Chapter 7

May 12, 2091 Al Fallujah, Iraq Agency Safehouse

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‎ Jon leaned against the balcony as the sun rose over Al Fallujah, a mug of coffee in hand, looking out at the city. All around him, the city stirred as prayer chants sang out. He took another sip of his coffee and smirked, realizing that he never thought he enjoyed a decent cup here. Military coffee left much to be desired, serving as little more than dirty water. He slipped back inside the safe house, nestled at the far southern edge of the city, to activate the integrated computer. On the large flat screen, Raven’s portrait appeared.

“Welcome to Iraq, Jon. How was the flight?”

“No incidents,” said Jon. His mind flashing back to his recent trip with Noriko. He still hadn’t told Raven about that yet. He wanted to. He just didn’t trust he could yet. If the mission went well, he hoped to remedy that soon.

“All right, so we’ve triangulated Masri’s position using multiple comms taps and satellite surveillance in the region. Looks like he’s using a nearby installation around Lake Mazraa.”

“That used to be ours a few decades ago, right?”

“Several units held the facility during the initial stages of Enduring Freedom. But as the decades passed and troop counts dwindled, they handed the base over to the Iraqis. The base fell to Masri’s men about a decade ago, and he’s used the compound ever since. The locals in Fallujah aren’t happy about the situation, preferring to avoid being caught up in another large-scale conflict with the US, so they’ve been vocal about his presence along with their displeasure.”

“Masri’s followers are of a very special breed. Extreme Zealots.”

He folded his arms as he smirked, “You’d have to be to stomach all that pontificating he does.”

“Have you checked out the Safehouse yet?”

“Not yet. I just got in and brewed a cup of coffee.”

“Then you’re in luck. Amenities include but are not limited to an Agency linked network terminal with database access. A stocked armory, but you’ll have to pay for whatever you buy. And finally, a comfortable living suite.”

“Seems cozy enough. Not sure I’d use the place for a summer home though,” he said.

“Intel suggests Masri will be in Mazraa planning another video to upload.”

“Which means he’s planning another attack soon.”

“Remember, multiple passenger jets have already gone down in that region alone, and it’s possible he’ll expand his attacks to different geographical zones, and Wilson suspects he’s using stolen weapons of their make. Get in, verify if he’s using their hardware or not, secure them, and deal with Masri. It’s likely that Masri might have Merc’s helping defend his position, too. So expect potential augmented resistance.” She glanced around, then looked him in the eyes. “And be careful.”

The transmission ended after that, and he made his way over to the armory and used his access key to open the heavy rack. The metal doors folded in half as they peeled to the right and left of the case, revealing a stack of weapons of all types. Jon whistled, admiring the cache. “This I can work with...”

Taking inventory of what was available and cross-referencing that with his target location, he contended with two twenty foot high perimeter walls. Guard towers spaced at 500 meter intervals, and only one point of entry. Breaching the wall was an option, but would be a loud one. He didn’t like his chances if he went that route. No, he preferred a far more discreet approach. To execute the mission, though, he needed to go in light. He turned back to the armory cache, pulling a pistol and a silencer from the case. His V-Lenses synchronized with the irons, projecting a line from the end of the muzzle. This served as an in-eye laser sight, having replaced older outdated technologies like the PAQ-4 and the PEQ-2 sighting systems. Another benefit was that only he could see the projection now, whereas before anyone using NVG’s could pick up on the IR beams if they were sharp-eyed enough.

Jon fit the silencer onto the pistol, holstering the weapon, and then set the rig on the bed. Donning his multi-fiber mesh suit and compressed polymer tactical vest with liquid metal damage sealant. He patted the breastplate of the vest a few times affectionately. He preferred his vest over plate versions thanks to more than a few close scrapes. Definitely credits well spent.

He double checked his gear one last time and shut down everything he didn’t need, then locked the Safehouse down after stashing a small kit of his own in case they compromised the safe house and he couldn’t return in the car’s trunk in a small cut out panel next to the spare tire. That was his biggest lesson in the military, always have a redundancy set up, and alternate plans.

