Chapter 2: The Call to Action
That night, the news spread like wildfire. Mercer sat in the dim confines of the barracks, the faint glow of a small TV casting shifting shadows across the walls. The reporters’ voices crackled with urgency, narrating the chaos engulfing the world. The screen showed shaky footage of the San Diego rift, now a swirling vortex of malevolent light and unrelenting destruction.
Then came the global reports over the next few days. Smaller rifts, once thought improbable, were now undeniable realities. They had been sighted in regions across the globe—each accompanied by its own horrors. Grainy security footage captured terrifying glimpses: strange, hulking creatures prowling city streets, their forms distorted by smoke and shadows. One clip showed silhouettes of flying wooden ships, their eerie sails catching unnatural winds as they descended on a coastal town. From their decks spilled figures armed and deadly, moving with an alien, predatory intent.
Mercer leaned forward, his hands gripping his knees. The footage shifted to a suburban neighborhood in flames, overrun by goblins—small, twisted creatures darting through the wreckage. Their shrieks pierced through the night as survivors ran or hid in vain. It wasn’t just San Diego. The world was changing faster than anyone could comprehend, and the question wasn’t just how to fight back—it was whether they could hold the line at all.
The broadcast continued, showing maps dotted with ominous red markers where rifts had been confirmed: São Paulo, Tokyo, Berlin, and the Syrian desert. Each glowing pin on the screen marked a new frontier of chaos. Reporters speculated on the spread, citing scientists and military experts alike, while promising updates on global countermeasures.
Mercer’s gaze drifted down to his hands, still crusted with the faint scars of battle and the alien ichor of the creatures they had fought. Somewhere deep in his mind, a grim certainty settled like an immovable weight: whatever came next, the fight wasn’t just for survival—it was for the very soul of humanity.
A week after San Diego, the world responded.
The UN convened an emergency session, broadcasted across every screen, where the Secretary-General announced the formation of the Global Rift Response Agency (GRRA). The task force, an unprecedented alliance of military, scientific, and governmental expertise, was charged with one goal: understanding and combating the rift phenomenon. The announcement played in an endless loop across the base, each word hammering home the magnitude of what they faced.
Mercer stood in the mess hall with his squad, his focus shifting between the screen and the people around him. The weight of what they had endured the last few days was evident in their tired faces, their camaraderie tempered by the losses they had suffered but unbroken in resolve.
“You’re joining, right?” Alvarez’s voice cut through the low hum of the broadcast.
Mercer didn’t look away from the screen. He crossed his arms, his jaw set. “There’s no choice. This isn’t just a war—it’s something bigger.”
Alvarez gave a faint nod, her gaze drifting toward the squad members nearby. “Then we stick together.”
Mercer finally met her eyes, his usual stoicism softening slightly. For the first time in days, he allowed himself a faint smile. “Yeah. We stick together.”
Later that day, Mercer, Alvarez, Hernandez, and Jameson gathered near the base’s airfield. The mood was subdued yet resolute as the GRRA insignia was raised high over their heads, flapping against a crisp morning sky. A transport jet, emblazoned with the newly minted GRRA logo, idled on the tarmac, waiting to take them to the agency’s global headquarters in Germany.
Mercer signed his name on the roster with deliberate precision, his pen pressing heavily into the paper. Captain Alex Mercer. Global Rift Response Agency. He glanced back at Alvarez and the others as they followed suit, their faces etched with determination. Around them, other soldiers, engineers, and scientists did the same, marking the first steps of what they all knew was an uncertain but necessary path.
As the engines roared and the transport prepared to depart, Mercer stared out at the horizon, where the faint glow of the San Diego rift still scarred the skyline. The fight was only just beginning, and whatever lay ahead, Mercer knew one thing for certain—they weren’t just soldiers anymore. They were humanity’s first and last line of defense.
As the military transport plane banked for its final descent, Mercer stared out the small window at the expanse below. Ramstein Air Base stretched across the landscape in a meticulously arranged grid—rows of aircraft gleaming under the harsh midday sun, convoys snaking through the base with clockwork precision, and soldiers moving purposefully toward their assignments. The sheer scale of the operation should have been reassuring, but it only served to deepen the tension coiling in his chest. No amount of preparation, no display of military might, could replace the one thing they lacked: understanding.
And that ignorance terrified him.
Mercer rubbed his temples, willing the rising unease to subside. He couldn’t afford to falter now—not here, not with everything on the line. His new team, MTF 1, was counting on him. Their mission wasn’t just dangerous; it was unprecedented. Clearing a rift-born alien nest was a task no one truly understood, and success felt like a gamble at best.
