Shadow OPS:BLOOD DEBT

The Prototype

Chapter 6: The Prototype

Cave System, Afghanistan — 0835 Hours (Local Time)

The sound came first.

Not footsteps.

Not gears.

Something deeper—like tectonic plates grinding against one another, like something primal waking beneath the surface of the earth.

Reece jolted to his feet, shaking violently, pointing toward the narrow southern tunnel. “Don’t let it see your eyes,” he rasped. “It learns from your eyes.”

Knox turned, rifle up, knees bent, years of combat training locking into place.

Then he saw it.

Emerging from the dark was the prototype.

Seven feet tall. Broad as a freight door. Its frame was clad in black ceramic plating, matte and non-reflective. Limbs moved with unnatural grace—too fluid for a machine, too perfect for a man. Its "face" was a mess of synthetic flesh grafted over armored plating, torn and stitched at the seams. Instead of eyes, it had three glowing red nodes arranged in a triangular pattern.

SIGMA’s next generation of warfare.

Not drones.

Not soldiers.

Something in-between.

0836 Hours — Engagement

Knox aimed for center mass and opened fire.

Rounds pelted the creature's armor—metal pinged, sparks flew. But it didn’t even flinch.

It lunged forward with terrifying speed, closing the thirty meters in less than two seconds.

Knox barely rolled aside as a massive arm smashed the rock wall where he’d just been.

The whole cave shook.

The force was inhuman.

The prototype turned, tracking Knox not by sound or sight—but by heat. A low-pitched whir signaled a thermal scan.

Knox fired a short burst into its “face.” Still nothing.

Then it moved again, grabbing him by the flak vest and slamming him against the cave wall.

Crack.

Knox gasped. Ribs. Definitely broken.

He raised his sidearm, shoved it under the chin of the prototype, and fired twice.

The bullets sparked off the inner skull.

No effect.

0838 Hours — Tactical Shift

Jessa, struggling to stay conscious, pulled her SIG Sauer from her boot holster.

She aimed, gritted her teeth against the pain, and fired three quick rounds into the prototype’s rear knee joint.

A slight jerk—the joint twitched.

Not enough to disable, but enough to distract.

Knox kicked off the wall, wrenching himself free. He dove behind a boulder and yanked Jessa with him.

“EMP?” she gasped.

Knox nodded. “Experimental. Short-range. Only one shot.”

He opened his tactical pouch, pulled out a grenade the size of a hockey puck. A label glowed faintly:

MK-IV EMP – Direct Line Only. 8m Radius.

Knox checked the distance.

Ten meters.

Shit.

The prototype turned toward them, its forearm shifting into a plasma cannon with a low hum. Blue energy collected at the barrel’s mouth.

0840 Hours — Reece’s Choice

Reece stood between them and the prototype.

Confused. Broken. Bleeding. But conscious.

And remembering.

“I was part of the test,” he whispered. “They made me watch. Made me feel what it would be like to betray my team. And then made me want it.”

The prototype raised its cannon.

Knox saw the shot coming. Too fast to move.

Then Reece did the impossible.

He charged.

Screaming.

He slammed his shoulder into the creature’s leg just as it fired.

The plasma shot went wide, exploding into the cave ceiling, sending a rain of hot rubble down.

Knox didn’t think. He broke cover, hurled the EMP grenade directly at the prototype’s chest.

THUNK.

BOOM.

A white-hot pulse of energy exploded through the chamber, collapsing every device in the vicinity. Knox's comm crackled and died. Lights flickered out. The air was still.

Then the prototype spasmed.

Twitched.

Let out a mechanical shriek.

And collapsed.

0843 Hours — The Aftermath

Smoke filled the cave. Rocks shifted. The ceiling groaned.

Knox crawled over to Reece. His body was scorched, skin blistered, chest barely moving.

“Reece!” Knox shouted, grabbing his shoulders. “Hey! Look at me!”

Reece blinked once. Then twice.

And whispered: “Make it stop. Make them stop using us.”

Knox nodded, eyes burning. “I will.”

Reece's eyes closed. Whether he was unconscious or dead, Knox didn’t know.

Jessa limped over, clutching her side.

“What the hell was that?” she said, staring at the ruined machine.

Knox stood, wincing in pain.

“Not just a prototype,” he said. “A message.”

0845 Hours — The Bigger Picture

Jessa leaned against the wall, exhaling.

“They’ve advanced further than we thought,” she said. “That thing was harvesting movement patterns. Mimicking our attacks. Adaptive AI?”

“More than that,” Knox said. “It knew who I was. Didn’t attack until I showed my face.”

He looked down at the EMP casing. SIGMA’s insignia had melted into the rock: SΔ7.

Knox’s mind raced.

“If they’re using agents like Reece to test behavior override… and building adaptive combat hybrids… it means Phase Three isn’t the end.”

“It’s the beginning,” Jessa said quietly.

Knox looked toward the tunnel mouth. Light filtered through.

“Time to disappear,” he muttered. “Istanbul's next. Halvorsen’s our only shot at flipping the chain.”

Jessa nodded, wincing.

“And Vance?” she asked.

Knox’s eyes hardened.

“He’s not running a black op. He’s building a private war.”

0850 Hours — Elsewhere

A cold, sterile room. Monitors lined the walls. Vance stood before one—watching grainy footage of the prototype collapsing.

He said nothing.

Behind him, Carter adjusted his headset.

“The unit failed, sir. EMP pulse shorted the core.”

Vance turned slowly.

“No,” he said. “The unit served its purpose. Knox won’t run. He’ll chase the truth.”

He turned to the technician. “Activate the Istanbul asset.”

“Halvorsen?”

“No,” Vance said, smiling.

“His daughter.”