THE MENISCUS
THE WESTERN TERRACE
CITY BENEATH THE MIRROR
DEPTH: 412 METERS
NOVEMBER 19, 2013
06:15 LOCAL TIME
The ramp of the Leviathan hit the ground, but it didn't clang against rock. It hit glass.
Captain Boris "Borz" Volkov was the first out. He stepped off the metal ramp, his "Bastion" exoskeleton hissing as the hydraulics compensated for the sudden shift in gravity. He raised his RPK-16, scanning for targets, expecting the crushing resistance of deep water.
He expected to drown. He expected the pressure to try and squeeze his eyes out of his skull.
Instead, he took a breath.
The air was cold. It tasted metallic, like ozone and stale electricity, but it was air.
"What in the heavy-metal fuck..." Sledge muttered behind him, stumbling as he exited the vehicle.
The squad froze. Even the Delta operators, men who had seen the classified files on the Omega Gate, lowered their weapons for a fraction of a second to process the impossibility of what they were seeing.
They were standing on a terrace paved with black obsidian tiles, perfectly smooth and interlocking. Above them, roughly two hundred feet up, was the ocean.
But it wasn't crashing down.
A massive, shimmering dome of violet energy—a force field—held the billions of tons of water at bay. It stretched out in a perfect radius of two and a half kilometers.
The water pressed against the field, creating a ceiling of roiling black liquid. Bioluminescent fish swam over the city, casting moving, ghostly shadows on the buildings below. It was like living inside a glass bowl at the bottom of the abyss.
"Check your seals," Master Sgt. "Ghost" Riley whispered, his voice cutting through the awe. "We have atmosphere. Oxygen levels are... 18%. Breathable. Gravity is standard."
"It is a bubble," Borz rumbled, looking up at the ceiling where a massive shark-like creature bumped its nose against the energy field. The field rippled like oil, then settled. "They built a bubble at the bottom of the world."
The city itself lay before them. It was a nightmare of geometry.
Towers made of that same black glass twisted upward, not in straight lines, but in spirals. They didn't look built; they looked grown. Bridges of solid light connected the spires. The only illumination came from the violet pulse of the shield above and the soft, blue glow of the architectural lines running through the streets.
"Clear the ramp," Hooch's voice crackled over the local comms. "Foley needs to tuck the Leviathan into that alcove. If a patrol comes by, a ten-ton tank isn't exactly inconspicuous."
The Gravediggers moved. They fanned out, taking cover behind a row of statues that lined the terrace. The statues were faceless, robed figures holding lanterns.
Borz crouched behind one, his massive armored frame barely concealed.
Then, the main channel opened.
A voice, clear and commanding, overrode their helmet squelch. It wasn't McCaffrey. It was deeper, rougher. The voice of a man who had gargled gravel for breakfast.
"Gravedigger Actual, this is Iron Vance. Comms check."
Ghost tapped his ear. "Solid copy, Colonel. We are boots on the ground. Atmosphere is stable. We are... dry."
"Copy that, Echo-Six. I'm feeding off the Leviathan's signal buoy. Your telemetry is live on my screen. Listen closely. The bombardment topside is masking your acoustic footprint, but that shield above you acts like a drum skin. If you start a firefight with heavy caliber rounds, the echo will alert every hostile in that dome."
"Understood," Ghost said. He looked at the Russians. "Suppressors only. Cold steel."
"Negative on kinetic engagement unless compromised," Vance ordered. "Borz, tell your boys to keep their fingers off the triggers. That includes the RPKs. You are the hammer, Captain, but right now I need a scalpel. If you fire those 5.45 rounds, you might fracture the city's structural integrity or worse—collapse the shield."
"If they see us, we shoot," Borz grunted. "I am not dying because I was polite."
"If they see you, you're already dead," Vance shot back. "Hold fire. Deploy the drones. I need eyes on the prize."
INSIDE THE LEVIATHAN
COCKPIT
"Deploying 'Seekers'," Sgt. Foley said, flipping a bank of switches.
From the rear hull of the Leviathan, two small tubes ejected. They didn't look like standard quadcopters. They were shaped like flat, black manta rays, designed for underwater or atmospheric flight.
The drones hummed to life—a sound barely louder than a mosquito—and zipped away into the violet gloom.
Hooch watched the monitors. The video feed was grainy due to the high mana density, shifting in and out of focus.
"Come on, little guys," Hooch whispered. "Find him. Find the big man."
The drones split up.
Drone Alpha banked left, soaring over a residential district of silent, empty houses.
Drone Beta went straight down the main avenue, toward the massive structure in the center.
"Thermal is picking up clusters," Sparks called out from the gunner's seat. "Multiple signatures. But they're cold... colder than human."
"The Wraiths," Foley said. "Armor masking."
On the screen, the drone feeds triangulated the heat sources. A map began to populate on the tactical display, overlaying the city grid.
"I have three points of interest," Foley announced, patching the data to the team outside.
"Target One: The Sanguine Hall," Foley narrated. The drone footage showed a low, sprawling complex to the east. Pipes—transparent and pulsing with red fluid—ran out of it and into the ground. "High concentration of biological readings. Stationary. That could be where they're keeping the wounded. Russo, the Gorkhas."
