Sleeper Cell

Right out in front of the blinding headlights of the VBCI staggered a weak looking young boy that couldn't have been a day over thirteen. Brakes were used generously as everyone stared almost in disbelief that they had actually found someone that wasn't a raven. The first potential survivor these soldiers had found in the entire village. Dark messy hair somewhat framed his face, the clothes he wore were raggedy and torn in various places. Much like someone might appear had they been attacked by animals.

The soldiers started to give signals to one another in silence while constantly looking around for anyone else. Inside the VBCI they were no doubt trying to radio in that a survivor had been located alive. No response came. So far they saw no one but the pathetic youth trying in vain to approach them. Hopelessness tried to grip their hearts once more that perhaps this kid was the only one to make it out alive. Visibly he trembled with every step and struggled to reach them. Quite clearly he wanted these soldiers to take him in, away from the unsettlingly empty town.

A perimeter formation was quickly established to protect themselves and the boy as they cautiously moved in closer. One soldier kept trying to use his commlink to contact the group near Eliah but no response ever came. Fear slightly gripped him, hoping that they merely could not afford to break radio silence at this moment. Little did they know the others could not respond at all.

Just as they reached the boy he collapsed on the pavement. Fearing a critical condition they carried him without hesitation into the VBCI. Placing him gently in one of the seats, it was only under the interior light of their vehicle did his appearance truly sink into their psyches. Not to mention the stench wafting into their noses pungent enough for even a Frenchman's senses to detect. Almost like a living corpse the boy breathed trying desperately to hold onto life and fought hard for it. Emaciated and gaunt, his clothes were barely fitting him anymore as though he had been starved for days. In addition he reeked of death or was simply in dire need of a bath. Flies would have loved him for certain if no one else could find the compassion in their hearts.

What kind of sick monsters could have done this to a little boy?



Lark noticed Whitesnake trying to get in contact with her and quickly opened up a private frequency with him. Listening to his rather simple request she pinpointed his location and used the already opened maps of the town to plot out a route for him. For him it probably felt like weeks passed by as he awaited a response in a town where the only sounds were of the distant VBCI's or the ravens resting on rooftops.

"You're lucky as well Whitesnake. Their search pattern suddenly stopped just a few blocks east of you. They must have found something else of interest in one of the houses or something. Just move north for 0.4 kilometers and then west for 0.3 kilometers before going south for 0.1 kilometers. That'll make sure you avoid them, there's no telling when they'll start moving again."

All the while she had been multi-tasking to try finding out why so many ravens would possibly be at this town. Let alone why they would actually be awake at night. Everything pointed her toward some type of advanced bird training. Files were scoured through for anything in past military programs or anything which would match up with such a strange gathering. Sure enough, digging through the classifieds section of a certain database turned up a result which made her eyes narrow before quickly opening a frequency to the entire BLOODHOUND unit.

"Well everyone there IS a possible reason for these ravens. . . but I don't think you'll like it. An incredibly classified file here says an ace pilot from Germany was dishonorably discharged four years ago for connections to a series of mysterious murders surrounding the deaths of several other pilots. Apparently they were killed by ravens suspected to have been trained by the pilot. Kind of like that Willard movie, the one with the rats. Ever since then she's been missing along with her prized pet raven Karasuman. Interestingly enough the codename she went by in the airforce was Malphas. . ."


Raging for an unknown reason, the ravens suddenly began to attack the French soldiers en masse. No doubt Eliah and Chameleon would be taking cover inside whatever buildings they could. Each with talons outstretched they raked flesh and made it practically impossible for any retalliation. Beaks pecked out eyeballs when given the chance as the French soldiers screamed and cursed aloud in their native tongue. A few tried to radio for help, including the driver, but for some reason a strange static on the radios made their communications impossible. No guns were even fired off due to the swiftness of what happened next. Those who could not be blinded witnessed multiple metallic flashes created by the headlights illuminating something deadly flying out from a shadowy alleyway.

Soon enough they all fell dead onto the ground like so many dominos.

Jutting out of their bodies were a type of expertly crafted custom kunai etched with a pattern that made it resemble a large feather. Panicking, the driver of the VBCI tried to retreat on foot since the caltrops had already punctured the tires. Doors flew open in a last ditch effort to escape, but as he scrambled down the street his steps were tripped up by the countless caltrops causing him to fall and puncture himself in multiple places. Blood seeped out onto the sidewalk as the ravens descended to feast on their kills. Out from the darkened alleyway from which the kunai had flown a figure dark as the ravens themselves sprinted through the chaos of the unkindness with the grace of a bird. Less than thirty seconds went by before each custom kunai was plucked out and the figure vanished into the shadows once more.
 
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The chatter of her teammates was an inconstant grouping of whispers that kept her informed of their positions, confirming her suspicions that by now, everyone was steadily moving closer inward. Some closed in on the main objective sooner than others, but that was to be expected. Although they seemed to have nothing in common personally, there was on ideal that they shared. The ideal of the mission, the ideal of completion. They were all cogs in a machine. There was no place for blatant individuality on the battlefield. As much as they differed on the outside, on the inside, each of their abilities fit in to fill the blanks in the person next to them as best they could. They weren't perfect, which wasn't a bad thing. Perfect would eventually begin to mean predictable.

At any rate, they were all they had to work with and that was that. They were all different on the outside and ranged from mild to spicy to bat-shit insane. They also seemed to be taking their accustomed places on the battlefield, or at least appeared to be working toward it. Lilith was on one such mini-quest.

The woman's position had been growing steadily closer to the mobile forces, her cloaked form slipping from one high perch to the next. She stalked along beside a group of soldiers that strolled alongside one of the rolling vehicles. Just as she was about to drop down from the balcony she perched on, the sound of squealing tires and muttered curses made her freeze. Her eyes flicked around quickly, trying to find the source of the sudden disturbance. She soon found it.

A boy?

Something made her pull back into the shadows, the feeling of hundreds of eyes on her making her flesh crawl. Unconsciously, she felt herself shrinking inside her cloak, nestling deeper into its generous folds.

Soon, the boy was pulled from her sight by the soldiers.

Soon, the night seemed even darker.

Soon, all hell broke loose.

"Oh shit."
It wasn't a horribly specific codec transmission but it summed up the situation fairly well.

A sudden whirling cloud of rustling darkness swept off from the main group assaulting the troops and gave the appearance of seeking out the woman's flesh next, causing her to drop to her knees behind the stone balcony, her head snapping from left to right as she sought a quick, non-ankle-breaking exit.
 
"Got it."

Whitesnake labeled himself a professional, a man invested in the work at hand, however messy it was. He also liked to think that most of the people he worked with were also professionals, or at least Lark had proved to be so, she hadn't failed to give him a proper direction or instruction yet.

He moved with no patrols to bother him, except that ever growing feel that he was being watched, it was no paranoia, certainly, after years of hunting and avoiding being hunted, Whitesnake had developed a sort of sixth sense, and was starting to feel threatened.

