Nevada, 2049

The summer sun stood high over the mountains to the west of Las Vegas.

High elevation and no cloud cover on this day meant that it was light, loose-fitting t-shirt, pants and sunglasses weather.

Sadly, for the newest batch of Golden Eagles rotating in for garrison duty at the fort they had to be in full armor and gear as the commander did her introductory inspection.

Armed and armored was a necessity since the fort didn’t have the spires-given protections from monster attack like their hotel resort casino base back at the Strip. And it was anyone’s guess when or if the fort would ever get those.

It should’ve since it was a legitimate fort.

Walls of earth, stone and metal enclosed a large swath of ground around the entrance to the Bat People’s encounter challenge cave home. There were multiple buildings made of more modern materials enclosed in the multi-tiered construction. Barracks, armories, bunkers, traps, kill zones and luxuries like a game hall and full gym complete with showers and a lap pool. Constructing such a fully-loaded fort high up in the mountains accessible only by foot trails would’ve been impossible had it not been for some superpowered help.

Ally and personal friend, Cal Cruces, had flown everything they needed and even helped with the construction.

The fort went up in record time.

Less than a week.

He had even flattened space for a two-lane dirt road connecting the fort to the service roads several miles to the east.

It made moving people and supplies infinitely easier for the trade-off at making access to the encounter challenge much easier for those inclined to defy the ban.

Which was the entire reason for the fort.

To keep other people from going into the caves and pursuing the Quests to kill or otherwise hurt the Bat People.

Galen didn’t know anything about them outside of the stories from the other Golden Eagles and Hayden and Prim, but if they were pro Bat People then that was good enough for him.

The heat didn’t bother him.

It was a simple matter to spend a little mana to exude a cooling mist once or twice a minute.

Fortunately, it was a dry heat, which meant his clothing dried almost instantaneously. It was different back home in Texas where it got humid at times. He could keep cool, but end up in dripping clothing, which was another kind of unpleasantness.

He glanced to his left and right.

The guys were standing closer than he remembered.

The young woman in front of him had also shuffled closer.

He felt breathing on the back of his neck.

Commander Tamara Jackson’s eyes latched on to him like a mutated coyote’s on a jackalope.

They narrowed as she quickly consulted the papers in her hands.

“Private Galen Alvarado?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Shut that off.”

“Yes, sir!”

The other Golden Eagles around him groaned as they shuffled back into proper spacing.

He focused on the commander as she gave her introductory speech.

Her light brown skin bore no signs of sweat.

Not even from her scalp, which was partially-visible due to her closely-cut hair.

He had gotten his blond hair buzzed in preparation for the heat of the outdoors, but decided that it might’ve been a mistake. A sunburned scalp wasn’t something he wanted.

The commander set her expectations briskly and sent them along to the next step of the intake process.

His morning ended at the barracks where he met his squad.

People rotated on a weekly basis in ones and twos, which meant that cliques didn’t really get a chance to form.

It was part of the Golden Eagles operating philosophy to have each individual Golden Eagle capable of slotting into any squad as needed while playing to the strengths of their skill set.

The multi-story barracks building was one of two.

His was located below the entrance to the Bat People’s cave encounter challenge. While the other was located above.

Each squad had a pod to themselves, which consisted of small rooms for two people and a single for the squad leader along with a small living room and dining area with a small fridge, microwave and portable stove.

From what he understood, most people went to the mess hall for their dining needs.

He carried his pack and gear as he made his way through the building, exchanging nods and smiles to his fellow Golden Eagles along the way.

The door to his pod was propped open so he walked in.

An old man seated at the table eyed him silently, chewing on a white stick of some kind. He was hunched over a partially-disassembled rifle.

The sight was extraordinary.

The man was absolutely ancient-looking, which was a rare sight outside the most well-protected areas.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

To be fair, Galen hadn’t been to many places, so perhaps that wasn’t always the case.

Still, the man was the oldest person he had seen in the Golden Eagles by a wide margin.

“Excuse me? I’m new… ‘Galen’.”

He approached with an outstretched hand.

The old man eyes darted to Galen’s chestplate before he wiped his grease-covered hand on a black-smudge towel. He took a deliberate moment to remove the cap, revealing a bald, spotted head.

The cap itself was also ancient looking. Its red brim had faded into pink, while the rest of what had to have been a dark blue had gone closer to the color of the clear sky outside. On the front was a smiling, pink-skinned face of a man with what looked like a feather sticking out from the back of his headband.

Weird.

It must’ve been from the pre-spires days.

The old man carefully placed the cap on the table

“They call me ‘Crazy Ol’ Bob’.”

The old man’s grip was stronger than his bony hand would’ve indicated, but Galen wasn’t surprised. Classes had a way of making physical appearance an unreliable method to judge what one was capable of.

“I’ll answer to any of them three.”

The old man rubbed his hand over his pale, liver-spotted pate, smearing what was left of the grease he hadn’t smeared on Galen’s hand.

“I look forward to working with you. Is the squad leader here?”

The old man grinned.

“How do you know I ain’t it?”

“You said your name was ‘Bob’. And you don’t look like a Huynh Tran.”

“Just yanking your junk!” Bob cackled.

