FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The AdvAnTAGE Project

By

Mantrid Brizon

Episode 25: Screaming For Vengeance

Driving down the long and lonesome road, the two-lane blacktop is now a faded gray. Her sapphire eyes gaze out of the window as she leans over, her elbow on the door's armrest, her cheek atop her upturned palm. She winces as she yawns, her canine ears pulling back. Hearing a chuckle, she turns her head, looking toward the driver. With a furled brow, she lifts an arm and types on the keypad of her communication bracer.

“What's so funny?" The computerized female voice asks.

“You..." Agent Sharpe says with a little smile. “You're just so cute, Kris."

“Hmm!" She flashes a toothy grin.

Reaching out with a clawed hand, she caresses his arm. With his shirtsleeves rolled up and his suit-jacket in the back seat, she strokes his bare flesh. After a moment of silence, she lifts the center console on their white Cadillac DeVille and digs through a collection of CDs. Finding one of her favorites, her eyes light up as she pulls the disc from the jewel case. Seeing the cover, Agent Sharpe sighs and rolls his eyes. As he isn't wearing his mirrored sunglasses, she immediately notices his gesture.

Her lips curl into a sinister grin and she begins skipping the tracks. Finding the perfect song, she sits back and sways her head from side to side, her eyes closed as she listens. Agent Sharpe silently chuckles at the singer's voice, which he would describe as “whiny".

“Are you motherfuckers ready?! For the new shit! Stand up and admit tomorrow's never coming! This is the new shit! Stand up and admit!"

As he snickers at the lyrics, Krystal opens her eyes, turns her head and glares.

“What?!" Agent Sharpe asks, still chuckling.

“Don't be an ass, Danny." She speaks through her device.

“I'm sorry. I'm just used to manly music." He teases her.

Stopping the track half-way through, she removes the CD, lifts the center console and presents him with other options. He glances down, being careful not to swerve out of his lane. Digging through his side of the collection, he finds a case with a vibrantly colored cover. Carefully removing the disc from the case, he lovingly inserts it into the radio.

“There we go..." He says, skipping to one of his favorite tracks.

“Aaahhhh!!!" The high-pitched voice screams throughout the intro.

Krystal immediately smirks and raises her brow. Her amusement doesn't decrease as she listens to the CD of her partner and lover.

“We are screaming! Screaming for vengeance! The world is a manacled place! Screaming! Screaming for vengeance! The world is defiled in disgrace!"

As he allows the song to take hold of him, Agent Sharpe drives a little faster and swerves over the center line, amusing Krystal who watches him intently from the passenger seat. After allowing the song to finish, she ejects the disc.

“Oh, come on! That was good stuff! It really takes me back."

“Don't worry..." She speaks through her communication bracer. “I still love you."

With a little grin, she leans over the center console and licks his cheek with the tip of her tongue. Inserting her original CD, she skips to yet another track. Realizing he's lost the battle for the radio, Agent Sharpe subtly shakes his head as he watches Krystal swaying hers from side to side, her eyes closed as she listens to her music.

“Rock is deader than dead! Shock is all in your head! Your sex and your dope is all that we're fed! So fuck all your protests and put 'em to bed!"

“Now you're just rubbing it in." He chuckles.

“Mhm!"

Distracted by his lover, Agent Sharpe somehow misses the only other car that they've seen on this road. It's driving away from their destination. He furls his brow and focuses on the mirrors just as it passes by.

“Huh... Was that a hearse?! You don't see those everyday." He remarks.

Lifting up the receiver of a radio, he prepares to call out what he's just seen.

“Definitely an 80's model. What color was that? Rust brown or maroon?" He turns to Krystal.

She shrugs her shoulders, her head gently swaying and her eyes still closed.

“You're so helpful..."

Pulling over to the side of the road, the long-haired and black-clad driver of the 1989 Cadillac Fleetwood Eureka Hearse lifts a handset and adjusts a knob on his CB radio. With the antenna curled around his landau bars, few people realize the true purpose of the morbid vehicle.

“Banshee calling Castle. Come in Castle." He speaks, running his fingers through his long beard.

“Castle here. What's up, Banshee?"

“You've got company. A nice car with a man in business casual. Looked like dealer plates on his new Caddy."

“Fresh meat?"

“No... Something doesn't look right... Plus, he's got an AdvAnimal with him. Better steer him away."

“Damn... ETA?"

“He'll be there in ten."

“Alright. We'll lock it down. Thanks, Banshee."

Hanging the receiver on the hook mounted to his dashboard, he turns down his CB radio and turns up the volume on his music. With an auxiliary wire running from his Cassette tape player and plugged into his cheap, cloned iPod, he restarts the song. A stirring in the back of the hearse attracts his attention and he reaches over to pull back the clear plastic partition. It moves before he can touch it, the claws protruding from the darkened compartment. With the curtains perpetually drawn, there's little to no light inside.

“It's alright. Nothing to worry about." He speaks softly, patting the creature's hand. “Lie down, Salena. We'll be back soon."

“Rrrrmmm..." The creature lets out a soft grumble of approval.

Turning up the radio, the driver of the hearse turns around, the front wheels kicking up gravel and dirt from the berm of the road as he pushes the pedal to the floor.

“Dig through the ditches and burn through the witches! I slam in the back of my dragula!"

“I fucking love this car." He remarks, listening to the sound of the roaring, big block V8 engine as it drowns out his music.

Driving through the modest, old town, Agent Sharpe drives into the gas station, the wheels of his Cadillac running over the strips placed before the pumps. Ding, ding! He rolls down his window and looks around but no one appears. Opening the door and emerging from the car, he rests his forearms atop the roof, just as Krystal steps out. She looks around and points toward a corner of the building. Directing his attention, Agent Sharpe can see a man standing there, peeking out and staring at them. He doesn't appear surprised, not until they stare back.

He straightens his back and emerges from around the corner, a car part in his greasy hands. He looks over the pair as he cleans the car part with a soiled, red shop rag. Agent Sharpe finds it odd how he looks to Krystal with disinterest, only to show his surprise some seconds later.

“Well, how y'all doin'?!" He chirps.

“Just passing through. Me and my girl, here, we got a little lost."

Agent Sharpe speaks with a distinct level of humanity, loosening his tie and stretching his muscles as he waves to the gas station attendant.

“I imagine! No one stops here unless they're lost!" The man chuckles.

“Is this self-serve? I heard the bells driving in and I wondered if-"

“Oh! Yeah, it is. We just never removed them damn things." The gas station man chuckles. “So, this is one of them AdvAnimals, huh?" He glances at Krystal.

“Yup! I applied as soon as they released them. She's my girl." Agent Sharpe says while smiling warmly at Krystal, who suddenly looks rather bashful.

“Hmm... Interesting."