The plane touched down with a jarring thud, its engines roaring as it taxied to a halt. Mercer’s gut tightened further as the ramp lowered, flooding the cabin with the stark sunlight of a foreign base. He stepped off, boots hitting the tarmac with a practiced confidence that belied the unease gnawing at him. Behind him, Corporal Sam Jameson and Maria Hernandez disembarked, saluting in unison as they fell into step beside him.
“Captain Mercer, sir,” came a crisp voice, breaking his thoughts. A tall, clean-shaven officer approached, his posture rigid as he snapped a sharp salute. “Lieutenant Parker. I’m here to get you settled and briefed.”
Mercer returned the salute, his eyes scanning the bustling base for a moment before settling on Parker. “Let’s get to it,” he said evenly, though his thoughts lingered elsewhere.
The drive across the base was quiet, the only sound the hum of the engine and the distant rumble of aircraft overhead. Mercer sat in silence, his eyes roving over the rows of armored vehicles and disciplined ranks of soldiers. Their movements were precise, their faces a mix of grim determination and barely contained tension. The scale of the operation was staggering, yet it all felt like preparation for an unwinnable fight.
Mercer leaned against the window, the flicker of San Diego’s horrors replaying in his mind. The creatures, the chaos, the screams—it was a nightmare he couldn’t shake. And now, they were heading into something just as unpredictable, just as brutal. He tightened his grip on the door handle, his knuckles white against the polished metal.
“This is a big operation you’ve got here,” Mercer said, breaking the silence. His tone was casual, but the weight of his words betrayed his unease. His eyes followed a convoy of trucks loaded with supplies and weapons as they passed.
Parker’s jaw tightened, his gaze fixed ahead. “It is, sir. The French army has secured the perimeter around a newly formed alien nest in Provence, but no amount of preparation changes what’s out there. The rifts, the things coming through them…” He trailed off, his voice hardening. “They’re unlike anything we’ve faced before.”
Mercer’s brow furrowed at the term. “A nest? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Parker glanced at him, his tone measured but grim. “It’s not just the rifts, Captain. In some areas, like Provence, we’ve started seeing underground cavern systems suddenly manifesting—like they’re being summoned or formed by the rift’s energy. The one in France was discovered after studying the migration patterns of the alien creatures. They’ve been moving away from the rift they emerged from, all heading to this cavern system.”
Mercer’s grip on the door handle tightened. “So, these nests are... what? Alien strongholds?”
“That’s the working theory,” Parker said, his voice steady but laced with unease. “The rift creates the initial breach, but the nests seem to be where these creatures consolidate. They’re fortified, complex, and teeming with hostiles. Think of them as staging grounds—or worse, breeding sites.”
Mercer stared out at the passing vehicles, his jaw tight. He knew Parker wasn’t exaggerating. “How bad is this one?”
Parker hesitated before answering, his gaze darkening. “The French army has done their part holding the line around the perimeter, but they’ve taken heavy losses. Your team—MTF 1—is being sent in to clear it out. This isn’t going to be clean, Captain. The creatures inside won’t give up ground easily, and not all of you are coming back.”
Mercer’s stomach sank at the stark honesty of Parker’s words, but he kept his expression neutral. “We’ll handle it,” he said simply, his voice firm.
Parker nodded, though his face betrayed the faintest flicker of doubt. “Let’s hope so. Because if we can’t get a handle on these nests, this might just be the beginning.”
Mercer clenched his jaw, his mind racing as Parker’s words sank in. If this was just the beginning, the stakes were higher than he’d dared to imagine. He forced himself to focus. A nest meant close-quarters combat—chaotic, disorienting, and lethal. Communication would be patchy at best, and the terrain itself could turn against them, given the unpredictable nature of these alien anomalies. He’d seen how the creatures moved and fought in San Diego; the memory was enough to twist his gut.
“How many teams are we sending in?” Mercer asked, his tone clipped but steady.
“GRRA has formed ten Mobile Task Forces,” Parker replied, his voice carrying the weight of grim necessity. “You’ll lead MTF 1, backed by MTF 2 and 3. Local French forces have secured the perimeter around the nest and will maintain it while your teams move in to clear the site. It’s a coordinated strike—we hit hard, clear it out, and secure the area for further study.”
Mercer raised an eyebrow. “Study?”
Parker nodded, his lips pressed into a tight line. “Yeah. The ‘eggheads’ are especially interested in these nests. Like the rifts, they’re... unnatural. They’ve been studying the surrounding biomes—new plants, new growths, things that shouldn’t exist but do. And these nests seem to be at the center of it all. We need to clear this one so they can figure out what the hell is going on.”
