2: Igi

Here’s a short story inspired by IGI 2: Covert Strike .

The white light and thunderclap sent them stumbling. Before the first man could blink, Jones was on them. A rifle butt to the temple. A knee to the second’s chest. They fell in a heap.

Behind them, the Krasny Prison Facility burned—a single, silent monument to a mission that had gone sideways, but not under. Here’s a short story inspired by IGI 2: Covert Strike

“Damn,” Jones muttered, dragging the body into the shadow of a decommissioned radar dish. One stray body. That was all it took for a mission to spiral. He checked his wrist-comp. Nightshade’s signal was flickering from the east wing, second floor.

“I can run.”

The main gate was suicide. Too many cameras, too many heavy-caliber nests. Instead, Jones went vertical. He scaled the drainage conduit with his fingertips, pulling himself up hand over hand until he reached a ventilation shaft. The metal groaned, but the rain swallowed the noise.

Nightshade looked at him. “You lost the stealth bonus.” A rifle butt to the temple

The rain over Siberia was a liar. It fell soft as a whisper, promising peace, while below, the Krasny Prison Facility hummed with enough firepower to level a small army. David Jones adjusted the strap of his suppressed MP5 and pressed closer to the icy rock.