Grimoires and Gunsmoke

“OH FUCK!” the breaching marshal yelped in a pitched voice as he was violently ripped into the building,

Mason’s rifle immediately started to bark out, sending round after round through the flimsy sheet metal wall in an effort to stop whatever had just assaulted their point man from following up. The cacophony of gunfire filled the small space, and the muzzle flashes illuminated both the tight alleyway and the office space inside.

D and the other marshal recoiled away from the gunfire instinctively before their own weapons after they found the sight of a multitude of faces staring at them flash from Mason’s weapon. Adding to the din, the two found their footing, fired where the giant had been, and at any sign of life within the building itself. Bullets ripped through the walls' sheet metal and the cubical dividers' cloth.

Amidst the chaos, the poor soul who had been yanked inside was scrambling on the ground in a desperate attempt to get outside as his voice reached a high-pitched screech of panic. "Jesus fucking Christ!" he yelled while kicking towards the exit, but he kept slipping on the broken glass and shattered wood.

Inside the building, the sound of crashing and banging echoed over the gunfire. It was clear that the giant, or whatever it was, was on the move, trying to put distance between itself and whatever the hell had just attacked him as a hail of bullets sailed overhead.

Even as his ears started to ring, Mason did his best to track the sound of thudding footsteps through the wall as he swung his rifle in an attempt to track it. Each step was met with more approximate bullets while D focused on the doorway, firing away at any flicker of shadow or hint of movement inside.

“GRAB HIM!! FUCKIN’ PULL HIM IN!” D yelled as he kept firing into the doorway.

Meanwhile, the other marshal lunged forward, grabbed his downed and panicking partner's ballistic vest, and began forcibly pulling him through the opening as the downed man kicked and slipped on the wood and glass that littered the floor.

"I got him! I got him!" the man yelled as he heaved his colleague to safety.

Not a moment too soon, a long string of automatic fire and blinding muzzle flashes erupted from the darkness within the doorway. The deafening roar of gunfire filled the alley, and the others joined the man on the floor, diving for cover as bullets whizzed overhead.

"Mother fucker!" Mason screamed as he hit the ground, pressing his body against the cold, wet asphalt, and started rolling to avoid the fusillade. An entire slew of curses left everyone’s mouth as they scrambled to find cover, narrowly avoiding becoming Swiss cheese as the armed suspect swept the area with his weapon.

The sounds of gunfire and police sirens filled the air as Mason rolled on his back and pointed his weapon at the door as soon as one suspect entered the door frame firing his pistol. Without even thinking, Mason pulled back on his trigger, sending 5 rounds into what was obviously a gangbanger or mobster, causing them to flinch and clutch at their body before running back inside.

Mason would have kept shooting; however, after the fifth round, his rifle let out an audible click signifying it was out of ammunition. "Goddamn bitch!" He cursed at the gunmen before quickly transitioning to his sidearm.

Bringing his Glock 19 up, Mason began firing at any figures darting around inside while the others scrambled to their feet, reloading their weapons. However, just as they started shooting into the doorway, a strange and ominous silence descended upon the scene as movement and gunfire from inside the building ceased.

The men exchanged wary glances as they stood and started to back up with their weapons still trained on the doorway. The sudden quiet was unnerving, a stark contrast to the chaos that had erupted just moments before.

"You think we got ‘em…?" Mason asked, turning to D with a look that said he didn’t quite think they did.

With everyone back on their feet, the group started to back further away from the building and towards the intersecting alleyway, keeping their weapons pointed at the doorway. The light seemed to fill the interior, showing random office supplies scattered all over the floor and cubicles riddled with bullets.

The man who had been yanked inside gripped his weapon with shaking hands. "I don't think so..." he muttered unsteadily. "I swear I saw 5 or 6 of the fucks when they bastards pulled me in."

"Yeah, I don't like this. Let's back up a bit," D added before keying his mic loop. "Eagle 1, this is Unit 3. We have several suspects barricaded in an all-white office building north of the warehouse compound, facing Thorton Street. Requesting immediate backup, over." He barked into the radio as he kept his rifle and eyes laser-focused on the doorway.

