Evann—now operating under the code name of Andvari—held to onto a pole fastened to the floor, close to the cockpit. The ship—known as the CSTU-990—was state-of-the-art technology, designed specifically for SPECTRE transport and reconnaissance. Such ships were deployed only when the mission was dire, and the room for error non-existent. It was decked out with a flurry of different weapons and tools, including an experimental railgun, a cloaking device, and a radar disruptor. The pilot wore a dark black helmet, carefully maneuvering the vehicle through the rainy darkness of the night with a level of expertise that could only be attained through at least a decade of service.

  The ship hummed and hissed as Andvari’s men muttered and shifted in their seats to mute beats behind him. They wore suits and helmets similar to his own, although they were a few models behind. That was the nature of being a SPECTRE, after all. Unlike the other soldiers and grunts, SPECTREs were afforded luxuries many of the people working under Centurion weren’t aware existed. Having access to an impressive array of tools was a privilege, however, not a right. If Andvari wanted to maintain his position, such information would remain privy to him and other SPECTREs alone, unless otherwise specified.

  Andvari pressed a small switch on the side of his helmet, and a three-dimensional map of the surrounding area came over the screen. As the commander had said, the other ship was closing in on a large building located in the slums district of the second layer of Bastion. They were approaching from the other side, their beacon visible only to other CSTU models.

  It wouldn’t be long now.

  “Approaching target. Ready for landing in sixty seconds,” the co-pilot said.

  “All right! You heard him!” Andvari said. “Stay sharp! Let’s make this quick and simple. We get in, gun them down, and locate the weapons. I will lead the west-side unit, with Lieutenant Barkley as my cover. Be ready to provide suppressing fire, is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir!” the men recited.

  “Good! After the first wave is cleared, I will motion for the others to follow. You do not move forward until I give the signal. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir!” they repeated.

  “Good!” Andvari rotated a small disc on the side of his helmet. The view of the map disappeared, replaced by a timer indicating the time until landing. With forty-five seconds remaining, he picked up a high-powered assault rifle housing an experimental reactor. Checking it for any defects or malfunctions, he clicked a lever on the side, and an LED light came on through the sight indicating the ammo count. It read sixty rounds.

  Andvari retrieved the handgun in his holster next, checking it just as he did with his rifle. He returned the weapon to its holster, observed the integrity of his suit and a specially made blade attached to the forearm of his suit, then nodded his approval. He glanced over his shoulder to see his men checking their own weaponry, then hit the side of the ship with the bottom of his fist.

  “All right, men! Out of your seats!” Andvari cried. The men threw up their harnesses, and like a well-oiled machine, they leaped out of their seats and rushed to form a line behind Andvari according to the strategy he dictated earlier. With five seconds left before landing, Andvari readied his weapon and waited. The ship came to a stop moments later, the door rising to allow them exit. He clicked on the enhanced night-vision module on his helmet, then rushed forward to hide behind a metal crate up ahead. Glancing over the crate, he saw no other bodies patrolling the building.

  The men moved with clockwork at Andvari’s signal, the rain offering them noise cover. Lieutenant Barkley kneeled down behind Andvari, and two of the other men took cover behind the crate across from them. Andvari glanced back toward the CSTU-990 just in time to see it taking off. The last man off the ship—the medic and ammo supplier—took to the crate across from Andvari and Barkley, carrying several bags and a backpack. He set the bag down, then retrieved a pistol from his holster.

  “Team Blue, this is SPECTRE Andvari of Team Red,” Andvari said, pressing a small button behind his helmet. “Do you read me? Over.”

  Seconds passed. “SPECTRE Cyrus coming in. Read you loud and clear, Team Red. We are in position. Over.”

  “Copy that. On my mark.” Andvari gestured to Barkley, and the man retrieved a flashbang from his utility belt. Andvari gestured to his men, then animatedly counted down from three, pulling the pin once the digits reached one. He threw the canister through the closest window, bunkered down, and waited. At any moment now, Cyrus would be throwing his own flashbang from the opposite end, and the fight would be over before it started.

