It started with an eerie stillness that settled over the village like a heavy blanket. The usual chatter and laughter of the villagers fell silent, giving way to an unsettling quiet. Birds ceased their songs, and even the rustling of leaves seemed to hold its breath.
A lone scout returned from the forest, his footsteps hurried and eyes wide with unease. His report was brief but enough to spark unease: the comms tower, their lifeline to the outside world, had gone dark without warning, its blinking lights extinguished.
Vexa's voice quivered as she relayed the troubling news, her eyes scanning the shadowed treetops. "We're being watched," she whispered, her words hanging in the air like a palpable threat.
Lila stood at the edge of the village, her cloak whipping around her as the wind curled and danced. She squinted into the encroaching darkness of the forest, her instincts screaming. "No," she said, her voice solemn and sure. "We're being hunted."
Three CP6 agents glided stealthily through the moonlit alleys, their movements fluid and silent as whispers. Agent Umbra melded seamlessly with the surrounding darkness, dissolving into the very walls before reappearing like a phantom to strike unsuspecting foes from behind. Agent Vox, with a voice as deceptive as a siren's call, perfectly imitated the familiar tones of villagers, luring the Driftborn into carefully laid traps where escape was impossible. Agent Pale, with an eerie grace, stepped through roaring flames, leaving neither a trace of soot on his pristine boots nor a heartbeat to betray his presence. Their methods were neither fair nor loud; they fought with an unyielding purpose—to erase without a sound.
The Driftborn Bleed.
Buzz was ambushed in the forge, the air thick with the metallic tang of molten metal and smoke. Flames leapt up around him, licking at his clothes and searing his skin. He barely escaped, his arm hanging limply at his side, scorched and broken. Each step was agony, his breath coming in ragged gasps and grunts, but the searing pain in his body didn't halt his determined advance. He pushed forward, refusing to be brought down. "Damn bastards," he said as he limped away.
Zin grappled with Vox amidst swirling mist, shadows twisting and warping in his vision. The fog clung to him like a heavy shroud, distorting every sound and movement. In a frantic moment of confusion, he lunged at a silhouette, nearly striking down a villager, convinced it was his elusive foe. "I could have sworn it was them," he said, but he started to question his inner mind. "Am I seeing things?" His senses were in disarray, a chaotic jumble of reality and illusion, and his mind teetered on the edge of sanity, struggling to discern what was genuine.
Vexa discovered her technology betrayed her, the once-reliable systems now a chaotic mess, her own traps turned against her. She navigated a gauntlet of explosions, the ground shaking beneath her feet as she ducked and dodged. One particularly violent blast sent debris flying, a chunk of rubble striking her squarely in the face. "Oh, fuck sakes," she yelled. She stumbled away, her skin bruised and battered, a testament to the narrow escape from the dangerous chaos that had sought to ensnare her. "That won't heal well..." she mutters, "even if I heal myself with 100 percent of my medical skills."
Riven crouched low, his voice barely a whisper, "They're not here to battle us," he murmured, eyes scanning the darkness. He edged towards the shadow of a crumbling wall, heart pounding in his chest. "They're here to end us." He knew hiding was futile, yet the cover of night was his only ally now, offering a slim chance to catch sight of the relentless adversaries stalking them. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig could be their doom or the slender thread of survival that let them see another dawn. "Damn it, I see nothing," he growled under his breath, frustration mounting as he switched to his other weapon.
The sleek, black rifle was a masterpiece crafted by Juno and Vexa, its polished surface gleaming faintly even in the dim light. They had named it the "Peekakill Sniper," a thermal sniper that pierced through the night with its uncanny ability to detect life. No refuge was safe from its gaze; the moment a target inhaled, the scope would light up with a pulsing red signal, marking the target's heart. Riven adjusted his grip, the cool metal reassuring against his gloved hands. With the deadly precision of armor haki and high-caliber, heavy-duty bullets, nothing could shield their foes from his sight.
The Crew Fractures.
Tension like a taut bowstring threatened to snap the unity of the Driftborn. Juno, with her brow furrowed in worry, spoke first, "We can't protect the village and fight ghosts at the same time." Her voice trembled with the weight of their predicament.
Veyra, leaning against a tree with her arms crossed defiantly, replied, "Then we draw them out." Her jaw was set, determination etched in her features.
Buzz, with a mischievous smirk on his lips, suggested, "Or we set the whole forest ablaze and listen for the screams." His words hung in the air like smoke, dark and unsettling.
Zin, ever the voice of reason, quickly countered, "If we do that, the villagers' homes will go up in flames too. We're not the Marines; we're supposed to be better." His tone was firm, a reminder of their higher purpose.
Lila, standing with her arms crossed defiantly, said, "No." Her voice was resolute. "We don't become them. We outthink them. Juno, Gorren, Veyra, and Milo, you'll protect the villagers. Gorren, see if you can create a rock barrier to shield them. Riven, hold your position as best you can. Milo, you do what you know best—use chili to burn the enemy's eyes."
Milo, leaning casually against a tree with a lopsided grin, snorted and replied, "Is that all I know? I'm hurt," he said sarcastically, feigning offense but clearly enjoying the banter his leader would give once in a blue moon. He can't help but be amused.
The Bait.
Lila stood alone amidst the crumbling stones and twisted metal beams of the abandoned plaza. The once-bustling area now lay in silent disarray, shadows stretching across the ground in the fading twilight. No guards patrolled the perimeter, no crew members moved about; it was just her, a solitary figure poised for what was to come. She waited, her breath slow and steady as her eyes scanned the desolate scene around her.
Then, as the wind shifted and rustled through the debris, she felt a presence materialize behind her. Umbra had arrived, but his timing was off. Too late.
"You forgot," she murmured, her voice barely a breath above the whisper of the wind.
Her tone hardened, anger lacing her words like venom. "I will never kneel to your kind," she declared, each syllable sharp as glass. "When will your people get the message? I keep sending body bags to your goddamn masters." The moon hung high, casting a cold, silver light that glinted off the remnants of the structure around them. The air was charged with a chilling breeze, the kind that sends shivers down spines—the unmistakable harbinger of death on the horizon.