Smoke...... Billowing smoke, hanging in the air.......Fire..........Encompassing the entire village......The shrill screaming of mothers, crying for their dead.......

I can still taste the blood and malice in the air. I’m rooted to the spot, in a low crouch position. My grip on my weapon is a solid as steel, but my grip on my own mental resolve is weakening by the second.

I realise I’m still staring down the sight of my gun. It’s been........... I can’t even remember how long ago since I killed him. His body is still lying crumpled in front of me, his final words lost forever at the back of a throat that will never be used again.

I can’t bear to tear myself away from the scene confronting me. All around, I can hear chaos erupting, even if I can’t see it. My combat gear is covered from explosions that showered dirt and dust all over me. But that isn’t important .Not right now. What I notice..... What I FEEL.... Even if I can’t see it.... Is the blood spatter across my face.

His blood.

What once gave life to the man before me, now leaking into the charred and scorched soil he lay crumpled in. His clothes carried the evidence of my crime. Torn fabric across his chest in 3 separate places. And in those 3 separate places, 3 separate bullet holes. And from those 3 separate bullet holes, there did leak his life essence, draining away from the shell of someone who once was. They were “through and through” wounds. The bullets penetrated the skin, carving a bloody way through whatever stood before them, before emerging on the other side again. He never stood a chance.

In spite of everything occurring around me, I feel a hand come down on my shoulder. I can’t move. I daren’t. I know exactly who it is. I simply can’t bring myself to look at him.

“Back again are we?”

I remain silent. It isn’t a conscious choice. I can do nothing. I only feel those words tunnel into me as if they were the bullets I had fired.

“You know why you’re here, don’t you Ty?”

Again, nothing. I try. I really do. I move my mouth, but no words come.

“Until you can learn to let go, this is going to keep happening Ty” The voice states. I can almost hear the pity in his voice. “You can play this moment over and over again in your subconscious, but no matter how much you may want to, you can’t change what happened here. It is done. Let go.”

Finally, my voice creeps into action. But the words I speak fall like lead bars from my mouth.

“You KNOW I can’t do that......”

“Hey, fine by me man” the voice speaks, “I guess we’re just gonna keep repeating this little song and dance. But for now, it’s time for you to go”. I feel the hand lift off my shoulder.

From somewhere in the distance, I hear a voice scream.

“GREAVES! GET INTO FUCKING COVER!”

Before I can move an inch, I hear the distinct *CRACK CRACK CRACK* of gunfire erupt from somewhere behind me. I feel 3 dull

*THUD*s impact in various places along my back. But I feel no pain.

Instead, I can only feel the world falling away from me. Like I’ve dropped off a cliff......

“Until next time Ty......”

................................
................................
................................

“GREAVES!...... DAMN IT GREAVES, SNAP OUT OF IT! 5 MINUTES TO DROP POINT”

I came to with a start, realising I was still sat, strapped into my seat on the C-160. I knew what had happened. I’d had another “episode”. I would try to keep them in check as much as I could. After all, “a true soldier shows no weakness”. Even my shrinks don’t know I have them, despite the fact I’m convinced they have their suspicions. My comrades and commanding officer on the other hand? Well, let’s leave it at that I think they know more than they let on....

As my senses began the slow start-up process on the way to full functionality, I looked over my shoulder, trying to spot the owner of the voice who had pulled me from my..... Nightmare.

The pilot of the C-160 transport aircraft looked over his own shoulder at me from his seat at the helm of the beast, and despite the relatively dark surroundings I was in, I’m almost certain I could make out a small spark of worry in his eyes.

“Heh, I suppose he should be” I thought to myself, “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want his ass in the fire if this thing goes south ‘cause I’m not awake when they throw me out of this tin can!”. I allowed myself a small, personal chuckle.

It DOES, after all, make for quite humorous imagery to imagine some pilot trying to explain to the captain of a US Spec Ops team he shouldn’t even KNOW about, much less be flying around, why one of their team members ended up a red smear in the sand because he was so away with the fairies that he couldn’t even deploy his own chute!

I decided I had better alleviate him of his fears. Preferably before he shat himself.

“Don’t worry man!” I shouted, using the headset built into my flight helmet to allow for pilot-passenger communication. “I’m ready and raring to go!”

