Garbled Orders and Unreliable Feelings
The team both loved and resented their captain, who had a habit of acting like an overbearing "team mom."In the work chat, they had secretly given him a nickname: "Empress Deshui."
So when a pinned message suddenly popped up in the group—"Good work, everyone."—along with a red packet, morale skyrocketed.
They grabbed it instantly.
And then, almost in the same breath, the message changed to:
"Emergency task briefing in ten minutes."
By the time Deshui rubbed his temples and delivered his signature line—"Can we, just for once, be a little more reliable?"—the entire team instinctively stepped backward in silence.
That was when someone added, in a quiet, almost ghostly tone:
"Reporting, Captain. The most unreliable thing right now…seems to be the command system.It just issued a garbled order."
Water splashed noisily, mixed with an off-key, half-mumbled tune that wandered several hundred miles off pitch. The sound drifted out of the base's public washroom—a place forever steeped in the smell of expired instant noodles and old dust.
Zhang Yifan stood at the sink with half an energy bar clenched between his teeth, brushing mechanically. His eyes were locked on a water stain on the wall. The longer he stared, the more the irregular yellow-brown blotch began to resemble a droopy-eyed rabbit with sagging brows.
He tried to wring some inspiration out of this "rabbit" to cope with the inhuman maneuver set the training system had glitched into assigning him last night.
With a loud bang, the stall door next to him flew open. Lu Xiao staggered out, one hand clutching the waistband of his combat trousers, the other raking through hair that stuck out at every angle. He was swearing nonstop.
"Damn it… Dreamed again about being chased by 'Her Majesty,' forced to recite regulations—Article Three, Clause Six. Miss one word, five extra kilometers. My legs are still jelly."
He lunged for the sink beside Zhang Yifan, turned on the tap, and shoved his head under the cold water.
Zhang Yifan spat out foam and said vaguely,"Count yourself lucky. I got flagged by the system for 'insufficient tactical awareness.' Four hours of mandatory classic battle analysis. All first-person footage from Captain Deshui during the Raging Tide operation. Everything's still double-visioned."
"Raging Tide?" Lu Xiao lifted his dripping face from the stream and shuddered. "That hell-tier amphibious assault? No wonder the captain's obsessed with the word 'reliable.'"
"Obsessed?" Zhang Yifan rinsed and wiped his mouth. "It's burned into his DNA. I swear he mutters 'clear steps, defined roles, complete contingencies' in his sleep."
As they spoke, Li Yuan shuffled in with a tablet hugged to her chest. Dark circles hung under her eyes, her entire being radiating I have been hollowed out.
"Morning…" she croaked. "Anyone got caffeine? Any form will do. I spent all night filing reports to Command, explaining why our team's comms ID suddenly turned into a string of dancing tomato emojis during yesterday's simulation."
"Approved?" Lu Xiao asked gleefully.
"Approved my ass." Li Yuan dropped the tablet onto the counter. The screen lit up with dense blocks of feedback text. "Command says our equipment might require emotional calibration and recommends contacting Technical Psychological Support. Oh—and the captain was CC'd."
The washroom fell instantly silent.Only a faucet, not fully closed, continued to drip.
Tap.Tap.Tap.
Each drop landed like a hammer on their nerves.
Zhang Yifan and Lu Xiao exchanged a glance and simultaneously made a throat-slitting gesture.
The silence was broken by the soft buzz of a personal terminal—first from Lu Xiao's wrist, then Zhang Yifan's, then Li Yuan's. All three looked down in perfect sync.
A bright red @All Members notification blinked in the base work group.
The group name was impeccably official:Deep Blue Seventh Mobile Response Unit – Work Group
The group owner—and sole active administrator—used an avatar of a cold-toned, meticulously composed photograph of a rocky coastline.
A new message appeared.
No text.Just a single orange-red square emoji.
"[Red Packet]"
"Holy—!" Lu Xiao's finger beat his brain to it.
Zhang Yifan and Li Yuan weren't far behind.
The packet was gone in an instant. Lu Xiao grinned at the balance update—enough for three cups of top-grade synthetic coffee—just as the next message popped up and froze his smile solid.
Same avatar.Same sender.
"Emergency task briefing. Equipment Bay Three. Ten minutes.Full gear. Alert Level One."
No period.But it hit harder than any exclamation mark.
