16th April 2008

10:00 pm, Alderney Island, Liberty City

(10 Hours Quarantine Remaining)

Niko, Roman and Brucie clattered down the rusty iron steps into the Lost's vast garage, and all three men were struck with a slight sense of awe at the sight of the Lost Brotherhood preparing for war.

The space was cavernous; made even bigger by several adjoining walls being knocked in and stacks of crates and rows of armoured vehicles filling every spare square metre. Everything was lit in the flickering bright white of portable lights and emergency generators humming in the background while countless men and women prepared for battle.

For Niko it was a stark reminder of his days in Eastern Europe, and he felt a cold chill pass through him as around him teenage boys and girls dressed in ill-fitting body armour were handed stamped metal AK-47s and pump action shotguns, all overseen by watchful, battle hardened, Lost members. The sharp tang of oil and rumble of engines drew his eye to the fleet of SUVs and eclectic mix of cargo trucks and looted LCPD vehicles being readied around them. He saw Brucie's eyes glimmer with admiration and some jealously at the work the Lost's mechanics were doing; welding thick strips of armour and wicked looking spikes and rolls of razor wire to the sides of the vehicles. Meanwhile men in overalls scrambled over the intimidating forms of ten eighteen wheeler lorries already armoured and now being added to with steel plows and sheets of metal to protect the wheels.

"That's fucking rad man!" Brucie said with a laugh, pointing at the huge lorries, "They're turning those things into freakin' mobile bunkers!" he added, and Niko followed his friend's gaze to see men stacking sandbags atop the lorries and setting up heavy weapons emplacements, while other workers cut gun slits into the vehicles sides with power saws. All around the garage the air was filled with sparks from power tools and the stamp of booted feet.

Niko led the other two through the seemingly chaotic atmosphere, having to weave around squads of Lost members decked out in ballistic vests and scavenged riot gear under their obligatory leather jackets hefting heavy assault rifles rushing to their own positions. Turning back to see how his friends were doing, Niko noticed they couldn't be any different in their reactions. Brucie looked as excited as a kid in a candy shop, cursing softly under his breath in awe at everything around him, from the armoured vehicles to the jury rigged heavy weapons and anti-air rockets being welded onto the backs of pickup trucks. Roman however, regarded everything with a downcast expression, no remnant of his former good humour anywhere on his unshaven face as he sidestepped a gang of burly women rushing past with a mix of civilian and military grade sniper rifles over their shoulders.

"What's got you down cousin?" Niko asked as he fell into step with Roman, letting Brucie wander ahead in his state of near bliss.

"This whole…fucked up affair!" Roman said, keeping his voice low and his eyes to the ground, "Don't you see how stupid this is Niko? These people are like the militias back in the old country just before the government forces wiped them out…Do you really think these trucks armoured with sheet metal and men on motorbikes can fight helicopter gunships and commandoes?"

Niko shrugged, "This is nothing like the old country cousin. We were just kids back then, you especially. You won't remember how our militia really fought. We're not going to just rush their positions like idiots. Me and Johnny had a long talk, and I told him exactly how we fought in the militias. We're going to draw the CIA out, get them in a position where they can't just call on the Marines for aid. Whatever that mask is, it's important enough for the CIA to send in their own men to get it. Do you ever remember seeing any regular military except for the jets? Whatever the hell that thing is, Director Ross will only let his most trusted troops near it. Trust me, we're going to overwhelm those bastards ten to one when we finish this thing. Once we get Ross to confess, well, we just watch as the army rolls in and destroys every last undead fuck in the city and we say goodbye to this hellhole forever…"

Roman was silent but Niko could see that he remained unconvinced.

"Look cousin-"he began, but Roman cut him off, giving him a sad smile.

"Niko I…I'm sorry, for what I said back in Algonquin. You've done nothing but keep us safe since this whole thing started. I remember how before all this…I-I thought that you were just some unfeeling pyscho but…but now, well, I see you really do care. I mean, you're never going to be the touchy feely type I know that but…I'm just glad you're here and watching out for me…and don't…don't blame yourself for Mallorie and Kate."

Niko kept walking, awkwardly looking at his shoes for a second before putting a hand on Roman's shoulder.

