Wednesday, February 21st, 3000
Time: 1200 hrs
Location: Earth, Classified, South America
"Where the heck is this guy?" Dwight cursed under his helmet as noon approached. Seated on a densely forested hill, back against a tree, legs outstretched, he clutched a semi-automatic Boomslang sniper rifle. The sun bore down on thickly leaved trees, concealing his position. Patiently, he had waited for eight hours, overseeing a grand mansion draped in a single shade of white. Perched atop a hill, it boasted a swimming pool almost the size of a basketball court—a perfect vantage point for distant observation, and today, the observer was Dwight.
Contemplating why he took the job, Dwight found himself deep into the hours. But why back out now? The one who had given him this task was Santiago Pereira, an elderly man. His mission: eliminate a notorious drug lord named Francisco Oliveira, aka Ghost Face, covered head to toe in unmistakable tattoos.
Inside Dwight's helmet, it felt like a furnace. The temptation to take it off and relax gnawed at him, yet vigilance held. The advanced helmet, like those worn by military forces worldwide, displayed an array of sophisticated instruments neatly arranged on the left side of the heads-up display. Dwight currently utilized the magnifier, seamlessly connected to his neural uplink.
The revelers below, oblivious to his presence, partied and drank. Yet, with a quick squeeze of his trigger, their lives could be extinguished. The approaching 1300 hrs brought no sign of his target. An hour of sitting had made Dwight's rear nearly numb. The party raged on, and Francisco was an hour late. Exhaustion took hold, and Dwight contemplated a brief rest. However, fate seemed to toy with him. A motorcade of Cadillacs, five in total, arrived swiftly, halting at the automatic gate. If this wasn't Francisco, something had gone awry.
Dwight rose to one knee, Boomslang close, barrel facing the ground, finger on the trigger guard. He was eager to end this, and as the Cadillacs entered the mansion, men in black suits emerged. Nothing about them intrigued him except the cliché image of generic villains from old movies. Anticipation gripped him as he raised the rifle barrel towards the mansion.
The HUD placed red squares on the faces of the men, seeking a match with the image on the screen. At last, the square turned green, and a smile crept up Dwight's cheek. He checked the suppressor, tightened his grip, and tracked Francisco. With a deep breath, he squeezed the trigger. A muffled bang echoed, distorted as it traveled, concealing his position. He waited a moment, and the bullet found its mark. Francisco dropped like a brick underwater, leaving nothing but a red mist.
Mission complete.
Bodyguards rushed to his aid, futilely. Dwight slung his rifle over his shoulder, descending the forested hill. At the tree line's edge, his old-time Land Rover awaited—black, massive, bulletproof. He waited for the road to clear before dashing for the SUV, jumping in, and igniting the engine with a growl. Accelerating down the road, "Phonk" by Igarashi Kanta blasting through the speakers, Dwight took off his helmet. A bright explosion of light momentarily disoriented him, revealing a stunning blue sky with clouds scattered across its vastness. The distant whirring of thrusters from a massive cargo ship marked ORCO reached his ears as lush green trees flanked the straight, wide road ahead.
The drive lasted about an hour. Dwight maneuvered down a dirt path until he reached the gated hotel he had rented, proudly titled "Morada de Ben." It cost more than he preferred, but it trumped settling for a rundown shack. Exiting his vehicle, he unlocked the massive black gate with the received key. He entered, securing the entrance before navigating down the pebbled driveway and parking in the open garage. The hotel, painted yellow, boasted an array of South American plants enclosed in a short cage connected to the house.
Weary but determined, Dwight needed to collect payment and exit the country by the next morning. He gathered his gear, stowing them into a crate deceptively labeled "potatoes." After a refreshing shower, he collapsed onto the couch, turning on the blocky Samsung TV and connecting his uplink to his phone. Browsing through contacts, he located the one named "Asshole." In less than a second, the contact answered.
"A Víbora! What is up, my friend?!" Dwight's enthusiastic voice spoke with a comically terrible accent.
"I am doing well, Americano," the old man replied in a heavy Brazilian accent. "I assume you have finished the job?"
"That's right, it's done," Dwight said, leaning back.
Silence hung before the old man responded. "Nice work, Americano! Expect the full payment in an hour or two."
