Guns are not an uncommon anomaly to the people of Arkansas, the United States of America. An average of 565 people die from gun-related deaths in the state. The year prior, there were 372 mass shootings in the country alone. There were even five active military bases in that state, and hunting is the pride and joy of the people in the area. Guns, for better or worse, were the lifeblood to the people of Arkansas. So when multiple shots were fired during the middle of the night that sounded like a war-zone, no one batted an eye.
In the middle of the Arkansas forest, away from any settlement, was a massacre. Police gathered around to examine the torn apart bodies and blood soaked trees while a destroyed smoking stealth helicopter showed scars of a concluded brawl. The display of violence was not like anything the local law enforcement had ever seen in their lives. The carnage and the barbarity of how each person died. It was unmatched!
Posing as an FBI investigator, a brawly Native American man in his late 40s walked into the crime scene. He showed the nearest officer his fake id before he could resume his investigation. He had long flowing black hair, the left side of his hair had three blue beads. His skin is dark and his body is muscular. His face also had a scolding look to it as he looked over the mutilated corpses on the ground.
His name was Neshoba. A member of the Butterfly Legion searching for someone who should’ve died a long time ago. Instead, he had stumbled upon their handy work. A bloodbath that took the lives of twenty people, or so he had suspected. It was hard to count the dead effectively when one corpse could look like three in certain angles. The Order sent him because he was their best tracker, someone who should be able to find and stop the target before they do anything drastic.
‘Yeah, it is as bad as they said.’ He said into his earpiece. ‘No survivors, a deathly bloodbath.’
The code-phrase was spoken, telling the operator from the other end that the slaughter was performed by the target they were tracking. Those phrases, if spoken in a certain way and under a certain context could change the meaning of the phrase. Giving it multiple purposes, each being unique between operator and communicator. When an operator of the legion had to work in areas populated with witnesses. They had to resort to utilising code-phrases to get the message across when using their SCL to avoid suspicion. Even if they sounded odd out of context to any outside observer.
‘How did they find them? Does that mean someone else knows of their existence?’ A feminine voice responded from the other end. Neshoba knew her as Claire, if that was her real name. She was his personal information broker that fed him relevant data and on-goings in the area that could help him on his missions. He never met her in person, she never had any desires in talking to her coworkers and preferred to be an unknown to everyone she had to work with. Her way to have a work-life balance. Even if it was strange to Neshoba.
Neshoba approached one of the bodies. He put on his latex gloves to wipe away the blood covering the logo on their vest. Revealing a picture of an ostrich stomping on the ground. ‘Mercs.’ Neshoba grumbled under his teeth. ‘It seems an entire platoon of Territorial Ground is wiped out. They don’t have any keycards or any forms of identification.’
‘Someone hired them here? Strange, shouldn’t they be in Syria right about now? Why, and who brought them here?’ Claire asked over the intercom.
‘Victims perished after midnight hours.’ He replied, implying that whoever bought those mercs had a lot of money and a lack of morals.
‘You can say that again. All of them have a warrant for their arrest. They didn’t get to America through legitimate ways. Someone smuggled them here to fight our target.’
‘Which means they know something about the case that we don’t.’ Neshoba responded, referring to the target while he looked at the dead man’s rifle. It was a slim MS44 battle rifle, an AR platform weapon that fires 7.62mm rounds with a built-in dot sight. What made Neshoba raise a brow was the rifle was made by ProTech. A technology and weapons manufacturing company. He noticed that every soldier only had ProTech weapons, even the stealth helicopter had the company logo. Neshoba went to a few nearby bodies to see that they had the ostrich logo, confirming his suspicions that only one team was hired to deal with a mutual target.
‘Claire, look into recent transactions made by ProTech. Look into their “orders” and personal transport details. I think they might have something to do with it.’ Neshoba said as he walked around the field of bodies to find more clues. One of his hair beads softly hummed when he stood next to a tree with a gash on its bark.
