ªthe drones.


    James counted at least a dozen in his immediate line of sight, their mechanical forms buzzing through the sky like silent sentinels. Their movements were sharp, methodical, and controlled. Some were small, agile scouting models, scanning everything from incoming traffic to individual heat signatures, while others were heavily armored quad-rotor gunships, the kind that could level an entire squad in seconds.


    They weren¡¯t just for show. CAI wasn¡¯t taking any chances.


    Now that James thought about it, CAI could probably take over the entire Florida Peninsula if they wanted to. With their organization, resources, and firepower, they could wipe out the smaller groups and independent settlements, turning Florida into a fully corporate-controlled zone. He wondered why the didn¡¯t


    The convoy approached the checkpoint, slowing as a squad of armored guards moved toward the lead truck.


    Their uniforms were old UCOA military gear, similar in design and function to EHD forces, but instead of the imposing black and gray colors. Theirs were digital camouflage, a relic from before the world burned. Their helmets were sleek, reinforced, and built for battlefield communication.


    The traders exchanged a few words with the guards. Papers were checked, weapons inspected, and after a brief pause, the guards gave them a nod¡ªthey were clear.


    James followed, his car rolling past the massive steel gate as it groaned shut behind them.


    Inside the walls, the city was alive.


    Unlike Norfolk, where people moved with dull routine, the citizens here were focused, determined, and surprisingly happy The roads were clean and well-maintained, reinforced with concrete and metal plating instead of the usual cracked asphalt and rubble-strewn paths. The buildings weren¡¯t slapped-together scavenged ruins but solid pre-war structures, some even reinforced and upgraded with modern materials.


    Technology thrived here.


    Signs flickered above storefronts, advertising everything from cybernetic implants to power cells. Streetlights functioned properly, running on a dedicated power grid. James figured CAI had a fully operational power plant somewhere nearby. Large holographic billboards looped old-world CAI commercials alongside new propaganda, reinforcing the company¡¯s dominance and commitment to "restoring civilization."


    People walked freely, merchants calling out to passersby, workers in corporate uniforms loading cargo onto autonomous trucks, while security forces patrolled in tight formations, he saw many people stop them and give them gifts or food. They were keeping order and the people were happy to see them. That was rare.


    James took it all in.


    It was like stepping back in time.


    He didn¡¯t linger at the checkpoint, quickly driving the convoy through the inner districts to their designated warehouse. The traders offloaded their cargo, visibly relieved to have made the trip without losses. James shook a few hands, took his payment, and stepped away from the group, heading into the heart of the city.


    As he walked, he couldn¡¯t shake the contrast between this place and Norfolk.


    Maybe it was the weather, the warm Florida air giving the city a different energy. Or maybe CAI¡¯s leadership actually knew how to run a city. Or the fact that they weren''t preparing for a war.


    Before the war, CAI had always been the ¡°friendly¡± megacorporation. While SDS and Helix built private armies and produced military technology for the government. The CAI had invested in charities, refugee programs, and humanitarian projects.


    At least, that¡¯s what the old records claimed.


    James drove through the well-lit streets, weaving between autonomous transport vehicles and late-night foot traffic. For the first time since he left Norfolk , he wasn¡¯t looking for a shack with a decent roof or a rundown inn where he had to sleep with one eye open. He was in a real city again. He could get a real bed.


    His mind wandered for a moment, remembering that not all the nights on his journey here were unpleasant. That brought a smirk to his face.


    Then he found the ¡°Venus Heights Hotel.¡±


    The building was sleek, modern, and polished. The exterior was lined with white marble and reinforced glass, glowing subtly under the city''s artificial lighting. The three-story structure stood tall and proud, pristine and untouched by war.


    James parked, locked his car, and stepped through the automated sliding doors into a cool, air-conditioned lobby.


    The inside was just as impressive.


    The floor was polished stone, reflecting the soft white and blue lighting from the ceiling. A massive chandelier of pre-war crystal hung in the center, casting soft patterns across the walls. The front desk was lined with gold trim, giving it an air of old-world wealth.


    To the right, a lounge bar was filled with well-dressed patrons, some laughing over drinks, others discussing business. On the left, a set of elevators gleamed, leading up to the luxurious private rooms.


    James sighed in satisfaction.


    Then he saw the line.


    At least six people ahead of him, all waiting for check-in. James stepped into place behind two men both armed, both clearly mercs. He recognized the look instantly.


    One of them, a burly man with a cybernetic arm, glanced at him. ¡°You new here?¡±


    James smirked. ¡°Just arrived.¡±


    The other merc, leaner, with a rifle slung across his back, gave him a nod. ¡°First time in Ocala?¡±


    James nodded. ¡°Yeah. Heard the city¡¯s got work. That true?¡±


    The burly one chuckled. ¡°Oh, there¡¯s work, alright. CAI¡¯s got contracts for days¡ªsecurity, escorts, bounty retrieval, you name it. Pay¡¯s decent too, but they don¡¯t take just anyone. They like their people to be reliable.¡±


    James filed that away. He had no problem proving himself.


    The line moved forward.


    The burly merc scoffed. ¡°Just don¡¯t get on the bad side of Helix. They¡¯ve been trying to muscle in on CAI¡¯s turf for a while now.¡±


    James raised an eyebrow. ¡°Helix has that much influence here?¡±


    The lean one shrugged. ¡°Not officially. But their people show up. Mostly black market deals, cyberware enhancements, that kinda thing. CAI doesn¡¯t shut ¡®em down completely¡ªthey like to keep things clean, but they can¡¯t be everywhere.¡±


    James nodded slowly. Interesting.


    Finally, he reached the front desk.


    Behind it stood a young woman, maybe mid-twenties, with auburn hair tied neatly into a ponytail. She had sharp hazel eyes, a well-fitted suit jacket, and just the right amount of charm in her posture. Professional. Efficient. And judging by the way she scanned him up and down before offering a smile a little intrigued.


    ¡°Welcome to Venus Heights,¡± she said, her voice smooth. ¡°Are you checking in for the night or looking for an extended stay?¡±


    James leaned on the counter slightly, smirking. ¡°Longer than a night. I¡¯ll be here for about a month.¡±


    She raised an eyebrow. ¡°A month? We don¡¯t have many mercs staying that long in a single stretch. Business or pleasure?¡±


    James chuckled. ¡°We¡¯ll see maybe a bit of both¡± James smiled ( But i doubt I''ll be here every night just need a place I can come back to.¡±


    Her lips quirked upward slightly, but she kept her tone professional. ¡°Alright, Mr¡­¡±


    ¡°Grayson.¡±


    ¡°Mr. Grayson,¡± she repeated, typing into her system. ¡°We have several room options available. Our standard suites come with climate control, reinforced locks, and private security access. If you¡¯d like something more upscale, we offer executive suites with enhanced privacy measures, soundproofing, and access to our VIP lounge. All rooms come with complimentary meals, a fitness center, and full room service.¡±


    James nodded. ¡°Sounds nice. And the currency?¡±


    ¡°We take CAI credits.¡±


    James clicked his tongue ¡° Can I convert SDS credit here¡±


    She gave him an apologetic look. ¡°I¡¯m afraid not.¡±


    James sighed internally. That meant he¡¯d have to take a contract soon.


    Still, he kept his smile easy. ¡°Well, I guess I¡¯ll have to make some local money, then.¡±


    She smirked slightly. ¡°Seems like you can handle that just fine.¡±


    He chuckled, tapping his fingers against the counter. ¡°I¡¯ll take an executive suite.¡±


    She nodded, processing the transaction, then handed him a keycard. ¡°Room Twelve-A. Top floor, end of the hall.¡±


    James took it.. ¡°Appreciate it.¡±


    She arched a brow, but before she could say anything else, James turned and made his way toward the elevators.


    The ride up was silent, smooth, and efficient.


    His room?


    Even better.


    The door slid open with a quiet chime, revealing a space that might¡¯ve once belonged in a corporate executive tower.


    A king-sized bed dominated the center, draped in pristine white sheets. A floor-to-ceiling window overlooked the city, showing the distant lights flickering in the skyline. The walls were lined with reinforced panels, offering both privacy and security.


    A fully stocked minibar sat against the wall, next to a sleek workstation. The bathroom, visible through an open door, had actual running water and a high-end shower system.


    James set his bag down, rolling his shoulders.


    Finally.


    He stepped over to the window, gazing out at the city below.


    Tomorrow, he¡¯d start looking for work.


    Tonight?


    He had a real bed for the first time in weeks.


    Might as well enjoy it.

 Ghosts of the Past. PART 6

    James woke to the sound of a sharp knock at the door.


    His eyes opened instantly, no grogginess, no hesitation. For a few seconds, he simply lay there, listening.


    The city outside was already alive, the distant hum of traffic and drones filling the air. But the knock wasn¡¯t random. It was calculated, measured. Whoever was on the other side of that door wasn¡¯t just some hotel worker or a lost guest.


    Another knock.


    James exhaled, sitting up. The sheets slid off his bare torso, dog tags dinking together. the cool air of the room brushing against his skin. He rolled his shoulders, letting the stiffness of the night out.


    He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet touching the polished floor. With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair before standing, his muscles stretching as he walked toward the door.


    His 1911 was already in his hand before he even reached it. Habit.


    James pressed his back against the wall beside the door, flipping the safety off just in case. Then, moving silently, he peered through the security display on the wall, showing a grainy camera feed of the hallway.


    Two men. Well-dressed. Suits. Corporate types.


    One of them held a briefcase.


    James narrowed his eyes.


    Didn¡¯t look like hired guns. But that didn¡¯t mean they weren¡¯t dangerous.


    He flicked the safety back on, tucking the gun behind his back before unlocking the door and cracking it open.


    Two pairs of eyes met his.


    One of the men a slim, sharp-featured guy with neatly combed brown hair offered a polite smile.


    The other was bulkier, broader, standing slightly behind him like a silent wall of muscle.


    ¡°Who the hell are you?¡± James asked, his voice flat, cautious.


    The slim man tilted his head slightly. ¡°My name is George, and this is my partner, Collins. We are representatives from CAI.¡± His tone was smooth, professional. ¡°May we come in?¡±


    James glanced between them, then at the briefcase.


    He could already tell they weren¡¯t here for a friendly conversation.


