The cold breath of midnight hung heavy over the southern ridges, the landscape quiet, unaware of the storm rising in its shadow.
But miles away, hidden beneath a forested mountain range—far from civilian eyes, a different kind of night had begun.
The FSS Control Complex, code-named Vigil, was alive.
Lights blinked in rhythmic sequence across the walls like stars in a synthetic sky. Towering monitors stretched across the high ceiling of the command room, each glowing with war maps, digital grids, and thermal imaging. Dozens of operators manned their stations, fingers flying across holographic keyboards, earpieces buzzing with constant chatter. A metallic hum hung beneath it all, a quiet, unnerving presence of machines thinking faster than humans could.
And in the center of it, standing with his arms folded behind his back, Austin, tall and silent, surveyed the data.
Connor approached from behind, dressed in field gear with a tactical earpiece still glowing. "We've confirmed movement. Visual pings match the last six reports. They're heading due south. Every formation."
Another operator chimed in, sweat beading on his temple. "They're converging in a wide V-formation. Fast. Calculated."
Austin didn't reply.
He stepped forward, boots echoing softly on the sleek composite flooring, his eyes locked on the main monitor, a satellite overhead shot of the Eastern Crestline, where hundreds, no, thousands, of thermal signatures bled red across the screen. Like ants with purpose. No erratic weaving, no fragmentation.
This wasn't a frenzy.
It was a march.
A hunt.
Austin narrowed his eyes, jaw tightening. "This... doesn't make sense."
Connor raised an eyebrow. "You see it too?"
He nodded slowly. "They're not scattered. They're advancing with precision." He moved closer to the screen, almost whispering. "Like a hive mind…"
Connor frowned. "But the last intel suggested they were rabid. Mindless. Barely capable of following sound."
"That's what I read," Austin said, more to himself than anyone else. "That's what we all read."
He stared at the swarm's southbound trajectory. Right into Moonstone's heart.
Another analyst slid a file onto a nearby table. "At their current velocity, assuming zero deviation, they'll reach Moonstone in approximately seventy-two hours."
Three days.
Austin rubbed his stubbled jaw, eyes distant. "Unless they stop."
"What would make them stop?" Connor asked.
Austin didn't answer. His thoughts churned: What were they after? Food? Territory? Blood? Noise?
No. It wasn't random.
There was intent here.
But something else gnawed at him, an unease in his gut. He watched the satellites track the dhampyrs with almost perfect precision. Too perfect.
"How are we even seeing them this clearly?" he asked aloud. "We're tracking every one of them in real-time…"
A nearby scientist adjusted his glasses, not looking up from his screen. "The Farren Satellite Array. Launched five years ago for his GPS and communication company. But its built for global threat detection. It can scan heat signatures, bio-resonance, and movement anomalies across entire countries. The dhampyrs stand out like bonfires."
Austin gave a cautious nod, though his expression didn't soften. "Right. But still… they're too clear. It's like they're carrying trackers."
The scientist blinked. "They're not. We checked. This is just raw imaging. The array's that good."
Too good, Austin thought but didn't say.
Connor leaned closer. "What are you thinking?"
Austin exhaled through his nose, deciding to keep his actual thoughts to himself. "They're coming fast. If we wait, Moonstone's gone."
A quiet settled over the command center. Even the techs at their stations were listening now.
One by one, strategy leads began approaching, throwing up projections, proposing defensive perimeters, trap strategies, chemical deterrents.
But Austin barely heard them.
His eyes were locked on the thermal swarm.
There's only one option.
"Do we have a missile system?" he asked suddenly. 'The man has satellites, he might as well have some missiles too. Who knows maybe even nukes?'
A few heads turned. Connor did a double take. "You serious?"
Austin's brow remained furrowed. "If we've got an orbital satellite grid, surely we've got ground-based launchers."
One of the IT engineers hesitated, then nodded. "We do. Four stations. Long-range surface-to-surface payloads. But we've never used them."
"Good," Austin said flatly. "Bring them online."
"But—" another officer began.
