"The Entertainer" by Scott Joplin (Cover by Ramin Djawadi)
Gentle piano music lilts throughout the quiet town of Graveford, population 278. Itâs a tiny place, but the inhabitants like it well enough. Recently established at only 20 years old, the folks have tried to make an honest living.
Inside the Muerte Roja saloon, the piano continued to play gingerly, as the first few customers approached the barkeep for drinks. It was a bit early in the day, but then again it was hot outside, summer heat was bad enough to kill them.
One man, the deputy, was of particular note as a customer. âHey Archie, you got any proper scotch in here yet? Or you still selling that watered down whiskey they brew in the stables?â He chuckled.
The barkeep chuckled and shook his head. âSorry Deputy Mercer, not yet. Shipments have been slow as of late, keep hearing weird rumors about the âPhantomâ. Buncha hogwash, but itâs scaring the traders away moreân more.â
The Deputy nodded appreciatively. âWell you be sure an tell me first when it does come back, yâhear?â He chuckled. âAnyways, how bout a beer for now instead? Youâve gotta have plenty of that.â
With a pleased grin, the Barkeep gave an affirmative nod. âOne of the few things we do have Deputy. Let me grab that-â Before he could finish, gunshots began to erupt outside. Before the Deputy or Bartender could react, a woman could be heard screaming; âThe Sherriff! Heâs killed the Sherriff! Everyone, help!â
The Deputyâs gun was already out of its holster as he made his way to the doors of the saloon. Everyone? What did she mean âeveryoneâ? The gunfire went from a few shots, to what sounded like a full-blown gunfight. Bandits? What could they possibly want to steal from the town, there was practically nothing of value here?
Taking cover close to the swinging doors, the Deputy managed to peak around the corner to see who all was attacking them, and as he saw, his eyes went wide in terror.
There was only one attacker. âThe PhantomâŠâ
Atlas City, North Carolina: March 17th, 2045, 7:12am
A hand slammed onto a computer screen, causing one of Club Shapelessâs guards to nearly jump out of his seat. âHey, whatâs your problem! I was watching that!â He shouted at his screen-slapping coworker.
âI donât care, you can watch your cowboy movies on your time. Weâve got work to be doing. Boss doesnât want any slacking, and Iâm not gonna get caught in the crossfire of him murdering you.â He smirked as he started to walk away.
The guard whoâd been watching the movie let out a heavy sigh, turning back to face the screen, just as the Phantom was gunning down the Deputy. âGreat, so now thatâs spoiled for meâŠâ he muttered as he put it on pause and went back to work.
Atlas City, Manfred Paper Services, Michelin Office Building
Peter Radovan sat quite comfortably in the leather chair of the office heâd previously been commanding his teams out of, paying no mind to the rubble that still clung to various spots of nearly the entire building. Luckily the damage was reparable, so SINS had been able to return a few days ago to get back to working. As the spy puffed away on a cigarette, another SINS agent made their way towards his office. Rather aggressively.
Hudson and Nina sat outside of his office, having been told to wait there till he was done with some business. As they watched Agent Moore storm into Peterâs office, it became clear he had been anticipating that.
âPeter,â He began, coldly. âCare to tell me why you decided to level an entire building containing Witchfinder Generals in it? The very people we hoped to interrogate for some of their connections and higher ups?â
Peter grinned. âHey Anton, good to see you again! Well, actually not so good, youâre kind of a spoilsport if Iâm being honest, real killjoy. Doesnât really make you very popular yâknow.â
Moore narrowed his eyes, before dropping a small plastic bag onto Peterâs desk. It held several .50 caliber handcannon bullet casings. âAnd I only got the briefest looks at the bodies, but based on the condition they seemed to be in, looks like screwdriver rounds were used. It looked like some kind of a psychopath tore them apart.â He cast a heavy glare at Peter, who continued to nonchalantly puff at his cigarette.
âThey shot first, what was I supposed to do?â Peter chuckled.