“Thank Christ man! You had me worried for a second! Are you ok? You look like you worked up a real sweat in that gear!” He replied

I took a second to look down at myself, past the straps holding me in my seat, to my flight gear. Obviously, this wasn’t what I would be wearing when boots hit the ground, but it was necessary to keep me from freezing my ass off on the decent. “Great” I thought to myself. “Not only have you managed to have an “episode” right before a crucial op, but you now look like that one kid at school who never got the whole “clean clothes” thing down too.....”

I realised he was still staring at me.

“Yeah, I suppose I did! Anyway, how long is it to the drop point now? And can you run me through the target one more time?”

I know that the question I posed to him is one he shouldn’t have been able to answer, but, as I said, he WAS the one flying me here, since all other SPECTRE assets were unavailable at this time. So, reluctantly, we had to pull in a pilot from outside the squad, threaten to pretty much take his world apart piece by piece if he let slip any op details, then brief him on what I, and I alone, was about to do.

His voice came back to life over the headset again.

“About 3 mins to the drop zone now Greaves. Better check your gear in a second. As for the target? Well, as you were briefed, you know that the NSA back home have intercepted some suspect calls coming into and going out of the US, which they managed to track down to a sleeper cell with Yemeni origin. They managed to back-trace the calls to find out where the cell are receiving their orders from, which is small camp on the outskirts of a town on the Yemeni coastline known as Al Hudaydah, which is where I’ll be dropping you about 1 click north of. Once boots are on the ground, your orders are ditch your flight gear, head to the camp, breach the command centre, and eliminate the lead militia member. All enemy personnel are considered expendable”

My memory, seemingly back from its vacation, processed this information, committing it to storage in my head.

“Thanks man. I’m gonna go ahead and check my kit. Gimme a yell when I have the green light ok?”

“Will do Lieutenant!”

There it was again. I hate being referred to by rank. It just bugged me. It’s bad enough I had to use my SPECTRE assigned callsign when on the comms on ops. I mean, come on? Shadowstrike? Who calls themselves that? Hey, US government? My kids called. They said they want their action figure’s names back.

Anyway, I put the event to the back of my mind and opened up my kit bag in front of me, being very careful not to disturb the main chute, or it’s reserve, which would be needed should the main fail. Opening the bag up, I was relieved to see all my kit present, just as I requested, including one very new, very black, and very sinister half-face mask.

It was cooked up by the boys over in R&D a few months back. Made from a new kind of plastic they had engineered which they refer to as Trifold, it is a sleek black half-mask, which allows us perfect visibility from the inside, while being lightweight, easy to carry, and, to my upmost surprise, actually BULLETPROOF. This would definitely come in handy. But, for me, the crowning jewel is what was on the front.

Since I was forced to use this SPECTRE codename I had been assigned, I felt like my mask may as well be the outside image of that. Something to strike fear into the heart of anyone who sees me. Ya’know, before I make sure I’m the LAST thing they see. So I asked for a little paintjob to be done. And it looks fuckin-a. A sleek black glossy finish all over, but with an eye, squinted in fury, painted on the right-hand side. It looks so real. From a distance, you wouldn’t even be able to tell the difference. While there are no eye holes in the masks, as it would leave us exposed, I thought it’d be cool to at least put SOMETHING on there. And right down the side of the mask, and through the centre of the eye? A livid red scar, bloody and dripping. Of course, it was all for effect. Psychological warfare and all that. But to me it felt just great.

Putting the mask aside, I checked my other gear. One MP5-PDW? Check. Equipped with Suppressor, Extra 30-round mags, XPS3 Holo Sight, Folding stock, Side-Mounted Flashlight and Incendiary Ammo? Check. Of course, I had to have my SMG. It had become a firm favourite of mine during my BCT, as had the next thing to come out of the bag.

One folding compact bow? Check!

Surprised huh? Yeah, you and everyone else! I picked up a knack for Archery during my BCT, and it just carried on as a hobby, but then I started applying it practically. Not to mention, because of the extremely versatile material it’s made from, I can also use it like..... Well like a bow staff I guess? I would’ve never gotten away with this shit in the army, but here at SPECTRE? Well, let’s just say we kinda wipe our collective ass with the rule book. So the bow comes with me. Of course, it’s “ammo” is limited. 10 arrows.

Limited yes, but enough to do some serious damage if need be.