Night fell on Fallujah, and when the evening prayers concluded, most of the citizens made their way back into their homes. Passing several rows of tall fences with GES and Haltech logos on them, he made his way in silence for the city’s edge. Inside the fences, he could see the acres and acres of solar panels and the bright yellow conductor cables that fed into the laser aimed back at orbit. Being more densely populated city than most outside of Baghdad, more so after the solar revolution that caught on in the region.

With the country’s oil supplies waning, and the price of oil plummeting, companies in the energy sector needed to make the uncomfortable shift from fossil fuels to more renewable energy sources around thirty years ago. Iraq and many other middle eastern countries adopted a vast solar array approach under corporate stewardship, harnessing the endless miles of the desert to set up solar farms. Solar farms that fell under various government protections, the US claiming a majority of them. The farms required workers to manage and maintain, which meant the Corporations used the locals to manage them. The Army provided protections from those who opted to live outside the farms.

The street stretched into the distance, with the solar farms to his right and left and a few small stalls and shops lining the sides of the road. This close to them he could make out patrol road inside the farm the corporations used to drive their perimeters. Thankfully, none of them were doing their routes right now.

Some trash on the opposite side of the street caught his attention, and he paused, biting back a memory that threatened to bubble up from his time in service. The urge to be hypervigilant threatened to overwhelm him. Artifacts of being a soldier like this could be so taxing. A soft breeze gusted, and some plastic bags tumbled away off the trash pile, revealing its innocence.

The quiet stillness of the night lay before him as life wound down. He tweaked a dial on his suit to lower the cooling hoses, regulating his body temperature. Even at night, the temperatures in Iraq climbed into the “Welcome to Hell” territory. He pulled the camelback hose from his right shoulder and took a long draw from the bladder. Staying hydrated is always important in an arid environment, especially when you didn’t have time to acclimatize to it. He made a gesture with his hand, working in his V-Lens interface to pull up a map of the area. He studied the layout to plot his path, but everything was still largely the same as a decade and some change ago.

Jon reached the city’s limit with the Euphrates at his back, along with the Industrial section of town, and paused near the last streetlight at the edge. Its dull orange light spilled out around him in a wide circle. The hike ahead would measure in around five and a half kilometer through open country, crossing a paved highway with light traffic this late at night. With dusk settling into full night, he had plenty of time, so he’s not in any rush. Being hurried created an opportunity for mistakes.

Keeping a measured pace broken only by several stops to listen, look, and smell for potential changes in the environment he may have missed under the noise of his own movement, he neared the opening of the Lake Mazraa installation. He stayed low and moved with sound discipline good enough to make an owl blush. The tower guards were lazy and poorly disciplined. Jon caught the flash of a lighter from one of them as the occupant lit a cigarette out of view. Near the gate entrance, he spotted 2 static guards. No roaming sentries walking the perimeter on foot, which meant they either conducted a driven patrol, or just didn’t bother at all. The lack of tire prints in the powder like sand at the edge of the base told him they didn’t.

The dark worked in Jon’s favor as he advanced at a tactical pace, keeping himself as low as the ground. Once he drew close enough to the gate entrance, he went prone for a moment. He hated the layer of fine dust now covering him, but getting dirty was necessary. He reached over and picked up a small rock, just smaller than a baseball. Neither of them displayed appreciable discipline. One looked as though he fell asleep on his feet while the other played with a phone. Jon’s V-lenses zoomed in to give a 2x view. The phone was an older model, given by the corporations to their employees here as a cheaper solution to v-lenses and implants. Models like that often sold off market when their warranty expired.

He heaved the rock from his prone position and the stone flew in a long arc, hitting the ground with a thud and a puff of dusty sand into the air and rolling some distance from the guard playing on his phone. The guard glanced up and looked around, squinting as he tried to peer into the darkness for the source of noise. He stepped off after the thrown rock, not sparing a glance towards his sleeping partner. As the darkness reached out and claimed the guard on his investigative walk, Jon lowered himself like a big cat stalking prey and crept behind the man dozing upright and slipped behind the perimeter wall. He knew the interior layout from his scan, but the scale was greater than he realized on foot.

