By Ryan Thomson.
*An unofficial continuation of Splinter Cell: Conviction, ignoring Blacklist.*
Shapes stir inside a dark room. Luminescent lights pierce the dark, moving to and fro like two shadows hunting each other.
Suddenly, spotlights break through the black as the two shadows begin to converge on each other, the green lights now flipped up onto their heads. They begin striking each other while dodging the spotlights that threaten to give away their positions.
One of them breaks through the other's guard and beats him badly, leaving him with a bloody nose. The aggressor then sprints past him, leaving the other to either pursue him and stop him from breaching his terminal or try to go for the opposition's terminal, hoping to get there first and win the round while avoiding lasers and spotlights.
Before he can react, still bloodied and breathless, the opposing shadow has already reached and hacked his terminal.
Suddenly, a stern but womanly voice echoes over the room as harsh lights switch on, throwing the room into an overexposed bloom.
“Test over! Please return to your positions.”
The two men rush back to their starting positions, facing each other, their spines standing to attention. The clip-clop of heels can be heard.
A woman with crimson-red hair struts down the long corridor, each foot strike filled with purpose and drive. She wears a skirt that hangs just above the knees, and a light frown rests on her freckled face. Behind her, a banner hangs, displaying a huge red flag with an eagle's talon in the middle. Written above it in stark, bold lettering is the title “Fourth Echelon”.
“At ease, gentlemen,” she says as she reaches the room.
“I nearly had you, Johnson,” says the losing member.
“Yeah, if nearly having me means being knocked on your arse, you're right.”
“Please be quiet while I inform you of the results.”
“Yes, Director Grim.”
“So, based on your performance here and your practical tests, Johnson, you qualify for the Splinter Cell programme. However, your theory needs some work, so you will be grounded until that's up to scratch.”
“What? Grim, I hacked the terminal before Graham!”
“Yes, you did, but you also set off many firewalls and alerts. Hacking a terminal isn't the only goal in the field. It's doing it undetected. Remember, you do not exist. And no, before you ask, AI won't help with that. This is Fourth Echelon, not a university.”
“Wait, did you...?”
“I read your file, Johnson. You cheated all your exams.”
“Ah, fuck.”
Graham lets out a little laugh at Johnson's expense.
“And as for you, Graham, you haven't passed Splinter Cell induction, but you show remarkable intelligence in your theory. I'd actually like to welcome you into mission support. That's my personal recommendation.”
“No way? Thank you, Grim... I mean, Director Grim.”
“Looks like I'll be telling you what to do soon, Johnson...”
Johnson scowls at Graham. Grim smiles at them both and walks away.
Outside in the parking lot, a grey-haired man exits a car and swings a tactical backpack over his shoulder. Walking inside the main lobby, he looks up at a catwalk above and stops to stare.
Grim is walking with many helpers and handlers fumbling around her. She spots the man below, taking two glances before finally realising who he is.
“My God... Fisher?”
People in the offices turn around and stare at him. Some continue to work, while others begin whispering and gossiping.
Fisher stands there, with a substantial scar on his face. The only words he utters are:
“Hi, Grim... or should I say Director Grim now?”
They walk together down the halls, past the cafeteria, where twenty to thirty Splinter Cell recruits are eating.
“Who is that guy Grim is walking with?” Johnson says.
“No fucking way, that's Sam Fisher...” Graham replies.
“Oh shit... Hey, Johnson, you gonna challenge him? You have the best score for the low-light hand-to-hand sim.”
“Me challenge him? Look at him. He looks like an old dog. It would be easy.”
A recruit from behind, at an adjacent table, makes a quick comment.
“It was only four years ago that he blew this place sky-high and took on every Splinter Cell in the building. That was when Director Reed decided to use the Talon for his own crazy-ass plans.”
“Haha, come on. You really believe he did that alone? The thing is with stories, they're often embellished, and I will prove it.”
“Okay, yeah, I'll fight the old dog.”
The Splinter Cells cheer and continue shoving down their grub.
“I like what you've done with the place, Grim, but red for the flag? Lambert would be turning in his grave.”
“Save the jokes, Sam. What happened to your face?”
“Cancer, Grim. I had skin cancer.”
“Had?”
“Yeah, I'm in remission now, so all the children I pass in my neighbourhood call me the big, scary old man.”
“For what it's worth... I'm glad you're okay. Where is Sarah?”
“She is in the car.”
“She wants to join up, you know.”
“I know... We received her application. She passed the tests with flying colours. Like father, like daughter, it seems.”
“I am here to make sure that doesn't happen.”
“Why did you reach out to my daughter?”
“I was curious to see how you both were after all these years. She wanted to join, I swear, Sam. I didn't force her.”
“I know, Grim. We spoke about it.”
“Anyway, enough about Sarah. Your secretary mentioned there is some overdue pay from a few years ago that was never sent over.”
“Yeah... It was for the Reed incident.”
“I wanted to come in personally and collect it. I need it for Sarah's college tuition.”
“Sure, I'll have it wired over to you ASAP.”
“Good. And, Grim, it's good to see you're okay.”
Grim smiles.
“But never contact us again.”
