Date/Time : Thursday. August 25, 2016. 1:47AM.
Location: Mississippi River Docks, N.O.
"Respectfully… Fuck everything."
It was a cold Thursday night. The roads leading through the downtown area were dimly lit and narrow, cutting through several alleyways and corners unsuitable for normal drivers but to the three vehicles that made their way through these roads, they were anything but.
The minimal lighting and lack of other road users at the time provided the perfect cover for three pitch black, visibly armoured SUVs in a well organised convoy to move at a steady but quick pace without worrying about too much intervention.
Dim headlights lit the way for the mostly silent engines as they progressed through. In each of the vehicles sat four operatives armed to the teeth with a mix of suppressed rifles, submachine guns, shotguns, and handguns and suited in light or medium padded tactical gear with black camo outfits underneath, as well as balaclavas covering their faces making them look like covert military operatives.
The differential factor however were the armbands or patches around their arms, a distinct shade of red with a gold star at the front and the word "AEGIS" written boldly beside the star.
In the back seat of the third vehicle sat their leader, his attire bearing differences from the others. His lack of a balaclava or helmet for one, having replaced that with a black boonie hat. In place of one suppressed USP handgun at his hip, there hung two holstered, shiny, dark-sprayed .357 revolvers. The guns had words etched onto their barrels in fine print… Vice on the left, and Virtue on his right hip. On the right chest side of his vest was one word stamped on it, his title… SHERIFF.
Right now, he was in the middle of a transmission with the employer.
"'Course we are. I reckon we'll be there in about 6 minutes." He said into his earpiece, his Southern accent very obvious in his speech.
A low voice responded from the other side. "That's optimal. Remember, all you have to do is pick the case up and return it to me. Under NO circumstances, are you to open it up or lose it to a third party. Am I clear?" The voice, sophisticated but threatening nonetheless emphasised.
"Whatever you say, chief. Sheriff out." and with this, he cut the transmission.
The brief presented this operation as a seemingly simple one: Go to the docks, grab a package, handle any external interference in the. case of an attack, and leave. It helped a lot that the pay was a whopping 30 Million dollars, half of which had already been transferred to the company's offshore account with the other half to be paid following the delivery of the package. Easy as can be… But to him, the pay didn't justify the work. There was something the mercenaries were missing, a crucial piece that his experience wouldn't let him shrug off. That and the contract explicitly stated that he had to be present during the operation when he could just have easily deployed just a handful of his boys had it been that simple
But he had accepted the contract, and he'd been paid. The 97% Satisfaction rate wasn't going to maintain itself after all.
During all his pondering about the mission and the possible aftermath, he received a reminder from the driver of his SUV. "We're here, sir."
Having heard that, he grabbed his Carbine rifle and exited the vehicle while addressing the others via the earpieces. "Aight. The plan's simple. Tight formation: Close quarters. We go in, get the case, get out. We do this quiet as we can be… Lethal force, as always is authorised. Capiche?"
The others quickly nodded and went into formation. The formation in question was three of them with suppressed 12 gauge shotguns in front with The Sheriff right behind them calling the shots, and the rest following closely behind. In this formation, they slowly made their way to the designated warehouse. The shotguns would move in advance, clearing corners for entry before the rest of the team moved through. In a silent march, gloved arms on steel, they booted their way to the objective.
"Boss, there's no one here…" A member of the team pointed out to him.
"I see it too… Eyes peeled. That's a sign of trouble waitin' to happen, buddy."
After only 2 minutes of tac-walking, they reached the warehouse. The Sheriff held up a fist, signalling them all to stop. "Psst, Squad 1, check the front", he gestured four fingers towards the front door area
"Squad 2 to the South. Regroup with me on the West Wing." The two 4-man squads dispatched themselves to carry out their objectives, leaving the Sheriff and the other three initially in his SUV to move with him towards the least inconspicuous entrance, a small door on the side of the building.
"Status?"
"Well…" A Squad 1 member began "Front door's locked, area's clear… Nobody's been here in a while."
"Same from behind" The S2 leader responded. "Chained up to kingdom come, not a single soul there."
"I see… Best not to look this horse in the mouth now." One of the men walked up to the Sheriff and handed him a pair of cutters. The sole chain holding this door quickly gave way as he pressed upon it… opening up to reveal the near pitch black interior.
"Fall in, gents."