The two walls of the perimeter sat spaced twenty feet apart and rose about fifteen to twenty feet vertically. The walls comprised a combination of concrete and sun-dried mud brick. Large enough to accommodate any vehicle needed. Set just behind the inner wall of the interior of the compound itself. As he stepped inside, part of him, the military part, wondered what life was like here for US soldiers when they invaded the country a second time.

Jon needed to figure out where Masri positioned himself, but he needed to be cautious. The lake in the middle of the base had no definable shape, looking instead like something Jackson Pollock might have attempted. The interior cut of land in the middle of the lake held several small bungalow style structures around the shore, harkening back to the days when the compound was a resort for Bath party officials. Several newer structures and trailers also occupied the interior. Additions from the American armed forces, if he had to guess. There was a newer, larger building set just off of the lake, made from the same sun-dried mud. His best guess was that’s where he found Masri, and these weapons he was holding.

Jon spent twenty minutes creeping deeper into the facility. Most of the men in the camp were indoors for the night, but the occasional man heading to one of the blue and white topped portajohn’s still required him to maneuver around the random personnel. The terrain sloped downwards away from the lake, allowing him cover if he moved in stealth and at a distance. There were few lights inside the compound, helping further. Staying low, he circled around until arriving at the newer building inside the compound. This building had more activity confirming his suspicions this might be a central hub. Static and roaming guards littered the area. Either Masri or the weapons were in here, given the increase in activity alone. No one wasted personnel on diversions like this without a heads up, and he was just a ghost here.

He pressed himself down onto his stomach and observed them, memorizing routes and behaviors. The sloppy discipline carried over into the inside of the camp as well. Jon circled around to the rear of the building. The guards here were all lax, displaying poor discipline. That was good for him, bad for them. He dragged a small drone from a pouch on his kit, powering the quad-rotor up and using his V-Lenses to control the drone. His perspective became the drone’s seeing through the camera. He edged the remote closer and higher to inspect the roof first, then set the optics to scan mode and circled the building. The Whisper Blade tech of the rotors enabled the drone to run silently, instead of the telltale buzzing older quad-rotors sported.

Once he scanned every room of the building, he recalled the drone folding quad back up. He took a moment to review the footage. The most likely location that Masri was in based on the thermal images put him in the 2nd floor master bedroom. There was a lot of ambient heat energy. Computers and televisions are most likely, since Vue Lenses and retinal implants aren’t a very prolific technology in the middle east. That meant gathering any information he needed would be easier from a cryptographic stand point.

He took a moment to assess his odds of success based on various entry points. Going from the roof, he could secure Masri faster, but Masri’s men could stop his exit. Going from the ground meant securing a route out if he was quiet, but if something went wrong? The thought of being exposed in the open with no assets or backup didn’t sit well with him.

Quiet and slow were comfortable for him. He drew his pistol, checking the silencer for a secure fit. He took a deep breath, steeling his nerves. He would get his answers, and he would make this mess right. The universe owed him that much.

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Jon waited to advance until the nearest guard turned his back to Jon. The darkness reached out around the man, and dragged his muffled cries into the black, offering only the sound of a muffled neck snapping. Crouching low, Jon took stock, listening for anyone that had taken notice of his momentary commotion. No signs of alarm. Good. He moved to his next target, cupping his hand over the man’s mouth as he rammed a knife into his throat. He held the man firm until the life drained from him, then laid him down. Wiping his blade on the man’s sleeve, he turned to face the building.

He found a door and checked the knob; unlocked, and he continued turning the handle. The latch gave way, and the door eased open. He paused, leaving just a crack to see through. Seeing no one in his immediate view, he slipped inside and eased the door shut without a sound. The light inside was dim and yellow, emitting from kerosene lanterns staged on wooden crates and various pieces of actual furniture. Shadows played and someone’s footsteps signaled movement in the next room. Shouldering up to a corner, Jon used a small mirror to sneak a peek. Someone sat back, turned to him, and a tv blaring football.

