Primal Bonds 2 (Tales of Beastkin)

18. Soldier

18

Soldier

C aptain Garrett Knox stood rigidly at attention in his office at the Beastkin Control Organization Soldiers headquarters, facing the holographic display of Colonel Jameson. The old man’s face was a map of hard living, with deep-set wrinkles and a stern gaze that seemed to pierce right through Garrett. The colonel’s gruff voice filled the room, emanating from the speakers with a gravelly resonance that spoke of decades of command.

“Captain Knox, we have a high-priority target for you and your team,” the colonel’s voice crackled through the speakers, his image flickering slightly with the transmission. “Intelligence has identified a beastkin safe house in New York. It’s owned by the Sullivan Clan.”

A jolt of surprise shot through Garrett. The Sullivans? They were not just any clan; they were one of the most powerful mafia organizations in the city. To order a raid on one of their properties was no small matter. It was a direct challenge to their authority, and the repercussions could be severe.

“The location is believed to house a significant number of beastkin,” Jameson continued, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Your mission is to raid the facility, neutralize any threats, and bring all beastkin into custody for processing at The Institute.”

A cold dread crept over Garrett. The implications of this order were not lost on him. Yet he knew better than to show any hesitation.

“Understood, sir,” he replied, the steadiness of his voice belying the unease that coiled in his stomach. “What’s the timeline for this operation?”

“You move out at zero six hundred tomorrow,” Jameson said, his eyes boring into Garrett’s through the holographic projection. “I want those animals in cages by nightfall, Captain. Dismissed.”

Before the hologram flickered out, Jameson’s eyes narrowed, his voice gruff but tinged with grudging approval. “Knox, you’ve been effective. Keep it that way. Serve your country well, and you’ll climb the BCOS ranks soon enough. Don’t disappoint me.” The colonel’s image vanished abruptly, leaving no room for response or sentiment.

The room plunged into silence as the hologram dissipated, leaving Garrett alone with his thoughts. The weight of the upcoming operation pressed down on him like a physical force. He loosened his tie, feeling as though he were suffocating.

Is this really what I signed up for? he wondered, running a hand through his hair. The colonel’s derogatory reference to the beastkin as animals left a sour taste in his mouth.

Garrett made his way to the squad room, his boots echoing on the polished floors. He relayed the mission with practiced efficiency, the details crisp and clear. There was a moment of stunned silence before the room erupted with concern.

“Captain,” Sergeant Rivera spoke up, her dark eyes serious. “We’ve never gone after a mafia-owned property before. The Sullivans… they’re not going to take this lying down.”

Private Chen chimed in, “They’ve got money, power, and connections. This could start a war.”

Garrett met the eyes of each of his team members, acknowledging their fears. “I understand your concerns,” he said, his voice steady despite the whirlwind of doubt that churned within him. “But we have our orders. Gear up and be ready to move out at zero six hundred.”

As his team dispersed to prepare for the mission, Garrett retreated to the solitude of his quarters. There, the mask of command slipped away, replaced by a look of quiet contemplation. He sank onto his bunk, his head cradled in his hands as he grappled with the moral implications of their orders.

Are we really protecting people, or are we just perpetuating fear and prejudice? The question echoed in his mind, a haunting refrain that challenged the very foundation of his beliefs. The BCO’s mission had always been clear: to contain and control the beastkin population, to keep the public safe from potential threats. But at what cost?

Garrett had always believed in justice, in the rule of law. He had joined the BCO to make a difference, to stand as a shield against chaos and danger. Yet as he sat there in the quiet of his room, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was deeply wrong with the world he was helping to uphold.

T he armory buzzed with activity as Garrett’s team prepared for the raid. The metallic clink of magazines snapping into place echoed off sterile walls, punctuated by the occasional laugh or jest. Soldiers meticulously donned their gear—Kevlar vests, combat helmets, and an array of weapons. The air was thick with anticipation, the weight of the upcoming operation hanging heavily over the room.

Private Miller and Johnson stood nearby, their banter rising above the hum of activity. Miller’s words, laced with cruel eagerness, hung in the air. “Bet I bag more of those freaks than you this time, Johnson.” A smug grin spread across his face as he slapped a fresh clip into his rifle.

Johnson, a seasoned soldier with a reputation for ruthlessness, merely chuckled in response. “Dream on, rookie. I’ve got my eye on that bonus for bringing in the prettiest ones. Heard some sick bastard is paying top dollar for the exotic-looking bitches.”

