The rhythmic thud of fists striking leather echoed through the otherwise empty training facility. Captain Ying Wei stood in front of a heavy punching bag, his knuckles wrapped tightly in tape as he pounded into it with methodical precision. His breaths came in sharp, controlled bursts, the sweat dripping from his brow a testament to the hours he had spent here, lost in his thoughts.
It wasn’t just about the physical exertion. For Ying, this was an escape—or at least an attempt at one. Each strike was an outlet for the frustration that had been building since the mission. He had told himself that Azril’s loss wasn’t his fault, that it was the nature of their work, but the truth weighed heavily on him.
The image of Azril’s face—confident, determined—flashed in his mind. Ying could still hear his voice, still see the way he had stood his ground in that cursed cave. Azril had been fearless, charging into danger without hesitation. And Ying had let him.
The guilt hit him like a sucker punch, leaving him breathless. He staggered for a moment, his hands falling to his sides as he stared at the swaying bag.
“You told him to cover the rear,” he muttered to himself, his voice harsh. “You gave the order.”
His fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms. He could rationalize all he wanted, but the reality was undeniable. Azril had trusted him, and he hadn’t been able to bring him back.
Ying wiped the sweat from his face with a towel, his movements mechanical. The training facility was a sterile space—white walls, gleaming equipment, and the faint hum of air conditioning. It felt as hollow as he did.
He glanced at a nearby bench, where a water bottle sat next to a clipboard with the team’s revised training schedule. The schedule was grueling, with longer hours and harsher drills. Ying had justified it as necessary preparation, a way to ensure they were ready for whatever came next. But deep down, he knew it was something more.
It was punishment—self-inflicted and silent.
As the minutes stretched into an hour, Ying’s movements became slower, his punches less precise. Fatigue seeped into his limbs, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t. The moment he allowed himself to rest, the thoughts would come rushing back—the what-ifs, the second-guesses, the haunting image of Azril disappearing into the darkness.
The sound of the door opening broke his focus. He turned to see Anna standing in the doorway, her sniper rifle slung across her back.
“You’ve been here all morning,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact.
Ying straightened, rolling his shoulders. “Need to clear my head.”
“Did it work?”
He didn’t answer, and Anna didn’t push. She stepped further into the room, her gaze flicking to the punching bag before returning to him.
“You’re not the only one carrying this,” she said quietly.
Ying’s jaw tightened. “I know.”
Anna’s words lingered as she left, leaving Ying alone once more. He dropped onto the bench, staring at the clipboard beside him. The schedule was strict, demanding more from the team than ever before. It would push them to their limits, and Ying knew it might drive them further apart.
But he couldn’t let another mission end like the last one. He couldn’t lose another teammate.
As he sat there, the weight of command pressing down on him, Ying resolved to keep moving forward. There was no other choice.
Anna Keen stood at the far end of the shooting range, her sniper rifle balanced perfectly on its rest. The cold steel felt solid under her hands, a comforting contrast to the whirlwind of emotions that churned inside her. She adjusted the scope with practiced ease, her eyes narrowing as she focused on the holographic target at the far end of the hall.
She pulled the trigger, and the sharp crack of the rifle echoed through the empty range. The round hit dead center, splintering the holographic bullseye.
Anna exhaled slowly and delibrately, her breath steady and measured. She chambered another round, her movements smooth and automatic. The rhythm of loading, aiming, and firing was familiar, almost meditative. But no matter how many targets she destroyed, the tension in her chest refused to loosen.
Azril’s face flashed in her mind, unbidden. She remembered his sheepishly grin, the way he always found a way to make light of even the darkest of situations. He’d always had a way of grounding them all together, of reminding her that there was still something human in the midst of all the chaos.
And then he was gone.
Anna tightened her grip on the rifle, her knuckles turning white. She took aim again, the scope blurring slightly as her vision clouded. She blinked rapidly, clearing the seeping moisture from her eyes before pulling the trigger. Another perfect shot, but no satisfaction was brought.
She lowered the rifle, resting her bare forehead against its cold barrel. The silence in the range felt oppressive, broken only by the faint hum of the target projector. Anna closed her eyes, letting the memories wash over her.
Azril’s laugh. His terrible movie quotes. The way he always seemed to know exactly what to say to get under Cassidy’s skin.
He had been more than a teammate—he had been a friend, one of the few people she had allowed herself to truly trust.
And she had let him down.
A sound behind her made Anna straighten herself, her grip on the rifle tightening instinctively. She turned to see Cassidy standing in the doorway, her console tucked under one arm.