"Thanks Roman." He said simply, then there was no more time for talk as they came to where Johnny Klebitz stood alongside Clay and his chief lieutenants. Decked out in scavenged LCPD riot gear and ballistic vests- all spray painted black and adorned with the crest of the Lost and gratuitous amounts of skulls- Johnny and his men cut a fearsome figure as he greeted Niko and Roman with a broad grin. Johnny himself looked to Niko like someone from a hard-core metal band, with his shaven head, thick black leather biking outfit and a ballistic vest adorned with dozens of surprisingly well painted bone white skulls .

"Finally joining the party it seems! You'll need these!" he added as both men were thrown thick black flak jackets and heavily customised AK-47s.

"You're the only people who understand that fucking mask," Clay added with a nod, absently shifting his grip on the heavy pump action shotgun in his hands "Personally I ain't exactly big on this whole voodoo curse and ancient conspiracy bullshit but so long as I got something to shoot that's a bit more exciting than rotting corpses I'm down."

"So what's the plan then?" Niko asked calmly as he pulled on the heavy flak jacket and replaced his grey suit jacket over the top. If he was going to war he wasn't going to look like some homeless thug.

Johnny narrowed his eyes, "It's simple really," He grabbed a rolled up map from one of his lieutenants then stepped over to a pile of wooden ammunition crates and laid it out. Drawing a vicious looking serrated knife from his leather jacket, Johnny stabbed it into near the centre of the image.

"That's us," he said simply then began tracing a route through the grid pattern roads, "We'll head straight along the main streets. Back before we destroyed her air fleet Governor Reed used to conduct bombing runs to destroy any barricades or fences we tried to set up so these roads are clear except for zombies and abandoned vehicles. That's where the plow trucks will come in handy. From here it's a straight shot up the off ramp on Boyden Street. I already sent some of our boys ahead so every rooftop from here to the Museum will have our brothers up there on overwatch. When we head up onto the Skyway they'll fall back and meet us at the objective. Once on the Skyway it's a straight shot across and down to the CIA's new HQ- the Acter Industrial Park. Then we take the fight to the CIA while you try and do something about Ross and that mask."

"A sound plan." Niko admitted.

"A lot of our members are ex-military. A few served in the Gulf War. They know how to deal with proper militaries. We ain't just thugs on bikes."

Roman looked unsure, "What about numbers? How many have we got to pull this off?"

Johnny shrugged noncommittally and lit a cigarette.

"What am I, an accountant? I don't do numbers, friend. We have at least five hundred men and women, not counting drivers and gunners, about forty vehicles, twice as many bikes. Priority is to protect the eighteen wheelers. Those are gonna be our troop transports. We've got our hands on five helicopters from the mansions of fatcat billionaires and the Weazel News studios. My boys threw on some armour plate and some Vietnam era guns we found in the old National Guard Armoury before the CIA blew it up. Were you expecting us to just go in on bikes?" he added with a smug grin.

"You two will be riding with us in the Beast- centre of the convoy." Clay added, jerking a thumb at a massive cargo truck just visible behind a line of pickup trucks with mounted heavy machine guns. All black and covered in tons of armour plate and lines of razor wire, the truck resembled a mobile fortress- an effect only ruined by the Clucking Bell chicken just visible underneath a wedge of armour at the front.

"You're gonna be keeping that mask safe while we keep you guys safe. Once we reach the Industrial Plant you're gonna be on your own while we fight the CIA," Johnny said as he took a long drag on his cigarette, "Well, except for ten of my best boys who are gonna stick to you like fucking glue."

Johnny paused- finished his cigarette- then stubbed it out under his boot and roll up the map.

"Enough fucking talk," he declared, then, in a louder voice so the whole garage could hear," I ain't gonna do no speeches. We hit 'em hard and we hit 'em good. Everybody mount up! Brothers for life!" he called out.

"Lost forever!" came the roaring reply as last minute checks were finished and the army of the Lost readied themselves for battle.

000000

As the Lost MC rode out to battle, another group with similar aims were also readying themselves.

Driving in a long line of armoured NOOSE vans and Patriots, sirens blaring and lights flashing, surrounded by hundreds of police in heavy riot gear on horseback, the last of the LCPD rode for Acter. And alongside them came a riotously bright column of vans and retro cars painted in bright greens, yellows and oranges- their unexpected Yardie allies. Around them the stumbling undead milled about, blackened arms reaching out from burnt out cars or as they shambled across the highway. The horsemen showed no mercy, cutting the zombies' skulls apart with deft machete strikes or blunt baton attacks. Any survivors were simply trampled by hooves or crushed on the fenders of the convoy itself. Here and there one of the police got overconfident and was pulled from the saddle or struck by a lucky Retcher attack but they were simply abandoned, the other horsemen steeling themselves as the cries of their fallen comrades filled the air.