âYour job.â Moore said coldly. âAnd speaking of which, Iâm not really even sure that was your job. Hence why Iâm here; because I think itâs time we start to really consider your value to SINS. Based on whatever we discuss here, thatâll predict whether or not I need to go to the Director for an internal investigation.â
Peter playfully waved his hand, as if to shoo away the words Moore was saying. âThe Director of SINS? Oh that wonât be necessary Anton. If you want to know all about this that badly, Iâll send you right to the source. Go ask Doug, he can fill you in.â
Moore felt his chest clench slightly. âDoug?â
âLas MacNamara. The other Director. Of all National Intelligence for these United States of America.â Peter smirked gleefully. âSince it was him who assigned me the task, Iâm sure he can answer any questions you have quite sufficiently.â
There was a moment of silence from Moore, he let out a heavy sigh, but his gaze remained steely. âPeter, youâre not invincible. Whatever you think youâve got protecting you, I can promise you it wonât be enough. The laws, systems, and men and women we have in place in this country, exist to hold people accountable. Sometimes even the CIA. So if youâre gonna keep this stuff up, it will come back to haunt you, and not even the DNI will be able to keep you out of prison, or even Gitmo.â
That gleeful smile only intensified on Peterâs face, almost relishing in the challenge. âYou donât need to worry about that, everything we do here is for Uncle Sam. Anyways, is that all you wanted to talk about? Iâve got other business to take care of.â
Moore straightened himself up, taking the plastic bag off the desk once more. âAs a matter of fact yes. Thereâs gonna be some changes around here. Actually, throughout all of SINS. Not sure what the new chain of command is looking like, but things are about to get a lot busier around here. Iâm heading over to the West Coast today to help some new offices get set up, SINS acquired some new real estate.â
âReal estate?â Peter inquired curiously.
âWe bought the U.S. Bank Tower in LA. Turns out a monster that attacks from the ocean is bad for ocean side real estate value. We got it pretty cheap. Weâre also setting up ops in Palisadia, Anthem, Cascadia, and Seattle.â
Peter swept his thumb across his chin, intently considering this news. âThatâs a lot of new locations to be setting up, lot more ground weâre covering. I suppose thatâs to do with the whole monster attacking from the ocean.â
Moore nodded. âProbably gonna have more places going up soon too. Weâre working on a few more properties here in Atlas City, and other parts of the Carolinas, as well as Florida and New York probably. Texas is another spot weâre focusing on too, as well as Alaska, but the Continuous USA is what our focus currently is.â The agent gave a slight shrug, scrunching up his face for a moment as the bitter cloud of cigarette smoke reached his nose.
âSo why are you being sent to LA then? You being put in charge of the West Coast or something?â Peter spoke in a more neutral tone now.
âNo, thereâs others to take on that task. Iâm just helping to get things organized, get everyone set up, and I have a meeting Iâm being asked to attend. âUncle Samâ has decided we canât work alone on this issue, so weâre going to have some talks with the Aussies and Japanese, or their equivalents for SINS.â
âI guess that closes some of the gaps in the Pacific, assuming weâre attacked in the Pacific, or an ocean at all.â Peter stamped out his cigarette in a vintage, black marble ashtray. âDonât get me wrong, I think itâs a good idea, and evidently itâs going to help strengthen our bonds of cooperation and friendship with our Pacific allies. If nothing else, itâll make nuking the PRC or the Ruskies a lot easier.â He chuckled, a cold, unempathetic laugh.
Agent Mooreâs face remained neutral, an unimpressed, unaffected demeanor. âBe all that as it may, weâre going to have a lot more work cut out for us. Iâm sure youâll be receiving your assignments from higher up soon, at least until Iâm back on the East Coast.â Anton turned around and made his way to the office door. âTill then, maybe learn to act with a little more critical thinking, before you try ripping a building down.â
âOne second Anton, I had one last question for you. The West Coast stuff, Iâm assuming some of that is confidential. If you think I need to be investigated, why be so needlessly open?â
Moore spared a brief glance back, a small smile forming at the corner of his lips. âBecause for all your flaws Peter, youâre not stupid. I have no reason to believe youâre going to abuse this knowledge. And as far as I can tell at this point, youâre not exactly a traitor either. Dangerously patriotic perhaps. Psychotic for certain. But frankly, for all the hype, you donât really scare me.â The agent smirked and gave a single wave of his hand as he left the office. âTill next time Agent Radovan.â
As Moore left, Peter felt himself grow giddy from the conversation. He loved a challenge, and while Moore hardly felt like much of one, the thought still excited him. Peter would have to be mindful of things moving forward, of Moore and others.
