Perimeter II
20:05 12-29 YC 114
Ryven lay, gasping, clutching the gaping wound in his right side. The bleeding had slowed, and he hoped this was because he had applied steady pressure, rather than because of a lack of remaining supply. His eyes took in the narrow strip of night sky he could observe between the two skyscrapers he lay between. He was lying in something wet and warm, and he vaguely wondered if it were his own blood. As he drifted out of consciousness, he thought only of Shalee, her eyes full of rage and his lips mouthing a silent apology. "I'm sorry, Shalee."
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General Soren Ikaren's Residence
Perimeter II
19:30 12-29 YC 114
General Ikaren, a mid-level commander at the Home Guard's atmospheric defense department, lived in a small compound in the middle of a large metropolis. Perimeter, as part of the Caldari State's core systems, was a bustling place. Ryven's main concern was that, as part of the Caldari State's home systems, it was a higher presence of security than he was used to. He only managed entry by hitching a ride under a falsified identity, courtesy of Leela. He said a quiet prayer of thanks for her willingness to assist him in his current operation. Her understanding of security systems was far superior to his own, and frankly, this operation required that understanding.
Ryven stood across the main thoroughfare from the main entrance to General Ikaren's compound. He leaned casually against the smooth wall of an office building, smoking his own personal brand of cigarettes, dressed in a long coat and generic street clothes. He was unarmed, aside from his decades of hand to hand combat training, capsuleer implant technology, and a short ceramic knife hidden in his coat sleeve. The ceramic wouldn't appear on any scan technology, and thus, was preferable to most other weapons options available. Ryven had considered a stealthy entrance, but, honestly, there wasn't much chance of success on that front. The walls were considerably higher than he would like to climb, there were guards posted at all times, and the frontal approach would make it look like an attack by his terrorist friends, which was what they wanted anyway. With this in mind, he flicked away his cigarette and strode across the street.
He stepped up to the gate and pressed the buzzer. A screen popped open, the display showing a uniformed guard's face. The guard spoke tersely, "State your business."
Ryven looked about shiftily, as though he were in extreme fear. "I've got intel. Terrorists, man. They've got some serious shit planned. I mean, fuckin Rouvenor big, man! I need to talk to the General, right fuckin now."
The guard looked extremely skeptical but the gate slid open anyway. Ryven stepped through into a security checkpoint. As he expected, there was the usual security scan, which he passed easily. He continued the act, though, his eyes darting about, his shoulders hunched, his hood drawn. He was nearly through security, though, and he was hopeful he could drop the act soon enough. That's when the plan started to fall apart.
A guard stood in front of him, his slate blue uniform starched and impeccable. His voice was gruff, but utilitarian. "Spread your arms and legs for a pat down, sir."
Ryven blinked, playing dumb. "Huh?"
The guard's voice became more firm. "Spread your arms and legs for a pat down, sir."
Ryven rolled his eyes and swore to himself, but complied. The guards hands patted down his waist, and legs, and Ryven's mind kicked into survival mode.
He scanned his surroundings quickly, using his peripheral vision, he identified four guards in the immediate vicinity: the one patting him down, one directly behind him watching the pat down, and the two manning the scanner equipment roughly five meters behind him and to his left. He took a deep breath, his heart rate quickly amping up, but time seemingly slowing as his adrenaline increased to fight or flight levels. He sprung into action.
The guard performing the pat down never knew what hit him. He simply felt a sharp sting in his neck and a warm splash. Bright red blood spurted through his fingers as he tried desperately to stop the outpour from his neck, but he was doomed. Ryven had slit his throat in a ragged line with his ceramic knife and thrown the blade into the eye socket of the man behind him before the first guard had hit the ground. The two guards by the security scanner were stunned, but reacted as quickly as they were able, raising their weapons as Ryven closed the distance. He rammed his fist into the first man's throat. Using his momentum, he grabbed hold of the man's rifle, breaking the guard's nose with the rifle butt and quickly looping the rifle's sling over his head, threw him to the ground, breaking his neck in the process. The last guard, now with a clear line of fire, opened fire, the assault rifle deafeningly loud in the confines of the security checkpoint. Ryven winced as he felt the first rounds tear through him, but he gritted his teeth and rolled quickly forward and to the left, lining up a shot to the guard's head as he came up and rapidly squeezing off three shots in quick succession. He didn't need to assess. The smacking sound of brain matter on metal walls was highly distinctive.
TO BE CONTINUED
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