Vincent drew his sights on the graboid's opening mouth, noting a diving assblaster, a few shriekers not far behind, and knew… without a doubt… that today was gonna be a long day.
Vincent took his time, going through his morning routine. He woke, had his Keurig coffee, sat at his computer, and began to look for work.
He clicked through his various darknet sites for contracts, after pulling up his low-profile bank accounts. The balance read $8,779.73. This alone would last him barely a week in the field. He needed money, and badly.
He glanced at the framed photograph on the side of his desk, and immediately looked away, noting his conscience pricked sharply about his career choice. Just one more job, love. It's what he always thought when he saw her face, freckled and framed by curly, mad, dark hair.
He sighed, and gave up on his coffee. It was bitter with memories. It was her idea of a morning well spent.
Vincent pulled up one last message from one of his darknet sites. One message was new on it.
Re: Advertisement
To whom it may concern,
In response to an advertisement(s) posted, you have been emailed this response, which includes a manner of contact. Should you choose to accept the job, you will be transported to a briefing checkpoint, where you will be given a set for the task, under conditions, and payment shall be arranged.
Contact is text 'Verily' to 3458293947 ext. 973.
Sincerely,
An anxious customer
Shit. A blind job. Going in knowing nothing.
Vincent looked at his account once more. He didn't have a choice. He needed the money. If only for her sake.
He had another cup of coffee. Today was gonna be a long day.
Upon his immediate text, a response was given that a small Neon would be en-route in just under 10 minutes to pick him up for the ride to the briefing checkpoint. At least he had time for a quick shave and a bite before it got here. Thankfully it would text in a 3-2-1 fashion to let him know it was there.
He got comfortable in his custom Faded Glory jeans, and new cut Air Speed shoes. He winced getting his black tank over his scarred left clavicle, remembering her voice. He sighed once before continuing to get on his six-holster strap piece. *click* nice and tight. Like death's embrace.
Right as he tugged on his leather bomber jacket, and shades, a text came through.
He walked from his secretly fortified apartment, going out through the normal doors lie everyone else.
What else was he, but a desperate civilian with bigger bills.
He got in the faux-leather backed seat of the car. It took off, right as he clicked his belt into place.
He noted the look of the driver. Non-descript, with a zombie look about him.
"Any chance ya might tell me where I get to chat to the guys in black suits and ties, and they tell me to find the guy named Morpheus?" he said nonchalantly.
No response from the driver.
He sighed. "I knew it. Today is gonna be a long day."
He entered a building near the border of Nevada, a nice concrete building, with little features outside, no detail giving away what lay inside, what lay in wait for him.
He followed his escort, his medium-length dark hair getting lightly tossed by the breeze.
He entered a glass front and followed his escort by a desk reception. The escort showed a card, and the receptionist ignored anyone following behind, namely, him.
"The welcoming committee seems quite overjoyed." Vincent dropped with his usual sarcasm.
No response still.
Today was gonna be a long day.
All the briefing did for him, was a simple file to read en-route to his job's location.
Cheers.
A set of coordinates and some objectives was the only thing in the packet. There was also some tactical tips.
Something involving stage 1 as get to high ground, then the second as staying hidden, mostly for body heat, and later to watch the skies under the same pretense.
What the hell is this garbage? Probably some live fire training exercise for some rich money was good anyways. Over 73 million, and a 50k life policy. This would be worth it.
It would also be his last job.
He betrayed none of his thoughts to the outside world.
He closed the file and replaced it on the desk.
"So where do I get supplied?"
The attending instructor nodded to a now-see-through wall.
Weapons galore burnished the rigged wall.
"Oh?" he said, eyeing the wall, eyebrow raised.
The sheer amount of weapons was overwhelming. He noted a few were missing.
So, I'm not the only one. I'll keep that information for later.
He picked a handful of varying high caliber, silenced handguns. All were power-grip customized.
Vincent also grabbed a few mini-blocks of C4 and other tiny gadgets, namely a couple throwing knives, a grenade, and a pair of walkies that came with extra wires and snips.
Noting the amount of hardware he had to choose from, he grabbed three packs of MREs and pocketed them.
The instructor made a note on the clipboard smiling.
"Today's gonna be a long day, huh?"
Another smile in answer.
He was being carted into the area with a select handful of others. It was some valley.
He was still bothered by the coordinates. Something itched at the back of his mind.
He touched the picture in his pocket.
One more job, love.
He peeked out of the window of his transport, noting there were 5 total.
Two people hired per.
Ten people for this job?
Noting they were on the same way he was, he assumed so.
He checked out his company in the next back passenger seat. The man was bald, tribal tattoos covering some spots, and a tense air about him.
The silent type. This would suck.
He noted that two of the transports were caravan-style, like they held cargo or something.
They did indeed have cargo, for next, there was action.
Out of both the two large transport vehicles, bikes alternately dropped out, immediately turning about from their rear-drop and zipping past, as the two transports attempted to turn around.
One would never return to base.
Immediately upon the bikes zipping ahead, an ever-so-slight rumbling happened.
A lump in the ground got close to one of the four bikers.
The biker immediately sunk down in the dirt, bike and all. The next moment the bike was propelled from the dirt, sans biker, and slammed into the tank section of the caravan, setting an explosive entrance to what Vincent realized now was Perfection Valley.
He panicked, looking to his company now with wide eyes.
He shouted "GRABOID!" not knowing whether the man knew English.
The intense look before intensified further.
The cars started an arc maneuver, and the one caravan escaped the wrath of these terrifying lumps of dirt, zipping at over 20 miles an hour.
'The car will turn sharply in 5 seconds. Exit the car via gull doors. Tuck and roll. Good luck.'
Vincent readied himself by the tinted window.
The door popped up, the car arcing.
Both he and Tattoos rolled towards a strip of road, barely a football field from some buildings he assumed was Perfection.
One man who tucked and rolled in Vincent's vision never got to stand up, as he was pulled into an early grave. Graboid.
"Shit!"
He got to his feet, two silenced hand guns at the ready, after he dropped a grenade where he once was. He started running forward.
B-BOOOM!
The grenade caused some of the rumbling to calm, and go away.
Then another horrendous thing happened.
A rumbling graboid burst out of the ground barely 30 feet away from him, right where he was running.
Vincent drew his sights on the graboid's opening mouth, noting a diving assblaster, a few shriekers not far behind, and knew… without a doubt… that today was gonna be a long day.