"RUN! JUST RUN!"
"KYLE WHERE ARE YOU?!"
"GET INTO THE STATION NOW!"
"DJ..."
"I CAN'T FIND MY SON!"
"BULLSHIT CONSPIRACY! IT'S JUST TAKI DUST AND INDUSTRIAL FANS!"
"DJ."
"This is the end man. THE END!"
"Iesu mi Domine, scio quia homo peccator sum…"
"ANDERSON!
Harsh fluorescent lights hummed a sonorous tune in the cramped makeshift office/bedroom, stinging the tired Operatives eyes that were more attuned to darkness.
"Jebus, the world could be experiencing a second burn and you'd sleep through it. You've got a new assignment. Get your shit together."
With a heavy slap of the wall switch, the disgruntled voice shut the humming bulbs off, trailing out of the metal room. Soft muttering abruptly cutting to silence as the mechanical door hissed shut, killing all light bar the softly glowing red bulb of the PC terminal's power button.
With a soft growl and a few reverberating bone pops, the sleep deprived Operative sat up in his aged cot, throwing his scaly legs over the side and rubbing his eyes of the sleep he so badly desired.
Fumbling the lamp beside his bed on, he hissed softly at the sudden light source that burned his sensitive eyes.
Sharply inhaling to wake up his body, the Operative let out a groan to the tune of his neck cracking into place.
"Ugghhh… if getting old meant being in constant pain maybe I shoulda stayed outside when the bombs dropped." With a snort he stood, cracking his knuckles.
"Like my luck would have let me die... No rest for the wicked."
Grabbing his glasses from the makeshift table and shuffling lethargically over to the basin on the wall, he looked into the speckled, warped mirror.
The mutated Operative wore the years of service on his face, his mostly human visage bearing the scars of combat and survival. Piercing red slitted eyes still held their captivating glare, if not strained from the light. His overly large upper canines jutting out slightly from under his top lip in a sort of overbite seemed to add to his monstrous appearance.
Ice cold water ran over his black scaled arms, now muddled by age, splashing over the scars and chips out of the sink to hit the metal floor, causing the weary man to curse at himself.
His taloned fingers gripping the tap twitched gently every so often, reflecting a mindset that seemed to always be on alert, yet slightly unstable.
A common symptom of the long past events lingering madness.
The metal door hissed open once more, a young man in what appeared to be a formal suit and tie entered, ignoring the lightswitch and looking at his clipboard. His hesitant movement a bit more noticeable in the silhouette of the hallway light.
"Operative Anderson I-" The younger stopped short in his sentence and tracks. He had not made notice of the Operative's lack of clothes, unprepared for a full frontal view.
Reflexively holding the clipboard up to block his view and blushing, he cleared his throat. "Uhh… sorry sir. I was unaware you weren't-"
"It's fine, I just got up. Wait outside."
Turning on a heel, the slightly flustered Agent rapidly exited the room, eliciting a sigh from the older Operative. "This new generation… hm. Hope? Maybe." Splashing his face with what water was left in the basin, he put on the specs he had been holding and returned to the cot, setting his clothes and gear out on the bed.
The Agent paced outside, somewhat nervously getting stuck in his own head. He had been told stories of this Operative Anderson before, none of them painting the old Antithesis SFO in a kind light. Usually pre-burn stories of a raging monster that carved apart Agency staff and facilities with reckless abandon, or that of an uncouth, sarcastic individual with little regard for others.
His train of thought was interrupted by said Operative exiting the room, who began eyeing up the obviously tense younger.
In the white light of the hallway, the so-called 'Dragon of the Antithesis' seemed far less threatening. The small, square framed glasses he wore combined with his tired expression softened the impression of this apparent beast.
"Let's go. Command will throw a bitch fit if we get any later."
The Agent nodded, quickly following the disinterested Operative and mentally taking note of the features he could see.
Heavily worn dark tan duster with metal plates lining the outer arms, black sword in over the shoulder sheath, short and chipped yet still deadly sharp black horns, one larger horn above the ear, one shorter horn behind, both jutting backwards in an 80 degree angle on each side of his head from under the ever so slightly greying jet black hair.
'Monster' seemed to allude to his form somewhat.
"Soooo, what should I-"
The inquisitive Agent was cut short by the abrupt stop at the elevator, his question falling off his tongue as the older cast a soft yet piercing glance back at him.
"DJ. Any further questions?"
The Agent, who reflexively put his hand on his holstered Deagle, stifled a hurried breath.
DJ sighed dejectedly, as if not angry, but exhausted. "That wouldn't work anyway. I know a .338 Lapua can crack my scales, but .50 AE just doesn't have the power. Don't waste your bullets." He stepped in the grimy metal box, gesturing for the tense Agent to follow.
The younger entered the elevator upon command, albeit apprehensively, as DJ with little etiquette slapped the ground level button on the beaten panel.
"And what, pray tell, is your name?"
The Agent swallowed what felt like a grapefruit in his throat and breathed deeply, watching the doors close with a metallic groan. "Agent 50199. Lawrence."
"No last name?" DJ glanced back at Lawrence.
"Something like that."
"Hm. Suit yourself…"
DJ took note of Lawrence's actions, who's avoiding stare seemed to burn an imaginary hole into the floor.
Clicking his tongue, the older Operative cleared his throat.
"So… family?"
Leaning against the muddled beige back wall, Lawrence seemingly ignored the question. DJ snorted, a little smirk gracing his features.
"Fuck, you're like younger me more than-" The older Operative harshly gagged, covering his mouth and stopping the blackened blood from spraying on the walls of the confined elevator as he wretched and coughed.
Lawrence stood off the wall, going to put his hand on DJ's back before DJ waved a dismissive hand at him and pulled out a blood stained handkerchief from his breast pocket, wiping his mouth and gradually controlling his coughing fit.