“Figured I’d find you here,” Cassidy said, her voice quieter than usual.
Anna didn’t respond, turning back to the range and adjusting the rifle’s scope.
Cassidy walked closer, her boots clicking softly against the floor. “You can’t just hole up in here forever, you know.”
Anna let out a short, humorless laugh. “Says the woman who’s been glued to her computer since we got back.”
Cassidy shrugged, setting her console down on a nearby table. “Fair point. But at least I’m doing something productive.”
Anna’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t take the bait.
The two women stood in silence for a moment, the air between them heavy with unspoken words. Finally, Cassidy sighed.
“I miss him too,” she whispered quietly.
Anna froze, her hands stilling on the rifle.
“We all do,” Cassidy continued. “But beating yourself up about it isn’t going to change what happened.”
Anna turned to face her, her gray eyes sharp. “I don’t need a lecture, Cassidy.”
“It’s not a lecture,” Cassidy replied, her tone soft but firm. “It’s the truth. Azril made his choice, and he did it to save us. Sitting here and pretending that shooting targets will fix anything? It won’t.”
Anna’s hands clenched into fists at her sides, but she didn’t respond.
Cassidy picked up her console, her expression remain unreadable. “Ying’s not the only one who feels responsible, you know. We all could’ve done something differently. But we didn’t, and now we have to live with it.”
With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Anna alone once more.
For a long time, Anna didn’t move. Her mind replayed Cassidy’s words, each one hitting like a hammer against the wall she had built around her emotions.
Finally, she let out a shaky breath, her hands loosening their grip on the rifle. She set it down carefully, her movements slower than before.
Azril’s loss was a wound that wouldn’t heal easily, but Cassidy was right about one thing: staying here, hiding behind the comfort of routine, wouldn’t bring him back.
But it was all she could do for now.
The hum of Cassidy Yen’s workstation filled the dimly lit room. Screens of various sizes surrounded her, each one displaying a different set of data—drone footage from the jungle mission, archived reports of similar incidents, and grainy surveillance videos of creatures that shouldn’t exist.
Her fingers flew over the keyboard, the clatter echoing in the quiet space. This was how Cassidy coped: diving headfirst into the work, drowning out everything else with information.
Azril’s loss was like a splinter lodged deep in her mind, and she couldn’t shake it loose. The guilt lingered, gnawing at her every thought. She should’ve seen it coming, she told herself. She should’ve anticipated the ambush, analyzed the terrain better, prepared the team for something they hadn’t encountered before.
Her console pinged softly, drawing her attention to a new piece of data she had been cross-referencing. It was a report from a Division outpost in North Africa, describing a similar incident involving Arabic ghouls.
Cassidy leaned closer, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the text. According to the report, the ghouls had been sighted far from their usual habitat, attacking a remote village with the same coordinated aggression her team had encountered.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” she muttered, pulling up a map on another screen. She overlaid the locations of recent supernatural sightings—ghouls in Southeast Asia, shadow creatures in Eastern Europe, and strange sea entities near the Atlantic coast.
A pattern began to emerge, faint but undeniable. Creatures were appearing far outside their natural regions, and the frequency of these anomalies was increasing.
Cassidy rubbed her temples, exhaustion pressing against the edges of her focus. She had been at this for hours, and the strain was beginning to take its toll. But she couldn’t stop—not now, not when she was so close to understanding.
She glanced at Azril’s name on the mission log, his designation marked in red to signify KIA. Her stomach tightened.
“This is for you, Az,” she whispered. “I’ll figure out what’s going on. I promise.”
The door to her workspace slid open, and Captain Ying stepped inside. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there with his arms crossed as he watched her work.
“Shouldn’t you be resting?” he asked finally, his tone softer than usual.
Cassidy didn’t look up. “Shouldn’t you be yelling at someone in the training room?”
Ying frowned but let the comment slide. He walked closer, his eyes scanning the screens. “What are you working on?”
“Patterns,” Cassidy replied curtly. “Something’s happening, Captain. Creatures aren’t staying in their territories anymore. Ghouls in Southeast Asia, sirens in the Mediterranean, you name it. They’re moving—spreading. And I don’t think it’s random.”
Ying leaned over her shoulder, studying the data. “What do you think is causing it?”
Cassidy hesitated, her fingers pausing over the keyboard. “I don’t know yet. But I’m betting it’s big—bigger than anything we’ve dealt with before.”
Ying’s jaw tightened. “Why didn’t you bring this up during the debrief?”
“Because it’s not ready,” she said, her voice sharp. “I’m still piecing it together. But when I do, you’ll be the first to know.”
