FANDOM


When The World Ceased

Drawing

Presented by Nanubot, RedFlamingDrago, and SilverSong723

Partial language and violence. Discretion advised for younger viewers.

Official theme for When The World Ceased

______________________________________________________________________________________________

.

There were stories.

Of men fighting at shadows, standing back and guarding the world from what lurked within them.

Their main reason that drives them into the dark, to don their swords?

The world.

A brave few can keep the shadows and their nightmares back. A nightlight in the dark to secure.

To contain.

To protect.

There were tales of others.

Of men of chaos, working with the shadows, to blind and to steal.

Of men under masks, who lived among the shadows, to destroy and to conquer.

There were more.

All of different intent, all of different ideals.

But only one stood against the shadows to guard the world from what lurked within.

Many knew not their name.

The few who did knew them as the Foundation.

And the world owed their lives.

Men of chaos and masks was willing to take what was due.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

One

Crimson

.

'Now I am become Death, destroyer of worlds.'

The thought of the quote found Agent Crimson as he made his way to the infirmary. His white coat was tainted with dark red. In crimsonWhen the Foundation found him, he was broken. His family torn apart, his younger brother missing. The Foundation was the closest thing Crimson now had as a home. Crimson had never thought of the people he's killed. Never thought he would, either. Death seemed to be nothing but an obstacle. Mere collateral damage in the great, safe world the Foundation had come to dream of.

He laid within the infirmary, a nurse standing by his side on the bed and tending to his wounds, whispering the words, "Like nothing ever happened."

__

A sharp ring, then an abrupt yelp.

Crimson lowered the gun and watched as the boy in orange, at least twenty years old, slumped to his knees, and fell over. A man with large round glasses and white hair stood in the back, holding a clipboard over his chest in shock.

The second Disposable glanced away, looking at the wall, and not at the body.

Crimson nudged the fallen D unit with his foot.

Suddenly, the downed boy's hand sprung up and grabbed Crimson's leg. The Class-D gasped for breath, and found it, only to say,

"Thank...you..." And that was all. His hand let go and slumped to the floor. Crimson would stay frozen, staring down at him.

The D's eyes went blank and stared into nothing, and his chest's bobbing, signifying breath, would stop.

Dead.

"God." The scientist cowering in the corner muttered. The scientist lowered his clipboard and began to write on it.

Crimson glanced at the other Class D.

"I'll take it back." Crimson said to the scientist, Vens. Vens nodded, though busy writing. Crimson gestured for the exit from the containment cell, and was on his way.

__

Crimson left the infirmary, and wandered the Site aimlessly, finally resting at the cafeteria for a drink. He was thankful that he could get a moment of calm. That's something you don't get often in his line of work. In the Foundation.

Crimson glanced over at Dr. Vens on the other side of the cafeteria. Vens took his head up from his newspaper and grinned at Crimson.

"Hell of a day, huh?" Vens remarked.

Crimson placed down his cup of coffee and nodded, barely making eye contact.

"Something wrong, Agent?" Vens asked.

Crimson looked Vens in the eye. "Nothing." He said.

"Yes, I know my Disposables became a bit 'rowdy' during my test, I apologize for anything I had done to provoke them to physical violence. Let's say it didn't end well for you and me. Nothing a bullet cannot fix, am I correct, Agent Crimson?" Vens chuckled.

"I wish that were the case." Crimson muttered.

"What was that?" Vens asked, unable to hear what Crimson said.

"Nothing." Crimson repeated hesitantly.

"A well placed shot can solve all your problems." Rogue corrected, sliding onto the bench opposite of Crimson's table. He laid down a tray, diging into whatever meal the cafeteria spewed out.

"Rogue." Crimson said. "Only people like you can find your way into others' business."

"And you have something to hide?" Rogue sneered, a peperroni slice finding it's way on the table, falling from his mouth. Rogue was the type of person you wouldn't want to have around. He'd find a way to sliver into your day, learning as much as he possibly could for the sake of his own desires.

Crimson sighed, and drank from his coffee. Vens tossed his paper plate into a trash bin and took his last sip of coffee before getting his stuff gathered and nodding his goodbyes, and left the cafeteria.

___

Rogue smacked his glove onto the table in uncontrollable bursts of laughter. Crimson sat and watched as the entire table shook in laughter. Multiple personnel had came to sit down for lunch. "You want to know what I call a Jihad without a gun?" Rogue said, and then said a name Crimson did not recognize, though caused multiple personnel to laugh uncontrollably.

Three personnel stood to leave, grumbling to themselves, and more followed after, returning to their duties.

Rogue sighed after everyone had left.

He got up from his table and climbed the stairs up to the bridge hanging over the cafeteria, his tattered lab coat dragging at his feet.

Crimson sighed, and threw his lunch away. He checked his watch. 1:34.

His radio buzzed to life.

"All security units, please be on standby. Repeat, please be on standby. Captain Rogers has issued a Type C threat to our facility. Please be on standby. "

Crimson froze in place, as other security units in the cafeteria glanced at eachother.

Death, destroyer of worlds.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

Two

Phil and Mags

At long last, break hour had arrived. Two exhausted security officers moved briskly into the armory. One of them was a male. Long black hair ran through his face displaying a short nose, and dull green eyes. He gazed onto his companion. It was an Asian female, with nearly the same features. Despite this change in race the resemblance between the two was remarkable.

The male let out a sigh of exhaustion. The female responded by laughing. "Phil, come on. How can something like that wear you out?"

"Are you kidding? We just killed a horde of hostile D-class. In these uniforms, nonetheless!"

"Yeah, well you did do a lot of running so that might explain it." Phil had no comeback for that. Instead he approached a comfortable looking bench. "Hey Magnolia?" Phil asked. "It's Mags, and what?"

"How long has it been since we transferred here?"

"One year, why?"

"No reason, it's just weird. Time really flies, huh?" There was a long silence until a radio in Phil's rucksack sprung to life. "Hey, Phil, are you with Mags?" He reached over to it and picked it up. "Yeah, what's going on?"