"I'm a hundred meters from the me-", he was about to report, when the abrupt sound of the ravens cracking down on the french soldiers, he was too far away to see anything, though there was no need for him to see.

Whitesnake rushed to the med centre, ravens above him in overwatch, he didn't bother looking longer than a moment, making haste for the medical centre, once he was inside, he suddenly remembered that just in case he had to make sure the place was clear.

He drew his pistol, he only used the rifle with premeditation. Whitesnake began his way to the specimen's room, his hopes that nothing would be found broken long ago, certainly there was a foreign entity to these parts.
 
"Aaaaall right. Alright. Alriiiiiiiight."

Eliah's breathing quickened, breaths coming out in shorter gasps as he slid the palm of his hand across the back of his neck, smearing out the beads of sweat into a film on his nape. He shouldered the pistol - it was pretty much useless in this situation. In fact, everything he carried for the current engagement had no business trying to kill a large pack of birds with daggers.

"Eliah here. E-eliah here. Things are bad."

He peered out of the window on the ground floor, cursing himself for moving into the house, cursing himself for entering a building whose only real door was facing the street and the disabled vehicle.

"One of the french units has just been attacked. All KIA.

Birds and daggers. Birds and daggers. Over and out."

The communication tersely uttered into his comlink, he spun the dial to the lowest volume setting and ducked low, making for the back of the house; his plan wa to hop out a window and regroup at the other end of town ASAP.
 
When all hell broke loose, Young Chameleon just watched for a bit, confidant that his abilities kept him hidden. Besides, why would he, a lover of all that is violence and horror, look away from the beauty that was unfolding before his eyes? The answer, there was no reason to, so he looked on for a time.

Once the ravens finished killing and the strange figure (was it a woman? Seemed a rather cruel way to go. My kind of woman,) had departed, Young changed his codex frequency to Mission Command. "Young Chameleon reporting in. The first team of the Frenchies was just taken out by birds and kunai. And no, I didn't cause it. Advise the rest of the squad to be on high alert. Also, if possible, don't kill the kunai wielder. I want to talk to the person." There was no sound coming from his suit. That would have been different, then everyone could hear him, but not in the suit with noise canclers.

He switched the codex again, going to full squad. "Hey everyone. I'm heading over to the clinic now. Oh, and here is some advice, don't turn your back to dark alleyways, its a bit deadly, as one guy just found out. Oh, and if you see any ravens, kill them. Fast. They just took out a whole squad of Frenchies. So, get this job done, fast." He then started moving towards the medical center. Just. Great.
 
The air was alive, a thick mass of dry rustling darkness speckled with wet, shiny beads of eyes and blood. She could hear them above her, swirling and gathering and shredding and twisting in all directions. Dark droplets rained from the sky as the ravens carried chunks of their feast upward, swooping and snapping at one another, their slick pinions flicking off gore with each rapid movement. Something suddenly spiraled away from the main black mass and was flung toward the Widow's perch. It slapped against the edge of the balcony she crouched behind, bounced upward and nearly struck her in the face. She leaned sharply to the right and looked over her shoulder to see what the object was.

A hand.

She looked back over the balcony at the remains of the troops below.

Well, it looked like they could really use a hand. And some eyes. And noses. Whole faces, too.

Hell, they could have used a whole different assignment. Too late for that now, anyway. She caught a glimpse of a soldier clawing his way out of one of the vehicles, his body hitting the ground gracelessly, his legs shaking like he'd forgotten how to use them before he was swarmed and utterly blotted out from view.

A loud caw brought her back to the immediate and her focus snapped upward, a huge raven flapping in the air, calling his brothers to join him, the scent of the bloody hand drawing them to her position.

Lilith cursed and sprung into action. No time to worry about broken ankles now. The only thing that had a right to occupy space now was instinct. Instinct and fleeing...and the time for fleeing was now.

The woman vaulted over the edge of the balcony, the soles of her footwear catching on the rough stucco exterior of the next home, setting her in motion for a questionable descent, her path a series of quick perches and footholds all the way to the ground where she finally landed in a crouch, her breath escaping in a heavy hiss.

She bounded upward and forward, cloak fluttering behind her, the material flaring in her rush, bringing her form into full view for a moment. She could hear another sort of fluttering right behind her. The fluttering of wings. She inhaled deeply, forcing her limbs to work harder as she dipped and wove between homes and alleyways and low garden fences.
 
Phoenix started to rethink his earlier assessment of being useless for this mission once all hell started to break loose. While dedicated to the mission, he briefly peeked outside a nearby window to catch sight of the unkindness which had descended upon the french soldiers. Luckily he saw none of the carnage which most of the team had, only that the ravens closes to Eliah and Chameleon were certainly on the move. Strangely enough the ones near the medical center and the other VBCI were a little more placid. For a brief moment he wondered if this ex-pilot Malphas was aware of BLOODHOUND's presence. If she had the connection to these ravens that Lark claimed. . . she must've known they were there the second the ravens saw them.

Moving up through the stairwell all the way to the third floor, Phoenix opened the door as quietly as possible before moving into the hallway. A slight hiss came from his helmet as unseen eyes looked at the placards which gave information as to what lay inside each room. Immediately to his left was room 301 and just after it down the hall was of course. . . room 303. For the first time tonight it seemed that they had caught a break. But he knew his current duty was to cover Fiest against any potential attackers. Nodding with his head toward the doctor's office, he waited for Mountain to move.


In a location that held a vantage point which possessed quite the view over the town, including the church and medical center, someone peered down at the various activities going on. So far the plan was working with no deviations. Just deviants. A slender, stick-like object in their hand was tapped against another object which was concealed with them in shadow. Illumination filled the chamber briefly as a laptop was put into use with fingers typing away rather hastily. In fact there were quite a few pieces of equipment in there as well. But what was it all for? One could almost assume it was being used to monitor something. . . or record something. Possibly even interfere with certain aspects of technology. Suddenly frequencies beyond those recognizable to the human ear were being transmitted for reasons as of yet unclear.

"Connections established. . . now to remove the audience."

Up above, beyond the reach of Earth's atmosphere where a French satellite was coming into position a signal that had been transmitted was recieved. Only it was not a welcomed guest. Suddenly the monitoring systems and cameras which could pinpoint a sheet of paper on a street corner went haywire. Everything was hijacked and hacked all at once. Now it would serve a purpose other than what the government which had built the satellite intended.


Lark had been monitoring the French channels as a precaution this entire time to know if BLOODHOUND had been spotted without their knowledge. A nifty little safety precaution. For that reason she had certainly become aware of a very strange static resounding in the radios of the French coldiers. Even moreso, she caught wind of the chaos at the French command center in charge of these troops when their eye in the sky went offline. No. . . offline was quite right. It was still running. . . just not for the French. Quickly, she utilized a backdoor into certain systems to try tracing the source of the hack. Keystrokes executed within mere seconds put her hot on the trail of what most would call a cyber terrorist while using the very same techniques as the enemy. Seconds later she had a trace on their general location. . . they were just outside the village of Kayersberg.

