Daredevil Thinking

The flash of lightning lit up the drenched rain forest floor for only a brief second, and the following thunder cracked so violently that the canopies of the trees seemed to cower beneath the darkened sky. During a downpour like this, especially when hurricane Evelyn was just off the coast of Rio de Janeiro by no more than ten or twelve miles, all animals and any rural inhabitants in the area would have retreated to shelter. But among the cautionary locals, one man seemed to be out of his mind, running through the rain forest in modified, light Alliance armor. A helmet shielded his face from the heavy rain drops, and the sleek blade sheathed on his backed glinted under the rapid flashes of lightning. A spray of mud collided with his chest plate when his boots slammed into the ground, slightly covering a white and red N7 logo.

Most of the hills and cliffs in the State of Rio blocked the violet winds of the hurricane thrashing into the populated areas, but the soldier still had to watch his footing when standing next to dangerous drops on the sides of tower rock faces, or leaping through tree branches. One strong enough gush was all that was needed to send him flying. But the weather wasn't his only foe out in the wilderness. His eyes focused extensively on every shadow, every nook, and every possible hiding place. With each step forward, he also looked over his shoulder, for at this particular moment of his life, he wasn't just the hunter - he was also the hunted.

Several minutes of peace below the raging storm passed as he traversed the thick Brazilian rain forest. Finally, he came to a rare, circular opening about one hundred meters in diameter. The terrain was relatively flat and the weeds were waste high. This was the spot; there was no mistaking it.

The man reached around and unsheathed the katana over his shoulder. Just as he heard the flicker of his opponent's cloak, he spun around and his blade connected with her's. In many ways, their armor was similar, all the way down to the N7 logos; but where he had a haidate around his thighs, she had none.

"So it begins," he said.

Without a single utterance from her own lips, his opponent kicked off of his own leg and back flipped through the air, landing gracefully in the weeds. He glimpsed her head disappearing below the tall blades.

Despite being very much alike in their agility, speed, and graceful skills with a blade, each of them had their unique abilities. He was a biotic, an Alliance vanguard by classification; and she was an assassin, as quiet and stealthy as a cat stalking its prey. When she cloaked herself, the man would have to rely on the elements to keep tabs on her location. Starting with the rain.

While it was hard to see clearly in this kind of overcast, he was able to make out the subtle and unnatural dispersing of falling rain drops. Drops pinged and splattered against an object that wasn't supposed to be there, and he knew she was rapidly approaching on his left flank. The man reared in that direction and took advantage of the distance still between the two of them. He raised his free hand and opened his palm. In an instant, half of his biotic shield channeled down his arm and focused into a ball in the palm of his hand, stabilized by the phase disrupter technology.

As a violet beam of brilliant energy ripped through the atmosphere, he was sure he would his target. But to his surprise, he caught the flicker of his opponent's cloak dance through the rain and dodge the blast in the nick of time. "Well, son of a bitch..."

"Nice try, Harrison!" he heard her taunt. As if to rub it in, she deactivated her cloak and began sprinting toward him.

The man named Harrison brought his katana up for a high guard as she closed in on his position, but feigned a defensive swing when she lunged toward him. Instead of blocking her own sword, Harrison kicked into an aerial flip and used his biotics to phased through the air. After blinking back into view from trickles of black and violet dark energy, he oriented his body and leaned forward. In another flash of brilliant light, Harrison put everything he had into what was known as a biotic charge; using dark energy to accelerate his body at just under one mach.

This time, there was no dodging. Blades collided with flying spark and his opponent fought against being flattened into the terrain as her dug-in heels were pushed back through the mud. Harrison's charge managed to push her nearly ten yards; and now that they were in close, the swordplay began. When she swung high, Harrison blinked upward and came back down with an eagle strike, only for her to roll left or right and rise up again with a tornado-like lash, colliding with the broadside of his katana. Every now and then, he would attempt to plant a strike on her with his phase disrupters, but she would simply cloak and de-cloak behind him in a similar effort to use her infamous "shadow strike" ability, a trait found only among the elite assassins of the galaxy. When she tried this, he would have to react quickly and phase out again.