On command, the shotgun era approached the entrance, flanking through the tight bottom spaces rather than heading for the centre straight up. "Clear", was whispered over the Comms.
Next up, the part of the team armed with SMGs and Rifles made their way in, scanning the rafters and top, as well as rechecking a few possible breach sites. "Clear"
And finally, the Big Man himself entered, flicking on the flashlight on his Carbine to reveal the details of the empty warehouse to him and did a quick sweep of the area, noting every nook and cranny of the building. He put his aim down and spoke to his comrades.
"Fan out. Objective is a black case. Ain't ours to open so just bring it back here. We go back to HQ, get paid, have a few drinks, call it a night." At his command, the crew spread out, flashlights on their weapons piercing through the darkness as they searched around for the case. The area remained silent for the most part, save for the whispered chatter between the operatives.
The Sheriff, flanked by two others, made their way up the stairs where they were greeted with rows of empty shelves and a few with scattered items on them.
"You two, over there." He gestured toward an area atop the rafters stacked with boxes for them to check, while he moved through the shelves that actually had things on them.
The first thing he found were documents, mostly shipping manifests, with the occasional invoice. Nothing of concern. But wedged partly behind a wall, he spotted something else: a single cryptic note.
'Key? – Secured... Vessel – Nil… While there are other plausible vessels, she has requested to use that one. It's of utmost importance that we get her. Signed…'
No name. The note ended there. He flipped it over — blank, except for a symbol: an upside-down dagger dripping what looked like blood, and a word beneath it written in a language unfamiliar to him.
'Imperium.'
"Ain't that something…" he muttered. Before he could inspect further, a voice rang down from the rafters.
"Found it!"
One of the men shone his light on a case, the one they were sent here for, hidden deep between the beams. After retrieving it, he signaled to the rest and headed back down.
"That's all about that," the Texan said as he descended, tucking the cryptic note into his vest. "Let's g—"
"Leroy's dead!"
One of the men burst in from outside, panic breaking across his face. "One moment he was there — the next he was just fuckin' gone! HIS BODY'S RIGHT THERE, MAN!"
A fingerless-gloved hand slammed into the panicked operative's face, pushing him back.
"GET YOURSELF TOGETHER!" the Sheriff roared. "Tell me what ya saw."
"It all happened so fast, boss. We were watching the back entrance, and Lenny just goes flying like a car hit 'em. Next thing I know he's on the wall with someone crouching over 'em." The recruit swallowed hard. "I was about to shoot it, but it just vanished."
The rest of them could barely process what he'd said. A thirty-million-dollar complication it truly was, a ghost picking off his men? Traps? Maybe. Maybe not. Loss was part of the job, something he'd learned to stomach over the years.
"Rest of you, keep tight… safeties off. Head for the exit. Double time."
The Sheriff took the case from the other soldier, moved to the front of the stack formation, and led them toward the exit.
They successfully filed out of the exit and, now at a light jog, were threading their way through the yard between rusted containers and dead machinery. The night air felt heavier out here, right now, the goal had flipped from retrieval to survival.
Boots thudded in rhythm behind the Sheriff, the case tight in his grip, his other hand resting on the Carbine by his side. Gravel crunched, metal creaked somewhere in the dark, and every shadow looked just a little too deep.
The first scream cut through the yard like a rifle shot.
Someone in the middle of the formation went down hard. No gunfire, no warning — just a choked yell and the thud of gear hitting concrete. When they glanced back, there was nothing there but a man writhing, clutching at his chest, eyes wide at something nobody else could see… and then the writhing was no more.
"Keep moving!" the Sheriff snapped over his shoulder, not breaking stride. The worst thing they could do now was bunch up and stand still.
They pushed on, pace quickening. The yard narrowed between two stacks of shipping containers, forcing them into a tighter column. Overhead, a loose chain clinked softly, swaying with a breeze none of them could feel.
The first death was loud… This one was not.
One moment he was there, breath ragged, boots striking the ground in time with the others… the next his feet weren't beneath him anymore. He was yanked sideways into the dark gap between two containers with a wet, muffled sound, like meat hitting a wall. By the time anyone got eyes on the space, it was just darkness and the echo of his dropped rifle skittering across the floor.
"Eyes front!" one of the men hissed, more to himself than anyone else. No one wanted to admit every instinct said run.
