The jungle was loud. Crickets. Frogs. Something growling way off in the trees. The kind of noise that made you feel alive, but also kinda paranoid.
Ghost Viper 7 was dug in — gear down, rifles nearby, perimeter tight. Camp was quiet, but the team? Not fucking one bit.
Knox laid back against his pack, chewing on something that looked like jerky but probably wasn't. "You know what I miss?"
"Clean socks?" Alvarez said without looking up from his med pouch.
"Okay, yeah, that," Knox nodded. "But also, pizza. Real pizza. With crust that doesn't taste like an MRE wrapper."
"You had pizza back home?" Hale's voice came in over the comms — soft, calm, watching from a few meters out. "That explains the heartburn."
Knox gave a fake laugh. "Doc, you tell him I got heartburn one time and now I'm labeled defective?"
Alvarez didn't miss a beat. "Brother, you had heartburn from oatmeal."
"Old man stomach," Hale added.
Mercer sat with his legs crossed, elbows resting on his knees. He was quiet, watching the tree line, headset barely lit under his helmet.
"Can't believe they've got us out here," Knox went on, pulling off a boot and checking his sock. "Four guys, no backup, no drone support. Just wandering around this jungle like it's a damn hiking trip."
Alvarez looked up. "You wanna hike? Next time I'll sign you up for Kilimanjaro."
"No thanks. I'm allergic to effort."
Mercer finally spoke. "You're here because they trust us to handle it quiet. Bigger footprint would spook the target or blow the lead."
Knox blinked. "So basically, we're the bait."
Mercer didn't turn. "No. We are the blade."
That shut them up for a second.
Then Alvarez muttered, "Deep. Did you steal that from a movie?"
"Shut your mouth," Mercer said. "HQ said there's a possible cell in this sector. The last group to patrol here went dark."
Knox stretched. "Why are we always the cleanup crew…"
"That's what happens when you're the only team not burned out or busted up," Alvarez said.
Hale keyed in softly. "Nights peaceful. Nothing moving but the noise."
Knox raised an eyebrow. "You say that like noise moves."
"It does," Hale said. "Out here? It does."
They were quiet for a moment. The jungle was quite lively bugs chirping, frogs croaking…
Then—
Crack.
A faint branch snapped somewhere to the east.
Everyone froze.
Knox straightened up. Alvarez paused mid-zip on his pouch. Mercer's hand went to his mic.
"Alpha-1, movement east. Sounded light. Fifty meters, maybe less."
He gave a quick hand signal — two fingers up, then motioned east, then pointed to the trees.
The others moved instantly. Hale was already repositioning.
Mercer whispered into the team channel. "Pack up slow. Form up staggered wedge. No lights. Weapons ready."
Knox grabbed his rifle. "No visuals. Could be an animal."
"Still moving," Hale whispered. "East tree line. Staying low."
The fire between them still flickered, casting soft orange light across their gear. No one moved to put it out. They just shifted. Quiet. Trained.
Mercer took point. Alvarez and Knox fell in on his six. Hale moved up behind, already scanning with his optic.
They melted into the jungle like they'd never been there.
They moved slow — sidestepping through the trees, weapons up. Each man spaced about thirty meters from the other, sweeping in a wide arc.
No movement. No contact. Just the usual jungle noise, frogs, crickets, trees creaking.
"Probably just a frog," Knox said over comms, voice low. "Frog steps on a twig, makes us look like idiots."
"Would've heard more if it was people," Alvarez replied. "No way someone got that close without us hearing something else."
"Exactly," Knox said. "If they saw us, they would've lit us up. We'd be Swiss cheese by now."
Mercer's voice cut in, flat and steady. "Maybe. Or maybe they were watching to see what we'd do first."
There was silence for a second.
"Copy," Hale said. "Still clear on my side. No signs of anything."
"Alpha-3 clear," Alvarez confirmed.
"Alpha-4, nothing here," Knox added. "Just tree leaves"
Mercer glanced around, scanning through night vision. "Clear on my end. Stay sharp. If it wasn't contact, it was still something. We assume nothing."