"I know how it sounds," Austin cut in. "But this isn't a recon squad we're dealing with. This is a migrating nest, their origin is unknown and thats the least of our concern. If we let them reach the forest line, we won't have time to contain them, let alone evacuate civilians."
Connor stared. "So what's the plan?"
"Funnel them," Austin said. "Target the back and flanks. Push them into a narrow corridor where we can control their flow and reduce numbers."
He looked around at the wide eyes.
"Then I'll take a strike squad in myself."
Several murmurs echoed around the room. One scientist stepped forward. "That… could actually work."
Austin turned to one of the IT leads. "Scan the impact zone. Any settlements? Villages? Wildlife reserves?"
The tech did a quick overlay. "Nothing major. It's mostly old farmland and badlands. No heat signatures but the targets."
Austin gave a sharp nod. "Authorize launch."
Alarms flared red.
Across several smaller monitor screens, security feeds lit up—hidden bunkers opening deep in the forest floor, armored silos rotating into position like awakening giants. Hydraulics hissed. Dust and frost vented from the underground shafts.
One by one, four towering missiles locked upright, steam curling around their silver frames.
All eyes turned to Austin.
Connor whispered, "Call it."
Austin's jaw clenched. His son's face flashed in his mind.
Adam.
He drew in a deep breath and gave a single nod. "Send them."
A technician slammed the console.
With a deafening crack, the first missile ejected straight up into the night sky, hovering for a half-second before its thrusters adjusted the angle. Then, like a meteor in reverse, it screamed into the clouds, followed swiftly by three more, each shattering the silence with thunder.
The room trembled.
Austin watched their vapor trails disappear into the stratosphere.
"Velocity confirmed," a tech called out. "Mach 1.02. Estimated impact in six minutes, fourteen seconds."
Austin didn't flinch. "Prep the team. We move immediately."
Connor snapped to action. "Helipad?"
"Fuelled and ready," someone responded.
Austin turned from the monitors. "Let's go. We don't have much time."
He paused once at the doorway, staring back at the red-drenched control room.
And then he was gone.
Out into the storm he was about to meet head-on.
For Moonstone.
For the people.
For Adam.
***
Meanwhile, the strings of the guitar hummed like a lullaby beneath the stars.
His fingers, stiff with age and memory, moved slowly across the neck of the instrument. Every chord took effort. Every vibration reminded him of what he still had, and what he'd already lost.
He sat out front on the porch, his boots planted on the cracked wood floorboards, legs spread wide like a tired sentinel. The crickets had gone quiet. A warm breeze rolled over the farmland like a sigh, stirring the long grass and carrying the smell of hay and dust.
The sky above was cracked wide with stars. Unbelievably clear. He liked nights like these. You could almost believe the world wasn't ending.
Inside the modest farmhouse behind him, the floor creaked. He turned his head slightly, hearing the soft, rapid footsteps before they reached the door.
It creaked open.
"Daddy?" A small voice. His daughter.
She stood in the warm glow of the hallway light, hugging a stuffed elephant by its ragged ear.
"I had a bad dream," she murmured, her voice just above a whisper.
He exhaled gently, setting the guitar down beside his chair. "Come here, baby girl."
She crossed the porch barefoot, curling into his lap. Her hair smelled of lavender shampoo and the old flannel sheets she insisted on keeping. He wrapped his arms around her, large and leathery hands stroking her back in a steady rhythm.
"Tell me a story," she said sleepily, resting her head against his chest.
He swallowed. "A real one, or a good one?"
"A real one."
He looked out across the quiet fields. His voice came low and tired.
"Alright then. A long time ago, before you and your brother were even a twinkle in my eye, I used to hunt monsters."
She blinked up at him, intrigued. "Real monsters?"
He nodded slowly. "Dhampyrs. Half-human, half-nightmare. Fast. Mean. And smart enough to hide."
"Did you ever kill one?"
"I killed a few," he said. "And saw a lot more that I couldn't save people from. That's when I quit. After that last one, I told myself I'd never raise a weapon again. Just wanted to be a dad. Be here. Grow old."
A pause.
