Max woke to the hum of fluorescent lights and the soft hiss of ventilation—artificial, sterile. A cage pretending to be a room.
He sat up slowly, still dressed in yesterday's shirt, the creases from his restless sleep sticking to his skin. For a moment, he just sat there—elbows on knees, fingers buried in his hair—like the weight of waking up was heavier than sleep itself.
The events from yesterday crawled back.
The training.
Loyalty's order.
The fire.
"I want you to lead tomorrow's recon mission." Max remembered Loyalty's command.
Why him?
He still didn't have the answer he was looking for.
With a grunt, he stood and moved toward the small locker embedded in the wall. Inside was a folded white and gray uniform—Unit Twelve's field gear. Sleek, functional, reinforced at the joints, with a faint symbol stitched across the back: a circle split between light and shadow.
He tugged it on piece by piece, each motion deliberate, mechanical.
Like putting on armor he didn't believe in.
The gloves were the last thing he grabbed. As he slipped them over his hands, he caught his reflection in the glass of the door.
Same eyes.
Same tired expression.
But beneath the surface, something flickered.
The Green Fire.
He could feel it even now—quiet, but there. Like coals buried under ash, waiting to burn through.
Max clenched his fists.
He didn't want power.
He wanted peace.
But peace never came easy in this place.
The hallway outside buzzed with distant footsteps and muffled voices. Somewhere, an announcement played through the overhead speakers, distorted beyond comprehension.
The facility never truly slept.
When Max arrived at the briefing chamber, the others were already there.
A wide, circular room with red lights glowing faintly along the walls. A long rectangular table sat in the center, surrounded by eight chairs—one for each member of Unit Twelve. Only four were filled this time.
Kaz sat slouched back with his boots kicked up, chewing gum like it owed him money.
Mira stood in the corner, arms crossed, her long black bangs veiling her face. She gave Max a quick glance, then looked away.
And Samira—well, Samira looked like she owned the room.
She leaned against the table with a small pink lollipop between her lips, twirling a strand of her curly hair like it was nothing.
"Look who's late," she said, smirking.
Max ignored her and took a seat near the end of the table.
She pouted in mock offense. "Cold. At least pretend you're happy to see me."
Before anyone could say more, the upper doors slid open and Loyalty stepped inside.
White uniform.
White hair.
White eyes.
She moved like someone who had memorized every step before she took it.
"Team," she said, without waiting for silence. "Mission briefing begins now."
A projection flickered to life behind her—an old map of a collapsed city sector. The screen labeled it Zone K-8, but someone had scribbled across the corner in black marker:
The Glass Graveyard.
Loyalty folded her hands behind her back.
"This area was once a testing site for early containment," she began. "But a Vice— Vanity —slipped past protocol and infected the entire district."
The map zoomed in, revealing half-melted skyscrapers and streets swallowed by black growth.
"The buildings remain," she continued, "but none of the people do. At least, not in any recognizable form. Recon drones went dark last week. We're sending you in to retrieve data from the last black box, assess threat levels, and extract if possible."
Kaz grinned. "So... we kill stuff?"
"You survive," Loyalty replied, her tone clipped. "This isn't a purge mission. It's recon. If you engage, make sure it's clean, fast, and with no casualties—understood?"
Mira gave a small nod.
Samira raised two fingers in a lazy salute.
Max said nothing.
Then Loyalty's gaze settled on him.
"You're leading this one, Max."
That got their attention.
Kaz raised an eyebrow. "Since when does Greenfire take point?"
"Since I said so," Loyalty said, her voice cold as frost. "Max has proven he can adapt under pressure. This mission will test if he can lead under it."
Max felt eyes on him again—staring, judging, waiting for him to crack.
He stayed still.
If he showed hesitation, they'd see it. All of them.
Samira gave him a look from across the table—something unreadable behind that pink candy smile.
Then she raised her hand lazily. "Yeah, quick question: if we all die, who gets our stuff?"
Kaz let out a dry chuckle.
Mira didn't even blink.
Loyalty just stared at Samira like she might remove her from existence on the spot.
"You don't die," she said flatly. "That's not an option."
After the meeting, the squad was dismissed to prep.
Gear was issued.
Weapons checked.
Max walked the halls alone for a while before heading to the transport bay. His boots echoed against metal floors as he passed through corridor after corridor of white light and shadow.
He didn't feel like a leader.
Didn't even feel like a person, most days.
Just a container for something volatile.
Something that would eventually break loose.
"Why me?"
The question rang again.
He wasn't the strongest.
Wasn't the fastest.
Wasn't the most obedient.
But maybe that's exactly why Loyalty picked him.
Not because he was ready.
But because he was close to breaking.
And people like that?
They're dangerous.