HERETIC

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝟖

Walking the hall, Ezra talks to himself, giving a passing door a punch shut. He marches by another locker room.

The open door holds his figure for a moment as he walks by, a lone unit member gearing up, Ezra catching sight of him just as he pulls a helmet with dark face shield down over his head.

Leaning back in the door, Ezra gives the helmet a closer look, a smile starting to lift his lips.

The men and women find their stations inside the jeeps, Michael climbing in the driver's seat beside Hera.

Turning the engine, he pauses, the head count telling him he's missing a member in the back seat by Dantanian. At that, the last team member trots out, his dark face shield taking away his identity as he rushes to climb inside the jeep, giving Michael a nod.

"Did you get lost?" Michael asks grumpily.

The man shrugs, re-situating his carbine between his legs.

The convoy of 2 jeeps drives into a small town. Stopping under the only stoplight at the center of main street, Hera watches the lamp sway, wires fraying and metal creaking. Her eyes lower to the end of the street, finding the edge of the black storm.

It swirls across the street, curving around the narrow buildings, the remnants of an American flag whipping outside of the local barber, the fabric ripped and tattered, the years of damage, leaving it as shreds clung to the pole by threads. Windows broken, debris sweeps through the stores, large rubble having crashed into the brick walls, blasting some parts away, adding to the dust of the storm.

"Let's see what happens, shall we?" Michael spouts , turning off the engine and climbing from the car.

Jerking with a little shock, the faceless team member turns his helmeted head between the storm ahead and Michael, then back. Not wanting to lag, he hops from the jeep.

The rest of the unit comes under the swinging traffic light, holding their carbines across their bulletproof vests, the padding not so much for bullets, but the dangerous debris soaring through the air at high speeds.

Stepping up by the front of the first jeep, Hera watches the storm, her brows lowering and face holding determination, her eyes brightening to a light blue glow, her milky eyes a faded hue. "You ready, Hera?" Michael asks across the hood to her. Staring at the powerful winds, her focus holds as she just starts walking towards it, leaving the group behind.

Setting his speed to a steady walk, Michael lifts his carbine over his chest, keeping pace with Hera, the rest of the unit following suit.

Gradually, the group arrives at the edge of the storm, Hera taking a moment, before taking her first step of a barefoot inside. Each man and women make their way into the storm, the last being the faceless team member, halting and raising a gloved hand to the winds. He stares as the storm swirls by as though it is a perfect border. He moves his hand into the storm, watching the black sand like debris wisp through his fingers. Taking a breath behind his helmet, he steps inside as though having to push his body forward.

They walk down the street, aimed for the edge of the small town and beyond into whatever terrain will follow. Reaching the edge of town, a couple members of the unit suddenly stop. Watching all around him, Michael calls for all to halt, raising a fist in the dark, gritty air. The rest of the unit watches those who first stopped, soon others beginning to act strangely.

"Already?" Dantanian asks Michael.

"They've had training, they might come out of it." He watches his team members begin their fights against illusions.