Ying nodded, his expression unreadable. “Keep working on it. Let me know the moment you have something solid.”
Cassidy turned back to her screens. “I will.”
As Ying left, Cassidy exhaled deeply, her shoulders sagging. She hated feeling like this—angry, frustrated, and helpless all at once. But she couldn’t stop now. Azril’s sacrifice had to mean something, and if this anomaly was as big as she suspected, it might be the key to understanding why he was gone.
She pulled up another report, her determination renewed. The answers were out there, buried in the data. And she would find them, no matter how long it took.
The base was quiet, save for the occasional hum of distant machinery and the faint echoes of footsteps in the corridors. Team 1 was no stranger to silence, but this was different. The silence wasn’t from focus or discipline; it was the kind that came with a fracture too wide to ignore.
Captain Ying Wei stood at the center of the training facility, his arms crossed as he watched Anna Keen and Cassidy Yen go through their respective routines. Anna was at the shooting range, her sniper rifle clicking rhythmically as she fired and reloaded with clockwork precision. Cassidy sat on a bench nearby, her console resting on her lap as she ran yet another analysis of their mission data.
Neither spoke to each other, and the air between them was thick with unspoken tension.
Ying finally broke the silence. “We need to talk.”
Anna paused mid-reload, her eyes narrowing. “About what?”
“About this,” Ying said, gesturing vaguely at the room. “This... disconnect. We can’t function like this.”
Cassidy looked up from her console, her expression already skeptical. “Function like what, exactly?”
“Like the team that’s falling apart,” Ying replied, his tone sharp. “We can’t afford this. Not now.”
Anna set her rifle down, her movements deliberate. “What do you expect, Captain? We lost Azril. We barely made it out of that mission alive, and now you’re acting like we can just move on.”
Ying’s jaw tightened. “I’m not saying we move on. I’m saying we need to focus. We have a job to do.”
Cassidy let out a sharp laugh, shaking her head. “Classic Ying. Always about the job, isn’t it? No room for anything else.”
“Watch it, Yen,” Ying warned, his tone low.
“Or what?” Cassidy shot back. “You’ll add more drills to the schedule? Push us harder until someone else breaks?”
Anna stepped between them, her voice rising slightly. “Enough. Both of you.”
The tension in the room crackled like static electricity, but the three of them fell silent, their expressions a mix of anger and frustration.
Anna turned to Ying, her voice quieter now but no less firm. “We’re not machines, Captain. We’re people. And right now, this team is broken. You can push us all you want, but until we deal with what happened, we’re just going through the motions.”
Ying’s eyes softened for a moment, but his reply was as measured as ever. “I hear you, Anna. But dwelling on it won’t help us survive the next mission.”
“And ignoring it won’t make it go away either,” she countered.
Cassidy watched the exchange with a faint smirk, though her usual sharpness was dulled by exhaustion. “You two done? Or should I grab popcorn?”
Anna shot her a glare, but Cassidy raised her hands in mock surrender. “Hey, just saying. This isn’t exactly productive.”
Ying exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. If you have a better idea, I’m all ears.”
Anna crossed her arms. “We start by talking about Azril. Not just what happened, but what it means for us moving forward. We can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine.”
Cassidy raised an eyebrow. “And what? Hold a group therapy session? Not exactly our style, Keen.”
“Then what is our style, Yen?” Anna snapped. “Ignoring it until we fall apart?”
Ying stepped between them, his voice firm. “Enough. Both of you.”
The three fell into an uneasy silence, the weight of Anna’s words settling over them. She was right, and they all knew it. But knowing didn’t make it easier.
“We’ll start small,” Ying said finally, his tone less commanding now. “One step at a time. For now, we focus on what we can control—training, intel, and preparation. Agreed?”
Anna hesitated but nodded. Cassidy shrugged, her expression unreadable.
“Good,” Ying said, though the tension in his voice remained. “Let’s get back to work.”
As the team returned to their routines, the cracks in their unity were still visible. But for the first time since the mission, there was a faint sense of direction—a glimmer of hope that the pieces might one day fit together again.
For now, they were still fractured. But something was about to change.
Captain Ying Wei sat alone in his dimly lit office, the pale glow of the monitor casting sharp shadows across his face. The mission report was open on the screen, its fields starkly empty except for the red-highlighted section that read KIA: Azril Ahmad.
The cursor blinked at him, waiting for words he couldn’t bring himself to type. Ying stared at the empty field for a long moment, his fingers hovering above the keyboard. His mind replayed the mission in vivid detail: the oppressive jungle, the echoing gunfire in the cave, Azril’s voice calling for them to retreat.
He leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. The burden of command had always been heavy, but this time it felt unbearable. His orders had put Azril at the rear, where the ambush had been fiercest. Ying had made the call, and Azril had paid the price.
“It was the right decision,” he muttered to himself, though the words felt hollow.
Ying rubbed his temples, trying to push the guilt aside. He had to finish the report. It was his responsibility to make sure Azril’s sacrifice was acknowledged, documented. But every time he tried to write something, the words felt inadequate.
He glanced at a framed photo on his desk—a picture of the full team taken a year ago. Azril stood in the middle, his grin wide and mischievous as he threw an arm around Anna’s shoulder. Cassidy was in the background, caught mid-eye-roll, while Ying himself stood off to the side, his expression as stoic as ever.
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The team had been whole then, unbroken.
Now, they felt like pieces of a puzzle that didn’t quite fit anymore.
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Ying straightened, his face hardening into its usual mask of composure.
“Come in,” he said.
The door opened, and Cassidy stepped inside, her console tucked under one arm. She hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I, uh, figured you’d be here.”
Ying gestured to the chair across from him. “What do you need?”
Cassidy sat down, her movements uncharacteristically subdued. “It’s not about what I need. It’s about you. You’ve been staring at that report for days, haven’t you?”
Ying’s jaw tightened. “It’s my job.”
“Yeah, well, your job’s also to keep this team together,” Cassidy said, her tone soft but pointed. “And right now, you’re doing about as well at that as I am at winning friends.”
Ying looked away, his fingers tapping restlessly on the desk. “What do you want me to say, Cassidy? That it doesn’t bother me? That I don’t feel responsible?”
“No,” Cassidy replied. “I want you to admit that you can’t fix this on your own. None of us can.”
Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.
Finally, Ying sighed. “I should’ve seen it coming. I should’ve prepared us better.”
Cassidy shook her head. “Azril knew what he was signing up for. We all do. Blaming yourself doesn’t change anything.”
Ying leaned forward, his elbows resting on the desk. “Then what does Yen? What makes this easier?”
Cassidy hesitated, her usual sharpness replaced by something gentler. “Nothing makes it easier. But maybe... maybe you let us help. We’re all carrying this, Captain. Stop trying to do it alone.”
Her words struck a chord inside him, and Ying nodded slowly. “I’ll try,” he said, though his tone was laced with self doubt.
Cassidy stood, her console beeping softly. “That’s all any of us can do.”
As she left, Ying turned back to the screen. The blinking cursor seemed less daunting now, though the weight of the task hadn’t lifted. He stared at Azril’s name for a long moment before typing a single line beneath it:
Sacrificed to ensure the survival of the team. A true hero.
Ying sat back, exhaling deeply. It wasn’t enough, but it was a start.
The shooting range was nearly empty, the occasional crack of gunfire echoing through the cavernous space. Anna Keen stood at her usual spot, her sniper rifle steady in her hands. The holographic targets flickered into view, their positions shifting unpredictably as they simulated combat scenarios.
She fired a round, the sharp report of her weapon cutting through the silence. The target shattered instantly, but Anna’s expression remained unchanged. She chambered another round and fired again, her precision as deadly as ever.
But no matter how many targets she hit, it didn’t quell the frustration building inside her.
Captain Ying Wei’s voice interrupted her focus. “You’re not going to find answers here, Anna.”
She didn’t turn around. “Maybe not. But it’s better than sitting around doing nothing.”
Ying approached slowly, his boots echoing against the concrete floor. “I need to talk to you.”
Anna lowered her rifle, finally turning to face him. “Is this about the training schedule? Because if you’re here to push us harder, don’t bother. We’re not ready.”
Ying’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he gestured toward a nearby bench. “Sit.”
Reluctantly, Anna followed, setting her rifle down beside her.
Ying sat across from her, his posture stiff. “I know you’re angry.”
“Angry?” Anna repeated, her tone biting. “No, Captain. I’m furious. Azril is gone, Cassidy’s burying herself in tech work, and you’re pretending like we can fix everything by running more drills.”
“I’m trying to keep us together,” Ying said, his voice measured.
“Are you?” Anna shot back. “Because it feels like you’re trying to break us instead.”
The accusation hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.
Ying exhaled slowly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I made the call that day. I put Azril in the rear. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me.”
Anna’s expression softened slightly, but her voice remained firm. “It wasn’t just you, Ying. It was all of us. We walked into that cave unprepared, and we all paid the price.”
“I know,” Ying admitted, his voice quiet. “But I can’t let it happen again.”