"Your break's ending early. Captain Phed needs you two back down at the Class-D cells. No need to bring weapons, just, he wants you to clean up the eighteen corpses you left on the floor." Mags let out a massive sigh. "But this is our break, we need it." Phil rolled his eyes. "Knew it, you're exhausted too." The two began bickering with the radio still on. Cole Smith, the person on the line, had seen this again and again having worked with the two for the last year. "Just be down here within twenty minutes. Don't expect Phed to go easy on you two every time."

The radio let out a small beep. That was it's way of letting the receiver know the speaker had turned their end off. Phil shifted his gaze over to Mags and propped himself up off of the bench. Letting out an exaggerated sigh he said, "Let's go."

__

Phil and Mags approached the cell block in a slow pace, being in no hurry to get off their break. Casually sliding a Level-3 card into the censor, the door slid open and Phil and Mags advanced. A foul stench of blood pushed into their noses. Any normal person would have gagged, though not them. Not anyone in that facility. They were all used to it by now.

Everyone brushed it off, as if nothing ever happened.

Phil took the lead and approached Smith and Phed who gazed down at them with a disenchanted look on their faces. Smith simply nodded to them. "Take the bodies down to the maintenance sector. Janitorial staff will know what to do with them." Mumbled Captain Phed.

Cole Smith was a suck-up to Captain Phed. He followed him everywhere helping with anything he could. Phil hated him. He hated everything about Smith including his appearance. He was tall and thin with a mop of greasy black hair on his head. Blackheads surrounded his small nose. His lips were a dry chapped color.

As for Captain Phed, he was a much older man. Phil presumed he wouldn't even realize the mess him and Mags had left if Smith hadn't reported it first. Phed too had a thick mop of hair, but it was different. His was gray and well maintained. It was combed straight back off of his head revealing an elderly, sunken in, face. Black spots sat contently under his eyes.

"Isn't it the Janitorial Staff's job to clean these up, not ours?" Mags blurted out the words. Smith sneered, "Disobedience? I'd follow Captain's orders. He has authority over you." Mags fired back a nasty look but didn't dare to say anything because she knew he was right. They began hauling the Class-D corpses into a cart. From there, they could push them over to the maintenance sector. "You nearly die fighting at your job and this is how you're treated..." Mags glanced at Smith with the same look as he was walking out of the room. The way he appraised them was nothing more than a scam to make Phed appreciate him more.

Phil grumbled as he hauled a Class-D corpse over his shoulder. "What was the point of doing our jobs if we just get punished for doing them?" Mags shrugs it off. "We're talking about Cole here. He's a brat and we're both aware of that."

Something about that made Phil laugh. "He's a vile brat and we're both aware of that," he repeated, "You're a poet and you don't know it."

"I thought you were mad."

"I am mad."

"Then why are you rhyming shit?" finished Mags. Phil let out a exasperated sigh. They Phil gently put the corpse down into the cart. He advanced towards another dead one on the floor. It's face had been rearranged by a fast moving bullet. Gore covered the cracked skull. As he advanced towards it he noticed something move. Without giving it much thought he concluded it was Mags.

Mags threw a female Class-D's corpse into the cart. Unlike Phil who wanted to respect the fallen humans, Mags just wanted to finish up her work. She swiftly approached another body. It was that of a male. He was small and scrawny. A patch of brown fuzz covered his head and his chin. She reached towards him. There was a loud pop as he returned the favor, grabbing her wrist and twisting it. He had been playing dead.

Stunned, Mags stumbled back. The Class-D wailed his arm at her forehead with all his might. Mags ducked down leaving him to stumble forward. Phil glanced upwards at the commotion and ran towards the pair. The Class-D had pinned Mags to the wall. She promptly drew her knee upwards between the male's legs. He shrieked as she draw her fist back and punched him in the nose. He fell backwards onto Phil who wrapped his arms around his throat and expeditiously broke his neck.

The limp Class-D fell to the floor. Mags and Phil met gazes for a moment, then continued with their work.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

Three

Scar

"Agent Scar, please report to Storage Area-457 for a minor system malfunction."

Scar held a radio on his hand and complied, the elevator moving downwards. He glanced over to Deacon who was leaning against a bar in the back of the elevator. The elevator stopped to a halt, but the doors remained shut. Scar sighed and pressed the button to manually open, it was jammed.

"It was bound to happen with you in here." sneered Deacon,

Deacon was rarely seen as the comedian of the crew, Rogue's the one who you're looking for if you're up for a good laugh in the canteen, but Deacon knew how to grind out good jokes, except now wasn't the time.

"Don't bring my veight into this, Deacon." "If you put your weight into this, it'll collapse!" Deacon burst out laughing before being seized by the neck. "Let go of me, Commie!" Scar and Deacon were two opposite people, one being Russian the other being American. Deacon began to try to break himself free from the iron grip of the Russian, Scar.

"Alright, I didn't mean fat, I meant big bon-" Scar sent a large fist into Deacon's face. Deacon ducked and grabbed the Russian's arm. Before Scar could react, Deacon twisted his arm. The Russian kicked Deacon's gut with his knee, sending Deacon stumbling back into the elevator. Scar began to wobble his hand to get rid of the pain. "You are veak little baby." Scar said as Deacon looked up. "Look, uh, truce?" Deacon raised his hands.

"Russia does not make truce." Scar scolded

"Vut," Scar grunted in his strong accent. "I am not Russia." Scar said flatly to Deacon's relief. "Truce." Scar held out his hand for Deacon to shake. Deacon smiled. "You ain't that bad after all, pal." Deacon said, taking Scar's hand.

Scar lifted his arm, bring Deacon up from his feet and held him midair, and slammed him to the ground, headfirst. The elevator shook violently and the doors slid open.

Ding.

Scar smiled. "Truce."

The two men walked out the elevator,

Like nothing ever happened.

__

Scar and Deacon stepped foot in the cold floor of Storage Area-457. "It's fucking freezing in here." whinned Deacon, shivering in the tunnels. Scar gave out a hearty laugh and mocked, "You silly Americans do not understand the true feeling of cold."

"Easy for you to say, you're from the Soviet Union!"