Looking over at one of her many screena, she noticed an intrusion alert on the network. Cursing herself mentally for giving even a small crack of an opening for a hack attempt she started to deal with it. At the very least she locked whoever it was out from being able to talk to the unit. But the look on her face said she knew exactly who it was simply by their technique. Suddenly a voice came into her ears that did not belong to anyone from BLOODHOUND.

"Oh my, are you BLOODHOUNDs sniffing around in my symphony?"

"I know that voice. You're The King."

"Is that you Miss-"

"Get out of my network."

Faster than most could even blink a series of commands and cyphers among other things were put into place. It would keep the man Lark had reffered to as 'The King' busy for some time if he bothered to try hacking in again. Maybe after tonight she would finally get her request for tougher firewalls approved. Luckily she knew a thing or two herself about computers. After all there were quite a few reasons she had been chosen to backup BLOODHOUND. If anyone had witnessed the deftness of her actions they knew to expect more surprises from her as the night went on. But before anything else could transpire she quickly opened up a transmission to the entire BLOODHOUND unit.

"Listen up BLOODHOUND, I just had someone try to hack our network. I even had a rather short conversation with him. He goes by the codename King Amdusias or simply The King. He's a hack composer and a very composed hacker. One of the best in the world. And he's somewhere near the village. There's no way that his arrival is just a happy coincidence with the unkindness of Malphas."

A pause came as though she were weighing the options, or recieving new orders.

"Young Chameleon, since you have the best shot at avoiding Malphas' unkindness. . . don't engage the ravens unless they specifically attack you. I need you to focus on finding The King. Track. Him. Down."

She had not told them the backstory behind this particular man since it was not the right time. Right now she had to get back on making sure their communications would remain secure from the enemy. But the fact he had become involved worried her immensely. Especially because he had no past connection with Malphas on file. Which likely meant that they had been brought together by someone else. And the fact that it meant there was yet another player hiding in the shadows. . . it made Lark wonder just how many others were involved.



". . . si affamé, affamé. . ."


Pleading weakly for food the boy seemed ready to lose consciousness but the request had not fallen on deaf ears. The heart of every soldier in the VBCI had already gone out to this boy for surviving whatever afflicted hm. Quickly they gave him rations and at first they had to help him get the food to his mouth but the boy feasted greedily. Every last crumb was devoured while the soldiers across town were lying dead in the streets. He ate everything given to him until there was nothing left between the eleven men. Regaining some strength at last he seemed to finally recognized those who saved him from what had seemed like the edge of death. A soft smile came to the boy's lips in thanks but due to his current state it came off with such a haunting look that the soldiers felt ghastly chills sweep through their bones straight to the very soul. None of them even wanted to look the kid in the eyes. . . his seemed so vacant until the food's energy kicked in at last.

Wasting no time, the leader of the men started to question him about where his friends and family had gone off to so suddenly. Even though the boy should have been given time to rest, time was something they could not spare. People were missing and their brothers in arms had not responded for several minutes now. As if suddenly remembering the situation the boy sat up straight and looked up at them with a frightened but hopeful look on his boney face.

"Tous mes amis ont été portés à l'église!!!!"

At last some answers had come now that the boy revealed everyone had been taken to the church. But shortly after that burst of energy the boy slumped back in the seat. Exhaustion seemed to have finally come and claimed him for now. At least the men could keep him safe. Calling the other group on the radio, the men announced they were heading for the church and to meet them there. Potentially this could be a hostage situation. With the boy inside the VBCI, it sped off to the church parallel to the medical center.
 
Y.C. grinned when he heard his mission get changed. In the square it was silent but in his suit he was laughing. "Thank you Lark, this is much more suited than this crap about finding stuff about some nano-tech. Assassinations and kidnappings. Way up my style. Tell me, when I see this guy how many pieces do you want in him? And will you accepted damaged goods?"

He moved back into the square, the ravens all but disappeared. Where to start, where to- His foot hit a radio that had dropped from one of the soldiers and was now spinning and emitting static. He would have ignored it but he noticed something. As it spun the static got louder and softer, one direction making the static loud, the others very soft. "Lark, I think I found a way to get to our man. Its static from a radio." He picked it up and placed it in a hidden pouch, the sound escapeing but not seen. Perfect.

He started following the static, going for where the loudest was. Sure he had to make a few detours where the ravens were thick and when he thought he was being followed but eventually he reached it, a vineyard outside of town where the static was really strong. He lowered the volume on the radio and slowly went forward, silently telling Lark where he was. "Seems like I found where the static is... Come out King. The queen is here to put you in checkmate."
 
Ha!

Haha!

Hahaha!

Inwardly directed, of course. His lips trembled slightly and a crooked grin spread slightly across his lips as he creaked the door open and bounded out. He might have been a soldier, and probably still was. The sight of heads popping and blood squirting from neat little holes, punched right through by FMJs, did not really bother him. The gore and violence, innocently expressed and dispensed from the ear ringing burping of the AK47 was rather commonplace and everyday for him. But this time, it was different. How do you shoot a million birds? The same answer held for piranhas, ants, hundreds of vietcong, and dozens of child soldiers in Africa swarming, frothing, bubbling angrily out of the forestry in the droves with AKs and knives. You really don't. You run.

So he did, and did his best soldier-quiet-retreat, towards the church. He stumbled, once. He was seeing red creeping in on the edge of his vision, his panting becoming quick and uneven. Something about the shame in losing his balance, the panic, swept away the illogical reality of the situation and imparted a cold, third person perspective. He slowed his tumbling to a gentle jog, and chambered a flare round into his pistol.

"Hello, hello. Eliah here. I just retreated from a massive amount of birds - ravens? Magpies? They appear to be controlled. Attempt to disperse or ignore for the time being?" The flare round had a few spiral grooves etched into the casing - as it spun, besides the phosphors on the tip burning brightly, it would create a high pitched siren, beating in and out of 20 khz, the edge of pain and annoyance in human hearing.

Actually, fuck it. Taking aim, he send one, two, three rounds into the town. Weeeeee. Weeeeeee. Weeee - and ran steadily, swiftly, towards the church. If they wanted to kill him, they would be doing it now or later. All of them were fired upwards and from near the house he was at. With any luck the other French group would mistake it for an emergency flare by the now piecemeal crew here.

"Did anyone bring a flamethrower? Grenades? Area of effects? Artillery support?" That last comment was more to himself than anyone else.
 
