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The armor, the only difference is the second eye-hole is there. As the MC still has his second eye.
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They waited outside the bunker's entrance. The twenty Trikru warriors formed a wide circle, their hands never straying from their weapons. They muttered in low, hushed tones, glancing at the dark, square hole, then at their Commander. They had seen things that did not fit their world: flawless blades and guns behind unbreakable glass, and a man who had stepped out of a metal coffin.
Lexa was not muttering. She was pacing.
Her movements were sharp and really agitated.
"This is a mistake, Anya," she said, her voice low and tight, meant only for her Commander. "A complete stranger. A man from the Old World, who speaks the Tongue, and smiles like he knows all our secrets. He's arrogant. You saw it. 'You want to see me change?'" Mimicking him.
"He's toying with us. He's a threat. He should be in chains, or dead."
Anya stood perfectly still, her gaze fixed on the bunker's opening. A small, fond smile, so faint it was barely there, touched her lips for a second. It had been a long time since she had seen Lexa this... young. This agitated.
Costia's death had forged Lexa into a creature of cold, focused grief. This new, unknown element, Mike, had finally, finally, gotten under her skin and sparked something else. Something fiery and alive.
"He is up to no good, Anya. I know it," Lexa insisted, stopping her pacing to stand directly in front of her mentor. "He's a liar. An assassin? What kind of warrior fights for coin? It's... It's not right."
The smile vanished from Anya's face, her professional mask sliding back into place. "He is what he is, Lexa. What matters is what we do with him." Her mind was a battlefield of calculations. The man was... approachable. That was the word that kept coming to her. He wasn't a raving monster. He was calm, collected, even charming in a terrifying, predatory way. He was a puzzle, and inside that puzzle was a weapon.
"He is a tool," Anya said, her voice hard. "He is a man with no tribe, no context, and, from the looks of that armory, power that we have only dreamed of. Azgeda grows stronger every day. The Mountain Men hold us at bay with a word. I will not let a potential advantage like this walk into the woods and get found by Nia. He will come with us. He will be our asset, or he will be put in the ground. Is that clear?"
Lexa's jaw tightened. "It's clear. But I will be watching him. The moment he steps out of line..."
"He will be your problem, so look after him." Anya finished with a small smile.
Lexa gave her a suspicious look. (You know the meme)
Just then....
A heavy thud and the scrape of metal on metal came from the bunker.
A moment later, he emerged, climbing the short ladder into the green-gray light of the forest.
He was no longer just a scarred, muscular man in pants. He was a walking armory.
He was encased in a suit of advanced, tactical armor, a mosaic of dark blue-grey and vibrant burnt-orange. Thick, interlocking plates of some unknown, incredibly resilient material covered his chest, shoulders, and legs, sculpted to allow for maximum flexibility while offering protection.
The plates were not flat, but subtly angled, designed to deflect impact and channel force. A fine, almost reptilian texture covered the dark blue-grey sections of the armor, providing both stealth and added durability.
The burnt-orange color, striking against the darker tones, highlighted his powerful physique and marked the crucial joints and flexible areas, the inside of his elbows, the back of his knees, the straps that crisscrossed his body. These straps and webbing formed an intricate system, holding a dozen different tactical pouches, sheaths, and clips. Two sheathed swords, their hilts an extension of the orange-and-black aesthetic, were mounted to his back, their tips just visible over his shoulders. A black, angular rifle was strapped across his upper back, positioned for quick access. Several throwing knives were tucked into sheaths on his forearms and thighs, and a small rod was attached to his hip.
He had left the mask. That, Anya noted, was the most disturbing part. The helmet that must have gone with this suit was gone, leaving his face fully exposed.
(The Pic of his armor)
In his left hand, he carried a large, black bag.
The Trikru warriors just stared at him and thought, 'How many weapons does this guy carry on him?!'
Mike stopped in front of Anya and Lexa. He adjusted the strap of the heavy bag on his shoulder.
"Shall we move?"
His voice, casual and calm, was a shocking contrast to the vision he presented.
Anya was the first to recover. The awe was replaced by cold calculation. She needed him. "Yes," she said, her voice curt. "Follow us. And stay close."
She turned, and the party began to move. Anya and Lexa took the lead, with Mike walking directly behind them.
The twenty warriors, now looking far less intimidating, fanned out around them, their eyes constantly darting back to the black-and-orange figure in their midst.
They walked in silence for several minutes, the only sound the crunch of boots on the forest floor and the jingle of Mike's bag.
And then, mid-stride, he stopped.
The entire column halted. The warriors turned, their blades half-drawn.
Anya spun around. "Is there a problem?"
Mike stood perfectly still, his head moved just slightly, like a wolf testing the wind. He didn't answer. Instead, he moved, closing the distance between them in two fast, silent strides.
Lexa instantly drew her sword, placing herself between Mike and Anya.
"Back away!" she hissed.
Mike ignored her, his golden eyes locked on Anya. He leaned in, invading her personal space, bringing his head down close to her ear. The Trikru warriors let out a collective growl, and two notched arrows were aimed at his chest.
Before Anya could react, to shove him or gut him, he whispered, his voice a low, hot rumble against her skin. (Too much?)
"Is there someone supposed to be keeping an eye on us? From the tree... ten feet to your right. The one with the thick, split trunk."
Anya's blood ran cold.
She knew that tree. It was a known patrol marker. But there were no patrols scheduled for this area, not since the children found the bunker.
