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The AdvAnTAGE Project

By

Mantrid Brizon

Episode 09: Operation Artemis

Humming a little tune as he slips on his surgical mask and cap, Dr. Aaron Keller approaches a stainless-steel sink built into the corner of the operating room. As he washes his hands for the third time, he can hear the squeaking of the gurney's wheels. The swinging double-doors thump as the orderly pushes the end of the gurney against them. Dr. Keller ceases his humming when he hears the whimpering. Glancing over to the gurney, he can see the subject. Though he's thoroughly strapped down, he still wriggles about. Glimpsing the deformed monstrosity that lies atop the table, a nurse who's relatively new to White Base, grimaces and looks away.

“Yeah, he's quite a sight!" Another nurse chuckles.

“Please..." The patient lets out a pitiful cry.

“Why is the subject still awake?!" Dr. Keller angrily demands, storming up to the orderly. “Why didn't you give him the injection, like I asked?"

“We did, sir, but he seems to have developed a tolerance."

“I see..." Dr. Keller lets out a frustrated sigh. “Well... Is the subject ready for another surgery?!" He suddenly chirps, pulling on his teal latex gloves.

“Yes, Doctor." A nurse rolls up a cart full of scalpels and other assorted medical tools.

“Good, good! Gas." He holds out a hand.

One of his staff places the clear rubber mask into his hand, turning a knob on a blue-painted oxygen tank as the doctor moves around the table. The wriggling patient whimpers, struggling with sturdy leather bindings and crying even louder at the sight of the tools. The collapsible hose attached to the mask runs over his tattered flesh, which is a maze of scars and stitching from previous encounters with the sinister doctor and his callous staff.

“No more..." He groans.

“What was that?" Dr. Keller turns his head to listen to his patient.

“P-please..." The weakened voice chokes out. “No more... Just... Kill me..."

“Oh, you know we can't do that, donor number triple-zero-one!" Dr. Keller chirps, placing the elongated oxygen mask over the subject's face. “We still need more..."

“No... Please, God... God, save me!" The patient lets out a guttural cry as he's forced to breathe the sleep-inducing air.

With his patient swiftly succumbing to the gas, he soon falls under the knife. Dr. Keller continues to hum a little tune, signifying to his staff what music he would like to listen to. It's a shorthand that they've developed over the past year. As usual, he's requested Vivaldi. A nurse places a record atop the vintage gramophone and winds the crank. As the music begins to pour out of the large and exquisitely decorated cone, Dr. Keller begins his work. With scalpel in-hand, he makes an incision before peeling back the patient's scalp. It isn't long before he's cut away the skull-cap with a bone saw and fully exposed the upper portion of his patient's brain. Just as he begins carefully inserting a probe, the intercom buzzes with static, though only for a split-second.

“Dr. Keller?" A voice calls out.

“What is it? I'm in the middle of surgery!" The doctor growls.

“I'm terribly sorry to bother you, sir, but... He's on the line."

Dr. Keller's demeanor instantly shifts, changing from annoyance to fear.

“Patch him through to the nearest phone! I'm in operating room number two!"

“Yes, doctor!"

Leaving in a panic, Dr. Keller rushes into the adjacent room and picks up the receiver of the phone mounted to the wall. His bloody gloves smear crimson onto the white plastic and his fingertips brush his cheek. He pays no attention to this.

“H-hello?" The doctor sheepishly calls out.

“Hello, doctor! I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time." The Old Man begins.

“N-no, sir! N-n-not at all! So, uhm... What can I do for you today?"

“Nothing. I'm just letting you know that I'm sending my best Agent back to White Base."

“Oh! ... For what purpose? Ih-if you don't mind my asking, that is, sir!"

“He's coming down to supervise your work, Doctor, as he was before. He'll be there this Friday afternoon."

“Oh! Three days is quite the notification, sir!" Dr. Keller remarks.

“He'd be there sooner, but he's finishing another assignment for me. He's securing the contract to build the big one!" The Old Man chirps.

“Understood, sir! That's very good, sir! I'll be expecting him! We! We'll be expecting him. I do have a staff... Yes, and, er, everything will go smooth as silk, sir!" Dr. Keller chirps.

“Doctor?"

“Yes, sir?"

“Why do you always sound so nervous when we talk?"

“Well... You do pay my bills, sir!"

“Fair enough." The Old Man chuckles. “Good day, doctor. Continue to impress me."

“Absolutely, sir!"

Hanging up the phone, Dr. Keller sighs with relief and wipes the sweat from his brow, only to take a second look at his hand. He's just smeared blood across his forehead. He lets out a frustrated grumble before collecting a shop towel and cleaning both himself and the phone's receiver.

“Now... Where was I?" He mutters to himself as he returns to the operating room.

Peering through the darkly tinted window as he rides in the back of the blacked-out Chevrolet Impala, Agent Sharpe admires the changing colors of the leaves. The evening sun thoroughly illuminates the splendor of the vibrant trees. He cannot help but dwell on a particular fact; Amy Chen loved fall. She'd said it was her favorite season. Even after an entire year, it still stings the back of his mind to think of her. Closing his eyes to hide from the beauty of the Georgia forest, he slips a hand into his suit-jacket and removes his wallet.

Opening the wallet and looking down, he takes a moment to examine a photo. Amy smiles up at him, through a copy of a photograph he'd stolen from her office the day after her death. He gulps and closes his eyes once more, returning his wallet to his inner-jacket pocket. He reaches up a hand and gently rubs the bridge of his nose, which perpetually holds up his mirrored sunglasses.

“Tired, sir?" The driver asks.

“A little... Are we almost there?"