Mercer absorbed the information, the weight of it pressing down on him. No amount of reinforcements or scientific intrigue could erase the truth: they were walking straight into the unknown again. And unknowns got people killed.
The vehicle slowed as they approached the barracks. Soldiers moved with quiet urgency, their movements efficient and precise as they prepared for the mission. Yet Mercer could feel it—a tension in the air, heavy and pervasive. This wasn’t the usual pre-mission nerves; it was deeper, sharper. They all knew the kind of nightmare they were heading into, even if they couldn’t put it into words.
The four of them disembarked, and Parker led Mercer toward the common area where MTF 1 was gathered. “Captain, here’s your team,” Parker said, stepping aside.
The room was alive with activity. Soldiers adjusted gear, cleaned weapons, and checked equipment with practiced efficiency. Conversations were low and serious, their faces set with the grim determination of those preparing for the worst.
Mercer took a moment to scan the room. The introductions were informal—just the way he preferred it. In situations like this, ceremony was a waste of time. What mattered now wasn’t rank or protocol but the people he’d be leading into the fire. He needed to know who they were and if they could handle what lay ahead.
“Alright,” Mercer said, stepping forward and letting his voice carry. “Let’s get to work.”
Parker stepped beside Mercer as they approached the common area, addressing the gathered soldiers. “Before we proceed, let me introduce Captain Alex Mercer, your commanding officer. He’ll be leading MTF 1 into the field.”
Mercer nodded, his gaze steady as it swept across the team. “I know you’ve all been through a lot to get here. I won’t pretend this mission will be easy—it won’t. But we’ve got the best team and the best chance to make a difference. Stick to your training, watch each other’s backs, and we’ll get through this.”
Parker continued, gesturing to the two soldiers standing beside Mercer. “Corporal Maria Hernandez, our medic, and Corporal Sam Jameson, communications and tech support. Both of them have field experience from San Diego and are here to ensure this team is at its best.”
Maria gave a slight nod, her expression calm but resolute. “Looking forward to working with all of you.”
Jameson added a quick salute, a faint smile playing on his lips. “We’ll make it happen, whatever it takes.”
Parker gave a curt nod of approval. “Now that we’re all on the same page, let’s meet the rest of the squad.”
"Hello 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.”
“John?” Maria asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.
Titan froze, his normally stoic expression replaced with surprise. “Maria? No way—Maria Vasquez from Kennedy High?”
A broad smile broke across her face. “Yeah, it’s Hernandez now, but yeah—it’s me! I can’t believe this.”
Mercer glanced between the two, curiosity flickering across his face. “You two know each other?”
“We went to school together,” Maria explained, her smile not fading. “John here was the guy who always ate lunch in the gym and could bench press half the football team. He never let me carry my books after I broke my arm in junior year.”
Titan chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing for the first time since Mercer had arrived. “And you were the only person who could ever talk me into tutoring. Biology, right? You saved my grade.”
“I wasn’t going to let you fail,” Maria said, her tone light but filled with genuine warmth. “Besides, it paid off—you passed.”
The moment of levity seemed to lift the room, but it didn’t last long. Maria’s smile faltered as her gaze dropped to the floor. “I guess we’ve come a long way since then.”
“Yeah,” Titan said, his voice quieter now. “A long way.”
Mercer, sensing the shift, stepped in. “Well, it sounds like you’ve got a history of watching each other’s backs. That’s good—we’re going to need that out there.”
Maria looked up, her expression firm but still carrying a flicker of nostalgia. “You can count on us, Captain.”
Titan nodded, his massive hands resting on his belt. “Yeah. No matter what’s out there, we’ll handle it.”
The two shared a quick smile, a bond formed long before this fight but now reforged under dire circumstances. Mercer took note—having that kind of history between teammates could be a strength and a weakness, in the chaos they were about to face.
Parker and Mercer approached a wiry, sharp-eyed soldier who was casually flipping a combat knife between his fingers, the blade catching the light with each smooth, practiced motion. The soldier seemed entirely unfazed by the earlier reunion.
“Private First Class Liam O’Connor, codename ‘Phantom,’” Parker said.
Phantom nodded at Mercer, his demeanor calm and concentrated—almost unsettling. “Recon,” he said simply.
Mercer noted the fluidity of Phantom’s movements and the quiet confidence in his gaze. He was a man who seemed to see everything and say only what was necessary. “Good to know we’ve got eyes in the field.”