Feist had paused at the door of the doctor's office, one hand to his ear, blocking out the hisses of Phoenix as he listened to the Codec chatter. Things had escalated quickly in the last few minutes - a suspect implicated for the raven presence, a hacker accomplice identified and, most menacing of all, reports from the other team of an attack on the French soldiers. It seemed that Chameleon, Eliah and Lilith were scattered, whilst he, Phoenix and Whitesnake were all but isolated in the medical centre.

It had all the earmarks of divide and conquer.

They weren't safe in this town.

"Eliah, Lilith - find an RV point and lay low. We'll sweep the Med Centre then pick you up."

Time to wrap this up. He brought both hands back to the pistol and nodded to Phoenix, the brief signal all his team mate needed to lift his boot and drive it through the door. Feist moved through the spray of wood splinters and covered left, his partner sweeping the opposite arc a moment later. But even before his eyes caught up his ears gave him the all-clear. The echo of the break-in was hollow - rebounding from empty space and lifelessness.

He straightened his jittering body, eyes narrowing, muscles wincing impatiently as his adrenaline stalled.

The office was spartan... sterile almost... furnished only by a desk, leather chair and display case, all of which had a sense of being only recently used. There was trash in the bin, finger smudges on the display case, butt-prints on the chair and coffee rings on the table. He almost expected to see the chair spinning - borne on the momentum of its occupant leaving only seconds before. Like everything else in this town, it felt like an office that someone had just stepped out of for a moment...

As Phoenix covered him Feist moved through the slatted moonlight that came through the windows. There was a tower computer on the desk and the flatscreen showed a caduceus screensaver. He nudged the mouse and the desktop appeared. It was still logged in.

Lowering his pistol, Feist manouvred the mouse quickly, the cursor jerking with the adrenal twitches in his forearm. There was no internet connection, and when he troubleshooted he found no signal whatsover in the vicinity. The whole intranet had gone down in the Med Centre. But the doctor's email account was still open, and as he skimmed through the messages he saw the exchange that had first alerted the US government to the possibility of nanotech. The doctor was communicating with colleagues in Paris and Geneva, firing off questions, attaching photos and data-graphs of his recent cases. Feist clicked on the last message sent by the doctor.

Neuro-electronic interfacing is a visionary goal dealing with the construction of nanodevices that will permit computers to be joined and linked to the nervous system. This idea requires the building of a molecular structure that will permit control and detection of nerve impulses by an external computer. The computers will be able to interpret, register, and respond to signals the body gives off when it feels sensations. The demand for such structures is huge because many diseases involve the decay of the nervous system (ALS and multiple sclerosis). Also, many injuries and accidents may impair the nervous system, resulting in dysfunctional systems and paraplegia. If computers could control the nervous system through neuro-electronic interface, problems that impair the system could be controlled so that effects of diseases and injuries could be overcome.


A digital smoking gun. Minimizing the account window, Feist looked over the desktop and saw a number of zip-files labelled by patient name. They were recent - created over the course of the last few days. But with the internet down he had no way of copying these. Working quickly, he checked the drawers, then turned and rummaged through the display cases, watched as ever by Phoenix's featureless gaze. In the third cabinet he found a number of boxes and, pulling one open, located a blank jump drive.

Transferring this to the computer, he began copying the patient files over whilst simultaneously keying a frequency into his codec. "Whitesnake, this is Feist. When you make the Specimen Room, look for the following samples...."

He then began reading out the numbers on the patient files.

...numbers of patients found with nanotech inside them...
 
Whitesnake cleared the halls swiftly for the specimen room quickly, mentally he was doing everything alright, knowing he hadn't messed up. He felt very different though, he couldn't shake the feeling he was being seen, it certainly wasn't the security cameras.

Feist communicated when Whitesnake reached the specimen room, he remembered the numbers of the patient files.

"Say, what do I do if there's like, twenty ravens in there all looking at me like I ate their mom?"

Without thinking much he began to open the door to the specimen's room, slowly, his gun aiming towards the room, what he could see at the door being two quarters open made him realize the room was clear, so he opened it fully and walked fast, but still with silence, for him there was no need for gadgets to hide around, he had been doing this before some members of the team were even born.

"Room's clear, I'm going to check the files that Feist found, anything interesting I'll report."

He turned on the lights, the room was in an almost perfect state, only the floors were dirty, thankfully none of that was blood.

"A'ight, now to find these folk's files, where's the computer…" he muttered, walking around the place until he found the computer, he turned it on and if he didn't know better he would've thought the sound had woken up everything and everyone on the medical centre, if there had been anyone to wake up.

As soon as the computer finalized loading its programs Whitesnake got to work, looking hastily for a program to help him find the patients quickly, every minute he spent there made him more nervous. Whitesnake felt watched from every direction.

He quickly found it by logic more than reading, he wasn't up to date on his French, but he began to type out the patient's names to find where the samples were at.

Laura Dupont, Audrey Parra, Christelle Chobet, the first two suffering from cataracts and the latter hyperopia, they were treated with nanomachines, the three women lost their sight in less than two weeks, becoming poisoned with unknown toxics and dying soon after.

Chloe Pellé and Lionel Nallet, both affected gravely by strokes, had been given the same treatment with nanotechnology, the two became comatose and one died weeks later, the other following by days.

So did the rest of the patients that Feist had sent him, he wasn't liking this place in the slightest, it was just a hunch, but he was very confident about them.

Whitesnake didn't have a place where to store the data, but he quickly found the blood samples of each of the patients, he stored them on one of his vest pockets, then opened communications with Feist and Phoenix once again.

"Feist, Phoenix, I have all the patient's samples in my possession, and while I know you're all enjoying yourselves in there playing detective I think we should go, don't really wanna know first hand what happened to the french soldiers."
 
Unfortunately for the Young Chameleon, upon arriving the vineyard he would find out just how difficult the search and therefore the mission might end up to complete. Resting upon the top of a hillside which the vineyard was built into was a large imposing structure. Looming over the town with the imposing presence of eras long past it created a rather eerie atmosphere which the dead of night only accentuated. Despite the obviously old and poor condition it existed in, the ruins were still more than likely a rather formidable labyrinth.

KayersbergCastle.jpg


Kayersberg Castle.​



Hidden within the old stone walls a figure stood illuminated only by the lights of a few screens and surrounded by technology. Whatever preparations there had been earlier were now fully completed. Now The King simply stood there holding in his hands naught but what appeared to be a hard-cover book of sheet music in one and a composer's baton in the other. Pausing for but a moment he stopped to have a conversation with a certain individual holed up inside the church.

"Your plan is working ever so well despite the uncontrolled variables running loose. Shall I start the experiment now?"

"Not just yet. But be ready for my command."

"Well in the meantime then. . . I shall deal with one of our uncontrolled variables."