The man nursed a cup of coffee, likely settling into the mid-step of a guard shift. Jon got low and pressed his back against the backside of a couch, breath held in his chest. The couch rocked under the man’s shifting weight. Then the volume raised a few levels on the old gen tv. Jon withdrew his blade and rammed the blade into the man’s neck firmly. Bone scraped against the blade as the man struggled in his hand cupped in front of his mouth to muffle his cries. His prey struggled weakly as his life faded through the wound in his neck until he fell still.

He snuck around, taking in the room now. A stairway led up to the right, and a long hallway branching off into multiple rooms sat in front of him. Leaving upstairs for last, he snuck down the hallway. He didn’t want to walk past any potential surprises and catch one in the six. The first room he approached was open, with light spilling into the dimmer hallway. Leaning around to check inside real quick, he saw stacks of weapons crates. They all bore the label “HALTECH” in bold, white corporate stenciling. He snapped a few shots with his V-Lenses, saving them to his personal cloud.

Once he sorted the photos, he toggled his lenses to record. He wanted to be as thorough as possible. The next room over contained a few more sleeping men in rickety beds. Methodically working his way through the men inside the building, Jon took them down as quiet as a whisper with his blade. The second target’s struggle woke the third, who Jon awarded his alertness with two rounds in the face. He fell back onto his bed, his face a ruined mess, blood pouring from the wounds, staining the pillow and mattress.

Leaving the room, Jon snapped off a shot into a man approaching from down the hall, no doubt investigating the noise. The round caught him square in the forehead, throwing his head back as brain matter painted the wall behind him. Jon caught him by the front of his clothes and lowered him down to the ground more gently, mindful of his rifle clattering too loud. He unslung the rifle from the limp body, throwing the weapon across his back. Better to have and not need than vice versa.

With the downstairs cleared, Jon proceeded up the stairs at a steady but cautious pace. He wasn’t keen on giving away his position to a creaking stair, so he took care to be deliberate. He reached the top and AK-47 rounds shredded the sundried mud wall next to his face. The chipped debris bit at his skin, forcing him to recoil away. He took a moment to curse himself. He was rethinking his approach, wondering if the surer approach was to have come through the roof where he could funnel them all in one direction. Sure enough, rounds bored into the wall as the outside guards rushed his position on the stairs. He unslung the rifle and fired from the hip for suppression. He had to get off the top of these stairs or he was as good as dead.

He yanked open a pouch, fishing out a flash bang, and pressing the red button on its top after removing the primer pin. He lobbed it around the corner, pausing just long enough for the flash bang to explode. He rushed in immediately behind percussive blast, snapping off quick shots into multiple targets, and then spun around covering the stairway. A moment later, the man on the ground floor emerged and caught several rounds from the AK-47 into the chest. Scarlet painted his chest as he sagged backwards and tumbled down the stairs. Jon took a moment to catch his breath.

He was about to turn around to go after Masri when thick body odor and cigar smoke assaulted his nose. He heard a click at the same time cold metal nudged the back of his skull. “You’re good for an American spy dog.”

“Abdul Kareem Al-Masri,” said Jon.

Fiery breath huffed against his neck. Small tendrils of smoke whispered around his cheeks. This was the man alright. Jon’s heart raced in anticipation.

“Turn around,” said Masri.

Jon turned, he stared into the barrel of a gold plated Desert Eagle magnum. The weapon looked ostentatious in his opponents’ hands compared to the hovel they were standing in. Jon’s lips twisted into a scowl.

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“So, to what do I owe the honor of this intrusion?”

“Haltech wants you dead for lifting its weapons,” he paused, then added, “but I suspect there’s more to this than the simple corporate explanation. Isn’t there, Masri?”

His eyes locked onto Masri’s, looking for even the slightest twitch. Realization took a moment for Masri’s eyes to light up.

“Ahhh, so you must be the corpo lapdog sent to wipe up their mess.” He turned his back to Jon, a mistake seized on by sweeping Masri’s legs from under him and flipping, delivering a straight leg chop to Masri’s chest with his calf. Springing up, Jon kicked the gun aside. Metal scraped on wood while the pistol slid, bumping against the door towards Jon’s foot.

