4 Power

A beautiful array of stars adorned the night sky over the Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming. The view became slightly obscured by the flow of black clouds issuing from a blaze rising from a large wooden cabin built deep in the woods. Sounds of gunfire and shouting filled the air: an all-out battle was underway. Or rather, an all-out slaughter.

Two forces battled beneath the stars. One comprised of a well-equipped team: they donned equipment that could outfit an average army regiment: Each was holding a Squad Automatic Weapon and a belt full of ammo and grenades. A Glock 19 was attached to both legs and an MK17 SCAR was strapped to the back. Full body flexible Kevlar body armour covered every inch of their beings save for their joints. But these men weren't your average soldiers. They were picked out of the best of the best. Or so they thought. Faced off against their opponents, they couldn't help but feel inferior. Those they warred against were donned in the most casual of nightwear: robes, nightgowns, nightshirts and slippers were common amongst them. Each person was only armed with a Colt Mustang, a rather small gun.

Yet they had taken out more than half of the army they faced before the difference in numbers reduced them down to the last two bloodsoaked members, a man and a woman. They struggled to stay alive under the heavy gunfire and return some as well, all the while plotting how to escape.

A good distance from the battle, on a small hill, stood a refined man. He was in his 50s but this didn't affect his appearance but rather served to accentuate it. A well-trimmed full beard covered his cheeks and jaw. It had a mix of white and grey made for a rather pleasing sight. Wavy hair of the same colour adorned his head and shoulders like a lion's mane. Piercing grey eyes completed his look. He had a toned body which slightly stretched the suit he was wearing. He exuded an aura of command and ease, an aura of a leader, one who controlled power.

Behind him stood a rather odd man. Not because of his appearance, which could be only described as perfect, but because of his lack of presence. If one wasn't looking at him directly, he would never be noticed. He had a clean-shaven face, a ruler-straight jawline and trimmed eyebrows. He had blond wavy hair like the man who stood in front, also swept back and bright blue eyes. Those eyes, however, contained both indifference and immense bloodlust, giving his appearance a demonic air, further accentuating his handsomeness. He stood halfway into the darkness cast by a nearby tree.

"How long till this is over? They're taking too long", the man standing at the forefront asked, seemingly to himself.

"Not that long now. These men were trained to kill and survive. To have whittled them down to this number in such an amount of time is impressive already", the blond man replied. He focused his gaze on the battle. The survivors seemed to be on their death throes.

The man turned to the woman, leaned over and whispered in her air. She frowned and shook her head firmly. The man smiled sadly and nodded. He then suddenly sprinted into the open space of the battle, in full view of the enemy.

The woman reached out to grab him, having been caught off guard by his action. She missed however and could only watch as he faced off against the battalion on his own. Gritting her teeth, she fled into the dark woods.

The grey-haired man frowned on seeing this. He turned to the blond man behind him and gave him a look. The blond man grinned and rubbed his index and middle finger with his thumb. The grey-haired man snorted and waved his hand. The blond man's grin turned ferocious and he disappeared into the darkness of the forest as well.

After about ten minutes passed, the blond man reappeared, wiping his hand delicately with a napkin. He nodded to the grey-haired man who responded with a curt nod. He then reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a two-way radio. Speaking into it, the battalion quietly withdrew their forces, moving into the forest, carrying with them the bodies of their fallen comrades.

The grey-haired man let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and relaxed his muscles. Reaching into his suit jacket again, he pulled out a gold-embroidered leather case. He flipped it open and withdrew a cigar and a cigar cutter. He took some time to inhale the fragrance of it before placing it in his mouth and lighting it up.

As he puffed out a ring of smoke and let it encircle his head, his face broke out into a smile. He felt absolute elation. absolute joy. He loved the feeling that accomplishment gave him. A feeling of control, of power.

He turned away from the sight before him and proceeded into the trees behind him, a trail of smoke tailing him, where a convoy awaited him. The blond-haired man was already seated in the lead vehicle, spinning a knife between his fingers. He glanced upon seeing the man approach and waved his hands in the air. The convoy drivers started the engines of their vehicles. The grey-haired man then climbed into the middle vehicle.

The driver turned around in his seat and asked, "Shall we proceed north or south sir?". The grey-haired man contemplated for a bit and said "North. There's a nifty hiding spot there. And i can't wait much longer".

Reaching to a folder marked "TO" that lay on the seat beside him, he opened it to reveal a neat stack of files and photos. Each photo had a circle marked on it and coordinates as well. He sifted through them expressionlessly till he got to a grainy photo, obviously taken from a street camera. It depicted a pale man in black glasses and a hat. He was in motion when the photo was taken so his features were in a blur. The grey-haired man lovingly stroked his hands across the picture, greed splashed across his face.

The man in the photo was an enigma; he was technically non-existent. But rumours abounded concerning him. He was the hidden weapon for "The Organization". The best. And that's what he wanted. The perfect weapon. But the info on him was little to none. He had only found out about him as a recon mission with some of the lesser members of "The Organization" had gone horribly wrong and he was needed. Interrogation proved futile.

He gazed at the photo a while longer and placed in into the folder again and closed it. "Wait for me, young man. You are only to be possessed by me, the great Ethan Bryce", he said, laughing narcissitically. He continued puffing on the cigar as the covoy moved through the cold forest night.