“Raven 1, status?” The operator chirped in his ear.

“All quiet, no movement detected.” He responded as he looked through the scope of his Karken AX-36 into a darkened apartment of the building next door.

“Confirmed. There’ve been no short or long range jumps detected, so the target should resurface sooner or later.”

“Request permission for execute-on-sight.”

“Negative Raven-1. You know we can’t have any messes on this one after the Grazen job. Going radio silent for the next hour. If target surfaces ping twice for visual confirmation and await further instructions.”

With a final acknowledgement, Raven-1’s line went silent.

He was laid out on a child’s bed in a dark apartment, half-way up a random tenement building, dressed in his favorite old-school urban tactical kit. Checkered grays and browns and blacks patterned in a fractal array. Not quite as advanced as the latest ghost-kits, but in his opinion far more reliable. He called them his “analogs”, as the getup lacked any of the fancy small spatial storage pouches or advanced tactical ghosting apparatuses that allowed an operative to deatomize and phase through walls, or refract light and create the illusion of invisibility.

He hated the feeling of the very particles of his existence deconstructing and then reforming themselves. A minute or so afterwards always felt worse than the morning after a night of drinking with Palace. Not that Command would ever let one of their precious [Therian]’s drink anything other than the perfectly prepared nutrient shakes. He would just have to take Operator’s word for it.

Luckily, this was a routine termination op on a low value target… really just something to keep him busy in-between bigger gigs and paid to help keep his gear maintained. Another reason he wasn’t required to wear his “ghosties”. Another name he made up to during the monotony of some mission he was on a few cycles ago.

Raven-1’s mind continued to wander for another 45 minutes or so, until a soft amber light floated into his field of view via the aperture of his scoped lens. It ghosted around the apartment, not even enough light to illuminate the lower half of the body carrying the small mage-stick.

Not a problem, He thought and flicked on the active heat-tracing function of his scope, another handy component of his analog set he preferred to any or mana-based implements. It was amazing the lengths his targets would go to to ward against advanced forms of divination-based reconnaissance, but fail to realize they were betrayed by their own body heat, or another equally mundane form of environmental stimuli he was specifically looking for. It was also part of the reason Raven-1 always made sure to put the 1 point he was allowed to choose each level-up into [Perception].

As he looked through the viewport of his scope, a two headed chimera was displayed, painted in the reds and yellows and greens of a heat signature. Of course it wasn’t anything bizarre or overly dangerous, a shorter individual was hiding behind a taller, slimmer figure peering out from behind their back.

“There you are…” He muttered to himself. Keeping his eyes pinned to the scope he clicked the comms button on the side of his Karken twice.

“Visual confirmation?” The operator asked.

“Negative. Heat only. Two bodies.”

“Confirmed…” the operator continued on the line, “Execute authorization approved. Happy hunting.”

“Roger. Out.” 

Raven-1, slowed his breathing, clicking the safety off on a smooth exhale. The heat-highlighted humanoids continued to creep through the apartment, slowly making their way to the front door. The subtle crosshair of the scope tracked them through a few bedrooms, then they disappeared down a hallway towards a living room with large bay windows. Raven-1 zoomed in on the visible room, waiting for them to make their way to the front door at the back. A perfect killbox with his targets free and clear of any relevant cover or obstructions.

He waited, and waited. Unexpectedly, the pair never emerged from the hallway they had traveled down.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Frowning, he scanned the way the pair had come. Nothing. He swept his gaze back to the room. No movement.

Then, after a few more sweeps he noticed a flash of heat where the pair had originally emerged from. A small heat source, about the size of a child scurried through the rooms and disappeared into the hallway.

Raven-1’s heart sank, a sense of dread overcoming him. He knew what this was, and as much as he told himself it was just a job, it wasn’t. After all, he had failed his last one spectacularly. His only failure on an otherwise spotless kill-list. Still Command didn’t care about things like understanding, or forgiveness. No, only results mattered.  This wasn’t a job. After the Grazen failure, it was a test. It was just like Command to throw something like this together to test the capacity and obedience of their agents.

