Standing tall, I stared into the
street below. Much of the brood had returned home before dawn.
The
Cleaners would be able to handle them and I would have to pick up the stragglers tomorrow night. It was now or never. Stepping off the roof, I sailed to the ground and landed flatfooted. I waited, my blond hair whipping in the morning breeze. I wondered for a moment where Toby was. He would catch hell from Maynard for leaving a job, no matter what his personal feelings about his partner were. I smelled them before I saw them. I didn't even need to turn. They weren't built for stealth, but pure destruction. I could hear the scraping of the Kevlar body armor, the clack of their weapons, and the crunch of the grass under their heavy, booted feet as they moved. Mainly Werewolves, there was a single Witch with them. It was his job to clean up the Cleaners’ mess. "The Cleaners” was a nickname one of the groups had earned and it seemed to stick. It had become their code designation in the Syndicate. Designed to take out nests of nasties instead of sending in a mass of Seekers, the Cleaners were comprised of ex-military and law enforcement personnel. There were at least two squads assigned to every Brimstone branch. The commander stepped forward, but kept an arm's length between us. “Rose." "Captain,” I greeted back. I turned slightly to face him while making sure I didn't present my back to the brood across the street. I was sure they could smell us by now. We had to move quickly. The squad's captain, Patrick, was built like a tank. He was huge, both in height and girth, his black body armor made him even more impressive looking. He wore a black helmet with a flaming skull painted on the front. A pair of goggles with yellow lenses hung around his neck waiting for use. Seven wooden stakes were slung across his chest bandolier style, while his compact P90 submachine gun was snapped to his chest armor. He was among a growing number of Werewolves who refused to allow themselves to transform. He had access to all the strength, speed, and regenerative powers in human form, but wasn't subject to the more base animal instincts of a Werewolf. They felt the wolf component of their being was too unstable.
I thought of Toby. Maybe they were right. Patrick handed me a walkie-talkie and voice-activated headset. He watched me with his steel blue eyes as I slid the headset over my ear and slipped the base onto the waistband of my leather pants. We had worked together several times before. He was your no-nonsense military type. I think he told me he had served in Desert Storm, but I was having a hard time focusing tonight. I didn't need to be in a combat situation. My head wasn't in the game.
"Sit rep, Captain,” I commanded, trying to sound like I actually knew what I was talking about. Patrick lowered his eyes and took a slow breath to fight off the anger or laughter. I couldn't tell which. “My men are ready,” he said, finally able to muster some composure. “You want a clean sweep of the nest?"
I nodded.
"And if we encounter civilians?"
I thought for a moment, but the conclusion was inevitable. There couldn't be any witnesses for our fake cover story to hold. “Destroy everything. Even civvies. I'll go in with you, but I'll hang back by the
Cleaners would be able to handle them and I would have to pick up the stragglers tomorrow night. It was now or never. Stepping off the roof, I sailed to the ground and landed flatfooted. I waited, my blond hair whipping in the morning breeze. I wondered for a moment where Toby was. He would catch hell from Maynard for leaving a job, no matter what his personal feelings about his partner were. I smelled them before I saw them. I didn't even need to turn. They weren't built for stealth, but pure destruction. I could hear the scraping of the Kevlar body armor, the clack of their weapons, and the crunch of the grass under their heavy, booted feet as they moved. Mainly Werewolves, there was a single Witch with them. It was his job to clean up the Cleaners’ mess. "The Cleaners” was a nickname one of the groups had earned and it seemed to stick. It had become their code designation in the Syndicate. Designed to take out nests of nasties instead of sending in a mass of Seekers, the Cleaners were comprised of ex-military and law enforcement personnel. There were at least two squads assigned to every Brimstone branch. The commander stepped forward, but kept an arm's length between us. “Rose." "Captain,” I greeted back. I turned slightly to face him while making sure I didn't present my back to the brood across the street. I was sure they could smell us by now. We had to move quickly. The squad's captain, Patrick, was built like a tank. He was huge, both in height and girth, his black body armor made him even more impressive looking. He wore a black helmet with a flaming skull painted on the front. A pair of goggles with yellow lenses hung around his neck waiting for use. Seven wooden stakes were slung across his chest bandolier style, while his compact P90 submachine gun was snapped to his chest armor. He was among a growing number of Werewolves who refused to allow themselves to transform. He had access to all the strength, speed, and regenerative powers in human form, but wasn't subject to the more base animal instincts of a Werewolf. They felt the wolf component of their being was too unstable.
I thought of Toby. Maybe they were right. Patrick handed me a walkie-talkie and voice-activated headset. He watched me with his steel blue eyes as I slid the headset over my ear and slipped the base onto the waistband of my leather pants. We had worked together several times before. He was your no-nonsense military type. I think he told me he had served in Desert Storm, but I was having a hard time focusing tonight. I didn't need to be in a combat situation. My head wasn't in the game.
"Sit rep, Captain,” I commanded, trying to sound like I actually knew what I was talking about. Patrick lowered his eyes and took a slow breath to fight off the anger or laughter. I couldn't tell which. “My men are ready,” he said, finally able to muster some composure. “You want a clean sweep of the nest?"
I nodded.
"And if we encounter civilians?"
I thought for a moment, but the conclusion was inevitable. There couldn't be any witnesses for our fake cover story to hold. “Destroy everything. Even civvies. I'll go in with you, but I'll hang back by the