She had ordered it cleared.
Her warrior's instincts screamed at her to back away, to look, to draw her blade. But Mike's hand shot out and gripped her arm. It wasn't a violent grip, but it was firm.
"Don't look there," he whispered, his voice still low, but now with a razor's edge. "Just answer me. Yes or no."
Anya stared into his eyes, inches from her own. She saw, for the first time, the true man behind his joking and approachable personality.
"No," she breathed, the word barely a sound. "There should not."
Mike's expression didn't change, but his eyes... they smiled.
"Good to know," he said, releasing her arm and backing away slowly.
He was in one fluid, impossible motion.
He didn't wind up. He didn't aim. His left hand, the one that wasn't holding the bag, blurred. It dropped into a pouch on his chest, and in the same second, it was moving forward.
A black, weighted throwing knife appeared in his hand and was gone in the same instant.
THWACK-SQUELCH.
The sound of the blade, a foot-long, custom-forged piece of steel, embedding itself in the tree was followed immediately by a wet, gurgling scream.
"AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"
A body crashed down through the high branches, a spray of red following it. The man hit the forest floor with a heavy thud. He was Azgeda, his face painted in the white and blue woad of the Ice Nation.
Mike's knife was in the center of his skull. It had him pinning him to the thick, mossy ground like an insect.
The Trikru warriors stared, their mouths open. No one had heard him. No one had seen him.
"Capture him!" Anya yelled, her voice breaking the stunned silence. But it was too late. The man was already dead.
"No," Anya corrected herself, her commander's voice returning. "Check him. And check the trees. Now!"
The warriors swarmed the area. Lexa was the first to the body, her sword drawn. She confirmed the kill with a practiced, cold glance. "He's Azgeda," she called out, her voice tight with a new, unwelcome respect.
Anya turned to Mike. He was just... standing there, flexing his throwing hand as if to work out a cramp.
"They're not alone," Mike said, as if commenting on the weather. "He's a scout, but he's sloppy. He's part of a cell. Probably... five or six. They'd be stationed at intervals. He's the lookout."
"You," another warrior shouted, dragging a second, very live man from a cluster of ferns. "We found another!"
This one was alive, a knife wound in his shoulder. He must have been the one from the tree. The first one, the one Mike had pinned, must have been his partner.
Wait, Anya thought, her mind trying to catch up. He threw... one knife.
She looked at the body pinned by the skull. She looked at the warrior with the bleeding shoulder, now being disarmed and tied. He threw two. At two different targets. At the same time.
It's not possible.
The captured Azgeda spy was dragged before her.
They tied him to a tree.
"Where is he from?" Anya snapped.
Lexa, her frustration and anger needing an outlet, stepped in. "He's from the Ice Nation." She punctuated her words by breaking one of the spy's fingers.
"How many?" Anya demanded.
Lexa broke another. The snap echoed in the clearing.
"Five!" the spy shrieked, his bravado gone. "Five of us! We were just told to watch the border! The Queen didn't want to risk a full patrol!"
"Have you reported... this?" Anya asked, gesturing to the bunker.
"No! No!" the spy cried, tears of pain in his eyes. "We just got here! I saw your party, I was just watching! We haven't reported anything! Please! Mercy!"
Anya looked at the man, her face a cold mask. "I will give you a choice. You tell me their descriptions, their locations, and you live. I will hand you over to the Ice Nation myself. It will be their justice, not mine. But you will live."
The spy, shaking with relief and pain, spilled everything. The names, the descriptions, their patrol routes, their designated meeting spot.
When he was finished, he was gasping.
"There. That's all of it. You... you promised."
"I did," Anya said, her voice soft. "I will keep my part of the deal. You will not die by my hand."
The spy sagged in relief.
Anya gave Lexa a single, cold glance.
Lexa's eyes, which had been angry, went utterly dead. She stepped forward, her sword a silver blur. The spy's eyes went wide, his mouth opening to form a word.
Thrust.
Lexa's blade slid between his ribs and into his heart in one clean, efficient, and silent motion. She held him there, her face inches from his, as the life drained from his eyes.
"B-but... you... promised..." he gurgled, a trickle of blood running from his lips.
"How naive," Lexa whispered, her voice devoid of all emotion.
She ripped her blade free, letting the body slump to the ground.
A long, low whistle cut through the clearing.
Mike was standing there, a look of genuine, impressed amusement on his face. He even gave a slow, respectful clap.
"Dayam!" he said, a real laugh in his voice. "Did not expect you to be so decisive. I like it. Very... efficient."
Lexa's head snapped toward him, her eyes blazing, her sword still dripping.' That's right! I am the strongest! .' She thought while feeling a little giddy.
Looking at her face, Mike just laughed.
Anya ignored them both. Her mind was on one, singular, terrifying question. She stepped up to Mike, her personal space be damned.
"How," she demanded, her voice low and intense. "How did you know his location. Not a guess. Exactly."
Mike's eyes met hers. The amusement was gone, replaced by that same, cold, professional calm. The grin returned, just a little.
"I told you," he said, tapping the side of his head. "I was the best one out there. Still am."
He turned and looked down the path. "Now... you have four more spies to hunt, and I'm guessing you don't want them reporting back to an Ice Queen." He hefted his heavy bag. "Let's go. We're running out of daylight."
And with that, he turned and continued walking, leaving a stunned Commander and a seething Second to follow in his wake.
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