Being considered a good tracker and hunter was one thing. To be counted among the best was another. Neshoba wasn’t an ordinary member of the Order or the Butterfly Legion. He was a gifted Way Finder, someone who could read the events of the past without the need of training in any particular school of magic.
Every moment in time, every action created a weave in magic. A footnote where souls would gather around to remember an event that had transpired. Often, it would only last for a few minutes, but on rare occasions they could be around for centuries. Neshoba could touch the weave and saw the world as the souls witnessed the event.
He pressed his hand on the tree and closed his eyes. The world was a silent, misty haze. The only thing clear was the tree and only the tree. Without warning or sound, a chain with a hook wrapped around the tree to latch onto its wood before slashing it open with a yank.
Neshoba pulled his hand away, shaking his head at the unclear vision he had seen. Though he would be the only person in the world alive at the time that could witness the events of the past. That wouldn’t mean he would be given anything understandable or decisive. To him, it was like looking at unprocessed footage of past events. Fortunately, it gave him an understanding of what happened. Looking at the gash in the tree and the disembowell soldier near it, he understood how they died and by what.
Unfortunately, he knew that while important. It didn’t answer their questions about who they were or what happened. Did the mercs find the target, or did the target find them? Neshoba was aware that the firepower that the mercs brought was not typical loadout the Territorial Grounds would be equipped with. They were made up of formal European soldiers, primarily from France, England, Scotland, Ireland, and Denmark. They had access to their countries host weapons, but only a small stockpile. The small private army had to rely on outsourcing their arsenal from second-hand arms dealers. They wouldn’t be able to afford high end ProTech equipment, which Neshoba was certain about.
Curious, he examined the crashed helicopter. It was a tiltrotor-wing prototype stealth chopper. There was a magazine in a military magazine that ProTech was experimenting with stealth technology. Promising that every military vehicle would be invisible to radar, thermal, and any other long-range detection method the world military used. At the tail of the chopper was a gash, similar to the one on the tree. Even when his hair bead hummed slightly, he didn’t need to look into the past to witness how it was taken down. The target pulled the vehicle down. However, he couldn’t find the chain.
‘So, what do you think happened?’ One officer approached Neshoba as he examined the damaged vehicle. He looked over his shoulder at the awkward officer, trying to start some small talk. ‘Do you know who did this?’
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Neshoba shook his head as he walked around the forest with the officer walking alongside him. ‘No, but I have a suspicion that it was an internal affair more than anything.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘All of these guys are mercs with a criminal background.’ Neshoba lied as he pointed to the helicopter and the dead pilot hanging out of the window. By looking around, he just noticed how close the fighting was. He could tell that their target rushed towards the mercs and butchered them. ‘If it was a fight, we would find bodies scattered around. However, the fighting seemed to be confined to one area. If I have to guess, it seems they backstabbed each other and most, if not all, perished in the fight.’
‘By god!’ The young officer said in disgust, believing the lie Neshoba told. ‘So why do it? Why here, of all places?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe they had a falling out, maybe there was a disagreement that turned bloody. There is a lot to take into account, but by the looks of things, we might never know why they shot each other. Not unless we do our job.’
Before the young officer could reply, someone shouted at the other end of the crime scene about what they found behind a dense bush. Wrapped around a disfigured body was a long chain with a meat hook welded at the end of it. The chain snapped bone and distorted every limb while the hook was embedded into the corpse’s skull. The young officer walked away, gagging before he puked on the ground as the putrid smell of rotten mutilated flesh and brain matter flooded his nose.
Neshoba kneeled down in front of the body. His hair bead hummed, which indicated that the corpse had an echo of the past. But he retracted his hand before he could look into it. He was used to the sight of gore, but what he could never get used to was witnessing the exact moment someone died. Souls could feel, and the feelings would be felt if he touched the body.
On the ground were a few bullet casings, but far smaller than what the mercs were using. As Neshoba reached down to pick it up, he dropped it as a vision of a colt single action revolver being fired flooded his mind.
The young officer reached out to rest a hand on Neshoba's shoulder as he groaned. ‘You alright?’