A knot of disgust tightened in Garrett’s gut. Their callous disregard for human life, their reduction of living, breathing beings to mere objects to be hunted and sold, was a stark reminder of the darkness that lurked within the hearts of men. He yearned to step in, to remind them of their duty and the honor they were meant to uphold. But he remained silent, a stoic figure amid the cruel revelry, knowing that any sign of dissent could jeopardize the mission and his authority.

The soldiers filed out of the armory, their boots thudding against the cold concrete as they made their way to the waiting convoy of armored vehicles. The engines rumbled to life, a thunderous chorus of power and purpose that drowned out the whispers of Garrett’s doubt. As they pulled away from the BCO base, the reality of their objective settled heavily upon him.

The journey began through the streets of New York, a blur of shadow and light, streetlights and neon signs. But as they ventured farther from the urban core, the landscape began to change. Towering skyscrapers gave way to suburban sprawl, which in turn yielded to increasingly rural surroundings. The roads narrowed, winding through rolling hills and dense patches of forest.

As they entered Sullivan territory, Garrett noticed the subtle shift in the atmosphere. The air seemed fresher, tinged with the scent of pine and damp earth. The convoy slowed, navigating the twisting country roads with caution. In the predawn darkness, the headlights of their vehicles cut through a light mist that clung to the ground, giving the wooded landscape an almost ethereal quality.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of driving, they approached their target. The safe house materialized out of the gloom—a large, fortified structure nestled in a clearing, surrounded on all sides by thick forest, its modern design stood in stark contrast to the wild nature enveloping it.

Upon arrival, the soldiers disembarked with swift efficiency, their bodies moving with lethal intent as they formed a perimeter around the site. The crunch of gravel and fallen leaves under their boots seemed unnaturally loud in the stillness of the forest. Garrett, at the forefront, gave silent hand signals, directing his team with the precision of a conductor leading an orchestra. Their formation was tight, their focus unwavering as they approached the entrance, weapons at the ready.

The world seemed to hold its breath as Garrett nodded to his men. With a swift kick, they breached the front door, the sound of splintering wood shattering the stillness of the night. The interior of the building was a flurry of movement as beastkin inhabitants scrambled to escape the onslaught.

At first, the operation seemed controlled, almost clinical. But as the minutes ticked by, the situation deteriorated rapidly. A shot rang out, shattering a window, and all hell broke loose. The air was filled with the deafening roar of gunfire, the sharp reports echoing through the corridors like a grim percussion of destruction.

Garrett’s heart pounded in his chest as he navigated the chaos, his hand signals lost amid the frenzy of violence. His soldiers, driven by adrenaline and bloodlust, seemed to revel in the carnage, their laughter a chilling counterpoint to the cries of fear and pain that filled the air.

“Take them alive!” one of his men shouted over the din. “Grab the little ones and throw them into the vehicles!”

Garrett’s stomach churned at the command, a vivid reminder of the monstrous nature of their mission. He found himself frozen, paralyzed by the horrifying realization of what they had become. But the moment passed, and the soldier in him took over. He issued a stern command, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Detain them! No shooting unless necessary!”

As he pushed deeper into the complex, he was met with a heart-wrenching sight. Beastkin of all ages poured from the corridors, their eyes wide with terror. Men, women, and children—entire families torn apart by the relentless advance of his team. For a brief, terrible moment, Garrett saw his own humanity reflected in their faces, a stark reminder that these were not mere targets to be neutralized; they were living beings with hopes and fears just like his own.

His moment of hesitation was interrupted by a shout from one of his men. “Captain! We need you!” Garrett snapped back to reality, his training taking over as he sprang into action. He moved with purpose, directing his team to subdue rather than harm, to protect rather than destroy.

But then a new sound pierced the din—a sound that chilled Garrett to his core. It was a scream, not from the beastkin this time, but from one of his own men. A cry of pain and surprise that cut through the chaos like a knife. The realization hit Garrett like a physical blow. Something had gone terribly wrong.

The enemy was not supposed to fight back—not with this kind of force. And yet the evidence was undeniable. The screams of his soldiers grew louder, more frantic. Garrett’s heart pounded in his chest as he realized the gravity of the situation. The tables had turned, and now his men were under attack. The hunters had become the hunted, and the mission had spiraled into a deadly free-for-all.

