"You're not wearing that." Agent Mirza Changezi said, peeping at his partner's outfit through the gaps in his fingers. "Please tell me you're not wearing that."
His partner - a fair, stocky woman who barely reached his chest - grinned and pulled out a small black comb to sweep back her short blonde hair before putting it away and executing a quick spin, hitting Mirza's hands with the hem of her red, white, and blue cape. He lowered his smarting hands, rubbing the reddened skin, and sighed in exasperation as she grinned and flexed in her uniform. It had the same color scheme and design as the cape, and the design made his eyes hurt. The base color of the suit was entirely blue and upon this background red stripes flanked by white lines spanning outwards from the chest area formed the Union Jack. It was constructed of two layers; an internal nylon suit for breathability and an external Kevlar bi - weave layer for protection. With its loud colors and stiff material, Mirza found it highly impractical; it was good for a photo op and had limited utility in close quarters combat, but for their current mission there was no way he was going to let her wear it.
"I swear, whoever designed that suit must have been watching those Japanese…" Mirza tried to remember what the foreigners termed their Quirk users, trying not to look at Trainer's grinning face. "…'Heroes', was it? Well, it won't do you any good where we're going." He narrowed his eyes as much as possible to block his vision of her dimpled, moon - like face. Her scarlet lips stretched further, almost blinding him with the shine of her teeth.
"What's wrong, 'Agent'?" She asked teasingly, emphasizing the term as she held up the cape. "Don't you like my look?"
"My personal considerations have nothing to do with it." He sharply declared, narrowing his eyes enough to make them ache. "You as a Special Recon Regiment member should know the value of concealment-this obsession with foreign culture only discredits you." Past his nearly shut eyes, he saw her jaw tighten and the warmth drain from her eyes.
"You are an entirely joyless individual, Agent Mirza Changezi." The warmth in her tone was all gone. "I know the importance of this as much as you do; I was hoping you'd appreciate a bit of levity before the operation. It seems like my hope was misplaced."
He sighed and rubbed his eyes, taking great care not to poke them out with the thick black claws growing from beneath his fingernails. He wondered when the world collectively decided to obsess over ideals of heroics straight out of comic-books and films; he blamed governments all over for irresponsibly enabling their citizen's fantasies by funding 'Hero schools' and suchlike. At least his beloved homeland was free of such a plague - professionals could work without being bothered by such flashy and impractical fallacies.
Unless foreigners came bearing such fallacies on joint operations. Initially he was excited to work with a member of the UK's prestigious SSR but upon meeting her he began to have his doubts; she was very unlike any operator he had worked with in the past. Then again, they were Quirkless - and did not come with the label of 'Hero' - so perhaps they were immune to the 'magic'. Or maybe the SAS were just better. He took a deep breath.
"Look, I understand that a Hero needs to maintain their public image, but I trust in your professional instinct; you would certainly agree that this kind of mission requires a covert approach." He said evenly, and she nodded but said nothing. "I'm not saying the costume is bad, just that it isn't practical for this mission."
"I know; I just hoped to get to know you a little better by showing you the suit I wear when patrolling London." She said, smoothing out the creases in her cape. "I didn't know what sort of Hero culture you have here, and I'm curious to learn more, that's all. Figured this would be a good conversation starter."
"I understand." Mirza said, heading over to the equipment locker. "You'll have plenty of opportunities to know me better - and for me to know you better - out in the field." He unlocked it and brought out a Heckler and Koch PSG-1 and a MP5, lovingly stroking the black plastic stock before slotting in five magazines for each weapon into his ammo carrier. "I believe that under fire, someone shows you who they truly are." He turned to look at her.
"Agreed." She opened her locker and retrieved a L11A53 rifle and a Glock 17. Inside the locker was also a pile of thick woolen robes, grey and joyless. "But please, refer to me by my callsign - Brittania."
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The logistics truck bounced over the pothole, rattling its occupants, jolting its bolts, and shaking loose its dust collection. Brittania coughed and futilely tried to beat some dust off her sleeve; sand was already accumulating in the folds and creases of her sweat - stained clothing. The strap of her rifle rode up to her neck with every bounce of the truck, forcing her to tighten it till the cold steel painfully pressed into her back. At least it was not crowded at the back; there was only Mirza with her, and so she used the free space to stretch her muscles and ward off stiffness. Another small consolation was the fact that it was still morning, and their estimated time of arrival would bring them into the shade before the sun reached its apex and turned the earth into an oven.
"The rest of the trip should be through pastures and farms rather than dusty mountain roads after we meet up with the convoy, if that's any consolation." Mirza remarked. He cast a glance out back and saw a scene that had defined decades of Afghan history; off - white canvas tents bearing the faded blue UN logo, Internally Displaced Peoples aimlessly wandering about, Humvees plastered with scrap armor parked near food and fuel depots, and ragged - looking soldiers standing guard with battered M-16s. The desolate and rugged landscape eventually gave way to defoliated orchards and muddy fields; occasionally, a truck weighed down by refugees hanging off the sides zipped past their vehicle. The logistics truck slowed down.
"This is as far as I go; ANA convoy will be here in five minutes." Their driver announced, and so Brittania and Mirza disembarked, secondaries at the ready as they made for the nearest cover - a dry irrigation ditch. Brittania scanned the ground, looking for any patches of disturbed earth and only stepping in the prints left by whoever last traversed the location without being turned to popcorn while Mirza kept his head on a swivel for any enemies. They reached a little earthen bridge over the ditch when they heard the powerful roar of a Humvee engine. Looking back at the road, they saw the vehicle trundle slowly down the road - its .50 caliber gun turret sweeping the horizon - with a handful of soldiers and policemen walking alongside it. Mirza redid his shemagh so that only his hazel eyes were visible and brought out a small radio. On one side of the ditch was a field of unharvested wheat while on the other side were a few squat huts, multiple clay cubes.
