Agent M: Testament (The Agent M Series Book 2) (56 page)

Six shots rang out and popped Michael squared in the chest. It felt like he was behind hit by half a dozen automobiles all at once. The force drove the wounded ultimate human soldier down to the ground. He struggled and clasped for breath. A few of his rib cages may have rattled his internal organs. It was unlikely there was any severe damage to his bone structure. When your skeleton has the tensile strength and density of solid steel, there wasn't a whole lot that could bend let alone break it. He just needed to sell this injury a bit longer so he could catch his breath.

The last agent began his approach from his hiding place. His gun was still drawn and the sights locked onto Michael's frame. He took every step forward cautiously and carefully as if they may be his very last. Upon reaching the former FBI agent, he continued to survey his body like it were some kind of anomaly. Ten agents went in and only one was able to survive the deal unscathed.

“Target down,” he stated while standing over Michael's fallen body.

The Secret Service is going to really want to rethink putting those microphones in their wrists. You should have two hands on your weapon at all times or else something unfortunate might happen.

Michael slammed his heel into the agent's knee forcing it to bend in the other direction. The sound of bone and sinew being torn apart was excruciating but only second to the wails of the fallen agent as he crashes face first into the ground. Michael finished him off with a mighty elbow to the back of his head, silencing the cries for good and rendering the final target unconscious. The battle had ended but the war may yet still continue anew.

The scene in the White House lobby was devastating. Michael slowly picked himself up and as the adrenaline subsided he surveyed the damage to his own body before looking over what had befallen this historic environment. Over forty shots had left their mark, most of which were absorbed by his armor. Only four appeared to have penetrated. Either the battle had been too taxing his body or a bullet had pierced his previously grievous wound because blood was pouring once more from his midsection. It almost hurt as bad as the burning sensation he was feeling emanating from the side of his skull. Michael checked the wound and soon found his hands coated in crimson fluid. It was starting to drip down his forehead, over the glasses, and along the side of his chin. The bullet must have just grazed his head.

All of these injuries may have slowed the former FBI agent down but they would never hold him back. Michael proceeded towards the West Wing entrance but not as quickly as he liked. The limp was back but not solely due to the bite injury this time. One round grazed his thigh with another that had pierced through and he had difficulty moving his leg without sending signals of unbearable pain. The only saving grace were that they were only 9mm bullets. Despite all of his injuries, Michael pressed on.

The survey of the battle’s outcome was tremendous. This would have been a career ending performance if he hadn’t have been fired already. His only saving grace was that none of the agents had died. Some may wish they were dead after waking up but for the most part, they would all live to fight another day.

Michael stood before the doors leading towards the West Wing. He placed his hand firmly on the handle and gave it a gentle twist. They refused to rotate. The doors were sealed shut which was odd considering that should an incident had occurred in the office, the agents would have needed every second they had in order to quell any potential dangerous situations. Someone had done this from within which sent all types of grueling and horrific scenarios playing through Michael's mind. None of which had a happy ending.

With one quick tug, the former FBI agent ripped to knob clean off. The door refused to budge. It was as if something, or even someone was holding it in place. The time for games had passed. Michael was going to get through that door no matter what. If a physical brute force attack wouldn't work, then perhaps the universal master key strapped to his back would.

March 27th, 2013 4:25PM

1286 4th St SE

Washington, D.C.

Sweat poured from the Paladin's brow as he swung his staff and cracked the skull of another beast inching in too close. The monsters had grown both fearless and relentless as even the flames of the mighty warrior of Testament could no longer keep them at bay. He slammed his staff on the ground as often as the dreaded combat would allow but its affects appeared to have waned over time. The beasts continued their assault despite any minor setbacks and Davis was running out of time and energy to deal with them all.

Flames exploded out of the Paladin's hand and shot forth in a straight line. A few of the creatures were caught off guard and bathed in his holy flames as they cried and flailed around the warehouse. With their circle broken, Davis made a break for the dock doors. His legs sprinted along the path cleared by the fire as the others gave chase.

Davis raced towards the goal. If he could seal these monsters within the warehouse, he could buy him the time he needed to draw enough seals outside to purge them once and for all. The timing had to be perfect. He could hear their hungered cries gaining on him from behind. Their speed was astounding. The Paladin had gravely underestimated their newfound vigor as they gained on his position within moments of reaching the doors. The plan had failed before it even began.

There may be still one last ace up Davis' sleeve. He vaulted towards the door and leapt as he spun in midair. The Paladin tossed his staff towards his chest and the metal quickly melded and formed him protective silver cross necklace while wrapping itself around his neck. With both hands free, he extended them outwards. An explosion of light filled his eyes as golden flames began to roar from his fingertips.

One of the lead creatures lunged at him. Its fangs dripped of saliva hoping to be coated in flesh and blood with one good bite. Davis steeled himself and prepared to launch one final attack of desperation. His body was about to collide back first on the ground with the beast right on top of him. The Paladin roared as he channeled all of the energy stored within his soul and watched as the monster's head exploded in a violent gush for crimson mist.

The Paladin slammed onto the ground but quickly sprang to his feet. A hand clasped upon his necklace and with a rapid thrust his staff remerged. He had no idea what had just occurred but was sure that none of it was his doing. The first thought that came to mind was that the beasts had been pushed so far past their limits that their bodies could no longer take it anymore. That was quickly put to rest as another pair of beasts charged at him and soon became victims of the same fate as their previously fallen sibling.

Davis' shoulder lit up and signaled it wanted attention. Upon inspection, there was a slight tear in the side of it. That's when it all became clear. This wasn't a matter of science failing. This was the Paladin's prayers being answered.

