Fallen Worlds

Chapter 1: Operation Kunstenaar

The Kunstenaar District had died six years ago. No one could point to a single day it happened. There had been no catastrophic explosion, no chemical spill, no military occupation. The factories had simply gone silent. Businesses closed. Families packed what they could carry and left. One by one, the lights disappeared until the district became another forgotten stain on the edge of the city. Nature had begun reclaiming what people abandoned. Weeds split aging pavement with stubborn determination. Rust devoured abandoned cars where they had been left to decay, their frames slowly collapsing into orange skeletons. Apartment blocks stood hollow beneath an overcast sky, every shattered window resembling an empty eye staring back at the world that had forgotten it. Most people avoided Kunstenaar. Not because anyone officially told them to. Because something about the place felt... wrong. Silence lingered here differently. Even the wind seemed reluctant to stay. For Task Force 141, however, forgotten places were exactly where they worked. Captain John Price stood beside an olive-drab military jeep, one gloved hand resting against the hood while the other flipped through a weathered mission folder. The pages fluttered in the morning breeze before he pressed them flat with his thumb.

OBJECTIVE: Recover Informant.

Status: Last known location confirmed seventy-two hours prior.

Name: Luka Marin.

Price frowned. Seventy-two hours was already pushing it. The longer an informant stayed off the grid, the worse the odds became. Luka wasn't just another anonymous asset buried somewhere inside headquarters' files. The man had quietly supplied information to British intelligence for years. Names. Smuggling routes. Arms shipments. More than once, his information had prevented civilians from walking into terrorist attacks they never knew had been planned. Price had never met him in person. But he'd read enough reports to know the man had earned better than being abandoned. If there was still a chance Luka was alive...

They were taking it. The folder snapped shut. Heavy boots crunched across loose gravel behind him. Price looked up. König approached carrying a rucksack that looked almost comically small against his enormous frame. Even burdened with armor, ammunition, and enough equipment to outfit a smaller soldier, the Austrian contractor moved with surprising control. Years of military discipline had made someone his size almost unnervingly quiet. He secured his rifle across his chest before fastening the final strap on his pack. "Everything good?" Price asked.

"Ja." König tugged once more on a shoulder strap. "Everything I need." His blue eyes drifted toward the rest of the team loading equipment into the jeep. "They travel..." He searched for the English word. "...light." Soap slammed the rear compartment closed. "We travel fast." König looked genuinely unconvinced. "You carry less ammunition." "We carry enough." "You always say that?" Soap grinned. "So far." Gaz walked around the front of the jeep. "I had the front seat." Soap was already climbing in. "No, you didn't." "I called it." "When?" "This morning." Gaz frowned. "I don't remember that." "You were eating." "I can eat and listen." "You've never proved it." "I absolutely—" Ghost didn't even look up from checking the chamber of his rifle. "Enough." Silence. Not because he shouted. Because Ghost rarely repeated himself. Gaz exhaled dramatically. "I still think he's cheating." Soap buckled himself into the passenger seat with exaggerated satisfaction. "Sounds like a personal problem." König watched the exchange before quietly leaning toward Price. "They are always like this?" Price rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Unfortunately." "They seem..." Another pause. "...functional." "That's one word for it." Ghost finally glanced over. "It's the polite one." A faint smile tugged at the corner of Price's mouth.

The engine rumbled to life. The jeep rolled out toward Kunstenaar. Conversation faded. The city changed slowly. Occupied streets gave way to boarded storefronts. Boarded storefronts became abandoned neighborhoods. Then...

Nothing. Traffic lights hung crooked above deserted intersections, swaying gently despite almost no wind. Burned-out vehicles sat exactly where they had stopped years before. Graffiti covered nearly every exposed wall. Not gang markings. Not political slogans. Just layers upon layers of meaningless colors swallowing concrete. Nobody had cleaned anything in years. Price rested both hands on the steering wheel. The silence outside was impossible to ignore. No engines. No distant conversations. No barking dogs. Soap's fingers began drumming against his thigh. Ghost noticed without moving his head. "Don't." Soap blinked. "I'm not doing anything." "You are." "I'm thinking." "Think quieter." Soap slowly reached toward the radio. Ghost sighed. "...Soap." "I'm just looking." "No." "I'm not turning it on." "No." "I haven't touched it." "You were about to." Soap looked toward Price. "Cap?" Price kept his eyes forward. "As much as I'd appreciate some decent music..." A beat passed. "...leave it." Soap let out the most theatrical sigh he could manage. "It's a long drive." "It's a mission," Gaz replied. "We're still in the driving part." "We're driving toward the mission." "Exactly." Soap looked toward König. "You've got my back, right?" The Austrian didn't hesitate. "Nein." Soap stared. "...Et tu?" "I do not know what that means." "No." "I answered honestly." "That's somehow worse." Ghost leaned farther back in his seat. "The silence was improving." Soap folded his arms. "Hostile work environment." Nobody argued. Even Soap eventually stopped talking.