Though he tries, it's clear to the highly trained Agent that the man is less than surprised. His acting is sub-par, as he not only lies about his intrigue but continues to wipe the same spot on the car part, over and over again. After filling the tank with gas, Agent Sharpe heads inside the kiosk of a store to pay the attendant. Krystal follows him, almost always within arm's reach. This isn't an act for their target's benefit but merely how she always is. Inside the gas station, standing across from the counter and the cash register, Agent Sharpe can see several other people inside.

They stand near the miniscule vehicle accessories section and stare at him with suspicious gazes, not even bothering to pretend to be interested in the AdvAnimal, who should be the first they've ever seen. Looking toward the window, Agent Sharpe can see a strange reflection as a vehicle drives by. He cannot discern it, as it drives by too quickly, but it's rather long and has quite a bit of gleaming chrome. As the gas station man counts out his change, Agent Sharpe looks at the old road maps for sale. Picking one up and looking through it, it's noticeably out of date, and yet the paper appears new. Are they purposefully printing and selling inaccurate maps?

“So, do you know how to get back to the highway?" He asks the man while returning the road map to the metal wire stand.

“Yeah. You gotta turn around, go back the way you came, and in about fitty-miles, y'all are gonna see the on ramp for the highway you shouldn't'a got off of." He speaks very matter-of-factly.

This information contradicts what he's just read in the supposedly up-to-date road maps that are for sale.

“I see... There's no short-cuts or anything? No old roads I could take to pass through?"

“Nah..."

“Okay."

Taking his change and returning to the car, Krystal's high-heeled shoes click loudly on the floor as she follows him outside, her hips and tail swaying gracefully from side to side. Opening the door for her, like a true gentleman, Agent Sharpe stares at the people inside the tiny building. Closing the door behind her, he walks around the front of the car and notices that a few people, who were once walking down the street near a strip of brick buildings, have since stopped in their tracks to stare at them. Climbing into the car, he hastily drives away, heading back the way that he came. Ding, ding!

“There's something wrong here..." He suddenly murmurs.

“Hmm?"

“According to that road man, he lied to me. Besides, it just feels off, here. You know?" He turns to Krystal.

“It felt as though they were expecting us. They weren't the least bit surprised by my gorgeous figure." She replies through her bracer.

“Heh... Yeah, it is. I mean, they did."

He flashes her a lustful grin and eyes her figure. She softly giggles, reaching out a hand and resting it on his leg, very close to his crotch. Pulling over and onto the berm, Agent Sharpe leans in and gives her a kiss.

“Later, babe. Work come first, remember?"

“Aww..." She whines.

He lifts up the radio receiver and presses the button on the hand-set.

“All roadblocks, check in."

“Ready, sir." Several voices reply to him.

“Did you see that vehicle yet? It should've reached you by now."

“Negative." A voice replies.

“Nothing yet, sir." Another adds.

Agent Sharpe scratches his head, thoroughly perplexed. In short order, the roadblocks he's placed around the outskirts of the town have reported no sightings of any kind. The site of the most recent disappearances and the place pointed out by the lone survivor has been locked down, and yet the hearse hasn't reached them yet. It was driving in the opposite direction. Why haven't they seen it? Thinking back on the distorted image in the reflection of the gas station's windows, the realization hits him like a ton of bricks.

“Damn... That hearse must be a scout." He says over the radio.

“Sir?"

“Change of plans. No point in going undercover. Prepare the troops... And bring in the Screamers..."

“Yes, sir!"

As they drive down the road, racing to rejoin the others, Krystal opens a lock-box stored beneath her seat. Using a special combination, she retrieves their firearms, checking his Jericho 941 pistol and her modified Colt Python to make sure they're loaded and ready. Meeting the troops as they gather some twenty-miles down the road, a large semi-truck parks just behind the mass of roughly two-hundred black-clad Special Operations soldiers. They've just arrived, riding in several buses disguised as Greyhounds.

Opening the ramp from the solid black trailer, Agent Sharpe and Krystal climb up and into the back. They share a hug and a kiss and Agent Sharpe begs her to be careful, before they climb into their respective vehicles and drive the state-of-the-art, Type-III SCRM-Rs down the ramp. Heavily modified from their original versions, these craft are stronger and even more deadly than those he'd used during the incident at White Base all those years ago. With two more Agents, Wallace and Blackmoor, younger and very recent additions to their team, the four spherical vehicles move down the ramp.

With the trailer now free, the men pour in, their weapons held at the low-ready position. The buses quickly depart. Escorting the semi-truck, Agent Sharpe and Krystal lead the pack in a chevron formation, the truck rumbling along just behind them. It's only a matter of time before the people of that poor, broken town realize the danger they're in.

“Oh my God! What are those things?!" A woman shrieks.

“By order of the United States Government, you are to surrender immediately! Evacuate your homes and places of work with your hands held high in the air! Leave any and all weapons behind, including any tools and sharp objects! Anyone violating this order will endure severe retribution!" The passenger of the semi-truck says through a loudspeaker.

Nearly fifty people step out and stare at the massive, 2010 Peterbilt 389. The black truck with a red pinstripe is guarded by strange, nine-foot-diameter, spherical vehicles driving on diagonal tracks that run around the craft like bands. Three barrels, linked together in a triangular pattern, protrude from the front, beneath thick and heavily tinted glass, where the unknown operators control the monstrous vehicles. Looking over the growing crowd of people, Agent Sharpe can see that this time their awe is genuine.

“I think that did it." The semi-truck's driver says to the passenger.

Smash! The glass cracks as a rifle round passes through the cab, barely missing the driver's face. He rips off his seatbelt and dives to the floor. Before he can act, several more rounds pierce through the windows and strike the passenger, his body jolting as he's perforated by hot lead. Dropping the hand-set of the loudspeaker, the button clicks on the floor and the speaker begins to emit a perpetual, ear piercing shriek of electronic feedback. The crowd scatters, just as the ramp drops down and the horde of soldiers emerge from the fifty-three-foot trailer.

Finally realizing the overwhelming odds, the gunfire stops as the shooters seem to run away. It's too late for surrender, however. A stream of gunfire sweeps across the fleeing citizens, some of them being elderly people who've lived in the sad little town their entire lives. Turning his SCRM-R to see the shooter, Agent Sharpe discovers that it's Krystal. She cuts down nearly a dozen fleeing people without a second thought, and it only emboldens the others.

“Fire!" A Lieutenant shouts.

The barrage of gunfire from nearly one-hundred soldiers rips the town to shreds. Windows shatter and several people, armed with bolt and lever-action rifles, fall from the windows and rooftops, landing with a sickening thud on the ground. By now, the driver of the semi-truck has yanked out the handset, silencing the loudspeaker, and begun driving forward. Agent Sharpe finds himself paralyzed, watching as a man emerges from the gas station's tiny building. It isn't the attendant, but one of the patrons who stared at him in eerie silence.

