Path of Dragons - A LitRPG Apocalypse (BOOK TWO STUBBING AUGUST 15)-11-41. Military Man

Path of Dragons - A LitRPG Apocalypse (BOOK TWO STUBBING AUGUST 15)-11-41. Military Man

It was all wrong, and in so many subtle ways that it grated on Gunnar’s nerves. As he strode through the compound, his back straight and his eyes forward, he wanted to point out all the small inaccuracies. All the ways the soldiers moved wrong, how they acted wrong, how they looked like a bunch of cosplayers pretending to be soldiers but lacking the knowledge to pull it off.
Mostly, it reminded him of all the times he’d watched movies featuring military situations. To anyone who knew what they were looking for, those films just screamed their inaccuracies, trusting that general audiences wouldn’t know any better.
Gunnar did.
And as such, he’d found watching them to be an impossible exercise in frustration.
He felt something similar every time he entered the compound housing the bulk of Seattle’s military command. By all rights, the members of said military were true soldiers. He had no right to judge them so harshly. But they got so many details wrong that he just couldn’t help it.
Sloppy weapon handling was just the tip of the iceberg, but he’d seen some real tactical issues that grated on his nerves. Like the way they held their weapons like props, too casually and with poor trigger discipline. He’d yet to see a single sling, either. Or seeing men with their hands in their pockets. Excess, “tacticool” gear was an issue as well.
There were a hundred other little problems – mostly lapses in discipline – that he knew would get people killed in the long run.
But he kept his cool, ignoring them just like everyone else did. Most of them were just kids. They probably hadn’t received any real training, either. Someone had just shoved a rifle in their hands, taught them the command structure, and showed them how to march in a straight line.
Nobody had bothered with any of the little details.
And he’d seen some of their tactics in action, too. Not because he’d sought it out, but rather because Seattle’s army tended to respond to every problem the same way – with a show of force. In this instance, it was to put down a fight that had turned into a small riot. The army had been called in, and they’d executed everyone involved.
To Gunnar, they looked more like a firing line of redcoats than modern soldiers. All standing shoulder-to-shoulder as they fired into the crowd. It was, of course, a massacre. The targets were all civilians, most of them non-combatants. And Seattle’s rifles, while low-powered for someone like Gunnar himself, were strong enough to do all sorts of damage to a crowd like that.
It was just another piece of evidence that pointed out how poorly run Seattle had become. At one point, such heavy-handedness was probably necessary. But now? It was overkill of the worst sort.
Like everyone else, though, Gunnar just looked the other way. He had another job to do, and he couldn’t accomplish his goals if he didn’t keep his eye on the target. To that end, he’d moved on, playing his role as a fresh-faced lieutenant that no one really noticed.
But he had to admit that he was getting a little frustrated. His disguise was both too effective and not effective enough. It let him travel most of the base without issue, and no one even looked twice at him. However, because his supposed rank was so low, he was restricted from entering the truly interesting locations.
Like Nathan Kaffey’s offices.
The man had an entire wing of the compound to himself. That was where he housed an elite force of soldiers, almost an army within an army. They were loyal only to him, and they were extraordinarily cognizant of secrecy. Those two factors made it almost impossible for Gunnar to get inside and investigate his target.
But he had a plan for that.
He strode through the compound like he owned the place, and because his actions were what everyone expected from someone that looked like him, Low Profile kept him mostly hidden from scrutiny. Soon enough, he found his way to a secluded corner of the east wing, where he discovered a stairwell leading down to the sub-levels.
Gunnar didn’t hesitate to enter.
However, as he did so, he recognized the danger he’d put himself in. A lieutenant had no business going down to maintenance. If he was seen, he would have a lot of explaining to do. In that event, his disguise would not stand up to scrutiny.
Inevitably, the worst-case scenario reared its ugly head when one of the maintenance crew – a man in khaki coveralls – entered the bottom of the stairwell just as Gunnar was rounding the corner. The man’s eyes flicked toward the rank insignia on Gunnar’s left shoulder, and he opened his mouth, presumably to ask what a lieutenant was doing heading down to maintenance.
The words never had a chance to leave his mouth. Instead, all that escaped was a thin gurgle as Gunnar buried his blade in his chest. Even that cut off as the assassin slapped his other hand over the maintenance worker’s mouth, slamming him against the wall as he waited for his body to catch up with the reality of his death.