“Davis!” Cried a familiar voice from behind.

The Paladin slammed his staff down like a lightning bolt crashing from the sky and drove all of the beasts back towards the opposing warehouse walls.

“What took you so long Adriel?” The Paladin asked trying his best not to look or sound like he was out of breath.

“My apologies,” the Cleric nodded as he approached and took a position next to his comrade. “We had to make our preparations -”

“We?” Davis interrupted.

Now it all made sense. The tear in his cassock, the exploding heads, it all pointed to him. His brother’s status as the Eyes of God certainly lived up to the name now. While his judgment and mannerisms leave more to be desired, his aim was impeccable and at this point, more than welcome. Still, even after potentially saving his life, the Paladin was not too fond of the growing situation.

“Are you certain that bringing him was the right decision?”

“He insisted,” Adriel pleaded. “We all heard your prayer. He assured me that this was the best course of action and,” the Cleric quickly caught himself before he said too much.

“And what Adriel?” Davis questioned. It sounded more like a statement while trying to contain his growing annoyance and impending rage.

“And,” the Cleric started, “that you would be unable to complete this task without him.”

The arrogance of his fellow companion clearly knew no bounds.

“Where is he?”

“About one mile away stationed on top of a building.”

Davis took a deep breath.

“As soon as this is over,” he stated before stopping and smashing the creature upwards with his staff. It lifted into the air where another long-ranged rifle shot took its head clean off.

The Paladin gave his companion a grievous stare hoping to instill the seriousness of his words.

“Bring him here.”

March 27th, 2013 4:26PM

The Oval Office

Washington, D.C.

The sounds of battle and combat had ceased. An eerie silence filled the room. Meryl could feel her pulse racing. The fear of what’s to come had numbed all of her pain and senses. Quick breathes entered and exited her lungs as if they were trying to take in as much air as they could for it may be the very last time they taste the sweet element of oxygen. If what lies beyond those doors was even half as nasty as what laid within, then all hope is already lost.

Bahn started to giggle. The bastard had finally gotten his wish and now he was rubbing it in everyone’s face. The South Korean President was still unconscious and her two advisors had been paralyzed with fear ever since this whole thing started. President Marshall remained tied up on the ground near the eastern portion of the room. He hadn’t said a word since Meryl intervened with a brave attempt at ending this conflict. Even thinking back to that makes her cringe. She couldn’t believe how powerful these men were and how powerless she had become all in the span of a few minutes.

“Now do you realize the futility in your efforts?”

His rhetorical question notwithstanding, the FBI agent couldn’t help think about how true those words were. Though she would never admit it personally, the situation coupled with her uncontrollable body language sang a different tune.

More pain coursed through Meryl’s body as the soldier wrenched her around. He appeared to show great restraint because the FBI agent knew he could rip every follicle out of her scalp with so much as a flick of his wrist. He must have held back because he wanted to watch her suffer. Whatever evil lay beyond the barricade must have been so tremendous that even the severing of his most sensitive organ wasn’t enough to drive him over the edge. Bahn wanted her to die in the most horrific way possible and if whatever it was just decimated a small army of local law enforcement and Secret Service agents than all of his promises will be fulfilled.

“Your end is near,” he taunted.

The man sure knew how to add insults to injuries.

“Watch as they rip through that barricade in seconds. They’ll be in here before you can even take a breath. And then, the last thing you will ever see is the look on my face when you are pleading –”

An explosion devastated the West Wing. The five troops stationed in the hallway were all knocked flat on their backs. Chunks of the barricade flew into the air as if they were confetti and rained down of the fallen soldiers. A horrible ringing dulled everyone’s hearing as they tried to regain their balance and bearings as to what just happened. The smell and sight of smoke quickly followed as small flames started to rise and build on the remaining pieces of destroyed furniture.

The ringing soon ceased. Crackling flames and groans were the prominent things heard by everyone’s returning senses. Meryl shook her head and specs for brown and white dust gently floated to the ground. She was no longer Bahn’s captive or plaything. He too had succumbed to the explosion’s fury as he laid sprawled across the broken desk still trying to shake the cobwebs out of his head.

Steps began to slowly echo into the hallway. Wood crunched and snapped in a vain attempt to carry the weight of the one responsible for this mess. Meryl’s heartbeat increased to the point where it was almost humming. If death was about to consume her, she at least wanted a good look at her killer in the flesh.

Only one individual stepped through the wreckage. Meryl’s eyes slowly rose to identify the monster that threatened to destroy them. His attire was black with streaks and patches of crimson coated throughout. Most of his clothing had nearly been torn asunder. His coat was long and nearly ripped to tatters in most places. The most distinguishing possession was the empty RPG-7 rocket launcher he brought with him. Obviously the cause of the destruction that had befallen most of the area but that wasn’t the most awe inspiring feature. Meryl’s jaw nearly dropped when she instantly recognized those cold reflective glasses and raven black hair of her battered best friend as he stepped into the hallway and came into full view.

Michael tossed aside the RPG-7. It was of no use to him now but appeared to have done a much better than expected job. Five bodies laid on the ground in the hallway. They bore the marks and attire of the North Korean army. Judging by the mess of a barricade that had dared to stand in this former FBI agent’s path, they were the ones who had built it and were positioned to defend the Oval Office from all intruders.

In the office itself, it was hard to make out any specific details given the architecture. However, there was one thing that particularly called out to Michael. The President’s desk was in shambles and blood saturated the floor in the thick pool near the center. Someone had already fallen and by the looks of it, they weren’t of great importance. Though their head had been severed, the body still wore the famed regalia of a General of the People’s Army. Ryoo Myung-Ho was definitely here and had already started to push his weight around.