by T. C. Edge
Seeing it, Mikel thought of another benefit of this falling rain - he could, in fact, see it.
That wasn’t always the case. Mikel missed little, and one thing he’d come to realise was the fact that this little drone also had a cloaking function. When used for infiltration, surveillance, or reconnaissance, it had the remarkable ability to turn all but invisible to the naked eye.
But not now. Not with this rain.
Difficult though it remained to see, Mikel could see it, just about, its outline visible by the strange manner in which the rain bounced off its otherwise invisible surface. The falling droplets splashed off it, rolling down the sides of the little orb, dropping back into the tempest. Most wouldn’t even consider looking up, let alone notice it.
But Mikel did. He knew what to look for, and he’d found just that.
It was close now, that drone, preceding the others creeping along beneath it. It would spot him soon if he didn’t move, and thus it was time to displace.
Retreating down his dark alley, he began working backwards, hidden by the tall side of the building. Flitting through the gloom like a spectre, he covered the ground quickly, his fleetness and lightness of foot barely causing a splash in the accumulating pools as he went. He reached the end of the lane, turning right, sweeping off down another narrow street, distancing himself from the group.
His aim, really, was very simple - get around then, get behind them. Sneak in and snare one before they knew he was there.
Of course, this group were tightly knit, working in tandem quite nicely, and so bagging his prize wouldn’t be quite so easy. Mikel had thought them useless by the manner of his recent escape, easily manipulating them to ease his passage from their grasp. He’d so enjoyed those moments until that cursed group of soldiers arrived, preventing him from feeding. So odd that they appeared to be of the Crimson Corps too.
Mikel smiled at the thought, finding all of this so humorous. The constant warring, the betrayals, the one-upmanship between individuals, groups, and nations. These people never appeared to be satisfied, ever seeking greater power, lands, money, weapons. They were just so…so complicated. For every one of them who valued human life, who desired peace, there would be another who’d be happy to sanction genocide, who revelled in war.
It wasn’t quite the same for Mikel, driven by his simple desires as he was. Of course, that might change soon. He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d function in a new shell, his biological hunger gone, his lust for nanites no longer a concern. The thought was saddening to him, but at the same time exhilarating. A new chapter, a new challenge. Perhaps, he mused, I’m more complicated than I thought.
He continued on, circling his prey, quickly coming around behind them while keeping his distance. He lost sight of them as he went, but knew the path they were taking. Their nanites, that strange mix of Panther, Spectre, Southern Queen, were more difficult to detect in the rain, their scents masked by the shower. He drew nearer once more, and their scents rose up, signalling their proximity.
They were close.
He crept slower, more carefully, eyes crafted skyward. There…
The little drone swam through the rain two dozen metres up. It seemed to have stopped temporarily, holding its position. Mikel craned his neck around the side of a building and saw the group, a cluster of black figures, taking brief refuge behind the crumbling wall of a tenement block. They appeared to be in conversation, perhaps stopping to scan the area.
Yes, yes that was it. The Phantom girl was searching through the drone. It appeared his presence was yet to be noted.
He stayed where he was, watching, waiting, refusing to move an inch. They were a distance away, past an intersection where four streets met, this area of the city manifested in a grid pattern, the roads straight and rigid, the layout utilitarian. Around them, the apartment and office blocks grew taller now, some rising a dozen storeys high. Several had been badly damaged, the fighting clearly passing this way some time ago. The sight of battered walls, torn up by bombs and bullets was a common one here, elsewhere…everywhere.
Mikel watched on, considering his next move. Right now, attacking them would be difficult, even foolish. He needed to separate a weak lamb from the flock, and he knew just which lamb he wanted most. But how? How to force them apart?
They never seemed to move more than a few metres from one another. If one didn’t spot him coming, then another would. And any quick movement would be detected by that drone.
