Dark Winter Prelude Artbook (english) - mydivision.net

DARK WINTER PRELUDE

A Tom Clancy’s The Division short story fanfiction

1st Edition, May 2014 Written and published by MYDIVISION.NET Tom Clancy’s The Division © Ubisoft For more information visit www.mydivision.net

Dark Winter Prelude A Tom Clancy’s The Division short story fanfiction

Tom Clancy’s The Division is set in the near future in New York City.

A bioterror attack caused a worldwide pandemic. The virus cost the lives of the majority of the population, quarantine zones were established, resources were strictly rationed, oil wells dried out, the stock exchange and the global market collapsed. State structures like police and Special Forces do not exist anymore.

In only days without water and electricity, people are at each other’s throats facing the deadly threat. Only a few stand between the total chaos and the leftovers of order: The agents of “The Division”. By fighting looters and other criminals, they try to contain the insanity before it’s too late.

This fanfiction was written to be a possible prologue, told from the perspective of David, a young emerging journalist.

DAY 1: OUTBREAK

Even if these lines may never be read by anyone, I had to write down, what I experienced during the last days, as they turned my life upsidedown. My name is David. I am 29 years old and I’m writing as a journalist for a small magazine here in New York City. The payment is not the best for sure, but I can do, what I always wanted to: Write.

My apartment is not very big, but it’s enough for a living. Family?

Negative. I’m living alone and only have my grandparents, who are living in the suburb. They value the more quiet life; however I need the rush of the big city.

It was a usual morning, the week after Black Friday. The day on which humanity is invading shops and stores throughout the country as if they all were remote-controlled, always looking for the best deals, not only with regard to the nearing Christmas holidays. My alarm clock rang at six in the morning like every day. I was unwinding the standard program: I got up, out of the warm bed, had a short shower and some breakfast, left the house and headed towards the nearby underground station.

My destination, the publishing building, was only four stations away, but nevertheless it wasn’t a walk in the park, especially on cold days like today. The temperature was slightly below the freezing point and

the cold wind was blowing around my ears. The tiny water drops in my breath instantly froze after exhaling and turned into small, white clouds.

The underground was overfilled as usual and the crowds of people pressed themselves into the wagon, shoulder to shoulder. I had to stand of course; surrounded by sniffling and coughing.

When I reached my station, I left the underground and after walking a few minutes, I arrived at the editorial offices. My own small office was on the 4th floor. The entire level was exceptionally empty that day. After asking one of my colleagues, I received a short but concise “They caught a cold and stayed in their beds. There must be a virus in the air”.

My morning was actually as always. I worked on a few new reports. Mostly boring boulevard stuff, other magazines would not lose a single word about. Interestingly it is exactly these reports what attracts our readers to still buy the magazine. Anyway, our business was not very good lately.

Faster than expected, the clock struck twelve. I planned to spend my lunch break at my favorite snack bar, right around the corner. They had the best hand-made burgers offside the fast-food crap. But totally unexpected I stood in front of closed doors. “Closed due to illness!” was

written on a note pasted provisionally on the window. Next door to the bar was an electronics shop; some passersby gathered in front of the shop window. Even if you couldn’t hear a single sound, the images and text overlays spoke for themselves. There was talk about a wave of an aggressive flu, spreading rapidly across the country. The Public Health Department recommended to avoid crowds, public places and transportation and, if possible, to stay at home.

At the beginning I did not take these warnings too seriously, as the media dramatizes such topics very often. I went back to my office, as I had two interviews on my schedule for the afternoon. Both interview partners cancelled at short notice because they were ill. I realized that the warnings on TV might not have been as unfounded as I thought, and decided to leave the office earlier than usual. Teachable as I was, I avoided the underground and made my way back home by foot. During my walk through the city, I saw that the Christmas illumination already hang in the streets. I thought that maybe - in a few years - they might begin with decoration as early as July.

