To be honest, I'm still feeling my way through. The aim is to create a slow burn, so folks seeking an immediate pay-off should probably look elsewhere (but I'm willing to bet I can win you over).
For those interested in taking the ride—please let me know what you think. Feedback, whether good or bad, is always appreciated.
If this gets traction - I'll aim for weekly updates (
I know, I'm not the most reliable - working on it). I realize it's hard to judge based on one posting, so I'm already working on the next bit. Figure it will take at least another posting to accurately gage the temperature. Lastly, quick warning, this story is in the dungeon for a reason. While the intro is fairly clean, future updates (let's stay positive) will contain graphic elements of both a violent and sexual nature.
Okay, deep breath (sorry, gotta shake out some nerves; it's been a while), and... here we go:
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ACT I
Tuesday – June 20th
9:59 a.m. ET
Honolulu – Population: 390,800
On any given corner there is, as the saying goes, a story.
Take the 20-something in the purple-dyed hair, scurrying across the street. Her fleshy arms bouncing upon taking hold of the red and white lawn sign.
“Hey! Wait…you can’t do that!”
As he spoke, beer from the man’s greasy lips dripped down onto his beater. The patter of his flip-flops animating his struggle to free his hefty frame from the rickety chair. Desperate, with every cough, to loosen the warmth clogged in his throat.
Lost in the beat of her headphones, the girl blocked out his pleas. Instead, she continued to fold the sign – the one advertising the gaging man’s politics – in an attempt to relieve the scorching, 100-degree heat by creating a makeshift fan.
Or how about the cyclist down the street, swerving to avoid the bimmer pulling into the intersection. Expecting an apology, as she looked back, the spandex-clad woman was rendered speechless when the teenager behind the wheel opted instead to stick out his tongue.
Amongst the commotion no one noticed the black-cloaked figure. The tip of her assault rifle scraping the asphalt as she crossed the road towards the tourist-filled beach.
Few throughout the city’s shopping and financial districts paid much attention to these wraith-like beings in metallic body armor as they exited their vehicles. Even with weapons drawn, they remained invisible—ghosts in a world too busy; too apathetic to take notice.
Until, that is, the stroke of ten.
No longer willing to be ignored, these anonymous young men and women swept back their hoods to reveal silver masks, frozen in expressions of haunted anger. Stepping from the shadows, they unleashed a coordinated cacophony whose death toll quickly swelled into the hundreds.
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“My God—”
Staring out the window of the MD 500 Halley Garda could feel her rage building. Her grip tightening, with every breath, on the sub-machine gun lying in her lap from the sight of all the bodies—families and children sprawled along the shoreline in pools of their own blood.
No matter where she looked, Honolulu’s once pristine beaches lay littered, as if struck by a hurricane. The Island winds dragging everything from beach balls to umbrellas across the white sand, pinging them against the manicured rows of palm trees.
As the helicopter skirted along the water’s edge, the automatic weapons responsible for the destruction could still be heard—shattering hotel and shop windows, like rays from the sweltering sun. Whoever these bastards are, they’ve isolated entire blocks thought Halley, observing the tire fires and make-shift barricades that the cloaked figures were using to control the streets.
“Even more will die unless we figure out a way to stop these maniacs.”
Lieutenant Heath Lowe’s voice crackled over the noise-dampening headsets, snapping Halley and the other members of the FBI counter terrorist unit out of their collective daze. Suddenly, she could feel the helicopter banking towards its destination.
Incredible.
A saucer-shaped crater filled Halley’s window. Its vegetation-covered walls rising over 750 feet into the air. She had heard of Diamond Head, the monolithic landmark that towered over Honolulu’s skyline but, still, she didn’t expect it to be so big. Its beauty eclipsing the city’s latest and greatest innovations—all that humanity had to offer bowing at its feet.
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- Diamond Head, Wikipedia
- Diamond Head.jpg (174.89 KiB) Viewed 22281 times
Turning to her commanding officer, the 26-year-old cheekily remarked: “So, we’re literally landing on a volcano. Isn’t that like jumping from the frying pan; into the fire?”
Heath smiled as he shifted his gaze towards Halley. Her 5’4”, slender frame all but lost beneath the layers of black tactical gear. Only her pale, oval face stood out amongst the padding and ammo protruding from her body.
