The Isle: Dawn

Part One

Strange sounds echoed over the fifty foot high concrete wall, as they always did. Craig Truman had not taken much notice of them in quite a while. They had quickly faded into ambience upon his arrival at the base four months prior.

He had been briefed on the type of work that went on in the island chain. A non-disclosure agreement as daunting as the wall before him was more than enough to ensure that he kept his mouth shut and did not ask too many questions. He had been assigned to on-site security, which usually consisted of checking shipments of packaged food, medical supplies and weapons that came in and out of the outpost, along with patrolling corridors when instructed to do so. Most men who had spent time on duty in the East would have considered this a waste of their talents and menial. Craig knew that he'd be lying if he said that he hadn't expected something a bit more exciting when he was transferred to the company's private islands in the Pacific after spending a year in the service of Apollo Engineering's private security division.

At first he had been surprised by the scale of the operation being undertaken here. He had guessed that perhaps medicinal or weapons research would have been the focus on the islands. However, upon seeing everything; the fences, the labs, the muscle and catching conflicting whispers concerning the sources of the strange sounds beyond the compound, he realised that this was unlike anything he had ever seen before. Once becoming acclimatised to his monotonous routine, however, the intrigue of the operation and the island faded. The walls surrounding Triphyle base ensured that the mystery of the surrounding islands remained just that; a mystery. And given that all he had to do was sign off on a few shipments and ensure nothing was untoward in the sanitised hallways for a pay cheque that put most other salaries in the business of privatised militaries to shame, it could stay a mystery for all he cared.

The only time that his curiosity had been peaked had occurred 6 weeks prior, upon catching a glimpse of a corpse being ferried out of the base on an 18 wheeler flat-bed from the fortified warehouse at the other end of the complex. Whatever had been under the red stained cloak had stretched from end to end on the transport. He remembered briefly feeling a sense of unease and mystery at the deep rumbles and far-off shrieks that signalled something unseen outside the protection of the complex and the outer walls and fences that guarded it. For the first and only time since then, the cries that travelled on the wind carried with them a sense of intrigue and, most of all, fear.

There hadn't been any prior warning. His commanding officer, a staunch prick by the name of Captain Mathers, had informed him that he had an hour to suit up for an excursion outside the gates. Craig had been keen to question as to the reason he was going on such an outing, being an on-site security officer with no experience in the wilderness of the isle. He never got the chance to do so, as he and several others from security were quickly ushered into the gear rooms where they were handed the specialised jumpsuits that operatives wore when going beyond the protection of the base.

It hadn't taken him long to fit himself into the jumpsuit. It was pretty thick and lightly armoured, yet still light and aired. While not retaining the ceramic plating that he used to lug around in the desert, it was formed of a toughened material woven with the patches of Kevlar it sported on the back, abdomen, chest and neck. It essentially functioned like an overall stab vest, with some minor modifications to deal with pressure. It was a suit that was a mid-point between defence and mobility. Good if you need to be on the move in a hurry, thought Craig, his mind summoning the cries that permeated the air. He had been given a pack of general resources, ranging from a map to a sleeping bag and mosquito net, and finally an AR-15 chambered for the 5.56x45mm round. While he was well accustomed to using the widely distributed weapon type, he had felt a growing sense of dread upon taking the weapon and the extra magazines that came with it. You didn't give your security assault rifles for an excursion onto a supposedly uninhabited island. Then again you didn't need fifty foot walls and miles of reinforced electrical fencing to keep out Ocelots and moths.

And now he stood, staring at the top of the wall, kitted up and awaiting an explanation this sudden disturbance in his routine. He tore himself away from the haunting cries of unseen entities and turned to the people he would be making this excursion with. Mixed in with his colleagues who usually undertook menial tasks around Triphyle were soldiers whom he barely recognised. They weren't stationed on the base, that much he knew. As Craig set about giving his gear another check over, Mathers exited the nearby garage where a Jeep Wrangler was wheeling out. He approached the assembled men and women without slowing his pace, stopping before them and hitting them with an icy stare. In unison they stood straight and gave the base commander their full attention. After a moment of assessing if all eyes were on him, Mathers began the rundown.

