The icon pulsed an alarming shade of crimson on Arthur's screen, its rhythm more urgent than the surrounding mission markers, demanding attention like a beating heart exposed to open air.
Arthur clicked on it without hesitation.
The interface expanded with a satisfying digital flourish, revealing an ominous flashing warning: [EXTREME DIFFICULTY]. The words throbbed against the dark background in time with Arthur's quickening pulse.
His fatigue—the leaden weight that had been dragging at his limbs and clouding his thoughts—disappeared instantly, replaced by a familiar electric thrill. These high-stakes missions, the ones labelled impossible, had always been what captivated him most. While other gamers avoided challenges marked with skull icons or warning labels, Arthur sought them out like addiction.
With one successful mission already completed and Emily Chen safely directed to a safehouse, his confidence surged through him like a current. The taste of victory lingered sweet on his tongue. He could handle this. He could handle anything.
The mission brief materialized on screen: "Secure target: Javier Walker, 24, ranch hand. Prevent acquisition at all costs. No allied forces in vicinity. Local assets only."
Arthur's eyes narrowed at the stark instruction. "Prevent acquisition at all costs." Not extraction, that meant that if worse came to worse killing him might count as a victory, he would file that for later.
Below the text, a video feed activated, showing a sprawling ranch bathed in silver moonlight. The property stretched into darkness, its boundaries lost in shadow. The main house sat centered in the frame, a weather-beaten two-story structure with a wraparound porch, dark except for a single window on the ground floor leaking yellow light into the night. Close to the house, a barn stood in silent witness, its weathered red paint turned black in the darkness, surrounded by a fence whose posts contained a mass of sleeping cows.
The isolation of the place struck Arthur immediately. No neighbouring houses, no passing traffic—just empty land stretching for miles. The perfect place for someone to disappear without witnesses.
A timer appeared in the corner of the screen: 15:00. Fifteen minutes—more generous than the previous missions, but the "extreme difficulty" label made this extended time seem almost sarcastic, like being given extra rope to hang yourself.
Arthur cracked his knuckles, rolled his shoulders, and accepted the mission without second-guessing himself. The familiar rush of committing to a challenge flooded his system with adrenaline, sharpening his focus to a knife's edge.
The camera view smoothly zoomed closer to the illuminated window, the motion so fluid it felt like flying across the property rather than a digital transition. Inside, a young man with deeply tanned skin and rough, work-hardened hands sat at a worn kitchen table. His features were sharp, wary, eyes dark beneath heavy brows as he methodically cleaned a shotgun under the harsh light of a single overhead bulb.
"Interesting," Arthur muttered, his voice sounding unnaturally loud in his silent apartment. "Did he sense something is wrong?"
The shotgun lay partially disassembled on an oil-stained cloth, its metal parts gleaming dully under the kitchen light. With practiced efficiency, Javier reassembled the weapon inspecting every part before loading a shell.
Arthur selected Javier's figure on screen and activated the [TALK] option. Taking a deep breath to steady his voice, he spoke calmly through the communication interface.
"Javier Walker."
The effect was immediate and dramatic. Javier's hands froze mid-motion, his entire body going rigid as if electrified. His head snapped up with such force that the tendons in his neck visibly strained, eyes widening then narrowing as they swept across the empty kitchen.
"¿Quién está ahí?" he called out, the words emerging rough-edged with tension as he rose to his feet in a single fluid motion. The reassembled shotgun came up with him, not quite pointed at anything specific, but ready to be aimed in an instant. The subtitles translated for Arthur's benefit: "Who's there?"
Javier's posture shifted into a defensive stance, weight balanced on the balls of his feet. His eyes continued their methodical scan of the room, moving from corners to doorways, checking shadows and potential hiding places with practiced precision. This wasn't some frightened kid; this was someone who knew how to handle trouble.
"I'm here to help you," Arthur said, carefully modulating his tone as he studied Javier's reaction through the monitor.
A muscle in Javier's jaw twitched. His eyes widened briefly—a flash of raw fear quickly mastered—before narrowing again with deep suspicion. "Who are you? How are you talking to me?" Each word emerged clipped and controlled as he cautiously approached the nearest window, shotgun held at the ready, scanning the darkness beyond the glass for any sign of movement.
