Whup-whup… whup-whup…
Two helicopters move through a harsh blizzard and slowly approach what is known as the black zone's outer boundary.
Ahead of the helicopters, an eternally frozen expanse stretches far.
Xi-4, otherwise known as "Literature Club", sits shoulder-to-shoulder within the cabin of the second helicopter, strapped into metal seats that tremble violently beneath them. The wind outside screams against the fuselage. And no one speaks. The only sounds are the churning of the engine, the rattling of their respective equipment, and the voices of the pilot and copilot over the internal channel.
"Xi-4, this is Helo-One. Approaching the outer boundary of the black zone in thirty seconds. Visibility near zero. Turbulence increasing," mentions the pilot of the leading helicopter.
An operative, Navarro Rhyll (Xi-4-3), face hidden beneath a cold-weather mask marked with stylized ink patterns that glow faintly in the natural light coming through the windows, tightens their grip on a thaumaturgically enhanced rifle. Beside the masked rifleman sits a woman, Mara Issen (Xi-4-2), with short black hair and a throat tattoo that glows a soft blue with every breath. Across from her is a broad-shouldered veteran, Bastion Hale (Xi-4-1), wearing a heavy scholar's vest covered in stitched diagrams, firmly gripping onto a enormous metal tower shield positioned in front of him. Next to him sits Eldric Vane (Xi-4-4), a quiet older man in heavy robes with mirrored lenses over his eyes, absently turning a small brass device that occasionally ticks. To his left, a younger operative, Lio Fenwright (Xi-4-6), in a hooded winter coat clutches a charm of folded paper and metal wire, whispering unintelligible incantations that spread a gentle warmth through the cabin. Farther down the row, a tall man with braided hair and a small library of runic knives hanging from his belt, Roran Khyre (Xi-4-5), sits completely motionless.
"Copy, Helo-One," the pilot responds.
The cabin shakes. Straps creak. Breath fogs in the frigid air despite the heated interior.
Bastion shifts slightly, his tower shield rattling as the helicopter tilts.
Mara glances toward the frosted window. "Visibility is getting worse. I cannot even see ten meters out there."
Navarro checks the charging sigil on their rifle. "Storm is alive."
Lio exhales softly, keeping the charm cupped in both hands. "The air is truly sickening."
Roran finally moves, shut eyelids peeling open as he breaks free from a strange trance. "We are approaching him. I am sure of it."
A brief silence follows. Each operative knows who he refers to.
The pilot breaks in through the intercom. "Xi-4, this is Helo-One. We just cross the threshold. Instruments are losing calibration. Keep yourselves steady."
The cabin sways violently, almost on cue. Timekeeping devices notably immediately cease to function, alongside any other regular devices not fueled by thaumaturgy.
Xi-4 braces as the helicopter bucks along a sudden downward draft, the fuselage vibrating hard enough to rattle teeth. The blizzard outside is a solid wall of white, making the world feel almost small and suffocating.
Bastion steadies his tower shield against his knee as the cockpit alarms chirp faintly.
Navarro leans forward. "Distance?" The copilot is quick to answer. "Eleven klicks to the target's last known location. Thermal is practically useless out here. Thaumic sensors seem to be picking up active signatures across the whole zone."
Eldric mutters something under his breath as the brass device in his palm clicks twice.
The radio crackles. "Helo-One to Helo-Two. We have visual contact. Something is moving below the cloud line. It is large. Fast, too."
Every operative looks toward the window. The white churn outside shifts slightly. Navarro whispers, "Already? I do not think we attract something so fast."
The pilot curses under his breath. "Whatever that is, it is matching our speed."
The radio crackles again. "Helo-One to Helo-Two. Continue toward the target. We are diverting to draw whatever it is away. Remember the mission."
"Copy, Helo-One. Stay high. Be careful."
The moment Helo-One veers off, the storm seems to shudder. Fortunately, whatever tails the helicopters appears to be successfully drawn away by Helo-One.
The tension eases only slightly as Helo-One drifts off into the white abyss, its silhouette fading behind the wall of snow.
. . .
Approximately ten minutes later.
Mara exhales through her nose. Bastion adjusts the strap on his shield while glancing toward the cockpit. Navarro shifts their rifle into a ready posture, the sigils lining the barrel flickering alight.
The pilot steadies the helicopter and says, "Approaching target zone. Thirty seconds."
