Berea Rd

Wytheville, Virginia

Officer Darnell Willis sits in his patrol vehicle, parked on the shoulder of Berea Road. The sun has dipped below the horizon, casting the landscape in dusky hues as a cool April night settles in. Wytheville, the small town he calls home, is just 5.7 miles away. He adjusts his position, glancing at the digital clock on the dashboard as it ticks away the minutes. The night holds a certain tranquility, and he takes a moment to appreciate it.

At 25 years old, Darnell is a dedicated Wytheville police officer. His past service in the Marine Corps, a span of four years dedicated to his country, has molded him into a disciplined and focused individual. He's proud of his service, the camaraderie he shared with his fellow Marines, and the skills he acquired. Now, he's channeled that same dedication into his role as a law enforcement officer.

Seated comfortably in his patrol car, Darnell's eyes remain sharp as he scans the approaching vehicles with his laser speed gun. It's a routine patrol, the kind of duty that punctuates his shifts. His trained eyes catch even the subtlest movement, making him an effective officer on these dark, winding roads.

The serene night is momentarily interrupted by the approach of a blue F1 Ford. The truck barrels down the road with its headlights unlit and punk rock music blaring, a stark contrast to the peaceful setting. Darnell's instincts kick in immediately; he knows the importance of maintaining safety on these roads.

As the truck speeds by, he reacts swiftly, his trained hand turning on the blue lights mounted on his vehicle's roof. The soft glow casts an eerie hue in the darkness, drawing attention to the situation unfolding on the roadside. Darnell's fingers dance across the radio's controls as he speaks into the dispatch, his voice calm and measured despite the urgency.

"Dispatch, this is Officer Willis. I've got an unlit F1 Ford heading my way on Berea Road. I've engaged my lights," he reports, his words precise and clear.

The hum of his radio is a comforting background noise as he waits for a response, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. It's a moment of tension, the kind he's been trained to handle. Darnell's senses are heightened as he prepares for whatever unfolds next on this moonlit night in Wytheville.

The seconds tick by, and Officer Willis maintains his focused gaze on the road, waiting for a response from dispatch. The night seems to hold its breath, the soft rustle of leaves and the distant hum of traffic providing the only sounds. Darnell's training has taught him to remain patient, to stay alert even in the quietest moments.

Finally, the crackle of his radio breaks the silence. "Copy that, Officer Willis. Keep us updated," comes the voice of the dispatcher, clear and steady. Darnell acknowledges the message with a quick nod, his eyes still locked on the road as the blue Ford continues down the winding path.

As the truck gradually disappears into the distance, Darnell's mind is already processing his next steps. He checks his rearview mirror, ensuring that traffic is slowing down and safely maneuvering around his patrol vehicle. The safety of both the driver and himself remains paramount.

With a deep breath, he releases the brake and eases his patrol car back onto the road. The flashing blue lights reflect off the pavement, casting an ethereal glow around his vehicle. Darnell accelerates smoothly, maintaining a steady pace as he closes the distance to the blue Ford.

As he approaches the vehicle, he notices that the driver seems oblivious to the flashing lights behind them. The punk rock music continues to blare, adding an almost surreal quality to the scene. Darnell's training kicks in, and he engages his police siren, its wailing tones cutting through the night air.

The blue Ford finally begins to slow down, its brake lights illuminating as the driver responds to the auditory signal. Darnell maintains a safe following distance, his eyes on the road and his hands steady on the wheel. He communicates with the driver through a series of alternating light patterns from his own lights, signaling them to pull over to the side of the road.

As the truck comes to a stop, Darnell follows suit, parking his patrol car a respectful distance behind the Ford. He reaches for his flashlight, ensuring it's within easy reach. With the scene now set, Officer Willis takes a moment to remind himself of his training, his role as a protector of the community, and the importance of approaching each interaction with caution and professionalism.

As he steps out of his patrol car and walks towards the blue Ford, his heart is steady, his senses alert. The night is far from over, and Darnell is prepared to meet whatever challenges it may bring.

Inside the blue F1 Fords, Myrak's thoughts remain eerily composed as the blue lights flash behind him, mingling with the blaring punk rock that fills his vehicle.

"Great, my Doordash has arrived." A humorless joke chuckle escapes his lips as he feigns nonchalance, To an outsider, he might seem like an ordinary individual facing a minor inconvenience, but his thoughts are far from ordinary.

