The attic was spotless. The floor boards practically shining after the scrubbing they'd received. Gone were the cobwebs and the rat droppings. Gone was the mold and the smell of musty old books and clothes rotting away for years upon years.

Now, the only smell suffusing the area was that of industrial-grade disinfectants and the only furniture that could be found was a solid table wrought from cold iron. Standing proudly in the middle of the room. Two lamps lit up the chamber, both of their stands also composed of the anti-magical material. Their bulbs cast a stale, inhospitable glow about the place. Making it seem, unwelcoming. Too clean in a way that would unnerve normal people. The rest of the house had been sanitized and secured to the same exacting standards, yet only this room had warranted the extra protection that iron plated walls brought.

Nothing else would have sufficed, since the target was here with us. Each and every grandmother on earth was worth her weight in gold to a goblin sorcerer. Someone they deemed to be pure hearted was worth at least five hundred times that. Her sacrifice would mean several grand rituals worth of magic in the grasping little claws of the enemy.

'And that would mean at least a couple of battalions getting cursed into oblivion somewhere along the portals.'

My scar began to itch and I fought with myself to keep from scratching.

I was going over the comms again. Making sure everything was in working order for the third time in a single hour.

"Are you sure you don't want a cup of tea dear?" Mrs. McGill asked. Her bony fingers trembling as she held a tray towards me.

The rattling of the cup was practically deafening in a room as quiet as this one. Its vibrating motions echoing off the walls like waves crashing against a sandy beach.

"No ma'am." I answered curtly. "I cannot afford distractions."

"Oh, but its only a cup of tea dearie. Here. It'll calm your nerves."

My jaw clenched.

"Ma'am. I'm afraid I cannot indulge in civilian foods or beverages while on duty. Its standard procedure."

The wrinkles on her face wobbled as she donned a mask of confusion.

"Bu... but why would...?"

"Because it could be poisoned, ma'am."

A look of horror bloomed on her face. Her dentures almost falling off.

"I'm not accusing you of anything ma'am." I assured her, before the surprise led to a heart attack. "However, there have been instances of Goblins using their Fae magic on consumable items in preparation for a kidnapping. We have the funnel close to us, but that isn't enough by itself. Goblins have been known to use several stratagems at once, with one group being unaware of the other's intentions. One sorcerer could be leading a frontal assault while three others try to drill through the ground or charm people into becoming Quislings. I refuse to take the risk because the base ingredients for that cup of tea have not been vetted. Nor were they stored in secure iron vaults ahead of the operation. Unlike our own rations."

She placed the tray down and clutched at a pearl necklace with trembling hands.

"My goodness. This, this all seems a little excessive."

Well, she wasn't wrong about that. Other commanders would have called this level of paranoia excessive. Other commanders didn't have my winning streak though. All it took was one slip up to doom the whole endeavor. I, for one, figured these practices weren't anywhere near enough.

The greenies could have hexed this entire house five times over in the course of a few minutes and we would have never known the difference. Not from the inside anyway. A single alarm system wasn't anything to them. A few whooshes of their grubby fingers and the whole thing would churn out whatever they damn well pleased. That's why we had backups. Two sensors being active would give us a shot at noticing irregularities on either one. Which was why we had seven different systems running independently of each other.

Better safe than sorry and all that.

There backup sensors were all around us. Inside of normal-looking vans parked on the opposite sides of the street and in the parking lots of nearby residences. With backup sensors for those sensors hidden further away. All tuned in to the queer frequency of their magic, in hopes of catching wind of their assaults before they happened.

"I am sorry about the inconvenience ma'am. I truly am. Yet, I must insist on following protocols. They exist for a reason."

Her head bobbed up and down. Her saggy chins bobbing right alongside it. Then her eyes went to my face. To my scars and to my short hair.

"Oh, I know dear. I know. This is all so terribly frightening. Its just, your face is so, stern. So serious. A pretty young thing like you. It, makes me feel bad. That you're going to all this trouble for little old me. A young lady like you should be out dancing or watching movies. Making happy memories with friends. Instead, you're..."

"Doing my duty ma'am." I interrupted. "For you and for humanity."

I swivelled my head back to the monitors.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"Now, if you'll excuse me. I need to check in on my team."

The tech was decent. But the people using it were the real assets. I'd seen countless battles where an observant private saved an entire squad from annihilation. Simply by noticing something was off about the flowers or the branches on a certain tree. Stuff the AI built into the sensors tended to overlook.

Which was why having the team split up throughout the area was so important.

The greenies might curse a couple of our snipers. If they found them. But the likelihood of them finding all of them were minimal. Not to mention all the other little surprises we'd laid out for them.

"This is Weasel to Zoo. Status report. Over."

"Copy that Weasel. Falcon has eyes on the funnel. Cold iron rounds loaded and no Greens in sight. Over."

"Turtle here. Eyes on the funnel. No contacts. Over."

"Parrot here. Eyes on the funnel. All clear so far. Over."

"Cobra here. All turrets active. Over."

"Tiger here. All drones active. Over."

"Rhino here. All landmines active. Over."

"Bullfrog here. Sensors are picking up more F-class radiation. Funnel looks ready to blow. Manifestation imminent. Over."

"Copy that Bullfrog. Any estimates on the schedule?"

"Hard to say Weasel. Could be minutes. Could be hours. We won't know for sure until." He paused. The line going dead.

