Reaper Six
Your friendly, neighborhood soldier of fortune
I finally picked a title for my work, now, the introduction and first two chapters. Feel free to leave comments below, I'll post more of the story if the community likes it.
It was about midnight, maybe one in the morning. A lone figure, shirtless, padded through the halls of his home at the Institute. His chest was covered in the scars of warfare from years of battle, his face slightly blurred by a night’s worth of facial hair. He couldn’t sleep, and he had left his wife upstairs in their bedroom. Now, he had a very specific operation: Raid the refrigerator. That man, was Michael Haghn. He appeared only twenty four years old, in actuality he was closer to thirty. Such was one of the perks of being a werewol-archangel hybrid. He found his way to the kitchen, and opened up the refrigerator, poking his head around inside. Orange juice, bacon, eggs, blood bags... Finally he reached inside and pulled out a doughnut. Chewing on his meal, he looked out the door into the darkness of the Island. Again, he was stunned by the beauty of the place, created by his wife years ago. Nine years had passed since their wedding, and that caused him to smile over the glaze. Thinking back over the last ten years, he smiled and sighed softly.
“Sir, are you okay?” a slight, almost musical female voice said, a soft blue glow enveloped the room. The 5’11 full form of the first “Smart” Artificial Intelligence, a blonde woman with short hair. Algorithmic symbols danced across her form as she thought. Lyra was the first operational Artificial Intelligence System, created by Haghn. She could do six trillion calculations per second, and had no limits on her creativity. However, she would suffer for her genius. Smart AI constructs go rampant after eleven years after going operational. After ten years, they are moved to non-combat caretaker roles, where they provide support to the newer AI’s and to the Fleet.
“Fine, Ly,” the man replied, not looking away.
“I completed the intelligence estimates on the Vekh,” the AI said, crossing her arms. “And forwarded it to Fleet Intelligence.”
“Do you miss operational life?” he asked, glancing back at the somewhat ghostly form.
“Aboard the Razor’s Edge?” Lyra asked, smiling slightly. “Every second. I loved it, its complexity, everything. But I guess now I have to take this easier job. I helped recommend this program, after all.”
He didn’t think it was proper to talk about Cassandra, his new AI for the Razor’s Edge, with his first AI. He picked up a trace of concealment in her voice, something he had helped program. “I can tell it in your voice, Lyra, what else?”
“Well,” she looked down, almost embarrassed. “I had some time, so I went through your old files, when you and Allyson first met.”
Michael Haghn looked up, “really?”
“Yes, I organized it all, into a book.”
Haghn finished his doughnut, and turned around, walking into the Library. He found his favorite chair, a black leather wingback chair by the fireplace. He crashed in it, as Lyra followed him into the capacious room. “Okay, Lyra, explain.” The AI seemed to lean on one of the tables, looking past him as the information scrolled across her eyes, invisible to him, as the voice began to narrate.
Chapter I: The Goat Farm
Before I begin, I have to say how hard it is to begin this story. There were so many places where I could start, but I decided to start here, the event that brought them together.
A man, clad in all black, stood in the whipping wind in the doorway of the small executive aircraft, staring into the impenetrable blackness. He was about six feet tall, Fastened to his back was a parachute, which he would open and glide into North Korea. Across his chest was a Beretta ARX-160, a short barrelled rifle which he planned to use on his reconnaissance mission. He had a suppressor for it, but had not screwed it on to the end of the barrell. In a hip holster, he had a Heckler and Koch USP ready. Staring into the blackness, he had no idea that when he stepped off the plane, he would begin on an adventure that would change his life forever. In retrospect, he didn’t step off the plane, he jumped. Feet first into hell, like always. For the first few seconds, it there was the sound of the rushing wind of the night past him. Then he opened his chute, and everything passed into silence. For unfathomable minutes, he fell silently towards the coast, assisted by the Google Glass-like military grade sunglasses he wore. Although it was night, he still wore dark silver sunglasses concealing his eyes. The glasses provided himself with a heads up display, intigrated headset and earpiece, and access to the Agency's WAN network. The world was illuminated in green, night vision, the best available to his people. It took him two minutes before landfall came. Trees came up, and caught his parachute, the shock jolted him forward and back, before he was able to latch onto a tree and kill his movement. Michael freed his knife, a Blackhawk Nightwing, and cut himself free. Falling another seven feet, he landed easily and rolled to break his fall. He listened closely to the night, listening for the sounds of aircraft, motor engines, shouted