Shifty's voice crackled over the comms, a rare softness threading through her usually clinical tone. "Considering there was only a 12.4% chance of success, I'd say that was a job well done."
Rapi surveyed the battlefield, her gaze steady but heavy with sorrow. The landscape was a graveyard of twisted metal and scorched earth, the remnants of war strewn like broken toys. "I'll check for survivors from the Vanguard." Each step she took felt deliberate, slow as though the weight of the fallen pressed against her feet. After a moment, she shook her head. "No survivors. All units have been neutralized. Their parts have been... ransacked."
Anis kicked a stray piece of debris, her usual levity stripped away. "What about Marian?"
A faint groan, barely a whisper, sliced through the quiet devastation. "Over here," Marian's voice rasped, fragile against the backdrop of destruction.
John's chest tightened. His heart raced, adrenaline flooding his veins. He pushed past the wreckage, feeling his pulse in his throat as he scanned the debris. Then he saw her—Marian, broken but still alive. Relief surged through him, crashing into the pit of his stomach like a stone.
"Marian!" he gasped.
Anis knelt beside her, her eyes widening as she scanned Marian's vitals. The color drained from her face. "This is bad," she whispered, her voice hollow. "Her brain's already been corrupted."
A leaden silence settled over them. The wind howled through the battlefield, cold and empty. Shifty's voice pierced the stillness, devoid of her earlier warmth. "You all know the protocol. Any Nikke with irreversible brain damage must be... terminated. The Commander must carry it out."
John's blood ran cold. His pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out the world around him. "No," he whispered, his voice trembling. "There has to be another way."
Rapi approached, her face unreadable, but the anguish in her eyes mirrored his own. She handed him a sleek, silver pistol. "This firearm is standard issue for... situations like this. It's designed for minimal suffering. Humans can operate it. Just get in close."
John stared at the weapon, his reflection distorted in the polished surface. The cold metal felt alien in his hands, heavier than it should have been. Anis gently touched his arm, her eyes soft with sorrow. "Maybe I should do it," she offered. "You shouldn't have to—"
"No," Rapi interrupted, her voice firm but edged with something softer. "Nikkes are prohibited from terminating our own kind. It has to be you, Commander. If we hesitate, she could become an Irregular."
His vision blurred, past and present crashing together in his mind. Faces from another time—bodies floating in the river, a woman reaching for him, her eyes wide with terror. The cold indifference of his comrades, their backs already turned as they walked away, laughter echoing in his ears.
"Commander," Rapi's urgent voice snapped him back to the present.
Marian's gaze met his, clear despite the flickering lights of her failing systems. She managed a faint smile, a small but radiant light in the darkness. "Over here, Commander."
His throat tightened. The words felt stuck, lodged behind the weight of his guilt. "Marian, I..."
She reached up, her fingers brushing against his, guiding his trembling hand to wrap around the pistol. Her touch was warm, steady. "Thank you for lending me your coat," she whispered, her voice like a soft breeze, fragile but full of meaning.
"Don't do this," he choked out, his voice barely more than a breath. "We can fix this. We can save you."
She shook her head gently, her expression calm, accepting. "Some things can't be fixed, John." Her thumb rested over his on the trigger. "It's okay."
Time seemed to slow. The world narrowed to the space between them—the weight of the pistol, the fragility of her smile, the unspoken understanding passing in the silence.
A tear traced down his cheek, cold against his skin. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
She leaned forward ever so slightly, her smile never wavering. "Me too."
Their fingers tightened together.
Bang.
The sharp report of the pistol echoed across the desolate landscape, a final punctuation to the battle's brutality. Marian's body relaxed, her eyes fluttering closed as if drifting into a peaceful sleep. John stood frozen, his breath catching in his throat as he watched the life drain from her. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.
John knelt beside her, his hands shaking as he fetched the coat he had lent her earlier. With trembling hands, he draped it over her still body, laying it upon her like a shroud. His fingers lingered on the fabric, unwilling to let go.
"No signs of life," Rapi confirmed softly, her voice a distant echo.