Phantom shrugged with nonchalant ease. “Not much escapes me, Captain.”
Next, Parker led Mercer toward a sniper sitting at a nearby table, her rifle disassembled before her. Elana Volkov, codename "Eagle Eye," moved with meticulous precision as she cleaned each part. She barely glanced up as Parker introduced her.
“Eagle Eye,” she said flatly, her focus never wavering from her task.
Mercer studied her for a moment, appreciating her laser-sharp concentration. “You always this quiet?” he asked, half-joking.
Without looking up, she replied evenly, “I talk when I need to, sir. Right now, I’m making sure this rifle’s ready for when I do.”
Mercer nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Good to have someone who makes every shot count.”
Nearby, Sergeant David Kim, codename "Boomer," was hunched over his explosives kit, carefully inspecting each charge. His movements were deliberate, his focus absolute, but he glanced up with a grin when Mercer approached.
“Everything good, Boomer?” Mercer asked.
Boomer’s grin widened. “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 confidence in his voice spoke of experience, the kind earned through countless close calls. Mercer noted the relaxed way Boomer handled the volatile equipment, the mark of someone who had danced with danger too many times to flinch.
Across the room, Corporal Aiden Kapoor, codename "Aegis," sat flipping through a magazine. His leg bounced nervously, betraying the calm exterior he was trying to project.
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“Everything set, Aegis?” Parker asked.
Aegis snapped the magazine shut and nodded stiffly. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” he muttered, his tone a mix of determination and unease.
Parker gestured toward another soldier seated next to Aegis. Private First Class Jake Nguyen, codename "Shadow," was sharpening a blade with methodical precision. The rhythmic scrape of metal on stone filled the air around him.
“Shadow,” Parker said, nodding toward the quiet soldier. “He’s quiet, but he gets the job done.”
Shadow didn’t look up, his focus fixed on his task. “Just making sure it’s sharp,” he muttered, his voice calm and cool. “You never know when you’ll need it.”
Aegis glanced at Shadow’s blade with a nervous smirk. “You could probably cut through steel with that thing by now.”
Without missing a beat, Shadow replied, “Maybe I’ll test it on you later.”
A small, dry laugh escaped Aegis, though the unease in his body language didn’t disappear.
Across the room, Specialist Ingrid Müller, codename "Gadget," was hunched over a piece of disassembled tech, her hands working through the wiring with practiced precision. Her intense focus made it seem like she didn’t notice Parker and Mercer approaching, though she glanced up briefly when Parker introduced her.
“Gadget,” she said curtly, giving Mercer a quick nod before returning to her work.
Mercer stepped closer, watching her nimble fingers as they worked. “Everything running smoothly?”
“Smooth enough,” she replied without looking up, her tone flat. “It’s just a hobby to pass the time.”
Finally, Parker gestured toward a figure standing near the far wall, arms crossed as he watched the room with calm intensity. Specialist Hiroshi Tanaka, codename "Nomad," stood out from the others. His gear was rugged, and survival tools strapped to his vest hinted at someone who thrived in the wild.
“And over here, we’ve got Nomad,” Parker said. “He’s our survival expert.”
Nomad gave Mercer a slight nod, his expression calm but guarded. Mercer could feel the weight of the man’s gaze, as if he were silently judging whether Mercer was the kind of leader who could keep them alive.
“Good to have someone who knows how to handle the wild,” Mercer offered, meeting Nomad’s steady gaze with respect.
Nomad’s voice was quiet but firm. “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 of his words. “We’ll be ready for whatever’s out there.”
Nomad didn’t respond immediately, but his nod carried the weight of understanding. He didn’t need reassurances—he’d seen enough to know that survival came down to preparation, resolve, and luck. Mercer only hoped he could deliver on all three.
Parker then gestured toward a figures, sitting at the table, Sergeant Carlos Ramirez, or "Razor," who took the opportunity to introduce himself to the trio as he rose up and approached
Parker gestured toward a figure seated at a nearby table, his feet propped up casually as he leaned back in his chair. His sharp eyes tracked the room with a mix of detachment and amusement, but as Parker called him out, he straightened.
“Sergeant Carlos Ramirez, codename ‘Razor,’” Parker introduced.
Razor rose to his feet in a smooth, fluid motion, his posture relaxed yet exuding a quiet intensity. He adjusted the gloves on his hands, a small grin playing at the corner of his mouth as he approached Mercer and the trio.
“Well, well,” Razor began, his voice smooth and tinged with confidence. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a new Captain. I’m Razor—close combat specialist, and I don’t just mean in the field. Cards, sparring, you name it—I’m your guy if you’re feeling lucky.” His grin widened, a flash of easy charm beneath the seriousness of his role.
