You scramble furiously with the laptop as the message appears on the black screen. Self-destruction!? That wasn't in the letter you aunt sent you!
10…9…8…7...6…5…4…
Your heart rate accelerates to an alarming speed, thumping in your chest as you press every button and key available to you. Nothing. Curses, Auntie! What the heck did you embed in these files!? The thought runs through your head much more than once.
3…2…
You squint your eyes shut and wait for the end to come. Only to find that it never does. Upon opening your eyes once more, pale and ice-blue, you sigh in frustration and frown. A new message has appeared on the screen.
JUST KIDDING, SWEETHEART. THE NEXT FILE HAS BEEN LOADED FOR YOU ALREADY AS AN APOLOGY. :D
Curses, Aunt Santha! She scared the bloody bejeezuz out of you on more than one occasion. You grumble in dissent and click the Y to open the next data log entry. Time to stop this lollygagging around and get to reading already!
DATA LOG: BETA
LOCAL: NORTHERN BORDER OF FRANCE; 02:23 SMT
DATE: FEBRUARY 14, 2041
The plane's engines came to a dull, muffled purr as the back hatch of the plane popped open and revealed the star-scratched world below. It spun in dizzying circles as the craft started its landing path unto the rooftops beneath Jack's very feet. It seemed at times like these that even the cities he didn't bother to know the names of bowed to him. He could conquer anything. He was part of the Black Caps, wasn't he? The elite, the best there was, undefeated, the choicest of proverbial meat slices on the Christmas ham. You know, all that cliché crap he didn't enjoy much.
The wind bit at him this time of year, and dug its icy fingernails underneath of his thin black clothes. Unlike Roger and Bill, who hid underneath a layer of therma-knit shirts and cloaks, brand-new night vision goggles and their normal uniforms, Jack had to drop in looking relatively normal. The package couldn't be retrieved if he looked like some sort of military half-breed between a bug and a robot with the latest guns and munitions. After all, the people he'd be meeting with thought he was there to talk about negotiating a merger between Gladiator and their small business firm.
As if.
Right on time, with a nod and a crooked, jagged smile, Bill and Roger leaped straight down and out of the still-hovering aircraft. The only proof they'd been beside him a moment ago was the slight wush in the air their coats created as they leaped out. Other than that, it was silent. Jack was left alone with his thoughts…and regrets. He wished to the point of pain that he could bring a few knives with him to the meeting. However, with his thin clothes they'd be noticed right from the start.
No, today he'd be going in with nothing but his fists and his wits. Oh, and a little back-up too.
"Ready, Jack?" A voice came over the coms array wired to his brain. Everyone in his squad had it; it was required. It also had the strange effect of slowing their aging process…So, Jack Merridew had been sixteen for over ten years now. It seemed as if the chairman didn't like changing out his guard. "We're coming in hot. Looks like Pierre brought a few friends to this party."
"How many friends are we talking about here?" Jack grimaced as he took in the rooftop coming up in his line of sight. He could see the man he was supposed to be meeting with, along with a bulky other that seemed to be a body guard, but other than that it was empty. Spec ops, he begrudgingly thought, hard to shoot if you can't flush them out first…
"I'd say…based on Simon's guesses, of course…" Maurice's voice went on uneasily, "And Pig's help…maybe…twenty…"
"Twenty?" Jack growled.
"Twenty hundred."
"Well, well, happy birthday to us." Jack rolled his eyes, "Pierre, you son of a gun, I don't know where you managed to hide that many men…but I have a good guess…"
"I think we can handle it." Maurice cackled through Jack's ears, "Now, if it were twenty hundred and a half on the other hand…"
"Just land the damn plane." Jack retorted through a grin. He was getting anxious now. No use in getting cold feet over something so practical. They'd dealt with worse before, right? That given, they'd had more back-up then. However, Jack clearly thought they could handle this. And if he thought so, then it would be so.
"General Merridew, prepare for landing." Maurice joked as the plane slowly and tentatively hovered above the correct rooftop and descended. The burners on the bottom were now showing their use; the craft could not just fly like a plane, but function as a helicopter when landing in a tight spot. "Make sure you have all of your luggage before exiting the H88-B49, and thank you for choosing air Maurice as you mode of travel. Have a nice trip."
"Thanks, Maurice." Jack muttered under his breath as he stepped off the back of the plane, "It's not as if I had a choice, though."
"Hey, watch yourself or I'm leaving you in France."
Jack brushed his pilot's threat aside as he walked closer to the man he'd come here to meet with; Mr. Pierre Montague, head of the Montague Metal company, a small business started on the French side of the English Channel by himself not four years prior. Since then, they'd flourished. They'd made much business with Gladiator; their metal was choice and quality, not to be compared to any other. But, really now, a merger? That was just plain ridiculous. Gladiator did not have friends. Only enemies, and allies whom it could benefit from. They were known for sucking the very lifeblood from all other companies unfortunate enough to challenge it.