Shifty's voice returned, muted now, carrying a rare hint of sorrow. "Official confirmation of death received. Mission parameters fulfilled. Return to the Ark when ready."
Anis turned away, her shoulders shaking as she wiped at her eyes. "Damn it," she muttered, her usual bravado stripped away, leaving behind only raw grief.
The trio stood in heavy silence, the weight of loss settling over them like a suffocating fog. John stared at the pistol still clutched in his hand, the cold metal pressing against his palm, a stark reminder of the line he had crossed. His reflection stared back at him, distorted in its polished surface.
"Commander," Rapi said gently, placing a hand on his arm. "We should go."
He nodded absently, his gaze still fixed on Marian's serene face. With a shaky breath, he placed the pistol back into its holster and pulled his coat tighter around her, a final gesture of respect.
They began the somber walk back, the ruins of the city a bleak backdrop to their retreat. The sky above was a tapestry of grays, the sun obscured by thick clouds that threatened rain. Each step felt heavy, as if the ground itself was trying to pull them under.
As they moved away from the battlefield, John's surroundings began to blur again. Voices from the past whispered at the edges of his consciousness.
"She didn't stand a chance," a callous voice remarked, echoing from his memories.
"Not our problem," another scoffed. "Collateral damage."
He saw the face of the drowning woman once more, her desperate eyes locking onto his as she was pulled under by the churning waters. He had reached out, but his feet remained rooted to the spot, weighed down by indecision and fear. The sorcerers beside him had laughed, their backs already turned as they walked away.
"Help her!" he had screamed, but his voice was lost in the roar of the river and the indifference of his comrades.
"Commander?" Rapi's voice broke through the fog.
He blinked, the haunting images receding but leaving a dull ache in their wake. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Just... thinking."
Anis gave him a concerned look. "You sure you're okay? You seem... distant."
He forced a tight smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'll be fine."
They had called a transport ship to take them back to the ark.
The soft hum of the transport ship's engines filled the silence inside the cabin. The rhythmic vibration beneath their feet was a steady reminder of the distance between them and the battlefield they had just left behind. The air felt heavy, thick with grief, exhaustion, and something unspoken that lingered in the shadows of the cramped space.
John sat at the back of the transport, his gaze distant as he stared out through the narrow window. His shoulders slumped, his body tense as if the weight of what had happened clung to him like a shroud. His hands rested limply on his lap, fingers trembling ever so slightly. The coat he had draped over Marian was gone, left behind as a token of respect on the cold battlefield. But the haunted expression on his face—eyes hollow, jaw clenched—caught Anis's eye. With each passing moment, he seemed to sink further into himself, retreating from the world around him.
Across from John, Rapi sat quietly, her rifle leaning against her leg. She watched him carefully, her brow furrowing in thought. Anis, sitting next to her, leaned back in her seat, her usual carefree attitude dulled by the weight of what had transpired.
"He's not himself," Anis muttered, her voice low. She glanced at Rapi, tilting her head towards John. "He's... different."
Rapi nodded, her eyes never leaving John. "I noticed it too. Ever since Marian... died."
Anis frowned, her brows drawing together in confusion. "Yeah, but... he only just met her, right? I mean, I get being upset, but the way he's acting... It's like he lost someone he's known for years. And Marian was a Nikke. Humans don't usually react this way when one of us is lost."
Rapi's gaze softened. "Most Commanders wouldn't blink twice at losing a Nikke. We're just machines to them, tools to be used and discarded."
Anis bit her lip. "Exactly. But John... He's been acting like nothing phases him since we met. Now? It's like the weight of the world's crushing him."
Rapi shifted, glancing at John again. His face was set in a mask of grief, eyes unfocused, lost in a memory. She had seen men like him before—men who would hide their feelings and uncertainties beneath a mask of overconfidence.
"Maybe," Rapi began cautiously, "there's more to him than what we see. Something we don't know about him."
Anis raised an eyebrow. "You think so? I dunno... I mean, we've all got our baggage, but he's acting like he failed her on a personal level."