A sudden wave of doubt spread through the vamp. Was this necessary? He could get caught or killed if he wasn’t careful, and for what? His mind had been on Chloe for some time, those nanites of hers such a grand prize among his kind. But did they mean anything now? Yes, they were still unique, still special, but Mikel’s entire existence was about to change. Soon, his lust for her would be gone. This would all be a thing of the past.
But not yet. His desires remained powerful, his urges so difficult to deny. He couldn’t walk away now, no matter the possible cost. His instincts were too profound to allow for such a thing. He was an addict, staring his greatest vice in the face. His willpower would never be enough to draw him back.
No, he’d wait, he’d stalk, he’d enjoy the hunt as he always did. Before long, he’d have a chance. Before long, he’d…
His thoughts shut off, suddenly, unexpectedly. His nostrils flared, eyes narrowing. What was that? Some smell in the air. A strange collection of nanites…but not from Hunt’s group ahead.
The smell was faint, but detectable, coming from the west. A more powerful grouping than the four ahead, suggesting a larger team. His nasal sensors sifted quickly through, zeroing in on the different odours - Panthers, Spectres, a couple of Southern Kings, a grouping of nano-enhanced that could only mean one thing.
The Crimson Corps.
Mikel started, the truth dawning. His eyes turned towards the west, where the budding smell was coming from, close enough to be detectable through the falling rain.
Could it be? He wondered. Were these the same soldiers from the farm? Had they tracked Hunt’s team here…or Mikel himself?
He gritted his teeth, fangs extending. He wasn’t going to be denied his prize again…
He looked again down the street at the huddle of black figures, the drone still unmoving up in the sky. They appeared calm still, unaware of the incoming threat. Mikel’s mind rushed on, wondering what to do.
And then the answer came, clear as a mountain spring - he didn’t have to do anything. All he needed was to let things play out.
The groups would soon cross paths. And in the confusion of the ensuing fight, he’d be able to strike.
Good, he thought with a devilish grin. What a stroke of luck.
Ragan and the gang hunkered down at the corner of an intersection, out of cover of the rain inside an old, ground floor apartment. The wall at this corner of the building had been partially blasted apart, creating a hole big enough for them to pass through. There was a bed in the corner, mouldy and soiled, which made clear the room’s previous intention as a bedroom.
Outside, the rain was now falling harder, coming down in thick, incessant sheets. The black combat suits they wore were, thankfully, waterproof, while helping to keep their core temperatures high. Such a thing was important in combat situations.
Right now, all eyes were on Chloe, whose own eyes were shut tight. They waited a few moments for her to scan the area, Remus maintaining his vigil above. When she opened her eyes, her first reaction was to shake her head, as she’d done several times already over the last hour.
“Nothing still,” she whispered. “It’s getting harder to see anything in this rain. It doesn’t much help Remus’ other sensors either.”
She looked to Ragan with a concerned expression, then glanced over at Tanner. Ragan had noticed them in furtive discussion not long ago, and certainly didn’t buy that their comms links had temporarily gone down. They were up to something.
“Maybe we should call it quits,”
Chloe went on. She glanced at Tanner again. “Mikel isn’t here. We’re wasting our time.”
Ragan shook his head.
“We’ve only been here an hour or so. That’s hardly enough to abort the mission. There’s too much at stake.”
“But…”
“No buts, Chloe. We have to do this.”
He fixed her with a tight glare, the sort that demanded compliance.
Her eyes fled to her feet. He didn’t much like causing her to do that, but he had little choice in the matter. Military action required decisiveness, and resilience when things weren’t going your way. It was becoming a little more difficult for him to reconcile his feelings for Chloe, and his need to assert his authority in situations like this. He needed to remember she had no real experience of combat, not in this form at least. She wasn’t used to following orders.
He turned to the others again.
“We’ll keep on searching,” he said, considering things. “…Perhaps it would be quicker if we split up.”
“That’s…not a good idea,” said Nadia, quite sharply. “We need to stay together as a team. We’re stronger as a single unit.”
