Chapter 1 - Mission Parameters

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Something is wrong.

Vague doubts plagued Terra like an ominous premonition. The feeling started a week ago as barely a whisper, but now, at the moment of mission execution, the warnings blared in her mind like klaxon horns.

The mission was straightforward and, as usual, dangerous. A simple assassination. The opportunity was ripe and the plan solid, and tomorrow, they would go home. Yet her heart pounded and her gut prickled beyond the typical jitters of pending action.

Terra had not survived to become a Senior Blue Uprising Agent by ignoring her intuition.

"Ian, abort!" she called out into a hidden com device.

Perched on a flat rooftop under the hot afternoon sun, Terra wiped the sweat from her brow, then focused binoculars on Ian's frowning face. Reflexively tapping his hidden earpiece, he growled in reply, "Hell no, Terra. We spent all week setting this up."

Gritting teeth, she seethed. "I have field command, Ian. Something is off. Now abort!"

"We have our orders. If you don't have the guts to carry them out, then I will."

She balled a fist. Somewhere there is a poor tree whose sole purpose is to replace the oxygen that prick wastes.

Per plan, Ian positioned himself beside a gathering area outside of the New Haven Stadium, a spacious amphitheater carved into a natural red-rock basin and surrounded by chest-high cut stone walls. Normally a renowned venue for concerts or plays, today it would be used for a public announcement.

Nestled between sandstone buttes along a meandering river, the small desert community might have been a pleasant place to live or even retire, if not for the misfortune of location. But it laid near the contested border between areas controlled by the Sage Dynasty and the Blue Uprising. The mayor and city council made a serious mistake when they realigned with the Dynasty, something Terra and Ian were sent to rectify.

People of all ages strolled along the dusty street toward the facility, converging from smaller roads and alleys that ran between the flat-roofed adobe building of the city, unaware of what was about to happen. Standing along the street and stadium wall, gray uniformed Dynasty soldiers carrying rifles watched the people with suspicious eyes.

Since losing her former partner and dear friend two years ago, Terra preferred to work alone, but reluctantly agreed to take Ian along on this mission at the insistence of her supervisor. She regretted it ever since. Although a powerful Talent in his own right, his inexperience, impatience, and arrogance irritated her. More importantly, it was these characteristics that often got Blue Uprising agents killed.

Ian wore khaki cotton work clothes to blend in with the populace, a far cry from his typical flashy attire. Tall, trim, with dark wavy hair and bright eyes, handsome by most standards, he fancied himself a charming lady's man. Terra hated this characteristic the most. She swore to him that if he suggested a tryst one more time, she would ensure that he would never sire children.

Terra cursed under her breath as Ian pulled up a leg of his cargo pants, retrieving a set of long steel fighting spikes strapped to his ankle, traditional weapons of the High Talent. She made one more plea. "Ian, stop! That's an order!"

Ignoring Terra's command, he initiated a telekinetic attack. One by one, five spikes levitated before him in an orderly row, then he sent them streaking away in sequence. In turn, five Dynasty guards silently collapsed as the spikes pierced their chests with deadly precision, imbedding themselves with sharp thunks.

Next, with lifted hands, Ian released a wide pressure pulse, shattering nearby windows and toppling anything nearby not fastened down. Terra ducked as the shimmering pulse passed by her, swirling her dark hair. The force sent people tumbling to the ground. Another more focused push blew in the stadium main doors. He then lifted rocks, bricks, and other items from a nearby construction site and telekinetically flung them indiscriminately about. Panicked, people cried out and dashed through the rising dust, heads folded down into lifted arms for protection from the flying debris.

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