  Bang!

  “Go, go, go!” Andvari cried as he passed through the gap between the two crates.

  “What the fuck, man?” one guy with a mohawk said as he stumbled out the front door with a pistol in his hand. He waved his hand through the air, gasping as Andvari and Barkley turned their weapons on him. His eyes went wide, and Andvari fired two controlled bursts at him, puncturing his heart and lungs.

  Andvari glanced down at his weapon, and the count read 54. The helmet returned information about the man he just shot, indicating that his heart had stopped. Three more men with guns emerged from the building, crying all manner of profanities and waving their arms through the air to see. Andvari and Barkley gunned the first two down, the suppressing fire from the other men taking down the others behind them. The goons’ guns discharged as they fell over, and Andvari and Barkley took cover beneath the window he’d broken moments earlier with the flashbang.

  “What the hell is going on out there?” Andvari heard one man with a squirrely voice from inside say.

  “Don’t go anywhere, you stupid fuck!” another—this man was gruffer, angrier—said. “Unless you wanna die like those lobotomized shitheads, you’ll stay in here!”

  “Bro, I can’t see anything!”

  “Fuck, man, it’ll wear off, just listen to me!”

  Andvari gestured to his remaining men to stay put. The goons were being more cautious, and they’d need another eye in case more of them poured out of the building from other directions.

  “There’s shit going on out there on the other side, bro!” the squirrely man said.

  “I know that!” the gruff one said. “Hey! Where the hell are you going?”

  “Outta here!”

  Andvari gestured to his men and to Barkley to watch the back. Moments later, a lanky man wearing a wifebeater dashed down the alleyway toward the crates. Andvari watched as two of the men behind the crate, as well as Barkley, shot the man using their pistols. The man gasped and stumbled forward through the pouring rain.

  “Oh god, no! Fuck! Fuck!” the man cried as his blood mingled with the puddles. He reached for the gun tucked into his belt, then was stopped short of doing anything useful when a single bullet penetrated the man’s skull, delivered by Barkley.

  “Good shit,” Barkley said, admiring his own skill.

  “Focus, Lieutenant,” Andvari reprimanded. “You can talk all you want after the operation.”

  Barkley paused. “Yes, sir.”

  Gunfire filled the air from the opposite end of the compound. Seeing his opportunity, Andvari glanced over the rim of the window, darting back under when a large man aimed his shotgun toward him. A bang followed, and dozens of pellets pocked the wall from the other side.

  “Come on out where I can see ya, scumbag!” the man said, cocking his weapon.

  Andvari gestured to Barkley to go around the back for a surprise attack. If the man they’d shot moments ago was able to evade Cyrus’s team, then there had to be a back door. Barkley gave Andvari a quick nod, then briskly made his way under the window, running only once he no longer had any blind spots. Andvari watched him from the window, signaling to his men to hold their position.

  “Hey, pussy! I’m talking to ya!” the gruff man said. “You got my idiot partner, but you’re not gonna get me!”

  “I’ve located a back entrance,” Barkley said over the intercom in Andvari’s helmet. “Proceeding forward.”

  Andvari listened, waiting for the man to make his move.

  “Hah?”

  Andvari didn’t like the sound of that. It sounded curious or planned. Andvari quickly glanced over the rim, noting that the man was looking down the hall to his right with a device in his hand that had a blinking red light. As the realization set in, Andvari’s heart skipped a beat. “Abort. Abort, Lieutenant!” Andvari cried as he loomed over the edge of the window. He took aim at the man, firing two controlled bursts at him. The bullets soared right through his body, and as the man lumbered backward, he fired his shotgun single-handed at Andvari. Andvari dipped under the safety of the wall once more. A stray pellet made its way through the wall, managing to blow a small chunk off the chin of his helmet and ricochet into the ground next to him. The interface glitched momentarily.