I stood up. Goosebumps running down my spine. That familiar, telltale sign. Magic was in the air.

"Bullfrog! Owl! Shrimp! Sitrep!"

"Bullfrog here. Spike in ambient magic. Funnel is activating. ETA ten seconds."

"Owl here. Spike confirmed on my end too. Funnel looks stable. ETA six seconds."

"Shrimp here. Spike rising. Funnel still stable. ETA two seconds."

"Weasel to Zoo. Radio silence." I said, my voice remaining even despite the thundering of my heart.

Comms couldn't be completely secured from this point on. Most Greens wouldn't know what we were saying, but most was not all. Besides, an alarming number of them could trace the origin and destinations of signals. Encryptions and safeguards be dammed.

My eyes were glued to the monitors. To the main three screens showing the nearby park from different angles. There, in the middle of an abandoned playground, was the funnel. A big black box with all kinds of antennas reaching for the sky. Sparks started to leap from them now, as the magical teleportation was disrupted and its passengers diverted from their original target.

The monitoring devices picked up a slight whoosh of rushing air, followed by a loud pop. Like that of a soda can being opened.

Fifteen goblins fell. Landing on top of each other in a heap. There was cursing, wailing, groaning and snarling. As all the little Greens struggled to disentangle themselves from the pile.

It was then, that the first drone dropped its payload. A single, round object. About as large as a bowling ball. With rough ridges lining its surface.

One of the better dressed Greens saw it drop. Its ears drooping while its mouth hung open in disbelief. Then, it cried out. Howling in its own strange tongue. No doubt urging its comrades to haul ass as if their lives depended on it. Because, well, they did.

That little trinket wasn't called the Geneva Suggestion for no reason.

Those at the top of the pile and those at the outer edges were the lucky ones. They died quickly, after all. Cold Iron shrapnel slicing through flesh and bone as easily as a hot knife through butter.

Those at the middle still got a fair few bits of metal lodged into them, but odds were good that they would live. Which meant they'd have to endure the Intra.

Small droplets started raining down on the heap. Soaking the corpses first, before inexorably trickling down towards the few unlucky survivors. The special chemicals making their through the epidermis, the dermis and finally, the hypodermis. Invading deeper and deeper into the bodies of all the goblins gathered there on the heap. Only then, did their payload separate from the carrying agent and assume their original forms.

Plastic Polystyrene, Benzene, and Gasoline.

Turning back into the compound it had been at the start.

Napalm.

One of the goblins breathed in, and that was that.

The miniscule motion activated the secondary function of the Intra. It triggered the combustion.

The whole pile went up in flames. The few surviving goblins shrieking with indescribable agony as their very bones charred and crackled like burnt bacon from within their skins. Their magical enchantments utterly useless as their bowels disintegrated from the inside.

The whole encounter hadn't lasted very long.

Maybe half a minute from start to finish. Yet it filled me with an indescribable sense of satisfaction. A burning pride that wormed its way into my heart and warmed me up from the inside.

It was then that a clattering sound stole my attention away from the monitors.

Mrs. McGill was there, hunched over me. Hands clamped tightly against her mouth.

"How, how horrible. What? I don't..."

"Its quite all right ma'am." I said. Using the same calming motions one would use to reassure a toddler.

"This is all part of normal proceedings."

"How could this be normal?" She answered, turning her watery eyes to stare into my own. She appeared to be, genuinely sad. About the deaths of goblins.

For my part, I tilted my head slowly. Stunned into silence. Unsure of how to answer.

'Is she serious? No. There's no way. We've been at war for years now. There's no way someone as old as her is this naive and ignorant. Dementia's been cured for years now and her profile didn't say anything about brain damage. So, why?'

Granted, the goblins did seem to have a preference for those they called, pure of heart. But this was pushing it. There was just no way someone who'd been alive this long would be so out of touch that they'd feel bad for goblins of all things.

That was when I realized what was happening. My eyes going wide as saucers as I looked down into the spilled tea.

The droplets weren't pooling together, nor were they staying still.

Instead, they were crawling along the pristine floor. Away from the iron desk.

Faint images and impressions could be seen through some of the wet beads.

Big yellow eyes. Long green noses. Angular, pustule-ridden faces. They saw me and knew they'd been made. I saw a few fingers moving as words were spoken.

A single green hand manifested. Coming through a wet patch as if it were a portal.

I drew my sidearm in one swift motion and emptied my clip into it and the section of tea below. The cold iron rounds made a sizzling noise as they found flesh. The impact sounding like a watermelon being dropped from a great height.

There was a bestial shriek, followed closely by the smell of sulfur.

The limb had been severed at two different spots. Once at the shoulder and once at the elbow. The rest of the bullets had dispersed the remains of the tea, opening smoking holes into the rest of the house.

I heard a pained gasp and turned to see Mrs. McGill. Shivering violently. As if possessed. I threw myself at my gear, grabbing hold of the cold iron mesh and dashing over to the old Granny. Wrapping her with the collection of metallic strings as she began to cough up black bile.

The screen buzzed at that very moment. The funnel coming alive with arcs of lighting that danced across its many antennas.

'I suppose it was never going to be this easy.' I thought bitterly.

Putting more strength into my grip as I tried to bring the target into the recovery position.

The air around the funnel shimmered. The cameras recording a marvelous display of incandesce. Light shining in vibrant hues of blue and yellow.

Then, the fireworks stopped and the second wave stepped forth.