Nightmare

3

183 Years Ago

Taylor Williams tilted her glass, taking a long, deliberate swig of whiskey. The burn coursed through her throat, but it did nothing to quell the fire raging inside her. She picked up a dart and hurled it at the photograph pinned to the dartboard. The dart struck the image of her daughter square in the eye, eliciting a bitter smile from Taylor. 

"That good-for-nothing little Freak," she hissed, her voice low and venomous. 

The woman in the photograph, Amy, wasn’t just a failure in Taylor’s eyes—she was the reason her life had fallen apart. Amy had killed Mitchell. Sure, Mitchell was a crime lord and not the most savory character, but his lifestyle had brought money, luxury, and power. For someone like Taylor, who had clawed her way up from nothing, it was as close to heaven as she could get. 

And then it was gone. 

She picked up another dart, gripping it tightly as her knuckles turned white. It wasn’t just Amy’s fault. Jason, her son, had played his part too. That negligent idiot had made a mess, leaving breadcrumbs for the military to follow straight to Mitchell’s doorstep. Mitchell had been livid, his temper as explosive as ever. Taylor still remembered the sharp pain of his fist before darkness swallowed her. 

“It was to be expected,” she muttered bitterly. Mitchell’s anger was legendary, but it didn’t matter now. 

When she woke up, the world as she knew it had crumbled. Mitchell was dead, his empire reduced to ashes. And Amy… that creature had been the one to deliver the final blow. The audacity, the betrayal, was more than Taylor could stomach. 

Taylor’s hand trembled as she threw another dart, the sharp point sinking deep into the photo. 

“They ruined everything,” she snarled, her voice thick with rage. 

But Taylor wasn’t one to wallow in self-pity for long. If Amy thought she could walk away unscathed, she was sorely mistaken. Revenge wasn’t just a desire; it was a promise. General Payne, her new commander, was a man who understood the value of ruthlessness. Unlike Mitchell, he didn’t have a temper to manage—he had focus, discipline, and an unrelenting drive. He’d be a far better partner in her quest for vengeance. 

A knock at the door pulled Taylor from her thoughts. A soldier entered, his expression as sharp as his salute. 

“Williams,” he said briskly. “We’ve sighted your daughter on the drone feed. What are your orders?” 

Taylor turned slowly, her eyes glinting with cold determination. She reached for her sidearm, drew it, and without hesitation, fired a single shot at the photograph. The bullet tore through Amy’s face, leaving a jagged hole where her defiant expression had once been. 

“Ready the helicopter,” she ordered, her voice calm and steady. 

She holstered her weapon and stood, straightening her jacket. As she walked toward the door, her boots clicked against the floor, each step a declaration of her resolve. 

“Time to end this,” Taylor muttered under her breath. 

This wasn’t just about revenge—it was about reclaiming the life Amy and Jason had stolen from her. And Taylor wouldn’t stop until she saw her daughter’s world burn. 

---

Fire Island

Captain Maxim stood on the edge of Fire Island, his arms crossed as he watched the massive wind turbines spinning slowly in the distance. The salty sea breeze tugged at his coat, but his expression remained as unyielding as the cold steel of the submarine waiting offshore. A rogue in every sense, Maxim was one of the many Russian Navy captains who had turned their backs on their government. The atrocities committed in the name of progress—the experiments on children, the disregard for morality—had been too much for him to bear. That horror was the breaking point, the final act of betrayal that had driven him to the fringes of the world.