Hello guys! I'm back again with another chapter!
As of right now, I am dying because of school work (hooray midterms!) so I'm not going to be posting in a VERY long time. I really want to do my ideas justice so yes, finishing this will take forever, but I also have a life and things to do outside of writing. That being said, I've come too far with all my stories to give up so they're all projects I will finish eventually. I'll only ask for your support and patience until then :) Stay tuned!
Some time ago ...
The tunnel air hung thick with the smell of dirt and the metallic tang of sweat. Flickering bulbs cast jagged shadows on the jagged stone walls, barely illuminating the two Silver soldiers hacking at the rock. One slammed his pickaxe into the ground, sparks flying as it struck a buried vein of iron.
"I cannot believe we were assigned here," the younger soldier snarled, his uniform streaked with grime. "Months of digging and hacking away at stone for nothing! No progress in sight!"
"Calm down," his older comrade muttered, wiping his brow with a threadbare sleeve. His eyes darted to the security camera blinking red in the corner. "You don't want the cameras to record what you're saying."
The younger man hurled his shovel against the wall. It clanged against the stone loudly. "I don't care! We're rats in a maze down here. Digging, digging for some fool's dream of a secret passage—"
"King Maven entrusted us with this tunnel," the older soldier hissed, grabbing his arm. "He'll skin us alive if we fail. We make it work."
The younger man wrenched free, his laughter bitter. "Entrusted? We're punishment. If he really wanted to, he should have just sent a bunch of oblivions down here to make quick work of it, like he did with all the others."
The older comrade sighed. "At least it wasn't any worse."
"You know what I did to deserve this?" The younger comrade continued ranting, speaking more to himself than his partner. "I spilled wine on a lieutenant's boots." He kicked a loose stone, sending it skittering against the floor. "This isn't strategy—it's a graveyard."
"Do you want your freedom?" the older soldier snapped, desperation edging his voice.
"Freedom?" The younger man's eyes glinted in the half-light. "I'd rather fight in the Choke than rot in this hole." He ripped off his work gloves, tossing them into the dust. "At least that meant I'd get an honourable death, not whatever this is."
"It was mercy, giving up a job like this—"
"It's not, it's humiliating," the younger snapped. "You keep digging for your king. I'm done."
The door to the mock dormitory slammed shut behind him, leaving the older soldier alone with the hum of dying generators.
"He'll come around," he muttered to the shadows. "He always does."
The pickaxe felt heavier now, its handle slick with sweat. He raised it, intending to bury it into the stone again—
The lights died. The tunnel, which was already isolated enough, grew stifling. Then a scream rung through the air. A shrill, metallic shriek, like steel scraping bone.
"Olly?" the soldier barked, groping blindly around the site.
Just as quickly as it began, it stopped.
"Olly," snapped the soldier, who had begun to sweat. "Stop playing pranks— it isn't funny!"
Something brushed his ankle—a whisper of fabric. The man spun, swinging the pickaxe wildly. It met empty air.
"Who's there?" he rasped. The air smelled pungently of copper now. A prickle crawled up his neck—
An arm snaked around his throat, cold and vice-like.
"Sleep well tonight," a sweet voice purred, utterly devoid of mercy.
Crack.
The pickaxe clattered to the ground beside his body.
The lights flickered back on, revealing a girl perched atop the rubble. Her black uniform clung to her, splattered with blood. No weapons, no insignia, just a smirk sharp enough to cut glass, and a tattered map tucked snugly in her sleeve.
"Ah, Silvers," she said, nudging the corpse with her boot. It lay motionless, its head lolling along her . "Predictable, just as they always are."
Her fingers danced over her waist, pulling out a walkie-talkie, dialling a number with practiced ease. A sequence of static burst, erupted from the speaker before connecting. "Montfort speaking."
"This is Agent 792N," she replied, twirling a lock of jet-black hair around one finger.
A pause. Then, static-riddled approval: "When does the sun rise highest?"
