It had been over a week since the world first heard about the formation of the GRRA. For Captain Alex Mercer, those days had been filled with briefings, travel, and the sinking realization that humanity was fighting an enemy they barely understood. The San Diego incident haunted him still—the rift, the creatures, the relentless chaos. He had faced death before, but this was different. The unknown loomed larger than ever, and the weight of that uncertainty pressed down on him like never before.
As the military transport plane banked, preparing for its final descent, Mercer’s eyes scanned the view below. Ramstein Air Base stretched out in a precise grid—rows of aircraft gleaming under the harsh midday sun, soldiers and convoys moving like clockwork. The efficiency should have been reassuring, but it only deepened his tension. No amount of preparation, no volume of firepower, would matter if they couldn’t understand the threat they were facing.
That was the crux of it—they didn’t know enough. And that terrified him.
Mercer rubbed his temples, willing the tension away. He needed to stay sharp. His new team, MTF 1, was depending on him to lead them into a mission that could easily turn into a bloodbath. A team he barely knew, assigned to an operation that had all the markings of a disaster. His gut twisted with familiar unease—the kind that always came before the most dangerous of missions.
As the plane touched down and taxied to a halt, the pit in his stomach settled deeper. He’d been in this position before—landing in a foreign place, facing unfamiliar faces, knowing that some wouldn’t make it back. Faces that would most likely disappear, swallowed up by the violence.
“Captain Mercer, sir,” came a crisp voice as he stepped off the ramp. A tall, clean-shaven officer approached, snapping a sharp salute. “Lieutenant Parker. I’m here to get you settled and briefed.”
Mercer returned the salute with practiced ease, though his thoughts remained elsewhere. “Let’s get to it.”
The drive across the base was quiet, but the tension was palpable. Rows of armored trucks and soldiers moved with mechanical precision, their faces set with the same grim determination. Despite the hum of the engine, Mercer’s mind drifted back to sleepless nights replaying the horrors of San Diego. Now, there was another mission, just as unpredictable, just as dangerous. Something he couldn’t fully prepare for, no matter how much he tried.
“This is a big operation you’ve got going here,” Mercer said, his voice casual but his grip on the door handle tight. He glanced at the convoys, trying to distract himself from the sense of foreboding.
Parker’s face remained grim as he nodded. “It is, sir. But no amount of preparation will change what’s out there. The rifts… the things coming through them... they’re like nothing we’ve ever faced before. It’s bad. Brutal. We’re losing people fast, and that’s why you’re here.”
Mercer’s knuckles whitened around the door handle. He knew Parker wasn’t exaggerating. “How bad?”
Parker hesitated, his gaze darkening. “Your team will be MTF 1—Mobile Task Force. Your mission is to clear out a alien nest in Provence, France. There has been emerging reports of uncontained rift in the countryside and wilderness. Several nest across the world where alien creatures from those uncontained rifts are migrating to. I won’t sugarcoat it, Captain. You’ll be walking into a meat grinder, and not all of you are coming back.”
Mercer clenched his jaw. He appreciated Parker’s honesty, but it didn’t make the dread any easier to swallow. A nest meant close-quarters combat, something that would quickly devolve into chaos. Communication would likely fail, and the environment itself would be hostile—a living nightmare filled with creatures whose abilities they barely understood. He’d seen what these things could do in San Diego, and the memory of it still twisted his gut.
It was like staring into the unknown again, only this time, the stakes were even higher. “How many teams are we sending in?”
“There are ten MTF teams. You’ll be backed by MTF 2 and 3, with the local French forces securing the perimeter. But the perimeter won’t hold forever. We need to hit them hard and fast.”
Mercer nodded, absorbing the information. But no matter how much support they had, no matter how many teams were involved, the unknown still hung over everything. And that’s what unnerved him the most.
The duo arrived at the barracks, a hive of activity. Soldiers moved with practiced efficiency—cleaning weapons, adjusting gear—but there was something more in the air. Mercer could feel it, a sense of collective unease that went deeper than the usual pre-mission jitters. This was different. They all knew the kind of nightmare they were about to face.