Halfway through the sector, Scar's radio hummed to life. "Scar, what's the hold up?" Scar glared back at Deacon as he picked up the transceiver. "We come across, 'technical difficulties'." muttered Scar. "We need both of you here, now." snapped the voice.

"Be sure to- by the-" The voice had been inaudible, overcome by static. The crackling of fire could be overheard from the other end. "Hold it back! - someone turn on the fucking sprinkler sys-" followed by screams of death.

"Agent? Agent, do you read?"

Silence. Scar grew more frustrated and fiddled with the radio controls. He swore under his breath and gave out a raging yell then hurled the radio at the wall. The device shattered into pieces, Scar took a deep breath and continued. "More rubble, less trouble."

The two men stumbled upon the remains of a gate. The sides pried open by a great force, Scar inspected the damages. He pressed his hand on the surface of the metal and felt an unbearable pain in his palm. "Shit!" shouted Scar, retracting his finger and growled,

"It vas here."

Inside the gate, lead the containment of SCP-457. Bodies laid on the floor, skin burnt. "Christ." whispered Deacon kicking over a corpse, proceeding to climb up the ladder. A corpse laid over the control panel, blood tainted on his uniform. Deacon shoved the body over to view the corpse's front.

Deacon saw a large bloodied wound in the man's chest. A wound that only a bullet could cause.

"Scar? I don't think uh, 457 was the only one that killed them."

__

Scar stopped in his tracks, and turned to face Deacon. "What?" He said. Deacon backed away from a corpse. "These men are riddled with bullet holes. This was doing of man, not creature." Deacon implied.

"Impossible." Scar growled. "So what, you think 457 figured out how to shoot a gun? Someone had to be the cause of this, but who?" Deacon said.

Drip, drop.

Scar looked up at the ceiling, the pipes had been leaking. The pipeline ran along the entire sector, connected to sprinklers ontop of the ceiling, in which they would spurt out water incase of a 457 breach.

"Uh, someone managed to drain the plumbing?" Deacon said. "Obviously to stop sprinklers from ceasing 457 rampage." Scar said. "But who would do such thing?"

"Whoever it was, they're probably not one of us." Deacon said, taking off his shades to examine the leaking pipe. Scar eyed Deacon. "I've been, uh, listening to those stories at the cafeteria. Of men under chaos and masks, and that group they call "Seven". Some of that crazy shit happens here." Deacon said.

Scar sighed. "We still have job to do. We must find 457 and alert the rest of Security. Then, we can go listen to stories." ______________________________________________________________________________________________

Four

Crimson

Crimson froze. Everyone had vacated the cafeteria. Rogue was gone. Never had any hostiles approached their facility before. It was a scenario that was highly unlikely to happen. Crimson felt a terrible knot in his stomach.

"Attention all security units. Report to Surveillance Room 2 immediately. Repeat, report to Surveillance Room 2 immediately."

His radio spoke again in a monotone voice. He saw men rushing by the cafeteria, making their way to the surveillance room. Crimson joined them in their hurry. "What do you think's going on?" A man ahead of him said, making his way to the same point Crimson was going. It took Crimson a while to figure out the man was talking to him. "You okay there, kid?" The man said, shifting his head a bit to the side. "Oh. Sorry, I wasn't paying attention. Well, to answer your question, I dunno." Crimson said.

The man stayed silent for a bit. "You don't seem to sure about that, kid." The man said. "Eh, it's fine. We can all keep our nightmares within us. Nothing a bullet can't fix, am I right?"

___

Crimson and atleast two hundred different men in arms stood in a massive room with multiple large monitors set up around the room, tables and desks crowding most of the space, though the entire room was nearly half the size of a football field. A man in a dark suit and a white tie stood before the crowd of hundreds of men. The man was Captain Rogers, captain of the Security Department. Rogers had his back turned to everyone, hands folded behind his back. "I'm sure you all know why you're here." Rogers seemed to say in an aged voice. The monitor infront of Rogers showed a blurred image of an unknown aircraft cutting through the clouds, a camera spinning around, struggling to focus on it.

"This aircraft has flew directly above our facility and flew around it in a loop for more than 15 minutes, and dissapeared. Our watch towers could barely get a clear glimpse of it, but our men is assured that it ain't government controlled. That type of aircraft matches none in our system." Rogers nodded to a man typing away on his laptop. The man clicked on something, and suddenly the monitor switched to an image of what seemed to be 3 dots in the blue sky.

"Enhance." Rogers barked. The monitor seemed to become less blurry, but the 3 dots didn't seem more clear. "Zoom in by 4." The dots grew larger, but not enough. Roger growled. "Six." He said, and the three dots were fully seen, but seemed like large, black circles. "Enhance." Rogers ordered. Suddenly, the three dots became three, triangle shaped aircraft. "These were seen in only 20 miles from our facility perimeter. The image was taken 6 minutes ago. We have no telling where the aircraft is now, only that they're close, they're armed, and they seem to have their sights directly on us." Roger said, spinning around, revealing a wrinkled face with a snow moustache and snow white hair.

Multiple men Crimson didn't recognize began to shift. The men suddenly began to converse with eachother, breaking out in loud outbursts of angered speech.

"Sir," A young officer, most likely barely over twenty, obviously still in his prime, stood to speak with Rogers. "We have caught sights of enemy ships nearing our island. We have live video feed as of this moment." The boy spoke with a firm voice. Rogers eyed the boy's personal computer screen.

Roger's eyes narrowed. "Display it on the main monitor." The boy nodded, and typed in commands in his computer console. Suddenly, the image of the aircraft disappeared with 3 seconds of static, and suddenly, the screen began to display a camera panning in and out over the ocean.

The camera froze on massive hulks of steel passing through the water, headed directly for the remote island the Site was located on.

All the men in the security men came to silence, and stared at the screen. Large cruisers followed what seemed like smaller landing craft. A line of aircraft soared directly above the naval ships, zigzagging among their fleet.

Crimson stared.

The security team of the Foundation had never seen anything like it. Questions suddenly filled the room, and the security personnel returned to shouts that were drowned out by other men.