The safe house, once a sanctuary, now resembled a war zone. Beastkin families huddled in corners, their eyes wide with terror, while BCO soldiers moved through the building with faltering precision. As the initial shock subsided, a palpable sense of uncertainty rippled through the ranks. The operatives, once confident in their superiority, now found themselves at a disadvantage, as if they had walked into a trap.

Garrett’s mind raced, struggling to adapt. He had expected resistance, but nothing like this. The beastkin, initially cowering, suddenly fought back with a ferocity born of desperation. They moved with a frantic, primal energy, their eyes wide with fear yet burning with determination. Their animal instincts, honed by generations of survival, drove them to lash out with terrifying intensity. For every beastkin that fell, another seemed to take its place, a relentless tide of cornered creatures fighting for their lives. Against this raw, desperate force, the BCOS’s weapons seemed woefully inadequate.

Suddenly, the air crackled with electricity as a man burst through the door. His eyes, ablaze with molten fire, swept across the room, leaving chaos in his wake. Garrett’s breath caught in his throat as he watched the newcomer move with inhuman speed and strength. In a blur of motion, the man disarmed three soldiers simultaneously, snapping their weapons like twigs and sending them sprawling with a casual flick of his wrist.

“It’s Adam Sullivan!” one of the beastkin shouted, his voice filled with awe and relief. “The Sullivan Clan is here!”

The cry was taken up by others, a wave of hope surging through the beleaguered beastkin. Garrett watched in disbelief as the tide of battle shifted dramatically. Adam’s mere presence seemed to ignite a fire within the beastkin, his aura of power and confidence spreading like wildfire through their ranks. Where moments before there had been frantic, desperate energy, now there was focused, purposeful strength infused with fierce determination.

A rallying cry echoed through the building, seeming to awaken a primal force within each beastkin. Their eyes, once wide with fear, now burned with an intensity that matched Adam’s molten gaze. The beastkin moved with a newfound confidence, as if Adam’s arrival had unlocked reserves of power they didn’t know they possessed.

Their movements, once erratic and panicked, became coordinated and deliberate, guided by an unseen thread of unity that Adam’s presence had woven between them. For every BCO soldier that advanced, a group of beastkin countered with unified force, their instincts now honed toward victory rather than mere survival.

Against this sudden transformation from cornered prey to organized resistance, the BCOS’s tactics seemed woefully unprepared. Before Garrett could process what he’d seen, a flash of red caught his eye. A woman with fiery hair slipped through the chaos, her movements a deadly dance of elegance and precision. She spun, her leg arcing through the air in a high kick that caught a soldier square in the chest. The impact sent him flying, his body crumpling against the far wall. Her laughter cut through the din, a chilling sound that seemed to embolden the beastkin fighters.

“Vanessa!” someone cheered. “Show these BCO bastards what real power looks like!”

Vanessa grinned, her eyes flashing with predatory glee. She moved like liquid fire, weaving through the battlefield with impossible grace. Her fists and feet lashed out in a blur, each strike precise and devastatingly powerful. Soldiers fell before her like wheat before a scythe, their weapons useless against her superhuman speed and strength.

The ground trembled, and Garrett’s attention snapped to a hulking figure barreling into the fray. The man, if he could be called that, was a mountain of muscle, his broad shoulders and massive arms rippling with power. He plowed through a group of BCOS agents, scattering them like bowling pins. With a roar that shook the very foundation of the building, he grabbed two soldiers by their vests and smashed them together, their weapons clattering uselessly to the floor.

“Magnus!” a beastkin child cried out in delight, peeking out from behind an overturned table. “You came to save us!”

Magnus turned, his fierce expression softening for a moment as he nodded to the child. Then, with a bellow that seemed to shake the very air, he charged back into the fray. His massive fists swung like wrecking balls, sending BCO soldiers flying in all directions. Those who managed to avoid his devastating blows found themselves grappling with an opponent of impossible strength, their struggles as futile as trying to wrestle a mountain.

As if the situation wasn’t chaotic enough, a new element entered the fray. Garrett felt a chill run down his spine as the shadows themselves seemed to come alive. A lithe figure materialized from the darkness, moving with such fluid grace that it seemed more spirit than flesh.

“Lyria,” Adam’s voice cut through the chaos, a note of approval in his tone. “Show them the price of invading our territory.”

The woman—Lyria—nodded, her amber eyes gleaming with an otherworldly light. She melted back into the shadows, only to reappear moments later behind a group of BCO soldiers. Her movements were a blur, her attacks so swift and precise that the men barely had time to register her presence before they crumpled to the ground, unconscious or groaning in pain.

