The Black Skull

My footsteps echoed in the cloisters, beating a regular march as I walked through the courtyard. The place was a testament to it's Spanish roots, yet more gothic elements garnished the rooftops of the church.  Across the stones on the ground and past the aisle of the cloisters was a balcony.
Drawing the rifle from it's sling around my shoulders, I opened the bi-pod and propped it up against the railing. The church, more of a cathedral really, sat atop a sea cliff, overlooking a town that seemed as old as the hills. Or at east the 30's. Paint was faded and cracked, the flat roofs were dotted with cubicles made of chicken wire and fiberglass sheeting, radio antennas popped up every hundred yards or so. Cobble stone walks and archways were scattered sparsely throughout the town, vestigial remnants of it's previous life.
None of the sights were as striking as the crowd that formed up on the sidewalks. It seemed all the towns inhabitants were packed along the streets, lining a path that lead to a newer cathedral at the edge of town. Each street corner had the path further marked by police cars while outriders on motorcycles, which seemed to be old Yamahas from the 1980s, flanked the limousines streaming towards the gleaming church.
It looked almost like a wedding procession, save for the colorful little flags attached to the limos. And as the cars drove on, I saw a figure in white riding atop a customized truck that looked very different from anyone's ideal bride.
Motion stirred up on the surrounding rooftops, and I could see men in navy hoodies come up and sneak their way to the edge. Some were carrying rifles, Ak's by the looks of it. One or two started assembling rocket propelled grenade launchers. They were well beyond my range, so I just took in the show as black clad soldiers popped up from their hiding spots on the roof, surprising them. I expected a fight, but each of the hooded ones surrendered without resistance. No shots fired. That may well be my job.
As the figure in white approached my spot, I reached into my satchel and pulled out the mask. It had a black, non-reflective matte finish on the outside, but inside was shiny and slick, with ribbed striations leading to sharp metal tips at the edges. It had a particularly skeletal appearance that made the facehugger-like interior all the more foreboding. I hesitated, exhaled, and pressed it on. It stuck to my face like a suction cup, the lower edge grasping the top of my nose like a breath strip from hell. I could feel it pulse as the metal extensions slipped from their sheathes to slide along my scalp. They met behind my head and magnetically locked together, forming a slender cage that flexed and pulled tight against my skull.
The lenses flicked to life, and I read off the status messages and biometric information it collected, letting the sensors calibrate to my eyes. I blinked twice, and they displayed the town, marking the radio towers, highlighting the police, the black clad soldiers and their captives, even the limos. And the truck following behind with it's shielded occupant.
I lifted my rifle and checked the ammo. Each bullet had a second stage which included a plasma charge that burned hot enough to melt through a few inches of solid steel instantly. Just a little something to weaken the armor for the high density round that would come behind it. Seems like overkill for this type of mission. Somebody's playing a game, and I'm not sure I like it when the mission planners are feeling clever.
I set the rifle atop the railing, checking the scope. Standard optics this time. A bit old fashioned, especially with the bolt action, but the mask's HUD more than makes up for it. It highlighted the truck and the rider, encased in his polymer bubble, giving his benediction towards the kneeling masses as he passed. So far so good.
My HUD light up red along the edge, and I passed my scope over the crowd. It was hooked up to a satellite with a long range spectrometer. It picked up something, but I didn't bother checking the stats. Just the flash that was picked up by the mask's sensors as they were briefly illuminated by an infrared laser, coming from from a small window at the base of a building. Must have lead into a cellar or basement. I check the info from the satellite, seeing it found trace amounts of explosives and propellants. Another RPG.
At that range, the shooter would most likely blow out his ear drums if he doesn't burn himself to a crisp from the blast. Taking my aim, I had a different outcome in mind for him, but had only seconds before his target passed. I pulled the trigger and saw the blast mid-range from the second stage. The plasma charge burned through a corner of the polymer shield protecting the man in white, and the secondary round fell through the hole left behind. The lack of an explosion probably meant my aim was true. I clicked the radio twice, and watched as a few moments later, more black clad soldiers came through the crowd to investigate the building.
The man in white was a few blocks down, nearly to the cathedral, when they emerged with another captive in a blue hood. He was missing an arm, but seemed alive as they had the stump wrapped, and an ambulance on the way. I continued scanning the crowd, but my mask didn't pick up any further threats. I used my scope to watch the man in white disembark from his bubble. He stumbled a bit as he caught sight of the hole in the corner, giving a quick glance around before he shrugged and raised his eyes to heaven a moment before continuing on into the church. I'm surprised he hadn't noticed sooner.
My job done, I started disassembling the rifle. I was halfway through when a shot sent chips of stone flying from the railing of the balcony, and I jumped over to the corner by the entrance. I didn't have a sidearm on hand. Stupid. I did have my blades. I drew a pair of throwing daggers from my belt, prepared to at least make a stand should he decide to come through, though I hated giving away the initiative.
A shout came through the doorway, and I heard the sounds of a struggle from the other side. It may have been a trap, but I peeked anyway, seeing my assailant struggling with a Padre. The dude looked old, but he had leaped onto the back of the gunman, and held on fast as if at a rodeo. I came through readying a blade, but didn't have a clear shot from the struggle. The gunman threw the priest aside, but he got up, placing himself between us, arms outstretched, before I could throw a knife.
My attacker was another guy in a blue hoodie. There must have been a sale. Before I could consider the ramifications of a 'refer a terrorist friend' discount, the Padre spoke up. They traded heated words, in Spanish. Not the first time, I kicked myself for letting parental prejudice influence my choice in studies. I was starting to consider what angles I should take to throw a blade around the Padre when the gun in the blue guy's hand started trembling.
The Padre continued speaking, gentler, and held out his hand. Blue hoodie just stood there, the gun in his hand still up, but the muzzle was dropping. When the Padre took it from him, the gunman collapsed onto his knees. Seeing nothing else to do, I sheathed my knives and walked back to the balcony to pack up my rifle.
When I returned, the hood was off, and the Padre had a consoling hand atop the guy's head. He couldn't have been more than seventeen. He certainly wasn't old enough to grow a proper mustache. A wayward soul. My hand grasped the radio. I should call it in, have a team down to collect him. My thumb traced the top of the device, pressed itself against the knob there. And with a faint click, turned it off.
I walked passed the Padre and his penitent, through the courtyard, and the door on the other side. It led right to the altar, empty since the crowd was over at the newer one. Yet still well maintained, judging by the gleam off the marble flooring, and the lit candles by the door. I stopped halfway through, and was compelled to look up, past the altar and to the effigy that hung above it. My HUD was blank, there was nothing there for it to read.
I grasped the mask, my fingers pressing the release buttons against my face, through the silicone. The metal cage retracted, scratching lightly against my scalp as it's sharp tips slipped back into their sheathes, the lenses going blank as it turned off. Unmasked, I took another look above the altar. There was nothing there for the sensors to read. I didn't have sensors.
I bowed my head, slipped the mask into my satchel, and walked out the door and into the sun.