"At dawn," she recited, rolling her eyes. "For a new day, and new beginnings. Must we always use the nursery rhymes? I know it's you, Boss, and you know it's me."
A dry chuckle crackled through. "Precautions. Your location?"
"In the middle of nowhere. But you can probably trace it."
"Location confirmed. And the asset?"
Her grin widened. "Found. That Calore king has been learning from us quite a bit. Building tunnels …"
"Not an old tactic," the radio replied. "Agent 729N, you have a new mission."
She grinned. "Good. Then it's time to vanish."
And with that, she disappeared.
Warren POV
Why the Colonel wants me downstairs in a meeting room is a mystery to me. But I'm in no position to refuse his order, nor do I have the energy to after a sleepless night.
I'm a light sleeper. Or at least that's what I think I am. I've learned to be on edge even when I'm asleep after what happened to me.
"Warren, leave! Run!"
The flames rose higher as my mother pushed me forward. Forward towards the path of safety, away from the onslaught of Silver boots. "Run!"
I was only eight when it happened. Watching those Silvers invade my town. Watching them hang a boy for being different. Watching set fire to my town. Watching them kill civilians for the fun of it.
I'll never forget the sound of the screams. They showed no mercy that day, hacking through houses in search of new victims. My family, my friends, my childhood, all gone in a single instance as if it never existed.
That was the day I lost my life. Figuratively.
I went back a few days later after the incident, in search of someone, anyone. But there was no one. Except that hanging body. It swung ever so slightly in the wind, serving as the only reminder that a town even existed here. Everything else was … lost.
That's when I realized I was hell-bent for revenge.
It took a while to get over my grief because it stings, being the only one that survived. Being alive means that I was a coward. I ran when I should have stayed to save others. And that choice meant I lived at the expense of everyone else.
The burn on my forearm itches. It always does whenever I'm nervous like this. The memory of the incident never fails to make me jittery.
Today, it wasn't the flashback that forced me awake but the shuffling of feet in my barracks. Which has led me here, in the Colonel's office.
"Good. You've all arrived." The Colonel smiles his signature toothy grin with one hand over his hip, the other over his wooden cane. "I'm glad."
While the rest of the group smiles uncertainly, I grimace. We're here because you ordered us to be here. Otherwise, we'd be doing other things that most likely involve us not being here.
"Naturally, Colonel," says Maverick, my division's captain. "You called, we answered."
I roll my eyes. Of course Maverick would reply like that. He'd kiss his shoes if it meant being in the Colonel's favour.
No wonder he was promoted to captain. No wonder he's leading my division.
"And right you are," replies the Colonel. He gives Maverick an approving nod, the latter of which smiles brightly. "Now, you are all wondering why you've been called here."
Of course not, sir, I want to reply sarcastically. But I keep my mouth shut.
"The Guard has received intelligence of a secret Silver base, located in a town in the middle of nowhere," the Colonel explains. He taps his laptop and projects the image of the map on the opposite wall. Images of the town flash by in a blur, most of them showing the dilapidated houses and dirt roads. The typical.
"Sir, you're just showing us pictures of the town," I say. "Why is this relevant?"
His singular eye meets mine. "I'll get to that in a second."
I bet both his eyes would glimmer, if the other one was not reduced to a bloody mess covered by a bloodier eye-patch.
He pulls up another more detailed map of the country. It's marked with X's and dotted black arrows arrows all pointing to different sections of the country. "Know what it is?"
"It's a map," I say flatly. "A map."
"Good for you, Warren, always pointing the obvious," the Colonel answers dryly. "Yes, it is a map. What I want you to find are its secrets. Because it is more than just a map."
I squint, staring intently at the black arrows. They start in random places, pointing to the large X's—
"Whitefire, Ocean Hill, Summerton," Maverick muses. "The royal residences in the country."
"Correct," the Colonel says. "The locations that Maven had told newbloods to go to. Now, an inconspicuous town is probably the last place we would look in our rebellion." With a gloved hand, he gestures to the beginnings of the black arrows. "It was the perfect place for Maven to hatch his plan."