“And you think pushing us harder will prevent that?” Anna asked. “You’re wrong. All it’s doing is tearing us apart.”
Ying leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What do you suggest, then? How do we move forward?”
Anna hesitated, her hands tightening into fists. “We start by facing what happened. We stop pretending like we’re fine. Azril’s gone, and nothing we do will bring him back. But if we don’t deal with it—really deal with it—we’re going to fall apart the next time we’re out there.”
Ying studied her for a long moment before nodding. “You’re right.”
Anna blinked, surprised by his admission. “I am?”
“Yes,” Ying said, his voice steady. “We can’t keep going like this. I’ll figure something out.”
Anna’s gaze softened. “Good. Because if we don’t, the next mission will kill us all.”
Ying stood, his usual composure returning. “Get some rest, Anna. We’ll regroup tomorrow.”
She nodded, watching as he walked away. For the first time in weeks, she felt a flicker of hope.
Cassidy Yen’s desk was a chaotic jumble of equipment, glowing monitors, and half-empty coffee cups. In the heart of the mess, she sat cross-legged in her chair, her focus locked on a complex web of data projected across her screens. Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she cross-referenced mission logs, lore archives, and incident reports.
The anomaly was undeniable. Creatures were appearing far outside their usual territories, and the patterns were becoming too consistent to ignore. The Arabic ghouls in Southeast Asia were just one example.
A red alert flashed on one of her monitors, drawing Cassidy’s attention. It was a report from another Division unit in Eastern Europe. Shadow creatures—normally contained to specific mountainous regions—had been spotted stalking an abandoned factory in a city miles away from their usual habitat.
Cassidy frowned, her eyes narrowing as she overlaid the new data onto the map.
Dots began to cluster on the projection, spreading like a spider’s web. Ghouls in Southeast Asia. Sirens in the Mediterranean. Shadow creatures in Europe. Even a sighting of what looked like a Pontianak in the Pacific islands.
“This isn’t random,” Cassidy muttered.
She expanded the map, adding historical data and lore entries to the mix. Connections began to form—subtle but undeniable. Something was destabilizing the natural order, and it was happening faster than anyone had anticipated.
Cassidy tapped her fingers against the desk, her mind racing. Creatures didn’t just migrate like this. Their behaviors were deeply tied to their environments and their movements dictated by ancient patterns. For them to stray so far, something—or someone—had to be pushing them.
Her console beeped, signaling an incoming call. Cassidy glanced at the screen and groaned. It was Ying.
“Great,” she muttered, hitting the answer button.
Ying’s face appeared on the monitor, his expression as serious as ever. “Yen, where are we with the analysis?”
Cassidy turned the monitor toward the web of data. “Take a look for yourself, Captain. We’ve got ghouls, shadow creatures, sirens—hell, even a Pontianak—popping up all over the place. This isn’t just a fluke. Something’s shifting out there.”
Ying leaned closer to the camera, his eyes narrowing. “Do we have any idea what’s causing it?”
“Not yet,” Cassidy admitted. “But I can tell you this: it’s big. Bigger than anything we’ve dealt with before.”
Ying’s jaw tightened. “Why wasn’t this brought up in the debrief?”
“Because I wasn’t ready to say anything without evidence,” Cassidy snapped. “But now I’ve got the data to back it up.”
She gestured to the map, highlighting the clusters of anomalies. “Look at this, Captain. These aren’t isolated incidents. The frequency, the spread—it’s all connected.”
Ying studied the map, his expression unreadable. “What’s the next step?”
Cassidy leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “We dig deeper. I need access to classified archives—stuff higher up the chain. Whatever’s causing this, it didn’t just start yesterday. This has been building for a while.”
Ying nodded. “I’ll authorize it. But keep this between us for now. If this gets out before we understand it, the higher-ups will lock it down, and we’ll lose control of the investigation.”
“Understood,” Cassidy said, her tone uncharacteristically serious.
Ying hesitated before speaking again. “Good work, Yen. Keep me updated.”
Cassidy smirked faintly. “Did you just compliment me, Captain? Are you feeling okay?”
Ying’s expression didn’t waver. “Don’t let it go to your head. Keep working.”
The call ended, and Cassidy let out a long breath.
She stared at the map, her mind racing. Whatever was happening, it was bigger than Team 1, bigger than The Division itself. And if they didn’t figure it out soon, the world might be facing a crisis it wasn’t ready for.
“Azril,” she muttered, her voice barely audible. “I hope you’re watching, because I’m going to figure this out. For all of us.”