Rapi's expression tightened. "He hesitated when it mattered. It wasn't just about protocol. It was... something else."
Anis leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You think he's been through this before?"
Rapi nodded, her face grim. "I think so. the look on his face... It's like he was reliving something."
The cabin fell into silence again, the hum of the engines filling the void. Anis bit her lip, trying to piece together what little they knew about John. His cocky attitude had been a front, and now that front had cracked wide open.
Rapi leaned her head back, closing her eyes. "It's not for us to figure out," she murmured. "For now, we just need to get back to the Ark."
Anis glanced at John again. He hadn't moved, his eyes still locked on the window, but it was clear he wasn't really seeing the landscape rushing by. He was somewhere else entirely, trapped in his mind.
"You think he'll be okay?" Anis asked softly.
Rapi didn't answer for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was filled with uncertainty. "I don't know."
The transport ship descended quietly, the soft hum of its engines fading into the tranquil rustle of the trees surrounding the hidden elevator. The landscape below them was unassuming—dense foliage and natural greenery stretched out for miles, the perfect camouflage for one of the Ark's hidden entrances. Raptures rarely ventured into areas like this, and if they did, they wouldn't think to look twice at what appeared to be just another stretch of untamed wilderness.
The ship hovered briefly before touching down gently on the ground, the subtle glow of its landing lights illuminating the dense underbrush. The hidden elevator, built seamlessly into the natural landscape, was barely discernible. To the untrained eye, it looked like nothing more than a small clearing surrounded by ferns and moss-covered stones. But Rapi, Anis, and John knew better.
The entrance to the Ark lay beneath it, concealed from view—an underground sanctuary shielded from the chaos above. The elevator itself blended into the surroundings, the door panels camouflaged to look like bark and vines, as though the forest itself had swallowed the metal and steel. It was a clever design, built to withstand prying eyes and the constant threat of Rapture attacks.
John stepped off the transport last, his expression still clouded, eyes heavy with the weight of recent events. He walked silently behind Rapi and Anis, lost in his own thoughts as they approached the hidden elevator. Rapi signaled the hidden panel, and the "foliage" parted, revealing a smooth, metallic door.
As they waited for the elevator to arrive, Rapi broke the silence, her voice firm and cutting through the tension. "Shifty," she said over the comms, "what happened with Marian and the corruption?"
Shifty's voice crackled through, still calm despite the gravity of the situation. "The code implanted in Marian's brain was acting as a navigator," she explained. "It guides Nikkes to Blacksmith's location. That way, they're delivering the Rapture's food straight to its doorstep."
Anis frowned, her brows knitting together as she processed Shifty's words. "But she was acting completely normal before she went haywire. It was like a switch flipped."
"That's probably because of the Commander," Shifty responded without hesitation. "A Nikke's highest priority is protecting their Commander and obeying their orders. I'm willing to bet the corruption started the moment she met John. That's when her priorities shifted out of order. She became defenseless around Blacksmith—the corruption was more severe than we thought."
Rapi's jaw tightened as she stepped closer to the elevator. "When did it start?" she asked quietly.
Shifty seemed momentarily confused. "What do you mean?"
"When was she first corrupted?" Rapi repeated, her tone growing sharper.
Shifty was quiet for a moment before responding, a hint of uncertainty creeping into her voice. "I'd assume during the mission. Ah, yes…"
Rapi's eyes narrowed as she stepped toward the elevator, her mind working through the possibilities. "You said she was the one who sabotaged the transport ship, right?" Her voice was cold, logical. "Then she must have already been corrupted by that point. And that transport came directly from the Ark."
John, who had been silently watching the exchange, stiffened slightly at Rapi's words. A sense of unease settled over him, but he stayed quiet, listening intently.
Shifty's response was sharp, almost panicked. "Are you saying the Aegis barriers are broken!?"
"No," Rapi said calmly, shaking her head. "The Aegis barriers are strong—they would have picked up on any corruption immediately. Something isn't right."
Anis glanced between them, a sense of dread growing in her gut. "Rapi, what are you trying to say?"