    Still, he stepped back, waving them inside.


    Might as well hear them out.


    George shifted awkwardly, glancing away before clearing his throat. ¡°Do you, uh¡­ want to put on some pants first?¡±


    James leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his bare chest, completely unbothered. ¡°No, I¡¯m good.¡±


    George hesitated. ¡°Alright.. then¡­¡± He stepped inside cautiously, his partner, Collins, following close behind. Collins didn¡¯t say a word, but the way his hand hovered near his jacket made it clear¡ªhe was the muscle.


    James shut the door and motioned toward the couch. George sat down stiffly while James took the opposite seat, the low table between them. Collins remained standing behind George, his posture straight, eyes never leaving James. Definitely security.


    ¡°We have a contract for you,¡± George started, but James cut him off before he could go further.


    ¡°How do you know who I am? And how did you know I was here?¡± His voice was calm, but his stare was sharp, calculating.


    George smiled, though it didn¡¯t quite reach his eyes. ¡°A man of your stature is bound to be known.¡±


    James didn¡¯t react. Just stared.


    George sighed, adjusting his tie slightly. ¡°Alright, fine. We have old MGI files.¡±


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    James moved before George could blink.


    The 1911 was in his hand, the barrel pressed against George¡¯s forehead in an instant. Collins was fast, drawing his own weapon and aiming at James, his grip steady, his face unreadable.


    ¡°Wait, wait, wait! Everyone calm down!¡± George said quickly, holding up both hands. ¡°We¡¯re not here to start trouble.¡±


    James didn¡¯t lower the gun. ¡°Then start talking.¡±


    George exhaled, forcing himself to stay composed despite the cold metal against his skull. ¡°We¡¯re here because those same MGI files mark you as a target for elimination.¡±


    That made James pause.


    He didn¡¯t lower his gun, but his grip eased just slightly.


    George took it as a chance to continue. ¡°So when your name popped up on the registry as a guest here, we did some digging. Turns out, you have quite the history. A very¡­ particular set of skills. The kind that we could use.¡±


    James finally lowered the 1911, but he didn¡¯t holster it. ¡°Use me for what?¡±


    George leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. ¡°You already know the MGI is still operating in the shadows. But what you might not know is that they¡¯re the ones bankrolling the Helix Cartel.¡±


    That caught James¡¯s attention.


    George¡¯s expression remained calm, but there was an underlying sharpness in his gaze. ¡°The Helix Cartel is a problem, but one we can handle. However, as long as they have the bottomless pockets of MGI backing them, anything we do is just delaying the inevitable.¡± He leaned forward slightly, his voice steady, measured. ¡°We need someone like you to go after the real boogeyman.¡±


    James stayed silent, his mind working through the implications. If MGI was the one pulling the strings, then Helix was nothing more than their attack dog. Cutting the head off the cartel wouldn¡¯t mean a damn thing if their master could just buy another one.


    His fingers drummed idly against the grip of his 1911, his expression unreadable. Then, with a slow exhale, he set the pistol on the table between them, the weight of the decision settling in his mind.


    ¡°If I¡¯m going to do this,¡± James said evenly, his voice carrying that edge of finality, ¡°I¡¯m going to need money. And every last file you have on MGI.¡±


    George gave a small, knowing smile. He reached down, unlocking the briefcase with a soft click before flipping it open. Inside was a neatly stacked pile of documents, some yellowed with age, others crisp and freshly printed. Each file was stamped with the unmistakable emblem of MGI. James¡¯ sharp eyes scanned the pages from where he sat, already picking out pieces of information just from the scattered words visible¡ªclassified operations, personnel names, research projects.


    George didn¡¯t say anything at first. Instead, he reached into the case and pulled out a sleek black card, sliding it across the table.


    ¡°This holds 100,000,¡± he said smoothly. ¡°You¡¯ll get another 400,000 when the job is done.¡±


    James picked up the card, running his thumb over its surface. It was heavy, metallic. Not some cheap pre-war plastic.


    George stood, smoothing out his suit as Collins, who had remained silent the entire conversation, followed suit. ¡°I look forward to a fruitful partnership,¡± George said with a polite nod.


    James didn¡¯t respond, just watched them as they made their way to the door. Collins gave him one last unreadable glance before stepping out behind his partner, the door clicking shut behind them.


    James leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. He looked down at the files in the open briefcase, fingers grazing over the MGI seal embossed on the topmost document.


    He had come here to hunt down any intel on MGI, knowing that their headquarters had been in Miami before the war. His original plan had been to tear through whatever remained of the building, piece by piece, searching for anything useful.


    But this?


    This just saved him a hell of a lot of time.


    Two days later, James emerged from his room for the first time, his expression cold and unreadable.


    The air in the hotel lobby was lighter than when he had first arrived¡ªtravelers chatting, businesspeople moving between meetings, and CAI security forces maintaining their casual but ever-present watch. The young woman at the front desk, the same one who helped him when he checked in, perked up as he passed, offering a bright, "Haven''t seen you in a while, stranger."


    James didn''t acknowledge her. He walked past without a word, his boots clicking against the pristine floor, his mind already miles away.


    The weight of what he had uncovered sat heavy in his chest, but it didn¡¯t slow him. If anything, it only hardened his resolve. He had pieced it all together¡ªevery file, every scrap of information, every coded message and redacted report. They had hidden extremely well, covering their tracks so thoroughly that even with the knowledge he already possessed, the additional files from CAI, and his own enhanced cognitive abilities, it had taken him two relentless days to unravel it all.


    But now?


    Now, there was nowhere left for them to hide.


    James stepped out into the street, the Florida heat pressing against him like a weight. The city hummed with life, people moving about their business as if the world wasn¡¯t rotting beneath them. He exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders, his muscles stiff from the hours spent hunched over documents and screens.


    It didn¡¯t matter. The hunt was on.


    He climbed into his car, the door slamming shut with finality. His fingers gripped the wheel, knuckles white. And then, without hesitation, he floored the gas. The tires screeched against the pavement, the engine roared like a beast unleashed, and James shot down the road, leaving the city behind in a blur of concrete and steel.


    He had found them.


    And when he was done, not a single one of them would be left standing.

 Ghosts of the Past. PART 7

    James drove through the cracked roads and decaying remnants of what was once civilization, the skeletal remains of Orlando looming in the distance. The city had taken its fair share of bombs, but unlike some of the other ruins he had passed through, it still stood¡ªmostly. Towers leaned at unnatural angles, their glass long shattered, their steel frames rusted and exposed. Roads had collapsed into sinkholes, some filled with water so dark and deep they looked like bottomless pits.


    But the real problem wasn¡¯t the destruction. It was the swamp.


    Time and war had left the land to rot, rising waters creeping over streets and parking lots, drowning what remained beneath thick, tangled vegetation and miles of stagnant, black water. James pulled his car to a stop at the edge of a half-sunken overpass, the road ahead completely consumed by nature.


    He exhaled through his nose and shut off the engine.


    No way forward by car.


    Stepping out, his boots crunched against loose gravel as he scanned the area. There was movement nearby¡ªpeople. A small group, maybe five or six, picking their way through the ruins. Travelers.


    Adjusting his gear, James made his way toward them. They noticed him quickly. A man with a scarred face and a shotgun slung across his back turned to meet him, the rest of the group tensing, hands hovering near weapons, eyes scanning him.


    James didn¡¯t reach for his gun.


    "You lost, stranger?" the scarred man asked. His voice was rough, wary but not immediately hostile.


    James shook his head. "Not lost. Just heading the same way." He nodded toward the drowned city. "Figured it might be easier to have company."


    The man studied him, eyes flicking over his gear, his weapons, his stance. A woman with a hunting rifle and a machete strapped to her hip leaned in slightly.


    "You military?" she asked.


    James smirked. "A mercenary."


    Scarface grunted, crossing his arms. "We don¡¯t take in dead weight. You keep up, pull your own weight, and don¡¯t start shit, then fine. But if you¡¯re looking for an easy ride¡ª"


    James tilted his head slightly. "Do I look like someone who needs an easy ride?"


    The group exchanged glances. A moment passed.


    Scarface smirked. "Fair enough."


    The tension eased slightly, and James nodded, falling into step with them.


    They moved toward the ruins, stepping carefully over cracked pavement, half-buried in thick roots and shifting mud. The air was heavy, humid, filled with the constant hum of insects and the distant, eerie calls of something deeper in the swamp.


    James walked in silence, listening as the group talked among themselves¡ªstories of the flooded city, rumors of things that lived beneath the water.


    He just kept walking, eyes set on the city ahead.


    There was still a long way to go.


    The group moved cautiously through the ruins, their boots sinking into the wet, unstable ground. The deeper they went, the more the city had been swallowed by nature. Waterlogged cars jutted out from the muck like half-sunken gravestones, vines wrapped around rusted streetlights, and the skeletal remains of buildings stood as crumbling reminders of the world before.


    James kept his rifle at the ready, eyes scanning the murky water that lapped at the broken pavement. The stench of decay hung thick in the humid air, mixing with the sour scent of stagnant water. Mosquitoes swarmed, their buzzing a constant irritation.


    "Keep your eyes open," Scarface muttered, leading the way with his shotgun in a low ready position. "This part of the city¡¯s bad. Things live out here."


    James didn¡¯t need the warning. He could feel it¡ªthe way the air felt too still, the way the trees bent unnaturally along the flooded streets, the way the distant splashes in the water weren¡¯t just the wind. Something was watching.


    They moved in single file along a partially collapsed highway overpass, the concrete cracked and broken, half of it sloping down into the dark water below. The woman with the hunting rifle¡ªKayla, James had picked up her name from the others¡ªmoved just ahead of him, her boots stepping lightly to avoid loose debris.


    Then came the sound. A deep, guttural hiss.


    James snapped his rifle up just as the water erupted.


    A massive shape lunged from the murk, jaws gaping wide, rows of jagged teeth flashing in the dim light. The mutant gator was bigger than any normal alligator, its flesh bloated and covered in thick, scale-like tumors. Its eyes were a milky white, its tail whipping through the water as it surged forward.


    "Move!" Scarface barked, raising his shotgun and firing.


