Tomb Raider: Mythos

Lara Croft sets out to find one thing and stumbles upon something much more interesting.
On the west coast of Eire a myth is about to rise...





Author's note: (I wrote this story for the Gaming Fan Fic comp)"I know the blurb might not be very inviting but I'm still not sure where the story will go, so please bare with me."

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1. Prologue

 

 

 A noise.

 I spin around, whipping my pistols from their holsters.

 It is dark, no moon, I see nothing but the faint outline of my motorbike parked next to the fence and the glow of the thick snow that lies on the ground.

 I take a cautious step forward, my skin tight grey clothing moving silently with me.

 Getting into this compound could be my most difficult mission yet, the MI-7 advised against it when they found out but I am not one of their agents, I work for myself and myself only. Slipping the pistols into their holsters on my thighs, I turn back and continue along the fence.

 I've gone about five paces when there's a voice; I freeze, straining my eyes.

 "Clear?" It’s spoken in English.

 The reply comes from two feet ahead of me.

 "Clear."

 I hold my breath and slide a pistol into my hand as I pull my night vision goggles over my eyes. There he is; no helmet only a light fabric hat, a shotgun in one hand, two steps and I crack him on the back of the head with the butt of the pistol. I don't worry about CCTV, there isn't any, no one would be mad enough to try and break through an electrified fence guarded by dozens of heavily armed men in the middle of nowhere; I smile wryly to myself, no one except me of course. I catch the guard under the arms as he falls and drag him away from the fence, rooting in my pocket I produce a small pill and slip it between the man's lips.   

 That ought to keep him out for awhile. Must move fast now, they'll soon notice one of their guards is missing.

 Wiping my gloved hands on my pants I walk quickly, on the balls of my feet, my boots crunching ever so slightly on the crisp snow.

 The next guard is up ahead and another a good forty meters beyond him, you wouldn't think they'd have this many guards at a place that makes counterfeit money.

 I dive into a forward roll that takes me up behind the guard; I jump and kick him in the head.

 Then again, I think as I drag him off, these men are bankers who did time, and now their out they're stooping even lower making dirty money so they can buy whatever their hearts desire or that’s what I’ve been told.

 I see a locked gate is between me and the next guard. For some reason I’m not expecting to find thousands of fake five hundred pound notes locked in safes when I finally make it inside.

 There's an intercom.

 I pull one pistol again.

 My hand is over his mouth and his shotgun knocked from his hand before he has time to blink, the pistol pressed into the side of his head.

 "Now." I say in his ear, keeping to my native language.

 "You’re going to walk over to the intercom and ask to go in."

 "And no screaming for help or it's your head." I move my hand from his mouth.

 "You gonna kill me?" He asks in English. At least I don’t have to go rooting in my memory for my Icelandic language training, in fact his accent sounds slightly American.

 "No, the pistol is going to kill you, I'm just the sidekick."

 He chuckles a little breathlessly. This one’s got guts.

 "Oh?” “Is a pistol not good enough for you?" I press it harder against his head.

 "Nah, its fine..."

 "Start walking." I push him forward. We get to the intercom. He presses the buzzer.

 "Yes?" comes the tinny voice. "Better be good, I've almost reached level seven."

 I raise an eyebrow at no one in particular as we hear a faint crash from the other end followed by a torrent of colourful language, men and their X-boxes.

  "Aww man I'm sorry 'bout that, I reached level eight last time I was on ‘com watch."

 "Hmph." From “level seven” man.

 "Anyway, I got a call from HQ, they want me up there straight away, open up"

 "You?"

 My guard sighs. "Yeah, you heard me."

 “Nah, I'll go up, you get up here and get me to level eight."

 "Sure thing." The gates open. We go through. Everything is quite and still.

 I clip him on the head, he falls, I drag him into the shadow of a cargo crate, right, next finding the main man.

 I'm sliding my pistol into its holster when I am arrested by the sound of an alarm, about twenty guards-I don’t have time to count them- appear from behind the other crates, all armed to the teeth.

I pull my pistols and face them.

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