The alarm that woke them at 0400 wasn't Sergeant Voss's whistle—it was the sharp, urgent wail of a combat alert. Kael rolled out of his bunk to find the barracks already in chaos, recruits stumbling around in the darkness as emergency lighting bathed everything in hellish red.
"This is not a drill!" Voss's voice boomed over the intercom. "All recruits to the armory, full combat gear, five minutes!"
Finn was already pulling on his boots, his face pale in the crimson light. "What's happening?"
"Real world," Elena said grimly, checking her equipment with the efficiency of someone who'd done this before. "Someone just called in the Wolves."
The armory was a hive of frantic activity as recruits struggled into body armor and grabbed weapons. Corporal Hayes moved among them like a force of nature, checking gear and barking corrections.
"Magazines loaded and locked! Safety on until I tell you otherwise! If I see anyone with their finger on the trigger before we reach the target zone, I'll personally throw them out of the transport!"
Kael's hands moved automatically through the weapons check his father had drilled into him years ago—chamber clear, magazine seated, safety engaged. The AR-47 felt heavier than it had during training, weighted with the knowledge that he might actually have to use it.
"Shadow!" Sergeant Voss appeared beside him, his scarred face grim. "You're with Alpha Squad. Storm, you're with Bravo. Try not to get yourselves killed on your first day."
"What's the mission?" Kael asked.
"Gang war in Sector 9. The Crimson Tide and the Steel Jackals have been going at each other for weeks, and it's starting to spill over into civilian areas. Local authorities want it contained before it gets worse."
Kael's blood chilled. Sector 9 was less than five miles from where his father had died. The chances of running into Crimson Serpent operatives were slim, but not impossible.
"Problem, recruit?" Voss noticed his hesitation.
"No, Sergeant. Just... first mission nerves."
Voss studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Good. Nerves keep you alive. Overconfidence gets you killed."
The transport vehicles were armored trucks that had seen better decades—standard-grade equipment that could stop small arms fire but wouldn't stand up to anything heavier. Kael found himself squeezed between Finn and a veteran named Torres, whose thousand-yard stare suggested he'd seen more combat than the rest of them combined.
"Listen up, rookies," Torres said as the truck rumbled through the pre-dawn streets. "This isn't training anymore. Real bullets hurt. Real blood doesn't wash off. And real death doesn't get better."
The truck hit a pothole, throwing them against each other. Outside, Kael could see the Undergrowth sliding past—abandoned buildings, graffiti-covered walls, and the occasional glimpse of movement in the shadows.
"What's our objective?" asked a recruit named Chen.
"Containment," Torres replied. "We set up a perimeter around the combat zone, to keep the gangs from spreading their war into the surrounding neighborhoods. Simple in theory, messy in practice."
"What if they shoot at us?"
Torres's smile was cold. "Then we shoot back. Harder."
The truck slowed as they approached Sector 9, and Kael could hear the distant sound of gunfire—the sharp crack of rifles mixed with the deeper boom of explosives. Through the armored windows, he could see smoke rising from several buildings.
"Alpha Squad, dismount!" Voss's voice crackled over the radio. "Establish an overwatch position on the north side. Bravo Squad takes the south. Charlie Squad holds the center."
Kael followed his squad out of the truck and into a world that had descended into chaos. The street was littered with debris—broken glass, spent shell casings, and darker stains that he tried not to think about. In the distance, muzzle flashes lit up the windows of a tenement building like deadly fireflies.
"Move!" Torres barked, leading them toward a partially collapsed storefront that would provide cover and a clear field of fire. "Stay low, watch your sectors, and remember—we're not here to win this fight. We're here to contain it."
They took position behind the rubble, their weapons trained on the approaches to their sector. Kael found himself next to Finn, both of them trying to look professional while their hearts hammered against their ribs.
"Contact!" someone shouted over the radio. "Bravo Squad has movement, armed hostiles approaching from the east!"
The sound of gunfire erupted from their right, where Elena's squad was positioned. Kael fought the urge to look, keeping his eyes on his assigned sector as Torres had taught them.
"Stay focused," Torres muttered. "Your girlfriend can take care of herself."
A figure appeared at the end of the street—a young man in gang colors, carrying what looked like a military-grade assault rifle. He was moving fast, probably trying to flank one of the other squads.
"Target, two o'clock," Torres called softly. "Range, one hundred meters. Chen, you have the shot."
Chen raised his rifle, his breathing steady despite the chaos around them. "Target acquired."
"Take him."
The shot was surprisingly quiet—a soft crack that was almost lost in the ambient noise of the firefight. The gang member stumbled, then fell, his weapon clattering across the pavement.
"Good shot," Torres said calmly. "First kill?"
Chen nodded, his face pale but determined. "Yes, Sergeant."
"Won't be your last. Shadow, movement in that alley. What do you see?"
Kael focused on the narrow passage between two buildings, his eyes straining in the dim light. There—a flash of movement, someone trying to use the alley to get behind their position.
"Two hostiles, moving north through the alley. They're trying to flank us."
"Range?"
"Fifty meters and closing."
Torres keyed his radio. "Command, Alpha Squad has flanking movement from the west. Request permission to engage."
"Negative, Alpha. Maintain position. Charlie Squad will handle the flankers."
But Charlie Squad was pinned down by heavy fire from the tenement building, and the flankers were getting closer. Kael could see them clearly now—two gang members with automatic weapons, moving with the kind of tactical awareness that suggested military training.
"Sergeant," Finn whispered urgently. "They're going to get behind us."
