Will

February 19, 2007. 3:14 AM. My apartment. Torrential rain.

Rain keeps colliding against my windows like gunfire. The wind has knocked several trees over. The lightning crackles and booms like artillery. I know it’s just water. I know it’s just lightning… but my body won’t listen. I’ve woken up three times tonight, but that’s a good record. Usually it’s seven, and that’s when I’m lucky enough to fall asleep.

Nothing is helping. Not the breathing techniques, not the medication, not the meetings… It’s not even worth going to the V.A. anymore. All the doctors are crap and the lines take forever… I’d be better off in a ditch. At least there the worms could have something to feast on.

BOOM

My body curls up under my blanket and my hands clasp my ears. Sweat erupts from my pores and a year’s worth of memories flood through my brain in a second. They won’t stop flowing. Feels like my head is going to burst at any second… Maybe I should just cut my head open to let it all out. This cannot continue. My eyes won’t stop crying and my nose and throat are quickly engulfed in snot. I know this isn’t right. I know this isn’t me. I know something is wrong, but I can’t do anything about it.

BOOM

Stop. Please. Please. Please. I’m sorry I’m sorry. I tried. Just close your eyes. Close your eyes. Don’t think of Luke. Don’t think of John. Just empty everything.

BOOM

My eyes shoot open again and I even wet myself… I’m drenched in blood again. My heart won’t stop beating. My breathing won’t stop. Feels like I’m possessed. I try to cry and scream for help, but my vocal chords are sealed shut. Feels like a demon is sitting on my chest. Legs, arms, neck are all pulling and writhing in different directions. My legs slice my mattress to ribbons and my arms reduce my bed frame and nightstand to splinters. Unfortunately, my limbs didn’t sever themselves… Would’ve saved me a lot of trouble… I wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone anymore.

The stench of iron, mucus, and urine all combine into something so vile that I need to cut my nose off. Just need to raise my hand and-

Ding!

I hear my toaster go off. My body springs off what used to be my mattress, grabs my bamboo sword beside what used to be my nightstand, and I head for my bedroom door. I’m back in control of my limbs. My breathing becomes mechanical. Eyes, focused. Stepping without a sound. I am not seen, I am not heard… but I will likely be smelled. I cannot see or feel the floor under me. It’s completely covered in dirty laundry, bottles, convenience store food packaging, and damaged self-help books. Every step I take, I hear something new crunch under my feet.

At least the door opens without a creak. Peek out the door and see a tall man in my kitchen sitting at my table putting my jam on my bagel with my knife. He’s dressed in an immaculate suit that’s black as night. Stainless blue tie. Obsidian gloves with leather so fresh it still looks alive. Salt and pepper hair, impressive, but well-kempt beard. “Eagleburger?” I lower my blade. “What on Earth are you doing here?” My blood pressure drops immediately and purpose vacates my body.

“Ah, Will, my boy.” John puts my last cinnamon raisin bagel down on a piece of my paper towel. “Sorry, did I wake you up?”

“Answer my question.”

John smiles. “To the point as ever I see.” He leans back in my chair. “Something came up. The DOH needs you again.”

I exhale through my nose and nearly feel myself deflate. “Get out.”

“I thought you would say that.” He motions to my other chair. “Sit down. Let’s discuss this like gentlemen.”

“That’s what you said before Fallujah.” I point to the front door with my sword. “Out.”

“William.” John leans forward and somehow looks more tired than I feel. “Please… There’s nobody else we can trust to take this job.”

“Then find somebody new. A new high school just opened down the street. Send your recruiters there.”

“William.” John removes his glasses and looks at me. “I think we pinned down the man responsible for the Incident.”

I close my eyes, close my mouth, grit my teeth, and tilt my head to the side. “Talk.”

“Attaboy.”

“I never said I was in.” I point my sword at John. “I said talk.”

“Of course, of course.” John leans back and puts his glasses back on. “I cannot debrief you on all of the info until you take on the job.”

“JUST HURRY UP ALREADY!”

John looks legitimately upset. Not mad. Hurt. “Sorry. Are you familiar with the Nation of Jacob?”

“Can’t say I am.” I wipe some sweat off my brow and dull my arms.

“It’s a relatively new extremist group that’s an offshoot of the Nation of Islam. They’re only about 5,000 strong, but they quickly gained notoriety after sieging Detroit last year.”

“Really now? This is the first I’ve heard of them.”

“The siege happened during Fallujah, so you were a little occupied then.” John takes another bite of my bagel. “Some say the timing was planned, but we have no hard evidence of that yet.”

“So why do you need me? Can’t you send in some other special forces to deal with them?”

“We have intelligence to suggest that they have stolen nuclear material and are capable of making a nuclear weapon if they haven’t already. We also have reports of anthrax and smallpox viruses being stored there. We can’t risk any retaliatory strikes.” He looks me in the eye. “You’re more reliable than any squad we can make.”

“HOW did they get their hands on nuke materials and anthrax? What is the Department of Defense doing?”

“I know, I know.” John sighs. “We have reason to believe that there is a double agent in their ranks. We don’t know who he is or what his goals are… but I believe you can ascertain both of those.”

“...” I take a deep breath and realize just how awful I smell. Nearly vomit on the spot.

“Could you please be a hero one more time?” John leans forward and bows his head. “Please. I beg of you. I will give you anything you want.”

“The man responsible for the Incident is for sure a member of the Nation of Jacob?”

“Cross my heart.” John keeps bowing.

I clench my blade. “Alright. I’m in.”

“Thank you, my boy.” John lifts his head and smiles. “Now let’s get you cleaned up. Your face looks like a week old peach.”

“Oh come on…” I rub my stubble. “You don’t like my beard?”

John chuckles. “I’ve seen seventh graders with thicker facial hair.”

February 19, 2007. 12:47 PM. Classified location.