As he pulls his vehicle to a stop on the side of the road, he takes a moment to assess the situation. His telepathic abilities are a powerful weapon, a tool that aids him in his sinister endeavors. And now, as he faces local law enforcement, he knows that his mental prowess will be his key to escaping their scrutiny.

His senses lock onto the approaching officer, his mind already extending tendrils of influence towards the unsuspecting human. Myrak's race is no stranger to manipulation, their predatory nature extending beyond the physical realm. As the officer approaches, the subtle touch of his psychic abilities will ensure that the encounter goes precisely as he intends.

He opens the door of his vehicle and steps out, his face a mask of serene indifference. The approaching officer remains unaware, his mind untouched by the insidious presence that is Myrak's consciousness. The Wraith's thoughts are calculated, his control over his abilities honed through countless experiences.

As the officer draws closer, Myrak's telepathic grip tightens, weaving an illusion of complacency and cooperation into the officer's mind. His psychic influence is like a soothing balm, masking the predatory intent that lies beneath. He watches as the officer's guard subtly lowers, a testament to the power of his abilities.

With a practiced smile, Myrak greets the officer, his voice a pleasant melody that masks his true nature.

"Evening, officer." The words are casual, the tone disarming. The officer's affirmative response only reinforces the control Myrak exerts over the situation.

A polite greeting escapes his lips as he introduces himself, his voice carrying an air of professionalism. "Hi, I'm Officer Willis of the Wytheville Police Department," he says, his tone calm and even. He wastes no time in addressing the reason for the stop—the malfunctioning lights that prompted his intervention.

The driver's appearance catches Officer Willis's attention, a subtle hint of pale color tainting the man's complexion.

"Did you come out of comic con," Officer Willis continues on. "I wasn't aware there was one."

But before he can delve further into the situation, a sudden, unforeseen shift takes place. The driver's reaction is anything but expected.

In a swift and unexpected motion, the driver snarls and lunges at Officer Willis, his fingers clamping around the officer's collar with a strength that defies normal human capabilities. Panic surges within Officer Willis as he's yanked toward the driver.

Before he can react, the driver's powerful grip releases him with a violent force, propelling him through the air like a ragdoll. The world spins in a chaotic blur as Officer Willis is flung nearly 10 feet away, his body crashing against the ground with a heavy impact.

Pain radiates through his body as he struggles to regain his bearings. Disorientation clouds his mind as he fights to push past the shock of the sudden attack. The night air is filled with a sense of danger, a palpable tension that hangs over the scene.

As he gathers his strength, Officer Willis forces himself to his feet, his training and determination propelling him forward. He must regain control of the situation, confront the unexpected threat that has shattered the ordinary tranquility of this traffic stop. With adrenaline coursing through his veins, he braces himself for what comes next, ready to face the unknown challenge that now stands before him.

As Officer Willis rises to his feet, his muscles tense with a mixture of pain and adrenaline. His gaze remains locked on the driver who has emerged from the blue F1 Ford, an eerie determination etched on his face. The scene is surreal, the calm of the night shattered by this unpredictable confrontation.

The driver's slow approach sends a shiver down Officer Willis's spine, his instincts sounding alarm bells within him. He takes a step back, feeling the weight of his holster pressing against his side where his 9mm rests. His fingers itch to reach for the weapon, to take control of the situation with the authority vested in him by his badge.

His voice is firm, tinged with an undertone of caution, as he issues a warning to the advancing driver. "Stay back!" he commands, his voice projecting the authority he's been trained to wield in situations like this. His eyes never waver from the figure before him, ready to react at a moment's notice.

Despite the uncertainty of the moment, Officer Willis remains resolute, his training grounding him in the face of danger. His focus sharpens, every muscle coiled and ready to spring into action if needed. The night air hangs heavy with tension as the standoff continues, both men locked in a silent battle of wills.

Time seems to stretch as they stand there, the darkness a backdrop to this confrontation. Officer Willis's heart races, his mind racing to calculate his options. The driver's intent remains unclear, his motives shrouded in mystery. But one thing is certain—Officer Willis is prepared to defend himself and ensure the safety of those he's sworn to protect.

