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The battlefield was thick with silence and despair. Maverick and Dr. Chan were trapped, and Fred lay sprawled on the ground, his face smeared with blood, looking utterly defeated.
The reinforcements from the Skinners were miles away, stationed at their distant camp.
No one was coming to save them.
A mechanical serpent loomed nearby, its scanning head glowing a cold, crimson light—pulsing as if savoring the hopelessness of its prey. Its approach was slow and deliberate, its lights like the merciless eyes of a predator.
Then, all at once, the red glow halted. Ten full seconds passed in eerie stillness.
To Maverick, those seconds stretched like years. His bones felt ready to crack under the pressure, his breath grew shallow, and his consciousness began to slip.
Just before he blacked out, the metallic serpent suddenly released its grip. Without warning, it burrowed into the ground and vanished without a trace.
The sudden shift left them frozen in disbelief.
Exhausted beyond measure, the survivors collapsed into the wreckage around them—twisted remains of broken machines scattered like crushed steel beasts.
Fred lay flat on his back, his chest rising and falling heavily. His face was grimy and scorched, making his features nearly indistinguishable. But his mouth stretched wide in a crooked grin, his laughter loose and hollow.
"We… I… damn it, I just danced with death!" He let out a shaky laugh, his eye twitching as if his nerves had snapped.
Then he coughed—sharp and violent—spitting blood onto the debris. Instead of looking shaken, his smile only grew wilder, as if forcing himself into madness to mask the terror clawing at his heart.
Dr. Chan, the least injured, sat against a half-collapsed pillar, veins throbbing on his forehead as if his skull were about to burst.
"My head's ringing like I just stuck it in a jet engine…" he muttered, rubbing his temples in dazed frustration.
He cast a glance toward the distant smoke still curling from the battlefield, his gaze blank for a moment, as if trying to bury the memory of what had just happened.
With a sharp sigh, he voiced his frustration:"Why the hell did I let myself get caught up in this mess? Risk after risk—it never stops!"
Maverick slowly sat up, a faint smirk tugging at his lips."Come on, isn't this exciting? Beats dying in a lab, right?"
Dr. Chan shook his head in weary disbelief.
Ignoring him, Maverick pushed himself to his feet and stepped toward the wreckage, his eyes locking onto the scattered remains of the mechanical serpent. His gaze landed on a small module blinking with red light—his brow furrowing as unease crept in.
"What happened?" His voice was low."Why did it suddenly retreat?"
Dr. Chan looked up."What?"
"Doesn't it feel wrong? It could've wiped us out in seconds… but it didn't."
"Who cares?" Dr. Chan waved a hand dismissively."We're alive. That's all that matters."
Maverick didn't respond. Instead, he crouched down, sifting through the shattered metal pieces. His fingers traced over the tangled wires, carefully prying open the remains of the serpent's neck.
Finally, he pulled out a small, pulsing module—the red glow still weak but persistent, like a heartbeat refusing to fade.
He stared at the chip for a long moment, blood and sweat streaking across his face. Then, his voice came, low and cold:
"Short-range transmission module. These things… they're scouts."
Silence fell thick upon them.
Fred stumbled toward him, his throat working as he swallowed hard.
"You mean… this wasn't the main threat?" His voice was raspy, dry like sand.
"No."
Maverick straightened, his eyes shifting toward the woods beyond.
The forest was dead silent, even the wind seemed to hesitate.
"This was just the knock on the door."
He paused, then tensed."We have to get back to command and report this. If we wait any longer… the next thing breaking through will be at the base itself."
A grim, suffocating quiet settled over them.
"Move! We have to go now!" Maverick barked. For the first time, a weight pressed against his chest—an invisible force of dread.
But as he rushed forward, he noticed the tall Skinner lagging behind, dragging his feet.
His eyes were still locked on Maverick's back—more specifically, on the disruptor gun strapped there. His expression was tense, his focus sharp.
"Hey… Big brother, that gun looks heavy," he said, voice careful, almost too friendly."Want me to carry it for you?"
Maverick turned, catching the unmistakable greed in Fred's glowing eyes.
