Project Ignis

The canteen was still vacant as Hamish entered. He was early. The automated lights buzzed to life, flickering a glare across the stainless-steel benches that rowed along each side of the modestly sized hall. A set of narrow windows accompanied each bench on the right side, thick tropical vegetation brushed against the exterior. The spattering of sunlight through the leaves and branches did very little to disguise the facilities dull concrete and iron panel laced interior. A hatch into a kitchen was closed directly ahead. Hamish was very early. But as their mission detailed, this was the only opportunity to discuss the operation with his fellow MI6 and CIA agents embedded in the Projects activities.

Project Ignis this place was known. A ring of islands chained together by an atoll and wall that encompassed all of it. Located in the Pacific Ocean, it was originally the location of several Soviet research complexes. But following the communist regimes collapse at the end of the Cold War it was seized by a wealthy Russian oligarch. Or so they say. Only the word IGNIS confirmed the Projects title. It was blotched in black across a bare concrete wall to left and was still the only lead Hamish had to track down the mysterious supplier of a dangerous nerve agent that killed dozens of American soldiers in the middle east two years prior.

But now they knew where it was getting manufactured. And it was a very far reach from a member of the Taliban brewing something from the Anarchists cookbook. This place was organised, expensive and dare he say. Advanced.

“Hamish, are you the only one here?” A voice whispered from the doorway.

Hamish turned to a short and plump Englishman. His strawberry blonde hair and beard clumped with grease and split ends. His eyes were red with sleep and his hands were still marked with grime from his designated responsibilities. His overalls were marked blue, distinguishing himself from Hamish's green markings within the compartmentalised Project.

“Sid? Nice to see you got away from the Triton complex.” Hamish welcomed with a smile.

Sid rubbed a piece of sleep from his eyes while stretching his left arm. “I didn’t think when I joined the royal engineers, I’d be engineering for the enemy. That Malaysian guy barking at every cunt is an absolute twat. But I managed to sneak away early.”

Hamish reached out his hand to shake Sid’s. “Tasper and Laswald shouldn’t be too long, are you ready to get out of here?”

Sid lowered his stretching limb and returned the gesture. “It’s time?”

“We’re out of time. The submarine is waiting to pick us up today, we have to take what we have and leave now”.

Sid perked slightly, “Your pictures from the Medusa facility. Is that enough?”

Hamish took of his glasses and checked the SD card disguised within a hidden camera. “Maybe it’ll be enough to have the UN question this place.”

“What about the other facilities? Surely working maintenance, you were able to have a look?” The short Englishman questioned.

The shutter into the kitchen rattled. Both men jolted towards it. The kitchen staff were almost ready.

Hamish sighed. “Everything here is compartmentalised. Outside the Medusa complex I had very little access. What intel did you gather?”

“Past working on antennas and broken-down transits? Fuck all. This place is secretive as fuck. I was just as limited to seeing anything else inside the Triton.”

The shutters roared open. A chef emerged through the newly opened access to the kitchen and plonked a pot of watery stew on the serving mount. He shared a glance at the two men before disappearing back into the kitchen.

“Let’s take a seat”, Hamish insisted.

The pair went to the most discreet bench, about two along to the left. Far enough away from the kitchen shutter but also far enough along from the main entrance that they could see who ever entered.

“Where are they then?” Sid asked as he started to worry.

Hamish looked at his watch. It was five minutes to one. “Maybe they had trouble getting here. This canteen isn’t exactly their local”.

“Their local? I didn't realise the Hephaestus and Hera had their own bloody pubs!” Sid rambled in a peak of anxiety.

Hamish raised his left hand in a calming gesture. “Quiet”, he hushed. Looking back towards the kitchens hatch. “We're close enough to the Central complex. This place is supposed to be communal. They'll get here.”

The clanging and rattling of plates and cutlery pierced from the kitchen. The chef re-emerged pushing a trolley full. Enough for around a hundred workers Hamish calculated. They screeched and scraped as the chef moved them next to the steaming pot of stew.

Sid looked back to Hamish with a continued sense of unease. “Should we get a bowl? Or are we just going to sit here looking suspicious?”

“Patience”, Hamish replied as a figure caught his peripheral vision. Both agents turned to look.

“What's this then! You boys that hungry you just had to get here first?!” A voice howled from the entrance. It was Tasper. The undercover American agent had arrived and being discreet didn't seem to be his priority as he paced forward towards the kitchen port. He was well kept, tall and lanky with his distinctive short jet-black hair was parted by a scar that reached from his left brow to the top of his head. His security overalls were marked with the distinguishable Hephaestus facilities red colour.

The chef remained quiet as he lent his head backwards, his narrow chin pointed directly at the loud over charismatic security officer. Hamish’s and Sid’s eyes widened as they sat frozen in disbelief at the other agents loud unprofessional manner.

“Nice to see maintenance hasn’t repaired the cameras in this community block yet!” Tasper smirked, sharing a glance with Hamish.

Hamish started to bite his tongue at Tasper’s indiscreet over confidents. Then he replied. “This block isn't under my complexes parameters.”