"Captain, here’s your team," Parker said, leading Mercer into the common area where MTF 1 had gathered. The introductions were informal, the kind Mercer preferred in situations like this. He didn’t need formality or ceremony—he needed to see the people he’d be leading into the fire.
“Sergeant John Thompson, but everyone calls him ‘Titan.’ Heavy weapons,” Parker said, nodding toward a hulking man with a grim expression. Titan was built like a tank, his presence commanding the room. He extended a massive hand toward Mercer, the handshake as solid as the man himself.
"Captain. I make sure things stay dead when they need to stay dead," Titan said, his voice low and steady.
Mercer glanced at the massive rifle slung over Titan’s shoulder and nodded. "Good. We’ll need that."
Titan cracked his knuckles, flexing his broad shoulders. “They keep throwing bigger things at us. I wouldn’t mind something that can really put up a fight.”
Next was Corporal Maria Hernandez, or "Lifeline," the team’s medic. She greeted Mercer with a warm smile, but there was tension in her eyes—a strain that spoke to the weight she carried. “I’m your medic, Captain. I’ll be here to patch up whatever Titan leaves standing.”
Mercer chuckled lightly, but he noticed the subtle tremor in her hands as she adjusted her gear. There was fear there, no matter how much she tried to hide it.
"You’ve worked with Titan before?" Mercer asked, looking between the two.
Lifeline nodded, her smile flickering. “Yeah, and I’ve used more bandages on him than anyone else.”
Titan grinned. “She exaggerates. I never let the bastards get close enough.”
They both shared a knowing look, a bond formed through past missions, though the underlying tension between them was hard to miss.
Then came Private First Class Liam O’Connor, "Phantom." He was wiry, sharp-eyed, and utterly unfazed by the looming mission, casually flipping a combat knife between his fingers. His eyes never seemed to stay in one place for too long, constantly scanning the room as if assessing everything. "Recon," he said simply, giving Mercer a nod.
Mercer noted the knife and the smooth, practiced motions of Phantom’s hands. The man’s calm demeanor was almost unsettling, but Mercer could appreciate his quiet readiness. “Good to know we’ve got eyes in the field.”
Phantom gave a nonchalant shrug. “Not much escapes me, Captain.”
Next up was Elena Volkov, "Eagle Eye." The sniper sat at a nearby table, meticulously cleaning her rifle. Her focus was laser-sharp, and she barely glanced up as Parker introduced her.
“Eagle Eye,” she said flatly, as if her name said everything that needed to be said.
Mercer appreciated her precision, the quiet intensity in her movements. He could tell she was someone who thrived in the silence, her concentration never wavering. "You always this quiet?" Mercer asked, half-joking.
Eagle Eye didn’t look up from her rifle, her voice even. “I talk when I need to, sir. Right now, I’m making sure this rifle’s ready for when I do.”
Mercer nodded, understanding the seriousness. “Good to have someone who makes every shot count.”
Nearby, Sergeant David Kim, or "Boomer," sat tinkering with his explosives kit. Each motion was careful, deliberate, as he checked each charge with a practiced hand.
“Everything good, Boomer?” Mercer asked.
Boomer glanced up with a grin. "Always, Captain. No room for surprises when it comes to explosives. I make sure they go off when I say they do, and not a second before."
The casual way he handled the explosives told Mercer that Boomer wasn’t new to this kind of pressure. The demolition specialist had the kind of relaxed attitude that came from having danced with death too many times to be scared of it anymore.
Across the room, Corporal Aiden Patel, "Aegis," sat flipping through a magazine. His leg bounced nervously, betraying the calm exterior he was trying to maintain.
“Everything set, Aegis?” Parker asked.
Aegis snapped the magazine shut and gave a stiff nod. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” he muttered, clearly not a fan of waiting.
Parker nodded toward the man sharpening a knife next to Aegis. Private First Class Jake Nguyen, "Shadow," was hunched over his blade, his focus intense. The steady scraping of metal on stone filled the air around him.
“Shadow,” Parker said. "He’s quiet, but he gets the job done."
Shadow didn’t even look up from his knife, his attention fully on the task. "Just making sure it’s sharp. You never know when you’ll need it," he muttered, his voice cool.
“You could probably cut through steel with that thing by now,” Aegis said with a glance at the constant sharpening.
