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LOCATION: CORK AIRPORT
CITY: CORK, IRELAND
DATE: AUGUST 21, 2026 | TIME: 3:30 AM
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System Broadcast
Vitalyx Recipients: 7,896,443,075
Rejuvenex Recipients: 1,501,009,473
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@DublinDaniel: "What butter and whiskey can't cure…" no longer applies! Although any good Irishman would refuse to give up either. #Vitalyx #Rejuvenex #ButterAndWhiskey
@TrollKing694U: Keep pumping those arteries full of sludge and test the limits! Maybe you'll be the first to die. You can do it!
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Since the Peacekeeper Tutorial ended six months prior, Erik Drexler had been bored.
After a Tutorial that was designed to test even the most elite warriors from Earth, daily life just lacked any semblance of challenge and excitement.
Even training ops with the Kommando Spezialkräfte (KSK), German's elite special forces unit, left him feeling uninspired.
So the day he got the call from Grim that there was a critical mission in Cork, Erik packed his bags and hopped in his Audi RS7 for an adrenaline-filled drive on the Autobahn to the Mannheim City Airport, where Grim assured him a private jet would be waiting.
Grim had called him just after midnight.
"Erik, how are you, my friend?"
"Bored, Grim. Bored. Got anything exciting?"
Grim laughed.
"A Spetsnaz unit of six is headed for a Vitalyx and Rejuvenex manufacturing plant in Cork, Ireland. Their mission is theft of data, then complete destruction of the facility."
"I'll take them on myself," Erik said.
Grim paused. "We can assign a few men to support."
"Ever since I got back home," Erik said, "I've been itching for a challenge. Give me six hours and then send them in."
Grim laughed again.
"I thought you might say that. There's a jet waiting for you at Mannheim City Airport, cleared and ready to go. Only intel we have is that they plan to strike just before dawn. Good hunting."
As Erik pulled up to the small, regional airport, he handed the keys to an attendant near the hangar, and boarded the plane.
He was already wearing combat fatigues, but his tomahawks were in a bag he carried with him.
As the plane taxied on the runway, the pilot began talking on the in-cabin speaker system.
"Welcome aboard, Captain Drexler. We've got a two-hour flight to Cork, and the target facility is less than a mile from the airport there. Graham Thorne says there's a bag of goodies stowed for you under the cabin floor. He said you'd know where to find it."
Drexler smiled.
He looked around for a minute and found a tiny hatch hidden underneath one of the cabin chairs.
He pulled on it, and a floor panel popped up a few millimeters.
When Drexler lifted the panel, he found a black ballistic nylon bag. He pulled it out. It was heavy.
Not too heavy for Drexler to handle, but heavy enough to give him a hint of what was inside.
He stood and hit the button for the intercom.
"Thanks, Captain. I've got the goods, and it looks like hunting season. Let me know when we're fifteen minutes out. Appreciate the lift."
After the pilot acknowledged, Erik set the hefty bag on the large conference table and zipped it open.
The zipper was oiled and silent. It's always the small things that contribute to success in the field, and Erik was glad to see this level of attention to detail.
When he pulled the top of the bag open, he found a neat collection.
Everything was packed with military precision. Dense foam cutouts held each weapon in place, wrapped in oiled cloth to keep moisture away. Grim hadn't missed a thing.
A suppressed Accuracy International AXMC sniper rifle chambered in .338 Lapua Magnum was the first piece that caught Drexler's eye.
He removed it from the bag and checked it over. It was matte black with a folding stock. A detachable 27-inch barrel sat beside it, along with a Schmidt & Bender scope. It was like a work of art.
Deadly art. Especially in the hands of an expert marksman like Drexler.
He cleaned and checked the rifle before replacing it in the bag. Then he moved on to the assault rifle.
An HK416A5 waited for him, along with so much ammo Drexler thought Christmas had come early.
Two suppressed sidearms, a matched pair of Sig Sauer P226 pistols were nestled in the bag along with holsters. Drexler clipped the holsters and clips of ammo to his fatigues after checking them.
Just as in skydiving, an experienced operator never simply accepts equipment from others without checking it himself. Erik was meticulous, as were most special operators across the world.
The ones who tended to live longer, at any rate.
Finally, he attached his tomahawks to his belt. Resting in custom leather sheaths, the axes gleamed. Erik ran his finger along the edge. No combat knife could ever cut like these.
He stowed the rest of the equipment back in the bag, zipped it back up, and just as he sat back to close his eyes and focus, the fifteen-minute warning came over the speaker.
"Show time," he thought.
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LOCATION: ORACELL PHARMACEUTICAL MANUFACTURING
CITY: ATLANTIC CITY, NEW JERSEY
DATE: AUGUST 21, 2026 | TIME: 9:30 AM
When it came to locating his visionary manufacturing footprint, Elliot Voss had believed in the old principle of hiding in plain sight.
Skirting the Jersey Shore on the outskirts of Atlantic City, Oracell Pharmaceutical Manufacturing was nestled at the end of the road in a dingy industrial park.
If one were to look them up, they'd find the company made generic gel caps that were all the rage in the vitamin and supplement industry.
The surface-level facility looked as uninspiring as any other outfit in the industrial park. A squat rectangle of beige concrete with peeling blue trim, its chain-link fence sagged in places where rust had eaten through. A sun-faded vinyl banner hung by the loading bay doors, boasting "ORACELL – Leading the Way in Nutritional Supplements."
If one were to look under the hood, however, there was a three-level basement facility that required special access.
This section housed a labyrinth of steel and glass cleanrooms where the future of humanity was being brewed.
The Russians, while attempting to be subtle by striking under the cover of darkness in Cork, had apparently thrown caution to the wind in New Jersey.
This area of town wasn't exactly quiet. And most of the other buildings in the industrial park had fallen to decay and vacancy long ago.
The air reeked of brine and diesel. In the distance, gulls shrieked while wind rattled broken panes of glass.
Grim, Brick, and Aria had arrived on site hours ago.
Aria was perched atop one of the vacant buildings. She was laying prone on the roof, covered by rusted steel panels and dirty fabric. The sniper rifle poked out of the hiding spot, constantly scanning the possible approach angles.
Grim and Brick were hiding in different ambush spots around the Oracell building. They'd been there for hours.
Nathan Rourke had flagged a private flight that had arrived at Atlantic City airport three hours prior. The routing was strange, and Grim was sure it was the team from Russia.
So as they lay in wait, their System-enhanced bodies able to stay completely still for hours as needed, they were ready to strike.
"Heads up," Aria's voice whispered over the comms. "Got eight tangos coming in hot from the east."
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System Broadcast
Vitalyx Recipients: 7,942,007,696
Rejuvenex Recipients: 1,955,745,356
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@DodgersSuck420: As a devoted Yankees fan, I want to know what happens to professional sports. How will they compete when everyone lives forever and has perfect health?
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