Tasper turned to face the chef as he picked up a bowl. “Isn't it a relief not to be watched over by your bosses all of the time? I envy your position.”

The chef showed a subtle grin. “Very little English” he replied as he picked up his ladle and poured the security officer a serving.

The American grabbed a spork and lent his back against the kitchen port. Each mouthful let out a gasp as he started to shovel the piping hot stew into his mouth.

Sid sprung to his feet and moved behind Tasper. “How's... uh, security?” he asked as he grabbed himself a bowl.

“I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say,” the other undercover agent blurted. His wink towards the chef was only met with a look of confusion as he receded back into the kitchen.

Hamish gripped the benches cold steel rim in an attempt to channel his frustration. “Perhaps you would like to join us for lunch? Did you watch the game last night?”

Tasper held onto his cheeky grin and paced towards the table. “The game? You must be talking about the Thunders against the Reds that happened two weeks ago.” The security guard passed Hamish a folded note. “We got some new recruits in. A heads up on the results for the next big game if you and you're pal-” the American said as his glance turned to Sid as he retook his seat opposite Hamish. “Want to have a wager with any of our other fellow employees,” he continued.

Hamish scanned the folded piece of paper, a slight peak revealed the words “First sin by cobra.”

The maintenance man filled with a puzzled look. His glance back towards Tasper was only met with the same annoying smirk. He knew the undercover agent liked to play games, but he had enough. Hamish snapped and grabbed the security guards collar. “Take a fucking seat!” he gasped as he pulled him down to their level.

Sid jolted in surprise, shaking his bowl and spilling it across the table. Tasper’s bowl dropped also and crashed onto the floor. It burst into an array of ceramic shrapnel that dotted the cold black tiled flooring.

“What the fuck are you playing at?!” Hamish continued. Then the chef re-emerged. He reached for a radio while he shared a concerned gaze with Tasper.

“It's alright.” Tasper acknowledged. Reaching for his own radio. “We'll just have to make sure the janitors do a better job next time. This floor’s slippy as shit.”

The chef nodded and turned to the entrance of the hall. He reached for his ladle, a clear sign that in any moment the canteen will be teeming with hungry workers. Hamish locked eyes with Tasper, “What the fuck do you mean, first sin by cobra?”

Tasper's grin had been replaced with an equally annoyed expression. “If you would have waited for me to give Sid his note then it might make a bit more sense”, he subtly relayed to the two other undercover agents.

“Go on then, give Sid the winning results”, Hamish responded with a look of sheer frustration at the grown mans toying of the situation.

The security guard reached into his pocket and removed another folded note. Hamish snatched it from his finger tips and had a look. The words read “Berlins whole by candle light.”

“For fucksake, Tasper,” Hamish grunted while handing Sid the note. His gazed scanned back to the chef to check if he was trying to listen in. He didn't seem bothered. “Do you care to share with is what you mean?”.

Sid looked at the note, his expression showed a man working.

“The notes were originally for myself, so I'd remember.” Tasper shared, bringing his voice to a whisper.

Hamish looked back at his note. “Cobra? You mean the Medusa complex? How is the Medusa suppose to help us escape this place?”

Tasper’s grin began to refill his face, “Commit a sin”. He whispered maliciously.

“You want me to murder using the nerve agent?” Hamish said with a glance of confusion.

Before Tasper could get another word in Sid interrupted. “Not necessarily, the nerve agents release should be enough to put the whole Project into a state of emergency”.

The maintenance and the security men turned to Sid. “And you want a blow torch, to help us get through the wall?” the engineer continued.

“Bingo,” Tasper responded.

Hamish’s patience had now dropped below Sid's uneasiness. “How about you just elaborate the whole fucking plan, Tasper?”

“Fair enough,” Tasper concluded as he checked over his right shoulder at the chef who was gently tapping at the side of the stew pot. “Use your maintenance access to the Medusa and cause a containment breach. Everyone will be instructed to head to the assembly point. We'll use that opportunity to get out of here”.

“And how is a blow torch going to help us breach an eighty foot concrete wall?” Sid added.

“I've walked the entire perimeter of that ridiculously over sized wall, there is a service ladder about one hundred and fifty metres west of the main gate. It has been sealed shut with torched steal, I say you can un-torch it”.

Hamish's frown pointed at the apparent stupidity of Tasper's plan. “How exactly am I suppose to make it out of the Medusa once I've released the nerve agent?”

Tasper let out a subtle chuckle. “The bathroom along the corridor to the left. I've managed to bag you a hazmat suit. Just use your finger nails to unlock the closed cubicle”.

Hamish’s expression changed to the apparent misread competence of Tasper. “Any other tools? Perhaps this is the perfect opportunity to also get a sample of that nerve agent.”

The three agents conversation was cut short, the shuffling of footsteps towards the entrance spun all three men’s heads towards the imminent oncoming of workers ready to enjoy their lunch break. The chef let out a sigh as he picked up a bowl to fill in preparation for the line that will soon be forming.

“We should act now,” Sid insisted.

Hamish refused to move, “What about Laswald? Tasper, have you seen her?”

The security guard waived his head. “You haven't made contact yet?”