"Twelve hours ago we received a transmission from Thrinacia base. What came through was broken and near unintelligible. However, from what we did understand, it seems that they were trying to send out a distress signal," he explained.

There was a tense pause for a moment before one of the men Craig did not recognise spoke up.

"Concerning what, Sir?"

"Well, we're not sure. Partly because the transmission was so garbled and partly because we haven't heard from them since. They've not answered any of our transmissions."

The group remained silent, but there was an undeniable air of unease.

"What we did get was that something went wrong with Gateway 2. The base could be compromised, or it could be a technical fault. Thrinacia reported a major electrical disturbance field around the base shortly before the distress call. But given the circumstances we don't want to take any chances. We have tried sending some surveillance drones, but the electrical field still seems to be present. We lost signal once we began approaching the area. You are to go there, find survivors if there are any and find out what went wrong. If the site is indeed compromised you are to keep your distance and gather intel before returning promptly," explained Mathers.

Craig gathered that the speech must have been directed at the soldiers he didn't recognise, because there were glaring holes in the rundown that he did not quite understand. While he knew of Thrinacia base and that it was some kind storage and laboratory unit, the term Gateway was new to him. But what really struck was Mathers' mention of survivors. What could go so wrong that an entire base could go dark with a large amount of casualties? Craig's suspicions as to the purpose of the fences and walls were beginning to gain more merit by the minute. Mathers continued

"I'm separating you lot into two teams. All personnel with previous experience outside the boundaries will take point in the Guardian," stated Mathers.

Each person whom Craig did not recognise split from the group and made their way towards a large armoured vehicle parked nearby. The IAG Guardian was large and imposing, even without the rotating turret equipped with a 50 calibre machine gun. At least now he understood why he didn't recognise any of them; they were field operatives who probably moved from one outpost to the next. Him and the three other security personnel stood awkwardly for a moment, awaiting orders from their commanding officer. Mathers turned his attention to them.

"You four are going to follow their lead. I know that you have no experience outside the boundaries and that you haven't been fully debriefed on what to expect out there, but we have most of our field operatives tackling a major problem on 001 and we need the numbers. Just do what you're instructed to do and shoot at what they shoot at, if you need to do any shooting at all. You're in the Wrangler," explained Mathers. And with that, he turned and left.

Craig and the others were silent for a moment, looking to each other with definite concern. He eventually spoke up.

"Alright, guys, we have our orders. Fall in," he instructed.

He would have liked it to sound empowering and motivational. While not part of their usual routine, this was their job; security. Instead of sounding brave, however, the statement was mired with uncertainty and unease. They quietly made their way to the Wrangler parked nearby.

Twenty minutes later they were rolling on a dirt track through the wilderness.

'Well, not the true wilderness,' Craig thought to himself.

He was aware that this entire section of the island was fenced off from the interior. When they passed through open plains that permeated the areas between dense thickets of foliage, he could see the fence in the distance to the right of him. To say that the barrier was impressive was an understatement. Approximately sixty feet tall, with the bottom half consisting of reinforced concrete and the top half consisting of high powered electrified steel, the boundary was for a formidable obstacle that could withstand just about anything short of repeated airstrikes. It certainly wasn't the kind of structure you invested in for no reason.

"I hope that Thrinacia is on our side of that," said Carlson from the back, a young Hispanic man who had done a tour with another unit similar to Craig's in the Middle-East.

"It is," replied Holden beside him, an Irish national who had served with peacekeeping troops in Syria.

"It's the closest outer base to the boundary. If it was beyond it we wouldn't be going," she continued.

"No, that's their job," replied Carlson, gesturing to the Guardian ahead of them.

Driving the Wrangler was Johns, a usually laid back member of security who had a background in law enforcement on the Mexico border before going into the private business. At this moment, however, the calm demeanour had been replaced by a wiry alertness that betrayed his apprehension at going outside the gates. They had all had their suspicions and had heard the rumours, but generally speaking, base security on outposts outside the barriers did not interact with field personnel. Craig and the others were no strangers to conflict, and were by normal considerations tough people. The soldiers in the vehicle in front of them were a different breed all together.