"Commander Ahmad Nabi, this is Eagle. We're in the ditch to the left of your vehicle and are coming to you." He said in Pashto. After a moment, the radio crackled again, and the two saw a few policemen coming their way, AKs by their side. The tell-tale crack of a rifle rang out, followed by the chatter of machine - gun fire, forcing the policemen to crouch and shuffle on. As they came closer Brittania noticed one wielded an RPG and a cluster of rockets packed into a frayed white sack hanging from his back. Mirza raised his hand in greeting but said nothing; they passed by slowly, inspecting the ground before the RPG user crouched by the bridge and loaded in a rocket while his companions returned fire. Staying low, Brittania and Mirza moved back to the main road, bullets whistling through the tall grass, thumping into the dirt. They reached the edge of the ditch and made a quick dash for the cover of the Humvee; the door opened as the gunner fired. A bald man of moderate height stepped out, his baggy blue uniform and desert camouflage patterned jacket obscuring his build. His beard was patchy and grey, and dark rings stained his eyes. Inside the vehicle was a driver reeking of cigarettes and manning the gun was a youth no older than nineteen, wearing only the lower half of a police uniform and a grey football jersey.
"What's the situation, Commander Ahmad Nabi?" Mirza asked as Brittania kept an eye out.
"Our force is going to relieve a police station, but our progress is slow because the Taliban have laid IEDs along the road." He pointed at a compound two kilometers down the road; a small brick watchpost atop a flat white cubical building ringed with a crumbling concrete wall.
"So, we're your covering fire-who is dealing with the IEDs?" Brittania asked.
"He is." Nabi pointed at another man who emerged from the roadside ditch, who came running back to the Humvee, a long bamboo pole in hand. This man was short and fat - ish, his hair overgrown and unkempt, and his earnest brown face gleaming with sweat.
"I've spotted a canister filled with explosives, sir. You want me to pull it or detonate it?"
"Pull it with the stick, Agha, but wait for covering fire." Everyone but Agha reflexively ducked their heads as bullets zipped past the vehicle and pinged off the metal with a thwung. The EOD tech nonchalantly tossed his bamboo pole from one hand to the other as he intently stared at Mirza, his gaze penetrating the shemagh.
"I am going out and will fuck the sister of the Taliban. I will fuck their mothers too." He declared in English as he looked at his commander, who couldn't help but smile slightly. "You only get to live once and die once, after all." With that declaration he stepped out of cover and jogged down the road with his pole. After a few meters he lay down on his belly and crawled to the ditch, snaking his pole out to seize a large yellow plastic jug. Mirza and Brittania crouched lower, watching with bated breath as Agha slowly dragged the IED across the road and into the ditch, fully expecting an earth - shattering and ear - splitting explosion. Moments later, Agha triumphantly emerged from his ditch and returned to the road, strolling along with bullets cracking past him. With a disdainful kick he sent the pressure plate trigger of the disarmed explosive into a nearby field.
"Check with your hands, not your feet!" Nabi cried out. "Hands, hands, Agha!" After a few cries Agha lay down on the sunbaked asphalt road - the heat of which was burning through Brittania's shoes - and began to crawl along.
"Does he have much training in bomb disposal?" Mirza asked.
"A little bit." The commander shrugged. "Where's the sniper support I was promised?"
Mirza nodded and tapped Brittania on the shoulder, motioning at her to follow him. They sprinted towards a square mud hut. He pounced onto the roof in a quick cat-like motion and helped his companion up before lying flat against the and crawling to the edge.
"By my guess, they're hiding in that field up there, across the small bridge on our left." Mirza pointed. Brittania narrowed her eyes; it was hard to tell if the rustling tall grass indicated insurgents moving through or if it was just the wind. "Conserve your ammunition for high - value targets; I'll cover the road." With that, the pair of snipers got to work, carefully observing their sectors for any movement while the Humvee trundled forward. No matter how far they moved up, the road seemed to stretch on endlessly; every inch was a victory. Thrice Brittania's rifle rang out as Agha pulled yet another jug or container packed with plastic explosive, yet the gunfire only subsided till they reached the station wall. Mirza noticed five insurgents break from the fields and quickly eliminated them; as he dropped from the roof, he saw the small army squad laughing and grinning as they emerged from the ditches, shouting battle cries, and firing into the air. One marched up to a writhing, whining insurgent, and kicked him a few times before finishing him off with his rifle. Miraculously, Agha had survived, and was sitting on the roof of the Humvee, smoking a cigarette.
Unfortunately, any levity among the squad evaporated when they walked towards the entrance; a little ahead of the main gates was the burnt - out skeleton of a truck, charred remains of metal and people sticking to the sides and the road. The inside of the station was hardly encouraging either; the defenders were just ten men armed with bits and pieces of proper gear and the interior was rank with the stench of vinegar. Brittania noticed Ahmad Nabi's face creased with frustration and took up a firing position on the roof while Mirza dealt with the commander, who was busy arguing with the station chief.
"There were enough rations here to feed a platoon for a month. What do you mean, morale is low because there is not enough food?" Nabi said through clenched teeth. The station chief - his eyes bloodshot - just shrugged and sat down. "There were also supposed to be more men, where are they?"
"Some martyred, some…" The station chief shrugged again, "…gone."