Then of course, there were my babies. Two of them to be exact, and they can do some real damage up close and personal. Two sheathed blades, about 17-inches each in length that and with a wicked design that, when worn, sat in an X-shape across my back, ready for quick removal and use. I had picked up a love of close, hand-to-hand combat again during my BCT. Something about knowing your enemy is inches or one wrong move away from killing you just sends my heart into overdrive. But with these beauties at my side? I’d like to see’em try it. I took a quick look at my rugged features before replacing the swords in my bag.

“I really need a bloody shave” I thought

Finally, I checked over the other bits and pieces. A fully equipped medical kit, a silenced USP.45 pistol with a single mag, in case I need a side arm, concussion grenades, some of the military’s new “9-banger” flashbangs, and............. My Ipod. Standard? No. But remember. The rulebook. My ass. My call. It all came with.

Satisfied everything was where it should be, I replaced it all carefully and re-did the bag. At that moment, the light opposite my sear illuminated the interior of the vessel with a luminescent green glow. That was my cue. I got out of my seat, and hooked my stuff securely onto my back.

“1 MINUTE TO DROP”

I turned around to see something that always leaves me in awe. The huge back door of the C-160 opening, letting the black tendrils of night penetrate it, like the jaws of some hungry beast. Even so, I was illuminated by what I can only describe as a particularly bright moon tonight. Not great for ops, but I always feel a little calmer with the moon at my back. The night was where creatures like me stalked our prey.

“30 SECONDS TO DROP”

I stepped out onto the lip of the cargo door, the freezing wind battering me about like a ragdoll, even though at ground level, it’s still about 17C. However,I remained steadfast and still, knowing a single fuck-up could send this thing to hell in a hand basket much quicker than I would like.

“10 SECONDS TO DROP”

This was it. Now or never. Here I come you Yemeni bastard. You’ll never see me coming...........

“Just like he didn’t”

No. No fuck that. I was not thinking about that now. Too much at stake.

“5, 4, 3, 2, 1...... JUMP JUMP JUMP!”

I took a small step back before taking a running leap out the back of the C-160, which I saw rumble off into the distance as I fell, very quickly speeding up to my terminal velocity. I will never get used to the whole weightless feeling. It just feels unnatural to me, but then again, maybe it was just nerves. A HALO jump is a dangerous thing to attempt, but as I said, our other assets are tied up elsewhere, so it was this way or no way.

A High Altitude Low Opening jump isn’t easy. Nor is it without risk. But it’s the best way of getting into somewhere while minimising how much of you is seen. The jumper normally free-falls for a while, before opening the parachute at low altitude, lowering the amount of time the parachute can be seen for.

When my altimeter indicated I had fallen enough, I pulled the cord on my rigging, remembering to keep breathing through the oxygen mask I was wearing. I jolted upwards with almost bone-breaking force as my velocity dropped like a stone, slowing down to a steady rate of descent. I’m pretty sure I would’ve lost my lunch, had I of eaten anything before the flight.

“Now that that’s over, I just need to focus on where I am landing” I thought to myself. Even though I had pulled my chute fairly close to the ground, as planned, I still had a ways to drop, so I thought some personal thinking time was in order. Ya’know, because Yemeni scenery ain’t exactly Paris.

My thoughts drifted to my friends..... Very short list. Like, non-existant. Because of my job, I can’t really have “conventional” friends. Too much potential for collateral damage. The only real guys I can talk to are the others in my unit. They have saved my skin more times than I care to admit, but, to put it frankly, they aren’t what you would call “scintillating conversation”, that’s for damn sure.
Family? Same boat. Both dead. Don’t care. I practically raised myself. The scars across my chest tell me that much. No child should have to suffer what I did. I almost think it’s the reason I joined the military. To help make sure no child would ever go through that. I had a gruelling childhood. Kids beat me. Parents beat me. It was unreal. But I made it through, and I was a damn site stronger for it.

But, my thoughts at last settled on my future. I was all too sure I didn’t want to this for the rest of my life. I loved SPECTRE. I loved what I stood for. I jumped at the opportunity to sign up, but over the last few years, I have felt that excitement wane somewhat. More and more I find myself craving a normal life. A wife. Maybe some kids? After all, I am still only 25. Very young. Still lots of time to make something happen.

