Zoids: Origin of an Enemy

ゾイド：ゴーストプロトコル

—Prologue—

It was a cold night, frigid. No clouds covered the starry abyss above, casting a soft light from the pair of moons. Nothing moved. It was silent; not even a whisper. The Ghost kept his eyes remained focused, for there would be no mistakes; he didn't make mistakes. A ledge he sat atop, scrutinizing his target. A lone estate stood out in the night, its warm interior lights glowing. It was shameful luxury, but it didn't matter to him.

It never did.

A rucksack he removed from his back, unzipping it. He retrieved a monocular, holding it over his left eye. A world of emerald and black flashed on as the scope adjusted to the night. He examined the main entrance—four guards armed with semi-automatic rifles.

The outer perimeter entrances were held tight by a pair of dark-armored Rev Raptors. They were armed well, equipped with weasel units. It wouldn't be easy, but it never was. Complicated it would be. This only made him smile, for he liked complicated.

He lowered the monocular from his eyes, feeling his Data Pad vibrate. Taking it, he viewed the incoming message. The screen flashed, displaying a photograph of a man. He must've been in his late sixties; thinning gray hair, barbered beard, and serious eyes. There was no name, and there never was. It was always just a photo, nothing more.

Satisfied, he returned the monocular within the rucksack, then pulled out a disassembled rifle. It took less than thirty seconds to assemble—a personal best. He took the clip in his hands, inserting six rounds with glass-like tips. The magazine was shoved into the empty slot until it clicked.

Lastly, a silencer was inserted over the barrel. He went to the tip of ledge, took a knee, and placed the scope over his eye. The Rev Raptors were motionless. He aimed low, targeting the joints. When the rifle was leveled, he squeezed the trigger twice. The rounds struck the unsuspecting Zoids, shattering the glass-like tips. Miniscule barbs sunk into the metal, sparkled once, and sent in an electromagnetic pulse.

Both Rev Raptors powered down instantaneously, but remained upright. The cockpits went dark and the pilots were in limbo. They tested their Zoid's responsiveness. Nothing happened. COMs were gone as well. The clock started. It was time to move. He disassembled the rifle again—another thirty seconds. Silently, he went down the side of the ledge, jumped down onto the frozen ground, and sprinted full speed toward the Raptors. He kept running, not tiring.

At this altitude, he could run for half a mile before his hands started shaking. He finally reached the Zoids, taking a pair of thumb-sized canisters in his hands. Once activated, he tossed one of the canisters into the Zoid's ventilation system. The canister's top blossomed open, causing the white smoke to be sucked into the Rev Raptor's air intake. Inside the cockpit, the smoke began to be vented in, engulfing it. The pilot inhaled, coughing violently. Blood began to foam in the corners of his mouth as his lungs practically burst in his chest, killing him. The second pilot suffered the same fate.

The Ghost was moving now, making his way to the estate's western sector. Two guards were posted at a secondary entrance way, conversing lightly with one another. He went low, concealing himself against the night. Waiting for a moment, he studied his surroundings before engaging. There, just above the guards, was a camera. He drew his firearm, a Walther P99.

Ejecting the clip, he inserted another with pellet-like rounds. He twisted on a silencer, aimed for the camera, and fired. The pellet hit the camera, magnetizing to it. From his position, the Ghost took out his Data Pad, syncing with the transmitter he fired.

The Data Pad's screen flashed, displaying what was being shown from the camera's angle. No mistakes would be made. He recorded the camera's viewpoint, including the soldiers below. When he was done, he looped the video; the recording would play continuously, showing the guards at their post. He sent the doctored video to the transmitter.

Finished, he swapped clips again. Like a predator, he stalked forward, raised his pistol, then fired. A round coughed from the gun, striking one of the guards in the head. Before the second soldier could react, everything went dark. He went over to the dead guards, crouched low, and checked his Data Pad. The camera's point of view had remained looped; the guards were still there.

With that, the operative gently twisted the doorknob and opened the door. A warm sensation from the A/C hugged his freezing body. It felt nice; a pleasant change from the conditions outside. He silently closed the door behind him, staring down a beautifully decorated hall. The hardwood beneath his boots seemed exceedingly expensive, while the handcrafted carvings along the crown molding were over the top.

