WARRIORS HIGH
ISLAND OF THE FALLEN
PROLOGUE
THEY CAME FROM THE SHADOWS
JULY 21st, 2025
SCALIA MEMORIAL COURTHOUSE - CRIMINAL AFFAIRS
AUSTIN, TEXAS
The trial continued deep into the sleepy evening hours.
Most of the courts for the day had been closed and cleaned, with the verdicts either tossed out or making the locks of the prisoners. All throughout, grossly underpaid janitors sloshed their mops along the varnished wood floors of the empty rooms with pews.
Only two remained in use.
One was a vehicular manslaughter case. The victim, barely 20, had clearly been inebriated and blew past the red light. All his lawyers could do now was try to keep it from escalating into a homicide charge to pad the length of his jail time.
But the second was something of much more importance. And interest, for that matter.
Breaking and entering and attempted murder.
If one were to listen into the case from the outside pews, it also seemed like the prosecution was having a field day. Fingerprints on the gun pulled, his blood on the window, footprints on the floor and an internet history showing evidence of an obsession with the woman whose house he had broken into. All it would take for the state to send him off was a textbook cross-examination.
But the defendant was making a very, very strange case. That he had not only known the woman he had tracked, but was married to her as well.
Bullshit. Everyone, even his lawyers knew it.
And so, as the defendant's direct examination (littered with overruled relevance objections simply because the judge wanted to see how much he would talk out of his ass) came to an end and the flustered co-counsel returned to his table, Ethan Grace, a charming man who sat in the middle of the table for three, got up, adjusted his suit and got ready to get his payday.
"Good evening, Mr. Stephen."
The man grunted in response, looking both desperate and incredibly pissed off.
"I'd like to begin by going over what you have heard in today's case so far. You were present when Dr. Townsworth testified in court today?"
"Yes."
"And you were present when he, under oath, said that the DNA of the blood matched yours?"
"Yes."
"You were present when he testified that the fingerprints on the gun matched yours?"
"Yes."
"And you were present when Officer Barnes testified to the searches of the woman in question on your computer?"
"Yes."
Mr. Grace blinked for a moment. He expected a fight.
"So...Mr. Stephen, what do you have to say for yourself?"
"Objection, Argumentative."
"Sustained," said Judge Sammy Kroll, who looked very bored by how easy this case is, "Mr. Grace, break it up."
"Yes, your Honor," he said before turning back to the defendant.
"Mr. Stephen...you said in your direct examination that you know this woman?"
"She's my wife," snarled Mr. Stephen.
Judge Kroll sighed in frustration. He had heard this story before.
"Um, your Honor? Permission to bring back Exhibit 3 from the bench?"
"Briefly."
Mr. Grace brought back Exhibit 3, which was a paper of Marissa Offenbach's martial records and status.
"Were you present in court when this was brought into evidence, Mr. Stephen-"
"It's wrong."
"Mr. Stephen, were you present when-"
"Read my fucking lips," shouted the defendant, standing up from his seat, "She's my wife!"
Kroll slammed his gavel down. "Sit down, Stephen."
Seething, he slowly sat back down.
"Now then," said Mr. Grace, "You were part of the 48th legion in Afghanistan?"
"Yes."
"The legion was composed of, most notably, your brother, his wife, and your two brother-in-laws?"
"Yes."
"And you served under the code name Jaggedstorm?"
"Still do-"
"Objection, Relevance."
"Sustained. Counsel, move along."
"Yes, your honor," said Mr. Grace, composing himself before moving on.
"You said on your direct examination that you were married to Ms. Offenbach?"
"I am married to her."
"Even though the exhibit in front of you clearly states you were never in a legal relationship with her?"
"It's wrong."
"Christ almighty…" muttered the judge, rubbing his eyes. They were gonna be here all night.
Mr. Grace sighed, looking to be on his last legs of patience.
"I'd like to make a couple of things clear, Mr. Stephen. You were present when the opening statement was given?"
"Begrudgingly."
"And you heard what was necessary to prove our case tonight?"