Mercer extended a hand, his expression neutral but polite. “Good to meet you, Razor. Close combat, huh? That’s a good skill to have when things get tight.”
Razor took the handshake, his grip firm. “Tight is where I thrive, Captain. If things go south, you can count on me to get up close and personal.” He released Mercer’s hand, his grin shifting to Maria and Jameson. “And you two must be the San Diego vets. Heard you made quite a mess of things down there.”
Maria smirked, crossing her arms. “Let’s just say we kept ourselves busy.”
Jameson chuckled lightly. “And we’re still here to talk about it, so I’d call that a win.”
Razor laughed. “Fair enough. Sounds like we’ve got a squad that knows how to hold their ground. Just don’t let me outshine you too much—wouldn’t want anyone getting jealous.”
Before anyone could respond, the base’s PA system crackled to life, its sharp tone cutting through the banter.
“Attention all MTF teams. Report to the briefing room immediately.”
The room fell silent as the message repeated, the air shifting from lighthearted camaraderie to focused urgency. Razor’s grin faded, replaced by a more serious expression as he adjusted the gloves on his hands.
“Looks like showtime,” Razor said, his voice quieter now.
Mercer nodded, his gaze sweeping across the room. The weight of command settled on his shoulders once again, familiar yet no less daunting. “Alright, let’s move.”
The squad began filing out of the common area, their previous banter giving way to the quiet focus of soldiers preparing for action. Razor fell into step alongside Mercer, the easy confidence in his gait now tempered with a sharper edge.
“Good evening, everyone,” General Hayes began, his voice steady and commanding as it cut through the quiet tension in the room. “As you’re all aware, the situation is escalating rapidly. Rifts are spreading across the globe, and the creatures emerging from them are becoming increasingly aggressive. The intelligence we’re about to share is critical for your upcoming missions.”
He stepped aside, and Dr. Emily Carter approached the podium, her calm, analytical presence a contrast to the underlying anxiety that hung in the room. The screen behind her flickered to life, displaying a pulsating rift, its edges distorting the surrounding environment like a fever dream.
“The rifts are highly unstable,” Dr. Carter began, her voice measured and precise. “We currently have no reliable method of predicting where or when they will appear. Once active, they cause extreme and rapid changes to the surrounding environment. Within hours, alien flora and fauna begin to dominate the landscape.”
The screen shifted to show time-lapse footage of a rift’s effects—a lush, alien biome overtaking what had been an urban park, its otherworldly vegetation twisting and thriving as if in defiance of Earth’s natural order.
Dr. Carter continued, her tone unflinching. “Unfortunately, we’ve also observed that these rifts can disappear unpredictably, as was the case in San Diego. When this occurs, the creatures appear to migrate to established nest locations.”
The room grew heavy with silence as the soldiers absorbed her words. Mercer’s gaze shifted to Phantom, who was flipping his combat knife in smooth, practiced motions, his eyes distant but focused.
“Bet there’s some wild stuff on the other side,” Phantom muttered, half to himself.
Mercer’s jaw tightened, his mind racing ahead to the mission. The nest in Provence. He had no illusions about what awaited them underground—it was going to be a nightmare.
Dr. Maria Gonzalez stepped forward next, her sharp gaze sweeping the room as the screen shifted to gruesome images of alien remains. Her clinical tone cut through the stillness.
“The creatures we’ve encountered so far are unlike anything we’ve seen before,” she began. “They decompose rapidly after death—within twenty minutes, in most cases. Our research suggests these creatures rely on some kind of energy source, possibly from the rift itself, to sustain their form in our world. Without it, they collapse into a viscous black slime.”
She paused, letting the weight of her words settle over the room. “This has made studying their biology extraordinarily difficult. However, we’ve made one critical discovery.”
Boomer leaned closer to Lifeline, his voice low but tinged with curiosity. “I heard they found crystals inside these things. Think they’re worth something on the black market?”
Lifeline shot him a sharp glare, her voice a whisper. “Don’t even think about it.”
Boomer grinned but wisely stayed quiet as Dr. Gonzalez continued, unfazed by the quiet murmurs.
“In the remains, we’ve discovered crystalline structures embedded within the bodies of these creatures,” she explained, gesturing to the screen. An image of a glowing crystal lodged in decaying alien tissue appeared, its eerie light casting jagged shadows on the background. “These crystals do not match any known material on Earth.”