Torres cursed under his breath. "Command, Alpha Squad requesting immediate support. We have trained hostiles attempting to flank our position."
"Negative, Alpha. Hold position and wait for—"
The radio cut off in a burst of static as an explosion rocked the street. One of the buildings in Charlie Squad's sector had just taken a direct hit from what looked like a rocket-propelled grenade.
"Fuck the orders," Torres snarled. "Shadow, Finn, you're with me. Chen, hold this position and cover our retreat if things go bad."
They moved through the rubble with practiced stealth, using the cover of smoke and debris to approach the alley from an unexpected angle. Kael's heart was pounding so hard he was sure the enemy would hear it, but his hands were steady on his weapon.
The first gang member never saw them coming. Torres took him down with a single shot to the center of mass, the man dropping without a sound. The second one spun toward them, his weapon coming up fast.
Too fast.
Kael fired without thinking, his training taking over as muscle memory guided his actions. Three shots, center mass, just like they'd practiced. The gang member staggered backward, his weapon falling from nerveless fingers.
"Good shooting," Torres said, checking the bodies to make sure they were down. "Clean kills, both of them."
Kael stared at the man he'd just killed—barely older than himself, with the kind of lean build that spoke of a hard life in the Undergrowth. There was a tattoo on his neck, some kind of gang symbol, and a photo in his shirt pocket that showed him with a young woman and a baby.
"First time?" Torres asked, noticing his expression.
"Yeah."
"It gets easier. Has to, or you don't survive long enough to get good at it." Torres clapped him on the shoulder. "You did what you had to do. Remember that."
They made their way back to their position, where Chen was still maintaining overwatch. The firefight was beginning to wind down as the gangs either ran out of ammunition or decided that discretion was the better part of valor.
"Alpha Squad, report," Voss's voice crackled over the radio.
"Two hostiles down, no friendly casualties," Torres replied. "Sector secure."
"Copy that. All squads begin withdrawal. Mission accomplished."
The ride back to base was quieter than the trip out. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion that had nothing to do with physical fatigue. Kael sat in silence, his rifle across his knees, trying to process what had just happened.
He'd killed a man. Not in self-defense, not in the heat of passion, but as part of a calculated military operation. The fact that it had been necessary, that the alternative would have been his own death or the deaths of his squadmates, didn't make it any easier to accept.
"You okay?" Finn asked quietly.
"I don't know," Kael admitted. "I thought I'd feel... different. More guilty, maybe. Or more satisfied. But I just feel empty."
"That's normal," Torres said from across the truck. "The ones who feel good about killing are the ones you have to worry about. The ones who feel nothing at all are the ones who don't last long."
Back at base, they went through the standard post-mission procedures—weapons cleaning, equipment check, debriefing. Sergeant Voss gathered the recruits in the briefing room, his expression unreadable.
"Today, you stopped being recruits," he said without preamble. "Today, you became Iron Wolves. You faced real combat, made real decisions, and came home alive. That's more than a lot of mercenaries can say."
He began pacing, his boots clicking on the concrete floor. "Some of you killed for the first time today. Some of you saw friends get wounded. All of you learned that this job is harder than you thought it would be."
Voss stopped and faced them. "Anyone who wants out can leave tonight. No questions asked, no hard feelings. But if you stay, you need to understand what you're committing to. This was a small operation, low-intensity conflict. The missions will get harder, the stakes will get higher, and the enemies will get more dangerous."
He waited, but no one moved. Even the recruits who looked shell-shocked remained in their seats.
"Good. Because the Iron Wolves need soldiers, not tourists. And the world needs the Iron Wolves, whether it knows it or not."
After the debriefing, Kael found Elena in the mess hall, picking at a tray of food she clearly had no appetite for. She looked up as he approached, and he could see the same hollow expression in her eyes that he felt in his own.
"How was your first firefight?" she asked.
"Educational," Kael replied, sitting down across from her. "You?"
"Same. I killed two gang members and watched a third one bleed out while we waited for the medics." She pushed her food around on her plate. "I keep thinking about their families. About the people who won't be coming home tonight because of what we did."
"Torres says it gets easier."
"Does it? Or do we just get better at lying to ourselves?"
Kael didn't have an answer for that. They sat in silence for a while, two young people trying to come to terms with the reality of the path they'd chosen.
"Any regrets?" Elena asked finally.
Kael thought about the question, really considered it. The mission had been brutal, the killing necessary but ugly. He'd seen the worst of human nature and participated in it. But he'd also seen something else—the way his squad had worked together, the way they'd protected each other, the way they'd accomplished their mission despite the odds.
"No," he said finally. "No regrets. This is what we have to do to get strong enough for what comes next."
Elena nodded slowly. "The Shadow Council."
"The Shadow Council," Kael agreed. "And when we're ready, when we're strong enough, we'll make them pay for what they've done."
Around them, the mess hall buzzed with the quiet conversations of soldiers processing their first taste of real combat. Some would wash out in the coming days, unable to handle the psychological pressure. Others would adapt, grow stronger, become the kind of people who could survive in the mercenary world.
Kael intended to be one of the survivors. More than that—he intended to be one of the predators.
The Iron Wolves had blooded their newest recruits. The Shadow Council had gained two more enemies, though they didn't know it yet.
And in the darkness of the Undergrowth, the first moves in a much larger game were being played out by players who had no idea of the forces they were setting in motion.
The boy who had hidden in his father's workshop was gone, replaced by someone harder, colder, more dangerous. Someone who understood that in this world, strength was the only currency that mattered.
Someone who was learning to pay the price of power in blood and bruises.