Red Skies | The Prime Archives #1 ✓

prologue

A lone van the color of night sped down a desolate road. The street was bathed in muted, yellow light from the dim lamps hanging above the sidewalks. Heavy rain thundered onto the top of the vehicle, the sharp noise mixing with the dull sound of the tires rolling against the pavement.

The van—occupied by six armed men and a driver—approached a traffic light displaying its red glare. However, the vehicle didn't heed the caution of the signal. It continued racing down the road, hurtling towards the sleek, white semi that had just entered the intersection.

The sound of glass exploding and metal crushing echoed down the empty street. The eighteen-wheeler flipped twice before landing back on its busted tires. Wielding assault rifles equipped with piercing laser dot sights, five of the six men jumped out the back of their vehicle. They barked commands at each other, their voices slightly distorted by the breathing apparatuses covering the lower portion of their faces.

As they walked towards the vehicle, one of the doors shuddered before opening. A middle-aged man toppled out the smoking opening and onto the ground. His eyes wide, he pleaded for his life as he dragged his bloody body across the ground. One of his legs was bent at an excruciating angle. The smell of iron floated down the street from the driver's white, blood-soaked Nexxus Industries uniform.

Desperate whimpers rose from the man's throat. His nails scraped against the unforgiving pavement. His breathing quickened as his attackers closed in on him.

The armed men formed a half-circle around him, blocking his means of escape. As they stood there, another man emerged from the black van. A sword the same color as his facemask hung at his hip, its crimson blade reflecting the silver moonlight.

Rain streaked down his chalky skin, running down his angular features. Through the shaggy, midnight strands of hair in his face, Red Eyes stared back at the frightened face of the broken man before him.

''Get the device,'' he said to the other five men. They nodded and ran around to the back of the white vehicle. They shot open the two doors of the trailer and pulled out a piece of machinery covered by a silver tarp. They all grabbed a corner of the heavy object and carried it back to their van, stuffing it into the back.

''Kane said no witnesses,'' one of the men said.

Red Eyes nodded as gazed upon the driver of the destroyed vehicle. His expression was blank. Apathetic. Cold. He took a deep breath, the noise sharp and warped. He stepped towards the driver, unsheathing his weapon.

''P-Please...,'' the driver begged, blood spilling from his lips. He coughed, his body shaking violently.

He said nothing. He stopped in front of his victim, his long blade held firmly in his pale hands.

''I-I have a wife...t-two kids,'' the driver explained. His breathing quickened as he tried scooting himself away from his attacker. ''I-I won't tell anyone about t-this. I swear!" Tears mixed in with the rain streaking down his face.

The shrill scream that left his mouth stopped as soon as it started. The point of the sword had been driven through his forehead and protruded through the back of his skull. Red Eyes removed his blade from the driver's head, the latter's body lying motionless at his feet.

He wiped the blood off his weapon and held his hand out, letting the rain wash it off. He took another deep breath—the warped noise crackling in his ears—before heading back into the van to join his men. They slid the back door closed and resumed their journey down the desolate road, the beating of the heavy rain mixing with the flat sound of the tires rolling against the pavement.