Chapter 1: Shock and Awe

She was a vision in black, her hair cut at jaw-length in individual wavy locks, framed her face hauntingly well, her skin seemed to almost shine a bright alabaster white, lending her and almost vampiric quality in the soft light of the interrogation room. Her eyes were dark, like polished black marbles reflecting nothing except light that seemed almost eager to escape their grasp. Her smile seemed too eerie, a wholly unnatural shade that clung to an ever present smirk reflecting back as pitch black when outside of direct light, but when exposed to it turned a deep, crimson red that made the blood curdle at the implications of what it was possibly formed from, as she sat. The tip of her foot and a half long “combat knife” as she claimed it was, spinning on its edge even now into the concrete floor lightly, between the space of her booted feet, as she sat in a wide, open-legged stance in one of the chairs they’d afforded her and her partner. Her palm was pressed against the butt of the weapon, as she focused sorely on it and nothing else as if hypnotized or even soothed by its repetitive turning motions.

Her ballistic helmet lay discarded next to her, she was clothed in a form of metallic body armour that seemed tailored to the precise contours of her body that curved around her shape naturally over the much bulkier design her partner wore. The black paint it bore seemed untouched except for a few minor scratches and dings. The design itself looked like layered armour plating but of a lighter design meant to accommodate her smaller figure, that showed off a rugged, yet wolf lean physique. She looked to be somewhere in her mid thirties but it was hard to say, as nothing seemed to mar any of her subtle beauty, as her expression reflected a narrowed band of focus capable of honing in and achieving almost any goal put in front of her, which although had clearly helped her follow through with her killings in the past, that she’d made it her business along with her partners to perpetrate, was still quite unnerving to be witnessed by the group full of tactical and field FBI agents before them. An armoured glove, her partners slid over softly to her own, as he turned, his face still obscured by his own helmet he’d not yet deigned to shed, almost like he needed it to get through with this part of the interrogation, at least it’s introduction as he said to her “I know it’s hard ... if I give you my helmet, will you give me the “tooth”, he said obviously meaning the oversized combat knife in her hands.

This seemed to finally snap her out of this as she looked at him like he’d offered to give her his whole world just to provide her with some temporary comfort as she looked over to him nonplussed, her eyes fixed on him as he asked “can you do that for me Sarah? I know it gets harder every time”, he said, his tone solemn, filled with a genuine raw emotion that took both agents about to conduct the interrogation by surprise as Sarah agreed with a wordless nod, her mouth slightly agape with the significance of her partners gesture, lost to everyone else but her in the room.

Around them six fully armed FBI SWAT members stood, M4A1 rifles leveled at them, as her partner simply lowered his head, half-bowed at the waist, crouching over his knees beside her. Even in this position he was still almost fully level with her head, as he allowed her to find and depress the hidden pressure points at the back of his armour headgear, which was otherwise seamless on both back and front except for the two rectangular eyeslots they suspected were polycarbonate bullet-resistant glass. The ballistic nature of the headgear was not lost on them, often seen on cartel enforcers, soldiers of fortune or even contract killers for its functional usage as well as its ability to conceal their identities entirely, the only distinction was that it shared a more brutal, adamant quality than typical armoured gear. Every part of his body that wasn’t covered in a thick and probably multi-layered Kevlar mesh, at its most flexible joints and seams was covered in functional plating, protecting vital organs and arteries, but worn incredibly at least on the surface by what looked like an armies worth of bullet grazings, or all out impacts, either dotting the surface, once a familiar shade of black like her partners design, with white dots or clinging lines. At no point did any of the inset panels look beaten in or cracked, their shape uniform throughout, curved in segmented portions over his body, criss-crossed with a tactical harness over his chest for ammunition, along with a bandolier for explosives, all of which stood bare now.

They’d surrendered their weapons, which included two particular looking hand pistols of unknown design, both with top heavy barrels with a downward cast ninety degree angle that squared off to form almost a second trigger guard for the user’s hand. The caliber of the barrel was undoubtedly a ten millimeter design, the weapon itself was functional in its design, and boasted single-shot, semi-fire and full-auto options along with extended, ported compensators and suppressor barrels that seemed comically long, almost nearly the length of the original weapon itself, along with a reflect sight with a neon-green circle and dot reticule, a large extended magazine that stuck out of the black, black-coated handgrip. Everything about it spoke of the golden age of noir crime props, at least partly, but when the agents compared the weight of the weapons against theirs it felt nothing like the harmless toy they’d half hoped it truly was. It filled the room with a solid, quiet dread, when the metallic surface of his gun, just as scratched and worn as his armour, in her case remained untouched except for the similar scratches and marks attempting to break the surface but seemingly only adding another layer of futility or even denial at the weapons potential ferocity. The distinction even then could be made plainly between both their armaments. His looked worn and well used to the point where any other gun would have splintered or cracked with use, even though his seemed untouched functionally and determined to remain that way like an elephant crushing a hill of ants and walking on, unfazed by the sudden violence of the lowly insects who tried to mar its hide with fruitless scratches, whilst hers looked like it was almost incapable of suffering more than a lucky, glancing blow from and enemy to even attempt to slow her down.

