World's End: The Twin Files

By Lucas Kawamoto

"Don't hesitate. We've learned that from day one, since the beginning of our training. In the field, everything relies on your timing, on your ability to react. You have to adapt to the situation, before the situation gets you killed."

It's the year 2038. August Gilman is a dashingly handsome, undaunted 18 year old trained

• Language: English
• Publisher: Society of Young Inklings, Inc
• Release date: Apr 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9781956380316

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WORLD’S END: THE TWIN FILES

Lucas Kawamoto

YOUNG INKLINGS

World’s End: The Twin Files

Copyright © 2023 Lucas Kawamoto

Requests for information should be addressed to:

Society of Young Inklings, PO Box 26914, San Jose, CA 95126.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotation in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This manuscript was published through Society of Young Inklings’ Fresh Ink imprint. Fresh Ink is an introductory publishing program for youth writers who have completed a full draft of a novel. This program introduces revision techniques which the youth author then applies to their completed draft. The views of the author are their own and do not reflect the views of Society of Young Inklings.

Cover Illustration: Andrew Breithaupt

Interior Design and Layout: Kristen Schwartz

First Printing: April 2023

ISBN: 978-1-956380-31-6

THE ALPS, SWITZERLAND

JUNE 27, 2037

ONE

Don’t hesitate.

That’s the rule. Since day one. From the beginning of training. In the field, everything relies on your timing, on your ability to react. You have to adapt before the situation gets you killed.

A heavy gale breezes across the mountaintop as I adjust the scope of my sniper rifle thirty degrees to the right. I narrow my right eye and shift my crouched stance ever so slightly. My gaze travels thirteen hundred meters down towards a set of rails winding along the mountain range, searching for signs of the convoy I’m waiting for.

After three and a half minutes, the steel cars of the cargo train come into sight. I take aim at the connection point between the lead car and the rest. I reach to my waist and grab a circular disk. I hold it in my hand and tap twice with my thumb. This device sends geothermal waves through metal as it connects. I’m going to use it to sever the car from the rest.

My stomach clenches as I steady myself. The train is downwind—to make the shot, I’ll have to time it perfectly for the disk to hit the connection point.

The train comes around the mountain parallel to the one I’m on, weaving its way up the tracks toward the peak, where a research center lies. The convoy is carrying a highly valuable asset our director must have to move forward with the project. So, my assignment—get the asset out of the cargo train as quickly as possible. That starts with me immobilizing the cars.

My brow furrows in concentration as the train comes around for a wide-open pass. This will be my best chance of making the shot. I start a silent countdown for five seconds in my head. I hold the sniper completely still, aiming ahead of the connection.

Three, two, one. I pull the trigger, and the shot flies across the open canyon. It sends a recoil through the rifle, jolting my body. I quickly recover and line my eye up with the scope. The shot flies for several long seconds before it hits. The metal of the connection point slowly starts to melt. The first train car pulls away from the rest of the convoy, and the final cars slow to a stop on the rails. I hear shouts from inside the train. I see a group of men climb up to the roof of one of the cars holding machine guns in their hands. I turn my sniper rifle towards them and send a shot flying at one of them. The bullet hits him directly below his chin, and he clutches his neck, blood splattering out and onto the roof of the car. I reload and fire at a second man without hesitation, the shot piercing cleanly through his forehead.

I pull my sniper forward and shoot another before he can enter the car. He falls backward, and his body tumbles down the cliff. I’ve done my part. A strike team will take care of the asset on board the train. I have to escape—now. The extraction point is seven kilometers east, in a small town called Ewen. I turn my attention back to the main car.

The strike team is now moving in, and as I angle my sniper rifle upwards at the cliff above the rails, I spot the outlines of fifteen men rappelling toward the train. I stay and watch as they land on the roof of the cargo train cars. They drop down inside the train and disappear from view.

I know I’m supposed to head for the extraction point, but something holds me here. I wait for several quiet minutes until I start to feel anxious. The strike team should be out by now. Something’s wrong.

I watch as the panels of one of the trains slide open. Men dressed in black climb out, each holding a member of the strike team at gunpoint. I swallow, shifting my stance. Finally, an authoritative man gives an order, and even from across the canyon, I can hear the sound of their gunshots.

They knew we were coming.

I quickly disassemble my sniper rifle, storing the components in a small sheath, which I strap to my leg. Those men certainly know my location by now.

I start running down the steep rocky path that leads down from the mountaintop. If I can make it to the bottom before the men arrive, I’ll be able to get away on my motorcycle towards the extraction point. Protocol dictates that in case of mission failure, the extraction window narrows by fifteen minutes. I’ll have to be fast.

After five minutes, I reach the base of the mountain, sweat beading on my forehead. I climb onto my motorcycle and turn on the engine. I drive down the road that leads to the rest of the city, my eyes watching for any sign of the soldiers.