After a brief ear surgery, I have my old comms equipment back in. It’s this little square radio implant into the stirrup of my ear. I’m not entirely sure how it works since it’s a government secret… Even after using it for two years, I still cannot fathom how it works. It’s essentially a radio that transmits signals and vibrations straight into my ear, but it also allows me to communicate to anyone on the same frequency without speaking. Even now, it sounds like magic when I think about it for more than two seconds. I can adjust the frequency by rubbing the back of my ear. The most mysterious part is the signal strength. It’s never been interrupted or weakened. Crystal clear audio all day every day. Only bad part is the surgery. My ear always feels like it’s got water stuck in it for the next two days after getting the radio back in. Still, this thing has saved my butt more times than I can count.

The location I’m in is —-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

, but the air conditioning is like a meat locker. My entire body feels —---------------------------------------------------------------------. I don’t like it in the slightest, but my body recognizes it. The familiarity is far more comforting than it should be. I can still smell hints of Luke and John in here… I think- I hope.

Whoever gets the least buys dinner, alright?

Alright, but no kill stealing like last time.

I have no idea what you’re talking about.

I’m sitting in an office chair listening to John speak in front of a powerpoint presentation being projected onto a wall. “Son, are you listening?”

I look up from the pristine floor and back up at the presentation. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“Alright.” John nods. “Let me know if you need water or anything. Understood?”

I nod.

“As I was saying, The Nation of Jacob’s compound is located just West of Toledo, Ohio.” John clicks a button and shows a compound in the middle of nowhere surrounded by corn for miles. It features sizable walls complete with watchtowers and guards. If it wasn’t for the eerily normal apartments inside, it would look like an impromptu prison camp. The apartments look completely out of place and the newest things in the image. “They claim to be a sect of the Nation of Islam, but even the NOI has denounced them for being too extreme.”

“... How do you get more extreme than the NOI?”

“Hard to say.” John shakes his head. “It’s hard to define their exact dogma. Everyone we’ve interviewed or interrogated from there has believed wildly different things, but all of them have been pro-segregation, black supremacy, and that we are living in the end times.”

“So… like the NOI?”

“Yes, but…” John pinches the bridge of his nose and stifles laughter. “It’s better if you just see it for yourself. Their beliefs aren’t crucial to your mission. In fact, the less you listen to them, the better.”

“Right.” I nod.

John clicks another button and changes slides. “They’ve been besieging particular neighborhoods in the Eastern United States and have kidnapped at least 500 people in 2006 alone. They were even able to capture Columbus, Ohio for a weekend back in December.” This slide shows black and white photos of a couple of men shaking hands surrounded by a variety of contraband including gold, bricks upon bricks of cash and powder, and a Mil Mi-87 helicopter. “Those bricks in the left corner contain LSD, meth, gold, and U.S. dollars.”

“Do the kidnapped victims have anything in common?” I ask.

“Not at all.” John shakes his head. “They’re equal opportunity kidnappers. We can’t pinpoint an exact reason either. Anytime we ask a captured member that, they just kill themselves.”

“Did you send anyone else in before me?”

“Indeed.” John nods. “We sent in Bennett Howzer, you remember Bennett, right?”

“Mmhm.” I nod back. “Used to spar with each other all the time back at the Academy. Bit of a quiet kid, but was always very polite.”

“We sent him in back in January, but we haven’t heard back from him since.” John points to his ear. “His radio is still active though, so he’s likely not dead.”

“Interesting…” I scratch my chin. “What’s a Russian gunship doing there? I doubt LSD and meth alone can fund all their activities.”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.” John takes out a cigarette carton from his back pocket and shows it to me.

“No thanks.” I shake my head.

“Do you mind?” John puts a cigarette in his mouth.

“Not at all.”

“Thanks, boy.” John taps the tip of the cigarette, causing a small explosion to light it up. “Currently, the C.I.A. and F.B.I. say that the funding is likely coming from China and Iran.”

“Really? That’s their best guess?” I suppress a cough.

“It’s the most likely guess.” John shrugs and takes a drag. “Do you have any better guesses?”

“No, it just seems too… plain I suppose?”

“And that’s why you’re being sent in.” John grins.

“What are the exact objectives and when do I start?”

“You’ll be dropped off by the facility in their uniform at 1630 hours. You cannot bring anything else except a microcamera we will provide to you. You may procure and use anything you find on site as you wish. Your first mission is to locate Bennett White and rescue him from the base. Your second mission is to ascertain who is funding the group and where they are getting their drugs from.”

“Permission to kill?”

“If necessary.” A cloud of smoke erupts from John’s lips. “This is a sneaking mission first and foremost. Do not let anyone know your real identity. We cannot have anyone know that the DOH is involved in this mission. If you are captured-”

“Bite down on my back bottom ‘molar’.” I interrupt.

John’s face softens the same way it does before every mission. “Yes.” He pats my shoulder. “But I would prefer if you fled before it came to that. Please contact me if you need help escaping or supporting fire.”

I look up at him. “I thought you said you can’t have anyone know the DOH is involved.”

“You’ve earned a favor.”

“Is that supposed to be an apology?” I feel my chest and my face turn back towards the floor. “Or pity?”

Some ash falls onto the floor besides John’s feet. “It’s far less than you deserve, but it’s all I can do. I’m sorry.”

I take a deep breath before looking up at John again. “Very well. I’m ready.”

John grins and offers me his hand. “Operation Intrude is live.”

February 19, 2007. 4:32 PM. Outside the Nation of Jacob compound.

I was dropped off the side of the road with nothing but the corn, the wind, and John’s voice to accompany me.

“Good. You made it.” John’s voice flows into my head. “Start walking Northwest. You should get there in twenty minutes.”

“Understood.” I do just that and take the time to better examine the disguise given to me. It’s essentially a KKK hood and robes, but black. Made of cheap cotton as well. Feels like I’d be sweating like a pig the moment the temperature gets above 70 degrees. It’s also rather itchy around the base of the spine… but it's far from the worst of the disguises I’ve had to don.