"Alright, I am taking charge now. Load the martyrs onto the Humvee; we will have them buried." Nabi said, nudging the squatting chief with his boot, who reluctantly got up and headed out into the sun. The commander then took out a small black radio, extended its transmitter, and switched it on. It was tuned to the Taliban communication channels; multiple voices swarmed over one another, shouting orders and relaying commands over a storm of static, but the message was clear; the probability of another attack was very high.
"Commander Ahmad." Mirza stepped past Agha, who was guarding the door. "It's time to uphold your end of the bargain; where and when is the meet happening?"
"Based on my scout's reports and tapped communications, I've managed to pinpoint some type of transaction happening six kilometers east of here; though I'm not sure of the exact time." Ahmad Nabi said as he walked over to a barred window, gazing at the horizon. The sun had begun to set, a bloody eye slowly sliding down the skies, deepening the shadows. In the distance were shattered remains of homes and farms; some of the ditches still held water, providing vital nourishment to whatever crops remained.
"Then I'll not waste any more time. Good luck, commander." Mirza shouldered his rifle and stepped outside, the crackle of Taliban reports buzzing in his brain. "We're moving out, Brittania!" He called his teammate, who descended from the roof, but just then Agha slid off the Humvee.
"Your dialect of Pashto is very interesting." The pair looked back at the EOD tech, whose sullen face was wreathed in darkness, his brown eyes glistening.
"What of it?" Mirza gruffly said, and Brittania looked back and forth, confused.
"I know who you are." Agha unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it down, revealing streaks of reddened raised skin on his hairy chest. One streak ran diagonally from his right shoulder and past the nipple; another, shorter one began from his neck and ended at his clavicle. He then pointed at his forehead, where there was a darkened patch of tissue, almost like a beauty mark. He held out his hands, a patchwork of bumpy and scarred tissue. "You did this."
"What makes you think that?" Mirza asked, his hands moving towards the MP5 holster.
"You speak like someone from Khyberpakhtunkhwa." Agha said. "You're not from here."
"If you don't know who I am, maybe you should tread lightly." Mirza's finger danced over the safety. Brittania looked back and forth between the two. In the corner, two guards were staring at the trio intently, an orange spark dangling from one's lips.
"I want you to take back a message to your pets." Agha's breathing was heavy. "By Allah, as long as I am still alive, I will inflict as much harm as possible on the Taliban. I will take none alive - just as they left none in my family alive. You tell your ISI handlers that."
"Time to go, Brittania." Mirza remarked, meeting Agha's gaze as he stepped back, ready to draw. The EOD tech merely stared back, his pole in hand, a red flush creeping up his dark neck. "Now. We're wasting time." They slowly edged towards the entrance as Mirza kept staring down the EOD tech - Britannia pulled him away from the wall and towards the exit.
Once they were out, Mirza immediately moved on the double, eastwards of the police station. Brittania was bursting with questions, but she followed him and remained alert. They kept moving till the ditches were no longer dry but semi - filled with water, and the bare orchards and patchy grass gave way to tall, dense green stalks with bright red and purple flowers. Further up came the roar of engines; Mirza dropped to his knees but kept moving. Brittania followed suit; she had expected the flowers to have scent, but there was none. In the distance, she could see a patchwork HASCO bastion and the curved profile of an aircraft hangar.
"We'll rest for a bit at that old base, and then keep moving." Mirza ordered, his voice low and hoarse. He didn't wait for her to acknowledge before stepping out of the poppy field and advancing down the main approach to the base; there were multiple gaps in the HASCO walls and the checkposts were nothing more than piles of shattered glass, broken plastic, and torn sandbags. At the very entrance was a battered flagpole, the metal bullet - holed and extremely oxidized, and bearing a tattered American flag hung upside - down at half - mast.
"Seems like the deployment of American Heroes didn't work out so well after all." Mirza sneered, sweeping the perimeter with his rifle. "Kharpusht told me about the time he met one at the border a year ago; I wonder what happened to them after the US pulled out?"
"I'd attribute that to there being less public support for the war, even after the deployment of Heroes." Brittania replied curtly as she stepped inside the vast hangar. It was quite dark; she put on a pair of NVGs and switched them on. The device sensed small amounts of infrared light reflected off the metal and concrete surfaces and amplified the image into a full - color display via the digital image sensor. Mirza, however, had not put on any NVGs - yet he navigated the darkness with ease. "Thirty years of continued conflict puts a strain on any nation."
"So what good were the Heroes, then?" Mirza reached the end of the empty hangar. The cold night wind blew through the rusted gaps in the metal, making a wistful whistling noise, and lifted the Agent's cloak slightly. He sat down on a thick layer of dust and leaned against the wall. "Never send ostentatiously-dressed clowns to do real work." The night sky lit up with a massive white flash, followed up by smaller white flashes, accompanied by the rumble of an explosion, and the pop-pop-pop of faraway gunshots.
"I don't know why you have such a grudge against them." Brittania sat down by the Agent, an uncomfortable prickling sensation creeping down the back of her head. Agha's rage and Mirza's rant bounced about in her skull like a spiky tennis ball, aggravating her intensely. She closed her eyes, recalling the pre - briefing reports she read before departing on the joint operation. "People need Heroes, to give them hope, a reason to press on. Besides, it's not like they could make a situation as bad as this any worse, not after what your Agency did here."
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Kindly refrain from treating me like an idiot, Agent, Hero though I may be." She glared at him. "It's practically common knowledge how the Inter - Services Intelligence funded radicals in Afghanistan in order to establish a government amenable to their interests." There were a few more explosions in the distance, shaking loose some dust from the hangar ceiling. "And now those same extremists have gotten loose of the leash."