"Could just be the nerves," Knox said. "I thought I heard a twig snap earlier, too. Probably just us being jumpy."
Mercer replied. "I'd rather be paranoid than dead."
"Can't argue that," Alvarez said.
"Yeah, agreed," Hale added. "Better jumpy than zipped up in a bag."
They waited another five minutes — still nothing. Not a whisper. No follow-up movement. The jungle sounded normal again.
Mercer finally keyed in. "Alright, everyone regroup. New rally point, south side of the hill we crossed an hour ago. Stay low. Keep spacing tight."
"Copy," Hale responded.
"Moving," Alvarez said.
"Roger that," Knox added, quieter this time.
One by one, they broke from their search positions and moved toward the new rally point — away from the cold campfire, deeper into the unknown.
No contact.
They regrouped.
Finally, all four of them in the same spot again — away from the fire, crouched low in a tight circle. Everyone looked tense, but no one said it out loud.
Knox cracked a weak joke. "If I die tonight, I want my gear buried with me."
Alvarez chuckled. Hale smirked. Even Mercer allowed himself a short breath through his nose. Just a moment to ease the nerves.
Then the ground shook.
Hard.
Instant.
BOOM.
The trees swayed like they were about to fall over. Birds exploded into the air. Frogs leapt in every direction. Branches cracked and dropped from above. The jungle roared.
"DROP! DROP! DROP!" Mercer shouted, already hitting the dirt.
Everyone slammed flat to the ground.
No one said a word — just the sound of their gear rattling, hearts pounding, and the earth going crazy beneath them.
It lasted five seconds.
When it finally stopped, there was only silence. Dead, empty silence.
"Up! Form up!" Mercer barked. His voice was still sharp, but there was a slight tremble in it. "Get up now! Defensive formation!"
They scrambled into position, rifles up, watching every direction.
"The hell was that?" Knox said, wide-eyed. "That wasn't normal. That wasn't just an earthquake. Felt like the whole world shifted."
"Might've been a bomb," Alvarez added. "Underground. Deep one."
"Yeah, a bomb that pissed off the jungle," Hale muttered.
"Shut it." Mercer snapped. He tapped his radio. "Overwatch, this is Ghost Viper Actual, do you copy? Something just hit. Massive shake, unknown source. Do you read?"
Static.
He tried again. "This is Ghost Viper, respond. I say again, respond."
More static. No voice. No ping. No nothing.
He looked at the others. "Anyone else? Try backup. Now."
Knox reached for his own set. Alvarez and Hale did the same.
Nothing.
Just empty air.
"No signal. Dead comms," Alvarez said. "Like we're out of range."
"We're not. We were just talking to them ten minutes ago," Mercer muttered.
They looked at each other.
Something was wrong.
Not just off — wrong.
"Feels like we're out of place," Knox said quietly.
No one argued.
"We move," Mercer said. "Too much happened in the last thirty minutes. We're not waiting for more."
The others nodded.
They took up a loose combat formation — part defensive, part ready-to-fire. Standard jungle movement spread. Quiet. Steady. Rifles up.
As they walked, the forest around them was calm. Too calm.
No signs of an earthquake. No damage. No cracked earth. No fallen trees.
It was like it never happened.
"Feels wrong," Knox muttered.
"Keep it together," Mercer said. "Eyes open."
They kept moving.
Then Mercer raised a fist. Everyone stopped, crouched low.
Ahead — about 30 meters out — a campfire. And figures around it. Four or five people, sitting close to the flames.
No weapons in hand. No clear uniforms.
Just faint shapes. Hard to make out in the flickering light.
"Movement," Alvarez whispered.
"Confirmed," Hale said.
The group by the fire looked nothing like soldiers. The clothing looked loose, heavy. Not tactical gear. But not casual either. They couldn't see much detail, but it didn't look like anything standard.
"Not our people," Mercer said.
He checked his scanner. No signs. No body heat. No movement readings. But that made sense — they were wearing the new prototype suits, designed to be undetectable to sensors.
"We're invisible to them," Mercer said. "Let's use it."
Knox frowned. "Why have a fire out here?"
"Too exposed," Hale added. "Could be bait."
Mercer agreed.
