Water dripped from different places in the warehouse, echoing off the cracking concrete foundation. Armin's surroundings were not like the usual warehouses he'd looted over the years. This place was built into the mountain, which appeared to have given it's a fine process a substantial boost.
He could hear rats scurrying through the cracks in the pillars he walked by, and every careful footstep made an echoing crunch wherever he tread. To top it all off, he couldn't hardly see. As Armin stumbled in the darkness, he could barely a dim, red light in front of him about 20 feet away.
The light was caged, with a faded red bulb flickering inside. More red lights lined a new hallway, and with the new hallway the foliage and age dissipated nearly entirely. The country's color shifted to that of a dark amber color, giving the walls a blood red hue in the dim light. For the first time in a while, Armin was... scared.
As quietly as he could, Armin drew his rifle. This rifle had kept him alive on too many occasions; sometimes, her even had his own gun pointed at him. It was his work of art: a hardened autumatic reciever, coupled with a carved Russian stock, and the barrel was of a .50 caliber rifle. To him, this was truly his closest friend.
Armin swept down the corridor, scanning room by room for the mercenaries. So far, there were nothing but empty rooms. As Armin passed the last door in the hall, he stopped; there was a fork in the corridors. Why is this place so big?! he thought. There was normal light coming from the left doorway, along with soft whispers. He took in a deep, quiet breath. He counted, one... two... three!
Armin burst out into the open, rifle drawn. The three men yelled, and drew their weapons: identical, military issue LMGs. He could feel three red dots pointed directly at his heart.
"State your buisness here, friend" The merc on the left said. The other two shifted around Armin, forming a full circle of fire around him.
"My name... is Armin. Armin McCain. Former U.S CIA operative, second dispatchment of the National Recoverable Initiative."
Surprisingly, the men lowered their weapons. The merc on the left slowly approached him, and, pulling his sleeve down, revealed a tatoo: a bald eagle, sporting the Constitution and a pistol. This was the very tattoo Armin sported in the CIA's initiative.
The other two showed similar marks. After taking off their masks, a friendly faced crew smiled at him.
"We're your backup, Armin. Or should I call you Phoenix?"
Armin's grin spread ear-to-ear.
"Well, well. Looks like you found some friends."
Mikayla's figure sauntered over to Armin's side, her face a curious smirk.
"So, I'll be the one to ask," she said. "What. The hell. Is going on?"
YOU ARE READING
Silence of the Apocalypse
Mystery / ThrillerThe thoughts of a man, wandering through the wastes of a war-torn country, trying to find his purpose and to find peace about his past...