Garrett watched in horrified fascination as Lyria wove through the battlefield like a ghost. She seemed to bend the very shadows to her will, using them to conceal her movements and disorient her enemies. More than once, he saw soldiers firing wildly into empty air, their faces contorted with terror as they fought an enemy they couldn’t see or comprehend.

Just when Garrett thought the situation couldn’t become any more overwhelming, a new presence made itself known. The shadows in the corners of the room seemed to deepen, coalescing into human shapes. Garrett blinked, unable to believe his eyes as a group of figures materialized out of the darkness itself.

At their head stood a man with glossy black hair and eyes that gleamed with cunning intelligence. His very presence commanded attention, and even in the chaos of battle, a hush fell over the room.

“Elias,” Adam acknowledged, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Right on time.”

Elias nodded, his gaze sweeping over the battlefield with calculated precision. “We couldn’t let you have all the fun, now could we?”

With a gesture from Elias, his team sprang into action. They moved like living shadows, their attacks swift, silent, and devastatingly effective. BCO soldiers found themselves disarmed and incapacitated before they even realized they were under attack.

Garrett watched in stunned disbelief as Elias himself seemed to dance through the battlefield. His movements were fluid and graceful, each step purposeful, each strike precise. He didn’t just fight; he orchestrated the entire flow of battle, directing his team with subtle gestures and anticipating the enemy’s moves before they even made them.

In one corner of the room, Johnson had cornered a young beastkin, his face twisted in a cruel grin as he raised his weapon. Before Garrett could shout a warning, Elias materialized behind Johnson like a vengeful specter.

“I don’t think so,” Elias’ voice was cold as ice.

Johnson whirled around, but he was far too slow. Elias moved with blinding speed, his hands a blur. There was a sickening crack, and Johnson’s scream of pain cut through the air as both his arms bent at unnatural angles.

Elias didn’t stop there. With surgical precision, he struck Johnson’s legs, the sound of breaking bones echoing in the sudden silence. Johnson collapsed to the ground, a whimpering heap of broken limbs.

Elias turned to the young beastkin, his fierce expression softening. “You’re safe now. Go find the others.”

As the child scampered away, Elias returned his attention to the battle. His team moved with a coordinated efficiency that spoke of years of shared combat experience, systematically dismantling the BCO’s remaining defenses. They anticipated every move, countering tactics before they could even be implemented. Communications were jammed, flanking positions neutralized, and escape routes cut off.

The arrival of Elias and his shadow operatives completed a deadly trifecta of beastkin power: Adam’s raw strength, Vanessa’s fierce agility, and now Elias’ tactical genius. Against this combined force, the BCO stood no chance.

Garrett found himself frozen, unable to tear his eyes away from the unbelievable scene unfolding before him. This wasn’t just a fight; it was a demonstration of power beyond anything he had ever witnessed or imagined. With a sinking feeling, he realized that everything he thought he knew about the beastkin, about this war, had been terribly, catastrophically wrong.

The Sullivan men had joined the fray as well, their coordinated attacks complementing the efforts of their leaders. Some focused on engaging the BCO forces, while others worked to escort the more vulnerable beastkin to safety.

“This way!” one of the Sullivan men shouted, ushering a group of wide-eyed children toward an exit. “We’ll get you to safety!”

Another group formed a protective ring around elderly beastkin, their weapons raised as they steadily made their way toward the building’s rear exit. The air filled with a tumultuous blend of shouts—fear and pain mingling with triumph and determination.

“The Sullivan Clan is here!”

“We’re saved!”

“Drive these human scums out of our territory!”

The cries of the beastkin merged with the sounds of combat, creating a surreal maelstrom of chaos and hope. As the last of his men fell or fled, Garrett felt as if he was caught in the middle of a storm, buffeted by forces far beyond his control or understanding. The beastkin, led by these extraordinary individuals, were not just surviving—they were dominating, and Garrett’s world was crumbling around him.

Across the room, Garrett’s gaze locked with Adam Sullivan’s—the man with eyes like molten fire. The air between them crackled with tension. In that moment, Garrett saw not just the leader of the Sullivan Clan, but the embodiment of the beastkin’s indomitable will to survive. It was a silent challenge, one that Garrett accepted with a grim nod of his head.

