A Story of Cinders: From the Ashes

Chapter 16: Fear of the Dark

 The War Room was dim, save for the blue light from the holographic screen of the computer. The Saint was sitting in his chair, staring at the screen, the blue glow casting an eerie shadow across his face. The light illuminated the bags and stress lines in his face. He was young, but he was already very world weary. Not telling the ground team about the soldiers being tagged did not sit well with him. He was staring at Nox's dossier. It was practically empty, save for his picture. Even then, there were no discernable features. The man knew how to be invisible. Untraceable. Only appearing when he wanted to be known. Like right now, staring over the Saint's shoulder. "You won't find anything there, William."

The Saint turned around, shocked at being called by his real name. He chuckled, "I thought I told you not to call me that around here. People here don't know me by that name."

"Or just don't remember. They've probably heard your name, but can't put the name and the face together."

"You're probably right about that. Speaking of names..."

"No chance."

"Oh come on! We know everyone else's name..."

"We really only know the sergeant's name." The Saint looked like he was drawing a blank. "It's John Reed, in case you forgot."

"Ahh, right. Of course. How could I forget...?"

"We don't much of anything about Gray Wolf, other than that his name isn't actually Gray Wolf. And that he's wanted by the Zhar-Ptitsa."

"Shit, you're right! What do you think his name is?" Nox was silent, not wanting to play the Saint's little game. "I bet it's Trent. He looks like a Trent," the Saint said. Nox was still silent. There was a light blinking on the console.

"It looks like you have a call, William." The Saint looked down and noticed the flashing light. "So I do, so I do," he said, knowing who would be holo-calling him on this channel. He took a deep breath. "You might want to get out of view," he said to Nox. Then he pressed the button.

The display turned on, flickering to life with a blue light pointing up. A face appeared, suspended in the air. He was a middle aged man, dark hair that was starting to gray, wrinkling skin, with a square jaw and light stubble. His eyes were dark, cold, calculating. Always plotting.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Spillane," the head says. He speaks English, but with an obvious Russian accent.

"Czar Abram. What can I do for you?" the Saint replies, feigning a smile.

"It's come to my attention that one of my outposts in Reno was attacked. Multiple casualties. Collateral damage was extensive. And disturbing...." His voice trails off as if waiting for the Saint to finish his sentence.

"That is very disturbing, but I don't understand why you called directly. I'll have my best men and sources look into it." Saint gives a weak laugh. He does not like this man. Not at all.

"A surveillance video segment was forwarded to me just before the outpost's destruction." His holographic face shrinks down to fit a small video screen next to him. On the screen appears what looks like hallway.

After a couple seconds in, a faint alarm sounds. A couple seconds after that and guards come into view, holding rifles and frantically begin shooting something off camera, The Saint is about to ask what this is, when a large man, his head almost touching the ceiling, appears. Staring in horror, the Saint watches this man tear, literally tear, the men apart. Blood is everywhere and then the video clip stops.