She let the revelation hang in the air before pressing forward. “We believe these crystals are integral to the creatures’ abilities. They may enable them to pass through rifts safely and could even play a role in stabilizing the rifts themselves.”
Mercer’s attention sharpened, his mind turning over the implications. The screen now displayed a crystalline fragment under a microscope, its intricate patterns glowing faintly.
“These crystals are also likely the source of the creatures’ defensive shields,” Dr. Gonzalez said, her voice unwavering despite the gravity of her statement.
A murmur rippled through the room. Titan, who had been silently listening, muttered under his breath, “Great. Shields, and all we’ve got are bullets.”
Mercer caught the remark, his lips pressing into a thin line. He understood Titan’s frustration. Shields meant more challenges, more risk—but dwelling on it wouldn’t help. They’d have to adapt, and fast.
Dr. Gonzalez’s gaze swept over the soldiers, her tone resolute. “This is where you come in. Your field teams will be tasked with retrieving as many crystal samples as possible for further analysis. These crystals may hold the key to understanding not just the creatures, but the rifts themselves.”
The room was silent, the weight of her words sinking in. Mercer glanced around at his squad, their faces reflecting a mix of determination and unease. The stakes had never been higher, and the mission ahead promised to push them all to their limits.
The screen shifted, displaying an image of a familiar creature resembling a massive, eyeless wolf, its coarse fur matted and streaked with alien ichor. The photo, captured from a helicopter, showed the beast prowling through a ruined city street in downtown San Diego, debris and flames scattered in its wake. Its broad snout was raised as if sniffing the air for its next prey amidst the chaos.
“This is the ‘Blind Wolf,’ a scout and forager. It’s fast, aggressive, and dangerous to unprepared and unarmored targets. It uses an enhanced sense of smell and an unknown spatial awareness to track prey with precision. Its defensive ‘heat haze’ shield can deflect projectiles but is ineffective in melee combat. Eliminate them quickly before they overwhelm you with their numbers.”
From the back of the room, Boomer muttered with a grin, “So what, we toss a grenade and call it a day?”
The comment drew a few stifled chuckles, but Mercer fixed Boomer with a pointed look. “You’ll need to aim first, Boomer. This isn’t target practice.”
The room settled as Dr. Gonzalez moved on, displaying the next image: a grotesque creature resembling a twisted tree stump..
“This is the ‘Stump,’” Dr. Gonzalez explained, her tone steady and professional. “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 your best options for neutralizing it.”
Boomer’s grin spread wide, his enthusiasm hard to miss. “Now that’s what I like to hear. Explosives.”
Mercer shot him a pointed look, his voice firm. “Let’s focus on keeping it contained, Boomer, not blowing up half the countryside.”
Boomer gave a mock salute, his grin undeterred. “Always, Captain.”
Across the room, Shadow folded his arms, his usual smirk replaced by a more contemplative look. “So no trophies, huh? Can’t even take a tooth back with us?”
Mercer’s expression darkened. “Focus, Shadow. We’re here to survive, not to start a collection.”
The screen flickered again, revealing a smaller, grotesque creature with swollen glands oozing a dark, viscous liquid. Its appearance alone made several soldiers shift uncomfortably in their seats.
“This is the ‘Larva,’” Dr. Gonzalez said, her voice cutting through the room. “It spits acid capable of dissolving both armor and flesh. Its shield is weaker than the Stump’s, but don’t underestimate it. Concentrated fire or explosives will take it down quickly—hesitation will not.”
Mercer caught Lifeline’s reaction—her fingers tightening into fists at her sides. Acid was every medic’s nightmare. Their eyes met briefly, and he gave her a small nod of reassurance. She exhaled and refocused, her shoulders straightening.
The next image appeared: a spectral, dog-like creature flickering unnervingly between solid and incorporeal forms, its ghostly frame almost vibrating in place.
“This is the ‘Grey Hound,’” Dr. Gonzalez continued, her gaze scanning the room. “It excels in ambush scenarios. Its spectral form allows it to remain hidden in low light or dense vegetation. Approach with extreme caution.”
Eagle Eye narrowed her sharp gaze at the screen. “Long-range shots won’t be easy with that thing.”
Dr. Gonzalez nodded, her tone serious. “Correct. Its erratic movement patterns make it difficult to track. Disrupt its spectral form first before engaging directly.”
Finally, the screen displayed the Stalker—a towering, spindly creature resembling a monstrous, wandering stick. Its body was covered in jagged bark-like armor, and its long, venomous stinger dripped with a greenish fluid that gleamed menacingly.