I arrive at the entrance of the compound nineteen minutes later. The walls look the same as they did in the photograph. Guards in the same black robes are standing in the watchtowers armed with XM5s. I can even see one lying prone on an apartment rooftop with a Barrett M82. There’s a small empty checkpoint booth to the right of me and a M1126 ICV idling to the left. 22 feet long, 8 feet and 11 inches wide. Armed with M240 machine guns and a 40 mm Mk 19 grenade launcher. Thanks to my Tech, I don’t have to worry about the bullets penetrating me… but the force alone is enough to break bones and kill me. I’ve seen all kinds of Techs on the battlefield, but 25 grams of lead going 2,800 feet per second is still as reliable and effective as ever. There are four guards standing in front of a dense metal gate. Two are armed with M27s. Two are standing still with their arms limp at their sides. Their Techs are likely more dangerous than bullets. Good to know. I can just barely see the glint of a mirror shining from inside one of the man’s sleeves. The ones with guns aim them at me and those without continue standing still. Too still. I can’t even see them breathe.

John. They have Barrett M82s, M27s, and a Stryker.

“What?! How can that be?! This is the first I’ve heard of this.” John’s voice rings in my ear.

Doesn’t the Pentagon ‘misplace’ money occasionally?

“...” John makes a low rumble. “I don’t like the implications of this. Keep reporting what you see. I’ll get a team to research some audits.”

Thank you.

I approach the four men with my arms above my head. “Relax, brothers. I have merely come for the Conversion.”

One of them lowers his gun and beckons me towards him.

I do so.

He pulls off his hood and mine. He has a large eyeball for a head. It has green skin and a bright blue iris. The pupil looks like a black hole trying to suck me in… For all I know, it very well could be. “Brother… What is your name?”

“My new name will be Frederick X.” Somehow, my face remains solemn.

“Hmmm…” The eyeball man touches my cheek with his hand. The back of his hand is dark brown, but his fingers are paler than my face. I would say he has vitiligo, but the division between dark and light skin is far too even. It looks more like a gradient than random splotches of melanin. A green light shoots out of his eye and engulfs me for two seconds before dissipating. The man turns to his cohorts. “He is clean, my brothers.”

They all nod and lower their weapons.

“Worry not, my brother.” He embraces me in a hug. “We shall cure you of your sickness.” He lets go and points towards the apartment building with the sniper on it. “Go to that building. Brother Bennett will lead you to the Feast.”

The front gate creaks and slowly begins to open.

“Thank you, brother.” I bow. “May I have my hood back?”

“No need for it inside.” The eyeball shakes his head. “Do not be embarrassed of your ham sandwich face. You will be beautiful before long.”

“Very well.” I wave the cohorts farewell and walk inside.

The gates slam shut behind me and everyone continues doing what they’re doing… I still cannot let my guard down. Aside from the robes, this place seems like a normal - almost idyllic - campsite. There’s a little garden growing watermelons to the North and a humble, but noisy chicken coop to the East. There’s people playing at a basketball court to the West as well. I can see various families through apartment windows. Kids as young as five are wearing robes and smiling without a care in the world… Seeing that fills me with an emotion I have not felt in a long time. It’s more familiar to me than my name. More natural than breathing. A part of me that I don’t want to know, like, or acknowledge begins creeping back up my spine like a symbiotic parasite. My breathing steadies. My arms relax. I feel normal. I don’t like it.

While the camp may seem peaceful, everyone in here is suspicious as all heck. A third of them are white, a third of them are black, and a third are a mix… But even then, half the black people here don’t look black. Their skin is black, but they have white noses, white hair, and white voices. Some even look like they have black skin grafted on. In addition, around 80% of the people here move a bit too… professionally. Everyone has a different way of walking depending on their upbringing, weight, body type, habits, and who they associate with. Many are not cognisant of the way they carry themselves. Civvies move differently from trained soldiers. They’re more casual. Less methodical. It’s hard to spot unless you’ve been trained to do so. For missions like this, I always walk a little slower, slouch a little, and never curl my fists. It also helps to mimic the body language of regular people you see. The weirdest thing here is that very few people here look like cultists. Cult compounds are usually full of people who don’t shower, people with long hair, and big beards. Really fat guys and really skinny women are also fairly common… I only saw three chubby men here and only three with beards. Almost every other man here has a similar physique and haircut to me.

John, do you copy?

John replies as fast as ever. “Loud and clear, Frederick.” He stifles a laugh. “What’s the situation?”

Is Bennett the only person the DOH sent in here? I walk past a man carrying a pair of chickens to a mess hall to the North.

“Indeed. Why do you ask?”

Almost everyone here looks just a little too… fit.

“Hmmm… It is possible the F.B.I. and the C.I.A. have moles sent in as well. I will contact my cohorts in the other agencies immediately and get back to you.”

Thank you. I enter the apartment lobby and find a pale man typing at a computer behind a counter. Same build as me. Shaved head. Demure stature. Bright blue eyes… massive lip botox injections… It’s Bennet Howzer. “Whoa… Bennett?” I feign ignorance. “Is that you?”

His head perks like a dog hearing his master return home. “Will? What are you doing here?” His swollen lips curl into a puffy smile as he gets up to greet me.

“Will is no more. I have cast off that pale name. My new name is Frederick.” I hold out my hand.

“You already have a name… How wonderful.” He bows and shakes my hand. “I still have yet to choose mine. There are just so many beautiful names to pick from.”

“Worry not.” I pat his shoulder. “You will find one in due time. What brought you to the Nation of Yakub?”

“...” Bennett’s face freezes for a moment. “I…” His breath starts to shake. He’s the only one I’ve seen so far who seems like a true believer. “I just… I feel at peace here. There was just this sense of cosmic guilt weighing down on my chest… No matter what I did, I could not define or break free of my Original Sin.” He points to his face. “But that all changed when Father Tyrone spoke to me… He taught me what the problem was… And what needed to be done.”

“How heartwarming.” I manage to keep laughter contained deep within my chest. “Where is Father Tyrone? I wish to speak to him as well.”

“You must never disturb Father Tyrone. He is currently purifying our newest converts.” Bennett folds his hands together and nods his head.