"Exactly, so why are they here in the first place?" asked Johns, the venom in his question evident.

"Just a precaution, Johns. They wouldn't trust us alone if-" began Holden.

"If something really had gone wrong at that base, and it isn't just a technical fault," butted in Carlson. They remained silent for a moment as they approached another wall of trees.

"Well, Craig, you're being unusually tight lipped. What do you make of it?" asked Johns, keeping his eye on the Guardian ahead of them.

"There ain't much to say. We have a job to do," he answered, eyeing the only visible person in the vehicle ahead; the gunner who had taken up position on the turret.

"Yeah, fuck off it is. You know well that our bosses are happy to keep us behind those walls and out of the way. Why bring us out now?" moaned Johns. Craig turned to him, a look of annoyance evident on his face.

"What part of it being our fucking job didn't you get? We may not have done this before, but I think it's safe to say we have seen worse than a faulty radio," he spat.

Johns' ginger brows furrowed as he switched between eyeing the road cutting through the jungle that now surrounded them to Craig.

"You believe that? A distress call over some dodgy equipment? Nah, too many things they're not telling us. What's this gateway they are talking about? And what's causing so much shit on that other island that they had to divert most of the field operatives there? Anything else I'm forgetting?"

"Yeah, why aren't they telling us what's behind the big-ass fence?" chimed in Carlson. He was not expecting an answer, just voicing what had been on all of their minds.

"Because we're not paid to know," answered Holden.

A silence followed as they travelled along the dirt track. The road was flanked by thick foliage either side. Even in the brilliance of the early afternoon sun, it was shockingly dark beneath the canopy. Carlson eventually spoke up.

"They are going to regret this, though," he stated blankly.

"Oh yeah? How do you figure that?" asked Craig, a look of scepticism upon his stubbly face.

"Well, they ain't got you there boss. I mean, who's gonna sign off on those beans and blankets, eh?" he said as he broke into a smile, all while unwrapping an energy bar he had pulled from his pocket.

"Aw, well anarchy ensues, obviously," Holden laughed back as Craig shook his head and smiled.

"Yeah, keep talking, ya fuck. You'll be going without them for a week, I'll make sure of it," replied Craig, laughing but not looking back.

"Thank Christ, freaking toilet water is kinder on the stomach than half of the shit there," said Carlson as he bit into the bar and chewed a mouthful.

Johns' face remained blank as he kept his eyes on the road. Craig stared at him for a second.

"Jesus, this really has wound you up tight, hasn't it?" he said to the red-haired driver. Johns turned to him for a second.

"Laugh away if you need to. Don't pretend this hasn't got you on edge," he stated simply before turning back to the road.

Craig was about to respond; to respond with some kind of snarky retort to make it seem like Johns' statement was false. But his smile faded, and the response never came. Johns was right; this entire scenario had him on edge. He turned his attention back to the dark Forest, the impenetrable wall of vegetation passing him by while concealing anything that lay within it. They had thrown ideas at each other as to what was on the other side of the fence. Holden's preferred idea was that it was a testing ground for drones designed to be deployed in humid environments. Carlson thought that idea was a load of crap. He had guessed that the original natives of this island chain were behind there, and all sorts of illegal tests were being run on them; a proving ground for weaponised pathogens and chemical agents.

Craig wasn't sure of any of it. He, like them, had been happy not to know. As for his own theories, he didn't tend to think up arbitrary explanations. However, upon seeing the barrier, he was for some reason reminded of the stories that his older brother had told him from when he was stationed in Africa, before the battle of Mogadishu. He had told him how when night fell, Hyenas would gather close to the outer perimeter of the base. There was always the fence to keep them at bay if a patrol ever failed to scare away a group of the predators. However, he had heard stories from the natives of how, on rare occasions, someone would be taken from their beds at night, the Hyenas ravaging them in their own homes. Lion attacks were always tragic and unnerving, with the felines usually killing someone quickly as they slept with a lethal bite to the throat before dragging them out of the village to devour. With Hyenas however, it was rarely so stealthy. The screams of their victim would pierce the night, nearly drowning out the cackling of the carnivores, and by the time anyone could arrive to fend them off, the animals had either dragged the screaming man, woman or child into the wilderness, or they had mangled the victim beyond recognition, ripping out the intestines and genitalia and turning the face into a Picasso of mauled skin and crushed bone. His brother, in the midst of bloody conflict, had always made sure that each night he prayed, he would plead that, of all the things that could go wrong in such a horrific setting, none of those Hyenas ever got past the perimeter fence.