‘Yes,’ he lied. Not wanting to indicate that he wasn’t prepared for the vision that took over his senses. ‘Just wasn’t expecting the smell to be this pungent so soon.’
He examined the bullet again, only to be confused as to why his target only used a weapon from the 1800s. Perhaps that is why they didn’t touch any modern weapon, maybe they are uncomfortable? Neshoba reasoned to himself.
He noticed a pattern from reports of local gun shop robberies where some old firearms and ammo were stolen instead of the latest weapons on the market. That can explain a few things. They didn’t take the mercs' weapons. I suppose they might be superstitious or desire to fully understand the weapons before using them.
‘Yeah, I can tell.’ The young officer awkwardly smiled before pointing at the corpse with the hook in their head. ‘So what about that guy? How the hell did he… well…’
‘Die?’ Neshoba replied as he stood up. He knew his target had done it, how they killed someone in such a gruesome manner. But that was details only he was allowed to know, not anyone outside of his investigation. ‘Maybe an accident. They could’ve been one of the victims in the helicopter crash.’
The young officer raised a brow as they followed Neshoba walking away from the body in search of more clues. ‘That can happen?’
‘You’ll be surprised about the sort of accidental deaths that come from falling from high places or having something wrapped around your leg.’ The two men stopped their walk when Neshoba noticed a small patch of blue blood splattered at the base of a tree. He looked at the officer, trying to act discreetly while he pretended that the mysterious blood wasn’t there.
‘Yeah, I suppose I know that.’ The officer replied. ‘But I don’t know, something doesn’t feel right about this.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘I mean, look at this place. This just comes off as creepy. The whole thing just feels wrong. Like, a band of mercs came here and killed each other? What if that isn’t the case? What if they stumbled onto an ambush and they were all killed?’
‘There will be signs of an ambush.’ Neshoba gestured at the hill overlooking the area. ‘That will be a likely spot for a surprise attack. We should find bullet casings and maybe return fire from the mercs along that treeline. But I won’t overrule it, it is a possibility. I just doubt it is the case with the evidence on display.’
‘Well sir, if you want I can look around there.’
Neshoba nodded, agreeing with the young officer so they could leave him alone to do his own work. ‘Be my guess, if you find anything, make me know right away.’ As the officer walked away, Neshoba kicked dirt over the base of the tree to cover the blue blood up before he rubbed his boot against the trunk to wipe away any evidence. Knowledge would be dangerous in the wrong hands, and the world shouldn't know the actual cause for the mercs’ deaths.
‘So, I got some information.’ Claire said over the earpiece. ‘I suppose your suspicions are correct.’
‘Why is ProTech involved?’
‘Not the company. It seems only one higher up is spending their own money to bring these mercs here. It isn’t a one time thing; they are sending encrypted call-outs to selected individuals who might want the job. But they are leaving the information about the target vague. Looks like they might be panicking.’
Neshoba paused for a moment, trying to figure out who might know of their target and who would have a personal interest in this whole thing. ‘That narrows things down, anything that can help us?’
‘No, unless you wanted to pretend to be one of the mercs they’ve chosen to track down the target. But that isn’t the strangest part. The encryption they are using are MODOC codes.’ Claire revealed, which caused Neshoba to question how an agency that was disbanded in the 80s still lingers. That shouldn’t be right, that agency and everyone there were declared dead.
‘Shit!’ One police officer mumbled as they looked at their papers. ‘What day is it?’
‘2nd of August, 2016.’ Neshoba kindly said to them. The officer thanked him before walking off to finish their paperwork.
Neshoba flinched as his earpiece buzzed slightly. ‘Nes, you have new orders. From the council directly.’
‘Alright, what is it?’
‘You are ordered to return to base and abandon the mission. The target, Jackson Abernu, cannot be pursued. We are told to leave him to be finished with his task.’
Neshoba frowned, not wanting to end his mission because of a vague reason the council had provided. ‘Finished with what?’
‘… I don’t know. They refused to say.’