He ground his teeth and his grip tightened around the handle of his rifle. A head poked out of the hallway. The tallest of the three. They clearly knew they were being hunted, and despite the clumsy stumbling about they took as many precautions as they could think of.

The contrast of yellows and reds against the black backdrop swam in his vision.  Unbidden, memories of the last job started to resurface. Fires, caused by his [Raygren-X] incendiary grenades. The cries of innocent servants and maids as they burned alive. A woman laying in a pool of her own, slowly congealing blood. A man whimpering on the ground as Raven-1 stood over him like the [Incarnation] of Death itself, the flames of hell causing him to appear as a nothing but a dark specter. And the same sobbing man held a tiny girl, whose purple eyes were not shut, but stared back at him in fear and horror and condemnation. Judging him. Bringing to the forefront of his awareness the self-loathing and self-hatred and impotence brewing in his heart over the past decade.

And he couldn’t get those condemning purple eyes from his mind. So the colors of heat painted onto the back of his genetically enhanced eyes slid into and out of each other, slowly morphing into a pair of wrathful purple eyes. They filled him with dread and regret and pain, for everything he was and all that he knew he could never become. Those eyes condemned him. His breath hitched.

Calm. Deep breaths. Keep it together. We’ll play this according to protocol.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  The world slid back into perspective. Only a second, which felt like an eternity had passed.

Releasing his grip on the trigger, he checked on the apartment once more. The head appearing for a second had disappeared once more. They were still hidden in the hallway, so he would take the risk and contact command.

“Command, mission parameters changed. We have 3 bodies, one of them appears to be a child. Request mission abort.”

Silence reigned over the channel. Raven-1’s heart hammered in his chest, as he waited for a response.

“Negative, Raven-1. Confirm termination order.”

That sense of dread that had been building in his heart fully manifested. His mind blanked. Those angry purple eyes flashed again in front of him with hatred and scorn filling their gaze.

He derided himself, he knew he couldn’t do it. Command knew it too, and now that he had failed twice, they would dispose of him as they did to all other Ravens. Raven-1’s heart burned at his helplessness. They let him choose to obey or not. Something about volition and an assassin’s efficacy, but that was the extent of any rebellion he could manifest. The truth of his situation could not be denied, and the reality of his feelings and conviction sank in.

The sigils carved into the tops of his hands started to burn. The Oath he’d been forced to swear started to take effect, to force his compliance or punish his disobedience.

Raven-1 grit his teeth at the onset of the pain. But he just couldn’t do it. There was no pain worse than the heart wrenching hatred he saw in those spectral, violet eyes.

Just then, a set of heat blobs darted for the door of the apartment. He took a deep breath and acknowledged his fate. The brands would continue to increase and apply pain to his existence. Pretty soon they would leave him insensate. He needed to move.

“Negative command. There was a child. That was outside mission parameters. I’m bugging out.”

The line was dead for a while. Raven-1 threw himself off the bed, snatching up his rifle and quickly disassembling it. He wrapped up the rest of his gear and swung his tac-pack onto his shoulders. He was out of the apartment in less than 30 seconds. As he stepped across the threshold, into an unknown future. The brand’s burning suddenly spiked. He didn’t have much longer. Operator finally responded.

“Confirmed, Raven-1. It was nice knowing you… while it lasted.” He thought he sensed a hint of regret in their voice, “I would wish you luck, for all the good it will do you. But we all know a [Therian] has none. Goodbye, Drazeen.” The line clicked off.

Raven-1 frowned. What a weird thing to say. And who was Drazeen? He had no idea, and no time to think. 

He threw himself down the hallway and into a dark stairwell at a mad dash. The pain continued to ratchet up, now targeting the pain receptors all over his body, making it feel like he was being exposed to an all-consuming blaze.

Quickly he reached the bottom of the building, and made his way out onto the street and started to run down alleyways and through random intersections in the complex maze of tenement buildings.

He knew running was hopeless. After all, the brands served not just as an implement of control and torture, but to track him.  They would be able to find him regardless. To Command, he was nothing more than disobedient livestock. If annoying them by making it harder to get him was all the rebellion he could muster, then he would go as deep into the tenements as possible.