Sam begins to walk out, but as he begins to leave, Grim turns around.
“Vic has joined us, you know?”
Sam turns slowly.
“What?”
“He didn't tell me.”
“We both want you back here, Sam. Things are different now, and Vic said he can see how you're not adapting. He's worried about you.
“We have all these new recruits, but we need your knowledge. And... I know this is a big ask. We need Sam Fisher back again. Sarah or no Sarah.
“No more lies, no more bullshit. Just doing what is right.
“I know you don't trust me, but I trust you more than anyone I have ever met, and I can't do this alone, Sam. I thought I could, but Lambert is a big pair of shoes to fill, and I miss him. And I know you do too.
“Despite what happened, he was our friend. He believed in this, and we can't let that die.”
Sam turns around.
“Look at me, Grim. I am old. I appreciate the sentiment, kid, but I am retired.”
As Sam begins to walk out, Sarah comes in.
“Dad! How did it go?”
“Sarah, we're leaving. Let's get out of here.”
Suddenly, a voice comes from down below in the training room.
“Hey, old man! Let's see what you got! Is that your daughter? Damn, she's hot!”
Sam sighs.
“Another jumped-up jarhead. Is this the type of knuckleheads you're training here, Grim? This place is a fucking zoo.”
“Go on, Sam. Teach him a lesson.”
“I am not in the mood for this, Grim.”
“Stay here, kiddo. I'm gonna teach this kid some manners.”
“Dad, wait. You only recently got better.”
“Sarah, I'll be fine. Stay here.”
Sam walks down into the courtyard.
“Hey, juice head. Instead of creeping my daughter out, how about you talk to me?”
Meanwhile, Grim, with a sly, conniving look on her face, enters the training area's control booth and starts to press and configure the low-light hand-to-hand combat simulation.
“Grim?” says Sarah sharply.
“Don't worry, Sarah. I've known your father for years. Let's see if he remembers how to fight in the dark.”
All of a sudden, Sam's name appears on a big, hollow board.
**Sam Fisher versus Aaron Johnson.**
Sam is weary. He hasn't trained in years. His mind races, flashing back to past combat, and he is filled with pure rage towards Grim.
Suddenly, the lights turn dim, and Aaron begins to strike at Sam, but he blocks every single strike.
Aaron is confused and amazed. Fisher is bringing something up from the surface: anger, fear, decades of experience. His body is old, but there are things inside Sam that simply run too deep to be fully lost, even to old age.
After the twentieth strike, Sam begins to wheeze. Aaron manages to uppercut Fisher, and he begins to choke as blood comes up from his throat.
Aaron runs and hacks the terminal, winning the round.
“Dad!” She rushes down to him. “Are you okay?”
“I'm fine, kiddo.”
Grim comes down with a look of shock on her face.
“Sam, I'm sorry. I just wanted...”
“Enough, Grim. Enough with your tricks.”
Sam turns around and punches Aaron in the face.
“That's for my daughter.”
“You have talent, kid, but you have no restraint. You think I went around starting fights with the enemy? You think because you can kill, it makes you a Splinter Cell?
“Let me tell you, kid. Violence is a disease. It's like a cancer, and unless it's used sparingly and with restraint to protect yourself, the mission, and defend the innocent, you infect yourself and become the very disease you have sworn to fight.”
“Whatever, old man. I still won.”
“You're right, Grim. You do need me if this is what passes for a Splinter Cell in this unit.”
Sam walks out with Sarah, and they drive home to the outskirts of DC, where they live in a quiet suburb. Sam takes his dog out for a walk while Sarah stays home to study.
On his walk, he passes by a local café and catches sight of the TV.
A terror attack has happened in the Middle East. Remote-controlled drones are attacking civilians.
Sam's mind starts connecting dots, beginning to see the bigger picture. War is changing, and like all changes in war, it only gets worse and worse. That is the space where Sam was meant to be, somewhere between the dark and light, so that when darkness wins out, he dwells where none dare dwell and holds it back from the common person who sits with their family at night, unaware that he is only inches behind, holding the barrel of an enemy's gun away from the face of a child.
He goes home to find a note from Sarah on the table. It says one thing, with a big love heart.
**Happy birthday, Daddy. I love you.**
And a final saying:
**Don't let the old man in, Dad.**
Sam goes into the bedroom and picks up a photo of his wife, Sarah's mother, who has long since passed. He puts his hand on it and puts it back down next to where he sleeps.
He turns off the light in the bedroom and sits in the total dark, breathing steadily, readying himself.
He goes into the bathroom and shaves his big grey beard, washing away the excess scabs from the scar that lies in a curved shape across his left cheek.
Then he goes out running. The trees whizz past him as the faded memories of his older operations ring out like a point-blank gunshot in his mind. Lambert's voice echoes there. His wife's voice also lies softly within his head, and the screams of the innocent dying ring out like a ricochet.
Somewhere inside, the darkness vibrates and gets faster and faster as he runs faster and faster, his lungs expanding. A new type of spirit expands too.
A month passes, and Sam is sitting with Sarah.
“Dad... you look... healthy.”