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“Uh huh…” I narrow my eyes. “What do these new converts look like?”

“Disgustingly pale women.” The nearly translucent Bennett recoils. “Father Tyrone truly has the tolerance of a Messiah… I can barely look upon those new converts for a moment without feeling sick to my stomach.”

“Is there any way for me to meet him?” I ask.

“Indeed.” Bennet nods and motions towards the window on the North wall. “Our daily cookout is currently happening in the Mess Hall north of here. Father Tyrone will be gracing us with his presence in a service after the Cookout.”

“I see.”

John, come in. I’ve located Bennett. He’s safe, but he’s turned into a true believer.

“How is that possible? He was completely immune to any suggestibility drugs and truth serum during training. Is he under the influence of a Tech?”

I can’t rule out that possibility just yet… but there’s no indication of him being under the influence of a Tech. There’s no bizarre lights or scents anywhere… Plus, he’s the only one I’ve seen acting like this. If there was a Tech in use, why would he be the only one under its influence?

“Good point… Still, if you can somehow knock him out and get him out of there, I would really appreciate it. Bennett’s a good kid. He doesn’t deserve this.”

Will do. Any word from the C.I.A. or F.B.I.?

“I was just getting to that. My cohorts deny any knowledge or involvement of infiltration missions with the Nation of Jacob.”

Bullshit. Almost everyone here looks like a Fed.

“I’ll take your word on that. I’ll be recording your conversations from here on out. If you can sneak a confession that they’re secretly involved, I’d really appreciate it.”

What? Isn’t the D.O.H. supposed to be working with the F.B.I. and C.I.A.?

“Officially. We are still separate organizations with separate goals. Even the people serving under me in the D.O.H. have separate goals.”

Then what exactly is the D.O.H.’s goal?

“It has always been to preserve the peace and protect lives. Do you doubt me?”

Not at all, sir.

“Good.” John doesn’t sound relieved in the slightest, but he’s never sounded worried either. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him worried. “Have I ever given you incorrect information?”

No, sir.

“Then why did you ask?”

Organizations change, sir. People change.

“Have you changed?”

… Does my permission to kill extend to potential federal agents?

“If it's in self defense or if knowledge of our involvement is being risked.”

Understood, sir. Proceeding to the Mess Hall.

“Understood.”

I nod and smile at Bennett. “Have you heard from your family at all? John misses you.”

Bennett tilts his head. “John? Who is John?”

“Your old C.O. Grey hair, beard, got a sizable mole on his forehead. Ring any bells?”

John’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “It ain’t that sizable, son.”

Bennett shakes his head. “I don’t know who you are talking about…” He holds his head.

“Understood.” I nod. “If you change your mind or want to go on a vacation, let me know.” I turn towards the door and head out of the apartment.

“T-thank you…” Bennett sits back down looking around the room. “Will - I mean Frederick - wait!”

“Hm?” I turn back to face Bennett. His smile is calm, but his eyes seem unable to focus on anything.

“I’m glad you’re here. I missed you, buddy.”

“Missed you too.” I smile back. “Want to spar after the cookout?”

“Absolutely.” Bennett nods. “Just let me finish these reports and I’ll join you.”

“Sounds good.” I wave and exit the apartment lobby. “See ya.” I head north towards the Mess Hall. The bottom half of the exterior is coated in a fresh coat of puce paint that reminds me far too much of my elementary school. I’m not entirely sure what the architecture is supposed to be… It’s too confused. The shape suggested it was built for function and defense and nothing else, but the murals on the walls say that it wants to be for public use. The facility seems sturdy enough however. The materials were not skimped on in the slightest. Two more guards are standing besides the entrance. One has crystals jutting out of his arms. The other appears to be made of water. I can see a complete set of organs through the water complete with eyeballs and teeth… I don’t like it.

Behind the guards are two murals. The one on the left depicts a black man with a receding hairline and a tremendous forehead that is twice the width and length of the rest of his head. He has a chiseled jawline as well as a buttchin. He’s wearing a red necklace and is lifting his right palm up with monkeys and white people standing atop it. The mural on the right depicts fit black men and women chiseling themselves out of flabby white bodies. It’s so extreme that it skips over being offensive and just becomes bewildering. Some might find rambling like this entertaining. It’s just more noise to me. I step inside the mess hall and find the interior similar to a Church’s multipurpose room. The carpeting is old, simple, but clean and the walls have a fresh coat of paint. There’s a bunch of posters saying things like “Don’t mix. Preserve your melanin.”, “Resist the White She-Devils”, and “Melanin is strong and pure. Keep it that way.” There’s even a pair of posters up beside the door. One depicts a family tree of all black parents looking down at their descendents with satisfied smiles. The one beside it features one white parent at every family tree level, making each generation slightly less dark. The grandparents there are looking down at their ancestors in disdain. I immediately take photos of all of these posters. People won’t believe me otherwise.

Just like the outside, everyone here looks too fit and clean shaven. There’s about fifty of them. They’re all standing around and chatting with each other. I look over to the East Side of the room and find a food table stocked high with only fried chicken, watermelon, and coolers full of Kool-aid. This actually makes me break character and just stare at the food flabbergasted for a moment. This is beyond parody. This has to be a joke. I’m expecting the camera crew to jump out at any time and yuck it up.

“Shieeeet, brudda.” Someone from behind pats my shoulder. “Dey got you in on dis too?”

I turn around and see a man as pale as me with messy hair covering one of his eyes doing an impression that would get anyone else fired in a heartbeat. “... Ricardo? That you?”

“Das right!” Ricardo just bursts out laughing and thankfully stops doing that voice. “Sorry, I had to.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Haven’t seen you in a hot minute. What department you with now?” Ricardo turns to his left and beckons two others to join him.

“Excuse me?” I recognize the other two as well. Mac and Zack. All of us trained together back at The Academy.

“Aw, c’mon man. No need to play dumb.” Ricardo chuckles. “I’m with the C.I.A., Mac’s with the F.B.I., and Zack’s with the D.O.H. We’re all agents here. Well, except Jackson and Christopher.” He looks around. “They here yet?”