Walking over to a window he gazed down into the vineyards which no doubt contained his would-be assassin. Now the moonlight illuminated him somewhat as a Caucasian male in his early thirties wearing an outfit mixing the fashions of a court composer's attire from the era of Mozart and the style of certain other 'King'. Hair obviously dyed white to resemble a powdered wig hung freely down to a pair of luxurious ebony headphones hanging around his neck. Gently, a smirk came to his lips as he stepped back into the darkness of the room. Sheet music was rested upon a metal music stand painted as black as Malphas' unkindness. Eyes of hazel looked down at the sheet music as the composer's baton tapped it a few times before it rose into the air with a utterly ominous silence.

And then something chillingly supernatural followed.

Music played from the vineyard as though performed live. . .



. . . but there was not a single musician to be seen.

Completely immersed in the sounds of the music, every sense told the BLOODHOUND member that he must have been standing right in the middle of an orchestra. However what played did far more than simply set a mood. Young Chameleon would not realize until it was too late that it was starting effect him physically somehow. As though brought on by some supernatural force, by the very music itself, he would start to be assailed by headaches, dizziness, or even nausea. But that was not the worst of what might happen to hinder his search for King Amdusias. From the corners of his eyes he might start seeing things one would perceive to be almost like. . . ghosts.
 
YC's immedate reaction to seeing the castle, doubtlessly made by a sadist,was to yell inside his helmet, and silently to the world outside, "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!" This was just great. Knowing the sadistic qualities of people who built mazes, in comparison to his sadistic mastery, was more like that of a puppet master or a chess master. Where as he just liked to hurt people, those people liked to scar them mentally.

And as if on cue, the music started to play. He had to admit it was high qual- "Oh damn it. Head ache... Oh, hello FBI team member. Still Feeble, Baseless and Inebriated I see." He yelled out another loud explitive and then got on the horn with Lark. "Honey, if you would be so kind as to blast my ear drums with the non-sound, I will treat you to a nice dinner tonight. That is if this bastard stops being a sadist with this classical music thats making me see the FBI team again! I mean, come on! I already killed you boys! Stay dead!"
 
Lark listened to the words of Young Chameleon very carefully, all while pulling up the file of King Amdusias. But she stopped herself. Story time would not help the youngest team member deal with the current situation. Instead she ran a frequency spectrum analysis on the sounds currently being picked up by the stealthy psychotic's equipment. All the while she did dispense him some rather obvious advice that he was apparently too panicked to think up himself.

"Young Chameleon fall back from your pursuit. Until I can find a way around the King's tactics you don't stand a chance against him while that music is playing."


Meanwhile, up in the castle a sadistic music lover wore a rather satisfied smirk while watching his foe become disoriented. From the looks of things everything would go according to plan. But surely he relished in the sweet sounds of fear and confusion more than anything. Who was to say some of the youth's teammates weren't just a little happy to hear him in pain as well? Only if the music near the psychopath stopped would he stand a chance at getting close enough to King Amdusias for a killing strike.

A few seconds later he ceased playing the song however. . .

"The bird has struck and the bait has been taken. So get ready for the guests. Also, I took the liberty of jamming the French eye in the sky. So you should be audience free. The doctor is set to receive data. Ready to start the experiment on your signal commander."

"Begin it now. Let's strike while BLOODHOUND is disorganized."






Approaching the sacred structure, soldiers treaded on hallowed grounds with their weapons at the ready in case of an ambush. Quietly, the gaunt youth they had rescued sneaked out of the VBCI and followed them with a rather surprising amount of stealth. Obviously he wanted to see his family again. Moments earlier they had seen what appeared to be a signal flare and assumed it was from their own commrades rather than Eliah. Perhaps it was a sign they had discovered some survivors. But the lack of radio contact was more than unnerving.

The clock was ticking.

Every step the soldiers took a faint hum grew louder in their ears that the heavy doors muffled. Ears trained for combat were confused as to whether it was people chattering or if it was some sort of hymn. Just what was going on in this village? Let alone the church. Most unsettling of all was how the rythmn resembled that of a distorted funeral dirge. Faint as the sound was a foul stench reminiscent of rotting death. As the men opened up the church doors they found exactly what they were looking for:

Villagers.

All three thousand of the villagers had indeed taken shelter here but now. . . they were all covered in flies.

Horrified expressions etched onto the faces of the French foreign legion at not only the number of corpses crammed together on each pew like good Christians, but the sheer number of flies which swarmed them. Other bodies were simply piled on top of one another halphazardly or leaned up against walls. All the bodies possessed wounds that upon closer inspection were either caused by beaks or talons. Maggots dropped out onto the ground from those open wounds to desecrate once clean carpets. Now the stench of rotted death washed over them in a sickening wave. The gruesome scene and horrid scent was too much for most of the men, who vomited right on the spot. Others screamed in terror before raising their weapons in panic.

Just then the poor boy broke past the soldiers, running straight past the soldiers toward the open doors of the church and then stopped dead in his tracks. Laid bare before his youthful eyes were the fate of all those who had lived here. Every last one of them dead. Tears started to fill the boy's eyes as he shook and trembled with what at first appeared to be sorrow. . . only for the look in his eyes and the smile on his gaunt face to reveal it as demented joy. Blindly he dashed through the church doors toward the thousands of corpses.

"Ma famille! Mes amis!! Ma famille!!!"

One of the soldiers was about to speak until. . .

. . .The Church Bell started to ring.

Now the swarm of flies dispersed from the corpses and all headed out through the front door or the bell tower in an eruption of living ebony. Buzzing roared as the church bell continued to ring loudily out across the Village. Echoing across the town was the sound of the bell, purposely drawing attention to that location. Now a lone figure which had remained unseen until now suddenly stood in the church tower. Swarms of flies obscured him partially from view in a veritable vortex of flies that descended upon the boy. Engulfing him entirely, they lifted his light frame up high into the air and deposited him next to the figure who had planned out the entire assault. Shouting from the heavens above came a voice like that of the devil himself down into the church, to those who sat in the pews.

"RISE MY ARMY!!! RISE!!! RISE. . .MY. . .LEGION!!! RISE AND KILL THESE PATHETIC HUMANS!!"

Bodies below started to come to life in static movement, jerking violently as they were raised from the dead seemingly by magic. Twitching into standing positions as though writhing to the rythmn of a ticking clock, they shambled toward the soldiers who screamed and fired into their ranks as they retreated out of the church. But it seemed they would not live to fight another day. Out from the church more and more villagers brought back from beyond the grave poured out into the streets. The entire population had been filed out to accomplish the mission declared by their mysterious master and would attack anyone on sight.
 
"Lark. Shut the fucking hell up before I compare you to a female dog in heat and try to counteract the damn things. I'm sure that if you just hit me with a loud enough sound like, I don't know, FULL VOLUME WHITE NOISE then I should be ok. Because I'm not letting King get away. Simply because I want to shoot him in the knee caps... I can do that right?"

YC sounded agitated right now and he looked around for any speekers that he could shoot... "Its on a loop..." He unzipped the pouch that carried his handgun and his hand wavered over it, ready to draw and unleash the shitstorm of rage he was about to uncover.
 
