FSE

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"So, Doctor, tell me about this new augment that you implanted." Archer said, looking out the window of the observation room of the infirmary. Down below, the wolf prototype was laid out on his stomach on one of the beds, sleeping off the anesthetic, a newly sealed incision visible in the fur on the back of his neck.

"It's an adrenal storage and boost system." Dr. Klein said, smiling in satisfaction at his work. "I got the idea while reviewing the data on the subject's training record. The system gathers and stores epinephrine in cells linked to the cardiovascular system. When triggered, either consciously, or by an injury, the cells provide a sudden surge of the chemical, allowing him to push himself further and harder than normal. As you are aware Director, it will also have the effect of allowing him to ignore the effects of injuries for a short time, though it can also have the effect of amplifying pain."

"So, its like a built in stim pack?" The Director asked and the scientist nodded. Smiling, Archer turned back and looked at his companion. "If it proves effective, we may consider adding such a thing to our Spec Ops units."

"I'm sure we could, now that we have worked out how to properly adapt the cybernetics to the biology of the subject." Dr. Klein said. "And it will work, I promise you."

"Well, we will find out, while 1275 is deployed." The Director said and the lead scientist sighed, shaking his head. "I know how you feel about deploying them Doctor, but that is what we have done all of this for. And the board is becoming impatient. You want the prototypes to survive? Then we have to show progress, or they will be considered a liability."

"I know Director." Klein replied, sounding frustrated. "But they are still so young. I've never been comfortable with using kids, as you well know."

"What do you think of 1276's post-mission psych eval?" Archer asked, changing the subject abruptly and Dr. Klein paused a moment to even out his tone before answering.

"On the surface, he seems normal," Dr. Klein replied, "We see many of the same things in the evaluations of normal soldiers after their first battles. However..."

"Yes?" Archer prompted when the scientist didn't continue. "Something concerns you?"

"Indeed." Klein said. "In Major Newman's notes, he says that he feels that Talon is hiding something, and the electroencephalogram seems to confirm that. He seems to become evasive when pressed on the details of his first deployment, which is concerning to me. You have to remember Director, however skilled both of them are, they are still little more than children. And what is more, by wiping their memories before their initial augments, we also removed a good deal of their experiences, that might have helped harden them to the experience. I'm afraid that forcing Talon into situations that make even our best soldiers uncomfortable could be damaging."

"I am not sure I like your implications, Doctor." Archer said, "And must you use that name?"

"It is the name he has chosen Director." Klein replied, "Forcing both prototypes to only use numbers to identify themselves would never work, not when they see that their trainers have actual names. If you think the two of them are being resistant now, imagine what they will do if we try and make them stop using their name. I'd say its wiser to let him have it."

"Alright." The Director said, giving a half shrug. "I'll give you that one. What do you suggest we do about the psychological damage?"

"Don't deploy him again until we are sure that he has worked out any problems he has with what he has done." The scientist replied. The Director rolled his eyes and the doctor continued. "I'm serious Director. Limited timeframe or no, a mentally damaged prototype isn't going to do the program any good. Frankly, I am astonished that Fang is still able to function at all, considering what you have put him through so far."

"'Fang?'" Archer repeated, raising an eyebrow and giving an amused snort.

"That is what the instructors started calling subject 1275 after that little 'accident' with Sergeant Cross." Klein replied testily, the quotes in the sentence obvious in his tone. "Its fitting, I would think. It's not the first time he has used those teeth of his while fighting. Normally, I would advocate a full psych work up on him, but honestly, at this point, I would worry about putting any of the results from such a thing on record."

"Meaning what, exactly?" The Director asked, a challenge in his voice.

"I have been checking through the data coming through Fang's neural lace." The scientist explained. "At first, I thought it was malfunctioning, the readings were so far off normal, but now... Even at rest, while he is sleeping, the data shows that he is under incredible and I would almost say dangerous, mental and emotional stress. If an active duty soldier were to show that kind of data on a scan, he would be committed to a psych facility immediately for observation and treatment. Judging from the data recorded during his attack on Cross, I think he may actually be developing a split personality, with the second one only coming out when he is pushed beyond his limits."

"And you just gave him the ability to do just that, at will?" The Director asked. "And you say you have a problem with the way I do things."

"On the contrary, Director." Klein replied. "I am hoping that this augment will allow him to avoid those circumstances, by giving him the ability to extend his limits. It should keep the other side in check, and if I am right, it might actually solve it altogether, by preventing it from coming out long enough for it to fade."

"Fine, fine." The Director replied, looking back out on the infirmary as the wolf started to stir. "He is already waking up."

"I expected as much." The scientist replied, glancing at his watch and shaking his head in amazement. "Fastest recovery time yet."

"So he really is becoming resistant to sedatives?" The Director mused, looking at the wolf curiously as the teen came out of unconsciousness.

"As far as I can tell." Klein said, getting to his feet and moving to the window to look down as well. "Though how that is possible is beyond me. It is almost as if his body is recognizing it as a toxin and producing a countermeasure."

"Humph." Archer grunted, stroking his chin with his fingertips, "Good for him. Shame you can't reproduce the effect. It would be useful."

"Well, I have begun an analysis, but so far, nothing. But, if you will excuse me, Director, now that he is awake, I need to check his vitals to make sure there were no complications from the surgery." Klein said, moving to the door leading into the infirmary.

"One more thing Doctor." Archer said and the scientist turned back to look at him. "I want you to design a new augment, to be used in both prototypes. I want a neurotoxin injector with a remote trigger, implanted right here." The human touched the back his own neck, right at the base of the skull.

"What?" Klein asked, shocked. "What on earth for?"

"Just in case." The Director replied and the scientist's eyes went wide. "We can't chance losing control of them, doctor. Not while on a deployment."

"A lethal failsafe?" The scientist asked, incredulous. "Are you insane Director? That is a horrible idea. What if it triggers accidently, or gets damaged somehow? We would lose everything we worked for in a heartbeat, not to mention running the risk of leaving one of their bodies out there. Can you imagine what the fallout would be from that?"