“Stronger, yes,” said Ragan. “But we could cover twice the ground apart. I have my scanner, Chloe has Remus. We split, Nadia coming with me, Cliff with Chloe. We’d be able to scan twice the area…” he trailed off, and began shaking his head. The realisation dawned quickly that he wasn’t willing to leave Chloe’s side. An adversary as deadly as Mikel would probably require a group effort too.
“Hmmm, maybe you’re right,” he said. He snapped a frustrated breath into his lungs, looking back out into the storm, the rainfall growing increasingly strong. A faint air of resignation gripped at him. The city wasn’t huge, but this weather served to amplify its size. Their ability to scan was reduced, making active, physical searching and surveillance more difficult. Just their damn luck to get weather like this…
“I’d say we keep on going,” said Nadia, pressing on. “We’re still a way from the fighting in the centre, and the NDSA field camp. We’re picking up nothing on scanners, right? So there’s no debate here. We keep going until we do.”
“Right,” said Ragan, nodding.
“Cliff, Chloe?” said Nadia.
Tanner shrugged glumly. He wasn’t a fan of the rain; it didn’t suit his west coast sensibilities.
“Chloe?” said Nadia.
Ragan turned to her. Her eyes were shut again, a frown beginning to descend. Ragan knew that look, that expression.
She’s spotted something.
He reached out, gently shaking her shoulder.
“Chloe,” he whispered. “What do you see?”
Her frown deepened. A whisper fell from her lips.
“Soldiers,” she said. “There are soldiers coming…”
Ragan tensed.
“What sort of soldiers?” asked Tanner, eyes narrowing. A tension had gripped the group. All were clutching tighter at their rifles. Nadia quickly slipped to the hole in the wall, dipping her head out into the storm, searching left and right and waiting for further directions.
“I don’t know,” whispered Chloe. “A small unit…ten or so. Coming from…I don’t know the direction.” Eyes still closed, she lifted her arm and pointed instead. “That way.”
“That’s west,” said Tanner sharply. “That’s the WSA side of the city. What is it, a flanking party? A patrol?”
“They’re dressed in black,” Chloe went on. “About two hundred metres out, approaching down the street outside. Coming our way…”
“Spectres.” Tanner glowered, turning to the opening where Nadia stood. She’d turned her eyes right, her keen sight trying to pick out the incoming group. It would be impossible in these conditions, visibility being what it was.
“We need to go,” said Ragan. “We can’t deal with a group of ten Spectres right now. We’ll move back, let them pass. Follow me.”
He began moving for the gap in the wall, but Chloe’s voice held him back.
“Wait…”
They all turned. Her eyes were open now. Open and staring.
“It isn’t Spectres.”
“Then who?” asked Ragan. He studied her closely. Her expression drew a sinking feeling. “Not…”
She nodded.
“Quinn,” she said. “The Crimson Corps.”
“You’re not serious!” whispered Tanner harshly. “How the hell has he found us here?”
“It’s not us they’re here for,” said Ragan, shaking his head. “They’ll be here for the same reason as us, though.”
“Mikel.”
“Exactly. They’ll be trying to take him too. We can’t let them.”
“Let them?” said Tanner. “We don’t even know if he’s here.”
“He’s here,” said Ragan. “He has to be here.”
He turned back to the opening, dipped his head out into the tempest. He could see the faint shape of black figures, ghosts in the mist.
He turned back to the others. The look on his face caused Chloe to snap her eyes shut. Her expression coiled anxiously.
“They’re close. We have to move now!” she said.
There was no time to discuss this anymore, and they all knew it. Ragan stepped towards the crumbling wall, the others moving right in behind him. And without a second thought, he hurried out into the rain, turning immediately to the left.
Mikel watched from the shadows to the south as Hunt and his group scurried from their hole. The scent of the nanite-cocktail coming from the west was growing stronger. They were closing in, and fast. Had they seen Hunt? Were they here for him?