Kunstenaar swallowed them. Buildings rose like gravestones on either side of the road. Office towers with their windows blown out. Factories whose smokestacks hadn't breathed in years. Apartments stood open to the sky where entire sections of roofs had collapsed. Something caught Price's attention. A lone security camera. Still mounted. Still pointed toward the street. Impossible. Power to the district had been shut off years ago. He slowed slightly as they passed. The lens never moved. Probably dead. Still...

He didn't like it. A crow landed on a bent streetlamp ahead. It watched the jeep approach. Then launched into the air. The rest of the flock never followed. Strange. Price frowned. There should've been birds everywhere. Instead… Nothing. No pigeons. No gulls. No insects buzzing through broken weeds. Just wind. Even that sounded… Wrong. Like it echoed a little too long between the buildings. Ghost finally spoke. "You feel it?" Price didn't answer immediately. "...Yeah." Soap looked between them. "Feel what?" Price kept scanning rooftops. "Nothing." Soap frowned. "That's not an answer." "It is if you've been doing this long enough." No one laughed. Because everyone except Soap and Gaz already understood. Sometimes… Veteran soldiers simply knew. Not through evidence. Not through instinct alone. Something deep inside them recognized danger before their minds caught up. Price hated that feeling. It had kept him alive for decades.

The office complex emerged beyond a line of dead trees. Six stories. Concrete. Broken windows. Dark. Its front entrance yawned open like the mouth of something waiting. Price pulled the jeep behind an abandoned warehouse several buildings away. The engine shut off. Nobody moved. The silence returned immediately. He felt it again. Stronger this time. Ghost slowly scanned the rooftops. "I don't like this." König swept the street with his rifle. "Are we certain your informant is here?" "It's where Headquarters sent us." Price heard the uncertainty in his own voice. He didn't like that either. The mission folder suddenly felt heavier than paper should. He climbed out. "Gear check." Doors opened almost simultaneously. Metal clicked. Magazines locked into place. Suppressors tightened. Radios checked. Except— "...Hold on." Price turned. Soap was glaring at his plate carrier. "My bloody vest's caught." He yanked one shoulder strap. Nothing. Ghost watched him struggle for exactly one second. Then calmly opened the jeep. Removed his spare carrier. Walked over.

Thunk.

The carrier smacked Soap squarely across the face. "...Ow." "Wear that one." Ghost kept walking. Soap rubbed his nose. "You could've handed it over." "I did." Gaz failed to suppress a laugh. "C'mon." He clapped Soap's shoulder. "Before he upgrades to throwing the rifle." Even Price chuckled. Briefly. Then the feeling returned. The smile disappeared. "Let's move."

The building smelled of mildew, old concrete, and stagnant air. Dust floated through shafts of gray light cutting between broken windows. Every footstep echoed farther than it should have. Every creak sounded loud enough to alert the entire district. Price raised a closed fist. Everyone froze. He pointed. Ghost moved left. Gaz right. Soap covered the hallway. König anchored the rear. Room after room. Empty. Broken desks. Collapsed ceilings. Scattered paperwork yellowed by years of neglect. Coffee mugs still sitting on desks. One still had liquid inside. Price paused. He crouched beside it. Still damp. His stomach tightened. Someone had been here. Recently. He stood. Nothing over the radio. Just hand signals. Floor by floor. Still nothing. Which somehow felt worse than finding resistance. By the time they reached the sixth floor… Every instinct Price possessed screamed at him. Ghost stopped first.Two fingers. Then pointed. Two armed guards. Standing outside a single closed office door. Price nodded. Ghost shifted slightly. Suppressor aligned. Price counted silently.

Three.

Two.

One.

Pfft.

Pfft.

Both guards crumpled almost simultaneously, dead before either could react. Price stepped over the bodies. "Stack." The team flowed into position with practiced precision. Ghost reached for the handle. Price counted again. Three. Two. One. The door exploded inward. Weapons swept every corner. "Clear." Silence. One table. One chair. One laptop. One man. The informant sat bound tightly to the chair. A black hood covered his face. He didn't move. Price approached slowly. "Luka?" Nothing. He pulled away the hood. Gaz looked away immediately. "Jesus..." Soap swallowed hard. "...Christ." Luka's face had been brutally mutilated. Blood had dried hours ago. His skin had already begun to pale. Price checked for a pulse anyway. Nothing. Too late. Much too late. König quietly moved closer. "...I'm sorry." Ghost never looked at the body. His attention had shifted elsewhere. The laptop. Its screen glowed softly. Waiting. "Captain." Price turned. Ghost rotated the monitor. Across the screen, stark against the black background, were seven simple words.

I hope you enjoy the fall.

For one frozen heartbeat… Nobody understood. Then the floor shook. Not a little. Violently. The explosion erupted somewhere deep beneath the building. Concrete cracked like thunder. Steel screamed. The walls buckled. "The building's rigged!" Price shouted. "Move!" The ceiling collapsed. Chunks of concrete rained around them. Soap dove toward the doorway as the floor split beneath his boots. His fingers brushed the frame— Missed. Gaz disappeared into darkness. Ghost lunged— Too late. König grabbed for an exposed beam. It tore free in his hands. Price felt the world vanish beneath him. Weightlessness. Falling. Concrete. Steel. Darkness. Then...

Nothing.