It only took a few seconds.
The man didn’t have any appreciable levels under his belt, and a stab through the heart was enough to kill him quickly enough. Though not painlessly. After only a few moments, the maintenance worker went limp.
“Shit,” Gunnar muttered to himself.
Though despite the issues stemming from the unfortunate turn of events, he was more than prepared. He’d been planning for more than a week, after all. He knew what to do.
Without hesitation, he hefted the man onto his shoulder, then hurried through the door. He’d chosen the location of his descent with care, and his decision had stemmed from a simple enough fact – it was usually deserted. One maintenance worker being there was not cause for alarm, but two would have been so out-of-the-ordinary that it would have forced Gunnar to reassess his plan.
No one was on the other side. Just a corridor lined with pipes, most of which were filled with water, steam, or flowing ethera. Gunnar had no idea what they were for or how they worked. He just knew to expect them.
He hurried down the hall, making two turns before reaching his destination. It was a closet, seldom-used and entirely isolated. That was where he left the maintenance worker’s body.
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Over the next few minutes, he arduously cleaned up the evidence of murder. There were only a few drops of blood in the corridor, but he’d left quite a puddle in the stairwell. His efforts weren’t perfect, but he didn’t need them to be. He just needed to maintain the subterfuge for a little while until he got what he needed.
Still, it rankled on his pride to leave even a drop of evidence behind. Killing random porters or servers in the city was one thing. Those people wouldn’t be missed by anyone that mattered, and even then, their deaths were easily explicable. But murdering a maintenance man in the middle of a military base would doubtless raise some red flags. Gunnar had hidden the body well enough that it wouldn’t be discovered until it started to smell, but it still wasn’t how he’d envisioned his infiltration going.
He ignored those thoughts. Staying in one place to wipe his proverbial tracks was surer to get him caught than leaving a few drops of blood behind.
Once he’d finished cleaning, Gunnar strode down the hall, trusting in a confident demeanor to at least give any potential workers pause. If he looked like he belonged, it would be much easier to get close enough to take care of the problem.
It wasn’t as if he enjoyed killing random maintenance workers. He didn’t. But when he was on the job, he did what needed to be done. He was a killer, so he killed people. Gunnar chose not to look too deeply into it.
Still, he was relieved he didn’t need to repeat his actions, and he arrived at his destination after only a few more minutes. The maintenance locker room was deserted. At this time of night, that wasn’t abnormal. The night crew was busy cleaning, not hanging out in the locker room in the middle of their shift.
The one good thing about running into the maintenance man in the stairwell was that it had given Gunnar access to the worker’s locker. Using the key he’d taken from the man’s pocket, he found the appropriate cubicle, unlocked it, then snagged a spare set of coveralls.
Gunnar wasted no time before getting changed.
And soon enough, he was on his way, looking no different than any of the other hundred or so custodians tasked with keeping the compound clean. Now that he looked like someone who belonged, Low Profile kept him from attracting undue notice.
And all it had taken was a single murder.
A regrettable but necessary cost.
Gunnar had long since memorized the facility’s layout, so he followed the system of tunnels until he was directly beneath Kaffey’s wing. Once there, he grabbed some cleaning supplies from a nearby closet, then ascended the appropriate stairwell. As he did so, he couldn’t help but notice the significantly increased surveillance.
Like most of Seattle, the rest of the compound was riddled with cameras. Some were clearly meant to help Isaiah keep an eye on things, but others were internal security. Gunnar had learned to tell the difference, largely out of necessity. He could easily fool the more mundane cameras, but Gunnar had difficulty dealing with Isaiah’s notice. Best to simply avoid it.
Kaffey’s compound lacked even token representation of Isaiah’s surveillance – a not-so-subtle hint that the two weren’t on the best of terms. Realistically, Gunnar understood it. The last thing any military commander wanted was to have some civilian looking over his shoulder. Most just wanted to be left alone to do what they thought necessary.
If nothing else, Gunnar was thankful for the rift between those two powers because it gave him free access. That, along with the key runes sewn into his coveralls. There were some places that were off-limits, but the custodial staff had been given unprecedented access to the facility.
Was it a security issue?