    The blast tore through the gator¡¯s hide, but it barely staggered. It lunged, slamming into one of the travelers¡ªa wiry man named Greg¡ªbefore he could react. Greg barely had time to scream before the beast clamped down on his torso, dragging him off the concrete and into the depths.


    The water frothed red as bits of the man went everywhere.


    "Shit!" Kayla shouted, firing her rifle.


    James didn¡¯t hesitate. He pivoted, steadying his HK416 and unloading two precise shots into the creature¡¯s skull. The plasteel tipped rounds punched through, sending a spray of dark blood into the air. The gator twitched, its grip loosening on Greg¡¯s now-limp body, before it sank into the depths.


    The group stood frozen, weapons raised, breaths ragged. The only sounds were the distant ripples of the disturbed water and the buzzing of insects.


    Scarface cursed under his breath. "We keep moving."


    No one argued.


    Greg was gone, his body disappearing beneath the surface.


    James exhaled, He had seen worse but damn Florida did not mess around.


    The rest of the trek was uneventful¡ªif he ignored the fact that a massive snake had nearly taken his head off.


    It had happened near the edge of a collapsed bridge, where the water pooled deeper than expected. James had stepped too close to a half-submerged car when the reptile struck. It moved like a shadow, its massive coils wrapped around the husk of an old sedan, waiting for something¡ªanything¡ªto get close enough.


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    James had barely yanked himself back in time, the snake¡¯s jaws snapping shut where his arm had been a fraction of a second earlier. The others had stumbled away, weapons raised, but James hadn¡¯t wasted a bullet. Instead, he had thrown one of his combat knife into its eye, and when the thing thrashed in agony, he had moved on. There was no point in fighting something that could just as easily drag him into the deep and drown him.


    When they finally emerged from the swamp onto an old road, the land became more stable beneath his boots. The pavement was cracked and uneven, but it was a welcome change from the endless sinking mud and the constant tension of something lurking just beneath the surface.


    It was there that James spotted another group waiting for the travelers. The two groups greeted each other with wary familiarity, exchanging supplies and quiet words. James didn¡¯t ask questions.


    Scarface gave him a nod, an acknowledgment of sorts. "You¡¯re not so bad, merc."


    James smirked faintly. "Try not to get eaten before you make it out of here."


    Scarface chuckled, but there was truth to the words. The swamp didn''t care who you were¡ªit swallowed everyone the same way.


    With that, James turned and started walking.


    The road south was long and empty.


    Traveling alone was different it allowed him to move quicker but it was also more dangerous. The humidity didn¡¯t help either. The further south he went, the thicker the air became, clinging to him like a second skin. Sweat rolled down his back, dampening his shirt beneath his armor, but he didn¡¯t slow down.


    The landscape shifted as he went. The swamp still crept along the edges of the road, but the ground was still solid, the trees taller, and the signs of pre-war civilization more scattered.


    He passed through old service stations, their signs faded and leaning at odd angles. Convenience stores had long been looted, their shelves empty, but the smell of rot still clung to the interiors. A few buildings had collapsed entirely, their skeletal remains standing like gravestones for a world long gone.


    At night, he found shelter where he could. Sometimes an abandoned vehicle, sometimes the hollowed-out remains of a building. He kept his rifle close, sleeping light, always ready. The nights weren¡¯t safe. Strange noises echoed from the wilderness, some natural, some not. Once, he woke to the sound of something large moving through the trees, its breathing heavy, its footfalls deliberate. He stayed still until the sound faded into the distance.


    Three days.


    It took three days of relentless walking and pushing forward before he finally reached the outskirts of Miami. Once a beacon of wealth and excess, now just another corpse of the old world.


    The city was visible in the distance half-drowned, broken, and burning under the relentless sun. The coast had swallowed entire districts, the ocean creeping further inland, turning neighborhoods into flooded wastelands. The skyline was jagged, a mix of crumbling skyscrapers and makeshift settlements built atop old ruins.


    James exhaled, rolling his shoulders. He still had a long way to go before reaching the Everglades. And even then, who knew how long it would take to find what he was looking for?


    He had no map, no exact coordinates¡ªjust the knowledge that MGI was hiding somewhere deep in the swamp, using the drowned ruins and endless wilderness as a shield. He needed intel and Supplies.


    And he needed it fast.


    His eyes swept over the crumbling remains of Miami. Then he saw it.


    A thin column of smoke, rising steadily against the darkening sky. Someone made a careless campfire.


    Perfect.


    James adjusted his gear and moved in.


    The fire burned atop a ruined two-story building, its roof half-collapsed, a crude setup of sandbags and scrap metal forming a makeshift outpost. Around it, figures moved¡ªdisciplined, armed, organized. Not just some ragtag gang of scavengers. These men carried themselves like professionals.


    James¡¯ gaze flicked over their gear, noting the familiar insignia stamped onto their body armor.


    MGI¡¯s private security.


    His lips curled into a smile¡ªnot his usual light, charming one. No, this was something else entirely. A cold, sharp grin that would strike fear into the devil himself.


    He moved in silence, watching. Studying.


    There were at least seven of them, maybe more inside the building. They weren¡¯t patrolling much, likely feeling safe as who would be here. Complacent. That would be their first mistake and last.


    James waited.


    Patience was key.


    As the sun dipped lower, one of them finally broke away from the group, heading toward the side of the building¡ªprobably to take a piss.


    James followed.


    His movements were precise, his footfalls silent against the cracked pavement. The soldier never saw him coming.


    Before the man could react, James struck one fluid motion, wrapping an arm around his throat and cutting off his air. The struggle was brief, a few desperate thrashes, then his body went slack. James eased him down, keeping the noise to a minimum.


    He pulled out a length of cable and bound the man¡¯s wrists, making sure the knots were tight. Then he propped him against a crumbling wall and gave him a quick slap to make sure he wasn¡¯t dead.


    James exhaled, rolling his shoulders.


    He¡¯d question this one soon enough.


    The rest, however¡­His smile returned, cold and merciless. They wouldn¡¯t be so lucky.


    The first man never saw the knife coming. James drove the blade into his throat, twisting hard. A wet gurgle escaped his lips as blood poured over his hands. He slumped forward, hands twitching as he died in the dirt, a pool of blood forming.


    James ripped the knife free and caught the body before it hit the ground. One down.


    The second turned at the noise, eyes widening. James lunged, driving his boot into the man¡¯s knee, snapping it like a twig earning a sickening crunch. As he fell screaming, James silenced him with a quick, brutal stab to the heart. Two down.


    The next three were by the fire, unaware that death was creeping toward them. James pulled one of the guards'' pistols from its holster, leveling it against the back of the nearest skull. A muffled pop, and his head snapped forward, face-first into the flames. The scent of burning flesh filled the air before the others even registered what had happened.


    The fourth spun, reaching for his rifle, but James fired twice¡ªone in the gut, the next between his eyes. He crumpled beside the fire, his body jerking as his nervous system failed.


    The fifth made it a step before James put a round through his throat. He stumbled, clutching at the gushing wound, gargling on his own blood as he collapsed.


    Five down.


    The gunshots had drawn attention. The remaining men scrambled, shouts echoing through the ruined building.


    James moved fast.


    A figure burst from a doorway, rifle raised. James slammed the barrel aside as the trigger pulled, sending bullets into the ceiling. He shoved his knife up beneath the man¡¯s chin, the tip tearing through his skull and ripping off the jaw. Blood and brain matter dribbled down his arm as he yanked the blade free, letting the corpse drop.


    Six down.


    Another rushed him, swinging a combat knife. James sidestepped, catching the man¡¯s wrist and twisting sharply. The snap of breaking bone barely registered before he flipped the knife into his own hand and slammed it into the soldier¡¯s chest.


    Seven down.


    A shotgun blast tore through the air, barely missing his head. He ducked behind a rusted piece of machinery as the shooter pumped another round into the chamber. James yanked a flashbang from the dead guards belt, pulled the pin, and lobbed it over the cover.


    A deafening blast. A scream.


    He was on him in seconds. The soldier staggered blindly, hands clutching his ears. James grabbed him by the collar and slammed him face-first into a jagged piece of rebar. The metal punched through the back of his skull, leaving him twitching like a broken marionette.


    Eight down.


    Two more charged from the far side of the rooftop. James raised his HK416 and fired in quick succession. The first took three rounds to the chest and toppled over the edge, hitting the ground below with a sickening crunch.


    The second caught a bullet in the shoulder but kept coming, screaming as he swung a machete. James stepped inside the arc, grabbed his wrist, and wrenched the blade free before burying it in his gut.


    Nine.


    The last one tried to run.


    James leveled his rifle and squeezed the trigger.


    The bullet struck the back of his head, exiting in a spray of red mist. He fell face-first onto the concrete, a dark pool forming beneath him.


    Ten.


    James turned, scanning the scene. No movement. No survivors.


    Then a choked gasp.


    He looked down. The one he had stabbed in the chest was still clinging to life, barely.


    James knelt beside him, watching as he tried to speak, blood bubbling from his lips. Then Jame crushed his throat causing a spray of blood to shoot out.


    Eleven.


    James wiped his blade clean and stood.


    Now, it was time for answers.

 Ghosts of the Past. PART 8

    "Wakey, wakey," James said, his voice low and almost mocking.


    The man didn¡¯t stir.


    James exhaled, already growing impatient. He raised a hand and slapped him¡ªhard. The sharp crack of impact echoed in the small, dark space a tooth came out.


    The man jolted awake with a strangled gasp, his body instinctively trying to recoil, but the restraints held tight. His wrists burned against the coarse rope, and his legs were bound just as tightly, leaving him utterly helpless.


    "There we go," James muttered, crouching in front of him.


    The man blinked rapidly, disoriented, breath coming in ragged pants. The only thing he could see in the pitch-black room were two eerie, glowing eyes¡ªCherenkov blue, radiating an unnatural light in the darkness. They were locked onto him, unblinking, unrelenting.


    He swallowed thickly, panic rising in his chest.


    "W-what¡­ what happened?" His voice trembled, thick with confusion and fear.


    James tilted his head slightly, as if considering the question.


    "Well," he said, voice smooth, deliberate, "your team had a little accident."


    The words made the man¡¯s stomach drop. His grogginess began to clear as his memory returned¡ªhe had been standing watch, then there was nothing. A black void. And now, here he was, tied up in some dark hole with a ghost staring him down.


