G22: Unclassified

[The Ghost Writer]

Introduction

This mini-series of chapters will construct the first of a two-part Caligo-related story. Starting with a team of highly-trained commandos working for a black organization known as G22, follow Lieutenant Captain Selma Granger as she discovers a dark secret within the bowels of the organization. After becoming an enemy of the people she had worked for, Selma travels with a mysterious shadow agent who had witnessed the same act of conspiracy and treachery, to a fabled island unknown to the world. Here, she must find two individuals that are the key to setting things right again, and saving both themselves and the well-being of the world.

I hope you enjoy reading the chapters as I frequently post them. Hang onto your seat for the finale when it comes around; it will definitely leave you with a surprise.

All are welcome to post comments in this thread. I'll link to each new chapter when it is posted in the Chapter Selection menu below.

Chapter Selection

1 - Crimson Snow
2 - Aurora
3 - The World’s Guardian Angel
4 - Cain and Abel
5 - Blackout
6 - A Hayes in the Fog
7 - Ghosts of the Past
8 - Codename: Albatross
9 - Evasive Action
10 - Vertigo
Epilogue

[The Ghost Writer]

Crimson Snow

Flashes of camera lights echoed across the sky through the refraction of their light within the flakes of snow gently drifting from a starry heaven over the celebration in Moscow's famous Red Square. The election of Andrei Vitaly as Russia's new Prime Minister after the second Cold War promised a return of the Soviet Union and a complete reverse of its government back to Communism. The entire nation was threatening to split in two, and the nation's soon-to-be former allies are not too please with the result of the election either. But with China's status as a world power taken from them by the might of an evermore powerful European Union, supported by the technological might of the United States, a spot on the stage has opened up again, and Vitaly seeks to claim it for Russia once more.

High above the crowds, media vans, and riot police; perched atop the magnificent St. Bazil's Cathedral to the south east of the square, sat a team of four, scattered across the shadows. They would have been nearly invisible, if it weren't for the faint blue glow of the three lenses of their multi-spectrum goggles. Stitched onto the nano-fiber of their shoulders, barely visible in the faint starlight, was a symbol comprised of two triangles, one within the other, slanted slightly to the right. A tetragrammaton, they called it; the insignia of the organization they worked for. Poised against the shoulders and supported by their steady hands were weapons of war; sniper rifles by their appearance, but none that belonged to any nation or known manufacturer.

One of these men removed his supporting hand from the barrel of his rifle and brought his thumb and index finger to the side of his goggles, adjusting a tiny knob. The inside of his sight apparatus was projecting an image in high definition of everything that the goggles' lenses were picking up. The picture zoomed, upon the rotation of the knob, to gain a better visual of Vitaly on the stage, standing behind his podium and speaking to his beloved countrymen.

"Remember," his quiet voice whispered aloud, being transmitted on a secure frequency via the choke microphone strapped around his neck, "no one gets close to the target. If anyone so much as breaths wrong in his direction, take the shot. Understood?"

Two "Yes, sir"s and an "Affirmative" responded to him through his ear piece. "Captain?" asked a Greek voice over the man's headset. It was the same voice that had given him the "Affirmative".

"Go."

"Why does Albatross want this man to live? He's only going to start another war, and the world hasn't yet recovered from the last one. Are we sure we're doing the right thing here?"

Captain "Galahad" Tyrone replied with the same reassuring voice he always used when his team were concerned with a mission. "Thaddeus," he replied, "remember that G22 exists to provide a balance. We exist to keep that balance, even if the road we take makes little sense. Look at it this way - as I have also been debating this whole mission in my head - if we take out Vitaly then this country will never prosper and it will continue to be controlled by the criminal underground. Russia is corrupt, and only Vitaly has the incentive to turn it around. He may want to reinstate the Soviet Union, but you never know... it may not be the same military powerhouse that it was back in the late 1900s."

"Captain!" a woman's Irish voice called; belonging to his most justified troop, Selma. "I've got a bogie closing in on the target at ten o'clock; heading straight for the stage!"

All four of them fixed their sights on the individual that Selma pointed out; a man in a gray, winter coat stampeding through the crowd, quickly making his way closer to the stage. Vitaly's own security personnel didn't see him as he was being shrouded by the perfect camouflage of the crowd. Only the G22 snipers had a perfect view of him. Galahad raised the goggles above his helmet and used his sniper's scope to lock onto the man. Both of his hands were hidden beneath the coat and the captain wasn't able to tell if he was hiding a weapon. Both hands hidden? Perhaps he is a suicide bomber, he thought.

"One hundred meters, captain." Selma advised. "I have a clear shot."

Galahad kept debating with himself on whether or not this man was actually a threat. Maybe he'll stop before he ever reaches the stage? Maybe he's apart of a media outlet trying to get to a better spot? Perhaps he's one of Vitaly's own men? No; that was impossible. According to the intelligence his team had received, all of the Prime Minister's men, be them staff, security, or military, are supposed to be clearly marked with either a uniform or a election campaigning band around the upper arm. If the man was part of the media, he would be wearing a suit or the typically bright clothes of a tourist. He'd also have someone else with him to verify his documenting of the event.

"Captain!"

"Take the shot."

Selma steadied her rifle and lifted her own goggles. Using her supporting hand, for a brief moment, she wiped away two strands of her hair that had managed to poke their way out of the eye socket of the balaclava she was wearing to conceal her identity. Replacing her hand, she locked onto her target and instinctively began to control her breathing.

"Fifty meters, Selma," another man's voice, belonging to Price, calmly said over the frequency.

"Almost... have him." Selma's finger gently squeezed against the cold trigger.

A blond reporter had just finished fixing her hair before the camera crew in front of her started broadcasting live to her media branch back in England. As she was reporting on the new Russian Prima Minister's post-election speech, she was suddenly knocked to the side by a man sprinting towards the stage, wearing an over-sized winter coat. "My goodness!" she hollered in reproach to the man, but he didn't even bother stop and offer his apologies.

Picking up her dropped microphone, she turned back to the camera and said, "Well, folks; as you can see, many Russians are either ecstatic about the election of Andrei Vitaly or they're angry enough to try and rush the stage and even knock me over." She gestured a joking smile for the camera, but it instantly turned into a scream when a loud crack burst through the atmosphere, forcing everyone to panic and ducked. A tight beam of blue light could be seen in the air for a short second before fading into nothing. Where the beam had supposedly ended, just ahead of where reporter had been run into and where the crowd was scattering away from, was the body of the man in the heavy coat. His hand was outstretched and just inches away from touching the base of the stage, upon which Vitaly was being surrounded by his body guards and hastily escorted off stage.

"I- I don't know what just happened!" the reporter began saying, kneeling beside her camera crew and still carrying on with her job. "But... it appears that an assassination attempt was just foiled." She gestured for her cameraman to turn away from broadcasting the dead body. As soon as the lens of the camera readjusted to the image of the reporter, a loud explosion went off and the camera was sent flying and bouncing off the ground. The forehead of the reporter then crashed down in front of the lens; a trickle of crimson across her brow, dripping off onto the snow-laden square.

Next time on G22: Unclassified...

A G22 Shadow is directed to hand-deliver mission codes for the a classified automated stealth plane, based in Nevada. What he finds within a restricted-access hangar bay is probably his answer for all of the crazy UFO conspiracy theories on the web.

[The Ghost Writer]

Aurora

The air sickness had finally begun to subside when the plain-white commercial jetliner arriving from Edwards Air Force Base made its final decent towards the long runway not far from Nevada's famous Groom Lake. The only passenger aboard, save for the Security Forces members in the front and back of the cabin, armed with to the teeth and wearing heavy vests, was a man clearly didn't belong on a military installation. His very attire, a black suit and tie, had the security detail on edge; not once did they stop staring at him through the entire flight. He was never intimidated by their physique, weapons, or tough-guy appearances, but he sure would have appreciated it if they offered him a barf bag just in case he decided he needed to hurl on their boots. He wasn't used to flying; in fact he hated it.

Christopher Miles preferred a simply car ride or even bullet train over plane; but flying was the only in and out of the mysterious Area 51 military reservation. The only airport that offered transportation was Edwards. Since the late seventies this entire base's touch security protocols had conspiracy theorists ranting and raving about what could possibly be hidden here. Thanks to his employer, however, not a single one of those theories made him nervous or curious. He already knew all there was to know about the base. True, it's strictly reserved for advanced aeronautics and weapons testing - the ranges being managed and operated by the 99th Air Base Wing at Nellis Air Force Base - and it's also true that the government has sponsored the production of several classified aircraft projects. UFOs? Only if you're as blind as a bat and actually believe the denials of the government.

Miles braced himself against the headrest of the seat in front of him as the pilot roughly landed the plane. His breaking was enough to pressed Miles fully against the back of the seat and spew a paragraph of curse words into the cushion. When the plane finally finished taxiing to its designated spot, the SF members gestured for Miles to approach exit. When he stood up, he reached above him into the personal carry-on compartment above his seat and removed a carbon fiber briefcase with a small thumb print scanner and numeric key pad on the clasp. Inside that briefcase was his whole reason for taking this joy ride. With the briefcase at his side, Miles followed the security detail off the plane and disembarked the jetliner, descending a mobile flight of stairs that landed onto the tarmac below. The Mojave desert’s heat was unforgiving during August and he instantly regretted wearing a suit; but it was, unfortunately, the uniform of a G22 Shadow Agent. Dressed in the appearance of every other fictional super spy, Christopher Miles worked for a private intelligence organization that prided itself on knowing everything that went on in the world.

To man like him, information was like chocolate candies in a bowl. There was just so much deliciousness that he had to learn to control himself at times when presented with new classified material. What was in his briefcase was just such material. According to the briefing that he was presented with before embarking on this mission was that he was supposed to hand-deliver a one-of-a-kind mission algorithm that would provide instruction for a new state-of-the-art hypersonic aircraft. What the aircraft was, exactly, he was about to find out for himself as he made his way across the hot tarmac towards a hanger with several more Security Forces members guarding every avenue of approach.

Cold, air-conditioned relief swept over him when he crossed the threshold of the doorway. It was like setting down a blow dryer and jumping straight into a swimming pool; both a shock to the system and a pleasure at the same time. Miles wiped away the beads of sweat from his brow and tugged at his jacket and shirt underneath to help cool himself down. The SF members continued to escort him down a hallway and into a small room at the far end. Inside it was just a small office, outfitted with several high-end computer systems, server towers, and glass two-way monitors. A man wearing a G22 military officer uniform was leaning against one of the desks against the far wall, wear blinds were lowered over a window to conceal the secret that Miles knew to be inside the main hanger.

“You must be the Shadow,” the officer said with a pleasant and eager smile. He pushed off from the desk and extended hand towards Miles; who took it with a firm shake. “It’s nice to finally meet you! I’m Lieutenant Colonel Bradley Roman; director of G22’s R&D department.”

“A pleasure,” Miles said. “I assume you want to make this meeting brief.”

“It would be advised, yes,” Roman agreed.

“Very well, then.” Miles moved towards the desk and set the briefcase down on an open spot. He saw Roman out of the corner of his eye order for the Air Force members to immediately leave the room. Even though Area 51 was under the federal jurisdiction of the United States, the security detail of the base were given explicit orders to obey the commands of G22 personnel in the area in regards to the protection of highly classified information. This was such a case. Miles tapped his index finger on the ten digit keypad, with numbers zero through nine. Upon the confirmation of the correct code, signaled by a single beep from within the case, Miles proceeded to firmly place his right thumb on the small fingerprint scanner. “Each of these briefcases can only be opened with their correct one combination of thumb print and code,” Miles explained aloud, simply for the sake of breaking the silence between him and Roman. “If the incorrect combination is given three times in a row, a small incendiary device within the hull of the case will erupt, leaking white phosphorus on the contents within; destroying everything, including the case.”

“A remarkable security measure,” Roman replied. “I heard a rumor that each Shadow has an assigned case. Is that true?”

The thumb print scan was successfully concluded and the case popped open. Miles reached inside and removed its only occupant, the algorithm device; a silver apparatus about the shape and size of an old hard drive from the early post-millennium years. In actuality, he knew that the chip inside containing the data was actually as small as a finger nail. The large, special alloy casing was designed in order to protect the fragile component. Handing the algorithm codex over to the Lt. Colonel, Miles said, “Yes. Each of us do have a unique case. But I’d be careful about asking too many questions about them, sir.” He gave Roman a serious, cautioning glare. “Information gathering is not part of your job.”

Roman simply stared at the Shadow for a minute with one hand on the algorithm codex. After a few seconds of silence, Roman smirked and let out a loud chuckle, taking the codex from Miles. “You spooks sure know how to get a message across!” Roman moved over to the blinded windows and flipped a switch on a window seal that split to the blinds in half in the middle of the wall. Slowly, they began to rise and reveal the main hangar on the other side. “I suppose you now want to see what you delivered this codex for, agent Miles… Well, have a good look.”

Jet black, deadly looking, and a piece of aeronautical technology for such an organization like G22, the stealth plane in the hangar held every bit of awe and wonder that Miles needed to actually surprise him. “What is that thing?” he asked Roman. “That’s not a reconnaissance plane, sir. That’s a damn war plane.” Mile’s observation was accurate, as far as he could tell. The plane obviously had advanced armor, something that a reconnaissance plane wouldn’t need, and it was also designed with multiple compartments under the V-shaped wings and hull – the plane was raised high enough off the ground for maintenance for him to see underneath the body. Those compartments, he knew, would hold an assortment of weapons ranging from air-to-air and air-to-ground missiles, to tactical warheads and incendiary bombs.

