The Story Of One World I, Chapter VII, Part III — Ombro, Captain Temanov
Ombro
Information flowed to her seamlessly: her channels were operating perfectly, as always. The military had intervened, and the young captain and Argomantis were probing in the right direction — all according to plan. If the latter duo proved helpful in the future, that would be ideal, but Colonel Krib was a thorn in her side and, if not removed timely, could jeopardize the entire operation’s success. Thus, Ombro decided to step out of the shadows sooner than planned. It was a significant risk, but she saw no other option.
She rose from the cold floor and slowly walked through the darkness of her secluded refuge towards a distant bright light source. It was a long walk, and upon reaching the exit, she glanced back. The darkness beckoned her to return, to embrace and hide her once more. But Ombro knew indulging her desires was not an option now: the mission’s success was far more critical. She closed her eyes momentarily and stepped outside.
The light, conspicuous, and uncomfortable suit she wore was a far better disguise in the current situation than her own. She reached the main police department building by public space bus, which was cramped and filled with people rushing about their minor affairs, paying no mind to their surroundings. Sometimes, the best place to hide is in plain sight, within a crowd.
As Ombro entered the central police station, she realized that even in her disguise, she was not entirely safe — any staff member could recognize her, potentially complicating matters. She leisurely walked across the spacious lobby to the restroom, making sure she was unobserved, and input a complex combination on her wrist computer. The light suit folded away, replaced by her customary, secret black suit. Now back in her element, Ombro felt comfortable again. It was time to act; there was no need to hide on the streets — she just needed to maintain caution.
En route to the black staircase, whose location she had extracted from a reliable source, she encountered a lone security officer. A couple of shots from her pistol and the obstacle was eliminated. Police were not the royal guard; even an elderly lady could handle them with a decent weapon. However, following her strict rule of minimizing casualties, Ombro had not yet switched her gun to lethal mode. She was willing to follow her plan to the end but was not eager to increase the number of widows and orphans, which were already growing due to the ongoing wars waged by the king and his cronies.
She quickly ascended the back staircase, counting the floors — she needed the twenty-first, where the interrogation rooms and the temporary military police headquarters were located. Fortunately, she encountered no one else during her ascent — now, it would be challenging to avoid casualties.
Nineteenth, twentieth, twenty-first floor. She had arrived. Actions needed to be swift now. A shot at the lock, a kick — the door swung open. Pistol ready. Two to the right. A shot to the head, a kick to the face.
Two corpses in green armor. It had begun.
She ducked around a corner as four officers approached. They fired a volley; her gwidonium suit shrugged it off like insect bites.
Four return shots — three fell. The fourth dodged; Ombro swiftly unsheathed her blade, a short, powerful swing — his helmeted head rolled towards the wall. Footsteps from behind, a 180-degree turn, a burst of rifle fire at her — rotten, need to be more cautious.
A wall run, four steps by inertia, a push — sword swing — two hands fell. Slice, three bellies opened. For now, it seemed all was clear. The far office was next — screams were already coming from there.
She sprinted towards the reinforced glass door. Krib and two aides were there, along with the police captain. Too early to kill him. She needed to be precise. They wouldn’t open the door — fearful. No matter.
She pulled explosives from her pack, adhered them to the glass, activated them, and dove to the floor, pressing flat. The explosion turned the door to dust, thick black smoke filling the air.
Captain Temanov
Surrounded by smoke. The colonel, the captain, and a private cough violently; their suit air filters struggle with the dense gas concentration. Everything blurs before his eyes as he lies on the floor, struggling to rise but unable to. An electromagnetic pulse damages his suit’s systems, leaving almost nothing visible through his visors.
His thoughts seem separate from his body; he can’t grasp what’s happening. Everything moves too fast around him. Then, it all seems to freeze, the smoke swirling into endless eddies. From the swirling darkness, two red lights appear — two malevolent, coldly burning embers. Then, a mask materializes. Black matte plates, like scales. A narrow, elongated central plate, resembling the beak of a predatory bird, with an uneven burgundy inscription on the forehead that looks like it’s written in blood: 013. The small plates of the suit seem alive, constantly shifting and clicking softly as if counting down something. The captain is terrified.
For the first time in his police career, he feels profound fear. His suit refuses to respond to his commands. Temanov wants to run but cannot. It’s like a terrible nightmare. The ominous figure becomes clearer. The woman turns her head towards him, and the captain says his goodbyes, but no — the silhouette in the smoke just glides past. Her hand unfolds a long, slender, one-handed blade — like the suit, consisting of constantly twitching plates.
Without stopping, she executes short, precise movements to decapitate the junior officers approaching the colonel. The captain hears a scratchy, low, distorted voice despite the interference: “Colonel Krib, I am aware of your intentions, but Savone is not within your jurisdiction. You and your pack of bastards don’t deserve to see what I’ll soon do to this country, nor are you worthy to know the truth about Squad 379,” she says as she plunges the blade into the military man’s right visor, twists it, and yanks it out. Then she steps back, watching as the body slowly falls to the floor.
She turns to the captain very slowly so that Temanov has time to send a message: “Mom, sister, forgive me for everything. Goodbye.” The black silhouette slowly approaches the captain lying on his back, kneels next to him, and brings her mask close enough that Temanov can see every chip, every scratch on the matte surface of the armor, the blood-written number, and most importantly — eyes burning with malevolent fire. The terrifying voice booms in his ears, “Captain, remember: sometimes it’s necessary to fake a ship’s sinking to make all the rats flee. Maybe one day you’ll understand. For now… you don’t want to share the fate of these dogs, do you? Then drop this case, forget about Fraktura, and don’t stand in my way — you might live. The same, however, I cannot promise for young Argomantis — his fate isn’t in his own hands. But you, captain, still have a chance to save yourself,” she stands and slowly walks through the smoke towards the exit. She’s nearly out of sight when she unexpectedly turns and tosses over her shoulder, “Things are about to change, captain, and I truly pity you. When you understand my words, it will be too late, but I ask for your forgiveness in advance.”
The figure disappears into the smoke. The captain tries to do something, but still can’t move. Moments later, new figures rush into the room, shouting, bustling — but the captain no longer cares. He throws his head back on the tiled floor and closes his eyes.
Continued here:
The previous part is here:
