The room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the hum of electronics. The theory was chilling. They were pawns in a larger game, and the board was being shaken by an unseen hand.
"Sir," a comms specialist interrupted from the doorway, her face pale. "An update from the western perimeter. One of our long-range scouts... he didn't check in. His partner found his position. Clean kill. Single blade wound to the neck. No sign of the attacker. No tracks."
Another silent, professional kill. Not mutants, not rival faction grunts. This was different.
Rourke stared at the map, the red 'X' seeming to pulse. The 'variable' wasn't just out there. It was here. It was probing their defenses, picking them off one by one from the shadows, demonstrating that their lockdown was a joke.
