Chapter 333: Day 1 in hell (part 1)

An industrial complex sprawled across a rocky plateau like metal cancer, all sharp angles and functional brutality. Lucas Grey stood at the edge of their temporary camp, watching the sunset paint the facility’s towers in shades of rust and amber. The place looked like every other mining operation he’d seen—utilitarian structures designed by people who cared more about efficiency than aesthetics.

But it was quiet. Too quiet for a facility that should have been running skeleton crews even during an emergency evacuation.

“Sir, perimeter’s secure,” reported Elena Vasquez, a twenty-two-year-old assault specialist whose admiration for Lucas was written all over her face every time she looked at him. “No movement detected in the facility, no energy signatures from active machinery.”

Lucas nodded, his mind already cataloging tactical concerns. The Vanguard Initiative squad he’d been assigned to lead was solid—twelve of the best academy graduates from the last two years, all eager to prove themselves worthy of the program that made his proud squad, Pathfinder team Seven. But they weren’t his team. They weren’t Noah’s analytical brilliance or Sophie’s strategic mind or Kelvin’s technological wizardry.

They were strangers pretending to be a unit, held together by discipline and hero worship.

“Any luck with communications?” he asked Communications Specialist Torres, a lanky kid who kept stealing glances at Lucas like he was trying to memorize him.

“Negative, sir. Same pattern as before—adaptive jamming across all frequencies. Whatever’s blocking us is learning from every attempt I make to break through.”

Lucas felt a familiar knot of worry tighten in his stomach. Noah, Kelvin, Sophie, Diana, Lyra—his real team was scattered across three planets with no way to coordinate, no way to know if they were alive or dead. The tactical nightmare of it made his teeth ache.

“Keep trying,” he said. “And expand the sweep patterns. I want to know if anything bigger than a rat moves within five kilometers of our position.”

“Yes, sir,” Torres replied with the kind of enthusiasm that suggested he’d throw himself off a cliff if Lucas asked nicely.

The hero worship was starting to grate. Lucas understood it—the Vanguard squad woke up every morning since getting recruited hearing stories about Lucas Grey and his friends, pathfinder team 7. About the impossible missions and the casualties they’d prevented. To them, he was living legend. But legends didn’t feel the constant low-grade panic of not knowing whether their friends were walking into traps.

“Rodriguez, Patel, Joe—with me,” Lucas called out, selecting three of his more level-headed squad members. “We’re doing a closer reconnaissance of the facility. Something’s wrong with this picture.”

Maria Rodriguez, a demolitions expert with steady hands and steadier nerves, fell into step beside him. “What kind of wrong, sir?”

“The kind where a mining facility goes silent but shows no signs of battle damage, hasty evacuation, or equipment failure,” Lucas replied, his more than average human vision scanning the complex below. “Look at it—power lines are intact, structures show no damage, even the vehicle bay doors are properly sealed. This isn’t what an emergency evacuation looks like.”

Patel, barely twenty and trying desperately to look professional, cleared his throat. “Could they have received advance warning? Conducted an orderly withdrawal?”

“Advance warning of what?” Lucas asked. “Our intelligence said the Harbinger attack started six hours ago. But the facility’s been dark for longer than that.”

The group moved through the rocky terrain with efficiency, their movements coordinated despite being a newly assembled unit. Lucas had to give them credit—they might not be his team, but they were good soldiers.

As they got closer to the facility’s outer perimeter, the wrongness became more apparent. Industrial equipment sat in perfect maintenance condition. Storage areas were organized with military precision. Even the loading docks showed signs of recent use but no signs of panic.

“Sir,” whispered Joe, their scout specialist, “movement in the administrative building. Multiple heat signatures, but they’re not moving like people in distress.”

Lucas activated his enhanced vision, focusing on the building Joe had indicated. He could sense electrons from living beings fired through nerves if he focused really well. But to do that, he had to be still and know where to look. And with his original teammates with him, they always were two steps head of his lead or just close enough that he didn’t have to worry. Right now, he worried.

Through the prefab walls, he could make out human shapes moving with purpose and organization. The image he received back looked like it was gotten from an infrared camera. He could see now. It was by and large not the frantic activity of people under siege, but the steady rhythm of people going about their jobs.

“That’s impossible,” Rodriguez muttered. “The entire system’s supposed to be under Harbinger assault.”