"Well, we need some measure of control." The Director said, turning and walking to the door leading into the rest of the complex. "Either come up with a better idea or do as I ask, Klein. How long would you need?"

"At least a month without interruptions." The scientist replied, his voice distant, as if he still couldn't believe what the director was asking him to do. "Cybernetics are not exactly easy to engineer."

"Take your time." The Director said sarcastically as he left the room. When the officer had left, far from entering the infirmary to check on the prototype, Dr. Klein groped his way back into his chair, his eyes not seeing the office.

Well before the wolf had even started jump training, hell, well before either prototype had started being put in danger, Klein had had serious doubts about the program. He had even gone so far to begin idly planning out a way to get the two of them out, to help the teenagers escape from all of this before it was too late to salvage their personalities. But this... This didn't straddle the line between right and wrong like so much of the project did. It didn't even cross it so much as pole-vault right over it. It was ten kinds of wrong even just on the surface level. Shaking his head, trying to focus, the scientist looked down at his hands, face up on the surface of the desk. Archer had just made it clear how he saw Talon and Fang. To him, they were tools, machines really, to be discarded the moment they malfunctioned or ceased to be useful, not living beings, and certainly not children who were already in a fragile state.

Finally, Connor Klein rose to his feet, heading for the door so the cameras would see him still doing his job. But in his mind, he was resolved to the opposite course. That plan he had been working on would require a deal of preparation, preparation that he hadn't wanted to start on. But this did it. This tore it. He was done. No more following orders, no more trying to get the project to succeed. He was leaving, and so were the kids...

***

Fang sat back against the wall of the transport aircraft, his arms crossed across his chest, his eyes closed. To the flight crew, their strange passenger no doubt looked like he was sleeping, but he was in fact putting his time to more productive use. Behind his eyelids, the neural lace in his skull was displaying the data from the briefing, the wolf going through it once again, making sure he didn't miss anything. It seemed pretty straight forward really, the orders given to him by Archer simple and to the point. The lace was currently displaying an overhead, three dimensional view of a mountain valley in the Himalaya range, which didn't convey much to his mind other than a vague detail that they were the highest mountains in the world. At the far northern end of the valley, a few small buildings were clustered around what might have been a large house, or maybe a meeting place of some sort, like a town hall or market, all enclosed by a wall that seemed designed to keep both people and wildlife out, though there were several points around the edge where it seemed to have collapsed. Mentally telling the lace to access the briefing's audio, the wolf listened with half an ear to the briefing officer as he examined the compound once again.

"This compound has been abandoned for some time, but recently, intel indicates that a cell of an unusually well-equipped terrorist organization has taken up residence in the site." The officer said and Fang flicked a finger within the gloves he wore, rotating the view down to ground level. Actually, the gloves, like the wraps around his feet, were only mildly necessary, his thick fur having kept him plenty warm during training, but he had noticed that the pads on his feet and hands got very cold indeed during the training jumps, numbing the appendages to the point that he could only barely use them for some time afterward, which, naturally, was unacceptable. "Considering the remote nature of the area and the hostile terrain, coupled with the level of activity, we believe that it is going to be the meeting place for some, if not all, of the high level commanders of the organization, perhaps even the organization's head himself." At that, a headshot of a man with Oriental features popped into his mind's view, but Fang pushed it away; he wasn't supposed to even see him on this mission, so he wasn't important. "A team of Special Forces was originally going to be inserted early in the residence of the cell to eliminate them before they could get well established, but inclement weather conditions have forced them to stand down. Now, we believe the cell is too well dug in for a Special Operations strike to be effective, and a more involved response is out of the question; too high profile. However, our data shows that their defensive layout could be vulnerable to a single individual, operating without support, and in inclement weather. Which is where you come in, Fang." Flicking his fingers in a rolling motion, Fang rotated the view once again to display the whole valley, looking it over once again.

"You will be deployed via a night time high altitude drop five miles from the target in order to camouflage the incoming flight as a commercial aircraft." the officer had continued, "Once in place, you are to kill all targets within the compound and disable their detection systems so our teams can get in undetected. It is unlikely that there will be more than fifteen to twenty terrorists present, and due to the weather, it is also unlikely that they will be concentrated on the perimeter. That being said, there is every possibility that they will be heavily armed, so stealth is the key. Once you have completed your objectives, you are to ensure that any remains do not have anything that could identify you, and then return to an extraction point at the mouth of the valley for retrieval. Beginning forty eight hours after your insertion, there will be a narrow window when the forecast will be favorable enough for an insertion, at which point a full strike team will be inserted into the area to kill or capture the high level assets when they arrive. Understand Fang, under no circumstances are you to allow yourself to encounter the friendly forces, nor allow any terrorist to escape with knowledge that you were ever there. Communications will be spotty at best, so you will be on your own for most of the op. Any questions?"

Frowning slightly, the young wolf shook his head, turning off the audio file again. He understood the orders, and more, understood the reasoning behind them. After all, he was, as he understood it anyway, supposed to be a secret, and he had also noticed that most humans tended not to react that well to him, even when they had seen him before. But still, there was very little about this mission that he was comfortable with. First off, while he had completed jump training with the same efficiency he had displayed with the other skills he had been taught, he wasn't much of a fan of the whole concept. Trusting himself to nothing but a little nylon and cord seemed like a ludicrous idea. The low level jumps he had practiced at first hadn't been so bad. The reassuring jerk of the chute being pulled by the static line on his way out of the door had been comforting enough, as had being only a few thousand feet up. But when he had moved on to high altitude jumping... Shivering, the wolf tried to take his mind off that particular thought, patting his equipment to check that it was still secure. Aside from the main chute and the reserve, he carried only a few day's worth of rations and a basic survival kit, and, as the jumpmaster he had trained with had put it when he first saw him fully kitted out, 'a whole shit-ton', of knives. Exactly how many that was supposed to entail, Fang had no idea, but the teenager guessed it was a lot.