"Do they still exist?" she asked.
He glanced at the tree line, far beyond the golden glow of the porch light. His gut stirred.
"Not around here," he lied. "Now go on, get back to bed. I'll tuck you in."
He carried her inside, stepping softly so the floor wouldn't groan beneath his weight. His wife looked up from her sewing in the living room, their eyes meeting for a quiet second. She offered him a warm, knowing smile.
He smiled back. Just a moment. But a good one.
Later, after tucking the little girl in, he checked on his son, already asleep, sprawled diagonally across the mattress like boys do. Peaceful. Safe.
Back out on the porch, the night had shifted.
He felt it immediately.
The wind was still, too still. No cricket songs. No owl calls. Only silence, thick and unnatural.
He narrowed his eyes.
In the distance, past the barn, something moved.
A flicker in the tall grass. A rustle that didn't belong.
He stood up slowly, hand moving to the shotgun he kept leaning against the doorframe. Not for burglars, but for this. For the possibility he had prayed never came back.
The first scream came from the barn. One of the pigs.
Then the dogs.
Then… nothing.
He backed into the house, locked the door, turned off the porch light. His voice cut through the hall.
"Marie! Get the kids! Lock yourselves in the cellar!"
She didn't argue. She'd seen that look before, back when they were young. Back when he wore armor and medals and lived in shadows.
He loaded the shotgun and slid open the living room window, peeking through the blinds.
Shape, fast and low, crawling on all fours. Eyes glowing faint amber. Clawed fingers twitching with anticipation.
The dhampyrs were here.
Then the first one lunged at the door.
The impact rattled the hinges.
He fired a buckshot tearing through the wood and bone. It screeched and tumbled back.
More came.
He barricaded the door with a shelf, panting. Sweat clung to his brow. His heart thundered like a war drum. This wasn't a hunt, this was a siege.
He took to the hallway as glass shattered behind him. Claws scraped the walls. One broke through a window as he fired again. Missed.
The house was alive with chaos; screams, footsteps and splintering wood.
He found his family in the cellar doorway. His wife held their daughter tight. His son had a bloodied arm, eyes wide with terror.
"Take him!" he barked, lifting his boy into his arms. "Go, Marie, now!"
They ran down into the cellar. An old and damp and cold room, locking the steel hatch behind them.
But the dhampyrs weren't done.
One had gotten in through the roof.
It pounced on him in the narrow hallway, knocking him back. The boy was ripped from his arms. The creature vanished through the window with the child in its claws.
"No—!"
He bolted after it. Through the yard. Into the field.
His legs screamed with age and pain, but he didn't stop. Not when it was his son.
He found them near the silo, the dhampyr hunched over the boys small frame.
He didn't hesitate.
BOOM.
The shot echoed through the night. The dhampyr jerked back, shrieked, fell. It twitched for a moment, then lay still.
He dropped the gun and rushed to the boy.
"No no no..." he muttered, voice cracking. "So. Hey, I got you, look at me."
The boy's chest rose faintly.
Blood soaked his shirt.
"Dad…" he whispered.
"I'm here. I'm right here. Just breathe, okay? We're gonna fix this. We're gonna—"
Then, in the distance, a whistling sound.
The kind that slowly rose to a crescendo, the whistle of a tea pot when the water inside is boiling hot... Only this time it was different.
His eyes lifted toward the sky.
A missile.
He didn't move.
Couldn't.
It struck the house like a wrathful god. A column of fire lit the night, engulfing the entire home, and everyone still inside.
The shockwave hit seconds later, knocking him to his knees.
He didn't feel the heat.
Only the silence.
He held his son tighter, trembling.
"Marie…" he whispered.
The boy coughed once.
Then nothing.
Tears welled in his eyes, stinging. The gunmetal scent of blood mixed with smoke.
His hands clutched the child like he could anchor him to the earth.
The night was still again.
But not peaceful.
Behind him, the shadows crept once more. Dhampyrs, cautious now. Watching. Encircling.
He didn't care.
He just held his son, one final time.
A second blast lit the horizon.
And everything faded to white.