Dirk’s neon path led him off to the side and down a narrow side alley between the mock buildings. He couldn’t help but look up towards the dark ceiling above and wonder just what kind of money Ouroboros had to pump into this place.
The chamber housing the fake city was massive, perhaps equalling even the underground hangars below the Imperial Palace.
Well, at least one of them.
Still, it was an amazing sight to behold, but one just had to wonder. How? How did Ouroboros manage to excavate all this space? And how come Dirk never even heard of this place during his active service for the Empire in the first place? Gigatons of dirt and rock had to be moved to achieve those results, and that in itself would take years, if not decades, to complete. Money was, of course, of no concern to the medical company, but logistically something didn’t add up.
Was Ouroboros that good at concealing their activities from Imperial spies scattered throughout the Russian lands, or was something else afoot here? Because when thinking of any high-caliber excavations in the past two decades or so, Dirk drew a complete blank.
This place either had to be way older than that, or new and constructed in complete secrecy. Dirk leaned towards the second option, which in all honesty unnerved him a little.
Ouroboros has always been its own entity separate from the Empire, merely serving under it, but this level of unsanctioned activity would require an ungodly amount of money, influence and workforce.
But either way, it was impressive that Ouroboros had training grounds this massive at their disposal. It wouldn’t be weird if they trained their own special forces here in urban warfare and the like.
If they could somehow get a tank down here, a few armored transports and a bunch of mortars, all filled with blank ammunition, it would be a perfect playground to really get some war games going.
Dirk smiled.
When he was starting out, he didn’t get to enjoy such simulations. He’d gotten his experience out in the field out of necessity. The Empire of old never bothered with mock scenarios.
It had too many enemies at all times to afford it.
But this? This certainly tickled the God of War the right way.
He'd seen too many young lads die a pointless death in his early days. Deaths that could have been prevented with some practice in a controlled environment.
Well… maybe.
Maybe not.
Nothing beats first-hand experience, and even the best cadets from prestigious military academies could crumble when faced with the harsh reality of the battlefield.
Dirk shook his head to clear his mind.
He now stood in front of a gate leading into a courtyard of what looked like a high school, complete with mannequins wearing backpacks and carrying books in their hands, all wearing stereotypical teen clothes.
As much as a complete mishmash of colors and styles can be classified as stereotypical, at the very least.
He stepped through the gate as the arrow instructed him, and his earpiece crackled to life.
- Welcome, Chernobog, to your first trial. Here, your ability with weapons will be tested. - the voice of Tom Holder explained with a fittingly official tone.
As he spoke, something groaned and hissed on Dirk’s right and the floor opened, revealing a table full of weapons, ranging from small pistols through AR's to DMR’s, complete with a small selection of grenades of differing levels of lethality.
Right after the small arsenal, a few targets emerged throughout the courtyard, creating a not half bad shooting range.
- During your interview, you’ve declared high levels of proficiency with most weapons. As such, we present you with a selection of armaments most used by conventional military organizations around the world, and ask that you select the ones most appropriate for the mission.
- And the mission is? - he asked dryly, putting a finger on the earpiece, already analyzing the arsenal before him.
- I cannot disclose that at the current moment. - there was a note of barely hidden mockery in his voice, as if he was having fun. - You may, however, use them at the provided targets to get a feel for them. We also ask that for the purposes of this test you do not use your personal weapons.
- Roger. - he answered, shooting a glance towards Jason, who without a word simply took a spot by the gate.
Chernobog tugged at his hard-fought Makarov to make sure it was secured and approached the table, scrutinizing each option with utmost care.
“They must have brought me here specifically for a reason.” - he thought, thinking of the school building. - “Cramped, populated spaces and long corridors. Many doors and windows.” - his eyes glided over the surrounding buildings. - “Good sight lines.”
He reached for a pistol first.
In this place it would be his lifeline.