“Let’s try this again,” Jon said, making his way to the pistol, dropping the mag and emptying the chamber before tossing ammo-less pistol back to Masri.

“Or perhaps,” Masri choked for a moment, fighting off the urge to cough, “you’re not as willing to carry out Haltech’s dirty work as I thought. Why spare me when you have the drop on your target?”

Jon scowled for a moment. “Because the Agency fed me a story. They told me you killed an asset of mine. But I know the facts don’t match. It wasn’t your boys, the goons who hit Sam were corpos. I need to know what happened before he died.”

Masri could sense this was his come to jesus moment. Clearing his throat, he nodded, understanding, “What you say is true.” The silence settled in with a pronounced weight. The discomfort caused Masri to shift on his feet.

Jon gestured for him to continue, then folded his arms.

Masri stepped towards the doorway and gestured for Jon to follow. Against his better judgement, a need to uncover the truth compelled him to play along for now. So he followed, trailing behind Masri as they stepped into the master bedroom of the estate. The room contained an enormous bed, with a desk and a laptop in the corner rigged up to a router. He followed the cable to the ceiling; they rigged the line up to the satellite dish up top. Masri approached the laptop and logged in, then pulled up a file. The home screen had emails saved, showing transportation routes and best points of vulnerability. Jon spotted the Haltech corporate logos on each icon.

“They helped you steal them?”

“They would tell me when and where anytime I requested resupply. They get a tax write-off, and I got my weapons,” said Masri.

Jon shook his head. A cold, numb sensation spread inside his chest as he read all the evidence. If this was legit, and Jon’s gut said since the tech Masri was working with isn’t on the caliber needed to forge any of this, Haltech was financing terrorism. That alone was enough to ask questions, but also raised the point of if Haltech was pointing to this fake terrorism as a cause for necessary conflict, were they artificially manufacturing conflict for profit? He turned to look at Masri, who nodded at Jon’s unspoken question.

“This was all thier doing. Without me, a replacement would be easy to groom. And they have. I’m but a single part of a larger network of paid disruptors. Haltech began this fraternity of war many years ago, planting the seeds of chaos and discord to destabilize select regions of the world.”

A sound from outside grabbed Masri’s attention, and Jon caught genuine fear in the man’s eye. “We must hurry. We aren’t safe here.”

“I don’t get it. If Haltech’s been helping you out this whole time, why turn around and cut me loose on you?” Jon leaned back, “You did something, didn’t you? That’s why Haltech is comfortable pushing you off its list.”

Masri gave Jon a stiff nod. “Yes. I reached out to your asset, looking to exchange intelligence. Some of my people are more skilled with computers than your people give credit for. They tapped into Haltech’s network and extracted some rather sensitive information. I knew the data was hot. But I had no way of weaponizing the information against the company. My sins would color anything I tried to say against them. I thought if I could anonymously shed light on what Haltech was doing, the damage would exceed any mere bomb or missile ever could.”

“Then what?” Jon asked, trying to keep the edge out of his voice.

Masri frowned, “Somehow Haltech found out. They dispatched two trucks of black hats to intercept the meetup. I feared the whole situation was lost. Then I heard reports of a shootout between you and your asset and the mercs. Somehow, he must have escaped.”

He sighed. There was still a chance this was a lie, though. He had to know for sure. Masri could tell he isn’t convinced, gesturing to the encrypted radio on his kit. “If you don’t believe me, tell them you captured me instead of killed me, and see how they react.”

He narrowed his eyes and keyed his mic on his neck piece. “Shadow to Raven.”

“Raven. Go ahead.”

“I’ve secured the target. Ready for exfil with one prisoner.”

“Stand by.”

A long, uncomfortable silence settled in, and Masri gave him an expectant look. “Your handler is likely being told why I’m such a national security threat, and that they must eliminate me instead of bringing me in.”

Jon recalled his conversation with Wilson in his debrief. The way the Director seemed to enjoy Jon’s desire for payback for Sam’s death. They were stringing him along like a puppet. And they thought he was dumb enough to buy into the farce.

Masri noticed he didn’t look as shocked as expected. Masri’s thick brow arched, curiosity piqued. “You suspected, didn’t you?”