Finally, the two began getting tired, and they both knew that the only way to end this fight would be put everything they had left into their most powerful attack. At the same time, in perfect sync, Harrison and his opponent steppe forward and twirled through the air in an acrobatic dance, flipping their bodies upward and down, landing on the opposite foot they started on, all the while lashed their katanas in a deadly swipe that would cut the rain drops into two's. From his katana, a violent uproar of biotic energy flashed forward in sequential bursts. From her's, a similar effect of heart-stopping electrical pulses.

The two forces passed through each other; and, though the speed of each shock wave was unaffected, their mixing caused a dazzling display of lights that rivaled the lightning of the storm above them. Neither Harrison nor his opponent were able to dodge each others' attack and took the full brunt of the shock waves. Harrison felt his body spring into uncontrollable convulsions, like a fish out of water. Every nerve in his body felt as though it was on fire and he cried out in pain as he was thrown back several meters. After that... total darkness.

Harrison awoke several minutes later to the sight of an Alliance medical technician's flashlight blinding his eyes. His hand reached up and swiped the object away. "My sight's fine, doc," he said, "unless you want to blind me."

"Just making sure you don't have a concussion, Lieutenant," the medic responded.

"On your feet, Harrison!" The voice belonged to the female infiltrator he had been fighting moments ago. "You weren't hit that hard; your shield absorbed most of my slash attack."

Harrison looked over and saw her approaching him with an extended hand to help to his feet. She had her helmet removed and tucked under her other arm. Her katana was sheathed over her shoulder. Harrison took her hand and pulled himself up. When on his own two feet, he reached over and took his helmet from the medic's hands, placing it back on to protect his face from the elements. "And how'd you fair against mine, Kyle?"

Lieutenant Amanda Kyle smiled and tucked her auburn pony tail underneath her helmet. "It hurt like a bitch."

The two of them shared a laugh under the rain and turned to head back into the forest with the medic and an entourage of other Alliance personnel that had seemingly shown up out of nowhere during Harrison's blackout. The entire fight had been a training exercise, but it was far from a simple one. Rio de Janeiro was the location of the Alliance's special forces training program. Every man and woman in the navy with an "N" vocational code was trained there, at the Interplanetary Combatives Academy. In short, it was nicknamed either "N-School" or "the villa".

Lieutenant Adam Harrison had recently been granted the honor of wearing the elite N7 vocational code on his uniform and armor. Few ever make it that high, and official IC training only goes up to N6. 7's were those that distinguished themselves from the rest of the wolf pack. Adam's distinguishing moment, however, like most of the 7's in his company, wasn't something to be all that proud of; or to even want to remember.

"Let's go, people!" their instructor commanded from the front of the group. "Hurricane Evelyn's turning into my mother! And I'd like to make it back to the villa before dinner!"

Though Adam's and Amanda's training today wasn't official or on-the-books, it had to be conducted on a regular basis. They were two of six N7 marines that had been specially selected to partake in a new, elite ops program. The simple fact that they didn't know who was running the show meant that it was started by someone way up at the top of the food chain. Harrison's amps and implants were above and beyond "state-of-the-art", and his armor was obviously designed in some skunk works laboratory.

"What do you think's for chow?" Amanda asked as they traversed back through the rain forest toward the Academy compound.

"Dried chicken," he said without hesitation; adding a moment later, "Again."

"I can't wait till I'm off this planet again," she said. "I was off for one year before I get called back to join this program."

"It was optional, though. Why'd you accept?"

"Because 'Go anywhere; do anything' was a damn good sales pitch," she responded. "And I like a challenge when I see one."