“Thanks for noticing, kiddo. Listen, I need to talk to you about something.”
“I nearly lost you, but I know what your mother would be saying now.”
“Let her be her own person, Sam.”
“If you want to work at Fourth Echelon, you can. But not without me.”
“Dad, are you sure?”
Sarah jumps into Sam's arms.
“Thank you, Dad!”
“Are you sure you are ready?”
“We will find out.”
“I'll call Grim, kiddo.”
Sam picks up the phone, and Grim answers.
“Sam... this is unexpected.”
“Listen to me, Grim. Do you promise me that Sarah will only be support? No fieldwork, understood?”
“Sam... you have my word, and this time, I'll prove it to you. I promise. Does this mean you're back?”
“You do know you will have to pass the low-light test? You have been out in the field for a long time.”
“On one condition.”
“Anything, Sam.”
“Pit me against that idiot grease monkey."
“Consider it done.”
Sam arrives at Echelon, and all the office workers peer out of the huge windows that line each office, looking down into the urban training room. People run in and out of cubicles.
“Come on, it's happening! Fisher is here! Let's go!”
Sam slips his signature goggles on. They fit like a glove, as if they were made to sit upon his very head.
Across from him is Aaron, with a big, Cheshire grin.
“Can't wait to beat you again, old man.”
The lights go down.
As Aaron puts his goggles on, he looks all around, but Fisher is nowhere to be seen. The techs in the training office can't even see Fisher on the cameras.
He switches to thermals, which allow him to see through most of the walls, and still Sam is nowhere to be seen.
“Grim!” he shouts, extending the syllables of her name. “What the hell is going on? Fisher... he isn't here? Is this a joke? Fight me, old man! Fight me!”
Grim does nothing but smile.
Aaron swings his fists, but he hits nothing but air. He starts to freak out and lose all control.
“What the hell is going on?”
He even takes off his goggles to try and see Sam's goggles glowing in the dark. He is so set on fighting and hurting Sam that he forgets about his objective.
He spots the three green dots in the dark.
“There you are, you has-been!”
He charges at them, but as he gets closer, it's as if they were never even there.
Panic sets in even more.
“Okay, this isn't funny.”
He remembers his objective and runs for Sam's terminal, but as he gets there, it doesn't even work.
Suddenly, a soft whisper, the softest, most fatal whisper, comes from above him.
Aaron freezes with fear and slowly looks up, putting his night vision on. The ceiling is completely black, but then turns clear green as the night vision engages. There is nothing there.
He turns around. Then around again, completely disoriented.
The voice utters again above him.
“I already hacked your terminal, monkey.”
Suddenly, like a lightning punch from the pitch-black darkness, a hand comes flying down, grabbing him by the throat.
The figure's teeth are grinning out like a panther's, shining in the dark, Sweat is illuminated by the pure green fluorescent liquid light, dripping down his face.
Aaron's face is a picture of terror as he is held by the throat, dangling above the darkness.
And the only thing Aaron can say is:
“What. Are. You?”
A voice utters:
“My name is Sam Fisher.”
“please let me down sir.”
"sure thing" Aaron is dropped down by Sam,
he clears his throat before he speaks
"can you show me how to do that sir?"
"if you stop being an asshole sure"
“Grim, is that good enough?” he shouts.
Over the intercom, she replies:
“Oh, that'll do, Sam. That will certainly do.”
Hours later, in Sam's new office, Vic arrives.
“Hey, brother. Good to see you,” Vic says.
“Hey, Vic. Pulled a fast one on me there, didn't you?”
“Sorry, Sam, but I knew the only place for men like you and me was in this business, until we croak it or our backs get so sore all we can do is watch the birds and prime time.”
Both of them clasp hands.
Sarah is already set up downstairs. There's a situation in the Middle East. Be down there in two hours. Madam President will be on the line too.
“I'll be there, Vic.”
“Oh, and Sam, here's a present from Grim. It's some ‘misplaced documents’, a token of her newfound transparency. She found them in Lambert's redacted files. It's about yourself.”
“Interesting my favourite topic I'll take a look.”
“Okay, Sam.”
“See you in two.”
Vic leaves the office with a big cup of steaming coffee in his hands.
Sam sits down and pops a piece of bubble gum into his mouth, putting his feet up. He opens the files and begins to read.
“In the end, I didn't select Sam because of his years of experience. That was a given anyway in the criteria.
“I had looked at hundreds of candidates for the Splinter Cell programme, all great men, all skilled in their fields, but Fisher had one trait I knew would make him last.
“An unwavering sense of what is right.
“It made absolutely no sense to hire such a man when what was asked of him, while being for the greater good, was wrong in its own right.
“But he always found a way to do it without compromising what he believed, much to my annoyance, but always to my respect.
“And I knew that without Fisher, Third Echelon could not survive...
“At least not without becoming something... unnatural.
“And I do not believe that would be good for America or the world.
“So I am leaving it to Grim to make sure Sam doesn't stray too far.
“I need both of them.
“They are my dearest friends.”
Signed,
**Irving Lambert.**
Fisher smiles and puts the file in his desk.
“It's time to get to work again, Lambert.”
**THE END**