Hamish started to worry. It has been two weeks since his last communication with the CIA agent. He would wait every third evening for the blinking lights across a stretch of the lagoon. The blinks of Morse code would relay information relating to the genetic engineering and cloning studies she was witnessing at the Hera complex. Sid and Tasper clicked to Hamish's worry as he straightened his posture in an attempt to hide his trembling nerves.

Sid turned to Tasper with a look of urgency. “She's your CIA partner.”

Tasper started to go pale, “Maybe she's been comprised?”

Sid continued. “You're security, if she was compromised wouldn’t you fucking know about it?”

The workers appeared in horde. Multiple races and ethnicity, cultures and languages all piled into the hall. The noise of inaudible voices echoed, allowing a window for a final plan of meeting.

“I need to go for a shit!” Tasper announced as he stood and made his way towards the exit.

Sid moved to his feet and made haste behind him. Hamish grit his teeth and stood firm. “Sid!” the maintenance man hollered.

Sid turned his head towards Hamish as his legs continued to glide him in the direction of the exit.

“Jump to forty five minutes into the game!” Hamish barked as the numerous workers brushed past on their way towards the kitchen port. Sid acknowledged and disappeared behind the crowd into the corridor.

Hamish was in a moment of calmness despite the overwhelming requirements of the situation. Good he thought, this is what he had trained for. Being embedded within the Project wasn't the hard part. Or using the tools he was provided with. But now it was time to act, and if this didn't play out the way it was suppose to, he'd be a dead man. But first he had to find out about agent Laswald, if there was any hope of her own escape. It was clear Tasper knew more than he was letting on about.

“Oi!” an Australian man shouted from behind. His clothes were that of the janitorial department. “Do you want to clean up your own fucking mess? I'll fucking dog you in for sneaking here early!”

Hamish only spared a single glance at the angry Aussie. “Oh fuck off,” he blurted before making his way into the corridor.

Sid was already gone, the crowd of hungry staff members making their way towards the canteen swamped the left side of the dull and run down passage. Their passing heads flickered against the markings on each of the hallways doors. Then Hamish found the first stop of his objective. The words “Lavatory” was spelled out in five languages, English, Spanish, Chinese, Arabic and Russian.

The maintenance man waited for the shuffling of bystanders to pass. Then a familiar face blocked his gaze. “Hamley? The other maintenance man reminded of his cover name. “Where did you disappear to?” Kyro asked with his usual friendly expression.

Hamish’s mind froze only for a moment. “Doctor Rhyne had a faulty light switch he specifically wanted me to repair on his lunch hour.”

Kyro’s expression held with a pause. “Ok? So you broke protocol and grabbed an early lunch?” His expression shifted to an inkling of suspicion.

Hamish's stomach started to sink as he saw the angry Australian emerge from the canteen with two security guards. His mind started to race for a charismatic jip to disarm the situation Kyro had just trapped him in.

“If it isn't Rhyne, it's what ever time,” Hamish blurted as he revealed a friendly smile.

Kyro let out a grin. “I better let you get to it then”, he submitted before turning back on his way towards his awaiting meal.

“But priorities first,” the under cover agent continued, barging through the passing workers and into the lavatory.

The toilet stalls ahead were the same shade of a depressing yellow you would find plastered around a hospital. They did very little to contrast the grime on the white tiles that encompassed the whole room. The mirrors accompanying each sink were blotched with spatters and streaks of an unknown residue.

Two of the stalls were occupied. Tasper's head appeared from above the one on the right. “I was going to wait until the sub to tell you.”

Hamish moved to the cubicle to the left. “Then you better be quick! Some of your friends are snooping around outside.”

“You might want to take a seat,” the security guard said before he sank back into the cubical.

Hamish’s fingers clicked the cubicle door unlocked. The door creaked open to reveal a rucksack perched on the closed toilet lid ahead. “Is agent Laswald alive?” he asked with a firm competent manner as he locked the cubicle and swung the rucksack over his back.

“There's a chief scientist in the Hephaestus called Doctor Morlam,” Tasper started to explain. “He took over the helm in the Hera about a month ago.”

Hamish filled with confusion. “Why would a computer and robotics scientist be interested in the Hera? Never mind the clear breach in the compartmentalisation protocol.” His subtle concern for agent Laswald started to turn to a worried intrigue.

Tasper continued. “I can only guess. I eventually managed to gain his favour, he had me stationed in both facilities.”

“So you had direct contact with Laswald?”

“I did. But then shit got weird,” the American agent started to hesitate.

Hamish continued to drive the point. “What do you mean, weird?”

Tasper hesitated only for a moment. “The man had a fucking fetish for taxidermy or something. They were cloning salt water gators. The guy liked how hard the skin was.”

Hamish's intrigue turned to a creeped out confusion. “Taxidermy?”

“I don’t know how to describe it. Anyway, about twelve days ago I was checking in on Laswald. Doctor Morlam had requested a blue whale for further experiments. You know the biggest animal-”

Hamish interrupted. “I know what a fucking blue whale is!”

“So then Doctor Morlam turns up impatient, starts yelling at Laswald. She tells him that they could probably capture one, but considering the animals size it would be difficult to clone without any means to surrogate.”