The radio crackled to life, echoing back a response. "Unit 3, this is Eagle One. Roger that. We're guiding multiple units to your location now. Be advised we already have officers positioning themselves out front, so check your fire."

"Roger that, Eagle One. Establishing perimeter now." D acknowledged the transmission before turning to the other marshals. "Alright, let's post up on these corners and-”

Just as D finished his call for help, a figure stepped into the illuminated part of the doorway and extended their hand outwards, yelling an alien language. Suddenly several wisps of red streaks of light shot out from the darkness within. The beams snaked through the air erratically, their rounded tips glowing with an otherworldly light.

Before the men could react, the beams found their marks. Each one was struck with an incredible force, throwing them backward with heavy grunts of pain. The impact was like a sledgehammer hitting the air from their lungs and sending them sprawling to the ground.

Mason, however, managed to dive to the side at the last moment, narrowly avoiding a beam that gouged a huge chunk out of the brick wall beside him. Fueled by adrenaline, the others scrambled to the adjacent alley as they clutched at their ballistics vests, which had absorbed the brunt of the impact, as they sought cover.

More gunfire erupted from within the building as gangsters tried to capitalize on their newfound advantage. Barks of the suspects' firearms echoed throughout the confined space, and bullets pinged off the wall.

The incoming fire was inaccurate and amateur, but it was still enough to suppress the marshals as they did their best to recover from the magical onslaught. Mason, however, seemingly unscathed by the volley, quickly reloaded his rifle and pointed it at the door before squeezing the trigger. Without hesitation, the man unleashed a deafening volley into the doorway, silencing any gangsters feeling cheeky enough to run up on them.

“We got 3 marshals down!” Mason yelled into his mic loops as he kept his rifle trained on the door, trying to take a shot at any heads popping up with one hand. “I repeat, I have 3 marshals down by the white office building! I need bodies here, ASAP!”

A hand holding a pistol was stuck out behind the doorway and opened fire blindly, causing Mason to duck back into cover again. Rounds seemed to stick a lot closer to home than he was comfortable with, but he still had to keep their heads down. Sticking himself back out into harm's way, Mason opened fire again before turning his head towards his comrades to check if they were okay.

“H-hey, you guys alright!?” Mason said, twisting his head back and forth from the doorway and the other marshals.

More shots from Mason's rifle barked out as D and the others grunted and growled in pain while they pulled off their now destroyed plate carriers.

“Ya, I-” D tried to respond but ended up in a coughing fit. “Ya, I fuckin think so!” he replied as he struggled to get to his feet with one hand on his ribs, wincing in pain. “Plate caught it!”

D joined Mason in suppressing the doorway, firing his rifle while tactically minimizing his silhouette and exposing the least amount of his body as possible. Despite the pain in his ribs, he knew they had to keep the pressure on the suspects until backup arrived.

Still reeling from the impact of the red beams, the men that were hit writhed in pain as they pulled off their ballistic vests with grimaces on their faces. "Pretty sure my ribs are broken," one of them said through gritted teeth.

Mason looked over in worry. "Why the fuck are you pulling your armor off!?" he yelled, his eyes widening in disbelief.

"Whatever hit us shattered the plate! It's useless now, and the broken pieces are digging into our chests.” D responded with a face tight with pain.

Just as he said, more of those red beams shot out from the doorway, causing D and Mason to snap back into cover. However, the magic snaked around the corner. Luckily, the thing had the turning radius of a bus as it slammed into the brick walls, carving out vicious chunks.

The men all looked at each other uneasily, not enjoying their chances with literally magical homing projectiles. But their dashed hopes were soon reignited when they heard a rumbling sound echoing from behind them. They turned to see a Police SWAT team Rook Armored Bulldozer rolling towards them with its front shield facing the office building and a horde of New Orleans Police behind it.

“Oh nice, we’re not gonna die!” one of the marshals quipped with a relieved grin.

The Rook came to a stop just in front of where the marshals were taking shelter, shielding them and the combination of SWAT and regular police officers behind it. "NOPD, heard you boys could use some help!" one of the officers said as he maneuvered to one of the men who was painfully holding his ribs. "You said there was an officer down!? Come on, let's get you outta here!"