More than one hour later, I arrived at my own four walls, tired and freezing. As a first thing, I leaped into the shower in order to defrost.

I spent the rest of the day with a good book, the political thriller “The Hunt for Red October” written by Tom Clancy. It was a great tome which fascinated me until late in the evening. In the wise foresight that the

next day might become very long, I allowed myself a few more than the usual six hours of sleep.

Normally I have a very deep sleep, but in that night, the sounds of the howling sirens of emergency vehicles on the roads woke me up multiple times. I even heard a few helicopters in the air. The night was unusually busy. I spontaneously thought there might have been a really bad accident on the highway.

DAY 2: SUPPLIES

Six o’clock. As on an ordinary morning the alarm clock pulled me too early from the dream world. After all I could find at least a few hours of sleep despite the many interruptions. But something was different this morning. Through the soundproof panes of the window came an unusual, dull noise. It was a complete mess of different sounds that I could not assign at the beginning. I got out of bed, went to the window facing the street and pulled the curtain. I could not believe my eyes, thought I was in the wrong movie.

on every channel, speaking about a national emergency. The flu virus was much more aggressive than it was assumed and spread unusually fast during the last hours. Hospitals are overcrowded, traffic collapsed and public transport can no longer be used. Many people have already died; there was talk of several hundreds. The message that the virus has already been detected in Canada hit me even worse. They talked about the possibility that the disease could develop into a global pandemic; a horrible idea.

What was happening outside my window could have been right out of a Hollywood blockbuster from Roland Emmerich. The streets were clogged with solid lines of cars and trucks. It went neither forward or backward, even emergency personnel such as firefighters and ambulances were stuck. Many drivers let their frustration run free by honking gratuitously.

Passersby besieged the shops, although most of them did not open before nine o’clock. There were tumultuous crowds. Forces of the police were everywhere on the streets, but without a chance to calm down the angry people. To brave the cold and the snow which fell overnight, even some trash cans were set on fire. I realized that something terrible must have happened and reached for the remote control of my TV. No matter which TV station I chose, there were special programs running

The United States government declared a state of national emergency; one should not leave the house if possible. The only exception: The supply of essential resources; especially food, water and hygiene items.

The state of emergency explained the absurd scenario that was going on outside my window. I had to act quickly and to stock up for the next days with all necessities. I got dressed rapidly and went down to the street.

Not only because of the cold, but above all for safety, I put a scarf around my neck, so that I was able to turn it into a respiratory protection within just a few seconds. Then I was offered a scene of destruction. The highly anxious, panicked crowds violently obtained access to the grocery stores. They smashed shop windows; some mannequins served as the instrument of advanced destruction. The shops were looted in no time

and everyone was trying to stock up with as many emergency reserves as possible.

I had to try to get enough supplies and all necessities to survive for the next days as well; my fridge was empty regularly. Therefore my priority was given to food, water and some antibiotics. But despite the still rather early morning hours, I seemed to come too late. The big stores in my street were already looted empty. That’s why I decided to try my luck at a small shop, which – I was hoping – was not known to the majority, since it was located a little off in a narrow side street. After a few minutes through a New York that appeared like a war zone, I reached the alley with the market. But I should not have any luck. The store was not sacked, but locked up. In addition, massive metal bars in front of the only shop window prevented the violent entering. Disappointed, I wanted to continue my journey in search of supplies; then suddenly a hand grabbed me from behind on my shoulder.

Frightened as I was, I turned around and looked in the exhausted, wrinkled face and tired, glassy eyes of an older man. As a precaution I pulled the scarf over mouth and nose, pushed the stranger a fair way off from me. He waved his hand, told me in a low voice that he was the owner of the store and because of the reports in the media, he wanted to protect his business against looters. Just as I began to describe him my situation, three shady guys came towards us, surrounded the man

and me. They had overheard our conversation and asked the older gentleman unambiguously to open up his shop. The shopkeeper made clear that he would not fulfill this demand; a big mistake. One of the three stroke out and punched the man in his stomach. Accompanied by a dull moan, he hit the ground and did not move anymore. I wanted to calm down these guys, but only seconds later, they hit the back of my head. Then I fainted.