Without missing a beat, Shadow replied, “Maybe I’ll test it on you later.”
A small, dry laugh escaped from Aegis, but the unease in his body language was still evident.
Across the room, Specialist Ingrid Müller, "Gadget," was hunched over a piece of disassembled tech, her hands deftly working through the complex wiring. She seemed completely absorbed in her task, only glancing up when Parker introduced her.
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“Gadget,” she said, her voice flat. She gave Mercer a quick nod before returning to her work.
Mercer stepped closer, watching her work for a moment. “Everything running smoothly?”
“Smooth enough,” she said, still focused on the tech. "Just making sure we’re not walking in blind."
Finally, Parker gestured toward a quieter figure standing by the far wall, arms crossed, observing the group with calm intensity.
“And over here, we’ve got Specialist Hiroshi Tanaka, or ‘Nomad.’ He’s our survival expert,” Parker explained.
Nomad gave a slight nod, his expression calm but guarded. Mercer could tell the man was sizing him up, silently judging whether he would be the kind of leader that would keep them alive. His gear was noticeably more rugged, survival tools strapped across his vest, ready for whatever hostile environment awaited them.
“Good to have someone who knows how to handle the wild,” Mercer offered, trying to show respect for the man’s experience.
Nomad’s gaze was steady. “It’s not the wild I’m worried about, Captain. It’s what’s waiting for us inside the rift.”
Mercer held his gaze, appreciating the seriousness in Nomad’s words. “We’ll be ready for whatever’s out there.”
Parker then gestured toward two figures, sitting at a table, engaged in lively conversation. Sergeant Carlos Ramirez, or "Razor," was talking animatedly with Corporal Sam Johnson, "Circuit," who seemed equally entertained by the conversation.
"Do you got a story for us, Gadget?" Razor asked with a grin, turning toward her.
Gadget didn’t even look up. "Not really, but I’ll take one if you’ve got it."
Razor smirked. "Alright, I got one. So, back in boot camp, our drill sergeant tells this recruit to ‘hit himself.’ And the poor guy? He literally punches himself in the face, knocks himself out cold. Even the drill sergeant couldn’t stop laughing when he saw him laid out on the ground."
Quiet snickers rippled through the team, the laughter a brief respite from the looming dread. But Mercer could see through it. They were all using the banter as a distraction, a way to fend off the rising fear.
The base’s PA system crackled to life, cutting through the tension.
"Attention all MTF teams. Report to the briefing room immediately."
The banter faded as everyone gathered their gear. The earlier lightness evaporated, replaced by grim determination. Mercer felt the familiar weight settle on his shoulders as they headed for the door. The missions ahead could break them, yet he had to keep it all together.
Meeting Room Briefing
"Good evening, everyone," General Hayes began, his voice steady and commanding. "As you know, the situation is escalating. The rifts are spreading, and the creatures emerging from them are becoming more aggressive. The intelligence we’re about to share will be critical for your upcoming missions."
Dr. Emily Carter stepped forward, her calm, analytical presence a stark contrast to the underlying tension in the room. The screen behind her shifted to show a pulsing rift, its edges warping the very fabric of space.
"The rifts are highly unstable," Dr. Carter explained. "We have no reliable way of predicting where or when they’ll appear, and once active, they cause extreme changes to the surrounding environment. Alien flora and fauna begin to take over within hours. Unfortunately, we have no method to predict when or how long a rift will remain open, but we’ve had reports of a few in the countryside and surrounding wilderness disappearing within a week. The creatures often migrate to different nest locations across the globe."
The room was quiet, everyone absorbing the information. Mercer glanced over at Phantom, who was flipping his knife absently. His eyes were narrowed, deep in thought.
"Bet there’s some wild stuff on the other side," Phantom muttered, half to himself.
Mercer nodded slightly but kept his attention on the screen. His mind was already racing to the mission ahead, to the nest in Provence. What kind of nightmare awaited them beneath the ground?
Dr. Maria Gonzalez stepped forward, her clinical tone cutting through the room’s stillness as the screen flickered to grotesque images of alien remains.
