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(Mount Weather Control Room - Present Day)
Cage slammed his fist on the console, the impact rattling the monitors, his reflection staring back in the dark glass.
"NOT AGAIN!"
His voice was a mix of fear and rage. The tech, Lovejoy, a pale man, flinched so violently he almost fell out of his chair. The other technicians in the control room wouldn't meet his eyes, their own faces full of terror.
On the main screen, the image remained. Grainy, high-resolution, and utterly damning. It was the "missing" guard. Or what was left of her. Another body, number fourteen, had been added to the "canvas."
Cage's mind began to race, trying to think where it all started.
It was all going so well. The Grounders were supposed to be inferior. They were livestock. Blood banks. Cattle, to be harvested for the continuation of a superior, civilized race. His father, with his naive "peace" and his dusty, pre-war art books, was outdated. Cage knew the truth: you don't make peace with your cattle.
But then... it all changed. Five months ago.
When 'HE' came.
(Flashback - Five Months Ago - Cage's Office)
Life in Mount Weather was perfect. The Red drug was under development, and life was good.
"The trials for Project Cerberus are proceeding, Father," Cage had said, swirling his brandy, the pre-war glass smooth in his hand. "We just need... more stock. The current subjects are not... strong enough."
Dante Wallace had sighed from behind his desk, his brow furrowed.
"Harvesting, Cage? Is that truly what we are? Must we always resort to... violence?"
"We resort to survival, Father," Cage had said, his patience thin. "They are savages. We are civilization. This morning, I sent a five-man team, Team Delta, to the outskirts of the Trikru territory. They are the best. They'll be back by nightfall with two new, healthy subjects. The project continues."
Dante had just shaken his head, turning back to his books.
However, something weird happened.
The Delta team didn't come back by nightfall.
By the next morning, the control room was tense. They were still radio silent.
"An error," Cage had snapped at Lieutenant Reilly. "They must have been careless. Hunted by the savages. Send team Echo. Find out what happened. And find my subjects."
Echo team, a two-man reconnaissance unit, left. They returned three hours later, their faces pale, their movements shaky. They hadn't found the subjects. They hadn't found the Delta team.
All they found... was a helmet.
The lieutenant had placed a scarred, mud-caked, tactical helmet camera on the console. "Sir... it's... it's Sergeant Miller's. The device was just... lying on the path. The recording is intact."
Cage had stood in the control room, his arms crossed, surrounded by his top technicians. "Put it on the main screen," he commanded. "Let's see what happened."
The file was uploaded. The screen flickered, and then it played.
The view was that of Sergeant Miller. They could hear all the small details, like the sound of birds.
"Control, this is Miller. Path is clear. Moving to the targeted location. We see the target village. Two females, unarmored. Easy snatch."
"Solid copy, Delta," a voice crackled back from the recording.
"Wait," Miller's voice said. "What's that? Barnes, did you see-"
The camera panned down. A small, grey, cylindrical canister sat in the middle of the path.
"What's that?" Barnes's voice, off-camera.
"No," Miller said, his voice suddenly panicked. "That's..."
FSSSSSHHHHHHH.
The canister exploded, not with fire, but with thick white smoke.
"Whiteout!" Barnes roared. "Visual obstruction! I can't see!"
"Group up!" Miller yelled. "Back-to-back! Now!"
And then... a new sound. A shing. The sound of a long blade being drawn.
"BARNES?!" Miller yelled, spinning, destabilizing the camera. "BARNES, REPORT!"
"What... what the fuck," another soldier, "He's... he's in the trees! No! He's-"
SHING.
"AGHHHHHH!"
The control room in Mount Weather was dead silent. Cage felt the blood drain from his face.
"WHERE IS HE?!" Miller was screaming on the video, firing his rifle, the bullets piercing into the trees. "I CAN'T FUCKING SEE HIM!"
And then, a blur.
Something moved. A streak of black and orange moved through the smoke, faster than a man should move.
"MY LEG!" a soldier screamed.
Miller spun toward the sound. The smoke was clearing. He saw one of his men, Russo, on the ground. He was alive. But his suit... his suit was cut open. A shallow, precise cut along his thigh. The thing wasn't killing him.
It was torturing him.
"WHAT IS THAT?!" Miller screamed, firing at the blur.
And then, the blur was on him. The camera saw it for one split second. A black-and-orange mask.
"JESUS FUCKING-"
The camera was ripped from Miller's helmet and flew through the air, landing in the ferns, pointing up.
What followed... was terrifying. The Mount Weather technicians, who had never seen real blood, were pale, many holding their stomachs.
They weren't just hearing screams. They were hearing the team begging.
"No... no, please, GOD, what are you... my skin! IT'S BURNING! IT'S BURNING!"
