Dixie tapped the control panel, bringing up a series of grainy, older scans overlaid with recent thermal readings. A section of the map flickered blue. "There's also this anomaly," he said. "Not a power source exactly, but residual energy readings. Something down there is still active."
A low murmur spread across the room.
"Could be leftover machinery," one of the mercenary captains muttered. "Or something worse."
Dixie smirked. "Exactly. The readings are very vague at this distance but something that is still operating after all this while has to be something unique. If it is still running by the time you get there, we need to find out what it is—and determine whether it's an asset or a threat."
Karmon, arms crossed, grunted. "And if it's a threat?"
Dixie's smirk didn't fade. "Then you do what we're paying you for."
Another wave of murmurs swept through the room. Some of the captains exchanged glances, wary but not surprised. That was the nature of jobs like this—get in, adapt, and hope your team wasn't the unlucky one.
What followed was a rapid-fire breakdown of fallback routes, emergency procedures, and counter-strategies. People argued, dissected the intel, and mapped out their likely movements. No one was naïve enough to think the plan would hold up once they hit the ground, but it was a necessary ritual—an illusion of control before everything turned to chaos.
Dixie cast a final, sweeping glance around the room. "Ideally, we have a month before the Santana Group's silence runs out, but we need to capitalize on every moment. Finalize your preparations. Adli's army moves out in three days and we deploy in five. I expect every team to be operating at peak readiness by then. That's all—dismissed."
Chairs scraped against the metal floor as people rose. Conversations resumed in hushed, urgent tones as team leaders and officers filed out.
Rion was nearly at the door when Dixie's voice cut through the noise. "Mr. Forger, a moment."
He turned, catching the sharp glint in Dixie's eyes. The liason of the Normos Family waited until the room was nearly empty, the hum of departing footsteps and murmured conversations fading into the distance. Rion stood just inside the doorway, his posture relaxed but his mind sharp, as Dixie Normos approached.
The man moved with a deliberate grace, his dark-blue tactical coat catching the light from the overhead fixtures. His expression was calm, but there was a calculating glint in his eyes that made Rion wary.
"Mr. Forger," Dixie began, his voice low but carrying an edge of authority. "I don't often extend personal invitations to meetings like this. You should consider it a sign of trust—or at least, potential."
Rion nodded, his gaze steady. "I appreciate the opportunity. Though I'm still not entirely sure why I'm here."
Dixie's lips curled into a faint smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "You're here because Kellen vouched for you. And because I've seen your work. I must say I'm really impressed with what you've managed to accomplish."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the conference room that only consisted of them both and his two guards before settling back on Rion. "But this is not the time for empty platitudes. This mission is going to be a nightmare. The factions involved, the unknowns we're walking into—it's a recipe for chaos."
Rion crossed his arms, leaning slightly against the wall as Dixie continued his speech. " You should be aware that we are operating under strict limitations during this mission. According to the agreement, each of us is limited to one hundred personnel which in our case means roughly seventy combatants and thirty non-combatants. For an operation of this scale, that's not nearly enough. We'll be stretched thin, especially when it comes to technical expertise."
"So you have additional requirements for me."
"Exactly," Dixie said, his tone firm. "I've heard you're not just a decent shot—you're a genius with machinery. In addition to your protection duty, I want you to assist the engineers of whichever team you are assigned to in assessing anything we find. If it's salvageable, you'll make sure we secure it. If it's a threat...." He trailed off, his gaze sharpening, "You'll neutralize it."
Rion absorbed the words, his mind already racing through the implications. Dual roles weren't uncommon in high-stakes operations, but the level of responsibility Dixie was placing on him was significant. It meant he'd be on the front lines, exposed to the greatest risks, while also being expected to help with the backliners.
"That's a tall order," Rion said finally. "Especially with so many unknowns."
Dixie's took a slow step forward, his voice dropping just enough to make it clear this wasn't a request. "If it were easy, I wouldn't need you. You'll have full autonomy within the scope of your role. I don't micromanage talent—I place it where it's needed and expect results."
His gaze flicked to Rion's left waist, where both of his electromagnetic handguns were clipped to his belt. "If things go sideways, I trust you'll act accordingly."
Rion said nothing, letting the weight of Dixie's words settle. His words were calculated, every sentence designed to push him toward a specific mindset. Rion wasn't naive—he knew he was being manipulated, to some extent. But that didn't change the fact that the mission was real, and the stakes were high.
Dixie exhaled through his nose, his expression neutral. "I'm not in the habit of making bad investments. Kellen swears by you, and I trust her judgment. But trust only lasts as long as it's useful. Prove me right, and we'll both benefit from this arrangement."
Rion's lips twitched slightly. "And if I prove you wrong?"
Dixie's smirk returned, but this time, there was steel behind it. "Then you won't be around to worry about it."
A moment of silence stretched between them before Dixie straightened, adjusting the cuff of his coat. "Team assignments will be finalized by tomorrow morning. Expect your briefing materials then. In the meantime, I suggest you use these last few days wisely. Once you deploy, there won't be room for regrets."
With that, he signaled the end of the meeting.
As Rion stepped out of the conference room, the compound was still buzzing with activity. Mercenaries moved with purpose, their weapons and gear clinking as they prepared for the mission ahead.
The air was thick with tension, a palpable sense of anticipation that seemed to cling to every surface. He made his way through the chaos, his mind already shifting gears.
Five days wasn't much time, but it would have to be enough.
He had work to do.