I continue down the road, wedged in between two neighboring mountains. I push the vehicle to go faster, and soon I reach a tunnel nestled into the side of a steep cliff. I pass through it, my eyes adjusting to the dark. The only sources of light are the glowing yellow orbs that lie along the edge of the tunnel. I look forward, seeing that the tunnel easily stretches for another two miles.

The sound of other engines comes from behind me. I swallow, taking a glance backward. Three other motorcycles are following close behind, each with a man dressed in black armor riding on them. I hear the sound of gunshots ring out as they raise their pistols to open fire.

I swerve to the side of the tunnel, bullets ricocheting off the sloping walls behind me. I steer my motorcycle from side to side in an attempt to make myself a harder target to hit. More gunshots sound from behind, and I cringe as one of the lights directly above my head shatters into shards of glass. Soon I come up to the end of the tunnel. The darkness transforms into broad daylight, making me more visible to my pursuers. I hear one of them nearing closer and closer, and when I chance a look behind, I grimace as one of the motorcycles has drawn within ten meters. Unholstering my gun, I pivot on my seat, keeping my left hand on the handlebar. I narrow my eyes, then fire several shots back at him. One of the bullets hits the soldier square in the chest, and he tumbles backward off his motorcycle.

Up ahead, a long bridge crosses over a wide gorge that spans the distance between this road and the town. Down below, a waterfall cascades into a long, winding river that leads to the ocean. Across the steel bridge lies Ewen. My eyes focus on a large tower on the outskirts of the city. That’s my extraction point.

I notice a large gray lever lying at the end of the bridge. I frown. Then it dawns upon me that the city of Ewen used to be much lower in the ground until the government had it raised up several hundred feet. Boats used to pass through this river to the town, so the bridge must have been able to open to let them through.

An idea forms in my mind.

The motorcycle’s engine roars as I turn the throttle harder. I race across the bridge, nearing the lever. Bullets fly through the air, narrowly missing me. I reach the lever and slide off the motorcycle. I run to the lever and pull on it as hard as I can.

A groaning noise sounds from the bridge, and the clank of metal gears reaches my ears. The two halves of the bridge slowly begin to rise upwards, and the men chasing me are forced to a stop.

Not looking back, I climb onto my motorcycle once more and head for the extraction point. Once I reach the city, I enter through a small side road, avoiding the crowds of tourists pushing through the main gates. The alley that I take is narrow and bumpy, the concrete of the road itself being made up of dense pebbles.

As I exit the alley, I’m forced onto a main road filled with people heading to the marketplace. I turn my motorcycle to make a hard right, continuing to head in the direction of the tower. I weave through the tourists on the street, trying to blend in with them in order to avoid being followed.

Within minutes I reach the large tower that acts as the extraction point. The building itself is made up of graying brick, constructed over sixty years ago. The main archway that leads into the tower is lined with angels made of stone, and I have to leave my motorcycle behind to make it inside.

The interior of the tower has a large room at the base, with several older men and women sitting inside, reading newspapers. I hurry up a flight of spiral stairs, heading up the levels toward the top. I run up at least seven staircases before reaching the top floor, where I pause and take several long breaths in exhaustion.

I can hear the sound of a bell ringing above my head, and I realize that this old building must act as the town’s clock tower. In the corner of the room, I spot a rickety wooden ladder that leads up above. I climb up the ladder and push open a circular hatch.

As I emerge from the inside of the building, beams of sunlight hit my face. I come out onto a large platform overlooking the rest of the city. To my left lies a massive metal bell that hangs from the connection point between the four archways above me.

The sound of rotors spinning reaches me as I realize that the chopper must be here now. I take several steps to the left to gaze out at the city, where I spot a sleek black helicopter moving toward me. When the pilot spots me, he swerves to the right towards the clock tower and pulls up close. The side panel of the chopper slides open, and a woman throws a long rope with a carabiner at the end. I catch the rope with ease and hook the clipped end to my belt. Once I’m secured, I take a quick step off the side of the rooftop, where I dangle in midair. I hear the crank of a winch, and the rope begins to reel me upwards. When I reach the chopper’s belly, I grab hold of the landing skids and pull myself up. The woman extends a hand to me, and I step into the helicopter’s cargo hold.

I settle into a seat near the corner of the chopper, taking the sheath that holds my sniper rifle and placing it on a rack. The woman who helped me earlier sits down and makes eye contact.

As I’m sure you have gathered by now, the mission you were sent on was a setup, and Laurings’ men knew we were going to intercept their train. There was a breach at one of our lockdown facilities. She draws in a deep breath. Laurings has escaped.

TWO

I stare at my phone for several moments, my heart rate rising as my finger hovers over the call button. The contact reads SKYE WALKER.