"What does that have to do with anything-"
"Yes or no, Mr. Stephen."
Stephen looked like he was about to smash everything breakable in the room. But he held himself back.
"Yes. I did."
"And you know, Mr. Stephen…" said Mr. Grace, taking a step forward, "That whether or not you were ever in a relationship that doesn't exist does not pertain to today's case-"
That did it.
Jack Stephen was on his feet, slamming his cuffed hands onto the table in front of him.
"DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE SPEAK ABOUT MY WIFE LIKE THAT!"
The guards rushed to Stephen to restrain him. "God's sake, counsel! Control your witness!" snapped Kroll to the defense.
One of his three lawyers rushed with the guards to Stephen, speaking strictly and quietly into his ear as he was held back from beating Mr. Grace's face in. Nearby, the three people in the pews decided they needed a coffee break and the secretary was getting very uncomfortable at the idea of writing the fuck word in the record.
Eventually, against all odds, Jack Stephen calmed down enough to shrug off the guards and take a seat. The attorney, whose blood pressure had tripled in under a minute, was trying to control his breathing as he walked back to the counsel table under the scrutinizing eyes of Kroll.
"Cut that from the record," the judge said quietly to the secretary, "And this is a court of law, Mr. Stephen. You will control yourself."
He looked ready to talk back to him, but a death glare from his lawyers changed his mind. He nodded without a word.
"Good. You may continue, Mr. Grace."
The lawyer, who had taken the unplanned recess to take a sip of water, nodded. "Your Honor, permission to retrieve Exhibit 6 from the bench?"
"Granted."
Mr. Grace walked behind his table to pull out a television connected to a DVD player. Grabbing the remote and firing up the TV, Mr. Grace turned away from the screen and back to the defendant.
"Do you recognize this tape?"
Stephen sighed. It was the security tape from the house he had broken into.
"Yes."
"And is that you present in the tape?"
"Well, I…"
Stephen stopped, looking at the television with confusion.
"Mr. Stephen?" said Grace, confused as he turned to look at the screen.
And he saw what was confusing him.
On the television was no longer the security tape, but the live feed of a black-haired man sticking his face into a camera.
"Is this thing on?" he said, tapping the lens before thrusting a pocketwatch in front of him.
Judge Kroll got to his feet. "What the hell is this?" he snapped.
"Relax, gown man," said the man in response, "I'll be out of your dirty gray hair in a second."
"Get to the bottom of this!" said Kroll to the guards, who got up and were almost to the door.
"Not right now, Kroll. I think you all should go to sleep."
The effect was immediate. Everyone in the room slumped over or fell down. Grace and the guards collapsed in their place. Kroll and Stephen dropped and draped over the tables their seats were under.
The courtroom was silent.
The door opened, and in walked two handsome young adult men. One was tanned, 6 feet and had very clean black hair. His green eyes were as sharp as a knife and as bright as the hue of the numbers on his pocketwatch. Next to him was a much more brutish and brooding man, his brown hair unkempt and the scar along his cheekbone grimy with dirt and hastily healed infections.
"Y'know, we could've just walked in," said the latter.
The former shrugged. "You know me, J. I'm a sucker for panache."
"And it's annoying as hell."
They walked into the court box, the black-haired man meticulously stepping around the sleeping lawyers while the other lightly shoved them aside with his foot. He walked over to the secretary and began to lightly whisper in the sleeping older woman's ear as his companion walked up to Stephen, running a hand through his black hair before leaning in to speak into the defendant's ear.
"When I snap my fingers, you will return to consciousness, but will be unable to move your limbs."
He paused a moment and snapped his fingers. Stephen jolted into consciousness, panting hard as he saw the bodies around the courthouse. His eyes brightened with fear for his life as he failed to move his arms.
"Hey, hey, hey…" said the black-haired man, hand on his shoulder, "Relax...I'm not gonna hurt you...no one is dead...But I need you to listen to me, alright?"
After a minute of useless fidgeting, Stephen slowed his body and focused in on the man.