He pulls out an old revolver and fires, only for the driver to duck down and press harder on the accelerator. Light gray smoke billows from the tall, straight, chrome-plated exhaust pipes as the turbocharged diesel engine roars. For some inexplicable reason, the gunman doesn't move out of the way, merely shooting at the window as if he can stop the speeding truck with his modest .38 Special. Slamming into the curb, the shattered cab bounces violently, before plowing into the gunman at nearly 40 mph. Slamming into the gas station pumps, they spew gasoline all over the underside of the truck, steaming off of the engine and the red-hot exhaust pipes.

After only a few seconds, the station explodes. Chunks of metal and shards of glass pelt the SCRM-Rs and the mass of soldiers. Several men fall to the ground, screaming in agony as they clutch bleeding wounds on their arms, legs and faces. As they regroup, more townsfolk appear, shooting volleys from humble weapons. Most carry hunting rifles and pump action shotguns, but many wield revolvers and semi-automatic pistols of varying age and caliber.

Despite their training, equipment and numbers, at least six more soldiers fall in the skirmish with the townsfolk, adding to those already lost to the shrapnel of the explosion. By this point, all of the SCRM-Rs take shots at the militia who stand against the overwhelming power of Sovereign Six, who masquerades as the U.S. Government. A few men fire shotguns and one uses a Charter Arms Bulldog. A lucky shot strikes a soldier in the face, the .44 Special round blowing a sizable chunk out of the back of his head.

Throughout the screaming and the chaos, several vehicles are seen fleeing down the road, in the same direction that the unknown vehicle traveled. Racing out of what appeared to be an abandoned storefront, a man with a Ruger Mini-14 rifle fires indiscriminately at the soldiers, striking one in the chest and throat. As he falls, the soldier beside him glares and makes a mad dash for the civilian, who drops his rifle when it runs empty. He turns to flee, sprinting away, only for the soldier to take a knee, hastily aim and fire.

The bullet bores a hole through his body, entering his back and exploding out of his chest. He drops to the ground and coughs up blood, rolling onto his side and then his back. The soldier moves in to finish the job.

“Son of a bitch! You had this coming!" The soldier snarls, aiming his H&K G36C at the wounded civilian's head.

Before he can pull the trigger, however, a guttural roar catches everyone off guard. A shadow passes by, and several soldiers stop shooting.

“The fuck is that?!" A soldier shouts.

“I don't know!" Another screams.

Swooping down from the sky, a humanoid beast with a nine-foot wingspan latches onto the soldier's black tactical vest. With strong claws crowning the toes of its three-toed feet, a strange cross between bird talons and a wolf's paw, it digs into the fabric of his vest and lifts him into the air. The soldier screams and flails as the creature takes him away, flying toward the tree line.

“Oh, shit! Get that thing!" The Lieutenant points.

As scores of soldiers open fire, several rounds strike the captive soldier, whose body jolts and begins to drip blood from various wounds. As the creature shrieks, it turns away from the sun and the soldiers can finally get a clear look at it. Standing about six-feet-tall, the male creature wears a simple undergarment of animal hide. It has a dark brown body, with a lighter brown chest and belly, and a mane of ashen-brown hair that runs from the top of its head, along its back and over a long, thick and tapering tail, covering the tip like a paintbrush.

From the distance, it's impossible to tell if it's flesh or fur that covers the creature's body. With a muscular build, the wings of the creature, which appear orange in color, are attached directly to its arms, and manipulated with what can only be described as tendrils that run through the wings, two from the forearms and a third from the triceps. With a visible hole in the skin of its wing, it drops down from the sky and into the trees, disappearing from view.

“What the hell was that thing?!" A soldier gasps.

“Jesus Christ, man! Did you see those wings?!" Another exclaims.

“What the fuck are we even up against, here?!" One soldier turns to his Lieutenant.

With an angry glare, the Lieutenant turns his head and looks toward Agent Sharpe's SCRM-R.

“Clearly, there's more going on here than meets the eye..." Agent Sharpe speaks through the radio in his eerie monotone.

“Any idea what that was, sir?" The fuming Lieutenant asks over the radio.

“It appeared to be a Type-3, an escapee from White Base. Well, Lieutenant? Are you and your men ready to move out?" Agent Sharpe asks with a soulless voice, turning his SCRM-R to face them.

“Yeah... Alright men! Let's get this show on the road!"

Crashing through the trees, the creature lands with a thud on the ground. Groaning in pain, it brushes the long, ashen hair away from its orange eyes, which gleam like Citrine or Sphalerite gemstones. Lifting its arm, it manipulates the tendrils and spreads its wings. A bleeding wound drips crimson all over the fleshy wing of his left arm.

“Rrrr..."

Racing through the forest and flying only in short but excruciating bursts, the creature eventually emerges from the forest and into the heart of their tribe. Sniffing the air, muscular, wolf-like creatures who stand on two legs turn toward him. They dash up to the bat-like beast and see the blood dripping from the bottom edge of one of his wings. The creature lets out several guttural cries and pantomimes a message which only they can comprehend. The wolf creatures shrug their shoulders.

Pushing past the others, the bat-like creature makes his way deeper into the village. A horde of short, rabbit-like creatures emerges, followed by several reptilians with a pink, black and white hide that glistens in the sunlight. Cupping his hands around his short but broad snout, the Type-3 AdvAnimal lets out a roar, summoning more to his aid. As the creature looks for his mother, more of his kind swoop in from the trees.

Looking with curiosity at their wounded sibling, they jump from the branches and land gracefully on the compacted dirt of their little village. Emerging from the cabin, the oldest structure in their village, a familiar human looks upon the wounded creature.

“Damn, boy. You alright?!"

“Rrrmmm..." He shakes his head.

Extending his good arm, he first points toward the scene of the battle and then points to the hole in his wing.

“We know. They're on their way back. They's getting' the others."

Stepping out of the cabin and standing beside her lover, Sheila drapes an arm over Johnny's shoulders. With fear in her pink eye, she watches as the vehicles begin to pour in. Following the hearse, which struggles through the old trail, several trucks and an old Jeep bring over a dozen men, all of them armed and some of them already wounded. Jumping out of the hearse, the long-haired and bearded man opens the side door, letting the creature out of the back.

With her clawed hands reaching out, she grabs onto the edge of the opening, near the vinyl roof, and pulls herself out from the darkened compartment. Twisting her body with ease, she plants her three-toed feet on the firm soil, the brown earth covering the orange pads of her feet. Standing five-foot-eight, the bat-like AdvAnimal woman with a long and tapering tail is eye-level with her driver. She wears a humble vest of shiny, black fabric, which ties together at the front and covers her exceptionally large breasts. Her body is just as muscular as the others, if not more-so, and her ashen hair covers her bright orange eyes, which glow through the strands of hair in a rather eerie manner.