After regaining consciousness, the three guys fortunately have disappeared, but the shop was opened up and looted. Even worse, the shopkeeper lay motionless next to me on the floor. Having had a humming skull, I bent over the man and tried to shake him awake. When I tried to turn him on the side, I noticed that a knife stuck in his back. He was dead. The bastards stabbed him. I was shocked, could hardly breathe and felt like I was strangled. Desperate and in spite of the awareness that one can no longer help the man, I tried to drop an emergency call via mobile phone. No chance, the net was completely overloaded; it was not possible to think of a stable connection.

At that moment I realized that it now was about more than withstanding some difficult days; in fact it was about pure survival. Emotionally, I was completely overwhelmed at this moment. I desperately needed supplies, even if I could never exceed certain moral limits. Before I entered the store, or what was left of it, I covered the old man with his jacket.

That was the least I could do for him. Then I devoted myself to gather the bare necessities for the next few days. On the wall in the store hung a clock; it was after half-past one, so I was unconscious for a few hours.

Fortunately, there was more on the shelves than the murderers could carry. I found a few bottles of water and enough food to make ends meet at least a week. Unfortunately, in regard to antibiotics, I got nothing. In addition to two plastic bags, I also took a backpack with me and made my way home jam-packed.

The way back was definitely not easy to accomplish. Again and again desperate passersby asked me to share my “capture� with them, but I could not afford sympathy after this crazy morning. I saw the desperation in the eyes of the people, but now it was time to think of myself and secure my survival.

After arriving in my apartment, I wanted to fill the fridge with food, but what was that? The light in the refrigerator was not working and I could not hear the typical hum of the cooling unit as well. Did the power fail? Indeed. Television, telephone, stove, all dead. The radiators were only lukewarm; the central heating did of course fail as well. What a big mess in this icy cold. Luckily I still had an open fireplace in the living room and enough wood for a few days.

After a hot meal out of a can, I had to think of my grandparents. Did they have enough to eat? Were they safe at all? Were they alive? These thoughts racked my brain. Reaching them on short term was impossible in any case.

I would have had no chance to get through on the streets. No landline calls without electricity, and the mobile network was overloaded or dead; I just did not know. Anyway, I turned off my smartphone some time ago, hoping that the remaining juice in the battery could still be somehow useful.

I decided to spend the rest of the afternoon in front of the fireplace, in my warm and cozy bivouac, covered with a blanket. The past morning offered so many terrible experiences that I had to deal with. Absorbed in my thoughts and trying to come to terms with what I experienced, I fell asleep at some point.

DAY 3: FamilY

In the middle of the night I was awakened by footsteps. It was pitch black, but at the lower edge of the door to my apartment, I saw a blaze which must have come from a flashlight. Suddenly there were some voices. I barely understood a word, but at least I could pick up something about quarantine and “Zone B”. I was anxious and hid under my blanket. After a few seconds the voices and the gleam of light were gone. Concentrated, I heard a while towards the door, until I finally fell back to sleep. The next morning I was awakened by the cold that found its way into my apartment. The fire went out overnight, of course, and I shivered. The every morning shower fell out for good reason, the combination of icecold water and a felt room temperature of below the freezing point, did not sound convincing. The plan for the day was to visit my grandparents to see if they were doing well, or if they were alive at all. This made me so thoughtful that I simply could not ignore it. I had to take the risk and made me into the unknown with a little food, some water and warm clothes.

