The hum of the engines faded as the military transport plane descended toward its new destination. Ethan West peered out of the reinforced window, his sharp eyes scanning the terrain below. For miles, the endless expanse of the South China Sea had stretched uninterrupted, but now, the faint outline of an island emerged from the horizon.
From the air, it looked almost untouched—an emerald jewel set in the ocean, its dense jungle canopy hiding whatever secrets lay beneath. The first signs of civilization came into view as the plane dropped lower: a narrow airstrip carved into the jungle’s edge, its surface flanked by thick foliage and what appeared to be small guard towers.
“Approaching destination,” the pilot announced over the intercom, his tone crisp and businesslike.
Ethan adjusted his harness, feeling the subtle jolt as the plane’s wheels kissed the ground. The transport rolled to a stop near the far end of the airstrip, where a single steel hangar stood, inconspicuous yet foreboding in its simplicity.
As the plane’s hatch hissed open, Ethan stepped onto the metal ramp, the tropical heat hitting him like a wave. The air was thick with humidity, carrying the earthy scent of the jungle mixed with the faint fumes of jet fuel.
His boots crunched against the airstrip as he descended, scanning his surroundings. The island’s stillness was truly unnerving. Aside from the plane and hangar, there were no obvious signs of human activity—no bustling personnel or vehicles, no sound beyond the distant rustle of leaves in the breeze.
But Ethan knew better than to judge the book by its cover.
A man in a gray uniform approached, his posture rigid and his expression unreadable. “Mr. West,” he said, offering a sharp salute. “Follow me.”
The man wasted no time with pleasantries, turning on his heel and walking toward the hangar. Ethan followed, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. As they approached, the hangar’s massive doors groaned open, revealing a starkly different world inside.
The interior was a blend of industrial efficiency and cutting-edge technology. Rows of vehicles—jeeps, drones, and what looked like armored personnel carriers—were parked with military precision. Engineers worked silently on equipment, their movements deliberate and focused. The air hummed faintly, as if the building itself was alive with energy.
“This is just the staging area,” the man said, leading Ethan through the hangar. “Your destination is ahead.”
Ethan said nothing, his eyes taking in every detail. His years in the military had trained him to assess environments quickly, and this place radiated purpose. Everything seemed designed for functionality, with no wasted space or unnecessary flair.
They exited through a rear door, stepping onto a narrow path cut into the jungle. The oppressive greenery seemed to close in around them, the air thick and damp. Ethan couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched, though by what—or who—he couldn’t say.
The path opened abruptly, revealing a sight that made him stop in his tracks.
Before him stood The Training Ground, a sprawling facility that seemed to rise organically from the jungle. Its architecture was a perfect fusion of modern ingenuity and natural camouflage. Walls of reinforced concrete were overgrown with creeping vines, and observation towers jutted out like sentinels. A massive main building loomed at the center, its facade polished but devoid of markings.
Ethan felt a flicker of unease. The place exuded secrecy—not the overt kind flaunted by militaries or governments, but a deeper, more deliberate kind. This was a place built to hide something extraordinary.
“This is where it starts,” the man said, gesturing toward the main building.
Ethan nodded, his curiosity outweighing his hesitation. As he approached, the faint hum of machinery grew louder, mingling with the jungle’s ambient sounds. The base’s sleek design and its stark contrast to the surrounding wilderness hinted at resources far beyond what he’d expected.
He passed through the building’s entrance, the heavy steel doors sliding shut behind him with a hiss. Inside, the air was cool and sterile, a sharp contrast to the sweltering heat outside.
“Welcome to The Division’s Training Ground,” the man said, his voice echoing slightly in the cavernous hallway. “You’re about to see why you’re here.”
Ethan’s gaze swept across the space as they continued walking, catching glimpses of labs, armories, and what looked like barracks. He didn’t know what lay ahead, but he felt the weight of his decision pressing on him.
Whatever this place was, it was unlike anything he’d ever been to.
As they approached an elevator at the end of the hallway, Ethan noticed the faint hum intensify, as though the very walls buzzed with hidden activity. The man pressed a button, and the elevator doors opened smoothly.
As Ethan followed the operative deeper into The Division’s Training Ground, they passed through a section that caught his attention immediately. Heavy steel doors slid open to reveal a sprawling armory that looked like something out of a futuristic war movie.