Salena turns toward her human chauffeur and leans in, nuzzling his face before stealing a kiss. The wounded male shrieks, gaining their attention. Turning toward him, the long-haired man and Salena welcome their offspring, one of their many children, with open arms. With his animalistic speech, he regales his mother of the battle, though it isn't a surprise. They'd already seen the stranger and his AdvAnimal partner in his rather conspicuous car. When the gunfire erupted, they were within earshot, and heard some of the commotion over CB radio, which the entire town had adopted years ago.

Johnny and Sheila approach Salena and her lover, followed by a younger man and a diminutive, rabbit-like AdvAnimal girl. The flat-chested female dashes alongside him, almost hopping to match his strides, a clawed hand holding firmly to his.

“What's going on?! Are they coming?!"

“I think so, Damian. We better get ready for a fight." Johnny turns to the others.

Stepping closer, a towering beast of a woman roars in agreement. As a first generation AdvAnimal, the Type-1 leads her many children, being the Alpha of her pack. Her human lover, whom she keeps beside her, was initially her captive; a lone man caught wandering a hiking trail, she spotted him just as she reached the apex of her sexual maturity. Quick to act, she took him by force, and fifteen years of servitude to the strong and dominant female have molded him into her loyal follower.

“Looks like we have a choice... Stay or fight." Salena's lover begins.

“After what they did to the town, ain't no way we's gonna let 'em get away with it." The gas station man growls, reloading his cheap WASR-10 rifle.

“Wait. Shouldn't we be figuring a way out of this?!" Damian asks, his lover latching onto him and clinging tightly to his side, fear in her eyes.

“We got the train car. I done fixed it real good!" Johnny chirps.

“I don't think we can all fit in the caboose, though." Salena's lover speaks up.

“Well, it was just for the originals..." Damian remarks.

“Is you suggestin' what I think yer suggestin'?" Johnny asks, glaring at the barely twenty-seven-year-old Damian.

Before he can answer, the wolf-woman let's out a roar and squeezes her lover's hand. She turns toward the younger wolf-like AdvAnimals and snarls, then looks toward her human, the nearly seven-foot-tall beast gazing down at him.

“Kara says she won't leave her pack." He speaks for her.

Puffing up his chest, a wolf-man yells and holds up a fist, spurring a wave of agreement among his brothers and sisters. It's clear that Kara's horde of children fully support her decision to stay and fight. Looking up at Damian, the bunny girl seems to follow his lead. He subtly shakes his head and so his lover shrieks, calling out to her kin. Salena makes a similar call, and Sheila unleashes a low grumble. Within moments, those of their clan, who were as yet unaccounted for, reveal themselves.

The entire clan emerges from their modest homes and hiding places, surrounding “the originals", their first-generation parents and their human fathers. Looking over the crowd, Johnny realizes that his friends are right. Ten years ago, when they came up with the concept of the train car, their clan was barely a fraction of its current size. As if possessed by nature itself, an animalistic desire to breed, the original females are perpetually pregnant by their lovers.

He looks over his eighteen children, born to him by his beloved Sheila, roughly every seven months. Kara, the wolf woman, and her victim-turned-partner have two dozen, which she bears in small litters at about the same time as Sheila. Salena and her partner, who found her in a manner not dissimilar to how Johnny found Sheila, have produced ten children, while the exceptionally young Damian and his lover, Jessica Cottontail, have produced litters of three to six children every six months for the past thirteen years; their horde, standing all of four-foot-nothing, numbers just over one-hundred and twenty.

Johnny sighs and hangs his head. He's always known that this day would come, and now that their children have reached sexual maturity, the oldest having achieved that almost a decade ago, their natural urges have forced their hand. For as large as their clan is, it'll only grow larger when their captives in the root cellar give birth. After a brief and painful debate, the plan is made. To protect the originals, their children will fight the soldiers. Only Kara refuses to go to the train car, latching onto her meek lover and standing with her offspring.

Sheila, Jessica and Salena pantomime their orders and make animalistic calls, instructing their children on what to do. Without hesitation or delay, they prepare for action. Scores of tall ears flop about as Jessica's offspring move in a conga line, carrying supplies of fuel, money, food, water, weapons and ammunition to the old caboose, which sits on a rusty track that once served a logging company decades ago. Pulled by a gutted train car with a modified diesel engine, which Johnny built himself, all they need is enough time to make their escape.

He stands on the porch of the cabin that once served as his home for Sheila and their children, long before the others arrived and constructed the village. Looking on with sorrow in his heart, he watches as the remaining townsfolk stand shoulder to shoulder with the AdvAnimals, many of who they're bonded to. The only reason they resorted to kidnapping strangers in the first place is because the AdvAnimal population outgrew the population of the town.

Hearing the distinct footfalls of the heavy Sheila, he turns to her. Her lips curl at the corners of her snout as she gives him her closest variation of a smile. Opening her arms to him, he steps closer and embraces the towering woman, his face swiftly buried between her large and perky breasts. She pets his head so lovingly, nuzzling him with her snout and being careful not to poke him with her exposed, cone-shaped teeth. With a low growl with a rising pitch, she asks him if he's alright. After nearly two decades, he's long since adapted to her subtle methods of communication.

“I'm jus'... I'm thinkin' is all."

“Hrmm?" She cocks her head.

“What we're askin' 'em to do... I don't want 'em hurt, babe." He says, looking toward his children with tear-filled eyes.

Looking him over, Sheila appears touched by his emotions. She lovingly caresses his cheek and nuzzles his face with the very tip of her snout. Taking her hand away from his face, she reaches down and gently pats his crotch, before placing her hand over her own belly, which already carries another of his children. It'll be born in about five months. She then turns her head and looks toward their clan, watching as their offspring help prepare their defenses, using massive war hammers and spears as weapons. Once again, she pats her belly, before counting up with her fingers several times. Her message is clear. Sighing, Johnny nods his head and turns toward the railing.

“That don't mean I like this plan, babe..."

Leaning in, she nuzzles him one more time, before walking away and entering the cabin. She has packing to do. Another pair of feet thump along the floorboards, but these are far different. Standing beside him, Salena's mate leans against the old, wooden railing and looks to Johnny.

“Hi, there."

“Hey..."

“So... We're just about ready."

“Yeah..."

“What's wrong, Johnny? You look... Pensive."

“Hm? Oh, jus'... This plan... It jus'... It feels wrong..." Johnny quietly begins.

“What do you mean? I mean, it sucks but it's not like we have any better options."

“Yeah, but don't it bother ya' none, what we're askin' of our kin? Our young ones?"

“..."

“It bothers me somethin' awful... Lettin' 'em make a sacrifice while we turn tail an' run."

“It doesn't seem to bother Damian."