The rhythmic thrum of a helicopter’s blades sliced through the morning air, drawing the attention of personnel scattered across the island base. The military-grade transport descended onto the tarmac, its sleek black frame glinting under the rising sun. Captain Ying Wei stood at the edge of the landing pad, his arms crossed as he watched the new arrival with his usual intensity.
Next to him, Anna Keen observed silently, her sniper-trained eyes narrowing slightly as the helicopter’s ramp lowered. Cassidy Yen leaned against a nearby jeep, her arms crossed and a faint smirk on her lips. “This must be the replacement,” she said, her tone laced with skepticism.
“Ethan West,” Ying confirmed, his voice flat. “Former Navy SEAL.”
Cassidy raised an eyebrow. “Great. Another trigger-happy American.”
“Focus, Yen,” Ying snapped.
Cassidy shrugged, but her smirk didn’t waver.
A figure emerged from the helicopter, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder. Ethan West moved with the controlled confidence of someone who had spent years in the field. His sharp eyes scanned the surroundings, taking in the fortified base and the unfamiliar faces watching him from a distance.
He stopped in front of Ying, setting his bag down and snapping to attention. “Ethan West, reporting to duty.”
Ying gave a curt nod. “Welcome to S.P.E.C.I.M.E.N Team 1.”
“S.P.EC.I.M.E.N.T ?”, Asked Ethan deliberately.
“S.P.EC.I.M.E.N (SPECIAL PROCEDURE,EXTRACTION,CONTAINMENT,INVESTIGATION,MONITORING,ELIMINATION,AND NEUTRALIZATION)”, replied Ying curtly.
The introduction was brief and formal, but Ethan quickly noticed the tension in the air. The team members exchanged glances that spoke volumes, their body language radiating unease. Whatever he had walked into, it wasn’t just another assignment.
“You’ll get a full briefing once we’re inside,” Ying said, his tone brusque. “For now, follow me.”
As they walked toward the base, Ethan fell into step behind Ying, his sharp eyes flicking to the others.
Cassidy was the first to speak. “So, what’s the deal, West? SEAL mission not hot enough for you?”
Ethan glanced at her, his expression neutral. “Let’s just say I’m looking for something different.”
Cassidy snorted. “Well, you’ve found it.”
Anna’s voice cut through Cassidy’s sarcasm, calm and measured. “You’ll need to adapt quickly. This isn’t like anything you’ve done before.”
Ethan met her gaze, noting the cool professionalism in her demeanor. “I figured as much.”
The group entered the base’s main building, the sterile corridors humming with activity. Ying led them to a briefing room, its walls lined with monitors displaying tactical readouts and maps.
“West,” Ying said, turning to face him. “You were chosen for this team because of your record and your... unique experiences. You’ll be expected to contribute immediately. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Ethan replied.
Cassidy raised an eyebrow. “Let’s see how long that enthusiasm lasts.”
“Enough,” Ying said sharply. He gestured to a chair. “Take a seat. Let’s begin.”
The briefing covered the basics of The Division’s mission, but it was clear from the way Ying spoke that the team’s current state was far from ideal. Ethan listened carefully, piecing together the subtle hints of grief and tension that laced their words.
He knew better than to ask questions now. Instead, he focused on observing—studying the team’s dynamics, their body language, and the unspoken weight they all seemed to carry.
As the meeting ended, Ying dismissed the group. “Training starts tomorrow at 0600. Be ready.”
Ethan lingered for a moment as the others filed out. He turned to Ying, his voice low. “Captain, if I may—what exactly am I walking into here?”
Ying’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. “A team that’s seen better days. Your job is to prove you’re not just here to fill a void. Earn your place, West.”
Ethan nodded, his expression serious. “Understood.”
Outside the briefing room, Cassidy and Anna waited patiently, their conversation hushed. Ethan approached cautiously, offering a nod.
“Looks like I’ve got some catching up to do,” he said.
Anna studied him for a moment before replying. “You do. But if you’re here, you must have something to offer.”
Cassidy smirked. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”
Ethan chuckled softly, sensing that beneath Cassidy’s sarcasm and Anna’s reserve, there was room for trust—if he could prove himself.
As the day ended, Ethan sat in his quarters, staring at the badge he had been issued. The weight of the assignment was already settling on him, but there was something else, too—a sense of purpose.
He had a chance to be part of something bigger than himself, to help rebuild a team that was clearly fractured but still fighting.
Ethan placed the badge on the table and leaned back, his resolve hardening. Tomorrow, the real work would begin.
