OHIO -- 0300 HOURS.
A brisk light shines from an outpost among a series of warehouses in a night sky that covers a vast rural area. A man in a clean pressed suit stands aptly with a slight grin as he watches a line of blacked out Audi R6’s pull in with rank fashion. The high beams remain luminescent as a few doors open up, and a sizable ensemble of armored men exfil from the vehicles, didn’t even bother to address nor engage the suit until they scanned and searched the entire area. They check the convoy with the suited man’s own personal entourage around him, they too well armed with high tech gear, but for some reason, though they pride themselves on being the premier black-group task force, they couldn’t help but silently analyze the never before seen armor and gear of the men that now surrounded the warehouse and checked the perimeter. Finally, when all checkpoints were cleared, one of the men approaches the suit without a word, almost as if he weren’t even breathing. The man smiles and nods at the impressive group and their entrance.
Man: “Nice intro, Audi? That’s my son’s favorite car. So, where’s the top brass? I mean… don’t mean to be THAT guy but, the henchmen don’t get to make the calls do they? Well...it is 2017 so--”
Another sedan door slides open, this time a female voice with a luster whisper invades the air as Kilgore’s face loses all humor exceptionally fast.
Kilgore: “I.. it’s you, I wasn’t aware I was dealing with--”
Woman: “Silence. Where are they.”
Kilgore instantly nods and opens the back of the convoy with his men as his arsenal is revealed to be very old, yet very highly advanced weaponry from the 1940’s. None other than the old HYDRA assault rifles that were used by HYDRA in their former regime. Their condition was astoundingly pristine, almost as if they were made yesterday as opposed to 70 years ago. He takes one and handles it carefully as he showcases it before the woman, a red silk robe draped over her with a solid white mask, exactly the color and composite of bone. Her piercing dark eyes almost seem demonic conveying through the mask, her eyes fixated on the metal piece of German ingenuity.
Kilgore: It doesn’t run on bullets, so the clip is essentially limitless, the energy it uses is derived from some old power source found by HYDRA back in the day. Tesserift? Tessanact? Something like that. The energy breaches surfaces, and upon contact with human anatomy...total vaporization.”
The woman then takes the rifle, aims down the sights, right into the forehead of Kilgore. The sound of energy building upon itself can be heard. His nerves seemed to seize him in the moment as his breath hitches, and she returns the rifle back into his hands.
Woman: “Looks good. We’ll take them. All.”
Kilgore: “Really? I have like 5 in here, one would do the trick of pulling off even a DEFCOM level event. That’s about 2.4 billion dollar payout.”
Woman: “Check your account. Money’s there. Load them. Don’t make me ask again.”
Kilgore didn’t even bother checking his account, he knew exactly who he was dealing with. The people the Devil goes to for permission to make his deals. The Boogeyman’s Boogeymen under his bed. He signaled his private force to load up the weapons, but they stop halfway to realize the sedans simply don’t have enough room, the trunks were already full of blacklisted tech that the likes of the most influential and wealthy couldn’t get their hands on. They set all of the rifle crates down, as the woman walked sharply to the merchandise, and with a small device attached to her wrist she points it at the merchandise as it all shrinks to the size of a phone. She picks it up and pockets it as Kilgore and his men look in awe.
Kilgore: “Never cease to amaze, I swear it’s like you have technology the world hasn’t even thought to possess yet. Well, my men you know the drill...”
But Kilgore has seen this before, several times. He and his crew just don’t remember it. They never do. The woman signals her team as they face Kilgore and his men who were already kneeling, as the woman watches her men deliver an amnesiac flash to the lot. Kilgore and his men stare hazardly and gradually begin to lose consciousness. The effects never last long, it was designed to be potent and powerful enough to knock their synapses out and wipe their short term memory, but not radiant enough to last long at all. Precise and tactical enough for them to evac before anyone ever knew anyone was in the remote location. The Audi’s drive away as the warehouse lights darken completely, Kilgore and his men’s brief rest accompanied by abysmal darkness in the night…
An A.I.M. freight-truck with the number “09-63” drives down a lone Ohio highway in the darkness of pre-dawn. The driver was accompanied by a passenger, both armed with SCAR assault rifles with ACOG scopes on them. In the freighter, two more men were armed like so, quietly riding in the darkness of the cargo. And then the approach of sedans: Audi’s. They speed at imperceptibly fast numbers, past the mechanical capabilities from that of a sedan’s makeup and horsepower. They reach speeds of 300+ Mph as the superior chassis and handling sway with perfection as they approach and surround the freighter. The armed A.I.M. men look from their side view mirrors and see a brief flash of headlights zoom by as their next second is filled with a white hot flash in between the eyes and eternal nothingness for them, the vaporizing blue light from the HYDRA rifles of the blacked out team hitting the vehicle inhabitants. The truck swerves for a split moment before one of the men hops in the driver’s seat and steers the truck to control, as the masked woman arises from the passenger side of the sedan and fires a HYDRA rifle at the back, blasting open the metal to reveal a metal turbine stocked with hardware components and robotic scrapped limbs. The sedan drives forward as the masked woman hops onto the back, quickly and efficiently aiming her wrist at the large technology as it becomes the size of a bottle cap. She pockets the objective as the truck comes to a stop. Her team hops out both the sedans and the truck, as she apathetically shrinks the freighter to hot wheel size, lighting a match beside it as they all return to the sleek dark Audi’s, and in a flash, darts away from an isolated and now empty highway. No evidence of life or tow as a small spark goes off on the side of the road, the explosion of the freighter. The woman silently bathes in satisfaction as the men all ride away with the vintage yet alien powered rifles intact, a precision that would make SEAL Team 6 kneel. The masked woman then touches the car radio, a static hiss and scrambling numbers appear and begins to speak.
Masked Woman: “Black Rook, the task is resolved.”
She removes her hand and sits back. Ghosts were real, and they had just performed a feat of their non-existence. And it was only the beginning. They were out there, and all the chess pieces were moving into place. The Checkmate was coming.
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