“Yes, sir. Just a few more miles."

“It would help if the trees didn't all look the same or we had landmarks." Another Agent comments.

As they traverse the long and windy asphalt drive, they can see the peak of the complex in the distance. Much like MiLab, White Base was originally an above-ground complex. A large, subterranean facility has since been added, work done many years before MiLab's “crockpot" was built, and constructed by the Army Corp of Engineers. White Base never belonged to Unifact, it's scientific and medical capabilities being a retrofit of an older and unrelated compound. As they approach the main gate, the driver slows to a stop. The Agents find themselves looking at an empty kiosk.

“There's always supposed to be someone on duty." The driver remarks, a hint of worry in his voice.

The front passenger lifts a briefcase stored beside his legs, taking a Mini Uzi from within and checking the weapon. With a fully loaded magazine, he primes the firearm, opens the thin shoulder stock and prepares himself.

“Orders, sir?" He turns in his seat and glances back at Agent Sharpe.

Agent Sharpe doesn't answer him. With a frustrated sigh, he unbuckles his seatbelt, opens the door and climbs out of the car, to the surprise of the highly-trained and eerily calm Agents. The identically dressed men in black suits emerge from the vehicle, following Agent Sharpe's lead. He pokes his head into the kiosk and looks around, quickly finding the button that opens the gate.

“Whoever was supposed to be here needs to be reassigned." He softly grumbles.

Motioning for the other men to follow, he returns to the car, the electrified gate steadily sliding open behind him. With their weapons in-hand, the Agents remain vigilant as they drive toward the compound. After remaining open for some time, the gate eventually closes. After driving several hundred more meters, they come upon a raucous scene. Soldiers dart about the exterior of the complex, their M4 rifles and Benelli M3 shotguns dangling on single-point slings. In their hands, they carry sandbags and pieces of office furniture, taken from their outpost and the operating trailers surrounding the complex.

For some reason, the soldiers seem desperate to barricade the main entrance, while others use power tools to affix boards to the windows. The soldiers make note of the vehicle, an obvious carriage for the men in black, though they carry on with their work. The Agents realize how dire the situation must be. Taking a deep breath and slowly exhaling, Agent Sharpe straightens his tie and makes certain that his hair is slicked back. He steps out of the car, moving in his eerie, quasi-robotic manner.

“What seems to be the problem?" He asks the nearest soldier in his cold and emotionless monotone.

“Apologies, sir!" The soldier promptly salutes, dropping a chair he was carrying. “We're dealing with a situation, sir!"

“Bad?" Another Agent asks, sharing in Agent Sharpe's unnerving monotone.

“Yes, sir." The soldier picks up the chair. “See Sgt Sanden."

The soldier motions with his head, then yells for his Sergeant. He turns around, standing atop the stoop, where he directs the actions of his underlings. Sgt. Sanden dashes down the steps, swiftly approaching the Agents. He salutes them and stands at attention.

“Sgt. Sanden reporting!" He barks.

“What's going on, Sergeant?" Agent Sharpe asks in a very calm, bland voice.

“There was an incident, sir!" The soldier replies, still standing at attention.

“At ease."

“Thank you, sir!"

“Now, please, what kind of incident?"

“One of the subjects, sir! It broke free while being transported. It killed several staff and then it..." The Sergeant hesitates.

“... Yes?"

“It released the others, sir. It seems to be leading a rebellion." Sgt. Sanden continues.

“A creature from Operation Artemis, leading a rebellion?" Another Agent asks, subtly raising a brow in disbelief.

“Yes, sir. We tried to stop them with less-than-lethal, in order to preserve the subjects, but it killed Cpt. Carson and wounded Lt. Lynch. The other creatures rallied around it and we were forced to use our sidearms. Unfortunately, they still gained a foothold."

“Casualties?" Agent Sharpe asks, tilting his head and popping his neck.

“Six dead, sir, including the Captain. Ten wounded, including the Lieutenant, all of whom are in trailer #2. Some of them aren't doing so well..." The Sergeant replies.

“Where's Dr. Keller and his staff?"

“We don't know, sir. Dr. Keller was close to Alpha Lab. He may have been able to seal the blast doors but we lost radio contact when... Well..."

“Yes?"

“They cut the power, sir."

“How can they cut the power? They're animals." Another Agent remarks.

“I don't know, sir, but they did. The under level is shielded, so our short-wave radios don't work. There's been no contact, sir."

“Which type is currently out of containment?" Agent Sharpe lets out a vaguely frustrated sigh.

“At the moment, sir? ... All of them." The Sergeant sheepishly replies.

Some of the Agents, realizing the gravity of the situation, break their character and show their emotions. One Agent even removes his sunglasses to rub his eyes in frustration! Agent Sharpe slowly turns his head, glancing back at his men. They can see his condescending glare even through his gleaming shades. They swiftly return to form, looking as inhumanly cold as their superior.

“Have any subjects escaped?" The Uzi-wielding Agent asks in a soulless voice.

“We don't know. We don't think so, but-"

Agent Sharpe lifts a hand, silencing the soldier. He tilts his head back, gazing up at the sky for a moment, allowing the silence to envelope them like a shroud.

“I'm sorry, sir." The increasingly nervous soldier apologizes.

“You will be..." Agent Sharpe returns his gaze to the Sergeant. “If we can't get a handle on this, you will be."

The soldier audibly gulps, looking upon the Agent with the fear of a child waiting for the punishment of their father.

“Orders, sir?" The other Agents look to Agent Sharpe.

“We cannot allow those creatures to escape. They're far too dangerous... Do we still have control of the emergency access bulkhead?"