Galen laughed hesitantly.

“Just so’s we’re clear.” Bob pointed at the rainbow flag badge on Galen’s chestplate, “I ain’t into men. Ain’t nothing against it, mind. I ain’t actually into anything these days. On account of needing performance enhancers, if you know what I mean.” He grinned. “Men on men. Women on women. Men on women. He, she, them, whatever. Took me awhile, but I figured people’s got to do what they wants to do, you know? Seems stupid worrying about that nonsense when world’s went to shit and back. But for the record, if my junk worked normally then I’d be into chicks. Hot ones with big tiddies, thin waist and a big ol’ ass. Not soft and flabby, well, tiddies need to be soft. None of that fake shit. Meant the ass. Should be firm, like a good pillow, so’s you can just rubbed your face into it. Know what I mean? Shit, you probably do. Young guys like you. Lots of firm asses in there. Not like my bony ass.”

“Er…”

Galen didn’t quite know how to answer.

No one had ever commented on his sexuality.

Perhaps that was due to the social circles he lived in.

A door slammed open, saving him.

A tall, thin woman appeared with a fearsome scowl.

“Sgt. Crazy Ol’ Bob!” she snapped. “What did I tell you about using my pod to clean your rifle?”

The old man threw a lazy salute.

“Sgt. Tran. I feels as though I remember a lot o’ words. Ain’t none of them too nice from what my old noggin’ can recall.”

“Don’t! You have your own room. Go and dirty it up.” She gestured to the table, which was strewn with an old lever action rifle, partially-disassembled, and cleaning supplies. “I’ve given you five warnings. This is the last one. One more and I’m taking this to my lieutenant.”

“Don’t get them panties all twisted.” Crazy Ol’ Bob snorted. “It’s jus’ on account on the AC being strongest in your pod. Good for the arthritis, ya’know?”

He stood and wrapped his rifle parts in the towel it had been laid on. He patted Galen on the shoulder, smearing a bit more grease on the padded shirt.

“Heh… ‘Galen’!” he chuckled. “Kids these days. Getting all the weird names. At least yours kinda fits. Ain’t nothing like no stupid ‘Johndalf’, that’s fer certain.” He shook his head and ambled out of the pod.

Sgt. Tran ran a hand through her short, straight black hair.

She looked young.

Galen guessed her to be around five years older than him, which would put her in her early twenties.

“Sorry about that. He’s an annoying fucker, but he’s the best shot here. Level 40, if you believe it.”

He wouldn’t have, but once again, appearances were deceiving when it came to classes.

“I believe you, sir.”

He stood stiffly.

She waved the formality away.

“Relax. First frontier posting?”

“Yes, sir. I started in Austin for training and my first ten levels.” He reached for his pack to search for his duty card. “Then to Las Vegas for my next ten. I’ve also had a brief run through the Wichita death zone with the Heartfuries, but that was more of a… babysitting run for them.”

Sgt. Tran raised a sculpted brow.

“Sounds fancy.”

“Not really, sir. You see, I grew up in the same orphanage as Hayden and she was trying to scare me off the adventuring life, so to speak.”

“She’s probably got the right of it, but I’m not one to judge. So, this is just a stepping stone?”

He stiffened.

“Relax, rook,” she smiled. “Like I said, no judgments. The Golden Eagles are a mercenary company. This isn’t the military. You sign up for you term. After that you can sign up for another or you can leave. If you’re in with the Heartfuries then you’d now how we work better than outsiders.”

“I do, sir. And, yeah, I hope to join them one day.”

“Tough quest that,” she mused, “word is they don’t take anyone. I know plenty of pretty high level people that tried to get on with them. The Level 40 bar is tough to pass. Forget about Level 50… unless you get on a team with people that might be there already…”

“Sorry, sir. I’ve been sworn to secrecy. Punchy… er… Jayde cast a spell. If I reveal their levels without her consent there will be consequences.”

“Well… that’s dark… what kind of consequences?”

“She didn’t say, sir.”

“Level 50 consequences?” She shuddered. “I don’t even want to try to imagine.”

“Same, sir.”

“Alright, rook. First thing. Drop the sir. I’m not that kind of sergeant. All I care about is you following orders when I give them. Otherwise we act like normal people to each other. I don’t have a stick up my butt. You don’t have a stick you yours. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now. Intros to the rest of the squad will have to wait until lunch cause we were on night duty and I’m letting them get their sleep. That’s your bunk.” She pointed to the closed door at the end of the pod. “Stow your stuff, but try to be quiet. Travion’s your bunkie and he’s a light sleeper. Whatever you do, don’t stand over him when he’s asleep. Had a boogeyman incident when he was a kid according to him. Welcome to the squad.”

He shook her hand.

“Er… lunch is in two hours. What do you want me to do until then?”

She yawned.

“Whatever you want.” She gestured vaguely around the small living room space. “Watch something. The magic box has a ton of stuff. Old movies and shows dating back a decade or two into the pre-spires era. Even has old sports stuff. Weird shit. You’ll meet the rest of the guys for lunch.”

“Do you eat as a squad often?”

“Depends,” she shrugged. “But we always do whenever we get noobs in.”

With that she went back into her room.