"Stand by for decontamination," an automated voice droned, the words echoing coldly through the room. A pulsing red light flashed, casting harsh shadows across Thaurex's face, his eyes narrowed with a mix of confusion and anger. Behind him, the squad waited, each soldier burdened with boxes of hastily collected papers, pages filled with cryptic notes and diagrams.
"Decontamination begins in 5... 4... 3... 2..." the voice continued.
Thaurex stole a quick glance at the item in his side bag: the thick, yellowed metallic cover of a book he'd snatched from the lab, emblazoned with a sinister black mamba emblem. He pushed it back into his bag just as the countdown hit zero.
PSSSSS! The steam shot out from all directions, filling the room in a thick, white mist. BUZZZZZ! The buzzer wailed one last time before the heavy metal door opened, letting the steam pour out as Thaurex and his squad stepped through. Waiting for them were The General and Mr. Zaulkom. The General wore a slight smile, while Mr. Zaulkom was on a call, his eyes landing on Thaurex with a flash of annoyance.
"I have to go. I'll call you back," Zaulkom muttered, hanging up briskly.
"Ah, just the men we wanted to see," Zaulkom said, forcing a smile. "Follow us. We'll show you where to set those down," added The General. Without a word, Thaurex and the squad fell into step behind them.
They walked down the stark, white corridors, passing rooms stocked with arsenal. The sound of their boots echoed through the halls. Thaurex's jaw clenched as he spoke up. "We didn't find the Black Mamba," he stated flatly.
The General nodded without surprise. "We're aware. The Black Mamba isn't there."
"Then why send us? We almost died for intel that's already outdated," Thaurex pressed.
Zaulkom interjected smoothly, "We only received word that Avitraux was relocated after you were deployed. The delay couldn't be helped."
Jackson chimed in, frowning, "Then who were those people that ambushed us?"
The General exchanged a glance with Zaulkom before answering, "Unknown, but it isn't our main concern. What you brought us is of significant value."
Thaurex helped Ruco set down a heavy box on a massive blue carbon table in a dim room, illuminated only by the table's glow and various screens around the walls. The squad emptied the contents onto the table, scattering papers covered in notes and diagrams.
Brooks squinted at the paperwork, then glanced up. "I'm still trying to wrap my head around this 'Black Mamba.' What exactly does it do?"
The General's face remained unreadable. "That's classified. All you need to know is it's... powerful."
Thaurex brushed off his gear and took a step back. "Alright, then. Job's done. I assume the credits will be in our accounts within the hour?" Zaulkom gave a satisfied nod, and the squad broke into cheers as they exited the room.
"Thaurex, we're hitting the town tonight!" Ruco called back.
"Go on ahead. I'll catch up," Thaurex replied absently, his gaze locked onto a document that caught his eye amidst the scattered files.
He froze, staring down at a page with a faded photo in the corner. The image was of a child—gaunt, malnourished, yet smiling with a fragile hope. A chill crept up his spine.
Without lifting his eyes, he spoke, his tone sharp. "I held up my end of the deal. Now it's time you held up yours."
Zaulkom looked at him, confused. "We've paid you, Thaurex. We've upheld our agreement."
"Not you, Zaulkom." Thaurex's gaze shifted to The General, cold and unwavering. "His."
The General sighed, his expression guarded. "I've told you before, Thaurex. I can't open a case on someone who's already dead."
In a flash, Thaurex's fist slammed onto the table, sending a shockwave through the room, scattering papers into the air. His voice was low but seething. "Expect to have that file on my desk tomorrow," he growled before turning on his heel and stalking out.
In a lively bar, the squad exchanged laughter, drinks, and jokes, celebrating their latest mission. Thaurex sat off to the side, nursing a drink, his eyes fixed on a faded, brown paper beside him. The paper held the bio of a child, handwritten in ink that had faded over time. Thaurex's gaze scanned the information up and down, his leg bouncing slightly—a clear sign of his growing curiosity and unease.
"Hey, Thaurex!" Ruco called out, waving him over. "Quit staring at that paper and come celebrate with us!"
Thaurex glanced up, irritation flickering in his eyes. "Children experiments," he muttered, gripping his drink tighter.
Ruco, still smiling, made his way over and threw an arm around Thaurex, pulling him up from his chair. "The mission's over! Even your daughter would want you to move on."
There was a tense pause, then a dark chuckle escaped Thaurex. Without a word, he raised his glass and shattered it against Ruco's head. Ruco staggered back, blood trickling down his forehead as the rest of the squad rushed forward to restrain Thaurex.
"DON'T YOU DARE TALK ABOUT MY DAUGHTER LIKE THAT!" Thaurex roared, struggling against his teammates. "Our so-called 'mission'—we're out here celebrating while they're using children for experiments, treating them like disposable weapons!"
Ruco looked up at him, dazed, his eyes wide with shock. Thaurex released a frustrated breath, dropping a handful of coins onto the counter. He snatched up the paper, turned, and stormed out of the bar.
Later, Thaurex sat alone in his shuttle, floating just above the planet's orbit. The Yellow Book lay on the console before him. He traced a finger along its metallic cover, feeling the weight of his unanswered questions pressing down on him. With a steadying breath, he opened the book. Dust clouded the air, making him cough.
The first page contained a profile—another child, worn out and malnourished, yet still managing a hauntingly hopeful smile. The single word "Confinement" was printed next to her name. Thaurex's brow furrowed as he turned to the next page, only to find another child's face, exhausted but hopeful, followed by the label "Confined failure."
Frustration and dread mounting, he flipped through page after page, each containing another confined, suffering child. And then, suddenly, he froze. One page held no photo—just sparse information:
"Name and Surname: Unknown
Age: 7
State: Still in confinement."
Thaurex's pulse quickened as memories of the lab flooded back. That transparent, cage-like room he'd seen in the cave—and a similar one back at HQ—came sharply to mind. His hands clenched around the book. He knew what he had to do, and this time, he wasn't waiting for permission.