  “Shit,” Andvari hissed. The suit responded to his increased heart rate, sending small amounts of adrenaline through his body. The weapons they were packing couldn’t be civilian grade. Not if it could blow a chunk off of his helmet the way it did.

  Another shot followed, and as more pellets struck the wall, he heard the man collapse to the floor with a chuckle.

  An explosion followed a click shortly after. Glass shattered in the distance, and the man’s chuckles elevated to terrible laughter. Andvari shot up, then fired two quick rounds into the man’s head. Rolling to the side, the man’s head bore a sinister smile frozen in time.

  Andvari leaped over the window and into the building, his assault rifle at the ready. He signaled for his other men to follow, and the sound of footsteps accompanied him. There were three levels to the compound, as far as he could tell. He aimed his rifle up the stairs to his immediate left, grateful that no one was there. Continuing forward, he repeated the action to his left, down the hallway, while gunshots and screams sounded to his right.

  With caution in his footsteps, Andvari slowly made his way down the hallway, his helmet cooling the air around his head to combat the perspiration he felt. Glass cracked and scratched against the tan tiled floor. He swallowed hard as he approached a branching of paths, taking cover behind the wall to his left. He counted silently to himself, then rounded the corner with his gun held in both hands.

  Andvari’s breath caught. The room was painted in red viscera. Stray parchments and shreds of black leather and metal pocked the walls in a terrifying disarray. Two large, black spots colored the rim of flanking holes, rubble settled beside the pieces of human that lay before him. Andvari’s ears began to ring.

  “Team Red, this is SPECTRE Cyrus of Team Blue,” Cryus’s voice sounded over the communication line. “Please respond.”

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  “SPECTRE Andvari of Team Red,” Andvari said. “Read you loud and clear.”

  “The east has been secured. Moving to basement level.”

  Andvari paused. “Copy that. Moving to second level. Team Red, you are clear to move in.”

  Andvari retreated down the hallway, stopping when he came upon the corpse of the man who’d killed Barkley. He saw the remainder of his team leaping over the windowsill, and into the building. The first man, Corporal Hicks, approached.

  “SPECTRE Andvari, where’s Lieutenant Barkley?”

  In moments like these, it was unwise to hold on. Time spent mourning over the death of a comrade was time the enemy had to fight back, to take more of their own. The reality of this job was that no one was ever promised tomorrow. Andvari knew this. It was the life of a man who went toe-to-toe in gun fights. The life of a soldier.

  “He didn’t make it,” Andvari said bluntly as he held out his hand. “7.62 magazine.”

  “R-Right,” Hicks stammered. He looked over his shoulder and motioned to their medic and supplier, Lars. “Lars! 7.62 magazine!”

  “Got it!” He tossed a magazine to Hicks, who handed it to Andvari.

  Unceremoniously, Andvari unloaded the quarter-full magazine, handed it to Hicks, then inserted the fresh one. “Hicks, you’ll be backing me up for the remainder of the operation.”

  “Understood, sir,” he saluted. “I have to admit, I’m a bit nervous. It’s… quiet.”

  Andvari felt nothing. No, it was more accurate to say that right now, he had no room to feel anything. If he didn’t compartmentalize what had happened to Barkley, then he risked falling apart. “Just watch your six and we’ll get through this.”

  Hicks nodded, then double-checked his rifle. “Yes, sir.”

  “As for you two, make sure you maintain the perimeter. I want one of you watching that hallway at all times, is that understood?”

  “Yes sir,” they nodded in unison.

  “Good. And don’t go down there. You don’t want to see what’s at the end of that hall.”

  A brief pause followed, but the remaining men nodded.

  “Come on, Hicks,” Andvari gestured.

  “Right,” Hicks said.