“No, sir.” Mac shakes his head. “But little update, I managed to convert twenty more recruits online this month.”

“For real?” Ricardo grins.

“Indeed.” Zack nods. “A dozen more are on their way to the compound right now.”

“Man, look at us.” Ricardo claps his hands. “We’ll be rolling in additional funding and promotions in no time.” He turns back to me.

He just… admitted to it.

“He just… admitted to it.” John sounds as stunned as I am.

John, did you send Zack here too?

“No. I discharged him back in November for insubordination. It’s likely Ricardo’s just lying to you.”

Is he lying about his and Mac’s affiliation too?

“No. I know for a fact they are still in direct service with their respective agencies, but had no idea they were here.”

What do I do? Do I tell them I’m with the D.O.H.?

“No. Deny deny deny, but do your best to get any intel you can off of them.”

“You talkin’ to John?” Ricardo leans into my ear and cups his mouth. “Yo, Johnny Boy! You’re late to the party!”

John remains silent.

“So what’s Johnny Boy got you doing here?” Ricardo leans on my shoulder and sips some Kool-aid from a red solo cup. “Or are you a true believer?”

“I just heard there was some nuclear material here and wanted to investigate as a concerned private citizen.” I gently brush Ricardo’s arm off my shoulder.

“Really now?” Ricardo’s eyes lower a bit, but his plastic smile remains.

Mac and Zack slowly strafe behind me.

“Say, William. Mind if we discuss something in the bathroom real quick?”

“Not at all.” I lie and follow the three men out of the Mess Hall, through an adjacent hallway, and into a men’s restroom with six stalls and six urinals. There’s a thick metal partition separating the bathroom entrance from the stalls for the sake of privacy. Looks far too clean for a cult compound’s bathroom. Doesn’t smell like anything either.

Mac shuts the door behind us and stands by the entrance with his arms crossed.

Ricardo stands in front of me between the stalls and the urinals.

Zack checks the stalls and finds nobody. He motions to Ricardo before standing behind me. He lifts an arm and starts slowly expelling chaff into the air.

“So. William.” Ricardo claps his hands. “You’re not reporting on any of this.”

John, come in. John!

No response. Just static.

“Why are you converting people to this cult? Aren’t you supposed to be stopping acts of terrorism?”

“We can’t stop terrorism if nobody’s committing terrorism.” Ricardo wags his finger.

“What?!” I raise my voice and hear it echo off the walls.

“Ssssh. Easy there.” Ricardo chuckles. “Yeah… things have gotten just a tad too peaceful. We were actually at risk of losing our jobs just two years ago… but then our agencies started using the internet for surveillance and recruitment. Now we didn’t just need to wait for terrorists to become radicalized. We could just do it ourselves!”

“That is cartoonishly evil.” I can’t close my mouth. I’m completely dumbfounded.

“Not at all. Hear me out.” Ricardo raises his hands a tad. “Instead of acts of terrorism being random, we can control them. We can know the exact place, time, method, and perpetrator. We prep the place, the perp shows up, and we capture him with only a few on site injuries. Dangerous people are removed from society and people get to feel that their government is actually doing something. Win win for everyone.”

“Uh… huh… And how exactly do you control them?”

“Oh tons of ways.” Ricardo counts on his fingertips. “Sometimes we pose as women online and urge disaffected young men to do things to impress us. Other times we just get on extremist forums and send some links and make some jokes until some idiot gets convinced to go postal.”

“So government employees are encouraging people to commit terrorism?” I ask.

“Hey, hey.” Ricardo sounds offended. “Those people were going to commit crimes for some deranged reason sooner or later. It’s better they do it when we know they will instead of a random place where we can’t respond in time.”

“Or you could have just… created mental healthcare facilities. You could have helped these people! You could have given them a home and the help they needed!”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t get us funding.” Ricardo shrugs. “National security does. Now, Willie. I like ya. You’re a good man and an even better soldier. Wanna help us with this? The C.I.A. has had its eye on you for quite some time. They can pay you way more than the D.O.H. can. Nice vacations, unparalleled benefits. Whaddaya think?” Ricardo extends his hand towards me.

“You think I’m doing this for money?” I keep staring Ricardo in the eye.

“We’re soldiers, Will. We don’t choose the battlefield. We don’t choose the ideological conflicts. That’s for the leaders to decide. Fighting is just a paycheck… and I’m offering you the biggest paycheck you’ll ever see.”

“Pathetic… You’re not soldiers. You’re mercenaries.” I take a deep breath and glance behind me. Zack is still expelling chaff.

“That’s what all soldiers are.” Ricardo chuckles. “Don’t make me laugh. What? You think you’re any different? You think you get to fight for freedom or justice? You’re just a weapon to John too, you know.”

“That’s not true.” I shake my head. “You’re just talking out of your ass.”

“Aaaaw… no. Don’t tell me.” Ricardo facepalms. “You’re not one of those soldiers, are you? The kind that enjoys killing?”

My body moves on its own. It sharpens my arm, pivots forward, and cleaves through Ricardo’s chest with a lariat. His body falls in half… but there’s no blood. No screams. Just a puff of smoke accompanied by two halves of a log falling beside me.

I turn around to slash Zack in half, but he just crosses his arms and smirks. “Camp’s already on lockdown. Enjoy your last moments.”

My arm plunges itself into his face, but he turns into a log too. I look back at the door and find another log where Mac was standing. Already, I can hear a cacophony of stomps, tank treads, and even a helicopter flying just outside the bathroom.

Bing bang bum bong

An intercom comes to life and a deep voice fills the bathroom. “Good afternoon, my brethren. I hope you all enjoyed the cookout. Unfortunately, we have a heretic in the men’s bathroom beside the mess hall. Spilling his blood will net you a one way ticket to 72 virgins. Now I know you all were looking forward to my sermon today, so I’ll deliver it while we purify our sacred grounds.”

