Rozzi leapt from the rear of the C-130, clenching his arms tight against his body. He plummeted through the night air away from the plane, arrowing straight towards the ground several thousand meters away. At the designated altitude, an indicator sounded in his helmet and he deployed his chute, his body jerking as the billowing canvas arrested his descent.
Rozzi landed amidst imposing banks of hedgerows. The moon hid behind a towering pillar of clouds, but he could see without it; his eyes glowed a faint blue around the irises, thanks to the latest round of augmentations at the agency. He still knew his equipment well enough to shimmy out of his chute and peel off his flight suit and helmet without opening his eyes, though, and within moments he was down to his customary white A-shirt and black cargo pants.
Outside of the hedgerows he scanned the mist for the stronghold. Nazi Nick had moved his factory to the Isle of Man several weeks ago, and though satellites had picked out the structure within two hours of its powering on, planning this operation had taken time. Rozzi was the first to volunteer. Everyone knew Nazi Nick had fed Rozzi’s family to zombie hyenas. He ought to have the first assignment, even if his judgment might have been clouded by his rage.
In the bushes right behind him, a leaf brushed against another, then a twig snapped. Rozzi spun, unholstered his Berretta, and unloaded two consecrated rounds into the hedges. A body tumbled through the foliage, landing near Rozzi’s feet. He toed it with his boot.
Zombie. Probably human. Originally. Rozzi sighed. Could the factory already be churning out new victims of Nick’s vile experiments? Rozzi checked his chrono. It showed 4:45:39. Less than five hours to complete the mission…
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