Mikel didn’t know.
His narrow gaze studied their path, retreating swiftly towards the east, before heading north up a central street. They moved quickly, tight as a unit, rather more professional than Mikel would like. He needed to utilise this panic if he was to make a catch, split them up, create some…chaos.
As he watched, he saw the other group begin to come into view from the western street linking onto the intersection. They moved with similar speed, their smell growing more powerful. There were a few Panthers in that group…maybe I…
No, thought Mikel sternly, shutting the idea down. He was here for the Phantom, for Hunt. He wouldn’t let his final meal be some nameless Panther.
He watched them carefully, ready to move off if they ventured towards him. They stopped briefly at the junction, some looking south, some north, others straight forward. They seemed to hesitate, not knowing which way to turn.
Mikel knew right then and there - they hadn’t seen Hunt.
After several seconds, they regrouped and pressed on, continuing on their way, not diverting their path northwards in the direction Hunt and his team had gone.
Damnit, Mikel thought. I’m going to have to bring them together myself.
He stepped from the alleyway and onto the main street, revelling in his stealth. There was something utterly enjoyable about watching people, knowing just where they were, without them being aware of your presence. Mikel had grown to love this particular brand of voyeurism, this wonderful buildup before the kill, the feeding.
Sweeping silently down the street, he came quickly upon the intersection, turning his eyes towards the street stretching east. The unit of Crimson Corps soldiers, roughly ten of them, were heading that way, searching. Searching for him, quite possibly. Why not show himself, then?
He grinned, fangs splashing with rain, and stepped out, materialising as a ghostly black figure in the centre of the junction. The soldiers continued moving for a few moments, before stopping suddenly. Someone had spotted Mikel, and now the rest were turning.
They hesitated, fifty metres away, each of them spotting him, one after another. Mikel waited a moment, making absolutely sure they’d seen him. And then, the gunfire began.
Rifles to shoulders, they began firing, but Mikel was already gone, flying off northwards. In the direction of Hunt.
Bullets pinged on t
he floor at his feet, missing him by millimetres. He caught a glance of a couple as they passed - they weren’t live rounds, he knew. These were non-lethals. They were trying to take him alive.
Good luck, he thought, hurdling a hunk of debris, tearing off into the mist and past a building. More bullets rattled into the wall as he passed, splashing feet and shouting filling the air behind him. He turned his gaze up the street, scanning. Ahead, in the distance, the billowing smoke kicked up from the city centre spiralled into the air, further clogging the cloudy skies.
He flashed a glare behind, noticing the soldiers pouring around the corner after him. They fired once more as Mikel dodged left, ducking down a side-street. He stopped, for a second only, drawing a long breath of air into his lungs. He could smell them - Hunt and his team - a little further away, no doubt hiding from the sudden conflict filling the streets, waiting, hoping for it to pass.
Oh, it’s not going to pass, Mikel thought gleefully. It’s coming right for you.
Mikel felt them, knew they were close. He continued down the alley, turning right, disappearing into a network of lanes. No, he couldn’t lose his pursuers…
He veered down another lane, backtracking, bursting back out into the main road. The soldiers were moving off down the alley he’d fled into just a little way down the street. But one remained, spotting his return.
“Hey! He’s here!” Mikel heard the man shout.
Another grin flew up onto Mikel’s face, fangs glowing bright. He turned, luring the soldiers back after him, delaying a moment to let another flow of misty air swarm his nasal cavity. His sensors picked out their scents once more - Hunt was close, so very close.
He launched his eyes to the sky. Yes, they were near…he could see the drone hovering, cloaked but visible by the odd flow of the rain around it, keeping its constant vigil above. Beneath it, a building lay badly damaged, another wall caved in and broken down, leaving only about four feet of the wall still standing. He could see inside, into the room beyond - another apartment, long since abandoned. But that wall…it would make good cover to fire from. A good place to make a stand.