Rapi remained silent for a moment, her gaze focused on the elevator door as it slid open with a soft hiss. The cold air from the underground system drifted out, mixing with the scent of the forest. She stepped inside, her voice low but filled with suspicion.
"Well..." She paused, as if choosing her next words carefully, before turning to face John and Anis. "If Marian was corrupted before she boarded the transport… then how did it get past the Ark's security systems?..."
"Something about this whole thing stinks," Anis muttered, crossing her arms. "And I don't like it."
The soft whir of monitors and the sterile glow of holographic screens filled the dimly lit room. Deputy Chief Andersen stood tall and rigid behind his desk, his uniform pristine, a picture of order and control. His sharp eyes scanned the report in front of him, the light from the screens casting angular shadows across his stern face.
"Mission accomplished with minimal losses," Shifty's voice reported over the comm, her tone professional and steady. "The Blacksmith Tyrant-class Rapture was neutralized, and while there were no survivors from the Vanguard unit, the mission was deemed a success. Commander John Smith performed exceptionally. All members of his squad returned alive bar one"
Andersen's eyes lingered on the word exceptional. His fingers idly tapped on the edge of his desk as he mulled over the details. "Understood," he said in response, his tone measured. "Send me the full mission analysis and any relevant footage."
"Understood, sir," Shifty replied. "One more thing—Commander Smith has requested some personal time. He seems... shaken by the events involving the loss of one of the Nikke's under his command"
"Noted," Andersen replied. He cut the connection, leaning back in his chair. His gaze shifted to another holographic window, displaying John Smith's academy record.
Average.
That's the word that defined John Smith's training. Average in every measurable aspect. His physical capabilities, his tactical assessments, even his psychological evaluations all fell within normal, unremarkable ranges. Nothing stood out. Nothing to raise any flags. Except, of course, for one detail.
"Orphan," Andersen muttered to himself. John's background was largely blank, and the note about his orphan status was the only piece of personal information in his file. Unusual but not unheard of, especially for those who had joined the Ark's military seeking a new life.
Still, something felt off. Too average. It wasn't just that John Smith had average results, but that they were almost perfectly average. Every score, every test, seemed to blend into the background. As if the data had been crafted to ensure he never stood out.
His mind wandered to the break-in that had occurred several weeks ago at the Ark's record-keeping facility. A small event at the time, dismissed by most because nothing appeared to have been stolen. But Andersen had always been suspicious of it, especially since the area that was broken into stored records of deaths—specifically records that could have linked to individuals who were orphaned around John's age.
Coincidence, perhaps. But Andersen had learned not to believe in coincidences.
His attention returned to the mission footage Shifty had sent over. He fast-forwarded through the standard combat sequences—gunfire, explosions, the chaos of battle. Nothing out of the ordinary. Rapi and Anis performed well under pressure, and John coordinated his team effectively, just as the report had stated. There was no indication that he had been anything other than the competent Commander his squad believed him to be.
But then something caught Andersen's eye—a single frame that could have easily been missed.
He paused the video, eyes narrowing. There, in the corner of the frame, barely visible amidst the smoke and debris, was John's silhouette. The moment was almost imperceptible, but Andersen's trained eye saw it clearly. John, standing in the ruins of a destroyed building, his hand gripping one of Blacksmith's massive tentacles.
And pulling it.
No weapon, no advanced tech. Just John, using his bare hands.
Andersen zoomed in on the image, the blurred silhouette becoming sharper. There was no mistaking it—John had physically pulled the Rapture's tentacle, destabilizing the massive creature long enough for his squad to finish it off. And yet, no ordinary human could have done such a thing. Not without help.
"That's the final piece," Andersen murmured, his suspicions confirmed.
John Smith wasn't just a standard Commander. He was something else. And now, Andersen was almost certain of what that was.
A sorcerer.
Andersen leaned back in his chair, his mind racing through the implications. Sorcery had long been a topic shrouded in secrecy within the Ark. After careful negotiations years ago, the Sorcerer Society had agreed to certain terms—namely, that their activities would remain hidden, kept out of the Ark's affairs. But if John was a sorcerer, it meant that someone, somewhere, had broken those agreements.
