Snippet #2285124

A hole, nowhere in particular

Vox sat, huddled in the damp confines of the soviet era bunker. His fur coat wrapped around him like a snake coiling around it's next meal, as the small heat lamp sputtered, trying to fight off the cold. A small television set played through scenes of destruction before him, the large-breasted blonde news anchor failing magnificently to capture the carnage with her nonchalant description of the disasters plaguing the world.

“... 13 dead in a bombing of a government facility this morning. Expert analysts from the pentagon are saying there has been a rapid increase in terrorist activity in the last two months. Attacks on German military bases, government buildings in Madrid and ISI checkpoints are being linked to several terrorist groups...”

A press of the remote flipped the channel. He began to surf through.

“... add in ¼ cup of water, ½ cup of eggs...”

“... Hold still, asshole, it's time I made you remember...”

“... Well here, James, is a great example of a perfectly cut 5 karat diamond pendant...”

“... The President of the NAA to speak today on the role of the new Digital Warfare Administration...”

He laughed, despite his hatred for the ISI and the fact that he knew his backer had some agenda, it was on some level amusing to him that he really had no affiliation to any of these idealistic groups. His attack on the ISI checkpoint had been for publicity and revenge, not some grand scheme, as far as he was concerned.

A quick check of the battery on his satellite phone yielded a promising 52%. Enough for him to wait out the ISI kill-teams looking for him. He grabbed a freeze dried packet of food and cracked it open, pouring some bottled water into it to bring the contents to life. It was going to be a long wait but he was confident his backer would come through with help.


ISI Command

Chief Warden Ariana Denicela had the target file scrolling past her personal computer slowly. It was more sparse than she had hoped. The holographic screen flickered in front of her, lighting her aquiline features, bunned red hair and thin steel-rimmed glasses. Her bright green eyes flickered over the disappointing information.

Subj: Mein Mentor
Real Name: Unknown
Age: Unknown
Race: Unknown
Gender: Unknown
Nationality: Unknown
Distinguishing Feat.: Unknown
Known Affil: Poss. Deus Ferrum, other watchlist groups.
History: Unknown
Skills: S Class Hacker
Last known loc.: N/A

It was an exercise in frustration. She shut down the folder and sent an Amber missive to the data mining team to gather more information. A short walk back to the command bridge and again she was overlooking the massive control room of the ISI HQ. Her Underchiefs saluted her and a simple nod returned them to their work. The command and control center of ISI was a large circular room, with six levels of terracing, every level filled end to end with holo-monitors attended diligently by grey-uniformed technicians. Four massive screens dominated the largest wall, directly opposite the highest terrace. This area was a raised dais occupied by the black-uniformed bodies of the Chief Warden and the three Underchiefs

An adjutant approached with a data-slate, “Ma'am, reports from the C.R.U. sent to S-22. It was definitely a targeted attack. As for the new additions to the Black Alpha files, data mining hasn't turned anything up yet but they're looking.”

She thanked him and sent him off, then turned her watchful gaze back to the massive monitors, blinking through video-feeds of different areas that the ISI had interest in. The Black Alpha file was on the far right with the names Mein Mentor, LondonsFog, MisterX and MasterCodec highlighted in yellow. After the attack on her men at Safehouse 22 she had ramped up the ISI readiness status. Her right hand, Warden Alexei Deberov was en route to capture MasterCodec. Another screen showed the smoky remains of the area outside S-22. The bodies had been chalked out and removed, the C.R.U. was making quick work of the investigation. The top middle screen was an aerial view of the damage to the German military research base that had been hit two days prior, rescue workers swarmed over it like termites repairing a hive. The far left screens had scrolling lifesign monitors for combat active units. No anomalies since the attack on S-22.

To the left of the screens the alert status indicator was still blinking. It read from bottom to top Peace, Single Engagement, Regional Conflict, Multi-regional Conflict, Small-scale War, Full-scale War. The light was emphasizing Multi-regional Conflict. It stopped flashing and went solid on the words, confirming more than 24 hours of the new alert level. Denicela sighed and began typing away at the holo-keyboard in front of her, issuing new readiness orders to the many ISI Safehouses.

Safehouse 17

The compound was a bustle of activity as combat active units began moving from the main staging area to their preassigned posts. The P.C.E.'s or Personal Combat Environments, huge single-man armored suits capable of laying down heavy firepower, lumbered off to the loading bay to be put on Nighthawks for deployment. Regular ISI infantry unites headed off to the garages to join up with their respective vehicles for rapid mobilization... if the call ever came down.

Deberov activated his helmet mic on the command channel, “Nightmare actual to all Easy Victors, safe travels kiddies.” A brisk walk to the hangar bay led him to his team waiting outside their Nighthawk. A wave of his hand and they understood the non-verbal order to embark, as his team climbed into the open back of the Nigthhawk gunship Warden Deberov ordered the men to sound off:

“One's clear!”
“Two's clear!”
“Three's clear!”
“Four's clear!”
He finished the count, “Actual's clear!”

They were all clad in the matte black ceramic-polymer plated armor of the ISI combat forces, though Deberov's men had a few non-standard issue toys as well. The Warden leaning into his helmet mic again, “Nightmare actual to Romeo actual, we are mobile and hot, how copy?”

The crackling response came back over his headset, “Good copy Nightmare actual, Haven advises a clean op and good hunting, Romeo out.”

Deberov walked over to the cockpit as the gunship gathered speed, leaving the grey, squat concrete ISI compound behind. He checked the timer on his HUD, they had 4 hours of transit time to the drop-zone, a rural area right outside of a train station, where they were supposed to pick up a High Value Target.
The Swiss were finicky about fly-over violations so they had to go high altitude before dropping almost vertically onto the target zone, anyone peering out the back of the gunship would see nothing but white moonlit clouds cascading by underneath them, like an ocean of mist in the night.

Deus Ferrum Monastery, Roma

From the outside the building looked as if it was one of the many ancient Roman style abbeys that littered the city, but once past the massive front doors (carefully crafted oak) the interior cloisters were as technologically advanced as any server cluster or picochip factory. Pulsing lines of code-hymns streamed across crystal clear holo-displays, manipulated by acolytes whose robes seemed more out of place than the exterior facade. The entire inner structure was lit by LED strip lighting, which combined with the white light from the holo-displays to bathe the rooms in an almost heavenly, soft, glow. As befit a place of worship.

An elder brother walked the rows, nodding to each acolyte in turn, as the youngest members of his order began their morning prayers. He approved, they were a most devout group. Very little words were exchanged in this place, what little had to be spoken aloud was done in hushed reverent tones.

Dominating the farthest wall of the room, opposite its entrance, was an enormous hologram of swirling streaming Ardent string code. The Scientia Universa, the font from which the Deus Ferrum derived their collective knowledge and dogma. An ever-changing, ever-growing, ever-evolving digital construct of the most complex nature.

Further back, in the more well protected areas of the monastery were server clusters, virtual dive consoles, a well-stocked and well-hidden armory and the private chambers of the inner circle members and the idyllic oasis of their private garden. It was here that Brother Able, Scholar to the Hands of God, Monk of the Woven Truth, Writer of High Chants and High Priest of the Deus Ferrum made his home. And it was in this most private of places that he sipped tea and decided the fate of millions.