The copilot calls out coordinates and altitude. Navarro leans toward the window, squinting through the blind whirling snow. "I see something. Ahead, low."
A vague shape moves beneath the storm line.
Bastion rises half an inch in his seat, grip tightening. "Is it him?"
The pilot lowers their speed, eyes fixed on the many instruments in the cockpit. "Unknown. Contact in fifteen seconds."
The blizzard thins for only a moment, and in that narrow window, they all see it: a lone figure walking north through the storm, long hair whipping in the wind.
Mara's throat tightens. "That has to be MV-1119."
The copilot switches channels. "Helo-Two to Command. We have visual."
The figure pauses, lifts his head, and looks toward the sky. Straight at them.
. . .
He hears the helicopter's churning blades before he sees them. An absurd machine, flying through the intense, unwavering storm. He has not seen or imagined anything like it.
He lifts his head and narrows his eyes, staring directly at the approaching machine. Snow whips across his coat and up his hair, yet he does not blink.
His voice does not rise higher than the wind, only but a soft murmur. "Magnificent."
He resumes walking, snow crunching underfoot, as a distant roar grows louder as the flying machine begins circling overhead, slowly dipping lower.
A strange machine, somehow defying the harsh winds. He intently studies it as it circles, only to suddenly shut his eyelids and focus.
CHRRR-CHRRR-CHRRR.
The machine dips lower, fighting the wind. Its shape becomes clearer through the white veil. Twin rotors. Thick hull. Wide wings. Heat spilling faintly from its underbelly. Its metal trembles against the storm's might, but somehow persists, stubbornly.
He lifts his chin slightly, silver irises catching the light as his eyelids peel open. "Humans," he murmurs. "I see."
Nearly on cue, the helicopter's loading ramp lowers, and six silhouettes drop from the aircraft, landing roughly twenty meters away. Their boots strike the snow, their landing muted by the roaring wind. He pauses mid-stride and studies them, head tilted slightly.
They spread out in a cautious formation, forming a half-circle with their weapons low but evidently ready. If it is not for one of them actively fighting the enveloping cold with unintelligible incantations, it is not long before they freeze to death.
One of them steps forward, Bastion.
He is strong, stronger than the others.
He studies the man in front, a man built like a fortress of flesh and steel. The tower shield in his hold hums faintly, runes carved along its surface pulsing, steadily.
The wind shifts.
"We mean no harm," Bastion finally speaks.
"Yet you hold your weapons poised," he finally replies.
The entirety of the squad grows tenser. Some are a little surprised.
He watches them tense, watches their shoulders rise and stiffen. Their breaths short-lived.
Bastion plants his shield into the dense snow, letting it rest against his boot as both hands remain visible. "Standard protocol," he says. "This place is highly dangerous. We cannot risk coming unarmed."
He tilts his head slightly in vague acknowledgement. "Very well. If you are not here to bring me harm, what is your intention?"
"We are here to extract you," he says. "We receive orders to quickly locate you and bring you out of the black zone alive."
The others in the half-circle remain tense and ready.
He steps forward once, letting the snow part around his toes and feet. "Extract me?" he repeats under his breath.
Bastion nods once. "Correct. Our orders are to locate you and escort you to safety. You are provided shelter, medical care, and transport. Again, we have no intention of harming you."
He studies their formation for a long, silent moment.
And all of them watch him in return.
I cannot guarantee that I can incapacitate them.
"Very well," he answers. "You may extract me."
Besides, I would rather not continue to walk.
His gaze returns to Bastion as the man lifts his shield and steps closer. "Thank you for cooperating," Bastion says. "We escort you to Helo-Two. Once aboard, we transport you to a secure location outside the black zone."
Navarro speaks unintelligibly into an earpiece, presumably informing Helo-Two of the successful cooperation.
Lio fishes out an extra set of clothes from his bag and approaches, promptly extending them to him. "Here you go. You must be cold," Lio murmurs, glancing briefly at the evident lack of any relevant protection from the cold.
"Thank you," he replies, promptly taking ahold of the clothes to put them on, while the helicopter circling above them finally dips lower and moves to land.
His fingers brush against the warm fabric. An unfamiliar softness that surprises him.
The helicopter descends through the screaming wind and settles on its landing struts, snow spiraling outward in a violent ring from the downwash.
Bastion gestures with one arm, keeping the other close to the strap of his shield. "This way," he calls over the wind. The others close formation around him, promptly moving towards the helicopter as its loading ramp lowers.