“Unless you get your bollocks shot off on this one you daft sod” I muttered to myself. I don’t know whether it was the jump I had just conducted, the nerves or the adrenalin, but something felt off about this mission. I just felt uneasy. Flying solo was never a fun experience, not matter how experienced you were. Knowing if you made one slip up, you were fucked, did add a sort of zest to the order of things, but also left a niggling feeling at the back of my skull I just didn’t like. Like an itch you couldn’t scratch. “That does it” I said quietly. “This is my last mission. I need to get out of this while I still can”

Finally, I touched back down on Terra Firma, quickly bundling in my chute which came down with me, blowing around in the gentle breeze that permeated the air. Once I had gathered the chute in, I stripped out of my flight gear, and adjusted my combat gear to make sure I was ready for whatever may be about to come my way. As mentioned, I was still about 1 click outside of the actual base camp, but I’d rather sort any of these problems now, rather than get shot in the face because silly old Ty had tied his bloody
shoe laces together.

Once the chute was finally buried in sand, along with my flight suit, I made about adjusting my own gear. It was quite mild that night, and the air, while humid, was not unpleasant. However, even if it had been absolutely freezing and blowing a gale, it wouldn’t have affected my choice of combat gear. Being black ops, I don’t wear an insignia or a uniform. I wear what I think I will need to get the job done. And this kit had proved itself more useful in saving my sorry ass more times than my rather pre-battered pride would care to admit. I was clad in a Crye Combat Shirt and loose-fit combat trousers, with a sandy coloured pattern all over to help me blend. The shirt provided moisture and temperature control , and the trousers had 10 pockets along with knee padding. Always useful for storing magazines and the like in, as well as protecting my kneecaps. Over the top of combat shirt, I wore a TYR Tactical PICO Assaulters Plate Carrier, which I had stripped down to just provide protection for my chest.’ Cause while a combat shirt is great to move about in, if Terrorist Timmy puts a bullet through it, you’re boned. The carrier provides solid enough protection for me to work with. Also, I had donned some impact fingerless gloves. Light, didn’t interfere with movement or trigger motion, but protected my hands in the rough environment. Loved’em. Not to mention my mountain boots. Not the best for stealth, but if you break an ankle in poor footwear, you may as well shout out your presence anyway, ‘cause you’ll be useless.

And finally, of course, my mask. As I slipped it back on over my head, I felt a sense of calm wash over me, calming any worries I had in an instant, like a vacuum sucking the oxygen from a flame. I was now essentially a ghost. If I had it my way, no one would even know I’d been there. In and out. Quick and clean. That was how this was gonna go down.

On a thought, I put my hand down my shirt, feeling around my upper chest. My fingers touched something metal.

“Good. Still there. As always”

Now that I was on ground level, I thought it best to establish contact with command. I double tapped the comm device lodged in my ear, listening to the persistent beeping while the little device searched for a satellite signal. A second later, I heard.

“Shadowstrike, this is Angel Actual, confirm location”

“Angel Actual, Shadowstrike. Moving on foot now to enemy encampment. Will re-establish contact when it’s done”

“Roger that Shadowstrike. Extraction is half a click south east of the encampment at the harbour. SPECTRE’s 1 and 4 have commandeered a boat for extraction purposes”

“Shadowstrike copies all Angel Actual. Tell’em to keep a beer on ice for me. I’ll be with them before you know it”

I double tapped the comm again, shutting down the satellite signal. I removed by MP5 from the bag, along with my twin blades, which I placed on my back, and my USP.45, which I placed in my left leg holster. I placed a few additional mags and grenades in various pockets on my gear. Placing the rest on my back, I set out from the drop zone, heading toward the encampment located in the distance........

An hour and a half later

Quick, clean and quiet. It was almost a mantra. We had it beaten into us day in and day out. And I had managed to screw it up.

Once I had gotten close to the “camp”, I saw that the whole thing was essentially set up in the ruins of an old fortress-style castle . There were very few remnants of the thing left standing, only a sole building that looked like it was what would’ve been the main chamber of the thing when it was still standing. There were a few tents with stealth netting hastily thrown over them, but none of them looked like a command building. Also, the only thing I would put in the same zip code as “perimeter fencing” were odd bits of brick wall strewn all over the place. And that played right into my hands. With no direct infill-exfill point, I had my pick of points to enter the camp.

I took a closer look at the building I had seen previously. A few sentries, 2 to be exact, obviously doing foot patrols. They could have become problematic if they weren’t “removed”. Of course, the better alternative would be to simply sneak past them. That then would give me the job of picking off targets inside the building silently, so as to ensure none of them could call for help. The sentries would be the only two people near enough to hear it.