    "What¡­ what accident?" he stammered.


    James grinned, though the man couldn¡¯t see it. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, darker¡ªalmost inhuman.


    "Me."


    The man tried to speak, but James drove his fist into his gut, the impact sending a violent shockwave of pain through his body. A choked gasp escaped his lips as he doubled over, or at least tried to¡ªhis bindings wouldn¡¯t allow it.


    "From now on, you speak when I tell you to." James¡¯ voice was cold, detached, as if he were merely stating a fact. "Nod if you understand."


    The man wheezed, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but he managed a weak nod.


    "Good."


    James crouched beside him, tilting his head slightly, studying his captive like he was some lab rat in a cage.


    "Now, you¡¯re going to tell me why you¡¯re here."


    The man clenched his teeth, trying to steady himself. His breathing was uneven, his ribs already aching from the blow. He had been trained to endure pain, to resist interrogation, but nothing about this situation felt normal. The presence before him the glowing eyes, the measured cruelty in James¡¯ voice was something far worse than he had ever prepared for.


    Still, he forced out the only act of defiance he had left.


    "Fuck you."


    James didn¡¯t hesitate.


    Another punch, this time to the ribs. A sickening crack echoed through the dark room. The man¡¯s body convulsed as he let out a strangled cry, his lungs struggling to expand. He coughed, a wet, ugly sound, his chest spasming with the effort.


    James leaned in close, his voice almost gentle now.


    "I asked you a question¡¯."


    The man barely moved this time, his body trying to reclaim the breath that had been stolen from him. His stomach lurched, bile rising in his throat, but he swallowed it down.


    James sat back on his haunches, stretching his fingers idly. Then he spoke, his voice quiet, even, but carrying the kind of weight that made the air feel heavy.


    "Let me tell you how this is going to go."


    The man¡¯s head lolled slightly, sweat dripping down his temple, his vision blurry.


    "Every time you don¡¯t answer me, I¡¯ll take a leg."


    The words came so casually that it took the man¡¯s brain a moment to process them.


    "Then an arm."


    James¡¯ fingers tapped idly against the handle of his knife, as if considering where to start.


    "Then your teeth, one by one."


    The man¡¯s breath hitched.


    "Then your eyes."


    James let the words linger, let the silence sink into the man¡¯s skin like a festering wound.


    "And if you still don¡¯t talk after that¡­" James tilted his head, his expression unreadable, "I¡¯ll tie a rope around your waist. I¡¯ll make sure your stomach is nice and full¡ªfood, water, everything you need to stay alive. And then I¡¯ll hang you from the ceiling."


    The man let out a shuddering breath, his fingers twitching involuntarily against the restraints.


    "You¡¯ll live like that for a week," James continued, voice cold, impassive. "Hanging, starving, pissing yourself, feeling your body rot while your mind stays perfectly aware."


    A beat of silence.


    "And when I come back¡ªbecause I will find them anyway¡ªI¡¯ll cut you down. But not to set you free."


    James leaned in until the man could feel his breath, warm and slow against his blood-slicked skin.


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    "I¡¯ll take you back with me," he murmured. "You¡¯ll be my little pet. My little reminder of what happens when people waste my time."


    The man sucked in air, but he couldn¡¯t find words, couldn¡¯t even muster the strength for defiance. His body trembled, a deep primal fear clawing through his mind like a living thing.


    James smiled, though there was no warmth in it.


    "Oh," he added, almost as an afterthought, "and don¡¯t bother trying to bite your tongue off. That won¡¯t work."


    The man¡¯s breath hitched sharply and started sobbing.


    James sat back, waiting.


    "Now," he said, tilting his head, "are you ready to answer my questions?"


    "Yes," the man rasped, his voice shaky.


    James nodded, his glowing blue eyes unblinking in the darkness. "Good." His tone was eerily calm, almost conversational. Then, just as smoothly, "Why are you here?"


    The man swallowed hard. He had already accepted that he was going to die¡ªbut how long it took, how much suffering he endured before the end, was still in his hands.


    "We were tasked as lookouts," he said, voice hoarse. "To report any movement near the bunker¡­ If someone passed through, we were supposed to let them know."


    James tilted his head slightly, waiting.


    "And if we could, we were supposed to¡ª" The man hesitated.


    James'' expression remained cold, but his hand moved. The vibroblade hummed softly as he ran it lightly along the man''s arm, just enough for him to feel the vibrating edge kiss his skin. A promise.


    "Finish."


    The captive inhaled sharply.


    "If we were able¡­ we were supposed to kill them," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "And take any women or children as prisoners."


    James didn''t react. He just let the words sit there, suffocating in the stagnant air of the room.


    "Where is the bunker?"


    The man hesitated again, but only for a moment.


    "I¡ªI have a map," he stammered. "In my right pocket."


    James reached in and pulled it free, unfolding it carefully. His glowing eyes scanned the paper, taking in the layout. A detailed pre-war structure. An underground fortress.


    "How many of you are there?"


    The man shook his head weakly. "I don¡¯t kno¡ª"


    The blade flashed.


    The scream that followed was raw, primal his body convulsed violently as the vibroblade carved through muscle, sinew, and bone like butter. The severed leg hit the ground with a sickening thud, blood pooling rapidly.


    James didn''t even flinch.


    A second later, his wielding lazer pressed against the stump, searing hot plasma bursting to life. The flesh hissed and bubbled as it cauterized, the scent of burning meat filling the air. The man''s screams turned shrill, desperate, the pain overwhelming. His body bucked against the restraints, but there was nowhere to go.


    James watched him writhe, his expression unreadable.


    "I told you," he said evenly, tossing the discarded leg aside like trash. "Answer my questions."


    The man¡¯s breaths came in ragged, uneven sobs, his entire body shaking uncontrollably.


    James crouched, resting his forearms on his knees as he leaned in, his eerie, glowing stare locking onto the man''s tear-streaked face.


    "Now," James said softly, the weight of inevitability in his voice. "Do you want to try that again?"


    The man¡¯s breaths came in short, panicked gasps, his face pale from blood loss, sweat slicking his brow. He trembled, barely holding himself together, his eyes darting between James and the severed leg discarded like garbage.


    "All I know," he choked out, "is that there are fifty¡ªmaybe more¡ªguards. I swear, I don¡¯t know how many scientists or administrative staff¡­" His voice cracked, desperation bleeding through. "Please¡­ I don¡¯t know."


    James didn¡¯t blink. He just stared, letting the silence suffocate the man.


    The captive swallowed hard, his mind scrambling for something¡ªanything¡ªthat might make James stop. And then it hit him. A memory. A fragment of conversation. Something that hadn¡¯t seemed important before but now burned in his mind like a brand.


    "O-oh¡­ yes! Yes, that¡¯s right!" he blurted, his voice shaking. "There was¡­ there was this one psycho chick!"


    James¡¯ expression remained cold, unreadable.


    "She¡ªshe had silver hair," the man continued, words tumbling over each other. "And these blue¡­ glowing¡­ eyes¡­"


    His voice trailed off, the weight of his own realization sinking in like a stone in water. His breath hitched.


    James smirked, just a ghost of one.


    His fingers drummed idly against the handle of his knife as he leaned in slightly, letting his unnatural blue stare bore into the man like twin specters in the dark.


    "What¡¯s wrong?" James murmured, voice smooth as glass. "Cat got your tongue?"


    The man¡¯s face twisted in horror.


    ¡°Your one of¡± The man¡¯s words barely left his lips before James¡¯ fist slammed into his face, the impact snapping his head back violently. Blood sprayed from his nose, a sickening crunch echoing through the dark room.


    "I didn¡¯t ask you who I was," James said coldly.


    The man coughed, sputtering, his head swimming from the blow. His breath was ragged, his mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood.


    "Now," James continued, his voice unwavering. "Tell me how many bases MGI has."


    The captive groaned, shifting slightly against the ropes. "I¡­ I only know about ten or so small bases scattered throughout the East Coast. But to my knowledge, the bunker is the main base."


    James nodded slightly, absorbing the information. His glowing blue eyes remained locked onto the man like a predator waiting for the final twitch before the kill.


    "What type of defenses does it have?"


    The man hesitated, but James didn¡¯t move¡ªdidn¡¯t even lift his hand in threat. The silence alone was enough to make the captive¡¯s stomach twist. He swallowed hard and started talking.


    "The bunker is heavily fortified," he gasped. "It was built pre-war, reinforced to withstand bombings. Most of the original defenses are still operational, but they¡¯ve been upgraded since then."


    He inhaled shakily before continuing.


    Some time later, James smiled¡ªa rare, fleeting expression that never quite reached his eyes. He crouched beside the man, tilting his head as he observed the wreckage he had left behind.


    ¡°Well, you¡¯ve been very helpful,¡± James said, his voice carrying an unsettling calm. He gestured vaguely at the man''s broken, ruined body¡ªboth legs gone, one arm severed, blood pooled thick around him. ¡°And as I¡¯m a man of my word, I¡¯ll kill you painlessly.¡±


    The man''s breath hitched. His face was pale from blood loss, his skin slick with sweat. There was no fight left in him, no last attempt at defiance. He simply nodded, accepting his fate.


    James reached down, grabbed the man¡¯s own sidearm from where it had been discarded earlier. He pressed the barrel against the captive¡¯s forehead.


    A single shot.


    The man¡¯s head snapped back, the light in his eyes gone instantly. His body slumped against the ropes, now just another corpse in a room full of them. James let the gun drop onto the lifeless body, the metal clattering softly against blood-soaked concrete.


    He stood, rolling his shoulders, and walked toward the exit.


    The door creaked as he pushed it open, stepping out into the open air just as the first golden rays of sunlight crested the horizon. The warmth touched his skin, dispelling the lingering chill of the night.


    For a moment, James simply stood there, inhaling deeply. The air was fresh, crisp with the scent of damp earth and salt from the nearby coast. It was almost beautiful¡ªmajestic, even.


    If not for the bodies.


    Blood stained the ground, drying in dark, ugly patches. The corpses of the men he had killed lay scattered across the ruined rooftop and within the building, their empty eyes staring at nothing.


    James stretched, feeling the tension ease from his muscles. He exhaled slowly, watching the sun climb higher.


    It was time.