Outside, there was a completely contrarian scenario compared to yesterday’s chaos. The streets were deserted. There was a deceptive silence, abandoned cars on the streets, empty, looted stores, burning garbage cans, light snowfall, luckily no wind. It was cold anyway. In the distance I saw two soldiers patrolling the streets; apparently the

military was flown in overnight and should now provide for peace. A few helicopters circled in the sky at a safe distance. One carried a large box that was hanging on a rope. I spontaneously thought that it might transport life-saving vaccines and everything would return to normality within a few days, so that one would forget the cruel experiences of these days. However, the realist inside me buried that hope quickly.

Suddenly I heard shots. Four guys with assault rifles ran towards the soldiers, shot them, took their equipment and disappeared as quickly as they had shown up. Reflexively, I took to my heels and hid myself in the next side street between two dumpsters. I could not believe what had to be left of morality and humanity, after only a few days and was amazed at how quickly the world could lead into disaster.

Now I had to travel about 30 miles to the house of my grandparents. First, I made my way through numerous backyards and carefully maintained gardens; I made good progress. The further I moved away from the city center, the safer I felt. There was also no sign of military presence. I saw a few people on the streets, but they always kept a safe distance. No one wanted to take the risk to get infected.

After about two hours of walking I reached a highway that would take me directly to my family in the suburbs. To cover all the way on foot

would be impossible on a single day; not even thinking about the way back. Fortunately, there were a lot of abandoned cars around. I tried to find one that was still running. However, in most vehicles, the fuel tanks have already been emptied. Besides food and water, gasoline and diesel were the currently most valuable assets and therefore particularly popular among looters. I wanted to give up disappointed but then I saw a snow covered van standing in a driveway. It was not locked and the engine started right after the second attempt – finally I once was lucky.

Despite some obstacles on the highway I made good progress.

On my trip I hardly met other people. I had planned to count them, but I did not get far. The poor result after more than 25 miles: Three cars, one minibus and exactly eleven passersby. Where were all the other people?

Entrenched in their homes? The last mile I had to walk again, a roadblock prevented the onward journey. Before I got out of the van, I glanced in the glove box and was surprised once more. Inside, there was a blank polished revolver as well as a map of New York and the surrounding area.

Actually, I am strictly against weapons, but with the world being on the brink and considering the events of the last two days, it’s easy to throw one or the other principle overboard. The revolver and the map vanished into my jacket pocket.

The closer I got to my grandparents’ house, the stronger was this strange feeling that something might not be right. I really was worried.

They indeed were not the youngest anymore, but hale and hearty, not rusty. But everyone knows that when it comes to infectious diseases, small children and the elderly are most at risk. I told myself again and again that everything was okay and tried to think positively. From a distance I could already see the house, the blinds were down, and the Star-Spangled Banner was blowing in the wind solely. Everything seemed shuttered. The front door of the house next door was open. As I got closer, I heard suspicious noises coming from the bungalow. Carefully, I took a look inside, put my hand into the pocket of my jacket and grabbed the revolver. A loud rumble ran through the silence, a shy cat escaped from the house. Presumably she was startled more than me. My hand, which frantically held the shooting iron, slowly relaxed again. A moment later I stood in front of the door of my grandparents’ house. I was as excited as on the first day of school. My head was completely empty. I knocked on the door. No reaction. I knocked harder; still no reaction. I shouted for my grandmother, but the only thing that was happening, was the shaking of a curtain on the first floor of the other neighbor’s house. But even after some time of waiting and further knocking attempts, there was still no reaction. A queasy feeling came over me, so I tried it through the garden at the back door.

Although it was winter, you could already see at a quick glance, with how much love and devotion my grandmother took care of the garden. Even without flowers or foliage you could recognize the accurate cut shapes

of hedges and bushes easily. A few steps further, I stood in front of the patio door.

To my surprise, it was not locked, so I entered the house cautiously and stood in the living room. It was tidied up; everything was in its place, just as I had remembered it. My search led me further through the kitchen and the bathroom, without any trace of my grandparents. Seconds later, I stood in the hallway in front of the stairs to the first floor. A careful “Hello?” directed upwards unfortunately remained unanswered. Worried and anxious not to cause unnecessary noise, I slowly followed the stairs to the first floor. With each step, the queasy feeling in my stomach grew.