Opening his eyes, Fang took a moment to recheck the familiar belts of throwing blades he wore on his biceps, as well as the new belts he wore strapped around his thighs, the ones that also each incorporated the sheath to a combat knife. Taking a deep breath of the cabin air, the wolf once again reached back to reseat the double bandolier he wore across his chest. It should have fit him snugly, but, loaded down with even more throwing daggers, the X-shaped construction of mottled grey cloth was decidedly front heavy, and kept riding up in the back, under the parachute. All told, he carried more than thirty throwing weapons, more than enough to deal with the enemies he was likely to face on the ground. And that particular thought brought him right back around to another anxiety. In the months he had spent since that awful day when he had lost control, he had endeavored to forget what he had done, tried not to think about the death of 'Sneer'; a cause that wasn't helped much by the name the instructors had begun calling him by afterward. During jump school, he had had other things to think about, which had helped to an extent, but for a while, all he could think about when he was idle was the sensation of his teeth as they pierced flesh, the taste of the blood in his mouth, and the motion of his neck as he had ripped them free. After a few weeks, he had gotten past it, at least when he was awake, his name seeming merely a reminder of his animal ferocity rather than a mark of shame.

But often, when he was asleep, it all came rushing back, and he relived those horrible moments in horrific nightmares, growing more terrible with every repetition. But there were other dreams too, dreams that were just as bad, dreams that woke him in the middle of the night, leaving him shaking and afraid. Sometimes, he would be in the nature room again, but it seemed dark, like it was at night, and cold too, an almost unfamiliar sensation. He was never cold, his thick fur keeping him warm even when it was freezing. And always, there was something in there with him, something big, stalking him, and always chasing him. He could never get a real good look at it, but the dreams always left him feeling edgy and nervous the next day, though he managed to hide it from his instructors, even when they sent him into the nature room again. But the worst of the dreams by far, were the ones where it was like he was seeing the death of the trainer again, but through a different set of eyes. In those dreams, it didn't disgust him, it wasn't even remotely frightening. Instead, it felt so natural, so right and correct to bite, to feel the flesh of a throat between his jaws.

But, the most terrible part of that dream was that he felt a dark sort of grim delight when he tore his teeth free, scenting the man dying before him, the visceral sensations thrilling in a way his normal self couldn't understand, and didn't want to. The first time he had had that dream, he had lurched awake and immediately thrown up all over his bed, the lingering memory of the scent of blood and death making his stomach clench. He had hurried to the bathroom just in time to hurl again, and then over and over as the images and sensations had rebounded, bringing with them all the memories of all the horrible things he had experienced, all the way back to the day he had first woken in the stasis tank and the pain had nearly killed him, his stomach heaving even though it was empty. Finally, he had collapsed on the floor of his bathroom, blacking out from the pressure and shock; the next thing he knew, he was waking up in the infirmary. Not wanting to experience it all over again, he had told the doctors that he couldn't remember what had set him off like that, which they seemed to believe, much to his relief. Every time after that, that the nightmare came, he had managed to keep himself from throwing up, but he still felt ill when he woke up from the recurring nightmare, though of late it hadn't seemed to come back very often, at least, not by itself. But more often than not, he could feel it lurking behind his eyelids at night, and he was actually afraid to sleep, afraid that he would see the nightmare again, that he would feel the sick sort of pleasure that came from taking another life so brutally...

"Two minutes to drop zone!!" The jumpmaster called over the radio built into the helmet Fang was wearing and the wolf shook his head to clear his thoughts, standing up and doing another final check of his equipment. Then, while the wolf was securing the specially molded oxygen mask to his face, the jumpmaster checked his main chute one last time, and then clapped the wolf on the shoulder to indicate it was ok. Giving the man a nervous thumbs up in reply, subject 1275 walked over to the drop door and waited, his hands flexing nervously inside his gloves. This was the part he hated the most, the waiting before the jump. It always gave him a lot of time to imagine all the worst case scenarios that could happen between jumping out of the plane and hitting the ground. After what seemed to be a thankfully short time, the jumpmaster opened the door, his own oxygen mask secured to his face and Fang shivered, the frigid air that flooded into the cargo bay exhilarating. Moving right to the edge of the ramp, the wolf waited for the signal, resisting the urge to look down at the ground, knowing that it was going to be hard enough to jump out into thin air as it was, without seeing that. "Give 'em Hell, kid!! Ten seconds... Five... Go Go Go!!"

Knowing that he couldn't afford to hesitate, Fang dove off the end of the ramp like it was a diving board and suddenly, he was in free fall. All he could hear was the rushing air around him, and he folded his arms in to his sides, becoming a grey spear aimed for the ground, just as he had been taught. As before in the training jumps, Fang felt his sense of time slow way down. He knew from the altimeter that was displayed in his visual overlay that he was falling at an unbelievable rate, losing altitude so fast the digits were a blur and yet, it seemed to him that he was almost hovering in the air, well above the clouds and the mountain peaks that rose through them. He seemed to have all the time in the world to think about how insane it was to be doing what he was doing. He was speeding toward the ground like a thunderbolt, and all he had to stop himself from becoming a reddish smear on the white snow below was a few yards of nylon and some woven cord. But, Fang knew it was also way, way too late to worry about it.

Forcing a deep breath of oxygen into his lungs from his mask, Fang entered the cloud bank, concentrating instead on the numbers on his display, knowing that he had to time this perfectly, or it would be the end of him. A few seconds later, when the numbers shaded themselves yellow, he threw his arms and legs out to the side, the force of the air nearly ripping them out of their sockets, but his fall rate began to slow, the wolf emerging from the lower edge of the clouds at almost the same moment, revealing a landscape covered in snow that was still drifting lazily downward. Then, the instant the numbers in his display became red, he yanked the rip cord, the parachute doing exactly what it was supposed to do, the sudden deceleration feeling like a kick to his chest, but he smiled, relishing the almost comforting sensation. Glancing up, Fang made sure the chute canopy was deployed properly, then he returned his gaze to the ground. The valley was just high enough in the mountain range so as to be almost devoid of trees, so he could pick almost anywhere to land, but there did seem to be an awful lot of boulders clustered around, something that wasn't shown in the briefing's data. Frowning slightly while he descended, Fang took hold of the handles hanging down from the canopy, tugging his way around towards the largest clear bank of snow in the valley below him.