"Looking forward to it, thank you."
"No need to thank me; after all, it's what you deserve." Abruptly, he disconnected the call. It was so unexpected Dwight couldn't help but look at the phone. His attention was now fixated on the TV as the breaking news caught his attention. A female reporter had a look of distress as she prepared her viewers for the news. Quickly, he dashed to the refrigerator and acquired a cold beverage as the reporter relayed the news.
"Twenty minutes ago, a brutal, destructive attack occurred at a Helium-3 refinery in China in the Sichuan province in the Xichang area. A suspect recognized as being from the terrorist organization known as Vertumnus entered the factory and began to murder the refinery workers in cold blood. We do not have confirmation on how many had been killed or injured, but unofficial confirmations put the death toll at over 100. Armed guards at the facility then eliminated the suspect. Officials said, and I quote,
'If he had not been eliminated, he would have detonated an explosive, making the death toll astronomical.'
Dwight listened intently as he slowly began to open a can of soda. His eyes were opened so wide he had to force himself to blink. "Damn, these guys have balls!" He said, inhaling the soda and letting out a deep and guttural burp. Picking up the remote, he turned off the TV and got about his business. He packed his gear in the trunk of the SUV and headed to his room. It was a good-sized room with a king-size bed directly underneath a small window with rust dotted along the burglar bars. To the left of the bed was a massive white-painted closet with four sliding doors that folded. A black duffle bag lay beside the bed opened, with a sturdy laptop sticking out of the opening. He grabbed it and jumped onto the bed covering himself with the sheets. Dwight powered the computer on and began searching through a list of jobs on software that was "more secure than any government"—or at least that's what the guy who made it told him. His eyes darted from word to word as he tried to find a job more suitable for him. They were hit jobs on Mars in the city of Olympus, and some on the underground cities on the moon such as Armstrong City under the Sea Of Tranquility. They all paid well, but Dwight never liked to leave Earth; if he ever did, it was because he had to, and to his luck, he found a good one just a hop away. It was titled "Hit job," with a location leading to Berlin, Germany. Dwight messaged the guy who put out the job telling him he was on his way in a fortnight.
In the time Dwight scrolled through those jobs, two hours had passed, and not a single notification popped up, allowing him to know if he received payment. He picked up his phone and called the old guy, but his number was no longer available. "What the heck?!" He said as he called once more. He received the same answer. This was Dwight's third job, and the thought of him being scammed made his blood boil. "Shit!"
It was now 6:25 pm, and outside already looked like it was midnight. Dwight had a flight tomorrow at 8:00 am, and he was going to visit that Viper before he left. He placed his computer in the bag, and as soon as he hit the pillow, he fell asleep.
Dwight dreamt of a scene familiar to him as a child. He sat in the back seat of his father's car with his brother and sister on either side of him. His mother and father were in the front, and their voices sounded muffled. Shadowy figures that looked like smoke approached the car with weapons, and their red glowing eyes illuminated the window as they approached. The shadowy figure raised a hand holding a handgun and pointed it at his father's window, signaling him to roll it down. His father did as was told. Dwight looked to his siblings, who had looks of horror on their faces then looked back to their father and the shadowy figure with red eyes. He had the gun to their father's head. He pulled the trigger and squeezed; he screamed, but no sound emerged. The figure pulled the trigger, but it didn't sound like the bang of a gun but the bang of a piece of wood or glass. Everything went black, and Dwight continued to hear the same sounds. Bump! Thump!
He awoke, and he could still hear the sound of thumping. Dwight raised his head to witness something that made his heart race. The blue light of the moon painted the shadow of the iron guard and of a male figure hitting the window on the door. Dwight's eyes widened as he realized what was happening. Slowly, he shuffled himself off the bed hoping the man did not see him. He didn't know what the glass was made out of, but it held up quite well.
He grabbed the black duffle bag beside his bed took out a vest and equipped a T5 plasma stinger SMG along with three magazine chargers. It was an all-black and compact bullpup SMG.
The window finally broke. There was no way anyone was getting through that window, and anything they threw would just bounce right off.