Roman smiled again, and this time it was his turn to offer an intriguing explanation. “The project started back in the nineteen-eighties. The United States Air Force was commissioned to begin the development of a hypersonic spy plane that would be able to travel at speeds around five mach. The entire thing was actually urged into development by several European countries in the United Nations through a secret meeting with President Reagan. When Bush took office, he ended the program in order to reallocate funds towards his war effort in Iraq. The entire research process accumulated nearly eight hundred, thousand dollars – and that was just the start of it, when Reagan held office. Towards the middle of the war, during Bush’s administration, the project’s budget had reached over eight-point-two million dollars.”

“Quite a check,” Miles commented.

“Indeed. Bush had the project suspended in order to use the funds. But when Clinton took office, he scrapped the project all together and disavowed all members of the development team. The evidence for the project was locked away… Until G22 came along, of course.”

“So,” Miles said, “what’s the name of this jet?”

“Come on now, agent Miles,” Roman folded his arms and raised his chin, as if he was a teacher expecting the right answer from a student, “you’ve heard of this myth before. Everyone has at some point or another. It’s one of the most popular UFO stories out there in the conspiracy books.”

Miles thought for a moment and quickly ran through an entire mental encyclopedia of government conspiracy theories he had documented in his noggin. He had definitely heard of the government developing a special air craft, but there’s dozens of stories and theories on that. Roman was obviously referring to one of the more popular ones. Then, about as hard and fast as his air sickness came earlier on the jetliner, it hit him. “Aurora!”

“Bingo!” Roman gave a slight applause, much to Miles’ personal annoyance for mockery. “The Aurora was originally planned to be a fast spy plane, but when G22 got a hold of the archived documents and development data they decided to turn it into something more than that. After years of further research and development, perfecting the speed, the aeronautics, the armor, the ACT exterior, they finally completed the latest version of this devastating weapon… the Aurora H7 Stealth Bomber.”

Unbelievable, Miles thought. He had absolutely no idea that this thing actually existed and felt completely foolish for not knowing about it. He was told he was going to see a “new” stealth plane today, not something that has been under development since the nineteen-eighties. He was both furious and excited; furious because he felt like he had been duped, but excited because it was one more huge piece of information for him to collect as a Shadow. “When as this ‘version’ completed? And how many other versions have there been?”

“The H7 was completed in 2031, and there have been about…,” Roman gestured a fake count with his fingers, “four earlier models. The first one developed by G22 was the Aurora II, codenamed: Captain Speedy. I thought it was a pretty childish name, but then again we all need a sense of humor in our jobs, right?”

“Why ‘H7’ then?”

“Because this Aurora has an average speed of mach seven.”

After a few more minutes of a back-and-forth question-and-answer moment over the Aurora’s entire history, Roman finally put a hold on Miles’ incessant information digging and inserted the codex he was given earlier into a server on the other side of the room. The codex disappeared inside the large machine and several computer screens and monitors flickered to life, displaying flight plans, mission targets, and an array of other information that looked like gibberish to anyone else. “The codex you brought me,” Roman explained, “will provide the Aurora with all the essential information it needs to carry out its mission.”

“It’s a UAV?” Miles asked.

Roman sighed at yet another question from him. “Yes. It’s an automated war plane; no pilot needed and one less life to risk out there in the blue skies. The Aurora has a cockpit for a human pilot, but I highly doubt you’ll find one man with not only the physical requirements, but the mental as well, to survive such high-speeds and massive G’s.”

Miles remembered his air sickness once again and instantly pushed all thoughts about flying the Aurora out of his head. Roman was right; it would be hard to find such a person, and Miles even doubted such a pilot existed. You’d have to be absolutely insane to want to get behind the controls of the Aurora.

A quick double-beep went off from his wrist watch and Miles checked the time. The moment finally came for him to catch the jetliner back to Edwards Air Force Base; his welcome at Area 51 had expired. Closing and re-securing his briefcase, Miles shook hands once more with Lieutenant Colonel Bradley Roman and exited the room; meeting up with the two Air Force Security Forces members towards the end of the hallway. “This time,” he muttered to himself, “they better give me a freaking barf bag.”

Next time on G22: Unclassified...

Meet up again with Captain “Galahad” Tyrone and his team of elite G22 Commandos as they come face-to-face with Tyrone’s friend, and ultimate superior, Supreme Commander Albatross – leader of the secret G22 intelligence organization.

Remember: comments and questions are always welcome and appreciated! Don't be shy.

[The Ghost Writer]

The World’s Guardian Angel

Lieutenant Captain Selma Granger’s history with G22 was nowhere near as long as her superior’s, Captain Tyrone, but it is certainly as impacting and invigorating. The Irish woman was recruited by the organization four years ago upon their discovery of her skills as a former MI5 agent; that, and since G22 had a lust for knowledge, her connections within the British intelligence agency would prove to be of benefit to them. At first, she was recruited to be amongst their Shadow Agents, but a physical training exam showed even greater potential and she was offered to be put their a rigorous training program that lasted an entire year, being comprised of only the best regiments inspired by the world’s top military and paramilitary organizations. Selma was a G22 Commando; an elite soldier bred for the toughest missions, and trained to endure the most extreme conditions. Survival and combat weren’t just ideas put into her mind in a classroom; they were practically infused in her bloodstream.

Selma followed immediately behind Galahad as they moved quickly down a corridor in one of G22’s many secret bunkers. She rarely parted from her captain, having an unsung love and admiration for him; like a school girl with a crush. When they rounded a corner, Selma and Galahad stopped in front of a metallic blast door. A security officer was blocking their entrance as he scanned the group of Commandos.

“Special orders from Albatross,” Galahad stated. “November. Echo. All secure.

Upon acknowledgement of the current security codes verbally given to him, the sentry stepped aside and placed his hand on a scanner near the door. With the sound of a hiss and the clanking of a mechanism somewhere within the wall, the blast door slowly opened, revealing what looked like a lounge or living area on the other side of the threshold.

The team stepped inside and the blast door closed behind them. The familiar sound of heavy bolts driving into their sockets signified that there was no reopening of that door by way of force. The entire room was intensely secured and protected from both outside and in. Even though they were offline and hidden, Selma recognized the tell-tale signs of automated sentry turrets mounted in the ceiling. The closed chrome hatches, about the size of commercial air vents, gave away their locations. She had noted that there were at least six in the room, right off the bat.

Ahead of them, sitting comfortably in leather lounge chairs and speaking amongst each other in hushed tones, were the two most important figures of G22; Albatross and his twin brother, Arcades. While the two were probably identical in their youth, there were a few differences that made them easily recognizable. The colors of their eyes were actually different, which was rare amongst brothers, especially twins. Albatross’s eyes were a vibrant cerulean, while Arcades’ were a mysterious silver. There were also the minor facial features, such as a sharper jaw line was Arcades; and the faint scar on Albatross’ right eye brow, causing a tiny separation amongst the hairs. Both of them had brown hair, cut short, and average builds. Their posture gave the impression that they were business men more so than military commanders. Selma was hesitant, at first, to trust Albatross; but Galahad helped her to understand just what kind of man the Supreme Commander was. Ever since she had become familiar with Albatross personally, she had rarely questioned him. His brother, on the hand, was an entirely different sort of man. He was far more assertive and aggressive than his twin; preferring to strike at every entity he saw as an enemy to G22, failing to understand that the organization was there to provide a balance in the world through the allocation and sharing of intelligence. Brute force and military might was not G22’s specialty.

“Captain!” Albatross stood up from his chair and moved over with extended arms toward Galahad. “I’m glad you made it!” The two exchanged a quick, friendly embrace and Albatross motioned for the Commandos to sit themselves on the available chairs and sofas in the room. “Welcome, all of you, to my private quarters. It’s not quite a cozy suburban home, but I’m sure you understand that there are certain measures of security I must take to protect myself. The second Cold War may have come to an end, but the world is still a very dangerous place.”

“I quite agree,” Arcades said. “In fact, we were just talking about this organization’s upcoming role in the international community.”

Galahad seated himself comfortably next to Albatross, shifting his dispersion rifle around on the three-point sling from where it was on his back, to out in front of him. “I see,” he said. “We came as you requested, Commander.”

“You did,” Albatross acknowledged, nodding his head. “And you came for this discussion.”

“With all due respect, sir; I’m a soldier, not a politician.”

“And that’s why I want you in on this, too. You and I are best friends, and I want to hear the opinion of a soldier. You and Arcades may, in fact, share a similar view.”

Arcades nodded and chimed in, “My brother believes that G22 should continue to remain neutral and do what it has always done. But I disagree, as I always have. This organization has the potential to me a major power player on the board today. We not only have the technology, but also the manpower and intelligence to create a fully-operational paramilitary branch. The Allies’ resources and their economies have been severally weakened by the aftermath of a second stalemate with the East. China is no longer the feared dragon that it was, and North Korea has already begun the disassembling of their nuclear armaments. The time has come for G22 to stop lying in the shadows and take up the mantel as the new ‘world police’. After all, if it wasn’t for us, the Allies wouldn’t have won, and – to point out a more recent accomplishment – Vitaly would be dead.” Arcades looked directly toward Selma, who had suddenly gained a sudden mixture of emotions. She wasn’t sure if she should accept the praise, or feel annoyed by it.

Galahad took a moment to think about the idea before voicing his own opinion. “G22 has always been the ‘world police’, as you put it. The United States only bore that banner because they were the proactive ones; the ones that were always seen responding to international incidents. They were also our scape goat when G22 chose to hand over intelligence to both sides of a conflict, while the end result has always been for the greater good. It is our stealth and secrecy that keeps the world in check and as safe as it can be. Revealing ourselves, and – even more so – establishing an actual military presence, would not only destroy and dismantle everything G22 has built, but also defeat our very purpose. The public would view us as tyrannical and hypocritical; they would never be able to understand our methods and why we did what we did for several generations.”

Both Albatross and Arcades were surprised by the captain’s words. Galahad knew that Albatross was surprised because he was – as he put himself earlier – a soldier and had more than likely expected him to agree with his brother. “Quite an impressive argument, captain,” he commented later after an awkward moment of silence.

When the team exited the living quarters and the blast door closed and bolted itself behind them, Selma turned to Galahad with a quizzical expression. “So the warrior I’ve always known is suddenly a philosopher? I don’t buy it.”

Galahad smiled at her. It was the kind of warm smile that made her heart melt and her eyes spin with the intensity of the obvious chemistry between them. Pressing on down the corridor from which they originally came by, Galahad gently responded, “Yeah, I lied back there. The truth is that the fighter in me wishes that some entities and bodies in this world should be completely annihilated in one fowl swoop. But…” his voice faded and his eyes no longer seemed focused on where he was going.

Selma, getting impatient with waiting for him to pick it back up, waved her hand directly in front of his face. “But what?!”

“But,” Galahad blurted in surprise, shaking his head for a second and regaining his train of thought, “the loyalist in me will never betray Albatross. Even though I only slightly agree with his brother – I only disagree with the fact that he wants to make G22 public – I will always stand by Albatross and support whatever decision he makes. I may not see what he sees, but so far every decision made by him since he took control of G22 has been for the benefit of the world.”

“Who is Albatross… to you?” Selma suddenly asked. “Other than your ‘friend’.”

They both stopped dead in their tracks. The rest of the team stopped to stare at them; waiting for Galahad to answer. They had also been keeping up with the conversation, and obviously wanted to know how he would respond. With a gentle smile and kind gaze, Captain “Galahad” Tryone sighed at his blonde, young, and beautiful Lieutenant Captain and said, “He is the world’s guardian angel.”

Next time on G22: Unclassified...

Selma decides it's finally time to confess her interest in Galahad and meets with him, but at the most inopportune moment, where their conversation is overheard by a G22 employee. Selma throws herself in an adrenaline-pumping chase to stop the witness from revealing the fraternization, in order to protect both Galahad and herself. What she runs into at the end of the rope, however, quickly sets all such matters , and everything else, aside.

[Kalon Ordona II]

Is it really okay to interject in here? Well okay, then.
You, sir, have utterly sucked me into your story. Well thought out, well written, well presented. It's like a TV show in text!

Way to funnel your military knowledge into an engaging Caligo-related story!
I'll probably come up with more detailed comments later, as we go.

Anyway, yeah, you officially have a follower.

[The Ghost Writer]

Yay me! Thanks for commenting, Kalon; I really appreciate it! The next chapter will be up soon, I'm almost done writing it.

[The Ghost Writer]

Cain and Abel

Galahad’s lips against her own sent a warming calm through her entire body. His embrace kept her close to the soft vibrations of his beating heart, safe and sound from any harm. Selma had dreamed of this for a long time, and she knew that her handsome captain had been as well. From the start, their perfect chemistry was undeniable. They had drastically different backgrounds, and even their personalities slightly differed, but there was a strong connection between them that must have been there even before they had met. Selma often wondered if it was destiny when G22 chose her to become a Commando simply in order to meet this one man. If so, then all the stress, combat fatigue, and rigorous training was well worth it. In fact, meeting Galahad was priceless.