“These are particularly dangerous in close-quarters combat,” Dr. Gonzalez warned, her voice heavier now. “The Stalker’s stinger is coated with a fast-acting venom, and its shield is among the most impenetrable we’ve encountered. Avoid engaging in tight spaces whenever possible.”
From the back of the room, Circuit let out a low whistle, breaking the tense silence. “What the hell are we walking into?”
The murmurs that followed were short-lived as General Hayes stepped forward again, his presence cutting through the growing unease. His face was set with unyielding resolve, and his voice carried the weight of the mission ahead.
“As you’ve seen, these are just some of the alien creatures we’ve identified from the contained rift sites around the world,” General Hayes began, his voice steady but heavy with purpose. “But the threat doesn’t end there. In more remote areas—the wilderness, the countryside, and even the skies—we’ve encountered phenomena that defy belief. Creatures straight out of mythology and fantasy roam these regions, and what’s more troubling, we’ve seen evidence of human-like pirates.”
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in before continuing. “These pirates command flying wooden ships—vessels that defy our understanding of physics. They’ve been harassing our defenses, shooting at our cities from above and retreating before we can mount a proper response. Worse still, they descend to pillage and kidnap civilians, leaving behind chaos and fear.
“Our air force has found itself at a disadvantage. Modern jet fighters are too fast and advanced to effectively engage these ships. In response, we’ve been forced to bring older, slower aircraft models out of retirement just to keep pace with their erratic movements and unconventional tactics.
“The challenges ahead are unlike anything humanity has ever faced,” General Hayes began, his voice steady yet weighty. “We’re not just fighting an enemy we don’t understand; we’re engaging on battlefields that evolve in ways that defy preparation.”
He paused, letting the gravity of his words sink in before continuing. “That’s why we’ve collaborated with arms suppliers and manufacturers worldwide. Our current arsenal isn’t always enough to counter the creatures coming through these rifts. We’ve tasked them to develop and provide us high-caliber, high-power weapons specifically designed to meet these unprecedented threats.”
The screen shifted to showcase the first of these high-caliber beauties
“Meet the RSh-12,” Hayes announced, gesturing toward the image of a bulky revolver. “A large-caliber revolver chambered for 12.7mm rounds. Its design minimizes recoil by firing from the lower chamber of the drum, improving both accuracy and control. But make no mistake—this is a powerhouse. It’s a six-shot revolver, and every shot counts. Only soldiers with significant physical strength should attempt to wield it.”
Mercer glanced toward Titan, whose raised eyebrow hinted at his interest. No doubt, he was already imagining how it would feel in his hands.
The screen shifted again, this time to a semi-automatic rifle.
“This is the BlackOps Rifle,” Hayes continued, his tone steady. “Chambered for 12.7mm ammunition, it’s built for semi-automatic fire with exceptional stopping power. BlackOps has integrated advanced recoil mitigation to make it manageable, but this rifle demands strength and precision. It features a ten-round magazine for deliberate, controlled shots and includes a reinforced bayonet for close-quarters combat. When precision and power are non-negotiable, this is your weapon of choice.”
Boomer leaned forward with a grin. “Now that sounds like fun,” he murmured.
The screen shifted again, displaying a heavy-duty shotgun.
“For close-quarters combat,” Hayes explained, “we’ve commissioned the BlackOps Shotgun. It fires 8-gauge shells and is designed for scenarios where the enemy closes in fast. This shotgun holds six shells per clip and features a recoil compensation system for greater control in tight situations. It’s heavy, but in the right hands, it ends fights quickly.”
Shadow let out a low whistle. “Eight gauge? That’ll knock anything flat.”
Hayes nodded. “Exactly. When you need to eliminate a threat up close, this is your weapon.”
The screen flickered once more, revealing a six-barreled weapon.
“This is the BlackOps Microgun,” Hayes said firmly. “A portable, six-barreled minigun based on the XM556 design. It’s belt-fed, holds up to 350 rounds, and delivers an extremely high rate of fire. While it’s best for suppression, its trade-off is precision. You’ll need an exosuit to stabilize the weight and handle its ammunition supply, but when you need to lay down heavy fire, nothing matches its output.”
Titan’s eyes gleamed with anticipation, but Hayes wasn’t finished.
“Alongside these special weapons,” Hayes added, “each Mobile Task Force will also be equipped with reliable, versatile NATO-standard firearms. The M4 Carbine, FN SCAR-L, and HK416 have been chosen for their adaptability, manageable recoil, and compatibility with a wide range of attachments. These weapons will serve as your go-to tools in both close-quarters combat and medium-range engagements. They’re lighter, modular, and critical for maintaining speed and adaptability in the field. While the BlackOps arsenal brings unmatched power, these rifles ensure you’re prepared for any situation the rift throws at you.”
