The command room was silent.
Not the comfortable kind.
Viran Varanasi stood at the front, hands clasped behind his back, eyes sharp as tactical screens flickered to life behind him. Urban grids expanded across the display—evacuation routes, threat markers, containment zones.
"An hour ago," Viran said, "a nightmare manifested in Sector Twelve."
A marker pulsed red.
"A D-rank."
Ren blinked. "That's… it?"
Viran's gaze shifted to him.
The screen changed.
A distorted shape crouched between buildings. Four legs. A long tail. Eyes glowing far too large for its skull.
Akira leaned forward slightly.
"How many casualties?"
"None," Viran replied.
A pause.
"Yet."
The word sat heavy in the air.
Viran turned toward Senior Squad 7. "You will lead the operation. Rookie squad will accompany you for exposure and support only."
Ryou nodded once. "Understood."
"No heroics," Viran added, eyes flicking briefly to Akira. "This is not a test of strength. It's a test of discipline."
The screens dimmed.
"Deploy immediately."
The transport cut through the city like a blade.
Inside, no one spoke.
Kaito sat near the rear, tablet resting in his hands—but the screen remained dark. His glasses reflected nothing. After a moment, he adjusted them anyway, a nervous habit he hadn't broken.
Across from him, the Misokke twins sat shoulder to shoulder.
Perfect posture.
Perfect stillness.
Their hands rested on their knees, fingers aligned, eyes forward. They hadn't moved since boarding. Not even to check their weapons.
Ayla sat near the hatch, legs crossed, back straight. Her gaze was fixed on the floor plating, focused—counting bolts, seams, something only she could see.
She hadn't spoken once.
The laughter from lunch felt distant now—like something that had happened to different people.
Ryou stood near the open hatch, armor secured, eyes fixed ahead. Jin checked his rifle in silence. Fumika reviewed evacuation grids one final time. Misaki rolled her shoulders, jaw tight.
Recon and Flank weren't joking.
That alone unsettled Akira.
Ren leaned closer, voice low. "Why do they look like this is an A-rank?"
Akira didn't answer.
He was watching Ryou.
The captain hadn't relaxed once.
They landed three blocks from the manifestation zone.
Sirens wailed. Emergency drones hovered overhead, broadcasting evacuation orders. Civilians ran—some screaming, some frozen, some refusing to accept what they were seeing.
Then—
The street darkened.
A shadow slid across the pavement.
Concrete cracked.
Something massive stepped into view.
It looked like a cat.
If a cat had been stretched wrong.
Its body was the size of a truck, muscles bulging beneath fur that shifted like smoke. Its head tilted too far, neck bending at an angle that made Akira's stomach tighten.
Its eyes didn't lock onto civilians.
They locked onto the squads.
Ren swallowed. "Man that's—"
The creature opened its mouth.
The sound wasn't a roar.
It was a distorted purr—deep, vibrating, wrong.
AM sensors flickered.
Ryou raised a hand instantly.
"Senior Squad," he ordered calmly, "evacuation priority. Rookie squad—hold position."
The nightmare's claws dug into the asphalt.
It didn't charge.
It watched.
"Akira," Ryou said without looking back, "I want you watching. Learning."
Akira's fingers tightened around his weapon. "Sir?"
Ryou glanced over his shoulder, eyes steady.
"This is what a 'simple' nightmare looks like," he said. "Try fighting it."
The creature crouched.
The ground trembled.
And for the first time since returning to duty—
Akira felt it.
That tightness in his chest.
The certainty that something about this mission was already wrong.
END OF CHAPTER 3