The black car parked and Doctor Angelo from the university opened the door. A flower vase on a nearby windowsill lay shattered on the street. However, the mayor was still open for business. The university professor walked through the door of City Hall, idly listening to the sound of business outside, and moved through the corridors to the office.
The mayor sat at the far end of the room, his bulk obvious despite the distance. His eyes were glazed over and Angelo could almost taste the alcohol on the man's breath.
"Tell me what you have to say," the mayor said, his words plainly slurred. "And don't waste my time, egghead."
"Mayor Donatello," the scientist said. "We've looked over the data from Vesuvius and Campi Flegrei and it looks bad. In about six months' time there's going to be an eruption of Vesuvius like the one that buried Pompeii - probably worse. You have to consider evacuation!"
"I heard lots of people say stuff like that before," the mayor replied. "Always saying the world's gonna end in three weeks' time or whatever. You know what - it keeps on spinning. Life goes on."
"Mayor Donatello, we have scientific-"
"Time's up," the mayor lazily replied and gestured for Angelo to leave the room.
The door slammed about two seconds later.
+++NEBRASKA, FEBRUARY 3RD 2012+++
The man did not reveal his face, the survivors always remembered afterward. The US Army base was not particularly large - it primarily functioned as an arsenal. About 250 Abrams tanks stood in lengthy rows along with Hummers and many other vehicles on a clear patch of fenced-in scrubland. Many artillery vehicles also stood neatly parked opposite the other vehicles. South of that, a quarter of the base was given over to barracks and other facilities, The other half of the base consisted of four massive warehouses brimming with military equipment, from M16s to laser-guided missiles.
He came along the highway just after dusk, wearing plain black leathers, riding on an all-black Harley and wearing a black motorbike helmet that concealed his entire face. His hands were gloved as well - no part of his body was uncovered. As he approached the gateway to the base a security guard - balding, middle-aged, overwieght, asked the tall, faceless man's ID.
"You will let me in," came the reply, in a voice soft as a whisper and chilling as a harsh wind over ice.
The security guard idly raised the gate, then closed his eyes and slammed his head on the controls. A slow death-rattle rushed from his mouth as the last shreds of life faded from him. The man, once inside, dismounted the motorbike and began walking leisurely toward the warehouses, turning his head to look at the assembled vehicles once he did so. So utilitarian they were. War-machines more fitting for conversion could scarcely be found.
He noted individuals trying to challenge him. For the most part they fell at his breath, screaming and gurgling as their souls sickened. Others were slain with merciless, efficient blows from a sword that seemed to be made of night He quickly finshed taking inventory of the stock and began going about his task.
As he began a warrior of sterner constitution attacked, trying to defend himself with a combat knife. The man in black let the steel pierce his leathers, then smirked beneath the helm as the blade shattered and crumbled. A dagger flew into his left hand and from there it pierced the other's left shoulder. He screamed and collapsed as a shard of black material fell off and embedded itself. The rest of the blade dropped from the figure's hand almost casually, oily smoke pouring from it as it hit the ground and vanished from its hilt to the tip of its blade, leaving melted snow where it had fallen.
Behind the figure the foolhardy man still screamed. It was no concern - by morning he would not be of help to his friends. The figure continued walking, turning back its head in a manner almost serpentine to smile pleasedly at the hapless man behind, then turned it forwards once more.
He had work to do.
Next morning the troops who had slept through the whole incident without knowledge of it, save for terrible dreams, woke up to find that everything in the arsenal - from the Abrams tanks down to the shell casings kept in the warehouse - was gone and an unnatural chill hung over the place, the few signs of what had happened obscured beyond hope by falling snow.
A set of motorbike tracks went from a hole in the fence far off into the wilderness.
+++MARCH 28TH - SITE ALPHA+++
Thaddeus Bradley adjusted his beret slightly and swung the sword again. It was a beautiful weapon and he would have taken the utmost care of it if not for the fact that it never seemed to dull or lose the silvery lustre ever-present in its blade. As it was, the wooden training dummy was bisected so finely that the top half didn't fall off till nudged slightly by his finger. That was craftsmanship.
He had sparred every day for months with the other people being trained in swordsmanship here, but his sword cut straight through their weapons so casually it didn't seem fair using the perfectly balanced weapon. The other he had never come close to beating - the blond man who had gifted him his sword easily outmatched him every time they sparred. Bradley's all-time record for that guy was holding out 30 seconds.
And yet somehow the blond man always seemed to be holding the greater part of himself back. If he hadn't, Bradley was sure that none of their duels would have lasted 30 seconds - one would have been a miracle.
"Stephanie, you ready?" he heard across the training ground. He turned his head and saw the tempestuous blonde New Yorker putting her practice sword in a parry position. Swords clashed in the distance and three minutes later Bradley saw her regal as always, helping her opponent back on his feet and giving him some much-needed water. God, she's beautiful, he thought, as he always did when seeing that lovely face and the blue eyes set so perfectly in it like sapphires. It was about 30 minutes later, after three sparring matches with practice swords (which were all victories), that Bradley went to sleep as the night shift began.
His dreams were odd, as they had always been after that wolf attack in Russia. This night it was a recurring feature.
He saw a fair country, a land filled with gold-crowned silver-barked trees, with green fields and domed hills and high mountains and fair white-towered cities. Then he was near the top of a mountain or in the clouds (he could never really tell) and a great wave was washing across that beautiful land, unstoppable ad relentless. The fair cities and towns were swept up in the roaring onslaught of foam like so much driftwood, and the tall trees and the high hills were lost in the flood as a deep melancholy filled him.
Then suddenly a great city was besieged by monsters, darkness filled the sky and foul bat-winged beasts flew in the air slaying where they willed. The distorted, degraded parodies of human form were then met in battle by gold-haired horsemen who sang as they slew, milling around elephantine beasts who brayed and shook the ground. Axes and spears were loosed around him, and the city was made safe.
Then its king, now dead a long time later was entombed, and his sword was in his right hand. Waters then swept over the tomb and for a short time barnacles covered the king's imperial face graven on his sarcophagus-lid - then the tomb became a cavern lit with reeking torches and pale, ape-like creatures snuck in and defiled the king and stole his sword - and then dropped it because its touch burned them and turned away from it because its light seared their eyes, and so the blade was lost in darkness forever.
He woke slowly that morning, and remembered suddenly the briefing due for a special mission.
The man there was middle-aged, black-haired and wore an eyepatch over his left eye. They said he had lost it in Site Gamma somewhere in the Ukraine when the Agency had been doing its first tentative explorations.
There were seven agents requested for this - Bradley looked to his right and saw that one of the agents was Stephanie. She looked back as if she wanted to say something important, then returned to looknig straight aheadf.
The man continued speaking in his British accent.
"...This mission has been authorised by the Director personally. As I have stated, our objective is to recover a class-Alpha item located in the Vienna location by all means necessary. However, discretion is advised. The mission will proceed in four steps: Step 1, Scout out the catacombs and find a way to the location marked as most probable on your maps; Step 2, ascertain enemy forces in the area; Step 3, identify and recover the item; Step 4, extract."
"We cannot get support for you, as our task forces in Poland and Novaya Zemlya urgently need reinforcement, and in any case we cannot have civilian awareness of our efforts - the Enemy's spies and other agents are growing in number fast. The seven of you are all we've got."
He went out and handed dossiers to each of the seven agents.
"Read these for further details. At 1300 hours we make for Austria. Godspeed."