{Somewhere in omnicron}
After what felt like an eternity of relentless battles and desperate skirmishes with the Negrons, we finally arrived at our destination—a checkpoint where the orb was being held. My team and I crouched behind the thick underbrush, our breaths heavy and labored as we studied the fortified outpost ahead.
The structure loomed in the dim light, reminiscent of an old-world fortress from Earth's early modern era. Thick stone walls, weathered but sturdy, stretched nearly twenty feet high. Their broad bases suggested a design meant to withstand a siege. Atop the fortress was a dome-like structure, its surface dotted with faintly glowing lines, likely some alien reinforcement. A searchlight perched at the dome's apex swept the surrounding area with a slow, methodical rhythm, its beam cutting through the faint mist that hung in the air.
Negrons patrolled the perimeter in eerie precision. Their movements followed a strict pattern, never straying too close to the fortress walls, nor venturing too far into the open. Their hulking forms seemed almost mechanical in their rhythm—back and forth, endlessly. The glowing blue veins on their blackened skin pulsed in unison, a constant reminder of the threat they posed.
I gritted my teeth. The fort's exterior was challenging enough, but the interior? That was a complete mystery. No doubt, more of the creatures awaited inside, and with our current state—wounded, weary, and dangerously low on supplies—sending anyone to scout further was out of the question. The risk outweighed the reward.
I raised my hand, signaling the team to fall back. "We'll retreat for now," I whispered. The decision was met with silent nods, though the relief on their faces was palpable. Cross, Nelly, Jace—all of them had been through enough. Their exhaustion mirrored my own, and I took their unspoken gratitude as a sign I had made the right call.
The retreat was slow and deliberate. Every step away from the checkpoint felt like shedding a weight, though the burden of failure still clung to me. We had located the base, yes, but clearing it would be a task for the next team—hopefully a better-equipped and well-rested one. Our report would ensure they had all the intel they needed to succeed where we could not.
By nightfall, we had found a safe spot to rest. It wasn't much—just a clearing shielded by dense trees—but it offered enough cover for us to finally collapse. The silence of the night was broken only by the occasional crackle of a distant Negron or the low hum of the orb's energy lingering in the air. We worked in shifts, some of us sleeping while the rest compiled the details of our report. Every skirmish, every observed patrol route, every defensive mechanism—it all had to be recorded.
The following day brought the long journey back to Earth. Each step felt heavier than the last, but the thought of returning to some semblance of safety spurred us on. By the time the shimmering gateway came into view, a wave of relief washed over us. Crossing that threshold felt like a rebirth, the oppressive weight of the Negrons finally lifting as we stepped back onto familiar ground.
Back at the base, we submitted our report and gave our debrief. The mission hadn't been a total failure, but it hadn't been a success either. The orb remained out of reach, its power still guarded by those monstrous creatures. Yet, as I looked at my team—battered, bruised, but alive—I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. We had survived, and sometimes, survival was the greatest victory of all.
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Nezro's POV
Days blurred into weeks, and weeks stretched into a month since the government's first reconnaissance mission returned. While details of the mission were kept under tight wraps, online speculation ran rampant. Everyone had their theories about what had gone wrong—or right. The only thing that was certain was the increasing frequency of the strange entities known as Negrons. Each appearance seemed larger and more organized than the last, pouring from the exotic gate like an unstoppable tide.
Another month passed, and the government's struggle to contain the escalating threat reached a boiling point. The president, initially hesitant, had no choice but to accept the recommendation of his special advisor, Hamsdale. A special task force was established—a last-ditch effort to counter the relentless onslaught.
Despite the urgency, recruitment was handled with exceptional scrutiny. The government wasn't about to send untrained civilians to their deaths. Stringent requirements were imposed:
1. Applicants needed at least a high school education.
2. Military service or verified combat training was mandatory.
3. A one-month intensive program would prep recruits for every known detail of the enemy and the task ahead.
4. Completion of the program came with the signing of an ironclad NDA.
Rukius read the list aloud, his voice carrying on the breeze that swept through the temporary base where we were stationed. "Must have served in the army, blah, blah, blah... sign an NDA... blah, blah... oh, here's the kicker—basic education required." His sarcasm didn't mask the weight of what we were considering.
I leaned back, my mind made up long before. I wasn't enlisting. Call it cowardice or selfishness, but I'd grown comfortable with the life I had: monthly bonuses from the government, no obligations, and no one to answer to. It wasn't glamorous, but it was free. For someone like me, that was enough.
"I'm enlisting," Rukius declared, standing abruptly. He clenched the front of his red sweatshirt as if steeling himself for some noble purpose.