"There's no time for a full explanation," Arthur replied, recalling the lessons from his previous mission with Emily Chen. Direct, authoritative communication had worked best then, and he sensed the same approach would be effective now. Hesitation or uncertainty would only undermine his credibility. "Armed hostiles are on their way to take you. They'll be here in less than fifteen minutes."
Arthur found himself settling into the role with surprising ease. In his everyday life, social interaction was a minefield of awkward pauses and misinterpreted cues, but here, commanding strangers through life-or-death scenarios, he felt completely in his element. Years of directing raid teams and coordinating multiplayer strategy sessions had prepared him for this specific form of communication. As bizarre as the situation was, talking as "mission control" came more naturally to him than ordering coffee at his local café.
Javier's expression hardened, his knuckles whitening on the shotgun. "Jonathan!" he called suddenly, his voice carrying through the quiet house.
A moment later, another younger man appeared through a doorway, hair tousled from sleep, eyes heavy-lidded and irritated. He wore boxers and a rumpled t-shirt with a faded logo, clearly unhappy to be up and about at that hour.
"What?! Dios mio, just let me go to sleep, you puta," Jonathan grumbled, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. The family resemblance was obvious—the same strong jaw and broad shoulders, though Jonathan's features were softer, less weathered by outdoor work.
Ignoring his brother's complaints, Javier asked urgently, "Can you hear it?"
"Hear what?" Jonathan blinked in confusion, looking around the kitchen and then at his brother with growing concern. His expression clearly communicated what he was thinking: Javier had lost his marbles, waking him up in the middle of the night and then preventing him from returning to sleep because of "a feeling."
"Hey voice—talk again!" Javier demanded, his attention returning to the empty room, eyes searching for the source of Arthur's disembodied voice.
Arthur's eyes narrowed as he assessed this new development. Another variable in play. The younger brother complicated the tactical situation, adding another person to protect— or should he? he wasn't part of the objectives. At least he could potentially double their defensive capabilities. Arthur made a quick decision, selecting Jonathan's figure on the screen and activating the [TALK] option.
"I'm here," he said first, watching as Javier reacted but Jonathan remained oblivious. Then, after selecting Jonathan specifically: "Can you hear me now?"
The effect was dramatic. Jonathan almost fell backward, stumbling against the doorframe, his body jerking as if he'd touched a live wire. A stream of curses erupted from him, a multilingual cascade that Arthur recognized bits of—Spanish, English, and what sounded like Portuguese blending together in surprised profanity.
"What the hell?" Jonathan gasped, white-knuckled as he clutched the doorframe for support. His eyes darted wildly around the room, searching shadows and corners. "Who—where are you?"
"Calm down," Arthur commanded, his voice taking on the firm, no-nonsense tone he used when leading raid teams through difficult encounters. His usual social awkwardness vanished completely now, replaced by the tactical persona that felt like slipping into a comfortable, well-worn glove. "I don't have time for details. You're both in immediate danger."
Javier moved to his brother's side, solidarity in the face of the unknown, the shotgun still gripped firmly in one hand. "You hear it too now, right? I'm not crazy." Relief colored his words, thin but detectable beneath the tension.
Jonathan swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly in his throat. "Yeah, I hear it." His gaze continued its frantic search, jumping between empty corners and shadowed alcoves. "Who are you? What do you want?"
Arthur could see the fear mounting in the younger brother's eyes, threatening to tip over into panic. He needed to establish trust quickly. "My name is Arthur. Think of me as mission control," he said, opting for simplicity rather than a more complex explanation that would only generate more questions. "This is the third time tonight I've had to step in. The first was a kid named Mark—poor guy didn't listen and ended tied up and stuffed in a body bag. The second was a woman who listened and narrowly escaped a similar ambush. And now it's your turn."
The blunt statement seemed to cut through Jonathan's panic, replacing it with focused apprehension. "Our turn for what?" he asked, his voice steadier now, cautious rather than frantic.
"There's an unknown number of... well, they're hard to describe." Arthur paused, searching for words that wouldn't sound completely insane. "They look human, but everything about them is just slightly off. And they're coming for your brother, Javier. My job is to stop them from getting him."
"So, what will it be? Will you listen or say goodbye to him."