Free Activate The Ravagers Ep1v2 by Alex Albrinck

but a massive victory on their part.
    And they’d never see his strike coming.

twelve
Wesley Cardinal
    …collective memories of human wanderings in the Hinterlands and the dangers faced after sundown led to a general cessation of public activity and business after dark in even well-lit city streets, with rare exceptions…
    The History of the Western Alliance, page 1313
     
    T he Voice provided a detailed overview of his mission during the ride to his office space. The mission sounded suicidal, and he’d thought to protest, to ask for more time or resources. He knew the Voice wouldn’t listen, though, and had considered those objections in the timing of the demand that he act immediately. Protests would result in the migraine-inducing internal shrieking noise, pain that would undoubtedly cause a crash while cruising along empty streets at night on his scooter. He’d be unable to continue his mission if comatose on the ground.
    He decided he didn’t trust the Voice enough to test him—or her—about the willingness to lose someone completing a vital mission.
    The roads were dark and unoccupied, of course. Nobody left their homes after dark. A few people pushed the limits by ten or fifteen minutes, but there was little purpose in moving about at night. Restaurants, shops, and entertainment venues closed their doors at least thirty minutes before nightfall to allow employees time to reach home before the sun set below the horizon.
    Still, Wesley couldn’t help but think he was being watched.
    He parked his scooter in a restaurant parking lot a quarter mile from the building, pocketed his keys, and rechecked his backpack. He found everything in order, though he’d been tempted to suggest he’d left something behind. He suspected he’d wake up here hours from now in the broad daylight if he tried. Freedom of movement and expression when one possessed a disembodied Voice in one’s head.
    He jogged at a slow, steady pace, through the brisk night air. In the emptiness, his gentle footfalls sounded like the beat of a bass drum, thumping away at a steady beat. He tried humming a tune in time with the beat, but soon became distracted by thoughts about the mysterious room the Voice claimed he’d visit that night.
    The lights were out at Jamison & Associates. He ignored the building as he always did, moving past the lush landscaping and smooth walls to the parking garage entry beyond. He never parked his scooter here; it gave his employers too much ability to restrict his ability to leave when he desired. But on foot? He slid past the vehicle barrier, wondering if the badge reader would even work for him at this hour. He found the stairwell and moved at a brisk, silent pace down the concrete steps.
    He froze before exiting the landing.
    Someone was out there, moving in the parking garage.
    He swallowed. They’d timed his arrival to ensure that those working the overnight shift—and only a secret military base would possibly have such a thing in this world—were all situated inside the Bunker. No stragglers from the previous shift ought to remain behind. Who could be moving in the garage?
    He’d noticed the vibe of the population as he rode through the city from his Hinterlands spur to this one, a vibe suggesting imminent eruption of anger and despair in the form of random violence. Perhaps the first shots in that effort would commence in the parking garage of an accounting firm sitting on a spur outside.
    Just his luck.
    He squinted as the figure moved toward one of the dim lights illuminating the underground space at this hour, and nearly gasped. The General was here? What would rouse the man from his sleep at this hour? Or did Micah Jamison routinely test the general curfew observed by civilians?
    It didn’t matter. His presence here put Wesley’s mission at risk. He couldn’t be seen or heard. Wesley slid slowly back into the shadows, never taking his unblinking eyes from the General.
    Wesley, have you entered the