    Time to finish what the nuclear war had started.

 Ghosts of the Past. PART 9

    It was midday when James finally came upon it.


    The bunker sat ahead, but it wasn¡¯t just the pre-war structure he had expected. The outer perimeter had been expanded, the land around it clear-cut, stripped of natural cover. New buildings had been constructed¡ªwatchtowers, barracks, and supply depots¡ªall signs that MGI had continued growing long after the war.


    James lay prone in the undergrowth, his rifle scope trained on the compound.


    32 guards.


    He had counted them carefully, tracking their rotations, their habits. Some moved in disciplined formations, others stood lazily at their posts. They were comfortable, believing the automated turrets and motion sensors made them untouchable.


    Arrogant.


    James smirked. They wouldn¡¯t be so confident much longer.


    A pair of turrets stood at the main entrance, sweeping the field in slow, rhythmic arcs. Three sniper nests were perched along the rooftops, while patrol teams of four moved between structures.


    It wasn¡¯t impossible to crack.


    But it wasn¡¯t easy, either.


    James exhaled slowly and glanced at the sky. The sun was still high, the heat pressing against his back.


    No, not yet.


    He¡¯d wait for nightfall.


    Darkness was his ally. Their worst mistake was believing daylight made them safe.


    By the time the moon rose, they would be dead, and James would be inside.


    As night fell, James made his move.


    The compound was bathed in artificial light, but there were gaps¡ªblind spots where the towers didn¡¯t quite overlap, shadows where the floodlights failed to reach. He moved through one of these pockets, silent as a wraith, his vibroblade humming softly in his grip.


    Reaching the outer fence, James crouched low and sliced through the chain-link, the blade parting metal. He slipped inside, staying low, his steps deliberate.


    The first target was a sniper post.


    The guard was perched atop a two-story building, rifle propped up, scanning the perimeter. James stayed close to the wall and climbed, his enhanced strength allowing him to bend the thin metal siding, creating footholds where none existed.


    But the sound¡ªtoo much noise.


    The sniper¡¯s head snapped around faster than expected, instincts sharper than James had anticipated.


    But not fast enough.


    James lunged over the ledge, his blade driving deep into the girl¡¯s throat before she could even register what was happening.


    Her eyes widened, a gurgling noise escaping her lips as blood spilled down her uniform.


    She tried to struggle, but James twisted the knife, cutting deep, severing the vital arteries.


    She slumped against him, hands clawing weakly at his armor before she finally went still.


    James pulled the blade free, and he slowly let her body slide to the rooftop.


    One down.


    He wiped the blood off his knife and turned his gaze to the rest of the compound.


    James picked up the sniper rifle, pressing it against his shoulder, his glowing blue eyes scanning the compound through the scope. He found the second sniper, his target resting lazily against the railing, unaware that death was watching.


    But James didn¡¯t fire.


    He exhaled slowly, assessing. Taking out one sniper wouldn¡¯t change much¡ªit might even draw attention. The turrets were the real problem. If they stayed online, they¡¯d shred him the moment things got loud.


    His eyes flicked toward a nearby building¡ªAC units buzzed against its rooftop. Server room.


    That was his way in.


    James slid down from the rooftop, disappearing into the shadows below. He moved quickly, keeping low, his steps precise.


    Then he saw them.


    Two guards stood near the side of a building, their rifles slung lazily over their shoulders, cigarettes glowing between their fingers. They were talking, relaxed, oblivious.


    Perfect.


    James crept forward, his body blending into the darkness as the wind carried their conversation toward him.


    ¡°¡ªI¡¯m telling you, man, we don¡¯t get paid enough for this shit.¡±


    ¡°Relax. No one¡¯s getting through this place. We got snipers, turrets, motion sensors¡ª¡±


    James moved.


    Before the first guard could react, James'' blade punched through the base of his skull, severing the brainstem in an instant. His cigarette dropped, the ember flaring as his body slumped forward, lifeless.


    The second man turned, his eyes widening¡ªbut James was already on him.


    He slammed his palm against the man¡¯s mouth, muffling his scream, then drove his knife between his ribs, twisting upward.


    A sickening wet gasp escaped as the man struggled, his hands grabbing at James¡¯ arm, feet kicking weakly against the ground. His body shuddered¡ªthen went still.


    James eased him down, making sure the death was silent.


    Then, methodically, he dragged both bodies deeper into the shadows, covering his tracks before moving on.


    Reaching the server building, James crouched against the wall, pulling out his hacking module. The small device latched onto the exterior panel, its screen flickering as it cracked into the turret control systems.


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    The progress bar crawled forward, the machine working fast, bypassing old security protocols.


    A minute passed.


    A small beep sounded.


    James smirked as a new option appeared:


    [TURRET OVERRIDE ENGAGED]


    [KILL SWITCH READY]


    He pressed a key, arming the function, ready to disable every turret the next time they tried to shoot.


    Now, it was time to clean up the rest.


    James scaled the next sniper tower, creeping over the ledge.


    This one wasn¡¯t like the first. He wasn¡¯t alert. He didn¡¯t hear the blade until it punched through the back of his neck.


    James ripped it free, wiping the blood off against the man¡¯s sleeve.


    James grabbed the sniper rifle from the corpse at his feet, his breathing steady as he lined up his next target.


    The third and final sniper was perched atop a distant tower, completely unaware of what had happened to the others. James inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, then squeezed the trigger.


    The crack of the shot shattered the silence.


    The bullet ripped through flesh, tearing a hole clean through the sniper¡¯s throat. Blood sprayed as the man jerked violently, his body collapsing against the railing, then tumbling off the tower, hitting the ground below with a sickening crunch.


    The compound erupted into chaos.


    Radios crackled to life, voices shouting over one another.


    "What the hell¡¯s going on!?"


    The radio of the dead sniper at James¡¯ feet buzzed.


    He picked it up without hesitation, disguising his voice just enough.


    "There was a mutant trying to come in."


    A pause.


    Then, a rushed response.


    "Shit¡ªwhere?!"


    James didn¡¯t answer.


    Instead, he was already scanning the compound, searching for the one who had shouted the initial alarm. His eyes locked onto a man in heavier armor, barking orders, trying to bring the scattered guards under control.


    There.


    James fired.


    The first shot punched through the commander¡¯s chest, sending him staggering back, blood spraying from the exit wound.


    The second shot finished him, ripping through his sternum and snapping his spine in half.


    The commander collapsed, motionless.


    The moment his body hit the dirt, panic took hold.


    Some ran for cover, others scrambled to return fire, but they weren¡¯t organized anymore.


    James ditched the sniper rifle and jumped from the sniper nest.


    The moment James¡¯ boots hit the dirt, bullets tore through the air around him, slamming into the sniper nest he had just abandoned. The wooden structure exploded into splinters, chunks of metal and debris raining down.


    He didn¡¯t stop moving. Stopping meant dying.


    His HK416 was up. The time for quiet kills was over. He sprinted low, weaving through the chaos, and spotted two guards taking cover behind a sandbag emplacement near a storage crate.


    James dropped to one knee, exhaled, and fired three quick shots.


    The first guard¡¯s helmet snapped back, a bullet punching through his visor. The second man barely had time to flinch before James¡¯ next two rounds tore through his chest, sending him sprawling backward, his body twitching in the dirt.


    Alarms blared through the base, floodlights pivoting in his direction.


    ¡°Contact! Contact! He¡¯s inside the perimeter!¡±


    James bolted for cover behind a parked truck, his mind calculating the fastest way to eliminate the highest threats.


    A guard rushed around the corner, rifle raised. Too slow.


    James lunged forward, grabbing the barrel of the man¡¯s weapon and forcing it aside. Before the guard could react, James slammed his combat knife into his gut and ripped upward, eviscerating him. Blood sprayed across the truck¡¯s side panel as the man crumpled, his screams cut short by a final twist of the blade.


    James kicked the corpse aside, moving toward the center of the compound.


    More guards were mobilizing, scrambling to reinforce defensive positions. A group of four took cover behind a metal barricade, laying down suppressive fire.


    James spotted an oil drum stacked near their position¡ªred-painted, with a warning sign.


    He smirked.


    James ripped a grenade from his belt activated it and threw it in a high arc. The guards never saw it coming.


    The blast rocked the entire area, sending flames and shrapnel flying. The oil drum detonated in a blinding fireball, launching bodies through the air like ragdolls.


    One man screamed as he burned, rolling frantically, his skin peeling in the heat. Another had been torn in half, his intestines spilling across the pavement.


    James sprinted forward, dodging gunfire as he pushed toward the bunker¡¯s main entrance.


    Turrets whirred to life, their targeting systems locking onto him.


    As they tried to fire the kill switch went off.


    The turrets shorted out, their barrels sagging lifelessly.


    Guards froze in confusion¡ªan instant of hesitation that James took full advantage of.


    He leveled his rifle and unloaded into the closest cluster of men.


    One took a bullet straight through the forehead, his head snapping back violently. Another caught a burst to the throat, blood spraying as he choked on his own severed windpipe.


    The third tried to run.


    James put one into the mans leg blowing it clean off. He left the main to suffer.


    A guard came around behind him and James¡¯ shoulder jerked forward violently, a sharp, burning agony ripping through muscle.


    The bullet had hit his right shoulder, cutting through flesh and sending a bolt of searing heat up his arm. Blood dripped down his sleeve, but he ignored it, his body already moving to compensate.


    His adrenaline drowned out the pain.


    James rolled into cover, swapping magazines. The guard charged him¡ªstupid, desperate, thinking he was wounded enough to take.


    James sidestepped, dodging the wild swing of a combat knife, then grabbed the man¡¯s wrist and twisted hard. The bone snapped like dry wood, and before the guard could even scream, James slammed the man''s knife into his temple and dropped both the man and the knife.


    The compound was now in full-blown panic mode.


    Some guards were fleeing, others desperately regrouping.


    James pressed forward, mowing through them with ruthless precision.


    A man ran at him with a riot shield, thinking it would save him.


    James sidestepped, spun around, and slammed the butt of his rifle against the back of the man¡¯s helmet. As the guard stumbled, James hooked his leg and drove him face-first into the ground.


    Before the man could recover, James stomped on his head, crushing it against the pavement.