"Oh?" Adam teased. "Don't worry. You're not my type." He winked and grinned at her, but he knew his visor was hiding the expression. Regardless, she heard the playful teasing in his voice.

"You're such a charming asshole."

Harrison made his way down the long corridor at the back of the N-School's administrative wing. On the right side of the hallway were offices belonging to the Academy's brass. On the left side was nothing but glass, looking out into the dark storm of a fading Hurricane Evelyn. The lights of Rio offered a comforting glow in the uncertain night; and the famous, monumental statue of Christ the Redeemer stood in the distance on Corcovado, lit up on all sides.

Why he found himself in this shadowed hallway at 0-dark-thirty in the morning, he had no clue. He had been summoned from his sleep by a call on his omni-tool from the Academy's director, General Richard Delacroy. It actually took Harrison's brain a good second to register that General Delacroy was personally requesting his presence in front of his desk. Either this was really bad and he had royally fucked up on something, or this was really good and he was about to receive a medal.

Adam stopped outside Delacroy's office and checked his service uniform one last time before confidently knocking three times on the closed door. He heard Delacroy's rough voice announce, "Come in!"

Adam waved his hand over the access panel and the door slid open. Without hesitation, he marched several paces inside and stopped directly in front of the general's desk. At the position of attention, Adam made eye contact with the general, offered a crisp salute, and said, "Sir, First Lieutenant Adam Harrison reports as ordered."

General Delacroy returned the salute from his chair behind his desk and replied, "At ease, L-T. Do you have any clue why I've called you here this late at night?"

Harrison allowed himself to relax with hands behind his back and feet spread shoulder-width apart, but kept his discipline and bearing when he replied, "No, sir."

"Lieutenant Harrison," Delacroy said, "meet Sibyl Carson; also known as the Operator."

Adam turned his head in the direction that Delacroy was gesturing in with an open hand and saw a woman sitting cross-legged in one of the general's arm chairs off to the side. He had been so tunnel visioned when he entered the man's office that he had completely missed her being there.

"Ma'am," Harrison said in acknowledgement.

Miss Carson was wearing a tailored charcoal black business suit with a white, open collar shirt underneath a slate gray vest. The open jacket revealed a silver belt buckle with a inverted triangle. In the center of the shape was a brilliant sapphire gem. Her dark hair was let down to her shoulders and open enough for Adam to make out tiny blue ear piercings that matched the gem on her belt buckle. Her race was fair, but neutral, despite the fact that she had a slight smile by the up-turned corners of her lips.

"A pleasure to finally meet you, Lieutenant," she greeted in return. "I've been reading up on your dossier." She reached over to an end table on the side of the chair and revealed a rather thick file. She opened the cover and her eyes scanned through several sheets of paper, clipped with various notes and few photographs. One particular excerpt she chose to read aloud, "Graduated from the ICA as an N6 in 2183, shortly before the Battle of the Citadel, during which he bestowed credit upon himself and the Alliance Navy by saving the lives of nearly thirty servicemen from the SSV Cape Town."

Adam looked slightly away from the two of them, already beginning to repress the horrible memory of the choice he had to make in order to save those thirty lives. Whatever dossier Miss Carson was reading, it wasn't giving the whole story; but he was glad it was that way. There needn't be a record of those details.

"You made quite an impression on the Alliance that day, Lieutenant," Carson went on. "Word got all the way up to Admiral Hackett on your performance."

"Thank you, ma'am," Adam replied, deciding to take everything she was saying as a compliment.

Carson placed the dossier back down on the table and stood up from the chair, folding her arms in front of her torso. "But I'm sure you'd rather know why you're here and not drag out the past. In truth, you're being selected for a special posting and reassigned to work for me."

Harrison's eyes darted to Delacroy and the general nodded, resting his chin on clasped hands. "Effective immediately," he added.

"What's the assignment, ma'am?" Adam returned to Carson.

The woman smiled and replied, "An espionage specialist for the Alliance's new deniable operations branch... Oracle."