"Well, since you seem to be so well in the know…" Mirza said through gritted teeth, his knuckles pale from tightly gripping the stock, "…then you should also know that since 1947 the Afghan government has been perpetually hostile to us, funding radicals in Khyber and Balochistan with Indian assistance in order to break up our nation and claim our land. We already have one belligerent neighbor; we don't need another. Besides, the events you speak of were far before my time."
"Funny, isn't it, how playing fast and loose with national politics can result in blowback?" She tilted her head as Mirza got up angrily and walked a few steps ahead before turning to face her. "And now you're here to clean house before the monster your agency funded grows beyond your control."
"You have no right to judge, Hero. Many problems in this region come from the Brits, Yanks, and Russkies playing their geopolitical games - and now Quirks are just another factor to complicate matters." He furiously pointed an accusatory finger at her. A moment passed and he took a deep breath, letting his hand limply drop by his side. "I am just a simple Agent; whatever I do, I do for my nation's safety. Have you considered how the outcome of our mission would positively impact the region? Would a Hero be able to do what we are doing?"
"Why do you keep bringing up Heroes, Mirza? Do you have some sort of personal grudge?" She asked, thinking over what the Agent said. She had no strong feelings on their current mission-it was what it was. But given the Quirk - fueled chaos in other nations, it seemed as if the already volatile region was about to become far more unstable, especially as more Quirks popped up. So far, they hadn't encountered any, but then again, they had only been a few hours in the country. As a licensed Hero she was beholden to uphold the ideals of peace and justice, to prevent the abuse of power, and these ideals rubbed uncomfortably in her mind against the thought of working with the ISI agent. But she knew Mirza was not entirely wrong, and she questioned why she was taking him to task.
"It just seems to me that an already insane world is growing crazier by the moment." Mirza said wearily. "So many flagrant violations of normality. Shining babies? Engines integrated into the flesh? Mutations that confer the traits of an animal? Biology has failed us." He looked at his nails before extending and retracting his claws and noted that he had left small scratches on the stock of his sniper rifle.. "The potential for accidents caused by those who cannot control their abilities is enormous, let alone the devastation that can be caused by abuse. Can you imagine if groups like Daesh, Aum Shinrikyo, or Tamil Tigers harnessed the power of Quirks? I bet they are already working on it, which is why I trust the Inter - Services Intelligence to maintain stability and control in this corner of the world." He came closer and extended his hand. The explosions lighting up the night sky had subsided, but gunfire could still be heard. "I don't like this spot - let's move somewhere else."
"The concept of Heroes - using one's powers for the good of all - could be an alternative to operations your agency conducts. Besides, many nations have extensive training courses to ensure Heroes use their Quirks properly. Stability can also be achieved through winning hearts and minds and inspiring hope for a better future in the local population. They might even thank you for it." She took his hand and got up, dusting off her robes. "Particularly if Heroes from your country did so, you could counteract hostile foreign influence."
"I'm not too optimistic about that. Wearing such bright outfits just seems to scream 'shoot me' and I'd much rather not have media cameras following me about. Also, having the details of my Quirk known would just endanger me further." They walked together towards the entrance. "Moreover, my countrymen are not particularly welcome here - remember what Agha said? The Heroes must come from the local tribes - but good luck making sure they don't fight each other instead."
"For a Hero to survive in modern society you have to accept the fact that your Quirk is known. It isn't the Quirk that makes the Hero, after all." She remarked, thinking about the possibility of tribal affiliations overriding heroic ideals. "Surely a central system can be set up where young Quirk users can be free from being used in political struggles?"
"How would you separate them from the general population? Here, tribal affiliations are stronger than any allegiance to a central government. Before there can be any attempt at Heroes championing 'hearts and minds' the change must come from the local peoples-" He suddenly shut up and raised his hand to head level, fingers extended and joined. Brittania halted, and then took a knee as he lowered his hand from his head to his waist, palm facing down, arm stretched. Past the hangar entrance they saw two small dark figures and one tall one, slowly ambling past. The pair moved a little ahead; two children wearing long shirts, baggy pants, backpacks, and AK-47s walking with a figure clad in an all-enveloping dark blue dress with a visor, wielding a PKP Pecheng machine gun, an ammunition bandolier slung over the shoulder. The children poked around the rubble as they walked past the hangar entrance, idly bantering with one another.
"Tribal militia. Let's go." Mirza got up, but Brittania stayed a bit, watching as a child fished out a piece of gleaming metal with triumph. A sour feeling bubbled in her stomach. Their guardian let out a cry of alarm and charged forward, knocking the piece out of the boy's hand, and sending it scattering into the darkness. The boy petulantly complained, but a few slaps silenced him, and he shouldered his AK and walked off into the night with his sibling.
"We can't help them."
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A soldier dangled in the air, suspended from a wooden electrical post by a hemp rope. Greenish - brown flakes encrusted the splotchy black and blue bruises patterning his rotting face, and a smelly black fluid dripped from his pants and coagulated on the dirt. A raven precariously perched on his shoulder, pecking at the flesh, shifting position every time the body swung lightly with the breeze. A small paper notice was nailed onto the lamppost. TRANSLATOR, it proclaimed. A little ahead was a small town, the road leading to it blockaded by white Toyota Hiluxes bearing white banners with black inscriptions and heavy machine guns. Fighters milled about the road, smoking cigarettes, telling jokes, and comparing weapons.
Brittania and Mirza crept about a goat herder's path overlooking the town, using the darkness before dawn to avoid the patrols - but there was no need. Three guards were crouching behind a shelf of rocks, crushing small transparent crystals with the handles of their knives, chattering eagerly. After two minutes of hard work one of them brought out a small glass flute and began to pack the crystal in and used a lighter to heat up the bulb while the other two brought their knives close to their nostrils. Mirza wrinkled his nose at the smell of cat urine and rotten eggs. He bared his claws.
"They will be missed, but we'll be out before they know it."
Brittania moved up to the position and began to set up with Mirza; she set up a laser rangefinder while Mirza lay down and extended the bipod. She looked down the rangefinder and began to zero it on various points of interest; the main road, sandbag and oil drum walls lining the gaps between mud and brick houses, and the central square where people were hurrying and scurrying about to prepare the area. The device was also a camera, which stored images on a memory stick next to the battery slot. Her attention returned to the main road as she heard the horn.
A massive white lorry was driving towards the roadblock, its horn blaring, and the Hiluxes blocking the path moved away. On its side was a company logo: AFGHAN TRANSPORT NETWORK. It pulled into the town and parked on one side of the central square, which was entirely devoid of any obstructions. Just then the sound of a helicopter's rotors filled the sky. She pressed herself against the ground, slowly moving her head in order to identify where the sound was coming from. Over the mountains bordering the south end of town the a small black speck grew larger and larger - the sound increasing as it did so-till they saw the signature profile of a helicopter painted in desert camouflage hover over the town square and slowly descend, its rotors kicking up a great deal of dust and knocking anything unsecured over. Only five full minutes after it landed did the dust settle.
"A Hind D?" Mirza stared intensely down his scope, watching a figure clad in a black silk suit and brown shoes, his face obscured by a balaclava, exit the helicopter with a suitcase in hand. After him, the strangest bodyguard Mirza had ever seen emerged from the Hind. It wore a full plate suit of medieval armor, climate be damned, and moved with ease. Little white wisps wafted from the visor and the joints of the metal. "What's a Russian gunship doing here?"
"I have no idea-but look at the lorry!"
Mirza shifted his sights to the vehicle, where two men walked to the back and unlatched the doors. When they opened, a small ramp extended from the back, and the cages of the cargo slid out on greased wheels.
"Ya Allah Khair." He breathed deeply, his thick grey eyebrows knotting. Little pinpricks sparked about his nervous system; with a deep breath he smothered the painful electricity.
There were six large black cages padded with soiled newspapers and straw, inhabited by bound and gagged children wearing burlap sacks over their heads but little else. Prepubescents of varying ethnicities; two had patches of black and green scales on their flesh, confirming Mirza's fears. The man in the business suit walked up and down the cages, suitcase in hand, inspecting the goods.
"They're trafficking Quirks." Brittania said, her breath shaky. "We've got to do something."
"This is a recon mission." Mirza shook his head. "We should gather as much information as we can and report back."
"How can you say that Agent? If we don't act now those children will be taken for who knows what purposes?" She looked at him in disbelief, her blue eyes blazing. "You said it yourself; What if terrorist groups manipulated Quirks to their own ends?"
"It's a shitty thing to do, I know…" Mirza's knuckles had turned white from gripping the rifle, and his claws had come out, digging into the metal of the stock. "…but I'm not authorized to make that call."
The businessman was handed a long cattle prod and was poking at the bare flesh of the children. Mirza felt his stomach roil as they recoiled and cried out, the sound carrying across the mountains and echoing. Brittania unslung her sniper rifle. He pressed his face against the sunbaked rock, the veins in his head throbbing painfully as the children's cries rang out in his head. His arm trembled and his mouth felt very dry. Mirza thought about the power bestowed upon him; dozens of Agency briefings flashed through his brain within the span of seconds. He was not weak. He would not allow himself to be weak.
"Keep waiting for authorization, then." She peered down the scope, using the in-built display to calculate distance and wind velocity. "I'm doing what's right."
"Wait." He grabbed her shoulder, withering a little inside as she shot him a furious glare. He reached inside his robes and brought out a small transmitter. "I'll call reinforcements, and until they get here, we'll keep them pinned down. I'll disable the Hind; you eliminate any high value targets, quickly."
"Who are you calling?"
"This'll send a high priority distress call to the Afghan National Commandos HQ, but we need to get out of here when they arrive in about an hour." He pressed it, and a little light in its handle began to flash green. "As I said, I am not particularly welcome here. Now pick your targets!"
The sniper team got to work. Brittania's and Mirza fired simultaneously; she shot an artillery spotter, who staggered upon impact and fell off the roof while Mirza's bullet penetrated the cockpit of the Hind, creating a red spider web across the cockpit. Wordlessly they got up to relocate – Brittania picked up the rangefinder and secured it – and they moved a few meters in opposite directions. Everyone in the town had scrambled for cover; the Hiluxes started up and zoomed off the road, their gunners sweeping the terrain. The children quivered in their cages, some lying in fetal position while others uncomprehendingly clung to the bars. Mirza scanned the area, trying to locate the armored bodyguard. Meanwhile, Brittania fired again, hitting an enemy marksman at center mass. It was not a clean kill; the insurgent crouched on the ground and stared off into the distance, slowly patting his body. The second shot made him collapse like a sack of potatoes, but just then return fire began to pepper her position, Mirza fired another shot, and one Hilux swerved into another, knocking the gunners off their 'dushkas'.
"They've got a good idea of where we are now!" He said into his commlink as he moved a little below the ridge. "But they don't know our exact numbers, so let's relocate and begin exfiltration."