"I know you're confused, Jaggedstorm...Confused and scared…" he said quietly, "And you've gotten yourself into a pickle over it. But it's for the best that you're here so we can keep you in one place."
"I know you…" snarled Jaggedstorm, "You were the one that broke into my house and put that...god-forsaken stone into my arm!"
"That's correct," said the man nonchalantly, "But trust me when I say it's for a good reason-"
"You ruined my fucking life, you son of a bitch-"
"Quies."
Jaggedstorm's voice was cut off. He wasn't suffocating, but he could no longer make a sound.
"I need you to listen to me very carefully. We are going to make your counsel plead insanity and get you into a mental institution. You're gonna stay there for a couple of weeks until thehype over you calms down, then you get an explanation and a way out. As long as you don't kill yourself over or because of what the voice in your head tells you, you will see Marissa again. Understand?"
He snarled in defiance.
"Come, now," said the man snarkily, "Would you rather wither your honor over the title of fresh meat at the maximum security prison? Or stay in a place where you won't get killed?"
Jaggedstorm continued to fight back.
Until he sighed in defeat.
"That's what I thought," said the man, patting his shoulder sympathetically, "Hang in there, Jag. You'll be out of this soon enough."
Jaggedstorm just glared as the man backed away.
"Go to sleep."
With a snap of his fingers, Jack Stephen was passed out again.
"We set, J?" said the black-haired man as the brute finished making the lap around the court.
"Just get it over with."
"Alright, ladies and gentlemen!" he said, standing up on a pew to address the sleeping crowd, "When I snap my fingers, you will wake up at the sound of the door shutting! You did not fall asleep or get hypnotised. You simply lost your train of thought for a minute. You will accept this trial's result once the judge grants the defense's plea of insanity without any question. This was the plan since the beginning of this trial, and no other outcome was ever considered. You will not remember a Ravenstorm or Jasper coming into this room or any interruption to the trial at all. You will be completely conscious, sentient and free of any hypnotization side effects. You will continue life as normal and not question anything that happened within this trial as out of the ordinary in regards to our presence whatsoever."
Ravenstorm looked to Jasper, and when he nodded, he snapped his fingers.
The pocket watch in his off-hand glowed a fabulous bright green for about five seconds before fading away. Ravenstorm hopped off the the pew and opened the door for Jasper with a flourish.
When Jasper was a good ways away, he slammed the door of the courtroom.
Without looking back, the two walked to the elevator hall, called an elevator and hit the button for the top floor when it arrived.
"Y'know, if you didn't screw up his hypnotization, this wouldn't be necessary."
"In my defense," said Ravenstorm with a smirk and a shrug, "Wendell's got a lot of sexy chicks. I didn't think he'd be this loyal to his wife after seven months in that town. And besides…"
With a flick of the wrist, a cloak appeared in his hands, and he slipped it on.
"I enjoy the work I do."
"Way too much, sometimes…" muttered Jasper as the elevator arrived.
The two walked out to the window, where the skyline of Austin shone beautifully against the setting sun on a cloudless evening.
"Well, I'm off," said Ravenstorm, putting his hood up, "I got a boat to catch. Don't get too swept off your feet by the hot Mexicans."
"Fuck off…" flipped off Jasper.
"Not as much as you!" chuckled Ravenstorm as he opened the window and leaped out.
Jasper grumbled and shut the window behind him.
THE SAME EVENING
75 MILES FROM FORTALEZA, BRAZIL
Under the cover of sweltering trees, an unmarked van drove through the forest on an unpaved path.
The headlights cut deep into the dense trees, casting shadows that made the driver mildly nervous. In recent years since the COVID pandemic caused the Venezuelan government to collapse into anarchy, the stretch of land had been home to rogue members of the pieces of bottom of the barrel gangs that had been forced out of the capital. They were in continuous war with each other, and operations like these could be quickly hijacked at the cost of their lives.
That made the drives in the pitch black much more white-knuckle inducing. But hey, at least he'd get on the good side of the boss if he made it back.