“Not with the power cut, sir... But we could probably hook a couple of generators to it and open it from our terminal in trailer #1!" Sgt. Sanden replies.

“Then you'd better get started."

“Yes, sir!"

As the soldier darts off, eager to carry out his new orders, the other Agents turn toward Agent Sharpe.

“What's the plan, sir?"

“I think it's time for a proper field test... Let's use the SCRM-R." Agent Sharpe casually replies.

As Sgt. Sanden gathers a team, another group of soldiers stays by the barricaded front doors. Every so often, a massive, clawed hand emerges from a window near the doors, swiping at any soldiers who come too close. The soldiers respond with short bursts of panicked gunfire before making an attempt to reinforce the barricades. Sgt. Sanden's team attach several generators to the nearest power line, and using the control room built inside of trailer #1, they divert the power to the emergency access bulkhead, a massive door designed to protect against a nuclear blast. The soldiers all stop to watch.

They don't stare at the door, which is disguised as a mound of humble earth and pivots upward to reveal a concrete ramp and tunnel big enough for an APC to drive through. Instead, they stare at a large pole barn, shaped like a Quonset hut. The sliding door opens and a strange vehicle emerges. It is followed by three others; they travel in a single column formation. Driven by the four Agents themselves, these vehicles are custom-built by a company controlled by Sovereign Six, as is much of their equipment not on loan from the US military.

At nine feet in both height, width and depth, the craft are effectively titanium-alloy spheres, rolling on a pair of angular treads constructed of a unique rubberized metal. Eighteen inches in width, the tracks are nearly flush with the craft, almost invisible when viewing it from the side, and from the front or the back they appear as wavy black bands stretched over the gunmetal gray sphere. The electronically operated hatch at the rear of the craft fits flush with the body, and forms a seal that is both air and watertight.

Oxygen inside of the craft is recycled with a scrubber, similar to a rebreather used by divers. This feature makes them impervious to both chemical and biological attacks. The seam between the hatch and the body is so thin that even a trained eye would likely fail to spot it. The only way to quickly discern the orientation of the craft is by looking at their weapons. All four craft are base models, officially designated as 'Type-A'. They contain a gimballed mount at the front-center, just below a twelve-inch-tall by eighteen-inch-wide, darkly tinted viewing window that conforms with the curvature of the sphere.

The six barrels of the General Electric M134 minigun pokes out just enough to reveal the craft's direction. The vehicles, powered by easily and quickly replaceable hydrogen fuel cells, whir with a strange, electrical hum; their sound is often likened to an obscenely loud power drill, partially attributing to their primary nickname.

“Have you ever seen a Screamer in action before?!" A young soldier asks.

“No." Sgt. Sanden murmurs, shaking his head.

“They look real mean." The soldier remarks.

“American firepower at it's finest." Sgt. Sanden flashes a smug grin.

“Man... Look at those deathticles go." Another soldier quips.

“Don't..." Sgt. Sanden glares at the snarky soldier.

“What?" He flashes an innocent grin.

The Sergeant rolls his eyes and then motions to a pair of soldiers standing near trailer #1. They retrieve several M249 SAWs, loaded and ready to go, which they promptly pass to the other soldiers.

“Hell yeah! Now this is what I'm talkin' 'bout!" A soldier holds up the belt-fed machinegun.

“Alright, men. We're covering the access hatch. If any of those nightmares come spilling out of there, cut 'em in half."

“Yes, sir!" The soldiers shout in unison.

Agent Sharpe leads his team, moving through the long tunnel, which was purpose built to accommodate the Screamers, as are all of the corridors in the underground complex. The whirring craft glide along the halls like sentient boulders, searching for an enemy to crush.

“What are these weapons set for? What's the rate of fire?" An Agent asks over the specially constructed radio.

“Fifteen-hundred rounds-per-minute." Agent Sharpe replies.

“Do you think six thousand rounds each will be enough?" Another Agent quips.

“Just don't panic. You know what's down here. For as big and strong as some of them are, they're still just flesh and blood. We have nearly twenty millimeters of titanium-alloy armor to protect us, so stay calm, do your job, and this will all be over shortly." Agent Sharpe speaks coolly to his men.

“Yes, sir!" They reply.

It isn't long before the Agents, from the safety of their vehicles, find evidence of the carnage. White painted walls and polished steel floor panels are stained with blood, which glows even brighter in the reddish-orange hue of the emergency lighting. A pile of flesh sits beside a sliding bulkhead, red meat and yellow fat form a sickening mass.

“Jesus Christ..." An Agent murmurs over the radio.

“Careful, Agent Dorn. You're breaking character." Agent Sharpe scolds him.

“Sorry, sir, but... I mean, look at where we are!"

“You know the rules. Never break character while on-duty." Agent Sharpe replies.

“Even in these things? No one can see or hear us, sir."

“Professionalism is paramount. Your character should never be something you have to think about; maintain it until it comes naturally, even when alone."

“Yes, sir."

The Screamers whir as they move down the main corridor, the tracks picking up blood and leaving distinctive trails behind them. Reaching the first junction, the Agents split up, each one taking his vehicle down a different hallway. Agent Dorn drives until he finds a door. Using a keypad near his right hand, he types in a master code. The reinforced bulkhead slides open, and he's promptly startled as a creature leaps out.

Standing nearly seven-feet-tall, the beast is truly terrifying. With long, swept back ears and a long, thin snout filled with razor-sharp canines, it roars so loudly that he can hear it through the armor of his sealed SCRM-R. It darts toward him on large, paw-like feet, its inch-long, curled toenails clicking on the metal plates as it bashes the vehicle with a hand bearing even longer claws. It seems to shriek as the claws snap off, its bright green eyes looking at the mangled claws as it grips tightly to its wrist.