She aimed down her sights once more and fired at the armored bodyguard running full steam - literally - at their position. The first two bullets pinged off its armor, but as she shifted her aim to target the gaps in the visor the bodyguard launched itself into the air, propelled by a thick trail of white fumes till it was just a speck in the sky. The very next moment, he landed right in front of her, the force of the impact knocking her back. More white fumes issued from the tiny gaps in the bodyguard's pauldrons as it brought its gauntlets crashing down upon her.
Immediately she blocked the blow with her rifle – the scope was instantly shattered, and the metal dented – and leapt out of the way. Mirza fired multiple rounds, diverting the bodyguard's attention, who charged at the Agent with incredible speed and sent him rolling down the hill, knocking his PSG-1 away. Breathless, Mirza's heartbeat became faster and faster as he saw the breastplate and gorget glow red-hot as a metal plate slid out from the mouth area, letting prodigious quantities of fume spill out. Before the rush of steam could completely annihilate the Agent, Brittania leapt in between them, having cast off her robes to reveal that underneath it all she was wearing her Hero outfit. The Union Jack cape flapped defiantly as the scorching fumes cascaded upon the fabric, withering it, and Mirza saw her face bead with sweat and pain as the fumes travelled up to her neck.
Wasting no time, the Agent rolled away and drew his MP5, firing directly at the rapidly shutting opening. The fuming bodyguard stumbled back, and Mirza noted with a trickle of blood from the helmet with satisfaction, but it was not to last – he could hear the shouts of insurgents converging upon their position.
"Mirza! Shut your eyes and cover your ears!" Brittania ordered, and the agent did so as the first few enemies came charging, shouting war cries. She ran straight at the enemy, before leaping incredibly high, her eyes burning furiously.
"Blinding Justice!" A momentous roar echoed past his hands and rattled his eardrums, temporarily deafening him.
When Mirza opened his eyes and uncovered his ears, he saw the enemy fighters reeling – the bodyguard included – stumbling about like drunks. One lost his balance and went tumbling, knocking over another fighter, while others desperately tried to regain balance, uttering cries of pain and confusion. Brittania wasted no time and eliminated several of them with her Glock 17 before shooting at an exposed spot in the bodyguard's steaming vambraces, knocking it to the ground. Mirza got up and gasped as she turned around; her eyes were watering intensely.
"That was a big one." She blinked rapidly. He wasted no time in putting her arm around his neck and hobbling away from the battleground, supporting her with one hand and holding the MP5 in the other. In the distance, he could hear the rotors of multiple helicopters – The commandos were on their way, and that meant they had to leave posthaste.
"I didn't know you packed your Hero outfit." He remarked, when they had retreated a few miles away and were waiting for the exfiltration helicopter to arrive. She wiped her eyes again before fishing some eye drops out from her utility belt and applying them.
"It sure was practical, wasn't it, saving your hide from those fumes?"
"Tch. Wouldn't have happened if we didn't engage in combat." He closed his eyes and crossed his arms. "Well, at least you took some good pictures with the rangefinder, but I feel like your actions may have jeopardized future operations." Even as he said so, Brittania noticed Mirza's claws digging into the fabric of his clothing.
"Feeling anxious, Agent?." He raised an eyebrow as she continued. "Take care that your claws don't ruin my suit."
Snikt - the black keratin receded into the little slits in his knuckles
"Whoever among you sees an evil, he must change it with his hand. If he is not able to do so, then with his tongue. And if he is not able to do so, then with his heart, and that is the weakest form of faith". He said, his eyes widening. "I…I could not sit by and watch it."
"Who would have thought that underneath that cold exterior there was a heart of a Hero?" She drank from her canteen. "You are sure it isn't possible for you to leave the ISI?"
"Never." Mirza sharply replied. "The ISI shaped me from soft, unrefined metal, and into a finely-tempered tool to protect my nation's best interests."
"Was it in the nation's best interests to just let those children be exchanged? Or was it the ISI's?" She asked pointedly, watching him visibly deflate.
"So many questions!" He groaned, rubbing his eyes once more. "Is that a part of Hero training too?" He heard the sound of an approaching helicopter and looked up with relief to see an approaching Mi-17 transport. He walked some distance away, before pausing and turning around to face Brittania.
"Thank you, Brittania. For saving my life." He said awkwardly.
"It's just what a Hero does." She smiled wryly. "Please, Mirza. Call me Trainer. Georgina Trainer." She got up as well, loaded a fresh magazine into her Glock 17 and racked the slide. "But my work isn't done yet."
"What do you mean? We've got a limited exfiltration window." Mirza pointed eastwards. "We need to move quickly because there's a lot of ground to cover."
"I need to make sure those children are okay." She said determinedly. "It's not in my nature to start something and leave it unfinished."
"But you'll miss your exit! And the Commandos don't know who you are!" He protested, but she kept walking away, her withered cape fluttering in the wind. Mirza could not understand her rationale at all. "You're putting yourself in a really tight spot!"
"A true Hero always finds a way to break out of a tough situation." Her blithe comment made him involuntarily gnash his teeth as the veins in his head began to pulse intensely – again with the Hero crap? Throughout the mission it had been rubbed in his face and he wondered when she was going to realize the truth of the situation. Still, as she walked away, he felt a strange sensation start from his head and slowly travel down his throat and into his chest. It was a powerful rush that cleared his vision and accelerated his breathing; the urgency of sticking to the exfiltration timetable vanished from his head, and faded memories of a Moon-and-Star took over.
