Theta-9 | Camp Blackthorn | The Morning After
James woke to the scent of burnt protein and singed weed.
Someone was cooking.
Someone brave.
He sat up slowly, neck stiff, ribs sore, and dreams clawing at the edge of his memory like half-formed monsters. They'd been loud, violent, and a little too real. Mostly teeth.
Across from him, Mercer was sharpening a dagger the size of James's forearm. Aria sipped something from a metal cup that looked radioactive. Dell was crouched next to the campfire, poking at something sizzling on a flat slab of rock.
"Morning, sunshine," Dell said, holding up what looked like a piece of meat. "Breakfast. Possibly edible. Possibly Rotwolf. Possibly my last mistake."
James blinked. "Smells like vengeance."
"That's the seasoning," Aria said. "Dell traded a flare for it."
"A working flare?"
"No, a red-painted stick."
James smirked, dragging himself toward the fire. "Gods help us. We've built a society on lies and barbecue."
Mercer grunted without looking up. "At least it's a society."
James leaned back, warming his hands. The momentary peace allowed something that had been circling his thoughts since he first stepped into Theta-9.
"Why do they even throw us in here like this? I mean... Theta-9, the Program... What's the point?"
The fire popped. Nobody answered immediately.
Then Mercer glanced up. "You really want to know, or are you just making noise?"
James met his gaze. "I want to know. I think we all do."
Dell stopped poking the meat. Aria looked away.
Mercer sheathed the dagger. His voice turned flat and low, like he was reciting something buried deep.
"The Consortium discovered the Rifts twenty-two years ago. Spontaneous tears in dimensional fabric. They found energy, resources, things Earth couldn't produce anymore. And they found monsters. But more than that? They found systems. Gamified ecosystems. Skill evolution. Combat scaling. We don't know if it was made by something or if the Rifts themselves are alive. But they reward violence. Kill to grow. Die and disappear."
James furrowed his brow. "So they made it into a program?"
Aria answered. Her voice was soft, tight. "They needed people who wouldn't be missed. Or who'd sell themselves for credits. So the Portal Program was born. Low-class teens, debtors, criminals, orphans. We get dumped into Rift Zones like Theta-9, given a system link, and told to fight our way up. The few who survive—"
"—are valuable assets," Mercer finished. "Weaponized. Branded. Leashed."
Dell added, "And the rest of us? We're data points."
James sat back. That sick feeling in his gut twisted tighter.
They weren't recruits. They were disposable variables.
After a pause, James asked, "How do you know all this, Mercer?"
Mercer didn't look at him. He stared into the fire like it whispered back.
"Because I wasn't thrown in here the first time. I was assigned."
Silence dropped like a stone.
He finally glanced at James. "My brother was Tier Four. Operative status. High-value target. He defected. They erased him. I followed the trail. Got too close. Then I woke up here—tagged, logged, and dumped into Tier Zero with the rest of you."
James stared. "So they silenced you. Made you disappear."
Mercer nodded. "And now I play the game. But I remember why."
Aria's eyes narrowed. Dell looked shaken. Rai, who'd just wandered up with his rifle slung, said nothing, but his stare pinned Mercer like he was a loaded gun about to go off.
James leaned back, a slow exhale escaping him. "Okay then… remind me never to piss off a Tier Four."
Mercer didn't smile.
But James saw something flicker behind his eyes. Not rage. Not regret.
Purpose.
---
System Notification
[Tier One Briefing Available – All eligible recruits report to the command tent]
James sighed. "No rest for the nearly murdered."
Aria flipped her cup upside down with a flick. "Let's see what new nightmares they've cooked up for us."
---
Camp Blackthorn | Command Tent
Captain Lin stood at the front of the command tent, arms folded, expression as warm as a landmine.
Behind her was a holomap showing Rift Zones flickering in red, orange, and one tiny blinking black dot that made James feel vaguely itchy just looking at it.
"Welcome to the Ten Percent," she said without preamble.
Silence.
James raised an eyebrow. "Is that a survival statistic or our chance of dying horribly in the next twenty-four hours?"
Lin stared at him.
James stared back.
She smirked faintly. "Yes."
She tapped the map. "Theta-9 is one of eight live test sites. Every month, thousands enter. Less than ten percent reach Tier One. Fewer still make it beyond. You are no longer liabilities. You are now investments."
That word sank deep.
Investments.
"From this point forward, you will be deployed in coordinated squads. Each mission will include Tier One objectives, timed operations, and hostile engagements across active Rift Zones. You will work under squad leads. You will follow orders."
Mercer nodded. Aria crossed her arms. Dell yawned.
James raised a hand. "Do we get capes?"
Lin blinked. Then turned to the officer beside her. "Remind me to requisition muzzle mods."
---
System Update
[Mission Accepted: Squad Combat Operations – Tier One Induction]
[Squad Assignment Pending...]
[Squad Formed: BLACKTHORN SQUAD 3]
> Members:
James Aston (Assassin)
Aria Venn (Tracker)
Mercer Ryne (Close Quarters)
Dell Graves (Engineer)
Rai Tennet (Marksman)
> Objective: Patrol and secure Zone F-3. Retrieve any viable Rift Cores. Neutralize threats. Return intact.
---
Zone F-3 | One Hour Later
The world outside Camp Blackthorn had a new flavor. Less "murder fog," more "screams carried on the wind."
James led the team along a ridge line, crouched low, eyes scanning the tree line. His interface displayed a mini-map pulsing with static and intermittent warnings: LIFEFORM DETECTED, UNKNOWN SPIKE, POSSIBLE SPOREFIELD. The usual.
Behind him, Aria moved like mist. Mercer walked like he didn't care if the forest saw him. Dell whistled. Rai had a sniper rifle half as tall as he was and a stare that could end debates.
"Heads up," James muttered. "Something's pinging ahead. Could be wildlife. Could be the bad kind of fungus."
"Aren't all fungus the bad kind now?" Dell asked.
"No, but I treat them that way so I don't die," James replied.
Aria whispered, "Hold."
They froze.
A shadow passed overhead.
Something big.
Wings. Bone. Claws.
[New Threat Identified: Rift Reaver (Winged Variant)]
> Level: 5
Status: Scouting. Hostility Threshold: LOW (Unless provoked)
They held their breath.
The creature screamed once, circling. Then it vanished into the clouds.
Dell exhaled loudly. "I peed a little."
James nodded. "That's tactical evacuation. Happens to the best of us."
---
Zone F-3 | Target Site
The ground was littered with corpses.
Rotwolves. Two other initiates. And what looked like a broken drone turret still trying to turn.
James crouched beside one of the bodies.
Female. Early teens. Knife still in hand.
He gently closed her eyes.
Aria said nothing but lowered her head.
Mercer scanned the trees.
Rai whispered, "Incoming."
Movement.
Four shadows slithered out of the woods.
Not beasts.
Humans.
Rogue Squad: Tagless. No Alliance. Marked Hostiles.
They were Tier One. Maybe even Tier Two.
Their leader smirked. "New meat."
James sighed. "Why is it always cannibals or bandits? Why can't we fight a deeply misunderstood talking bear?"
"Shut up," one of the rogues barked.
"Not helping," Aria muttered.
James smiled. "Wasn't trying to."
Then activated Ghost Veil.
The air shimmered.
He vanished.
And hell broke loose.