Still focused on the doorway, Mason turned to one of the SWAT officers who looked like they were in charge and yelled out, "Hey! Be careful! They got a magic user in there, and we don't know how strong yet!" He emphasized the danger, knowing full well that some magic users were strong enough to take a Bradley IFV or Abrams tank.

The SWAT officer paused, his expression growing serious beneath his tactical helmet. He had seen the aftermath of magic attacks before and knew that even their armored Rook could be vulnerable if the spell were powerful enough.

"Roger that," the officer acknowledged, his voice tight with tension. He reached for his radio. "Jake, push up a bit and get out of the Rook. They got a magic user!"

The officer in the Rook, Jake, responded immediately. "Copy that. Dismounting now." The Rook's hatch popped open, and Jake emerged, his weapon at the ready.

The SWAT officer turned back to Mason. "We got this, go get your guys to EMS!" He said, taking up Mason's old position at the corner of the alleyway to suppress the doorway.

Mason nodded to the SWAT, knowing they were better equipped and had far more bodies to handle entrenched suspects. Turning to his wounded comrades, he saw the marshals were already in the process of being evacuated by a swarm of New Orleans police officers.

"Easy, easy," One officer murmured as he slung D's arm over his shoulder, supporting his weight.

Taking up the rear, Mason kept watch for any nasty surprise while the group made their way down the alley. With gunfire ringing out behind them, they made their way into the massive opening where they first attempted their arrests and saw a swarm of police interceptors and Ambulances parked all over the place.

A voice crackled to life over the loudspeaker as they made their way to the awaiting medics. "This is the NOPD! We have you surrounded! Put down your weapons and come out with your hands up!"

“Man, this went to shit…” Mason grumbled as his weapon hung loosely at his side.

-

“So... what you’re telling me is you cannot contain these magical anomalies?” A frustrated and almost infuriated voice echoed in the somber and tense meeting room.

Government officials and Agency heads were gathered around a large, round table room was somber, the tension palpable as the officials gathered around the large, rectangular table of the Situation Room. The President of the United States sat there with this finger tapping on the table in a droning and rhythmic matter that seemingly intensified the tension in the room. Landing forward in his chair at the head of the table, the president’s gaze remained fixed on the Secretary of Homeland Security, who had just delivered the grim news.

"Mr. President," the DHS Secretary began, his voice steady despite the pressure he was feeling from the intense death glare. "I am…. I’m afraid to say Operation Arcane Shield is struggling.” He said, trying his best not to break out in a cold sweat.” The intrusion of magical entities into our cities and countryside has only escalated since the Ohio attack, but monsters like the Scroungers or Kobolds are starting to tunnel into our sewer and drainage systems.”

A growl left the president’s mouth as the pen gripped in his other hand snapped in half, but the Homeland Security Secretary wasn’t finished. There was one more grave piece of news that he knew would potentially put his career at risk, but it was his duty to deliver it. Far too much was on the line if this was swept under the rug just because he was afraid to lose his job.

“But, sir…” The DHS representative spoke tentatively. “It appears that… That the humanoid beings from the other world, especially their magic users, are no longer just trying to hide among the population. Our intelligence suggests that local gangs and organized crime syndicates, including cartels and mafia groups, have made contact with some of these entities. They're harboring them in exchange for knowledge and even employing them."

The room fell deathly silent as around the table, the faces of the other officials - the Attorney General, the Directors of the FBI, ATF, DEA, and even Toivonen - paled as the implications sank in. Everyone then looked to the President and saw an unreadable face as his finger stopped mid air just before another tap.

Instead, after digesting that bombshell, the President’s first came slamming down on the table in a bout of uncontrolled fury. “What the fuck does that mean, Jim!?” the President growled dangerously, "Are you telling me we got goddamn wizards in bed with fucking dope slingers and mafia dons!?"