The two lovers had kept their emotions and affections for each other a secret, even from themselves, for so long for the fear of being reprimanded by their superiors. Fraternization was a direct violation of G22 protocol and under no circumstances would it be permissible. Even Galahad’s relationship with Albatross would not be enough to save him from whatever punishment G22 would hand down if they were caught. The stern leader was a just man, and one that never turned a blind eye or deaf ear to any situation that was against the rules of his organization. In fact, Albatross was a lot like a King Arthur figure: showing no leeway for injustice and carrying out punishments according to doctrine, no matter who was being accused. That way, all was fair.

Selma was about to open her lips to speak when they both snapped their heads in the same direction at the sound of a shuffle around a nearby corner. “Shit!” she hissed under her breath.

“Who’s there!?” Galahad called. “Show yourself!”

And then a shadow dashed across a length of wall on the far end of the corridor where the sound came from. Selma shouted out nearly a dozen curses, all made barely audible through her breath as she broke out into a full sprint down the corridor. She looked back while running and called to Galahad. “Don’t worry! I’ll stop our peeping Tom! Go hide yourself!”

“But-!”

Listen to the track selected for this scene - Courtesy of Daft Punk

“Go!” Selma knew that the man wouldn’t argue with her, and to her satisfaction, Galahad was seen disappearing in a hurry in the opposite direction. The fit commando then returned her focus to the objective at hand: catching the sleuth that spotted them. Dodging corner after corner, she could sense that she was gaining on him, fast. But as soon as she thought she had him, she only ran into obstacles.

Selma found herself at the end of a catwalk suddenly; slowly coming to the realization that the perpetrator had led her into a weapons depot of the G22 facility. Missiles of all sorts were being transported by cranes, conveyer systems, and levies, only to be stored in either different locations in the facility, or loaded into a state-of-the-art weapon system the world has yet to lay their eyes on. She recognized a few of the hazard symbols painted on their shells; biological, chemical, nerve toxins. To her surprise, she didn’t see any nuclear armaments, but the organization probably kept those delicacies in another place, probably in another part of the world for all she knows. Either way, she would have to be exceptionally careful chasing down her spy in here.

A loud crash was heard just ahead, but slightly below where she was standing on the catwalk. When the commando looked down, she saw a man stumbling away from a hodge-podge of knocked over barrels and miscellaneous equipment, glancing back up at her only for a brief moment. “Gotya, you bugga!” she growled. Grabbing the handle bars, Selma had swung her legs up and over the top of the catwalk railing. She then aimed for a clear spot on the floor below and leaped down what felt to be a about an average story and a half. Her combat boots, though light-weight – thanks to the synthetic nano-material – clomped on the concrete ground with two good thuds, then she took off into another hard sprint.

When the man reached one of the exits to the munitions area, he stopped only long enough to topple more barrel drums in Selma’s path before taking off around the corner. “Damn!” Selma leaped forward and safely passed over the first drum rolling in her way. The next one she had to actually jump on top of and kick off from as it rolled, curling her body and using the momentum to send her into a complete front flip over a third drum. When she gracefully landed on both of her feet, Selma continued her pursuit. As she made her way deeper into the bowels of the G22 installation, she began to realize that if she ever caught the man that witness the fraternization, she wouldn’t have a single clue about what to do with him. She also began to ponder how in the world she was going to stop him from running. The commando’s stamina was quickly draining, and she knew that his was also. Eventually, he would have to make a move to keep Selma off his tail for good; and she couldn’t let that happen.

Selma’s rifle had been turned into the armory after their meeting with Albatross, and all she had on her for a weapon was her sidearm, a modified H&K capable of firing dispersion rounds – G22’s fission-powered alternative to the modern world’s gruesome projectile. It was the same technology used to eliminate the suicide bomber racing towards Vitaly in Moscow. G22 had turned what was only thought to be science-fiction into reality. Unfortunately, Selma had no time to stop and gain a steady aim on her target with a pistol. The corridors of the facility kept snaking into eternity and if she slowed down for even a second to draw her sidearm her target would have dodged around another corner.

Eventually, both racers came to a large door emitting a blue light from within. It appeared to be another storage area from the looks of it, but there were no crates, barrels, or forklifts in sight, telling Selma that this place was something else entirely. The man she was chasing ran through the open doors and they began to slowly close together, like those of an air craft hangar. Selma put every bit of energy she had left into her sprint to get to vanishing opening, but she was too late. The doors locked together with a loud clash of metal against metal. Selma searched the adjacent walls for a way to open them, but there was no switch or security panel around. What kind of place was this? Who makes such a door? Was it a safe room deep within the bunker? The commando had never been this deep into the facility prior her exhausting chase with the mysterious man, and she had no clue where she was. But all of the questions she had instantly vanished at the sound of a dispersion round firing off from somewhere on the other side of the large doors.

“What the hell?!” she said aloud. Selma looked all over for some other point of entry into the room. There was a smaller door to her left, but there was no guarantee it led anywhere. Still, she had to try. Selma rushed towards the door and tried the handle. To her luck the door swung open, but to her misfortune, it was a cluttered maintenance access point. Pipes, vents, and wires took up much of the volume of the tiny space, and the area was only one of many used for technicians needing to gain access to a possible malfunctions in the bunker’s utilities. Selma was about to turn away and give up, until she saw another opportunity. A vent, large enough for a human to crawl through, was accessible on the floor. It was all too classic. After kicking open the vent protecting the duct, Selma crouched on her hands and knees and began to bear crawl through the tight space. She was thankful that the nanofiber suit and compact gear of the commandos allowed for easy flexibility and movement in such confined spaces.

Selma crawled until she reached what she was hoping for: another vent and a perfect view into the unknown room. Her eyes had to adjust to the blue lighting on the other side of the vent, but Selma could make out tall network servers, computer terminals, and large displays on the walls projecting an array of data, maps, and G22 resources. Much of the data she recognized, but much was also foreign to her. Then she saw the body of the man she was chasing lying limp on a chrome-tiled floor. A pool of what she knew to be blood was discolored by the blue lighting of the room, and appeared to be blackened oil collected beneath the body. There were two other figures in the room, and upon recognizing them, Selma’s eyes widened in disbelief.

Arcades and Albatross were arguing with each other about something. Resting in Arcades’ hand and lowered to the floor was the dispersion-powered pistol that had killed the man Selma was chasing. She positioned herself as close to the vent as she could to listen in on the argument.

“Ever since you returned you’ve been different! I’m tired of trying to see eye-to-eye with you, brother!” Arcades was jabbing the index finger of his free hand towards his brother, who seemed all-too calm amidst the insanity. “I know that you had probably witnessed many things in that god-forsaken place, and I had tried to be patient with you when you had returned, but your decisions are ruining this organization. I can’t allow that happen anymore!”


“Arcades-”

“No!” Arcades interrupted. “I’m done listening to you! You’re not returning to that island.” The angry twin walked away from his brother and over to one of the terminals in the room. He tapped a button on the keyboard and the largest of the wall monitors displayed a globe that slowly rotated and zoomed into an area just above the Bahamas and east of Florida. The updated imaging showed nothing but darkened rain clouds, but another pressed key removed the topographical satellite imaging and replaced it with a virtual construction of what appeared to be an island. The coordinates in the bottom left corner of the screen read Lat in DMS: 26° 18' 44.56'' and Lon in DMS: -70° 23' 49.68'' immediately after. “This place has corrupted your mind, brother.” Arcades moved closer to Albatross, and Selma felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Something bad was about to happen, but she was unable to move.

“Arcades,” Albatross whispered, “don’t do this. They’re my-”

“They’re an abomination!”

“They’re my sons!”

Selma’s head nearly hit the roof of the ventilation duct. Albatross has children? Even Arcades seemed stunned by what Albatross had just said. His twin took a step back from his brother, a look of disgust on his face. “No,” he said. “They’re not.” Arcades raised the pistol in his hand and pointed it towards his twin. “I’m sorry, brother,” he whispered.

The commando clasped a tight hand over her mouth at the sound of the dispersion round blasting off from the pistol. She wanted to scream in horror and surprise at the treason she had just witness, but doing so would give away her position and she was in the worst place for a fire fight. Albatross’ body went limp and collapsed on the floor, as lifeless as the other man lying only a few feet away from him. Arcades holstered the pistol he had used to betray his twin in his belt and then stormed towards the large doors that closed in front of Selma earlier. She had lost view of the traitor but she heard the digital pinging of a key code and the doors could be heard opening.

And then all was quiet.

Next time on G22: Unclassified...

After witnessing Arcades betray and murder his brother in cold blood, Selma decides to avenge Albatross and go after the traitor; but Arcades’ genetic reconstruction to look exactly like Albatross gives him complete control over G22, and the commando suddenly finds herself against deadly odds. But Selma is not alone, however, as someone else had also witnessed the murder…

To download the music tracks for this story, right-click any links to sound files provided within the posts and then click the respective "Save As" in the menu. When the dialogue appears asking you to choose where to save the file, be sure that the file type says "MP3 Format Sound" or similar. If you are not given a dialogue window to choose the location for saving downloads, double-check your browser's download settings.

[The Ghost Writer]

Blackout

Listen to the track selected for this scene - Courtesy of Jesper Kyd

Selma’s boot crashed against the weakly bolted vent, sending it skidding across the chrome floor. She crawled out of the ventilation duct in haste and stood up to sprint over to Albatross’ lifeless corpse. Hoping it wasn’t too late to save him, Selma instantly began performing CPR, thrusting two palms against his chest and opening his airway to breathe in air from her own lungs. It was no use, however. Albatross never regained the life that was stolen from him by own his flesh and blood. Arcades has successfully murdered his twin brother in cold blood, and left his body in a lonely room.

Selma could only sit back and stare at the man in both anger and confusion. Having no idea what was going on, the commando could only refer back to her survival training. She had to get out of this place, and fast. Arcades had closed the large doors to the room on his way out, and even though the keypad to open them was resting against a nearby wall, she knew that it would require a code that she did not know. The only exit was the way she came in; the ventilation duct. But something kept her in the room. Her instincts told her that just leaving wasn’t the right thing to do; that she needed to see this conspiracy through to the end. Albatross said that he had sons, meaning more than one; and Selma figured they were on this island, since he apparently wanted to return to it so badly against his brother’s objections.

Examining the island’s layout on the main screen only confused Selma even more. The island was not one she recognized, and she had been on several missions in the Caribbean before. Her past experience with MI5 also drew a blank in regards to this island. According to the top of the grid, the location was named “Avalon”, but it didn’t mean anything to her. The only knowledge that came to mind for the name was Arthurian legend, where Avalon was a mystical island protected by an eternal mist. Supposedly, the lake that surrounded the island was where Merlin attained Excalibur; which, contrary to popular belief, was a completely different sword that the one that Arthur pulled from the tabled stone. In the end, all of that knowledge was useless to the commando at this moment. The fact remains that she was looking at what appeared to be a uncharted island north, north-east of the Bahamas.

Selma whirled around at the sound of a voice behind her. “The Bermuda,” a man dressed in a black suit and tie said, standing behind her.

Selma drew the H&K from the holster on her hip and aimed it directly at the stranger’s forehead. “Identify yourself!” she commanded.

The man gave a nonchalant smirk and raised both hands. “Relax, commando,” he said. “I know what you saw here… I saw it too.”

She didn’t budge. Selma eyed the man suspiciously and then asked, “Then where the hell were you when he was shot?” Her tone was accusing and spiteful. If this man really was in the room when Albatross was murdered, then he should be as guilty as Arcades.

“I was hiding; just like you. Believe me, ma’am, I would have loved to jump in between that dispersion round and Albatross, but what good would that have done? Arcades would have simply killed Albatross anyway. Sacrificing my own life would have been pointless.”

“It would have at least slowed him down!” She began to yell, becoming increasingly angry at the man’s care-free attitude.

“The time it would have taken you to escape that vent would have been all the time in the world Arcades would need to fire another round; hell it would have given him plenty of time to shoot his brother dead and you once you revealed yourself.” The man lowered his hands and steadily placed them in the pockets of his slacks, using his forearms to part open his jacket against his chest to show Selma that he wasn’t armed.

The commando lowered her firearm and replaced it in its holster. “Maybe you’re right,” she eventually said with a gloomy expression and frown.

“I am right,” the man responded matter-of-factly. “I’m a Shadow, after all.”

“A Shadow Agent? What are you even doing here?”

The man walked around Selma, taking no caution when he came close to brushing up against her. He clearly wasn’t afraid of the fact that she could have snapped him in two if she wanted to. When he approached the terminal that Arcades had used moments ago, he gestured towards the screen that towered above it. “Because of this.”

“What do you know about it?”

“I know that ‘Avalon’ is a codename; just like ‘Albatross’ is. I also know that the real name of the island is a Latin word that means darkness, or fog: Caligo. I had come across some very interesting intel during one of my many missions to acquire knowledge; something that we Shadows pride ourselves in. Everyone in G22 knows that for nearly two years, there was something odd going on in the higher echelon of the chain of command. But nobody, except for Arcades and a few others, knew that our fearless leader had disappeared for that long; absent from his post. During that time, Arcades had assumed command of G22; but faithfully, and surprisingly, continued to lead according to his brother’s methods. Sometime later, Albatross makes a surprising return, claiming he had been stuck on this island for two years. He returned because another secret organization, called Blue Trinity – funded by the United States, and based in Florida – had initiated a private military operation on the island. It had something to do with the local natives there. Long story short, Albatross abandoned the family he had settled with there, and his two sons, as it seems, and hitched a ride back with Blue Trinity.”