orders, or footsteps. No pursuit. Welcome to North Korea, again. This was his eighth, or ninth? time in this country, he had forgotten. Michael had operated in so many countries, and so many times he had lost count. He fished into the thin backpack he wore and slid the suppressor onto his rifle. He powered up the sights, and linked the targeting systems to his sunglasses. After a final check of his equipment, he confirmed that every piece was exactly where it was before he jumped. Michael moved off, his target area was sixteen miles northwest of his drop zone. Satellites in orbit had picked up manhole sized heat emitters in the middle of a goat farm. Other assets had confirmed that no goats were being raised or kept at that farm. Therefore, it was up to nefarious business. The Director of the Central Intelligence Agency, a shady, nefarious man named Colonel Marcus Bridgoria. That man was the only point of contact for Haghn, the one who gave him the missions. Bridgoria had issued him the orders, and he was bound to follow them. He was the only man who knew Haghn existed. He set off on his trek, keeping his head on a swivel and listening to the night for movement or pursuit. Every tree was cover for him, and he moved silently and efficiently. After two hours of stalking through the trees, he reached the treeline near the goat farm. He switched to a thermal overlay, and confirmed that only three guards were present in the farmhouse. Each soldier sported Norinco CQ rifles, a Chinese made AR-15 variant. Michael knew only the North Korean Special Forces used these rifles. NKSOF guarding a goat farm? Curiouser and curiouser... he thought, as he raised his rifle. He didn’t have a shot on all three, so he decided to hedge his odds. Michael lowered the rifle, and dropped prone, dragging himself across the ground towards the farm. He made sure his movements were silent. Michael moved to within twenty meters of the house, and raised his rifle again. He got up, stalking through the shadows towards the front door. In a slow crouch, he propped his rifle up and listened. Two were in the front room, where he had seen them, the third was somewhere outside his line of sight. No more time for fancy footwork, no more finesse, no more bullshit. He ran up to the door, tested his boot on the lock, then brought his foot down, and kicked the door in. Michael rushed in, his rifle up. The two NKSOF troops reached for their rifles, alarmed at the interruption. They never made it, four puffs from the ARX reached out and took the heads of North Korea’s best off. Michael swiveled, listening for sounds of movement. The last one was in the bathroom, so he stalked there, and opened fire through the door. When he gingerly pushed the door open, he saw the NK soldier, slumped against the toilet, riddled with bullet holes. A rather dignified death, on the throne, he thought. Michael found what he was looking for, a door leading down to the basement. He reached down, and pulled it open, stepping in quietly. The tunnel down was dark and musty, covered in the green glow of his night vision. He stepped quietly, his rifle leading the way as he crouched. He approached the bottom of the stairs, and found a heavy steel door secured by a padlock. He reached into one of his many pockets and withdrew a lock breaking set. With forty five seconds work, he broke through the lock and gingerly pulled the door open. Inside was the harsh white light one would associate with a medical facility, that almost stunned him. The night vision automatically deactivated, and his glasses polarized. Michael pushed through the door, stepping into the white light with his rifle held high. Thoughts flew through his mind, his initial thought was laboratory, but a lab for what? Nukes? Chemical weapons? The front desk was deserted, so he stepped through. There was a second door, which he bypassed. The next hallway was dark, lit by red light, dim and casting long shadows. He kept the rifle up, until he heard the clanging. It sounded like a bell, but a misshapen bell. Metal on metal. The sound carried a message: Things are in motion, and now there is no going back. He kept moving, until he realized where he was. Michael looked down, over the catwalk, bathed in the shadows. Below, were softly glowing bluish white tanks, there was something inside, but he couldn’t see what it was. Another door was at the end of the hall, but he decided not to try it. Instead, he produced a cord, 5mm paracord. He tied a loop around the handrail, tested it to make sure it would support his weight, and jumped. Gliding down slowly, he swept his rifle around the chamber. Finding nothing but the tanks. He spotted an open space in which to land, and set down there. Michael dropped into a crouch, and crept towards another door he spotted in one corner of the room, making sure he took a good look at the tanks in the room. He was shocked by the appearance. Inside the tanks, were vaguely human bodies, curled up in the fetal position. What the hell is going on here? he wondered, but pushed past the tanks to the door. He tried the keypad next to it, but there was no response. So he drew an anti security blade and drew it through the