Actually, it was already clear that something was not right, but being in such a situation I refused to believe it. After arriving on the first floor, I stood before the door to the bedroom. A slightly musty smell was in the air, I did prepare myself for the worst.

I carefully grabbed the door handle and knocked softly with the other hand. I did not know why, but I thought it was just right at this moment.

Pressing down the handle, I slowly opened the door. When it was open about half a meter, I stretched my upper body through the gap and peeked into the room. Then I saw my grandparents lying in their bed, covered with a blanket and completely motionless. They were dead, presumably fell asleep peacefully and never woke up again. I hoped they did not have to suffer. At that moment, I felt a deep pain in my chest,

as if someone would ram a knife in my heart. In disbelief of what I just had seen, I closed the door again; I could no longer endure what I saw, thought I wasn’t real. With tears in my eyes and utter emptiness in the head, I went down the stairs back to the living room. On the second last step I stopped and sat down; the elbows on my knees, the head resting on my hands.

Slowly I began to realize that I now was completely on my own. My parents died in a car accident. I was just two years old. My grandparents were always there for me, they were my last family support. Actually, I had hoped to get some words of good advice from grandma and grandpa about how to survive this difficult situation, but now all hope was gone.

The rest of the day I spent on the stairs, alone with my thoughts of my grandparents and many tears.

After some time I calmed down a little and was able to get a clear thought. I wanted to provide my grandparents a dignified funeral, but it was impossible to be realized in this chaos. So I decided to let them rest in their bedroom for the next days and, as soon as the situation would normalize to some extent, to resume this plan.

It was already dark when I searched the other rooms for useful utensils.

I knew that the remaining juice in the battery of my smartphone and the installed flashlight app would be good for something. I could find some

food cans and an almost complete case of mineral water in the kitchen.

The plan was to take these supplies back home on the next morning.

Although I still had some supplies left, but by the looks of it, I had to hold out longer than I initially hoped. Then I lay down on the couch and wrapped myself in several warm blankets; it was pretty damn cold and I was sure to not even get a wink of sleep during the whole night. But soon fatigue that came with the sorrow overcame me, and I fell asleep.

DAY 4: Zone B

Again, I woke up in the middle of the night. I thought I heard voices again.

With the blankets pulled over my head, I did not dare to risk a single look, but a few seconds later, the ray of a flashlight shine through my cotton protective shield. Then there were clearly noticeable voices, two in number, male. They sounded very young. Fortunately, they seemed to not have noticed me yet. Based on the noise I could clearly locate them in the kitchen. Obviously, I now had two options: Waiting under the blanket until the two would disappear again or surprising them in the kitchen.

Luckily I still had the revolver in the pocket of my jacket. Carefully, I freed myself from the blankets, stood up silently, and approached the kitchen.

There they stood, examining the wooden, white wall cupboards. They looked very young; I guessed them to be in their early twenties at the utmost. I pulled the revolver out of the pocket, pointed it at the larger one of the two guys and gathered all my courage.

I welcomed the two boys with a determined: “Don’ move! Who are you and what are you doing here?” Startled, they turned around and looked at me, saw my revolver and literally froze to pillars of salt. They probably were assuming to be alone. I demanded an explanation of who they were. The smaller of the two guys was justifying himself to me. They were brothers, came from the neighborhood and still lived in their

parent’s house. The family ran out of food. Without fuel in the tank of their car and several miles to the nearest supermarket, they had no other option but looting supposedly abandoned homes during the night. The house of my grandparents was not the first one they visited this night.

So far they had been lucky, never got caught and never encountered the homeowner, told me Mike. His bigger brother Jason kept himself discreetly in the background. They did not want trouble. I put away the gun and we decided to continue the conversation in the living room on the couch at candlelight.

Then the two told me things I initially did not believe to be true.