Certainly. That was why it was illegal for the maintenance staff to leave the facility in their coveralls. The compound’s designers had deemed that, along with all the other security protocols, more than adequate to protect the facility from intrusion. The end result was that now that he’d bypassed the outer ring of security and had the access granted by the coveralls, he was free to go wherever he wanted.
For the most part.
Kaffey’s office was still off-limits, but Gunnar had a plan for that as well. To that end, he altered his gait – to a more working-man-on-a-mission as opposed to his more natural solder’s confident stride – and headed deeper into the wing. The sheer size of the compound would have been surprising to anyone who’d never been on a military base. But for Gunnar, it actually felt a bit small.
Along the way, he passed conference rooms, the mess hall, and areas meant for training. They even had an indoor shooting range that was surrounded by so many enchantments that even Gunnar felt their presence from nearly a hundred feet away. But with the amount of power some of those elite soldiers could channel through their rifles, it was necessary.
He ignored those rooms, eventually arriving at his destination – another maintenance closet. It wasn’t much different than a hundred others he’d passed along the way. Filled with cleaning supplies and a few tools meant for quick repairs. But most importantly, it also featured a vent that he knew would allow him access to Kaffey’s office, at least in a roundabout way.
Gunnar didn’t hesitate before leaping into place, unfastening the grate, and entering the duct. It was an extremely tight fit, and he knew that it would soon narrow. Thankfully, he didn’t intend to use it as a means of traversing the compound unseen. That would have been impossible unless he was the size of a child. Even then, some of the narrower ducts would have been impassible.
But it did give him access to the next floor up – and a room to which he never could have otherwise gained entry. He followed the blueprints he’d memorized, and ten feet later, he exited the duct, climbing into another office.
This one belonged to the second-in-command. Erin Olivier. She was not present, and Gunnar left her office entirely undisturbed as he replaced the grate and left the room behind. A few more twists and turns, and he found himself directly above Kaffey’s office. Thankfully, the room in question was entirely empty. Perhaps it was meant to be an office. Or a conference room. For all Gunnar knew, it would one day be used as break room.
For now, though, it was empty. And he was certain that it would remain so for the duration of his mission.
After investigating the room for a bit, Gunnar retrieved a small tool from his pocket, then dropped to his hands and knees. The tool itself was nothing more than a mundane hand-drill. No electricity. No ethera. Nothing to give his position away.
He started drilling.
Slowly but surely, he made his way through the ceiling and opened a tiny hole that led to the extreme corner Kaffey’s office. Once he had access, Gunnar pulled a tube from his pocket, which he snaked through the hole until it was flush with the ceiling. Finally, he put the other end of that tube – which was a listening device meant to enhance sounds – into his ear.
At last, he settled in to wait.
Gunnar had always been a patient man. It was one of the reasons he’d been so successful as a sniper. He didn’t rush. He didn’t grow bored. He just did the job, waiting for the perfect moment to take his shout.
Surveillance required a similar level of patience, and in this case, he was forced to wait for three days – during which he heard all he ever wanted to hear about the problems facing Seattle’s military – until he got what he needed.
“Those guild bastards won’t tell us where it is, either,” Kaffey growled, slamming his fist on his desk. Gunnar could practically see it in his mind’s eye. “They’re stonewalling us. Do they really think they can keep the last damn Primal Realm for themselves?”
“Our people are investigating it,” said another familiar voice. Olivier. She didn’t sound like a military woman. Not forceful enough. But she was smart. Dangerous. Everyone said as much. “We’ve lost two more teams trying to access the dragon realm.”
“Any more word on Hart?”
She answered, “No. None of our people have seen him. None that survived at least.”
“Be easier if he got himself killed,” grumbled Kaffey. “I know, I know. We need him. We won’t avoid excisement without that maniac. But things would be a lot simpler if we didn’t have a walking nuke running around out there and causing trouble.”
“Operation Dragon Slayer is still an option.”
“You know it’s not,” Kaffey sighed. “The man’s a menace, but he’s still the best chance we have of survival. I don’t want to hear anything else about that misguided program. Chances are it wouldn’t work anyway, and the last thing we want is a pissed-off Elijah Hart coming for us.”
“Yes, sir.”
It was a bit on-the-nose for Gunnar’s taste, but the conversation – combined with everything else he knew – was enough to allay suspicion that Kaffey had been the one to hire him. But even so, he intended to continue listening until he was absolutely certain. Anything else would just be unprofessional.

11-41. Military Man