A few moments later, the wolf boy bent his knees, his cloth wrapped feet going right through the foot or so of powdery snow before crunching into the packed layer below. Going down to his knees to dissipate his momentum, Fang quickly spilled the remaining air out of the parachute and then shrugged his way out of the straps. Letting out a shuddering breath and putting his hands on his knees, the teen took a few moments to collect himself, unlatching the mask from one side of his muzzle, letting it hang loose. Then, shaking off the adrenaline rush that doing a HALO insertion always brought, the wolf began gathering up the nylon shroud into a tight ball. He was down at least. First hurdle crossed... Taking off the helmet and oxygen tank as well, the wolf pushed the jump gear as far down into the drift as he could, his augmented strength driving them deep into the permanent layer, far down inside where no one would find them, even in spring. Then, taking a look around to orient himself, Fang drew in a deep breath of cold mountain air and felt a feral, pleased grin come to his lips. Even as he hefted his small pack onto his back, he felt the anxieties lift from his shoulders, held at bay by a sudden, strange certainty. It reminded him of the feeling he had gotten when he went into the nature room for the first time, only a hundred times more intense. It wiped out the lingering fear and jitters from the jump, and for once, quieted the ever-lurking nightmare. Looking up at the drifting snow, Fang smiled. When he had been on the training jumps, he had been too preoccupied with doing things right to really get a sense of things, but now, out here, in this wild place, he felt better than he could ever remember feeling. Here, this place, this was where he truly belonged, and he knew it. Not even his time at the jump training facility had felt like this.

Looking around once again as he returned his thoughts to the mission, the wolf turned to the north and moved off at a jog, vanishing almost instantly into the swirling snow, a rumor in the storm...

***

The sentry stood near the open 55 gallon drum, warming his hands over the fire that crackled merrily inside it. He was clad all in thick white winter gear, and judging from the expression on his face, he clearly resented being out before dawn in the early morning blizzard. He hadn't even looked up from the fire in the last five minutes, obviously secure in his certainty that no one could possibly be out in the valley during a storm like this. 'His mistake," Fang thought. The man rubbed his hands together over the fire and the wolf allowed himself a brief moment of pity for him. It was in fact very cold in the valley, so cold that, though the man was bundled up in arctic gear, and standing near to a fire, he was probably shivering. But though the wolf marked that it was cold, he was actually nearly comfortable, despite wearing only a pair of what the instructors had called PT shorts, and currently being nestled inside a snow drift, only his eyes looking out. He had already made a mental note to thank Dr. Klein and the other scientists for the gift of his thick grey pelt, the snow and the bitter cold not touching him.

It had taken him about an hour and a half to cover the distance from his landing site to the edge of the compound in the blizzard, and another fifteen minutes of carefully stalking around the perimeter to decide on a hiding place. The insurgents manning the complex were not stupid, he had to admit. Despite the bitter cold and the falling snow, they still had a sentry at the only accessible gap in the wall, the one facing a sheer, sixty meter cliff twenty or so paces from the wall, another up in a hastily constructed watch tower, and three more patrolling around the outside. When he had scented the guards, well before he had seen them, Fang had kept his distance, finally creeping up behind a boulder as close to the sentry as he dared, then, after the patrol had passed his position, he had quickly burrowed into a drift beyond it, crawling forward in the snow until he had found his current place, settling in to watch them. Now, he had decided that the briefing had been right on. The group was very well equipped, and very professional, more like soldiers than most terrorists were. The guards all carried advanced assault rifles which had been proofed against the cold, and the watch tower sported what looked like a fifty caliber heavy machine gun on a swivel mount. Fang's visual overlay had also detected the electrical signatures of land mines around most of the perimeter, all connected with insulated cables to some sort of controller within the compound. Thankfully, in all this cold, thermal imagers were next to useless, especially against someone hiding inside a snow bank.

Watching the tags he had had the neural lace assign to the patrolling guards move around the wall once more, Fang confirmed the count he was keeping in his head. Unfortunately for them, the guards had seemed to have carelessly fallen into a regular pattern, taking the exact same amount of time to walk the perimeter on each pass. And that mistake was all he needed; now, he just waited for the right moment. The patrol moved into view once more, coming up to the sentry, the single soldier calling out to them as they approached. The translation software built into his neural lace allowed Fang to listen in while they exchanged complaints about the cold, and the food and the usual gripes soldiers in the field had. The sentry then said the one thing Fang had been waiting for. He said he needed to stretch his legs or he was going to freeze where he stood and the leader of the patrol, probably the equivalent of a sergeant of the guard, told him not to go far. Muttering an agreement, the sentry turned and walked almost right towards where the wolf was hiding. Holding his breath, Fang held perfectly still as the sentry walking by his hiding place, his boots crunching in the snow within only a few feet of his fur, and, when he was three strides past, and out of view of the patrol, at last the wolf moved. As the sentry's heavy boots squeaked on in the soft powdery snow accumulating in the direction of the cliff, the wolf boy pushed himself to his feet, allowing the snow to fall from his back like a mini-avalanche.