The samples were secure. With the all-clear from Whitesnake, Feist swung from the chair and pocketed the flash drive. He nodded to Phoenix and they moved again, in silent tandem, swallowed by the silence of the corridors and stairwells. Their footfalls echoed softly, like artillery of a distant battlefield. At Level 1 a click sounded and Whitesnake appeared from the shadows, taking point with a duffel bag of specimen vials across his shoulders. More signals were exchanged, eyes making contact in conveyance of direction and purpose.

For such is war - at once a fugue of clamour and a melody of nuance. Feist, in his time, had become a creature of such extremes - able to weather the shocking noise of gunfire, explosion and death-scream, yet also the subtle twitch of faces and hands that denoted the enemy. Microcosm and macrocosm. He was at once both numb to the things that would overwhelm him and attuned to the things that a non-killer missed. And this was but one of the many paradoxes in which soldiers robed themselves.

It was when they reached the lobby again that each of the trio picked up on the micro- and macrocosmic tragedies afoot. They noted the absence of the birds, the slight tremor of distant footfalls, the odd muzzle flare that made it above the roofline. Then, as Whitesnake cracked the doors of the lobby, the din arrived in flood. They heard the crack of rifles, the snarls of half-men and the cries of the beleaguered French. Something was wrong - terribly wrong. The town had come alive.

Whitesnake moved to the edge of the square while Phoenix remained in the lobby to cover. Between them, Feist crouched in the med centre doorway with thighs and knees literally shaking. Adrenaline riddled his voice as he opened his Codec line, like a pathway through the chaos.

"Eliah... sitrep... wha- What's happeing? Someone report."
 
The streaks of shadow twisted around one another, weaving together only to push away, bursting apart into their respective intensities. The darker swath pursued the paler one, fighting to absorb and devour it, the ferocity and eagerness of its movements frightening yet almost erotic in its own way...and yet the smaller, paler streak flitted on, baiting the larger force only to lead it astray, taking their paths through one obstacle after the next, steadily wittling down the huge dark force until they were nearly equal in size.

"Eliah, Lilith - find an RV point and lay low. We'll sweep the Med Centre then pick you up."

Lilith had been laying low. Repeatedly. Sometimes she laid as low as she dare go, sliding beneath shattered slats of wooden fence and twisted sections of wire barriers. Anything she could squeeze between to shave something off of the beast that persued her. A few times she felt like giving in, wanting nothing more than to open her arms wide and let herself tumble into the abyss. When she could feel her heart give a rough beat as she held her breath longer than she should have, the dry caresses of black pinions feeling almost gentle, almost comforting, threatening to steal away her focus.

As the paler swath twisted and entwined with the darkness, a faint blue line began to limn throughout, flickering in and out of sight.

A faint smile began to curve Lilith's lips, one that quickly spread from a small quirk to an expression of pure abandon.

She leapt from a rooftop and spread her arms, the wind unfurling her cloak, revealing her lithe form to the world, the darkness swallowing the sky behind her.

As her arms extended, her fingers spread, silver rings gleaming around each finger, each ring leading to a thin cylinder.

Her left arm jerked inward suddenly as the darkness threatened to devour her, a cloud of thick cloying smoke engulfed the persuing darkness, causing the streak to break apart into a cloud of shrieks and throaty caws.

As the slick streak became nothing more than an ugly, writhing mass, the woman's right arm jerked inward, the next group of cylinders detaching, seeming to suspend themselves in mid-air as the adrenaline coursing through her veins came to a head. Her cloak twisted around her like a cocoon as she dropped to the ground, watching with near-rapture as the writhing mass of furious shrieks was drowned out by a heavy crack, a bit of the shockwave jolting through Lilith's chest, like a heavy drumbeat. Her feline eyes kept their hungry gaze fixated on the now silent cloud of dissipating darkness.

The Widow's body twisted one last time as she struck the ground in a crouch that slipped into a quick roll, the force of the landing dissipating into a still-jarring but safe intensity.

"I'll be joining Eliah shortly." the woman's voice purred over the Codec in response to Feist's request. The frequency of her codec switched over as she tried to contact Eliah, attempting to find his current position.

As she strode toward her next objective, Lilith's hand reached out, her fingers snatching one of the many ebony snowflakes that drifted through the air. As her fingers closed around the base of the stiff pinion she brought it to her face, letting the tip of it brush from the base of her throat to cross the satisfied smile that curved her full lips. She brought it back to trace it over her bottom lip before giving a slight shiver, her fingers relaxing to let it drift back down to the earth to join the rest.
 
After YC's little outburst, it camse as no surprise that Lark had a little something to say back even while he endured a life or death situation. Part of it came from a sense of personal pride that would not allow her to take any verbal abuse from some punk out in the field. Needless to say. . . she did not enjoy getting bossed around by someone she had been babysitting the entire mission.

"Now listen here you little shit. Pumping your ears with white noise will only do this-"

Sure enough the youngest operative on the team now found he could function normally in the decaying vineyard. On the other hand it rendered him utterly deaf to the world around him. That was the consequence of white noise coming from the codec device. Any technology small enough to fit in the ear and stimulate those small bones normally would not affect hearing. But now was an entirely different situation where the volume levels were purposely blocking outside sound from reaching YC's ears and filling them with white noise. It left him completely open to a stealth attack from whatever direction he was not facing.

Plus Lark could say whatever she wanted about him without being heard by the BLOODHOUND member.



Up above where Young Chameleon stood a figure walked out more into the open than ever before while appearing as though he merely stepping out upon a stage. Up to the very night sky he looked for a muse to strike him. For the King this village was not just a battlefield where men lived or died. . . it was a potential masterpiece.

And as such, it deserved musical accompaniment.

"Ah, the moonlight. It speaks to me. Inspires me. Now you shall hear what I hear."







YC had likely been enjoying the white noise's protection as he tried to close in on King Amdusias.


Until Lark turned it off to communicate.

"I can't pump in the white noise and talk to you at the same time. And you can't talk to me either since the frequencies cancel out both sides. Which means you'll be all alone, deaf, and just waiting to be killed by the King from behind. So every single time you get orders, get ready to see your old FBI buddies. Like right now. Since until I quit talking and switch your white noise back on. . . that's exactly what you will see."

Hallucinations had already started to fill the paramilitary psycho's field of vision while she spoke. Men who had met their demise at the hands of this little sicko were getting some form of revenge at last. Every second that passed allowed them closer until one stood just short of reaching out and touching the mischievous murderer. Just then white noise filled YC's ears again and cut him off not only from the rest of BLOODHOUND but a dark past as well.


