The CSTU’s engines roared as it came to a careful landing in front of an old shack. Save for the two guards who were standing outside—both of which were wearing standard Centurion-issued gear—there was nothing to hint at this shack’s importance. On its face, it looked like a dump.
Andvari flicked his lit cigarette into the rain as the vessel came to a stop. He blew out a puff of smoke, then retrieved his helmet from the seat next to him. He slipped it on, then swept a finger down the side. The helmet responded with a hiss, fastening to his suit. A quick overview of his assault rifle and pistol showed no abnormalities.
Andvari exhaled, then exited the CSTU vessel, his assault rifle in both hands, his pistol fit snug into the holster on his thigh. The two guards saluted as Andvari approached, and he offered the men a nod. “SPECTRE Andvari.”
“Corporeal Sean,” the man to his left said.
“Private Devin,” the right one said.
“How’s it look in there?” Andvari asked.
“Not good,” Sean said. His voice shook as he spoke. “We… we don’t even know what truly happened. I don’t know how to explain it.”
“Try.”
Devin spoke. “I think I saw what happened. I only caught glimpses, though. Tripwires everywhere, sir. Explosives, high-energy devices. Whoever set this up had no plan of walking out.”
Andvari frowned. “Let’s not assume anything, Private. Do you know if he’s protecting anything? A person? Gear? Anything like that?”
The men shook their heads. “We aren’t privileged to that information,” Sean said.
“Under whose orders?”
“Commander Lara, sir.”
Andvari’s furrow deepened. Commander Lara hadn’t been forthright about what he was doing here either. Only that he was meant to extract data from the main computer. Something about the mission didn’t sit right with him. The commander was no stranger to hiding details, but this was a little too hazy, even for her.
“Do you have the chip?” Andvari asked.
“Right here, sir,” Sean said, procuring a small chip from within his helmet. It had a unique engraving on it, bearing detailed sigils and etchings he’d never seen before. “It’s supposed to be special somehow.”
Andvari took the chip and rotated it in his hand to have a better look. Besides the odd etchings, it looked perfectly normal. Extra encryption security, perhaps. He slipped the chip into his helmet’s socket and a small notification came on screen in the bottom right-hand corner that a new device had been connected.
“Seems to be in working order.” Andvari glanced at the ammo read—120 shots—on the side. “Keep the area secure. If you don’t hear back from me in an hour, assume I’m dead.”
The men passed uncomfortable looks before saluting. “Yes, sir!”
Andvari opened the dilapidated door, surprised when he saw that the shack led to a deep underground tunnel, dug halfway into the wall with a sharp incline. He kneeled down and flicked on the light fixture attached to his weapon. The tunnel went on for dozens of meters, with no clear indicator of where its end was. Worse yet, the tunnel didn’t seem to expand or widen in any way.
He’d have to crawl his way down.
He clicked his tongue and stood up. “Great,” he muttered. He slipped his weapon into the groove on the back of his suit and extracted the pistol from its holster. Cricking his neck side to side, he descended to his hands and knees and started down the tunnel.
What the hell is so damn important in this rundown shack that they need a SPECTRE to crawl on his stomach for it?
As his thoughts consumed him, he switched on the night vision module in his helmet. The tunnel came to him in stunning green and black, offering him a modicum of relief. He kept his breathing slow and easy as he traversed the tight-fitting cave—one of the most important things you could do in situations like these. His superiors taught him extensively on how to stay calm in stressful situations. Many of them were adamant about how some of the most anxiety-riddled situations often occurred when nothing was happening while you were in a vulnerable position.
The warmth of the cave was growing, and he embraced every moment of it. There was little more he could do, and it was often better to revel in one’s situation than allow it to control you. His heart pounded against his chest, and he was being honest, he fought down the urge to crawl backward. The death of a SPECTRE was rare—exceptionally so—and he didn’t want to become just another blood stain.
He continued to focus on his breathing, vanquishing the thoughts altogether. After what felt like an eternity, some semblance of an end came into view. To make sure he wasn’t seeing things, he turned off the night vision.
Sure enough, hints of light came into view. He couldn’t differentiate one light from another, and ultimately it appeared dim from this distance, but there could be no doubt about it—something lay in wait at the end.
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Damn, I can’t wait for this to be over.
He hissed through his teeth and refrained from speeding up. As old and tired as the phrase ‘patience is a virtue’ was, there couldn’t be a more proper saying for his situation. One wrong move and he’d end up like the other SPECTRE and any of the other men who were sent down here. So, he continued forward, sensing a slight decline as he did.
The decline expedited his descent slightly and he fought against it, worried that he may fall victim to a trap at the end. As he approached the end, a sense of relief washed over him and he slowed himself to a halt, crawling slowly and carefully toward the taunting light.
Bridging the gap between the tunnel and the area beyond were tiles. Old and peeling, they looked to be at least decades in age, dirt and grime wedged between the material. Most of the tiles had their corners standing up, creating a disturbing arrangement that resembled blades of grass. Tufts of green sprouted out from between some of the stuff, and insects scuttled away at his presence.
What the hell? Where am I?
