Spawn of Nothingness

The briefing room at Langley was sterile and efficient, its walls adorned with screens displaying live satellite feeds and detailed dossiers.

Lance stood at attention, his posture casual but his mind razor-sharp.

The senior officer assigned to be his liaison, Handler Evans, gestured toward the screen displaying Khalid al-Farooq's image.

"Khalid al-Farooq," Evans began, his voice cold and authoritative. "Leader of a splinter cell responsible for at least three coordinated attacks on U.S. interests in the region. He's cunning, resourceful, and a master of propaganda. His influence is growing, and so is the threat. Your mission is simple: eliminate him and recover any intelligence that could lead us to his network."

Evans clicked to the next slide, revealing the compound's layout. "This is where he's holed up—a fortified compound near Raqqa. Guards are armed and well-trained. You'll insert covertly, neutralize the target, and exfil with minimal noise. This is a surgical operation, Specter-One. Failure is not an option."

Evans paused and switched to another slide displaying an insignia: a stylized Hydra emblem.

"There's more. We've intercepted communications suggesting Khalid has connections to a terrorist organization called Hydra. They're a global network with ambitions far beyond the Middle East. Our intel now indicates they are using stolen Stark and United States technology to build a weapon—one that could destabilize entire regions. Investigating their involvement is secondary, but if you find anything linking Khalid to this project, we need it."

Lance nodded, his face impassive. "Understood. What's the timeline?"

"You deploy tonight. A C-130 will drop you outside the operational zone. From there, you'll be on your own. Exfil will be by Black Hawk at the designated LZ once the mission is complete. Questions?"

"No, sir."

Evans gave a curt nod. "Good. Dismissed."

Hours later, under the cover of darkness, Lance was aboard the C-130 Hercules, his gear secured and mind focused.

The low hum of the engines was a constant reminder of the mission ahead.

When the green light illuminated, he leapt from the aircraft, freefalling into the Syrian desert. His parachute deployed silently, and he landed with practiced precision, quickly stowing his chute and moving to the rally point.

The oppressive heat of the Syrian desert pressed down as Lance adjusted his scarf, concealing most of his face.

His eyes, shielded by tactical goggles, scanned the compound through the scope of his suppressed M110 semi-automatic sniper system.

Perched on a crumbling minaret overlooking a small village on the outskirts of Raqqa, he waited for confirmation from the operations center.

"Specter-One, this is Overwatch. Target confirmed in the compound. ID matches the face: Khalid al-Farooq. Proceed with discretion," came the calm, professional voice of his CIA handler over the encrypted comms.

"Copy that," Lance replied, his voice a cold whisper.

Sliding his rifle into its carry bag, Lance descended the minaret, his movements silent and precise.

His gear was optimized for this operation: a suppressed Glock 19, a combat knife, and a small drone for reconnaissance.

He blended into the shadows, his dark tactical gear rendering him nearly invisible.

Reaching the perimeter of the compound, Lance deployed the drone, maneuvering it expertly to scope out entry points.

A window on the east side was ajar, providing an opportunity. He made his way there, avoiding the patrolling guards with calculated timing.

Inside, the air was heavy with the stench of unwashed bodies and cheap tobacco.

Lance moved like a wraith, navigating the dimly lit corridors. As he approached the second floor, a sudden, jarring sensation overcame him.

For a brief second, his vision went black, replaced by a vast emptiness. It was as though he were suspended in a void, surrounded by nothingness. The sensation passed as quickly as it came, leaving him momentarily disoriented.

He shook his head, regaining focus, and crouched in the darkness, assessing his options.

'No time for distractions.'

He retrieved a pebble from his pocket and flicked it down the hall.

The faint noise drew one guard's attention, as the man moved to investigate, Lance pounced.

His blade found the first guard's neck in a silent, lethal strike.

Before the second guard could react, Lance's Glock hissed twice, the suppressed rounds dropping the man where he stood.

Khalid al-Farooq's door was ajar, light spilling into the hallway.

Lance pushed it open silently, stepping into the room.

Khalid was seated at a desk with a thawb and keffiyeh scarf, engrossed in a laptop.

He barely had time to register Lance's presence before the barrel of the Glock pressed against his temple.

"Khalid al-Farooq," Lance said, his voice devoid of emotion. "You have raised concerns for national security to the Central Intelligence Agency and the U.S., and for that, you must be terminated."

