01-06-2015, 10:34 PM
The city of Sarkovo was about 60,000 strong in population. The purpose for its secrecy was born from its strategic location in the mountains along borders between two nations that no longer existed. Today, its closed-status remained in tact for far less interesting reasons. Today, this closed-city was finally put to profitable use.
Nikolai rode in the passenger seat of a black SUV as it rumbled along the snow-packed road into town. His corner of the windshield displayed their location on a map of the city, which was otherwise laid out as any in the United States. There were two main commercial districts in town and residences, mostly poor, some modest, were scattered in between. To offset the harshness of the citizen's lifestyle, the government subsidized much of the cost of living. But the old, Soviet-Union buildings were in need of upgrading. When they drove past a burned-out building, Nikolai made a mental note to see to that the city was audited. They should have the budget for appropriate upkeep. Then again, if the city didn't survive the exercise, there may be no need.
Pressure sensitive gloves retrieved the icons of the ten men placed here. Shortly after extraction from their camps, a subepidermal chip was implanted that now provided the signal by which Nikolai could track. Ten of the twenty, filtered for the men since they were all he could sense, blinked unawares on the map. The first was located in what appeared to be an alley behind a string of restaurants.
The SUV powered down their lights as it pulled into that very alley. A dumpster, shoved into the center of the path, blocked their way. Nik curled the mask down his face and opened the car door.
Snow crunched under foot, but despite the freezing temperatures, he was quite comfortable. His staff promised the best in thermal clothing: as it was both thermal and anti-round weaves, they clearly did not disappoint.
"I know you're out there,"
he called into the silence as he edged forward from the front of the SUV.
From the distance, a feeble voice, Scandanavian by accent, responded. "What-- what do you want?"
His short-lived training as an Atharim returned. I want to hunt you. But he did not say it a loud. He wasn't a maniac. There was a purpose to this apparent madness.
The back door to the nearest restaurant banged open and the employee that emerged, trash-bags in hand, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, stopped dead in his tracks before the masked man. "The hell?"
Nik could not have timed it better himself. He pointed down the alley where a silhouette of a figure was running the opposite way. From no where, fire streaked from that direction, arcing like arrows raining from above. They struck the brick wall and sizzled in the snow, but several pierced the busboy's trashbags and they instantly burst into flame.
The boy, no older than twenty, screamed and ran back inside. Nikolai darted back to the car and they sped out of the alley. There were nineteen more to find.
Nikolai rode in the passenger seat of a black SUV as it rumbled along the snow-packed road into town. His corner of the windshield displayed their location on a map of the city, which was otherwise laid out as any in the United States. There were two main commercial districts in town and residences, mostly poor, some modest, were scattered in between. To offset the harshness of the citizen's lifestyle, the government subsidized much of the cost of living. But the old, Soviet-Union buildings were in need of upgrading. When they drove past a burned-out building, Nikolai made a mental note to see to that the city was audited. They should have the budget for appropriate upkeep. Then again, if the city didn't survive the exercise, there may be no need.
Pressure sensitive gloves retrieved the icons of the ten men placed here. Shortly after extraction from their camps, a subepidermal chip was implanted that now provided the signal by which Nikolai could track. Ten of the twenty, filtered for the men since they were all he could sense, blinked unawares on the map. The first was located in what appeared to be an alley behind a string of restaurants.
The SUV powered down their lights as it pulled into that very alley. A dumpster, shoved into the center of the path, blocked their way. Nik curled the mask down his face and opened the car door.
Snow crunched under foot, but despite the freezing temperatures, he was quite comfortable. His staff promised the best in thermal clothing: as it was both thermal and anti-round weaves, they clearly did not disappoint.
"I know you're out there,"
he called into the silence as he edged forward from the front of the SUV.
From the distance, a feeble voice, Scandanavian by accent, responded. "What-- what do you want?"
His short-lived training as an Atharim returned. I want to hunt you. But he did not say it a loud. He wasn't a maniac. There was a purpose to this apparent madness.
The back door to the nearest restaurant banged open and the employee that emerged, trash-bags in hand, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, stopped dead in his tracks before the masked man. "The hell?"
Nik could not have timed it better himself. He pointed down the alley where a silhouette of a figure was running the opposite way. From no where, fire streaked from that direction, arcing like arrows raining from above. They struck the brick wall and sizzled in the snow, but several pierced the busboy's trashbags and they instantly burst into flame.
The boy, no older than twenty, screamed and ran back inside. Nikolai darted back to the car and they sped out of the alley. There were nineteen more to find.