Zone F-3 | Theta-9 | Minutes Before Engagement
They weren't a real squad.
Not yet.
Not in the trained, trust-your-flank, fight-as-one sense. Blackthorn Squad 3 had been slapped together from surviving Tier-Ones like spare parts after a factory explosion.
Mercer, the cold-blooded bruiser with eyes that didn't blink under pressure.
Aria, the Tracker. Silent, fast, and surgical with a knife.
Dell, the engineer with too much caffeine in his blood and a questionable sense of when to shut up.
Rai, the sniper with a thousand-yard stare and a trigger finger that twitched in his sleep.
And James.
The new guy.
The one with s survival rate statistically just above zero. The only thing he had in spades?
Intent.
James hadn't fought much before Theta-9. Not unless you counted street fights, evading debt collectors, or sneaking extra protein bars past a security scanner. Those didn't count here. Not really.
Here, it was kill or be recycled into compost for the Rift flora.
But James had made one decision in the mud and blood of his first kill: he wasn't dying broke and irrelevant.
He didn't need to be the best fighter. He just needed to be clever enough to stay alive while the others did the heavy lifting—at least until he got strong enough to return the favor.
That was survival. And survival was step one to everything.
The squad dynamic wasn't perfect.
Still, they moved together now. Shared food. Watched each other's backs.
James knew enough from street survival that trust didn't come from words—it came from blood. From standing side-by-side when things turned ugly. From not running.
Zone F-3 | Theta-9 | Seconds After Engagement
The moment James activated Ghost Veil, the world fell silent.
Invisibility wasn't just sightless—it was breathless, lifeless. Three seconds where his heart didn't beat, sound didn't exist, and the world felt like it had paused to take a long, suspenseful breath.
He moved.
One rogue stood slightly apart from the others—lean frame, bow drawn, eyes scanning. James slipped behind him like a shadow through water and buried his dagger into the space between his shoulder blades.
No scream.
The rogue collapsed silently.
Two seconds later, Ghost Veil dropped. The noise slammed back into his ears like a wave—shouts, gunfire, footsteps.
"CONTACT!"
A plasma bolt scorched the bark of a tree inches from his head. James rolled left and rearmed Shadow Dagger mid-motion. The ghostly blade formed in his palm with a low hum.
Mercer barreled into another rogue like a sledgehammer given flesh, blade flashing twice—first across the throat, second across the thigh. The rogue dropped, convulsing, blood painting his boots.
Rai had taken cover behind a tree. His sniper roared, and one of the Tagless exploded from the hip up. Literally.
Aria was already gone.
Until she appeared from the high brush, flipped over a boulder, and drove her throwing spike into a rogue's neck with perfect calm. Her other hand came up with a second blade, slicing an artery before the rogue could scream.
James fought the last one.
This one had armor, speed, and a smug sneer that meant he'd probably killed more than his fair share of people.
They traded blows—dagger to blade, shadow to steel. The rogue slashed James across the side. Pain flared, and his health bar dipped.
James grinned, blood in his teeth.
"Fun fact," he said, ducking a blow, "I'm really bad at chess."
The rogue frowned. "What?"
James headbutted him, grabbed his chin, and slammed Shadow Dagger into his throat.
"Which means I don't mind sacrificing a few pieces to win."
The rogue gurgled, stumbled, and fell.
[ENEMY ELIMINATED – +EXP]
[Squad Blackthorn: Status – ALL ACTIVE]
James exhaled. Blood dripped from his side. Aria tossed him a bandage.
Mercer wiped his blade on a corpse's sleeve. "Rogues this early? That's unusual."
Dell poked a corpse with his boot. "They weren't starving. Their gear's better than ours. And they were loaded with Rift Cores."
James opened one of the packs.
Inside: six Refined Rift Cores, and a sealed datadrive with Consortium markings. Alongside the main cache were three odd-looking items:
[Item: Tactical Lens - Rare]: Attaches to helmets or goggles. Grants +15% threat detection radius. Highlights cloaked or burrowed enemies within 20 meters.
[Item: Auto-Binder Medpack x2 - Uncommon]: Activates on contact with bleeding wounds. Auto-seals flesh, boosts pain resistance by 30% for 10 minutes. One-time use.
[Item: Signal Intercept Beacon - Rare]: Deployable. Intercepts and reroutes squad communications within a 300-meter radius. Can mimic transmission ID signatures.
Rai whistled. "That's high-level loot. Why were they carrying this out here?"
Dell pulled the medpacks into his satchel and examined the beacon. "Consortium tech. Unmarked serials. They're not supposed to be in the wild."
James rotated the datadrive in his gloved hand. "These guys weren't scroungers. They were couriers."
Mercer crouched beside James, eyes scanning the treeline. "Because they weren't here to survive. They were on delivery."
"Delivery to who?" Aria asked.
Mercer's expression hardened. "The same people who sent us here."
James looked at the black datadrive again. His side throbbed. Smoke curled in the air. The medpack hissed as he pressed it to his side. Flesh sealed, nerves numbed.
"What's on this thing?" Dell asked.
"No idea," James replied. "But we're not giving it to just anyone."
Aria knelt beside one of the dead rogues and turned over the jacket. A tattoo glimmered in the firelight.
A vertical eye, crowned in thorns.
Mercer saw it. His jaw clenched.
"Blackspire."
James didn't like the sound of that. "That a band or a doomsday cult?"
"Worse," Mercer said. "They're not Consortium. They're something else. And if they're operating in Theta-9, then we're already screwed."
The squad stood a little closer after that.
No one said it.
But they were a squad now.
Forged in blood.
And watching each other's backs.