“Unless it’s not,” Lucas said quietly, his mind working through possibilities he didn’t like. “Unless something else is happening here.”

The communication jamming, the intact facilities, the organized civilian activity—it was starting to paint a picture that made Lucas wish Noah was there to confirm his suspicions.

“I miss you so much now, Eclipse,” he muttered with a breath.

If there was one thing he knew, it was that Noah had a gift for seeing patterns that everyone else missed, for connecting dots that seemed unrelated.

Right now, Lucas was seeing a lot of dots that weren’t connecting the way they should.

“Fall back to camp,” he ordered. “We maintain surveillance until we can establish communication with the other teams. Something’s not right about this entire operation.”

As they made their way back through the rocky terrain, Lucas found himself thinking about Pierce’s decision to split up Pathfinder Seven. Standard protocol was to maintain unit cohesion, especially in unknown hostile territory. The only reasons to violate that protocol were tactical necessity or…

Other motivations that Lucas didn’t want to consider.

Back at camp, the squad had organized themselves with military efficiency, but Lucas could see the questions in their eyes. They’d signed up to follow a legend into battle, not to sit on a hillside watching empty buildings.

“Sir,” Elena Vasquez approached with that mixture of professional respect and personal interest that made Lucas uncomfortable, “the squad’s ready for whatever you need. We know the stories about Pathfinder Seven, about what you’ve accomplished in just two deployment. We’re honored to serve under your command.”

Lucas appreciated the sentiment, but it reminded him again that these weren’t his people. They didn’t know his tells, didn’t understand his tactical preferences, hadn’t been through the crucible of shared combat that turned individuals into a true unit.

They were good soldiers playing at being his team.

“Just stay alert,” he said. “And keep trying those communications. I want to know what the hell is happening on the other planets.”

As night fell over the industrial complex, Lucas found himself staring at the stars and wondering if his friends were looking at the same sky. Somewhere out there, Noah was probably overthinking every detail of his situation. Kelvin was probably making jokes while performing electronic miracles. Sophie, Diana, and Lyra were dealing with Pierce’s leadership style and whatever crisis they’d found.

He just hoped they were all still alive to complain about it.

—

[Location : Sirius Beta]

The underground mining complex on Beta Planet stretched into the earth like a massive throat, its industrial lighting creating harsh shadows against rough-hewn rock walls. Commander Pierce stood at the edge of the excavation site, ostensibly surveying the tactical situation but obviously using the opportunity to position himself near Sophie.

“What’s your assessment of the approach vectors, Reign?” he asked, his voice carrying that particular tone that mixed professional authority with personal interest.

Sophie kept her expression neutral despite the way Pierce’s eyes lingered on her profile. “The terrain provides multiple concealment options for approach, but limited escape routes if we need to withdraw quickly. I’d recommend establishing overwatch positions before committing to any direct engagement.”

“Insightful, just as I expected,” Pierce replied with a smile that made Sophie’s skin crawl. “Your tactical analysis has been invaluable on this mission.”

Diana Frost stood three meters away, her expression carefully blank—her default response to situations that disgusted her but couldn’t be directly confronted. Around them, the twenty-eight other female soldiers of their improvised squadron went about their duties with professional competence, but Sophie could see the sideways glances, the raised eyebrows, the subtle signs that everyone was aware of their commander’s inappropriate attention.

The only male member of their unit, Jackson—a utility specialist whose job was basically to carry heavy equipment and provide technical support—kept his eyes fixed firmly on his gear manifest, clearly uncomfortable with the entire dynamic.

Lyra moved up beside Sophie, her voice pitched low enough that only her teammates could hear. “If he asks for your ‘input’ one more time, I’m going to accidentally nullify the gravity under his feet.”

“Professional decorum,” Sophie murmured back, though her own patience was wearing thin. “We have bigger problems right now.”

The bigger problem was spread out below them in the mining complex—a scene that should have been impossible.

EDF ships sat in orderly rows near the loading platforms, their hulls unmarked by battle damage. Military personnel moved between the vessels and the mining equipment with calm efficiency. Civilian workers operated excavation machinery with the steady rhythm of people going about their normal jobs.

And walking among them, as casually as supervisors checking on a work site, were Harbingers.

Single-horn variants, their reptilian forms moving through the crowd of humans with predatory grace. But nobody was running. Nobody was screaming. Nobody was fighting.

