Chapter 1: Sand
Gentle crackling filled the afternoon air, flames licking the battered body of a truck. Agent and Engineer bodies torn apart haphazardly littered the sandy road, marking the decrepit path in horrid hues of red and yellow. Behind the remains of a flipped sedan, a Grunt hyperventilated.
Gripping the pump action tighter to his chest, the lone survivor peeked at the dune in front of him. Spotting nothing, he rested back against the overturned vehicle and sighed in relief.
A loud PITANG and sand exploding off the worn asphalt sent the Grunt scrambling to the floor.
"You missed."
"You say that as if I don't know, Morgan. Just give me a moment to find the right spot."
The two male voices broke the otherwise soft crescendo of burning wreckage. A loud rechamber from a bolt action pierced the pseudo-silence.
The Grunt chanced a peek at the dune the voices came from. A chilling stab through the back shot searing pain up his spine.
Mister Fodder choked up blood in a harsh cough, dropping onto the road. His eyes already grew glassy as the black blade withdrew from its victim. As pressure on the artery was released, a gurgling noise popped from the Grunt's throat.
"I hereby pronounce you man and sword."
The blade's wielder wiped the blood from the kill onto a nearby Agent's lapel. "Jerek, Morgan, get your asses down here."
The two men on the dune rose up and grabbed their respective weapons. They slid down their cover, separating themselves just a few feet from the stabber.
The assailant pointed his dripping weapon towards them. "You two didn't listen when I said, 'Do as I say, not as I do.'"
Jerek looked around at the wreckage. "We destroyed the convoy, and the explosives inside. What the hell's wrong with that?"
"Jerek's not wrong. All due respect, sir, I think you're overreacting." Morgan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Again."
The squad leader punted a piece of the truck's door that had been blown off. "We were supposed to kill the men in the convoy and TAKE the truck with the explosives, not blow it up."
Motioning back up the dune, he started walking up the sand hill. "Come on. Osiris will want to tear you apart verbally, before I do it literally."
The duo groaned.
"Sir," Morgan stepped forward. "If I may, we-"
"You may not. You ignored my direct orders. Just because I am younger than you doesn't mean you get to subvert the authority of rank."
Morgan stepped back, lowering his head. Jerek hefted his TAC-50 over his shoulder and scoffed quietly.
"Fucking experiment fre-"
Jerek was interrupted by a harsh blow to the face, sending him tumbling down the dune backwards. The leader smashed his subordinate's nose in and knocked a few teeth out with a solid kick. Lowering his leg back down, he glowered at the sniper.
"You're lucky I was being serious about the lecture, otherwise you'd be the result of a field 'accident.' You're also lucky I want to wash my hands of both of you mongoloids as soon as possible."
Shooting an additional glare to Morgan, the lead man raised a skeptical eyebrow.
Morgan nodded in response. "Apologies, DJ, sir."
Sagging his shoulders with a sigh, DJ turned back around and kept walking. Jerek spat out a crimson and white mess of blood and shattered teeth.
"He's got a reputation almost as bad as his old squad leader now." Morgan grabbed the fallen rifle and helped Jerek to his feet. "I don't know why you keep trying to antagonize him."
The operative shook his head, blood still trailing between his lips as he spoke. "When was the last time you got orders from a 19-year-old? He's just a kid."
"He also knocked out three of your teeth." An engine roared to life over the lip of the dune, just out of sight. Morgan hurried their pace. "Come on. Let's get back to the jeep before he leaves us out here. Again."
"Another?"
A man with a trucker cap, sitting at the end of the bar, waved his hand. "No, thank you. Somehow, I know that those two would have done something wrong to piss that one off. I want to be sober for scolding them."
The one-eyed bartender shrugged, putting away the bottle of vodka. "Suit yourself."
The "trucker" patted down his trench coat, glancing around the bar. As a neutral zone, Purgatory was the only place in the Mojave where combat was strictly prohibited. All the factions involved in the hidden war from Agency to Antithesis and everyone in between, complied with the rules set by the one-eyed owner, Garm. It was the only place to restock ammunition, fuel and other supplies for miles around, so compliance wasn't a choice.
A few off duty Agents hung around the tables, mostly minding their own business or shooting glares at the other factions. The local Merc group was holding a recruitment day over in the corner, while an Antithesis courier sat far across the bar from Osiris, his eyes roving faces.
The doors to the bar opened with a squeak. A disgruntled looking DJ, followed by Morgan and a still-bloodied Jerek passed through.
Osiris stood up, sighing. "What happened here? Jerek looks like he took on a Soldat in a knife fight and won by the skin of his teeth."
"He doesn't have any teeth to spare for that." DJ passed his sword over the bar to Garm and snorted. "I jump-kicked the little shit in the face for insulting me."
"Who're you callin-?!" Jerek stepped forward before Morgan pulled him back.
Osiris tilted his cap, narrowing his eyes at the squad leader. "You what?"
"Osirus, sir." Having set Jerek down, Morgan stepped in. "Jerek mentioned DJ's past as an experiment."
"So what? It's not like this kid's any different from any of the freakshows we-"
Osiris raised a hand, silencing Jerek. He nodded to Morgan. "Thank you. I will speak with you two later."
