Year 2050
Month 3
Location: [██████] [REDACTED]
Bang.
Bang.
The sound of desperate gunfire echoed through the concrete corridors. Men shouted to each other, their voices filled with panic.
“He’s coming this way!”
“We need more firepower!”
“The armor won’t break!”
Their bullets ricocheted off the walls, sparks illuminating the dimly lit bunker in brief flashes.
A figure moved slowly, its shadow brought to life by the sparks of gunfire. The hilt of a sword in the hands of this shadowy monster dressed as a man.
“There he is!”
“Fire! Fire Now!”
Three combatants opened fire at once. The bullets struck the armored figure but merely created tiny, bright sparks against the midnight-black surface. Not even dents remained where the projectiles had impacted.
One of the combatant’s rifles jammed. He backed away, fumbling with the mechanism.
The sword swept horizontally, opening him from shoulder to hip.
The second man managed to empty his magazine before the blade claimed him, severing his head.
The third turned to run, but the sword pierced his back, emerging through his chest.
The armored figure stepped over the freshly made corpses, moving deeper into the bunker as if came the advance of death itself.
More armed men appeared at the end of the corridor.
Their bullets bounced harmlessly off the armor that encased the man from head to toe. The armored figure stood, face hidden from behind a helmet, with only a narrow protected visor revealing hints of violet eyes within.
One of the combatants tried to flank the armored man, but the sword caught his arm and took him to the ground. Returning up and piercing through the man’s throat.
The sword-wielding figure didn’t pause or acknowledge the kill. He simply continued forward.
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At the end of the corridor stood an open reinforced door.
Inside, four individuals turned toward the noise. They wore high-grade tactical body armor. Each carried an advanced rifle, and each stood at attention as the armored figure entered.
“Floor clear, Lord Mercier,” reported the first, a woman with blood on her cheek. “The area is secured.”
“Floor two and three are clear as well,” said another. “All opposition has been eliminated and package is secure.”
The armored man reached up and removed his helmet.
Alexander Mercier stood tall in his armor, the Mercier sword bloodied at his side.
His expression was calm and composed despite the slaughter around. His violet eyes surveyed the room with casual indifference.
“Children of the Arena,” he addressed them. “Is it all done?”
They bowed their heads in subservience.
“Yes, Lord Mercier,” the woman responded. “The facility is ours. All data has been extracted and purged from their systems. No one will know of Hades, or any of the others.”
Alexander nodded. He replaced his helmet and turned to leave.
“Let us move on then.”
They followed him through the bunker, past the bodies of those who had stood in their way. Bloodied footprints marked their path, leading eventually to a heavy blast door. Sunlight flooded the corridor as the door slid open.
A vast desert stretched before them, golden sands extending to the horizon under a merciless sun.
A helicopter waited a hundred yards away, its blades already spinning. Around it lay at least a dozen bodies wearing the same uniform as the combatants within the bunker.
Two guards stood beside the helicopter.
“Sir,” one called as they approached. “Reinforcements attempted entry from the eastern ridge. We intercepted them before they could enter.”
Alexander looked around and nodded, his voice muffled by the helmet as he acknowledged.
“Evidently.”
He continued forward and climbed into the helicopter without a word. Inside sat a thin man with wire-rimmed glasses, a notebook balanced on his knee.
“The operation was a success, I take it?” the man asked, his pencil poised over the paper.
“Of course,” Alexander replied, removing his helmet once more and setting it beside him. “When have you ever known me to fail?”
“Are you sure you wish for me to answer that lord Mercier? The thin man asked.
…
After a brief silence, the thin man scribbled something in his notebook before speaking again. “There’s a matter requiring your attention. A rebel group in the Forgotten Sands has requested aid. They need at least fifty men to secure their position.”
Alexander waved a dismissive hand. “Send five of the Children.”
The man paused for a moment. “aren't we using them too often?”
“They need the experience, my time is running out quicker than I originally thought.”
“In that case only five?” The man adjusted his glasses. “We can send more to be trained since they specifically requested—”
“Five will be more than sufficient,” Alexander cut him off. “The Children of the Arena won’t be able to gather sufficient experience if too many are sent.”
The thin man nodded, making another note.
“And what of Dante?” Alexander asked.
“He progresses well,” the man replied. “According to the supervisors, he has already surpassed his previous benchmarks. His tactical assessments are particularly impressive.”
A silent smile crossed Alexander’s lips.
“Excellent,” he said. “Everything is going as planned. Dante must pass the arena before my condition worsens.”
“Don’t worry my old friend, when the time comes I will ensure all pieces move as they need, and that Dante learns the truth.”
“Mmm”. Alexander rested his head and closed his eyes, allowing the embrace of sleep to take him.