  Andvari looked up toward the stairs, then slowly began his ascent. Hicks followed close behind, and taking into mind what had happened to Barkley, he kept a weather eye open for any wires or explosives. He licked his lips, rounded the corner and continued upward, gun held in front of him, his heart pounding against his chest. He rounded the corner of the U-shaped stairs, a brief calm sweeping over him when he reached the top.

  Before him was a room littered with computers and laptops. Wires and antennae were scattered among the floor haphazardly, leading to and from dozens of screens and terminals. Cases of weapons were stacked against the walls, the name buffed out. Anybody with a lick of common sense could tell that it was Centurion’s insignia that had been wiped from the make.

  “Sir, it doesn’t—” Hicks started.

  Andvari raised his hand in a gesture to silence Hicks. It was quiet, but he could hear something faint. Like typing or tapping. He looked down, now paranoid that at any moment the entire building could come crumbling down. Anything to destroy evidence, he reasoned.

  As Andvari moved forward, the noise grew louder, albeit barely. He came upon a desk, noting something shaking beneath it. “Get out of there! Move it! Now!” he yelled.

  A man in a white lab coat stumbled out from under the desk, trembling, and with his hands held up. “P-P-Please don’t shoot me! Please! They made me work against my will!”

  Andvari frowned. He knew this man. “Gerald Sims?”

  The man’s eyes widened. “H… How do you know that name?”

  “No one could forget you,” Andvari hissed. Sims had been missing for months. Working as one of the lead developers of Centurion technology, he suddenly disappeared without a trace one day. Wouldn’t you know it, several of the designs he’d worked on also disappeared. “Slimy bastard.”

  “No, please! Really, just hear me out, fuck!” The man’s trembling worsened as he repositioned in front of Andvari.

  “Take the coat off,” Andvari growled. It was unlikely the man had any bombs or detonators on him. However, the coat would serve as an easy place to pocket a small firearm. He wasn’t about to take that risk. “Slowly. If you reach for anything, I’ll put a bullet between your eyes.” At this range, such a shot would be easy.

  “Okay, okay, just relax,” the scientist said as she carefully removed one sleeve of his coat, then shouldered it off. He put it down in front of him, then pushed it toward Andvari.

  “Check it,” Andvari said, gesturing Hicks toward the coat.

  Hicks kept his gun in one hand while he slowly unfolded the fabric and checked the pockets. “Just an exactopad. Nothing concerning.”

  “Good.” The entire time Andvari spoke, he kept his gaze on Gerald. Under the coat, he wore a simple black T-shirt that smelled like it hadn’t been cleaned in weeks. He put his hands on the back of his head, his breath hitching. “Tell me what you’ve been doing here. I want to hear all of it.”

  Gerald visibly swallowed. “I was kidnapped a few months ago by a group of people who called themselves the Black Eels. T-They told me that if I provided them schematics for tracking devices, and gave them shipping information regarding weapons, then they would release me.” He drew a deep breath. “That’s… not what h-happened, though. After I told them that I would help them, they released me, and I went back to Centurion. I told them where to find the weapons, which crates to look for, the time, everything.”

  Gerald sighed. “After two weeks, they kidnapped me again. This time, they said they had no intention of releasing me until they attained a special black box with some encrypted information on it.” He shook his head. “I had no idea what they were talking about, so they beat me and threatened my life. I’ve been working with them ever since.”

  Andvari frowned. Something about the story didn’t add up. “How did you gain access to shipping information?”

  Gerald returned the expression and looked him dead in the eyes. “W-What do you mean?”

  “I wasn’t born yesterday. Your clearance did not give you access to that information.” His trigger finger itched, and the visceral image of his comrade splattered all over the walls resurfaced momentarily. “That information is held only by the higherups and those who are shipping them. Simply asking about it would have been enough to put you on a watch list. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  “I did have access to the information! I always have!” Gerald protested.

  He’d heard enough. Andvari stepped forward and struck the man against the side of the head. Gerald crumpled to the floor unconscious, and Andvari breathed a deep sigh before holstering his weapon.

  “You doing all right, sir?” Hicks asked as he stood closer beside him.