Ethan West rose with the first light of dawn, the faint hum of the base’s machinery a constant backdrop. He laced his boots tightly, his mind already focused on the day ahead. Training would start soon, and this was his first chance to prove himself to Team 1.
But his instincts told him that earning their trust would take more than hitting targets and following orders. The team wasn’t just cautious—they were fractured. He’d seen it in the way they moved, the strained silence between them, the way their eyes lingered on empty spaces as though someone was missing.
Ethan understood loss. He had lived it himself, and while he didn’t yet know the details of their pain, he recognized its weight.
The mess hall was quiet when Ethan entered. Only a few personnel were scattered at the tables, their conversations muted. He grabbed a tray and filled it with the basics—eggs, toast, and coffee—before scanning the room.
He spotted Anna sitting alone near a corner, her back to the wall and her sniper-trained eyes watching the room. She ate slowly, methodically, her focus divided between her food and the environment.
Ethan approached, stopping a few steps away. “Mind if I sit?”
Anna looked up, her expression neutral. “Suit yourself.”
He sat across from her, letting the silence stretch for a moment before speaking. “You’ve been with the team a long time.”
Anna nodded. “Three years.”
Ethan took a sip of his coffee, studying her. “That must mean something.”
“It does,” she said simply, her tone guarded.
Ethan decided not to push further. Instead, he shifted the focus. “How’s the training here compared to what I’m used to?”
Anna’s lips twitched in what might have been the beginning of a smile. “Depends on what you’re used to. Division training isn’t about brute force. It’s about adapting to the unexpected.”
“Like Arabic ghouls in Southeast Asia,” Ethan said, testing the waters.
Anna’s expression darkened slightly, but she nodded. “Exactly like that.”
Ethan held her gaze for a moment, then let the subject drop. He knew when to retreat.
Cassidy entered the mess hall not long after, her console tucked under one arm. She grabbed a mug of coffee and made her way to their table, plopping down unceremoniously next to Ethan.
“So,” she said, gesturing at him with her mug, “how’s the new guy settling in?”
Ethan smirked faintly. “So far, so good.”
Cassidy leaned back, her grin sharp. “You know, the last ‘so far, so good’ recruit tripped during a live drill and got stuck with the nickname ‘Bambi.’ Let’s see if you do better.”
“Thanks for the encouragement,” Ethan replied dryly.
Ying arrived a moment later, his presence commanding immediate attention. He stood at the head of the table, his arms crossed. “Training starts in ten minutes. Finish up.”
The group nodded, and Ying’s gaze lingered on Ethan for a moment longer than necessary before he turned and left.
Cassidy leaned closer, her voice dropping to a mock whisper. “Don’t take it personally. He glares at everyone like that.”
Anna stood, her tray in hand. “Let’s go. The sooner we start, the sooner we see what West can actually offer.”
Ethan followed, his mind turning over what he had observed. The dynamic between them was complex—Cassidy’s sarcasm, Anna’s reserve, and Ying’s relentless authority. Each carried their grief differently, and he would need to navigate carefully if he wanted to find his place among them.
The training grounds were a mix of advanced technology and old-school discipline. Simulated environments flickered into place on holographic displays, creating jungle terrains, urban battlefields, and more. A variety of weapons lined the walls, from conventional firearms to prototypes Ethan had never seen before.
Ying stepped forward, his voice cutting through the morning air. “Today, we focus on team cohesion. West, you’re the variable. Let’s see how well you can integrate.”
Ethan nodded, stepping into position as the simulation began.
The first scenario was a mock ambush in a dense jungle. Anna took the lead, her sniper rifle providing overwatch as Cassidy coordinated drone support. Ethan stayed close to Ying, covering their flanks as holographic enemies advanced.
The team moved with practiced precision, but Ethan could feel the cracks in their coordination. Commands were clipped, responses delayed.
At one point, Ying barked an order, and Cassidy hesitated just long enough for the simulation to register a hit on her position. The simulation froze, and Ying’s frustration was palpable.
“Cassidy, what was that?” he demanded.
“I missed the signal,” she admitted, her tone defensive.
“Missing signals in the field gets people killed,” Ying snapped.
Cassidy glared at him. “Don’t you think I know that?”
Ethan watched the exchange, his mind piecing together the unspoken tension. This wasn’t just about the training—it was about their fallen teammate Azril. His absence was a shadow over every interaction, and it was clear that no one had fully processed the loss.
When the simulation restarted again, Ethan focused on doing his part without overstepping. He followed Ying’s commands, adjusted to Anna’s pace, and backed Cassidy when her drones needed cover. Slowly, the team began to move more fluidly, the cracks still visible but less glaring.