Agent Dorn cannot help but chuckle. With his hand holding firmly to the lone joystick, the sole controller for the craft, his index finger squeezes the trigger. The minigun unleashes a half-second burst of fire, nearly cutting the creature in two. As it falls into a heap near the door, Agent Dorn can see inside of the room. Several staff had attempted to hide inside, but this lone creature got in before the door could close.

“Those poor bastards..." He murmurs, looking upon the shredded remains of two lab staff.

With a twist of his wrist, the tracks spin in opposite directions, rotating the Screamer. He pushes the stick forward and the craft continues down the hall. Agent Sharpe stops his vehicle before an opened bulkhead. Before he can turn the vehicle to look inside, he feels a sharp thud. Several beasts roar as they bash the metal ball, which has abruptly interrupted their meal. The weight of the craft keeps it stable, but three more beasts attempt to latch on.

Their combined strength is able to push the vehicle, lifting it off of the ground to the point that the tracks no longer have a grip on the steel floor panels. What are they trying to do? Gunfire suddenly rips through the creatures, mangling their backs and causing them to shriek and fall away. Several die on the spot, while a hobbled beast jumps back into the room. Agent Sharpe's Screamer clanks on the floor as they drop his vehicle, the gyroscope automatically leveling the craft.

“Are you alright, sir?!" An Agent asks.

“Yes. Thank you, Agent Klein." Agent Sharpe replies, struggling to maintain his composure.

“You're welcome, sir. That last one went inside. Let's check it out."

Following Agent Sharpe's lead, they drive their vehicles into the large room and are met by a terrible sight. The room is awash in blood and gore. In the corner are several female staff members. They lie dead, their clothes torn from their bodies, some face-down and some lying on their backs. In both positions, the women's legs are spread far apart. Blood and other bodily fluids stain their raw skin and coat the floor beneath them. Wounds from sharp claws mark all of the women, covering their sides, backs, shoulders, buttocks and breasts.

It's obvious to the Agents what's happened to them. Meanwhile, opposite the women are their male counterparts. Their bodies are strewn about, some of them still intact but most of them not. They appear to have been eaten alive, their faces contorted in horror as their lifeless eyes stare at the ceiling. A half-eaten heart rests beside a man's nearly skeletonized arm, atop a sheet of flesh that once covered his now hollowed-out abdomen.

“I think I'm going to be sick..." Agent Klein murmurs over the radio.

“Agent..."

“Come on! Do you see this?!"

“Calm down, Agent. We're taking care of it." Agent Sharpe tries to calm his companion.

“Yeah... Yeah, you're right. Let's hunt these monsters down."

With a gentle push of the stick, the Agents' vehicles whir as they speed down the large halls, in search of more prey. The darkness is banished with thousands of muzzle flashes. The miniguns spin, throwing hot lead toward the end of the hall. With his hand gripping the stick, his thumb adjusts the position of the weapon, sweeping death across the corridor. Shrieks of pain are promptly followed by a crimson flow. Spilling over the floor, the sanguine pool glistens under the artificial light. Agent Sharpe glances to his left, where Agent Klein's Screamer sits a distance ahead and to his left.

“Agent Klein, you were turning your whole vehicle to aim." He remarks.

“Yeah."

“Why? You don't need to do that. The weapon mount has an X-Y axis."

“It does?!" Agent Klein exclaims.

“Use the secondary controller, B-2." Agent Sharpe instructs.

“The what?"

“Didn't you read the manual? It's right there, on top of the stick."

“On top of the... Oh! The thumb stick! That's cool!"

“Yeah..." Agent Sharpe speaks with a frustrated sigh.

Making their way down the hall together, the Agents eventually make their way around the complex, returning to the sealed junction that leads to the emergency bulkhead. Agent Dorn greets them as their Screamers approach.

“Status report, Agent Dorn."

“My sector's clean, sir. I'm running low on ammunition, though."

“Didn't you try to conserve your ammo?"

“I did, sir, but there were just so many of them; even with short bursts it was a struggle." Agent Dorn replies.

“I wonder how many of these things they made down here." Agent Klein remarks.

“Agent Sharpe! Come in, sir!" Another voice comes through the radio.

“What is it, Agent Morris? Are you making your way back?"

“Not yet, sir, but I will be. I'm about out of ammo. I think I found Dr. Keller..." Agent Morris explains.

“Status?"

“... Not good."

With the way cleared, Agent Klein, under Agent Sharpe's instruction, drives his vehicle through the junction and back toward Sgt. Sanden and his men, near the emergency access bulkhead. While he rearms and organizes a strike team, Agent Sharpe and Agent Dorn make their way toward Agent Morris, who has cleared a path to Alpha Lab. The bodies of the dead and dying beasts are strewn about the floors of every hall. Hundreds, perhaps even thousands of these monstrosities were spawned, and they are but one of several dozen types that Dr. Keller and his staff had created.

As the vehicles weave around the corpses, their tracks smeared with blood and throwing the fluid like fast moving paint rollers, they can hear a few more bursts of gunfire. Turning a corner, they see the massive doorway to Alpha Lab. They're designed like an airlock, a pair of sliding doors which meet in the middle. About five meters beyond the first set are a second set of identical doors. Both sets were closed and both sets are smashed open; the metal is jagged and bent away, as if someone had used a giant can opener on them.

How could these creatures do so much damage to doors designed to withstand an RPG? What else could be down here?! Inside of the lab, the gun barrels of Agent Morris' craft billow smoke. A mass of monstrous beasts lay strewn about.