“Let’s see how easy they find it to scream when they’ve got a blade buried in their neck” I quietly muttered to myself. It was a gruesome way to do it, and I honestly hated it, but to ensure silence during the kill, it was extremely effective.

Having decided on my infill point, I made my way out of my hiding place, not even 100 meters from the first piece of “fencing”.
Quietly, I removed the MP5 from my side, flicking the weapon from safety to 3-shot burst. 3 would be all I needed. My accuracy with SMG’s was unparalleled from range, but with the kind of closeness I would be working with? I have to be blindfolded and pissed out of my mind to come within 20 miles of missing my target.

I crouched down in the sand, slowly making my way along the wall. After listening closely to see if I could hear anything on the other side, I decided to lean round the side of the wall to assess my new location. Most of the tents were set up scattered, but in front of the “main compound”.

Great for me. For them? Nightmare. Having walls to move about and around would make me faster and deadlier, and would reduce their line of sight on me.

From what I could see, there was a tent with its entrance facing diagonally away from me, and in front of that entrance, I saw new pieces in play. Two guys. Looked about 30ish? They were dressed in loose fitting shirts and shorts, cigarette passing between them with the stereotypical AK-47s slung about their side. You might think its cliché, but I couldn’t blame them. The gun was practically accessible globally, and was the most versatile and adaptable gun ever produced. It was designed to still work in dreadful conditions, and in the right hands, was extremely dangerous. But I liked to think in my line of work, we made dangerous look like a schoolgirl. A nerdy schoolgirl. I wasn’t even sure these guys knew which end of the thing the bullets came out of.

I double-checked my position one more time before, while crouching low, moved out to “hug” the wall of the tent. I edged along it slowly, before leaning around the side. I could only see the back of one of the guys, but I could certainly SMELL the two of them. I guess Yemen isn’t exactly known for its hygiene..... However, I had taken into account one very important detail. If I moved out of cover to stand behind the guy, we would essentially be co-linear. Stood in one line, and that meant shots fired through one could take out the other.

I very quickly formulated a plan in my head, and unsheathed a blade from my back, and my USP from my leg holster. As I had mentioned, I personally felt it was too much, but I couldn’t argue with its effectiveness. I wrapped my left hand around the handle of the pistol, flicking off the safety, and held my blade in a reverse style in my right. I knew it was time. I felt the moon at my back, almost like someone was watching over me. And that comforted me. The cool air rolled over me once more, as I stepped out into the open.

The guy I stood behind had no clue what was happening. As I arced my right hand around from my left side, I positioned it so that it would be at exactly his neck height. The blade found its mark with grim accuracy, impacting the exposed skin of the man’s neck, and while meeting some resistance from muscles and tendons, carved it’s gory path all the way through..... and right out the other side. While I was arcing my arm however, I brought my pistol round and pointed it directly into his back, right behind where I knew his heart would be. I fired 3 times, as I had been taught. To anyone even 10 metres away, it would only sound like a polite cough, but with the blood rushing through my ears, each shot felt to me like a canon had gone off next to me.

He no doubt died very quickly and in a great deal of pain. There was no way he could’ve screamed. Blood was undoubtedly gushing down his throat, muffling any cry that may have come. But I hadn’t been able to see his friend go down, my view obscured by my position behind my victim. I removed the blade from the man’s neck, feeling the now useless flesh hold on slightly before release and lashed out with my right leg, contacting him just behind his left knee. His practically lifeless body crumpled under the weight, dropping away in front of me as he went face first into the sand.

And that’s when I saw it.

His friend was indeed there. And he was still very much alive. What I had not realised from my position behind my first target was that the power of USP, toned down ever so slightly by the suppressor, had not been enough to fully penetrate my first target. The area I had fired into had too many obstacles to the bullet’s path.

The face of that man..... It is something that will haunt me to my dying day. As I mentioned, my method of.... removal, was not exactly clean. I could see the glistening blood spatter all over his clothes and face, only made more vivid by the soft glow of the moon. My blade had obviously nicked a vain on the way in. Or just demolished a metric shit ton of them.

I imagine my appearance also didn’t help matters too much either. Imagine yourself conversing with your friend, only to then see him stabbed through the neck and shot dead by a mask-wearing psychopath in desert camo. His face...... If horror and remorse had a picture, that would be it.

And in that instant, I felt like a heartless, soulless bastard. I had no idea who these men were. I would never see them again after tonight. But that was no consolation. I thought about his family, who were probably waiting for him at home. And I felt even worse. I realised that, in all the time I had been working under SPECTRE, and with all my experience with CQB, I had been so efficient that I never even had a situation occur where I would see the horror on the face of a viewer of my heinous act.

