DATE: 03/20/501 PC

  LOCATION: Void Wolf Command Center – Southern Barracks

  The holographic interface in the command center flickered with an "Optional" tag in high-visibility amber. Sara’s fingers danced across the console, pulling the metadata from the encrypted transmission.

  "It’s not from the Military Command," Sara said, her voice tight. "It’s a direct plea from CEO Harthaven—one of the founding fathers of Gamma. He’s bypassing the standard bounty boards."

  Zel leaned over her shoulder, his eyes scanning the details. The Harthaven family was legendary for their wealth, but their influence had waned as the Black Sun Clan rose to power.

  "The mission," Zel prompted.

  "Rescue," Sara replied. "His wife and youngest daughter were in a high-speed mag-lev transport coming back from Bastion Alpha. They were intercepted in the 'Grey Wastes'—the dead zone between the jurisdictions. Ten veteran MBS escorts... all killed. The scanners show their cores were harvested with surgical precision."

  Mac, who had been cleaning his new rifle in the corner, stopped mid-motion. "Ten veterans? Harvested? That’s not a random monster attack. That’s an execution. If the Vultures were at full strength, they might have considered it, but now? They’re too thin. And Rios Sun? He’d probably toast to Harthaven’s loss over dinner."

  Zel walked to the large window overlooking the Southern District. The reward listed at the bottom of the brief was staggering: The Harthaven Private Dome.

  It was a self-sustaining satellite town located five miles south of Gamma’s main perimeter. It had its own independent Mana-Generator, residential blocks, and defensive shielding. It was a fortress-home.

  Zel looked back at Mac, his expression uncharacteristically grave. "What do you think, Vice-Captain? If we pull this off, we aren't just a squad in a barracks anymore. We’ll have our own dome. We can move the families of our twelve recruits there. We can give them a life where they don't have to look at the ceiling and wonder if the Bastion's filters will fail tomorrow."

  Mac stood up, his gaze lingering on the twelve recruits training on the floor below. "It’s a suicide run, Zel. Whoever killed ten Alpha-standard veterans is still out there waiting for the rescue party. But..." He looked at Jim and Sara. "Having our own sky? That’s a dream even scavengers in Omega don't dare to have."

  Ashley stepped forward, her blue mana flickering slightly as she analyzed the tactical data. "The location is near the border of a Black Zone. If we go, we go light and fast. We can't take the whole squad. We need the original five."

  Zel smirked, the familiar fire of a hunt igniting in his eyes. He tapped the 'Accept' icon on the console.

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  "The Void Wolf doesn't wait for permission," Zel said. "Sara, prep the stealth transport. Jim, double-check the heavy shields. Ashley, you’re on counter-mana duty. If someone is harvesting cores, they’re using high-tier magic."

  He looked at the wolf insignia on his shoulder. "Tell the recruits to keep the barracks warm. We're going to go get us a home."

  The transmission clicked into a 'Confirmed' state. In the high offices of the Bastion, the Black Sun Clan received the notification and laughed. They expected the Wolves to join the ghosts of the Grey Wastes.

  DATE: 03/21/501 PC

  LOCATION: Tactical Briefing Room – Void Wolf Barracks

  Zel and Mac stood over the holographic projection of the Grey Wastes. The map was a mess of jagged terrain and sensor ghosts, but a pattern was emerging.

  "They aren't hiding," Mac observed, pointing his scarred finger at the heat signatures surrounding the Harthaven transport wreckage. "Look at the positioning. They’re purposely exposing their flanks. They want us to charge in from the main ridge. It’s a textbook kill-box."

  Zel nodded, his eyes glowing a faint, calculating red. "If we follow the standard military route, we’re just the next batch of cores for their collection. We’re changing the game. We’re going through the Swamp of Madness."

  Ashley gasped, leaning over the table. "The Swamp? It’s three feet of knee-deep mana-sludge. The ambient toxicity will eat through standard seals in hours, and the movement penalty is massive. We'll be sitting ducks."

  "Not with the Void Suits," Zel countered. "Our neutral mana-juice is thick enough to repel the external pressure for the duration of the crossing. We go in low, quiet, and wet. But we need a distraction big enough to make them forget we exist."

  He turned to the twelve new recruits. "Jim, you’re leading the infantry to the 'Shattered Peak'—the highest mountain within Gamma’s safe zone. You’re taking the three 'Thunder-Hiss' Long Range Artillery units we just bought."

  Ashley’s jaw dropped. "Those units cost a million credits each! And you want to put them in the hands of recruits on a mountain top?"

  "They aren't going to keep them," Zel said coldly. "Once we reach the extraction point with the survivors, Jim is going to overload the mana-reactors on all three units. They’ll fire a synchronized barrage to flatten the enemy's ridge, and then—boom. No evidence, no equipment for the enemy to scavenge, and a blast loud enough to mask our retreat on the mana-bikes."

  "Three million credits... just to blow it up?" Ashley whispered, still struggling with the sheer scale of Zel's financial recklessness.

  "Three million is a bargain for the lives of my men," Zel said, looking her in the eye. "If the infantry stays to defend those guns, they’re dead. If they blow the guns and bail on the bikes, they’re home in time for dinner. The Harthaven Dome is worth five hundred million. Do the math, Sungift."

  The logic was brutal and effective. The plan was set.

  DATE: 03/21/501 PC

  LOCATION: The Grey waste, 4:00 AM

  The cold, oily water of the Swamp of Madness splashed against Zel’s shins. The "original five" moved in a line, their black Void Suits shimmering under the moonlight. The silence was absolute, broken only by the occasional gurgle of the swamp.

  Two miles to the North, on the peak of a jagged mountain, Jim adjusted the sights on the massive artillery cannons. He looked at his watch, his heart thumping against his black uniform.

  "Captain is in position," Jim whispered into his comms. "Wait for my signal. On the third shot, we prime the self-destruct and we run like the Void is chasing us."

  Zel, submerged to his waist in the dark water, raised his hand. Through his visor, he could see the silhouette of the captured transport. He could also see the "Harvesters"—shadowy figures in bone-white armor, waiting for a rescue party that wasn't coming from the ridge.

  "Wolves," Zel’s voice crackled in their ears. "Dinner time."