Project: legion
Time: 0320,
Date: 12-11-2034
Location: Dubai, 2km north of the main crater.
Objective: Retrieve Package Delta-4
Deployment: Full squad: Five Wraiths, one Seer.
“Tell me the others are” The shirtless guard was becoming more and more agitated as he wiped the spattered blood off of his face. The fire reflecting off of his seemingly bronze eyes made them seem to be glowing. The captive painfully tilted his head to the side and spit out the warm, red fluid that had once again gathered in his mouth. "
You've had me out here for hours, on and on with the threats. How about you just bring it, you little shit? I've got stuff to do." Exhaustion was evident in his voice, having gone through this grind over and over for the last few hours. But he refused to waver, never revealing a scrap of information whatsoever. The three guards in the room were eying each other, eyes telling each other more than words ever could; confusion, anger… fear.
“Dilec…” One of the other guards began to speak, voice soft.
“… I don-“ He was cut off as she shirtless man rewarded him with a blank stare.
The man seated on the chair was lieutenant Sean Mitchel, a Nato operative tasked to retrieve Intel in one of the black zones. He was the sole survivor of the team, or what was left of him. He had multiple lacerations on his chest and legs, several third degree burn wounds and he was pretty sure had at least two broken ribs. This ‘Dilec’ prick had done a number on him, not really restraint in his methods of interrogation. He knew taunting the man would only result in more pain being inflicted, yet he knew he was a dead man, knowing backup wouldn’t be able to make it in time.
“Y-your mother teach you how to hit?” He said with a bloody grin, spitting at the man’s face once more, daring him to use that blade once more, hopefully lethal this time.
He was chained to a steel chair that was bolted on the floor. He had multiple wounds and injuries that would severely diminish his offensive and defensive capabilities, not to mention would leave a clear blood trail for any pursuers to follow. There were three guards in this room and the last time he had seen there were six others in the room behind that. His ‘prison’ was a floor on the twenty third floor, on a spiral building that could only be accessed from the inside by stairs. He knew he was a dead man, the minute he was captured, might as well enjoy the ride. He was about to say another witty comment when he noticed something to his right, just a fraction of a second, yet enough for his peripheral vision to detect. The three guards in the room did not seem to noticed, simply intent on staring down the chained person, calculating what bone to break next. Mitchel was about to ignore what he had just glimpsed when he heard the cracking of his radio, suddenly flaring up once more.
Dilec slammed his knife in a nearby chair as he moved to the table that housed their captive’s equipment, slowly searching through it until he found the source of the disturbance. Trained digits quickly opened up the channel and he upped the volume, allowing his companions to her the message as well.
“Delta-4, this is Icarus-1.. approaching point 2-a… ETA 8 minutes… Be advised… Wraiths incoming.”
He dropped the com device and turned pale, spinning on his heels to stare at the man sitting on the steel chair, hearing him laugh out loud, a type of laugh a man got when he had nothing to lose, yet was about to win everything. The soldier on his left looked confused at his companions, then at the man laughing….
“What are wraiths?” He said, gripping his SMG and moving closer to the chained man, waiting for an answer.
“Something neither living nor dead, apparitions that haunt places marked with death. They see all, know all and feed of your fear. And for you, the worst part is..” He said… lowering his voice as he noticed the shadows slowly moving, taking shape and taking on human form.
“-they are already here.”
A high calibre round was fired from a mile away, taking down the man who was wielding the SMG, before the other two could react to the sudden death of their friend they could see two apparitions rush towards hem, suddenly rushing from the shadows, wielding a long curved black knife that did not glister in the light. The two men were dead before their fallen could slam into the ground, another spectre catching his body and slowly lowering him to the ground. Mitchel noticed that no hand signs were used to discuss things, instead the two wraiths that had wielded the blades quickly slid to the door, blades disappearing and wielding silenced weapons that were clearly custom builds. They paused for a few seconds, readjusting their aims for a second before they suddenly opened fire, not even bothering to open the door, just shooting and hitting their marks, their tattered black cloaks and hoods flapping due to the wind, giving them a ghostlike visage. When they stopped shooting they simply reloaded and opened the doors, letting two other wraiths into the room, simply walking unscathed from the room that had previously been fired upon.
“Icarus-1, we have package delta-4 ready for retrieval. Injuries appear minor. No deviations in time.”
“Understood.”
They made a final sweep of the room before they relaxed, keeping one covering the door. Everyone’s black cloaks were suddenly retracting, disappearing in smaller slits in their suits, ready for redeployment when necessary. Three of them were clothed in white helmets, grey blackish suits and had tactical precision about them. The one in blue was obviously in charge, one glance at the posture of the shoulders would speak volumes about how finely tuned this team was. There was also the Wraith in pure black armour, occasionally standing completely still for no reason and letting his armour flash orange. Whenever it flashed orange, one of the other soldiers, the ones wielding white helmets, would suddenly reposition themselves, glancing through windows or simply nodding unconsciously.
A few minutes later, Lieutenant Sean Mitchel was on the helicopter, quickly ascending up in the air, hearing small gunfire strike the armoured plating’s of the chopper. He knew it was unwise to do so, yet he couldn’t help himself, bending slightly to the side and watching the Wraiths move out of the tower, quickly taking up position and hitting their marks, as if they already knew where the enemy had would be before they had even laid eyes on them. Seconds later he lost track of the Wraiths, the last thing he noticed was their armour turning black dull sandy grey and a ripped sand coloured cloak wrapping around their frames, letting them better blend in with the sandy environment.
He himself was a veteran in two wars, both the current Great War and a skirmish before the great collapse. He considered himself a solid soldier, perhaps even a warrior, yet he paled before the might of these individuals. There mere mention of the name Wraiths made men hesitant, on both sides of the war. He didn’t know what kind of harsh, unnatural training someone needed in order to sense enemies before they are even there, have eyes in your back and manage to blend in with the shadows, yet he had no doubt that there might be more truth to the stories than one would believe.
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