But that “instant”? That was all his friend needed. He was already firing the gun as he raised it.

*CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK*

Time seemed to slow for a second, as I saw the sand in front of me explode into small clouds as the bullets impacted closer and closer to me.

And I realised I was going to catch some of this. Whether I liked it or not.

When the first bullet impacted just off centre of my left thigh, I could barely feel it. I probably had adrenaline to thank for that. But the pain wasn’t the problem. It was the impact. I don’t know how many of you have been shot, but an AK bullet? It packs one hell of a punch. It was enough to throw me off balance as my leg jerked out from under me, causing me to drop my blade in order to use my hands to keep me from hitting the deck

He decided to use that moment to his advantage. He dropped his AK to the sand, advancing on me while screaming and swinging his arms wildly. Normally, in this situation, it would have been oh so simple to dispatch him, but I was now carrying an injury and that changed the game entirely. With my leg literally shot, I had not movement capability. I had only one option: To go on the defense.

I regained my balance just in time to block a well aimed right hook from him with my left arm, but instead of blocking it with force, I deflected it off almost, allowing his momentum to keep him going in an attempt to throw him of balance. And it worked. He lurched forward uncontrollably, his fist guiding him across my body.

He was met by my right fist, clenched, and aimed right at his gut. I barely had to move it at all. I was using his own momentum to power my punch; a trick I had picked up a few years back during training. It contacted his soft flesh hard, an indicator that I had hit home.......

Only I failed to notice that he clearly had some experience too, because the moment he felt his momentum carry him, he took his left leg off the floor, swinging it round as he fell, and allowing it to impact me in the side of the head, similar to the style of a roundhouse kick.

I fell, firing my USP in his general direction as I did, trying to at least ensure the crafty fucker wouldn’t have a chance to finish me off once Terra Firma had warmly greeted my face in the universal language that is pain.

I hit the ground pretty hard. Not too much, but enough to wind me. I could only lay there for a few seconds, contemplating just how much I had ballsed this up. And it was a pretty spectacular contemplation. However, one thing I did notice, was a distinct lack of feeling dead, which I had expected to come from being shot as the man I had so wonderfully failed to kill earlier got his aim back.

But nothing came. I must have got him......

Oh. Did I say nothing? I meant nothing before the butt of a rifle appeared in my vision, barrelling toward my face at an alarmingly high rate of speed.

And in that moment, I had only one thought.

“Oh shite”

Undisclosed amount of time later

You know I mentioned not being able to feel the pain of getting shot earlier? Well, a little bit of time in dream land had certainly fixed that. As I came to, I could feel an extremely sharp pain n my left thigh, where I assume the bullet had penetrated. But aside from that pain, I could feel something else as well. The cold bite of metal around both of my wrists, in an almost clinching motion, and for me, it could only mean one thing. Handcuffs. My wrists were lower than my thighs, and with the rigidity of the posture in my back, I would’ve guessed that the other end of those handcuffs was looped over the leg of the chair I was sat in.

As my sense slowly began to return to me, not really accustomed to being so violently “switched off”, I noticed a few other things too. Or maybe felt was a better word. Rope. It had to be. I could feel it through the fabric over my legs. And boy, did it have a death grip on them. They were going nowhere.

I could also feel the humid night air on my skin..... Over my chest? It felt like someone had torn gashes through my combat top, as I could also feel the stinging of freshly exposed skin, roughly where the tears in the fabric were. I could also still feel my mask present as well, which surprised me somewhat, as I thought that would be the first thing to go. To expose the murderer of their friend. Strange.

It also reminded me, if I should be so lucky to get out of this frankly lost situation, to bollock the boys over in R&D when I got back.
“What good is a bulletproof fucking facemask if I can be knocked out by being hit in the face through it!?” I imagined myself yelling. At least my imagination could still provide me with some amusement.

My eyesight was the last thing to really kick back in. When it finally came back to life, I could see that I was clearly on the roof, or whatever you call it I guess, of the main castle building I had spotted during my recon. I could see the tents looking miniscule down below my apparently elevated position, and as I looked up, I could see the moon directly above me. Except this time, it made me feel no calmer. It simply made my fears all the more real. Either way, I looked down to confirm everything I had previously felt.

