In anticipation for Ashfall releasing in November (exact date to be confirmed) I thought I'd drop chapter one to let you see what you're in for.

Enjoy!!

Chapter 1 – Nyx 

"Shit, this damn scope,” I murmur, trying to adjust myself as discreetly as possible. The wind changed its path about twenty minutes ago, disrupting my carefully planned position. It meant that my bullets, should I need to use them, had a little helping hand from my angle. We've been here in the woodlands of western Russia for three hours now. We sit concealed amongst the foliage as the sun sets to the east, plunging the forest into a steady decline of darkness. Graves, our unit Commander, deployed us here earlier - just another day in the office. Except our office usually consists of bullets flying instead of fingers hitting keyboards. We're monitoring activity in a warehouse about five hundred feet below the wooded cliff edge, watching a potential deal with a well-known hostile group unfold below. These fuckers have been arranging more meetings than usual over the past few months, which could only mean one thing: they're gearing up for their big finale. 

We’re currently hunting a well known terrorist, one whose very name sends shockwaves through our military. Volokov. He’s spent years edging closer and closer to building a chemical weapon, etching his name right at the top of the US most wanted list. He claims the throne to anarchism. His terror stretches across Europe, and every now and then, he likes to tease a threat over to the States, reminding us we’re not out of his reach. And for all the years he’s been chased down, he somehow always manages to slip into the darkness of shadows. We’re here to finally drag him out of them. 

Officially, our unit's primary objective is to unveil where the weapon is concealed, and neutralise it before it unleashes havoc over international waters. The second is to eliminate the mastermind behind it all and slowly tear away at his empire. Unofficially? It's personal. Volokov and I have unfinished business. And he fucked with the wrong woman. 

He took something from me, something I’ll never get back. 

My partner, Adam, is positioned to the right of me, about a mile to the west and twenty feet higher in the rocky terrain. He's keeping track of the entrance road to the warehouse to notify me when our company arrives. The warehouse is secluded deep in the woods, built only in the last couple of years when Volokov's group moved part of their operations here. It was a smart move; they’d bought this section of land about five years ago, leaving it mostly untouched until this chamber of fun was built. It was the ideal hiding place to arrange all types of underworld activities - and to not be disturbed. Volokov’s always been involved in human trafficking - it’s a stream of income for him to fund his terrorist group - but the warehouse is a new addition. I’m starting to think he’s going into the mass production of human kidnapping by the looks of the layout. We're here to find out what’s going on. 

“Four black SUVs coming straight ahead, Nyx,” Adam's low-pitched voice alerts me down the earpiece. Finally. My back’s starting to hurt. It's been a while since I'd stared down the scope of a Sako TRG. When I pulled it from its sleek carbon case earlier, it corroded my mind with memories I often find myself blocking out. I’m sure I’ll be haunted by one of them in my sleep once I get out of these creepy-ass woods, the souls of the stolen from below feel like they haunt between the trees. The vehicles pull up and park in a half-moon shape, adjacent to the large metal doors. 

I huff out a laugh. “Real Hollywood guys.” All the cars keep their lights on as the driver of the middle one gets out and walks around to the passenger side, opening the door to let out a tall, shrouded figure. I can't make out his face through my scope. He has a large black puffer coat on, the collar pulled up, and a hood lined with thick, wispy beige fur that conceals his profile. 

“Isn't that one of those jackets, lined with coyote fur?” Adam grumbles into my earpiece. 

“What, did you expect these guys to have morals?” Adam and I have been partnered together for two years now. He left the military service a month before that, and was approached by our Director of Special Operations for his hacking and technology skills. Well, I say that - he hacked into the military network as a 'Fuck you' for being dismissed for doing what he morally thought was the right decision during a deployment. I have my reservations about him - he’d served only two years in the military. His combat experience is minimal, but he’s an undeniable asset when it comes to intelligence. Their loss was Ashfall’s gain. 

 We’re the best of the best, each of us hand picked for our specialised capabilities, which is required for such an elite branch. Adam though? His aim still needs to improve, hence why he sticks to technology. I try to help with his training, but he’s more interested in the technical side of a weapon, calculations and shit. He thrives at being a menace behind a screen, and he’s damn good at it, but slightly more hesitant when aiming a gun. 

For the past three years, I've been part of a secret military squad named Ashfall-666. We’re a small collection of top-tier experts from multinational forces. I was only twenty-four when I joined, younger than most, but my experience set me apart. I'd already served in a conventional unit and endured gruelling training to earn a place in Ashfall - all thanks to my parents. My admission wasn’t just luck; I fought my way through one of the toughest selection processes, backed by a strong recommendation that proved I belonged. 

My dad currently serves in a separate division, the details unknown, it’s that deep in the shadows. We’re merely a grey cloud compared to him. I found myself torn between which branch to follow. But Graves, who was my lieutenant then and second in command, had watched over me for years and saw something in me, which suggested that I was destined for more. I fought for every opportunity to get me here. In the end, it wasn’t just my choice; it felt inevitable. I was naturally selected to join the 666 Taskforce. 

I've served in the military since I was seventeen, just like my parents. There was never another career path in my mind. I wanted to be as formidable as my mother. She was the General, earning her four stars by the age of fifty. Following her lead, I left school early and enlisted, with a little help from both her and my dad. I trained relentlessly, honing my skills in close combat with help from my mother, and psychological warfare from my father. If you're fucking with me within ten feet? You'll end up six feet beneath me. And if you’re unlucky enough to be interrogated by me, you best hope your mind has an acropolis made out of ten inch stone. I use fear like an artform. 

