"Officer, what’s our status?" a soldier asked from the doorway to a small control room, his face still covered by behind his visor, his rifle still secured over his shoulder by its strap.

  "Sir. The pulse blew our power. All systems are down," answered one of the three officers crammed into the small room, "We restored emergency systems once the emergency power kicked in. As for the targets, surveillance outside seems to be dead. We’re flying blind, Sir. “

  “Prior to shutdown, we recorded plenty of comlink chatter, but nothing of any significance. And we still haven't been able to tap into the line with the outside source Dr. Niemic appeared to be talking to. The visuals in the room were limited. We don’t seem to have any audio either.”

  "Tell us more about this man,” the soldier walked up to a screen and pinched it with his index finger and thumb, causing the screen to focus around the area of a person, “This man here, with Niemic. Who is he?" asked the Soldier.

  "That's a surprisingly difficult question to answer," replied an officer at the back of the room, who had been attempting to compile information on this man, "His birth certificate is redacted. On date-of-birth, it just says 'Spring.' He has no bank account, no social media accounts, and no medical records aside from a faulty medical report a month back. We lost one of our operatives around this time. It is suspected that he was assassinated by this man. Niemic’s profile seems to be an amalgamation using the fallen operative as a base."

  The soldier’s expression hardened. It was the first shift in his expression they had seen in him since he entered the room. It added an extra level of seriousness to his demeanor.

  “Connect me with the men through the emergency channel.”

  “Sir, something appears to be jamming the signal. The signal is weak; however, we’ll still reach them. The channel’s open, sir. ”

  “Sierra Oscar Six, come in Sierra Oscar Six. Engage emergency frequency change.”

  “Copy. Oscar Six awaiting orders.” crackled through the coms, as if the system struggled to relay the message.

  “Idents Confirmed. Proceed direct. Extend downwind Oscar Six. We need eyes on the targets. Intercept them ASAP. Be careful. They appear to be true professionals.”

  “Copy. Oscar Six inbound.”

  The soldier rose up from the console. He had done everything he could to help. He wasn’t used to dealing with hits this well planned, with professionals this unscrupulous.

  * * *

  “You see, doc, when you put silencer on grenade, you create quiet explosion, for stealth purposes,” Vodko said as he yanked off a steel ring and tossed the grenade into the alley behind them.

  Doc looked at Vodko with a troubled glare, like that of a man who must explain to his paraplegic daughter that her dreams of becoming a ballerina will never come true. The alley shook as the shrapnel tore into the street, sending chunks of asphalt into the air and ripping apart three men out of the eight man team coming towards them from the South. Vodko looked back into the alley. The broken concrete beneath the soldier’s feet sported cracks reminiscent of a turtle shell, which branched outwards in a bizarre, circular pattern. The soldiers had been flung back and were currently in disarray, attempting to call for a medic on their comms.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Vodko and Doc took off and ran past burning barrels, scorched walls, and overturned trash-cans and crouched down behind a dumpster. Weeds grew all over the ruined roads, leaving them barely able to make out the silhouette of the parking lot in the distance as they sat hunched down amidst the vegetation to stay out of sight. Doc was still panting rather heavily, while Vodko was sitting, scratching his chin. Walking over the pedestrian crossing nonchalantly wasn’t a smart move considering the glaring reflection from sniper rifle sights placed in tight formations up at the top of the hospital. Their barrels were leaning down from the helipad. The men were well hidden despite that one fatal flaw in their planning.

  Tired men in orange overalls still shuffled over towards the steel mill. Ideas were dismissed one by one, attempting to go with the crowd in these suits, they’d stick out like sore thumbs. Doc had an idea and leaned toward Vodko and spoke to him in a more relaxed but hushed voice.

  “We need to blend in. I have an idea, trust me. Wait here. We need to deal with this with a little finesse.”

  “Da. Oh, English better again,” Vodko replied to Doc who walked up to two men that were making their way towards the steel mill.

  Vodko was currently squatting on the ground, awaiting for Doc and the two men to finish talking. A pitter-pattering sound gradually grew more audible as he felt raindrops hit his face, carrying a chill that seemed to pierce through his skin.

  * * *

  The soldier tapped at the table impatiently with his fingertips. The feeling of being caught was always unpleasant. The three casualties from earlier had put him on edge. Picking up his beeping comlink, the soldier thumbed the activator and didn't even bother to read the identity of his caller.

  "This is command, report."

  “Command, Sniper Team Epsilon Bravo Niner, we got the targets in our sights.”

  “Bravo Niner, take them out. Fire at will.”

  “Copy. Fir-” static cut off the rest of his sentence. Two sharp deafening sounds echoed as two rounds exited from the barrels of the .55 cal AugerM7 rifles, one by one. The targets fell in splashes of blood on the pedestrian crossing, sending the panicked workers on their way to work in the steel mill running for their lives.

  “Command, the targets are down. Requesting ground personnel to verify the kills.”

  The soldier breathed out a sigh of relief. Now that the stressful situation was finally over, he could return to his everyday activities.

  * * *

  “This is it,” Vodko said and pulled on his thick leather gloves. The dingy garage they entered came into focus. A single light bulb hung from the cracked ceiling, shedding light into the small room, outlining the frail steps leading up to a door that Vodko and Doc had just entered through. Vodko had retained his nimble yet slowed down movement as Doc had managed to trade down their suits to a pair of orange overalls. He was annoyed, yet confused, as trading your uniform was always a tricky task. But Doc wouldn’t say how he did it.

  “Excuse me, do you need anything?” a hoarse voice rang out from the back room. Instead of getting up to welcome his new customers, he stayed in the back, unwilling to distract himself from his work.

  “Da. Is Vodko. Would order blast resistant fishing equipment.”

  “Ah, Vodko. Been a long time, you’re back, blyat. Password received,” The hoarse voice said. The man leaned out of the backroom, extended his arm holding a strange looking device that resembled a garage door opener, and then pushed the button.

  The wall before them sank inward slowly until it could slide to one side, revealing a brightly lit featureless corridor beyond. Vodko and Doc traveled a hundred meters before coming to a T junction. Vodko turned right. After another hundred meters on a downward slope, they came to a door. Vodko opened it, and they went through and down the stairs beyond to another door.

  The stale smell of sewer water hung heavy in the air. A slow, steady rhythm ricocheted off the mold stained walls as water droplets joined the already sizable puddle in the center of the concrete basement. They had been walking for about five minutes when Vodko turned towards the left and grabbed the doorknob to a worn old door. It creaked open, and the sounds from inside echoed into the hallway.