Credits to ignys and GoSinister
Leftover remnants of pre-apocalypse arms and supplies aren't a rare find, but to find a large supply of them in one area is an extremely different tale, and a massively profitable venture. As such, weapons manufacturers and smaller mercenary businesses work together to scavenge for these hidden goldmines.
At Sinister Arms Incorporated, the CEO had caught wind of a rumour of a crashed cargo ship that was transporting a shipping crate of milspec supplies, completely untouched. Skeptical, he organized a small team of mercenaries to investigate.
They never returned.
Something was clearly going on here, he thought, so he prepared to send another team. This time, the CEO himself would attend this scavenging job. Both to investigate the rumour and recover the bodies of his last crew... if they were there.
The team of eight hopped off the truck outside a run-down dock. Moss and vines had taken dominion over the damaged buildings and rusty structures. The chilling moonlit sky gazing upon the ocean. While slightly unnerving, what concerned them the most was how quiet it was. Some figured they were too late, others revelling in the idea they're the first. But the CEO was quietly brewing over the incident with the last team. There were no bodies, at least, out in the open.
As they approached the crashed ship, one of the mercenaries tapped the CEO on the shoulder.
"Over there... I hear something."
The team prepared themselves for an unfriendly welcome as they pressed further. A loud tinkering sound enters their ears as they get closer. The source of the noise reveals itself as one merc shines a light on it.
It's a person, in a large black shroud and a white, padded jacket underneath, seemingly picking the lock on the container. The moment the light hits him, he stops his tinkering.
"Ah... finally. More of you."
He turns around. What little of his face that pokes out from his hood is extremely pale white, so are his exposed hands.
"Here for the loot I take it? Plenty of you have tried this week."
Before the CEO could say anything, a loud BANG attacked his senses, followed by a loud cry of pain. Another shrouded man had ran up from behind the team and fired a double-barrel point blank into a mercenary's back. The pale man in front of the container took out his python, donning a grim smile as he fires and takes cover.
The firefight was a one-sided slaughter for the CEO's team, he could make out roughly five men from the surprise attack. The man with the Colt Python, one with a double barrel, another with a Dragunov sniping from some stacked shipping containers, a fourth with a Flamethrower and the last currently shredding a mercenary to pieces with his M249.
The CEO had surrendered himself, throwing his arms into the air during the fight. The man with the colt python strode with the same smile he had throughout the killings. He checks his revolver for ammo, slides in the cylinder and presses the barrel against the CEO's head.
"And yet, none of you have ever gotten to the prize. What a shame." The man taunted. Before he pulled the trigger, the double-barrel wielding man approached.
"Kheriga, this is BORING. Can't we go somewhere else with a CHALLENGE?" he exclaimed.
Pulling his revolver away, "Kheriga" began to ponder. "Oh, Gissavi, you're right. It's not fun when they're always surprised.".
He leans down, staring at the CEO through his pitch-black shades.
"Tell you what, you can have the crate. You've paid for it in blood, and don't you forget it."
Kheriga flashes his revolver to his face, presenting the unique logo on the barrel. A 5 headed creature in silver enamel.
"Know what this is? It's a Hydra. That's what we are, we are the Hydra.".
The other four stood behind their leader with the python as they walked past the CEO, who was still trying to process the situation he had just been in. After gathering his bearings, he turned around to see where they were headed, but couldn't find them in the smoke and dust.
He couldn't grieve just yet, the goal was to get to this crate and by god had they done it. He approaches the lock and... it's undone. In fact, the lock was rusted away. Was this a sick joke to them? He thought as he pried open the container.
The contents were indeed untouched as the rumor went, massive crates stacked high with SWAT gear nestled against each other to the sides. But the most notable prize to reap was at the back, multiple shelves with rows upon rows of a familiar sight, the MP5. The CEO hadn't seen these in years, though fondly remembers he and many others being issued one after signing up to the survivor effort, but also how quickly they would break beyond repair.
The CEO made the necessary calls to get the supplies loaded for transport and taken to the S.A.I. HQ, while he took care of burying his fallen men.
With the sheer number of pristine condition MP5 models, he knew exactly what he wanted to do. Take them apart, reverse engineer them for manufacturing and get as many of them out there to survivors as he possibly could, with as minimal of a cost as he could be allowed. The number of deaths he had caused just to get these guns haunted him, and his guilt felt at ease knowing their sacrifices weren't in vain to see the rebirth of an extremely useful automatic weapon. Though, with each MP5 he sees that his company made, a painful memory flashes in his mind. The face of death, the glint of something far worse out there.
"That's what we are, we are the Hydra."
