Julian's words echoed in the room like a silent oath. "Let's get to work," he had said, and everyone had nodded with heavy seriousness. The air was thick with tension, resolve clinging to every heartbeat.
They were setting up again, preparing for what was coming next. Julian glanced around the hideout's dimly lit walls, the map still spread out over the broken table. Everyone had their own ways of preparing: Ashford double-checked his equipment with mechanical precision; Amara adjusted the strap of her weapon; Akio leaned back, lost in thought but alert. Julian found comfort in the routine. But something—something unspoken—unsettled him.
Then came the knock.
Three sharp taps. Firm, rehearsed.
Julian and the others turned instinctively. The scouts again.
Julian opened the door, and there they stood—stoic, uniformed, with blank faces. One of them stepped forward and said in a steady voice, "The government now has military funding. All of you have been drafted. They need you. Come with us."
Silence followed. Amara's brow furrowed slightly. Akio looked at Julian, his eyes searching for some kind of objection. But Julian remained composed, the gears in his head already turning.
Inwardly, he questioned, Where did they get the money from? What did they do to increase their value so suddenly?
Still, Julian didn't voice his thoughts. He knew better.
"We'll just get our belongings," he said calmly. "It's the government. We can't disobey them. Or else we lose the little resource support we do have... even if they're just giving us semi-broken tools."
Akio hesitated. "But why us specifically?"
Julian answered plainly. "Because we do our missions independently. We know how to survive."
That was enough to silence Akio. What else could he say? There was no room to argue, not when they were already marked.
Each of them began packing. Julian moved first, pulling together his custom-made gear—tools he'd modified for stealth and survival. Every piece held purpose, crafted by his own hands. Akio strapped on his weapons, each blade and firearm checked with careful hands. Amara moved with quiet efficiency, gathering her clothes and arms. Ashford, always silent, packed the essentials—his weapons and a few spare supplies.
Time slipped by like a shadow, until finally, the hideout door creaked open. Julian stood at the front. Behind him, the rest were ready, bags slung over shoulders, eyes alert. Soldiers, not by choice, but by necessity.
"Let's go," one of the scouts said.
Julian nodded.
They followed the scouts silently, the air outside carrying the weight of unspoken worries. They walked toward a dull gray truck parked by the hillside. No words were shared as they climbed into the back. The vehicle's interior was cold, metal and rust. They sat together, backs against the walls, feeling every bump of the road beneath them.
The engine roared to life.
Time passed slowly during the ride. No one spoke. Julian sat motionless, watching the blur of trees and distant fields through the cracks in the metal frame.
Eventually, the truck began to slow. But when they stopped, all that stood before them was a field of tall grass swaying lazily in the breeze.
Julian stepped out, his brows tightening. "Is this a joke?" he asked, staring at the emptiness. "Where's the military?"
The scouts didn't answer.
The wind grew still. Then, something strange began to happen. The grass in front of them rustled—not from the wind, but with unnatural motion, like something crawling beneath it.
Suddenly, a portion of the grass folded inward, revealing a metallic staircase leading downward.
One of the scouts looked back at them. "Come with us."
Ashford narrowed his eyes, clearly disturbed, but said nothing.
The group followed. Their footsteps were muffled by the soft ground until they stepped onto the stairway's metal surface. The descent was steep and eerily silent, the air growing cooler with every step.
At the bottom, lights flickered on automatically, illuminating a massive underground facility.
Their eyes widened.
The chamber was bustling. Dozens—no, hundreds—of people were down there. Many wore military uniforms, some stood in line at large windows where uniforms were being distributed. Others were undergoing what looked like orientation.
It was a world beneath the surface. Hidden. Prepared.
Julian's eyes darted around, studying everything—the organization, the systems, the scale. This wasn't thrown together. This had been planned. And now, they were part of it.
Whatever this was… it had just begun.