He quietly steps after.
Bastion leads him up the ramp and into the cramped cabin, with the loading ramp beginning to slowly rise just as he is directed to one of the many seats in the cabin.
Boots scrape against metal, straps clink.
Mara sits down beside him and reaches for him first with a gloved hand, palm lit by a faint blue glyph as she runs it quickly in front of his chest and throat, eyes narrowing. "Heartbeat, respiration, body temperature all normal," she says. "Strange."
Mara withdraws her hand, the faint blue light fading from her palm. "Very strange," she repeats, "considering you are in this weather for so long, without any protection." Bastion looks across his face, watching the silver eyes watch each motion in the cramped cabin.
Roran, sitting across from him, leans forward as the helicopter lifts off. "Shit. You really do look like a doll up close," he says.
Mara shoots him a brief glare. "Remain professional, please," she mutters.
Bastion ignores the exchange, eyes still on MV-1119. "If at any point you feel unwell, tell us," he says. "This place does not treat people kindly or well, really anything living."
On an alternative channel, the pilot radios command. "Command. This is Helo-Two. We are leaving the central band of the black zone. He are in possession of the asset."
Roran leans back with a huff and half closes his eyes as the helicopter climbs, the sound of the rotors changing while the white hell outside thins into a lighter veil. The cabin shudders once, then settles into a steady vibration.
What a peculiar machine.
He sits still in the oversized coat, silver eyes half lidded, gaze roving over every bolt and cable inside the cabin, as if he is mapping the machine in his head. Mara keeps sneaking curious looks at him.
Navarro finishes checking the safety on their rifle, glancing outside the window.
Bastion taps his earpiece. "Helo-One, this is Bastion on Helo-Two. Status?" A bout of static is first to answer, followed by a low hiss that crawls under the usual hum of the channel.
Then a voice. "Helo-One, holding pattern, three klicks west of your vector. Still diverting unknown contact. Turbulence is getting worse out here. You focus on the package."
Bastion glances toward the cockpit. "Copy," he says into his mic. "Maintain separation and keep it busy. We have MV-1119"
Eldric flicks the little brass device in his hand with a thumb. It ticks once, then again.
MV-1119?
"Is that my name?" he speaks up, focusing his gaze on Bastion.
Bastion turns his head toward him, studying the silver eyes that study him in turn. "Short of, but not exactly. MV-1119 is your designation," he answers.
He tilts his head to the side and asks, "What does it mean?"
Bastion clicks his tongue. "Not the slightest clue. Us agents have little to no information on you. Above our paygrade."
Roran plays with one of his knives. "A lot of trouble for one guy," he mutters. "No offense."
Mara elbows his knee. "Shut it."
Lio shifts closer on his harness. "Do you remember anything?" he asks. "From before you wake up?" The cabin hums.
For a moment, only the churning of the rotors answers.
His silver eyes turn from Lio to the floor, following a bolt head along the decking as if it is more interesting than the question itself.
"Nope. Nothing at all. I simply awake with no knowledge of where I am, who I am, or what I am," he answers indifferently.
The wind suddenly becomes much, much harsher, slamming into the hull of the helicopter as the cabin jolts sideways hard enough to make harnesses bite into the operatives' shoulders. Bastion shouts, "Hold on!" as the helicopter lurches, one wing dipping for a second.
A crate rattles free and Navarro catches it with one hand, the glyphs on their glove flickering as they steady it. Lio clamps both hands around his charm.
The internal channel crackles with static. For a moment, they all hear it: Helo-One's pilot cutting in. "Whatever is chasing us is accelerating, it is right on top of us. Our shields are not functioning. I repeat, it is right on top of—" The transmission tears apart into a scream of unintelligible noise.
Red warning lights blink to life along the ceiling. The cockpit door rattles as the pilot swears under his breath and drags the helicopter into a rough climb.
How bumpy.
He sits unnaturally calm, silver eyes lifting toward the roof, as fortunately, the pilots manage to steady the helicopter.
On cue, Command cuts in, loudly. "Helo-Two, this is Command. Telemetry from Helo-One has gone dark. We have lost visual and thaumic feed. Assume Helo-One is down. You are to continue on current vector and leave the black zone immediately. Do not investigate."
A few of the operatives bite their teeth together, followed by Bastion soon responding, "Copy, Command. Continuing on current vector."
***