“Good work!" Agent Dorn chirps.

“Oh! There you are!" Agent Morris turns his SCRM-R to face his companions. “Yeah, they're mostly taken care of, I think, but I'm empty."

“We have some ammo left." Agent Dorn replies.

“Were is Dr. Keller?" Agent Sharpe asks in his cold monotone.

“Over there." Agent Morris turns his vehicle, pointing with the barrels of his M134. “I could read his nametag but..."

“He's got no head!" Agent Dorn exclaims.

“How unfortunate..." Agent Sharpe says with a subtle sigh.

“Orders, sir?"

“We wait here. Agent Klein should meet us shortly, with a strike team."

“You're bringing people down here?!" Agent Morris gasps.

“We'll lead the charge, at least until we reach the stairwell to the above-ground complex. More ammunition will be coming with them." Agent Sharpe calmly explains.

As he'd said, soldiers soon make their way through the complex. Sgt. Sanden and his men, joined by several dozen more, all armed to the teeth with fully-automatic weapons, follow behind Agent Klein's Screamer, which has since been reloaded. Several men move a trailer meant for an old Jeep or Humvee, one on either side of the central stalk and using attached chains to pull it like oxen. They're guarded by no less than six men wielding belt-fed M249 SAWs. Inside the cart is nearly 20,000 rounds of ammunition, already in belts and cans and ready to be loaded into the other Agent's Screamers.

By the time the soldiers reach Alpha Lab, where the blood-drenched Screamers wait for them, they're already horrified beyond comprehension. However, seeing the carnage and the condition of the vehicles, clean and sparkling only moments earlier, several of the men begin to crumble. A soldier tears his helmet from his head and balaclava from his face so that he can vomit into the nearest corner, only to realize after the fact that he's inadvertently puked into the chest cavity of a mutilated staff member. He shrieks and jumps back.

One soldier appears to shake, his weapon's belt of ammunition rattling like chains being pulled behind a car. Agent Sharpe glances toward the soldiers as he sits on the edge of the hatch, at the rear of his Screamer. Agent Morris opens the hatch of his vehicle, only to recoil. He'd been protected in the sealed craft, but now the stench of viscera assaults his nostrils. Copper, iron and the rancid odor of fatty tissue and split intestines nearly makes the highly trained Agent vomit on the spot. He holds his breath as best he can, ushering in belt after belt of ammunition. As soon as he's ready, he closes the hatch and gasps for air, though the fog of death now lingers inside.

“Ugh... What I wouldn't do for one of those little scented pine trees." He quietly remarks to himself.

The Agents take a moment to reload the massive ammunition boxes that make up the floor and cover the front wall of their vehicles, while the soldiers prepare themselves for the horrors to come. Leading the charge, the Agents scour the complex for more creatures, the soldiers marching behind them. As they reach a junction, Agent Sharpe turns his vehicle, looking left, forward, right, and then forward again.

“Is this the part where we split up?" Agent Klein asks.

“No. Not with these men with us." Agent Sharpe replies.

“Worried about the soldiers?!" Agent Morris sounds surprised.

“I have a job to do, and limiting the letters sent home to widows is a part of that. Besides, we may need their help."

“So, where to?" Agent Dorn's craft shifts, turning toward Agent Sharpe.

Agent Sharpe turns left, knowing that the corridor in the middle leads to the incubation tanks, and the corridor to the right leads to the above-ground complex. He pushes the stick forward and the men follow loyally behind. It isn't long before they reach the containment cells, where all of these monstrosities were stored. To their shock, all of the doors are opened; every creature of every type, both the males and the females, have escaped. Though Sgt. Sanden had warned them, the visual proof makes it even more real. Thousands of AdvAnimals roam the halls.

“There's something strange about this..." A soldier outside remarks.

“Ya' think?!" Another soldier snickers.

“No, I mean, look at these doors! This cell block was for type-4 creatures – I know because I patrolled this area once – but we've mostly been fighting type-1s. Plus, these doors aren't damaged, and type-4s aren't big enough to reach the keypad." The first explains.

“You think someone opened these cells?! On purpose?!" A third soldier remarks.

“Who the hell would do that?!"

“Maybe it wasn't a person?" The first suggests.

“The hell you say?!" The second soldier recoils at the thought.

“Yeah! How smart do you think these creatures are?!" The third exclaims.

“I'm just sayin', this shit's weird..."

Their conversation, picked up by their shoulder mounted radios, plays inside of the Agent's vehicles. Agent Sharpe rests a finger against his bottom lip, gently rubbing from side to side as he thinks. Could it be that these monsters were purposefully released?! Who would've done such a thing? Even the smallest of the creatures kept here are exceptionally dangerous. The Agents use their Screamers to clear the halls, while the soldiers check the cells in teams of no less than four. All of them are empty. As they move deeper and deeper into the cell block, they find the larger and more accommodating cells meant for the very same creatures they've been fighting.

The cells of the type-1s, werewolf-like monstrosities, have also been opened! There's no damage to any of the doors. Several cells that once held types 2, 3 and 6 show signs of damage, but nothing that would've allowed them to escape. From the look of the skeletonized remains of the lab and security staff that lie strewn about, it's clear that the incident began with the type-1s, who moved through the cell blocks and then backtracked, where the monsters then conquered the rest of the complex before attempting to escape through the above-ground complex, which the soldiers have since barricaded.

As they return to the junction, having found nothing but blood, empty cells and skeletonized remains, the Agents and their horde of shaken soldiers make their way toward the incubation chambers. As they move along the large corridor, all of them note how clean it looks. Perhaps when the AdvAnimals began their rebellion, the staff made their way toward more secured locations, leaving no one to kill in the admittedly large and open incubating room?

