Six

1 - A Disturbance

Author's Note: The prologue (chapter before this one) has changed; if you haven't read it, I highly recommend that you do.

— GRIDIRON, EIGHTEEN MONTHS AFTER THE FALL OF SPYGLASS —

The road was empty at this late an hour, save for the two armored 'Samson' class trucks rumbling down its stretch in the dead of night.

They drove cautiously, but with purpose; from the backseat of the vehicle in the rear, two men's gazes darted towards every shadow and tree next to the road, their branches hanging over the street like outstretched claws waiting to strike.

One held a rifle, one which he fidgeted with to no end- scratching notches into the stock, checking and rechecking the ammo counter. The other held no weapon- just a single steel-case box which sat on his lap. As the seconds ticked by, the first man peered keenly out of the tinted window as he had been doing for the last hour.

"Would you stop that?" the other snarled in a thick german accent, his own anxiety reaching peak levels at his companion's need for reassurance. The other snapped his gaze around, equally on edge.

"If you want to get jumped by the Network, be my guest; but until then, I'm going to keep making sure our route's secure-"

"Both of you, shut it," the driver ordered, trying to focus on the road. "Your barking at one another isn't going to help- we're less than five klicks from the meeting point, just hang tight and we'll all-"

SCREEEE.

Without warning, the brakes of the car in front kicked into full effect, and the driver swore as he was forced to use his as well in order to avoid crashing into the back of the other truck.

"Jesus, what the hell's wrong with them?" he growled, waiting for them to start moving again so they could continue.

The other Samson remained stationary, on and running- but refusing to move.

WHAM.

All three of them jerked in their seats and looked up to the roof of the car. Something had just landed on it- and whatever it was, they had a good feeling that it was the cause for the other car's sudden stop.

Slowly, the man in the back tightened his grip on his rifle.

The driver noticed and quietly hissed, "No, wait-"

The gunman raised it and yelled incoherently as he began firing through the roof at whatever was sitting up there. Bullet after bullet tore through the canopy as he held the trigger down until the gun began bleating an alarm that there was no ammo left in the magazine.

All three of them listened intently for sounds of movement. They heard nothing.

"You, stay in here," the driver order to the man holding the box. "You, with me." Drawing a sidearm from a holster on his leg, the driver opened his door and stepped out as the gunman did the same. The box-holder watched as they closed their respective doors, and moved around with their guns drawn and ready.

The gunman inspected the roof of the car- nothing there except for his bullets' exit holes. He looked all over the top of the Samson and near the ground for a trail of blood, footprints, anything- but he couldn't see any evidence that someone had been there.

"I'm thinkin' maybe it's just an animal," he muttered, half directed towards the driver but mostly said as an attempt to convince himself. "What about you?"

His answer came in the form a soft thud on the other side of the car. Hearing the noise, he quickly maneuvered to the opposite end and was rewarded with a sight of the driver lying face-down in the dirt ... or technically face-up, thanks to a broken neck.