door, unlocking it after a minute of work. He moved in, his rifle ready. The hallway was like the crypts in the catacombs of Europe, but more industrial. Like the crypt of an ancient civilization that worshiped technology. He continued these thoughts until he heard two pair of footsteps. Michael raised the ARX, bracing for an engagement. One form turned the corner, then another, both bearing rifles. Michael ducked into a sconce, pressing himself flat against the wall. He tucked the rifle into his chest, and stopped breathing. Voices in Korean chattered around him. He had no idea what these words meant, then he saw the two shapes pass his hiding spot. One of them caught a glance at him, turned as if seeing something abnormal. It was the last thing the Korean man did. Michael stepped forward, bringing his rifle up, and within a second, snapped off a single round. The head snapped back, and his partner, opening his mouth to speak, bellowed out a curse and an alarm at the top of his lungs as the dead body of his comrade flopped down on him. A second burst of gunfire took his head off. Almost instantly, alarms began to blare through the steel walls. He knew he had to escape, but through what path? He knew he had to go up, but he could hardly go back the way up he came. He’d be on a rope as easy target practice. So, he stepped over the bodies, and pushed deeper into the facility. His mission objective changed in his head. Survive, escape. Michael moved down the hallway, his rifle up. Another group of NKSOF turned the corner, and fell to a sustained burst of gunfire. Michael looked at the door in which they had come, and ran towards it. He moved quickly and deliberately, knowing he was outnumbered. But that was the story of his life, wasn’t it? Always outnumbered, never outgunned. Moving through another doorway, he saw a flash, lighting up a figure of a man for a split second. He then felt the stinging in his arm. Instinctively, Michael raised his rifle and returned fire, the man fell. He looked over at his arm, a bullet had grazed his bicep. It hurt, but he could deal with it. A warm trickle of blood flowed down his arm, but this fact was banished from his thoughts as he scanned around the room, rifle barrel leading the way, as he cleared the room. He saw another door, and moved through it, scanning around for threats. Finding none, he picked out a black computer monitor and moved towards it. From an ankle pocket, he pulled out a flash drive. On it, he had a program, developed by the NSA, to copy the entire hard drive of whatever computer he inserted the drive into. Michael slid the drive in, and saw it flash, meaning that was working, he turned his back and swept around the room, watching the door. He wouldn’t let something take him by surprise. Thirty seconds past, and Michael spun around again to retrieve his drive when a bang and a spark flashed behind and above him. He dropped and rolled over, bringing his rifle to bear and pulling the trigger quickly. The muzzle flash lit up the room and he saw in a split second, a man falling as he clutched a rifle. He glanced back, seeing the drive go dark. Michael ripped it out, and tore off, out of the facility. The North Koreans were scrambling now, and he encountered more resistance as he made his escape. As Michael faded away into the mist, he could hear the whomping of helicopters. But this would not have any bearing on his future. Because by the time they had their thumbs out of their ass, Michael would be back in the U.S., untouchable.
Chapter II: The First Domino
Six months had passed since that day, when he got a call from the Director. Everything about the call was off, there were no global crisis going on, either in the news or in the black world of espionage. Their meet was to take place in the Mall of America, which was one of the sites they met at. He drove in, and parked his car. He stalked inside, taking off his black aviators and looked around, he made a final check. He had his knife tucked into a pocket of his leather jacket and his Kimber Gold Combat II was in the small of his back, fully loaded and ready. This was how he went out, for Michael Haghn was a hunted man. He was able to pick out the Director at the food court, enjoying a Big Mac. Michael circulated around, before eventually picking a few tacos and mexi fries before sitting down. He saw the man’s SPO, his security officer, and he looked unusually tense, watching Michael with more suspicion. Almost immediately, the director passed a manilla folder between them. The man’s dark eyes, showing nothing, caused some concern to the agent. There was almost always a period of interaction between them, even if just to produce a cover.
“These were taken twenty minutes ago,” the man said quietly. The agent opened the folder carefully, and slid the contents out. High quality photo paper, but a low quality image, he guessed it was from a cell phone. Fifty seven minutes ago, in the Central European Time Zone, outside the Munich Deutsche Bundesbank. Three masked men, heavily armed, all carrying bags of money. One man, however, had his mask off, wielding an Austrian made pistol in one hand, and a German made rifle in the other. It was:
Him.