And yet, despite her soft features, Halley’s thin lips and lush brown hair – held loosely over her shoulder in a ponytail – were hard to ignore. There was even less that she could do to conceal her eyes. Blue and intense they revealed Halley’s intelligence, drawing attention even while alongside the other, more physically imposing, members of the squad.
Mindful not to stare, Heath reached out with a reassuring touch. “We’re going to stop them Hal.” His voice, as always, was calm and steady as he took hold of her arm.
“So, fire up that computer and see if you can’t penetrate their network,” he continued as the helicopter landed, with a bounce. “Whoever these guys are, they’ve divided the city, preventing the cops from uniting their forces. We need a way through.”
Even before the words had come out Heath knew they were unnecessary; Halley was already working her magic. Her furrowed brow wrapped in concentration. “It’s just endless gibberish,” she mumbled, her fingers gliding across the keyboard, as if her laptop were a piano.
“You got this Hal.” Heath chuckled, turning his attention to the others. “Reggie, Sanchez. You two check the perimeter.” As he spoke, Heath pointed first to the unit’s explosive expert and then its sniper—directing them to scope out the makeshift shelter, some twenty yards away.
While the army still maintained a presence at Diamond Head, it was token. Its value as a look-out post long lost in an age of satellites. Relegating the 300,000-year-old monument to little more than a tourist attraction.
Heath’s focus fell next to the final member of his squad. “Q-ball, I want coms functioning in five.”
“You got it boss,” replied the coms officer. A smile creeping across his face upon spotting the large, metallic tourist map advertising the surrounding trails. The possibility of camera-happy hikers lurching about caused him to holler: “Better cool it babe….” He paused to allow the emphasis on “babe” to linger, “…wouldn’t want that trigger finger of yours spooking any civvies?”
Ana Candela Sanchez didn’t need to look back to know who Q-ball was addressing. He’d been pulling the same routine since their academy days. And yet, it never registered with the “communication expert” that the joke was both old and offensive.
“Call me babe again and yeah … I’ll put you in my sights,” replied Sanchez, arching an eyebrow to deflect his gaze towards the sniper riffle hanging from her shoulder.
“Whoa, chica. If you wanted a pump…all you had to do was ask,” answered Q-ball, raising his arms in mock surrender.
Sanchez tried to fight it, but Q-ball kept milking the joke – flexing one muscular arm and then the other – until finally, with a shake of her head, she smiled. “You’re such a moron.”
Heath welcomed the levity. Although the situation was tense, he knew his squad would be ready when it counted. They’ll have to be, thought Heath, approaching the guardrail that ran along the crater’s edge.
Ignoring the stunning Pacific vista, his thoughts turned back to the wraiths and the carnage below. What are they really after? They’ve made no demands. Their only intention appears to be death and mayhem.
The mission brief mentioned reports of over two dozen gunmen—well-armed and highly coordinated; masking their movements through the underground tunnels that linked the city’s public spaces.
To counter this, command had ordered his squad to gather more intel and, if possible, aide police efforts. Should the situation turn into a hostage crisis they were to signal for army support from Pearl.
But as Heath reached out, clutching the rusty railing, he could feel his doubts swirling. His superiors knew that his unit wasn’t prepared, let alone equipped to handle a situation like this; they had come to Hawaii for training, not to confront a full-on siege. And yet, with his eyes racing over the rocks and trees and down to the city below, all that mattered was that people were dying.
Ready or not, it's time.
“All right…,” said Heath calling his crew back together, “…let’s get dialed in.” His tone was hard and serious.
Pausing to allow Reggie and Sanchez – who were signaling an all clear – time to rejoin the unit, Heath cut to the point. “Command is expecting an update in 15; I want to be able to give it in 10. So, gear up.”
But instead of hustling to put on their paraglides the team froze, as a youthful, female voice filled the air. “That won’t be necessary.”
At first, all eyes shot to Halley; after all she was the youngest. But she too was baffled. Her shoulders hunched, hands out to her sides. “Wasn’t me.”
What’s going on thought Heath, turning next to Q-ball who, with a quick shake of his head, confirmed that coms were silent.
Finally, the squad clued in—drawn by shadow to the silhouette hovering above. Their jaws dropped, one by one, in recognition of the angelic figure, who in a playful but confident tone declared: “I’ll take it from here.”
To be continued ???
