Obscura #1: Awakening

ONE

>Scarab Hideout

>Southern Wasteland (Population–0)

>Lycan Federation

"Okay I have bad news and good news," said Sam through the tiny receptors in Mori's small ear.

    Mori rolled his eyes—Sam loved to make every bit of information he relayed sound overly dramatic. "What's the sitrep?"

    The cyborg heard the something shatter in the background. Sam cursed under his breath. "Whoops, give me a second."

    Such a spastic. Mori sighed and instead focused on his surroundings.

    The Sun blazed on the horizon, over the arid Wasteland. Mori's bare feet left inhuman imprints on the soil which radiated the sun's torrid rays. Blackish, oily sludge gurgled in the cracked-flaky earth like deep-irritated trenches on human skin. The sludge had an oily glint to it. As it lapped at the cracked earth from within, a toxic mist rose into the dry air and tingled his nose.

    His augmented eyes—which was a definite perk of being a cyborg—scanned the towering buildings in the distance, easily picking up the grungy texture of the rusted metal plating that coated the deserted structures.

    The tall factories rested on trapezoidal concrete platforms, tall spires jutting from the uneven roofs like bones sticking out of a wound. Dark holes were splotched sporadically on the reasted structures, permitting the tall cyborg faint glimpses into the decrepit interior.

    Mori's mission was to break into one of those factories and rescue a kidnapped Lycan Federation asset whilst killing as many Scarab Rebels as he could. The mission, to him, was more of an inconvenience. He wanted to get it over with as fast as possible.

    Finally, Sam came online again with a flurry. "Bad news is: Insect Drones are picking up Scarab signatures in the factory farthest from you. Good news: There is also one human signature, i.e., the Echelon is probably in there."

    Amused frustration caused Mori to shake his head slightly. Sam could be long-winded at times. Mori was patched into the live feed of the Insect Drones as they scouted ahead and could see the same information for himself.

    "You haven't been doing your stress exercises again... Commencing exfil of F.R.A. Hideout now."

    The F.R.A. Scarabs were the group of insectoid heathens who opposed Lycan Federation's governance. The cyborg was growing increasingly weary of their relentlessness—you kill one of them, two pop up in its place.

    "I've been busy covering your ass."

    The hint of guilt in Sam's sonorous voice didn't escape Mori's notice, but the cyborg had long since learned to ignore Sam's antics. It would only lead to more drama.

    "Confirmed. Godspeed Mori. "

    The cyborg didn't believe in such constructs as Gods. If they existed, they would be afraid of him. Almost everybody was innately afraid of the devilish bionic soldiers created by Lycan Corporation, after all.

    Mori scanned the target building, analyzing the holographic display infused in his eyes—the G.I., or Ghost Interface. He huffed out an annoyed breath. Highlighted on the imagery were eighteen waste-of-time red-tinged Scarab Rebels in the target structure, and one vivid blue blurb for the captive Indian Echelon Mori was ordered to rescue.

    Sam whistled. "These Scarabs should be a piece of cake for you anyways. Unlike those nasty Cerberus bots you fought at luxarn peak."

    Mori cocked his invisible head, sensing a chance he had no intention to lose. "'A piece of cake? ' Those are an interesting choice of words." The cyborg smirked. "Is there perhaps a reason you used those particular words, Sam?"