The rifle he also sported looked almost like a converted .308 bolt-action hunters weapon, except the main barrel had a cylindrical suppressor forming not only ahead of its barrel but around it entirely forming over the wooden paneling of the main body to end at the main opening of the actual barrel, which lay flush along with what they could only discern were two neatly shaped bolts attaching it in place. The weapon itself possessed a very large drum magazine ahead of the main trigger guard, the main wooden body standing out in stark contrast with the rest of the advanced modification they had no doubt probably reduced the recoil suffered from it, as much as it suppressed the guns thunderous howl to almost nothing. The weapon looked well maintained and barely had a scratch on it, compared to pistol, which was undoubtedly the workhorse of the two.

His partner Sarah had freely given up hers unlike her combat knife, almost like an afterthought. It looked barely used, with only a few rounds missing from the original clip, set to full auto, unlike his which was fixed to single-shot. Neither switch showed signs of heavy wear, giving both agents small peaks into their personalities, his methodical, precise, hers more ... spontaneous.

She took the mask wholly in her hands delicately, with something approaching reverence as she rested it on her lap and with noticeable difficulty handed him over her blade, not noticing at first that she’d attempted to do so with the business end toward him before he made an almost comedic facial gesture that drew her attention to the lethal tip, and she immediately flipped over the weapon in her grip, resting its flat side on her palm, the simple movement produced a ringing in the air between them in the flourish of the motion, a sure sign she was more than just well acquainted with its usage, balance and lethal nature, even as he retrieved it with the same care bordering on reverence she showed his gear. As her hand withdrew he noticed something on it, as she retrieved a bloody fingertip. The blades edge so effective it had drawn what must have been a papercut sized wound, as she merely smiled a surprisingly warm and dazzling smile, caught in a moment of friendly embarrassment, as she did something that set everyone else in the room on edge, squeezing the fingertip just enough to draw fresh, bright plasma as she passed it over her top them bottom lip, her practiced hand on display as she made it match the shape of her upper lip, including her cupids bow and lower lip without smudging or mess.

To this he simply made a small smile which seemed to satisfy her, as they both turned to rest of the room, satisfied they were ready to begin. Together along with the all out media circus they’d formed, they’d gripped the city in a growing hysteria, claiming three hundred lives in Queens, two-hundred and fifty in Brooklyn, two-hundred in Staten Island, one-hundred and fifty in the Bronx and one-hundred in Manhattan. All varying from arms and drug dealers, human and sex traffickers, along with known organized crime cartel members effectively taking all five boroughs and turning it into a clawed fist they sunk into the heart of New York, to try and crush its still-beating heart whilst it bled.

The fact that they’d only targeted the criminal element and allowed what were later discovered to be known as innocent victims who’d been allowed to live at each massacre site, was the only saving grace they had working for them both in the court of public opinion and even now in the FBI Main field office in Manhattan. They’d been untraceable, like familiar ghosts, always the same descriptions, a man and woman. The man striking from a far and closing in like unflinching pillar of steel, as he spat out lethal, high caliber slugs from a distance and up close before either snapping free cursory rounds with his pistol, declining the use of anything like a combat knife like his partner, preferring the cold disconnection compared to her attacks.

In her case they described of whirlwind of speedy death, her knifes edge cutting through everything ranging from gun barrels to spinal columns, as she became a revolving portrait of spinning death, using every ounce of momentum and speed in her limbs to project herself in uncanny ways, at one point one witness in question swearing her speed alone had allowed her to glide across walls and even a ceiling as she moved like a guided shadow of imminent death, homing in on her targets. Although no witnesses had been able to describe what they looked like, their armour weapons and death-like appearance within the main lobby had triggered an instant panic, as field agents coming to and fro the premises had frozen at the sight of both manifesting killers, a large green army style duffel bag slung under each arm, presenting them with weapons with serial numbers matching the multiple gun runner sites they’d ambushed and turned into howling abattoirs, as well as high market value, uncut drugs pilfered from others, and blood saturated money rolls, undercover agents had used to buy themselves into the personal confidence of illegal suppliers, to form working relationships for the purposes of their investigations they knew could be traced back, even as they gave it up.