"What were they trying to do?" Dwight thought to himself as he shoved all three magazines into his pockets. Soon, his question was answered. A thin hose was inserted through the guards and a hissing sound followed after—they were trying to smoke him out. Dwight took a shirt from the closet and wrapped it tightly around his face. He didn't know what it was, but it became difficult to breathe. He looked around trying to find an exit but, "if they were trying to smoke him out, that meant someone was on the other side waiting," He thought to himself.
Dwight found the only way out of this hell, and that was the closet. He ran to it and shut the folding doors hoping only a minimum amount of gas entered. Dwight took even more clothing and pushed it against his face. Soon after, he heard a loud bang and multiple footsteps entering the room. "Where is he?!" A deep voice, muffled by static asked. He silently heard the charge, and now his weapon was chambered. He waited for them to search the
Dwight shuffled over as quickly as he could to the right side. They opened the side where he once sat. "This section is clear!" A man said. One of their feet thumped the floor as they came to the section Dwight was at. He lifted his submachine gun and squeezed the trigger fanning his hand from left to right so not a single part of this room would be missed. The closet lit up with a bright violet light and with the sharp sound of the weapon. Dwight switched to the first section of the closet while loading a second magazine. He did this knowing that some of them would be alive—and they were. The section Dwight was previously in was fired upon but he was out. He dashed from his position and fired upon the men with impunity who lay on the ground. Most of them were lifeless but one man sat upright injured with his rifle pointed at the closet. The man whom Dwight noticed had his weapon still aimed at the closet ignorant of his presence. He finally noticed him and his eyes widened as he knew he was about to meet his end.
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He raised both hands letting his rifle drop carelessly on the ground. "Don't do anything stupid," the man said with a New York accent. This piqued the interest of Dwight, who decided to satiate his curiosity. Dwight stepped closer, "Who sent you guys after me, hmm?" He asked, tightening his grip on the weapon. The man sat resolutely, not making a move. He contorted his nose and sniffled, with every action being illuminated by the blue lights in his opened helmet. " I could tell ya, but first you gotta lemme stand, aight, no funny business," the man, proposed. Dwight was reluctant but after a long exhale, he nodded for the man to rise.
Not once did Dwight blink, every single move the man made sent stabs of fear in his chest. "We're getting somewhere," the man said, not breaking eye contact with Dwight. "Now," Dwight said. "Tell me who sent you here, I won't ask-" Before he could finish his sentence the man dashed toward him, and for being in such armor, he moved quickly. In his left hand was a blade that glowed red. Dwight lost his balance at the sudden charge of the man, but he still had his hand on the trigger.
He squeezed it, and a flash of light emerged from the muzzle, and the man became limp. In total, five expertly equipped men lay on the bedroom floor.
Dwight's heart was still racing after that confrontation.
He had one magazine left. He ejected the wasted one and loaded in his last. Dwight crouched to pick up the modified Cobra assault rifle with an electronic sight, an angled foregrip, and a rectangular suppressor. He then looked at his uniform for any patches of attachment to any government agency. He found a patch but, he wasn't from any branch of the G.U.P. He was a mercenary, from the Red Serpent Company, and he had the gear to back it up. These were the most sought-after groups due to their track record. A quick and lethal group that got the job done.
Dwight stepped over their bodies and made his way to the door. He peeked his head out and looked from right to left before exiting. He walked slowly with his weapon at the ready. He couldn't hear a peep, but he knew there were more of them. Taking light steps, he walked down the stairs. It was pitch black, but the patio light brought some illumination to the dark room. The sound of heavy boots approached the front door. Their shadows were stretched and painted on the red carpet floor, and they whispered loudly but incoherently. Dwight walked rapidly, and he stood by the door, and slowly, they opened it with a creak. When they entered, one of them was going to look this way, and Dwight was going to be ready. Dwight saw the muzzle of the attacker's weapon pass the door, and he knew this was an opportune moment. He stepped back and opened fire—the sharp cracks coming from the suppressed muzzle of the assault rifle made his ears feel clogged. The glass in the door violently shattered, and both of the men dropped to the floor; one grunting as he did so. Dwight walked up to them and made sure they were finished.