Pointing at the little train, they turn their attention toward the young man and his mate, Jessica, who stand in the caboose and collect cargo from their children. Some are barely a few years old and have already grown into adults, serving their parents loyally and without question.

“That ain't no argument!" Johnny snaps.

“Isn't it, though?"

“Nah! Listen, man... How old was Damian when we found him an' Jesse? Kid barely had hair on his balls, an' we both knew what she was fixin' to do with 'em... I mean, the boy named her Jessica!"

“So?" He furls his brow.

“Jessica... A rabbit named Jessica? ... Come on! Ain't you never watched TV?!" Johnny growls.

“I'll admit, he was... Immature when we took them in." The man begrudgingly admits.

“Nah... It's way worse than that. She done groomed that boy, so I ain't at all surprised by his behavior. I'm a bit surprised by yers, though... Maybe y'all city folk are different, but I weren't raised to send my kids off to war while I run away... What surprises me the most, though, is that I thought my Sheila would feel the same way's as me..."

“Well, you did have eighteen of them."

“So?"

“So, I'm just saying..."

“..."

“I mean, I hate to sound like a villain here, but-"

“If you dare tell me we can make more, I'll snap yer arms off..." Johnny glares.

Raising his hands in silent surrender, Salena's lover steps away from the railing.

“I'm gonna help prep the train. See ya' there."

“Yeah..." Johnny murmurs, leaning against the railing and staring at the ground.

Following the fleeing vehicles, Agent Sharpe and Krystal lead the charge down the street, only to stop when they see the swaying branches near an overgrown trail. A pair of deep tire impressions in the ground reveals that it's a well-used path, and the swaying branches and rustling leaves on a windless day call out to them.

“That looks promising... Ammo status?" Agent Sharpe calls out over the radio.

“80%, sir." Agent Blackmoor replies.

“65%, sir." Agent Wallace answers.

“21.5%, babe." Krystal's bracer replies through the radio.

“Damn, girl..." Agent Wallace chuckles.

“I'm at 55%... Lieutenant Weaver?"

“Yes, sir?"

“We're going in. Have your men reload and check their magazines. Be ready for anything." Agent Sharpe instructs in his cold monotone.

“Yes, sir! You heard him, men!"

“Agent Wallace? Agent Blackmoor?"

“Yes, sir?" They both respond.

“Lead the way. Keep your fingers on the trigger. Who knows what's in those woods."

“Yes, sir."

Following their orders, the two Agents take the lead. To better protect the remaining one-hundred and seventy-four soldiers, who march along with only their long guns and sidearms, Agent Sharpe and Krystal stay at the rear, keeping watch. The path is long and overgrown. As the branches brush against the body of his SCRM-R, Agent Sharpe cannot help but have a flashback to an early scene from The Evil Dead.

“If there's a creepy cabin at the end of this road..." He softly chuckles, speaking quietly to himself.

Agent Blackmoor's SCRM-R crunches the few bits of gravel that still remain along the well-traveled path, and the men keep their weapons ready. Some of the soldiers show their anxiety, sweeping the barrels of their weapons over the backs of other soldiers and routinely looking away from the woods and down at their feet. Regardless of their training, they're still men. Hearing a shifting in the trees, a few men swiftly turn and aim their weapons into the forest.

“Woah! ... Did you guys hear that?!"

“Yeah..."

More rustling draws their attention and both Agent Blackmoor and Wallace turn their SCRM-Rs toward the source of the sound. Suddenly, the woods explode with life from the other side. Dashing out of the overgrown brush, pink, black and white Type-5 AdvAnimals standing nearly eight and nine-feet-tall burst out, roaring so loudly that some of the men cover their ears in pain. Chaos erupts.

With a swing of a spear made from a sharpened car bumper, a powerful reptilian man beheads three soldiers and cleaves a fourth man's head in half, from the nose and up. Using a war hammer that appears to be made out of an old blacksmith's anvil, one of Sheila's sons bashes it against the hull of Agent Wallace's SCRM-R. It dents the shell, pinning the hatch at the rear of the craft into place.

“Jesus Christ!" He cries out.

Krystal doesn't hesitate, nor does her lover. They open fire in short, controlled bursts, but with a long column of nearly two-hundred men between them and the other Agents, they have to take care; they shoot only at an upward angle, to avoid striking their own men. Most of their rounds miss the heads of the creatures, and they merely duck down in response. They're forced to watch, until they can move closer to the beasts. Unfortunately, the blast from the muzzles of their three-barreled miniguns bursts the eardrums of several nearby soldiers, who drop their weapons and fall to the ground in agony.

Almost a dozen of the powerful brutes continue to fight the soldiers. Screaming men shoot wildly at the beasts. A female creature grabs a man by his torso and lifts him into the air. He drops his gun and cries out for help, while his men resort to issuing commands for her to release him. With her lips curling at the corners in a rather strange grin, she pulls her victim closer, first licking his face and them biting his head off. She turns and throws the headless corpse at the soldiers, who are forced to the ground by the weight of the soldier's twitching body.

She takes a step closer, her exposed chest gently jiggling, and stomps on a man's torso, crushing him. Soldiers fire upon her as the blood spews from their comrade like water from bottle that had just been run over. Several hundred rounds rip her pristine hide, and she soon topples over. She gurgles as she bleeds out, lying atop a fleshy carpet made of victims' mangled bodies. The others see the first of their kin being slain and fly into a rage. Two AdvAnimals latch onto Agent Blackmoor's SCRM-R, before he can turn around. They heave and try to throw him into the forest, to get stuck in the marshlands just beyond the trail.

Being heavily modified, however, these SCRM-Rs have much stronger motors and a more efficient gyroscope, and with a reinforced hull, they're also sturdier and heavier. The two brutes are only able to roll the craft onto its side, which it quickly corrects as soon as they let go. Rolling back to the upright position, Agent Blackmoor sees the creatures only feet away. He pulls the trigger, slicing them in half with molten lead. Though the battle seemed to favor the brutish AdvAnimals, the soldiers soon turn the tide.

Within moments, Agents Blackmoor and Wallace, and the soldiers at the front of the column, slay all but three of the beasts, who turn tail and run. However, at least thirty men lay dead or dying. Just as they feel as though they've claimed a victory, they hear a multitude of shrieking from the woods. It comes from the direction of the rustling branches, and soon they know why. Nearly a dozen of the flying AdvAnimals soar overhead. They were the source of the distraction, coordinating their efforts with the reptilians.

With their toes curled, many seem to be holding objects. At the lead, two flying creatures drop glass bottles, which prove, upon impact, to be filled with nitroglycerin. Some men are blown into a red mist, leaving chunks of meat and bone behind, but most are burned by the flames that erupt from the shattered containers. Quickly realizing their intentions, the soldiers begin shooting at the creatures, who follow the path and fly in a relatively straight line. A few drop from the sky, their bottles of explosive liquid killing even more soldiers upon impact.