"...make it stop, make it stop, please, I'll tell you... MAKE IT STOP!"
"AGHHHHH!! Please, I beg you... I will do--"
Raw, high-pitched agony echoed through the control room. The sounds of men being... taken apart. Slowly. Methodically. It was a symphony of torture, of shallow cuts, of pressure points, of joints being dislocated.
They were hearing the singing of the blade, followed by screams. He was cutting them, one by one, in the most painful spots. The groin. The armpits. The tendons behind their knees.
This went on for another minute. Then, the video file ended.
The control room was dead silent. Lovejoy, the pale tech, turned and vomited into a trash can.
Cage just stared, his mind going blank.
"A... a smoke grenade," he finally whispered, his voice hoarse. "An... an M7 white-smoke grenade. U.S. Army issue."
He looked at his security chief. "WHERE THE FUCK DID THEY GET A SMOKE GRENADE?! AND WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?! THAT... THAT THING... IT'S NOT HUMAN! A HUMAN CANNOT MOVE THAT FAST!"
Before anyone could answer, another technician yelled, "SIR! Camera 4-Alpha has detected movement! They're... they're right in front of it!"
"Put it on!" Cage roared.
The screen changed, and the live feed played.
A large group of Trikru warriors was standing there, staring right at the camera.
And at their head, leading them... was the thing.
He was tall, encased in that same black and orange armor. He had two katanas on his back. Beside him stood Anya, the chief of Trikru. And her Second, Lexa.
"How... how do they know?" a tech whispered. "That camera has been hidden there for fifty years."
As if in answer, the figure in the armor stepped forward. And he spoke. His voice, electronically filtered, crackled through their speakers.
"I know you can see me," he said. The control room froze. "And I know you can hear me."
Cage felt a shiver go down his spine.
"I will keep this short, you..." he paused, as if searching for a word. "...you rats in a cage. This will be your only warning. You try this shit again... you try to take my people again... I'll take it as an act of war."
He pointed, not at the camera, but north. "I know about a... 'certain dam.'. Controls the river. A lot of concrete. A lot of water."
A new wave of shock rippled through the room.
"I," the voice continued, " also happen to have a lot of explosives."
Cage's mind went blank. The dam... he knew about the dam. That wasn't just a threat. That was checkmate.
"So," the figure said, "just to keep your memory fresh... to help you civilized folk remember this little chat... I'm leaving you a small 'momento.' A piece of art."
He raised his armored hand. "Pull."
The Trikru warriors behind him pulled on five heavy ropes. Lifting something. And soon the 'art' was on full display.
They were crosses. Five of them. Simple and made out of wood.
(The image check comments)
And pinned on them, or rather, nailed to them, with what looked like thick, iron spikes... were the five "lost" guards from Delta team.
Lovejoy vomited again, collapsing to his knees. Two of the female techs screamed, their hands over their mouths, and ran out of the room.
Cage just stared. It was... a masterpiece of horror. They were alive... or had been, for a long time. Their bodies were blistered and red from the radiation. The grounders had taken their suits. They left them in the sun, nailed them up, and let the radiation cook them alive. And the cuts... the shallow, precise, nasty cuts from the video... covered them head to toe.
It was the "art" of a monster, a message screaming: Come out of your mountain, we dare you.
"We are not your test subjects," the masked guy continued. "We are not your cattle. I am here now. And if you come out of your mountain again... I will hunt you. And I will drag you all out of your hole."
The figure then turned and walked away. The Trikru warriors, with one last, hateful look at the camera, followed.
The feed just... sat there. Showing the five crucified bodies.
Cage... felt something he hadn't felt since he was a child.
He felt like prey.
(The Control Room - Present Day)
Cage stared at the new image on the screen. The image of body number fourteen.
Because they hadn't learned.
Since that day, no matter what they tried, it had failed. They had tried sending patrols into Azgeda territory. The masked guy was there. They had tried Floukru territory. He was there.
They had tried the acid fog. The one weapon the Grounders had no defense against. And it had failed. The thing had known it was coming. They'd heard reports... of bunkers. The fog... had no effect.
And now, this. This last, desperate attempt. They had seen "the monster" ride for Polis, for the Conclave. They thought Trikru, his home, was undefended. They had sent a single guard.
And the Trikru, even without him, had caught her. And like every other body, she was added to the display.
The "canvas" now had fourteen bodies on it.
This was the horror. It wasn't just him anymore. He had trained them. He had turned the cattle into wolves.
Cage's rage, his fear, his humiliation, all combined into one, burning, single-minded thought.
They were trapped. Trapped in their mountain, not by the radiation... but by the monster they had woken up.
And they can't do anything about it.
---XXXX---
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