Chapter 1

November 22, 1963

Dallas, Texas, United States of America

12:00 PM

The M91/38 Carcano rifle didn't feel any lighter as the sharpshooter gave it yet another examination, turning briefly to glance out the sixth-floor window of a certain book depository in a certain city of the Lone Star State. His watch read twelve o’clock exactly, and the crowd of chattering onlookers down below was still there, the police presence was still there, the cameras, the lighting; as far as he could see there was no wind rustling the trees or brush, and the road below, the one his very important target would drive down sooner or later, was still clear. The sky was blue, the air was cool, an excellent day for an event like this, a day to be remembered, a day to make history. He turned back to his gun and pulled the bolt back.

The bullet was still chambered, sitting obediently in place.

Everything was perfect.

He turned to the rifle once more. It was a good gun; accurate, well-built, powerful… a good purchase for the task at hand.

He thought back to his days as a United States Marine. He knew as well as anyone the harm a modern firearm could inflict upon a human body, even if he hadn't seen any real combat throughout his service. One didn’t simply live in the aftermath of the most destructive war in human history without seeing the effects it had on those who fought in its battles. The veterans with missing limbs, scars, pictures and footage of the great battles in Europe and Asia. All a testament to the damage that could be done even by a near-miss of a modern weapon. Regardless of his past experiences or rather the lack of them. Really, he knew he was perfectly capable of achieving the same deal of destruction any United States Marine could with a similar weapon. That much he knew.

He knew enough, really.

Regardless of what people thought about him or his target, he knew enough.

It really didn't matter how much the American people over-glorified him or believed him to be a “great” president; his target was only human at the end of the day.

He'll go down.

Like anyone else.

He continued looking out the window, waiting patiently as any good sharpshooter would.

The crowd below was certainly large, but he’d seen larger. Odds were, the largest crowds were further back in the target's route or perhaps further down, waiting for the man to drive by and maybe blow kisses at them or wave a disinterested hand, pretending to connect with the common folk to help him in the polls.

He pitied them, the poor American people blindly cheering for their oppressors; victims to the fascists that ruled the state, leading the country to collapse while lining their pockets with the works of others. It was unacceptable, but this would be a wake-up call at the very least. It would have to be.

He turned away from the window, thinking he’d heard someone approaching. He tensed up, yet no more noise came from the other end of the room. No door opened, no one called out, there was no shuffling of feet... Odds were a sound from down below had bounced around to give the effect someone was there with him.

Or perhaps nerves.

It didn’t matter, really.

It was then that he heard the crowd below beginning to stir, so he turned back to the window. The ex-Marine noted the sudden change in behavior, where previously they had been focused on themselves, now they were all looking elsewhere. Several people began pointing up the street, some whirling around, cameras on hand, and for a moment, the Sharpshooter wondered if his target was closer than anticipated.

He took a deep breath and lifted the rifle, looking out the window, preparing to squeeze the trigger at a moment’s notice, like the Minutemen of old, only to stop as his finger touched the lukewarm steel.

Wait… what the hell?

The crowd wasn't pointing at a presidential limo, a police escort, or anything remotely recognizable. Mostly everyone had turned their attention away from Elm Street and onto the patch of grass between the roads.

Something was materializing over the grass, a shadow where none should be.

The sharpshooter rubbed his eyes with his free hand before looking down the scope of his rifle to get a better look at the bizarre sight.

Just across the road below, running perpendicular to Elm Street, it was ethereal, but slowly becoming more and more visible, as if it were clawing its way into the material plain little by little, until it appeared solid. It almost seemed like a prism, shifting colors as light seemed to bend around it, the buildings behind it somewhat visible, yet distorted; greens and blues and purples and reds shifted and danced, decorating its crystalline surface in a multicolored spectacle as it finally seemed to finish manifesting, remaining in place for all to witness. It was tall, wide, and rectangular.

A fancy little box.

The sharpshooter would've chuckled at the madness of the situation.

Really now, what in the world was this? Perhaps the military was testing some kind of cloaking technology? He knew enough about the United States Armed Forces to know they would be wasteful with their money, but exactly how much scientific progress had been secretly achieved since his defection and return was anyone’s guess. Would they use cloaking technology for some fun theatrics to please the crowd of onlookers? It wasn’t entirely out of the question. A practical joke to amuse the crowds. He would have chuckled at the absurdity.

But he didn't chuckle.

The colorful structure, now visible to everyone, stood ominously still, its walls reflecting and refracting light in silence, almost foreboding in its mysterious existence. By now, it was collecting a small crowd of curious civilians around it, some walking and looking behind it, as if doing so would reveal the answers to the mysterious thing standing in the middle of the Dealy Plaza.

Several police officers quickly ran towards it, ordering the crowd to back away, which they obediently did.

Internally, the sharpshooter nodded. It could be radioactive for all they knew, and the fact it had simply appeared, seemingly out of thin air, was worrisome on its own, scheduled by the corrupt American Military or not. Still, would this unexpected anomaly change things for him? Surely his target would still drive down the street as it wasn’t being blocked. Maybe even to get a look at it, or perhaps… no? No, perhaps he would be redirected. He groaned in frustration and wondered if he could get another shot by switching positions and moving to another window or another floor so he could shoot at another road from where he was. The mysterious… thing that had materialized a few yards away was nowhere as important!

He gripped his M91 tightly and was about to move away from the window, hoping to at least find a better spot, when something caught his attention.

There was a pair of police officers, their uniforms spotless and ironed for the occasion, peering into the structure as their colleagues formed a perimeter around it. The sharpshooter couldn’t see what they were seeing, but something in their movements made him hesitate to move from his position as if something were about to happen.

He narrowed his eyes before looking down the scope again.

He could somewhat see their faces clearly as they looked at each other, confused and… frightened? They kept glancing at one another, as if expecting the other to say something, and then, as if it were the only option, both dove for the ground, covering their heads.

What is-?

His answer arrived before he could even finish the question in his mind.

A massive, scaly, winged creature flew from the entrance of the structure, missing the officers by several feet, almost immediately followed by two others identical to the first, staying close to the ground before pulling up into the air above the buildings. The other police officers had barely dropped to the ground in time, the nearby crowd had reacted similarly, ducking away and staring in a mixture of awe and fear at the winged creatures with human riders directing them higher up to the sky.

The sharpshooter was stunned. The bright scales which appeared to be metallic, the large leathery wings, the long swinging tail, the massive talons...

These were dragons!

Dragons from fairy tales, with men riding them like horses! A fourth one exited the structure but didn't fly high into the sky, landing in front of the recovering police officers instead, nearly crushing someone with a camera. The sharpshooter stared as the rider lifted a large stick of sorts along the reigns on the winged monster, the beast pausing and turning in the direction the rider pulled. It swiftly moved towards the two officers; massive teeth bared.

Before either of the men could do anything, be it stand back up or try to roll away, the monster lunged forward like a coiled spring; its large, snakelike mouth chomped one of the men in two, devouring the upper half of his torso, leaving an armless, headless body to fall clumsily to the floor.

The second officer fared no better, too stunned by the sudden carnage to react as the rider revealed that he wasn't utilizing both hands to pilot his mount, a small spear occupying his free hand which was now thrown. It stabbed the second officer in the chest just as the other three dragons descended on the crowd.

Up until that moment, nobody had really reacted.

The majority of the crowd had been in a state of shock, the sharpshooter could’ve sworn he heard some cheering at first, likely thinking the dragons were part of an elaborate show… a practical joke. Until the first officer fell. Now the sheep knew there were predators in the herd, and they panicked as such, moving away like a herd at first, but that didn’t last.

The sharpshooter saw one of the large beasts as it flew into the middle of the crowd before landing, crushing some under its clawed legs, devouring some with its toothy maw, and its rider simply murdering another person with his spear.

Panic truly set in, and the crowd began to run in all directions, most of them away from the attackers aside from a few officers trying to move the civilians away in an orderly fashion, just as a loud trumpet sounded from the structure.

The sharpshooter glanced up and his mouth fell agape.

Four or five of those dragons hiding in there he could buy, maybe even six… but he knew enough to know that an entire cavalry battalion charging out of it was just not possible even when assuming this was just a tent or building of that size.

Yet men in iron-clad armor with spears and swords charged on horseback as they began chasing and cutting down the crowd of retreating civilians.

The officers that remained, to their credit, attempted to fight back the sharpshooter saw. At least one of them grabbed his service revolver and let off a single shot, missing the horseman who cut him down with far too much ease for the rider to have not done this prior. A second officer, an older one, he could tell, didn't even bother with the gun given the range, dodging one of the blades and pulling a rider to the ground, almost succeeding before a second rider stabbed him in the back as he tried to keep up with the horse.

Screams now truly filled the air, terror-filled shrills alongside horrid battle cries. It was joined by sporadic gunfire, likely from civilians, as more forces emerged from the structure. Foot soldiers with large shields and spears took position on the grass, men behind them shooting arrows into the retreating crowds.

Massive ugly things emerged with them.

Some looked like deformed giants with pig-like heads, some of them wielding a massive club and black armor or a jagged blade of some kind, others appeared to be some kind of creatures that were half-man, half-ape, some armed, some not. Hairless, and frightful. These were led by men who pointed and yelled something he didn’t understand.

But the monsters did, quickly charging after the cavalry and fleeing civilians.

The Sharpshooter saw one jump high in the air, tackling an officer who had gotten his hands on a shotgun from his patrol car, while a larger one slammed a man out of the way like a ragdoll before charging after the fleeing crowds.

The sharpshooter began to grind his teeth in rage.

This was the day he was going to make history, where he was to stab right into the heart of the fascist empire that his beloved country had become!

Him!

Not some fantastical force that didn’t even have firearms!

And yet they were trying to outshine him?!

His eyes fell on a young girl, frozen in fear in the middle of the sidewalk as two large men in armor rushed towards her, swords drawn.

The sharpshooter pulled back the bolt on his M91, just to be certain it still had a round in the chamber. He had checked it already a hundred times, but once more couldn’t hurt.

There was a round indeed.

Without a second thought, he lifted the rifle, steadied his aim slightly, and squeezed the trigger ever so softly. A perfect headshot marked the death of one of the soldiers, and the young girl managed to run away as the second one attempted to stab her, apparently never noticing his friend was dead behind him as another shot made him fall over, dead. The sharpshooter smiled slightly then, less at the fact he had saved someone, more at the fact that the shots would likely have impressed even his idiotic superiors in the Marine Corps!

He pulled back the bolt, chambered another round, and looked for another target in the rapidly reddening streets of a certain city in the Lone Star state.