Meanwhile, the whole world has been affected by this aggressive flu virus. The order as we knew it had collapsed. Millions of people lost their lives; the world was descended into chaos. Mike told me about a conversation between two neighbors, which he had picked up the day before. It is believed that terrorists bred the virus in a laboratory and were responsible for the pandemic. What motivation should be behind all this? To this question he had no answer. It was possible that even the criminals had no idea what they bred and what would be triggered by this bizarre creation. It made me feel sick. I did not want to hear any further details.

I offered the brothers to take a part of the supplies with them. They were very grateful, grabbed two bags full of food and beverages. When they left the house, even Jason said a word. A quiet but honest-sounding “Thanks”. I tried to fall asleep again, but the rest of adrenaline in my body knew to prevent that efficiently.

When the first rays of sun hit the old-fashioned 70’s wallpaper on the living room walls, I also gathered together a few supplies and made me on my way back home to my apartment, still being pretty tired from the restless night. I did not dare to take a further look into the bedroom, but I would come back to enable my grandparents the promised funeral.

I left the house and locked the door. I was aware that this simple lock would be no obstacle for even more looters, but it felt damn good to get back a little bit of order.

It was another ice-cold morning, but the sky was clear and blue, and the sun’s rays warmed my face. I almost thought, it was a normal day and the last 72 hours would have been just a really bad nightmare. I left the neighborhood on the same way as the day before, hoping the borrowed van would still wait for me at the same place right before the roadblock.

It actually stood there; I was lucky!

After about ten miles towards the city center, I saw military vehicles on the road. Slowly I approached the soldiers. One of them waved to me

and shortly afterwards he called me via megaphone to stop the car next to him. Apparently it was a kind of a traffic control. I did not mean any harm, followed his command and stopped the car in front of the soldier.

At that moment my biggest concern was that the soldiers could find out that my set of wheels was only “borrowed”. I hardly came to a halt, when they screamed at me “Get out, now”. So I got out. Two soldiers with respiratory masks grabbed my arms and pressed me against the van; I felt the cold of the B-pillar on my right cheek. They seemed to be interested only in me, dedicated the car not even a single glance. After a short but thorough search and taking away my revolver, they dragged me in direction of a small tent, which was set up next to the military vehicles. I had weak knees, but then I saw a label on the side of the tent, a big red cross. I was relieved and the feeling in my knees came back. In the medical tent they introduced me to a military doctor. I do not remember his name, but for sure his brief but concise explanation of what purpose should be served by this action: Preventing the further spread of the virus. In the past days one has tried to seal off the town center as completely as possible, limit the spread and isolate infected persons. The city should be healed from inside out. For this purpose, quarantine zones have been established. Now one wants to prevent that people from outside carry the virus in the city core again.

At least this was the plan of the government. Apparently, the doctor was not really convinced, but as a member of the military, you follow commands, you do not doubt them. He prepared a quick test, wiped with

a test strip over my forehead and hands. A few seconds later, the result of the test was already available. He looked at me with a deep frown and waved the two soldiers. Then everything went pretty fast. They grabbed me again by the arms and fixated me. Surprised and nervously I asked what was going on. The doctor said he was not sure, needs to give me a shot, but I should not be worried. I was sure to be healthy, felt physically fit, could not remember myself to feel even one of the typical flu symptoms. A feeling of anxiety pierced bone and marrow. Before I could say anything else or defend myself, I felt the needle of the syringe permeating my skin and fell asleep.

When I woke up, I was lying in a bed. Opposite to me there was a clock on the wall. It was just before nine, I had slept for more than half a day. My eyes wandered around the room. It seemed to me as if I were in kind of an improvised hospital. Plastic curtains on the door, a disinfectant dispenser right next to it. However, the furniture of the room appeared to be from a hotel. I wanted to get up, but my hand was tied to the bed with a cable tie. Instead of panicking, I tested my body for any tubing for infusions and the like; fortunately without success. However, I was wearing a strange nightgown. I still felt completely healthy, but very insecure because of the doctor’s statement and wanted certainty. The door opened. A young woman in a white coat and respirator was approaching my bed. She said I should have no fear, would be safe. I took the opportunity and asked her where I was and how things stood with me and my health. She said

she did not have much time and, being a nurse, had to take care of many other patients, but would give me a brief overview.