"Target Two: The Foundry," Foley continued. The camera panned to a heavily fortified industrial zone in the west. "Heat spikes. immense energy output. If they have tech, that's where they keep it."
"Target Three: The Cathedral."
The camera zoomed in on the center of the city.
It was a colossus. A spire of obsidian that pierced almost all the way to the water shield. The doors were fifty feet high.
"Massive energy reading," Foley said. "It's off the charts. And... I'm picking up a rhythmic bio-signal. Slow. Powerful. It matches the heartbeat profile of the Asset."
"He's in the church," Hooch said, feeling a knot in his chest. "They took him to church."
Outside, Ghost looked at the tactical map on his HUD.
"We split?" Viper asked, his voice a whisper.
"No," Ghost shook his head. "We don't have the numbers. If we get pinned down, we need the heavy guns. We move as one entity. We sweep the perimeter, then we hit the Cathedral."
"What about the other two sites?" Borz asked.
"If Harris is in the Cathedral, that's the priority," Ghost said. "If we secure the Asset, he can help us tear this place down to find the others. We move toward Target Three."
Moving fifteen men through an enemy city was difficult. Moving five of them who were wearing 400-pound robotic suits was nearly impossible.
The Spetsnaz operators had to move in a crouch, stepping with agonizing slowness to prevent their hydraulic servos from whining. Every step was a calculated risk. Crunch.
Viper took point. The South Korean sniper had activated his Optic-Camo. To the naked eye, he was just a blur, a heat-haze in the shape of a man. He moved like smoke, sliding from shadow to shadow.
Fifty meters behind him, Echo-Six (Delta) moved in a diamond formation, their suppressed MCX Rattlers raised.
And behind them, the Iron Curtain (Spetsnaz) brought up the rear, watching the flanks, their massive bodies serving as mobile cover.
"Contact," Viper's voice barely registered on the comms. "Patrol. Twelve o'clock. 200 meters."
Ghost raised a fist. Freeze.
The entire squad stopped. Borz leaned his back against a wall, merging with the obsidian architecture.
Down the street, three of the Wraiths glided past.
Up close, they were terrifying.
They didn't walk. They hovered an inch off the ground, propelled by some silent anti-gravity tech. Their armor was segmented, gleaming like liquid mercury. They wore long, flowing coats of a material that seemed to absorb the light.
Their helmets were smooth, featureless ovals of black glass. No eyes. No mouth.
And they were armed. Not with guns, but with long, curved glaives that crackled with purple electricity.
"Fuck me," Rook (Delta) whispered. "They look like something out of a anime nightmare."
"Scanner says they rely on mana-sonar," Viper reported. "Don't make noise. Don't emit active radar pulses."
One of the Wraiths stopped.
It turned its head slowly. The featureless face looked directly at the statue where Sledge was hiding.
The Russian held his breath. His finger hovered over the trigger of his 20mm anti-material rifle.
Don't do it, Ghost thought. Don't do it, you crazy Russian bastard.
The Wraith tilted its head. It took a step toward the statue.
It sensed something. The heartbeat? The heat from the exoskeleton?
Viper didn't wait.
He didn't shoot. The sound of the suppressed .338 lapua would still be too loud in this acoustic chamber.
Instead, Viper unholstered a throwing knife. It was a weighted, blackened blade.
He stood up from his cover, forty meters away.
With a fluid motion, he threw it.
The knife didn't hit the Wraith.
It hit a glass wind-chime hanging from a building across the street.
TINK-CLATTER.
The sound was sharp and sudden.
All three Wraiths snapped their heads toward the noise. Their glaives hummed, lighting up ready for combat. They moved toward the chime, gliding away from the squad.
"Clear," Viper whispered. "Move. Now."
They hurried across the open intersection.
The tension was palpable. Every bootfall felt like a thunderclap.
"That was too close," Borz grunted on the secure channel. "Next time, let me crush them. My suit has hydraulic grips. I can snap a neck before they scream."
"And if they have a dead-man switch?" Ghost hissed back. "If their armor signals the others when their heart stops? We stay invisible until we breach the doors."
APPROACHING THE CATHEDRAL PLAZA
06:50 LOCAL TIME
The path to the Cathedral led them through a park.
But nothing grew here. The trees were petrified, made of black stone with leaves of razor-sharp glass.
The Obsidian Garden.
"This place is wrong," Doc (Delta) muttered, stepping over a root that looked disturbingly like a human femur. "It feels... sterile."
"Eyes up," Ghost ordered. "We're entering the inner circle. Hostile density is increasing."
Through the gaps in the stone trees, they saw the plaza.
It was crawling with them.
At least twenty Wraiths were stationed around the massive steps of the Cathedral. And they weren't alone.
Standing guard at the doors were two Constructs.
Massive, four-legged robotic spiders—similar to the one Harris had fought, but sleek, armored, and glowing with that same violet energy.
"Heavy armor," Borz noted, his tone shifting from annoyance to professional interest. "Those walkers... 30mm plating at least. My AP rounds will punch through, but it will take sustained fire."