“And how come I’ve never heard of this island?”

“I did some snooping into that, as well,” the man said. He pecked away at the keyboard on the terminal and, after hitting ENTER, several more screens – this time, documents – appeared on displays all around the room. “This whole room was sanctioned off from the rest of the facility for Albatross to keep his private records and intelligence hordes. I must say, he has – or had, I should say – a big thing for privacy. But I managed to break my way in eventually and access his journals. According to him, Caligo has been protected by a foggy mist hundreds, possibly thousands, of years. And as I startled you with earlier, it’s located in the mysterious Bermuda Triangle. That’s what you’re looking at on the topographical map at least.”

Selma tried to wrap her head around everything that the man was saying. But before she went any further, she had to confirm whether or not this sleuth was trust-worthy. Shadow Agents were masters at persuasion and infiltration. Their silver tongues were their most powerful weapon, as they weren’t soldiers. “What’s your name, Shadow?” she asked all of a sudden.

The man looked at her up and down, as if reading her like a book. Eventually, he leaned back against the terminal and folded his arms. “Well… seeing as how we’re both about to be out of a job, I suppose it won’t hurt for us to get to know each other. Like you, I had much admiration for Albatross; and I’m not prepared to just turn a blind eye to this.” He extended a hand to shake hers. “Christopher Miles. You can call me Chris.”

Leaning against the terminal had put Chris’ features under a different lighting. Selma could see the recently tanned complexion of his skin, the sharp jawline, and gray-blue eyes. The messy dirty-blonde hair and matching short-cut beard had a faint blue tint from the screens around the room. Selma finally decided that trusting Miles was going to be her only option out of this. There was always Galahad, but if she said a single word to anyone about Albatross’ murder, they would all be targeted, and she couldn’t let that happen. Protecting Galahad from ever knowing about what happened in this room was her top priority, next to putting an end to this conspiracy.

“Selma Granger,” she said, not putting in her rank, as it was now completely meaningless, if what Chris said about their careers was true. She took his hand with hers and gave him a firm shake, ensuring him that she was as tough as she looked. “So what do you propose that we do next?”

Before Chris could answer, all of the screens in the room flickered to black and then lit up again. Both of them looked up in surprise as Albatross' face appeared on each screen and began to speak. "Brothers and sisters. Today, G22 will take its first step into a complete militarization of the organization..."

"What the hell?!" Selma blurted out.

"It's not Albatross," Miles said. "Look at his eyes."

As the look-alike Albatross continued to speak, Selma saw that Miles was right. Albatross' eyes were cerulean in color, but this impersonator's were silver, just like... "Arcades?"

"Indeed. Nano technology can be found in more than just your combat dress and armor, Miss Granger. It's also a leading medical technology. I know that G22 has been looking into genetic reconstruction for its shadow agents to use to make us 'masters of disguise', or so to speak. I've seen the results before; it's unbelievably fast acting and can be done with a simply needle injection now."

"So his twin really is now his twin," Selma said, looking over towards the real Albatross still lying on the cold floor. A pool of blood had encircled the body, much to the same of the man she had been chasing that Arcades probably shot out of anger that his arguing with his brother had been interrupted. "The man's a psychopath." She starred into Chris' eyes and with a never-more serious expression said, "He must be stopped."

What Miles had in mind had to be absolutely insane; and his stomach was already not looking forward to it, but it was their only option. As they raced through the corridors of the facility, Chris had been explaining to Selma about the Albatross codename. Over the generations, G22 had always been led by an Albatross figure, and all of them were of the same blood. Like a monarchy, the power was transferred down to the oldest son, and it was done so as not only a symbol of oneness for the organization, but also to ensure that the legacy of the first Albatross would be carried on. That legacy was respectfully explained by Galahad just hours ago in their meeting when he explained that G22 was keeping the world as safe as it can be. It did so by filtering the right information at the right time to the right sides. Conflicts weren’t always clean, and peace treaties would occasionally fail, but in the end, everything that the organization did was for the good of the world. Chris explained it as “gears grinding against one another, so that the world wouldn’t spin out of control”.

“Okay, so I get why need to find the kids, but how on earth do you propose that we get to Caligo?” Selma asked as they rounded another corner. She saw that they had passed a sign on the wall that had designated that they were approaching the air craft terminal of the facility. “Fly? There’s no way that’s going to work! We don’t have access to G22’s jets, and I doubt they’ll just let us commandeer one and fly out of here. They’ll shoot us down as soon as they get the chance.”

She caught up to running alongside the Shadow and noticed that he had a mischievous grin on his face. He glanced to her briefly and said, “We don’t have access to the jets you’re thinking of.”

Selma gave him a quizzical look and decided to wait and find out what one earth Chris was meaning by that. What kind of jet did G22 have that he was daring enough to try and escape in? They dashed through the security checkpoints that gave access to one of the hangars. The guards were yelling behind them and Selma knew that they had already drawn their weapons and were preparing to fire if the two didn’t stop where they were at. Chris pressed forward, and Selma did as well; but she had drawn her own weapon from its holster and glanced back to check up on the yelling guards. They were taking aim at her first, since she had drawn her H&K. Looking up above them, mounting against the arching ceiling of the hangar, was a catwalk used by air crews to gain easy access to the tops of craft for maintenance.

Without a second thought, the commando stopped for a brief second to twist her body around on one heel and then kicked off backwards in order to throw off the aim of the guards, which had begun firing at her. While she dived back, she had managed to line up a shot in time with one of the vital supports for the catwalk and squeeze the trigger. When she landed hard against her shoulder and slid across the hangar floor, she heard the catwalk buckle from the damage done to its support beam and come falling down. The metal floor of the crashed wreckage was now turned on its side and provided a convenient block between the guards and the two of them.

“I like the way you think,” Chris said smiling as he helped pull Selma to her feet. “This way.” The two took sprinting again and, as they rounded a load of cargo crates, Selma got the answer to her question earlier.

“What the hell is that?” She was looking at a sleek-black jet of the likes she’s never seen before.

Chris answered with another mischievous grin, “An Aurora.”

Listen to the track selected for this scene - Courtesy of Tilman Sillescu

The cockpit was, fortunately, able to hold two pilots. The seats were surprisingly comfortable, but Selma knew they had to be if what Chris told her about the Aurora’s incredible speed was true; which she had no doubt he was telling the truth. After all, the man had gotten them this far, and if she couldn’t trust him now, she might as well just give up. As the cockpit’s glass-like shell locked around them, Selma felt an odd sensation surrounding her and assumed that the pressurization had already begun. “You know how to fly this thing?” she asked after putting on the flight helmet clasping the mask around her nasal cavities.

“Not a damn clue!” he said in amusement and laughter. “But she’s also a UAV, and from what I’ve discovered, all I have to do is punch in the coordinates we need and CHASSI will do the rest.”

CHASSI, as Selma knew, was the computer A.I. program that G22 had developed in 2031 to assist shadow agents and commandos in the field. It acted as a mission handler and electronic assistant; so it was appropriate that the pneumonic would stand for Computer Handler Assistant. CHASSI, as the name suggests, has a female voice when communicating with the operator of whatever technology she’s attached to. In an Aurora, Selma imagined that CHASSI would replace the good old “bitching betty” auto-pilot voice. She was right…

”Insert your target destination.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Chris said allowed as he pecked away at a small screen that appeared in front of him. The hologram was comprised of specially solidified photons, allowing for a user to actually touch the projection and control it physically.

“How did you know about this thing?” Selma asked as she finished buckling herself into the seat with the full-body restraints.

“This tan is pretty recent,” he said. “I only just returned from the Mojave desert. You know? Area 51?”

“I’m tired of trying to solve mysteries, already, Mr. Miles,” Selma fussed, rolling her eyes.

Chris ignored her and finished inserting the coordinates. He pushed away the projection pad and then tried to remember the next step to starting up the Aurora. CHASSI gave him a hand, of course. “Insert initial velocity.” Chris grinned and pulled the pad back towards him.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he said as he insert the speed.

“Well whatever you’re doing, you might want to hurry up,” Selma warned. They both looked out the cockpit at the surrounding security teams, all pointing their dispersion rifles at the air craft. She then saw her own team of commandos enter the hangar. Galahad was leading them, and simply stared in disbelief as his eyes met Selma’s. He mouth a what are you doing?! towards her, but she simply winked at him and gestured a thumb up in the air. Galahad seemed to understand what Selma meant by the gesture and ordered for the commandos to stay their weapons, carefully backing out of the hangar without drawing attention to themselves.

“All pre-flight specifications accepted. Stand by for launch in five…”

“Here we go,” Chris said as he pulled on his restraints to double check their fastening.

“Four… three…”

Selma laughed in excitement, and she wasn’t entirely too sure why. “Alright laddie, let’s see if you can really fly this thing.”

”Two… One…” Both of them felt a hard jerk from behind the air craft as the engines roared to life. Vibrations soared through the entire craft and Chris could only close his eyes and pray. Merely a second later, he felt what had to have been those incredible “G’s” that Lieutenant Colonel Roman had told him about back in Nevada facility. He was already regretting taking this option, but he also knew it was the only way for them to get to Caligo without being killed by the organization they worked for. After digging deeper into the Aurora’s project files, he had discovered the air craft had gone through an entire production timeline, and that there were multiple jets scattered across the globe in G22 facilities just like the one they were in. This one in particular was the same Aurora he had seen back in Area 51. The mission data he had delivered to Roman was the flight plan for the jet to transfer itself to this facility. Why, he couldn’t be sure; but perhaps Arcades had a hand in that as well.

Chris could no longer feel his face, and soon the rest of his body went numb. Unable to turn his head to see outside the cockpit, he couldn’t tell if the Aurora was increasing in altitude or had taken off out of the hangar in a straight line. He didn’t dare try and move, however, as he knew he would probably throw up if he did. Slowly but surely, he could feel himself lose consciousness. He wasn’t able to call out to Selma, either, as it felt as though the breath had been knocked out of him. Dizziness overcame all of his senses, and finally… darkness.

Next time on G22: Unclassified...

Chris and Selma awake just in time after their blackout to lay witness to the legendary, fog-covered island called Caligo as the Aurora lands down at the given coordinates. CHASSI’s scans reveal that there is, indeed, an indigenous population all around the island; but so far they managed to slip in undetected, thanks to the advanced stealth technology of the Aurora itself. Chris and Selma must now continue to remain hidden as they begin their search for Albatross’ sons.

[Kalon Ordona II]

When I played the first track, it stopped at the exact second where I read that the big door banged shut. The track ends in an echo-ey ominous boom sort of way, so it was pretty epic. xD

When she was running through that area, all I could think of was Metal Gear Solid.

I guess it'll be a while before Selma sees Galahad again. Kinda sucks that they're separated immediately after getting together. Love from afar...

[The Ghost Writer]

Thanks, Kalon! I'm working on the next chapter right now. This one should bring a bit of humor to the story.

[The Ghost Writer]

A Hayes in the Fog

Selma snapped awake, gasping for air through the mask attached around her face. The rubber and plastic straw she felt she was sucking through was uncomfortable and her already-panicking state was making it worse for her to get air through it. She unclasped the mask from the helmet and tossed it to the side, letting it dangle as she breathed in the abundance of air from the cockpit of the Aurora. When looked over the pilot’s seat in front of her, she saw that Miles had regained consciousness and was gazing out the glass shield. It was then that she noticed they were flying through extremely thick and dark clouds. Lightning could be seen within their mass.

“Beginning landing procedures,” CHASSI announced.

“How long were we out?” Selma asked. To her surprise, she didn’t have to yell it. Typically, supersonic jets were as loud as ever and the crew would have communicate through the comms in their helmets in order for them to hear each other. But the Aurora was as quiet as sitting in your living room on a Monday morning.

“About four minutes, give or take?” Miles estimated. “Our initial take-off speed was clocked in at mach two.”

“That was from the hangar?”

“Yup. According to CHASSI’s flight log, we didn’t reach mach seven until twenty seconds later. Not to worry though,” he shifted around and smiled to Selma over the shoulder of the pilot seat, “her vital scans indicate that we suffered no internal organ damage. Physically, we’re both as healthy as a horse. G22 may have not wanted to put a pilot in here – that’s why they built it to be mainly a UAV – but they still built it to provide maximum comfort for one. The cockpit itself has its own gravity-”

Miles stopped talking when the Aurora suddenly slowed faster than it had been since they woke up and began to dive downward into the clouds. Holding on tight, Selma and Miles watched as they entered and exited storm after storm within the vast hurricane. It was very surreal, and the former MI5 operative could hardly believe that she had never known about an island being hidden below the canopy of this seemingly eternal natural camouflage. After only a few short seconds, the Aurora ended its nose dive and, according to the digital altimeter, was now level with the surface of the earth, beginning a gentle vertical landing. A moment later, Selma and Miles saw the leaves and branches of several trees – both exotic and familiar – raise up past them outside the cockpit’s shield. With a heavy thump and the sound of snapping branches and twigs, the Aurora rested its landing gear against a steady surface.

“Landing successful. Final destination reached.”