The massive doors are already opened, and darkness looms inside the hangar. Entering first, the four Agents and their whirring vehicles spread out. Row after row of incubation tanks look like a field of metal. Glowing fluid is still within many of the tanks, which contain the fetuses of the hideous creatures. The deeper the vehicles go in search of the enemy, the more strange things they find. The Agents are horrified, albeit silently, when they see that the older fetuses are missing! The soldiers murmur and speculate as to the fates of the creatures, but they don't have to wait long before they learn the truth.

At the end of the lab stands one of the hideous creatures. Though it appears to be a type-1, it seems different. There's more flesh visible, the tail is a short nub and scars line its body like sickening artwork. Flanking the beast are over a dozen more creatures of varying types. Directly beside it are two type-6s, beasts made by combining human DNA with the genes of a crocodile. At over nine feet tall, these hulking brutes are more than capable of breaking down the doors to Alpha Lab.

The strange-looking type-1 uses its clawed fingers and types numbers on a keypad, to the shock and horror of both the Agents and the soldiers. As the tank's lid opens, the beast carefully pulls a fetus from within, passing the child toward a diminutive creature. The type-5 looks up, their rabbitesque ears bending back as it reaches clawed hands toward the infant. What are these creatures doing?! Turning to leave and finally noticing their audience, the type-5 shrieks, startling the baby and alerting the others.

Immediately upon seeing the four Screamers and the detachment of soldiers behind the vehicles, the strange creature roars. It reaches back and collects something sitting beside an already emptied tank, which it then throws at the nearest craft. Dr. Keller's severed head slams face-first into Agent Sharpe's window, the skull cracking from the force as it bounces back and lands with a thud on the steel floor.

“Oh God!"

“What the fuck?!"

“Kill these fuckin' things!"

The soldiers scream and shout as they open fire. The Agents join in, unleashing a barrage of gunfire on the beasts. To their shock, the creatures split up, racing around other tanks as if they are coordinating their attack. The type-5 darts away with the infant in its arms, their tall ears bobbing and swaying at it weaves between the tanks. Dozens more of these diminutive creatures emerge, all of them carrying the hideous babies. Only a few of the creatures are killed in the initial volley of gunfire, with most jumping behind cover and running away. Even the leader seems to have escaped.

“Where the fuck did they go?!" A soldier gasps.

“Did you see that shit?!" Another exclaims.

“What was that thing in the middle?! Was that the boss?!"

“Calm down people! We've got a job to do, so don't crack up on me now!" Sgt. Sanden orders.

“RAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!"

The soldiers turn and look up, finding the strange creature standing atop a tank to their left. It motions with an arm, and just as the soldiers take aim to shoot, the beasts return. Leaping from around the incubation tanks, waves of creatures swarm the soldiers. They open fire, the hot lead tearing into the beasts' flesh, but for some it's already too late. The Agents turn their vehicles to support their soldiers, only for a type-6 to charge. It slams into Agent Klein's Screamer, grabs it near the base and heaves. The beast throws the vehicle as if it was made of paper mache.

Agent Morris opens fire and a wave of lead rips through the creature. It's hide, so tough and strong, is still just flesh. Bits of dense tissue are blow away and the creature finds itself staring at the ceiling and writhing in agony, blood gushing out of hundreds of bullet wounds. The other type-6 emerges from the other side, using an arm to shove Agent Dorn's Screamer, rolling it away faster than the gyroscope can correct the orientation. It turns toward the next target, and with a balled fist, it brings a hand down like a sledgehammer.

Punching a hole into Agent Morris' vehicle, he screams as the beast's claws dig into his flesh. Agent Sharpe acts fast, turning and opening fire on the creature. With its hand stuck inside of Agent Morris' vehicle, however, the creature is unable to escape. Instead, it uses Agent Morris' Screamer as a shield, and a millisecond burst of gunfire sends dozens of rounds into the craft. The spherical shape deflects many of the rounds, but several strike true and bore a hole into the vehicle. Agent Morris falls silent.

The beast roars as it struggles to pull its hand from the Screamer. Agent Dorn moves his vehicle around and takes aim. A withering barrage of gunfire digs into the beast's back and side. It flails its arm and yanks so hard that the jagged metal cuts its hand off at the wrist, but it's too late. Its mangled body falls to the floor, and Agent Morris' craft rolls slowly away, blood dripping from the Screamer, and the few bullet holes made by Agent Sharpe's minigun.

Agent Sharpe is in shock, staring in horror at the carnage that lay before him. It's a struggle to maintain his persona, though he certainly tries. He shuts his eyes and shakes his head, but before Agent Sharpe can regain control of his derailing emotions, he feels a thump. Opening his eyes, he finds himself staring into the seemingly glowing orbs of the strange type-1. The beast, which doesn't exactly fit into any of their designated categories, roars with a stubby snout, its hot breath steaming the tinted window of his craft.

Overcome by fear, Agent Sharpe pulls back on the stick, reversing the Screamer and pulling away from the beast. As he retreats, he pulls the trigger, but as the barrels spin, he slams into something and the vehicle turns. Bullets rip into the mass of creatures and soldiers, who fight each other a short distance away. A soldier smashes a diminutive type-4 in the face, striking it with the butt of his rifle so hard that he knocks several fang-like teeth from the creature's mouth. The cat-like creature recoils and holds up a hand, as if begging for mercy, but the soldier takes aim.