"We can't sneak past twenty guards and two tanks," Rook whispered.
"We don't need to sneak past all of them," Ghost said. He looked at the layout. "We need a diversion. A localized one."
He keyed his mic.
"Leviathan, this is Ghost. Do you still have control of the drones?"
"Affirmative," Foley replied. "Battery is at 40%, but they're flying."
"I need you to fly Drone Alpha into the Sanguine Hall. Full speed. Ram it into something volatile."
There was a pause.
"You want me to start a fire?"
"I want you to start a panic," Ghost said. "Pull the guards away from the front door."
"Copy that. Kamikaze run in 3... 2... 1..."
The squad hunkered down in the glass bushes, watching the plaza.
A few seconds later, a dull THUMP echoed from the east side of the city.
Then, a siren began to wail. It was a low, mournful sound, like a whale song pitched up to a scream.
Violet lights flashed across the city.
In the plaza, the Wraiths reacted instantly. They moved with terrifying synchronization. Twelve of them broke formation, gliding rapidly toward the source of the explosion.
The two Spider-Constructs remained at the door, but their turrets swiveled toward the east.
"That's our gap," Ghost said. "Viper, can you take the sentries on the balcony?"
"Two targets," Viper said, settling his rifle onto a branch of a stone tree. "Elevation 40 feet. If I drop them, they fall into the courtyard. Bodies make noise."
"Drop them backwards," Borz suggested. "Hit them in the shoulder. Spin them onto the roof."
Viper adjusted his scope. He dialed in the mana-compensation.
"Synchronized shot. I'll take left. Ghost, you take right."
Ghost raised his Rattler. The suppressor looked impossibly small against the scale of the building.
"On three. Two. One."
Pfft.
Thwip.
Two sounds, barely louder than a cough.
On the balcony above the great doors, the two Wraiths jerked violently. Viper's heavy .338 round caught the left one in the chest plate, the force spinning it backward into the shadows of the archway. Ghost's round took the right one in the throat, dropping it behind the parapet.
No bodies fell. No alarm was raised.
"Move," Ghost commanded. "Go! Go! Go!"
The squad broke cover.
They didn't run; they sprinted. The Russians, despite their bulk, moved with surprising speed, their exoskeletons eating up the ground in long, bounding strides. The Delta operators flanked them, weapons trained on the remaining guards.
They reached the base of the stairs.
The two Spider-Constructs were still looking east. They were blind to the approach from the garden.
"EMP charges," Ghost signaled to Switch (Delta Tech).
Switch ran forward, sliding under the belly of the first Construct. He slapped a magnetic puck onto its undercarriage. He rolled, sprinted to the second one, and slapped another.
He scrambled back.
"Clear!"
ZZZZZT.
A muted pulse of blue ionization rippled through the machines.
The Constructs didn't explode. They just... died. Their lights flickered and went out. They slumped on their hydraulic legs, frozen statues.
"Clean," Borz grunted approvingly. "American toys work well."
PART 5: THE DOORS OF NIGHTTHE CATHEDRAL ENTRANCE
07:05 LOCAL TIME
They stood before the doors.
Up close, the scale was dizzying. The doors were made of a single slab of obsidian, carved with runes that hurt the eyes to look at. They depicted scenes of stars falling from the sky and burning the earth.
"This isn't just a prison," Hooch whispered over the comms, watching through Borz's helmet cam. "It looks like a temple."
"It's both," Vance's voice cut in. "We have intercepted local network chatter. They aren't just holding Harris. They are preparing him. Ritual extraction. You are on the clock, gentlemen."
Ghost checked the door. No handles. No keyholes. Just a faint violet seam running down the middle.
"Breaching charges?" Sledge asked, eager to finally blow something up.
"Too loud," Ghost said. "Switch, can you hack it?"
Switch connected his datapad to a panel on the side of the door frame.
"The code is... geometric. It's not binary. It's based on light refraction. Give me thirty seconds."
The team formed a defensive perimeter, backs to the door, guns facing the plaza.
The silence was returning. The siren had stopped.
"They know something is wrong," Viper whispered from his perch behind a pillar. "The patrol is turning back. We have movement on the rooftops."
"Hurry up, Switch," Ghost hissed.
"I'm trying! It's like trying to solve a Rubik's cube that fights back!" Switch cursed. "Got it! Bypassing the locking mechanism... now."
A deep, grinding sound resonated through the stone.
GRRR-RUMBLE.
The massive doors began to split. A gap appeared, widening slowly.
From inside, a blast of cold air rushed out. It smelled of ozone, copper, and... incense?
"Doors open," Switch announced, unplugging his gear.
Ghost turned to face the darkness within.
"Iron Curtain, take point. Shields up. Anything that moves inside is a target."
Borz stepped forward. He activated the energy shield built into his left gauntlet. A translucent blue barrier expanded, covering his upper body.
"We go to hell," Borz growled.
He stepped across the threshold.
The Gravediggers followed, vanishing into the gullet of the Cathedral.
Behind them, the massive doors began to slide shut again, sealing them in with the monster.