Others try to weave, but these creatures are holding different objects. With lit road flares in one foot and a long, brown sticks in the other, they light dynamite and drop it onto the soldiers. One creature holds the stick for too long, dropping it just in time to blow both of its legs and tail off. It's a brief but chaotic scene, as the soldiers take cover near the trees and fire upon the creatures. Not one of the flying beasts escapes with its life, including the already wounded male, who had dropped the first two bottles of nitroglycerin.

It's clear to the highly trained soldiers that these beasts are merely pawns, not fully understanding battle tactics or even the explosive ordinance they were using. Someone must be issuing them commands. Once the remaining reptilians have fled and the flying creatures have been dealt with, the soldiers perform a quick tally. Of the one-hundred and seventy-four who entered the woods, after the skirmish in the streets, only one-hundred and thirty-two remain.

For as primitive as they are, their size, strength and natural abilities far surpass the homosapiens. Eager to finish their mission, and with a growing rage to avenge their fallen brothers, the soldiers press on before Agent Sharpe or even their own Lieutenant can issue them orders to do so. Moving along the trail, Agent Blackmoor sees the clearing first.

“Wow! Look at this! It's like a primitive city or some-"

BOOM! A large explosion cuts off the Agent, mid-sentence, and forces the soldiers to duck for cover. Having run over a primitive landmine, buried just at the end of the trail, several sticks of dynamite rip off the treads and punch a hole through the dense but relatively thin hull. With the motor and gyroscope no longer operational, the SCRM-R rolls away like an oversized marble.

“Kill those fucking things!" The Lieutenant roars.

Racing forward, without thought, Agent Wallace takes the lead. Luckily for Sovereign Six, the townsfolk only had enough explosives left for one landmine. A dozen brutish beasts, like the werewolves from The Howling, stand with dripping fangs and razor-sharp claws. Roaring in unison, they drop down to their hands and knees and sprint with frightening speed. Agent Wallace opens fire on them but they're far too swift, leaping past him and smashing into the soldiers who stand around him.

They open fire without hesitation, though their fear affects their aim. Several beasts are dropped in an instant but many more manage to survive the volley and begin tearing the soldiers to shreds. They slash with claws, bite their throats and faces, and throw men like dolls, slamming them into tree trunks and each other. As the troops pour in from the path, however, the creatures are overwhelmed, and one stands tall to howl. It would've been appropriate if it had been nighttime and there was a full moon in the sky.

Suddenly, another dozen creatures emerge from the forest, but these are led by a female, who drags along a human armed only with a pistol. Emerging from yet another patch of forest is the rest of the townsfolk, who fire a long, steady volley at the soldiers. Even worse, the remaining Type-6 reptilians, about a half dozen, race out from behind a large cabin, accompanied by a countless stream of short, rabbit-like creatures, who're armed only with bowie knives and primitive short swords made from the body panels of old cars. The shrieking Type-5s and the roaring reptilians join the fight, swarming the panicking soldiers.

Agent Sharpe and Krystal finally emerge, at the end of the line. Just as Sheila's children swarm Agent Wallace's SCRM-R, bashing it with heavy war hammers and rolling it away, she opens fire on the crowd of humans, killing most of them in the blink of an eye. Agent Sharpe turns toward the rushing rabbit-like AdvAnimals and sprays them with lead, killing over two dozen, but many take the leap and fly as much as seven feet. Holding out their blades, they use their speed and modest body weight to inflict the maximum level of damage, their short swords and knives impaling and even beheading as many as thirty soldiers in an instant.

It's hard to know who will win the day, but as the shrieking and roaring is drowned out by sporadic gunfire, it's clear that there will be a victor. Were it not for Agent Sharpe and Krystal appearing at the end of the line, the AdvAnimals and their human helpers might've stood a better chance. After several minutes of fighting, the last of the rabbit-like creatures run away, their tall ears flopping about as they make a mad dash for the cabin, the centerpiece of the primitive town.

Giving chase, Agent Sharpe tries to take aim, only for the last reptilian to slam into the back of his SCRM-R. Briefly overcome with panic, he jolts and pushes the stick forward, inadvertently making his craft race toward the fleeing creatures. They turn back, lift up clawed hands to shield their faces and shriek, only for Agent Sharpe to jolt in his vehicle. He bounces up and down in his suspended chair, the rabbit-like AdvAnimals being crushed beneath the speeding SCRM-R.

“Damn... Why does that keep happening?" He thinks aloud.

Turning his craft, he looks toward the house, only to see a tiny face peek over a windowsill. He rests his thumb on the smaller stick, which controls the mount of his minigun, and pulls the trigger. With a long, steady stream, he directs the weapon and fires through the cabin, riddling it with bullets and leave no window and doorway untouched. Blood begins to pool around the opened front door, which is close to the window where he'd seen the creature. However, as it runs down the steps like an overflowing sink, it's clear that there's more than one hiding inside.

He turns toward the remaining soldiers, who are busy finishing off the last of the wounded AdvAnimals. The Lieutenant, his uniform torn and an arm bleeding, takes aim at a wolf-like creature. The Type-1 holds up a clawed hand in meager defense but he shows no mercy. Kicking its hand away, he steps on the wrist and twists his boot, only to snicker at the whimpering creature. She looks toward her lover, who has since been gunned down, his lifeless eyes staring at the sky. Kara turns her head and glares at her killer, who points the barrel of his H&K G36C in her face. BANG!

“Bitch." He grumbles, before spitting on her body.

He turns and looks toward the carnage, where at least sixty more of his soldiers now lie dead or dying. Though they were once two-hundred strong, now they're barely sixty. Moving his SCRM-R through the clearing, Agent Sharpe calls out to Krystal on the radio. She doesn't respond. He becomes frantic, looking all around for her. He can see her SCRM-R on a screen, a GPS system that allows the vehicles to locate and discern each other. He passes by Agent Wallace's heavily damaged SCRM-R. Blood oozes out of the cracked hull, after it had been smashed repeatedly with war hammers made of old engine blocks and spears made of car bumpers.

“It's a good thing they were new..." He murmurs to himself.

Finding Krystal's SCRM-R, he finds the craft stuck in muck. The reptilians must've successfully thrown her during the skirmish, and with visible damage to the hull, he can only assume that her radio is broken. He breathes a sigh of relief, however, when he sees her treads struggling to move the craft, kicking up muck as they repeatedly spin forward and then backward. He drives past her window, then climbs out. Opening the hath at the rear, she steps out only to look down and whimper.

“What's wrong? Are you hurt?!" He asks, racing through the marshland to reach his lover.

“I liked these shoes!" She says through her bracer.

With a little laugh, he grabs hold of her, clinging tightly to her voluptuous form.

“I was so scared you were hurt. I don't know what I'd do without you, babe."