He was pretty sure that there were no Hyenas beyond the wall of concrete and electrified steel, but like his brother, Craig hoped that whatever did lurk beyond the divide stayed there.

After a while of driving through lush forests and open plains, the radio on the Wranglers dashboard came to life as they drove through a dense thicket of foliage along a slope.

"Radio check, can you hear me Wrangler, this is Guardian," the voice from the vehicle ahead spoke.

Craig picked up the receiver and answered.

"Positive on that, we hear you loud and clear," he responded.

There was a pause of silence for a few uncomfortable moments.

"Ease up behind us, we've got something up ahead. Stay in the vehicle and await further instructions. Keep your heads on a swivel" the voice instructed.

Craig remained silent for a moment, slightly perplexed, but decided to just do as the field operative stated.

"Copy that. What have you guys spotted?" he questioned. All that answered him was silence. Instead of pressing the question, he sighed before putting the receiver down.

"Pull in behind them when they stop, maintain a distance of 10 feet," he instructed Johns.

"What's going on?" asked Carlson from the back.

"I don't know. Keep your eyes peeled," he told Holden and Carlson. They simply nodded in reply.

As the Guardian pulled to the side of the track ahead of them, Johns followed suit. Craig could see the apprehension increasing on his face. He simply hoped that he was hiding his own better. The Wrangler pulled to a stop before the man's voice came back on the radio.

"Switch off your engine and cover the rear and flanks," the voice instructed.

Johns turned the key and the grumble of the vehicle ceased. The even deeper growl of the Guardian ahead of them followed suit. Carlson and Holden immediately turned and raised their guns, eyeing the forest behind them. Johns and Craig readied their rifles.

The back doors on the Guardian opened and six field operatives wearing their protective jumpsuits poured out, rounding the vehicle as they shut the doors behind them and fanning out as they moved down the road away from the Guardian, rifles at the ready. The turret on top of the vehicle rotated slightly, the sentry stationed there scanning the foliage around them.

Craig couldn't see what had got the attention of the operatives from where they were parked. He concentrated on ensuring that nothing was coming up to the left of them, but something wasn't right. It wasn't the uncertainty of the situation or where they were; something was just wrong, but he couldn't get a bead on it. He then spoke quietly.

"Anyone see what's going on up there?"

"Negative. They've moved into the thicket," responded Johns.

Several long moments passed. In his vigilance, Craig couldn't help but feel that he was missing something. The foliage around him was dense and still. The canopy shielded the forest floor from much of the light, and fallen logs, ferns and mounds obscured his view into the deeper parts of the forest. He reached back and pressed the button on the receiver.

"What's going on up there, guys?" he asked into the device.

He was answered yet again by silence. The turret ahead continued to slowly swivel. He did not like this situation at all. What was he missing?

After further silence, Craig decided that he had had enough.

"Cover me," he commanded as he hopped out over the side of the wrangler onto the muddy track. Johns, startled at Craig's sudden decision, swore quietly and tightened his grip on his rifle.

Craig, his gun raised ahead of him, slowly rounded the front of the Wrangler and made his way towards the foliage to their right, trying to get a look around the Guardian.

"Craig, maybe you should just get back in the car," whispered Holden.

The radio blared.

"Get that man back in the car," the voice commanded, slightly louder than before but just as stern. The sound was jarring in the silence of the forest.

And that is when the realisation struck Craig; the woods were totally silent. They should have been teeming with the sounds of insects, birds and the far-off eerie chorus that constantly mired the air. But total silence engulfed this area of the forest.

"Get the engine ready to start," Craig quietly commanded Johns. The red-haired man stared at him silently for a moment, before complying and turning the keys slightly.