Moving like a wraith in the blizzard, his foot falls utter silent, Fang followed the sentry, not bothering with his knives for the moment. With any luck at all, he wouldn't need them. A few meters past the boulder where he had first crouched was an overhang on the cliff edge, leading straight down onto a jumble of ice and boulders and the man paused for a moment on the edge of the precipice. As he stood for a few moments, looking out on the valley below, Fang started to move up behind him, preparing to claim an easy kill, then paused, hesitating. True, this man was a terrorist, and would not hesitate to kill him on sight, but all the same, this felt wrong. He couldn't just kill him unawares like this, it went against the discipline and ethics he had been taught in his training. He had always fought face to face, not striking while a man's back was turned. For a moment, he warred with himself, the memories of blood and death from his training sessions coming back to him in all their vivid detail, then he shook his head, pushing the images away, trying to stay focused. If he refused this, then the Director would know the second the storm cleared and his neural lace reconnected to the network, and he dreaded to think what he would do when they caught him, as he knew they would; they always did.

As he considered, fighting with himself, the teenager felt his other side, the side from which the nightmares came, the brutal killer, suddenly rise within him, and almost before he realized it, it slipped into prominence, taking control before he could stop it. Before the sentry could turn around, the wolf boy had moved, one strong hand clasping over his mouth, the other arm encircling his neck, tilting him back onto his heels, the teenager upsetting the man's sense of balance. The sentry, startled out of his reverie, started to go for the rifle slung on one shoulder, but it was too bulky to maneuver around for a shot at his attacker, besides, Fang was too quick to allow it. For a moment, just a moment, the brutal side that lived within him breathed the scent of his prey, relishing the impending kill, the feel of the man's pulse against his tensed muscles, then with a single, sharp twist with his augmented strength as the man got hold of his weapon, it made sure the pulse would cease for good.

The strange, almost meaty snap the man's neck gave sent a cold thrill down Fang's spine and he let the sentry go, the limp body falling forward, off the cliff, the unused rifle clattering to the stones far below moments ahead of the sentry. Forcing the Killer back, out of prominence in his mind, the teenager hurried out of sight, swallowing against the sickness the knowledge of what he had just done had brought, trusting the swirling snow to hide his paw prints. Crouching behind the boulder once again, Fang waited, drawing in deep, cold breaths, fighting against the gorge that threatened to rise up his throat as the patrol came back around, finding the sentry missing. For a moment, it looked as if they might continue on, then the leader of the three man team waved for them to follow and walked off along the man's trial. Pushing the revulsion he felt into the back of his mind, Fang drew the paired combat knives from their sheathes on his legs, watching the three men walk around, searching for their comrade. Moments crawled by like years as they circled, then, at last, one of them called to the others, and Fang peaked up above the rock, his ears folded flat to the top of his head so they wouldn't show his position. The soldier was pointing down the precipice, and the others were shaking their heads, calling down to the dead man in case he was still somehow alive. Fang could hear the leader of the patrol's voice speaking over a radio and the teenager coiled, gathering himself for the spring.

As he had suspected they would, the patrol apparently assumed that the man had slipped off the edge of the cliff in the storm and died on the rocks below. It took a few agonizing minutes, but the patient wolf scented two more men coming from the compound, and soon, the newcomers were securing ropes with snow anchors, two of the patrol preparing to repel down to get the fallen sentry. Fang waited, watching, until the two men disappeared down the cliff, then, like an avenging ghost, he rose from behind the boulder, running right for the cluster of men on the edge of the cliff. They didn't see him at first, not through the snow at least, but he knew it was only a matter of time. Sure enough, either because he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, or by some inherent instinct, the leader of the patrol, the man who was only supervising the effort, turned just as Fang was clearing the boulder and the wolf saw his eyes go wide beneath the goggles he wore as the lupine apparition closed with them, but Fang was like the wind itself, among the soldiers before they could react to his presence. There was no going back now, he knew, no time for hesitation and second guessing. It was either kill these men, or be killed himself, one way or another. And, though far from a comforting notion, it was enough to still the doubts and the horror, at least long enough for what he needed.

The patrol leader was first to go, the knife in Fang's left hand burying itself between his shoulders and chin before he could cry out, the wolf's throw dead on, neatly avoiding any body armor he might have been wearing beneath his winter gear. The insurgent belaying the closest repeller was next, Fang's other knife slicing open his right thigh with one stroke, its razor edge severing the femoral artery, then slashing his neck with the return blow. With the other belayer, Fang didn't bother with the knife, spinning on the ball of his left foot, his right sweeping the man's rear leg out from under him, his free hand giving the man a shove forward. Already weighed down by supporting the repelling soldier, the man let out a wail as he toppled forward, going headlong over the cliff, his momentum yanking the snow anchor out with it. For a moment, Fang hesitated, considering letting the last man live. Dangling on a rope like that, the terrorist was hardly threatening.

Then, remembering the orders he had been given about not leaving witnesses, he knelt and placed the edge of the knife face up under the rope. Fang was more afraid of what Archer would do if he failed to follow orders again, than he was of the nightmares that he knew would come from doing this. But still, it took everything he had to force his hand into motion once more. The dying man who still held the rope looked on in horror as the wolf's arm ripped the blade skyward, severing the strands in one motion. The last soldier, the one clinging to the rope, didn't make a sound as he fell, only the dull whump of his body hitting the rocks and snow to be heard. Now, as before in the training room, he couldn't think about what he had done, or the things he was about to do. Now, it was all about survival. Blizzard or no, the sentry in the tower was going to know something was up when the patrol didn't come back, and as fast as he was, he seriously doubted that he could outrun the fifty cal. Retrieving the knife from the patrol leader's throat on his way past, Fang sheathed both blades and ran for the opening in the compound wall, knowing he had to be quick. Plucking a throwing dagger from his left bicep as he sprinted for the wall, Fang quickly measured the height of the tower by eye, cocking his arm back as he passed through the arch of stone. Then, just as the last sentry noticed his shape in the snow, his hand lunged forward, the blade leaving his fingers. A half moment later, the sentry in the tower staggered, tumbling off his perch to land in the courtyard, the knife buried up to its hilt in his right eye.