The Sheriff's jaw worked, but he didn't slow. Loss was loss. You counted the living later. Right now, it was about getting whoever was left out of the kill box.
They broke out of the lane of containers into a wider loading yard, open ground stretching ahead to the fence line and the promise of the streetlights beyond. For a brief, stupid second, it almost felt like relief.
That… was when the chanting started.
Low at first, just a murmur on the wind. Then clearer. Voices layered over each other from somewhere out in the dark, wrong vowels, wrong cadence, like the sound was being forced through throats that weren't made for it.
Figures stepped into view from between the stacked crates and abandoned vehicles, robes brushing the dirt, masks catching the light from their weapon-mounted torches. Symbols like the dagger on the note were painted across their chests in dried, flaking red.
Whatever was picking his men off in the shadows? That wasn't the only thing hunting them tonight.
"Light em up." Three words were all the units needed to get clean to work. Suppressed rounds and shells tore through the night air, finding targets in the robed figures. However, the figures didn't drop to the ground. While they were clearly affected by the bullets, some didn't go down, simply charging right through the hail, blades and daggers cutting through the night.
"SECT-1, status!" crackled the radio.
"Two down! South is holding, but these fuckers aren't going down easy," came the reply.
"Almost out." He muttered to himself. While he pushed, one of the fanatics charged at him from the side. Instinctively, he quickly flicked his aim towards the robe and shot twice at its chest to no avail. The figure faltered but maintained its push. Years of experience pushed him to aim for where its head should be and quickly put two rounds through it. That seemed to do the trick as the figure collapsed still, blood pooling out from the wounds.
And then he noticed… "Heads Only, Boys!".
"Copy that"
Now armed with this new piece of info, the push became faster, more efficient. Every shot counted. With every step, the end of this hell drew closer.
"Nothing on the right, nothing up front. Keep moving!" The Sheriff called out. At this point, their jog had developed into a sprint for their lives.
"CRATE!" Just next to their evac zone, one of the shotgunners up front shouted, calling their attention to a group of robed quadrupedal figures hopping into their ranks. The Merc cocked his weapon and blasted the head off of one of them. His partner quickly dispatched another in the same fashion… The last one was a blur, slammed into the ground by something else entirely. It struggled, then a hand shot out, gripping its neck and snapping it with terrifying ease.
Lights flicked towards the figure and for the first time tonight, AEGIS caught a glimpse of what had been hunting them. Black leather pants, boots, a tank top showing lean, muscular arms, and long black hair tipped in red draping over its back. But it was the eyes; deep crimson pupils that locked onto the crew like a predator sizing up prey..
"Ho…ly… shit."
"Well, tickle my balls…"
"What the actual f…"
A mix of different reactions were expressed within that moment, ranging from the gaze back from the more veteran operatives down to the shrinkage of some new inductees to this rank.
And yet… that face wasn't an 'it,' or even a 'he.' That was a girl, no older than twenty, staring them down. Her gaze flicked toward the merc's other side, where more robed figures emerged.
"Reneria. What a fitting surprise," the front cultist said, voice smooth, almost amused. "I should have known you'd come. And you brought friends… How sweet."
Reneria spat back, crimson eyes flashing. "I don't even know who they are."
The Texan stepped forward, Carbine in hand, his crew flanking him. "I see what's goin' on. Y'all got some bad blood." He handed the rifle to a nearby Merc. "Here's the deal — my boys and I'll step aside, let you two settle your score. Sounds fair?"
The cultist's eyes narrowed, and Reneria's gaze followed his. "Fair… normally. But you've got something of ours," he said, pointing to the case in the Sheriff's hand.
Reneria's eyes immediately tracked the case.
The Sheriff lifted it slowly, tapping the barrel of Vice against it. "Ah… you're after this too, huh?".
"You lack the faintest clue of what you carry!" the cultist snarled. "Hand it over, and we will spare you the punishment."
As he spoke, a wave of fifteen more robed figures emerged from the dark, their tattered hems dragging across the gravel. "Refuse… and there will be no leniency next time."
The Sheriff didn't move. Neither did his men. The air felt like it tightened around them. Reneria stepped forward just enough for the lights to catch her eyes. Crimson. Hungry.
"If I were you," she said, voice low and sharp, "I'd hand it over."
She licked her lips, fangs glinting as she sank into a predatory crouch, her eyes narrowed to slits.
"Otherwise… I'll come take it. From both sides."