The real question now was whether John was working alone or if the Sorcerer Society was involved in something bigger. Were they acting in secret? Had they infiltrated the military with larger plans in motion?
Andersen's gaze returned to the frozen image on his screen. He knew he had to tread carefully. Revealing too much too soon could force John or his possible allies into action. And Andersen needed more information before making his move.
He opened the comm line again, his voice steady as he gave his next order.
"Shifty, I want the Commander brought to my office for a debriefing. Handle it discreetly."
Shifty's response was immediate. "Understood, Deputy Chief. I'll bring him in as soon as possible."
Andersen closed the connection and rose from his desk, pacing slowly as his thoughts raced. There was more at play here than just one man with forbidden powers. The Sorcerer Society was moving again, and if they were violating their agreement with the Ark, it could signal the start of something dangerous.
"Let's see what you're hiding, John Smith," he muttered to himself, a cold determination settling over him.
John walked down the long, dimly lit corridor, the soft glow of the overhead lights casting faint shadows across his face. Each step was deliberate, measured, as his boots echoed against the polished floor. His hands, loose by his sides, flexed once, then relaxed, as if testing the tension in his body.
The events of the day lingered in the corners of his mind, but with each passing step, he pushed them further away, burying them in the recesses of his thoughts. His jaw clenched subtly, and he let out a slow breath through his nose, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. His emotions—raw, churning—needed to be caged.
The tension in his shoulders melted away as he straightened his posture. His expression, tight and strained, smoothed into something neutral, almost indifferent. The flicker of pain that had been dancing in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a steady, unreadable gaze.
As he walked, his fingers brushed against the inside of his trouser pockets, feeling the fabric between his thumb and forefinger. It was a subtle gesture, one that no one would notice, but it anchored him. Each breath, each step, was an act of erasure, wiping away the remnants of what had been and replacing it with what he needed to be.
A faint shadow of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips—a practiced smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes. His pace never faltered, never quickened. His mask slid into place like an old friend, familiar and unbreakable. By the time he reached the final stretch of the corridor leading to Deputy Chief Andersen's office, the man who had hesitated at Marian's death was gone.
In his place stood Commander John Smith—calm, unflinching, and unreadable.
He stood in the dimly lit hall, just outside Deputy Chief Andersen's office. Shifty's request for him to come here had been unceremonious, her tone giving away nothing. He stood before the door now, the faint hum of machinery and the low murmur of voices barely audible through the thick walls.
As he raised his hand to knock, a subtle prickle of energy brushed against his senses. A barrier, he thought immediately, his instincts kicking in. It was crude—almost clumsy, by sorcerer standards—but it was designed for one purpose: detecting the presence of sorcery, and more importantly, sorcerers. If triggered, it would send a signal somewhere, likely to whoever set it up.
'Amateurs', he thought, lips twitching in the faintest hint of amusement. The Ark might be full of advanced tech, but this wasn't sorcery they were dealing with. Whoever set this up didn't expect anyone with real experience to stumble into it.
John took a slow breath, the cool air filling his lungs as he knelt down slightly, his fingertips grazing the smooth floor. His mind was already working through the options, analyzing the flow of energy around the barrier. This wasn't the time to dismantle it outright—breaking it would raise alarms. Instead, he needed finesse.
Hand-to-hand combat was his strength, a skill he'd honed over years of sorcerer training. His cursed technique, Ruinous Gambit, was potent but unpredictable. The drawbacks, combined with his average control over cursed energy, meant that in terms of raw power, he wasn't exactly at the top. Grade One Sorcerer status wasn't what it used to be—standards had slipped over the years—but even still, he wasn't exactly the most formidable in terms of sheer energy reserves, didn't possess reverse cursed technique or a domain expansion that would elevate one to grade one status.
But what had elevated him to Grade One wasn't his cursed technique. It was his mastery over barrier techniques.