I learned that the result of the quick test outside the city was not unmistakable. And because they did not want to take any risks, I was brought here for further examination. “Here” this was the Plaza, right on the edge of the Central Park. This luxury hotel has been transformed into one of many quarantine facilities and is part of the so-called “Zone B”.

While I was asleep, further tests were made, but the results and hence the total certainty about my condition would not be available until the next morning. The nurse left me a bottle of water, a paper cup and a sleeping pill. She said it would be better to rest for the night rather than racking my brain about the pending test result. I decided to take the pill and fell asleep a few moments later.

DAY 5: ENROLLMENT

The morning after I was awakened by the medical round and was not really awake, but knew that the following diagnosis could decide on my life. So I did my best to concentrate on the words of the doctor.

His name was Woolsey, as he introduced himself to me; the typical name tag on his white coat was missing. His handshake was very firm, his voice deep and sober. He made a decisive impression at first glance. Better that way than any quack doctor, who beats around the bush, I thought.

“The quick test was not unmistakable. It has been found a small number of influenza viruses on the test strip, but the number was not sufficient to detect a disease with certainty. For this reason you were moved here, considering the quarantine requirements for national emergencies, and subjected to additional testing. Yesterday, we have taken a blood sample; the result has been available since a few minutes. I have good news for you. We could not detect the dangerous virus in your blood; you are healthy. We assume that you must have had contact with infected recently, which is why a few inactive viruses stuck to your hands and the forehead.” explained doc Woolsey.

Suddenly I had to think of my grandparents, the virus cells must have come from the doorknob of the bedroom door, what would explain

everything. But I did not tell him the story; I did not want to talk about it. I thanked him sincerely for the good news; a huge weight was lifted from my mind. The next question I wanted to ask him was, when I would be discharged from hospital, but before I could ask him, he said: “You have to leave now, we need every single bed.” He sounded very harsh.

Fortunately they washed and even disinfected my clothes overnight.

After the medical round left my room, I got up and dressed in my own fresh clothes. A look out of the window told me that I must have been at least on the tenth floor and revealed the view on the Central Park. The usually very popular attraction for locals and tourists was deserted. It was a truly bizarre scene. Even more cars than the days before blocked the streets and piles of garbage began to pile themselves. Within only a few days, New York City transformed from a vibrant metropolis into a second Detroit. Then I walked into the hallway. In spite of the short time, the hotel was converted into a fully functional hospital. Among other, I spotted signs labeled “X-Ray”, “OP” and “ER”. The latter seemed to be on the ground floor, as well as the exit. The elevators were indeed functional, but could only be used by the personnel for patient transport.

So I took the little detour via the staircase. The ground floor looked like a battlefield. The emergency room lived up to its name. The floor

was covered with blood, wounded screamed panicked in pain, at every corner was coughing and sniffling, desperate relatives sat in sort of a provisional waiting room, separated only by curtains from the scanty and anything but clinically clean treatment rooms. War could not be worse.

I was shielded from all this by a simple Plexiglas window, which divided the foyer into two halves. So apparently one wanted to make sure that you could not get infected.

When I arrived in the fresh air, I left the quarantine zone. As expected, it was bitterly cold and although I was infinitely happy to be healthy and to be able to go home, I somehow longed after the warm bed in the Plaza.

After a few steps I turned around, saw the former hotel in its full glory. It was wrapped by a huge tarpaulin with a cross on the front side and “Zone B” lettering at the corners. At a distance of about ten meters, they built a barrier of barbed wire fence around the hotel. Additionally, the area was guarded by the military.

