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CLASSIFIED IMF INFORMATION.

THIS DOCUMENT IS REDACTED.

IMF WILL NEITHER CONFIRM, NOR DENY THE INFORMATION WITHIN THIS FILE.

Smyedorov Energy Plant

Ukraine

2014

The silence after the explosion felt like a great, black hole- sucking all the sound into some hidden void. Leaving only dust, ash and despair.

The ground was still trembling in fear, dreading another wave of violence, the scorch radius smoking within a rippling sea of grass that whispered- gossiping about what had befallen the earth. The green waves hissed in helpless anger, billowing in the wind, powerless against the destruction of men.

The sun dimmed, blinded by cloud, the shadows growing longer, hiding the figures that scrambled about amongst the wreckage. Searching, shouting to one another. There were two of them, their accents marking them as Americans.

CIA.

August Walker woke with a dust-choked cough, the taste of blood in his mouth. His ears ringing from the blast, the CIA agent let out a groan. They had been too close to the detonation zone, he knew. He could only hope that James and Blake were still alive.

August lay still and waited for the world to stop humming, an uncomfortable pressure on his chest. He coughed again, pain flaring in his body. The taste of blood in his mouth intensified.

It was the only now that August became aware that he couldn't move. A steel girder had fallen against him, pinning one arm flat against his chest, his leg wedged between the steel and a split in the concrete. He struggled, a pained grunt leaving him as the steel groaned, settling harder against him, driving the breath from his chest. August swore, a gasp of "shit" and strained his ears, trying to hear something, anything, that would alert him to his team's status.

Could they really be dead?

August halted his struggles, startled, when he became aware of warm liquid soaking his shirt by his ribs. Numbly, he strained again before breaking down into spasmodic coughing, blood staining the corner of his lips. His short, dark hair thick with dust.

"August!"

Blake.

Relief washed over him as the man's shadow fell through a gap in the rubble. "I was starting to think that you wouldn't find me."

That you were dead...that you'd left me to die...

Blake slid down a slab of granite and hit the ground beside August, dropping to his knees. James followed him a moment later, hair thick with grime.

"Shit, August, I thought we'd lost ya."

August responded with a weak chuckle. "Can't get rid of me that easily."

Blake swore. "He's bleeding." The agent tried to move the girder, but when a hiss of pain escaped August he froze.

A cough tore from between the trapped agent's bared teeth, the world a sudden blur of bright lights and...bells.

Why were there bells?

He felt a hand on his shoulder, another bracing the side of his head, fingers cool against his skin.

"Lie still," soothed Blake. "Shit. Probably spinal trauma. Lie still, August."

Had he the energy left for a witty comment, August would have pointed out that he could hardly get up and move around in his current situation. As it was, however, it took all his remaining willpower to stay awake.

James rolled onto his side and squinted in under the steel

As Blake watched. The older agent had a deep anxiety in his eyes. He really was too good a man for this job... "Well?"

James sat up. "We could probably get it off him. But...hey, August?"

"Hmmm?" He didn't have the energy for anything else.

"Your leg. Can you feel it at all?"

No, realised August. No, it was numb. The kind of numbness that sets your jaw clenching from helpless pain. He tried to shake his head, but Blake's hands were firm. The elder agent answered for him.

"No, he can't."

James hesitated and Blake gave him a sharp look. The younger man ran a hand over his dirty face before saying, "Look, Blake...even if we can get this thing off him- If the two of us are enough... He's not gonna be able to run. We have one hour. One hour, before the Syndicate gets here. Our orders were to get in, and get out-"

"No man gets left behind," said Blake, eyes darkening as he fixed the younger man with a glare. "We're a team. We stick together. Do you understand me?"

James nodded. "Yes, sir."

"When we get August out, we head for the tree line- wait until it's safe to call for an extraction." His fingers fluttered on August's neck, checking his pulse. Slow, but not dangerously so. Not yet. "We do it now- fast as we can."