I pick up one of the logs and chisel it into an impromptu blade.

The footsteps grow closer and closer to the bathroom every passing moment.

I sharpen up the rest of my body.

John, come in. John!

“Fre-! Wh- h—en? I- in—” TV static rumbles in my eardrum. Makes me want to tear my ear out.

ping tink!

I hear a grenade pin being pulled and immediately turn towards the partition just in time to see a grenade rise over it.

Father Tyrone clears his voice and begins his sermon. “Yakub was a simple boy in Mecca with a simple wish: to create a being; with the knowledge of tricks and lies, to rule the original black man.”

I sprint up to the partition, jump, and hit the grenade back like I’m blocking a volleyball shot.

I hear some gasps, an explosion, and a series of crying and panicking.

Ping ping ping ping ping

Five more grenades fly over the partition and roll on the floor.

I can’t throw those back in time. I sprint into one of the stalls and through a wall to find myself in a small garden. Wall to my left and front. Sizable fountain depicting a man with a massive forehead, grass, trees, rabbits, and birds chirping. A dozen cultists complete with an M1 Abrams tank. Fortunately, the tank’s main gun isn’t facing me just yet. Unfortunately, all of the soldiers have already started firing at me. Bullets, fire, ice shards, and even black lightning bolts begin flying in my general direction. I run behind the trees and straight into another wall right into an armory. It’s lit with pale white neon and has walls full of American weapons. M67 grenades, Berettas, XM5s, M4s, and M500s. There’s six in the room and have just barely noticed me.

“Frederick!” The static fades and John’s voice rings in my ear once more. “Do you come in?!”

Loud and clear. I behead a cultist with my blade and kick his head towards another cultist. Ricardo confessed to this place being a FBI and CIA front.

A chorus begins to accompany Tyrone’s voice. “By 18, he had learned everything he could from Mecca’s finest universities and discovered that the glorious original black man was composed of black and brown germs.”

“What?!” John raises his voice. “What did they say?!”

I catch John up to speed as I reduce everyone in the room to flesh ribbons one by one. They have some big guns, but they don’t matter much if they don’t know how to handle them. One attempts to blow me against the wall with some kind of sonic voice, but the sound is sliced by my skin. I run right through him. Literally. Nothing remains of him but a pile of bone and flesh fragments. Just like that, the whole room reeks of iron again. My body is crimson red and dripping with blood… but it feels more natural on me than my own skin.

“Jesus Christ…” John sighs.

Tyrone continues. “He fled to the island of Patmos to carry out his research where he bred the black out of babies to create the brown race after 200 years!”

I flick the blood off my blade and listen for the next battle.

“Will, where do you stand?” John’s voice flows into my mind.

My lips move on their own. “Between the Earth and the Heavens.” The hair on my neck stands on end. Every sound becomes distinct, yet slightly muted. A nostalgic red tint fills my vision. My muscles loosen, but my body cannot stand still. It feels as if someone else’s blood is being forced through my veins. I close my eyes. Two dozen are approaching me from the armory entrance. Forty-six have gathered around outside the hole in the armory I made.

Ping! Ping! Ping! Another volley of grenades flies through the windows and hole.

“Go forth, my angel.” I can hear John smile.

Tyrone really starts to get into it. “After living for 152 years, Yakub died and ascended to ebon heaven… but his followers would continue on his wonderful eugenics work for six centuries and eventually created the white race!”

I open my eyes and see a group of five soldiers clad in body armor. They’re all shooting at me, but I can see each individual muzzle flash and each individual bullet flying at me.

“This new race traveled to Mecca and were such devils that they were exiled to Europe where they were stripped of everything but language. These white devils would wander the wilderness for centuries eating raw meat and sleeping in caves… until Moses would try to civilize them. Unfortunately, these creatures were too troublesome even for the great prophet, so he slaughtered them with holy dynamite.”

“Farewell.” I get into a wide stance, put my sword at my side, then slash the air in front of me. The air and space itself between me and the soldiers is cut and I am now behind what remains of the soldiers. They’re sliced in more ways than I can count. This does not deter the other soldiers… it never does. They keep shooting and shooting, but I manage to deflect every last bullet. One cultist tries turning ground beneath me to quicksand. Another blows a frigid air that turns everything between him and me into ice. In the distance, I see an Apache helicopter revving up its guns.

“The gorillas tried to reintegrate into the original black nation, but they lacked the capacity to do so. The lesser ones became gorillas. The more advanced ones used tricknology to enslave the black race and bring them to America. Do not believe the devil’s lies that black people sold their brothers into slavery. We would never commit such a heinous sin… but worry not, brothers! The gorillas were only destined to rule for 6,000 years! Our time for domination is at hand!”

I slice the space between me and the copter and teleport myself into the cockpit just behind the pilot. I slice the seat, him, and the entire cockpit in half. The helicopter stops firing and quickly begins falling towards the Earth. I teleport out of the copter and back onto the ground behind a tank and a legion of soldiers heading to the copter crash site. With one horizontal swing, I shoot out a crescent of arcane energy that flies through the air and slices everyone and everything in my line of sight in half. Tanks, buildings, cultists, trees, everything. Every sound, every person, every threat I sense, I slice. I cut through space and through buildings until the entire camp is silent save for the crackling of fire. The campground is looking a tad smaller than it used to. Some buildings are spliced together as if a giant had glued them together haphazardly and some chunks are completely gone. The Chapel is quiet. The Mess Hall is empty. As far as I can tell, I’m the only one left alive.

I teleport back to the courtyard between the Mess Hall and the Apartments where Bennett was and feel my vision, breathing, and hearing slowly return to normal. My chest feels hollow and my head now feels stuffed full of cotton dipped in rubbing alcohol. “John…” I blink and watch the world swirl a little. “Do you still have a signal on Bennett’s radio?”

“I’m sorry, Frederick.” John whispers. “Bennett went offline… but our satellite footage showed some children fleeing to a bunker just under the Chapel in the Northwest edge of the camp… You didn’t happen to slice them, did you?”