"Silence!" Rogers yelled, surpassing the cries of the entire room. "Silence, all of you." Rogers said, though all the personnel's squabbling had already ceased.

Rogers eyed the crowd before him, even though the monitor continued to display the threatening forces nearing their shores. The camera continued to zoom out, displaying more and more forces rushing on through the air and water.

"I want all of you to listen very carefully," Rogers tone suddenly spelled anger. "Nobody leaves this god damn island, and nobody enters! Is that clear?"

Though there was no answer, Rogers continued. "It's clear now we won't be having the fucking welcome wagon for these idiots, but hell, they're getting a wagon with enough firepower to blow Hitler's god damn mustache off!" Rogers yelled, giving power to the entire room around him. "Every last one of you will be equipped with every last bloody weapon we have on this site." Rogers scanned the crowd of the hundreds of security personnel before him.

"I want a fourth of you to stay back and defend the inside of the Site, even if those invading bastards manage to get inside. I want not a single one of you leaking this information out to any other personnel, just get yourself a god damn gun and get the hell out of here. Captain Stark will be issuing orders to all of you to defend this island and the people within. The rest of you who stay behind will patrol this entire Site and ensure nobody except for men in arms leaves or anyone else enters." Rogers folded his arms behind his back and spun around to face the large monitor.

"This is going to be one hell of a fight."

__

Most security personnel have already vacated the sight to meet Captain Stark, though Crimson and a large handful of others were ordered to remain inside. The men ordered to stay remained in the control room, awaiting orders.

Rogers ordered his team of tech-nerds to get to the bottom of what the hell was going on, and why. Many of them believed it was a hostile GOI, but Rogers denied that claim in a second. Not a single Group of Interest was capable of staging an attack this big.

Not without help.

Crimson wanted to say something, do something, or help.

The sounds of typing always drowned out almost any other sound. Everyone was typing it away, trying to get into the mainframe of the enemy craft and identify their attackers, but to no avail. It would only be a matter of time before the enemy arrived. 10 minutes, the men's reports said, basing it by the enemies' last known location. Security was told not to shoot until the enemy shoots.

Though that wouldn't be wise in the event that the enemy does. After a few minutes of waiting and orders from Rogers not to inform any personnel of the current event, Crimson and the rest of the security personnel were sent back to their normal duties.

Site Command gave the least amount of information the other personnel, such as 'cease all testing' and 'currently having technical difficulties.'

Crimson doubted anyone would buy it, but they did. Crimson chose to wait in the cafeteria. Rogue was gone. Nowhere to be seen. The cafeteria had been awfully quiet. Multiple personnel have chosen to wait at the cafeteria, too, just sitting there, sipping coffee and doodling on their clipboards.

Crimson eyed a table where an elderly scientist sat with young personnel and two middle aged men. The table was the one before him, and Crimson could hear what the old man was saying.

"Seven."

The men around him leaned in closer. "Long ago, when the Foundation was in it's prime. But not for long. Stories tell of an incident, where the Devil's men broke free from the confines of the man's grasp, and spread to the outside world before man could respond. Lives were lost, inevitably. It took a terrible fight between man and demon to regain control. Man had hidden this incident from existence, assuring the public that the world, as they knew it, was sane and normal." The old man tapped on the table with his frail fingers.

"There were some who disagreed of this action. A rebellion was born within the ranks of the Foundation. They believed all anomalies must be destroyed, not for the use of science and experimentation. War had broke out, the rebels and the men in labcoats fought. Then, there was a calm." The old man showed no expression as he continued on.

"Those who survived the war formed the Seven, run by a council of seven Commanders, leading a powerful army of rebels from what was once a small, weak rebellion into a power that the Foundation had to be wary of. There were more stories of the Seven, who were behind countless attacks, though they come from the shadows, disappearing into nothing after chaos has been done. But to this day, only a small handful of the Foundation's men had come recognize the Seven, but to others, they were shadows."

The old man stayed silent, and took a sip at his coffee.

"Bullshite." A heavily Irish-accented man spoke. "No man on earth er on heaven can run from the Foundation. This 'Seven' should be dead, er probably never 'zisted 'tall."

"Stories are stories, and they're your choice to believe them or not, my good fellow." The old man pointed at the Irish man. The Irish man snorted to himself in disgust.

Crimson suddenly stood and threw away his paper cup.

The old man seemed to take notice, and eyed Crimson.

And the old man smiled, and said,

"Seven."

______________________________________________________________________________________________

Five

Phil & Mags

Phil sprinted past the break room, his original destination. He had no intention of dropping in there anymore. Mags and himself had just received word that a major attack was being launched on the site. An attack like something they had never seen before. Of course, this wasn't too surprising to anyone. This, after all, was one of the largest sites in Foundation custody. Containing hundreds of anomalies, it's no wonder hostiles would want to get their grubby hands on it.

"Can't catch a fucking break today," muttered Phil as he sprinted next to Mags. "Where we supposed to go again?" she asked. "Uh, I think we were heading down to the first floor's armory. They're piecing together teams there. "Are you blind?" she asked, sounding slightly alarmed. Mags skidded to a stop a pointed to a room behind them. "That's the fucking armory. Where the hell were you going?"

Pushing into the door, they both saw Captain Phed and Captain Stark standing in front of a large audience. The large room was packed full of quite possibly half of the security on-site. "You four, together!" Captain Stark yelled at a group in the front of the room. "Follow Agent Lhan to the third trench! You'll be organized there." The whole system didn't appear to be too organized. Stark and Phed were just picking at random. It was fair enough, seeing as they had to get the job done relatively quick.

"You five, head up to the fourth trench," Captain Stark called over. Phil was oblivious to the fact that Mags had just left the room. For the first time in a year, they had been split apart. "You, you, and you," muttered Phed just loud enough for the three to hear, "I want you to man Sentry-09 on the main deck." He was addressing Phil and two others he had never seen before. Looking around frantically, Phil noticed Mags' absence. In a panicked state, Phil simply went with his squad in hope of finding Mags on the deck. Of course, that plan had some flaws.