That along with their pistols, assortment of grenades either flashbang in her case, or fragmentary in his, along with armour piercing and something they called “Penetrator” rounds, which they described as being able to punch through concrete like it was soft tissue and then cleanly through a human body afterwards like it was barely a challenge for the ballistics involved. They’d given themselves up, “Sarah” as they’d learned declaring she’d rather get shot in the face than give up her combat knife, snapping off her own helmet to this effect, before she slid it over to the duffel bags they’d set down slowly on the ground before stepping backwards in the same manner, more than an arm’s reach away. He’d argued with her not with a harsh word but with a look and a tightening grip on her hand, handling her vicious looking blade, the serrated spine of the combat knife glinting in the artificial light of the interrogation room. The way she looked at them, even now reminded them all on some basic, instinctual level of an apex predator sizing them up as her new prey, calculating with an unflinching stare that seemed to peel them down to the flesh and bone ready to be squared and quartered off with that same blade, despite how six of the armoured tactical squad members were armed and armoured, let alone the two agents behind them. It almost felt like they were trapped in this room with them, and at the first signal of weakness by trying to say, find and escape would see her unleashed upon them.

Although if she were honest, special agent Clara Ozwyn only felt this way about her, no so much the man, he had so far shown the exact opposite of the nature she’d expected from a well honed killer and mass murderer. He seemed almost ... regretful like he’d dragged them all into this unnecessary conflict somehow, which could have been or should have been averted.

“When they first “turned” us”, he said softly as he spoke, his tone gentle, considerate, showing off no sign of aggression or an ego that wanted to be flattered or stroked with words of their victory. He didn’t even look up as he spoke, his eyes remained firmly on the weapon, his thumb tracing over the serrated edge of the blade, the only sign of any nervousness or tension was a slight tremble in his voice as he said “I was terrified”. His partner, Sarah, remained silent, but the tension in her shoulders had visibly softened, she leaned back slightly, her gaze never leaving her blade, but her posture was no longer that of a predator waiting to pounce but more of a weary traveler at the end of a long journey. “A few months ago, you no doubt noticed a series of epileptic seizures triggered by viral digital content, reported as being sent via email from compromised accounts of personal friends either through personal email or direct messaging. The results of which, was a mass media circus warning people to be wary of any and all contact from potentially exploited social media accounts and services aswell as general internet providers and suspect websites. People were afraid more than ever of losing family members, which they did, as well as their digital identity and personal life savings which they also did. Everyone from the local neighborhood hooligan to the upper class market trading tycoon got affected, and I can only imagine you investigated but arrived at no surefire explanation or evidence as to the source of these crimes?”, he said not so much as a question but as a statement of fact as special agent Walter Lowe turned to give his partner a knowing look before nodding slightly.

Agent Clara was average height, early to mid thirties, Caucasian with a pale, attractive complexion nowhere near as severe as Sarah’s, framed in a short bob of natural, red hair reaching her shoulders. Her eyes were icy blue sapphire chips, radiating warmth and patience over a natural cold demeanor one might expect. Her partner an African American heavily built man in his early to mid forties bore a pugilists flat features and seemed to have a permanent sneer set on his lips that seemed to invite a fight. In return her partners own pale face was a mirror image only in aspect, in that it was as equally pale to an almost unnatural extent, his own raven hair, reaching well beyond his shoulders and aquiline features lent him an almost noble bearing, along with dark eyes that seemed much like Sarah’s to swallow light, yet were somehow still soft, as his facial features eased, bearing no signs of outward aggression, or overconfidence only a need to explain. “The “seizures” were a result of brainwashing via a form of visual and audible subliminal triggers that worked to re-write the first instances of what you’re seeing here”, he said indicating to both him and his partner. “As no doubt you’ve also been paying attention to the news and sighting of similar figures around the state, country and even world basis that report at most a handful of people doing what would be considered impossible or at least highly improbable for an army of accomplished soldiers to achieve without considerable losses?”, he said, his voice although bearing no intentioned menace seemed to have the same effect as if he had. “These are what you consider the early working “prototypes”, before an official and much more efficient “Mark One series” can be effectively developed with any effective frequency. Before you ask, no, we don’t know who did this to us, “they” maintain a level of “insulation” that obscures their identity but no their purpose, which is simple on paper but as you see, less so in practicality. They want to cause a complete collapse of the government by eating away at the public trust in all forms of law enforcement eroding the bastions of security surrounding everyone and everything and they picked a perfect time. Public trust in the government has arguably never been this low since the McCarthy era and we’re the lethal shock to the system “they” deemed necessary to push it over the edge”, he said calmly with a matter of fact tone. “How else would you explain recent events?” he said in deference to what they’d all witnessed either on TV the internet or any number of consumable media platforms concerning recent outbreaks of coordinated violence, the FBI along with other government departments had been investigating into its source.