How Far Must We Fall?

"Accessing the feed now." A chipper female voice reported.

A live feed of a drizzling downtown street fizzled to life on-screen with a faint click. The nocturnal cityscape was submerged in hues of blue and static shadows against a backdrop of twinkling lights and reflective rain puddles.

"We're in." The female said around a cocky smirk, the brief thrill of a small victory quickly faded as translucent lines of code scrolled across the camera feed.

"...Though I don't know for how long."

The hacker's frown was audible, though she quickly stuffed it behind the well-practiced mask of a focused professional. The screen switched to another angle of the dreary night time street then focusing on a two-story building with several holographic banners proudly proclaiming, "Advent Gene Therapy Clinic" in shimmering neon letters.

The female hacker drew a tiny shuddering breath as a veritable hive of armor figures of all sized trooped around the building even though midnight had already passed them by.

"Are…. are you seeing this?" She stammered. "This is way too much security, even for Advent."

"That is no ordinary gene therapy clinic." A low growl replied. "They were telling the truth." He added in an astonished tone.

"Or they are leading us into a trap." The female snarked with a loud roll of her eyes. "A really obvious trap." The screen split into a plethora of different camera angles giving almost full coverage of the gene therapy clinic detailing just how out of depth they really were. "We'd need an army to march in there right now."

"Shen, I think I have a better idea." The middle-aged timber wolf growled around a smirk as he straightened up from staring at the screen before him, his pointed ears flicking to attention.

The wolf was tall for his species with a scar running down the right side of his muzzle, his sharp features were flecked with grey and toned muscles spoke of his rigid dedication to fitness even at 55 years of age. The tan combat uniform he wore was neatly tucked in with every detail squared away, the only indication of weariness came from the circles under his eyes and the limp way his gray tail hung behind him.

The wolf looked away from the dire situation displayed on the wide screen before him and pushed a button on his earpiece.

"Reaper, this is Central." The wolf gave the screen one last pensive look as he weighed the burden of what he was about to order.

His hesitation was only for but a moment, hardly long enough for someone to think anything of it, but An-Yi "Skye" Shen, the arctic fox sitting at the controls just in front of Central Officer Wolford, knew the grizzled veteran better than most.

She glanced back at Wolford with sadness in her deep blue eyes, she knew that narrowed eyed look, it was the same type of haunted look that drove him to the bottle.

He hated this.

She knew that, but there was nothing to be done. They needed to know what was in there, so someone must do it, even if the person in question must do it alone.

She watched his chest expand with a long, slow breath to steel his resolve, then his spoke a single word with the power of a courtroom gavel.

"Go."

"..."

"U-um…" Confusion and concern was evident on Shen's face as she rapidly tapped through the numerous camera feeds in a vain attempt to find their lone operative. "W-where is he?"

"Reaper, report!" Wolford barked into his earpiece. Again, he was met with deafening silence.

A rumbling growl rose from the pit of Central's chest. He was not in the mood to play games, but he grudgingly realized from past experiences that when dealing with eccentric types like the lone operative out in that rain-soaked street the only way to get them to cooperate was to…. Well, feed their eccentricities. The exhausted and stressed timber wolf kneaded his temples with his free paw to stave a quickly growing migraine.

"A-agent…. Agent Blueberries, this is Central." His voice squeaked in embarrassment at the operative's ridiculous codename.

In an almost pleading voice he begged into the earpiece, "Go."

If Shen hadn't just so happened to have been staring at the camera angle aimed at the rear of the clinic she would have missed the black blur tumble from the top of a nearby apartment building. She gasped at what she realized was their operative plummet street ward before catching a paw on a pole and spinning off it in an incredible acrobatic display fit for a squirrel.

As soon as the blur slingshot from the pole it vanished into the shadows.

The blur, or more accurately Agent Blueberries, clung to the underside of a pavilion overlooking the street below, his mask's eyepieces giving off an eerie glow, a common feature of all Reaper gear. A black trench coat clung to his lithe and deceptively powerful frame over the set of meticulously sewn kevlar and composite body armor. His paws were wrapped in what appeared to me boxing tape with plates of pitch black ionized steel buckled to her forearms and shins.

He looked all the world like a vengeful ghost with an emo flair and a thing for swords judging by the long blade tucked underneath his trench coat.

He watched patiently as a pair of Advent foot soldiers marched around the building below him, their bodies were clad in a bullet resistant body glove accessorized by thick composite armor plates complete with utility pouches and ammunition.

One of the troopers was a wolf judging by his size and body type, along with the wide, fuzzy muzzle thrust out from underneath Advent's signature red and black helmet that covered everything but the mammal's muzzle and ears. The second trooper was much smaller, only reaching just above his wolf companion's waist, a weasel of some kind perhaps, from the thin snout sticking out from underneath that helmet.