___

Mags took liberty of leading the four others she was with to the trench. Although, they already knew where it was. Mags just decided to take charge. One member of her group, Daniel, seemed to have a problem with this. The other three were fine with someone taking charge. It made things seem more organized. Although, Daniel seemed to dislike Mags' tactics.

Trotting through the intense storm, they passed several sets of defenses; the first, second, and third trenches. There were six major trenches on the beach. Being placed in the fourth one seemed like suicide when actuality it was Heaven. The sixth trench would be taking on the intruders face to face, after they passed through the maze of barbed wire on the beach. They would have to be majorly weakened by the time they reached her. Right?

The five hopped down into the muddy trench. It was already flooding with security members. Her leadership had already expired in this mess. A mutt faced boy ran up to them, tossing them black helmets. Apart from that, they were in their regular security uniforms. It was nothing too special.

Daniel and the three others quickly disappeared into the chaos. Mags pushed through the swarm of frantic security units and found a crate full of rifles. Someone she recognized from her training was leaning next to it. She think she remembered him as Kato Tanak. He appeared incredibly Asian in appearance. Thin black hair poked out from under his helmet. He was a nice person, but as she recalled, was very close to Cole Smith. This kept them distanced.

He was quick to notice her. Shifting his gaze upon the box of rifles, he grabbed one and tossed it to her. "The safety's office, so, be careful, yes?" He smiled. She simply nodded back to him. "I have extra, uh, bullet, if you need them, yes?"

"Alright, I'll keep that in mind."

"I stay right here then, yes?"

"It's fine, Kato. I have plenty of ammo." She had to smile at his bliss ignorance to the situation. "Besides, there's plenty of it in that crate." He had always been generous. That, of course, didn't make him not lethal. She recalled one training, during the hand to hand combat session, he was up against someone twice his size. He charged at them head on, giving them no time to think. A fierce uppercut, under their chin, left them unconscious for hours. The captain who was hosting it actually thought Kato killed the boy.

Before seeing that, she had always been surprised he chose the Security Department over the Scientific Department. He had a very high intelligence.

"Hey, Kato, where are you?" She heard the familiar voice coming from somewhere in the crowd. Kato raised his hand and waved to Cole. Cole walked up, almost happily, to Kato. That was, until he saw Mags. A look of disapproval was shone on his face. Mags was honestly surprised his snooty ass ended up in a trench, anyways. It seemed far more likely that Phed would have kept him safe and sound inside the site. Knowing this, it was safe to assume Stark stuck him outside before Phed could do anything.

"It's cold, yes?" Kato noted, while being pummeled by icy rain. Mags just nodded. Whoever these attackers were, they certainly planned this perfectly. The attack was taking place on the stormiest day God had to offer. Freezing rain came down in sheets over the Security team. Thunder and lightning crackled in the sky. Thick fog covered the ground. The wind was fierce. The wind was fierce. No shit the wind was fierce. When you literally see metal bullets being swept away by the wind, you know it's fierce.

Shifting her gaze onto Cole once more, she wandered how he ever obtained authority in the Security Department in the first place. He was shivering, trying not to make contact with the thick soup of sandy mud filling the trenches.

There was an awkward silence between the three of them until Cole spoke out. "Kato, I'm going to need you to come with me. They need some help down at the far left. Kato nodded, standing up. "Magnolia, you come too, yes?"

"Actually," Cole started, "She should stay here. This position will still need some defense." That was utter bullshit and all three of them knew it. The position Mags was currently at was already overwhelmed with security. Mags, who was already stressed out considering the circumstances, flipped Cole off as he walked away. Of course, he was oblivious to the the action. Slightly stunning herself, Mags turned around. As much as the hated that son of a bitch, what if this was the last time she even heard him talk?

She heard the alarm begin to blare inside the site. Daniel ran back over to her. "Hear that?" he asked almost excitedly. Mags didn't answer him. Instead, she walked over to the edge of the trench, facing the ocean. Tsunami like waves towered over it, only to crash down onto the beach. This truly was the worst storm she had ever seen in her life and she was going to be out fighting in it.

The crowd of Mobile Task Force and Security began to silence. Their chatter was replaced with a sound of awe. Terrified awe. Mags counted seven of them. Giant towering ships blew threw the tsunami waves. Only to halt on the beaches leaving a terrible groaning sound. A sound stronger than the rain, wind, and thunder combined. Security raced back and forth to get into defensive position. Some climbed ladders onto large mounted machine guns.

Daniel's face was terrified. He clutched his rifle in his sweaty grip, aiming it towards one of the giant cruisers. She new instinctively that she should do the same.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

Six

Rogue and Crimson

Rogue had been no where to be seen. He vacated the cafeteria before his radio could notify Security on the sudden attack, ignoring the warning otherwise.

Rogue had known something that others didn't, working uncover in the Intelligence. He posed as a Security unit and hiding behind the shadows.

Pacing through the isolated hallways, he ended in the observation deck facing the gate. The monitor emitted an eerie glow onto an opposing chair.

No one had been in there since the transmission of the raid. Rogue was focused on the mainframe. Sweat dripping off his palms, he typed in commands to the terminal.

The monitor booted up and displayed a conversation with an unknown client. A single line reading; "Death. Destroyer of worlds."

The log loaded.

"I assume your orders are clear."

"Correct, sir."

"Excellent. Promise me that the operation runs smoothly without interruption. Ensure that none of your 'acquaintances' intervene."

"If it is your wish, it is your command."

"I want you to make sure my agents enter your facility on time without witnesses. I want you to tell them the exact location of the objective point."

"Very well."

"Do not fail me again."

"Or I will be punished."

"Failure is it's own punishment."

[END LOG]

.

Rogue knew what this meant. A traitor is in our midst.

But who?

__________________

The consequences lead to Crimson's fate, his death. But delivered to him by who?

The label of Gate A hung over the steel set of doors as Crimson inputted the security code on the scanner.

Crimson thought of his decisions. All of them, with regret. But he did what he had to do. His family, or what was left of it, would suffer if he chose otherwise. His brother. All because of the Seven, what hope he had left of his life was torn away from him. The men of masks, they were called. Whatever they were planning now, Crimson didn't want to know of it.