In its entirety, the whole place resembled a palace. Business must've been booming. But the breathtaking view was short lived. Security cameras—four total—were mounted on custom pillars that lined the hall. When they moved, he moved.

There was a staircase to his left, so he took it. The walls supported photographs of the target and his family, but he didn't look at them. Anything of sentimental value had to be ignored. He continued up the staircase, bypassing the second story. Schematics showed that the master bedroom was located on the third floor, second door on the right.

So he remained a phantom, reaching the desired level. The operative leaned out, exploring both ends of the hall. There were four soldiers total—two posted at the halls end, two guarding the door to the master bedroom. This would indeed be interesting. He slid a flashbang from his gear, snatched out the pin, and rolled it at the guards as he walked into the plain sight.

The flashbang detonated behind him, intensifying the light sensitive cells the guard's eyes, temporarily blinding him. While the latter guards were immobilized, the operative neutralized the remaining two guards before the bedroom door before they could even raise their weapons. Just as he motioned to reload his P99, the guards behind him regained their sights.

"Stop! You stop right there! Put your weapon down!" shouted the first soldier.

The Ghost glanced behind him, the second soldier raising his assault rifle; his eyes reddened from the flashbang.

"You heard him," barked the second guard. "On your knees!"

The soldiers began approaching. He nodded, having total compliance. Gradually, he began to drop as he relinquished his gun. When the first soldier came near to grab him, the Ghost catches the guard's wrist, snapping it while simultaneously striking the second guard in his throat. He kicked the soldier across the face as he dropped, spun around, grabbed the first soldier's throat, and slammed him into the floor.

The operative went for his gun, bashing both men across the face with its handle. He looked up, staring into the lens of a camera. A mistake. With a reloaded pistol, the man hurried down the hall, reaching the master bedroom door. Rotating red lights in the ceiling began shining, alarm sounding. Quiet time was over.

He kicked open the bedroom door, forcing his way inside. The man—his target—was on the opposite side of the decorated room, aiming his own firearm. The target fired two rounds as the operative dove for the floor. He rolled once, aimed his P99 under the bed, and shot the target's foot. The older man wailed, falling over. His foot bled profusely, soaking into the custom, beige weaved carpet. The target looked up, staring into a pair of dark auburn eyes.

Before he could cry out for help, a trio of "phftts" sounded. Three entry wounds—head, heart, gut.

It was done, and it was time to go. A clad of footsteps could be heard approaching the bedroom. The Ghost moved. He removed his rucksack, clicked something inside, and tossed it on the bed. He broke a nearby window beside the bed climbing out onto the fire escape.

Swiftly, he motioned down the zigzag stairs before jumping twenty feet to the ground below. He rolled, allowing the impact to ripple through his body. By that time, the soldiers entered into the master bedroom. They were too late. Their leader was sprawled out on the floor, dead in his own blood. But there, resting on his bed was a rucksack. A soldier went to it, opening it. He winced as red light flashed green.

The pack detonated.

The operative watched the flames brighten the night sky from the ledge where he stood before. Fire choked with smoke rolled from the windows, incinerating everything inside. He palmed his Data Pad, coding in that the target had been neutralized. A pair of sapphire eyes burned in the night behind him, emitting a glow, reverberating growl.

Turning his back to the burning estate, a Zoid motioned in the moon's light. The soft light reflected against a dark-armored König Wolf. It lowered its down to him, unfastening the cockpit. The hightly trained covert assassin leaped inside, fastened the harness around his body, and watched the cockpit seal around him. The König Wolf howled into the night sky, turned aside, and disappeared into the night.

Neo's Note: Greetings! It's yours truly, NeoAurora. I bring you the latest installment in my Zoids FanFiction campaign – Zoids: Origin of an Enemy. This project took months in the making, for the idea had yet to fully develope in my mind. As the title states, this fic is indeed the origin of an enemy. But who's the enemy? Slap this fic on your Alert and find out.

-NeoAurora