“So what? He lost his temper and had her executed?”

“Close. After I realised she was gone I came up with some excuse and let myself into his personal lab. I just didn't see dissected parts of animals that looked like they were being Frankensteined with cables and metal scraps. I saw Laswald. Or what was left of her.”

Hamish froze, his thoughts went inwards as the disturbing revelation nearly poked a sputtering bit of sick up his throat. They were use to death, they were both MI5 and CIA agents after all. But Hamish had grown fond of Laswald from their brief meeting on the ferry from Fiji. The Morse code was her idea. “Do you... have proof?” he asked the other Agent in the cubicle next to him.

“Proof? Why? Are you wanting to see the pictures?”

Hamish continued to re-gather his thoughts following the spine tingling information that had just been relayed through a rotting cubicle wall. “No. Never.”

“Then let's get the fuck out of-” The sound of the main door walloped open, interrupting Tasper.

Both men remained frozen as the two security guards that were alerted by the Australian slowly paced into the grotty toilets. Tasper then stood, did his belt up and flushed the toilet.

“Who's in there!” The biggest of the two guards shouted.

His French accent seemed to move Tasper into motion. He swung the cubicle door open with a smile. “Sorry Phillippe, but if you wanted to hold my hand, I'm afraid Carlos bet you to the punch.”

Hamish held his breath, the adrenaline and fast thinking bounced of Tasper’s initiative. He tried his best broken English with a Spanish accent. “Maybe you use the woman’s next time, huh?”

Phillippe raised an eye. “Carlos?” he asked as he looked over Tasper’s shoulder towards the cubicle.

“You wouldn’t know him, patrols the Prometheus complex,” Tasper responded.

Hamish’s head leaned to one side at the new piece of information as his gaze peered through a thin crack in the cubicles door frame. He knew there were other facilities within the Project but the Prometheus he hadn't heard of before. Clearly Tasper was withholding more secrets or perhaps he had simply made it up to make himself seem bigger than the other two guards.

Phillippe’s fingers loosened from his pistol holster. The smaller security guard remained quiet as Tasper started to scrub his hands clean.

“We're looking for a Scotsman, broke protocol,” the French guard added.

Tasper tugged a piece of paper towel from the dispenser and commenced to dry his hands. “A Scotsman? One of the maintenance guys right? Why didn't you use your radios.”

“You know what Doctor Morlam’s orders were. Protocol breaches are to be kept off radio traffic and the suspect brought straight to him.”

Hamish withheld a gulp. He could feel his sweat begin to trickle down his back as each of his palms started to soak the rucksacks strap he was gripping over his right shoulder. Tasper was clearly withholding a lot more from him than he had previously realised.

Tasper chuckled. “Then it looks like you just broke protocol. Carlos there isn't in Doctor Morlam’s inner division,” he said as he scrunched up the paper towel and threw it over the cubicle door onto Hamish’s lap.

Again in a broken Spanish accent the undercover Scotsman blurted “very little English,” as his sweat soaked palm moved to unwrap the paper towel.

The two security guards were now at Tasper's mercy. Both of them stood quiet as the winner let them know their next move. “I heard he likes to go to the Hephaestus, that Scotsman’s not welcome there. Perhaps we should go and have a look?”

Hamish uncovered another note hidden within the used towel. It was clearly meant for Laswald. Tasper had managed to slight of hand the message to him. It read the words, “don't ware crocs.”

“Hey Carlos! Get your ass back to the Prometheus once you finally learn to wipe it!” Tasper hollered as he lead the two other security officers out of the lavatory.

Finally, Hamish had a moment to process what had just happened. The note might have restored some trust in the other undercover agent but he only had an inkling of what it could mean. “Don't ware crocs?” he muttered to himself over and over. His feet were far from bare and the hazmat suit he had just acquired should have a set of compatible boots.

But now it was time to move, he had the plan and the coast was clear. He sprung to his feet and made haste out of the grotty toilets. The passage was now empty as the canteen further along the corridor echoed with the metallic tapping of cutlery as the full mess hall ate.

Each step towards the buildings exit turned into a sprint. Even if someone saw him on a security camera the job will be done before anyone could be sent to investigate. Then with an inertial brush with the left wall as he swing himself around the last corner the large black metal doors of the communal block were in reach.

They shrieked with a piercing moan as he braced his built up momentum against it. The piecing light of the tropical sun reached through the widening gap. His arm moved to shade his eyes. The dull darkness within had only made the light blinding.

He caught his breath while his gaze stayed low on the gravel and run down concrete beneath his feet. A shadow from another block within the Central square gave a break from the sunlight. He scanned for his transit van in the clutter of vehicles that had gathered for the lunch hour. It was a modest Ford with the word IGNIS printed in his facilities green distinctive colour.

With the revelation from Tasper, Hamish couldn’t help but start to count the number of different colours brushed on each side of the vehicles parked waiting for the workers to return.

Blue for the Triton, Red for the Hephaestus, Yellow for the Hera and Black for the Central. But then he clicked. “There's a fucking orange, cyan and... nothing?” The undercover agent blurted to himself. “A white?” he continued as he noticed a blank vehicle.