Despite this, Crimson played a crucial part in their plans. After whatever Crimson's new masters wanted to do was complete, Crimson knew his life would return to normal. He would be able to go home, untouched by the Foundation or the Seven.

But deep down he knew, that may never happen.

With a sudden clash of steel and the screaming of gears, Gate A slid open. The two doors slid in the opposing directions, slowly. Light fled in the large room, Crimson shieled his eyes over his arm, he could recongize the dark figures who stood behind Gate A. The light had faded, they stared back at him.

The middle one of the six men stood forth and laid his hand on Crimson's shoulder.

"Glory to the Seven."

The gates shut as the men entered, and darkness regained control of the room.

__________________

Rogers stared at the main screen in the surveillance center. He ignored the men buzzing around him. He kept his watch on the image of the ships. The carriers. The aircraft. All of it, on one screen.

Rogers was afraid.

Not for himself, but for all those around him. He knew this wasn't the work of any single Group of Interest. He had his hunches about who was behind it. But he never told anyone. He couldn't risk doing it.

Seven.

Rogers felt a tap on his shoulders. It was Ingram, the female who was in charge of security systems in the Site, in control of turrets, missile systems, the Warhead Silo. It was with her and Rogers' say that action be held. But the committee urges them to maintain a watchful eye, and do not presume offensive maneuvers until further notice.

But Ingram and Rogers have other plans.

"Sir," Ingram said, her voice stern and powerful. She held a clipboard close to her white labcoat. Ingram was no ordinary girl at the Foundation. Some would think she was a man, if it wasn't for her hair. She dressed in an ordinary labcoat and formal pants. High-heels weren't her thing, either. She kept her brown mop of hair tied in a ponytail behind the back of her head, and wore a white cap.

"Yes?" Rogers said, not turning around to face her. "The entities are near our shores. Time is running out. The Ethics Committee continues to radio us with orders to discontinue any and all defense and offensive maneuvers. I told them we have men on the beaches, awaiting command. They will not, however, let our men fire upon the ships until further notice." Ingram said.

Rogers snorted. "They said the same thing last time. 'Wait until further notice,' 'do not take offensive maneuvers'. I say bullshit to that. I say we ready the missile systems."

Ingram pulled Rogers over to face her. "Sir, the Ethics team will have your head on a pike." She said. Rogers waggled his index finger at her. "Does it look like I care?" Rogers pushed off the in the other direction, rushing for the men running diagonistics and checking the security systems.

Ingram followed him in quick pace. "Sir, I have the Ethics Committee on the line." She held her radio up. Rogers stopped and turned around before he could get to the boys controlling the missile system.

A voice came from the end of the radio. "Rogers." The voice was nasally, as if whoever was speaking had a bad cold. "Mister Perkins. A pleasure." Rogers said, sarcastically.

"Rogers, Ingram has told me of your plan to activate the missile system. I highly suggest against that. If we fire at them, they will fire back at us. We must work for a compromise between our visitors."

Rogers growled. "You would rather wait until the enemy shoots a fucking nuke at our own men until we take action? I don't think Grandma would like to come over with warships for a cup of tea. Peace negotaitions has no place in this situation, Perkins."

Perkins replied, "Rogers, heed my orders. Fail to abide by them can cost your ranking in the Foundation."

"I don't care for your god damn medals of honor, Perkins. I'm keeping every damn bitch in this Site alive and in one peace to see the light of day. Heed these orders, you dirty bastard - I'm going rogue, and hell, come over from your nice office in Cali-fucking-fornia to tell me otherwise!" Rogers shouted.

Rogers barked into the radio as Ingram stood back and the men in the Control Room stared.

"Rogers, you will end this or-"

Rogers shut off the line before Perkins could finish.

Ingram attempted to stop Rogers before he could continue his way to his original objective.

"Rogers, think for a minute-." Ingram held out her hand, but Rogers was ahead of her already. The aged man stood behind the men seated at a control panel. "Sir?" One of them asked. "Prepare the missile systems for launch. Set coordinates for wherever the hell the damn enemy is." Rogers ordered.

They nodded in obedience, though with hesitation. They plugged in command codes into the computer. Rogers watched as lines of text appeared on the screen.

[/Prepping for Missile System 2 for launch at specified coordinates. Confirm?\]

One of the boys typed in a command

[/System preparation confirmed. Loading S.A.M missiles. Loading G.T.A.M missiles.\]

They waited.

[/Missiles loaded. Launch at selected coordinates?\]

They typed in 'yes'.

Rogers watched as a countdown appeared on screen. It ticked from 10 down.

From 8... to 5.

4...to 2.

2.. to 1.

0.

Then the screen went black.

Every screen in the room went black.

There was a fading popping sound as every thing powered by electricity faded to black. Voices flooded the rooms in panic.

Rogers yelled at the top of his lungs, "SILENCE!". The voices died down as Rogers continued to question the men before him.

"The missile launch, what happened?" He asked during the silence.

The boys turned around in their seats. "Cancelled. Power outage. The system is run entirely with all the other systems here. If all of them go out, the missile system went out with them." One said.

"Fuck." Rogers said, and pulled out a pistol. He raised it in the air and fired at the ceiling. "Fuck!" He screamed. Everyone jumped in their seats.

"Do you know what this means? We're completely vulnerable. We don't know what the fuck is happening on the outside! This outage isn't no fucking coincidence. The enemy is in here, with all of us!" He yelled.

Everyone listened, consumed by fear.

"The attack." Rogers whispered, yet still loud enough for everyone to listen.

"It's here."

______________________________________________________________________________________________

Seven

Phil and Mags

Stark held the binoculars over his brown eyes. He caught view of the hulks of steel in the distance, aircraft soaring above and landing carriers floating ahead. Stark cussed under his breath.

"Captain Stark." The young captain Stark spun around to face an intelligence officer. "S-sir. We have lost contact with all radio lines within the Site. We know not if Site Command has ordered for all lines to be clear or a power outage of some sort is responsible, but we are unable to receive information from our men in the control room. Our men are blind and aimless, sir. We must rely entirely on your orders to keep a hundred of our men in control." He said.