"I have always admired you, Chaand-o-Sitara. Your exploits, and your drive for reform-they are what made me join the agency." The very next moment he was running, and then he was by Trainer's side.
"You'll need someone who speaks Pashto and Dari."
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The strike team had quickly and efficiently cleared the village of most hostiles - notable exceptions being the businessman, his bodyguard, and the Hind D. Fortunately, the children were safe, albeit extremely shaken up and crying out for their parents – the sight of more men with guns certainly did not assuage their fears. Their bizarre appearances and mutations baffled the leader of the strike force – a heavily built man with a thick neck and pointed black beard - who was speaking into the radio when Brittania and Mirza arrived surrounded by an escort of equally confused Afghani commandos. He raised his hands in confusion at the sight of the two, his brown eyes roaming over Brittania's brightly colored outfit and Mirza's dust – stained robes.
"I'm with the National Directorate of Security – my callsign is Eagle." Mirza proclaimed, brandishing a badge bearing the symbol of the Afghan Intelligence Services. "You can call up Commander Ahmad Nabi to confirm; I was also the one who called in the team. This is my partner." He pointed to Brittania. The strike force leader nodded before stepping back so Mirza could not hear him speak into his radio. Mirza remained stoic, though with every passing moment the weight in his stomach grew heavier and heavier, and he cast an aside glance at Brittania who raised a questioning eyebrow but said nothing. A few of the commandos fidgeted nervously as they patrolled – Mirza couldn't blame them. The back of his collar felt incredibly hot and damp and the weight sunk through his stomach, leaving behind an airy and queasy sensation as the strike team leader came striding towards him. He felt his claws digging against his thigh – and one of the commandos muttered something inaudible – and then the commander's hand was out.
"Pleased to meet you, Eagle. Welcome aboard."
The ride to headquarters – located near the provincial capital Qalat of Zabul province – was relatively uneventful. The children had to be herded into the helicopter despite the multiple peacemaking offers; gentle words, head pats, chocolate bars – they kept weeping until exhaustion overtook them and they had to be carried. To make their rest on the steel floor less uncomfortable Brittania laid out what remained of her cape, over which Mirza laid the upper layer of his cloak. Upon disembarking the first thing they did was ensure the children were ushered to the medical wards. The pair stood guard till they were called to the regional commander's office, where a familiar face waited for them.
"Good to see that you survived, Commander Nabi." Mirza said, more as a formality than a genuine expression of relief. Ahmad Nabi just stared back, his weary gaze flickering from Brittania to Mirza, before pinching the bags beneath his dark eyes.
"Haven't you created enough trouble for this country?" He asked wearily, reclining in his threadbare office seat. "I responded to a high priority distress call, expending priceless fuel and ammunition, putting the lives of my men on the line, just to serve the agenda of two foreigners. Just tell me what you want so I can have you out of my hair already. There's too much shit going down for me to waste my time with the two of you." The commander threw his hands up and gazed at the cracked roof.
"We need transport for ourselves and the six Quirk users to Peshawar." Brittania said. He looked at her incredulously and laughed in a mocking way, intensifying the awkward atmosphere in the room. "Can you provide it, or not?"
"A Tajik policeman shot a Hazara trader in the marketplace the other day for stiffing him on protection dues, and the police commander won't do shit because he's too busy injecting heroin and screwing the chai boys." Ahmad Nabi scoffed. "And I can't do shit because taking him out would result in his brother, an influential warlord, joining the Taliban with his soldiers to take revenge. My men are exhausted, overstretched, and demoralized – last night after I had to abandon the police check post three men deserted and one tried shooting me on his way out. Now I'm being extorted by two foreigners – one a Hero – to use what little resources I have to save their hides and six children. Tell me, 'Hero', what of the other children in this country? Are they any less deserving of your grace?" He started laughing and buried his head in his hands. Brittania said nothing but felt a prickly heat creep down her neck.
"Oi." Mirza thumped the table, prompting the commander to look up at the Agent, his smile draining from his face. "You don't want to provide transport, that's fine. You just keep the landing pad clear, and I'll call it in. I'm sure if we have any…accidents regarding our exfiltration then the situation in Afghanistan stands to get a lot more unstable, you get me?"
"By all means." The commander helplessly spread his hands. "I don't really care; just do your best to destabilize this region and leave. Isn't it so, 'Eagle' of the NDS?"
"Hey, fuck you." Mirza spat, his face reddening. "We helped you relieve a check post, and we prevented the acquisition of dangerous genes from falling into the hands of actual dangerous elements. So, let's have a little fucking respect."
"What is wrong with you two?" Brittania spoke up, the prickly feeling agitating her intensely, her blue eyes glowing dangerously. "You're bickering like a pair of preschoolers. Why don't you act like the professionals that you're supposed to be?"
"Professionalism? In the Afghan National Army? Don't make me laugh-" Mirza started but immediately stopped when he saw the dangerous glow in Brittania's eyes. Ahmad just shrugged, took out his cellphone – a Nokia 3310 – and dialed a number.
"Yeah, we'll be expecting a helicopter in –" He looked questioningly at Mirza.
"Three hours or so."
"Three hours. Keep the landing pad clear and increase the number of perimeter patrols. Yes, draw from the policewomen as well." He put aside his mobile phone. "The few reliable forces in the region. Satisfied?" Not waiting for a response, he got up and started walking to the door. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go lead Asr prayers."
"Yeah, it's about time." Mirza said, also exiting the room with the commander. "Where can I perform ablutions?"
