Splinter Cell: Traitor

Abigail

AN ISOLATED AIRFIELD IN SERBIA 

TWO WEEKS AGO

Pain exploded into my side as a fist collided with it. 

Captured... 

Agony exploded behind my eyes as a fist collided with my temple.  My head snapping to the side and pin points of light flashed as I threatened to black out for a second time. 

Captured...tortured... 

My right leg was broken from the land mine my runner set off.  So, even if I could get out, I couldn't run.  I would be caught again, and this time, I would be killed instantly.  They wouldn't dick around.  My right shoulder had a bullet in it and my left arm was broken in the forearm.  Several ribs were broken or fractured.  Blood was gushing down the side of my face, soaking what was left of my shirt, and my right pant leg.  Sweat coated my skin despite it being nearly freezing outside. 

"Ready to talk yet bitch?" the filthy Serbian seethed shaking his hand out and walking away. 

"Go to hell, you'll never break me," I muttered.  That's all I could managed.  He took a step back towards me, cocked his fist, turned and fired.  The punch landed on my jaw.  The world turned sideways as the force from the blow knocked me out of the wooden chair I was in.  I hit the cold, wet ground and lie there.  My head bounced off it hard, cutting the skin and starting yet another flow of blood.  He kicked me onto my back and flashed my knife in front of my face. 

Captured...tortured...killed... 

Something, other than the fat Serbian with seven and a half inches of sharpened, serrated steel inches from my face and neck, caught my attention.  A trifocal night vision headset, synonymous with the Splinter Cells, I could see it through the window.  It was at a distance and almost impossible to see through the pouring rain, but it was there.  Splinter Cells were deadly lethal, blacker than black covert operatives that worked for Third Echelon.  A group within the NSA that only some were privy to knowledge of its existence, and most of them were employees. 

So, Grim sent someone after me.  How sweet of her.  I felt the blade plunge into my side.  It only went to the bone because of the stab resistant shirt, but it still drew a lot of blood.  

"Nice to know you cared Grim," I muttered.

"What?" the Serbian was confused.  He raised the knife to stab me again and I never heard the 'pfft' sound of a silenced weapon.  His head exploded in pink mist with a nice quarter sized hole in the temple and a jagged hole the size of a grapefruit in the back.  Gotta love half metal jackets.  He fell back and the knife clattered to the floor not far away.  I couldn't see the trifocals anymore.  There was a spiderwebbed crack in the window surrounding a small dime size hole. 

I was in too much pain to move.  Both of my arms were out of commission and I had only one fully functioning leg.  I laid there for several hours.  The rain slammed against the metal roof of the hanger.  I crushing my broken arm.  I could either crush my shot shoulder or take my chances on the shoulder of my broken arm.  I rolled onto it and leaned my head against the cold floor.  Water dripped down front rusted spots in the roof.

"Whoever you are, whatever your purpose for being here, my leg is broken.  I can't walk." I said.  Nobody answered.  Several hours passed as I drifted in and out of consciousness. 

I had the sudden feeling I was being watched.  I managed to lift my head to look over my shoulder and I saw the trifocal lens.  Only this time, instead of being through the window in the distance.  They were reflecting off the light of an OPSAT.  It was in the corner of the room.  It was still jet black outside and there was only a small cone of light created by a flickering light bulb above me.  I could see their rough outline only.  They stood maybe six feet tall, with their arms crossed in front of them, a pistol in one hand and a knife in the other.  They were leaning against the wall. 

"3E?" I asked as loudly as I could manage.  They didn't respond at all.  I let my head fall.  I was on the verge of passing out again.  They crossed the room.  Their footfalls echoing in the empty hanger.  There was the occasional sound of their foot stepping in a pool of water.  They stopped directly behind me and squatted down. A hand touched my side, and I felt a hot breath on my ear, the trifocal bathing my face in green light.  They were wearing a thick black nylon shirt, a strange holster thing holding an OPSAT on his chest.  It appeared that it was the modified strap of an Arc'teryx Quiver Backpack.  The OPSAT was what was creating the green light, not his trifocals.  No, those were my trifocals.  They ahd been ripped off outside before I got hit with my own tranquilizer.  He had a pair of baggy pants on and a pair of combat boots.  I slowly turned my head to look at him, squinting against the bright light.  He appear to not have shaven in a week.

"When you wake up, you are going to wish I was a Splinter Cell." he said as I slipped into unconsciousness.