"The creatures we’ve encountered are unlike anything we’ve seen before," she began, glancing at the soldiers with sharp eyes. "They decompose rapidly after death. We suspect the creatures need to be fed some sort of energy to survive in our world. Live specimens captured in traps died within a few days, often turning into a viscous black slime. This has made it difficult for us to study their biology. However, we’ve made an important discovery."
Boomer leaned closer to Lifeline, his voice a low whisper. "I heard they found crystals inside these things. Think they’re worth something on the black market?"
Lifeline shot him a sharp look. "You’re not thinking of pocketing those, are you?"
Boomer grinned but didn’t reply.
Dr. Gonzalez continued, seemingly unfazed by the quiet murmurs in the room. "In the remains, we’ve discovered crystalline structures. These crystals don’t match any known material on Earth. We believe they are the key to the creatures' abilities."
The screen zoomed in on an image of a glowing crystal embedded in a decaying alien corpse. Boomer’s eyes widened slightly.
"We suspect the creatures use these crystals to pass through the rift safely, possibly stabilizing the rifts in the process," Dr. Gonzalez said. "Furthermore, we believe these crystals are the source of the creatures defensive shields."
The room grew quieter still. Titan, who had been listening silently, muttered under his breath, "Great. Shields and all we’ve got are bullets."
Mercer caught the remark and nodded. Shields were going to make their job harder, but that wasn’t the worst of it. His mind was already working through how they’d adapt.
Dr. Gonzalez turned her attention back to the room. "We’re conducting further analysis to understand the properties of these crystals. For now, your field teams will be tasked with retrieving as many samples as possible for further research. This is critical—these crystals may be the key to understanding how the rifts operate."
The screen then shifted to an image of a grotesque creature that resembled a twisted tree stump, its body dark and gnarled.
"This is the 'Stump,'" Dr. Gonzalez explained, her tone unwavering. "It lacks sensory organs but can target humans with deadly precision, launching energy blasts from a distance. Its shield is particularly strong, so concentrated fire or explosives are recommended to neutralize it."
Boomer grinned, his excitement barely contained. "Now that’s what I like to hear. Explosives."
Mercer shot him a glance, keeping the briefing on track. "Let’s make sure it stays contained, Boomer."
Boomer gave a playful salute. "Always, Captain."
Shadow, however, seemed less impressed. He crossed his arms, his usual swagger fading. "So no trophies, huh? Can’t even take a tooth back with us?"
Mercer frowned. "Focus, Shadow. We’re here to survive, not collect souvenirs."
The screen shifted again to another alien—a small, grotesque creature with swollen glands, oozing with a dark, viscous liquid.
"This is the 'Larva,'" Dr. Gonzalez said, her tone sharp. "It can spit acid that dissolves armor and flesh. Its shield is weaker than the Stump’s, but we recommend concentrated fire or explosives to take it down quickly."
Mercer noticed Lifeline’s hands tightening at her sides. Acid was a nightmare for a medic to deal with. She met his gaze briefly, and he gave her a reassuring nod.
The next image showed a spectral, dog-like creature, its body flickering between solid and incorporeal forms.
"This is the Grey Hound," Dr. Gonzalez continued. "It is highly dangerous in ambush scenarios. Its spectral form allows it to hide in low light or dense vegetation. Approach with extreme caution."
Eagle Eye narrowed her gaze at the screen. "Long-range shots aren’t gonna be easy with that thing."
Dr. Gonzalez nodded. "Indeed. Its movement patterns make it difficult to track. Focus on disrupting its form before attempting to engage."
Finally, the screen displayed the Stalker—an oversized, wandering stick like creature with a lethal stinger dripping with venom.
"These creatures are particularly dangerous at close range," Dr. Gonzalez warned. "Their stingers are coated with venom, and their shields are nearly impenetrable. Avoid engaging in tight quarters if possible."
From the back of the room, Circuit let out a low whistle. "What the hell are we walking into?"
General Hayes stepped forward once again, his face set with resolve. "As you can see, the challenges ahead are unlike anything we’ve faced before. That’s why we’ve reached out to BlackOps Industries—a top secret military manufacturer that specializes in cutting-edge equipment for elite agencies worldwide."
The screen flickered to an image of several prototype weapons: a rifle, shotgun, revolver, and more.