Rows upon rows of weapons were meticulously arranged, each displayed with almost ceremonial precision. At first glance, many seemed familiar—modified versions of rifles, shotguns, and sidearms Ethan had used in the field. But as he drew closer, the differences became apparent.
One rack held a series of sleek black rifles with translucent chambers that glowed faintly blue. Another showcased grenades with intricate etchings on their casings, symbols that seemed to pulse subtly in the dim light.
“What is this?” Ethan asked, unable to mask his curiosity.
The operative didn’t break stride. “The tools you’ll need to stay alive.”
Ethan stopped in front of a glass case containing a blade forged from a metal he couldn’t identify. Its surface shimmered with an iridescent sheen, and faint energy seemed to hum around its edges. Beside it, a plaque read: For use against corporeal-phase entities.
“They fight ghosts now?” Ethan muttered under his breath.
The operative glanced over his shoulder, catching Ethan’s expression. “Not ghosts,” he said cryptically, then gestured for Ethan to keep moving.
As they walked, Ethan’s gaze darted to other items: containment pods equipped with blinking sensors, a cannon-like weapon with a barrel that rotated independently, and helmets with integrated heads-up displays showing unreadable symbols. The room exuded a quiet power, the kind that came from years of preparation for battles most people wouldn’t believe existed.
The air buzzed faintly, as though the very weapons hummed with anticipation.
Continuing their journey, Ethan was led through a quieter corridor. The walls here were reinforced with thick steel panels, broken only by small observation windows that gave glimpses into shadowy rooms.
One such window caught Ethan’s eye, and he slowed his pace. The room beyond was dimly lit, its centerpiece a reinforced glass cell. Inside, something shifted—a figure obscured by the interplay of light and shadow. Its movements were erratic, almost serpentine, yet distinctly humanoid.
Ethan stepped closer, his breath catching as the figure turned. For a brief moment, glowing eyes met his, filled with a mix of anger and an unsettling intelligence. The thing moved toward the glass, its movements jerky and unnatural.
The lights in the cell flickered, and Ethan swore he saw the shadow of a second figure, almost identical to the first, moving in tandem.
“What the hell is that?” he asked, his voice low.
The operative placed a hand on Ethan’s shoulder, urging him away. “You’ll learn soon enough,” he said, his tone flat but firm.
Ethan glanced back one last time before the shadows swallowed the figure entirely. A chill ran down his spine as they continued down the corridor, the sound of their boots echoing against the reinforced steel floor.
The corridor opened into a massive room that was a complete contrast to the confined spaces Ethan had seen so far. The Command Center was a technological marvel, its walls covered in holographic displays that projected glowing maps, tactical readouts, and live feeds of what appeared to be ongoing operations.
Teams of analysts worked in synchronized silence, their faces illuminated by the pale glow of their screens. Ethan’s gaze swept across the room, taking in the sheer scale of the operation.
One display showed a map of the Pacific Ocean, marked with swirling energy signatures. Another feed displayed a barren village in Eastern Europe, where shadowy figures flitted in and out of view.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
At the center of the room stood Colonel Marcus Hale, his posture as commanding as ever. He stood at the head of a long briefing table, its surface covered in digital overlays of charts, incident reports, and something that looked like an ancient scroll.
“West,” Hale called, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the room. “Over here.”
Ethan approached, his boots clicking against the polished floor.
Hale gestured for Ethan to sit before beginning. “Welcome to the heart of The Division,” he said, his voice calm but authoritative. “This is where we monitor the world for signs of the unknown.”
Ethan glanced at the holographic displays again, noting the sheer variety of incidents being tracked. “And what exactly are you monitoring for?”
Hale’s expression darkened. “Things most people aren’t ready to believe. Creatures, anomalies, phenomena that defy logic and science. Our job is to locate, study, and, if necessary, neutralize them before they pose a threat to humanity.”
He clicked a button on the table, and one of the displays shifted. A grainy video showed a massive sea creature breaching the surface of the ocean, its serpent-like body coiling around a fishing vessel. The feed cut out abruptly as the ship capsized.
Another display showed a barren village, its houses eerily intact despite signs of a recent fire. Shadowy figures moved through the streets, their shapes indistinct but undeniably unnatural.
“This is what we deal with,” Hale said, his tone matter-of-fact. “It’s been happening for centuries, but the frequency has been increasing. Since World War II, these incidents have escalated beyond what most governments can handle. That’s why The Division exists.”
