Inside the dimly lit briefing room, nine soldiers sat around a rectangular table, tension thick in the air. Equipment bags lined the walls. The low hum of the base and the occasional clink of gear punctuated the silence like a countdown.
Corporal Daniel O'Connor leaned forward, elbows on the table, lazily cracking his knuckles.
"So, guys… Mahana Island, huh?" he muttered. "Didn't think I'd be setting foot on that cursed place. Not after all the stories."
"You mean the ones they let the public hear?" Caleb Nguyen scoffed, spinning a pen between his fingers. "Half of what really happened got buried under more red tape than Area 51."
"Still," Marcus Ramirez added, rubbing his jaw, "they say the skies turned black with smoke when the outbreak began. Like the whole island was mourning."
"You believe in that superstitious crap?" Logan Kim grunted, eyes still fixed on the blade he was sharpening. "Smoke doesn't mourn. People do. And usually when they're dying."
Jessica Turner gave him a side-eye. "Comforting, Logan. Real morale booster."
"I heard the Cravings are stronger now," Hannah Wright said quietly. "Faster. Adaptive. Like the virus is... evolving."
"Great," O'Connor muttered, resting back. "As if this job wasn't hard enough."
Emily Zhang, calm and observant, finally spoke. "Whatever they've become, we've trained for worse. Stick to formation. Watch each other's backs. We make it out."
"Big if," O'Connor shrugged.
Just then, the door slid open with a metallic hiss.
The room went still.
Captain Darius Quinn stepped inside, posture steady, eyes shadowed by memory but sharp with command. A woman in uniform followed him, tablet in hand, walking briskly to the center of the room.
"This is Captain Darius Quinn," she announced, voice crisp. "He'll lead this mission. Lieutenant James Carter is second in command. You are Task Force Echo—ten elite operatives deployed to retrieve the prototype cure from Mahana Island."
She laid out the objectives, concise and clinical, then gave a sharp nod to Darius and exited without another word.
Silence lingered like fog.
Darius stepped forward.
"I won't waste your time with motivational speeches or fake confidence," he began, his voice low and deliberate. "You've all read the brief. You know where we're going. That island's not just a mission zone—it's the back door to hell. Maybe hell itself. But we walk into it. Not for medals. Not for headlines. But for what's left of us."
He looked around the room, pausing to let his words land.
"I'll remind you of what you already know," he continued, voice firm. "The mission is to retrieve the prototype cure. That's the objective. That's the reason we go in."
He let the silence hold for a breath.
"You all volunteered. No one dragged you into this. But this is your last chance to back out. Because once we step onto that boat—there's no turning back. No extraction. No cavalry."
His jaw clenched slightly.
"I'll lead you in, but I won't stand here and make promises. I can't guarantee I'll make it out. Hell, I can't guarantee any of us will. Some of us might fall. And that's the reality. But no matter what happens… we move forward."
He stepped closer to the table, voice lowering, his tone heavier now.
"If only one of us walks out of that place alive… that one better be carrying the cure. Not guilt. Not remorse. Not ghosts. The mission ends only when that package is in our hands—and not a second before."
He paused, then added coldly, "And get this straight, no matter what, make sure you don't get bitten."
The temperature in the room dropped.
"You all know what that means. If anyone's bitten… I'll shoot them myself before they turn. That includes any of you."
The silence was absolute now.
"And if I'm the one who gets bitten…" he continued, quieter, "then one of you better put me down without blinking. Carter takes command. You finish the mission. That's an order."
His gaze met theirs, steady and unforgiving.
"Don't let emotion get in the way. If you do—if you hesitate—you'll get someone else killed. Grieve later. Right now, stay sharp. Stay cold. Stay alive."
He stepped back again, voice unwavering.
"We walk into fire tomorrow. But we walk knowing exactly why. No false hopes. No backup. Just the mission. And we do it together. Whatever it costs."
He let the weight of his words settle like ash, then raised his hand.
"Name and rank. One by one."
James Carter rose first. "Lieutenant James Carter."
"Sergeant Ethan Brooks."
"Corporal Daniel O'Connor," O'Connor said, offering a half-smile.
"Lieutenant Emily Zhang."
"Corporal Caleb Nguyen."
"Specialist Jessica Turner."
"Sergeant Marcus Ramirez."
"Specialist Logan Kim."
"Sergeant Hannah Wright."
Darius nodded slowly, eyes lingering on each soldier.
"Good. Get some shut-eye. We leave at zero five hundred. Your intel packets are incoming. Dismissed."
The operatives stood, heavy with thoughts. One by one, they filed toward the exit, their boots soft against the floor.
Low voices broke the silence as the door neared.
"So this is it," Marcus murmured. "Not just TV footage anymore. We're going to see the Cravings—up close."
"Yeah," Hannah muttered, adjusting her gear strap. "Let's just make sure we don't end up on the menu."
O'Connor smirked. "Honestly? I'm more curious than afraid. First time seeing them outside a screen."
Jessica's voice was quieter. "Makes you wonder how much truth we've been fed. The way they adapt… it's like the virus thinks."
Emily cast a glance toward the hallway. "Captain Quinn made it out once. That says enough about both the island—and him."
Caleb nodded slowly, his voice softer now.
"I heard he was the last one off that island. His team didn't make it… they turned. And he—" he paused, the weight of the words settling in his chest, "—he had to put them down himself. Every single one."
Silence fell across the room, heavy and reverent.
"No one should have to go through that," Caleb added, his eyes lowered. "But he did. And he's still standing. If anyone can lead us through that hell… it's him."
Logan gave a dry chuckle. "Then let's hope his luck didn't run out—so we can rest assured at least one of us might come back alive with the cure."
Ethan cracked his knuckles. "It's not luck. It's grit. And maybe just enough madness."
They exchanged a look part fear, part fire—then stepped forward into the corridor, into the quiet before the storm.