Blake released August and slid into position on his right. James took the left. Bracing against the steel, Blake called, "on three. Two. One-"

They strained to lift the girder, as August struggled to hold in a groan of pain.

For a moment, it seemed like they had it. The steel rose with a grinding shriek, and the trapped man felt like he could breathe again, a cough leaving him as air flooded his lungs. Encouraged, Blake and James tugged higher.

That was when it jammed.

Wedged between the chunks of rubble, the steel came to a halt. It's weight intensified. Fingers and palms began to sweat. Steel became greasy with dust...

...and it slipped from their hands.

A shout tore from August as the steel slammed back against him, choking off into a cough. Blood gleamed at the corners of his mouth. A dark herald. His head lolled to the side, hearing growing dimmer by the second. It felt as though the force had smashed his ribcage.

"No!" burst out Blake. "Shit! Shit!"

Of all the trials i've faced...thought August, it's a piece of bloody steel that's finally done for me...I feel cheated.

The three of them flinched violently as their earpieces buzzed- the harsh voice of Ross Goldstein, the Field Handler, filling their ears. While he was miles away in the Ukrainian Embassy undercover, they could hear him as clearly as though he were standing beside them.

"Surveillance is showing you to still be in position, Summers. Why haven't you cleared the strike zone?"

Blake's hand rose to his ear. "Sir, Agent Walker is down. He got caught in the rubble."

There was a long pause. "Is he wounded?"

"Sir-"

"Is he wounded, Summers?"

Blake clenched his jaw. "Yes, sir. We think his leg may be broken."

Silence.

Then...

"Leave him."

"Sir?" Blake sounded stunned. "I don't understand."

"I said," repeated Goldstein, "leave him. He will only slow you down."

"But, sir-"

"That's an order, Summers."

James had one of those I told you so looks on his face. Blake said nothing, kneeling beside August, hand fisted in the wounded man's shirt. August too had heard the whole conversation. But, like Blake, was having trouble believing his ears. Surely the man could not have told his team to abandon him?

"Sir...I...I can't-"

"You will get out of there now, Summers." Goldstein's voice was cold. "If you are taken, they will interrogate you. Agent Walker is now a liability. If you are so set against leaving him there alive, then put a bullet through his skull if you would prefer that. I want you gone in five. That's an order."

August turned his head, gazing up at the broken chunk of sky overhead. The clouds had grown thicker. Rain was on it's way. His throat was burning.

How could they?

After everything he had done for them. He had given them his life and loyalty. Ever since...

Fuck, he thought savagely. Why do I always get dealt such a shitty hand?

First the lab...now this. Either the world hated him, or he was cursed for good.

"Shit!" Blake slammed a fist into the ground. "Shit!

"That ain't gonna change anything," said James.

August let out a strangled moan as the steel creaked, settling down against him in a choking embrace. His strength was being bled from him like an opened vein. But he would not beg. If this was his end then he would suffer in silence.

"We can't," said Blake desperately.

"We have to," said James, blunt. "You heard the boss. It was an order."

"It was," came Goldstein's voice again. Cold and efficient. The sharp tone right in his ear made August flinch.

The bells were sounding again. He dragged a breath into his throat, feeling as though he were swallowing sandpaper.

Before August knew what was happening, Blake had produced his gun, crouching to press it against the fallen agent's head. A startled breath left August as he closed his eyes. Perhaps death would be better?

The cool steel bit into his skin as Blake's hand shook. Strangely, he felt no fear. What came next could only be better, since he had been cheated so badly in this life.

Maybe he would even see his mother again...

But he knew.

He knew even before Blake gasped and said, "I can't. I...I can't do it, August. I...I'm sorry."

They left him there, dust settling to cover their footsteps, the air full of a dead finality. Death choked the cage holding August fast, a foul, bitter taste on his tongue.

The ashes of trust.

When the Syndicate operatives found him, August had given up.

It soon seemed, however, that life had other plans...