Officer Willis's heart pounds in his chest as he maintains a steady gaze on the advancing figure. His training takes over, his fingers gripping the radio on his shoulder as he calls for backup, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins. "Dispatch, this is Officer Willis. I need immediate backup on Berea Road, mile marker—"

Before he can finish his sentence, a sudden chill grips the air around him. It's as if the temperature has dropped several degrees in an instant, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end. An unsettling feeling settles over him, a sensation of being watched by unseen eyes. He glances around, his senses on high alert, but there's nothing visible that could explain the abrupt change in the atmosphere.

As if to confirm his growing suspicion, a faint whisper of a voice echoes in his mind, an insidious presence that sends a shiver down his spine. The words are distorted, as if spoken in a language beyond his understanding. It's disorienting, a violation of his thoughts that leaves him momentarily stunned.

With his heart racing and his instincts screaming at him, Officer Willis raises his 9mm and fires several rounds at the approaching figure, his training propelling him into action. The shots ring out in the night, each one a testament to his determination to protect himself and the community he serves. The bullets strike their target, impacting the driver—Myrak—as he continues to advance.

The rounds find their mark, hitting Myrak with undeniable force. But to Officer Willis's shock and disbelief, the figure remains standing. The realization hits him like a punch to the gut—this is no ordinary confrontation. Myrak is not an ordinary threat; he's something otherworldly, something beyond his comprehension.

Officer Willis's resolve intensifies. He doesn't have the luxury of understanding the true nature of his adversary; he only knows that he must continue to defend himself and call for backup. The coldness in the air, the whispered voices in his mind—they're all distractions meant to undermine his focus. And as he stands there, facing an enigmatic foe, he braces himself for the battle that lies ahead.

Myrak's eerie smile stretches across his face as he approaches Officer Willis, his feeding hand outstretched like a macabre invitation. The officer's heart races even faster, his mind a blur of panic and desperation. He knows what the wraith intends to do, the gruesome fate that awaits him if he doesn't fight back.

With a surge of determination, Officer Willis tries to fire off more rounds at Myrak, but his trembling hands and the shock of the situation hinder his aim. Before he can react further, Myrak's feeding hand lunges at his chest, fingers claw-like and exuding a chilling presence. The officer feels a cold, numbing sensation seeping into his body, his muscles growing weak under the wraith's influence.

As the enzymes take effect, Officer Willis is inundated with a sudden surge of strength that defies his senses. He manages to withstand Myrak's feeding for a few moments, his body fortified by the otherworldly substance. But even as he resists, he can feel his energy wane, his life force draining away as if being siphoned from his very soul.

Time seems to stretch and distort around him, his vision blurring as he fights to keep his eyes open, his last moments a desperate struggle for survival. He watches helplessly as Myrak's features blur and shift, the wraith seemingly growing more powerful with each stolen breath. The officer's strength diminishes with every passing second, and he can sense his own body aging at an alarming rate.

"My God," he gasps, the words a whispered plea for mercy that goes unanswered. His heart pounds in his chest, the rhythm slowing, the world around him growing dim as he edges closer to the brink of death. His vision narrows to a pinpoint, his consciousness fading as he succumbs to the relentless assault.

"I've never tasted so much resilience."

Myrak's distorted laughter echoes in the officer's fading senses, a chilling mockery of his demise. The wraith's satisfaction is palpable, a cruel triumph as he claims yet another victim in his insatiable hunger. And as the officer's life force slips away, Myrak steps back from the scene of death, leaving behind a husk of what was once Officer Darnell Willis.

Meanwhile, the radio chatter from the patrol cars fills the night air, a desperate plea for help that goes unanswered. The officer's absence is noted, his unresponsive silence a chilling indication that something terrible has transpired. And as the search for answers begins, the dark truth of Myrak's presence becomes a grim reality that will haunt the community for years to come.

As the night deepens in Wytheville, a sense of unease settles over the small police department. Officers McNeil and Miller, along with others, respond to the distressing call regarding their fellow officer. The tight-knit community of 8,000 people is rocked by the mysterious and tragic death of Officer Darnell Willis.

Officer Devin McNeil, in the midst of a routine traffic stop, makes a snap decision to let a ticket slide, perhaps a small attempt to bring a moment of relief to someone's day. As he climbs back into his patrol car, the call comes in. He can feel the tension in the air as he changes course, his thoughts racing with worry for his fallen colleague.

