NATO Airstrip – Eastern Europe
0600 Hours – September 2054
The first rays of sunlight crept over the distant mountains, casting long shadows across the cracked tarmac of the abandoned airstrip. The cold morning air smelled of damp concrete and old fuel, the distant echoes of war still rumbling far beyond the horizon.
For once, Bravo Team wasn't under fire.
Inside one of the less-damaged hangars, they had set up a temporary camp. The firepit, built from scrap metal and old crates, cast a warm glow on their faces as they huddled around it. The night had been restless—between scavenging for supplies, standing watch, and Gaz's ghost-hunting fiasco, none of them had gotten much sleep.
But at least they had breakfast.
Kind of.
Gaz stared at the ration pack in his hand like it was a crime against humanity. "Alright, who the hell thought 'spiced lentil paste' was a good idea for breakfast?"
Elias, sitting across from him, took a bite out of his own ration and chewed without expression. "Eat it or don't. No one cares."
Gaz frowned and poked at the pale, unidentifiable mush with his knife. "I swear, I'd rather eat my boots."
Irina, casually cleaning her sidearm, smirked. "I've seen you eat worse after a night at the bars."
Gaz pointed at her. "First of all, that was one time. Second, I was drunk. Third—" He cut himself off, glancing at Jackson, who sat beside Dr. Mercer, absently stirring his own ration with little enthusiasm.
Gaz turned back to the others. "Alright, serious question—do you think Jackson's Acheron-enhanced biology lets him taste this garbage, or is this just torture for the rest of us?"
Jackson didn't even look up. "I taste everything. Unfortunately."
Mercer let out a tired chuckle, breaking his usual silence. "You lot act like this is the worst food you've ever had."
Gaz looked at him, scandalized. "You saying you like this?"
Mercer shrugged. "Compared to Osiris-issued nutrient gel? Absolutely."
Elias groaned. "For the love of—don't remind me."
Gaz gagged. "Oh God, the gel. I'd rather starve."
Elle, sipping instant coffee from a battered tin cup, smirked. "Oh please, Gaz, you complain now, but give it a few days without real food and you'll be licking the inside of the ration packs."
Gaz gasped. "How dare you."
Irina snorted. "She's not wrong."
Dr. Mercer sat back against a rusted crate, watching the easy banter between the soldiers. He wasn't used to this. For years, his world had been one of sterile labs, classified meetings, and people who only spoke in calculations and logistics.
But this?
This was human.
Jackson must have noticed his expression because he nudged him lightly. "You alright?"
Mercer blinked, then gave a tired smile. "Yeah. Just… not used to this."
Elias, still chewing on his flavorless ration, raised an eyebrow. "What? Sitting around, pretending we're not doomed?"
Mercer chuckled. "Something like that."
Elle tilted her head at him. "So, Doc, you ever see actual combat before all this?"
Mercer shook his head. "Not like this." He exhaled. "I worked in the shadows. Designed things, made decisions that affected people from a distance. But war? I never thought I'd be on the run in the middle of one."
Gaz grinned. "Well, congratulations. You're officially one of us. A fugitive, a war criminal—"
Elias gave him a sharp look.
Gaz held up his hands. "Alleged war criminal."
Mercer rolled his eyes. "Comforting."
Despite the lighthearted mood, the weight of uncertainty still loomed over them.
Alpha Team was still out there. Watching. Waiting.
Jackson hadn't said much all morning, his focus split between Mercer's revelations and the unknown presence in the night. He had spent years trusting Alpha Team. Fighting alongside them.
Now? He wasn't sure where they stood.
Elle noticed his silence. She nudged him with her boot. "You thinking about them?"
Jackson didn't need to ask who she meant. He sighed, rubbing his jaw. "Yeah."
Elias leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You think they're still on our side?"
Jackson hesitated. Then, quietly, "I hope so."
No one spoke after that.
The conversation drifted, and for a little while, they just sat there—eating, talking, pretending things weren't as bad as they were.
It wasn't much. But it was something.
And for Bravo Team, that was enough.
For now.
The Road Ahead.
NATO Airstrip – Eastern Europe
0700 Hours – September 2054
The rising sun cast a pale orange glow over the airstrip, its warmth doing little to cut through the morning chill. The distant echoes of war gunfire, artillery strikes, the distant roar of fighter jets were a constant reminder that the world outside their camp was falling apart.