“Memory of what happened was too fuzzy thanks to a concussion I suffered in the escape. So I went back to the site and poked around. Found evidence of the ambush. Ran into a CommNet reporter who helped me out with some retrieved sat footage. The rez wasn’t the sharpest, but showed it wasn’t your people didn’t hit us. They were corpos dressed like your men.”

“They may suspect your awareness now, then. You’ve deviated from their script.”

An instant later, his mic keyed up with a squelch of white noise before Raven’s voice came back over the line, “Raven to Shadow.”

“Shadow. Go ahead.”

“Command says that’s a no go to prisoner extraction. Mission is to eliminate target with prejudice.”

“Negative Raven. Tell command the target has vital intelligence.”

“Stand by.”

Another long pause settled in. Masri folded his arms, leaning against the wall but never taking his eyes off Jon. “This is a dangerous path to walk. You’re telling them you’re not a company man.”

“I never was.”

Masri smiled, “But weren’t you, though? How much of that fancy gear came from Miltech and Haltech? How many of your missions have had direct financial benefits to the large corporations? Why is your boss insisting you kill me instead of gaining valuable information? Aren’t you an intelligence agent and not an assassin?”

Jon remained quiet, unable to reply. Some of what Masri said stung, and some of what he said rang true. Maybe the line between the government and the big companies was getting too blurred. How many in government effectively worked for the big companies and used the government as an extension of their will?

“Shadow, this is Command.”

“Shadow, go ahead.”

“Your orders are to destroy the target and secure the weapons. Is that understood?”

“Understood.”

“Then carry out your orders, soldier. Command out.”

Masri read the turmoil in his expression. “You probably just blacklisted yourself to them.”

His comm pinged again as he paced, trying to figure out how to handle this. It was Raven. He answered the call.

“Jon. Get out of there. Wilson isn’t confident you’ll complete the mission, so he’s ordered a tactical strike and assets from outside agency channels.”

A heavy sigh of relief slid past his lips. Some of the tension in his shoulders had drained out after her warning. Finally, the proof he needed he could trust her. That she wasn’t just playing him somehow. He thanked her for the heads up and they both agreed on one of their predetermined contingency plans. He cursed after the line died. He paced wildly, like a caged big cat. Alert, dangerous, and looking for the nearest escape route.

“I have known Panther drones to patrol the region regularly. An attack from one would not be out of the norm,” Masri said.

“You know more than you’re telling me. I need that information.” If he was going to make Haltech burn to the ground for Sam’s death, he needed to know what they were trying to hide.

“Permit me to escape with my life, and both my men and my information will be yours.”

What was falling down on Jon’s shoulders hadn’t set in yet, the enormity of the task not yet clicking. Yet training and habit made allies, both formal and informal, an ingrained necessity. So much so that he agreed to Masri’s terms autonomically.

“Confirm execution of target,” said Command. No, no command. Wilson.

“Not very democratic, is it? To kill a man before he is brought to justice?” Masri noted.

Jon drew in a slow breath. He knew the choice before, having already decided. He knew the instant he found Noriko dead. When they forced him to watch Sam stay behind and die for him. Haltech and everyone connected to them had to burn. Corporations had to burn. If any there was any hope for humanity, for the country, they all had to go. But most of all, they had to burn for Sam and Noriko.

“Go. Do you have a bomb shelter?”

“With how often you Americans use your drones? Of course we have shelter,” Masri said.

“Saddle up then.”

Masri eyed him, confused for a moment, before Jon waved at the door. A sound from outside, like a vehicle pulling up, a thick armored door sliding open and a heavy foot stomping down into the sandy soil, came from outside the window. In the distance, an APC sat parked with Haltech livery. They were waiting to close the gap. But for what?

Masri nodded, then glanced to the window, and his expression paled. “He’s here... we haven’t much time. They might have called their man in.”

“Their man?”

“Price. The Executioner.”

