The air in the Oval Office was thick with tension, as if the very walls were bracing for what was to come. President Jackson Prescott stared at the intelligence report in front of him, the stark black letters seeming to bleed together as his heart pounded in his chest. He rubbed his temples, willing the words to change, but they remained stubbornly grim. “It can’t be true,” he muttered, but deep down, he knew better. The Head of Silentstrike had been unequivocal: America's darkness was emerging from the shadows, a rot that had festered for too long.
His gaze drifted to the poster on the wall, the bald eagle—a symbol of the strength and freedom of America—soaring against a backdrop of pristine skies. It had been only 12 years since the country’s defeat in Vietnam, and the American people had yet to fully regain their faith in their leaders. Prescott knew, better than anyone, that their mistrust was well-founded.
Unbeknownst to them, the real threat was something far more insidious than anything they had faced before.
His eyes fell to the photograph on his desk—a young pilot, fresh-faced and proud, standing beside a fighter jet. A reminder of sacrifices made, of promises kept. He felt a pang of guilt in his chest as he reached for the telephone, the weight of history pressing down on his shoulders.
When the call was answered, the man at the other end spoke first, his voice cool and expectant. “I assume this means you’re on board with it?”
Prescott hesitated, his fingers gripping the receiver tightly. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind—what if he said no? What if he was wrong? But he could already feel the decision hardening in his chest, a grim resolve taking hold.
“Yes,” he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. “I am.”
* * *
David Smith stood on the balcony of his apartment, feeling the cool breeze against his skin as he took in the fresh air. He closed his eyes, hoping for a moment of peace, but instead, he was dragged back to the 1970s. In his mind's eye, he saw buildings crumbling, smoke rising into the sky, and the chaos of war unfolding below. The memories hit him like a punch to the gut, and he shivered, jolted back to the present.
Needing something to steady his nerves, he retreated inside, searching for a lighter and a cigarette. As he turned back toward the balcony, he froze. Standing before him were three men in dark suits, their expressions unreadable, their presence imposing. The scent of tobacco mixed with a faint hint of aftershave clung to the air. David recognized them immediately—US officials. He eyed them warily, the cigarette still burning between his lips.
“David Smith?” one of the men asked, his voice gravelly and commanding, the kind of voice that brooked no argument. David nodded, his heart pounding in his chest, and the man continued, each word like a blade slicing through the air. “Pilot of the Lockheed C-130, experienced aircraft pilot, and hero of the Vietnam War.”
David felt a familiar bitterness rise in his throat. He wasn’t a fool—he knew this game. Praise and flattery were the first tools of manipulation, softening you up before the real blow landed. His voice edged with aggression, he asked, “What do you want?”
The man remained unfazed, his tone steady and unyielding. “The President of the United States would like a word. If you would be kind enough to join us.”
David narrowed his eyes, standing his ground. “If the message is so urgent, you can deliver it right here.”
A flicker of something passed across the man’s face—was it respect, or merely calculation? He nodded slightly, then spoke with measured intensity. “The President has been warned of a great threat to this country, a threat to the nation’s strength and freedom. He is requesting your help. Your skills as a pilot are unparalleled, and the President wants you to continue being an American hero.”
David's pulse quickened, the words striking a nerve. He remained silent as the man continued, his voice dropping to a low, persuasive murmur. “I can reveal no more, only that this threat is real, and you are America’s hope. You can either sit here and rot alone, burdened by your past, while innocents die... Or you can step up once again, find purpose, and perhaps, redemption. What will it be?”
The man’s words cut deep, each sentence a reminder of the blood on David’s hands. Women, children, farms, livestock—all destroyed, all in the name of a war he no longer believed in. The world had called him a hero, but he knew better. Guilt gnawed at him every day, every night.
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But now... could this be his chance? A way to make amends, to atone for what he had done?
His voice barely more than a whisper, David finally agreed.
No one spoke a word on the flight. The black helicopter hovered silently as David packed the only thing he needed—more cigarettes. When he stepped back onto the balcony, the sight of the helicopter took him by surprise. It was eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the fighter jets he once flew, whose roar could be heard from miles away. Technology has advanced, he mused, but the thought brought him no comfort.
The flight to the base was uneventful, but David’s mind churned with questions. Upon arrival, he was even more awestruck. Hidden in plain sight, the base was disguised as a mundane company that made paper and sold stationery. But inside, it housed secrets that not even senators or congressmen were privy to. As he was led deeper into the facility, past cold, sterile corridors, they finally reached a door. The American Bald Eagle emblazoned on it stared back at him, as if daring him to enter. The door hissed open, and the men who had brought him here stepped back, gesturing for David to proceed alone.