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After Asr prayers, Mirza joined Brittania on the roof, where she was smoking a cigarette. Countless little lights glared back at them through the evening haze, like the many eyes of a massive monster sprawled across the landscape. She took a deep puff and flicked the stub to the floor, crushing it beneath her boot.
"I thought a Hero never smokes." He said, bemused, and stood next to her. "Figured you were the 'eat veggies, stay in school, don't do drugs' types."
"So what, are Agents 'eat junk food, stay in streets, do lots of drugs' types?" She shot back teasingly. "We all have our little vices."
"On the contrary. You need to be incredibly fit to join the ISI, especially the Quirk Division, and the bare minimum education requirement is having graduated from a military college. As for drugs – kiss goodbye to any career in the armed forces if you fail the drug test."
"I'm still curious as to how you recruit Quirk users." She asked, opening the quarter pack of Marlboros she bummed off a nurse and sliding out another stick of cancer. "We have academies that can be joined after passing the admission test post highschool – what do you do?"
"Classified information." It was his turn to be cocky. "If I told you..."
"Pfft. That reference is ancient."
"Come on now, it's a classic and deserves respect-" Mirza instinctively ducked behind cover as he heard the crackle of gunfire, as did Brittania, as did the multiple personnel patrolling the boundary. Cautiously he raised his head and scanned the horizon, but with the darkening conditions, it was hard to tell where the firing was coming from. They only had their secondary weapons, which weren't ideal for fighting at a range, and a scant amount of ammunition. The Agent cursed quietly, wondering when extraction was going to arrive.
"Let's go secure the kids." Brittania nodded, but just as she moved towards the entrance the gunfire flared up again, hitting the perimeter wall. The ragtag group of commandos, army personnel, and police squads scurried to their defensive positions and amidst the chaos Mirza saw Ahmad Nabi striding about, shouting orders, and preventing over-eager soldiers from firing off their ammunition early. Mirza's alarm only intensified when he dug out his binoculars and saw a Humvee festooned with white banners driving straight for the base gate, shots pinging off the armor. Quite some distance back the dim glare of Hilux headlights burned through the dust clouds kicked up by the Humvee, their mounted machineguns blazing. To the hills to the right of the base, he saw several riders assemble on their horses, firing into the air. An RPG fired, spiraling through the air, and landing a few meters away from the Humvee driving straight for the gate without detonating.
"Go, now, now!" Mirza shouted as he sprinted for the stairwell. He threw himself down the stairs after Brittania and lay face down, opening his mouth and covering his ears. A bone rattling blast shook the headquarters as the lights went out, but Brittania and Mirza were soon up and moving quickly through the narrow hallways. Gunfire echoed through the hallways amidst agonized cries of pain; Mirza stepped over the writhing body of a policewoman as she let out a wet gargle. Down the hallway he saw movement – Brittania tapped him on shoulder, and he shut his eyes as her eyes flashed and stunned three men wielding AK's and dressed as local tribesmen, which they probably were. Training and mechanical instinct took over; flash and clear, flash and clear, no time to think. Remnants of the Afghan Army and Commandos as well as the surviving policewomen fought tooth and nail, making the enemy pay for every inch of ground with their blood.
Quickly dispatching the enemy, they burst through the medical ward, which was filled with the panic shouts and cries of patients while the nurses and security detail desperately tried to maintain order. Shoving his way through the bodies, he made his way to the children's ward, where the six Quirk users were left. In their glassy eyes he saw tears beading; one was tightly clutching his pillow and bawling his eyes out, another had just frozen up, yet another clung to her sibling0. They were not the only other children there – he heard a baby wailing somewhere down the hall – but he gritted his teeth and quickly ushered them out from the ward. There were more gunshots, and Brittania doubled back a few more times, returning with half a Glock 17 magazine remaining and her eyes intensely watering.
It took some pushing, shouting, and shoving but soon they were all moving through the back exit and towards the landing pad where a Mil Mi-17s was coming into land. Before the helicopter touched down entirely, the side door slid open and four Special Service Group commandos armed with M4 Carbines and anti-glare goggles dismounted to set up a point defense. An RPG narrowly soared over the helicopter, prompting Mirza to immediately turn around and fire his last few rounds at the targets on the roof.
Immediately they began firing, but Brittania and Mirza were not the only ones trying to board the helicopter. With death so near, terrified people attempted to rush towards their perceived salvation, only to receive rifle – blows and boots, diverting the SSG's attention from the true threat. Mirza shoved in the last of the children and boarded right after Brittania, followed by the SSG, who fell back as a terrified crowd attempted to board, only to be shoved away, with some even attempting to cling to any part of the exterior. Brittania watched in horror at the pandemonium as the helicopter slowly lifted into the air, her eyes burning and watering. Bullets pinged off the metal, and she watched a man clinging to the side fall and get swallowed up by the despairing crowd. Mirza seized a Colt M4 from a commando and stood in the doorway, firing in quick, controlled bursts, but there were just so many. Another RPG narrowly flew past the tail of their helicopter. Desperate, he looked back at his partner.
"There are too many of them." He despaired, dreading what he was about to say next. "You have to use your Quirk. To save us. Or it'll be for naught." The helicopter accelerated, but the bullets kept coming, and the weight of the people hanging on slowed their exit – they had barely cleared the perimeter of the base. Her heart rising to her throat, Brittania got up, her body moving on its own to the door. "Please, Georgina."
A Hero always finds a way to break out of a tough situation.
"I'm sorry." Georgina Trainer whispered, her eyes glowing intensely. She fell back against the cold metal, hot tears streaming down her face as the helicopter free of its load flew towards the horizon and away from the Graveyard of Hope.