It was about midnight, maybe one in the morning. A lone figure, shirtless, padded through the halls of his home at the Institute. His chest was covered in the scars of warfare from years of battle, his face slightly blurred by a night’s worth of facial hair. He couldn’t sleep, and he had left his wife upstairs in their bedroom. Now, he had a very specific operation: Raid the refrigerator. That man, was Michael Haghn. He appeared only twenty four years old, in actuality he was closer to thirty. Such was one of the perks of being a werewol-archangel hybrid. He found his way to the kitchen, and opened up the refrigerator, poking his head around inside. Orange juice, bacon, eggs, blood bags... Finally he reached inside and pulled out a doughnut. Chewing on his meal, he looked out the door into the darkness of the Island. Again, he was stunned by the beauty of the place, created by his wife years ago. Nine years had passed since their wedding, and that caused him to smile over the glaze. Thinking back over the last ten years, he smiled and sighed softly.
“Sir, are you okay?” a slight, almost musical female voice said, a soft blue glow enveloped the room. The 5’11 full form of the first “Smart” Artificial Intelligence, a blonde woman with short hair. Algorithmic symbols danced across her form as she thought. Lyra was the first operational Artificial Intelligence System, created by Haghn. She could do six trillion calculations per second, and had no limits on her creativity. However, she would suffer for her genius. Smart AI constructs go rampant after eleven years after going operational. After ten years, they are moved to non-combat caretaker roles, where they provide support to the newer AI’s and to the Fleet.
“Fine, Ly,” the man replied, not looking away.
“I completed the intelligence estimates on the Vekh,” the AI said, crossing her arms. “And forwarded it to Fleet Intelligence.”
“Do you miss operational life?” he asked, glancing back at the somewhat ghostly form.
“Aboard the Razor’s Edge?” Lyra asked, smiling slightly. “Every second. I loved it, its complexity, everything. But I guess now I have to take this easier job. I helped recommend this program, after all.”
He didn’t think it was proper to talk about Cassandra, his new AI for the Razor’s Edge, with his first AI. He picked up a trace of concealment in her voice, something he had helped program. “I can tell it in your voice, Lyra, what else?”
“Well,” she looked down, almost embarrassed. “I had some time, so I went through your old files, when you and Allyson first met.”
Michael Haghn looked up, “really?”
“Yes, I organized it all, into a book.”
Haghn finished his doughnut, and turned around, walking into the Library. He found his favorite chair, a black leather wingback chair by the fireplace. He crashed in it, as Lyra followed him into the capacious room. “Okay, Lyra, explain.” The AI seemed to lean on one of the tables, looking past him as the information scrolled across her eyes, invisible to him, as the voice began to narrate.
Chapter I: The Goat Farm
Before I begin, I have to say how hard it is to begin this story. There were so many places where I could start, but I decided to start here, the event that brought them together.
A man, clad in all black, stood in the whipping wind in the doorway of the small executive aircraft, staring into the impenetrable blackness. He was about six feet tall, Fastened to his back was a parachute, which he would open and glide into North Korea. Across his chest was a Beretta ARX-160, a short barrelled rifle which he planned to use on his reconnaissance mission. He had a suppressor for it, but had not screwed it on to the end of the barrell. In a hip holster, he had a Heckler and Koch USP ready. Staring into the blackness, he had no idea that when he stepped off the plane, he would begin on an adventure that would change his life forever. In retrospect, he didn’t step off the plane, he jumped. Feet first into hell, like always. For the first few seconds, it there was the sound of the rushing wind of the night past him. Then he opened his chute, and everything passed into silence. For unfathomable minutes, he fell silently towards the coast, assisted by the Google Glass-like military grade sunglasses he wore. Although it was night, he still wore dark silver sunglasses concealing his eyes. The glasses provided himself with a heads up display, intigrated headset and earpiece, and access to the Agency's WAN network. The world was illuminated in green, night vision, the best available to his people. It took him two minutes before landfall came. Trees came up, and caught his parachute, the shock jolted him forward and back, before he was able to latch onto a tree and kill his movement. Michael freed his knife, a Blackhawk Nightwing, and cut himself free. Falling another seven feet, he landed easily and rolled to break his fall. He listened closely to the night, listening for the sounds of aircraft, motor engines, shouted orders, or footsteps. No pursuit. Welcome to North Korea, again. This was his eighth, or ninth? time in this country, he had forgotten. Michael had operated