Officer Samantha Miller, on her break, receives the call that shatters the peacefulness of the night. She joins the ranks of her fellow officers, her heart heavy with concern as she heads towards the scene. The patrol cars converge, blue lights flashing, spotlight trained on the lifeless form of Officer Darnell Willis, a man they had all come to know and respect.

Gasps escape the lips of the officers as they process the sight before them. The remains of their friend and comrade lie in his police uniform, a ghastly shell of the man they knew. The rapid aging is evident, a shocking transformation that defies any logical explanation. They stand there, frozen in disbelief, as their minds grapple with the unthinkable.

One of the officers, his voice trembling, issues the command to call it in. The realization that their colleague is gone, his life stolen under circumstances they can't comprehend, is a heavy blow to their hearts and their sense of security. How did this happen? How did Officer Willis go from a vibrant member of their team to this? The questions linger, a cloud of uncertainty and fear enveloping the police department.

As they await the arrival of additional authorities and experts, the officers gather around the scene, their thoughts a mix of grief and bewilderment. The town that prided itself on its close-knit community is now grappling with a horrifying mystery that has struck at the heart of their very existence. Officer Willis, a man who served his country and his town, is now a tragic enigma, a symbol of the darkness that can intrude even into the smallest of places.


Crossroad Apartment

Washington D.C

Agent Booth stands in the hallway outside of Cunningham Apartment, his focus shifting between overseeing the NID forensic team and the call he's just received. As he answers the phone, he hears Caroline Julian's voice on the other end. He listens attentively as she relays information about a perplexing case in Wytheville, Virginia.

"Local PD is scratching their heads, as they watched the body and dash cam footage," Caroline explains with a hint of curiosity in her tone.

Booth's expression remains focused, his mind already trying to piece together the puzzle. He glances at Agent Johnson, who is equally attentive to the conversation. Caroline's next words catch him off guard.

"Whatever you are involved in, I don't want to know," she declares firmly.

Booth's brow furrows slightly, sensing Caroline's unease and her determination to stay out of whatever intricate situation he's dealing with. He listens as she continues, making it clear that she's intentionally keeping herself in the dark.

As Caroline speaks, Booth can't help but feel conflicted. He values her legal acumen, but he also understands the gravity of the situation he's dealing with—Wraith, extraterrestrial threats, and a covert operation that goes beyond the boundaries of traditional law enforcement.

"I understand, Caroline," Booth responds, his voice steady and reassured. "There are things that are better left untouched."

He glances at Johnson again, exchanging a silent communication that conveys the weight of their responsibilities. Booth's dedication to his duty is unwavering, but he also acknowledges the importance of keeping certain individuals shielded from the harsh realities he encounters.

As Caroline's voice carries through the phone, she conveys more details about the case, including the fact that it involves a cop. Booth's mind races, connecting the dots and recognizing the gravity of the situation. He listens as Caroline's voice fades, leaving the line open. He lowers the phone, ending the call, and turns to Johnson.

"There's been another feeding in Virginia," he states, his tone serious and resolute. "Caroline says it's a cop, and there's body and dash cam footage."

Johnson nods in understanding, already aware of the protocol that needs to be followed. She's swift in her response, ready to contact the Wraith Hunter Unit and bring them into the loop.

Booth's gaze lingers on the phone for a moment before he pockets it. He knows that this is a race against time, a fight against an insidious threat that most of the world remains oblivious to. As he continues to coordinate the operation at hand, his thoughts briefly drift to Caroline, appreciating her willingness to trust him even in the face of the unknown.

The mission is clear, and Booth's determination is unwavering. With the Wraith Hunter Unit mobilized and their resolve unshaken, they set out to confront the darkness that lurks in the shadows, protecting the world from a menace that few are equipped to comprehend.

The marines quickly board the puddle jumper, their training evident in their focused and efficient movements. Colonel Laura Cadman confirms their readiness, her voice crisp and professional. "All accounted for, sir," she reports, settling into the navigator seat with an air of confidence.

Seated behind Cadman, Ronan Dex occupies his spot, his tall and imposing frame a testament to his warrior background. Booth, the FBI agent, takes his place behind Cadman, his gaze flickering with a mix of curiosity and anticipation.