Both mammals carried Advent standard issue magnetic rifles, though the weasel's was a bit smaller. The rifle looked too tall and blocky for the Reaper's taste, but he knew firsthand the results of standing in front of the business end of those weapons and he was in no hurry to relive that experience.

As the two troopers vanished around the corner the Reaper took quick stock of his surroundings before zeroing in on what he was looking for, an air duct just a few feet away on the same wall he clung to. He pushed off the wall and caught the grate with his claws.

It took about ten seconds, but it felt like an eternity before the Reaper freed the grate from the wall allowing the masked intruder to slide inside and replace the grate with a soft clatter. The clamor of a heated argument guided the Reaper through a short maze of winding ventilation shafts before finding his mark through the shutters of an air duct, a glass casket with a green glow backdrop.

Three mammals were in the dark laboratory, a fluffy sheep and a deer clad in lab coats and an armed Advent officer. The sheep was kneeling on the floor frantically fiddling with one of the tubes feeding into the glass casket as the deer argued with the officer a few feet away.

The officer was a greater one-horned rhinoceros clad in blood red Advent armor with a matching red sash draped down his left shoulder. Despite the impressive difference in height the deer stood up straight and looked the towering rhino officer in the eye, even though his trembling was obvious.

"...Of course, we know how critical this is to the Avatar project! But with the accelerated timeline you've placed upon us mistakes are bound to happen!" The frizzled white-tailed deer in a lab coat pleaded his case to rhinoceros.

The argument was interrupted by another pair of Advent troopers marching into the dark chamber.

"Voz Mortan, Natal!" The rhino officer boomed. He thrust a stubby nail at the cowering deer signaling the closest trooper to latch onto the now panicked deer to drag him from the room.

"No! Please!" The Deer begged as he was forcefully escorted from the lab.

One of the Advent troopers, another wolf, stayed and loomed over the sheep with magnetic rifle in paw as the unfortunate scientist meekly scrambled to finish his work. He half turned to look up at the frowning trooper and spoke up in a trembling voice.

"No need for, for any of this. I will do what you ask of me, I just need additional time-!" A hiss of fabric parting and a wet crunch interrupted the sheep's bleating.

"D-did you say…. something?" He turned to look up at the trooper in confusion.

The stunned sheep watched as the wolf's arms sagged before the canine flopped to the floor like a sack of wet noodles. The sheep let out an involuntary bleat of terror as he spotted the smaller creature that rode the slain Advent trooper's shoulders to the floor.

The Reaper's expression was hidden behind his glowing green mask as he cocked his head to the side much like a curious pup would do before he ripped his blade from the trooper's spine, the sharpened steel glistened a sickly orange in the dim laboratory light.

"Y-your one of those!" The sheep cowered before the medium sized mammal that stalked ever closer with his bloody blade raised above his head poised to strike. The Sheep stumbled backward with his hooves shielding his face.

"Wait! You, you must understand, I. had. no. choice!"

The Reaper's silence was deafening but his blade spoke the answer as it sang through the air toward the sheep's neck.

"Agent Blueberries, report!" The Reaper's blade stopped cold, the steel tickled against the sheep's wool.

The scientist stared wide-eyed at the blade, as if confused as to why it wasn't already buried inside his throat. In a sudden jerk the Reaper spun the blade around and smashed the blunt pommel against the sheep's temple knocking the unlucky mammal out cold.

As the sheep toppled boneless to the floor the Reaper turned his attention to the glass casket before him. He stepped ever closer as if in a trance until he was nearly nose to nose with the cold glass, and the towering mammal suspended inside, trapped in a full body suit that covered everything but two swirling horns that stuck horizontally from the brow of the suit's mask.

The Reaper slid a black furred paw inside his hood and clicked the earpiece nestled there.

"Central, this is Agent Blueberries. I have visual confirmation." The Reaper's voice crackled and fizzed like a poorly tuned radio.

"Are you sure?" Wolford growled.

"Reapers are always sure." Agent Blueberries shot back.

"I'll take your word for it. Cover your tracks and get the Hell outta there. They can't know that we were here." Central felt the corners of his lips peel back in a satisfied snarl.

"... Yet."

"Understood. Agent Blueberries out." The Reaper released the earpiece and paused to look up at the mammal trapped in that suit, his emotions hidden by the mask clasped around his muzzle.

"Hang in there Chief." The Reaper said in a quiet, remorseful whisper. His voice cracked, though it was unclear whether that was due to the mask or something else entirely.

"This is where the real war begins."