Before he can finish the job, however, a type-1 swings a massive hand and slashes his head with its razor-sharp claws. As he stumbles and cries out in pain, it grabs him, places a hand on either side of his head, swiftly turns and then yanks, tearing the soldier's head from his shoulders. As the shaking body falls to the ground, the type-1 is promptly shot in the face by another soldier, bits of skull and brain matter flying out of its head. It falls over the headless corpse of the soldier it'd just killed. The dainty but fierce type-4 screams as this new soldier turns and empties what's left of his M4's magazine into its little body.

Agent Sharpe turns his craft, struggling as more beasts try to tip over his vehicle. The treads squeak and squeal as he attempts to fight their brute strength. Gunfire rips through the creatures and dings the metal hull of his Screamer.

“Sorry, sir! I had to do something! They keep trying to haul you off!" Agent Klein remarks, having regained control of his craft.

“Th-thank you, Agent." A shaken Agent Sharpe replies.

With three Screamers still in the fight, the Agents make short and controlled bursts, allowing their M134 miniguns to spin down after each pull of the trigger. In a short but bloody fight, the beasts are slain, all but the smaller creatures and the strange leader, who race out of the opened doorway and back toward the main junction. Over a dozen of the soldiers lie dead, with many more wounded. Only Sgt. Sanden seems to have escaped without injury.

“Don't let that fucker escape!" He shouts, pointing toward the corridor.

Pushing hard on the stick, Agent Sharpe's Screamer soon reaches speeds of nearly 40 mph, moving so fast that, within the confines of the complex, he can hardly control it. As he races down the corridor, he sees the type-5s darting down the hall, their tall ears flopping about as they struggle to catch up to the faster and larger beasts. The centermost creature looks back, an infant still in its arms. Agent Sharpe tries to slow down, yanking the stick toward him, but he's moving too fast. He runs over the shrieking creature and the baby, their bones crunching beneath his craft as he bounces over them like a speed bump.

The other type-5s, also carrying infants pulled from the incubation tanks, jump aside and survive. The SCRM-R screams down the hall, only for the leader and several beasts to turn and prepare themselves. Agent Sharpe's vehicle slams into them like a bowling ball, breaking their bones and sending them flying. The leader manages to remain standing, grabbing onto the front of the craft. As the vehicle comes to a stop, however, it falls backward and rolls down the hallway from its own momentum, its arms and legs flailing as it slides across the floor.

As it rises to its feet, Agent Sharpe pulls the trigger. With a withering, twenty-second barrage, he sends nearly 700 rounds down the hall, destroying the leader and all of its ilk. As they fall to the ground, the leader's severed arm rolls toward the craft, its blood pooling on the floor. Agent Sharpe slowly creeps his Screamer toward the monstrosities and tilts the SCRM-R forward using a special paddle that can adjust the orientation of the craft. The naked beast, a male, has a tattoo across its chest, just above the left breast. Even in the dim lighting of the emergency lights, he can see it. It reads “Donor #0001", in blue ink.

Agent Sharpe is left in shock. Avery Keyes?! How can this be?! Avery was a man, but this... Thing... It's anything but. What kind of sick experiments could turn an ordinary man into a hideous beast? How does he now have a short snout, a stubby tail and pointed ears? Why do patches of fur cover his body? For the first time in a long time, since the death of Amy Chen, Agent Sharpe feels a terrible sadness welling within him. He reaches a shaky hand for the radio and swiftly shuts it off, just as he begins to cry.

Agents Dorn and Klein soon catch up, as do the soldiers who gun down most of the fleeing creatures. Several type-5s manage to escape, racing for the above-ground complex, where many more creatures still wait for the soldiers.

“Sir! Are you alright?!" Agent Dorn asks over the radio. “Sir? ... Sir?! Are you there?!"

“Nice to see you've decided to join me." Agent Sharpe finally replies, turning his vehicle to face his companions.

“Yes, sir."

“It looks like you got them all, sir." Agent Klein remarks.

“Not all. Some escaped."

“We saw a few make their way through the stairwell, way down at the end of the hall." Agent Klein continues.

“We'll get them, sir." Agent Dorn assures his superior.

“I know."

With the subterranean complex thoroughly cleared and a perimeter established, Sgt. Sanden collects many more soldiers, who prepare themselves for the fight of their lives. With the above-ground complex thoroughly sealed off, the soldiers, with the Agents joining them on foot, make their way inside. They move from room to room, floor to floor, shooting every creature on sight. Some rooms are nearly empty, while others are swarming with the beasts. One room unleashes a wave so large that even a dozen soldier firings belt-fed machineguns soon find themselves overwhelmed.

With nearly half of the soldiers dead or wounded, and blood, bodies and spent shell casings littering the complex, they make their way toward the third and final floor. Only a handful of beasts remain. Agent Dorn takes aim at a wounded and cowering type-5. It shrieks as if it's begging for mercy, holding up a little arm and shielding its head. He pulls the trigger anyway, and sends his last bullet flying through its skull. Throughout their search they'd seen several windows which have had their barricades destroyed, and smears of blood leading outside.

Using the Screamers and several Humvees to scour the complex reveals nothing but a small hole in the fence and a damaged front gate. There's no telling if any of the beasts escaped or how many may now be roaming freely in the Georgia forest. Will they attack the locals? Will they avoid humans altogether and hide from the soldiers? Will they migrate to locations better suited to their survival? It's anyone's guess as to what the future holds. With the darkness of night now enveloping the compound, Agent Sharpe, his suit bloodied and nerves rattled, makes his way into trailer #1. Taking a seat at a desk, he lifts the phone and places a call.

“Hello?" The Old Man answers the phone.

“Hello, sir..." Agent Sharpe speaks softly.

“Ah! Agent Sharpe! I was expecting your call hours ago! How are you?"