Stark sighed, and turned to face the water. Stark folded his hands behind his back, examining the dots in the distance, those dots being what they thought was the enemy.

"They are nearly upon us." Stark said. "Under 10 minutes, we will be under fire." Stark lit a cigar and stuck it in his mouth. Though muffled, Stark continued to speak. "Order the finishing of the trenches. Set up the sandbag walls. Ready the mortars. I want you to rally the other officers to assist me in overseeing the men in finishing these tasks."

Stark listened as the officer nodded to herself and said, "It will be as you wish, Captain Stark."

The officer fled from the area of the beach Stark stood in.

All around the perimeter of the island, large groups of men stood at the edge of the beaches, digging and heaving sandbags left and right. The sun burned down upon the sand, and the tropical trees swayed in the wind.

In the center of the island, was the massive Site that, despite its size on the surface, was even larger underground. Security covered the island like ants, preparing for a mass invasion.

___

Phil had been stationed on the facilities deck in a defensive position. Of course, he wasn't going to stay there long. Giant mounted turrets were being piloted on either side of him. Then again, there was a quarter mile of deck between him and the turrets. Security members he recognized swarmed either side of him. Some pointed off the deck into the sea. There were giant cruisers pulling in. Phil had seen them before everyone else. He had actually pointed them out to the captains.

Phil knew Mags wasn't safe, and that bothered him. He didn't want his best friend to get slaughtered by a group of interest in some muddy trench. That was one of the factors encouraging him to fight. One of the factors that kept him aiming his automatic at the cruisers.

He felt a tap on his shoulder.

___

"Bauer, I wish I knew you could fly. If I had, well, I wouldn't have stuck you up on that deck." Stark walked along side Phil until they reached a coded door. Phil carefully watched what Stark inputted.

4 9 2 5 0 0 9

He tried his hardest to remember the code. Stark had mentioned he would be coming back through the door after his chopper returned. He slipped out a flashcard and jotted the code down with a pen. Placing it in his knapsack, he tossed it aside into the corner of the room. "Welcome to Area-67's hanger and airbase. I won't waste too much more of your time considering you know your mission."

"Of course, sir." Stark nodded to Phil and raced over to his chopper. He had assigned Phil to Fighter Jet-09. According to Stark, multiple aircraft had been spotted in the area. Not only were they presumably lookouts for the cruisers, but they were also potential attackers. It was the fleets job to take down as many of these attackers as possible. No matter their role, they were doing something. Something to counter the Foundation.

Phil hopped into the back of the jet. Five troops were already sitting inside. One was setting up a machine gun mounted on the side. "Hello," Phil said awkwardly. "Greetings captain," one of the troops started, "Just push through that door into the cockpit. My name's Sam, by the way. I know my way around here well. I actually used to pilot this thing. Did you know it can carry up to two tons? Awesome, right? Anyways, I'll be right here if you need me. I actually used to pilot this-" he was cut off by another one of the troops. "Shut the hell up, Sam. You're rambling again." "I-I, uh, sorry."

The troop stood up and faced Phil. "Colin Böhler," he said, "You're welcome." Phil walked into the cockpit. He had never flown a model like this before. Hopefully he could do it. "What the hell's the holdup," yelled Stark, "Take off already, take off!"

Phil moved into the cockpit followed by Böhler. Phil turned to face him, surprised he was being followed in. "Sorry, I'm your Co-Pilot."

"Oh, right," Phil responded. He had entirely forgotten that he wouldn't be flying alone. "What about the others?" he asked, curiously. Böhler responded in a smooth manner, "They know what they're doing. I assigned each of them to a task. That annoying kid, Sam? I stuck him behind our machine gun. Hope the kid knows what he's doing."

"What about the other three?"

"Charlie's back there helping out Sam. Getting the gun ready and all that good stuff. Those other two? I told them to sit in the cargo hold as reserves in case anything happens to one of us. In the mean time, they're digging through our supplies. Maybe they'll find some extra weaponry. It's not too big down there, though. I hope they don't run out of air."

Phil reached forward towards the controls. He hoped he could fly this thing. After a careful consideration of the controls the fighter jet started. A loud rumbling noise erupted from the engines. Böhler reached up and grabbed a headset, placing it around his neck. He nodded to Phil. "Let's do it!"

___

The line of defense was silent, sitting in the trench. The cruisers had stopped around fifteen yards from the shore. The sound of gears turning echoed over the beach. Mags aimed her rifle directly at the mouth of the third cruiser. "Get ready!" she heard Cole call out to the entire squadron. There was silence. Everything was quiet except the sound of crashing waves and rain. It was almost peaceful until interrupted by a irritable creaking sound. The doors of the cruisers opened falling down into the water, acting as ramps. "Fire!" yelled Cole. The amount of fire power was unrealistic. The attackers charged out of the cruisers in hordes. Many of them fell down the ramp into the water. Their corpses were immediately piling up. They were dressed in dark black, gas masks covering their faces and metallic armoring covering them from head to toe.

Mags blasted her rifle as they began to race up the beach. She shot one between the eyes the moment he emerged from the water, causing him to fall back in. Another attacker raced up the beach. She shot at him, missing. He had come farther than any other until he ran into the barbed wire. Then, with him stuck, she shot him in the neck. His body dangled their, caught in the fence.

"Get down!" someone yelled from a distance. A large droning noise filled the air. Jets were emerging from the site and flying above the beach. As many glanced up, the attackers had an opportunity to fire. Bullets whizzed past the heads of the Security team. David shrieked and fell to the ground next to her. "David?" she asked panicked, crouching next to him. A bullet ran through his chest and potentially his heart, killing him. As she looked around, she realized more and more of the defenses squad were falling. More and more people were dropping lifeless into the damp sand.

Sand erupted from the wall of the trench in front of her. It sprayed her face, blinding her. She dropped her rifle and crouched to the ground. A bullet had just hit the wall in front of her. She had almost died.