Morgan threw a quick salute before dragging Jerek off by the arm. Turning back to DJ, Osirus sat back down next to him.
"I apologise. But, does 'sowing the seeds of discipline' really mandate physical violence?"
"It helps with the learning process. Not like you'd get me to agree to taking the pisspot out again." DJ ditched the glare he had on Jerek before looking at Osirus. "They're your problem now. I've got things to do."
Standing from the barstool, DJ passed behind Osirus to leave.
"Hold up, DJ." Garm flicked his head to the right, gesturing to the man at the other end of the bar. "The messenger is here for you."
"From where?" DJ asked as he continued walking.
Garm put the beer mug he was polishing down. "Said he's from out East."
DJ stopped. Turning on a heel, he approached the newcomer. The messenger, clad in a traditional trench and shirt combo, downed the last of his swirling bronze drink. Silent as a shadow, his sunken eyes met DJ's before he handed an envelope to the young Operative.
Osirus stood from his barstool, seeing the black-bodied, red-trimmed envelope. "It's a promotion letter. They probably have a mission for you to do with it."
"What would that make you now? Full on Field Op?" he asked, walking over.
DJ smirked. "Senior. I made FO after blowing that facility in the Red Zone to shit. Nothing quite like the smell of C4 and burnt flesh to keep you going."
"Everyone's got their fetish," a passing Agent remarked.
DJ scoffed and shook his head at the man. "Like your hard on for hentai, Jason?"
"Exactly," the Agent called back, going into the bathroom. "Big anime tiddies."
Osirus shook his head. "Do all Agents these days just have no boundaries?"
DJ smiled and glanced at the SFO. "He's one of the oldest Agents the Agency has, Osirus. He's not indoctrinated like the rest of them."
"Comforting." Osirus left the corner of the bar and meandered over to his two Operatives.
The messenger nodded to DJ, getting up and leaving.
"You gonna open it?" Garm questioned DJ, returning to his mug polishing.
DJ shook his head. "There's too many eyes around. You got my room key?"
Passing a worn, bronze key over the bar, Garm nodded to the door. "Room S2201."
"Cheers."
Shoving both the key and envelope into his stolen Engineer's trench coat, DJ exited the bar, returning a cold glare from Jerek on the way out.
"Congratulations Operative Anderson. Within this letter is your new position, Senior Field Officer, as well as your first mission as such. Once your mission is complete, report to Eastern HQ in New York for your debrief as well as new assignment.
For The Future."
Putting the opening letter aside on the desk, DJ spilled the contents of the large envelope out onto its worn surface.
The contents were as expected. A Sig 226, standard issued armament of Senior Field Operatives for the Antithesis. A second, smaller envelope, and a folded card with 'Burn After Reading' written in black marker on the front.
4 AM MEETING - LAST CHANCE DINER W/ INFORMANT
DJ snorted. "Gonna take a wild guess the informant will be just as vague."
He blindly tossed the card into the empty waste bin to his right. Thumbing open the smaller envelope revealed a letter from Western HQ. His eyes scanned the paper, past the official title change and the list of newly-available items and services.
One particular condition caught the newly-promoted Operative's eye.
"Restricted access to Class-A stimulants now available?" DJ read to himself as he eyed the bottle of Class-B Vigorants on the table beside him. A shudder passed through him as he remembered feeling like his body was being torn apart from a two-pill dose.
Shaking his head, DJ looked back to the list on the promo letter. "Send me Endurants, for God's sake."
Leaning back into the wooden chair, he sighed. His hands involuntarily dropped the letter as he stared upwards. The beige ceiling morphed into different memories; the awkward and angsty introduction to the team and lunchroom banter turning into a mash fueled fist fight.
"That's it. You're all fucked."
The first time firing range experience, their Holochamber fight against Black Snake quick on the heels of the range. A slew of masturbation jokes to their first mission to the Grunt barracks, followed by Aaron falling apart from Mikhail's 'death'.
"Why did you let 574 get shot?"
Ryder nearly blowing Aaron's eye out with the sticky pistol, the cold grip of virtual death as he plummeted off the chamber tower during the Black Snake fight. The graduation mission, and the following debrief.
The promotion followed by a warm haze from being shot.
"Congrats." Eli murmured, somewhat spitefully.
The grinding of his teeth spiked pain through his jaw from how hard he was clenching it. DJ took a deep breath and stood up from his chair, rolling onto the bed. His blank stare focused onto the weapons across the room.
"Don't get yourselves killed, guys."
Silence answered him. DJ relaxed his body as best he could, the shoddy frame of his bed creaking with each movement.
"Heaven or Hell. First round's on me."
"Everything's coming together nicely. The mission was altered just enough to put the plan in motion."
"Sure, but there's no guarantee that things will work out. Still a lot of variables. Anyway, where's Pavel? This is his project and he's not even here."
The first shadowy figure stepped back from the dune's edge, turning to the second.
"He's busy setting up the facility with Derek. And reminding him of how to act. It has to be convincing up till at least the peak release point, otherwise the plan won't work."
"Still, feels like we are being had by doing his work for him."
"Shush, Zai. You know at any point he could be listening."
"Piss off. I'll be fine without kissing Pavel's ass."
The two figures stepped away from the dune, vanishing into the very air around them. Where they once stood, the sand turned into glass.