Frank Woods Black Ops 1 Novels & Stories

CHAPTER 20: The moment I hit enter everything changed. The screens started moving fast. Lines of code were scrolling down quickly. Systems were unlocking. Barriers were falling. Blackwood was exposed for the first time. Alarms were ringing louder than before. They were not in control anymore. The man in black shouted "Stop her". It was too late. I was moving fast my fingers were flying across the console. I knew what I was doing. One of the guards said "This is impossible".

With a less-than-manly squeak, the driver jerked the RV to the side of the road and brought it to a halt. By then, William had already decapitated three of the wolves before they even had time to process what was happening and was quickly making his way forward. Fury emanated from him like a living, breathing thing. Emily heard the explosive sound of a gunshot and it caused her sensitive ears to ring painfully. She looked up and saw Amber on her knees; turned around to face the living quarters of the RV interior with a gun in her hand. A quick glance at William showed the first shot had missed him, but the gun was now trained on his chest and he stood perfectly still, watching her carefully.

Shattered glass lay near the liquor cabinet where a half-empty bottle of scotch had met its violent end against the marble floor. Director Seymour stood by the window, fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned bone-white. His reflection in the glass—a tall man with silvered hair and eyes like frozen steel—looked back at him with disgust. “They were wolves,” he muttered under his breath. “Wolves, fae, and traitors. And somehow, they burned a forty-billion-dollar facility to the ground.” The intercom buzzed once. “Sir… HQ just confirmed the loss of the Black Fang unit. No survivors.”

He held an old phone with a cracked screen, news alerts constantly popping up. ["Stormfang Pack has elected a new Alpha."] ["Former Golden Boy, Liam Blackwood, Found Destitute on the Streets. Stormfang Pack Century-Old Empire Divvied Up!"] ["Exclusive: Why was Liam Blackwood Abandon Him? Is There More to His Father's Death?"] He expressionlessly tapped the screen off and tossed the phone aside. The only window in the room was covered with newspaper, letting in only a dim, hazy light. He reached down to touch the calf of his left leg. It was grotesquely swollen, the skin an abnormal purple. A vicious gash ran across it, the edges jagged. Untended, it was clearly infected and festering.

Frank sits down handing Fin a drink. "Wolves can't get drunk, maybe a little buzzed. Unless you ha-" "Unless I have this." Frank takes a small bottle out of his pocket. I look closely to see that its that drug that helps wolves to get drunk. "Where did you get that?" Fin asks smiling holding his glass out. "I know a guy." Frank put a drop into Fin drink. "If he comes home sloppy drunk you'll be the one to explain to aunt Sarah why," I tell Frank holding my drink out, letting him put a drop into my drink.

A thin mist shrouded the foothills of the trees as dawn began to break behind the horizon. Andhara led the way, followed by Claudia, Nala, Asen, Juna, and Gavin. Behind them, two large wooden crates carried on a wooden cart creaked softly, their contents strong evidence: the wolfsbane weapons they had found at the Black Order base. The wooden gate of the Dark Forest pack opened slowly. Several guards tensed, the unfamiliar scent of the rogues accompanying Andhara. But once they recognized the dark wolf, they nodded and let her in.

It had been a land that once belonged to him — and would again. His fiery eyes, blazing with rage, swept the horizon. Jason Frostwood and Fiona Ashford believed they had won. They had rejoiced at their small victory, convinced they had shattered his grip of his forces. But they didn’t know the depths of his vengeance. They hadn’t come to understand that Orin Blackclaw was no mere hunt and kill and forget rogue. No. He was a storm, poised to blow them all into chaos.

Auckland’s winter rain fell in sheets, turning the suburban street into a black mirror. Martin Hale’s apartment building three stories of faded brick and rusted balconies looked even smaller under the downpour. Inside unit 3B, the man once called Marcus Blackwood sat zip-tied to a kitchen chair, blood trickling from a split lip. The Rossi enforcers hadn’t bothered with subtlety: duct tape over windows, silenced pistol on the table, a laptop open to a dark-web escrow screen showing a running countdown.

"Always. I’m with you. Give me ten to mobilize the unit. I’ll howl the game plan via text." "Appreciate it. I’m in your debt." Jax let out a low whistle. "This better be a story for the history books, Navarro. That's all I'm saying." "It’s something," I muttered. "And keep it quiet. I don't want the rivals knowing you're specifically helping me." "Copy that," he answered. "Damn, this black-ops shit is actually kind of a rush." I rolled my eyes. "You’re a geek, Jax." I smiled anyway; it was his best trait.

They carried short-barreled kinetic rifles their laser sights cutting through the rising steam in sharp red lines. "Secure the perimeter! Identify the mother and the infant!" the lead operator barked. His voice was a robotic drone that held no human emotion. "The asset is properties of the Zurich Federal Council under the 1996 global banking emergency act! Stand down. You will be neutralized as corporate combatants!" "Like hell we are!" Marcus growled. With a surge of physical power the massive engineer rose from behind the windlass. His large hands swung the heavy iron cargo crowbar in a terrifying arc that caught the lead operator directly across the chest.