Climbing into his Ford, he inserted the key and hit the ignition. The van hummed to life. He shifted his head to have a final glance towards the Central complex that towered above everything else. It was almost as if the Soviets had originally planned back in the sixties to construct a miniature Americanised settlement out of blocked cement and corrugated steal. The Central facility being the town hall that would be expected at the very end of the road that cut straight down the towns middle.

But it was a far cry from anywhere homely. The bunker looking structures on each side of the road and the square were bland, bleak, rotten and grey. The doors were all painted black, the windows narrow. There were kiosks and stores. Even apartments for the lower tier workman. This place alone could home thousands of people. Each other complex could house hundreds. That was clear as dozens of strangers and workers made they're way around the street Hamish was about to drive out onto.

Each of them would have received a letter. The same letter that MI6 intercepted and seized quietly from their legitimate candidates. An invitation to a time and a place. A phone call was waiting with an automated voice. Ten questions were asked.

Out of the seven letters that were intercepted by the British secret service, only Hamish and Sid accomplished their objective of obtaining a position. He could only assume it was the same process for Tasper and Laswald. The joint operation with the CIA was of interest for both nations as the shadowy organisation didn’t seem to be associated with a nation of its own.

But they didn't anticipate the level of secrecy and compartmentalisation that awaited them on the secluded islands. It was one thing to get here, but to leave was a mystery in itself. Hamish didn't know how. It was never discussed. Only on the odd occasion did a fellow worker disappear with the assumption they had finally completed their contract. But the newer revelation added a disturbing layer of mystery.

The Ford started to rumble as he moved forward. The loose gravel and dirt, spat and flickered as he hit the throttled. He shifted to second gear as he whipped onto the main stretch. There were no guards, Tasper must have rallied them to go and search each of their designated facilities.

A gear was skipped as Hamish fought to quiet the roaring engine. As each rev of the engine hit its resonance, the undercover agent had a glance at his wrist. His analogue watch read fifteen minutes past one, the clock was ticking.

The huge wall that stretched for miles around the islands loomed directly ahead as Hamish continued south towards the main entrance. He knew once the emergency protocol was in effects all workers would flock just before it. The assembly point was a square next to the entrance that mirrored the Central facilities he had just departed from. He banked right a few blocks before onto a dusty road. The buildings of the Central complex ended as he past an open gate linked to a steal barbed fence. The jungle filled each flank as he tried to scan through the deep undergrowth for a path to the service ladder Tasper had spoken about. He realised the challenge, or at least half of it. There was plenty of wildlife on these islands. Some with the capability to be dangerous, but Laswald's note couldn’t have been just a man's concern that she might tread on a spider. But then he realised “gators,” he blurted in realisation. They must let the clones wonder the islands for study. But it wasn't yet time for that part of the operation. His vital part of the escape plan still had to be executed.

The road forked as the Hera complex was located along a dirt road to the right. He followed left as it ran onto a bridge that shelved the wall towards another neighbouring island. Below he saw the beach that hugged the wall also. Dirt tracks and new signs of construction seem to reveal an undisclosed road between the Hera and the Hephaestus. The computer and robotics complex sat beneath a cliff on the other side. It was the first time he had noticed the route. The disturbing information from Tasper concerning a Doctor absorbing the Hera into his own facility now had credence.

Hamish then reached the next island and followed the road as it curved right, past the entrance to the Hephaestus and continued along the cliff edge. The road lead him to the end of a mini peninsula overlooking the lagoon. Then he finally saw it, his designated complex. The Medusa. It resembled most structures situated in the Project. Grey with cement and steel. Resembling an oversized bunker crossed with a Soviet era tower block. It was labelled with its own green unique markings associated with the facilities designation. To the right beyond the complexes proximity fence and gate was the cliff edge shielded by a rusty old barrier that stretched along to the right side of main building.

The vans suspension rattled as it clonked over the cement curb below the open gate and spat up a cloud of dirt as he hit the breaks and skidded his Ford to a halt. Hamish wasn't alone. An empty Land Rover Discovery had parked outside the front entrance, Security was here searching. He gently reached for his door handle and with a subtle click and a pop the undercover agent slowly crept out onto the aging concrete. He reached back in and grabbed the rucksack while keeping his head down. With a gentle push he slowly closed the Fords door behind him. He peeked over the bonnet to confirm an opportunity to bolt to a side entrance. To his and Kyro's bunk room and maintenance quarters. From there he could reach the maintenance access shaft that ran the entirety of the facility.

Suddenly, two security guards stormed out of the front entrance. The green metal doors screamed with the grinding of their personal radios. Hamish halted his anticipated sprint and threw his back against his Ford, the rucksack dangled from his right arm. He could hear the frizzing of broken voices as the static seemed to jolt the two guards into a faster more frantic sprint towards their Discovery. “Immediate support... Now! Prometheus.... Immediate support!” Their radios seized with a final crack of static.

The Range Rover Discovery was already moving before the two men could close their doors and harness their seat belts. They zoomed away in a trail of dust. The undercover agent made his move and tripped into a bolt towards the buildings left flank.

Hamish knew instantly it was because of Tasper. “What the fuck did he just do?” he whispered to himself as he cautiously glided around the left side of the building and made his way to his and Kyro's access door.

It didn't matter, but he was grateful for the additional distraction he thought. He checked his watch again. Twenty five minutes past one. Twenty five more minutes until he had to be on top of the wall. Ready to leave with Sid and Tasper.

The Medusa consisted of several different buildings. His path lead him into an alley that was hugged to the left by another fence separating each sub structure. To his right the main structure had blackened windows that was shielded with steal bars to prevent any unauthorised access. Old steal drums and barrels littered the other side of the steal barbed fence to the left. Several gates were either chained or locked. Forklifts and trucks were parked around the facilities many cluttered yards with dozens of shipment containers and discarded pallets.

Hamish made it to his access door. It was also marked with same distinguishable green paint that had started to flake around the seems, bolts and the electric key panel that was fused to the doors metal rim. He rummaged his pockets and located his unique key. It resembled a miniature SCART plug that had its own finger print reader attached. It was no longer or broader than the size of his thumb and was a two step verification. He continued to insert it into the connector that verified his electronic signature, one green light blinked. He then placed his index finger on the reader, two lights then blinked green simultaneously. The door unlocked with a clunk. Hamish pushed the metal door open as the automated lights flickered to life, revealing a set of steps down into a basement corridor.

Hamish felt a feeling of comfort as he paced down the steps, this was his and Kyro's quarters. The first door to the left led to their bunk room, the second door into their workshop and equipment storage. Straight ahead, the plant room and maintenance access. It was now time to check the kit and ready himself.

He entered the bunk room. It was modest in size. Bunk beds, a table and a connected shower room with a toilet. A thin window stretched across the room just under the ceiling to the left. He could see through to the iron bars on the outside. It almost felt like a prison cell, but with the added luxury of a personal shower.

He flicked the rucksack from around his shoulder onto the cluttered table ahead. A pile of screw drivers were flung from the oncoming bag crashing into them. The maintenance man grabbed a five millimetre. Small enough to unscrew, but also big enough to pry if he had to.

He kept an ear out for the entrance in hope that Kyro didn't return early to lend a hand with Doctor Rhyne's faulty light switch. It would be hard for him to explain he thought as he unzipped the bag. But then the sharp image of a gun triggered his subconscious, if only for a moment. The sight of the deadly instrument actually started to relieve as it slowly gave a growing feeling of control. He picked it up and placed it on the table. It was an MP5, he was more than familiar with the automatic sub machine gun. He didn't want to kill Kyro. He was just another guy who had thought he had won the lottery by getting offered to work here. But it might shut him up or silence any other guards that might get in his way. It was another welcomed addition provided by the underestimated competence of Tasper.

Then the hazmat suite, it wasn't yellow or orange. But grey and silver. “Protection from fire?” Hamish mumbled as he pulled it out of the bag and whipped it loose from its scrunched up state. He didn't expect flames or even an explosion. But then he realised that it must be from another complex in the Project. He remembered the billowing vapour from a different island across the lagoon. “Geothermal,” he mumbled again, “power.”

The undercover agent removed his glasses, his watch and shoes. He pulled on the overalls and sealed them tight. An oxygen mask came attached with its own supply. A quick scan in the bathroom mirror confirmed he was properly fastened and secured from the lethal nerve gas that was about to be released. His broad nose, chiselled chin and wavy long brown hair were disguised conveniently behind the reflective visor. He threw his belongings into the rucksack and threw it back over his shoulder.

His eyes were caught by the sight of a half drunken bottle of Irn Bru on his bed. Shame he thought as he picked it up and emptied the contents onto the floor. He had located a container to take a sample before his retreat. The Scotsman had acquired it from one of the vending machines dotted around the complex. In all of the places he thought, he had still managed to acquire his favourite carbonated drink that didn't consist of an alcohol percentage over four percent.

Reaching for his weapon, Hamish realised a piece of folded paper was taped to the back of the right glove. He peeled it loose and unfolded. It was another note from Tasper. Smoke on the water, it spelled out. Another game, another one of Tasper’s memory techniques. Hamish sighed. He didn't care, he knew his objective and with the cock of his gun he entered back into the corridor and towards the plant room and maintenance access.

The rumbling of air conditioning and the buzzing of fuse boxes echoed from around the darkness. Only the flickering light from large external fan vents reached around the pipes, panels and loose cables. Hamish hit a switch and the lights beamed on. The plant room was huge and reached to the other side of the structure. The large vents covered the entire length of the wall that looked onto the lagoon. That was where he would signal Laswald only weeks prior. He would jam a piece of metal pipe into the vent to stop the blade spinning and then blink a signal through the opening. He approached with a final look over to the Hera complex. The stretch of water contrasted the beach and the wall to the right. He could see the route he had just taken, the same route he would be taking to flee. But then he noticed. A blink, and then another blink. A glint from a reflective object from over at the Hera. It was Morse code. Are you there, the code signalled. It must be Laswald, she must be alive.

