The terrain stretched endlessly, a barren wasteland of red sand and fractured rock. It looked like Mars.
It felt like Mars.
And for all they knew, it could've been. Bootcamp simulations didn't come with welcome signs.
The moment the G.O.D. squad stepped through the tunnel, the world shifted.
A split-second flash of white engulfed them—then silence. When the light faded, they were no longer standing in the steel corridors of the tower. The environment had morphed completely.
Endless stretches of scorched terrain spread before them, a sunburnt island swathed in red-orange sand. Jagged cliffs shimmered in the distance beneath twin suns, their oppressive heat pressing down like a physical force.
Before anyone could make sense of it, their mission interface pinged. Bright glyphs bloomed across their visors, transmitting data directly to their HUDs.
Then, a voice followed—clean, mechanical, female. It reverberated inside their systems with unsettling calm.
"Welcome, participants, to the Tower Bootcamp. You are now on Solar Storm Island. Your objective: survive and cleanse the island of all threats. Time limit: forty-eight hours. Failure conditions: squad elimination or mission timeout."
At the same moment, a folder labeled [Bootcamp] blinked onto each of their mission consoles. As if on cue, every squad member tapped into it.
########
Current Location: Solar Storm Island
Mission Type: Survival / Threat Neutralization
Deadline: 48 Hours
Primary Objective:
– Survive ten waves of threat-level cleanses
– Each completed wave reveals a new portion of the island map
– Total squad survival is mandatory. If any member is eliminated, mission fails
Reward: Floor Entry Pass
Bonus: Mission Points (used for Floor 49 access priority)
Mission Survival Rate: 51%
Mission Completion Rate: 23.1%
########
Cason frowned not at the survival rate nor the mission completion rate but more at the vague wording. "A 'cleanup'? That's the vaguest mission briefing I've ever seen."
He swept his gaze across the lifeless horizon—nothing but crimson sand dunes and atmospheric haze. "Clean what? There's nothing here but heatstroke."
"Threat neutralization," Cason muttered, his voice a low growl over the squad's encrypted channel. "How specific. Could be rad-scorpions. Could be sun-madness. Let's find out."
Without wasting time, he signaled with two fingers, motioning toward the forward path.
"Trevor. Perimeter scans every two hundred meters—continuous loop. I want a full diagnostic sweep of this terrain. I want to know if a grain of sand shifts out of place. No blind spots," Cason ordered, eyes sharp beneath the visor.
He turned to his second. "Conrad, time to put that Visionary Architect class to work. Assist Trevor. I want a recon drone—model it after Noah's if possible. Something fast, silent, and efficient."
There were no 'yes, sirs'. Only the quiet, efficient click of gauntlets on consoles. Conrad was already pulverizing a Data Crystal, the energy coalescing into a shimmering drone schematic. It was more insectoid than Noah's design—a predatory dragonfly of black alloy and silent rotors.
Trevor was already ahead, sweeping his smart scanner across the horizon. Blue diagnostic light pulsed rhythmically over his armor as he recalibrated the frequency, switching to high-gain wave detection.
A soft chime confirmed the sync between the newly formed drone and his scanner. "Scanner's live. The drones synced. Feeding data," his voice was low but focused.
Cason nodded, satisfied. "Shields to minimal. Conserve power. Weapons hot, but don't get twitchy. This place is waiting for a reason."
The squad nodded in sync, quickly adjusting their configurations.
He started walking, the squad falling into a practiced, loose V-formation behind him.
Then, with a lopsided grin, Cason added, "Alright team, let's take a walk and enjoy the island breeze—what's left of it anyway. I haven't had a decent vacation in years." A dry chuckle crackled over the comms. "Think of it as a mandatory wellness retreat. Plenty of sun. Quiet."
A few chuckles rippled through the comms, lightening the tension. Even under the threat of unknown enemies and oppressive heat, Cason's dry humor cut through the dread like a cool wind.
"Could use a margarita," someone grumbled back.
"The sand exfoliation is complimentary," Conrad added, his tone deadpan as his fingers danced over his holo-interface, guiding one of the newborn drones into the shimmering air.
But the banter was a thin veneer over razor-sharp focus. Their boots crunched in the unnerving silence, the only sound besides the low hum of their armor and the hiss of their overtaxed cooling systems.
They were professionals.
And if Solar Storm Island wanted a fight, it would get one.
Hours bled together, marked only by the relentless countdown on their HUDs and the accumulating layer of red dust on their jet-black armor.
The heat was the real enemy—an oppressive, invasive force that seeped through their top-tier GE plating like a toxin. It wasn't just hot; it was a dry, sucking vacuum that leeched moisture and patience.
Cason wiped a gloved hand across his visor, smearing the dust. His skin was slick with sweat, the suit's climate control fighting a losing war against the environmental simulation.
This isn't normal heat, he thought, a prickle of unease cutting through his irritation. This feels engineered.
Around him, the rest of the G.O.D. squad was silent but visibly strained. Their sleek, jet-black plasma suits were now tinged with a fine layer of crimson dust, the once-pristine armor dulled by the relentless sweep of the red terrain.
Seven elite S-rank awakeners, and even they looked like they were baking inside their gear.
Cason's voice broke the tense silence. "Goddammit! What the hell is this place? Why is the cooling system acting like it's on vacation too?"
To his right, Conrad was a statue of stoic endurance, but even he had a faint heat-shimmer rising from his pauldrons.
"Captain," Conrad's voice was a calm, clipped interruption to the heavy silence. "The Lord sent a message."
Cason's head turned, his expression hardening beneath his helmet. "My father. Of course. What does he want now?"
"Intel. On Noah Adler."
The name landed in the tense silence like a stone. Noah.
Cason's jaw twitched. "Why?"
Cason's question was sharp, a blade of pure curiosity. His father didn't request intel on rookies. He commanded entire divisions.
Conrad was already typing into his wrist-mounted holo-console, data streams reflecting in his visor. "Unclear. The request is marked for immediate and discreet collection."
Cason exhaled through his nose, frustration simmering. Why would his father—who barely gave a damn about field ops—be interested in a rookie? Unless...
A slow, understanding grin spread across Cason's face, invisible to his squad. "He's scouting. The old man smells something he can't categorize. Something useful." His father had a collector's eye for unique assets. "Send him the standard psych eval and the combat footage from the initiation. Highlight the Technomancer class designation. That'll get his attention."
"Uploading now," Conrad confirmed.
As they pressed deeper into the red expanse, the silence became heavier. The environment didn't shift. No terrain changes. No monsters. No objectives. It was like walking through a looped simulation. Time stretched.
Cason clenched his fists. He needed conflict. Needed momentum. Anything but this slow rot. Even a full-on beast raid would be better than—
Just as his patience reached its breaking point, a voice crackled over the comm. It was Trevor, his usual cool replaced by an edge of urgency.
"Captain. Movement. Northwest horizon. Fast."
Cason's face lit up with the kind of grin that usually meant violence was imminent. "Finally. I was starting to feel like we were sightseeing."
The squad adjusted formation. Armors clicked into defense mode. Shields primed to the bare minimum. Weapons were raised from standby. They faced the horizon.
Then they saw it.
Not a monster.
Not a creature.
A sandstorm—but not just any sandstorm.
A wall of churning, furious red was advancing toward them, swallowing the sky. It was a biblical plague of dust and energy, lightning crackling within its depths like the veins of a furious god. It didn't move with the chaos of nature. It moved with purpose.
With intent.
And it was coming for them.