    A second guard tried to tackle him, but James dropped low, twisting his body and slamming his knife into the man¡¯s femoral artery.


    The guard collapsed, screaming, bleeding out in seconds.


    The last group broke¡ªJames could hear their frantic shouts.


    ¡°Fall back! He¡¯s cutting us down!¡±


    One of them was trying to radio for reinforcements.


    James pulled his rifle up and shot him in the throat before he could finish the call.


    The remaining guards were done fighting.


    Two of them dropped their weapons, hands up.


    James didn¡¯t even hesitate.


    Two quick shots. Head. Chest.


    They collapsed instantly.


    James reloaded, his rifle still smoking, his breathing slow and even.


    The entire outside perimeter was a slaughterhouse.


    Bodies lay scattered across the compound. Blood soaked the dirt. The fires from the earlier explosion still burned in the distance.


    James touched his wounded shoulder, his fingers coming back red.


    Didn¡¯t matter.


    He looked up at the sealed bunker doors, the massive reinforced slabs standing between him and the people who made him.


    James reached into his pack, pulling out a Helixion mine¡ªa shaped charge designed to punch through reinforced steel like it was nothing.


    He slapped it against the center seam of the massive bunker doors, the small device adhering with a quiet whirr as it activated.


    James backed up, blood still dripping from his shoulder, and tapped the detonator.


    Boom.


    The mine erupted in a concentrated explosion, a blinding flash followed by a concussive shockwave. The sheer force of the blast sent the heavy steel doors rocketing inward, smashing into the corridor beyond. The sound of twisting metal and crumbling concrete filled the air as dust and debris spilled out like a choking cloud.


    He stepped forward into the smoke, rifle raised.

 Ghosts of the Past. PART 10

    The moment James stepped through the ruined entrance, the first burst of gunfire ripped through the smoke, forcing him into a sharp dive behind a toppled steel door. Bullets rattled off the walls, kicking up sparks and sending shards of concrete flying.


    He had expected resistance¡ªbut not this fast.


    James peeked out, his glowing blue eyes cutting through the haze. At least a dozen guards had taken up positions behind overturned tables, makeshift barricades, and reinforced cover. Flashlights from rifles sliced through the dark, sweeping the ruined entryway, searching for movement.


    ¡°He¡¯s inside! Lock down the upper floors!¡± one of them shouted.


    James grinned. They weren¡¯t trying to drive him out.


    They were trying to keep him from going deeper.


    A quick scan told him everything he needed to know: two teams¡ªone holding the main corridor, another on the flanks, trying to box him in. A few were better equipped¡ªbody armor, military-grade weapons¡ªbut the rest were just security grunts, expendable.


    James popped up, bracing his HK416, and let out a quick, controlled burst.


    The first guard staggered back, his chestplate catching the rounds, but the force sent him crashing into the floor. Before anyone could react, James rolled out of cover, switching to full auto.


    The entire entryway erupted into chaos.


    Guards shouted, scattering for new positions, but James was already moving. He vaulted over a broken table, swinging his knife in a brutal arc, slicing deep across the nearest soldier¡¯s throat.


    Blood sprayed.


    James ripped the man¡¯s rifle from his hands, spun it, and fired it one-handed at the next closest target.


    The second man barely had time to flinch before a burst of rounds tore through his torso.


    More gunfire lit up the room, the deafening cracks of automatic weapons drowning out the screaming.


    James ducked low, moving fast and unpredictable, weaving between cover as bullets chewed through everything around him.


    He grabbed a dead guard¡¯s smoke grenade, yanked the pin, and tossed it into the center of the room.


    The choking gray fog exploded outward, plunging the firefight into near-blindness.


    James thrived in this. They however did not.


    He rushed forward, silent, cutting down two men before they even realized he was there.


    A panicked MGI guard spun in the mist, spraying blind fire.


    James grabbed him by the back of the neck, slammed him face-first into a steel bulkhead, and left him twitching on the floor.


    The smoke was starting to clear. The ventilation cleaning it out quickly.


    Two remaining guards had fallen back toward the hall, trying to regroup. James reloaded, chambering a fresh round, and pressed forward.


    The first floor was a sprawling facility¡ªbarracks, mess halls, and staff quarters. Low ceilings, tight corridors, perfect for ambushes.


    James moved through the wreckage of the battle, stepping over shattered bodies as he cleared each room.


    A dim light flickered above, casting long, shifting shadows.


    Some areas were empty, the occupants having fled deeper into the bunker. But others¡­


    He passed a mess hall, half-eaten meals still steaming on metal trays. Papers and supplies had been knocked over in a rush.


    There were signs of a hurried evacuation.


    James heard movement ahead.


    He raised his rifle¡ª


    And a gunshot punched into his chest.


    A solid, concussive impact.


    James stumbled back, breath hitching. His entire torso felt like it had been hit by a sledgehammer.


    For a split second, he thought it had gone through¡ªbut then he felt it.


    The thick, reinforced plate armor beneath his vest, the three-inch plasteel catching the round.


    James exhaled sharply¡ªthen grinned.


    ¡°Nice try.¡±


    The guard who had fired went pale, realizing his mistake.


    James charged. The man scrambled to reload, but James was already on him.


    He grabbed the barrel, jerked it aside, and slammed his elbow into the guard¡¯s face.


    Cartilage crunched. The man staggered back, nose shattered, blood pouring down his chin.


    James didn¡¯t stop. He drove his knee into the guy¡¯s ribs, lifted him by the vest, and threw him straight into a steel table.


    The guard tried to rise¡ªJames stomped on his neck, ending it instantly.


    He exhaled, rolling his shoulders. The shot left a bruise, but nothing worse.


    He kept moving. James swept through the sleeping quarters, rifle up, checking every corner. The rooms were empty, bunks overturned, sheets left in disarray.


    Some lockers were still open, uniforms and gear half-pulled out.


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    They had evacuated in a hurry.


    He moved to the next wing, stepping into a hall lined with doors¡ªsome marked for officer quarters, others leading to security offices.


    A noise behind him. James turned¡ªjust in time to see a knife coming for his throat.


    He leaned back, barely dodging the blade as it whizzed past his jugular.


    The attacker was fast, moving with precise, trained efficiency.


    James blocked the next strike, catching the soldier¡¯s wrist before twisting it hard.


    A sharp pop¡ªthe wrist snapped, the knife clattering to the floor.


    The soldier gasped¡ªJames grabbed him by the collar, spun him, and slammed his skull into the wall.


    The body slid to the floor, unmoving.


    James exhaled, rolling his hurt shoulder again.


    Then he saw it. A door at the end of the hallway¡ªmarked "Lab and Testing."


    James stepped forward, checking his ammo. The next floor was waiting.


    James pressed forward, stepping through the command access door as it slid open with a mechanical hiss. The hallway beyond was different¡ªno longer a military barracks, but something colder, sterile, lined with reinforced doors and observation windows.


    Prison cells. Labs. It was a testing ground for this facility.


    The air was thick with antiseptic and blood, a metallic sting that settled deep in the lungs. Flickering overhead lights cast long, distorted shadows, making the already claustrophobic hall feel endless.


    James moved cautiously, rifle up, scanning the rooms as he passed.


    Most were empty but then he reached the first occupied cell.


    Inside, a man sat slumped against the wall, his body covered in grotesque surgical scars, tubes still attached to his arms. His eyes were glazed over, staring at nothing.


    James tapped the glass with his knuckles.


    The man didn¡¯t move. He was already dead, sitting upright like a discarded doll.


    James exhaled through his nose, stepping past.


    The next few cells held more horrors¡ªmutated figures, bodies twisted beyond human recognition. Some were missing limbs, others had mechanical implants fused directly into their flesh.


    Some were still alive¡ªwhimpering, twitching, eyes pleading through the glass.


    James kept walking. He couldn¡¯t save them. Then, he stopped. The last cell was different.


    It was smaller, the restraints built for something tiny.


    James stepped closer and saw the kid.


    A boy¡ªmaybe nine or ten¡ªstrapped to a gurney, his body a patchwork of scars and mechanical grafts. His skin was gray, stretched thin over protruding bones. His eyes one light blue, the other an MGI-enhanced optic blinked weakly as he turned his head toward James.


    A slow, shuddering breath left the kid¡¯s lips.


    ¡°It hurts,¡± he whispered. James clenched his jaw.


    He looked at the restraints, the IV lines feeding the boy something thick and black.


    There was no fixing this. James slowly knelt beside the gurney, placing a steady hand on the kid¡¯s head.


    The boy didn¡¯t flinch. Didn¡¯t beg. He just waited.


    James inhaled, then pressed his knife to the kid¡¯s neck.


    A quiet second passed.


    Then, a single muffled cry. The boy went still.


    James stood up, turned toward the next door, leading deeper into the bunker.


    James stepped into what had to be the floor the power plant was on. The dim light from emergency fixtures casting long shadows against the steel walls. The hum of the reactor vibrated through the floor, a deep, pulsating thrum that signaled raw, barely-contained energy.


    He scanned the area, searching for the reactor room, the place he¡¯d either overload or set charges to destroy this entire bunker.


    Then he heard footsteps. Slow. Measured. Confident.


    James turned just as a woman stepped into the hall.


    Silver hair. Cherenkov blue eyes.


    His muscles tensed. His grip on his combat knife tightened.


    She smiled¡ªnot friendly, not cruel, but like she had been waiting for this.


    "Of all the people to come¡­ it¡¯s you." Ava¡¯s voice was smooth, laced with amusement, as if this was just another day in her life.


    James didn¡¯t return the sentiment. His eyes burned cold, his expression unreadable.


    "Was it you, Sister, who killed Kelly?" Ava¡¯s smirk widened.


    "Yeah," she admitted without hesitation. "She was the first I was able to track down."


    James stared at her. "Why?"


    Ava tilted her head slightly, like it was the stupidest question in the world.


    "Because you¡¯re all traitors." James didn¡¯t react. Didn¡¯t argue. Didn¡¯t even blink.


    Ava moved first. James barely had time to duck as her blade slashed for his throat, the air hissing from the sheer speed of her strike.


    She was fast. James barely rolled aside, spinning on his heel as she lunged again¡ªa low, brutal thrust aimed straight for his gut.


    He parried, metal screeching against metal as their knives locked together.