He took a firing stance and sent three shots at three different targets at 5, 25 and 50 meters respectively in quick succession. The first two hit bullseye, but the last veered off to the side.
“I’ll have to work on that.” - he thought, stretching his fingers and equipping the gun. Thankfully, it came with its own holster.
He passed over the AR’s and the sniper rifles. Their strengths didn’t justify their applications here. The DMR was a sweet middle ground, though. He took one in his hands and again fired the three test shots, landing them without any issue. The scope made a huge difference. The rifle’s kick also felt good in his hands, making him hope that the company-provided weapons wouldn’t be as bad as he expected.
A shotgun seemed tempting to breach and clear, but he reminded himself that school-quality doors were probably made of cardboard anyway. Nothing a shot or two at the hinges couldn’t best.
With the DMR slung over his shoulder he inspected the grenades.
There were three, each one unique.
The fragmentation one was out of the question.
The smoke he could probably use, but it carried a risk of obstructing surprise enemies from his sight.
But it could prove indispensable in a scramble, so he grabbed it alongside the flash-grenade.
- I’m ready. Awaiting instructions. - Dirk spoke into the microphone.
- You make my job too easy. - Tom said with a neutral tone, but it was easy to imagine him with a smirk. - Well then…
With a snap the mannequins suddenly came alive with eerie realism in a whirlwind of chaotic activity, as if before time was stopped, and it just started back again.
They walked around, formed groups with matching outfits and even played pre-recorded conversations, adding to the uncanny effect that their smooth, blank faces gave off.
- The scenario is as follows: a rival group has stolen precious cargo and is currently hiding in this facility. Locate them and retrieve the package. - Tom’s uninterested voice reflected the mundane nature of the mission. - You will be judged on your time, decision-making ability and general weapon proficiency. While the objective is your top priority, excessive property damage and civilian casualties will be penalized.
- May I ask about the cargo’s description and properties? - he asked, scooping up his messy mane and rolling it up into a bun.
- You may not, classified information. - the latent mockery in his voice returned. He definitely was having fun. - Alright, let’s start.
There was nothing more he could squeeze out of the Ouroboros executive, so instead Dirk reloaded the mag inside his pistol before switching to the DMR. None of those weapons were in any way, shape or form reminiscent of things he used to see on the battlefield, which made describing them based solely on gun type preferable.
“No manufacturer number on these…” - the veteran thought, running up towards one of the fake trees in the courtyard, snaking through the teenage crowd. - “which means they were 3D printed. They are untraceable and easy to produce en-masse." - the concept wasn't alien to Dirk.
The Empire had printed its own fair share of guns over the years, with the caveat that they were all clearly marked as 'passable copies' of the Heavenly Witchdoctor's designs. In that department, Ouroboros seemed at least that much more professional.
Practically jumping up the tree, Dirk was thankful for its sturdy, artificial nature. It was made of some polyester-like material, painted over and covered with some rough outer shell, to ensure texture similar to bark. If it was a real plant, there was always a chance its branches could break under his weight, but with that one he could prioritize speed over safety.
- Impressive moves. - mused Tom, unveiling that everything was under his direct, watchful gaze.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Chernobog was already in the zone, not even catching the throw-away comment. He simply checked every window viewable from the courtyard, ensuring that no enemies were stupid enough to expose themselves to fire from outside.
They weren’t that dumb. But dumb enough.
The windows around the 3rd floor had their shutters meticulously pulled down, while none others did. Something had to be behind them. Something the enemy wanted to stay out of sight.
- ROE? - Dirk asked the final question.
- Remember to have fun. - Tom responded with an audible smile.
- Argonaut, to me. - he didn’t have to yell the order out, Jason's hearing was superhuman after all. - Remove the first limiter.
As part of their theatrical act, Jason threw the coat off himself, leaving only a tight black t-shirt covering his musculature. It was identical to the one which underwent spontaneous detonation in Misha’s underground ring.
