"Leechbound. Silent, no noise. They track bioelectric signals and body heat. Thermal suppressors help. Signal dampeners better. They attach with leeches. One touch, paralyzed in seconds. Slow feeders. If you see a squadmate caught, kill them fast. No mercy. No second chances."
He moved to the next slide without looking up.
"Bone Widow. Spider with a human torso stuck on it. Spins webs made of bone. Traps prey to suck marrow. Likes tight spaces. Alleys, tunnels, ruined buildings. Armor's useless against its scythes. Only high-impact magic or coordinated fire stops it. If caught, don't scream. It hunts on fear and noise."
Varyn's voice was flat but cold enough to make spines stiffen.
"Last one today: The Choir. No confirmed visuals. Floating humanoid with a mouth stretched from ear to ear. It sings. Once you hear it, it's over. Makes you walk to it. Pulls memories out till you're brain-dead. Lost a platoon chasing footage. Only gear and boots left behind. If you hear music in abandoned zones, run."
He paused, scanning the room with eyes that burned beneath his mask.
"There are others, but these are the high-risk ones you'll face in Naren City. The rest? You'll learn by dying."
He folded his arms, the metal gauntlets gleaming under the harsh lights.
"Questions? No? Then take a break before we continue. Digest the information."
The cacophony of the briefing room lingered in the air, a restless hum of boots scuffing against the concrete floor and murmured conversations as the recruits absorbed the weight of their mission. It took a minute or two for the crowd to settle, their attention drawn to the towering figure at the podium. Commander Varyn stood like a monolith, his black, glossy mask reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights overhead, giving nothing away. His long, military-issue coat, dark as the void and edged with sharp lines, swayed slightly as he shifted his weight, gloved hands clasped behind his back. The mask, featureless save for narrow slits where eyes might be, rendered him an enigma—a man whose presence commanded silence without effort. His voice, when it came, was low and deliberate, each word measured, as if he begrudged the air it took to speak them.
"Included in your gear packs are suicide pills," Varyn said, his tone flat but carrying an edge that sliced through the room's residual chatter. "Bite into them if a squealer targets you and escape is impossible. Long-range snipers, your priority is to eliminate captured personnel who cannot fight or flee. No hesitation, got it? No question? Good."
He paused, letting the gravity of his words settle. The recruits exchanged uneasy glances, their faces pale under the flickering lights. Varyn's masked gaze swept the room, unreadable, before he continued. "We have one final monster to review: Juggernaut."
The screen behind him flared to life, projecting a grotesque silver beast—a lizard's form melded with a humanoid torso, its spiked tail curling like a whip. Jagged teeth lined its gaping maw, and its golden, slitted eyes gleamed with predatory malice. Gasps rippled through the crowd; some recruits leaned forward, others shrank back, their memories of past horde waves etched into their expressions.
"You may have seen this creature in action," Varyn said, his voice unwavering. "Flee on sight. It withstands multiple Genji assaults and retreats unscathed. Azurite armor is paper to its claws. Its mass is detectable from afar, but its leaping ability—up to half a mile—makes it unpredictable. Before the new shielding tech, it breached the lower district repeatedly, sowing chaos before being driven off."
The air grew heavy, thick with the scent of sweat and gun oil, as recruits shifted in their seats. The hallway outside, visible through the open door, was a stark contrast—sterile, gray, and lined with flickering holoposters warning of horde movements. Varyn's gloved hand tapped the podium, and the image shifted to show a Juggernaut mid-leap, its claws rending a steel barricade.
"Two or three thunderous thuds mean it's upon you," he continued. "Territorial, yet it wanders beyond its domain. A magic round once struck its eye, enraging it. The eye regenerated in thirty seconds, and the sniper was torn apart. Strategists believe it could overrun Bastion if it chose, yet it always withdraws. Why? We don't know. Some theorize it corrals us into Bastion for its own feeding."
A recruit in the front row swallowed hard, his knuckles white around his gear pack. Zerek, seated near the back, felt a chill crawl up his spine, his fingers brushing the straps of his own pack. He'd grown up in the slums of Bastion, an orphan scavenging for scraps, always one step from starvation. The stories of Juggernauts were whispered in those shadowed alleys, tales of silver death that left no survivors. He pushed the memory away, focusing on Varyn's words.
"Outside horde attacks, it appears only in Trebz territory or when groups stray too far from Bastion," Varyn said. "We won't venture near its domain, but prepare for the worst. If it appears, split into groups of two or three and scatter. We know there are multiple Juggernauts—three once annihilated a city simultaneously. This concludes the monster review."
He tapped the podium again, and the screen shifted to a 3D map of Naren City, its crumbling spires and shattered streets rendered in cold blues and grays. The hospital at the center pulsed red, marking the distress signal. "A party of three men and two women, low on ammo, is barricaded on the hospital's second floor. Reach them, assess injuries, secure the package, and await reinforcements. En route, a military supply depot offers ammo resupply. C-squad's other groups will hit separate targets in the city."
Zerek's mind raced, cataloging the details. The hospital's jagged silhouette reminded him of the orphanage's ruins, where he'd once hidden from a gang of scavengers, their knives glinting in the moonlight. He shook off the flashback, focusing as Varyn outlined the approach: air transport to the city's outskirts, parachutes for contingencies, payloads to clear zombies, and decoy explosions to distract Jackals. The team composition—two melee, three short-range support per group, with long-range snipers as lone wolves—felt like a puzzle he barely understood. Zerek, powerless, was a short-range support, his role defined by his lack of supernatural gifts.
"Transport arrives in one hour," Varyn concluded, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. "Collect your gear packs outside. Be on the field, ready to board. Dismissed."