Hale’s finger hovered over the control panel embedded in the briefing table. With a flick of his wrist, the first image filled the room’s central holographic display: a jagged mountain peak, its surface etched with an enormous, glowing sigil. The symbol pulsed with an otherworldly light, cycling between hues of deep crimson and pale white, casting eerie shadows across the surrounding rock face.
“This was discovered in a remote region of the Andes,” Hale said, his tone measured. “It’s estimated to be several centuries old, yet the glow is recent—only visible in the past few years.”
Ethan leaned forward, studying the projection. “What does it mean?”
Hale shook his head. “That’s the question, isn’t it? Local legends speak of a ‘sleeping god’ buried within the mountain. Whatever it is, teams sent to investigate reported heightened radiation levels, equipment failures, and... unsettling dreams among personnel. We had to pull them out before we lost anyone.”
Ethan’s jaw tightened. He didn’t ask what might have caused the dreams—he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
The image dissolved, replaced by a grainy video feed. The camera panned across a dense Southeast Asian forest, the foliage so thick that sunlight barely reached the ground. The operator’s heavy breathing could be heard as the lens focused on a shadow moving through the trees.
“It was recorded by a reconnaissance drone in Myanmar,” Hale explained.
The shadow shifted again, and for a moment, Ethan saw it—a massive figure, at least twelve feet tall, its form obscured by the underbrush. The drone operator zoomed in, revealing glimpses of thick, matted fur and unnaturally long limbs.
“What is that?” Ethan asked, unable to hide his disbelief.
“Unconfirmed,” Hale said. “But the locals have a name for it: Ngalong Mawdu, or the Forest Guardian. They claim it’s been awakened by illegal logging in the area.”
The video continued for a few more seconds before the creature suddenly turned, revealing glowing amber eyes that seemed to pierce through the screen. The feed ended abruptly, cutting to static.
“No retrieval team was sent,” Hale said grimly. “The risk was deemed too high.”
The next feed showed a vast expanse of desert, the camera mounted on the helmet of an expedition team member. They moved cautiously across the sand, their voices faint as they communicated with their base camp.
“The Sahara,” Hale said. “The team was investigating reports of unexplained disappearances near an ancient burial site.”
The camera panned to a set of crumbling stone pillars jutting out of the sand, covered in glyphs that Ethan couldn’t identify. But it wasn’t the ruins that caught his attention—it was the figure standing in the distance, motionless against the horizon.
The operator zoomed in, and Ethan felt a shiver run down his spine. The figure was humanoid but unnaturally tall, its proportions just slightly off. It didn’t move, didn’t react, even as the team approached.
“They thought it was a statue at first,” Hale said, his voice quieter now.
As the camera drew closer, Ethan realized the figure’s skin was metallic, almost reflective, and its face was devoid of features. The team stopped a safe distance away, debating their next move. Suddenly, without warning, the figure tilted its head toward them in a slow, deliberate motion.
“What happened next?” Ethan asked, his throat dry.
Hale paused, letting the tension hang in the air. “The feed cut out. We lost contact with the team and sent a recovery unit. They found nothing but the remains of their equipment—half-buried in the sand.”
Ethan leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. The holographic display cycled through more footage: a school of massive sea creatures circling a freighter in the Pacific; a field of mutilated livestock in Eastern Europe; a quiet suburban street where shadows flickered unnaturally under the streetlights.
Each image chipped away at the illusion of safety Ethan had carried with him throughout his life.
Hale folded his arms, his facial expression hardened as hard as granite. “This is the world we’re protecting, West. These threats are real, and they’re growing. And what you’re currently seeing here? It’s just the beginning.”
Ethan didn’t respond immediately. His mind reeled from the sheer scope of what Hale had shown him. He had always believed himself to be strong, capable, and unshakable, but now he felt small. Fragile. Humanity itself felt fragile.
“We’re not fighting wars anymore,” Hale continued, his tone firm. “We’re fighting for survival. Against forces most people can’t even comprehend. And the worst part? The more we learn, the more we realize how little we know.”
Ethan finally looked up, his jaw set. “Then it’s a good thing I’m here to help.”
Hale’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile. “I hope you mean that, West. You’ll need every ounce of resolve for what comes next.”
“Alright , that's all. The security team will escort you back to the barracks .