Hayes paused, his gaze scanning the room as the soldiers absorbed the significance of what they were being told.
“These weapons aren’t easy to handle,” he warned. “But with the right training and discipline, they’ll give you a fighting chance.”
Boomer broke the silence with a playful nudge at Lifeline. “Dibs on that shotgun.”
Titan smirked. “Not if I get to it first.”
“These weapons were designed with one goal in mind: giving you the firepower to punch through the shields and defenses of the creatures we’ve encountered. Whether you’re engaging at range or in close quarters, you’ll have the tools to fight back.” Hayes paused, scanning the room as the soldiers absorbed the significance of what they were being told.
As the tension settled, a voice from the back of the room broke the quiet. It was Corporal Aiden Kapoor, his tone a mix of curiosity and uncertainty. “Sir, does the Geneva Convention apply to these... invaders? Are we cleared to use things like incendiary ammunition?”
The murmurs of agreement rippled through the room, with several soldiers exchanging uncertain glances. Hayes straightened, his piercing gaze sweeping across the gathered teams before responding.
“The Geneva Convention,” he began, his voice measured and firm, “was established to regulate warfare between humans—civilized nations fighting one another, no matter the circumstances. That principle still applies here. If the enemy shows signs of being sentient and human-like in nature—able to communicate, organize, and make decisions—then we uphold those rules to the best of our ability.”
He paused, letting the room settle before his tone hardened. “However, for creatures that have no regard for human life—those that attack without reason, whose sole purpose is destruction—there are no such restrictions. Against those threats, you are authorized to use every means at your disposal, including incendiary ammunition.”
A ripple of tension ran through the room as the soldiers processed his words. Hayes continued, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “This isn’t just a fight for survival—it’s a fight for the future of humanity. Use your judgment, and remember: our duty is to protect life, but we cannot afford to hold back against an enemy that doesn’t share our principles.”
Mercer glanced around at his team, noting the mix of grim determination and quiet resolve on their faces. Kapoor gave a small nod, his earlier uncertainty replaced by a steely focus. The gravity of the mission seemed to press heavier on the room, but Hayes’ words provided clarity: survival came first, and against the alien threat, they would use every tool at their disposal.
“Focus.” Hayes’ sharp, commanding tone cut through the atmosphere, silencing any lingering murmurs. “These weapons will be distributed immediately for testing and training. Mishandling isn’t just dangerous—it’s lethal. We’re not here to clean up mistakes caused by recklessness.”
The room fell silent under the weight of his words, the tension thick in the air. Mercer scanned his team, noting their mixed reactions: Titan’s grim determination, Shadow’s quiet focus, Eagle Eye’s sharp concentration, and Boomer’s restless enthusiasm. Every face reflected the gravity of what lay ahead—resolve, fear, and uncertainty woven together.
Hayes stepped forward, his voice steady and resolute. “You have three days to familiarize yourselves with the equipment and prepare for deployment. MTF 1, 2, and 3 will be tasked with clearing the nest in Provence. Failure isn’t an option.”
The silence deepened as the stakes settled heavily over the room. Mercer’s gaze shifted to his squad, knowing full well the truth none of them wanted to admit: not all of them would return.
“Dismissed. Use the time wisely.”
The soldiers rose from their seats, moving with quiet determination, their usual camaraderie replaced by a palpable focus. As Mercer led MTF 1 out of the room, the weight of the mission bore heavily on his shoulders. He glanced at his squad—Titan’s imposing confidence, Shadow’s quiet resolve, Eagle Eye’s razor-sharp focus, and Boomer’s restless enthusiasm. Each of them carried their own fears, hidden behind a mask of readiness.
As they stepped into the cool night air, Mercer’s eyes drifted upward, drawn to the faint, ghostly glow of a rift etched into the sky in the distant horizon. Its otherworldly presence loomed like a scar against the stars, a reminder of the challenge that lay ahead. The mission wasn’t just about survival—it was a test of humanity’s resilience, a battle to prove they could endure, adapt, and stand firm against an enemy beyond comprehension.
For the first time in his career, Mercer wasn’t sure if leadership meant guiding his team to victory—or preparing them for sacrifice. The thought lingered like a shadow in his mind, but he forced himself to push it aside. For now, there was only one certainty: failure wasn’t an option.
He took a deep breath and steeled himself. Whatever awaited them in Provence, they would face it together. And no matter the outcome, Mercer vowed to lead from the front—until the very end.