“Of course not…” I wheeze and clutch my chest. “I’m not a monster.”

“What’s this?” Frederick’s voice whispers from behind me. “The Angel of Death, feeling remorse?”

I stab behind me and hear my blade pierce something wooden. I pull my blade in front of me and find my sword stuck in yet another log. I sigh and flick the log off. “Alright Ricardo, stop wasting our time. Just face me and we can get this over with.”

“I can’t do that just yet…” Ricardo’s voice comes from three different directions around me. “I have to get some kids to safety.”

“Like heck you are. I’m rescuing those kids.” I start sprinting off towards the Chapel.

“Whoa, whoa… Think about this for a moment.” Ricardo’s voice doesn’t get any louder or quieter no matter where I move. “Do you really think these kids are going to live normal lives anymore?”

“What are you getting at?”

“Unfortunately, these kids know juuuust a little too much.” Not a hint of smarm remains in Ricardo’s voice.

“I know. That’s why I need to keep them safe from monsters like you.” I hop over a disembodied tank tread and keep sprinting Northwest.

“And send them where?” Ricardo asks. “You really think the D.O.H. will keep them safe? Johnny Boy doesn’t want any of this going public either you know.”

“That isn’t true, Will.” John’s voice sounds as steady and secure as ever. “Don’t listen to this freak. Just secure those kids and any evidence you can. I’ll call in the clean up and evac crew right now.”

“I trust the D.O.H. more than the C.I.A.” I slice through a barely standing chain link fence and keep running.

“Why?!” Ricardo raises his voice. “F.B.I., C.I.A., D.O.H.! It doesn’t matter! They’re all heads of the same beast! If either agency gets their hands on these kids, they’re goners!”

“You groom domestic terrorists. I have no reason to trust you.”

“But you’re not saying I’m wrong.”

I approach the East side of the Chapel and see Ricardo trying to force open the bunker door. There’s a console beside it that’s been slashed in three. No matter how hard he pulls or pushes, the door refuses to budge. I slash the air in front of me and shoot out another crescent.

The crescent hits Ricardo…only for him to turn into another log.

“Congrats… Congrats.” Claps echo from atop the Chapel roof.

I look up and see Ricardo sitting on the Chapel roof bleeding from his bicep. “Come down here and fight me.”

“Why can’t you come up here?” Ricardo glares down at me. “Out of that Soldier Juice?”

I try to teleport up to him… but can’t. I understand how to do it, but something just isn’t clicking. “I’m not letting you have those kids.”

“Look, Will, John. You guys win this one, alright?” He claps again. “The D.O.H. wins. Woooo. You can have all the evidence you want in the Church, alright? Nobody’s going to believe any of it anyway.”

“That’s not true.” I shake my head. “Once this hits the news, your little grooming operations are finished.”

Ricardo bursts out laughing. “The news… Don’t make me laugh. All those talking heads are just tools of the government. Suuuure America has a free press on paper, but those news corp owners fold reeeeal quick the second they get a nice enough bribe or threat.” His laughter slowly fades. “That’s assuming Johnny Boy doesn’t just destroy all the evidence. Wouldn’t be the first time he’s done that.”

John is being oddly quiet… Usually he’d chime in with something right about now.

“What’s wrong?” Ricardo continues. “Got nothing left to say? Nothing to refute? Don’t tell me you were sent in here to get the kids instead…”

“Will.” John finally speaks to me. “I don’t care how deep this goes. I don’t care who we have to fight. We will get to the bottom of this, together.”

Sir… Even if we have to fight the Feds?

“Consider this your one favor.” John takes another hit of his cigarette. “Now, get those kids. My sister runs a private orphanage up in Montana. They’ll be safe.”

Understood. I point my blade up at Ricardo. “Sorry, Ricardo… I can’t let you walk away with those kids.”

“Alright… Well.” Ricardo gets up and slowly starts walking down the side of the Chapel. “I tried.” He slicks his hair back and sighs. “If the two of us are going to fight as mere pawns… Call me Hawk.”

“Very well, Hawk, but I’m nobody’s pawn.” I slowly walk towards the Chapel wall.

“You’ll die believing that lie,” Hawk jumps off the wall and throws three hand bombs at me. “DIABLO!!!”

I cut the bombs, only to have them erupt into smoke. The smoke’s so thick I can’t even see my own feet… but I can still hear three pairs of footsteps sprint towards me from behind, my left, and my right. I spin my blade around and hear two logs hit the ground before colliding with something… something I can’t cut.

Whrrrrrrrrrr!

I hear metal vibrating at a pitch so high it feels like my eardrums are about to burst. My blade is pressing against a bright red sai blade.

Half of Hawk’s face erupts from the smoke. “What’s wrong? Mad you actually have to try?”

I can’t slide my sword down towards him. It’s stuck in the crossguard. I decide to just try and slug Hawk instead with my free arm, but another sai blocks my arm.

John! How is he blocking me?!

“I’ve heard about these… They’re called High Frequency Blades. DARPA started developing them around five years ago, but I had no idea they were combat ready.”

I hear a pair of footsteps sprint at me from the right, so I pivot backwards and spin my blade. Focus on the hexachloroethane-zinc, aluminum, and potassium chlorate… I can slice it if you desire. After two spins, the smoke around me dissipates and I see one clone of Hawk charging at me whilst another atop a pile of rubble begins lighting more bombs. That doesn’t answer how he’s blocking me! I take a wide stance and begin parrying Hawk’s sai strikes.

“I was getting to that. The blades vibrate at a high enough speed to mimic your Tech.”

How is that even possible?! Hawk is striking at a speed and finesse I have never seen before. He leaves no openings for me to strike back. I’d stomp his foot or try to kick him, but I can’t focus on his legs and arms at the same time.

“Any Tech can be replicated given enough time, research, and funding.” John sighs. “Your combat data was essential in developing them.”

JOHN! All the smoke from the grenades is starting to catch up with me. Breathing’s getting rough.