The DHS Secretary, Jim Falk, visibly flinched at the President's outburst. He could feel the weight of every gaze in the room upon him. Swallowing hard, he nodded and continued with a strained voice. "I'm afraid so, Mr. President. The incident in New Orleans was not an isolated case. We're seeing similar patterns in New York, Chicago, Miami, and even Houston... It's playing out all over the Eastern Seaboard and starting to creep into the West Coast."

Jim paused, his hands gripping the table's edge tightly, afraid to continue. The Attorney General, Ashleigh Carter, spoke up to get some heat off the poor man. “Mr. President, if I may.” The Attorney general raised her hand. “What's even more concerning is the number of casualties our local and federal law enforcement are sustaining in our efforts to contain this new threat. These magic-wielding criminals are proving to be far more dangerous than we anticipated."

“She’s right.” The FBI Director added with a sigh. “The reports coming across my desk... they're unlike anything I've seen in my career. Strange beams of light homed in and skewered people who weren’t wearing ballistic plates, others torn apart by unseen forces, and some were even turned against each other through some form of mind manipulation in a fit of unhinged barbarism. The situation is becoming untenable, especially when there are still tens of thousands of these individuals out there still at large."

The President's brow furrowed deeply as he processed this information. He turned to the CIA's subject matter expert on the arcane they have been heavily relying upon, Toivonen. "Miss Toivonen, what countermeasures do we have? How do we protect our people against these… things?"

Toivonen, who had been quietly observing the meeting, leaned back in her chair. "Mr. President, according to the high-level mage we've recruited, the most effective way to combat a magic user is with another magic user or, ideally, a warrior capable of manipulating mana."

She paused, her expression troubled. "The problem is, the number of trustworthy mages and warriors capable of such are... limited. We're talking single digits. And they're all being utilized in developing countermeasures and detection methods for Operation Basilisk."

The President's face darkened at the reply and brought his hands to his head to massage his temples. "So, what you're telling me," the President said, his voice low and controlled, "is that we're outgunned and outmanned on our own turf?"

A deafening silence followed the President's question that caused the officials to exchange uneasy glances. Each one of them felt the gravity of the situation weigh them down, except Toivonen. After that encounter with that god-forsaken goddess, each and every high-level meeting was getting easier and easier for her.

"Well, Mr. President," Toivonen began confidently but still cautiously. “We do have... an extreme option. If you're open to it."

The President's ears perked up, his gaze intensifying as he focused on Toivonen. "I'm listening," he said, leaning forward in his chair.

"It's still in the infancy of its planning phase, Mr. President. It's nowhere near ready, but... we believe it could work." The FBI Director spoke up, his tone measured.

Raising his hand, the President motioned for them to continue. “Go on.”

With an audible grunt, The Homeland Security Secretary, Jim Falks, cleared his throat, causing the room to turn their attention to him as he sucked in a deep breath. "Mr. President, our intelligence suggests that a good number of the magical beings at large are mercenaries. They're in it for the money and have no real ties or allegiances to anyone."

Jim paused, gathering his thoughts as he tried to find the right words to explain the complex nature of these mercenaries. "They're what we call 'freelancers,' Mr. President. They operate in a manner similar to how sellswords or mercenaries function but with a twist.”

He leaned forward, his hands clasped in front of him. "You see, these freelancers, they're not tied to any one organization or cause. They're independent contractors, offering their services to the highest bidder. Most of them, if not all of them, work through middlemen, handlers, and intelligence brokers of sorts, whom they call ‘taskers.' These taskers, they're the ones who have the connections to secure jobs, whether they're legitimate, sanctioned work or more... underground, criminal activities."

The President listened intently, his brow furrowed as he processed this new information. "So, these taskers, they're essentially brokers for magical mercenaries?"

"Exactly, Mr. President.” Jim nodded before as his eyes swept the room. “They have their ears to the ground, they know who's hiring and for what. And these freelancers, they're not picky. As long as the pay is good, they'll take on just about any job, no questions asked."

A sigh left the President’s mouth as his patience wore thin. "Enough beating around the bush. What exactly are you all proposing?" He snarled while lifting up his hand to indicate for the group of representatives to stop delaying.

"We've been working on something similar in nature to Operation Paperclip." Toivonen suddenly spoke up with a devious smile on her face.