Ethan sat in the silence of his barracks, the dim light from a wall-mounted lamp casting soft shadows across the sparse room. The Division badge in his hand felt heavier than it should have, its engraved insignia—a globe encircled by seven stars—reflecting faintly in the light.
He turned it over in his palm, tracing the design with his thumb. Hale’s words echoed in his mind, as vivid as the images he had just seen in the Command Center: “The cracks in the world—the things that don’t fit.”
For years, Ethan had tried to rationalize the inexplicable. The glowing eyes in the jungle, the unnatural whispers in the dead of night, the fleeting shapes that defied the laws of nature—all had been compartmentalized, shoved into the darkest corners of his mind. He had told himself it was stress, fatigue, maybe even hallucination.
But now? Now, a decorated colonel had looked him in the eye and told him it was all real.
Ethan exhaled, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He stared at the floor, the smooth gray tiles reflecting his own conflicted expression.
The sound of faint footsteps in the hallway broke his reverie. A soft knock at the door followed, and Ethan straightened instinctively.
“Come in,” he called, his voice steady.
The door slid open, revealing the operative who had escorted him earlier. His expression remained impassive as he stepped into the room, holding a tablet.
“You’ve been assigned your initial schedule,” the operative said, handing the tablet to Ethan. “Orientation begins tomorrow at 0600. Be in the main training hall.”
Ethan glanced at the tablet, which displayed a detailed itinerary: combat simulations, advanced weapons familiarization, briefings on supernatural classifications, and something called “anomaly stress conditioning.”
“Stress conditioning?” Ethan asked, raising an eyebrow.
The operative hesitated for the briefest moment before replying. “You’ll understand when you see it.”
With that, he turned to leave, but stopped at the door. “One more thing,” he added. “You made the right choice.”
Ethan didn’t respond as the door slid shut. He looked back at the badge in his hand and then to the tablet. The words Advanced Weapons Familiarization seemed to leap off the screen, sparking a flicker of curiosity.
The next morning, Ethan stood at the edge of the training hall, his arms crossed as he surveyed the space. The room was massive, its walls lined with racks of weapons and equipment. A series of reinforced glass chambers dominated the far side, each housing something that moved just beyond visibility—an eerie reminder of the challenges ahead.
“West,” a sharp voice called from behind him.
Ethan turned to see Captain Ying Wei approaching, his stride confident and his eyes sharp. The man carried himself with an intensity that matched his reputation, and Ethan straightened instinctively.
“Welcome to your first day,” Ying said, his tone brisk and accented. “You’ll be tested on everything you think you know about combat—and then some.”
Ethan smirked faintly. “I’ve handled my share of challenges.”
Ying’s lips curved into a humorless smile. “Not like this.”
He gestured for Ethan to follow, leading him to a row of modified firearms. “These,” Ying began, picking up a sleek, black rifle with a faintly glowing chamber, “are designed for targets that don’t die the way humans do. Silver-tipped rounds, phosphorus tracers, and binding agents are just the beginning.”
Ethan took the rifle, testing its weight. It was lighter than it looked, and the faint hum of energy coursing through it was unsettling.
“What about them?” Ethan asked, nodding toward the glass chambers.
Ying glanced at the figures moving in the containment units, his expression hardening. “You’ll meet them soon enough. For now, focus on the tools that’ll keep you alive.”
The day passed in a blur of training. Ethan was introduced to weapons he’d never imagined, each tailored for specific entities: blades that shimmered with faint, otherworldly light, grenades etched with runes, and devices that emitted low-frequency pulses meant to disorient non-corporeal threats.
The physical training was grueling, pushing Ethan’s endurance and reflexes to the limit. By the time the session ended, his muscles ached, but his mind buzzed with a strange mix of exhaustion and exhilaration.
That evening, Ethan returned to his barracks, his mind replaying the events of the day. He sat on the cot again, pulling the badge from his pocket and setting it on the table beside him.
For the first time since stepping off the transport plane, he allowed himself a moment of clarity. The Division wasn’t just another mission. It was a reckoning—a chance to confront the things that had haunted him for years and perhaps, for the first time, find answers.
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling as the sounds of the base hummed around him. The faint voices of other recruits, the rhythmic clang of distant machinery, and the ever-present buzz of energy that seemed to pulse through the walls.
This is my new reality, Ethan thought. And whatever comes next, I’m ready.