Operation Hades

Rally

A firm tug ripped the sewn patch from the shoulder of the battle-dress-uniform. Acheron held the circle of cloth to his face, viewing the silhouette of the centurion helmet for the last time. One last look at the final bond they all had to the Agency. To his right, Zephyr copied him, and one-by-one the rest of their comrades fell in line. With a sense of conviction, he threw his patch in front of them. The rest of the first and second generation escapees mimicked him, and out of the corner of his eye he watched dozens of patches fly into the wind, fluttering into the waters running below the bridge. Without a word, he began to walk away. This action signified the beginning of their new lives. The freedom they had earned.  At long last, they were free.

Yet, even with his comrades surrounding him, he stood alone.

***

He dug his left knee into the sand, lightly sliding the slung machinegun from his back onto the ground. With a gloved hand, Acheron dropped one less scoop of earth onto the small mound. The beige structures around them were all but gone, save for the rubble of walls the he could easily see over. To his sides, he spotted his fellow Agents lounging about or watching around, as a few worked on the APC.  The sun was beating on his back, obscured by the tattered cloak draped around his shoulders. There was a shuffling of boots against the sand behind him, to which he didn’t even bother to look.

“Who’s that?” A female voice cut through the distant sounds of mechanics and labor.

“Some kid,” Acheron curtly nodded towards the burial mound, both eyes unmoving, “It’s the least I could do. Everyone deserves to be buried.” He heard the footsteps approach further, stopping just behind him. A hand fell onto his shoulder as she lowered to his level, to pay reverence along with him.

“Strange, huh?” He muttered. The girl cocked her head. “War seems to always find its way across the world.” The Southeast-Asian War had really lost its namesake, as the battlefield had managed to spread the whole way to Egypt.

“It’ll be finished soon enough,” She thoughtfully quipped.

“And another takes the plate,” Acheron added, disappointment clear in his tone, “War’s lost its meaning.”

“Somebody has to do it,” She shrugged after a brief silence, her hand not moving, “I guess I’d rather it be us. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” He scoffed. A silence followed.

“Eclipse,” The girl put her other hand out ahead of him. Acheron looked over, before he completed the handshake.

“Acheron,” He nodded. Neither of them could’ve been a day over thirteen. Her hair was pulled into a ponytail and as white as his; an uncommon side-effect of the genetic therapy amongst the Agents. He’d seen her around a few times, but he’d rarely taken the time to meet any of the other Agents aside from the comrades in his cell; Zephyr, Saber, and Silver. “Generation two.”

“Two-B,” She replied, before standing and offering him a hand. Acheron accepted this gesture as well. He gave her a firm look in the eyes, taking in the deep blue. With just this glance he felt some strange sense of sincerity, rivaling the permanent iron gaze from his.

***

It was a hell of a time to start remembering these things. Acheron messed with the stock on the TMP, testing to see if the mass of solid black fiberglass was sturdily attached to the weapon. The snow quietly crunched underneath his feet with every step. They'd been trekking for the better part of an hour, and the only glimpse he'd managed to get of Zephyr was the signature on his TacMap. They were hidden in the mild storm that was brewing; it was definitely picking up pace again. Luckily, the base wasn't very far away. They were just going to have to hope that they had gotten their first, and that their friendly status was going to be accepted.