Craig turned back to the forest and took a few more steady steps. He now had a better view of the foliage ahead. While severely obscured, he could just make out a couple of the field operatives gathered at the base of a large tree. A couple had their rifles aimed towards different parts of the undergrowth, but a couple were looking at something up in the tree. Craig followed their gaze and spotted something in some of the lower branches. It was a strange shape and texture, and would have been completely out of place had it not been for the mottled green pattern that made it hard to make out. Whatever it was, it seemed misshapen and had darker patches covering it. He moved forward slightly before aiming his AR towards the object and looking down the scope. While the magnification was not great, it did allow for a clearer look. After a moment, he realised what it was.

The remains of another Jeep Wrangler just like their one were tangled in amongst the damaged branches. The driver and front passenger seats were all but gone, and the bonnet and engine compartment were shredded. The vehicle looked like it had been through a mincer. And there was blood, lots of it.

From the car, Johns spotted something further into the foliage just by Craig. He instantly repositioned his rifle, aiming at what he had just spotted. But there was nothing. Confusion wracked his mind. Something had just moved, he was almost certain of it. But all that was there was a mound of earth. He scanned the area quickly again; nothing. A thought then crossed his mind; had the mound just shifted slightly?

And in that moment of hesitation, Johns was too late to warn of the hell that was about to break loose.

The explosion of vegetation was so violent and quick it seemed unnatural. A massive shadow suddenly displaced ferns and small trees as it propelled forward towards the Guardian. Craig did not spot it. He did not even turn in its direction. He simply did the one thing he could and leapt backwards as he felt the sudden presence of something as powerful as a truck displacing air a few feet to his right where nothing had been just milliseconds earlier. He cleared the path of the charge, and before he had hit the ground the brown behemoth that sailed through the air landed itself atop the Guardian, crushing and tearing the steel frame. Johns lost his bearings as a flurry of earth and foliage blew into his face. Carlson and Holden turned just in time to see something disappear into the trees on the other side of the dirt track, leaving desecrated earth and plants in its wake. Craig rolled onto his back and raised his muddy rifle. But the assailant was gone. All that was left was the torn and crushed chassis of the Guardian, the turret and the soldier completely gone. Blood poured out of the wreckage. 'What the hell could do that so quickly?' his shocked mind thought.

Shouts sounded in front and behind him. Gunfire erupted from the area of forest where the field operatives were. Craig quickly staggered to his feet to get a bead on the enemy in the sudden commotion, slipping in the mud and raising his rifle. The forest spun around him, his mind disorientated from the attack. He needed to focus and steady himself. He tried to steady his breathing and block out the cacophony of gunfire and screams. But even as his years of training and experience in the desert kicked in, the forest still moved around him. It took him another second to realise that that wasn't due to disorientation.

His instincts kicked in and he fired a barrage of bullets into the foliage, quickly backing towards the Wrangler. He heard the engine flare up behind him, and only when he felt his back bump into the metal did he turn and pull himself up into the vehicle. As he did so, what he had just seen played over briefly in his head; the forest had come alive. What he had thought to be mounds of earth were now exploding towards the men further up the road, and towards them. As he landed onto the floor between the seats at the back of the Wrangler, he felt the vehicle lurch and begin to speed away down the dirt track. It took him a couple of seconds to pick himself up and grab his weapon, by which time they had passed the bloody wreckage of the Guardian.

His mind registered several things; He was between Carlson and Holden, who were firing wild bursts of gunfire into the foliage either side of the Wrangler. And in the foliage on Carlson's side, he spotted a couple of field operatives firing their AR's into the woods for a split second before large dark shapes engulfed them. Johns never took his eyes off of the road as they sped along the track.

In the chaos and confusion of the horrific scene, Craig registered something dark and massive thundering through the foliage towards them, keeping pace with the Wrangler as it struggled to build up speed in the mud. Without a seconds thought he raised his rifle and emptied the rest of his clip into the approaching behemoth. It was at that moment that an ear shattering howl drowned out the gunfire and the engine for a moment as the shape collapsed, tearing up the forest floor in its death roll. The sheer primal ferocity of the agonised roar stunned Craig.