"As we’ve seen, our current arsenal isn’t always enough to deal with the creatures coming through these rifts," General Hayes said, his tone measured. "That’s why we’ve partnered with them. Their task: to produce high-caliber, high-power weapons capable of countering the unique threats we’re facing."
The first image zoomed in on a bulky, intimidating revolver.
"Meet the RSh-12, a large-caliber revolver that fires 12.7mm rounds. The design minimizes recoil by firing from the lower chamber of the drum, improving accuracy and control, but don’t be mistaken—this thing packs a punch. Only those with serious physical strength should be handling it. It’s a six-shot revolver, and every shot counts."
Mercer glanced at Titan, who raised an eyebrow at the mention of the gun’s power. No doubt he was already imagining how it would feel in his hands.
The next weapon on the screen was a semi automatic rifle, sleek yet solid in design.
"This is the BlackOps Rifle, chambered for 12.7mm ammunition, designed for semi automatic fire. BlackOps made improvements over earlier models to manage the recoil, but it still requires significant strength to control. Ten rounds per magazine, designed to hit hard and keep firing. Use it when you need sheer stopping power."
Boomer leaned forward slightly, his interest piqued. "Sounds like fun," he murmured.
The screen shifted to the next prototype: a large, imposing shotgun.
"For close-quarters combat, we’ve have them develop the BlackOps Shotgun, firing 8-gauge shells. This shotgun is built for environments where the enemy gets close—and fast. With six shells in a clip and a recoil compensation system, it’s designed to give you that extra bit of control. But, like the other weapons, it’s built for soldiers who can handle the weight and power."
Shadow, who had been quiet, let out a low whistle. "Eight gauge? That’ll knock them down for sure."
"Exactly," Hayes said, nodding. "This shotgun is for when you need to end a fight up close."
The final weapon displayed on the screen was a lightweight, six-barreled gun with an unmistakable design.
"This is the BlackOps Microgun, a portable six-barreled minigun based on the XM556 design. It’s belt-fed, holds 250 rounds, and has an extremely high rate of fire. The trade-off? Low accuracy. It’s meant for suppression, not precision, and is best fired from a kneeling position to keep it stable."
Mercer could see Titan’s eyes light up at the mention of the microgun, but Hayes wasn’t finished.
"These weapons have been built to give you the firepower needed to deal with the shielded creatures we’ve encountered. Whether you’re at range or in close quarters, you’ll have the tools to punch through."
Hayes paused, scanning the room as the soldiers absorbed the weight of what they’d just been told.
"They’re not easy to handle. But they’ll give you a fighting chance."
Boomer grinned, nudging Lifeline. "I call dibs on that shotgun."
"You won’t get near it if I do first," Titan replied with a smirk.
General Hayes cut through the banter with a stern look. "These weapons will be distributed soon for testing and training. Remember—strength and control are critical. We can’t afford injuries from mishandling gear…"
"As for the final development. This is our new body armor, designed to counter the unconventional threats posed by these creatures. It’s built to withstand acid, energy blasts, and crushing forces. While it won’t stop bullets as well as our standard vests, it offers far better protection against the rift creatures’ unique abilities."
The screen displayed the sleek, reinforced armor, rugged and designed for alien combat.
"We expect to have several prototype suits ready in time for MTF 1’s mission to the nest in France. You’ll be equipped with this new armor, as well as the new weapons, improving your chances in the field."
Boomer leaned back in his chair, clearly pleased. "Finally, something useful."
Mercer, however, remained cautious. No amount of armor or firepower would fully protect them from what was waiting in the nest. They were heading into a brutal fight, and he needed to keep his team grounded.
General Hayes stepped forward, his tone serious. "You have one week to train and prepare. MTF 1, 2, and 3 will be tasked with clearing the nest in Provence. MTF 2 and 3 will secure the surface. Captain Mercer, you and MTF 1 will enter the nest and neutralize any hostiles inside."
The room fell silent, the weight of the mission settling heavily over the team. Mercer glanced around at his squad—Titan, Shadow, Eagle Eye, Boomer, and the others—all showing signs of focus and anxiety. The path ahead was dangerous, and not all of them would come back.
"Dismissed."