Inside the room, a tall, well-built man stood with his arms folded, his presence commanding. His deep-set black eyes spoke of years of experience, while the grey strands in his hair hinted at the weight of his responsibilities. David’s gaze shifted to the window, where the President of the United States stood, smiling broadly. The room was otherwise empty—no desk, no chairs, no other people. Only a large rectangular chest in the corner, covered in the American flag, broke the starkness.
“So glad you could join us,” the man said, gesturing as if to offer a seat, then catching himself. “Oh right, sorry. Force of habit.”
“John?” David asked, squinting. He recognized the man from the war, though time had changed him. The physique was familiar, but there was a new intensity, a strength that went beyond muscle. David’s mind raced. Was John here for the same reason? Was there another war? And if so, why weren’t the armed forces involved?
“Hello, Dave,” John replied, his voice steady. “It’s good to see you again. But we need to get straight to business.”
The President stepped forward, his smile fading as he spoke for the first time. “Our sources have uncovered a great evil, a danger threatening us all. Have you heard of the boy who burned over 30 people in his school? It was all over the news not too long ago. He disappeared without a trace. Not even the best detectives could find him.”
David stared at the President in disbelief. “You’re afraid of a child? That’s the great threat?”
The President shook his head, maintaining his composure. “No, we’re not afraid of a child. We’re afraid of what took him. Beneath the surface of our great country, there’s a prison—not a US prison, or one run by any nation. A prison ruled by a being of unimaginable power. He takes those who commit evil and tortures them for eternity. And now, this being is coming to the surface, with plans to destroy our city.”
David felt a chill run down his spine. His mind raced with questions, but one stood out. “Why would he destroy the city? Wouldn’t he just take the criminals?”
“These creatures are beings of the dark,” John replied, his voice low and somber. “They are unpredictable, and they wield powers we’ve never seen before.”
David couldn’t hold back any longer. “So what’s in the box?”
The President blinked, momentarily thrown by the question. John, however, seemed amused. The President recovered quickly. “In that chest is a suit. A metal suit that symbolizes America’s strength and your fight for freedom. It will protect you, arm you, and—this is why we chose you—allow you to fly above our enemies and strike from where they cannot reach.”
David’s mind flashed back to the war. Wasn’t that exactly what he had done before? Attacked from above, safe from retaliation. He felt a familiar bitterness rise in his throat as he walked to the chest, flinging the flag aside with more force than he intended. The sight of the flag always brought back memories, memories he would rather forget.
He opened the chest. Inside lay a suit—an eagle, shimmering in gold, complete with wings, a helmet, and weapons that gleamed with a deadly beauty. The weapons were familiar, yet different, more advanced, and just as dazzling as the suit itself.
John stepped to his side, resting a hand on David’s shoulder. “So, old friend, what do you think?”
Before David could respond, the door hissed open. The air seemed to hum with energy as a figure entered the room. He wore armor of dark purple and gold, with glowing runes on his belt that pulsed rhythmically. A majestic cloak flowed behind him, and a crown-like headpiece hovered above his head, its radiant gem casting an ethereal light that matched the glow in his eyes.
The man walked to the centre of the room, addressing John with a voice that commanded respect. “We have been unsuccessful yet again, but I assure you, we now have absolute knowledge of his whereabouts. He will be joining us soon.”
David stood in awe, barely able to comprehend what he was seeing. The President, however, was less impressed. His voice, tinged with anger, cut through the room. “What do you mean you were unsuccessful again? We don’t have time! There’s only three of you, and we need more if we’re going to survive this crisis.”
The man in the armour frowned, his gaze narrowing. But before he could respond, John intervened, his voice carrying an almost supernatural weight. “Jack, may I remind you that it’s because of Arcane that we’re even aware of this danger? His crystal glazing has given us months to prepare, and if that’s not enough time, then you may as well start evacuating the city now. So, Mr. President, show my team some respect.”
The President visibly recoiled, taking a few steps back. He nodded, then turned to David, his face a mixture of fear and determination.
“So, you must be the Eagle,” Arcane said, his deep voice resonating in the empty room. Without waiting for a reply, he turned and left, with John close behind.
“Come on, Dave,” John called over his shoulder. “Your training begins now.”