Near the centre of the convoy, protected by a line of crack NOOSE troopers on horseback, Kate Mcreary rode alongside Little Jacob and Agent Hill, preparing herself for the battle to come.

As they emerged out from the cover of burnt out riverfront apartment blocks, she looked out to her left to see the smoking ruins of Algonquin.

The central island of Liberty City was no longer wreathed in flame but it might as well have been for Kate. Every time she tried to catch even the briefest amount of rest she found her mind flashing back to the horror she had experienced there. The pillars of fire and smoke, the roar of jets and crump of explosions blending in with staccato gunfire, every second of that waking nightmare was etched into her mind as if it had been carved in with a knife. And mixed in with that was guilt. Guilt at her brother's death, guilt at not being able to help Niko and the others, guilt that when Agent Hill and his men had rescued her she had been a shivering wreck- especially after her hasty leg amputation to stave off infection.

She had tried to fight back thought, she thought. It had been her that had united the remnants of the LCPD under one banner, brought together the disparate groups and rival factions that had been emerging. If it hadn't been for her, Agent Hill had told her, the LCPD, NOOSE and FIB would probably have been overwhelmed by the undead or killed each other in petty civil wars within days. Hill had doubted they would live long enough for the fabled military aid.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Kate turned her gaze away from the floating corpses and wrecked helicopters choking the river between them and Algonquin. Little Jacob gave her a concerned look while Agent Hill, still morose and pale, only raised an eyebrow at her melancholy mood.

"We don't have to do this, Commissioner Mcreary. You know that." Hill said simply and Kate shook her head.

"We don't have to Agent, you're right. We need to. If we don't take the fight to Director Ross for what he's done to this city, how will we live with ourselves? If we get out of here and I have to see that monster parading around with the President and getting a Nobel Peace Prize or a parade through Washington, well, I'll just find myself wishing I really had become zombie food."

"So this is revenge? This army, all those things you said back in Algonquin? All to hit back against one murderous bastard?"

"No…revenge doesn't even begin to come into it. This is justice. Not the sort of wishy-washy fake justice we delude ourselves into believing. That man will never go to trial. We'll never see the CIA dragged into a courtroom. We need the kind of justice my brothers believed in- all of them. The idea that sometimes good men have to do bad things to really solve problems. When my brother was Commissioner he wasn't some fucking white knight of naivety. He did some bad things, yeah, but it was all for the good in the end. If Ross hadn't bombed Algonquin, almost a third of Liberty City would have survived. If Ross' planes hadn't shot unarmed refugees from the sky, or quarantined the city, or any of the fucked up shit he and his men did, maybe we could have got out of this a lot better. That's the last bit of doubt I want to hear from any of you. We're gonna do this- and we'll have Director Ross' corpse hanging from the tallest tree by the time the Marines arrive. Minus a few 'extremities' of course." She added darkly, lightly tapping the sheathed machete at her hip with her free hand.

The radio at her belt crackled into life as a lone blue and white LCPD Annihilator, accompanied by two Mavericks flying beside it, roared overhead and she instantly put he radio to her ear, balancing her M16 in the other.

"Hammer Actual this is Anvil Company. We're going to need more time to get into position. The tanks are taking a long time to clear the debris on the roads. Seems our intel was wrong. There's less blockages in the main city than the suburbs."

Kate put her hand over the radio briefly and sighed. The plan was getting more complex the closer they came to putting into action.

"Anvil Company, this is Hammer Actual. Are your escorts intact?"

"We've lost a lot of the horsemen when we had to slow down. Seems not all the undead got drawn to your group. There's some kind of disturbance in the direction of the Statesman Hotel but I can't spare any officers to-"

The officer's response was cut off by the sharp sustained crack of automatic weapons.

"Anvil Company?"

"Hammer Actual-" the officer replied, his breath coming out in sharp gasps in between the unmistakable thump thump of tank rounds being fired, "We're under attack by the undead. I'm ordering all units to fall back to the rally point. You'll have to proceed for now without us. We can-"

The radio crackled for a second before the panicked officer continued.

"Hammer Actual, we're going to make a break for us. Any surviving forces will meet you for the attack when able."

"Understood Anvil Company. We need those tanks intact. If necessary abandon the escorts if necessary. Those tanks are too vital to the battle plan to be lost. Over and out."