    Ava¡¯s grin widened. Then she kicked him in the ribs¡ªhard.


    James staggered back, feeling the shock rattle through his core.


    She came in fast, pressing the attack¡ªa flurry of rapid slashes, precise and lethal.


    James dodged, blocked, countered, but she wasn¡¯t just fast she was also brutal.


    Ava feinted left, then twisted her entire body¡ªher knife sank deep into his side, slicing through the fabric of his shirt, digging into flesh.


    James gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain as he wrenched himself free, blood dripping from the wound.


    He countered immediately, slamming his elbow into her jaw, then grabbing her wrist and twisting hard.


    Her knife dropped¡ªbut she didn¡¯t even flinch.


    She headbutted him¡ªhard enough to make his vision blur.


    James staggered, but he refused to fall.


    Ava wiped blood from her lip and picked up her knife, grinning. "What¡¯s wrong, Brother? Getting slow in your old age?"


    James said nothing. Talking was a distraction.


    He lunged forward, kicking her knee, forcing her to adjust her stance.


    She countered¡ªa brutal slash aimed at his ribs.


    James turned with the attack, taking the cut along his side instead of through his stomach. The pain was sharp, hot, but it didn¡¯t stop him.


    He used the momentum, grabbing her arm and driving his knife toward her throat.


    She blocked at the last second, twisting free¡ªbut James had already predicted it.


    The moment she moved¡ªhe struck.


    A quick, sharp stab under her ribs, driving deep into her lung.


    Ava¡¯s eyes widened.


    For the first time, her smirk vanished.


    She stepped back, her breath hitching as she looked down at the knife buried in her side.


    James ripped it free, blood spilling onto the steel floor.


    Ava stumbled, her balance finally failing. She fell against the reactor wall, panting, her body shaking.


    And then for the first time she looked afraid.


    "James¡­I¡ª" Her voice wavered, her head twitching slightly.


    James narrowed his eyes. Something wasn¡¯t right.


    Her optical implants flickered, and she clutched her skull, gasping like she was drowning.


    It clicked. She wasn¡¯t in control. James pulled his hacking module from his belt, moving quickly. He grabbed the exposed port near the base of her neck, connecting the device, overriding whatever MGI had planted inside her mind.


    Ava screamed. Her body seized, her fingers clawing at her own skin as the system reset.


    Then¡ªsilence. She slumped forward, gasping, her glowing blue eyes dimmed, softer.


    James caught her before she hit the ground, holding her upright.


    Ava looked at him, truly looked at him, her expression stripped of all malice.


    Her voice was weak, but real.


    "Thank you."


    James said nothing.


    He just held her steady as life faded from her eyes.

 Ghosts of the Past. Conclusion

    James reached down, his fingers brushing against the cold metal of her dog tags. He unclipped one, sliding it onto his necklace. It clinked softly against the others¡ªfour now. James exhaled slowly, the breath leaving his body heavier than usual.


    He looked down at Ava¡¯s lifeless form, her silver hair matted with sweat and blood, her once-fierce blue eyes now empty.


    She had died free. That was all he could give her and a proper burial .


    James stepped back, turned away, and entered the reactor room.


    The air changed the moment he stepped inside.


    It was humid, suffocating, the heat from the reactor pressing against his skin. The entire room was built deep into the earth, the walls lined with reinforced steel.


    At the center, the reactor pulsed, a massive cylindrical core filled with an eerie blue glow, Cherenkov radiation swirling behind thick containment glass. Power lines snaked across the floor, connecting to massive control panels covered in flickering warning lights.


    The room felt alive¡ªhumming, breathing, as if the bunker itself had a heartbeat.


    James barely spared it a glance. He was here to kill it.


    He pulled out the three remaining Helixion mines, stepping forward with steady, deliberate movements. He placed the first mine on the main coolant panel, the adhesive locking into place with a sharp click.


    The second mine went on the containment unit, right where the power cables met the core.


    The third and final charge was placed at the reactor control panel.


    Once they detonated, the overload would be unstoppable.


    James stepped back, rolling his now bruised shoulder the gunshot wound having healed. His body ached, the rest of his wounds throbbing. He turned and walked toward Ava¡¯s body.


    For a moment, he just stood there.


    Looking down at her.


    James knelt and lifted Ava into his arms, his muscles straining from exhaustion, but he didn¡¯t stop. He adjusted her weight, making sure her head rested against his shoulder, then walked out of the third floor.


    Behind him, the bunker hummed one last time.


    The countdown had begun.


    James followed a narrow maintenance corridor, his boots echoing through the empty passage. The bunker was eerily silent, abandoned. Everyone left inside was already dead or hiding in the forth floor.


    Ahead, a steel door led to an old loading dock. He pushed it open with his foot, stepping out into the cool night air.


    The bunker was built near the edge of a flooded industrial zone, and beyond the docks, the black water stretched out, still and endless.


    A single boat was tied to the dock, a pre-war motor skiff, rusted but still intact.


    James didn¡¯t hesitate.


    He walked onto the dock, setting Ava down gently before stepping onto the boat. His hands worked automatically, untying the mooring ropes and priming the ancient engine. It coughed, sputtered¡ªthen roared to life.


    James stepped back onto the dock, lifting Ava one last time, and laid her down on the boat¡¯s bench.


    The engine rumbled beneath them, a steady heartbeat of escape.


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    James took his seat at the helm and turned the throttle.


    The boat pulled away, cutting through the water, leaving the bunker shrinking in the distance.


    He didn¡¯t look back at first.


    He just let the wind hit his face, cooling the blood and sweat that clung to his skin.


    Then¡ª


    The night was swallowed by fire.


    A massive explosion tore through the earth, sending shockwaves across the water, the force rocking the boat.


    James finally turned, watching as the bunker collapsed in on itself, flames erupting from every opening, debris shooting into the sky like shrapnel from a dying beast.


    The ground trembled, sending ripples across the water, but James just watched in silence.


    James exhaled, reaching up and touching the four dog tags around his neck.


    One more.


    Ava had been the fourth.


    But she wouldn¡¯t be the last.


    James had made it back to his car by sunrise. He opened the trunk, carefully placing Ava¡¯s body inside. She would be buried near Kelly¡ªthe only farewell he could give her.


    But first, he needed his money.


    James drove to CAI¡¯s headquarters, pulling up to the towering corporate building. As he stepped out, George was already waiting.


    ¡°That was¡­ fast,¡± George said, arms crossed.


    ¡°Yeah, well, I was already looking for them,¡± James replied, his tone flat.


    George exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. ¡°Well, thanks for the help.¡± He reached into his pocket and handed James a credit chip, its weight solid in his palm. ¡°So, where are you off to? If you¡¯re sticking around, I might have more work for you.¡±


    James pocketed the chip and shook his head. ¡°No, I¡¯m good. I came to do something, and it¡¯s done. Plus, I hate the swamp.¡±


    He paused, then fished a small, black card from his jacket and handed it to George.


    ¡°But if you ever need another MGI removal, give me a call.¡±


    George smirked and took the card. They shook hands, a brief, firm gesture of mutual understanding.


    With that, James left.


    James drove non-stop, the endless roads passing in a blur. By the time he reached the small town where Kelly was buried, the sky had begun to darken again.


    He grabbed a shovel and started digging.


    The process was methodical, quiet. No prayers, no words¡ªjust the steady rhythm of dirt being moved.


    When the grave was ready, James placed Ava beside Kelly, giving her one last look before covering the earth. That was it.


    James sat by the two graves, a bottle of whiskey in hand. He drank straight from the bottle, the burn settling in his chest, as he stared at the two roughly marked sites in the dirt.


    He didn¡¯t cry. Didn¡¯t even feel the need to.


    He just sat there, remembering their childhood the good parts of it.


    The night stretched long, and when the first rays of morning light crept over the horizon, James sighed.


    He stood, took the half-empty bottle, and poured the rest onto the graves, the whiskey soaking into the earth.


    "I¡¯ll see you both again," he muttered. "But you¡¯ll have to wait¡ªI don¡¯t plan on going out anytime soon."


    He paused.


    "Say hi to Tyler for me."


    James turned, heading back to his car, still unsure of where to go next.


    Then his phone rang.


    James answered. ¡°Hello?¡±


    A pause. Then a voice.


    ¡°Is this Mr. Grayson?¡±


    James frowned slightly. The voice was young, female, unfamiliar. ¡°Yes, it is.¡±


    A shaky breath on the other end.


    ¡°I¡¯m Rebecca. I¡¯m Liam¡¯s daughter.¡±


    James¡¯ expression darkened slightly. Liam.


    ¡°I see. Is there a problem? It¡¯s only been a month.¡±


    Rebecca¡¯s voice was tight, strained. ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯re aware that the war has started, but it¡¯s gotten really bad. My brother¡­ he¡¯s trying to join.¡±


    James said nothing.


    ¡°Please, I know I¡¯m asking for a lot, but I can¡¯t lose him too. If there¡¯s anything you can do¡­¡±


    Silence stretched for a moment.


    Then James said, ¡°I¡¯m on my way.¡±


    James started his car, the engine roaring to life. He reached into his console, sliding in a holo-disc as he pulled out onto the road.


    The slow, deep guitar picks filled the cabin, a steady, haunting rhythm like a march into the unknown.


    ¡°Smoke rises, sky burns red¡­¡±


    James nodded along, his fingers tapping the wheel.


    ¡°Ghosts walk where the lost have bled¡­¡±


    He didn¡¯t know where this road would take him.


    But he didn¡¯t care.

 The Burning Coast Part 1

    For the past hour, deep, thunderous booms had rolled across the land like distant storms trapped in the earth, their force rippling through the trees and vibrating through the frame of James¡¯ car. The sound wasn¡¯t steady it came in erratic bursts, each one hitting like a hammer against the sky, growing louder the closer he got.


    At first, he hadn¡¯t been able to place it.


    Then he saw the smoke.


    Thick, dark columns spiraled into the sky beyond the treetops, twisting and unfurling like dying breaths from a wounded beast. It wasn¡¯t just one fire but many the smoke stacked on itself, layered from dozens of different infernos, painting the entire horizon in black streaks.


    James drove out from the dense canopy of overgrown pines, where the world finally opened up before him.


    Jacksonville.