Speaking of others, there was information that made its way back to him that suggested a super team had been at the warehouse after he and his team brought it down, plus a group of villains. He still needed to be debriefed about it all, but he was starting to already come to some conclusionsâŠ.
A moment later, Peter got up from his desk and went to the waiting area in front of his office, ushering to both Hudson and Nina. âAgents, if youâd be so kind as to join me again, Iâd like to discuss a few things with you.â
Peter, as always, was still grinning.
The Mid-North Atlantic, off the coast of North Carolina: March 17th, 2045, 8:03am
The Atlantic waters were quiet this morning, having forgotten the events of five days ago. The Ocean, unlike the land, and those on it, seemed unperturbed by anything the universe could throw at it, refusing to be beholden to man or monster, an admirable quality that Byron or Coleridge might write about.
Beneath the seas however, things werenât quite as calm. There was an energy, and excitement, a thrill that could only be felt by humans brought together for a single cause. The Oceans, as unaware as they were of the affairs of humankind, were going to be saved. The world was going to be saved.
Bedivere was a massive submarine, with comparable size to an aircraft carrier. By no means an easy ship to hide in shallow water, but it made up for that in many state of the art advancements. An aircraft hanger that hosted several Hypersonic VTOL carriers, allowing easy transport of staff at a momentâs notice; advanced laboratories and engineering stations, comparable to something that might even be found on land; quantum computers that allow for easy communication and encryption; and even quantum radar and sonar systems.
The ship was also equipped with plenty of recreational stations and activities, allowing staff to take time away from work and to decompress. A gym, pool, food court, and much more helped to ensure morale was never in danger.
George sat down in a plush, white leather chair that overlooked the central atrium of the lower portion of the submarine. Down the middle, from the ceiling of the atrium down to the floor, and then continuing along the bottom floor of the hull, was a long strip of specially reinforced glass. This allowed for what was effectively a long window at the front, and bottom of the sub, giving everyone a good view of the ocean before and below them. Of course, a necessary safety feature was retractable metal hull that could cover the windows, ensuring hull integrity and blast protection.
The atrium was split into five levels, and George was on the fifth, giving him a view of everything in front of, and below him. He sipped at a cup of coffee he had with him, before placing it back down on a drink stand situated next to his seat. The old man was taking a moment to relax and decompress, as he had more work that would need to be dealt with today. There were already some members of the ship (new and old) that wanted to speak with him, so heâd take the brief moment he had alone to process anything important he needed to think about beforehand.
Looking around at some of the walls, he noted how clean they were now, particularly now that they were bare of any logos or insignias. Probably for the best for now, there had been debates over it, but given the security risks of late, George felt it would justify itself in short time.
He took another sip of his coffee and let out a soft sigh of relief. They were going to save the world, it was what they were made for.
Graveford, New Mexico Area: 1878
Movies are always a good bit of fun, a way to escape reality and go into a world of fantasy, or sometimes fantasized reality. Itâs so common and easy to say that a story is âbased on true eventsâ, but itâs much harder to make that portrayal actually truthful. Especially when those telling the story are only getting half of it, the more romanticized, sometimes even sanitized, version. Sometimes the real story is much more boring or simple than Hollywood hypes it up to be.
Sometimes the story is much, much worse.
A group of Comanche horsemen sat at a distance from the small town of Graveford, watching with intensity as the sound of screams rang out, and continued to be silenced one after the other. Whether they had ever seen something like this before was something perhaps only they know, but nonetheless, what they saw in that town demanded that they decide on a strategy to keep these lands safe.
Sounds soon became sight, as they watched a lone figure stalk the town. The man, or monster, whatever he was, bent down by each of his human victims. He then tore them apart, and began to devour them, as though he were a mountain lion starved for prey. But this⊠This was utterly abnormal, in total defiance of everything natural in this world.
The horsemen spoke among themselves for a brief moment before coming to a conclusion. Theyâd stay at as far of a distance as they could from whatever that thing was, theyâd warn everyone else throughout these lands to keep their distance as well, and avoid this thing at all costs. It seemed he was moving Westward, but this could change for all they knew. If he continued that way, at least that meant heâd be heading out of these lands in a few days.
The sight of that man shaped monster was horrifying, and something about his attire inspired a strange feeling. It felt likeâŠ.