I haven’t called her in over two years. She left the NAIS after London happened. The mission seemed simple. Trying to save the kidnapped daughter of some wealthy philanthropist. I was shot en route to the meeting point. By the time Skye got there, it was too late. The captors panicked and shot the girl. Skye blamed herself. She still does. She left the agency in pursuit of a regular life where the only person she’d have to look out for was herself.

But now, I need her. There’s no one I trust more. Oscar Laurings, a dangerous and accomplished mercenary renowned in crime circles across the globe, has escaped from prison and is after two of the most important pieces of information in the world. The Vice Director and my commander, Evelyn Taylor, has assigned me the task of tracking him down. I need a partner for this mission.

I tap the call button. I wait about twenty seconds as it rings, my jaw clenched, wondering if she’ll pick up. Then I hear her voice.

August?

I swallow. I haven’t heard her voice in so long.

When I don’t answer, she continues. I know there’s something you need from me, she adds. Tell me, and we’ll see if we can work something out.

I clear my throat. It’s about Oscar Laurings.

I can picture her contemplating that; her lips curved into a frown. I hear a door shutting.

Alright, she replies. What is it?

Oscar Laurings escaped the Red Diamond lockdown prison yesterday at 1200 hours. We believe he’s after the Twin Files.

Another pause. My right leg begins to shake. For a second, I think she’s going to hang up, but then I hear her voice once more.

I take it that you want my help finding him?

Yes. Her thought process is still quick. Skye, you’re the best agent I’ve ever known. There are so many lives at stake here, and there’s no one that I trust more than you.

More silence. I can tell that the compliment jarred her.

Okay, she says. Where should I find you?

I heave a sigh of relief, not caring that she’ll hear it. LAX Airfield 19B. Tell the guards I sent you, and give them the chain code 1D4PX.

Got it.

Skye’s waiting for me as I pull in through the gate. As soon as the car stops, I step out and onto the tarmac. She greets me with a hug, which surprises me.

I step back, taking a good look at her. She looks mostly the same as I remember her: Light brown hair pulled back into a bun, deep blue eyes, an expression on her face that fills the gap in-between friendly and dangerous.

Hi, Skye.

Hi, August, she replies. How are you?

Mostly well. You?

She shrugs and looks around the airfield, even though I’m confident she’s already surveyed it in its entirety. Are we going somewhere?

Follow me.

A huge military plane lies in the center of the airstrip. Its wide cargo bay door is folded down. Men rush back and forth from the massive vehicle, carrying various pumps and other pieces of equipment. Large guns protrude from the bottom of each wing, where small cranes are installing boxes of ammunition into their back compartments.

Soldiers salute as we walk up the ramp onto the plane. I climb a flight of stairs to the main deck, Skye trailing behind me.

We both settle down into armchairs at the head of the plane.

We’re good to go, I say to an officer, and she disappears behind the cockpit door.

I look at Skye. As I told you earlier, the White House vault was raided by a group of Laurings’ men. The Director has given me a lead on Laurings, and I want your help to find him.

She doesn’t reply immediately. The director, Luke Walker, is her father. He was furious when she left the agency. That just made her want out even more.

What does this mission involve?

I swallow. It’s high-stakes, meaning the limited resources we have are all going into this mission. The operation itself involves a sky-drop in the Alps near one of Laurings’ military bases. We believe that Laurings himself was recently there and that if we go and get the intel we need, we’ll be able to find his current location.

Just us?

That’s the idea. The Director wants us to be in and out.

Skye slowly nods. Seems simple enough.

I’m still surprised that she’s agreed to come along on the mission, especially considering what happened between us after that last mission. I can still remember how she had cried for hours on end, screaming at the world while leaning on my shoulder. The day after the mission, she apologized and told me she was leaving the agency.

I nod in return, then stare out the window as the cargo ramp lifts up and closes. We’ll be in Europe in no less than seven hours. We should try to get some sleep. I glance back at her. This mission will be dangerous, so we’re going to need all the rest we can get.

THREE

Listen up. 

Jayson, our mission briefer, holds up a parachute in each hand. Each one is marked with a different symbol, and the layers of metal and cloth are noticeably separate. Skye nods.

Each of these is meant for a different job. This first one, he raises the one in his right hand, is your altitude glider. When you jump out of the cargo hold and reach deployment altitude, you’ll open it. That should get you to the level you need to use your second parachute. Jayson nods at the one in his left hand. This parachute will get you across the open plateau and onto the ridge without being seen. It’s equipped with micro-fibers that use the wind to their advantage. If you reach the correct point with your first parachute, this one will get you across the plateau in under a minute.

So if everything goes according to plan, the first parachute will get us to a drop zone, and from there, we deploy the second parachute, which will get us across the plateau? I ask, hoping the plan is as simple as it sounds.

Correct, he replies. "The cargo hold’s doors will open in twenty-five minutes, and in that time, we’ll equip you with everything you need for the mission. All the equipment we have