Weaving around trees at 10 mph, the driver seemed to be making good progress. He had a good view of the treeline and could easily make out any activity that showed signs of rogue interference.
He slowly crept between the trees, seeing the cross cut out of the tree showing that he was a mile away from base.
Then…
WHAM!
A branch fell onto the hood, causing him to jump and brake to a halt.
He looked around, searching for some sign of life that was armed for a robbery.
Nothing.
Not trusting the silence, he reached over and grabbed his shotgun, turning off the car and getting out of the driver's seat.
Slowly, he crept around the van, inspecting every dark passage and aiming his shotgun wildly and unprofessionally.
Just when he thought that he was in the clear, the bush shifted.
"Show yourself!" he shouted in Spanish as he turned the shotgun onto the bush.
No movement. He moved slowly towards the source, gun armed and in hand.
He was three feet away.
Two.
One.
He reached his foot out…
...and kicked the bush aside.
Nothing.
He breathed, looking around before turning back to the bush.
He breathed.
There was nothing.
Nothing to fear.
Very slowly, he backed away, pointing his gun into the shadows.
Nothing moved.
Nothing listened.
Nothing heard him.
He only lowered his gun when he felt the driver door by his arm. He opened the door, slipped inside and shut it, all without taking his eyes off the bush.
He slowly relaxed, turning the key and starting the van again.
Pushing down on the brake, he put the car in gear and grabbed his cigar, reaching over to the passenger seat and grabbing for his lighter.
Except there was no lighter.
There was a leg of a boy in black holding a gun to his head.
BANG!
The moment the man realized this, the bullet was through his brain the second after.
Sighing, the boy reached over and opened the door, kicking the dead man out of the seat and taking the wheel.
He put the van in reverse and headed in a different direction.
He pulled into base thirty minutes later.
His base was once a POW camp that had been victim to a prisoner takeover three years prior. Some gang member had smuggled guns into the camp and killed most of the guards and the warden to get their escape. Now, ironically, it was once again home to criminals. Whom some would consider prisoners of war, even.
The van came to a halt and immediately, soldiers in all black crowded it, checking for bombs or trackers. The boy driver got out and started to make a beeline for the drinking room when someone cut him off.
"Any liabilities?" he snarled in Spanish.
"One," he signed with his hands, "Young male. Didn't know where the safety was on a shotgun."
"Good." said the man, clearly a higher-up within the ranks of the camp, "Get a drink, Shadrack. Then we'll need your assistance in the extraction."
Shadrack noticeably cringed at that, walking much faster to the building with the gin as the chief walked to the van.
"Condition?" he asked one of the soldiers.
The soldier and chief looked at the payload, which contained three body bags. Inside was a young woman with long black hair, a brutish man with brown hair and the stubbles of a beard and a younger, slimmer man with bushy hair, recently dyed a vibrant teal.
"They'll do."
"Prepare the extraction and alert the Shadowlands base," ordered the chief, "Sky will be pleased to know what we have scored."
The soldier nodded and marched off to the communications tower as the chief ran a hand over the side of the unconscious woman's face.
He smirked.
It was too easy. Way too easy to get their hands on them.
Every report from Shadowlands said that they were highly dangerous. And yet all it had taken was a couple grand to one of the top international cartels in the Venezuelan wasteland and a couple hundred soldiers present to get their hands on three of the most powerful people in the world.
They would make billions off of them before even approaching death.
And if they...the so-called Triumvirate were so easy to capture…
How hard could it be to capture the Three?
I'm back.
Did you miss me?
Jesus, I'm nervous. This is without a doubt the most pressure I've felt to write this. I've hyped this up for years and have pages after pages of grand plans to present to you all...
But it's getting this perfect that's scaring me.
Because I feel like I can't afford to screw this up. This fic means so much to so many people. I can't afford to disappoint anyone except myself.
Then again, it's the prologue. And I have many, many, many months ahead of me to get this right.
All that's left is to do it.
So welcome to my most anticipated fic yet.
I hope you enjoy.
Best,
~Res
