Page 35 of Tainted Souls
Code: Revenant
Name:Unknown
Classification: Whiteshade
Clan Affiliation: Ravens
Threat Level: Catastrophic
Bounty: 10.000.000
Sex: Male
Each of their codes sound like a wisp pulled from the same old story, the kind that speaks of restless spirits that kept haunting the living after Mythcrest burned. Their titles evoke not just the creatures themselves, but the lingering dread that history had long attached to the shadows of the dead.
Redmoore probably didn’t believe it, but they used the tale anyway. It’s the version that struck the deepest, far more effective in terrifying the masses than any clinical explanation. It plants dread, ensuring that Redmoore’s enemies live on in rumor long after the ink dries on their file. And in doing so, Redmoore stands bright and mighty—the lone flame brave enough to walk into the dark and face them.
A notification pops up on my screen, a message from General Lee.
Report to medical at 1600 hours for implantation. Standard tracking protocol.
Running on empty, I close the terminal and head for the shower, stripping off my blood-stained clothes as I go. The hot water does little to ease the tension in my muscles or the churning in my mind. In about fifteen hours, I’ll be standing face to face with the woman who turned Max, offering myself as bait.
A technician in a white lab coat gestures me toward an examination table. “This won’t take long,” she says, prepping a small metallic device. “The tracker is subcutaneous, virtually undetectable unless someone’s specifically looking for it.”
I roll up my sleeve, exposing my forearm. “Just get it over with.”
She swabs the area with antiseptic. “It has a range of approximately twenty miles and transmits your vital signs as well as location. If you’re in distress, we’ll know.”
The device presses against my skin.
There’s a brief sting followed by a burning sensation as the tracker embeds itself beneath the surface. The technician applies a small bandage and steps back.
“All set,” she says, making a note on her tablet. “General Lee is waiting for you in the briefing room.”
When she’s done speaking, someone holds the door open for me.
“Thank you.”
The briefing forOperation Wraith: Exchangeis concise.
I’ll be dropped off at the edge of Blackham, with no more than one escort who gets to secure the deal, as demanded in the note. A team of slayers will be ready to rappel down at all times, should anything go south, and to retrieve me once the exchange has been made. The plan sounds simple enough, but we all know it’s anything but.
As the last light bleeds from the sky, I find myself inside the aircraft, heading toward Blackham. General Lee sits across from me, his face illuminated by the soft blue glow of his tactical display. Twelve slayers sit in formation behind us, their faces grim beneath the neurobands hugging their heads. From it, flat visors project directly into their vision, feeding data that detects rapid movement, predicts trajectories, and filters the world into threats and innocents.
While taking a quick look around, I recognize two of them from my days at Redmoore: Mira Chen and Henry Krov, both veterans who survived the massacre by virtue of being on assignment elsewhere.
“Seraph,” Mira acknowledges me with a curt nod. Her almond eyes assess me with professional detachment, but I catch the glint of respect in them.
“Mira,” I reply with a wave, greeting her. “Been a while.”
Henry gives me a smile, but doesn’t say anything.
“The tracker is functioning perfectly,” the general says, his eyes on the screen. “Remember, do not give yourself up until we’ve confirmed the blood is hers.”
I turn back in my seat and nod. “How will you know?”
He slides a device across the table, sleek and no larger than a pen. He then opens a case filled with blood vials, ones I recognize as ours—human. “Simple matter of testing how it responds with the blood of her victims.”