By the end of the session, Ethan was drenched in sweat but felt a flicker of satisfaction. He hadn’t won them over yet, but he had held his ground.
As they packed up, Anna gave him a small nod. “Not bad for a first day.”
Cassidy smirked. “We’ll see if you can keep up tomorrow.”
Ying said nothing, but the faintest hint of approval crossed his face before he turned and walked away.
Ethan watched them go, his resolve hardening. The team was fractured, but there was something worth fighting for here. He could feel it.
And he was determined to be part of it.
The sun was low on the horizon when Ethan West returned to his quarters, his body sore from hours of training. He set his duffel bag down by the door and leaned against the wall, his mind replaying the day’s events.
The simulation had revealed much more than just the team’s operational style—it had exposed their fractures, their struggles to communicate, and the lingering pain that bound them together even as it pushed them apart. Ethan didn’t know the full story of what had happened, but he didn’t need to. The loss of their teammate was evident in every word they exchanged, every glance they avoided.
He sat on the edge of his bunk, pulling out the Division badge from his pocket. It gleamed faintly in the dim light, its symbol of a globe encircled by stars a stark reminder of the burden he had willingly accepted.
A knock on the door broke his train of thought. He stood, tucking the badge away, and opened the door to find Captain Ying Wei standing there.
“Captain,” Ethan said, stepping aside.
Ying walked in, his movements as deliberate as ever. He glanced around the small quarters before turning to face Ethan.
“I wanted to talk to you about today,” Ying began, his tone measured.
Ethan nodded. “I figured there’d be a debrief.”
“This isn’t about tactics,” Ying said, crossing his arms. “It’s about the team.”
Ethan tilted his head slightly, waiting.
“You noticed the cracks,” Ying continued. “You’d have to be blind not to. We’ve been through a lot, and it’s going to take time to put the pieces back together.”
“I get that,” Ethan replied. “I’m not here to replace anyone, Captain. But I am here to pull my weight.”
Ying studied him for a moment, his gaze sharp. “Good. Because if you’re going to be part of this team, you need to understand that we don’t just deal with threats—we deal with the unknown. It gets messy. It gets personal. And it’s not always clear who or what the enemy is.”
Ethan nodded again, his expression steady. “Understood. I’ve seen my share of the unknown, Captain. I’m ready to face whatever’s out there.”
Ying’s lips twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile. “We’ll see.”
The captain turned to leave but paused at the door. “West,” he said, glancing back, “you did well today. Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Never,” Ethan replied with a faint grin.
Ying left, the door clicking shut behind him.
Ethan sat back down, his mind whirling. The captain’s words had been encouraging, but they also hinted at the magnitude of what lay ahead. This wasn’t just about adapting to a new team or proving his worth. This was about stepping into a world where the rules of reality were constantly shifting, where trust and resilience would be his greatest assets.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. For the first time since arriving, he felt a small flicker of hope. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to hold onto.
Across the base, in their respective quarters, Anna and Cassidy were also reflecting on the day.
Anna sat at the edge of her bed, her sniper rifle disassembled on the table before her. She worked with practiced precision, cleaning and reassembling the weapon as her thoughts drifted to Ethan. He had held his own today—steady, competent, and unassuming. It was a start, she admitted to herself.
Cassidy, meanwhile, was surrounded by her monitors, data scrolling across the screens. She paused, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she thought about the new recruit. He wasn’t Azril, and he never would be, but maybe that was the point. The team didn’t need another Azril. They needed someone who could stand with them, shoulder the weight of what was coming, and help them rebuild.
Across the base, in their respective quarters, Anna and Cassidy were also reflecting on the day.
Anna sat at the edge of her bed, her sniper rifle disassembled on the table before her. She worked with practiced precision, cleaning and reassembling the weapon as her thoughts drifted to Ethan. He had held his own today—steady, competent, and unassuming. It was a start, she admitted to herself.
Cassidy, meanwhile, was surrounded by her monitors, data scrolling across the screens. She paused, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she thought about the new recruit. He wasn’t Azril, and he never would be, but maybe that was the point. The team didn’t need another Azril. They needed someone who could stand with them, shoulder the weight of what was coming, and help them rebuild.
For the first time since Azril’s death, there was a subtle shift in the atmosphere—a tiny crack in the wall of grief and tension that had consumed Team 1.
Ethan didn’t know it yet, but his presence had already started to change things.
As the base settled into the quiet of night, the team members rested uneasily, each grappling with their own thoughts. The fractures weren’t healed, and the shadows of the past still loomed large.
But now, there was a spark.
A spark of hope.