Hamish didn't know what to think, but in a frantic motion he picked up the steal pipe and jammed it into the spinning blades. Quick, something reflective he thought as he searched rapidly. The bathroom, he realised. He raced back through and grabbed the mirror of the wall and launched it against the bathroom sink. The shattered pieces showered the floor, he grabbed a perfect piece and stormed back through to the opening.

The timing was luck, the sun was almost straight above. Hamish reached through the gap holding the piece of shattered mirror and then began flicking the rays of sunshine towards the blinking ahead. They had a code. It wasn't just Morse, but a different code that only Laswald knew. A broken Morse almost. Ignore the third blink, he was reminded.

Without time for a conversation he flicked the response, Run. Then he continued the location to flee to. One hundred and fifty metres west of the main entrance, can get there? Hamish then waited for Laswald's acknowledgement. Then a blink, the signal confirmed. Yes.

With the response, Hamish sighed with relief. He dropped the cracked mirror and gripped his weapon that swayed from its strap around his right shoulder.

He continued his way into a maintenance tunnel that lead to a ventilation shaft on the sealing. The steal panel unscrewed easily. A pry of the screw driver into the seem wedged loose the panel from its seal. It made an unsticking sound like a plunger soaked in decades old grime. The panel then dropped with the rotting rubber grip. He had now realised it wasn't a vent or a tunnel. It was a drainage pipe disguised as one. The drain for what ever substance gathered on the floor of Doctor Rhyne's multiple labs. He had seen the schematics and was sure it was a ventilation duct. But he had already committed, and this route would take him straight underneath the storage tanks that housed the Medusas scientist’s work. He gripped the rim of the newly made passage and heaved himself up.

The drain was just big enough for the undercover agent to kneel and crawl through without making to much contact with the surrounding walls. It was dark, but the light parting through the grating ahead assisted as he fumbled towards his destination. And then another light, it was from a motion sensor. He didn't think that security would go through so much hassle as to place a motion trigger in a drainage pipe. Solid moving objects he assumed. It could take an hour to slowly move his limbs in hope not to trigger.

His legs started to cramp as his brain raced towards frustration. “Fuck it,” Hamish blurted as he threw himself past the red beam of light.

It beeped. Several moments past and the noise of a muffled phone started to ring in a separate room in the facility. The ringing continued as Hamish stood solid, waiting. Then the next wave of adrenaline kicked in. Hopefully the security was still busy with Tasper's distraction he hoped as he burst forward and gripped the grating overhead. The holding tank was now above. The grated panel came loose easily, it rattled and scraped against the tiled floor as he pushed it to one side. No gunshots, shouting or an alarm triggering. He stuck his head up into the complexes inner belly. No one was present. He felt lucky as he pulled himself up and made it to his feet.

The room was ridiculously huge, taking up most of the building. It was clean, shiny and full of chrome. Pipes and tanks mirrored the spotless white tiles that surrounded the hall. The lighting glared from overhead, computer terminals mirrored of the chrome metal. A heavy green door was situated to Hamish’s left. To his right was the main holding tank situated in the middle of the room. It was big, about three stories high and a bus length across. A steal pipe ran from the bottom of the tank to the filling station near a corrugated steal shutter to his rear. Nothing needed filling and there was a valve midway between each.

To easy, Hamish thought. Then the phone stopped ringing in the neighbouring room. Muffled voices started debating. The undercover agent bolted to cover behind the humongous tank and peered around it towards the main entrance. The green doors walloped open as a scientist wearing a clean white lab coat stormed through in frustration. A half eaten sandwich dropped a crumb trail from his left hand as he dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin in his right.

“No fucking wonder the sensor triggered again!” another scientist barked as he followed the first one into room. “You're dropping crumbs everywhere. You can fucking brush that up.”

Hamish recognised both of them, the first one is Doctor Melvin and the second is Doctor Salem. He gripped his sub machine gun and bit his teeth. Any excuse he thought, any excuse to blow his cover and force them to release it. He didn't have time for this.

Doctor Melvin swallowed his bite and scrunched his napkin before pocketing it. “How about we just get a janitor with the privileges to clean up after us,” he said as he checked a terminal monitor.

Doctor Salem showed a subtle smirk yet still felt contested. He scanned the drainage grating that reached along the centre of the room. “Or perhaps you could be a little more professional consider-” Salem paused as he noticed the missing panel from where Hamish had entered. “Melvin, can you call back security-,“ he froze suddenly as Hamish emerged with the sub machine gun.

“Step away from the computer!” Hamish ordered Melvin. “Both of you, stand there!” he continued, waiving the barrel of the MP5 towards the valve between the tank and filling station.

Salem raised his hands. Melvin turned slowly, the sight of the silver intruder pointing a gun in his direction loosened his grip. His sandwich dropped to the floor. The contents made up of lettuce, tomato and bacon parted from the generous helping of butter that stuck it all together. “What do you want?” he nervously sputtered.

“To spring a leak!” Hamish demanded as he contemplated wasting a round to hurry up the two scientists.

“You don't understand,” Salem said as he slowly made his way to the designated point.