As the jumper's occupants settle in, Booth doesn't waste any time in asking questions, his curiosity piqued by the specialized nature of this operation. He looks directly at Colonel Sheppard, seeking answers. "How fast can we reach Wytheville from D.C?" he inquires, his tone indicating a readiness to jump into action.

Cadman swivels her seat around, her eyes meeting Booth's as she provides a succinct response. "Four hours driving, two hours flying. Five minutes tops," she states matter-of-factly, her confidence in the jumper's capabilities evident.

Booth's next question delves into the heart of the matter, seeking to understand the purpose of this covert operation. "Colonel, this Special Operation Division code for?" he asks, his tone revealing his desire for clarity.

Sheppard meets Booth's gaze directly, his expression revealing that he's not one to dance around the truth. "Wraith Hunter Unit," he replies with a calm yet resolute tone, making it clear that their mission involves a deadly and elusive enemy.

The conversation takes a turn as Sheppard directs his question toward Booth, seeking to understand his perspective. "Have you encountered a Wraith, Booth?" Sheppard inquires, his tone carrying a note of seriousness.

Booth's response reflects a mixture of respect for the unknown danger and a touch of apprehension. "From what I've heard and seen, I don't want to," he states honestly, his tone reflecting the weight of the threat posed by these extraterrestrial predators.

"Come on Booth, for a sniper like you surely can take two or 100 Wraiths." Ronan said.

"How many are there?"

"Millions or trillions, most of them are hibernating," Cadman replied. "It's hard for Atlantis sensors to detect hibernating Wraith."

As the puddle jumper prepares to launch into action, the occupants share a common understanding: they are united in their determination to face a formidable adversary and protect humanity from a danger that most remain blissfully unaware of. The journey ahead will be fraught with challenges, but together, they are prepared to confront the unknown and ensure the safety of those they are sworn to protect.

The puddle jumper gracefully ascends into the night sky over Washington D.C., its advanced technology allowing it to navigate the restricted airspace without raising alarms. In the cockpit, Sheppard maintains a steady conversation with Booth, their voices carrying through the cabin.


As the topic shifts to the different types of Wraith, Sheppard's tone takes on a more serious note. "You don't want to encounter the queen," he states with a hint of caution, emphasizing the gravity of facing such a powerful adversary.

Cadman, always quick to contribute to the conversation, adds her perspective. "They are the worst," she interjects, her voice tinged with the weight of experience.

Amidst the camaraderie, Booth directs his attention to Ronan, the Satedan warrior seated behind Sheppard. Curiosity evident, Booth seeks to engage with the quiet figure. "You don't talk much?" he queries, looking for any signs of a response from the imposing man.

Ronan's response is characteristically brief, as he merely stares at Booth before emitting a grunt that conveys his agreement with the sentiment. His actions speak volumes – he's a man of action, not words.

Sheppard, ever one for humor, jumps in with a playful comment about Ronan's communication style. "Chewie don't talk much, he's more hands-on," he quips, making a comparison to the iconic Star Wars character.

Booth can't help but chuckle at the reference. "Chewie, good one," he remarks, appreciating the lighthearted moment.

Sheppard's own laughter fills the Jumper at the mention of Star Trek characters as Booth joins in, clearly amused by the banter.

"Who's the Han Solo of the group?" Booth asks curiously.

The question is met with a quick and candid response from Cadman. "Sheppard is more of a Kirk or Riker." She painted a vivid picture of her commanding officer's romantic inclinations towards an ancient ascended woman named Chaya, princess, and even a Wraith Queen.

Sheppard can't help but snicker at the mention of a Wraith Queen. However, his amusement is short lived as Cadman quickly redirects the conversation. "Ok Tuvix, let get this one straight here…" Sheppard begin to retort, but Laura interrupts with vital information.

"Shut up." Laura commands firmly, her gaze locked onto her instrument. She picked up a faint subcutaneous transmitter and an electromagnetic field three clicks to the west.

Sheppard knows better than to argue when Cadman is in her element. recognizing the urgency in her tone, doesn't hesitate to comply.

"I'm your commanding officer," he starts to but Cadman reports takes precedence

"Picking up two faint subcutaneous transmitter matching Senators Baxters kids and a EM field three clicks to the west." Laura reported

The puddle jumper hovers silently over the crime scene, its cloak keeping it invisible to the eyes of the state troopers on the ground. Flashing lights from police vehicles illuminate the area, casting an eerie glow over the scene below. The state police officers, armed with AR15 rifles, maintain their vigil, unaware of the presence of the hidden aircraft above.