in so many countries, and so many times he had lost count. He fished into the thin backpack he wore and slid the suppressor onto his rifle. He powered up the sights, and linked the targeting systems to his sunglasses. After a final check of his equipment, he confirmed that every piece was exactly where it was before he jumped. Michael moved off, his target area was sixteen miles northwest of his drop zone. Satellites in orbit had picked up manhole sized heat emitters in the middle of a goat farm. Other assets had confirmed that no goats were being raised or kept at that farm. Therefore, it was up to nefarious business. The Director of the Central Intelligence Agency, a shady, nefarious man named Colonel Marcus Bridgoria. That man was the only point of contact for Haghn, the one who gave him the missions. Bridgoria had issued him the orders, and he was bound to follow them. He was the only man who knew Haghn existed. He set off on his trek, keeping his head on a swivel and listening to the night for movement or pursuit. Every tree was cover for him, and he moved silently and efficiently. After two hours of stalking through the trees, he reached the treeline near the goat farm. He switched to a thermal overlay, and confirmed that only three guards were present in the farmhouse. Each soldier sported Norinco CQ rifles, a Chinese made AR-15 variant. Michael knew only the North Korean Special Forces used these rifles. NKSOF guarding a goat farm? Curiouser and curiouser... he thought, as he raised his rifle. He didn’t have a shot on all three, so he decided to hedge his odds. Michael lowered the rifle, and dropped prone, dragging himself across the ground towards the farm. He made sure his movements were silent. Michael moved to within twenty meters of the house, and raised his rifle again. He got up, stalking through the shadows towards the front door. In a slow crouch, he propped his rifle up and listened. Two were in the front room, where he had seen them, the third was somewhere outside his line of sight. No more time for fancy footwork, no more finesse, no more bullshit. He ran up to the door, tested his boot on the lock, then brought his foot down, and kicked the door in. Michael rushed in, his rifle up. The two NKSOF troops reached for their rifles, alarmed at the interruption. They never made it, four puffs from the ARX reached out and took the heads of North Korea’s best off. Michael swiveled, listening for sounds of movement. The last one was in the bathroom, so he stalked there, and opened fire through the door. When he gingerly pushed the door open, he saw the NK soldier, slumped against the toilet, riddled with bullet holes. A rather dignified death, on the throne, he thought. Michael found what he was looking for, a door leading down to the basement. He reached down, and pulled it open, stepping in quietly. The tunnel down was dark and musty, covered in the green glow of his night vision. He stepped quietly, his rifle leading the way as he crouched. He approached the bottom of the stairs, and found a heavy steel door secured by a padlock. He reached into one of his many pockets and withdrew a lock breaking set. With forty five seconds work, he broke through the lock and gingerly pulled the door open. Inside was the harsh white light one would associate with a medical facility, that almost stunned him. The night vision automatically deactivated, and his glasses polarized. Michael pushed through the door, stepping into the white light with his rifle held high. Thoughts flew through his mind, his initial thought was laboratory, but a lab for what? Nukes? Chemical weapons? The front desk was deserted, so he stepped through. There was a second door, which he bypassed. The next hallway was dark, lit by red light, dim and casting long shadows. He kept the rifle up, until he heard the clanging. It sounded like a bell, but a misshapen bell. Metal on metal. The sound carried a message: Things are in motion, and now there is no going back. He kept moving, until he realized where he was. Michael looked down, over the catwalk, bathed in the shadows. Below, were softly glowing bluish white tanks, there was something inside, but he couldn’t see what it was. Another door was at the end of the hall, but he decided not to try it. Instead, he produced a cord, 5mm paracord. He tied a loop around the handrail, tested it to make sure it would support his weight, and jumped. Gliding down slowly, he swept his rifle around the chamber. Finding nothing but the tanks. He spotted an open space in which to land, and set down there. Michael dropped into a crouch, and crept towards another door he spotted in one corner of the room, making sure he took a good look at the tanks in the room. He was shocked by the appearance. Inside the tanks, were vaguely human bodies, curled up in the fetal position. What the hell is going on here? he wondered, but pushed past the tanks to the door. He tried the keypad next to it, but there was no response. So he drew an anti security blade and drew it through the door, unlocking it after a minute of work. He moved in, his rifle ready. The hallway