Despite the tension, Bravo Team had a rare moment of peace. The night had passed without incident, but the uneasy silence of the airstrip still weighed on them. Alpha Team had been here, but now they were ghosts. The question remained: why?
For now, they had bigger priorities.
Deciding the Next Move
Jackson Osiris stood near the Osprey VTOL, arms crossed as he stared at the fuel gauge. It wasn't good.
Elle Favreau approached, stretching her arms. "Tell me something optimistic, boss."
Jackson sighed. "We have enough fuel to get airborne. Not enough to get far."
Elle winced. "Yeah, that's about what I expected."
Elias Scott joined them, securing his rifle. "We're running low on supplies too. We found some emergency rations last night, but if we don't find a resupply point soon, we're gonna be running on empty."
Irina Vinogradova sat on a nearby crate, absentmindedly sharpening her knife. "We need fuel, food, and a plan. Preferably before Osiris sends someone to wipe us off the map."
Gaz Brown kicked at the dirt, still waking up. "You know what would be nice? A safe haven. A five-star hotel. Maybe a bloody vacation."
Elle smirked. "You'll have to settle for canned beans and not dying."
Dr. Adrian Mercer, still getting used to life outside a laboratory, cleared his throat. "There were several small villages in the area. If they were evacuated when the fighting started, there could still be untouched supplies—fuel reserves, non-perishables, maybe even medical gear."
Jackson nodded. "It's our best shot." He glanced at the others. "We'll split up. Elias, Irina, and Gaz—check out the main road and any fuel depots. Elle, Mercer, and I will sweep the villages."
Elias adjusted his tactical vest. "What about the Osprey?"
"Maxi will stay behind to guard it," Jackson said. "If Alpha Team is still watching, we don't want to leave this place vulnerable."
Elle exhaled, running a hand through her hair. "Alright. Let's move before the war catches up with us."
Scavenging the Abandoned Villages
0800 Hours
The landscape was eerily still as Bravo Team made their way through the countryside.
What should have been farmland and homes bustling with life was now empty and ruined. The occasional burned-out vehicle, abandoned houses with doors left wide open, suitcases strewn across roads where people had dropped everything and run—it all painted a clear picture.
This wasn't just an evacuation.
It was an exodus.
As Jackson, Elle, and Mercer entered the first village, the smell of ash and decay lingered. Some homes had been ransacked, others looked untouched—almost like the families had simply vanished.
Elle scanned the area with her rifle. "Doesn't look like looters made it this far."
Jackson nodded. "Which means we might actually find something useful."
They moved carefully, checking gas stations, abandoned vehicles, and storage buildings.
Inside a small convenience store, they hit the jackpot: canned goods, bottled water, and first-aid supplies.
Elle grinned, tossing a can to Mercer. "Congratulations, Doc. You get to eat cold beans like the rest of us."
Mercer caught it, staring at the label. "Chili with synthetic beef. Exciting."
Jackson ignored the banter, picking up a battery-powered radio from one of the shelves. He turned it on, adjusting the frequency.
The static buzzed for a moment—then a voice crackled through.
"—city of Berlin has fallen. Repeat: Berlin has fallen."
Elle froze.
Mercer's face went pale. "Shit."
Jackson turned up the volume.
"—Eastern European forces are in full retreat. Chinese and Russian units advancing rapidly. Civilian casualties—" The signal cut out, overtaken by static before another transmission came through.
"—American blackout zones expanding. Washington D.C. remains unresponsive. Martial law declared in New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles. Airstrikes incoming—"
The radio cut off completely.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Gaz's voice came through on comms. "Uh, boss? You hearing this?"
Jackson took a slow breath. "Yeah."
Elias responded next, his tone grim. "The whole world is collapsing. And Osiris is making sure of it."
Mercer swallowed hard. "This isn't just war anymore. This is an engineered collapse."
Jackson stared at the broken village around them, at the homes that would never be lived in again.
Elle shook her head. "Where the hell do we go from here?"
Jackson exhaled, gripping the radio tighter.
That was the question, wasn't it?
As Jackson, Elle, and Mercer move deeper into the village, the air changes.
Something feels wrong.
The houses are too intact—not destroyed, but eerily silent. Doors left open, meals half-eaten on tables, as if families had been interrupted mid-bite.A foul stench hangs in the air—something rotting, something human.
Then, they find the first body.