Miles was the first to unfasten his restraints and began working on the dash board in front of him and the holographic control pad he had used earlier to take off. “CHASSI,” he said, “give me an environment analysis.”

The computerized female voice responded, “Scans completed. Temperature is seventy-four degrees Fahrenheit. Wind speed in the immediate area is approximately five miles per hour. No humidity detected. Atmospheric levels are non-toxic and suitable for sustained habitation.”

“No humidity?” Miles looked out the cockpit and scanned the area with his own eyes. There was fog everywhere; all around them. It was so thick, in fact, that he could barely see ten feet from the aircraft. “How is that possible?”

The artificially intelligent computer gave him a response he wasn’t quite expecting. “ Surrounding fog and mist appears to be artificially generated. I am unable to detect a source. Signals of a foreign origin are disrupting long-range scans.”

This time it was Selma that spoke. “Well I’m not going to be cramped in this thing all damn day, love.” She unfastened her restraints and slammed down on the cockpit release. The glass shield swung up and over and Selma swiveled her boot over the outside and held onto the outer shell of the cockpit. Looking over her shoulder, Selma examined the ground below and, upon determining that it was safe, kicked off and landing in the fertile soil below. When she stood up straight, Selma could hardly believe that such a fog was artificial. It looked every bit real to her; but CHASSI was right about there being no humidity. The temperature seemed fine and it definitely felt like seventy-some-odd degrees. But that didn’t explain the oddity of the atmospheric conditions.

She heard a thump next to her and she turned to see that Miles had also jumped down from the Aurora. He had two devices in his hands that looked like black and chrome vambraces. He handed one to her and said, “Here, take this. They’re for pilots when they land behind unfriendly lines.”

“What are they?”

“CHASSI’s hub is inside the Aurora itself. These comm links will keep us connected to her. Just like she’s designed to be, she’ll be our handler out here when we’re searching for Albatross’ sons.”

Selma slid her left hand through the opening in the large cuff and then tightened it down using two clips underneath that would pull together and fasten. Upon adhering to Chris’ instructions, she activated the comm link and saw a stream of data fly by on a small hologram that was project just inches above the top of the brace. “Fancy that,” she commented.

Chris tapped several times on his own hologram, which Selma assumed was made up of the same technology as the holographic pad in the Aurora, and the jet itself seemingly disappeared. This, for once, came as no surprise to Selma. Her own combat suit was outfitted with the same technology. The adaptive camouflage technology using nano cams had been integrated with her All-Environment Tactical Suit, or simply put by G22, the ACT TacSuit. With the press of a button on the black comm band around her forehead, she could become just invisible as the Aurora before her.

“So now what?” she asked.

“Well,” Chris kept his gaze on his vambrace’s hologram, “according to the scans that CHASSI is able to perform without the interruption of the foreign signals she detected, there appears to be a large population, of what I’m guessing are natives, to the south of our location. We landed on the northern tip of the island and…”

“Alright, let’s go then!” Selma began heading south, leaving Chris baffled.

“Well wait for me, damnit!”

The two foreigners had been hiking through the misty woods for nearly an hour before Selma finally stopped at the steep bank of a trickling creek. She listened carefully to her surroundings. Something didn’t sit right about the place they were in now. Everything was too quiet and her combat instincts were flaring. In her experience, the lack of chirping birds, leaves rustled by surface creatures, and just all-around eerie quiet meant that they were walking into an ambush or someone else was nearby, watching them. The commando knelt down at the edge of the bank and upholstered her H&K and checked the battery power. It was still topped off, even though she had fired four rounds to collapse the catwalk back at the G22 hangar. A typical power cell for a dispersion pistol would last for four hundred sustained rounds. Rapid fire, which equaled anywhere from fifty to sixty rounds per minute, would overheat the cell after about two hundred rounds. Overheating would require that the cell be ejected from the weapon system and allowed to cool down for several minutes. Selma always had a two spare power cells on her in case her primary ever went down. The first cell was attached to her holster, safely nestled inside a clipped-on pouch. The second was always kept in a small pocket on her upper left arm.

Chris Miles walked up next to her and stood staring at the hologram projecting from his vambrace. “What are doing?” Selma asked him in a low voice, still listening for any disturbance in the fog. “You’ve been on that thing since we left the Aurora.”

“I’m seeing if CHASSI can hack this foreign signal that keeps blocking her long-range scans. So far we’ve been able to detect that are three different locations that seem to reflecting the signal’s wave length across the entire island. I’m sure you’ve had land nav training, right?”

“Of course,” Selma said, rolling her eyes as if to say ‘duh, stupid’. Every military organization and branch in the world required their officers and enlistees to go through a land navigation course nowadays. Even with all the GPS tracking technology and computer systems in the world, an old fashioned water-based compass and map still proved to be the most reliable navigation tools. If you ever lost yourself with them, it was because of human error. Either you shot the wrong azimuth, or your pace count was off.

“Well, the three locations she’s managed to give me are fairly large. Right now, she’s only able to estimate where each transmitter is located on the island. But as we keep moving, she’s gets closer to pinpoint their exact locations. For the most part, it’s the weird atmospheric conditions, terrain, and foliage that’s interfering with the triangulation, but she’s managed to adapt so far to use that to her advantage.”

“How do you reckon?”

“Well,” he went on, “it’s like listening to an old radio that still operates off of FM frequencies. My dad still has one of those pieces of shit his garage. Whenever we dip down in elevation, the wave length of the signal gets choppy, and then it comes in clear again when we rise up out of the dip. CHASSI is using this to slowly see where each wave is coming from at that particular moment, because it’s then that the waves become distinct. When we’re on level terrain, each of three wave lengths are the same. But if we start going down one side of a hill-”

“-Then the wave coming from the opposite direction becomes broken,” Selma finished, understand now what Chris was explaining.

“Exactly! CHASSI then tags that broken wave and is able to shoot back-azimuth – just like one would do for navigating unknown terrain to a point of interest on a map – to its point of origin.”

Selma’s eyes nearly popped out of her skull when Miles finished speaking; not because of what he said, however, but because of the fact that someone instantly appeared out of nowhere and was standing behind him. “Get back!” she hollered, both at Miles and at the stranger. Chris whirled around and yelled at the sight of the being, nearly jumping back and into Selma, who had pointed the barrel of her H&K directly at their visitor.

The man was wearing a dark zip-up jacket, had messy brown hair, and his eyes seemed to have a glowing aura to them. Selma guessed they were some sort of luminescent contact lenses. Despite the fact that she was deliberately threatening him with a weapon, the stranger walked towards her with a calm and curious look on his face. “I said get back!” She jabbed the pistol in his direction to show that she was about to use force, but the man paid the gesture no attention. “I’m warning you! I’ll shoot!” Still, he kept coming. Finally, Selma made the call and decided that he had come far enough. She had no clue who he was or what his intentions were, but considering the fact that he obviously didn’t care to be shot at, Selma squeezed the trigger and let the rippling crack of the dispersion round tear through the misty fog and through the approaching stranger’s forehead where she took careful aim.

That, it seemed, finally stopped him; but to her and Chris’ surprise… he was still standing and looking at her. It was then they both noticed that he wasn’t even human. Selma couldn’t believe her eyes. She could see the trunk of a distant tree through the stranger, and everything else around it. A hologram? But where was it projecting from?

And then it spoke. “Now why in bloody hell did you go and do that for, eh?” Selma wasn’t sure if she should be stunned by the fact that he was a talking hologram or had a cheesy, mediocre British accent.

“Uhm…,” she looked from the hologram to Chris and then asked, “I’m sorry. What now?”

The hologram leaned forward and stuck his see-through nose at the opening of the barrel of Selma’s H&K. His glowing, blue eyes stared down at the top of the barrel and directly into her own. “I said,” he spoke again, “why did you have to bloody go and try and shoot me?! I was only going ter try and say ‘ullo to a couple o’ stranga’s!”

“Now listen here, love,” Selma’s own Irish accent seemed to rise and challenge the stranger’s British, “who the hell do you think you are, eh?”

The hologram leaned back, removing his nose from the end of the pistol and turned to look at Chris, and then with a smile said to both of them, “Meh name’s Hayes.” Suddenly, the jacket and jeans he was wearing morphed into a black and white tuxedo with a sharp bow tie. His pale hands reached up to grab ahold of the lapels of the jacket and he said, with a deeper accent as if to mimic the famous fiction spy he was clearly imitating, “Charlie Hayes.”

“A hologram with an A.I. script?” Chris asked aloud to no one in particular.

Charlie’s eyes widened in surprise and his attire changed back to the casual jacket and jeans he was wearing earlier. “ ‘ologram!? I, my good and foolish sir, am no such atrocity!”

Selma couldn't help but smirk and laugh. She holstered her pistol, sensing no danger after all, and asked, “Then what in the world are you? …Charlie?”

“Well…” Charlie straightened up right and said, “I’m a ghost!” He raised his hands in the air as if to announce his state of being in celebratory fashion. But they dropped when he saw the look of disbelief and scrutiny on Chris’ face. “Yer don’t believe me, eh?”

“Sorry,” Chris said, “but no, I don’t.”

Charlie gave him a questioning look and then instantly disappeared downward into the surface. Both Selma and Chris looked at the ground and then at each other, wondering what was going to happen next. “What the-”

Before Chris could finish asking it, Charlie reappeared and scared the “hell” out of him from behind with a loud and ominous “BOO!” while whaling his arms in the air. Chris stumbled forward and lost his balance, ending up face-first in the ground. Selma couldn’t help but hold onto her gut in laughter. Charlie seemed to sharing her amusement as well.

Miles recovered to his feet, but his expression showed neither amusement nor insult. In fact, he looked more surprised than ever. “I don’t believe it,” he said. “He was right.”

“Right about what?” Selma asked, after managing to stop her laughter.

“Albatross.” Miles walked closer to Charlie who was now levitating just inches above the dark and fog-covered surface. The faint aura that could now be seen around his entire body gave a gentle light to the swirling mists around him. Miles and him seemed to stare at each other for several moments before he said, “In several of Albatross’ journal entries he had spoken about ghosts and spirits on the island, but I never took those entries seriously. In fact, I often wondered if he was just making some sort of metaphor out of them. One of the spirits in particular, however, he described as having an entertaining and fun personality. His name… was Charlie.”

Charlie’s eyes brightened ten times greater and a smile formed from pale cheek to pale cheek. “Aye! That’s me! A good ole’ friend of Albee.”

“Albee, eh?” Selma asked with a grin. “It appears as though he was telling the truth in those journals you were reading, Chris.”

“So wha’ brings you lot to Caligo?” Charlie asked.

Next time on G22: Unclassified...

Charlie guides Selma and Chris to the city of Phasmoenia, which their ghostly tour guide explains is the island’s capital. There, Charlie informs them that he can’t directly help them in finding Albatross’ sons, but he informs the two of where Albatross once resided in the city, before departing back into the forest.

[fire111127]

That last chapter was really good and leaves me wanting to know more. I think I speak for everyone keep em coming.

[Kalon Ordona II]

WOO! Go Charlie!

He was totally doing this: --> ^{<'Allo! Oi'm a gewst!}
xD

[The Ghost Writer]

He was totally doing this: --> ^{<'Allo! Oi'm a gewst!}
xD

Haha! I was trying to do him justice with the lingo, but I'm not as creative when "typing British".

As a note to all my readers: We're coming up on the final chapters of G22: Unclassified! Pay close attention to the events and characters in the chapters to come as they will have a significant impact on events I'm planning to introduce in Days to Come. Furthermore, it's also time to start asking those big questions: Who's going to die? Who's going to live? Who's going to appear in the role play? And, what on earth happened to Galahad and other commandos? I promised a surprising finale, and after consulting with others on my uber-duber top secret plan, I think I've - so far - achieved that very goal; you'll get a surprise ending alright... but will it truly be the end? Find out as you continue to read.... G22: Unclassified. *cue totally awesome music that makes you squirm in your pants*

[Kalon Ordona II]

*cue Mission Impossible theme* xD

[The Ghost Writer]

Ghosts of the Past

Since they had landed around two hours ago, the weather on the island had not changed in the slightest; although the wind speed had increased slightly. Selma placed the increase at about a mile and hour, and faint gusts could be heard ahead. Normally, this was an indication of a dramatic change in altitude, or at least the pitch of the ahead winds hinted at such.

The commando had chosen to take up the group's rear security, although Charlie, who was leading them in front, tried to explain to her that they were perfectly safe so long as she didn't attempt to shoot anything again. Miles was between the two and quickly growing tired of the hike. It was evident to Selma that the shadow agent didn't work out much. He was definitely fit for a man coming up on his middle years, but she wondered how much of that muscle was simply upper-body toning at the local gym, and not survival training instilled in him from intense military training.

"Charlie!" he called our to their ghostly tour guide. "How much fur- whoa!" To Selma's burst of laughter, Miles had slipped face-forward on a smooth stone, wet from the constant surrounding mists. She ran over to help him up and then gasped at the sight before them.

The three were standing on the edge of a high cliff, overlooking a fog-laden and exotic land that faded into the distant gray clouds and mists surrounding the island. About two clicks ahead of them, raising out of the lower smokey gloom were, what appeared to be, sky scrapers. Tall, magnificent buildings of ultra-modern architecture.