Most sorcerers underestimated barriers, viewing them as secondary to offensive or defensive curses. But John had made a name for himself by using them in ways others hadn't considered—by dismantling and repurposing barriers during his missions. He was the most skilled sorcerer at barrier techniques alive, considering the previous most skilled had been felled by his own hands.
A basic barrier like this one operated on a simple principle: detect and signal. The moment a sorcerer or sorcery was detected, a message would be sent, probably routed to whoever had set it up. In theory, it was foolproof in its simplicity. In theory anyway, reality had a bad habit of introducing unexpected variables like John into the mix.
He flexed his fingers, channeling a thin stream of cursed energy through his hand. Slowly, methodically, he began constructing a barrier of his own, weaving his energy into the crude structure already in place. His own technique layered over the existing one like a second skin, threading itself between the detection points, almost as if it were a second net cast over the first. John adjusted the flow of his energy, easing it into the cracks of the barrier, finding the weak points.
His cursed energy flowed like thin wires through the barrier, coiling around its anchor points, pulling just enough to shift the entire detection system into his own simple domain. The signal, meant to alert someone, would now go nowhere. If someone checked the system, they'd see everything functioning perfectly—no alerts, no disturbances. And best of all, they'd have no idea he was inside it.
With the barrier now nullified, John stepped forward, pressing the panel to Andersen's office. The door slid open with a soft hiss, revealing the dim, oppressive space inside.
Deputy Chief Andersen sat behind his desk, his posture immaculate, his eyes as sharp as ever. He looked up as John entered, a calculating gleam in his gaze.
"Commander Smith," Andersen said, his voice calm, measured, but with a hint of something else lurking beneath. "Come in and have a seat. I've been expecting you."
John slid into the chair across from him, draping his body over it. His gaze flicked briefly over the room, noting the muted hum of the Ark's machinery filling the room. Flashing an easy grin, John spoke with a light, almost flippant tone "You called, Deputy Chief?"
Andersen didn't react to the tone, though the slight narrowing of his eyes suggested he was weighing every word. "I've been going over the report from your most recent mission," he began, his voice calm, controlled. "It seems you handled the situation with considerable skill. You achieved success despite… some setbacks."
John's grin widened. "I aim to please sir"
Andersen didn't immediately reply. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping idly against his desk. "You performed well, Commander. Better than expected, actually. The feedback from Shifty was glowing." He paused, letting the compliment hang in the air. "Quite the leap from your academy records, wouldn't you say?"
John shrugged, leaning back slightly. "Sometimes it's a matter of being in the field. Testing in a classroom doesn't always tell the whole story."
Andersen's eyes remained steady on him, as though weighing his response. "I suppose that's true. Some rise to the occasion when the stakes are high."
John met his gaze evenly, not reacting to the comment. If Andersen was trying to prod him, he wasn't going to bite.
"Speaking of complications," Andersen continued, his voice softening in a way that didn't match the words, "I understand you requested some personal time after the incident with one of your Nikkes."
John's expression didn't change. "Yeah, I figured a day off wouldn't hurt after all that. Clear the mind, you know"
Andersen's expression remained unreadable as he leaned back in his chair. "I'm afraid that won't be possible," he said, his voice carrying a weight of finality. "There's pressure from higher up, and due to the success of your last mission, you've already been assigned to another one."
John let out a low whistle, his grin returning. "No rest for the wicked, huh? Guess I should have expected that. So, I'm back with Rapi and Anis, then?"
Andersen's eyes narrowed slightly, just enough for someone paying attention to notice. "You've been through the academy, Commander," he said, his voice carrying a subtle edge. "You should know that Commanders don't go on consecutive missions with the same Nikke squad. That's standard protocol."
John held up his hands in mock surrender. "Just asking, Deputy Chief. Didn't mean to step on any toes."
Andersen watched him for a moment longer, his gaze cold and calculating. "You'll be assigned to Absolute Squad for your next mission," he said finally, each word measured. "I'm sure you've heard of them. One of the Ark's best."
