Warning: All characters in this story are at or above the legal age of 18. This story contains nonconsent/reluctance which may not be suitable for all readers.
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A digital message flashes above the elevator door.
2ND FLOOR. CLOVEHILL VALLEY.
ESCORT THE SCIENTIST TO SAFETY.
Nice, an escort mission.
The elevator doors part, revealing a gloomy cemetery with sickly white trees and gravestones overgrown with vines.
The wind howls with ghostly notes that linger as crickets softly chirp beneath. The foreboding atmosphere sparks curiosity more than caution.
As I step onto the landscape, the elevator closes behind me and sinks into the dirt. The earth engulfs it whole as freshly dew grass grows in its place.
Well, looks like there's no going back.
My clothes pixelate into a bodysuit, leaving everything north of my collar bone exposed. The fabric builds a hood behind my shoulders as gripped padding protrudes from the underside of my gloved extremities.
The outfit dyes itself into the night's darkness as it compresses to my shapely curves. An earpiece plugs into my right ear and lightly hums on my lobe.
"-report. Status-Sss-" a faint, audible voice clashes with radio interference in my ear. I tap the communicator and manage to minimize the static, but the person's voice is still very faded.
"Vv-Vix. Status report. Come in. Do you copy?"
That must be me. I'm Vix.
"Th-this is Vix, here. I copy!" I shout as I press the device against my ear, hoping it encourages the individual at the other end to speak louder.
"Lower your bloody voice, agent! Area is unsecured. Howler hostiles. I repeat, Howler hostiles."
"Hostiles? What are Howlers?" I whisper, checking my six as if I knew what they're referring to.
A frustrated sigh blows into the communicator, "You didn't read the mission, you fucking-" The person has an assertive, yet feminine accent that's briefly interrupted with what sounds like expensive equipment being ripped from their connections and thrown. "Fucking-Fuck! Fuck. Fuck!"
A long silence intervenes as I feel the gravity of the situation settling in.
This quest may not be as easy as I thought it would be.
"Listen closely, Vix. This is your fucking Commander speaking. I'm only going to explain this once, so you bloody better pay attention."
Another uncomfortable pause occurs. I swallow the lump in my throat as the sensation of fear envelops me.
The crickets stop chirping.
"We received a distress signal from the town's mortuary. Your orders are to investigate and extract civilians. No casualties. They could have the intel we need. Do you understand?"
"I understand." I say in a low, obedient tone.
"Commander," she retorts.
"I understand, Commander." I roll my eyes, "So.. Howlers. What are they?"
"If you had read the case file like a good little agent, then you wouldn't be asking that question!" she roars into the microphone as the sound of another device being launched across the room echoes in the background. The Commander takes a moment to collect herself before continuing.
"We don't entirely know. What we do know is that they-" the Commander cuts out.
"Hello? I mean, come in. Come in, Commander?"
"-there were multiple reports of civilians disappearing in the night. Locals believe the abductions are associated with the sound of howling. Clovehill's seasonal rainfall makes it impossible to collect evidence." I tap the communicator as radio interference interrupts the debriefing.
"Whatever you-"
Tssssk. Tssssk.
"-keep your stealth suit on. It's impenetrable. Going radio silent. Commander over and out." The earpiece clicks as it turns off abruptly.
Is she serious? I have no idea what I'm up against. Coyotes? Werewolves?
A violet cloud puffs from underneath my footing, forming a path that leads north.
I've seen glowing paths like this in other video games before, they usually lead you to a waypoint or the start of a quest! I never realized how helpful this game mechanic is when you don't have a map.
I flip the ebony hood over my head and pursue the colorful smoke cautiously, stalking to the shadows of trees and tombs.
In the distance, the full moon hovers over the peaked roof of a two story gothic house. The purple trail dissipates inside the disheveled and boarded up front door of the mortuary.
A rusty sign swings beside the entrance, desperately holding onto a single hinge for dear life.
CLOVEHILL VALLEY: MORTUARY. FAMILY OWNED FOR 69 YEARS.
That must be the mortuary where the distress signal originated. Didn't the elevator message mention a scientist? What is a scientist doing in a mortuary?
I follow the trail until I arrive at the mortuary's manicured front lawn. A tiered fountain decorated with gargoyles spills murky water from their maws. The square patch of land looks suspiciously well maintenanced in comparison to the overall property's deteriorating condition.
A shadow in one of the second floor windows catches my eye. It looks like the outline of a person waving their arms frantically above their head.
That must be the scientist!
I motion for her to meet me on the ground level as I approach the front door.
The unknown figure transitions from flailing their arms to get my attention to motioning with their hands for me to stop.
As I jog onto the lush emerald blades of the courtyard, I'm able to identify the figure as a woman. She's smaller than me, with a moderate bust and curvy hips that sway gracefully beneath her pristine lab coat.
Wait, did I get curvier?