  “I’m fine. Confiscate the crates and anything else that looks important in here. I want this place stripped and its contents examined and sent to our data encryptors.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “And take this bastard into custody. I want to make sure he is thoroughly questioned.”

  “Understood. I’ll make sure it’s done.”

  Andvari and Hicks saluted to one another, and Andvari descended the stairs back down to the main floor. The second team had made its way over, and Cyrus—dressed in a similar black SPECTRE armor suit of his own—was having a conversation with a few of the men from each team. Andvari went to join them, and Cyrus offered a salute.

  “What’d ya find up there, eh?” Cyrus asked.

  “The weapon crates and trackers,” Andvari said simply. “How did your team do?”

  “They’re still working on the basement level. There are some intricate fucking tunnels down there. One of the men moved aside a rack to find an old hole. Looked to me like it’d been blown apart years ago. We still got no idea what’s inside, but the tunnel runs deep.”

  “Good,” Andvari said. “Perhaps that’s how they were transporting the goods.”

  “Sounds likely, but I’m not gonna assume shit ‘til I’ve had my men do a thorough run of them. Got two down there as we speak.”

  “Any casualties?”

  Cyrus shook his head. “No, we got damn lucky. I got one guy who was injured, but he’ll live. He’s checkin’ out the tunnels with one of my demolition experts right now. Beyond that, it was a clean run.” He relaxed his grip on his assault rifle and held it at his side. Then he gestured to a corner of the room. “Can I have a word? Privately.”

  Andvari nodded and followed the SPECTRE to a corner where no one could hear them.

  “Does this mission strike you as… kinda fucking odd?” Cyrus asked. “This operation was way too quick, way too clean for my liking. They send two SPECTREs for a simple cache of weapons and trackers?” He shook his head. “They didn’t need SPECTREs for this. They coulda sent out any five guys to take this out. This looks more like a simple gang hideout. Fuckers barely know how to fire a gun.”

  Andvari leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “I had similar thoughts.” He looked out the window to his left. Many of their men were checking to see if any of the culprits were still alive. Seems there were at least a couple still breathing. A gunshot followed. “This mission veered too close to simple and straightforward for my liking. A waste of SPECTRE expertise. What did the defense look like on your end?”

  “Practically nonexistent,” Cyrus scoffed. “Two guys walking around with their thumbs up their ass. Morons barely finished aiming their weapons by the time they were gunned down. They didn’t even fall to their knees or get on the ground when the flashbang went off. Novice behavior.”

  Andvari hummed and thought. While the tunnel could provide some insight as to why the mission had proven to be on the simpler side, he wagered there wasn’t going to be much more found than a series of caves leading out a trapdoor somewhere. Besides, if the weapons or trackers were so important, why had such a small group been assigned to protect them? Why had no bothered to escape out the hole with any of the stolen goods?

  “The worst part was the fucking bomb,” Cyrus continued, clicking his tongue. “I’ve got Sergeant Waters checkin’ for any other explosives in the area, but she hasn’t found shit.” He scoffed. “I swear to fuck, if that backdoor bomb was the only one, I’m gonna have a word with the higherups.”

  “Commander Lara is in charge of this mission,” Andvari said, looking at Cyrus and pushing away from the wall. “Are you questioning her authority?” he smirked.

  Cyrus chuckled. “Dude, I don’t give a rat’s ass who’s in charge of this. This is a waste of SPECTRE resources, SPECTRE time. You said it yourself. She can spit on me for all I care, I want an explanation for this. They made it sound like these bastards were specialists. They’re goons, for fuck’s sake!”

  Andvari made a gesture with his hand for Cyrus to quiet down.

  Cyrus sighed and lowered his voice. “Don’t you feel the same way?”

  Yes, he did. Not one hint of anything about the mission made a lick of sense. The bomb at the backdoor had made for a nasty surprise, but explosives could be assembled by half the residents of Bastion. Hell, if you knew where to ask, you could buy the bombs outright from a supplier. The presence of an explosive was not reason enough to consider these men a threat to Centurion security.