John let out a low chuckle, his confidence unshaken. "Absolute Squad? Heard a lot about them. Top-tier, right? Well, I guess they needed a top-tier Commander to match."
Andersen's smile returned, thin and sharp. "I certainly hope you live up to those expectations, Commander. Absolute Squad operates at a different level than what you've experienced so far."
John leaned forward, his grin widening as he met Andersen's gaze head-on. "Don't worry, Deputy Chief. I plan on exceeding them."
There was a beat of silence before Andersen nodded, though the tension in the air hadn't lifted. "Eunhwa, leader of absolute, will fill you in on the mission details. I suggest you prepare accordingly. You're dismissed."
John rose from his seat, his expression calm as he offered a brief nod. "Understood, sir."
He turned toward the door, ready to leave, but before his hand reached the panel, Andersen spoke again, his voice carrying a sharp edge.
"Commander."
John paused, glancing back.
"Just remember," Andersen said, his tone smooth but carrying a weight to it, "You're being watched. Let's hope that confidence of yours isn't misplaced."
John held his gaze for a brief moment, then gave a small nod. "Sure thing, Deputy Chief."
With that, he turned back, pressing the door panel. The door slid open, and John stepped out, the tension of the office fading behind him as the door sealed shut once more.
As John left Andersen's office, the room fell into an uneasy silence. The faint hum of the monitors persisted, casting a sterile glow on Andersen's desk as he leaned back in his chair. His fingers tapped idly on the surface, his sharp eyes narrowing in thought. A moment later, the door to his office slid open once again, this time revealing a figure whose presence seemed to fill the entire room with an air of authority and strict discipline.
Ingrid stepped in, her posture straight, arms crossed over her chest. Her white and red uniform, pristine and militaristic, matched the no-nonsense look on her face. There was a weight to her steps, purposeful and commanding, like a drill sergeant ready to snap orders at any moment.
"Andersen," she began without preamble, her voice brusque. "I don't have time for your games. What's going on with this new Commander?"
Andersen raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the chair across from him. "Always straight to the point, Ingrid. It's one of the things I appreciate about you."
She didn't sit, of course. Instead, she stared down at him, unimpressed by his pleasantries. "I'm not here for compliments. You asked for Absolute Squad for a reason. Is this about the sorcerer?"
Andersen's eyes darkened slightly at the mention. "Yes. Commander Smith. A curious case, to say the least."
"Curious isn't the word I'd use," Ingrid said, her tone sharp. "He's more than just some fresh graduate. I read the mission reports. He performed well—too well for someone who supposedly just got out of the academy."
"Indeed," Andersen agreed, leaning forward. "Which is why I assigned Absolute Squad to him. I want to see what he's capable of under more... strenuous circumstances."
Ingrid's eyes narrowed. "You think he's working with the Society?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out." Andersen's voice took on a more calculated tone. "There's no concrete evidence—yet. But his background, his abilities, and the gaps in his personal history… they don't add up. I've seen too many patterns not to recognize one forming here."
Ingrid scoffed, her arms still crossed. "You think he's another one of their agents?"
"It's possible," Andersen said, his voice calm, analytical. "Whether he's working with the Sorcerer Society or if he's acting on his own, we need to know. If the Society is involved, they're already carrying out activities that they promised to keep in check. We can't afford to be caught unaware."
Ingrid shifted slightly, her eyes glinting with irritation. "So, what do you want from Absolute? I'm not here to play guessing games."
"I need you and Absolute Squad to push him," Andersen said, his tone firm. "See what he's really capable of. Test his limits. If he's working with the Society, he'll slip up, and we'll see where his true loyalties lie."
"And if he isn't?" Ingrid's voice was cold.
"Then we figure out if he can be brought into our fold," Andersen replied smoothly, his fingers steepled in front of him. "If we can use his talents for the Ark. But make no mistake, Ingrid, if he proves to be a threat—"
"He's dead," Ingrid finished, her voice flat. "Absolute Squad can handle it."
Andersen gave a small nod. "Exactly. If he becomes a liability, They have my full authority to put him down. Discreetly."