Taking a moment to breathe, the wolf faded into the shadows of the compound's wall, looking around. There was no one else walking around that he could see, but the wolf's instincts had taught him not to rely on only one sense. Taking a deep breath, he tried to clear his head, tried to focus as he learned to do early in his training when he was idle, to let the sounds around him fill his ears. But he couldn't seem to focus like he used to. He felt calm enough, physically anyway, years of hard conditioning having made this sort of thing easy. But his mind was all over the place, his thoughts dwelling on one thing after another, going from one subject to the next like lightning. Shaking his head, the wolf shut his eyes tight, drawing another deep, cold breath, but even deprived of his sight, his mind was too busy. Clenching his jaw tight, Fang did what he had done that last day of combat training, abandoning the technology imbedded within his body. Pushing the neural lace away, he consciously disregarded its input. Another deep breath, and he pushed the memories of what he had just done away as well, locking them out. Then finally, as his breath misted around him, Fang ceased to be an asset of the program, ceased to be a killer, a human, a cyborg, even a teenager. For a few brief moments, he chose to be the animal that lived deep down inside him, not the ruthless, cold blooded killer, but the wild, instinctual creature that was simply delighted to be outside, out in the world as opposed to cooped up in a training facility.

His sharp, canine ears instantly became his world; he heard the chill wind whistling along the rocks outside, heard the snow being whipped from its drifts, swirling around the valley. Distantly, he heard breathing, shallow and faltering and he tuned it out, knowing it belonged to one of the men he had killed. It didn't matter, they were irrelevant. Then, his ears twitched, the wolf turning his grey furred head to listen, for he had caught muffled words coming from two directions, though he couldn't scent anyone, which meant they were not out in the open. Listening for a few more moments, the wolf finally opened his eyes, allowing the lace to come back on, the buildings outlined in his sight despite the blizzard. Moving in a crouch, another throwing blade in hand, the point between his fingers, the wolf moved over to the edge of the nearest outbuilding, peeking around the corner. On the roof above him, the dish to an advanced radar system sat quietly, a faint electric buzz indicating that it was still working, even in the foul weather. A cable led down from the roof and into the building through the door, forcing it to remain cracked. Through it, the wolf caught a faint whiff of artificial cloth, unwashed skin and the acidic bite of coffee. Taking a second to glance around the courtyard once more, the wolf stalked forward in the snow until he could peek up from beneath the only window. The glass pane was frosted over with snow, but he could still make out the silhouette of a man seated at a console, a steaming mug next to him on the table, the faint glow of a space heater emanating from a corner. He was leaning back, probably relaxing, waiting for the end of his shift. Moving in utter silence, the wolf crept up to the door and pulled it open a little wider, looking inside.

The man at the console was in fact asleep, his head lolling back, kept from falling over only by a leg hooked under the far side of the table. Smiling to himself, Fang slid the knife back into its sheath and moved inside. With a motion swift as lightning, the wolf brought the heel of his hand down on the man's neck as hard as he could, waking the man even as a crack signified that he was doomed. Stepping over the terrorist as he sprawled on the floor, clawing at his useless neck, his face purpling as he tried to suck in a breath, the wolf found a ladder leading up to the roof on the far wall, a trap door sealing out the snow and the cold. Leaving the man behind, the wolf quickly scaled the ladder, pushing the trapdoor up with his shoulders and back, a swirl of snow flowing past him into the room. Moving through the accumulated snow to the side of the radar system, the wolf opened the service hatch on the side, finding a set of input/output jacks and glowing indicators, the overlay of his neural lace translating the Chinese pictographs spread over the panel into English, filling his sight with words. Annoyed at its attempts to be helpful, the wolf swiped at the air with his fingers, turning off the translator and clearing his vision of the clutter like a cloud of mist. Shaking his head, the wolf took hold of one of his combat knives, drawing it from its sheath while he examined the panel with a clear eye. Levering the point of the knife into the edge of the panel where there was a seam, the wolf popped it open, taking a moment to look around at the internal workings of the system. Though he didn't have the slightest idea how the thing worked, he did know that you didn't need a degree in electrical engineering to break a complex piece of technology like this thing. Reaching into the guts of the radar, the wolf took hold of the circuit board with the most wires attached to it and yanked, his artificial strength ripping it free along with a shower of sparks and a loud crackle as the device died, frying the chips in the board.

But, as the circuit board came free, a crackling arc of electrical energy wrapped itself up his arm, bringing with a strange tingly sensation. At once, the visual overlay filled with static, an almost ear-splitting crackle ripping at his ears, making him wince. Hurriedly letting go of the burnt-out circuit board, the wolf shook his head, working his jaw in a motion like a yawn, flexing the tingly numbness out his hand. As the neural lace came back to life, flickering slightly as it reappeared in his vision, the wolf shook his head and rubbed his temples for a moment. He had never experienced that before, and had never been told that any such effect was remotely possible. Looking back into the guts of the radar, Fang saw that all of the indicators were out, and the electronic buzz was gone, which he assumed meant that the system was dead. Nodding his satisfaction, the wolf suddenly perked up, his ears catching the sound of door hinges creaking in the night and he instantly flattened himself to the rooftop, peering up over the lip that marked the edge, looking towards the main building. Silhouetted dimly in the doorway were a trio of men, one of them putting on winter gloves to cover his bare hands, the others looking out towards the building where he was crouched. Quickly sizing up the distance, the wolf drew the second throwing knife from his right bicep, getting ready to hurl it.

