[CUTSCENE] Dire Portents

April 04, 2018:

Cable supports a rebellion. A greater threat is revealed.


NPCs: None.

Mentions: Trask, Professor(AI)


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

X-FORCE LOG, MARCH 24 2018: Resistance cell in Kenya has reported three instances of kidnappings over the past fourteen days. Twelve children ages four to thirteen with physical mutations reported as abducted. Three local insurgents killed in assault on transport vehicle which has been identified as military/former-military. Intelligence network has lead on a second vehicle and is requesting support. Support authorized. Insurgents to hold at designated rally point.

Exterior – Seven Miles S/SW of Merti, Kenya

Invisible to the untrained, a figure lies flat upon a rocky hill his Ghillie suit configured to blend with technological precision to his environment. The stock of his M40 rifle is pulled to his shoulder its scope replaced with a techno-organic sensor that trails a single wire into his metal forearm.

Three-quarters of a kilometer away a cloud of dust swirls upon the horizon heralding the sound of a powerful diesel engine and sturdy tires. The man closes his inferior biological eye as the rifle’s sensor communicates with his nervous system the image of dust flickering to advanced thermal imaging. A driver. A passenger. Two adults seated in the rear of the vehicle. Three other smaller forms jostle at their feet unable to balance. Likely bound.

‘Professor,’ the figure does not actually speak the throat microphone detects the gentle fluctuation of his vocal chords, ‘Operation confirmed.’ A simple vibration resonates in the base of his metallic-skull, confirmation.

The truck is one quarter of a kilometer out, ‘Spikes,’ a small tube buried across the road rotates to unconceal a little devil spike strip which rupture the rear two tires. The vehicle travels nearly a hundred more feet before the driver puts on the breaks. The passenger exits the vehicle and runs to the rear. There is a heated exchange at the sight of the needle laden tire.

The first knuckle of the gunman’s finger flexes. The passenger drops in a spray of brains and skull. A beat later the sound of the shot is heard. Two men exit the rear of the vehicle weapons brandished. The driver exits as well. Cable works the bolt. They begin to pepper shots at the hillside below his position. Cable fires again. They rush forward.

‘Bodyslide, position-3,’ a shimmer of light and only the rifle remains.
Materializing two hundred feet to their rear Cable rolls across the ground in a prone position acquiring the M16A4 which had been deposited there earlier in the afternoon. He fires. Four three round bursts. All is suddenly quiet except for the commotion from those bound in the rear of the truck.

Using his elbows Nathan Summers moves backward to a kneeling position, still sighting his enemy position, thumbing the selector to single fire and putting two more rounds in each body. Walking himself to his feet he approaches the scene rifle moving steadily from corpse to corpse as if expecting one to spring back to life, ‘Professor. Recall arms.’ Seven points around his position shimmer at varying distances.

Slinging his weapon’s three-point harness over his head and shoulder he reaches beneath the reflective fiber-optic mesh he wears and produces a large walkie-talkie, “Scene secure. Three of the abducted are onboard. Identify the dead. You have your leads.*” Acknowledgement and praise from the other end.

The base of his skull buzzes as he awaits resistance members, “Go ahead,” Cable says aloud.

«Nathan, TRASK industries has released a bulletin which I have predicted has a greater than twenty thousand percent likelihood of triggering a cataclysmic event than any other operation slated. I am recommending you recall.»

The Askani’son’s face sours but he waits. It takes seven and a half minutes for the resistance to muster in the distance, “Professor, body-slide by one,” but they arrive only to find four dead men and three terrified children.

*Translated from Swahili.

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