Taking a moment to pause, he stared at their shocked faces illuminated by the blue light in their open visors. A hint of sympathy washed over him, but he got back on track when the cold blood spreading on the floor touched his bare feet. He took up three magazines from the body closest to the doorway, and he exited. Dwight had no time to put on shoes. If these men were professionals, that means more were on their way. He got in the truck and shoved his key into the ignition. He pushed the shifter into drive and stomped on the gas. The engine growled as he made his way toward the gate. Increasing the speed, Dwight smashed through. The truck bounced and shook as he sped on the dirt path. Dwight's heart sank to his feet as his theory was correct. The floodlights of trucks approaching shone brightly, making him squint. He swerved off the path, dodging the truck that tried to hit him. He got a good look at how many vehicles approached: One pickup and five black Chevrolets, all occupied by armed men.
Through his rearview mirror, sand kicked up as the men whipped their vehicles around. He was startled at the thump of three bullets hitting his back window, leaving three craters.
Their engines roared as they gradually caught up to him. He was approaching a hill that led to the main road. He struggled to stay in his seat as the truck bounced on the uneven road. A long drawn-out roar came from the engine as he began to traverse a hill leading to a main road. Dwight's truck got a couple of seconds of air as it jumped onto that road, landing violently and throwing the boxes in the back. The car that sped toward him braked hard with a screech. He pushed down the gas once more and turned the steering wheel to his right, violently straightening the vehicle.
The trucks emerged from the dirt path onto the road and immediately gave chase. He kept looking at the mirror hoping to see if he gained some distance, but they were right on his tail. He went for a second look but ducked, surprised at the sudden automatic fire that erupted. His back window was now peppered with craters.
He stretched over to his right seat and grabbed the Stinger. The pickup truck was gaining. A roar erupted to his right as the pickup was now at the right side of his vehicle with a total of five heavily armed men. To Dwight's surprise, they weren't as well equipped as the men who stormed his house, and he barely recognized they didn't speak English either. One of the men raised their AK-12 modified to shoot plasma rounds toward him. The man let off the first rounds followed by the others.
Dwight's heart pounded in his chest as the sounds of their bullets hitting his window made the hair at the back of his neck stand. At any moment, that glass could break. Reluctantly, he swerved toward them. He could see nothing but bright lights. He braced himself for the moment the car would hit, and when it did, it was violent. The glass facing his attackers shattered. Dwight pointed his SMG toward them and opened fire. He tightened his grip as the recoil, along with the road conditions, threw off his aim. He managed to eliminate two of them and injure the rest.
He was approaching a sharp turn, and lights illuminated the plants on the side of the road. Dwight furrowed his brow as the fate the pickup next to him was about to face would be devastating. He turned his wheel to the left and smoothly passed the corner. The same could not be said about the pickup truck. The long blare of a fusion-powered semi-truck's airhorn was the warning. In a chaotic head-on, a metallic thump followed by crunching occurred. In a flash, the pickup was removed from his sight, leaving only pieces of it bouncing on the road. That was one down, but there were five more to go. Before he could even figure out what to do next, one of the Chevys slammed right into the back of his SUV. Dwight picked up some speed, but it wasn't enough. We were now on a straight road with high hills to his left. More thumps were heard as the men opened fire on the already battered back window.
His heart was racing relentlessly, just thinking of all the things that might happen to him if he were to be captured. While in his thoughts, one of the Chevy's engines revved and tried to pit him. He panicked, tightly gripping the steering wheel trying to keep control of the vehicle. Dwight's SMG was out of bullets leaving only the assault rifle.
'What am I going to do? Fuck!' Dwight said while looking around to see where he could go, his sight led him to an abandoned building in the hills. Dwight was approaching it rapidly, but if he wanted a chance to fight back he needed cover.
Dwight kept his eyes peeled for a dirt road leading up the hill to the building, and sure enough, He found one. He dug his foot into the acceleration and lifted the handbrake while simultaneously, he whipped the steering wheel to the left; he felt the back tires lose traction just as the car began to turn. He turned the steering wheel in the opposite direction to straighten the car as he pushed down the handbrake and mashed the acceleration once more, his SUV speeding up the hill with
In the distance, Dwight could hear the Chevys approaching. He took up the assault rifle and the three magazines in his seat. At the last moment, he remembered he had kept a knife in his glove box. Quickly, he took it out and shoved it into his pocket.