Even though the darkness which had chased Lilith through the shadows coughed and cawed in frustration those which it called master still ran loose. Karasuman stalked his equally dark prey from the skies indirectly with an unnervingly supernatural degree of intelligence. Weaving around buildings with avian grace, it finally landed on a rooftop to watch the Widow run off toward Eliah's position. Only a single glance behind with beady little eyes was given to his blackened brethren which congealed together once more into a frightful flock awaiting a command.

But it was Eliah who likely had the most trouble.

Ever since his attention grabbing act, a feathered female had been pursuing him quite openly. But this was not a welcome courtship. Among all the chaos it turned out that tracking her silhouette proved rather difficult to one without heat vision goggles. Dropping down onto a rooftop, Malphas flitted from one to another until her prey was within sight. Rather stealthily she had come up behind Eliah at his current position and attempted to throw two killer kunai right into his spine.
 
Most of the events occurring Eliah had a somewhat surreal feel, as if someone was narrating it to him from a great distance. In fact, that sort of seemed to be the case, as the frenzied buzzing from his earpiece filled his mind with background noise.

His field of view was approaching tunnel vision - he ran, towards the church, but did not know exactly why he was running, or what he was running to. His reason was leaving him, leaving not instinct, as many people who have gladly accepted - but nothing.

The point of the first knife barely entered his skin, the pressure building up on his bone, before he spun in mid step, the second one clanging off his raised arm. The other one lashed out, sounds of metal joints and strips lashing tight as the blade emerged from the hidden pocket in his hollow fore arm, cutting a horizontal arc through the darkness in search of something soft to make home.

On his channel, nothing but static and sounds of exertion.
 
No answer from Young Chameleon.

A whisper from Lilith.

Only interference from Eliah.

The last sitrep had Eliah heading to the church, and if Lilith was joining up with him then it made for an obvious RV point. They could regroup there then locate Young Chameleon together.

A simple plan... if it wasn't for the fact that the church was sitting at the heart of the gunfire, shouts and bestial cries that had filled the night. People were dying out there and the church bell was ringing, as if each toll was counting down the final moments of the French soldiers. The BLOODHOUND team would have to plunge into the heart of darkness before they could get out of this.


Feist's legs were twitching uncontrollably as his adrenal blood screamed for motion. Glancing to Whitesnake and Phoenix, he made a hand signal then nodded to Whitesnake to move. The sniper took point as they traced the streets southwards, never breaking the shadow line that moonlight cast on the houses.

They had crossed Dompteur Square and made it halfway down Rue Laplace when the noise began to fade. The three men knew too well the closing notes of war - how the din trickles out into clipped gunshots and lone cries. And this is what they heard. The great mass of sound broke down into isolated pockets that died, one by one, until there was only silence.

Even the church bell had stopped.

They found the first body in the approach alley. The Frenchman's throat had been torn, but not in any expert way. The flesh was gouged and the incisions thick and blunt. Feist could not determine what weapon had done this... or if there had even been a weapon at all. Flies had already gathered and hung now above the body, as if the man's own black soul was reluctant to leave the corpse behind. Whitesnake gave a wide berth as he led the team onwards.

They spiralled, as if through the circles of Dante's Inferno, and each sight more horrible than the last. On the Rue Cornot, the main street that bisected the town, they found the first skirmish site. Four soldiers, seven civilians - all strewn upon the cobbles. In the dark they could not see the blood. The bodies were more like dolls tossed aside by an arrant child. When Feist knelt to examine one he found the flesh discoloured and decayed, even though the gunshots were fresh. The blood was pumping in his ears now and compounded his confusion.

He didn't understand what was happening here. And he wanted no more of it. Tonight was over. They had to regroup. They were in over their heads.

By the wall of the church, the third infernal scene. A soldier had been dismembered, with the same clumsy force as the first corpse. There was no sign of the limbs. And without them the cadavar looked strange... inhuman... it did not bring the right recognition... the right sense of human loss that Feist should have felt.

"Eliah... Lilith... respond. Lark, do you copy?"

There was no answer on the codec. Perhaps the church had something to do with that.

They circled to the west side, through a landscape of bullet impacts, shell casings, dropped rifles, torn clothes and spattered blood. They were thankful for the dark, for the blackness that obscured the true scope of this horror. In time they were peering into the smoking guts of the VBCI, where the soldiers had made their last stand. There were civilians amongst them - all slumped on the threshold of the carrier. Feist wondered if they had been protecting the villagers... but the gunshots said otherwise.

As did the clumps of blood and skin beneath the nails of the civilians.

"This is fucked up," muttered Whitesnake as he opened the cab and found the keys still in the ignition. There was a streak of blood from where the driver had been dragged out. Phoenix simply hissed inside his helmet. Feist guessed it was a hiss of agreement.

As one they turned towards the doorway of the church, as if each knew the inescapable destination of this horror tour. Feist made it up the first two steps before the stench hit him... the stench of slow-cooked death. He recoiled, coughing and twitching, before motioning Phoenix to take point. With his ballistic suit Phoenix would be better able to navigate through the festering space. The grunt gave a hiss and pushed through the door, taking the main aisle as Feist and Whitesnake covered the left and right arcs respectively.

The pews were soaked... blood... bile... necrotic discharge... an ocean in which maggots grazed and rats were kings. Beautiful shades of red and blue came through the stainglass windows but could penetrate the gloom. As Feist took the left aisle he could see some pews tipped over, as if a mad rush had been made to evacuate the church.

Another body around the altar... a french soldier with officer chevrons on his uniform. Clearly the leader of this doomed mission. From the streaks on the floor he had pulled himself in here... the final act of his dying body... seeking salvation.

Each to his own.

Feist quickened his pace and cirled to the far side of the church, peering up at the belltower through the sights of his Stafford pistol. The bell was utterly still, with only darkness gaping inside it. He turned to watch Whitesnake examine one of the pews, whilst Phoenix moved to inspect the officer's corpse. Feist keyed his codec again. "Feist to bravo team. We're at the RV. Be advised, we..."

He had never heard a gunshot inside a church. It was different. It was greater... louder... more deadening. Feist's heart crashed against his ribcage as he saw Phoenix buck. There was a savage hiss before blood whipped from the soldier's neck, spraying from a hole that had appeared there. Phoenix brought his hand to the wound and reeled, as below him something rose.

The body of the French officer....

There was a pistol in the officer's hand, protruding from the rail of a wrist-sheathe.

He heard Whitesnake shout and bring up his rifle, the sniper wide-eyed as he watched Phoenix stagger and bleed.

Then the world was drowned. Before Feist could react there was thunder from above - a mighty drone that shook the church. He looked up to see the darkness of the bell tower erupt and a black rain of pestilence fall upon him. Feist vanished beneath the shower of flies. His eyes were blinded, his flesh swarmed, his suit penetrated by wriggling, buzzing insects. There was booming from somewhere, and pieces of masonry flying. Phoenix was blind-firing his HABB-3, a weapon designed to blast through concrete. Pillars and walls were pierced and windows were shattered as he clutched the wound around his neck.