"And here I thought that Albatross was living in an island cottage," Selma muttered to herself. It was loud for Charlie to hear, however.

"Caligoans are an advanced people," he said with what must have been his first serious tone throughout the entire trip. "We all thrive off of the technology given to us."

"Given?" Miles asked, brushing the dirt and moistened mud from his jacket and pants.

"Yeah... Albee didn't tell you about 'em?"

Miles and Selma exchanged glanced for a moment, and then Miles turned back to Charlie and asked, "You mean the gods he spoke of in his journal entries?" This took Selma by surprise.

"Yeah," Charlie replied, clearly happy that Miles had caught on, "at's roight! The gods gave us everyt'ing we know. From the technology to the shades."

"Shades?" Selma inquired, now far more interested in the island's secrets and lore.

"Oh you'll find out 'bout 'em soon enough, lovey!"

As they descended the cliff by a narrow path with Charlie at the lead, Selma's head stirred with more questions. Since they still had a while of a hike before they reached the city, which Charlie had mentioned was named Phasmonia, she assumed that it would be best to know a little more about the two she was with. After all, she thought, she barely knew anything about Miles, and Charlie, a ghost of all... things... was even more of a mystery to her.

"Charlie?" she called to him from the back.

"Yeah, lovey?"

She bit her lip at him calling her 'lovey'. Selma called people 'love' all the time because it came naturally with her Irish background and verbage. She had the feeling that Charlie was mocking her. "What's your story? I mean... what's your history with the island?"

The ghost never looked back to her. Instead, he only spoke in a low voice, one barely audible to both Selma and Miles, but one that carried a solemn tone that need only be heard once. "My name was Charlie Hayes," he began, "and I died a long time ago. My job was to assist in the construction of a great device that would, one day, ensure the security of Caligo. But our gods didn't like wha' we were buildin'; and they came and destroyed it... and buried all the bloody evidence. Tha' was the day that I died, alon' with the rest of 'em... all the people like me that worked tirelessly, day and nigh', to finish what we had started."

"And did you?" Miles asked. "Finish it, I mean."

"Oh we finished it alrigh'." There was an awkward moment of silence and Selma got the feeling that she had better move onto Miles before she learned something she didn't want to. Her senses told her that Charlie didn't talking about his past too much.

"So what about you... Christopher Miles?" she asked. "What's your story?"

"I," he started, a grin stretching from one cheek to the other, "worked for the CIA. I didn't do what you did with MI5, though. Where you were an actual field agent, I was a humble intelligence analyst."

"Humble, eh?" Selma grinned and rolled her eyes, but Miles had looked back in time to see the gesture.

"Humble enough to kiss my boss's ass and make twice as much as you did, sweat heart."

Selma saw a small stone resting by itself ahead of her. Taking up on the opportunity without second thought, she had kicked her foot forward when she came up on it, sending it flying into Chris' thigh. He groped the spot of impact and yelped.

"Huh-ho!" Charlie cried in amusement. "Good one, lovey!"

"Stop with the lovey thing, love, before I kick one at you, too." Selma could help but smile after the threat. Whoever could threaten such a lovable ghost like Charlie Hayes with all seriousness would have to be out of their damn mind.

Charlie shrugged his shoulders innocently and replied, "Unfortunately, it woul' just go roigh' through me!"

"So this is Phasmoenia," Miles said, looking up the tall buildings and down the busy streets, full of pedestrians making up the first sign of actual living civilization since their arrival in the Aurora. "My Latin is a bit rusty, but doesn't that mean spirit dwelling?"

"Yeah, tha's roigh'." Charlie replied. "Look now, I'd love to go with you lot, bu' I'm not exactly the group type of gewst. So... I'm jus' gonna head back in tha' forest over there and... yeah! Good luck to ya!"

Selma's eyes nearly popped out of her head. "Wait a minute now, love." She blocked Charlies path and placed her hands on her hips. She obviously wasn't concerned about taking on a ghost. "I thought you were going to tell us where the kids are!"

"Oh roigh'!" Charlie laughed. "Silly me, then!" He pointed down the main road they standing in the middle of. "Jus' head down tha' way and turn left at the first shoppe, then roigh', then anotha' left, another left, again; and finally...," he stopped to think and rolled his eyes in a complete circle from top to bottom, slightly freaking Selma out, "...roigh'. I think tha's roigh'!"

"You're kidding me, roigh'?" Miles said, before realizing that he had accidentally mimicked their only guide. Surprised and slightly amused with himself, he slapped a hand over his mouth.

"Look, lovies, I'd love to go with ya's an' all; but like I said, I'm not exactly the crowd type." He looked back to Selma and said, "But trust me, everyone here knows Albee's wife, Teresa. If you jus' ask about her if you get lost, anyone can point the way. She's never moved since Albee left the island."

After saying their goodbyes and thanks, and Miles offering an apology - followed by another crack from Charlie - the three separate into two and one. Charlie faded away as he walked back into the mists surrounding the edge of the city, and Selma and Miles merged into the crowd of Caligoans on the streets. The felt awkward, being outsiders. Strangely, the fashion was similar to that of the early millennium, and Miles offered the explanation that Caligo's fashion must move in a similar manner of trends and fads like the known world. the Caligoans were wearing t-shirts, long pants that appeared fitted in the style of jeans, and shoes that looked like expensive Nike sneakers or Aces athletics. Though Selma and Chris both knew that they had entered a foreign and exotic world, it was still, in some sense, very familiar to them.

As they dodged in and out of passing crowds and cliques of locals, Selma overheard their conversations, but couldn't make them out. They were speaking a language she had never heard before. "Do you know what they're saying?" she whispered to Miles when they entered a clear intersection.

"No, I don't." He was just as confused as she was in regards to their language. "But that's funny," he said after a while.

"What is?"

"Charlie spoke English just fine, minus the over-exaggerated Cornwall dialect. Why is it that Charlie spoke one language, and the Caligoans we're surrounded by are speaking another?"

"Well Charlie was around a long time ago; and everyone here seems to be in their late twenties or mid-thirties. As a matter of fact...," Selma stopped and looked around, finding something amiss. "I don't see any elderly at all!"

Miles stopped and looked around with her, then realized that they were almost to the last turn that Charlie instructed them on. "Let's take this last roigh', and then we maybe we can find out more about the language and the people, okay? We still have to ask where on this next street this Teresa person lives, right? We'll have to ask someone eventually, so we might as well find out then how many people here speak English as well as Charlie does."

"Alright," Selma said and pressed on behind Miles. As they moved on, Selma caught a glimpse of something strange out of the corner of her eye. There was a black bird, like a raven in appearance, perched on the shoulder of a woman with long red hair and pale skin sitting on a bench. The raven-like creature had a beak that glistened like polished metal and it's eyes were eerily white and had an omniscient aura about them. What was even more strange, was there were no pupils in the creature's eyes; but they seemed to be staring at her nonetheless, as if reading her very soul.

The commando turned her head and shook what she had seen from her mind. "Okay," she muttered, "this place is officially freaking me out." She reached her hand down and felt the cold steal of the H&K's grip out of the top of her leg holster, calming herself by the touch of her only defense on this strange paradise.

Next time on G22: Unclassified...

Selma and Chris finally find not only Teresa, but her and Albatross' two sons, Malek and Aaron. Unlike the brothers that led G22 for so many years, these two aren't twins and, in fact, are about four years apart. To Selma's disappointment, Malek - the oldest - is not as old as she had hoped for and is only seventeen; far too young to be leading an organization like G22.

While Selma talks to Malek and Aaron about the man their father really was, Chris speaks with Teresa to learn about the mysterious island of Caligo and its "god-granted" technology. Both of the heroes also come face-to-face with the fabled shades for the first time.

[The Ghost Writer]

Codename: Albatross

"Anyone home?" Miles asked aloud, after gently knocking several times on the glass door of the home they were directed to by another Caligoan who, surprisingly, spoke English just as well as Charlie; though, without the British accent. Miles and Selma looked into the brightly-lit home, surrounded by walls of tempered glass, through what was not distorted for privacy. When they both saw who they assumed to be Teresa heading for the door, they darted away to innocently appear as if they weren't spying from the outside.

The glass door clicked and slid open with a slight hiss. Selma assumed that the entire house was rigged in a similar manner and wondered just how cozy of a lifestyle the Caligoans had compared to the outsiders of the modern world. "Yes?" the woman said. Her skin was starkly pale from the lack of sunlight on the island, and her blonde hair only echoed her complexion. The deep blue eyes were as mysterious as the ocean surrounding the island, and her thin frame suggested that she either barely ate, or was attempting some extreme dietary campaign; not that anyone on Caligo needed to lose weight, from what Selma observed. Everyone around her seemed to be a health fanatic.

"Ma'am?" Miles spoke with a gentle and warming smile that Selma could have sworn slightly dispersed the mist around them. "My name is Christopher Miles, and this is my colleague, Selma Granger. We've come on behalf of your husband-"

Teresa's eyes widened in both hope and surprise and she interrupted Chris before he could finish. "-Come on! Please!" She ushered them through the door and out of the fog. When she closed the sliding glass door behind them, she led them into a well-furnished living area; complete with an odd-looking, ultra-modern style sofa and low seats. The carpet beneath them was soft, but thin. It felt to be made of a foamy material, but not quite the same. In the center of the room was a large, metallic contraption. Selma had seen similar at G22 installations around the globe and even in MI5 offices. It was obviously some kind of projector, but if the Caligoans were as advanced as Charlie and Albatross' journal entries claimed, it probably did a lot more than just play nifty, three-deminsional slide shows.

"Albatross sent you two? How is he? Is he coming home?"

Chris and Selma exchanged looks for a second, both knowing fully well that there was no easy way to explain what they had to tell her. Finally, it was Chris, who Selma yielded to because of his charismatic skills as a shadow agent, that broke the news in the most gentle way he knew how. The two of them laid everything out before Teresa; G22, the murder, the bloodline, and even how they had arrived on the island. To no surprise to Chris, Teresa was not at all startled about who Albatross really was. In fact, he had been expecting it, according to what he had read in the journal entries. He had prepared his wife for the inevitable.

Teresa had explained that an outsider organization called Blue Trinity, which Miles was familiar with as a shadow agent, had first arrived on Caligo's shores generations ago in an attempt to start a research expedition on the island. But they began using their para-military resources against the Caligoans upon the discovery of their most tabooed legend... the same device that Charlie had spoken to them about on the way down the cliff side to the city. What Charlie didn't want to explain was that it was a weapon of mass destruction; one that sparked fury amongst their "gods" and had been buried in an unspeakable cataclysm a long time ago. Whether or not it was completely destroyed, Blue Trinity failed to find out the peaceful way.

Miles attempted to explain why the organization acted as they did. "Blue Trinity is apart of a major government body of the outside world that the rest of the nations of the earth look up to for security and example. The nation holds a strict no-tolerance policy for such destructive technology. If there is even the possibility of that weapon still being in tact, no matter how long it's been, this government will stop at nothing - yield to no one - to see that it is found and dismantled; even if it means war."

Teresa could only hold a solemn, grim expression toward Miles. "You have no idea how much pain Blue Trinity caused us," she said.

"Maybe not personally," Chris replied, "but I know what they can do, what they are capable of. Believe me, even some of my own actions have been all that is needed to start international conflicts of bloody proportions. I've done it all in the name of 'justice' and 'a means to an end', but I often wonder if what I did was really worth that end. But we have a chance to stop what will happen to your people again. The answer lies with your oldest son."

Teresa understood what her visitors were asking. Her husband had warned her ahead of time that Caligo had not seen the end of their suffering, and from that point on, would always know the ugly face of war and the harsh nature of the human beast. If her husband was truly dead, and only her oldest son could take up his position and protect Caligo from the days to come, then what option did she have? She guided Selma and Chris outside to a small courtyard in the center of the home. A pond full of exotic fish and smaller aquatic creatures was placed in the center, supported in the ground by tightly placed stones. They seemed to be elegantly arranged by hand, complimenting the beauty and delicacy of nature with the surrounding technology that comprised everything else. It was a subtle element to the garden, but no less needed.

Outside, sitting on a chrome bench with cyan neon lighting underneath to brighten the dew-laden grass, were two boys. One appeared to be more of a young man, actually. Teresa introduced her two guests to her sons, Malek, the oldest; and Aaron, the youngest.

Malek was a tall, handsome fellow who took care to appear presentable and formal in both his posture and attire. He was wearing long gray slacks what appeared to be the white-collar class equivalent of a long-sleeve shirt. There were no buttons, nor zipper, but there was a seem nonetheless going down the front face of the shirt, only slightly off-center. Selma presumed it was held together with some sort of light adhesive; a very economical and practical approach to fastening clothing. Malek's hair was brown, like his father's, and cut short. His eyes were the unmistakable cerulean, easily recognizable from several feet away.

Aaron had the same hair and eye color as his brother; but his hair was longer, and mopped around. Instead of putting so much attention to his attire, like his brother, he wore a gray t-shirt with long white pants. The way he slouched on the bench with his attention captivated by a high-tech, holopad-looking tablet in his hands told Selma that he hadn't much of a care for the fact that there was company. The skin complexion of both the boys was much darker than their mother's and that of the other Caligoans they had passed in the streets. In fact, the tone looked almost normal; like a natural tan. Selma guessed that this, like the eyes, was because of their father.