As Kate put away the radio and adjusted her grip on her rifle, Agent Hill looked over.

"Commissioner is the-"

"The plan continues, Agent. Unfurl the banners. We're going to war."

000000

Miles of abandoned city and undead hordes away, in the centre of the Acter Industrial Park, the last faction in the war for Liberty City fortified their positions.

Atop the highest level of the sprawling oil refinery, in front of the CIA taskforce's small fleet of high tech Buzzard gunships, Cargobob transports and Annihilators all grounded and armed for battle, Director Ross looked out over his small army.

Only two hundred operatives strong, the CIA force was spread out below him, with small fireteams setting up the last of the forest of barbed wire, tank traps and minefields across the open car parks and waste ground. His force was set out in small five man teams in strategic positions to maximise the amount of firepower they could bring to bear. Beyond a line of black APCs and low industrial buildings crammed with rooftop machinegun nests and sniper teams, the first line of the CIAs defences stood ready to await the inevitable attack.

Countless in number and only held at bay by a thick concrete and steel prefab wall, a sea of grey faced undead moaned and howled. Spilling out of the gates of the smouldering prison two miles away, the zombie horde moved in and around the wreckage of countless vehicles and the remains of foolish attacks by Libertonians on the CIA fortress.

Lowering his binoculars Ross leaned on the rusted iron railing, feeling uncomfortable in the thick CIA body armour and helmet, almost missing his expensive suit. More for the sake of his own comfort than any kind of tactical reasoning, he had informed his troops that masks would be unnecessary- he had claimed the airborne strain of the virus had 'gone dormant' .With his Browning at his hip and a heavily modded M4 held lazily in one hand, Ross looked less like a politician and more like a soldier from the future.

He already knew how this battle was going to end. The Mask of Xolotl would soon be back in his possession. Either the Lost or the LCPD remnants had it, and his vast network of spy drones and observer teams were tracking their every move. And, if it all went to hell, he was fully authorised to use the Hammerdown Protocol and wipe the slate clean.

The radio built into his helmet buzzed into life.

"Eagle Actual, this is Wildfire- we've placed the charges and they're ready to go. When you give the command-"

Ross shook his head, "Denied Wildfire. I'll detonate the charges from up here. Keep your men ready though."

The soldier on the other end paused briefly, but quickly responded.

"Affirmative Eagle Actual. I've already received reports from all other explosives teams that their own charges are in place and they've fallen back in good order. Do you want control over their charges?"

Ross thought about it for a second.

"Negative, Wildfire. I trust their judgement. They'll detonate when needed. Your charges will be saved for last."

As he said this a sharp beeping over the radio indicated another incoming message.

"Wildfire, get to your post. I've got more intel incoming."

"Affirmative sir. Over and out."

Tapping the side of his mask to change the radio frequency, Ross instantly recognised the southern twang of Operative Kara Lee, leader of the small air fleet and one of the deadliest Air Force pilots in recent history. She had been one of the few operatives that had piqued his attention. A former beauty queen and cheerleader from Huntsville, Alabama, she stuck out in the files he had read before the Liberty City operation began, back when he was assembling his taskforce.

"Eagle Actual this is Southern Belle. Just heard from one of the observers that a large force is massing by the Statesman Hotel."

"LCPD?"

"Negative. Spotters say the LCPD are still moving down the coastline. Some kinda bandit army- the Lost Brotherhood most likely."

Ross sighed inwardly.

"Get your birds in the air Operative. Search and destroy mission. I'll have Overwatch teams take out any enemy spotters or anti air units on the nearby rooftops."

"Affirmative sir. Southern Belle out."

The CIA Director killed the line and took a few minutes to look out over the wreckage of the city beyond the industrial park.

From behind him came the whir of helicopter blades and then he braced himself against the railing as a barrage of strong winds threatened to hurl him from the edge. He held on and looked up with a slight amount of triumph as Operative Lee's personal craft, a black Buzzard adorned with a spray painted mascot of an archetypal Southern gentlewoman brandishing an M16, flew directly overhead. After it came three more Buzzards, followed by two jet black Annihilators, cabin doors open to reveal door gunners and squads of CIA operatives readying rappelling lines. Ross felt a smile come to his face.

Somewhere out there was the mask, and whoever had it, LCPD or the Lost, it didn't matter now. Everything was falling into place.

"Bring it on Liberty City…"