"I knew it…" Zhang Yifan groaned. "The captain's red packets are bait. No—assembly bait."
"Is he tracking us?!" Lu Xiao yelped while fumbling with his still-misaligned uniform.
Li Yuan was already sprinting out, tablet tucked under her arm. Her voice floated back down the corridor:
"Move it! Eight minutes fifty seconds! Anyone late can personally experience 'Empress Deshui's' gaze!"
The nickname Empress Deshui had spread quietly within the unit. It began as a muttered complaint from someone pushed past exhaustion—staring at Captain Deshui's ruler-straight posture, his maddeningly meticulous style, and those calm eyes that pierced through every excuse.
Unexpectedly, it resonated with everyone.
The name perfectly captured his suffocating attentiveness, unquestionable authority, and the team's complicated mix of reverence, fear, and secret venting. Naturally, it existed only in encrypted side channels and exchanged looks—never out loud.
Equipment Bay Three was flooded with stark white light. The air smelled of metal, lubricant, and anti-static coating.
Captain Deshui was already there, standing before the holographic tactical board.
He wore a fitted dark-gray combat uniform. Shoulder insignia crisp. Sleeves rolled precisely to mid-forearm, revealing strong wrists. His short, stiff hair was combed straight back, exposing a broad forehead.
His face was expressionless, save for a trace of fatigue between his brows. One hand pressed against his temple.
The team rushed in, lined up quickly, trying to steady their breathing and silence the clatter of gear.
Zhang Yifan stole a glance at the captain's temple-rubbing fingers.So he's read the tomato report, he thought.
Deshui's gaze swept across the line, left to right, as if measured by a ruler.
Half a second on Lu Xiao's uneven collar.Half a second on Li Yuan's dark-rimmed eyes.Half a second on Zhang Yifan's overly stiff posture.
Then he lowered his hand and spoke.
His voice wasn't loud. It was calm.But every word landed like a small hammer.
"Very proactive," he said evenly, "when it comes to grabbing red packets."
No one dared speak.
"Time from assembly order to full formation: nine minutes forty-seven seconds."He glanced at his terminal. "Technically within minimum standards."
A subtle breath of relief passed through the line.
"But," Deshui continued, tone unchanged,"Lu Xiao—your inner uniform tag is showing.Zhang Yifan—there are at least three fingerprints on your tactical lenses.Li Yuan—your mental status evaluation. I want an updated version before end of day."
He stepped forward slightly, studying his young, restless subordinates. The familiar blend of fatigue, helplessness, and unyielding authority settled into a near-silent sigh.
"Can we," he said, almost gently,"be just a little more reliable?"
The effect was immediate.
Lu Xiao's neck shrank; he stepped back half a pace.Zhang Yifan followed, shoulders sagging.Li Yuan lowered her gaze, feet inching backward.
The entire unit retreated in perfect, unconscious unison—half a step away from the storm center of that reliable gaze.
The bay fell silent, save for the low hum of ventilation and the faint electrical hiss of the idle tactical board.
Then—
From the back of the line, Zhou Ming—the unit's communications and data specialist, usually quiet—slowly raised a hand.
He adjusted his thick blue-light glasses, staring at the virtual display on his wrist with a deeply puzzled expression.
Deshui looked at him.
Zhou Ming cleared his throat. His voice, technical and subdued, echoed clearly in the stillness.
"Reporting, Captain."
"The most unreliable thing here…""…doesn't seem to be us."
He paused, then said with quiet certainty:
"It's the command system."
He expanded his wrist display, projecting it midair. Streams of data and command lines scrolled rapidly—several highlighted in glaring contrast. Characters twisted. Logic collapsed. Parameters contradicted one another.
"The Level-One emergency assembly order issued earlier," Zhou Ming added, pushing his glasses up,"the core instruction segment…"
"…was garbled."
Total silence.
Even deeper than before.
Captain Deshui's fingers froze against his temple.
For the first time, a hairline crack appeared in his habitual composure.
He turned slowly toward the tactical board—where the task briefing interface had begun loading, now flickering with the same suspicious error symbols.
The team remained locked in their half-step retreat, eyes darting between Zhou Ming's innocent face, the captain's darkened expression, and the once-absolute authority of command—now reduced to a screen of mocking gibberish.
The air congealed.
Only the distorted characters continued to flicker and dance in silence, as if laughing at them all.