Jason closed the distance in a flash, stopping just as his owner jumped down the tree and gave two simple orders
- Toss me and then remain in front of the building. Let no one leave the premises.
Jason froze.
- I said toss me. Towards the rooftop, 65-degree angle. Don’t put full strength into it. - what he was describing sounded like complete rambling to the confused boy.
But Jason knew better than to question a man whose reason for living was war about the rationality of his actions.
“He’s not that crazy Russian, he wouldn’t take unnecessary risks.” - the regenerator reassured himself and simply grabbed Dirk by the waist.
It must have looked quite surreal to the outside observer, a tall man turning another person in their hands as if they were nothing but a long, thick stick.
The soldier kept his hands close to his chest, with legs outstretched and stiff, all the while looking attentively towards the building.
Jason, with a head of a golden bovine, held him like the warriors of old did their javelins, preparing for the throw.
- May I know what you’re doing? - Tom spoke again, this time a bit confused. - I think I explicitly stated this trial is meant for you, not your human weapon.
- The objective starts within the “facility” as I was told. The Rules of Engagement did not forbid the change of the infiltration point. - Dirks' tone was flat, but his listener wasn’t stupid.
- Oh, so you’re a smartass, huh?
- Resourceful is the proper word. Argonaut, now!
With that command, Jason hummed loudly and took a hard stomp forward. With his form steady as a rock, he pulled the Chernobog-javelin backwards, twisting his own body at the hip. Every possible point which could add to the force and speed of the movement went into motion - shoulder capsule, wrist, hips, every joint and muscle group.
Then came a short and abrupt roar.
To its sound, the god of war took flight.
Air hit his face as he barreled upwards at a breakneck speed, his thick, messy beard fluttering in the wind, being his only insulation against the wind pressing down on his face.
His flight took but a moment, but left him drenched in cold sweat, even more so than after his fight with Ajax's lackey.
There was no room for error.
If he fucked up, he would die.
Dirk extended his arms forward. Flying belly-down with all the equipment dangling off there was only one way to go about it while minimizing danger - ‘tiger dive’ as people versed in parkour call it. Now he had to ensure that the point of contact with the roof would be the area around his shoulder blades. With his legs outstretched and arms angled slightly downwards he dove towards the concrete area stretching below. In a form not so different from those utilized by professional swimmers to start a 100 meter race Chernobog made contact, or he would have if he didn’t curl up towards the center of mass at the last possible moment, smoothly shifting into a front roll starting from the area of his nape.
To lose as much speed as possible he made two more before springing up. In mid air he made two quick spins to lose even more momentum before landing securely in a cloud of dust. He finally came to a stop, not much worse for wear, except a slightly sore neck.
“God damn, that shaved years off my life” - the soldier thought, trying to calm down, the sound of rushing blood loud in his ears. - “Thankfully, my ass and thighs cushioned the fall a little. Extra flab has its uses too, from time to time”.
- That was the dumbest, most insane maneuver I have ever seen anyone pull, not only inside these walls, but in the whole wide world. - Tom sounded genuinely awe-struck. - You’re not very well in the head, old man, are you?
- Why don’t you stick around and find out? - with this foreboding statement, the soldier got up and immediately turned off the safety on both his guns.
The roof was clear and the door to the stairway leading down was within sight, so Dirk took a low stance with the handgun in both hands and proceeded onward.
His plan was coming together nicely.
Maybe it wasn’t as extravagant as he used to make them in his days of leading a whole unit, but it would have to do. He wasn’t exactly being showered with options here.
His stunt might have been brave. Crazy even, but it was still meticulously calculated.
Based on uniforms worn by the mannequins and their pre-recorded messages, Dirk concluded that “the facility” in this trial was a high-school. From what he gleamed, listening to the fake kids, he had roughly a five-minute window to infiltrate the whole building from the ground floor, because no class began later than 8:00, and the enormous clock at the front of the school pointed to 7:55.