“I had no say in the matter.” John’s voice remains as stern as ever. “Even if I did, I would have gladly given your combat data to R&D in a heartbeat.”

WHY?! I see two fire bombs fly over Hawk’s head and land between him and I.

“Because we need more Wills. Allowing other soldiers to harness your Tech would be a tremendous boon.”

No other options. I kick off my shoe and fling it right at Hawk’s chest. It flies right through him and begins falling through a self-made hole in the ground. I don’t think it’ll stop till it hits the core. Unfortunately, the Hawk turns into another log. Fortunately, I can rush over the bombs and towards the next Hawk clone.

“Neat trick,” Hawk flashes a genuine smile before throwing every bomb he has at me.

I slice every bomb I can and actually manage to disable all of them before they can hit the ground. Do you have any advice that can help me kill him?!

Ping ping ping ping ping!

More grenades than I can count roll up from behind me. Before I can jump away or disable them… they all explode.

I brace for my death… but it never comes. No heat. No shrapnel. No loud noises. Just smoke, smoke, and more smoke. All the smoke makes my eyes water and my lungs start to give. I can’t focus on the particles like this… I’m completely defenseless.

“Will!” John calls. “Turn to your 3 o’clock and sprint straight. The wind’s blowing from the East, so you’ll get out of the smoke faster.

I do as John says and keep swinging my blade all around me to just try and keep me safe. After twenty seconds of sprinting, I’m out of the smoke cloud… and that lets me see just how big the cloud actually is. It’s roughly a fourth of the entire camp and is twice as tall as the Chapel. I pivot and look in every direction for Hawk clones, but they never come. Is he patient? Is he toying with me? Am I seconds away from stepping into a trap? What’s going on?

John… Please advise… I rub my eyes and catch my breath.

“Just stay alert and stay alive for now. Wait for the smoke to clear.”

I do just that. After three minutes of agonizing silence the smoke finally clears, Hawk is nowhere to be seen, and the Chapel bunker door is open. “No no no…” I rush towards the bunker with my blade at the ready, enter it, and find a small staircase leading to a pair of open double doors. Go through that and scan the room… It’s empty. No kids, no families, no bodies. Nothing but empty beds and walls covered with canned food. “Darnit!” I stomp the ground and begin walking back above ground. “John! Did the satellites see where Hawk went?!”

“Unfortunately not.” John grumbles.

I just take a deep breath and look around the desolate remains of the cult compound. “Should I just get what I came here for?”

“Indeed.” John affirms. “Just keep your wits about you. Hawk might still have a clone or two around.”

I head straight over to an opulent looking one story structure in the Northeast corner of the compound. The half of it that’s still standing has more banners of that prophet from earlier. Same giant forehead, but the banners look like they were drawn by an epileptic child. The doors are already cut to ribbons, so I walk right in and find that the entire floor is just one big bed. Condom wrappers, various bags of drugs, gas station male enhancement pills, and various body chunks lie scattered throughout the bed. Organ bits and blood are still dripping down the surviving bits of the ceiling and the shattered windows. 26 bodies. 25 female. 1 male. All white.

“John, come in. I’m in Father Tyrone’s sex dungeon, but can’t seem to locate him.” I flick some blood off my shoe.

“While you were fighting Hawk, I had a little birdie do some research on this Tyrone.”

I can hear laughter creeping up from the recesses of John’s throat. “Lay it on me.”

“Do you see a white man with dreads and a gray beard?”

I trudge through the soggy blankets and sticky sheets until I find a trisected head that matches the description. “Yes.”

“That is-” John snorts through his nose. “Tyrone. Born as Joseph Rommel, he quickly rose through the ranks of the C.I.A. until-”

“John,” I scan the room and see what remains of what would have been a sturdy trap door in the upper left corner of the room. “With all due respect, I don’t want to know. Is his backstory mission critical?”

“No, but-”

“Then I don’t want to hear it. It’ll just make me mad.”

“If you insist… If you change your mind, let me know. It’s quite the page turner.”

“I’m sure it is.” I walk down into the trap door and into a basement. There’s a lightswitch where the staircase meets the basement that fortunately still works. I flick the switch on and see a veritable warehouse of illegal items. An entire wall is lined with gold and hundred dollar bills. Another wall is lined with American-made tanks, armored vehicles, and helicopters. Another is lined with refrigerators that could only be housing God knows what. The wall adjacent to the entrance is lined with crates as tall as me, a computer still using Windows 2000, and a device that’s a head shorter than me that looks like a concrete drum covered in wires and square boxes. “John, come in. I’ve located an underground warehouse. It's full of American vehicles, dollars, and a bunch of fridges and crates.”

“Did you investigate the boxes and refrigerators?”

“No. I’m worried there may be diseases or nuclear material in them that aren’t properly stored.”

“Good point.” John assures me. “I just called the cleanup crew. They should be there within 20 minutes.”

“I also found what I believe to be Father Tyrone’s personal computer. Permission to investigate?” I move the mouse and the screen flashes to life. Click on the user icon and find that it’s not password protected.

“Of course. Did you manage to find a password?”

“Don’t need one.” I am greeted by a home image screen of an insanely low res picture of what I think is a fat white woman being spitroasted by two black dudes. Or… actually, I think it could be an uncooked turkey being roasted over a fire. I don’t need to know. I just need to see his emails. “Wasn’t password protected.”

That is what finally gets John to break character and chuckle. “Guess he slept through the computer security training.”

“Or he was coked out of his mind.” I scroll through his emails. A third are written entirely in Chinese or Russian. A third are promotional emails from porn sites. The last third are from someone named David Eagleburger. Out of everything I’ve seen today, that is what causes my stomach to churn. “John, does the name David Eagleburger mean anything to you?”

“...” John sighs.

“Answer me. Sir.”

“Taste and see that the Lord is good.” John replies.

My mouth moves on its own. “Blessed is the one that takes refuge in him…” My body collapses and my brain shuts off. Where am I going? Why does this always happen? Did Ricardo’s gas grenades have something in them? What’s going on? Luke… John. Help me. I’m scared.