“I don't need to understand, just turn that valve. The first one that does gets to live,” the undercover agent dictated with a another wave of his sub machine gun.

Both scientists froze, their sweat started to seep through their white clean tucked clothing. “We'll die anyway,” Salem insisted as he started to lower his hands in a calming gesture towards Hamish.

But then a loud crack, Hamish fired and shot Salem through the chest. Blood sprayed from his back, spattering chunks over the pipes and valves behind him. He collapsed. Dead.

Melvin gasped in horror. “No!” he begged as he fell back in fright. The scientists hands slipped as they moved to brace himself on the pieces of Salem now dripping from the sleek chrome metal work. “That terminal controls the flow from the outlet!” he screamed as his shaking hand moved to point at a computer monitor at the other side of hall. “The valve is just a pressure backup in case of a power outage!” he continued as his panic turned into a wailing cry of sheer terror.

The grown man’s cries irritated Hamish. A digital clock on the wall above the weeping man read thirteen thirty-three. “I don't have time for this shit!” Hamish roared as he opened fire at the pipe just below the tank.

Melvin's final scream was engulfed in an instant by an exploding hurricane of white vapour that blew Hamish backwards and skidding across the floor in a wave of dense cloud.

The undercover agent was lost in the thick haze of what he could only assume was the nerve agent. He felt for his oxygen mask, it was functioning. His suit had worked. Feeling the floor he made it to his feet. The mist had muffled the noise of Melvin's shrieks that had now turned into a rasping gasp. Then nothing. Hamish stood. But then the thick cloud seemed to fall as if it had weight to it. It seemed to condense in the air and pool in a blanket of thick mist that lowered beneath his waist, and then settled at his calves. He could see the remains of Melvin. His skin and flesh had cracked and dried. He was dead. It wasn't the nerve agent, but something else.

Hamish soon noticed it was flowing towards and down the drain the same way that water would. It was still a gas, but a lot heavier. Then the sirens started to roar. It was time to flee. The green door was his exit and he knew the mist would flow with him. He grabbed the handle and pulled the door open against the pressure that had built up on the floor. It flowed through the gap and down the corridor. Hamish followed, his run turned into a sprint as the siren and emergency protocol played over the loud speakers. “All personnel to assembly zone! All personnel to assembly zone!” The automated voice repeated within the brief siren intervals.

The corridor was clean, immaculate and new. The surrounding white tiles and doors that flanked along the stretch towards the front door reflected a shine of high standard and quality. The words IGNIS and MEDUSA were frosted on each of the doors tinted windows in stark contrast to the Central facilities spray tagged concrete.

A door hissed and whooshed open ahead to Hamish’s right. It was Doctor Rhyne, his turn towards the fleeing agent filled his face with sheer terror as the weapon spilled towards him. It flooded his ankles and he let out an agonising scream as it seeped through his unprotected clothing and started drain his legs of any moisture. His weight gave way to the pain and flesh crumbling from the bone. His hands skimmed down the wall in his failed attempt not to fall to his knees. The yoga position he had now found himself in only induced more agony as each hand also fell victim to the mysterious substance.

His face of plea for Hamish's assistance was that of pure terror. He was ignored as the under cover agent sprinted past without concern. Then Hamish clicked, the purpose of this new weapon was to flood the floor of the battlefield. To maim and disable as many soldiers as possible. To cost the enemy more on nursing than caskets. A long term weapon that withdraws all of the water from any system it touches. It was a Yielder.

Hamish then remembered his Irn Bru bottle, he could collect the evidence. He stopped to catch his breath and unscrewed the cap before scooping up a waft of the thick mist. He tightened the cap and threw it in his rucksack before continuing his bolt towards the facilities main entrance. He barged through. Sirens roared in every direction. The entire Project was in a state of emergency, the plan had worked. So far.

His van sat waiting ahead, but he found himself pulled to the left. To the view down the cliff towards the beach below that wrapped around to the same beach that hugged the wall. And then the sound of gunshots took his attention towards the Hephaestus. Lights flashed in an emergency stance of evacuation.

The structure was built into the cliff face and it’s base perched on a rocky beachfront. The jungle feathered behind it and along the road that connected. And then he realised the weapon. The blanket of heavy cloud was pouring out from the plant room below, the vapour fell in a thick column that crashed down the cliff face and dispersed into a wave that fizzled and cracked with a touch of the ocean. But the wind carried it and forced the spill along the beach towards the gunshots from the Hephaestus.

Hamish had to know, he grabbed the old railing that flaked with rust and lent over for a closer look. The mist moved towards dozens of figures moving frantically, attempting to flee. Gunshots flashed with traumatic screams. He didn't have his glasses on, he could only imagine what was happening. Then the mist took them to their knees. But not all of them. Some of the dark smudges didn’t yield to the low blanket of dense fog that swept in. Every movement from the non-yielded was answering a scream. But then each one a final shriek or final bang from a gun. A final silence crept in as the surviving figures left a mist of red. They moved strangely and mysteriously as they left the dead and receded into the jungle. Who were those people? Hamish asked himself. Other associates of Tasper he could only assume.