Jon cursed under his breath and leaned to the window enough to get a peek outside. Price was probably here to secure the perimeter, ensure no one got away. They let a missile do the heavy lifting. His heart stopped in his chest when caught a full look at Price. To say he was more a robot than a man would undersell it. There wasn’t much flesh at all showing on the man. Jon imagined the man like some kind of anthropomorphic panzer tank. Large broad shoulders, thick chest armor, and weapons in his hands. He looked like some kind of mechanical gorilla with gun arms.

“Fuck. That is one big man.”

Masri nodded, fear glinting in his eyes. “If you survive this. Find me here.”

A quick download started and completed. It was an encrypted file and usually sophisticated. He couldn’t decode it with his agency standard ice breaker. He needed Raven or someone else to do it.

“Go.”

Masri nodded and made for the stairs. His rapid footsteps descending each board echoed back to Jon.

“Repeat. Confirm execution of the target,” Wilson’s voice said more insistently over the radio.

He keyed the mic, hesitating before finally following with. “Confirmed. Target down.”

“Awaiting confirmation.”

Jon turned and made his way downstairs, sending a photo of the man he shot in the face several times. The ruined gore would make facial id impossible. And since they were going to drone strike him anyway, they wouldn’t be here for a DNA check. The photo uploaded via the channel.

“Confirmed. Stand by.”

Jon peeked outside from the darkened room, glimpsing Price’s massive form pacing outside. He itched for a fight, that much was certain. A fight with that bruiser isn’t something he looked forward to. Several seconds passed by with no word back. He weighed the choice of barging out the front door. He isn’t armed for a fight with something that armored up.

“Jon. It’s Raven. Get out. Wilson just ordered a strike on your position.”

“Fuck me,” he muttered.

He took a deep breath, told himself to do a three count, then go. At three he went, neglecting to count to one. The wooden door swung open with a loud crack as the lock splintered the wood. Shouldering the AK he had slung on his back, he opened fire on Price. The weapon kicked violently in his arms as it chewed through the magazine hungrily.

The Aegis Defense corporation CEO lifted his massive armor plated arm up as a shield. The aged soviet 7.62 rounds bouncing off the plating had no effect. The big man let out a low, rumbling laugh.

“So, you’re the wayward spy that Wilson said would be a problem. Looks like you crossed the wrong people.”

The empty mag slid from the mag well of the AK and Jon expertly slapped a new one home, letting the bolt ride forward. The whole action taking a second or two tops. He was already sighting down the irons again as the big man lowered his arm.

“I didn’t cross you. You crossed me.”

Jon caught the rocket priming for launch on the massive weapon assembly that substituted Price’s arm. Jon focused his fire on the rocket head, trying to blow it before it launched. A loud pop and hiss told him he failed, leaving him little time to react. He felt the explosion more than he heard it. A weightless sensation let him know he no longer had feet on the ground. His back exploded with pain as he slammed into the wall of the building.

Jon gasped, sucking air into his lungs. It burned to breathe, and he felt like his chest was in a vise grip. He writhed on the ground, stealing a glance at Price, who simply prowled the edge of the property. Jon had to put some distance between himself and the building. That meant getting around Price.

The question was how? He had little on him capable of getting through the armor. Maybe he could distract the brute somehow. He brought a few breach charges in case he needed to get through locked doors. A pained smile ghosted across his features as he forced himself up.

Price seemed confused by Jon’s sudden amusement. The big man gesturing for him to come back and try again. Jon canted his head, his interest overwhelming him. Who was he to refuse?

Letting his pack slide off his shoulders, he caught it in his hand. Breaking into a sprint, Price unleashed a storm of small arms fire from his mounted machinegun. Jon hurled the pack at the same time and broke into an evasive strafing run. At head level with price, Jon fired his pistol into the bag, blowing the charges. The detonation caught Price off guard and the massive mech skinned merc tumbled over with a loud clank.

Jon used the opening to press away from the building, trying to get as much ground as he could. A sharp hissing sound and cracking thunder sounded from the sky. The missile plowed into the rooftop of the building at his six. The surrounding air gasped as it sucked past him, then blew hard at his back.

He tumbled in the air and everything went white, as sound blasted into his ears. His body wracked with pain as both shock waves and debris threatened to tear him to pieces in the aftermath.

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