The fight that ensued was unlike anything Garrett had ever experienced. He raised his rifle, squeezing off a rapid succession of shots. But Adam moved with impossible speed, weaving between the bullets as if they were moving in slow motion. In the blink of an eye, he closed the distance between them.

Garrett barely had time to bring his weapon up in a defensive posture before Adam’s fist connected with it. The impact reverberated up Garrett’s arms, and to his horror, he watched as his rifle—military-grade and supposedly indestructible—snapped clean in half.

Discarding the useless weapon, Garrett fell back on his hand-to-hand combat training. He launched a flurry of punches and kicks, each one precisely aimed at vital points. But his opponent was like smoke, impossible to hit. Adam ducked and weaved, his movements fluid and graceful, making Garrett feel clumsy and slow in comparison.

A crushing blow to his solar plexus drove the air from Garrett’s lungs. He staggered back, gasping, only to be met with an uppercut that snapped his head back. Stars exploded in his vision as he felt his feet leave the ground. The world spun around him as he flew through the air, his back slamming into the wall with bone-jarring force.

Garrett slid to the ground, his body a mass of pain. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, and found himself staring up into those molten eyes once more. Adam stood over him, not even breathing hard, while Garrett’s chest heaved with exertion.

The taste of defeat was bitter on his tongue, a sour reminder of the BCO’s hubris. He braced himself for the killing blow, his mind flooded with images of the life he might have led had he made different choices.

But the killing blow never came. Instead, Adam’s voice cut through the haze of pain, a cold ultimatum that chilled Garrett to his core. “Leave now,” he growled, his words resonating with an authority Garrett had never encountered before, “or suffer the consequences. You have ten minutes to clear out of our territory.”

The countdown had begun. Garrett’s mind raced as he scrambled to regain his footing, both literally and figuratively. He issued a hasty retreat, his voice carrying an urgency that none who knew him had ever heard before. The soldiers, those who were still capable of movement, fell back in a disorganized rush, their pride forgotten in the face of Adam’s threat.

As they retreated, Garrett cast one last glance over his shoulder at the chaos they had left in their wake. The Sullivan safe house, once a bastion of refuge for the beastkin, now bore the scars of a battle that should never have been fought. But amid the destruction, he saw something that made his heart clench—the beastkin, rallying around their leaders, tending to their wounded, and already beginning the process of rebuilding.

The morning air was cool against Garrett’s skin as he and his remaining men piled into their armored vehicles, the taste of defeat heavy in the air. The engines roared to life, drowning out the fading sounds of the safe house as they pulled away from the scene of their greatest failure.

In the silence of the retreat, Garrett was left to grapple with the implications of the events. The beastkin were not the mindless animals the BCO had painted them to be. They were organized, they were powerful, and they were fighting for their very survival. And for the first time in his career, Garrett found himself questioning everything he thought he knew about the world and his place in it.

As the vehicles sped away, carrying the battered and demoralized BCO forces from the Sullivan territory, Garrett couldn’t shake the image of Adam Sullivan’s burning eyes from his mind. He had a sinking feeling that this day would mark a turning point—not just in his own life, but in the ongoing conflict between humans and beastkin. And he wasn’t sure he was ready for the changes that were coming.

Suddenly, movement in his rearview mirror caught Garrett’s attention. A shadow seemed to detach itself from the darkness, materializing into the form of Elias. The man was keeping pace with the vehicles, his movements fluid and silent.

Garrett’s heart raced as he watched Elias pull out an ornate vial filled with a shimmering, silvery substance. With inhuman speed, Elias moved from vehicle to vehicle, uncorking the vial and blowing a fine mist into each one.

To Garrett’s horror, he saw his men’s eyes glaze over through the windows, their expressions becoming vacant. He realized with a start that Elias was somehow erasing their memories of the day’s events.

As Elias approached Garrett’s vehicle, their eyes met. Elias’ gaze held a mixture of warning and intrigue. He didn’t open Garrett’s door or blow the powder inside. Instead, he spoke, his voice carrying clearly despite the engine’s noise.

“You alone will remember everything that happened here today, Captain Knox. Consider it a gift… or a warning from our leader. The choice of what you do with this knowledge is yours.”

Elias’ words sent a chill down Garrett’s spine. Before he could respond, the man leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that somehow cut through the night air. “Expect to hear from me soon. We have much to discuss.”

With that cryptic message hanging in the air, Elias vanished into the air as swiftly and silently as he had appeared. Garrett gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white, as he continued to drive. His mind reeled from the day’s events and the uncertain future that now lay before him.