Naturally, my reputation grew. I'd taken down men a hundred pounds heavier than me, the kind who looked like they’d eat me for breakfast when we were paired during training. But I made sure they learned fast - General Voss's daughter was not to be underestimated. 

I inherited fearlessness from my mother, along with my father’s lethal, unreadable expressions and swift movements. During one of our training interrogations, I managed to break the girl I was paired up with after an hour. She held firm, but as soon as the bead of sweat rolled down her forehead and merged with her tears, I knew I’d won. I played a high-pitched whistling sound which recoiled off the damp, concrete walls the whole time. I lounged back in the chair, tapping my nails off the metal, occasionally scraping them towards her clamped down hands, and asked the same question over and over. The instructor watched us uneasily before giving me a curt 'Good work,' cutting the session early before vanishing. 

Her feedback was that my eyes made everything else worse. I was once told they were an unsettling shade of green, the rim around them so dark, the iris seemed haunting. I use them to flip a switch, turn as cold and soulless as death, whenever I want to. And this separates me from the rest of the unit, alongside my deceptively small size. At five-foot-five, most people think I’m a small petite thing, but I can swing a knife and take out your jugular and achilles heel quicker than a cobra latching onto its prey. So, between both qualities I inherited and crafted as my own, I had heroes to look up to and thank for them. I never doubted for a second that I would follow the same career; I wasn’t made for civilian life with these capabilities. 

The thump of multiple doors shutting in the distance pulls back my focus. Three figures stand on either side of the SUVs they’ve exited. I can only see the backs of their heads or their side profiles, but I can tell they're all wearing balaclavas. Typical. The man in the furry hood speaks with the guy who had greeted them at the warehouse entrance. The conversation continues as I notice the bob of his head, nodding to the side, signalling his merry band of terrorising ghouls to disappear inside, and they begin to load single crates into each car. “What are you thinking, Nyx? This doesn’t seem to be lining up with the MO,” Adam murmurs into my ear. 

No, it doesn't - we're expecting a human exchange here. The warehouse is built for it; it has a crafted loading bay at the centre for incoming trucks and, from what we’ve managed to gather, there’s steel containers inside that serve as holding cells. I thought they might have someone in the trunk, ready to hand over in exchange for a briefcase full of cash, the usual events that unfold when you sell an innocent human being. Growling, I adjust my scope on the two main guys who are still conversing whilst the rest move inside the building. “I can’t make out what it is or what they’re saying. Can you fly the drone closer without alerting them?” 

“Gimme a sec,” Adam says. I can hear him clicking the buttons on his controller as the drone hovers like a wraith near the warehouse roof. “Gotcha,” he whispers, and faint voices start to filter into our earpieces. It remains undetected by the group of men below, that there’s a surveillance drone hidden above them - concealed by the night sky. 

“I expect I'll be hearing from you soon, once you've had time to look over the information.” The gruff voice comes from the male closest to the door. I recognise him through my scope from the brief. He's been described as a courier of sorts for Volokov, always at this warehouse. He serves as the overseer for any dirty dealings they do. “You will,” our dark hooded guest replies. 

That voice. 

It sends an icy chill down my spine. 

No one - in the entire history of my existence - has ever managed that. 

Not since him. 

“What the fuck,” I breathe out, momentarily losing my range of focus as I feel a wave of unwanted coldness spread over my neck, making the hairs stand on end. “Nyx? What is it?" Adam's voice carries a hint of quiet panic, as it should. But it can't be. There’s no fucking way. It feels like the air's been punched out of my lungs. I can't breathe.     ‘Focus, Nyx,’ I chant over and over in my head, forcing the words through the chaos that’s sparked in my mind, completely ignoring Adam chattering in my ear. I take a deep breath to steady myself, calming the tremor in my hands as I adjust the scope, trying to see more clearly. The courier nods, keeping his gaze low after being dismissed. He steps back as the man in the fur-trimmed coat - now my primary focus - walks backward, his eyes still locked on the courier. 

A familiar awareness prickles over me. The way he moves - like a predator who knows his surroundings better than anyone else. He doesn't misstep once as he makes the short backward walk back to the SUV. He reaches the passenger door and looks up, scanning the front of the metal roof of the warehouse, which cuts the woodland landscape behind it. It's also where our drone is overhead. He can't see it, surely? I can’t fucking see it, it's that well camouflaged. I just know Adam moved it there as he confirmed the coordinates. "Adam, you got a clear visual on this guy?” I ask, desperate to confirm my suspicions, needing to get his face on the recording if I can’t see it with my own eyes. "Affirmative." My heart drops into my stomach. I really need to get it together; there’s no way in hell it’s him. 

He opens the SUV door, moving around it with effortless precision, his dark, leathered gloved hand rests on the roof. My eyes must be burning a hole through him with my stare because, just as he was about to slide into the seat, he hesitates. All I can see now is the short, messy tangle of dark brown hair now that he's turned at an angle to get into the passenger seat. He straightens back out to stand, turning again, just enough for his piercing blue eyes to lock onto mine through the scope - they cut through me like a blade. And in that instant, I cease to exist. 

He winks. 

And I feel my world shatter around me.