“Mmm!" She happily hums and lovingly nuzzles him.

Pulling back, they share the most passionate and loving kiss they've ever shared. Walking hand-in-hand, they return to a scene of great carnage. With the wounded soldiers lined up and prepped for transport, the luckiest men wait for further orders.

“Well, sir? Now what?" The Lieutenant asks.

“Now we search this place. Let's start with that big cabin. That's clearly the most important building here." Agent Sharpe instructs.

Taking a couple of rifles from a pile of weapons that once belonged to their now dead soldiers, Agent Sharpe and Krystal walk amidst the others, who enter the cabin and check the rooms.

“Damn. Nice work, sir!" A soldier exclaims.

Entering the house, Agent Sharpe's mouth hangs open. Even Krystal takes a moment to cover her gaping maw as they look upon no less than twenty bodies of small children, who were hiding just beyond the walls and watching their families fighting the soldiers. As the soldiers continue to clear the cabin, as well as the village huts and several workshops, Agent Sharpe wanders through the large home, which was clearly used as some sort of nursery. Seeing the effect it's having on him, Krystal types out a message on her communication bracer.

“Don't feel too badly, babe. They're aren't like us."

“They're still children..."

“They're barely animals. Our baby will be nothing like them." She adds.

Turning around to face his lover, he removes his mirrored sunglasses and looks her over, his eyes focusing on her belly for some time. He nods as he hangs his head.

“I know. I know that our son or daughter won't be like these... Creatures... But it's just... They're so small."

“So is a rattlesnake. It doesn't make them any less dangerous. You did what you had to do, to protect others, and to preserve a future for our children." She replies through her bracer.

Stepping closer, she does her very best to comfort her partner and lover, who embraces her tightly and nuzzles her face.

“We still need to tell the bosses about your condition." He whispers into her ear.

She slowly nods her head, though she's thankful that he's unable to see her worried expression. How will Sovereign Six react when they find out that's she's missed her period? They have annual checkups every few months, to ensure their health and wellness, and her next checkup is coming very soon. There will be no way to hide the fruit of their relationship. Lifting up her arm, she rests her chin atop his shoulder and looks past him, typing out another message.

“Everything will be alright." The electronic voice replies.

“How can you be so sure?"

“Because I am." She answers.

Pulling back, they share one more kiss, before Agent Sharpe manages to collect himself and continue with the search. It isn't long before a soldier discovers the root cellar, which appears to have been dug out by hand, with only modest tools. They stand in shock at the horrifying sight. Padded benches and a handmade chair with straps and stirrups sit along a wall, near a corner. There are familiar, crusty spots near the groin area. Beside these strange pieces of furniture is a primitive, makeshift hospital room, complete with a drawn curtain and an old bed with a frame straight out of the 1940s. A handful of syringes and a bottle of morphine sit nearby, on a rolling medical cart.

This must be where their captives were forced to give birth. As they move down the room, they find cages built into the earthen walls holding no less than twenty-three human women, all of them in varying stages of pregnancy. Across from them and on the same side as the breeding benches and birthing bed are more cages. Inside of these cages, however, are seven men. Their clothes are torn and they all have distinct claw marks on the same places of their bodies. Red lines, some of them healing and some of them fresh, rake their backs, thighs, buttocks, bellies and chests. It's clear that all of these people are victims of forced mating.

“Please! Please let us out!" A woman cries, sticking an arm through the bars and reaching out for a soldier.

Glancing down, Agent Sharpe can see her swollen belly. He knows that whatever she's carrying must belong to one of the beastly AdvAnimal males now lying dead on the surface.

“Please help us!" Another woman whimpers.

“What are your orders, sir?" The Lieutenant asks, turning to Agent Sharpe.

“They were very clear..." He speaks with a sternness.

“Sir?"

“We won't tell! We swear!" A man exclaims.

“They did horrible things to us! You did us a favor! Please, just let us go!" A woman exclaims, grabbing onto the bars.

“Get this thing out of me!" Another woman cries, looking down at her modestly swollen belly.

“They wanted this mess cleaned up... So start cleaning." Agent Sharpe glares at the Lieutenant, through his mirrored sunglasses.

“Yes, sir..."

Though he sounds reluctant, he turns to his men, lifts a hand and makes a gesture. The men turn toward the cages and take aim.

“Oh god, no!" A woman shrieks.

As Agent Sharpe and Krystal make their way to the surface, they can hear the gunfire coming from the root cellar. Agent Sharpe's eye twitches and he gulps, a hand faintly tremoring. Just then, a soldier emerges, racing up to them.

“Sir! Sir! You need to see this!"

Following the soldier, he takes them toward more men, who stand around a gleaming train track. The rust has been cleared from the top, indicating that it's been recently used. Returning to his SCRM-R, both Agent Sharpe and Krystal climb into the one-person craft. He moves along the tracks on the smooth dirt, as she's forced to brace herself along the concave wall. To their horror, they pass a road that's been blocked, but at a portion without any guards. They assumed from the look of the train tracks, and from records from train companies, that they were long out of commission; they never posted anyone to watch them.

Continuing to follow the tracks, they soon discover a caboose, attached to a gutted train car with a Cat diesel engine built inside of it. A dirt road shows signs of recent use, with tracks for a vehicle with dually wheels having recently used it. Is it a large truck, a crew cab pickup or even a semi? Following the tracks, they reach a road so far from the search area that it was never blocked. The tracks stop at the asphalt, and a highway is only a mile away.

“Shit..." Agent Sharpe growls.

He's lost them, and he knows it. Using the older tracker, tuned for the RFID chips used by the earliest of the AdvAnimals, he scans the area. There's no signal, save one. There's an escapee from White Base lying amongst the dead, near the cabin, several miles behind them.

“Fuck! This is bad..."

Krystal pushes herself away from the wall and rests her hands on his shoulders, giving him a gentle massage. He looks back and watches as she types on her device.

“We can find them later. For now, we need to cover this up."

He looks to her for a moment. She smiles and nods her head.

“You're right. Let's get back."

“Can I sit on your lap this time?" She asks with her device, batting her eyelashes rather innocently.

“Heh... Why not?"

Waiting at the cabin, the soldiers turn as they hear the familiar, electronic shrieking of the SCRM-R. With the hatch opening, Krystal slides off of Agent Sharpe's lap and steps out, her partner and lover emerging right behind her.

“What're your orders, sir?" The despondent Lieutenant asks, his eyes staring into the distance.

“Gather up the wounded and pull the dog tags from the fatalities, then call in an emergency evac."

“Yes, sir..."

The soldiers carry out their orders to the letter, leaving behind the bodies of the fallen and whatever weapons and gear that they cannot carry. Several helicopters land in the ruins of the small town, picking up the soldiers, the only surviving Agent and his AdvAnimal partner. As they ride away, Agent Sharpe examines a series of maps, checking the distance of a nearby town.