Then the weather turned. A stormy wind moved through the streets, huge snowflakes slapped me in the face while clouds of steam rose up over the manhole covers. Despite the scarf in my face it was damn uncomfortable; the way home seemed to be endless. The fall of the snow was so dense; sometimes you could not even see the next three houses.

When I finally approached my front door, I could see that something was sticking to it. A moment later I stood in front of the door and could not

believe my eyes. “POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS” was written on a yellow band, which was attached to the frame and stretched across the door. I feared for my home, my belongings, all that was left. At that moment I did not care about the barrier, I tore off the tape and entered the house.

I took the staircase step by step and ultimately was on the first floor, standing in front of the door of my apartment. I heard several voices from inside. I had the vague feeling that my apartment was occupied. Even if it should prove to be a mistake, I opened the door without thinking and rushed in. I was confronted with three figures in squalid clothes, my furniture was totally devastated.

One of the three came up to me and pushed me to the ground. The other two drew their pistols. One of the two armed men stood next to me and pointed the barrel of the gun at me. My heart was pounding like crazy. He shouted at me, asked me what I wanted from him. Before I could answer him, I heard a loud “Weapons down and don’t move!” from the stairway. The two guys with their weapons let up on me and aimed towards the door. In that moment several shots in quick succession fell under deafening noise. All three occupants were hit and went down to the ground. Pools of blood formed on the laminate instantly. Then two more guys with machine guns entered my apartment and looked at me, perceiving how paralyzed I was. “Don’t worry, sir. We will not hurt you. We are here to help.” said one of the men. I did not know who they were, they did not wear uniforms, only had a patch on the right sleeve of

their jackets with a bird of prey and the letters “SHD� as well as strange watches with luminescent rings. They tried to reassure me, brought me a glass of water.

Then one of the men told me that they were field agents of the Strategic Homeland Division. The main difference from any other agency, organization or department was that the Division is a last resort measure.

As such, the members of the Division supersede any other operative, agent or federal employee in the field. They have a form of executive power and answer directly to the President. Another major point was that the Division is a covert organization in peace time; its members are embedded within society all across the nation, waiting and preparing for activation. The Division must ensure that the key infrastructures and people that remain are protected. During their patrol they had heard the suspicious noises coming from my apartment and saved me not a second too late. I was relieved and surprised at the same time that such organizations really existed.

To ensure that I was not a troublemaker, they questioned me and wanted to hear my story. I told the agent from me and the experiences of the last five days. I think I have impressed them in a certain way. The taller of the two slapped me on the shoulder and wished me all the best. Gratefully, I accompanied the two agents down to the front door of the building.

After arriving downstairs, they offered me to join them. They were

looking for reinforcement, and I would have a good chance of joining SHD, but had to take some tests and a hard training before I would become a Division agent. The idea appealed to me. I hesitated, but then I realized that I had lost all that was important to me: My family, my home, my job, everything. Only faith in humanity and a better future remained.

To go with them might be the only way to really change something, to give my life meaning again. I did not know what to expect or what risks I would take, but still I decided for the Division.

The only question left is:

What will it take to save what remains?

This is where my story begins...

DARK WINTER PRELUDE We live in a fragile and complex world, a web of interdependent systems we rely on every day. When one fails, others follow, creating a deadly domino effect that can cripple society in days.

In Tom Clancy’s The Division a devastating pandemic sweeps through New York City, and one by one, basic services fail. In only days, without food or water, society collapses into chaos. The Division, a classified unit of self-supported tactical agents, is activated.

Dark Winter Prelude tells the story of David, a young emerging jounalist who had to experience the tragic proportions of the outbreak. This short story fanfiction was written to be a possible prologue for Tom Clancy’s The Division.

Written and published by MYDIVISION.NET Tom Clancy’s The Division © Ubisoft Do not print or share without permission. Not for sale.

For more information visit www.mydivision.net