    He had never been there himself. Never had a reason to. He knew the basics¡ªit was a coastal stronghold, sitting on the edge of a bay whose name he never cared to learn. It served as a key hub for SDS operations in the region, linking outlying towns and settlements in a single defensive network.


    And right now, it was under siege.


    James pulled off the road, parking his car behind the rusted-out frame of an old truck, its cab caved in from some long-forgotten explosion. He stepped out, his boots crunching against dry gravel and scattered shell casings, then made his way up the nearest ridge for a better vantage point. The climb was steep, but his boots found purchase against the jagged incline until the earth leveled out at the top.


    And from there, he saw hell laid bare.


    The coastal walls of Jacksonville were ablaze, entire sections blasted apart, leaving gaping wounds that exposed the city¡¯s fragile innards to the sea. Beyond them, the streets choked with fire and ruin, smoke rising in thick black pillars that coiled into the sky, shrouding the skyline in an apocalyptic haze.


    James tracked the destruction with cold efficiency.


    The main defensive walls were holding¡ªbut just barely.


    Huge jagged breaches had been blown through, and in some places, they had collapsed entirely, spilling rubble onto the roads. Inside, he could see civilian districts gutted by fire, the charred remains of buildings leaning against one another like broken ribs.


    Then he looked out to the water.


    EHD warships sat just beyond the ruined coastline, their armored hulls cutting through the bay like drifting leviathans, their deck cannons still glowing hot from repeated bombardments.


    Another volley of shells roared from their batteries, streaking through the sky in long, fiery arcs, before slamming down onto Jacksonville¡¯s wounded defenses. The shockwave rolled over the land a moment later, a deep concussive tremor that shook loose small stones beneath James¡¯ boots.


    Jacksonville was bleeding, but it wasn¡¯t broken.


    James'' gaze sharpened, locking onto a massive coastal artillery battery that sat along the cliffside overlooking the bay. It was one of SDS¡¯s last big guns, a large barreled monster buried deep in reinforced concrete, its rotating turrets now adjusting, the motors whining with strain as they corrected their aim.


    Then they fired.


    The thunderclap of their retaliatory shot shook the air, a single armor-piercing shell slicing through the battlefield in a high-speed blur before it slammed into the side of an EHD warship.


    The explosion was instantaneous.


    Flames ripped through the vessel¡¯s midsection, a fireball bursting from its hull, sending twisted metal and burning debris flying into the air like shrapnel.


    James watched as secondary detonations rippled along the deck. The ship tilted hard to port, its once-dominant silhouette now buckling under its own destruction.


    Crew members scrambled¡ªsome throwing themselves overboard in blind desperation, others caught in the flames as the inferno devoured the ship from the inside out.


    The war machine let out one final groan, its metal frame twisting under stress, before finally sinking beneath the waves.


    One down.


    James just watched this wasn¡¯t his fight.


    Not yet, at least.


    James remained on the ridge for hours, unmoving as the battle below raged on. The only thing that marked the passage of time was the rhythm of death, the constant cycle of fire, retaliation, and destruction.


    But eventually¡ªEHD began to break.


    James saw it in their movements. A subtle shift from aggression to desperation.


    Their ships, once holding a firm, unrelenting line, were now scrambling. Their barrages slowed, their fire less concentrated, their movements less sure.


    The SDS artillery had claimed four more warships, their wrecks half-sunken, black smoke vomiting into the air as their ruins drifted lifelessly in the bay.


    The remaining EHD fleet began to retreat.


    James followed their withdrawal with his eyes, watching as the last of their deck guns fired off a final defiant salvo before they turned and faded into open water.


    Jacksonville had survived.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    But barely.


    The coastal walls were in ruins, entire sections reduced to rubble, leaving gaping wounds that made the city look like a beast on its last legs. Shells had torn deep into the city center, carving through buildings, infrastructure, and people alike.


    It wasn¡¯t a victory.


    It was just another day of war.


    James exhaled, rolling his shoulders. That was enough for now.


    This gave him the information he needed.


    He turned away, making his way back down the ridge to his car. Sliding into the driver¡¯s seat, he fired up the engine and pulled onto the road.


    He wasn¡¯t staying.


    He had a long drive ahead


    As James approached Norfolk, the city stood, but it was no longer the pristine stronghold he had left behind.


    The massive steel walls still loomed high, but now they bore scars¡ªjagged fractures from artillery impacts, the charred stains of rocket strikes, and deep craters where explosions had bitten into the metal. Workers clung to the weakened plates, welding hasty reinforcements, sparks showering down like falling stars onto the broken streets below.


    Outside the walls, what had once been a thriving settlement was now a graveyard.


    The small town beyond the gates had been burned to the ground. The smell of charred wood and scorched flesh still clung to the air, thick and acrid. Some buildings were little more than collapsed ruins, skeletal frames left blackened and crumbling.


    The lucky ones had escaped.


    The unlucky ones?


    James'' eyes flicked to the shapeless, sun-bleached remains that had been hastily piled and burned in makeshift funeral pyres.


    Most of Norfolk¡¯s gates were locked down, thick reinforced barriers barring entry like the doors of a fortress bracing for another siege.


    The few gates that remained open were flooded with movement¡ªone entrance designated for military transports, where convoys of armored trucks and humvees rumbled through, carrying supplies, wounded soldiers, and fresh recruits who didn¡¯t yet know what they¡¯d signed up for.


    Another was a refugee bottleneck.


    A line of civilians stretched down the road, their faces drawn and hollow, eyes filled with exhaustion and desperation. They clung to whatever possessions they had left, kids hiding behind parents, elderly standing on shaky legs, all waiting for the slow, agonizing process of getting cleared for entry.


    Some were accepted. Others weren¡¯t.


    A middle-aged man at the front of the line begged, pleaded, his hands raised in surrender. The guards barely hesitated before shoving him back. He stumbled, catching himself on the dirt road, before one of the soldiers raised his rifle and slammed the butt of it into his gut.


    The crowd flinched, but no one stepped forward.


    James watched the man cough blood onto the ground, curling in on himself. The weak get left behind. That was just the way of things now.


    He didn¡¯t stop.


    He drove straight toward the main gate, where heavily armed SDS soldiers stood watch, backed by tanks, humvees, and machine-gun nests.


    The moment he approached, the response was immediate.


    A small squad stepped forward, their rifles leveling at his windshield. At the checkpoint station, civilian cars were already being searched, their drivers forced to stand by while soldiers rifled through their belongings.


    James slowed the car as two guards approached.


    The first was a tall, broad-shouldered man, his exo-suit reinforced with extra armor plating, the grip on his rifle tight with practiced ease.


    The second carried a handheld scanner, its green lights flickering as it swept over James¡¯ vehicle. The device hummed¡ªthen screeched, the lights flashing red like a goddamn emergency alarm.


    The scanner-wielding soldier stumbled back, eyes wide.


    The other guard¡¯s rifle snapped up, the barrel locking onto James in an instant.


    ¡°That¡¯s a lot of weapons, sir,¡± the first soldier muttered, recovering quickly. His voice was firm, but wary.


    James didn¡¯t flinch.


    ¡°All part of the job,¡± he said smoothly. ¡°I¡¯m a mercenary.¡±


    With a flick of his wrist, he produced an ID card, seemingly from thin air. The small holographic display blinked to life, confirming his identity.


    ¡°The name¡¯s James.¡±


    The first guard¡¯s grip tightened, his eyes flicking between the ID and James'' face.


    ¡°You¡­ you mean the Richmond Reaper?¡± he muttered under his breath.


    The second guard¡¯s expression shifted from suspicion to something closer to alarm.


    ¡°No¡ªno. James is Norfolk¡¯s Devil.¡±


    They exchanged glances, as if confirming a whispered rumor that had suddenly stepped out of the dark.


    James leaned back, arms crossed over his chest, his expression unreadable.


    ¡°Huh. Been called a lot of things, but those are new to me,¡± he mused, his voice dry, almost amused.


    His gaze flicked between them, his posture relaxed, like a man who knew no one could touch him.


    ¡°Been out of town for a bit. Looks like I¡¯ve got some catching up to do.¡±


    He tilted his head slightly. ¡°So, can I enter, or are we still playing twenty questions?¡±


    The two guards hesitated, uncertainty flickering between them.


    Then, a crackle of static came through one of their earpieces. The first soldier listened, his posture stiffening before he turned back to James.


    ¡°You¡¯re clear¡ªbut you¡¯ll be escorted to the HQ building. Follow that Humvee.¡±


    He gestured toward a black armored Humvee that had just rolled onto the road ahead, its engine idling like it had been expecting him.


    James exhaled through his nose, rolling up his window.


    ¡°Alright.¡±


    With that, he shifted into gear and pulled forward, falling in line behind the military vehicle as the heavy steel gates groaned open before him.


    Norfolk had changed.


    As James followed the Humvee through the gates, Norfolk unfolded before him unlike Jacksonville, which had been torn apart by the war, Norfolk remained intact¡ªbut it was no longer the same bustling hub he had left behind.


    The streets were still alive, but not with the same energy as before. Soldiers patrolled every major intersection, their rifles slung tight, scanning every passerby with sharp, wary eyes. Armored transports rumbled through the streets, carrying supplies, troops, and equipment deeper into the city. The once casual checkpoints had been fortified, now manned by squads of heavily armed SDS operators.


    The civilian population had changed too.


    There were fewer people out in the open¡ªthose that remained walked faster, heads down, avoiding eye contact with the soldiers. Some storefronts were still operating, but they weren¡¯t catering to average citizens anymore¡ªinstead, they were set up for war logistics. Mechanics worked overtime, refitting and repairing military vehicles. Supply depots lined the roads, crates of ammunition and rations stacked high, guarded by watchful SDS troops.


    James¡¯ car passed by a makeshift recruitment center, where a group of young men and women stood in line, signing up to fight. A hardened officer barked orders, pointing toward transport trucks that would likely take them to the frontline within days.


    It wasn¡¯t the same Norfolk he had known before.


    It was a war city now.


    James kept his eyes moving, taking everything in. SDS wasn¡¯t losing not yet at least but they were preparing for a prolonged fight.


    Then the two vehicles finally made it to the SDS HQ still pristine


    James exhaled, rolling his shoulders.


    It was time to see who was waiting for him.