Handcuffs? Yep.

Torn shirt? Yep.

Roped up legs? Yep.

Car battery ? ........ Well shit.

It was sat in front of me, and, rather aptly I thought, looked beaten to shit, just like everything else in place. But as I looked in closer, I could see something that derailed my train of thought almost immediately. Those couldn’t be...............

Jump leads. And they flowed all over the floor, before seemingly snaking behind me........

Just then, I heard a voice speak into my ear. Even shielded by the mask, I could hear him clear as day.

“Well well well. Don’t you just look a little lost. I’m sure me and my men would be happy to help you. At least, we would’ve been” the voice spoke “Until you stabbed one of them to death, before shooting his friend”

The voice had many distinguishing features to it. Icy. Well duh, he probably is quite pissed. British accent? Not uncommon. It isn’t unheard of for British mercs to come out here to train for terror attacks. It isn’t reported around nearly as much as you’d expect. Easier to say it was someone foreign at the helm of any terror attack then one of you countrymen. I tried picking out anything else recognisable in the voice, before it spoke again;

“Now, just what are we going to do with you? You young man, have cause me quite a bit of trouble. Not in terms of your actions. Those were most irrelevant. Only two men. Plenty more where they came from. No no no, you my dear boy, are an indicator that someone much higher up knows where I am, and possibly what I am up to” His voice simply exuded arrogance. Asshole.

“So, NSA? CIA? Homeland Security? Who’s got my number?” he posed

“Well” I countered, “Why don’t you fuck off, come back later, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll feel like telling you, you arrogant bastard”

That was an impossibly poor choice of words on my part, but I couldn’t stop myself. I was angry, and my leg was killing me. It felt like school all over again.

“Oh, I was so hoping you might say that......” he practically drawled in my ear, “Because you see, that why I had my friends bring a car battery up here. It’s for bad boys who don’t feel like cooperating.....”

I felt my blood run cold. Ice cold. I didn’t know much about car batteries at all, but the one thing I did know, was that it would only take a single amp of current from that thing, straight into me, to fry my organs and kill me stone cold dead. I felt my breath hitch in the back of my throat, as sweat literally poured out of every pore in my skin. It felt a lot more like 170 than 17C.

“Ah” he said, “I see I have your undivided attention. Now then...” he almost distractedly mentioned.

I heard a short, sharp bark in a language I could only assume was native to Yemen. I heard footsteps approach from behind, before my head was roughly forced downward, lowering my gaze to my own chest.

I suddenly saw a glint of silver approach out of the corner of my eye, but I was powerless to stop it as it plunged into the flesh around my nipple, before I felt what seemed like razor sharp teeth sink into the delicate flesh. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help it. I screamed.

“Oooh! This one is quite sensitive. Only a crocodile clip my friend, and I assure you, other than that pain, it is quite harmless.....”

I could both feel and see a dark claret spilling from the skin on my chest, feeling unbelievably hot as it carved it’s way down my chest.

“However, if ANOTHER clip is connected? Well then, that is a whole different story. Only 75milliamps. Not enough to kill in short bursts, but enough to cause you a large amount of pain. Let me know if you change your mind about chatting with me....”

The sick fucker laughed hysterically before again barking something to his helper in their native tongue, and went strolling off.
I knew what came next. I didn’t want it to. But it would. It was inevitable. I could only hope my resolve held out. I was determined not tell these bastards anything. Not only that, but I could see my gear sat a short distance from me. I could only fantasise about what I would do to this clown, if only I could reach it....

A sharp crackling. A glint of metal.

A single tear rolled down my face, hidden from view by my mask.

“Good” I thought, “No one will ever see me cry. Ever. But it doesn’t mean I won’t do it.....”

I felt it connect.

The pain......... was beyond excruciating. I can’t even describe it. It was like being jabbed in every inch of my skin by millions of white hot needles. I could feel my synapses burn. My breathing quickly became shallow and rapid. I went rigid as steel in the chair, and let out, what I still remember to this day, as the most blood-curdling scream I have ever heard, even if it did come from me. Every single muscle in my body contracted, almost as if they were trying to tear me apart.

The only thing I could do to flee from the pain was to drift into unconsciousness.....

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“...una! How can you say that? If we don’t intervene, they are going to kill him!”

I don’t know what I was hearing. It made no sense to me. As far as I was aware, there we no women within a good couple of clicks
of the camp. Yet, that voice had a surprisingly feminine side to it. Almost motherly.......

