The air inside the command center was thick with the dull hum of machinery, punctuated by the occasional beeping of monitors and whirring of scanning devices. The room itself was a sterile maze of metal and plastic, lit by the cold, unfeeling glow of overhead lights.
Wires snaked across the floor like they were trying to mimic the chaotic energy of the operation, while towering server racks hummed as they processed endless streams of data. It smelled like recycled air and cheap coffee, the kind that came in military-issue bags, brewed to be strong enough to keep soldiers awake for days but tasted like regret and disappointment.
Seated behind an impressive array of screens was Commander Roln, a man whose Adli military uniform seemed to cling to his white skin like it had been starched one too many times. He had the kind of face that looked permanently tired, like he hadn't slept since the last great war—gray eyes that could drill holes through steel and a salt-and-pepper beard that only added to the "grizzled veteran" aesthetic he seemed to be cultivating.
His fingers danced over a keyboard with the speed of someone who was used to juggling far too many things at once, his gaze never leaving the central monitor. On it, a live feed of Tempest Grove—their current operational zone—flashed with areas they had already combed through, a patchwork of red and green that told a frustrating story of 'almost there, but not quite.'
Standing across from him was Sergeant Lissara, a short woman with a wiry build who somehow managed to look imposing despite barely reaching the Commander's shoulder. She had the look of someone who could break your arm in five different places and still be home in time for dinner, a quality Roln appreciated in his subordinates. Her dark hair was tied back in a severe ponytail, and her sharp eyes darted from one monitor to another, analyzing, calculating.
"How's the situation?" Roln's voice was gruff, the kind of voice that sounded like it had been fed a steady diet of cigarettes and authority.
"We have searched over half of the Grove for the location," Lissara replied crisply, her tone professional but with a hint of frustration creeping in. "We've also sent spies to other organizations to cross-reference and create a map of the remaining areas where it is most likely to be."
Roln leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. The chair creaked under his weight, a small but persistent reminder that even the best equipment in the Adli military could be stretched thin when resources were focused elsewhere. His eyes flickered across the data streaming on the screen, numbers and percentages flashing in a disorienting dance that would make anyone else's head spin.
"Good," he muttered, though his tone suggested he wasn't completely satisfied. "I estimate we're really close to fulfilling our objectives." He glanced up at the woman. "How many rivals do we currently have?"
Lissara straightened, her stance shifting from relaxed to formal as she rattled off the information like she had been rehearsing it for days. "Excluding the forces that are hidden, we only have four major powers to worry about." She paused for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly as she listed them. "Couton's Militants, Reiss' Order, The Normos Family, and The Ordinance Guild. The other groups are too weak to warrant our notice, though that may change when we find our target."
Roln grunted in acknowledgment, his fingers drumming against the metal desk. "Hmm, we can't have this many forces behind our backs when we're this close to the finish line."
He sat forward, the faint glow of the monitors casting harsh shadows across his face. His eyes flicked to one of the screens that showed a particularly problematic region of Tempest Grove, the red zone still unsearched. "How that piece of shit managed to leak classified information to all these groups and still escape scot-free is beyond me."
He paused, his irritation visibly growing. The lines on his forehead deepened as he considered the situation. Then, with a sudden, bitter chuckle, he added, "We have to start trimming the power of these groups ahead of time. Those assholes will do well to remember that a foreign tiger can never overpower a local snake."
There was a brief silence in the room. It was the kind of silence where you could practically hear gears turning—both in the machines surrounding them and in Lissara's brain as she tried to process the odd metaphor that had just been thrown at her.
"..... What's that mean, boss?" she asked after a moment, her brow furrowed in confusion.
Roln blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the question. He had expected a solemn nod of agreement, maybe a terse "Yes, sir," but instead, he was met with a blank stare.
He sighed in exasperation, rubbing his temples. "It means... well, it's a fancy way of saying that even the biggest, baddest outsiders can't beat someone who knows the ropes. Like a snake in its own backyard. You know, slithering around, sneaky and stuff."
There was a beat of silence as Lissara just stared at him, her expression flat.
"You could have just said that instead of using some weird saying no one understands," she muttered under her breath, though clearly loud enough for Roln to hear.
Roln's face twitched, a flicker of annoyance darting across his features. "It's a perfectly good saying. You just—" He waved a hand in the air, dismissing the thought. "Never mind. Focus."
Lissara, wisely, chose not to push the issue further. "Understood, sir. Anything else we should prepare for?"
"Yeah," Roln grumbled, swiveling his chair back to face the monitors, his eyes narrowing at a particular section of the map that had just been updated with fresh intel. "Make sure our scouts are doubling down on surveillance near Reiss' Order. Something about them feels...off. And not the regular kind of 'off' like 'I haven't slept in 48 hours' off, but more like 'its about to rain cats and dogs' off."
".... I'll get on it right away. Anything else?"