  “I’m curious to know what weapons are in those crates,” Andvari said.

  “As am I,” Cyrus glanced toward the stairs. “I’m gonna go take a look.”

  Andvari shook his head. “Take Sergeant Waters with you. Just in case.”

  Cyrus nodded and walked away, leaving Andvari to his thoughts. Commander Lara had been exceptionally clear about this mission and its importance, but it felt as if someone was pulling the wool over his eyes. He leaped over the windowsill and approached his medic, who was checking one of the criminals for a pulse.

  “How does it look?” Andvari asked, eager for more information.

  “Dead. Most of them are. We have a few breathing, though. What should we do with them?”

  Andvari hesitated. “Our orders were to shoot to kill. If there are any survivors, then they are to be eliminated.”

  “I know,” Lars said, “but why? That doesn’t make any sense. Wouldn’t we want to know where their suppliers are, or who they’re working for?”

  Andvari crossed his arms. He shared Lars’s sentiment, but as a soldier, you didn’t question authority. “Corporal Lars, are you questioning a direct order?”

  “N-No, sir.”

  “If there are any survivors, kill them.”

  Lars swallowed and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Several gunshots followed, most of them from outside the compound. Blood mixed with the rainwater while the grunts and murmurs of his men filled the air. Conversation carried on between some of the men, muffled by the intensifying rain. He hoped the rain might help dull his thinking, but instead it just created echoes within his mind. After a time, he returned to the compound and walked up the stairs to see Cyrus, Hicks, and Waters searching each of the crates.

  Andvari clicked a switch on the side of his helmet, and a grainy image of Lara came up on the visor. “Commander Lara. Our mission was a success. We had one casualty.”

  “Excellent work, SPECTRE. What of the culprits?” Lara asked.

  “The survivors are being executed, per the mission’s parameters. They had a hostage, one Gerald Sims. We’re taking him into—”

  “Kill him.”

  Andvari paused. “Ma’am?”

  Cyrus frowned and tapped the button on the side of his helmet. His image came on screen next, his face illuminated by the lights in his helmet.

  “As I expressed before, there are to be no survivors. No prisoners. Execute Gerald Sims.”

  “Ma’am, he was a hostage. Anyone who saw him could—”

  “I will not repeat myself again.”

  “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” Gerald cried as he attempted to escape his bindings. Seemed Cyrus and the others had bound his wrists together, and Hicks was keeping him under control. “Please don’t kill me! I haven’t done anything! I’ve killed no one!”

  “Son of a bitch,” Cyrus hissed as he retrieved a handgun from his holster and shot the man in the temple. Gerald fell to his side with a look of frozen terror, blood and brain matter spilling onto the floor. Cyrus holstered his gun and shook his head.

  “Gerald Sims is dead,” Andvari said.

  “Excellent work,” Lara said. “With his death, we can finally close this matter. Unfortunately, I had need of your expertise for another assignment, effective immediately.”

  Andvari furrowed his brow. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “The third SPECTRE, and his team, have failed in their mission. You are to go in his place.”

  Andvari’s heart raced. “The SPECTRE was killed?”

  “That is correct. Traps made short work of them. We discovered too late that the higher number of soldiers were a detriment.” Lara looked at something off screen, and the sound of clicking keyboard keys followed. Moments later, a three-dimensional map of appeared on screen. “This is a layout of the building you will be infiltrating. A ship will take you to the marked location, where you are to locate the target data and take the scientist there into custody. Refusal to take this mission will result in a reprimand. Do you accept?”

  Nothing like having my arm twisted. Like I have a choice.

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent. The CSTU you embarked on prior will take you there. I await your favorable results.”

  The connection severed, and Lara’s face disappeared.

  Succeed where another SPECTRE failed. Why does it feel like I have the worst luck?