Tommy and Maddie's hearts race as they continue running away from the farm where the Wraith had kept them captive for what felt like an eternity. Every rustling leaf and crackling branch seems to echo in their ears, filling them with a mixture of fear and determination to escape their pursuer.

As they put some distance between themselves and the farmhouse, they finally allow themselves a moment to catch their breath. They steal a quick glance back, half-expecting to see the Wraith emerging from the shadows, but for now, they seem to have evaded their captor.

Their hope is short-lived as they hear the distant sound of an approaching police vehicle. A flicker of relief washes over them at the thought of being rescued, but their relief quickly turns to uncertainty as they hear a low hum that seems to resonate in the air around them.

Their eyes widen in disbelief as a spotlight suddenly illuminates the area, revealing a previously unseen object in the sky. As if materializing out of thin air, the unknown craft decloaks before them, revealing its sleek form bathed in the spotlight's glow.

Tommy and Maddie's breath catches in their throats as they stare at the extraordinary sight before them. It's unlike anything they've ever seen—a craft that defies explanation, appearing both alien and advanced. Their hearts race as they exchange glances, their thoughts racing as quickly as their pounding footsteps.

As the craft hovers above them, the spotlight continues to illuminate their surroundings, casting a surreal and otherworldly light on the scene. With their escape hanging in the balance, Tommy and Maddie must decide whether to approach the mysterious craft in hopes of salvation or to continue running, uncertain of what dangers may lie ahead.

Agent Booth's familiar voice calling their names brings a wave of relief to Tommy and Maddie. As the ramp of the mysterious craft opens, their eyes widen as they see Agent Seeley Booth stepping out. His presence is somewhat reassuring, reminding them of safety and familiarity amidst the unknown.

However, their attention is quickly drawn to the Marines dressed in brown BDUs who follow Booth out of the craft. The scruffy, tall, and muscular man that stands among them is a stark contrast to Booth's more approachable demeanor. The weapons strapped to their bodies only emphasize the serious nature of their mission.

Booth's question prompts the kids to exchange a glance before Maddie takes the lead in explaining their escape. "We tricked him into going to get some snacks for Tommy," she says, her voice a mixture of determination and trepidation.

Tommy's curious eyes then shift to Agent Booth, and he asks the question that's been on their minds since their escape. "What's a wraith?" His voice carries a mix of innocence and uncertainty, revealing their lack of understanding about the larger world of danger that exists beyond their experience.

Agent Booth exchanges a quick glance with the tall man, then he crouches down to the kids' level, his expression serious but compassionate. "A wraith is a very dangerous creature," he explains, his tone gentle yet firm. "They can hurt people, and we're here to make sure they don't hurt anyone else."

Maddie's gaze flickers from Booth to the tall man, still unsure of who they are or what their intentions might be. But the earnestness in Booth's eyes and the reassuring presence of the Marines give her a sense that they might be on their side.

As the ramp of the craft stands open, casting its pale light on the grassy ground below, Tommy and Maddie find themselves facing a pivotal choice. To trust these strangers and share their story, or to remain wary of the unknown that seems to surround them.

Lt. Colonel Laura Cadman approaches Tommy and Maddie, kneeling down to their level. "Hey there, I'm Laura," she introduces herself, offering a small, reassuring smile. "We want to help you and make sure you're safe. Can you tell us where the bad man took you?"

Maddie's eyes shift from Cadman to Booth and back again, a wariness still lingering in her expression. She exchanges a cautious glance with Tommy before finally deciding to share a fragment of their ordeal. "He had a farm, somewhere in the woods. I'm not sure exactly where," she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.

Tommy nods in agreement with his sister's words, his small face showing a mix of fear. "Yeah, it was a big, old house in the woods," he adds, his voice steady despite the lingering unease.

Cadman's expression remains understanding as she processes the information. "Thank you for telling us," she says softly, her gaze shifting to the adults around them for a moment. "We're going to do everything we can to stop the bad man and make sure you're safe."

Booth's gaze remains focused on the kids, his eyes filled with empathy and a protective resolve. "We won't let anyone hurt you anymore," he reassures them, his voice carrying the weight of his commitment.