Such a scenario was simply too unfavorable. There were too many unknown targets, and obstructions, too much noise and possible collateral if any of the assailants were to open fire on-sight.
The only logical option was changing the infiltration point closer to the target and away from bystanders.
“The possible targets were on the 3rd floor.” - he recounted, opening the roof-access door and checking the stairway. - “If I approach from the top, I can limit the chance of children getting caught in the cross-fire”.
Going down from the rooftop to the third floor, Dirk stuck to the wall and peeked into the corridor ahead. His suspicions rang true as three mannequins armed with AR’s patrolled around. He took a knee and started listening.
Three pairs of footsteps up ahead, and rumbled from below. There were no cries for help or sounds of shuffling nearby, which meant the assailants likely had no hostages. Hopefully.
Once the patrolling mannequins turned around, he ran in a hunched position towards the next corner, leading directly into the corridor where his objective likely was. No tangos seemed to notice him as he infiltrated their lines, probably ascribing his footsteps to the children below.
They were either intentionally programmed as amateurs, or their programming was simply lacking, but either way Dirk felt his immersion wavering a bit. Still, this was just a manufactured scenario, so getting immersed was secondary to testing his skills.
As one of the mannequins drew close, its patrol path turned the corner, behind which the veteran hid. In response, Dirk temporarily holstered his gun.
Once the hostile’s featureless face appeared in his sight, Dirk sprung to action.
With one hand he switched the safety on the enemy’s gun, hitting its windpipe with the other. Before the machine's body could even react, the soldier grabbed it and pulled it behind the corner along with its rifle.
He then broke its neck and gently laid it on the floor.
For a moment everything went still. Everything except Dirk. There was no time for a pause. Momentum was key, speed was war.
Dirk removed the magazine from the poached AR and jolted from the corner, crouched-running towards two more targets. Once relatively close, he threw the mag ahead of them, drawing their attention.
- What the? - a compressed audio clip played in response.
Dirk snapped the neck of the first target closer to him in one smooth motion, this time, however, letting the body fall to the floor with a loud thud.
- Hey, what’s wro-
Before the audio stinger could even finish, Chernobog swept the second opponent off its legs, making it fall to the ground with even more noise. Thankfully, Dirk caught the AR midair to ensure no accidental discharges.
Not a second later, he rammed the intercepted weapon’s stock into its original wielder’s throat, crushing it.
The machine started spasming, emulating a human gasping for air. If those machines weren’t as good at mimicking humans as they were, all flaws included, this whole thing would have turned much, much uglier. But fortunately, Dirk made the right assumption about the amount of budget Ouroboros sank into this training facility.
- What’s the ruckus?
- What’s the ruckus?
- What’s the-
Three more voices resounded from all the rooms with obstructed windows. Just as planned.
Once the synchronized sounds of door knobs turning reached his ears, he reached under the coat and grabbed both grenades.
Dirk threw them at the two targets furthest away, hitting their noses and disorientating them for a single moment. One he didn’t waste.
- What’s going on-
Cutting off the voice clip for the third time, he ran up and repeating the maneuver from before, turning the safety on and snapping the neck. Before the other two could come to, the veteran grabbed the DMR by the barrel and hit one of the automatons in the temple with the stock, knocking him out instantly. The third one he simply slid into, letting gravity do the rest of the work. As the machine fell, with its feet abruptly kicked into the air, Dirk placed the stock of the DMR underneath it, while being pushed forward by the momentum. Once the opponent fell, its neck perfectly landed at the butt of the gun. A loud crunch marking the veteran’s victory.
As Dirk got up, a curtain of hair fell on his face. The bun came undone, and his wild mane of hair suddenly blocked his vision. Had it done that moments earlier, the outcome of the fight could have been drastically different.
- Shit. - he cussed under breath, redoing the hairdo. - All targets neutralized. Proceeding to secure the package.
As he spoke those words, the last of his enemies drew his final fake breath.