Time: 0137. Location: Cobra Island.
Beware the Ides of March.
It has been nearly two years since the refugees came to the shores of this distant island for protection. Two years, since THEY mauled their first victims, a hapless couple imprisoned by a fate worse than death. Two years of constant warfare and nuclear disasters. For almost two years, Cobra has held on strong. Grown even. Grown into a world power. Filling the vacuums leftover as governments succumbed to THEM. Untold power thrust in the hands of a megalomaniac in such a short amount of time, leading to the inevitable fall. That came at the hands of an advisor. Yet another ruler falls to the Curse of Cesar.
Beware the Ides of March.
In the sweltering heat, three fugitives make their way along a well-worn trail, careful to avoid open areas where the moon's light would betray their whereabouts. They travel in silence, listening for the sounds of pursuit they know can not be far behind. Should their enemies be near, two of them would gladly give their own lives to ensure the third escape. Ruthless financiers and strategic geniuses, the twins find themselves in a position that they feared. Yet, had always planned for. The evacuation of their Commander from their base of operations. They are the loyal Colonels, Tomax, and Xamot. For years they have led Cobra's covert forces, the Crimson Guard, while also coordinating and laundering the finances of the global organization through several umbrella corporations.
As they near their ultimate destination, an escape pod, the whereabouts of which is known only to the three men, the builders having been executed long ago, the Commander stops. He stares stoically from under the cover of his mask, royal blue with a blazing red Cobra insignia. From his vantage point he can see his Terror Drome, his castle, even the small village once inhabited by indigenous fishermen who called the island home. Now the last resting place for thousands of refugees. Slaughtered at the hands of the Storm Troopers. He had reached the height of his power and influence. He had politicians asking for protection. He had watched the President of the United States kneel before him, begging for a safe haven. He provided it, of course, at a premium. He had decimated the Iron grenadiers just a short time ago. He had smiled as Duke fell to his bullet. Yes, he had been great. Now he sees it all, his power slipping away, lit by the light of the moon and the numerous fires and explosions that have begun to engulf the mighty stronghold. The decision does not come lightly.
"Unleash the Nemesis Enforcers."
"Sir, do you know what you're asking?" the twins ask as one, looks of incredulity showing on their faces.
"I am not asking Tomax, Xamot. I am ordering, that our last line of defense, our only hope of keeping the secrets of the Island out of the hands of the General, be initiated immediately. I will not leave our home to the good General Eisenkopf. He is a true madman."
"Very well…"
"…Sir…"
"We shall do as you say." Again spoken by two as one.
The twins look at each other with looks of dread. Without a word, each type a code into the wrist-mounted devices they wear. With the final number, each turns to their Commander.
"It has been done," They say in unison.
"Very good. She has been our home for years. It is a pity that we leave her in such a state. I had long dreamed of fighting to the death here. Under different circumstances, I would insist upon it. Now…" He sweeps his hand out across the destruction they had fled. "Perhaps we can retake her after all this is finished."
The Commander turns and walks in the direction of his escape. His loyal Colonels are at his heels. They enter the escape pod, seal the hatch, and launch. Leaving those left on the Island to deal with the Nemesis Enforcers. May whatever god they pray to have mercy on their souls.