A man slumped against a wall, bullet wound in his head, dried blood painting the bricks behind him. His hands are tied. Execution-style.
Elle's breath hitches. "This wasn't an evacuation."
They move further in.
In the center of the village, they find more bodies.
Civilians, whole families—men, women, children—executed and left to rot.Some were shot, others burned alive inside their homes. No signs of a battle. This wasn't a crossfire accident. It was a massacre.
Then, they find the mass grave.
A pit, hastily dug, filled with bodies piled on top of one another. Some are barely covered with dirt. Others were thrown in, still wearing their everyday clothes.
Mercer stumbles back, covering his mouth.
Jackson's fists clench. His voice is cold. "Fuck…"
Elias, Irina, and Gaz arrive from their search of another part of the village.
Elias is grim. "It wasn't Osiris."
He holds up a bloodied military patch—belonging to a foreign battalion.
Jackson takes it, staring at it. "They weren't enemies. They were just in the way."
The realization settles in:
This isn't just a war between armies.
It's a war on anyone who gets in the way.
Elle's knuckles turn white around her rifle. "We were too late."
Gaz mutters, voice uncharacteristically quiet. "Maybe we always were."
Jackson looks at the bodies. Then at the sky, where the war rages on.
The world is unraveling faster than they thought.
And no one is safe.
– They're Not Alone.
The horrors of the massacre settle in, but there's no time to grieve.
Irina's eyes flick to the tree line beyond the village. "We need to move. Now."
Jackson turns. "Why?"
She points to the fresh tyre tracks in the dirt—not old, not from evacuating villagers.
Elias curses under his breath. "They're still close."
Elle tightens her grip on her rifle. "We stay too long, and we'll end up in that grave."
Jackson hesitates, scanning the silent, bloodstained ruins one last time.
Then he nods. "We're leaving."
They move quickly, retracing their path back to the Osprey VTOL.
But the reality is sinking in.
This wasn't just another warzone. This was systematic. Deliberate.
And whoever did it?
They're still out there.
Watching.
~
The Osprey VTOL loomed ahead, its dark hull barely visible against the ruined airstrip. As Bravo Team rushed back, the weight of what they had seen in the village still clung to them. No one spoke.
The only sound was the slosh of fuel in the jerry cans, the rhythmic crunch of boots on gravel, and the distant echoes of war—a reminder that time was running out.
Dr. Adrian Mercer wiped the sweat from his brow, struggling with a jerry can as he tried to pour fuel into the VTOL's intake valve.
Gaz Brown smirked, hauling another can over his shoulder. "Come on, Doc, put your back into it."
Mercer shot him a glare. "I design cutting-edge military tech. I don't—" He grunted as he nearly dropped the can. "—manually refuel aircraft like a gas station attendant."
Elle Favreau snorted as she secured the hose to another tank. "Welcome to the real world."
Elias Scott scanned the perimeter as he helped load fuel. His voice was tense. "We need to move. That battalion could roll through here any minute."
Jackson Osiris, kneeling by the VTOL's power system, exhaled. "We need a destination first."
Elle wiped her hands on her pants, stepping back from the refueling effort. "Alright. We've got fuel, we've got supplies, but we're still flying blind. What's the plan?"
Elias folded his arms. "We need to disappear. Somewhere Osiris doesn't have immediate reach."
Irina Vinogradova spoke up, her tone flat. "That doesn't exist anymore."
Mercer, still catching his breath, looked at Jackson. "We need a safe zone. A place where we can analyze the data we recovered, regroup, and figure out what's coming next."
Gaz leaned against the VTOL, thinking. "There's gotta be somewhere. A rogue state? A warlord-controlled territory? Hell, a floating city in the middle of the ocean?"
Elias rubbed his jaw. "Eastern Europe is crawling with advancing armies. The Middle East is already in flames. South America is barely holding together."
Elle raised an eyebrow. "So that leaves us… where? Antarctica?"
Irina's eyes darkened. "Or underground."
Jackson frowned. "What do you mean?"
She exchanged a glance with Elias before speaking.
"There are places—old black sites, decommissioned facilities, hidden bunkers that Osiris either abandoned or never made public. If we can find one, we might just buy ourselves time."
Mercer perked up. "That could work. If we access old Osiris network logs, we might find a location they overlooked."
Jackson considered it. "It's risky. But it's a start."
Elias nodded. "Then let's get this damn thing airborne."