Pierre was a thin, tall man who smelled of wine and dirty streets. Behind a think, flat moustache was a lip that had never seen a smile, and skin that stretched tight across his entire head. It was so tight, in fact, that no hair dared to grow atop him; just on the sides. It was akin to somebody going off and mowing the grass off of the top of a hill, but leaving the rest untouched. Jack's eyes flitted to the burly man beside him, a dark, brute-like creature. He'd be terrified had he been normal. However, he was not normal.
"Ah, you must be Mr. Montague, pleasure to meet you." Jack smiled cheaply. He offered no hand. Pierre looked at him through narrow eyes, black like animal's eyes. Jack seemed to grin with his own, ice-blue ones.
"Yes, and you must be…the representative from Gladiator, I presume?" Pierre accused in his thick, stupid accent, "I had no idea they employed children."
Jack smirked and crumpled up his freckled face, revealing a set of too-white teeth and a dastardly façade. "Oh, but they do. I had no idea Montague Metals was run by such an insufferable prick like you."
The silence was thick and full of static. Jack could nearly hear the comms array of Pierre's fire team crackling, filling the air with sound. It stunk like their country did; of filth. Of all the places he'd been, France was the worst. He hated the French. Everything about them made him want to puke.
"Hey, Jack." Maurice came into his senses again through the technology stuck in his head. Jack tried not to respond; it would give him away. Instead, he remained utterly silent, not giving the slightest sign that he'd heard Maurice. "I'm up, up and away for now. I'll see you in ten."
"Let's get down to business, shall we?" Jack offered, his voice still laced with venom. Now matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to remove it. "I came here to talk to you about the merger, not suffer through bouts of pointless insults."
"Oui." Pierre sighed, "I'd like to know why your chairman chose such a…strange location for our meeting, though, before we proceed."
"Because," Jack answered plainly, "we have some business with you other than the merger." Finally, getting to the point. It was making Jack tremble with excitement.
"Oh?"
Jack shifted his glance slightly. Yes, that was what he thought he saw. The bodyguard, two o'clock, pressing the button on the top of his wristwatch three times, consecutively. Normally, there'd be no reason to do that. However, these weren't normal circumstances. When he had two thousand special troops at his disposal, and the man who paid his bills was running the risk of being uncovered, of course he'd make use of his equipment. Jack grinned a little.
He took a few steps forward, looming, and Pierre took a few steps back. When Jack spoke next, he used the inflictions in his words like bullets, like daggers. "You, Pierre Montague, Chairman has a bone to pick with you, and we've come to sort it out." He sneered, "You stole something from our company, and we want it back."
"Don't come any closer!" Pierre warned, "I have a squad ready to kill you if needed!"
"I know, me too." Jack shrugged, "And guess what, they're better. Now give me what I came here for, Pierre, and I'll leave you alive so you can go back to whatever pathetic activities inhabited your life."
"You wouldn't dare kill me! Do you know how much power I have in this city, you lousy rep?!" He shrilly cried, nearly tripping on a piece of piping that lay at his feet. That's another reason the chairman chose this location; it wasn't very easy to navigate. That gave Jack Merridew about five minutes before the ops were upon him. He well knew this.
"Try me." He smiled.
"Back down, sir." The bodyguard tested. Jack took in his stance; hand in his suit pocket, legs evenly set on the concrete, hard to take down. He probably had his finger on a trigger right now, waiting for the right moment to strike.
In the corner of his vision, not visible to anybody else, two little lights blinked their readiness. Jack laughed. It was time to finish this. Pierre didn't have the package, but the package had a tracker on it. They could retrieve it well enough with him dead; of course, that would reduce their stealthiness by quite a bit, but it would be worth it in the end.
In a split second, they were all at arms, and a stand-off had commenced. Jack had death in his eyes; the will to kill, even as he stood, fingers forming an invisible shape where a gun wasn't. The other two looked at him skeptically.
"You don't have a weapon, sir, back down and we'll let you go!" The bodyguard shouted.
"Back down! Back down!" Jack taunted, laughing viciously and jumping a few steps forward. It appeared to startle peppy-la-pew and his American bodyguard.
"You're crazy!" Pierre screamed.
"No." Jack murmured, pointing his finger at Pierre's skull, looking him straight in the eyes, "I'm the General. And you're screwed."
He pulled the non-existent trigger and Pierre's brains were spread across the rooftop. Another swift pull did the same to his bodyguard and they were both dead. The shots rang out across the thin, cold, pre-morning air. Jack chuckled as Roger and Bill stepped out from behind him and joined him on the prowl.
"That was a little risky." Bill muttered in disapproval, sighing heavily. The barrel of his silver pistol was still smoking from the shots. Roger snorted and kicked Pierre's shattered remnants aside. He didn't seem to be too pleased with the job. Probably because it wasn't him who had killed the lame frenchie. "Next time at least give us a better vantage point. Water towers aren't too concealing, if you know what I mean."
"Yeah, whatever, we got it done." Jack responded.
"Hmph." Was the only thing Roger offered as an answer.
An alarm sounded somewhere in the city.
"Well, I think it's time to get that package now." Bill grinned; and they started off into the depths of the building.
….
FILE END.
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