The suppressed shot was final, the body slumping forward onto the desk.

Lance quickly retrieved the laptop and any documents of interest, stuffing them into his pack. Among the items was a flash drive bearing the insignia of Hydra and another with the splinter cell activities. 

Intrigued, Lance inserted the drive into a portable decryptor.

Lines of encrypted files scrolled across his screen, detailing shipments of advanced weapons and technology. Some of the correspondence hinted at partnerships with rogue states and black-market dealers.

As he scanned further, Lance found alarming details.

The files revealed that Hydra had been acquiring advanced Stark Industries technology—and U.S. defense innovations—through illicit means.

They were using this stolen technology to build a weapon that could destabilize entire regions.

Among the intelligence were blueprints for a missile system incorporating classified energy-based components, suggesting a hybrid weapon that defied conventional categorization.

The flash drive also identified a "Commander" within Hydra overseeing the operation.

One file stood out: a manifest detailing a weapons shipment scheduled to arrive in Eastern Europe within the next month, with components clearly marked as U.S.-originated.

Lance quickly copied all the data onto a secure drive, knowing this information was critical.

Placing a small charge near the desk—enough to destroy the room and obscure any evidence of his presence—Lance retreated swiftly.

The explosion would erase his trail while plunging the compound into chaos.

As Lance exfiltrated, another fleeting hallucination struck him.

'Fuck, what the hell...'

The empty darkness returned, and with it, the sensation of being watched by an unseen presence.

The moment passed, leaving Lance wondering. He pressed forward though, determined to finish the mission he had started.

Guards swarmed the hallways in confusion, their shouts echoing through the compound. Lance moved with calculated precision, dispatching a pair of guards with his suppressed Glock.

One round found its mark in the first guard's chest, while a follow-up double-tap silenced the second before he could raise the alarm.

Descending a stairwell, Lance encountered a heavily armed group sweeping the lower levels.

Using the chaos to his advantage, he lobbed a flashbang into their midst. The blinding light and deafening sound incapacitated the group, allowing Lance to neutralize them with swift, decisive strikes.

His combat knife flashed under the dim lights, and within moments, the threat was eliminated.

As he approached the perimeter, a guard tower came into view, its searchlight sweeping the desert. Lance crouched behind cover, waiting for the beam to pass.

Timing his movements perfectly, he scaled the tower silently, dispatching the sentry with a chokehold.

He disabled the light, plunging the area into darkness, and made his way to the exfil point.

Minutes later, he was back at his exfil point, where a Black Hawk helicopter hovered low to the ground.

"Mission accomplished. Package secured," Lance reported as he climbed aboard, the rotors whipping up a sandstorm around him.

"Good work, Specter-One," Overwatch replied.

Hours later back at Langley, Lance sat in the debriefing room, going over the data with a team of analysts.

The discovery of Hydra's operations—and their connection to stolen Stark and United States technology to build a game-changing weapon—was a major breakthrough.

The CIA higher ups and DoD would most certainly be cheerful now 

As the analysts pored over the files, Lance leaned back in his chair, his mind briefly wandering.

The weird hallucinations didn't stop.

That evening, while walking through Langley, Lance experienced another flash of the black void. This time, it was accompanied by a faint whisper—an incomprehensible murmur that sent chills down his spine.

Later that night, Lance returned to his apartment.

The quiet hum of the city outside was a stark contrast to the chaos he had left behind in Syria.

He poured himself a glass of whiskey and sat on the balcony, the cool night air brushing against his face.

Lance sat on his couch, staring blankly at the wall.

He blinked, and suddenly, he found himself in the familiar place of nothingness—an empty void that seemed to stretch infinitely in all directions. The silence was oppressive, yet somehow almost calming.

A voice echoed around him, deep and resonant. "Interesting..."

Before he could react, he blinked again and was back on his couch, the dim light of his apartment grounding him in reality. Lance rubbed his temples, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

'Keeps getting worse and worse, heh, anchor yourself and focus.'

Shaking his head, he grabbed a big glass bottle of whiskey from the fridge, hoping the drink would help him process the disnormal surreal experience.

The cool liquid slid down his throat as he sat back down, the weight of the day pressing down on him.

With a sigh, he placed the empty bottle on the table and fell asleep instantly on the couch.