Realm of Darkness | Volume One

Don't Stop

On an unsuspecting Tuesday, the sterile hum of Base 42 was shattered by a tremor of news. It wasn't the usual announcement blaring through the recycled air vents, a monotonous drone easily tuned out. This news crackled with urgency, a live wire sparking panic in its wake. Guards doubled patrols, their gazes scanning every face with newfound suspicion. Training simulations, usually filled with boisterous shouts and the playful thrum of fake gunfire, fell eerily silent. Soldiers huddled in tense whispers, their usually relaxed postures replaced by a rigid alertness. Even the ever-present card games in the dimly lit rec rooms sputtered out, replaced by a shared sense of foreboding. Security protocols slammed into place with a ruthless efficiency. Access points bristled with additional armed personnel, ID scans became meticulous, and weapon lockers emptied at an alarming rate. The air, usually thick with the stale tang of recycled protein bars, took on a metallic tang of anticipation. The base, once a monotonous rhythm of drills and card games, had become a tightly wound spring, coiled and ready to unleash its deadly potential.

The news, a tremor unlike any other, ripped through the largest base of the Umbrìo cartel. It wasn't the usual chatter crackling over hacked comm channels, nor the rhythmic clang of weapons maintenance. This news slithered through the base like a rogue AI program, bypassing firewalls and scrambling even the most hardened cartel member. Two independent opposition groups, thorns in the Umbrìo cartel's side for a while now, had defied all attempts at suppression. Now, a mere 67 kilometers away, they were a gnat buzzing near a heavily armed bear – a nuisance with the potential to become a real threat.

The selection process was swift and brutal. Names were barked, faces scanned, and with a chilling finality, Anthony found his metaphorical face, rather a screen, with the steely gaze of Diego, his ruthless leader. A curt nod was his only confirmation – he was in.

Days blurred into a tense pre-deployment haze. The usual swagger within Unit 4 seemed to have evaporated, replaced by a cold focus. Octotron, the silent giant with his arsenal of cybernetic weaponry, tinkered with his metallic exosuit with a disturbing precision. Gregory, wind master, mastered his air manipulation abilities with a glint in his eyes that sent shivers down Anthony's processors. Even Diego, seemed coiled with a deadly stillness.

Finally, the day arrived. Anthony teleported behind a building, black smog materializing around his form, as his monitor screen whirred to life, displaying binary code. He watched the confrontation unfold.

The transport lurched to a halt, spewing out a contingent of heavily armed cartel soldiers. Unit 9, a team of anomalies the Umbrìo cartel had cobbled together for such missions, stood apart. Anthony, remained hidden, monitoring the situation from a distance.

He zoomed in on the opposition group – six people, young adults and teenagers, a far cry from the hardened rebel cells and opposition syndicates Unit 4 usually faced. Their faces, a mix of defiance and fear etched into youthful features, held a hardened determination. They were armed with a mix of scavenged weapons and makeshift armor. Were these truly the monsters they fought? Would he stay silent about this oppression once more?

As the onslaught of cartel soldiers surged forward, Anthony observed the chaos unfold from a distance. The young rebels fought with a desperate ferocity, their weapons finding surprising purchase. A young man with black silky hair launched a barrage of otherworldly blue crystals, momentarily pushing back the cartel's advance. A fine-looking young man, manifesting stone walls and deflecting bullets with his bare hands. The air crackled with the raw power of untrained magic, a chaotic counterpoint to the cartel's disciplined and coordinated firepower.

The acrid sting of burning metal filled Anthony's nonexistent nostrils. He peered around the crumbling brick facade, the chaos of the battle a churning mess on his black and green monitor screen. The rebels, initially fierce, were now ragged and desperate.