The next few days passed in a blur of preparation. Rion spent most of his time fine-tuning his equipment, testing new modifications to his weapons, and running drills with Team Gamma, the team he had been assigned to.
Command had decided to split their entire roster into five teams, each consisting of fifteen combatants and five non-combatants. His team consisted of a few familiar faces like Vance and Stone, along with the three Shadow Sisters and some other retainers and mercenaries. With Stone as team captain, they trained together, their cohesion growing with each passing day.
As the deadline loomed, tension in the compound reached a fever pitch, thick with the anticipation that precedes a storm. With the arrival of Rion's customized bulletproof vest on the fourth day, his preparations were finally complete.
After thanking the courier who delivered it, he returned to his room to unbox it.
Rion set the box on his desk and carefully peeled away the packaging, revealing the sleek, matte-black bulletproof vest beneath. The material felt unnaturally light in his hands, yet he knew it was reinforced with cutting-edge composites and reactive fibers, designed to harden upon impact.
Flexible plating covered vital areas without restricting movement, and the inner lining was woven with kinetic-absorbing gel to further dampen blunt force trauma.
He ran his fingers over the smooth fabric, pleased with the craftsmanship. This was leagues ahead of the standard armored gear that the Family handed out to the mercenaries.
Just as he dropped it with his other gear, a sharp knock on his door pulled him from his thoughts. He turned to see one of the logistics officers standing there, holding a small black case.
"Your comms and mask," the officer said, handing it over before disappearing down the hall without another word.
Rion shut the door and placed the case on his desk, flipping it open. Inside were two items. The first was a face mask with an inbuilt mini air filtration valve. Intelligence had warned that after years of abandonment, the base's air circulation systems had likely failed, leaving the atmosphere inside stagnant and potentially hazardous.
Organic matter decay, chemical leaks from damaged storage containers, and the unknown biological processes of the creatures that had made it their home meant breathing unfiltered air could range from merely unpleasant to outright dangerous. The filtration system was designed to neutralize particulates, spores, and low-level toxins that might have accumulated in the enclosed environment.
Rion turned the mask over in his hands, noting the reinforced seal that would form around his face and the small indicator light that would warn him if toxicity levels exceeded the filter's capabilities.
Nestled in a foam cutout, the second item was a sleek earpiece with a small, retractable mic. He picked dropped the mask, picked it up and turned it over in his hands, noting its sturdy but lightweight construction. A thin, reinforced antenna extended from its side—barely noticeable but essential for long-range communication.
These weren't standard-issue military comms. They had a discreet, high-tech finish that suggested cutting-edge engineering, likely sourced from the Family's private channels. He had no doubt that they were encrypted beyond the level of commercial tech.
Activating the device, a small pulse of blue light flickered along its edge as it synced to the network. The interface displayed a list of connected devices—each one labeled with an identifier code rather than names. A precaution, no doubt. Even if someone managed to intercept their comms, they wouldn't immediately know who was speaking.
He tapped his earpiece, testing the signal. "Gamma-04, online."
A second later, Stone's voice crackled through. {Copy that. Everyone should have their comms now. Do a quick check-in. We move out in less than seventy-two hours.}
One by one, the rest of Team Gamma reported in, their voices overlapping briefly before Stone muted them.
Rion leaned back in his chair, considering the implications of the new gear. These comms were built for extreme conditions. According to the specs provided, they could function even under heavy electronic jamming, which meant no ordinary tech could disrupt their connection. That alone suggested the Family anticipated some serious interference during the mission.
It also explained why they were completely isolated from any outside networks. The comms only worked within the encrypted system the Family had set up, preventing them from transmitting any data beyond their controlled environment. A smart move. Given how secretive they were about this entire operation, they weren't about to risk leaks.
Not that it would matter. From what little intelligence they had on Area 69, something about the underground base made external communication nearly impossible. Long-range radio signals struggled to get through, and even satellites had trouble mapping the region.
In any case, Rion tentatively judged that he made adequate preparations to survive whatever hell the underground base would throw at him. He mentally listed out his full complement of gear.
His current defense far surpassed anything he had before. With his newly acquired bulletproof vest layered over the now-patched bodysuit he had taken from Young Master #1, he was better protected against both ballistic and melee threats. His G-boots gave him unparalleled mobility, allowing him to reposition quickly in battle.
For weaponry, he had his electromagnetic rifle for long-range, his electromagnetic handguns for midrange, and his special gloves for close combat.
But perhaps his most significant improvement was the swathe of new bullets he had crafted in the past few days. In addition to the standard ferromagnetic rounds, explosive bullets, and armor-piercing ammunition, he had developed three new types of rounds, each tailored for the mission ahead.
The first was the Corrosive bullets, which contained a specialized chemical payload that dissolved armor and organic material over time. Given that they would be facing mutated creatures—many of which likely had unnaturally thick hides—these bullets would allow him to gradually wear down even the most resilient enemies.
Beyond combat, they had environmental applications. If they encountered rusted or reinforced barriers within the facility, a few shots could weaken them enough for a forced entry. Even if the underground ruins had sealed pathways or old security doors, he could potentially melt them.
The second was CMX bullets which were very similar to his explosive bullets but functioned differently. While the explosive rounds detonated on impact, creating an instantaneous blast, these special rounds embedded a small payload of an incendiary primer called Cyclotrimetalloyenexplodinamine, or CMX for short at the bullet's tip, igniting upon contact and burning through the target over time.