Thus ensued a tense, air-tight standoff between the three parties:
the predator, the fanatics, and the hired guns.
"Boss… I'm kinda scared of this one," a Merc whispered, eyes locked on Reneria.
"Keep it together, Rookie. We're makin' it out," the veteran beside him replied without breaking aim.
What none of the others noticed was the lone Merc who had slipped back through the gates. He sprinted for the vehicles, yanked open a trunk, and pulled out their hidden "Get Out of Jail Free card" : an RPG launcher.
He keyed his radio, whispering, "Give the word, boss. Flash and dash."
The Sheriff caught it instantly.
He took a slow step back, lowering the case to the floor and planting his boot over it. His eyes bounced between the cultists and the girl.
The fanatics were restrained, calculating.
Reneria was not.
She was a live fuse waiting for anything to spark her.
So he played his hand.
A low chuckle rumbled out of him — humorless, taunting.
"I get it now… Y'all wanna make a fella choose."
He tapped the case with the barrel of Vice.
"No matter who I hand this to, someone's fixin' to kill me. So here's what's up… I'm leavin' it right here. Y'all scrap for it. Put on a nice bright show for the fellers in red, yeah?"
He lifted his boot from the case and turned away deliberately. Bait.
Reneria's leg tensed. Her body blurred forward…
"Now."
The Sheriff whispered it into his comms.
The RPG operator burst into view behind the Merc line and fired at her. The rocket slammed into the ground at Reneria's feet, blasting dirt, gravel, and Reneria herself into the air.
Simultaneously, three flashbangs clattered at the cultists' toes.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
White light swallowed the night, tossing the fanatics into a disoriented stumble.
The Sheriff didn't hesitate. He snatched the case off the dirt, swung around, and barked:
"MOVE!"
Rifles and SMGs roared to life, stitching rounds across Reneria's position and raking the blinded cultists as AEGIS sprinted for the SUVs. Boots hammered concrete, gunfire echoing across the yard.
Behind them, choking smoke and chaos churned
the vampire girl rising,
the cultists shrieking,
the entire yard erupting into a three-way hellstorm.
Five seconds.
That was all the time the AEGIS crew needed to dive into their vehicles and tear out of the kill zone. Engines roared, gravel spat out from under tires, and the cracked service road blurred beneath them as the convoy punched through the dark. The mission was over—messy as hell, but somehow still a success.
The Sheriff wasn't feeling victorious. Not tonight.
Inside the SUV, the comms crackled to life, voices layered over the pounding in his skull.
AEGIS-3's voice came first, strained and shaky. "Can someone tell me what the hell that was? Those weren't normal hostiles."
From the gunner's seat, AEGIS-6 sounded even worse.
"Negative visual on the girl. Sheriff—did you see her move? She was on my left, then my right—dammit, I swear she didn't even touch the ground."
The Sheriff kept his eyes on the mirror. No robes. No glowing eyes. Not yet.
AEGIS-2 chimed in. "Forget her. Those robed freaks—fifteen of them just popped into existence. Thermal didn't pick a single one up."
AEGIS-5 wasn't far behind.
"Optics read no firearms on any of them… but they walked straight at us like we didn't matter. Sheriff, permission to classify this as a cult threat?"
"Call it whatever the hell you want," he muttered into the mic, irritation sharpening his tone. "Just keep the throttle down. We stop when I say so."
Silence—brief, uneasy—before AEGIS-3 spoke again.
"Chest shots didn't do a damn thing. I put four rounds center-mass on that lead guy. He didn't even flinch."
AEGIS-6's voice dropped to a nervous whisper.
"…Boss, I signed up for high-risk pay, not whatever supernatural crap this is. If this keeps up, I'm out."
"Yeah," the Sheriff breathed, more to himself than to them. "Join the line. We all saw the same thing."
The night swallowed the convoy as they pushed deeper into the empty stretch of road. Wind buffeted the SUV. The hum of the engine buzzed against the Sheriff's ribs. But none of it drowned out the questions clawing at him.
Who were those people?
Who or what was that girl?
Why did they know her—and why was she that fast, that strong?
What was in that damn case that anyone would risk all this for?
And who the hell hired him to retrieve it in the first place?
Nothing added up.
Not tonight.
Maybe not ever.
What he did know was simple:
He needed answers.
And a drink.
A long, heavy one… God knows he deserved it.