“Celestia, how dare you! We cannot! I refuse to even consider it! You saw the atrocities he commited under the veil of my beautiful night!”

Another voice. Different this time. Almost regal..... No, definitely regal. It almost sounded like she would be more suited to using old English..........

“Have you learned nothing since your return from the moon!? Two wrongs do not make a right Luna. You should know this better than anyone. How would you have felt if, even after Nightmare Moon was banished from you, the ponies simply ignored you to spite you because of what you HAD done!? They gave you another chance .....”

Luna? .......Nightmare Moon?...... Ponies!? I knew I was unconscious, that much was clear. The only conclusion I could come to, was that these were simply pain addled delusions. Nothing more. Almost like they were the two sides of me. One, the compassionate side of me that understood the hardships I had endured. And the other? The side of me that loathed me. Everything I did in the name of SPECTRE. The lives I had taken. The families I had destroyed..... The men I had killed.

“......No..... I just.... I simply.... Can’t”

Luna’s voice sounded almost teary now. Whoever Celestia is, she must have hit a nerve there.

“The spell needs two of us Luna! I cannot do this alone! Please help me sister!”

Sister? Well, that’s a new one. My brain is a sick bastard.

I waited a few seconds more, but I heard nothing more. I felt myself slowly drifting back into consciousness, both hating and loving my torturer for not killing me.

Not yet at least...........

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5 hours later

And so it continued this way. On and off “electrotherapy”, my only reprieve being the occasional bit of medical attention to my chest area to ensure I didn’t expire before they gave the say so, and the times where I would flee into my own subconscious to listen to “Celestia” and “Luna” argue the toss over whether they would save my worthless life. At this point, even if they were real, I was beyond caring. I was broken. Heart and soul. I simply wished for death, and yet I still told him nothing, probably to the detriment of my own health. My “sessions” were becoming longer and longer the more frustrated my captor got, but I would give that bastard no satisfaction. I would sooner die. Again, cliché, but true.

Finally, on the eve of the 6th hour in the hands of my torturer, I heard him stroll up behind me.

“Well my friend, it appears that you have simply outworn your usefulness to us if you shall not talk, and so, it is with much pleasure that I will grant you a painful exit from this plane of existence....”

The words fell on hollow ears. I had stopped caring long ago. Fresh tears rolled down my face. I knew what was coming, and I
welcomed it, if it would free my tortured soul. I could hear him sparking the two ends of the crocodile clips together behind me......
“Say goodnight!”

I waited for the inevitable.........

“Enough”

I was beyond confused. That sounded like Luna’s voice, exactly as I had heard it when I was unconscious. But that was where my problem lay. I wasn’t unconscious. This was real. Which could only mean................

“He-help......me.......” The words fell from my mouth. I was still convinced she couldn’t exist, but in that state, she was my only hope.

It wasn’t her words that greeted me.

“Oh that won’t work on me my friend. I gave you plenty of chances to give me what I wanted. But what happened? You were stubborn. You refused. And now, you......shall.....”

He paused.

“WHAT IN THE NAME OF GOD IS THAT!?!”

That was certainly unexpected. I felt a small sparkle of hope rekindle itself inside a heart I had thought long since extinguished. I looked up to see his face, and it was a picture of complete and utter disbelief, along with that of the man who I could only assume was the one that had been shocking me.

And then I looked down.

And I was glowing. So was all of my gear too. Brilliantly, and more brightly by the second, accompanied by a humming noise that also seemed to be growing.

“What.....the.....fuck?” I managed to stammer out.

And then the world exploded in a sea of white light and........A rainbow?

Somewhere over Everfree Forest

All I could feel was falling.... That weightless feeling again..... Like I was falling from the sky......
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“Shit”

Author's Notes:

Hey Guys! NotYourAverage here!

Thank you for reading my very first attempt at serious written fiction! I am always open to constructive criticism, so feel free to comment below, and let me know what you think I can do to improve! Also, if you spot a continuity error or screw up, just PM me I'll fix it! (Cause they WILL BE THERE -.-)

Anywho, depending on whether this takes off, and how interested people are, more may be on the way! Time will be a constraint, as I have college work, but, this and Chapter 0 only took half a week to knock out, so here'e hoping!

Next chapter MAY feature a visit from one of our four-legged friends, as well as answering and posing a few more questions! ;)

Many Thanks guys!
NotYourAverage, out!