was like the crypts in the catacombs of Europe, but more industrial. Like the crypt of an ancient civilization that worshiped technology. He continued these thoughts until he heard two pair of footsteps. Michael raised the ARX, bracing for an engagement. One form turned the corner, then another, both bearing rifles. Michael ducked into a sconce, pressing himself flat against the wall. He tucked the rifle into his chest, and stopped breathing. Voices in Korean chattered around him. He had no idea what these words meant, then he saw the two shapes pass his hiding spot. One of them caught a glance at him, turned as if seeing something abnormal. It was the last thing the Korean man did. Michael stepped forward, bringing his rifle up, and within a second, snapped off a single round. The head snapped back, and his partner, opening his mouth to speak, bellowed out a curse and an alarm at the top of his lungs as the dead body of his comrade flopped down on him. A second burst of gunfire took his head off. Almost instantly, alarms began to blare through the steel walls. He knew he had to escape, but through what path? He knew he had to go up, but he could hardly go back the way up he came. He’d be on a rope as easy target practice. So, he stepped over the bodies, and pushed deeper into the facility. His mission objective changed in his head. Survive, escape. Michael moved down the hallway, his rifle up. Another group of NKSOF turned the corner, and fell to a sustained burst of gunfire. Michael looked at the door in which they had come, and ran towards it. He moved quickly and deliberately, knowing he was outnumbered. But that was the story of his life, wasn’t it? Always outnumbered, never outgunned. Moving through another doorway, he saw a flash, lighting up a figure of a man for a split second. He then felt the stinging in his arm. Instinctively, Michael raised his rifle and returned fire, the man fell. He looked over at his arm, a bullet had grazed his bicep. It hurt, but he could deal with it. A warm trickle of blood flowed down his arm, but this fact was banished from his thoughts as he scanned around the room, rifle barrel leading the way, as he cleared the room. He saw another door, and moved through it, scanning around for threats. Finding none, he picked out a black computer monitor and moved towards it. From an ankle pocket, he pulled out a flash drive. On it, he had a program, developed by the NSA, to copy the entire hard drive of whatever computer he inserted the drive into. Michael slid the drive in, and saw it flash, meaning that was working, he turned his back and swept around the room, watching the door. He wouldn’t let something take him by surprise. Thirty seconds past, and Michael spun around again to retrieve his drive when a bang and a spark flashed behind and above him. He dropped and rolled over, bringing his rifle to bear and pulling the trigger quickly. The muzzle flash lit up the room and he saw in a split second, a man falling as he clutched a rifle. He glanced back, seeing the drive go dark. Michael ripped it out, and tore off, out of the facility. The North Koreans were scrambling now, and he encountered more resistance as he made his escape. As Michael faded away into the mist, he could hear the whomping of helicopters. But this would not have any bearing on his future. Because by the time they had their thumbs out of their ass, Michael would be back in the U.S., untouchable.
Chapter II: The First Domino
Six months had passed since that day, when he got a call from the Director. Everything about the call was off, there were no global crisis going on, either in the news or in the black world of espionage. Their meet was to take place in the Mall of America, which was one of the sites they met at. He drove in, and parked his car. He stalked inside, taking off his black aviators and looked around, he made a final check. He had his knife tucked into a pocket of his leather jacket and his Kimber Gold Combat II was in the small of his back, fully loaded and ready. This was how he went out, for Michael Haghn was a hunted man. He was able to pick out the Director at the food court, enjoying a Big Mac. Michael circulated around, before eventually picking a few tacos and mexi fries before sitting down. He saw the man’s SPO, his security officer, and he looked unusually tense, watching Michael with more suspicion. Almost immediately, the director passed a manilla folder between them. The man’s dark eyes, showing nothing, caused some concern to the agent. There was almost always a period of interaction between them, even if just to produce a cover.
“These were taken twenty minutes ago,” the man said quietly. The agent opened the folder carefully, and slid the contents out. High quality photo paper, but a low quality image, he guessed it was from a cell phone. Fifty seven minutes ago, in the Central European Time Zone, outside the Munich Deutsche Bundesbank. Three masked men, heavily armed, all carrying bags of money. One man, however, had his mask off, wielding an Austrian made pistol in one hand, and a German made rifle in the other. It was:
Him.
