Hello, The following is a story about some guys you might recognize, in a situation that might ring a few bells. I had to take some liberties with the story, mostly because my collection is in another city, so some of the specifics couldn't be confirmed. I think I got most of it right though. I welcome any comments, critiques, suggestions, etc... Special thanks to Hawk for posting this.
Characters and ideas contained herein that resemble anything owned by Marvel Comics, and its parent and subsidiary companies are their property, I'm just having fun with them, receiving no money, and wouldn't dream of it. The title of the story does not in any way refer to any publication of the same or similar name.
- Abyss (no, the OTHER one)
Black-Ops: Part One
by Abyss
A poet would look on the moon and see only a sphere of ice, reflecting light, but no warmth. It was that cold. A soldier would curse the moon, and bless it. It may reveal his enemies, or reveal him to them. Like many things, the light was a double edged blade, as sharp and cold as the wind blowing with the bite of the Siberian plains it had crossed through on it's way south and west. Here in Berlin, it had lost none of it's teeth.
The wind blasted it's way between buildings, howling it's fury where the passage was narrow, damning men for impeding it's way. It's rage grew high and fierce over one particular rooftop. The building was not the tallest in the area, nor the newest. It sat in the rough center of the divided city river, perhaps fifteen stories high, of the practical and plain stone so much of the city was built from. No guards paced before it's entrances. Spotlights, so common for security in government offices, specifically those of the government, didn't dot the courtyard in front or the roof. Nothing made this place stand out. It was much like the people , in a place where standing out either meant you were powerful, or you were destined to disappear. Yet in spite of it's very ordinary facade, this building was going to attract some very special attention on this night where Vikhor's breath filled the air.
The roof of the building was liberally dotted with antennae and vents. The moonlight gave each of these a dark shadow of it's own. Like a cell dividing, one off those shadows slowly extended itself from the company of a vent. It crept away from the cold metal, barely disrupting the whistle of wind around the vent as it moved. The moonlight barely gave definition to the shadow, giving it form, but little substance. Human, but barely so. Dressed all in black. A harness in dull metal crossed shoulders and back. Shoulders and upper body were liberraly covered in plates of armor. Here and there small packs and cases were fastened. A similar belt held nine or ten identical metal boxes, each the size of a cigarette case, on one side, and a diverse assortment of additional cases and packs on the other.
The figure stood upright, stopping at a crouch. It held a small, intricate looking gun in one hand. The other hand held an instrument, similar to a camera. A small cable ran from the instrument to a goggles and helmet assembly of the same dull grey. The figure pointed the instrument, first at one end of the roof, the slowly over to another, stopping three times to click on a button where a camera would have a shutter switch. A second sweep was performed quickly, then the figure turned. Looking towards a nearby rooftop, the figure nodded his head slightly, once. There was the flash of moonlight on something made of glass, so brief that it could have been the glimmer of a star.
Moments later, another whistle joined that of the wind. The figure on the rooftop, turned away from the noise, scanning the rooftop, and the surrounding ones. He breathed deeply of the night air, tasting it, feeling the chill of the wind, the of the city and the nearby river. Perhaps the faintest hint of the wind's northern origins. Footsteps fell softly on the rooftop behind him. A voice, yet another whisper in the night, questioned him. He responded, his voice a blade across sand.
" Clear. Twelve to six disarmed. Seven to eleven still active, passive audio, targeted away from us. "
The second figure was a man, taller than the first, with more body armour in the same dull grey with some yellow on the padding and a full combat mask, marked with black fangs. He carried a gun on either hip, another smaller one on a shoulder holster, and a long, double barrelled rifle with a sophisticated night scope on a harness across his back. Red lenses covered his eyes. Only his lower face was visible. His mouth barely moved as he spoke.
" Entry point? "
The first man's reply was lower, almost a growl to the second man's german accented whisper.
" Trap door, six inches from edge of active sensors. Should lead to service elevator if plans were right. "
"Creed signal? "
" Does he ever? "
" Ready? "
" Go. "
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