______________________________________________________________________________________

Eight

Scar and Deacon

Scar and Deacon's investigation was put to a sudden halt. After being ordered to remain in the Site to continue their investigation despite the current situation, Deacon had a terrible thought within him."Scar," Deacon said as they passed hallway after hallway in pursuit of 457's chamber. "Yes." Scar muttered as he stopped at an intersection, glancing back and forth at all the different routes he could take. "I was thinking.. All of this shit can be connected to something. The, uh, 457 breach? Why would that happen? I'm pretty sure that was no accident, and uh, the bullets? The dead? It has something to do with those craft outside the Site. I know it seems like a theory so, so outta there, but, think of it for a second."

Scar's gaze froze onto Deacon as if he was told that Russia was run by a blond nutball with the first name of a vampire. "Vhat?"

Deacon sighed. "Look, Scar, there's a bigger picture than just an old research test gone wrong here. I'm not sure the head hanchos in Site Command even know that the 457 breach and the loss of members are connected to our supposed invaders. We've gotta tell em."

Scar grumbled and pushed forth into the hallway on the right. "They vould not believe you." Deacon sighed. "Fine. Fine, you're right. Whats the point.." Suddenly, Scar stopped at the next turn. "Silent. I hear some 'ting..." 457's chamber was not too far, so the notion of there being sound nearby was intriguing, yet stomach-churning.

"What?" Deacon whispered under his breath. Deacon heard nothing. Maybe the big, bulky Russian had better hearing than the thin, frail American. Scar had heard crackling. Faint crackling. Crackling of fire.

Then there was black.

___

A deathly low hum faded into the distance as the lights shut off in an instant. The dark consumed the room and the hallways branching from it. "Oh, shit, Scar, the hell happened?!" Deacon yelled. "SILENCE." Scar hissed. "Just because our vision does not prove valuable asset, our hearing..and the hearing of whatever is causing that sound..is still as good as ever.." Scar whispered.

"Wow, very poetic, Shakespeare, but I still hold my case. All this shit, it's connected! This outage, the coming invasion, the-"

"I SAID SHUTUP." Scar hissed again. With that... The sound stopped. The crackling ceased. Scar and Deacon held their breath as the time went by. 10 seconds, then 20 seconds. It felt like a minute of silence, before Scar spoke. "It's gone." Scar looked around the dark room, the lighting dead. "Do you have flashlight?" Scar asked, though still in a soft tone, as if still concerned someone would overhear. "Oh yeah, I have one big, bright flashlight up my crotch." Deacon said sarcastically. "No time for your dirty jokes, American. We must find way to an area where we get help. This is no place to be, especially if my suspicions of you-know-who being here with us..."

"That way." Deacon said, pointing down a hallway. "We can get out of the containment area quick by taking this route." Scar sighed. "Problem eez, the beast went down zat way..." Scar pointed out. Deacon looked at him. "Or else, you want to be trapped here and wait for him to come our way..." "Very well." Scar said, nodding. Deacon, leading the way, walked into the darkness with Scar following.

___

"Wish I had my flashlight about now." Deacon said. Scar didn't answer. He didn't seem to be wanting to have a conversation. Deacon, still at the front, cautiously peered out being a wall onto another hallway. "Clear." He said, and continued forth. "More time walking, less time looking." Scar said, finally. "Look, we don't know if 457 is gonna pop out on us and wish us a good evening." Deacon said, jogging forward. Scar sighed, following after him.

Hallway after hallway, the American and the Russian made their way closer to the entrance zone, with 457 nowhere to be seen.

"Faster." Scar said. "We are almost there." Deacon nodded, and picked up his pace. He paused in front of a door, left closed. Though that didn't seem to matter to whoever was passing by. There was a large hole burnt through it, the outlines of the hole scorching hot. "Well. Guess evil murdering fire people don't like to press buttons." Deacon said. "Looks like its still hot. He was here, not so long ago." Deacon said. "Keep guard up." Scar muttered, unphased. "We pass through, that is Russian way. Pass through obstacle, no question asked." Scar, about to bound through, stopped instantaneously mid-step. "What? What?! What is it Russia-" Scar suddenly stepped back and leaned against the wall, away from the hole. Deacon followed in Scar's steps and too, hid behind a wall. Deacon gulped. Scar eyed Deacon from across the hallway. The Russian mouthed, 'Four. Five. Seven.' Deacon cowered behind the wall in fear.

The familiar crackling of fire was heard again. The hallway was now dimly lit with yellow, red glow. Deacon could almost feel the heat. Scar kept his view down at his feet, holding his breath not to move. Scar's eyes went suddenly wide.

It was until then Deacon realized why Scar did so. Though Deacon could not see it, he could feel it. He could hear it.

457 was inches away from them.

______________________________________________________________________________________

Nine

Rogue and Crimson

Rogue continued searching through the control panel, and happened upon a single line of code.

Gate A unlocked via COMPUTER TERMINAL 21, TODAY at 3:31 PM.

Rogue stared. He quickly tapped into the surveillance system and accessed feed from 3:31. The screen froze with static, and came back to life, displaying Gate A from a camera in the upper corner in the room. A lean figure, covered in shadow, typed into a computer terminal that served as the only source of light. The monitor's screen went bright green, and the figure stood back from the terminal as the two blast doors slid from eachother, slowly. Rogue tried his best to examine the figure, attempting to make out who he was. With the small amount of light fading in from the outside, Rogue could immediately see the figures face. The name was about to come to Rogue's lips - then the screen went black. All light from the room retreated in an instant. Rogue yelled in anger, slamming the keyboard off the table. He caught a hold of himself, and began to pull together the pieces.

Rogue knew who was behind this. Crimson. But why? Was he really with them all this time? These questions ran through Rogue's mind as he yanked his robe resting on the desk and slid the sleeves through his arms. He clenched his teeth together and stormed for the exit.

____________________________

Ad blocker interference detected!


Wikia is a free-to-use site that makes money from advertising. We have a modified experience for viewers using ad blockers

Wikia is not accessible if you’ve made further modifications. Remove the custom ad blocker rule(s) and the page will load as expected.