"Can you protect my little brother?" Malek abruptly asked Selma. While Miles was still talking with Teresa back inside the living area of her home, Selma had been attempting to talking to the boys about their father and what was to happen. Malek listened carefully and intently, seeming to understand everything that she was telling him, barely appearing to be phased by the things she was speaking of. Aaron, on the other hand, had tuned her out from the beginning. He had disappeared shortly after their conversation began, taking his tablet with him into the house and vanishing behind a wall of privacy glass.

"Of course I'll protect him, Malek? What kind of question is that?" Selma wasn't sure if she understood what the young, soon-to-be Albatross was asking.

He rephrased the question, sensing her confusion. "I mean, can you protect him from another loss?" Malek's tone had dropped drastically compared to what it had been after the start of the conversation. He continued saying, "After dad left, he never had a father figure. Every time mom tried to explain to him that he had to leave for our protection, he grew even more upset. Neither of us ever why until now. I think you being here and trying to explain that the war that caused him to leave isn't over, is only making it harder for him."

Selma actually felt guilty, and she rarely ever felt such a powerful emotion. Though she had felt a similar way after Albatross' murder, accusing herself of hiding in a ventilation duct, unable to jump out and stop Arcades from doing what he did, Selma actually felt even more guilt about what her and Chris were doing now; asking two young boys to leave behind everything they know and love in order to take up the mantel of a father they never even knew.

"I may have been young when dad left, but I was old enough to understand that he wasn't coming back. Aaron on the hand, never got the privilege to simply accept that was the way things were going to be. I'd even say that he's more hurt about not having a dad, than mom is about no longer having a husband."

Selma leaned back and crossed her legs, using both hands to support her weight on the bench from behind. "You're quite mature for being seventeen," she said.

Malek smiled. "Then just wait till you start talking to Aaron," he mused. "He's grown up faster than I have. His head may be stuck in those pads all the time, but he's not playing games and watching flicks. He's actually studying all sorts of random knowledge archives from the University."

Selma was just reminded about the languages of the island upon Malek's mentioning of the island's education system. "Malek," she began, "this may seem like one of those 'duh' questions but... how do you understand English?"

The young man cackled and smiled, replying, "Well that's kind of hard to explain, miss. But our gods granted us something else besides our shades. Every Caligoan that is born on the island is gifted with two nearly-unexplainable things: the shades, and our ability to understand any language once it is spoken to us. Our own native Caligoan is actually no different in its construct than many of the other languages our people have come to learn from the drifters."

"Oh." Selma wasn't really sure how to take that. Instead, she moved onto the next topic that was touched on. "Well what about these 'shade' things? What are they?"

"You've probably seen them already. Shades are the creatures that are bonded to us from birth. Each Caligoan's shade has a special ability that is typically in complement to their personality, or it could be completely random; who knows? But one thing is for certain, since the shade is directly inter-woven with the Caligoan's soul, if the shade dies, we begin to age and slowly die like everyone else in the world. This is why everyone around here appears to be so young. The only aging people residing on the island are drifters, like you and your friend, and the natives that lost their shades during the war."

"And if the Caligoan dies? What then?"

"The shade dies," an unfamiliar voice called out from the fog. It was that of a females, but Selma couldn't tell it came from. Then, from the other side of the pond in the center of the courtyard, a beautiful, young woman wearing a black blouse and pants with blue seams, walked towards the two on the bench.

"You have a sister?" Selma asked, clearly confused as to whom this young woman was.

Malek laughed again. "No! That's my shade, Terus. She can shift into human form."

Selma simply stared in astonishment at the woman before her; or was it appropriate to call her a 'woman', she wondered. "A... pleasure to meet you, Terus."

Next time on G22: Unclassified...

After learning more about the relationship between Shade and Caligoan, and Miles receives a surprising notification from CHASSI, Selma's fellow commandos return, but not to bring her back to G22. Violently crashing the get-together in Teresa's home and remaining hidden from the rest of the Caligoans using their adaptive camouflage technology, they chase the four friends and their shades across the city, wrecking havoc that seems to be caused from the unseen.

[The Ghost Writer]

Evasive Action

Malek, Selma, and Terus continued to talk about Caligo and their gift of the shades. To Selma's surprise, the bond between the two sentient beings was so strong that it was hardly explainable for even the Caligoans themselves, a society of advanced technology and knowledge. According to Malek, many of the Caligoans still believed in the gods that graced them with such gifts possibly thousands of years ago. Many new-age Caligoans, however, simply dismiss the very idea of deities and prefer to focus on the island's future, rather than dwell in the "superstitious" past.

"But what about Charlie?" Selma asked.

"Who?" Malek and Terus, from their expressions, clearly did not recognize the name.

Before Selma made herself look like a fool, she thought it would be best to not mention the ghost she met again. It was clear to her now that the people of this strange island had forgotten much of their past, and if Charlie didn't even like his own, she could at least be respectful enough to not talk about him behind his back. "Never mind," she said. "It just a random thought. So tell me more about this bond between the Caligoans and their shade counterparts. How is it that if one dies, the other must die, too? I think that would be a cruel gift and curse from your gods... don't you?"

"That's not exactly how it works, ma'am," Malek said. The commando was quite pleased with his mannerisms, despite being of a different and odd culture. It appears that this part of the law of human nature is the same, after all, everywhere in the world. Respect and humility is even a courtesy to the unknown people of a known world. "If the shade dies first, the Caligoan ages and becomes susceptible to natural causes of death, even death by the sword, in fact. But a Caligoan, if the shade is alive, will always survive, no matter what happens. That's how Blue Trinity lost the war a decade ago. They finally withdrew from our shores when they realized that, as long as our shades were alive, we couldn't be defeated. But our vulnerability is with the shades themselves. They are susceptible to the sword, and as fragile as normal humans. They just don't age or become sick."

"Sounds a lot like Tolken's elves," Selma commented.

"Who's what?" Terus asked.

The commando realized that the two had, once again, no clue what she was talking about. "It's a long story," she finally said, adding later, "Literally."

Christopher Miles and Teresa, who's maiden name was Nguyen, he recently found out, had moved their conversation into the home's kitchen. The room looked different than the kitchens of the outside world. There were counters for preparing entries, and devices that he knew were appliances. What he thought to be a dishwasher was actually a fridge, as he discovered when Teresa lifted up the collapsing, chrome door to retrieve a glass cylinder of the most pure water Miles had ever laid eyes on.

"Would you like something to drink, Mr. Miles?" she asked him, holding up the glass.

"Yes, please," he beckoned with a dry mouth. "I haven't had much to eat or drink since our escape from the facility I was telling you about."

"Here you go," she said, handing him the one she had grabbed, before reaching back inside the appliance to retrieve another for herself. Miles accepted the cylinder but quizzically examined it, trying to figure out to open the darn contraption. There was no lid, or spout from what he could see. It was simply a solid, transparent cylinder that had been, somehow, filled with water.

"Uh, ma'am, this may be one of those dumb questions, but on earth do you-"

"Just twist the top, Mr. Miles," she said, giggling and then followed up with a demonstration using her own glass. Placing one palm on the top, she tightly gripped around the container and twisted. To Miles' surprise, the top was removed as easily as any bottle cap. The seam of the seal was only revealed upon the twisting of the cap. Miles had the feeling that it would probably take him a very long time to fully understand just how advanced Caligo was.

After removing his own cap, he tilted the glass container towards his lips and was able to feel the cool temperature of the water within before it was even an inch away. When the liquid finally rushed across his tongue, he tasted only the most purest of water in the world, he had no doubt about that. There was no stagnant flavor, or spoiling cleaning ingredients. This was true water at its finest. "That's good," was all he could say after gulping down half of the glass, to Teresa's astonishment.

A series of several beeps and tones went off from his vambrace, and Miles hastily set down the glass and checked the appearing holographic display. Teresa leaned across the counter, attempting to see the device for herself. What Miles was looking at was a detailed rendition of the island. Three hotspot were designated on the map, along with several, possibly hundreds, of small red dots. Green dots were also dispersed among them, equal in number to the reds. Miles and Selma were designated with two, tiny cross hairs. There three red dots, and two green dots where they were at, and they had taken up the same positions as the two boys and Teresa. Where a green was, there was Terus, and the other must have been Aaron's shade. It was the only green dot next to him, who was appeared to be somewhere else within the home, probably his own room.

"Teresa" he asked suddenly, "where is your shade?"

Teresa turned her head down with solemn eyes and answered, "Corvin died in the war."

"Tell me," the shadow agent continued, "did Albatross ever talk about a strange signal on this island... a possible connection to every shade and every Caligoan here?"

She thought for a moment and then replied, "Well, my husband spoke of several things. He had pretty much rediscovered a lot of the lore and legends that were lost to us through time. He rambled on and on, just about every night about them. But I'm sorry to say that I can't remember him speaking about a signal. Why do you ask?"

Miles was about to answer when CHASSI beeped his vambrace again. More than pinpointing the signal, she seemed to have decrypted it. A series of strange symbols, like distorted letters or runes, rushed across the holographic display. Some were jagged, others were smooth. Whatever it was, it wasn't English, nor was it any language that Miles recognized. Arabic looked like scribbles, Oriental literature consisted of elegant combinations of lines, and Russian looked like distorted English letters. But what Miles was looking at seemed to be a breed of Masonic cypher text with some sort of ancient babel. He showed the strange language to Teresa and asked, "Have you seen [i[this[/i] before?"

Her heavy eyes scanned the screen left and right, up and down. But after a while, she simply shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. "Sorry, but I haven't."

There was silence in the courtyard. An eerie calm that Selma had noticed that made her abruptly stop talking. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and there was a feeling deep in her stomach that something wasn't right. How long had they been on the island? How long had they let their guard down? Selma quickly pushed all questions aside and stood up from the bench. Malek and Terus both understood that something was wrong, and they, too, began looking anxious.

The commando unholstered her H&K and scanned the area. The mist was thick, making the visibility extremely poor. It was the perfect environment for a commando. And she realized now that it was stupid to have to stayed in such a location for so long. "We have to get out of here," she said. "Now."

When Malek stood up from the bench, something moving in the mist confirmed Selma's suspicions, and she placed a firm palm on the young man's shoulder and pushed him aside. "Go! Now!" Malek took off into the house, and Terus transformed into the true beast she was. The black hairs of her thick, feline coat burst forward from the deceptive human skin she wore as a disguise and her the cerulean, human irises morphed into the same type of pupil-absent eyes she had seen with the raven-like creature on the streets. A growl came from deep within her chest as she fell forward on all four paws. The silver, steal-like talons glistened in the aura given off from the neon lighting underneath the bench. Selma wasn't exactly sure what to do about Terus, but she considered the shade to be an ally, and would have rely on the creature as a partner.

"I'm not sure if you can still understand me," the commando said quietly to Malek's shade, "but you're about to face an enemy not like the one you fought before. If you wish to run, now would be the time, but if you wish to stay, then you best stick by my side at all times, and do what I say. Nod, if you understand me."

The gaze of Terus's eyes, though full of nothing by color and light, were felt on the commando, and she knew that the shade had understood her. With a nod of the cat-like creature's large head, Selma knew that she would have a friend in this fight.

And then it started. A flash of blue light tore through the fog with a crack of thunder, missing Selma's shoulder by no more than an inch. Her nanofiber armor managed to keep the limb in its socket against the devastating pull, but it hurt nonetheless and Selma dodged to her right, throwing off her enemy's aim. "Show yourself!" she hollered into the mists. From the obvious sign of a dispersion round, she knew she was going up her own. The commandos were using the fog to their advantage, and, most likely, their the ACT TacSuits to boot.

Another round fired, this time nearly missing Terus, who leaped off her hind legs and through one of the glass walls. She had disappeared somewhere inside the house, and Selma only hoped it was to warn the others.

"What the hell is going on?" came Miles' voice from somewhere behind the curtain of mist beside Selma.

"Chris! Get the boys and Teresa and run!"

"Ah fuck!" was all that she heard before the sound of sprinting feet across the wet grass before her. Raising her H&K, Selma fired blindly into the fog, praying she wouldn't hit an ally. The running stopped, and seconds later, when she thought the coast was clear, a rapid spray of dispersion rounds rocketed all around her. It was to her luck that none of them made contact.

"Time to go, too," she grunted, lifting herself up to her feet and darting into the home.

"Fox is down!" Thaddeus called over the comm. "He's been hit in the thigh!"

Galahad checked the remaining power pack on his dispersion rifle and then calmed himself through, slow deep breaths. "Alright," he replied a second later, "render whatever aide you can; stabilize the wound. Price, can we get a med-evac?"

"Negative, Cap'n," Price's voice replied. "Albatross doesn't want any signs of our being here, remember? We'll have to load him on the falcon and take him with us."

"Fine."

"Captain!" The new voice came from another commando, one of the ones that was not normally assigned to his team. "Targets are escaping into the city. Orders, sir?"

With a pissed off grunt and annoyed sigh, the seasoned veteran swung the rifle around on the three point sling to rest behind the small of his back and stood up from the short wall on the outer edge of the courtyard he had used for improvised cover. "Get to the falcon, we'll tail them from above. Watch your fire, though, we don't want to harm innocents."