Maybe I'm just dense, or missing information, because everyone else all seem to be staring at the Colonel with rapt attention and fixed eyes.
"What plan," I blurt out. "I'm not following here ... care to explain?"
From my left, Maverick groans. "For once can you use your brain, Warren?" he whispers through the corner of his mouth.
I don't rise to the bait.
"Some of the inconspicuous Red towns"— the Colonel explains, glaring daggers at me— "have these Silver stations hidden inside. Each of these Silver stations have a tunnel that connects them to either Whitefire, Ocean Hill, or Summerton. Find one of these tunnels— and we find every branch to that palace."
Huh. So Maven has been learning from us. Or else he wouldn't have attempted something so reminiscent of the Scarlet Guard.
I bite back a chuckle. That is what war with the Silvers are like: evolving strategies, each more inventive than the previous. It's like fighting a many headed hydra with one head replaced by two.
We should have seen this coming.
"So where do we start," the Colonel's continues, eyes glint with madness. "Here's the thing: we don't need to."
The room is silent, each person hanging every word.
"We're lucky," he continues. "Montfort intelligence has informed me that one of their spies had infiltrated a station. Its location is not far from here, which is why our base was chosen to carry out the mission: capture the station."
"And how do you know this isn't some sort of Montfortian trick?" I quickly blurt out again. "Or what if its some Silver trick masquerading as Montfort?"
"My, you're quite chatty today aren't you Warren?" the Colonel grins. "Just as much as Kilorn is. And, almost quite as dense too."
My face burns red at his remark. Kilorn's last name and mine are the same. It is something that has always been a teasing spot for most people. "Kilorn 2.0", "Baby Warren" ...
Funny, since Dahlia was the one who came up with most of them.
"Because Montfort intelligence has informed me of this," he continues matter-of-fact, completely oblivious to my reaction. "And our communication channels are quite secure. There is no doubt that this information is incorrect."
My jaw clenches. "How can you be sure that spy wasn't lying?"
"Shut it," Maverick whispers again. He gives me "the look", the one he gives whenever he's irritated. Well, I don't care that he's irritated, I want to know if I'm running into just a trap or my own death.
"Montfort has their own ways of ensuring that their communications remain private— and that their communications are from the person themselves," the Colonel explains. "There must be no error from the intel I was given from them."
"Who is this spy?" someone behind me asks. "Are you sure we can trust ... them?"
"The spy is an eighteen year old girl," he replies, standing up on his one good leg.
"So, just an eighteenyear old girl you say?"
"She's one of the best spies Montfort has, even if she is a girl," the Colonel snaps. "She's slit more throats than you've had hot meals. Their living ghost. So, until you can turn invisible, Jackson, shut your damn mouth and show some respect."
The boy— Jackson— gulps and nods his head fervently in agreement.
"I won't be tolerating any sort of misogyny around here lest you want to spend a week in solitary confinement," he continued. "Women are stronger than you think— my family is proof."
Even if the Colonel's daughter Farley is wallowing in her grief, she's a strong, fierce woman. So is her daughter. Clara might be three years younger than me, but she has three times the amount of grit that I have.
I suppose, it's just something from her mother. From the rest of her family too.
"So, what did you want us to do," I ask. My fingers brush over the burn absentmindedly, scratching over the scarred flesh. "Take control of the base?"
The Colonel regards me with his good eye and smiles roguishly. "That's right. We find it, we conquer it. If we see any newbloods in the process, we save them. I have a feeling that there will be many there."
So that's what it is. A mission to save the newbloods from Maven's grasp. And it starts, one station at a time.
"That's why we'll be conducting a raid," the Colonel explains. "If we take down one station, we take down the rest."
Like a domino effect.
"I'll explain the details of the plan now," he continues. "We leave after dinner."
After dinner?
"Sorry, sir," I say. "I might have misheard. When are we leaving?"
He lifts his eyes to meet mine, a mad glint shining through his pair. Then, he opens his mouth to say a single word.
"Tonight."
The scar on my arm burns hotter.