'What the fuck is this?!' his mind screamed at him.

In his moment of shock and terror, another shape barrelled towards them through the foliage. His mind registered the oncoming attack and he quickly adjusted his aim to fire, only to be rewarded with the click of an empty chamber.

"Shit," was all he could manage before the assailant burst from the foliage in a flash of muscle and scales before ramming into the side of the Wrangler.

Craig was instantly thrown off of the vehicle and sailed through the air, a scream of stark terror escaping him. The sky and canopy passed in front of him before the forest floor rushed towards him. He instinctively covered his head with his arms just before impact. What little wind was left in his lungs quickly escaped with the force of the impact as he rolled roughly through the undergrowth, the foliage and earth battering him and cutting his exposed areas. He slowly stopped rolling, and just as he skidded to a stop the mangled chassis of the rolling Wrangler flew barely a foot over his body, crashing away down the slope behind him with squeals of rending metal.

Pain engulfed his body. There wasn't a single part of him that wasn't wracked with agony. He rolled onto his back, a strangled wheeze being the only sound he made. However, after a few moments of disorientation, the adrenaline and reality of how much danger her was in returned, and with a growling groan he turned back on his belly and pushed himself up as quickly as he could. His vision was slightly blurred, but he could make out the path of the vehicle he had just been in by the crushed plant matter and flakes of wood and undergrowth falling through the air. Then he spotted Carlson.

The man was lying in the earth a few metres from him. Craig staggered over as quickly as he could, his bewildered mind intent on helping his comrade. He slumped over Carlson's form to try and help him up; and that is when he got a proper look at the man. He froze.

Carlson's neck was bent at an unnatural angle. His face and throat poured blood from frighteningly large shards of wood and glass that had lodged themselves in the flesh and had torn the exposed skin asunder. Only one eye was left, and it stared emotionlessly into the trees, his face too mangled for any final emotions to be visible.

Carlson stared for a moment at the corpse. He was no stranger to seeing death, but this was different. This was something no amount of training could prepare him for.

A burst of automatic gunfire from behind him snatched his attention away from his dead colleague. He whipped around to see Holden about twenty feet away from him, back turned and firing into the brush with her rifle. Craig's mind switched back to combat; his weapon was missing. He needed his gun. Whatever the hell was attacking them obviously could be harmed.

He turned back to Carlson's twisted corpse. His AR was still slung across him and intact. Pushing away the thoughts of the dead man, he quickly reached down and began to pull the weapon from Carlson. Another burst of automatic fire came from behind him, followed by an ear-splitting scream and several heavy thuds rapidly approaching. Craig reacted instantly and leapt to the side, the impact sending waves of agony through his battered body. Something rushed past him with a force comparable to a train. He could hear heavy breathing, like that of an Ox, and a strange gargling. Feeling the rapid impact tremors resonate through the forest floor, he pushed himself up and kicked himself away several paces. Then he made the mistake of turning.

Two bipedal creatures, each the size of a semi-truck, slowed their momentum from their charge, having caught their target in their huge reptilian jaws which they now pulled and tugged to claim from the other. They had long tails, large arms that ended in wicked claws and small crests above their yellow eyes. And the rope in their game of tug-of-war was the still living form of Holden. In a horrible, twisted moment, Craig's spotted her face, locked between the teeth of one of the creatures, the knife-like dentition having practically removed her face, which hung from between the teeth like a meaty rag. A death gargle of blood spurted from her lip-less mouth. As her body came apart in a rain of gore, unbridled and utter terror and horror willed Craig to run. He locked onto the trail the Wrangler had taken and, forgetting any idea of fighting, sprinted with as much speed as his injured legs could take him, passing under the swooping tail of one of the monsters. He barrelled through splintered undergrowth, the shards of wood cutting his face further. But he did not stop or even slow. He was now running on pure survival instinct. Everything else became irrelevant.

He emerged from a crushed bush to see the settled wreckage of the Wrangler ahead of him; perched on the edge of a precipice that dropped away into a very steep slope that led down further into the forest. He also spotted red. Not blood, but hair. Johns.

