The snow muffled everything. Even their boots, crunching through the drifts, felt muted as the storm swallowed sound whole. The comms post loomed larger the closer they got. An ugly skeleton of metal and concrete, scarred by age and war. Broken antennae jutted upward like snapped bones.
Lucia Castella lifted her hand, the signal for halt. The squad fanned out behind her, rifles ready, eyes sharp. Golden irises flicked from shadow to shadow, calculating angles, mapping threats before they appeared.
"Ward," she whispered, voice clipped against the wind. "Take two, secure the west flank."
Ward nodded, motioning to two soldiers and vanished into the snow.
Lucia's gaze cut toward the others. "The rest of us breach. Rossi, you're with me."
"Wouldn't have it any other way," Orion Rossi said, grinning beneath the shadow of his helmet. Snowflakes clung to the ends of his silver hair peeking out from beneath the helmet and his rifle rested with the casual ease of a man walking into a bar rather than a firefight.
Lucia ignored him, pushing forward until the steel door of the comms post loomed before her. She tested the handle: frozen, locked. She motioned.
One of the soldiers dropped to a knee, charges already primed. The faintest click and hiss, then the door blew inward with a muffled whump.
Darkness yawned beyond.
"Clear," Lucia ordered, stepping into the void.
The air inside was stale, heavy with the scent of rust, oil, and something acrid, burnt electronics, maybe. Their lights cut swaths through the gloom, illuminating cracked walls lined with dead monitors, wiring that hung in tangled vines and scattered crates stamped with insignia not from Velmor.
"Abandoned, my ass," Ward muttered over comms.
Lucia's jaw tightened. She swept the corridor, boots silent against the floor, her rifle steady. Behind her, Rossi moved with irritating quietness for someone so cocky.
"You feel that?" he murmured.
Lucia didn't look back. "Define 'that.'"
"The air. Wrong kind of quiet."
For once, she didn't argue. The silence here wasn't emptiness. It was waiting.
They advanced deeper. Every corner turned revealed more ruin: empty offices, broken machinery, the husks of what used to be control rooms. Then they found the first sign they weren't alone.
Bootprints. Fresh, cutting through the dust.
Lucia knelt, golden eyes narrowing. "At least a dozen. Maybe more."
Ward swore under his breath. "Locals?"
"Locals don't carry military boots," Rossi said, voice low but sharp now. His smirk was gone, replaced by that glint of precision he always pulled out when it mattered most.
Lucia rose. "Stay tight. We're not ghosts here."
They pushed into the central chamber of the comms post: a cavernous room where broken satellites and rusted consoles littered the floor. Light filtered in weakly from shattered windows above, painting the place in pale gray.
That was when the first shot cracked.
One of the soldiers went down with a scream, blood pooling into the dust. Chaos erupted. Shadows erupted from the catwalks above, figures with rifles, masks and movements too coordinated to be scavengers. Bullets rained down, sparking off steel and shattering old equipment.
"Cover! Move!" Lucia barked, dragging the fallen soldier out of the line of fire. Rossi fired upward, quick, efficient bursts forcing the attackers to duck.
"Ambush. They knew we'd come," Ward snarled, laying down fire with two soldiers flanking him.
"Hold the line!" Lucia snapped. Her rifle sang, each shot precise, disciplined.
But for every enemy that dropped, two more appeared from the shadows. Grenades clattered across the floor, smoke hissing into the chamber. Visibility collapsed into a choking fog.
"Gas masks!" Rossi shouted, yanking his on as he grabbed one of the younger soldiers and shoved it over his head.
Through the haze, shadows moved closer. Too close.
One of the soldiers screamed, silenced with the butt of a rifle. Another was dragged back into the fog, boots scraping against the floor.
"Form up!" Lucia's voice cut sharp through the chaos, but the smoke drowned coordination.
A figure lunged at her from the mist. She spun, slamming the rifle butt into his gut, dropping him but another came from behind. Rossi's shot dropped him inches from her back.
"You're welcome," Rossi quipped but his voice was tight, edged with adrenaline.
Lucia didn't answer. She couldn't. The squad was being swallowed piece by piece.
Ward's voice broke through comms, furious. "We're outnumbered. We need extraction, now!"
But there was no answer. Comms were dead. Jammed.
The smoke grew thicker. Figures pressed in, disciplined, coordinated. Not bandits. Not locals. Soldiers. Soldiers?
Lucia slammed another attacker into the ground, only to feel the cold press of steel at her temple from behind. She froze, golden eyes narrowing as a voice, accented and steady, spoke in her ear.
"Drop it. Or your men die faster."
Around her, the sounds of struggle ebbed, replaced by the thud of rifles striking floors, the groans of restrained soldiers. Ward fought until a rifle butt cracked across his face. Rossi dropped his gun last, green eyes blazing through the smoke as he glared at the ring of enemies.
The fog cleared just enough to reveal the scene: her squad, on their knees, rifles kicked away, surrounded by masked figures.
Lucia's jaw clenched as she slowly lowered her weapon, placing it on the floor. The steel at her temple eased, but hands wrenched her arms back, binding her wrists with cold, tight wire.
Rossi's laugh broke the silence - low, bitter. "Well. Guess they really didn't want us tourists poking around."
"Quiet," one of the masked men snapped, striking him across the jaw. Rossi staggered but kept grinning, blood streaking the corner of his mouth.
Lucia's golden eyes locked on the man who seemed to lead them. A tall figure in heavier armor, visor gleaming in the dim light. He studied her for a long, weighted moment before speaking. An enemy soldier rifled through their dog tags.
"Lieutenant Castella. Sergeant Rossi. Sergeant Ward. And six more. Command will be very pleased."
Lucia didn't answer, didn't flinch as they hauled her to her feet. Her mind was already racing, cataloging faces, weapons, numbers. Capture wasn't defeat. Capture was another phase of the mission.
Still, when she caught Rossi's eyes across the room—green locked on gold—there was something there neither of them could quite name. A spark beneath the storm.
The masked leader's voice cut through her thoughts.
"Welcome to Velmor. You won't be leaving anytime soon."
The squad was dragged deeper into the building, swallowed whole by its shadows.