The humans—soldiers and civilians alike—simply continued their work as if seven-foot-tall alien monsters were a normal part of the industrial landscape.

“This is wrong on every possible level,” Diana said quietly, her voice carrying the kind of controlled tension that meant she was fighting the urge to do something violent.

“Sir,” Sophie said, forcing herself to address Pierce professionally, “I strongly recommend we establish communication with the personnel below before taking any direct action. The situation is clearly not what our briefing materials suggested.”

Pierce waved dismissively, his attention more focused on Sophie than on the tactical impossibility playing out below them. “Standard protocol for civilian rescue operations. We go in, extract the non-combatants, eliminate the hostiles.”

“With respect, sir,” Lyra interjected, “there’s nothing standard about this situation. The civilians aren’t acting like hostages, and the military personnel below aren’t showing any signs of distress.”

“And the Harbingers are walking around like they own the place,” Diana added. “That’s not normal predatory behavior. Single-horns are like ambush hunters—they don’t casually stroll through crowds of potential prey.”

Pierce’s expression hardened. “Are you questioning my tactical assessment?”

“We’re questioning the wisdom of engaging an unknown situation without proper intelligence,” Sophie replied firmly. “Standard military doctrine requires situational analysis before committing to action.”

“Especially when that action could result in casualties among the personnel we’re supposed to be rescuing,” Lyra added.

Pierce’s jaw tightened. “I’m not interested in a debate. We have a mission—”

“Sir,” interrupted Communications Specialist Warner, one of the few squad members who seemed immune to Pierce’s charm offensive, “I’m getting no response from the military units below. Radio silence across all frequencies, even emergency channels.”

“Could be communication discipline,” suggested Private Hendricks.

“Or they can’t respond,” Diana said grimly. “Something’s keeping them from communicating, and I doubt it’s tactical necessity.”

Sophie pulled out her field binoculars, focusing on the scene below with the kind of analytical attention that Noah had taught her. Every detail mattered. Every inconsistency was a clue.

The human workers moved with purpose but no urgency. The Harbingers observed but didn’t direct. The military personnel maintained their positions but showed no signs of defensive preparation.

“It’s not a hostage situation,” she said finally. “Look at the body language. The humans aren’t afraid—they’re… compliant. But not the kind of compliance you get from fear or coercion.”

“What other kind of compliance is there?” Pierce demanded.

“The kind you get from something affecting their mental state,” Lyra said quietly. “Some form of influence or control that makes them think this is normal.”

The implications of that possibility sent a chill through the entire squad. Harbingers with the ability to control human behavior represented a threat level that none of their training had prepared them for.

“Sir,” Sophie said, her voice carefully controlled, “I strongly recommend we establish overwatch positions and maintain surveillance until we can determine the exact nature of the situation below. Engaging without understanding what we’re dealing with could result in casualties among personnel who might be victims rather than collaborators.”

Pierce looked like he wanted to argue, but even his arrogance couldn’t ignore the tactical reality of the situation. Fighting enemies was one thing—fighting enemies while protecting potentially compromised allies was exponentially more complex.

“Fine,” he said with obvious reluctance. “We establish observation posts and maintain surveillance. But I want options for rapid engagement if the situation deteriorates.”

“Understood, sir,” Sophie replied, already planning overwatch positions that would give them clear fields of fire while maintaining concealment.

As the squadron spread out to establish surveillance positions, Sophie found herself thinking about Noah. Her boyfriend had a gift for seeing patterns in chaos, for finding the one detail that made everything else make sense. Right now, surrounded by an impossible situation that violated everything she understood about human-Harbinger interactions, she really could have used his analytical perspective.

But Noah was on another planet, dealing with his own crisis, and she had to trust that his intelligence would keep him alive long enough for them to reunite.

“Reign,” Diana said quietly as they settled into their overwatch position, “what do you think is really happening down there?”

Sophie adjusted her ravager rifle scope, keeping the mining complex centered in her field of view. “I think we’re looking at something that’s going to rewrite everything we know about Harbinger capabilities. And I think Pierce is exactly the wrong person to be making decisions about how to handle it.”

Below them, the impossible scene continued—humans and monsters working together in perfect, unnatural harmony.

Sophie whispered a silent prayer for Noah’s safety and began the long wait for answers that might not come in time to matter.

The mining complex continued with its industrial activity, and somewhere in that sound was a threat that none of them fully understood.

Yet.

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