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A cold breeze coursed through the frigid mountainscape. Daggers of rain threw down from the sky and crashed into the paved roads that snaked between the green landmasses. As the rain collected into puddles, several sets of wheels punched through them, causing a bellowing splash that echoed between the hills. Several dark jeeps formed into a convoy, as they traced the trail a hatch on the leading vehicle rattled open, a figure pushing out of it.

 

The man receded pulling the lid down with him. The pack sped up in succession as they progressed towards the glistening beacon. Towing itself at the end of the line was a vehicle heavier than the rest, its overwhelmed engine nearly atrophying under pulling its own weight. It trudged along as if carrying a death sentence in tow.


A specific intensity in the air suffocated any sense of community in the back of the truck, light from the cab peering in through panels of reinforced glass to illuminate the small group. They were all stewing in silence, listening to the cacophonic hum of the storm hitting the truck with the occasional clunk from the vehicle’s underside. As the truck closed in, anxiety stirred within them; memories of the past flared and dread culminated- Things wouldn’t go well, they never did.

An intensity in the air suffocated any sense of conversation. light from the cab peering in through panels of reinforced glass to illuminate the small group. They were all stewing in silence, listening to the cacophonic hum of the storm hitting the truck with the occasional clunk from the vehicle’s underside. As the truck closed in, anxiety stirred within them; memories of the past flared and dread culminated- Things wouldn’t go well, they never did.

 

Poison was in his glare as he scanned the group from head to toe. With stiffness in his body he threw up his arm to point at the largest of the several tents built adjacent to the beacon. The group wordlessly pooled out of the back of the truck, ducking to fit through the narrow doorway. Their boots pressed into the grit below them, each step sunk it deeper into the mud as they were escorted under the tent’s protection.

The guts of it was nothing short of practical- Crates teeming with ammunition marked with ‘ODIN’ branding, wires strung between supports with dimmed lanterns hung from the lines. The soldiers scattered to throw together preparations, packing pistols, munitions and bandages into a sleek duffel bag. The leader of the group was handed a clipboard from the truck’s driver, loaded with manilla files and papers. 

The file was an omnibus for information and contingencies on the four patients, his scathing eyes grazed the page, as his eyes trailed off of the last line his eyes shifted to the group.

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