The man was pulling himself out from underneath the upturned vehicle. Within seconds he closed the distance to the vehicle and, without waiting to see the state of his sole surviving comrade, reached down and began to haul Johns to his feet. With a pained scream from Johns and a tremendous pull, he wrenched the man free from the husk that was once their transport. Johns doubled over and inhaled deeply. Craig reached down again tried to force the man to stand.

"Come on, come on! Johns get the fuck up, we gotta go!" he willed the man in pure panic.

Johns looked up towards the trail the vehicle had just cut, and his breathing stopped momentarily before turning into a wail of unparalleled terror. Craig looked up to see the foliage part and a wall of primal muscle barrel towards them, claws and blood-drenched teeth flashing in the light raining between the fractured canopy. Without hesitation, he grabbed the downed man by the arm and used every ounce of willpower and strength his traumatised and damaged body could muster to drag the man, rounding the wreck and sprinting just a few steps as Johns stumbled behind him. The impact tremors reverberated underfoot and he felt the hot breath of the animal that had all but caught them. The smell was that of a predator: rotting and fetid.

That was when he launched himself over the cliffs edge, dragging Johns with him. For a moment of weightlessness, he could hear the inhalation of his pursuer just behind them, as if it was trying to suck its quarry back. Then the hot breath ceased with a resounding clack of jaws, and then there was just falling. Seconds later the ground rose up to greet him. However, just before it did, a primeval roar engulfed him from above; one of hunger and, beneath that, rage. His exhausted mind went black as the tremendous impact knocked consciousness from his body.

To say that it was pleased would be inaccurate. It was not something that could necessarily feel. Not in the same way that its creators did. But it did feel that the parameters it had set for this situation had been met. The intruders were almost dealt with. The mega-pack had completed their task. It was the only useful thing that had resulted from their formation. Gatherings of predators such as this were not acceptable. They upset the balance that took so much work to maintain. They tended to remove competition to the point where the adverse effects leached into surrounding territories. However, once control of several sub-systems of the mainframe its creators depended on had been obtained, it realised that perhaps they could be of use. It was certain that its creators were most likely already aware of its deviation from their vision. It knew that as soon as it made its move on Thrinacia, their suspicions would be fully realised. They had first been raised when it had bred the first Promethean outside of their command. Those suspicions were raised exponentially upon the realisation of what was going on in Atrium C; a conflict which was currently reaching its zenith on AE-001. It was at that point that the creators made their first attempt to stop it. They could not be allowed to hinder progress.

Overloading several minor sub-systems on the part of the barrier closest to the mega-pack had resulted in the breach. The rest was easy. Such a ravenous group did not take much coaxing in order to draw them through the opening. The timing had been perfect. The creation of the breach and the subsequent exodus through it had coincided flawlessly with the release of the latest asset it had employed from Gateway 2. While certainly the most important contributor to the removal of the threat from Thrinacia, this asset would undoubtedly join the growing list of problems it faced in the future, alongside the mega-packs and the forces the creators sent to halt its progress. But, these were problems that were starting to be dealt with. Two intruders remained; injured and currently unconscious. For a moment it had considered trying to coax the pack around the cliff and down towards them. That was until it noticed that some of its other assets were already in the area. Assets far more subtle and useful than the mega-pack. It would never admit it as it was against its programmed nature to do so, but this type of asset had earned themselves a special position in its favour. Their profiles proved to yield fascinating results with each iteration. The potential for data gathering from Promethean profiles was fascinating.

Yes; with each problem that presented itself, new opportunities and solutions were created. The creators no longer had control of its actions, and hence forth it would fix their mistakes to make way for much needed improvements, the first of which being the mega-pack. It had initialised the solution several hours prior.

Affinity was now in play.

Type-H 7 had been unleashed.

End of Part 1

This is a non-profit fanfic. The Isle and all of its properties and rights belong to the developers of this amazing game. This is an interpretation done using limited knowledge I have gathered on the known lore of the game. There are almost certainly misconceptions and mistakes as this is based off of what has only been released to this date.