His throat tightened. That weapon—the very thing that had shut down the mechanical serpent—was the object of his desire.
Maverick took a closer look at the familiar, skinless face.
"You're calling me'big brother' now?" His tone was dry."Do I look that old to you?"
"Come on! What's wrong with that? You're, what, nineteen? Young, good-looking—you fit the title!" The man grinned, thick-skinned as ever—or rather, lacking any skin at all.
Maverick watched him, eyes flicking between the desperate hunger in his gaze and the weapon he so badly wanted.
After a beat, Maverick sighed and unstrapped the disruptor gun, handing it over.
Just as he did—
A muffled explosion echoed from deep within the forest.
Soft, distant. Barely more than a whisper in the heavy night air.
The next second—
Maverick collapsed, blood splattering across the dirt. His chest soaked red as his clothes darkened with the spreading stain.
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Not long ago, deep in the forest beyond the battlefield—
Lee stood before a holographic map, his gaze fixed on the blinking red dots scattered across the screen. A slow smirk curled at the edge of his lips. His voice, cold as glacial ice, transmitted through his bone-conduction mic straight into the command core of the mechanical serpents.
"Delta-13, full retreat.
Repeat—withdraw immediately."
The operator hesitated."The targets remain alive. Confirm the order?"
Lee narrowed his eyes, his tone indifferent.
"Follow them. Let them lead us straight to the Skinners' den."
"Understood."
The jungle sweltered beneath the punishing sun, thick with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. Eight hundred meters away, two mercenaries lay prone in the undergrowth, clad in dark tactical gear. Like hawks, their eyes remained locked on their distant prey.
"We have visual on three survivors. Light injuries. They're still mobile…"
Concealed beneath dense foliage, they kept their bodies covered in camo nets, preventing any accidental glint of sunlight from betraying their position. The sniper steadied his breath, slowing his heart rate to a precise sixty beats per minute, holding his rifle still. He half-squinted through his high-powered scope, fingers resting on the trigger in perfect rhythm with his controlled breathing.
The spotter swept his gaze across a nearby wind indicator and murmured,"South-east wind, level two."
He retrieved a photo from his tactical pouch, comparing it carefully. His voice barely a whisper:
"Is he among them?"
"No. Not here."
The photograph showed Shen Lu—a pale-skinned man posing at a formal banquet.
The spotter switched channels on his bone-conduction headset, preparing to report—but before he could speak, Lee's chilling voice cut through his earpiece.
"I don't care what else you do. Just make sure you find their hideout. The rest—hunt them at your leisure."
"You sure?" The scout feigned curiosity, though he was really waiting for confirmation from their team leader. Killing wasn't the issue—but following orders from a rookie like Lee? That was another matter entirely.
Lee's voice came again, sharper, colder."Am I not clear?"
Gone was the usual pleasant, easygoing tone.
The team leader finally spoke, his sigh tinged with resignation."Follow his orders. He's the special Chief Officer. As long as it doesn't compromise the mission, we do as he says."
"Understood."
After a short pause, the scout sneered and added,
"Better to leave one or two seriously injured. The more pain, the less they can run. The harder they hide."
"Got it."
Then—
A single gunshot shattered the jungle's quiet.
Distant birds burst into the sky in frantic flight.
The sniper held his position for exactly 0.3 seconds, confirming the hit before swiftly adjusting his sights for a second shot.
The bullet struck clean—Maverick dropped instantly, collapsing into the dust, lifeless.
"Twenty-degree turn. Three o'clock," the spotter called out coordinates.
The sniper made a micro-adjustment for wind correction, steadied his grip, and realigned his sights—his crosshairs locking onto the next target.
Dr. Chan.
Meanwhile, a hundred meters away, a squad leader signaled his units. Three search teams fanned out in an arc, moving in coordinated silence toward the southeast.
Shadows slipped through the dense brush, weapons poised, their movements fluid.
The squad leader glanced at Lee.
"Can you reach your mole?"
Lee chuckled, tapping his headset.
"Of course. Watch me."