The Soul Conflict

Prologue

This could be the last day.

The last day of being stuck in the frozen, Siberian wasteland. The last day of spending nights foraging for food amongst ice thicker than underground nuclear bunkers. Anders threw the metallic door of the dark, dusty establishment open and took a step inside. He was wearing a thick white combat suit with a yellow symbol engraved on his shoulder: A circle with four triangles surrounding it. An equally bulky helmet was worn on his head, with what he could only hope to be a bulletproof visor acting as his shield between his face and incoming projectiles. He had a small gray backpack on filled with various supplies. In his shaking gloved hand there was a small, fully loaded pistol with a flashlight attached to it.

He held the gun out in front of himself both for reassurance and safety. His breath was shaky and uncontrolled. How he hated these solo missions! As the youngest and least experienced member of his group, he could have sworn that it wouldn't have had to be him to march out into this desolate place. Then again, he was the one who had found it in the first place. That did not change the fear that crept closer to him than his own elongated shadow did as it marched across the walls like a malevolent specter.

He slowly walked about the place, keeping both hands on his gun and his finger on the trigger. The place was cold and metallic, yet was still covered in copious amounts of dust. There were no windows; only rows of empty stainless steel tables. Dim orange lights overhead did little more than provide a soft glow to the tight dark corridor. He relied on the dancing cone of illumination provided by his flashlight to carefully make his way to the end of the hall, where there was another gray metal doorway with a mesh screen on the top of it.

He reached it and pressed up against the doorway to listen for any signs of life from within. All he heard were his own shaky breaths, which became a sigh of relief. There was nothing to worry about. This place has clearly been abandoned, he told himself over and over. He opened the doorway quietly, and did not bother to shut it behind him. He found himself in the middle of a fairly large room with work desks lined up against the walls.

He shined the light across the place carefully, and he found storage racks attached to the sides of the walls. Racks containing various guns and ammunition, with the odd explosive thrown into the mix. Perhaps this place was a former military base? Then, something at the far end of the room caught his eye.

It was a plain work desk with colorful folders strewn about it. Their contents, consisting of newspaper articles and government publishings, were scattered all across the table. This is what Anders had come for. If the information proved to be valuable to his superiors, he might just be able to get his friends and himself out of the frozen wasteland. The thought was all too enticing. He stepped forward towards the work desk.

Whoever had been working here had clearly left in quite a hurry. The papers were not even remotely organized. Anders picked a few of them up and read them to determine their value, quickly scanning over them with his eyes. He let the key words of interest flash through his mind, trying to determine their worth as quickly as he possibly could. Serpent. Arson. Temple. The Kadan. The Congo. All of these words seemed to be worth at least something.

He heard something fall down somewhere in the facility. A chair, perhaps. It sounded like it came from the room adjacent to this one behind the thick walls. The crash was accompanied by heavy, brisk footsteps. His heart rate spiked and he quickly stuffed as many of the papers as he could into his backpack. Now was a good time to leave. He sloppily zipped up the bag, accidentally tearing one of the papers as he did so. No matter; there was no time left to waste. The sound of a door opening further down the corridor where had arrived from terrified him. There was no way out but to face this person head on. He once again held his gun out in front of him, and then spun around to face the possible threat.

At first he saw nothing. He could only hear the clop-clop of approaching heavy boots treading upon the steel. He quietly edged himself over to the corner of the room and turned his flashlight off. He just prayed that his own heavy breathing would not give him away.

What came through the doorway that he carelessly left open was a man clad in armor. The armor was not of his own organization though, nor any one he had ever heard of. It was a dark green, heavy suit with angular shoulders along with a relatively flat but elongated helmet. The visor, as far as he could tell in the darkness, appeared to be black and goggle-like in appearance. The man had a decent sized gray submachine gun in his strangely claw-like hands, but no flashlight was attached.

The man paid him no mind at first, leaving Anders to his own panicked devices. This honeymoon did not last long, however. The mans head turned towards him soon enough, and raised his submachine gun in preparation.

Anders felt hot adrenaline race through him a like an emergency freight train delivering as many supplies as it could on a time constraint assigned by the shadow of death itself. He instinctively pulled the trigger on his handgun, letting a single bullet fly towards his opponent. The bang of the pistol caught the mystery man by surprise, as did the bullet associated with it. The bullet dug itself into the man's neck, which was protected by some sort of flexible material but clearly not bulletproof. The man screeched in agony and lowered his gun reflexively. His head was lowered and one of his hands shot up to cover the wound.

It was at that moment that Anders decided to make a break for it. He dashed towards the still open doorway with primal speed. The man said something incomprehensible and pointed the gun one-handed at him. Anders shut the door behind him roughly, and what followed soon after was the loud rattle of the submachine gun. Bullets pinged against the doorway harmlessly, and Anders continued his retreat.

He dashed across the metal floor without grace; Each foot pounding upon the ground after the other as he haphazardly made his way to the exit. His heart pounded against his ribcage and his brain had ceased conscious thinking. It was all about getting out of here alive; being a soldier had not changed that. His heart rate somehow managed to spike even further when he heard the door behind him swing open. The exit grew ever closer, and he heard angered shouting behind him. The shouting was soon accompanied again by that damned rattle. He yelped as multiple yellow streaks flew past him, moving far faster than his eye could track. He was lucky that none of the bullets caught him.

At last, he burst through the exit and rushed down the snowy hill to where his snowmobile was waiting. He was running so fast and unevenly that he slid down the hill uncontrollably. It was better than being dead, though. Once he reached the bottom he flung himself onto the snowmobile, started it, and raced off into the frozen wilderness.

He prayed silently that the papers he had picked up were important enough to get permission for his team to leave this wretched place. After a day like this, he was certain that they had served their time for their mistake.