There was only darkness. A suffocating emptiness that stretched in all directions, weightless yet crushing.
Alistair drifted in the void, unmoored and without form. Time felt meaningless here, a slow bleed of moments slipping past. His mind clawed at memories that flickered like dying embers: Cross's steady gaze through the scope of his rifle, Sparks typing furiously, Ox's booming laughter. Zara's calm voice, always the anchor.
Then came the light.
It started as a single pinprick, faint against the void. It expanded, spilling out like a flood, tearing the darkness apart. Alistair gasped as air rushed into his lungs. His chest heaved, his senses returning in an overwhelming wave.
He opened his eyes.
---
The chamber was vast, the walls curving upward into shadows that seemed to stretch forever. Soft, golden light emanated from glowing panels etched into the walls, each one intricate and alive with subtle energy. Reliefs carved from an unfamiliar stone lined the perimeter, each depicting a scene that tugged at Alistair's memory.
He pushed himself upright, his hands brushing against the cool, smooth floor. His gaze swept the room, pausing on the panels. A jungle firefight, a daring rescue, a chaotic extraction under enemy fire—he recognized them all. Moments from his life.
At the chamber's center stood a statue.
The figure of a cat, seated regally on a low pedestal, its body carved from vibrant orange carnelian stone that seemed to ripple in the light. Streaks of white moonstone marked its chest and tail, catching the chamber's glow like starlight. Its amber eyes, made from polished gems, gleamed faintly, their depths almost lifelike.
Alistair stared at it, unease prickling at the back of his neck. It was beautiful, yes, but it felt… alive. Watching.
---
He turned back to the walls, his boots echoing softly on the chamber's floor. A particular relief caught his attention—a jungle scene, with Cross perched on a ridge, his rifle trained on an unseen target. Alistair stepped closer, brushing his fingers over the carving.
The panel pulsed beneath his touch, light radiating outward in a sudden wave. The air around him shifted, heavy with something unspoken.
"Boss?"
The voice was quiet but unmistakable.
Alistair spun around, his heart racing. There, just a few paces away, stood Cross. His sniper rifle was slung casually over his shoulder, and his sharp, calculating eyes scanned the chamber before landing on Alistair.
"Cross…" Alistair's voice was hoarse, disbelief cutting through the single word.
"Where the hell are we?" Cross asked, his tone calm despite the strangeness of the situation.
"I don't know," Alistair admitted, stepping closer. "But you're here."
Cross nodded, his expression unreadable. "Feels like we're not done yet."
---
The two stood in silence for a moment, the weight of their circumstances settling over them. Cross's eyes drifted to the glowing panels along the walls. "These… they're our missions, aren't they?"
Alistair nodded. "Looks like it."
Cross moved toward a nearby panel, his gaze narrowing. It depicted a narrow canyon, the squad pinned down by gunfire while Cross picked off targets from above. His lips pressed into a thin line. "The valley op. Took out twenty-three tangos that day."
"And saved our asses in the process," Alistair added.
Cross smirked faintly but didn't respond. Instead, he gestured to another panel further down. "That one doesn't glow. What do you think it means?"
Alistair studied the panel. It showed the squad securing a supply drop, a relatively straightforward mission. He touched the surface, but nothing happened—no light, no warmth, no shift in the air. He shook his head. "No idea."
Cross's gaze flicked to the statue at the chamber's center. "That thing's watching us, isn't it?"
"Feels like it," Alistair admitted, glancing at the amber-eyed figure. "Whatever this place is, it's not random."
---
They moved further along the wall, stopping at a panel showing Ox shielding the squad from enemy fire, his massive frame a wall of defiance. Alistair hesitated before touching it, unsure of what to expect.
The panel glowed, brighter than the last, and a deep rumble echoed through the chamber.
"Damn, that was a nap," came a booming voice behind them.
Both men turned to see Ox sitting on the floor, rubbing the back of his neck. He stretched, his joints cracking audibly as he stood.
"Boss? Cross?" His gaze darted between them, his brow furrowed. "What the hell's going on? Did we win, or did we die?"
"I think both," Alistair said, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Ox let out a booming laugh, clapping Alistair on the shoulder hard enough to make him stagger. "If this is the afterlife, at least it's got good company."
Cross snorted. "Leave it to you to crack jokes in limbo."
---
The three men spent the next few minutes moving between panels, reminiscing about missions depicted in the carvings. Not all of them glowed, but each one stirred memories—some of triumph, others of loss.
When they reached a panel showing Sparks hunched over her tablet, typing furiously, Alistair hesitated. "Think she's next?"
Ox shrugged. "Only one way to find out."
The moment Alistair touched the relief, the air seemed to hum with static electricity. Sparks stirred near the statue, her fingers twitching as if still working her device.
She sat up slowly, her wide eyes locking onto the three men. "Alistair? Cross? Ox?"
"We're here," Alistair said, kneeling beside her.
"What is this place?" Sparks asked, her voice trembling.
"We're still figuring that out," Cross said, offering her a hand.
She took it, standing unsteadily. Her gaze shifted to the glowing reliefs, then to the statue. "Feels like we're part of something bigger, doesn't it?"
Ox grinned. "Bigger than us? Nah. Impossible."
---
They continued exploring, their small group now four. Each panel they passed told a story, and the squad shared quiet reflections, filling the chamber with echoes of the past.
When they reached Zara's panel—her kneeling beside a wounded civilian—Alistair felt a pang of something he couldn't name. He touched the relief, and a soothing warmth spread through the room.
Zara appeared gracefully, as if she had been waiting. Her calm eyes scanned the group before landing on Alistair. "You brought us all here, didn't you?"
"I don't think I did," he replied. "But we're together now."
She nodded, her gaze shifting to the statue. "And I think it's watching for a reason."
---
The five stood together for the first time since their deaths, their presence filling the chamber with a quiet strength. Each of them exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of confusion and calm acceptance.
Alistair turned toward the statue, its amber eyes glowing brighter than before, casting a golden hue across the chamber. There was a subtle shift in the air—something unseen, something immense.
"What now, boss?" Ox asked, his deep voice rumbling through the space.
"I don't know," Alistair admitted, his gaze fixed on the statue. "But whatever this is, it's not over."
Before anyone could respond, a voice echoed through the chamber, soft yet commanding, harmonious yet impossible to place. It was as if the chamber itself had spoken, resonating in their bones.
"It seems you have all gathered now."
The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, silencing any further questions. The squad turned as one, searching for the source, but the chamber remained still.
The amber eyes of the statue flickered, catching the light like molten gold. Alistair felt the weight of its gaze, and for the first time, he wasn't sure if he should feel comforted or judged.
"Gathered for what?" Sparks whispered, her voice barely audible.
The voice did not answer, leaving only the faint hum of energy in the air.
Alistair's jaw tightened, resolve hardening in his chest. He glanced at his team—Cross, steady and unshakable; Ox, a towering pillar of strength; Sparks, ever resourceful; and Zara, calm and unwavering. They were here, alive in a way he couldn't explain, and that was enough.
"Whatever this is," Alistair said, his voice firm, "we'll face it together."
The chamber seemed to hum in response, the amber eyes of the statue glowing ever brighter as if to acknowledge his words.