The two men staying near the door were heavily armed, one carrying an assault rifle, the other an automatic shotgun with a drum magazine, meaning they were more guards. The last man, the one dressing for the cold night, had only a sidearm holstered out of the way on his chest and he wore what looked like a tool belt around his waist. He was obviously the terrorist equivalent of a technician and Fang felt a grin come back to his lips; he knew what he was going to do already. The tech started walking towards the building where Fang was hidden, his shoulders hunched against the snow, his pace a quick walk, obviously in a hurry to get out of the weather and the wolf waited, counting his steps. The man with the shotgun turned back and started for the interior of the building once more and Fang made his move in an instant. Rising into a crouch, the wolf threw the knife he held and drew a second with his return motion, pushing off with his coiled leg muscles as he threw. It was almost delightful really, the expression on the technician's face when Fang leapt off the roof towards him. The tech only had time enough to utter a gasp of shock before the wolf landed on him, the pair sprawling into the snow. Grabbing the stunned terrorist's forehead with one hand, the wolf slammed his noggin into the hard ground a couple of times, then got up slowly, taking stock of the world around him. The shotgun armed guard was face down a few steps inside the doorway, the knife sticking out of the base of his skull. The other was still breathing; well, sort of.

The dead guard had had his brainstem severed, and had probably been dead before he felt the impact of the blade. But the other guard had apparently turned his head just as the knife reached him. Instead of spearing his throat as Fang had intended, the blade had sliced both the jugular vein and the carotid artery, and the man's eyes were already glassy as he slumped in the door way in a growing puddle. As fast as he was bleeding out, he was already unconscious, and wouldn't know he was dying, which was probably something of a mercy. Pausing a moment as he dusted himself off, the wolf suddenly looked down at his hands in surprise. Where had that come from? The analysis wasn't brutal and angry, nor was it hesitant and horrified as his thoughts had been so far. Those thoughts had been cold, clinical almost, detached from all emotion. Shaking his head and pushing his odd thoughts away once more, Fang moved up to the threshold, looking inside the doorway, drawing in a slow breath through his nose, sifting through the scents coming with it.

The first room looked like a guard post, a second radar display set up on a table that currently indicated that the system had suffered a 'catastrophic malfunction', a description that made Fang smile, as well as what was clearly a mine remote. The room was warm, a couple electric heaters humming away cheerily and he shivered as he made his way to the remote, almost twitching as the heat wrapped him, making his fur fluff up. Drawing a throwing knife from the bandoliers across his chest, the wolf drove the blade deep into the device, his augmented strength driving it through the thin outer casing, severing something important on its way through. Sawing the blade back and forth through its guts a couple times, the wolf felt everything give inside the device and he tossed it clattering onto the table, satisfied with his destruction. Two doors connected to this room, and through one, he could scent the still appetizing odors of food that had been cooked hours ago and he moved in that direction, curiously sniffing the air, trying to define all the scents. It certainly didn't smell like ration pack fare...

The room looked like it served as both mess hall and rec room, dishes piled up in the sink, along with pots and pans. A couple of decks of cards and some sort of tile game occupied the tables, but the room was empty of terrorists and there were no doors besides the one where he stood. A little disappointed that the food was gone, Fang shrugged, the wolf moving back towards the other door and found that it contained a stairwell that led up to the second floor. Four sets of empty bunks occupied the room, probably belonging to the men who would not be returning. Creeping up the stairs, the wolf peered up into the next floor. This floor looked like it was all one room, drafty and cool, though another couple heaters strove to keep the cold at bay. The large room was filled with bunk beds, some stacked three high, enough for sixty or more occupants, though by his count, there were only six men there, curled up in sleeping bags and blankets. Once again sheathing the throwing knife, Fang prepared to do what he had to do, drawing one of his combat knives once more. True, he had taken on six men at once before and won, but he had neither the time nor the inclination to tempt fate like that. The presence of so many empty beds made him more than a little nervous, and that seemed to push his mood over the edge, towards the Killer again.

Still feeling most of the odd sense of detachment, Fang moved to the first sleeping man, who was sleeping on his side, his back to the stairs. Drawing a breath to prepare, the wolf clamped a hand to his mouth and then stabbed into the center of the man's chest with his other hand, the kill nearly silent. The wolf held the position until the man stopped struggling, then moved through the room slowly, repeating the process again and again until he stopped hearing breathing. Finally pausing to clean his knife on the last man's blanket, the wolfish teen moved to the last set of stairs and crept up them, checking once more for threats, but the last floor looked like it was only an armory, racked rifles and other weapons, including several rocket launchers with cautions written in a variety of languages. Mostly, there were pallets of munitions boxes, crates of explosives and other gear from what looked like a dozen countries, a quick count revealing literally tens of thousands of rounds of ammunition and more rockets and grenades than he could guess. The room was rather drafty, and the difference in temperature made Fang frown. If it were him, he would have stored the weapons lower down, where they would be easier to access and out of the cold but he supposed that, since this was only an outpost, it must have been more like a depot than a store room, the weapons not intended for the use of the cell that was here. Shrugging, the grey wolf made his way back down to the ground floor. By his count, that should have been all of the terrorists at the post, but he was going to check the rest of the outbuildings before he started cleaning up.

Fang was just emerging from a garage where a heavy duty truck had been stored when he heard a sound that he didn't like. It was the high rumble of a small engine coming from outside the compound, higher than any car or truck was, and he moved quickly up to the hole in the wall, looking out into the snow. At first, he couldn't see anything at all, the wind picking up steadily, driving the snow into his face, then, distantly, he saw a flickering light, coming closer. As the growing engine noise was lost in the howling of the wind, Fang finally made out a shape he recognized, the neural lace finally being helpful in outlining the object. It was a snowmobile dragging a sled with boxes of equipment lashed to it, two men riding on it. Both had rifles slung across their backs, and Fang wondered why they had been out in the storm at all, especially on a night like this. Even on the light snowmobile, they would have run the risk of being stuck, or getting lost. Shaking himself out of his thoughts, the wolf drew a combat knife once more and ducked back behind the edge of the wall. These two should be easy pickings, then he could get out of here. But then, even as he heard footsteps, the wolf heard the man calling out the names of the sentries. Nobody home, dummy. The wolf thought, grinning, then suddenly, he cursed inwardly. The footsteps stopped at almost the same moment, both wolf and human noticing the same detail at the same time. The tower sentry's body was lying right in the path of the snowmobile's headlight, the metallic finish of the knife hilt winking in the swirling snow.

