Warslave

Chapter 17: The Viper in the Mist

The Viper

They'd heard a few horror stories, but overall no one knew much about these 'Warslaves'.

"Name's a bit much... Couldn't call em anything nicer?"

"Shut up Clark. They ain't paying us to ask questions."

The Guild had paid up front. Every mercenary group had been paid up front, in fact. That's how you knew something was off about the job. That had scared off then groups the Guild had contacted.

"Smoke and mirrors. That's all it is."

"Shut up Clark."

Clark looked back, looking back at the man in his identical black body armour, ready to admonish his friend, before catching himself. He outranked William, but he'd assigned his friend a simple, yet no less crucial role: to remind him to shut up when he was thinking out loud. Being heard or not being heard was often the difference between life and death in this business. Not that anyone needed the incentive to shut their lieutenant up...

Black Cats, that's what they had called their company. At first that had been because they had, in Clark's own words, shit luck. They always ran into something they weren't supposed to, whether that was a group of superhumans, a full team of the Bureau's best or a monster that proved to be bulletproof, they had seen pretty much everything.

Their first claim to notoriety was that they had survived it all. Sure, they suffered casualties, and often more than they were willing to admit, but they survived.

And that was before they learned to deal with their bad luck. Clark couldn't exactly pinpoint the moment it started, but at some point, they dropped their first superhuman. After that, they went from surviving to winning.

They'd gotten creative.

And with their victories, they'd gotten more funds. More funds that meant better gear, like some fancy tech upgrades for their armour, and some real firepower, the thought of which made Clark a little sad that they hadn't gotten to deploy their mech suits in the labyrinth.

Sure, the Black Cats weren't gonna beat someone like Aurora, but as long as it wasn't bulletproof, there was nothing they couldn't kill.

"'Cept this damn fog."

"Shut up Clark."

As far as the Black Cats had been made aware, there wasn't supposed to be fog in the labyrinth. They'd been patrolling when they stumbled into it. They'd barely had time to make sure none of their skin was exposed, before the mist had swallowed them. After that, they had gotten lost. No map could help them get to where they wanted to be now.

"Labyrinth's tough enough to navigate without the damn-"

"Shut up Clark, we don't know what's lurking in this place."

That was the thing.

The soft green hue of the fog could be hiding anything, and that was if it wasn't just straight up poisonous. And as far as they had heard, even if it was, that wouldn't stop these Warslaves, according to the stories.

Stories...

They weren't even supposed to be real. A month ago, they had been something you used to scare the new recruits as a prank. Just as real as the boogeyman, or...

Damn, it was hard to come up with a monster that wasn't real these days. In fact, Clark would bet his left eye that the boogeyman was real as well.

"We got eyes on everyone?"

"Sh-... Oh, right. Got about twelve guys with us. No word on anyone else. Radio's dead in this fog."

"So no, then."