Enemies in the Dark

Posted on Mon Oct 20th, 2025 @ 20:34 by Awate Dawit & General Heinrich Falkenrath
Edited on on Mon Oct 20th, 2025 @ 20:35

Chapter: Besieged
Location: G.O.U. Field Facility outside of Avalon Institute
Timeline: 02:00 hours
722 words - 1.4 OF Standard Post Measure

The gravel snapped under the slow-turning wheels of the midnight-black saloon. The gate to the military encampment opened without protest, the iron barrier closing behind it with a slow groan. The car wasn’t in a hurry. Its headlights carved through the drizzle, the night tuned to static.

It rolled to a stop beside the command tent. For a moment nothing moved. Then the rear door opened and a man stepped out, upturning the collar of his light grey overcoat. He picked his path across the driest strip of grass toward the tent.

Before the imposing Eritrean man reached the entrance, the flap pushed aside and General Falkenrath stepped out.
“It’s two in the morning, Mr Dawit. What brings you to the Highlands?”

Awate Dawit brushed past him without a word, ignoring the attempt at civility. Inside, the tent glowed with lamplight. He circled the large table laid with the blueprints of the castle now known as the Avalon Institute. Every revision, every foundation plan filed with the county for permission—records the GOU had studied to the last stone.

Reaching into his pocket, Dawit produced a manila envelope. “Your incompetence, it would seem.”

“Excuse me?” The General stepped in, voice rising—only to be cut off by the lawyer’s calm baritone.

“My daughter, Almaz, is being held inside that building. She is a minor. She is not there with my consent. You will retrieve her.”

Falkenrath’s eyes dropped to the envelope, then back to Dawit. “She registered willingly.”

“She came to this place by deceiving one of the men in my employ.” Dawit turned toward the plastic window, looking out at the floodlit loch. The generators rumbled like distant thunder. “Your intelligence should reflect that.”

“With all due respect, sir, that’s not what our reports suggest—”

“Your reports suggest an impressionable girl spoke to a militant recruiter who misrepresented the Institute as a temporary assessment centre.” Dawit clasped his hands behind his back. “I was unaware until her registration appeared. When I discovered it, I came at once.” He gave a nod toward the envelope. “You’ve recorded the same in your own notes.”

“My own?” Falkenrath frowned. “Where are Jenkins and Cavendish in all this?”

“You don’t need them. What you need is a sworn affidavit. Custody established. A complaint of unlawful detention. An application for emergency safeguarding from the Sheriff at Fort William.” Dawit’s tone remained patient. “If you wish, you can call him. I’m sure his wife won’t mind you waking him at this hour.” He drew a steady breath. “What you have here is a minor, removed from parental care, currently in the control of a private institution with a history of political agitation and obstruction of justice.”

Falkenrath shook his head. “We’re not facing any ordinary school, Mr Dawit. We’re facing a powder keg. The slightest spark could make it explode.”

“What you’re facing is a washed-up country singer playing Woodstock on the evening news,” Dawit replied coolly. “A handful of frightened teenagers and a staff of middle-school teachers. And an influential London lawyer holding a press conference at oh-nine-hundred.” He placed a finger on the envelope. “You, General, have the choice of how you’ll be painted in that press conference.”

The silence between them stretched. Falkenrath stepped closer to the table, squaring up with the lawyer before finally reaching for the envelope.
“We will safeguard your daughter, Mr Dawit. You have my word.”

Dawit turned for the exit, pausing only to flick a speck of grit from his shoe. “Do not waste this, General. The League is not in the habit of generous handouts.” The flaps closed behind him, leaving the tent humming with the sound of rain on canvas.

Falkenrath stood still for a moment, then reached for the handheld radio. “Ops, this is Command. Scenario Foxtrot. Target is a minor named Almaz Dawit. Retrieve and secure for medical assessment. Any obstruction will be documented and removed for off-site processing.”

Static filled the line before the reply came through.
“Command, this is Ops. Scenario Foxtrot confirmed. T-minus forty-five minutes.”

Falkenrath lowered the handset, staring through the plastic window at the castle across the loch. This was not how it was meant to go, but time had run out. For him. For Avalon.