I blinked at him, unsure whether to laugh or take him seriously. "Huh, really?" My tone dripped with mockery, my lips curling into a mischievous grin.
He shot me a glare. "Why do you look so surprised?"
Was he serious? This was Rukius. Lazy, aloof, and allergic to responsibility. The idea of him willingly signing up for this program was so absurd that I couldn't help but chuckle. "Well, if that's what you wanna do, I guess I can't convince you otherwise," I said, cackling like some comic-book villain as I returned to scrolling on my device.
"What's with that laugh?" he demanded, his condescending glare making me shiver.
"Nothing, nothing," I said, shrugging as I resumed my idle browsing.
When he showed up the next day with an application form in hand and a newfound sense of purpose, I realized he wasn't joking. Training started the following week, and Rukius was under strict orders not to share anything about the program. Even with me, his roommate.
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At night, the bonfire crackled brightly near the edge of the temporary base, its flickering light dancing against the darkened sky. Almost everyone in the community had gathered, sharing meals and laughter to momentarily escape the grim reality outside the camp's walls. From my spot away from the fire, I observed the scene quietly. For one night, it seemed as though the worries about the Negrons and the strange gate had been left behind.
I sat cross-legged, letting the warmth of the fire touch my face from a distance, carefully watching the people as they chatted and played. They laughed freely, ignoring the soldiers patrolling the perimeters or the looming threat of another attack.
"Why are you alone, sir?"
The voice jolted me from my thoughts. I looked up to see a girl—she couldn't have been older than fourteen—standing before me. Her shy stance and the way she tugged at her oversized sweater betrayed her unease, and the formality of her words made me smile faintly.
Her mother must have sent her. Maybe she was too shy to play with the other children and figured I, the lone observer, was her safest option. I'd been her age once. I knew what it was like to feel out of place, like you didn't quite belong.
"It's Nezro, not 'sir,'" I corrected her gently, smiling as she shifted awkwardly, her cheeks reddening.
She hesitated, then asked, "Can I sit here?"
I nodded, gesturing to the spot beside me. She sat down carefully, adjusting her glasses and keeping her gaze fixed on the bonfire. Her features were sharp, framed by silky black hair, and her golden eyes reflected the firelight. She had a habit of pushing her glasses up her nose whenever they slipped, a small, nervous tic that made her seem even younger.
"What?" I asked after a moment, noticing her curious stare as if she were trying to figure something out about me.
"Why are you alone, sir?" she repeated, her voice soft but persistent.
I tilted my head slightly and smirked. "Nezro," I reminded her again.
"Sorry, Nezro," she corrected, her gaze returning to the flames.
"What's your name?"
"Anita," she replied shortly, as if the question wasn't worth her time.
The name stirred a faint memory, but I let it pass, smiling at the coincidence. "Well, Anita, sometimes sitting alone gives you a different perspective on the world," I said, leaning back and stretching my legs out in front of me.
She frowned slightly, clearly intrigued. "A different perspective?"
"Yeah. When you look at the bonfire, what do you see?"
"Flames," she said simply, as if it were the most obvious answer.
"Okay, but what do you see beyond the flames?"
She paused, her expression shifting to something more serious. "People running from reality," she answered, her tone tinged with disdain.
The certainty in her voice caught me off guard. What had she experienced to make her so disillusioned at her age?
"Good," I said, nodding. "Now, what do you think the people on the other side of the fire see when they look at us?"
"Two lonely, disinterested people talking. And flames."
Her blunt reply made me laugh—a real, unrestrained laugh that echoed in the still night. It wasn't often that someone surprised me like this, and her perspective felt oddly familiar.
"What's so funny?" she asked, her face twisting into a pout.
"Nothing," I said, shaking my head. "It's just the way you said it—it made you sound like a grown-up."
"Well, I'm not a kid," she snapped, pushing her glasses up her nose again and scribbling idly in the dirt with a stick.
"And I didn't say you were," I replied, my tone softer now.
I could tell she didn't want to be treated like a child, so I didn't. We talked until the fire began to burn low, and people started heading back to their shelters to avoid breaking curfew.
"You know what, Nezro?"
"What?"
"You're actually really interesting to talk to," she said, a genuine smile breaking through her earlier shyness.
"And so are you, Anita," I said, nodding toward the group dispersing. "Now, go to your parents before they leave."
"Oh, I didn't come with them. I snuck out."
Her mischievous grin caught me by surprise, and before I could say anything, she darted off into the night, her laughter trailing behind her.
I watched her go, shaking my head. There was something about her—something that reminded me of someone I used to know, though I couldn't quite place who.
"Sneaky brat," I muttered to myself, smirking. "I hope we meet again someday—when the world isn't such a mess."