- Harbinger: Drake
- > You are Drake the unit commander for the 7th region of ENFF
- > You used to be a mercenary, but the life wore on your soul
- > You felt like you were dying inside
- > So retirement was a breath of fresh air
- > However, the money didn't last long
- > After it ran out you became an exterminator to pay the bills
- > You didn't have many marketable skills in the states but you don't complain about killing
- > Few people in the world are as skilled as you are with dealing death
- > Though that weighs on your mind every day
- > You're relieved at least it isn't against humans this time around
- > The screams of men, women, and children still haunt your thoughts
- > The fluffy ponies you hunt don't help
- > The fuckers sound like little kids
- > Who thought that was a good idea?
- > You might rethink your policy on killing people if you meet em'
- > Well, maybe not but
- > You would definitely deck em'
- > If they didn't make these things though you wouldn't be employed right now
- > Give thanks for the small things I guess
- "Sigh-"
- > You breathe a deep hollow sigh
- > Like your namesake, the Fire Drake, you billow smoke
- > A cheap cigarette burns slowly in your right hand
- > The crystal glass in your left now empty
- > With a light clink the glass is placed on the table
- > Smooth music plays in the house
- > The cigarette butt is put out in the tray now overflowing and you return inside
- > Seems like you're always hunting someone
- > This time it's something
- > Another bottle of J&B Scotch
- > The hardwood under your feet leaves a hollow sound as you walk through the house
- > It's modest in size, but full of personality
- > Trophies and gifts from a better time
- > The gratitude of locals, company, countries
- > A quick glance at the framed dog tags on the wall sends a wave of pain through you
- > You ache for some scotch medicine
- > Entering the wine cellar under a trapdoor in the kitchen floor you find your prize
- > One of the few things in your life that you cherish
- > J&B 1959 Welsh Scotch
- > Aged to perfection
- > As you return from the cellar you hear voices
- > The voices of children
- "Not right now, not on my day off"
- > Briskly entering the living room a quick scan shows no fluffies
- > Nor any fluffy activity
- > Back door is still closed too
- > The voices are still persisting
- "Hey! Get out of here! Get out!"
- > The voices grow louder
- > Screams, cries, and pleas are now audible
- > Are they outside?
- > Stuck on the fence maybe?
- > You rush outside and see no fluffies
- > The carefully managed lawn is free of any animals
- > Fluffy or otherwise
- > The voices are now a cacophony of screams
- > Fire burns around you
- > Voices drowning in flames
- > The noise is deafening
- > You drop the bottle on the grass and take a knee covering your ears
- > Eyes shut as hard as you can you strain to take the noise
- > Screams, fire, and then
- > A flame thrower
- > Flames spewed over men pleading for their families, women protecting their children, the faces of children trapped in homes screaming
- > Just screaming
- > A maelstrom of noise that claws at your very soul
- > And then, a sound the likes of which no person should bear
- > The screams of an infant
- "STOP!"
- > Silence
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Harbinger: Drake 1
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