The Aftermath

“Special op agent Wade Giizis has accomplished the first phase of his mission,” Major Lone explained.

General Wolfman nodded slightly as he sat behind his desk. He was worried about sending one man into Columbia to eliminate the drug lords. It was a mission the U.S would never warrant. For the simple fact, the government will be blamed for Wade Giizis’s death. But thanks to the CIA, Wade Giizis no longer exists and the man was desperate to be assigned the mission.

The two military officers sat in General Wolfman’s office in Washington D.C. It was warm and calm. They were safe and secure in the White House. There, Major Lone reported Agent Giizis’s progress on the mission.

The mission was outlined from beginning to end and General Wolfman knew it from front to back. He was to over look its progress in case it turned bad. If it is to happen, the mission will be terminated and Wade must return to America.

“Don’t worry, General,” the Major said to calm his superior. “Agent Wade Giizis is an expert in Martial Arts, a Fourth Dan in Kendo, and a weapons specialist. He has completed countless recon, intel, and rescue missions which earned him the codename, Smoke. Subtle, silent, and it’s the only thing that he leaves behind.”

The General sighed as he sat back in his seat. In his forties Wolfman who was a warhero of a war that is unknown to the public knew the penalties and responsibilities of failure. He was dressed in his full uniform that shown all his medals and awards. The U.S. had no finer officer.

Major Lone, a younger man, in his mid thirties knew what the General was afraid of. If Wade failed, America will be in volition of UN law and will be punished severely. The General will lose everything for directing the entire operation.

Where Wolfman will only loses his position and rank, the punishment for Major Lone and Agent Wade will be much worse.

“Where is he now?” The General asked.

It drew a smile from the Major. “He is on a two week Leave,” the Major answered. “He’s back in his home country of Canada. He says we should wait till the Fire Keepers have recovered and will blame the Praying Mantis for the attack in Brazil. When he returns, we’ll be ready for the second phase.”

The General gazed deep into the Major’s eyes. “Make certain he is ready,” he warned. “This meeting is over.”

The Major nodded as he rose to his feet to salute his superior. The General responded in kind with a salute of his own. And Lone was gone out the door to prepare for the second phase…

Stephen felt the burning hold of heat all around his face and body. His uniform was sticking to his skin because it was so hot. He felt he had a terrible headache with a dry mouth. There were bruises and cuts all over his body. There were rips and bloody stains all over his uniform.

When he first tried to open his eyes, he felt a terrible sore over his left eye. He came to the conclusion his eye was swollen. From what, he had no clue. But it must have had something to do with him hanging from shackles. He felt bloody cuts on his sore purple wrists.

His eyes were still closed, but he knew he was captured at this point. But who would capture a lone soldier from the Fire Keeper clan? Stephen mused himself as he wondered on such an obvious question.

He heard droplets splashing into a muddy puddle. The droplets that he heard, came from the stony ceiling. He felt no wind. Of course there wouldn’t be wind underground in a dungeon. Those Praying Mantis bastards were so content in being old fashion. Stephen grinned.

Stephen hadn’t bothered use his nose. If you smelled one dungeon, you smelled them all. With no doubt, he knew it smelled like crap anyway.

He opened his right eye. And it was as he deduced from his senses. It was a windless dank dungeon that was underground. Droplets falling from the ceiling into the muddy puddles. Prison bars before him as if the shackles weren’t trusted enough that they need to put him in a cage as well.

He took a deep breath. “This is just great,” he said sarcastically as he shook his head.

He is trapped. He has no idea where he is. No one knows where he is. As far as they are concerned, Stephen Stook is K.I.A. And the worst part, he could feel those drinks he had the other night take their toll as he has a very bad hangover.

“I’m screwed,” he said with a surprising sense of happiness.

He had to admit it was a good feeling, to be completely and utterly damned. There was no struggle to stay alive or do one’s best. Stephen merely had to sit back, be feed everyday, and as long as he provides useful information, no beatings or torture. His living counters might not look pleasing but it could get homey in no time flat.

But, back to important matters. What he did know, he was in a Praying Mantis compound. There, they will attempt to torture Stephen for Fire Keeper secrets. For that, they will either unlock the shackles, escort the prisoner to another part of the compound or just in the dungeon which would be smarter. Or just torture Stephen for the hell of it for the rest of his natural life.

“God I hope they want secrets,” Stephen said pitifully.

He knows, all the Fire Keepers know that the Praying Mantis are known to castrate their captive.

“Fuck, they better want secrets, for pleasure sake,” Stephen said in fear of losing his manly hood.

“You coward,” came a voice from another cell. Stephen couldn’t see the cell but he followed the voice to the cell next to him. Then, a head popped out from right corner. It was dirty man with wild bushy hair, rotten teeth, and smelled worst than shit.

The man looked American and a little older than Stephen did. “You would leave behind your own fellow comrades to save yourself?” The dirty American asked.

That made Stephen laughed. For a man like Stephen, he never truly swore his life to the Fire Keeper or anyone for that matter. He was in it for himself no one else. He was a man that does what he wants when he wants. With that personality, no wonder he was a mercenary, a hired rifle for the highest bitter.

“They aren’t my fellow comrades,” Stephen said cold and heavy. “I don’t even consider them friends. I wouldn’t have a moments hesitation to fuck all their widows if I ever get out of here.” There was a little pause. “… If my balls are still intact, that is.”

The American just kept shaking his head. “A man with no honour will never find a place that he can call home,” The American said sadly and was gone.

That left Stephen confused and a little offended. He simply didn’t understand the words of wisdom. It made his mind clear and pushed all things aside. And there it came naturally and non-forcefully. Smoke. Black Smoke. The dark warrior in the smoke he encountered that one day.

It was mind blowing to try to come to the conclusion that one man basically walked into the Blind Strike camp unnoticed. Take out a dozen of soldiers with ease and plant a bomb that would detonate at sunrise.

“That man put me here,” Stephen muttered to himself as he gritted his teeth in anger.

He is the reason why Stephen is in this situation. It is why he is captured, cut up, bleeding, and bruised. It is why he is here in this dank crappy hot as hell dungeon. It is why he could lose his balls.

“I was a good soldier,” he said to try convince himself. “I followed orders, I did those crappy jobs without a word of complaint. I never questioned my superiors. And one stupid job, lands me in a world of shit! All because that man in the smoke!”

The anger thickened with those thoughts. Hatred grew in his heart, hatred for that man, that man in the smoke.

“If I ever see him again, I will kill him…”