Damnit, damnit, damnit!! Fang cursed in his head as the terrorist called to his companion, moving forward slowly. Moments later, the barrel of an assault rifle poked through the gap in the wall and Fang moved, knowing he couldn't chance waiting. Slapping the rifle barrel hard with his open hand, Fang darted around the wall, slicing the back of the man's knee, kicking his legs out from under him. As the man cried out, falling, Fang delivered a slash to his neck before he even reached the ground, then stood up, in full view of the headlight. The last man was still in the seat of the vehicle, already trying to turn it around and head back the other way. There was no time to consider, no time to plan, or even to judge properly. Tossing the blade up and catching it by its point, Fang cocked his arm back. It was going to be a hell of a long throw even for him, and a hard target to hit even without the wind, the combat knife not balanced for throwing. But, as the man turned the snowmobile's engine over, Fang finally tapped his added edge. Using the silent command as he had been taught, he tapped the adrenal boost implant, feeling the almost otherworldly rush of sensation as adrenalin flooded his system. His heart racing, his perceptions lightning quick, the wolvish prototype threw the blade as hard as he could, augmented muscles straining beneath his fur, trusting to the weapon's weight to keep it true. The terrorist's hand was cranking the throttle just as the knife struck him, right where he had aimed, burying itself in the back of the man's neck. Even as the knife left his hand, Fang was in motion, running after the man, though he was at least seventy yards away, his other blade already drawn, almost leaping forward with the boost.

The snowmobile drove on for a few feet before slowing to a stop once more, the driver dead at the controls and Fang breathed a sigh of relief as he came to a stop by the vehicle, wrenching the knife out of the target and shoving him out of the seat to make sure he didn't twitch and floor it. His pulse was roaring in his ears, his breath ragged, but he didn't care. He felt alive, heat flooding his limbs, glorious pleasure surging down his spine as he reveled in the endorphin spike. Tilting his head back, the wolf howled into the storm out of sheer excitement, a broad grin on his muzzle. Then, suddenly, as the roaring began to subside slightly as his body got used to the adrenaline, he realized to his horror that he had an audience. Unnoticed by the wolf in the howling wind and the roaring of his own heartbeat, more than thirty men, all clad in white, had crept up on him, the headlights of several large snowcats and snowmobiles catching him in all his glory. Every single one of the men were pointing a weapon at him, though they hadn't opened fire just yet, probably because they had never seen anything like him before. Cursing his own stupidity, Fang tensed, getting ready to move. He had never faced so many before, and certainly not armed as they were. He knew he only had one chance, to attack as fast and as fiercely as possible, while they were still stunned, and while the adrenalin high was still at its peak. Without waiting a moment longer, the wolf pushed off the ground as hard as his legs could go, leaping forward in a dead sprint, drawing all three knives from his left bicep at the same time and hurling them in the same motion. In the densely packed formation, there was no way to miss.

Even as the three men he had knifed were falling, Fang was among the ranks of men. The wolf didn't think, didn't care which side of himself was in control, didn't even perceive what he was doing exactly. The feeling of his fists and legs impacting targets, the sliding sensation of knife blades parting flesh, even the cries of the men all seemed to fade into a dim blur. Fang could hear gun shots going off, but if they hit him, he couldn't feel it. Brief flashes and scattered images were all he saw any more. Bloody snow, knives twinkling amid the flashes of the headlights, a man in cold weather garb clutching his bloody leg and screaming, and then, suddenly, open mountainside. Without realizing he had done it, Fang had fought his way free. He was passed the tracked vehicles, past the snowmobiles. Distantly, he could hear a voice shouting, the hardly noticed translation breaking through the roaring thunder in his ears.

"Hold your fire!! I want it alive!!" An authoritative voice was saying and Fang felt a grin return. Alive? Ha! He thought. Good luck catching me! Then, even as he ran, he heard one last gunshot, a loud, deep-throated bang like a shotgun blast and suddenly he felt a stinging impact somewhere on his back. He staggered, but the blow didn't hurt like a bullet should. Instead, it just felt like he had been punched hard, nothing piercing his flesh. Probably some sort of nonlethal round, Fang decided, starting to run again, knowing that it was nowhere near enough to stop him.

But, he had hardly taken a step before the world suddenly seemed to catch on fire. All of a sudden, electricity was arcing through his body again. Every muscle tensed up in an instant, cramping painfully all over and he was falling. The visual overlay didn't even bother with static this time, instead it went bright white and the ear-splitting crackling returned even louder as the wolf sprawled face down in the snow, stiff as a board. After a few seconds, the electricity went away and the wolf felt his muscles unclench, but the overload of his cybernetics left him twitching and jerking in the snow like he was having a seizure. Every sense was overloaded, ever nerve ending firing all at once. Finally, with a last titanic effort of will, Fang pushed the neural lace away, turning off everything he could control and at last he went still, collapsing in the cold snow. What little remained of his conscious self that hadn't been obliterated by the sudden overload of his nervous system screamed at him to get back up and keep running, but his nerves weren't listening. All he could do was lie there and twitch feebly. Dimly, he perceived running footsteps and voices shouting, but he suddenly felt extremely tired, far more than could be explained by the sudden quiet in his senses. The adrenalin high was fading, and with the neural lace's inputs off, he couldn't tap the implant again.

"I told you those TASER shells weren't a waste of resources." One voice commented as the footsteps skidded to a stop nearby, the translation program apparently still working. Fang dimly felt a weapon barrel prod his leg, but he was fading fast, unable to resist. "Whoa...What the hell is this thing?"

"Whatever it is," the authoritative voice replied, "It just tore through my personal guard like tissue paper. Pick it up and bring it inside. We need to figure out what it is and where it came from."

"I'm not touching that monster, no way..." A third voice said as Fang grasped desperately at his consciousness, trying to stay awake. But, as he lost the battle, slipping into the darkness, he wondered if the man wasn't exactly right...