Andvari felt around the corners of the walls for any potential traps or weapons. Better to lose a finger or two than his head. After a thorough but quick pat down, he scooted closer, his pistol extended. The light was brighter now, but not by much. The room was dark, illuminated by a light from another room somewhere farther down.
With his blood pumping a mile a minute, Andvari poked his head out of the hole and looked around the room. Flipping his night vision back on, the room came in clearer. Shelves and lockers littered the room in a chaotic array. The walls were made of concrete and an old ceiling light hung above him a few paces away. The sound of dripping water echoed against the walls, and shattered remains of circuitry lay upon the floor.
Andvari extended the top half of his body, felt the floor, then carefully rose up onto his feet. Suddenly, the pungent stench of iron and decay made its way to his nostrils. A closer look around the room displayed spatters of liquid—most likely blood and explosion residue—and the limbs and viscera of several people.
Fucking hell.
Andvari kept his breath steady and moved forward with caution, both hands on his pistol. Glass and pebbles crunched and scratched the tile as he moved, a testament to how old this place was. As he neared a section where several lockers lay in wait with their doors torn off, he stopped and leaned forward to look inside. At the bottom was a rusty old bear trap, waiting for some poor fool to step into its jaws.
“Ah, shit,” Andvari hissed under his breath. He tapped one end of his gun with his pointer finger, then exhaling two quick breaths, he maneuvered one leg behind the bear trap, pushing it aside—toward the bottom of the locker—with his foot. Afterward, he stepped inside the locker with both feet, then after a quick glance over the edge, he stepped out and back onto the tile floor. He continued to move like this from locker to locker, making his way across the room at the most comfortable pace he could manage.
With the scattered remains of lockers and shelves behind him, he kept his eyes glued to the floors and walls for any signs of tripwires or explosives. Black marks and holes pocked the walls of the facility, serving as a strong warning for any who would dare approach. Andvari continued to find the remains of soldiers as he went on, finding fewer and fewer traps and blood on the way.
When he came to a pair of rooms on his flanks, he gave pause. He could hear something whirring—no, clicking. The sound wasn’t unlike what he usually heard in the R&D section of Centurion Headquarters. As he leaned his head to the right to get a better look, he saw several computers and laptops hooked up to the remnants of a generator. At the back of the room was a larger computer, marked by dozens of bullet holes. Beside the computer lay a man in a white lab coat with a gun in his hand. His head was missing and the wall behind him was painted with blood and brain matter.
Seeing a tripped wire extending from one side of the door, outward, Andvari carefully made his way into the room, looking to both sides. To his left was a black mark stretching across the floor and wall. On the opposite side of the room were the limbs of a man, dressed in SPECTRE armor. A bead of sweat slid down the side of Andvari’s temple, and the helmet’s cooling system revved up to combat the heat moisture collecting inside.
As Andvari’s gaze explored the details of the room, he caught an explosive taped to the wall opposite of where the black mark was. It looked homemade and taped together haphazardly with duct tape. A blinking red light at the front indicated that it was still armed.
A picture was beginning to coalesce.
One clean shot in the head, and the explosive goes off, he thought. Damn it, if you had just been more patient.
Andvari turned off his night vision and carefully made his way through the room toward the dead scientist. Dozens of laptops and computers continued to calculate while lines of code ran down each screen. He frowned, having never seen something like this. At the back of the wall was where he assumed his target was. Extracting the chip from his helmet, he approached the main computer and used his ring finger to click on the communicator in his helmet.
“SPECTRE Andvari. Have you located the target?” Commander Lara asked, her voice choppy and distorted.
“I think so. Unfortunately, our suspect was dead when I arrived,” Andvari said. “I see a large computer in front of me. Is this my target?”
“Yes,” Lara said, “insert the chip and download the data. I’ll be expec—”
The communication cut off and Andvari shook his head. Not surprising, with the amount of concrete and dirt surrounding him. It was a miracle he was able to manage a connection in the first place. Exhaling through his nose, he holstered his gun and looked for an area where he could slip the chip in. Across the desk against the wall was a black box with several outputs attached to one end. As he followed the cord under the desk, he saw that it was attached to the main unit that appeared to be powering this monster computer.
The numerous screens flickered, and figuring he didn’t have much time left, found a spot for the chip and inserted it. The OS was an older one, but not one Andvari wasn’t familiar with. Moments later, he found an option that allowed him to transfer the information, then began the sequence.
He breathed a sigh of relief, cocked his head back, and allowed his arms to fall to his sides. He would’ve gone through a hundred firefights before doing something like this. At least in a firefight he knew who his enemies were, how to counteract them, when he was being outgunned or outmanned. It was when he couldn’t see his opponents, know what he was up against, or how to fight back that he started to lose some of his nerve.
Well, that was fun. Let’s never do this again.
A notification beeped, and Andvari brought his attention back to the screen. A message in caps lock stated, ‘WARNING. DATA CORRUPTED.’
Andvari clicked his tongue and extracted the chip. From his experience, not every computer was equipped to give him the information he needed, but with how top-of-the-line his suit was, he slipped the chip into his helmet and waited. A notification came up moments later with the same message. The image flickered for a moment, and he tapped the side of the helmet.
He let out a sigh of disappointment, “Damn it,” he muttered.