“... There's been an incident, sir..."

“What kind of incident? Are you alright? You don't sound like yourself." The Old Man remarks.

“Agent Morris is dead, sir. A lot of people are dead."

“What?!" Mr. Spender gasps.

Agent Sharpe removes his sunglasses and rubs his eyes.

“I don't have access to a working fax machine, so please prepare the room to dictate an oral report." He continues.

“Understood. Begin whenever you're ready, Agent." The Old Man replies.

Agent Sharpe takes a moment to gather his thoughts before regaling the members of Sovereign Six on the horrors of what's happened at White Base. They listen in stunned silence, some of them murmuring their displeasure and disappointment. After a thirty-minute call consisting almost entirely of Agent Sharpe speaking to his flabbergasted audience, The Old Man finally responds.

“Well, it's pretty clear that Operation Artemis was a failure. Clearly, the AdvAnimals created by Dr. Burnheart's methods are superior, at least for what we want them for. It seems that if we want them in quantity, we'll need to grow them all at once, in equal quantity, rather than rely on accelerated growth and smaller labs. That's unfortunate... I want you to stay there and oversee the cleanup and repairs. Any creatures still being grown, I want them terminated. No more mistakes."

“Yes, sir..." Agent Sharpe murmurs.

“How many do you think escaped?" Mr. Nazarov asks, speaking for the first time since the call began.

“That's unknown, sir."

“But they have implants, correct?" Director Busch asks.

“Yes."

“So, then you can track them."

“No, sir. These prototype implants are merely RFID chips with a small power source. To my understanding, we can only pick up readings when in the vicinity of these creatures. About all I can do is run the numbers and tell you how many are unaccounted for."

“That's... Unsettling." General Davis murmurs.

“Yes, yes, we'll run them down in time. I was curious about something else, though!" The Old Man chirps, disregarding the missing creatures.

“Sir?"

“From your report, your description of some of the female staff..."

“Yes, sir."

“It sounds like the creatures... Well..."

“Yes, sir... I do believe they... Violated them, sir."

“Astounding! And did you notice any AdvAnimals mating with each other while carrying out the operation? Because there are females there. I mean, there were..." The Old Man asks.

“I wasn't exactly focused on what the creatures were doing, sir. Only if they were threats." Agent Sharpe replies.

“That's not what I asked you..."

“No, sir. I didn't notice any of the creatures mating with each other."

“Interesting! Hmm... I wonder..."

“Sir?"

“Nothing. Perhaps that's an avenue worth exploring?" The Old Man seems to speak to the men around him.

“Perhaps what is, sir?" Agent Sharpe asks.

“Never mind. Thank you for the report, Agent Sharpe. Expect Dr. Keller's replacement to arrive in the new few days. Try to have the place presentable by then!"

“... Yes, sir..."

Hanging up the phone, the Agent straightens his tie. Rising from his seat, he makes his way through the door and steps into the hallway. His dressy shoes click on the linoleum floor as he walks through the halls of MiLab. Reaching an office, he knocks softly on the frosted glass.

“Come in."

“Good afternoon, Dr. Chavez." The Agent says as he opens the door and steps inside.

“Hello, Agent Grey. How are you today?" Dr. Chavez motions with a hand for the Agent to take a seat.

“I've just received an urgent message for you." Agent Grey begins, sitting across from the doctor's desk. “A message from my boss."

“Who? Director Blair?" Dr. Chavez furls his brow.

Agent Grey slowly shakes his head.

“Director Blair takes orders, just like I do. Just like you. My boss would like you to work for him, at a place called 'White Base'."

“I'm unfamiliar with a lab by that name. Some Unifact secret?"

“Unifact doesn't own it, doctor."

“... I'm sorry, but I don't quite follow you."

“Yes, you do, doctor. Unifact is a company, but companies, like people, can be compelled. I work for the people who do the compelling, and these people own White Base. An opening just occurred and they'd like you to fill it."

“... Doing what?" Dr. Chavez raises a brow.

“Everything you're doing right here, but on a much grander scale. Consider this a promotion, doctor." Agent Grey replies.

“Someone else is doing what Unifact is doing?! How is that possible?!"

“Ask yourself something, doctor. Who do you think I work for? Now ask yourself this... Who do you think ordered Unifact's research in the first place?"

Dr. Chavez's eyes grow wide and he slumps back in his chair.

“You want me to..." Dr. Chavez pauses and nervously gulps. “You want me to work for the government?!"

Though he remains silent, Agent Grey flashes an eerie smile.

“But... What about Unifact?!" Dr. Chavez asks in a worried tone.

“You let us handle them. All you have to do is say 'yes'."

Clasping his hands together and bringing them before his face, Dr. Chavez ponders his options. The last thing he wants is to slide even deeper into bed with these people. If anything, he'd rather climb out of it and work somewhere else, actually helping those in need. Wasn't that why he became a doctor and scientist in the first place? However, as he looks toward the unnervingly still and quiet Agent sitting across from him, his peripheral vision catches a glimpse of a small, framed photograph. He turns his attention toward the photograph, a picture of the original staff surrounding Director Amy Chen.

It was taken on the day he first arrived at MiLab. They gave him a little party to celebrate his joining the team. Now all but a handful of these people are missing or dead. Though he could never prove it, he's certain Amy's death was a direct result of his attempts to blow the whistle on Unifact's research, an act for which he was never caught. What if he says 'no'? What if they 'insist'? He still has a family; parents and younger siblings who depend on him. Feeling his back pressed against the proverbial wall, Dr. Chavez returns his attention to the ever-silent Agent, and does the only thing he feels he can do.

“When do I start?"