The commandos, under the concealment of their adaptive camouflage, sprinted out the back of the home and towards a craft concealed with the same technology as their suits. The light-weight and versatile attack harrier was able to act in the same manner as a helicopter back in the early millennium. Two harrier engines were attached to the short wings on either side of the craft for vertical hovering and altitude adjustment, and the rotary tail was used for stabilization during horizontal flight patterns. The falcon, as it was called, was small used to infiltrate and insert G22 commando teams behind enemy lines. As a last resort, it could also be used an attack helicopter with the side-mounted rocket pods and dispersion-powered chain gun underneath the nose. In retrospect, it looked similar in design to the age-old commanche attack helicopters of the United States. The lack of ninety degree angels made it invisible to radar detection, and the ACT armor add-on kept it hidden to the untrained eye as efficiently as the ACT TacSuits of the commandos.

As soon as one of the other new team members wounded by Selma's random - but surprisingly effective - firing, Fox, was loaded into the falcon, the team boarded and the craft hovered upward until they could see out over the immediately surrounding streets of the strange city. Because of the fog's thickness, the pilot had to rely on thermal imaging to pinpoint his targets. "Found 'em, Cap'n!" He pushed forward on the controls and the falcon darted through the sky.

The rest of the team lowered the signature blue goggles of G22's finest vision apparatuses and switched on their own thermal modes. "I've got her!" Thaddeus cried out. "She's on a... roof?"

Galahad leaned towards the window that Thaddeus was looking out of and saw the red and orange figure belonging to Selma dashing across a series of low buildings. She had split up from the rest of the group, who was now running on the streets below. Selma was the only one with a weapon, and Galahad knew she was using this to draw their fire towards her, protecting the ones she was with. But the fact that she was running across civilian structures, and that a dispersion round would easily pass through them and risk harming someone unintentionally, preventing firing anyway. "That's my girl," he whispered with a slight smile.

Galahad had been ordered by Albatross himself to locate and terminate Selma, a now rogue commando, for stealing an Aurora. Galahad could care less about what she did wrong; he just wanted to know why on earth she had to die for it. The shadow agent with her, on the hand, was to be capture alive, along with the two boys they were protecting. As far as the other woman, Albatross never mentioned her. As long as she didn't attempt to use force against his team, Galahad planned on leaving her alone.

Killing Selma... He thought about Albatross's orders over and over in his head. He just couldn't comprehend it. He lover her with all his heart, and it sank deep into the pit of stomach when their leader issued the order. But who was he, a soldier, to disobey not only a legitimate directive, but that of his closest friend? Who was he to go against his loyalty to Albatross?

"Targets are approaching the city's limits, sir," the pilot reported over the comm. "I might lose them if they head into the forest. There's too much thermal activity in there. Orders?"

"Keep tracking her pilot," he barked back over his headset. "Orders are orders."

"Aye, Cap'n."

The falcon leaned and turned through the sky as the pilot maneuvered between the tall buildings of the city. How on earth a civilization has thrived out here undetected for so long, Galahad could only guess at. His pondering was interrupted as fast as it started though when the falcon instantly jerked an opposite turn from the way it had been going. "She's firing back!"

Galahad grabbed a hold of the edge of his seat and forced himself into a half-standing position against the banking incline of the falcon's floor to look out the window again. He could Selma standing at the edge of another building, dispersion rounds breaking through the mists and just barely missing the craft. "God damnit, Selma!" He had to admit to himself, she was a formidable foe.

"Your girlfriend's going to get us killed, Captain!" another unknown commando commented over the roar of the stabilizing harrier engines.

Galahad shot him a deadly glare and only replied, "Shut your fucking mouth, soldier."

Next time on G22: Unclassified...

It's the end of the line as Selma finds herself and her friends staring out over the edge of a tall cliff, the bottom of which is hidden beneath the fog. The sound of ocean waves and tide crashing against the rocky face can be heard below. Safely away from witnesses of the city, the commandos and the falcon unveil their adaptive camouflage and a face-off begins.

What will happen in the final chapter of Unclassified? Does the loyal Captain "Galahad" Tyrone carry out his orders and eliminate the one he loves? What about Miles and Albatross' sons? Will they be captured by the commandos, or escape to safety?

[The Ghost Writer]

Vertigo

The chase seemed endless. The commando was tough and unyielding in such situations, but having to run from her own kind was wearing her thin. Constantly scaling buildings and leaping from roof to roof was about to make her rampantly beating heart explode. When they had reached the city limits, it turned into a dead-on sprint through the fog. A field had given them a path with few obstacles, and she relied on the lower elevation and the overbearing mists above to keep them naturally concealed from easy tracking. She knew that her former team had infrared and an assortment of other tracking technologies to keep pace, but nevertheless, she used what she had.

"Where are we going?" a panting Miles cried out a few feet beside her, trying his best to keep up. His lack of physical training was taking a greater tole on him, and the others, than it was on Selma.

"I'm not sure. We just keep running until they give up."

"And how long will that be?" the voice was almost unfamiliar to Selma, but she soon realized that it belonged to Aaron, the youngest of the Nguyen brothers. She also sensed the rage under his breath. The poor boy was now put in harm's way because of her and Chris' decision to find them. Now they were all fugitives of G22; hunted like animals.

Before Selma could answer, her feet slid to a sudden halt and she raised both arms to her sides to instruct the others to do the same. The group had come to a cliff that appeared out of nowhere from within the thick fog. "End of the line," she said through gritted teeth. Drawing her H&K from its holster, Selma turned and readied herself for what she knew was coming. "We make our stand here."

"In case you haven't noticed," Malek said, "you're the only one with a weapon. What are we supposed to do?"

"Get behind me!" Selma ordered, and the two boys did what they were instructed to. "Teresa, you have time to leave this mess. We've outrun them by only seconds, there's plenty of time to ditch and get some help. Is there anyone on this island that can provide it?"

With a quick nod she said, "Yes. The Caligo Security Force can. But I'm not leaving my boys behind."

"Mom go!" Malek snapped. "We'll be fine!"

Teresa hesitated, unsure of what to do. Chris finally placed a hand on her shoulder. "If you don't go, they'll kill us all. You have to get help, Teresa. You're the only one that knows where they're at, and you can get there faster if you go alone. It's us they want, not you." The mother, tears swelling in her eyes over the abandonment of her sons, eventually nodded in understanding. Before turning to sprint off again into the fog, she mouthed the words I love you to Malek and Aaron.

"Chris get behind me, too," Selma commanded at the sound of the approaching falcon's harrier engines. The shadow agent did as instructed and stood in between the two boys, bracing himself for the worst. He knew that Selma would do her best to fend them off until help arrived; so long as they weren't blown off the damn cliff. They could hear the familiar sound of ocean tide crashing against the face of the cliff far below. It was hard to tell just how high up they were from the fog's veil; but from the sounds of it, there was no surviving the fall.

Terus and Adyna, the two shades, were now if their true form; large cat-like creatures with silver saber-like tusks protruding from their mouths. Both of their eyes glowed a vibrant cerulean, and they were without pupils. Each stood in front of their Caligoan counterpart, acting as their shield. If what Malek had explained was true, they would absorb anything that the commandos could throw at them. They were like ever vigilant sentinels, standing guard before the ones they loved. Selma almost felt empowered herself with one at each side. A threatening, ominous growl came from both of them when the sound of the falcon grew louder and closer.

"For the record," Miles said, almost startling Selma from her concentration, "CHASSI figured out the signal; or well, most of it anyway."

"Now's not the time, Chris," Selma snapped, keeping her gaze straight ahead into the mists.

"It all has to do with the-" Chris's explanation was interrupted when the falcon came into full view before them. It, and the commandos now appearing in the open side door, had deactivated the adaptive camouflage technology. Since they were well out of detection radius of locals, they had no fear in showing themselves now.

Selma's eyes opened wider, and she gasped at the sight of Galahad sitting in clear view inside the cockpit. He was strapped into the co-pilot's seat, directing orders through a headset. For a long moment, both of the lovers locked their sights on each other. What had happened to them? Confessing their affections one moment, and enemies the next. Deep in the pit of Selma's gut, her emotions for Galahad, her hatred for Arcades, stirred into a violent storm. And then everything was suppressed when she lowered her head, a mischievous smile forming on her lips. "So this is how it ends, love."

"Selma!" The commando whirled around the witness as a shocked Miles and the two boys were yanked off the side of the cliff from an unknown force. The two shades and Selma leaped forward, attempting to grab them at the last second. When they reached the drop and looked down in desperation, they were met with an even bigger surprise.

The sounds of crashing waves, and their attention towards the falcon that had chased them through the city, had covered the approach of another falcon; one that carefully positioned itself under the fog beside the face of the cliff. ACT-covered commandos had scaled up the rest of the way and grabbed their targets from behind, pulling them off and onto the roof of the hover craft below. The falcon rose upward, well above Selma and the shades. To their horror, they saw as the commandos removed their adaptive camouflage, and presented their dispersion rifles pointed at the backs of their new hostages.

The boys might live with being shot at point blank as long as their shades were still alive, but not Miles. She couldn't afford even one death; and three, if the shades were to be blown off the cliff from the other falcon team, would be a total devastation and loss.

Selma turned towards the angry, growling shades. "It's no use, girls," she said.

Terus and Adyna both transformed into their human states. It was Adyna that spoke this time. "No use?! What are you talking about?!"

"They're in G22's hands now," the commando replied. "As you don't do anything rash, they'll live." Ignoring the protests coming from the two females, Selma concentrated on figuring out a plan to keep everyone alive. Arcades obviously wanted the boys for something, and Miles, being a shadow and having a knack for intelligence, was probably enough reason alone for him to captured as well. But Selma was still here, she was still standing. No one had come to take her back. She knew that she had a red bulls eye painted on her back and that her former comrades in arms were here to eliminate her from the equation.

But she won't let Galahad be the one to do that...

Captain "Galahad" Tyrone sat in the co-pilot's seat, instructing his men to hold their fire over his headset. Upon witnessing a successful extraction from the other falcon team, it was now time to make the call he was ordered to carry out from Albatross himself. He knew from the beginning that Selma would put up a fight back at the residence they had infiltrated, and he was also expecting her and their other targets to run. The other falcon was put on the mission to provide assistance in this case, and they were lucky enough to pull off such a trick at the edge of a cliff. It seems luck was on their side, but he knew that Selma, the only target left, would not go easily.

"Captain, orders?" Thaddeus asked. He was sitting just at the open door of the falcon, feet dangling over the side. A dispersion-powered sniper rifle resting in his hands was fixated on Selma. "I've got a clear shot, sir; just waiting on the green light."

"Hold your fire, soldier," Galahad commanded. He was still lost in thought; still confused as to why Albatross wanted her dead. Wouldn't it make more sense to capture her, too? Bring her in for questioning and resolving why she stole the Aurora and fled to this exotic, uncharted island in the first place? Or was he the only wanting to know the answers to those questions? Albatross' orders were like the word of God. Galahad dared not go against them. Yet, the captain thought, he said nothing about when I should carry that order out. "Pilot, put her down. I want to ask her a few questions first."

The pilot, another commando unknown to Galahad, and who's loyalty was no where close to him, gave the captain a confused look. "Sir?"

"That's an order, soldier."

"Negative, sir."

"What?!"

The pilot yanked hard on the joy stick, throwing Thaddeus around like a rag doll, forcing him to drop the sniper into the fog below and hang on for his life. "Albatross' orders are final, sir. Forgive me, but if you're not going to make the call, then I will."

"What the fuck are you doing?!" Galahad tried to reach over and grapple onto the insubordinate commando's neck, but he was stopped by the restraints of the seat; the had tightened and failed to extend when their safety mechanism sensed the sudden jerk of the craft. "Damnit!" Galahad's hand reached for the releases and hastened to undo them. His eyes, meanwhile, shot up and looked out the windshield of the cockpit and into Selma's. A smile was on her face. The two strange beings she had been speaking to, the ones that wildly transformed into human women before his eyes moments ago - perhaps the very entities that Albatross had warned them about encountering before they set off towards this island - had disappeared. Where had they gone?

Selma was the only one standing at the edge of the cliff now. She had moved ever so closer to the edge and was now appearing as if she was ready to jump off backwards. "No!" Galahad cried. "What are you doing?! Selma!" Yet his begging was useless behind the glass of the cockpit and the under the sounds of the harrier engines. Suddenly, he saw the same scene as before in the hangar back at the G22 facility. The same smile, and the same gesture. Selma had raised her thumb, joyfully into the air.

A buzzing sound erupted from the dashboard controls of the cockpit. The pilot had launched a single missile towards the smiling Selma, who had kicked off into a back flip with her feet at the last second, diving below the edge and out of sight before the devastating warhead impacted where it's target should have been standing.

"Nooooo!" Just like that... she was gone. Albatross' orders were carried out in the end. They always were.

To conclude G22: Unclassified...

The story is not yet over. Not only will this be made into two parts; but you can also unlock an Epilogue to this first part by commenting in this thread. If you have already made a post, then you will not have to make another to read the Epilogue. I will post it momentarily for you to access. Yes, posting is required to read the Epilogue as it will be placed in "hide" tags.

The second part of this story will be posted as a separate thread so it may bear a different title. Hopefully this will be soon; but G22: Unclassified is no longer a prequel to Days to Come. Instead, the story will be made into its own Written Work.

[The Ghost Writer]

Epilogue You can unlock the content of this post by commenting on the chapters you've read so far.

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