The pistol was plucked from Feist's hand. He was dragged to his knees. There were flies in mouth and nostrils and they acted like a single shadowy hand that rendered him powerless. In snatches he saw the eyes above him... the eyes of a child in the bell tower, leaning over the hole and watching... directing...

More gunfire... this time from Whitesnake... but that too fell silent... as did Phoenix's HABB-3. Feist tried to move but was encased in the flies, his every limb twice as thick with insects and his airways clogged. He began to choke, and realised his gun belt was lost. Darkness swallowed him up until suddenly a voice, powerful but wavering, called out...

"ENOUGH!"

Feist fell forward onto hands and knees. The flies unwrapped from him and hung overhead like a waiting beast. He looked ahead. Phoenix was lying beyond the altar, twitching and hissing as he clutched his neck. He had been disarmed and left to die as the blood leaked out between his fingers. Feist's every instinct was to run to him. But the sight beyond it told him to remain still.

The French officer... or more precisely, the man who had dressed in the French officer's uniform... was standing in the aisle with a gun to Whitesnake's head. The sniper was on his knees, unhurt. It was as if the attacker had overwhelmed him in a single move.

"Heel now, little pups." Legion's voice was rich and dark, but at times collapsed upon itself, as if a dozen voices were contending and obstructing one another. It seemed both exquisite agony and pleasure to force out his words. "You won't get your treats if Master is unhappy."

As one, the flies lunged at Feist and forced him to stand. Raising trembling hands, he moved towards the altar as sweat dripped and he strained to catch his breath. His eyes moved between Phoenix - bleeding out helplessly on the floor - and Whitesnake, knelt before the madman's gun.

"We surrender," Feist utterly quietly, before nodding to Phoenix. "Now let me get help for my friend."

Legion's grin was lopsided, as if half his face had declined the gesture. "His wound is fatal. We are not men of half-measures, you and us. We are soldiers. In all things, the kill shot." He mouthed the next words slowly, sensuously. "FULLY AUTOMATIC..."

His chuckle filled the church and was echoed in the buzzing of the fly swarm above Feist's head.

Phoenix had become still, his limbs twitching as his life ran out. But Whitesnake's breathing was still strong, as was his defiance of the man who held him at gunpoint. "Man, you really fucked with the wrong people!"

"Yes... yes..." Legion whispered, in a voice that had come from somewhere else within him. "And that is all we are.... the wrong people."

Feist's eyes grew wider as he glanced at Phoenix, as he remembered something... as he remembered what he should not have forgotten. He looked back at Legion and bent his legs ever-so-slightly. "What do you want?"

Legion's eyes seemed to settle again, and his intellect, cold and ruthless, gleamed all the brighter. "I want you to see. I want you to bear witness."

"To what, motherfucker?" Whitesnake snarled.

"How dull the Bloodhound's nose becomes. You dogs must learn new tricks."

"Let me bring you in," Feist noticed Phoenix twitching again. He lowered his arms a fraction of an inch, tensing them. "I can cut you a deal with my employers."

The other side of Legion's face smiled and he gave a tiny shrug. "My deal has been made."

Whitesnake's face was erased, his identity ripped away as the bullet exited between his eyes. There was a spray of blood and the sniper fell forward from the smoking barrel of Legion's gun...

... and Feist fell in mirror-image... but for entirely different reasons.

Between the altar and Legion, the body of Phoenix, once contained in careful balance by the chemical regulators of the ballistic suit, finally reached critical mass. The explosion was visceral, of blood and acid. It sprayed in all directions, flecking Legion's face and washing over the altar. As Feist dropped into forward roll the flies above him were scorched from the air, dropping or vapourizing as the acid struck. Somewhere in the bell tower a child's shrill and anguished cry rang out.

There was fluid on him, burning and stinging, but Feist kept going. He came up from the roll and vaulted the remains of his two teammates, adrenaline turning grief to anger. His combat knife left its sheathe and he struck at the silhouette before him. His wrist was blocked, the knife hand twisted, closed into a lock. He brought his foot in and collapsed Legion's knee, then reversed the lock to twist behind his opponent. For a moment he had the headlock tight, before Legion corkscrewed and got his arm against Feist's knees. Feist was lifted as his legs were swept, but kept his back arched as fell. His legs flailed upwards and locked around Legion's head, calves crushing the temples. His opponent's face was red, scarred... a mess of blood and rage.

But Legion has lost none of his guile. He pushed forward and Feist was forced to spin on his elbows and roll again to his feet. The knife struck but Legion caught the flat with both palms and rammed the hilt into Feist's nose. He felt the bone bruise and blood gush from his nostrils, but his body denied the pain. His other hand swept in and chopped beneath Legion's ribs, the force allowing him to get beneath the floating rib. Legion gasped and Feist hurled him back against the altar.

He still had the blade. It thudded into the altar, an inch from his enemy's face, and a moment later it was snapped as Legion struck it with his palm. Feist dropped the hilt and used both hands to block a backhand. He swung up onto the madman's back, locking arms and legs around the larger's man's frame.

Again, Legion moved unexpectedly. He dropped backwards and slammed Feist against the altar. The stone punished his spine and with a gasp Feist lost his hold. Legion twisted and brought his arm across Feist's throat. He got the choke in place and two men wrestled, eye to blazing eye, burning each other's faces into their memories.

Feist's other hand whipped into his pocket and pulled the chalk bag from his climbing kit. The pouched exploded on contact and clung to the half-burned mess of Legion's face. He roared and Feist got the upper hand, throwing his full weight into the man. He tackled Legion through the chalk cloud and ploughed with him into the pews, burying him in wood splinters.

Whitesnake's grab bag lay discarded in the aisle, near the church doors. The specimens were still inside. Feist vaulted the next pew and scooped it from the ground, pulling the strap over his shoulder. But behind him a shadow rose. Legion yelled as the concealed pistol shot from his sleeve again and a gunshot roared. Feist felt himself being pushed through the church doors, as if by the hand of God. But when his legs gave out and he tumbled down the steps, he realised something was wrong.

Then came the stinging, spreading pain.

He had been shot.

Every part of his body began to shut down. His legs became like jelly, his vision blurred, his breathing stalled. He could feel the bullet now - hot metal lodged in the shoulderblade. And across the other shoulder, the weight of the bag.

The weight of the mission - the only thing that mattered.

He hear his own gasping and the yells of his enemy - the burnt man and the furious child in the church behind him. He pulled himself across the courtyard, leaving droplets of blood, waiting for the next bullet to strike. But it did not come. Between the bodies of the French soldiers he crawled until he was in the shadow of the VBCI. He reached up with the last of his strength, gripping the driver's seat, hauling himself in, slumping across the seat and pulling shut the door with his foot.

And there he lay, bleeding out and whispering into his codec.

"I'm hit... church... French... vehicle... anyone..f..u..."

The darkness closed in.
 
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