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