The marines, nine of them in total, disembark from the jumper and step into the tall grass, their weapons at the ready. Their uniforms bear an Earth Chevron on the right shoulder, and an ominous skull with crossed swords emblem on the left, signifying their affiliation with the Wraith Hunters.

One of the marines, his demeanor surprisingly gentle given their military appearance, addresses the children. "We're space marines, little darling," he explains with a warm smile. Their weapons remain holstered, but the marines maintain a defensive position behind the hill.

"My name is Seeley Booth."

"That's a funny name, Seeley," Tommy giggles, momentarily distracted from the horrors they've experienced.

Booth chuckles lightly. "Well, it's French," he explains, attempting to make them feel at ease.

Agent Johnson joins in, her voice gentle and soothing. "Your father sent us to find you," she informs the children, hoping to gain their trust. "But first, could you tell us how you escaped from the scary man?"

Confusion sweeps across Maddie's face. "That scary man?" she asks, puzzled.

Johnson leans in closer, speaking softly. "Yes, sweetheart. It's not a man. It's an alien." She waits patiently for their response, understanding that these young survivors have witnessed unimaginable horrors.

As Maddie and Tommy take in the words and the faces of the strangers before them, they begin to see that this team of individuals might be their best chance for safety. The uncertainty in their hearts slowly gives way to a flicker of hope, a hope that they might finally be out of danger and surrounded by people who genuinely want to help.

Agent Booth offers a reassuring smile to Tommy and Maddie as he confirms, "That's right. We're going to beam you right back to your dad." He gestures towards the jumper and chuckles at Tommy's curious gaze. "Not quite like Star Trek, but it's a bit similar. It's a safe and quick way to get you where you need to be."

Maddie's eyes widen with both excitement and a hint of trepidation as she considers the idea of being transported through some kind of magical technology. "Cool," she whispers in amazement.

Colonel Sheppard, having watched the interaction from a distance, nods at Booth's signal. He raises his fingers, silently coordinating with the marines as they move to converge on the farmhouse where the Wraith had been holding the children captive. The team remains stealthy, making use of their advanced training to ensure that their approach remains undetected.

the jumper's ramp slowly closes behind Booth and the children. Agent Johnson is behind the controls, ready to fly the jumper to Atlantis. With the touch of the buttton, the ship cloaks.

Lt. Colonel Laura Cadman maintains her position behind the hill, her trained eyes peering through the night vision binoculars. She observes the layout of the farmhouse with meticulous detail. No signs of life are present, only the eerie stillness of a deserted home, devoid of the usual sounds of animals or human activity.

Shifting her focus to the barn, she sweeps her night vision binoculars across its structure. As she scans, an unusual electromagnetic (EM) reading catches her attention, emanating from within the barn itself. Her instincts tell her that there's something worth investigating.

Sheppard is about to respond to Cadman's report when suddenly, a truck, its headlights and taillights conspicuously turned off, decelerates rapidly and comes to a stop near the house's porch. The hairs on the back of Cadman's neck stand on end as she realizes what's happening.

Through her binoculars, Cadman witnesses the chilling sight of a Wraith disembarking from the truck. The alien creature carries a bag of groceries and casually enters the house, seemingly oblivious to the presence of the team outside.

"Sir," Cadman reports with urgency, "confirmed, we've got a Wraith." The gravity of the situation intensifies as the reality of their mission becomes clear: they've located the Wraith responsible for the recent feeding, and it's now just a stone's throw away.

Lt. Colonel Laura Cadman, Colonel Sheppard, and Ronan gather around as Sheppard uses his own binoculars to confirm what Cadman had reported. Through the lenses, they observe the Wraith exiting the farmhouse, their senses alert to any signs of danger. Sheppard's instincts as a seasoned Wraith hunter tell him that the Wraith might be aware of their presence.

The Wraith, carrying a bag of groceries, seems to sense that something is amiss. He abruptly changes his course, heading back into the house. Sheppard narrows his eyes, fully aware that the situation is becoming increasingly precarious.

"Single Wraith, possibly a sentry," Sheppard reports to his team, his voice steady and measured. Ronan, ever the warrior, is eager to engage the enemy. He grumbles with anticipation, ready to spring into action.

"Not yet, Chewie," Sheppard cautions, reining in Ronan's eagerness. "We can't charge in without thinking it through." He knows that a hasty approach could result in disaster.