Dwight's heart continued to pound' as the trucks got even closer. He ran hard and fast to the entrance of the building, just as the men arrived. He was about to enter before he heard the whistle and whip as the bullet slammed into the building kicking up dust and barely missing him. In front were stairs. Quickly, he climbed them and found himself in a hallway that was dimly lit by the moonlight. It stretched and ended at a dark abyss that led to who knows where. He ran toward that abyss, for it was his only refuge against the hell illuminated by the moon's light.
The minutes felt like hours as Dwight quickly maneuvered through the abandoned building. He did this all while the sounds of men who were beginning to breach the building echoed throughout it. Dwight made his way down another dark hallway, and with every door he passed, he shook the lock hoping that it would be open. He reached another door but stumbled as his hands touched nothing. He dashed into the even darker room, which he soon realized was a bathroom.
Dwight rests his back against the wall of the bathroom not realizing that he was breathing rapidly. The relentless pounding of his heart made his hands shiver along with the adrenaline.
He chambered a round into the assault rifle and held it so the barrel was facing upward. Dwight took three quick breaths, and as he stopped the light sound of feet shuffling was heard. Then he heard their voices; Incoherent whispers of impending doom.
As he sat there with his rifle at the ready, he contemplated how he got himself into this situation. It made him chuckle, but he was snapped out of his daze as the sound of their feet got even closer. "We got a corner here," the man said, voice warped by his voice modulator. The lights of their weapons illuminated the bathroom door. It also showed Dwight that there was another hallway to run to. He slowly got up, when suddenly, a loud thump was heard; they were breaking down doors---this was his shot.
Dwight gripped his weapon, and without hesitation dashed for the second hallway.
"Contact!" One of the men said before opening fire. Dwight felt something hit his side but he was too jacked on adrenaline to care. "Target on the move!" Another man said, his voice echoing throughout the building. Dwight knew they were about to turn that corner, so reluctantly, he stopped and knelt before opening fire. His bullets hit the wall kicking up smoke and stopping the men in their tracks. He arose and backed away all the while laying down fire.
Through the corner of his left eye, he saw an open door next to two broken windows. He entered the room filled with old and rusted metal cabinets all lined up neatly with five cabinets in four rows. On the opposite side of the room was another door. The footsteps of the men from the previous engagement were slowly coming closer. Dwight fast-walked to the second door.
His heart skipped a beat, and he contemplated running away but, this was the only way out. The second door creaked and slowly gained speed as the weight of the person on the other side pushed it open. In a feat of expert reflex and strength, Dwight slapped the muzzle of his attacker downward. An audible gasp of intense fear emerged from the attacker's voice modulator. With quick speed and unfathomable strength, Dwight grabbed the man by his collar, and right arm and threw him overhead, slamming him into the concrete floor, and in the blink of an eye, he shoved his knife into the man's neck.
"What the hell?!" A voice called out. The multiple clatters of footsteps began to come toward him. He could not go forward, and he could not go back. So the only way was out. The thought of what they would do if they captured him made all fears of killing himself wash away. He tensed, his fingers ready to squeeze the trigger, those soldiers were almost here, but he could not push himself to do it.
He hid in between the cabinets and began to fire wildly at the first door and the second door. "Shit!" One of the attackers said, suddenly, and as a surprise to Dwight, a woman spoke, her voice raspy.
"You don't have to do this, Harper, just drop your weapon and come out!" She pleaded.
Dwight did not know how to respond, he did not want to die, but he did not want to give up himself either. Alas, he took too long to respond.
"Alright then, bring the pain!" The woman shouted.
Three loud metallic clatters entered the room, and before he could figure out what it was, three sharp bangs rang out, causing his ears to ring like a bell, his vision went black for a second before returning to him blurry.
The soldiers entered the room and cuffed Dwight's arms behind his back. He wanted to fight back, but all he saw was double, and his right side was in pain.
"Should've surrendered when you had the chance, Harper." She tapped the soldier closest to his face with the back of her hand, before giving him an order. "Light's out, then bag him." The man grunted with a nod, before striking him once, then twice, then Dwight blacked out."