"Could be a trap. We scatter. Twenty-meter spread. Cover every angle. If this goes bad, at least one of us makes it out to report."
Everyone nodded.
No arguments.
They split up, low and quiet, flanking wide in the jungle shadows.
No one noticed that the people near the fire weren't holding rifles...
They were holding swords.
But that would come later.
They inched closer.
One by one, the silhouettes sharpened into real shapes through the scope.
Five figures.
All sitting or crouched around the fire.
No guns.
No radios.
No tactical gear.
Instead—
Chainmail. Plate. Leather straps. Cloaks. Bags. Boots wrapped in cloth.
Old. Worn. Almost like... cosplay?
And one of them—taller, hooded, holding a long wooden staff, the tip glowing faint blue, a crystal pulsing soft light at the end.
"You seeing this shit?" Alvarez voice came in over comms.
"Confirmed," Knox replied. "That's not tactical gear."
"Guy in the brown robe looks like my Skyrim character," Alvarez said. "Level five wizard. Dumped all his points in charisma."
"Bro's got a damn staff," Alverez said again. "That's a whole-ass Gandalf out there."
"Is this a convention we weren't invited to?" Hale muttered.
"Yeah, where's my fucking sword?"
Mercer didn't say anything at first. Just watched.
He focused on the robed one. The guy wasn't moving much, but that staff… the glow was not normal. No lantern. No fire reflection.
It was emitting.
"Does anyone else see that crystal glowing?" Mercer asked.
"Yup," Alvarez said. "Could be tech. Portable power source? Looks arcane as hell though."
"No tech reads. No thermal, no EMF spike. Nothing."
"Then what the fuck is it?"
Mercer exhaled slowly. Scanned again.
Still nothing.
"This isn't a trap," he finally said. "This is something else."
Joker chuckled nervously. "Bro. If I wake up and this is a dream, I'd not be shocked."
"Stay sharp," Mercer said. "We move no closer. Hold position."
And so they did.
Watching the five strangers from the shadows — armed to the teeth with swords, daggers, and whatever the hell that glowing staff was.
No one noticed the soft pulse of light stretching out from the crystal...
"They look like westerners at best," Mercer muttered, squinting through his scope. "Probably civvies."
"How the fuck would a civvie end up in a live op zone that's been marked danger for five weeks?" Knox snapped back.
"...Fair." Mercer didn't argue. "Enemy wouldn't dress up like that just for a trap either. That's too much effort for bullshit."
He stayed quiet for a moment.
Then: "Neutralize all of them. Except the one with the staff."
"Why the staff guy?" Alvarez asked. "What, is he the VIP now?"
"We're in no-man's land," Mercer replied. "I want him alive, he looks like someone we could talk to."
"Then why'd they camp this close to the edge of no-man's land, huh?" Hale asked. "Who the hell does that?"
Mercer didn't respond right away.
Because he didn't know either.
"...Dumbass." Knox muttered under his breath.
"We're all dumbasses," Mercer snapped. "If you knew better, you should've fucking told me."
Nobody answered.
Because yeah, that whole thing was stupid.
But the command stood.
"Just do it. They're not civvies. This place was lit up these past few weeks."
Orders given.
Four triggers. Four shots.
Each target dropped like flies.
Even with suppressors, the shots cracked through the jungle air, loud enough to rattle the leaves.
The five around the campfire barely had time to panic.
The one with the hood and staff jolted awake just as the fourth body hit the ground.
"WHAT IN THE—"
He shot up, eyes wide, raised his staff with both hands.
He shouted something in a language none of them understood.
A fireball—yes, a fucking fireball—formed at the tip of the staff.
The squad froze for a second.
That wasn't tech.
The fireball launched straight into the trees, missing all of them, but lighting up a patch of forest like it was dry paper.
And in that light—
The soldier's shadows danced across the trees.
Exposed.
The hooded man saw it. His face went pale.
"Monsters," he whispered.
And before he could react again—
Mercer sprinted in from the side, full speed, and smashed into him like a linebacker.
The robed man collapsed, staff flung aside, and Mercer dropped on top of him with his knee to the back.
"Got him."