Clearing his throat and spitting the black, almost coagulated crude oil looking blood into the handkerchief, DJ leveled his gaze at the clearly shocked Lawrence. "You saw nothing. People will assume shit if you go flapping your gums."
"What even-"
"You. Saw. Nothing. Capiche?"
Lawrence clenched his jaw and gripped the clipboard tighter as the elevator's dying floor tone dinged, trying to ignore DJ's hurried stuffing of the now vicious horror rag back into his pocket.
The 'briefing room' was little more than four folding tables with a badly outdated Nevada state map in the centre of a concrete bunker room, separated from the small armory and radio station by torn multicam fabric dividers. Two individuals stood either side of the map tables.
A young, blond haired woman in ramshackle, homemade metal armor, painted a light red. And a much older, balding man kitted out in what was once Agency standard Soldat gear, eyepiece and stun grenade bandolier to boot.
The woman turned to look at the still semi-tired Operative, a smile gracing her scarred face.
"There you are. Sleep in again huh?"
DJ grunted in response as Lawrence broke off, heading to the radio desk. "62391 is still a hardass in his method. And an asshole."
She snorted, shaking her head. "That's Nick for you."
"Enough chat. Today is urgent. If we could focus please?" The grizzled older hissed, visibly annoyed by the constant delay. He slid a small box across the map to the waiting Operative.
"13, your mission is to get that box to Antithesis HQ Old. It contains the USB decryption drive that will give access to the secure elevator to lower levels and labs. Upon arrival, you are to go with the onsite staff and retrieve Project: Spidersilk and Project: Helheim. Any questions?"
Snorting, DJ sat on the chipped stone stairs behind him. "A Priority 2 job, at best. Shouldn't this be in the hands of someone like Soloman? He's more of the delivery boy type than me."
"Perhaps, if the projects in question didn't classify as Priority 4." The woman remarked. "The Spidersilk armor has been sitting in disuse since the inside job raid at the Antithesis HQ years back and we need to figure out how to, if we can, make it or at least make a somewhat inferior version, plus-" she bit her lip and looked over to the lacking armory.
"On top of that, Helheim, according to our studies, makes half of our limited weaponry ENTIRELY redundant by comparison. We barely have ammo to use these days, let alone systems to make more. Nature or element based weapondry is the only way forward, and the Project was finished before the war was over."
"The Project was based on other projects and technology originally created by Doctor Derek Jameson. Previously an experimental weapons specialist before-"
"Han." The woman scowled, hitting the table and cracking the lightweight plastic beneath her armored fist. "Leave it."
"Fine."
She looked up to the visibly bored Operative. "Any actual questions?"
Eliciting a sigh and ignoring Han's remark, DJ leaned back on the stairs. "I guess you're gonna saddle me with some poor bastard again like last time? You know I work alone for a reason."
"Tough shit." Han leaned on the table, casting a scowl at DJ. "Keep him alive. We are short staffed as it is."
DJ snorted, standing up and leaning on the table, looking at the scorch black container. "I seem to remember something an old team mate of mine once said way back when. No promises. Who's the unfortunate fucker?"
Looking to the other side of the room, the woman cleared her throat. "LAWRENCE!"
A harsh KERCLAK sound emitted from behind one of the blinders, followed by Lawrence emerging from behind, rubbing his head in pain.
DJ slowly shook his head, dread crossing his features. "Oh no. Fuck. No. You cannot be serious. Hazard here won't last 5 minutes in the wastes, let alone the Red and Blue Zones between here and HQ Old." He leaned heavily into the table, receiving violent plastic creaks in protest.
"This is just a sick joke isn't it? The fuck did he do, think pissing in the water supply was funny?"
The woman clicked her tongue, adjusting her sheet metal pauldron. "Lawrence is a field officer in the Tech and Weapons sector. He'll be assessing the state of the projects before you bring them back, to assure that we aren't chasing a figurative goose."
"Agent 50199 is also one of our few Agents that can function outside the safe zones. He's equipped with Hades anti-radiation mutagens in his blood, meaning where you can go in the hot zones, he can go." Han explained, watching his Agent step down to be beside the older Operative. "Besides. He is also tasked with retconning the state of the outside world. Sensors from the outposts are all dead from the near constant sandstorms."
DJ cast a glance to the young Agent, who took a step back from the slightly hostile view, provoking an eye roll and pinch of the bridge of his nose.
"This is going to be a long trip isn't it?"
"Look on the bright side." The woman smirked, sliding an old school Antithesis card across the table. "You get paid in advance, and you'll get to do something other than transport guard duty. Maybe teach Lawrence the ropes of being a Wastelander."
A snort escaped the Operative. "Sure. And I'll start shitting dark matter and bullets."
Picking up the box and card, he nonchalantly wandered back to the elevator. No clear effort was made to hide his displeasure at the higher ups' decisions.
Lawrence followed quickly, expecting to get left behind, just slipping inside the cramped box as the doors squealed shut.
Han snorted, taking a seat in a slightly battered garden chair. "How long do you think he'll last?"
"2 days tops. Then DJ will likely fight a Wraith or someone that Lawrence can't handle."
"I was talking about Anderson, Cassy. You know as well as I do, my disdain and bias aside, that he can't last much longer. The unstable Energy is tearing his body apart from the inside out. It's more obvious than he thinks."
"Yeah. I know. This may very well be his last mission. But let's just… see how it goes."
"Your crush on him is gonna end badly. He is still technically married, you know."
"Oh go fuck a tree Han. I'm allowed to like who I want to."
"I'm not the one who has a fantasy about 'Dragon Dick'"
"Another word and you're going in the trash chute."