“Here... There's an old chemical plant here that's still operational. That's the cover." He seems to think aloud.

“Sir?" The Lieutenant turns to him.

“Pass me that radio."

The Lieutenant and some of his wounded men watch in shock as Agent Sharpe, with the full support of his partner and Sovereign Six, calls in an aerial strike, centered on the chemical plant. They turn and watch with wide eyes, through the round windows of their Boeing CH-47 Chinook helicopter.

“Look away." Agent Sharpe says, resting a hand on the side of Krystal's head and directing her attention from the windows.

After a few tense moments, a black dot drops from the sky and a spectacular explosion engulfs the chemical plant and the surrounding town. The blinding light stuns many of the soldiers, and the small mushroom cloud rises above a wave of black ash and smoke as the shockwave utterly decimates an area of no less than three miles. They know that both towns have likely been leveled, and the bodies of their fellow soldiers, as well as the townsfolk, the AdvAnimals and their victims, will all be incinerated by the forest fires that the blast with undoubtedly ignite.

The Lieutenant slowly turns his head, staring at the cold-hearted Agent who sits in silence. With his eyes hidden beneath his mirrored sunglasses and his face as stern as can be, he removes his headset and hangs it on the wall behind him. He gently, even lovingly, pets his AdvAnimal partner's head, which rests on his shoulder as she clings to him. Flying in silence for several minutes, they co-pilot suddenly receives a call on a special satellite phone installed in the helicopter.

“Sir?" He looks back at the Agent. “Sir!"

Without his headset on, it takes the Lieutenant gaining Agent Sharpe's attention before he realizes the co-pilot is calling out to him. He slips the headset over his ears once again.

“Sir, you have a call."

“Oh?"

“It's him..."

With his heart sinking, Agent Sharpe rises from his seat and collects the phone, which he then plugs into a different headset.

“Hello?"

“Ahh, there you are!" The Old Man chirps.

“Good day, sir. How may I be of service?" Agent Sharpe asks in his cold monotone.

“I need you to divert to the Dallas office right away. I need to speak with you, and your partner..."

“I see..."

Agent Sharpe gulps, feeling the fear swelling within him.

“If this is about my methods, sir, may I remind you that you put me in charge of the operation and told me to handle it “by any means necessary", which is exactly what I did." He begins, trying not to sound defensive.

“Hm?! Oh, that! Hah! No, this isn't about the missile. In fact, I admire your resourcefulness, and there wasn't anything worth it out there anyway!" The Old Man chirps, disregarding the innocents that Agent Sharpe sacrificed. “I just needed to meet with you to discuss a private matter. Let the pilot know that he's to first drop you off at the following coordinates. There will be a private plane waiting for you, to take you directly to the office."

“Understood, sir. My partner and I will be there as soon as we're able."

“Good! See you soon, Agent."

After ending the call, a message comes through as a text. Agent Sharpe dutifully follows his instructions and soon the helicopter lands in a desolate airfield where a Piaggio P.180 Avanti is already waiting for them. The fanciful looking propeller-driven airplane whisks the Agent and his partner away, and after a modest flight, they land at a private air-strip just outside of Dallas, Texas. The closer they get to their destination, the harder it becomes for Agent Sharpe to maintain his cool and collected composure. Even Krystal struggles to comfort him as she too feels a knot of nervous tension growing in the pit of her stomach.

They've never been asked to meet The Old Man as a pair, before - it's always been Agent Sharpe who's met him - and it's certainly never been at a private office. As their executive limousine pulls into the parking garage of the nondescript building, one of many that serves as office space for Sovereign Six, they're met by suit-wearing guards who promptly disarm them. Agent Sharpe and Krystal are then led, under guard, to an express elevator. Upon reaching the top floor, they pass a receptionist and several more armed guards before making their way down a long hallway and toward a set of double doors.

Yet another set of guards opens the doors, moving in a robotic fashion. This seems to be their only job. Situated at the southern corner of the top floor, they find themselves in a massive and extravagantly decorated office. Covered in cherry wood panels and decorated with twelve-foot-tall wooden pillars that are hand-carved to resemble entwined rose stems, it is an office fit for a Saudi Prince. Seated in a luxurious, red leather chair with brass buttons adorning it, The Old Man waits patiently, his hands clasped together and resting on his chest. His thumbs play with the bland, black tie of his unimpressive suit, which in no way outshines those of his own bodyguards.

“Ahh! There you are! Please, have a seat!" He chirps.

Obeying his master, Agent Sharpe takes a seat in one chair, while Krystal follows his lead and sits in the other. They look toward The Old Man, across an oval table of combination cherry and ebony wood that's twelve feet wide and eight feet across. He stares at the pair for a moment, his guards holding KRISS Vector submachine guns. Their fingers tap the frames, near the triggers. The safeties are off. The tension is palpable.

“Undoubtedly, you're wondering why I've summoned you, Agent Sharpe."

“Yes, sir."

“I'm a very old man, as you may have noticed." The Old Man smirks. “I was already sixty-four-years-old when you joined with us, and now, after twenty-one-years of loyal service to me, I sit here an old man of eighty-five. I won't live forever, unfortunately..."

“I... Don't think I follow you, sir." Agent Sharpe murmurs.

“I still have years ahead of me, but they're likely very few... I've built something that no one else on this planet has ever built, and I started building it from the same side of the table that you and your lovely partner currently occupy... I've been vetting my Agents very carefully, Daniel, and I couldn't help but notice how you surpass all of your peers. If you haven't noticed by now, you've been my right hand for well over a decade. Do you know how many other Agents I speak to directly? ... None. You're also the only Agent who is not a part of my security detail to have seen me in the flesh. Every task I've given you, you've completed with exceptional results and a distinct lack of complaining, which is always nice! You're so valuable to me that when it was time to pair you with an AdvAnimal, I hand-picked the best."

Agent Sharpe and Krystal are both floored by his words. Though she knew that she had high scores in the trials and was always a top fighter in hand-to-hand sparring matches with her peers, she had no idea that The Old Man, the ruler of Sovereign Six and the most powerful man in the world, had specifically chosen her to work with Agent Sharpe. Similarly, Agent Sharpe had always done his duty to the best of his ability, never realizing the favor he was being shown by The Old Man, nor did he know that his progressively difficult and perilous tasks were some sort of test.

“That being said, Sovereign Six is a very special kind of organization. While I rule it with a titanium fist, I don't have a proper successor. As old as my peers are, it can't be any of them, and I've never liked royal bloodlines; my children and grandchildren certainly aren't up to the task. No, this is a meritocracy, Daniel, and you've proven yourself, time and time again."

“S-sir?" Agent Sharpe clears his throat.

“I've chosen you to be my replacement, when the time comes..." The Old Man says with a little smile. “One day, you will lead Sovereign Six."