Roln waved her off. "That's it. And, Sergeant?" His tone shifted slightly, becoming less formal, more personal.
"Yes, sir?"
"Next time, just...go along with the sayings. Helps me feel smart."
"Understood, sir." Lissara replied in the most deadpan tone possible. "Snakes. Tigers, Dogs. Got it."
As she turned to leave, the sound of Roln's grumbling followed her out of the room, something about "damn kids these days" and "no appreciation for metaphor."
* * *
Three days later at dawn, the air in Tempest Grove was crisp with the early morning chill, the pale light of the sun barely creeping over the horizon. A thin mist clung to the ground like a ghost reluctant to leave, curling around the dense foliage and rocky outcrops that littered the landscape. The eerie quiet of the place only amplified the feeling that something dangerous lurked just out of sight.
Rion stood with his team at the edge of Sector Delta-24, pulling on his magnetic gloves with slow, deliberate movements. His eyes were on the horizon, scanning the area they would soon be heading into. He wasn't exactly thrilled about being out here at the crack of dawn, but then again, compared to his recent windfall, it was hard to generate much enthusiasm for the mission.
Behind him, Kellen, their no-nonsense team leader, was going over a set of maps and notes with the archeologists. She ran her fingers over the various markings that indicated not only the path they needed to take but also the locations of potential threats. Her expression was grim, though that was her default facial setting since he met her.
"Alright, everyone, gather round." Kellen's voice snapped him out of his reverie.
The squad converged around her, each at varying stages of readiness. Some of the mercenaries looked like they'd barely managed to drag themselves out of bed, disheveled and bleary-eyed, while the more disciplined retainers were pristine, weapons gleaming, and uniforms pressed.
Rion leaned against a nearby tree, crossing his arms as he watched Kellen go into briefing mode. Her eyes swept across the group, making sure everyone was paying attention. A few of the more groggy mercenaries straightened under her gaze, shifting uncomfortably.
"Before we set out, I want to remind you all of what we discussed two days ago." She pointed at a spot on the map circled in red. "Scouts confirmed sightings of an Anomaly-class Swift Tail Eagle nest in this area. I'm pretty sure all of us here know how dangerous a nest of Anomaly-class mutated beasts can be."
There was a collective groan from the group. Even Rion couldn't suppress a sigh. Ugh, not ants this time but mutant, overgrown, murder chickens.
Kellen continued, ignoring the reaction. "These eagles are fast, vicious, and territorial. They won't hesitate to attack if we get too close to their nest, so stay sharp. Keep your weapons ready, and for the love of the ancestors, don't engage unless absolutely necessary."
The mercenaries and retainers nodded in unison, and she moved on to the more serious matter at hand. "The scouts also reported that sporadic traces of troops from other factions have been spotted near the area. We're not sure if they're just combing through, but we should be on high alert just in case. If they get in our way or try to claim any finds before us, things could get ugly."
Rion's ears perked up at that. He had no doubt the other factions were already scheming, and given their luck lately, they'd probably end up running into a few of them. He could already picture the likely scenarios: angry faces, terse threats, and maybe a few gun shots exchanged if things got heated.
Still, he couldn't deny that a part of him—his more reckless, thrill-seeking side—was looking forward to it. If a fight broke out, it'd be a good excuse to stretch his muscles.
Kellen rounded up the short meeting. "Everyone, double-check your gear. We head out in five."
The team began packing up, making sure all their equipment was secure. Rifles were slung over shoulders, knives sheathed, and explosives sealed tight in their compartments. Rion busied himself with packing up the last of his equipment, loading the case containing his electromagnetic rifle into the back of the truck, along with a large sealed box.
"Ready for another round of 'let's not die today' eh, Forger?" Vance's voice cut through the sounds of preparation as he approached, his rifle slung over his shoulder and a grin plastered across his face.
Rion smirked, barely glancing at him. "Oh, absolutely. It's my favorite game. I give it… maybe four hours before something tries to kill us. Want to place a bet?"
Vance chuckled, loading fresh magazines into his rifle. "I'm betting on two encounters. One before noon, one after."
"Such pessimism," Rion quipped, rolling his eyes as he secured the final latch on the box.
Vance just grinned. "Hey, I didn't say we wouldn't win both times."
Rion shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Their banter had become second nature, a rhythm that had grown between them throughout the mission. It wasn't just about the job anymore—somehow, Vance's quirks and his own dry wit had made the job tolerable. Even enjoyable, at times.
As the final preparations were made, Kellen signaled the group to move out. Rion slid into the truck beside the others, the familiar hum of the engine vibrating beneath him as they started down the path, the mist swirling around them like a living thing.
* * *
At the same time, on the top of a tree more than a kilometer away, a man dressed in camouflage was observing the movement of the team through his telescope. He broke into a cold grin as he switched on his communicator.
"The targets have entered the area. Operation "Bountiful Harvest" is a go."