2330 Hours – Jungle South of Catarman
"Lieutenant, we're picking up strange frequencies!" the drone operator called out.
Andrew lowered his binoculars, brow furrowed. "What kind of frequencies?"
"It's... the Controllers, sir!" the operator replied, her voice taut with tension.
Andrew's expression darkened. Controllers—signal emitters that commanded the enemy's bioweapons. If they were nearby, that meant more of those things—Titans, hounds, or worse—were inbound. "We have to do something about it," he muttered, scanning the dense terrain ahead.
Tanya shook her head. "Sir, we could bypass it and keep moving. We don't have the ammo or the numbers to take on a full horde."
Andrew considered her logic. She wasn't wrong. But if they ignored the Controllers, things would only get worse. Fast.
He keyed his comms. "Hometown, this is Pathfinder. We've detected a Controller signal in the vicinity."
Colonel Gray came online, sounding skeptical. "What Controllers? Are you saying the enemy is using bio-weapon command nodes?"
"Affirmative, sir. Not speculation—we've engaged hostile bioforms. Hounds. Titans. We're currently in a secure position, but we won't last if another wave shows up."
A pause.
"All assets are currently engaged. What's your team's status?"
"We've lost one drone. Ammo's down, but we're still combat-effective," Andrew answered.
"That's not good..." Gray muttered. "Can your team neutralize the signal?"
Andrew looked back at his squad—exhausted, but steady.
"We can."
"Understood. I'm counting on you, Lieutenant. Pathfinder, out."
The transmission cut off. Andrew turned to the squad.
"New objective—we take out the Controllers."
Peter groaned. "Let me guess. You said yes to the suicide mission?"
"No time for sarcasm, Corporal," Andrew snapped. "If we don't stop those signals, this sector will be crawling with monsters."
"But sir, we don't even know how many Titans are guarding it. Last batch almost wiped us!" Tanya argued.
"Not now, Sergeant. Orders are orders," Andrew said, checking his weapon and stepping forward. The squad followed—wary, but willing.
2355 Hours
Mary, the drone operator, tapped at her pad, tracing the faint Controller signal. The squad moved in formation—Mikhail at the front, Peter watching the rear.
"I can't believe they're actually using bioweapons," Peter muttered. "That bastard Gomez is gonna end up in front of an international tribunal."
"Biological warfare was outlawed by the Matthias Treaty. He's an ununiformed combatant—makes him a terrorist," Tanya added. "No court will go easy on him."
Andrew remained quiet, rifle at the ready, eyes sharp.
"Still... where the hell does Gomez get this kind of tech?" Peter asked. "He's just a warlord, right?"
"Could be rogue states. Black market connections. Or some nation with interests in the Cornalian region," Andrew replied. "Nothing's off the table."
Suddenly, Mary knelt and raised her fist—halt.
"Lieutenant, I've got something."
Andrew moved up beside her. She pointed to her screen.
A strong Controller signal pulsed from an abandoned village roughly one klick ahead.
Andrew grabbed his binoculars and scanned with thermal. Faint heat signatures flickered through the foliage. Switching to night vision, a tower loomed in the mist.
"There it is..." he muttered. "Controller tower."
He signaled the team forward. They gathered on a small ridge overlooking the valley below.
"I've spotted the tower, about a thousand meters east. There's a horde guarding it," Andrew briefed. "We sneak in, plant charges, destroy it."
He looked to Peter.
Peter gave a wry grin. "Easy as pancakes, sir."
"I never said it would be easy, Corporal."
Andrew continued, "Once the Controllers are down, the bioweapons will scatter. But until then, they'll defend that tower with everything they've got."
He scanned the group. "We'll split into pairs. Multiple approach angles. Tight and silent. This is a fast job."
Everyone nodded. Tension hung in the air—but the mission was clear.
2400 Hours – Inside Gomez's APC, Somewhere in Catarman
Enrique Gomez sat back in his seat, peeling off his sunglasses. His red-tinted eyes were bloodshot, sweat dripping from his brow. He jabbed a syringe into his arm. A cocktail of drugs flooded his system, calming his nerves and steadying his breath.
The APC rumbled along the uneven road. He winced at every bump.
"Those bastards almost had me!" he snapped. Then, yelling at the driver, "Slow down! We've lost them already!"
The driver eased up.
"Good."
His phone rang. On the third ring, he picked up.
"It's me," he said flatly.
"You put on quite a show, Enrique," the voice on the other end said, smooth and composed. "Impressive."
"Cut the crap. Why are you calling me at this hour?"
"We want results. We've poured resources into you, and so far, you've underdelivered."
"I know. I know..." Gomez said, rubbing his forehead. "Two Controller sites are still active. One horde's headed for those Cornalian pigs. It'll be a bloodbath."
"Good. Don't disappoint us. You only get so many chances. We expect this... partnership to bear fruit soon."
The line went dead.
Gomez hissed through his teeth. "Impatient assholes."
In the front passenger seat, a pale-skinned woman with long black hair and brown eyes turned toward him. Her voice was cold and measured.
"You've stirred enough chaos. If our project succeeds, we'll receive more funding. More backing from our benefactors."
"I'm aware," Gomez muttered.
"You don't look well."
"I'm fine," he snapped, still short of breath.
"Careful with the injections, Enrique. Side effects stack over time."
Gomez's hand trembled. He clenched his fist and looked out the window.
"Once I teach the Cornalians and their allies a lesson... the world will see. Our organization—"
He coughed, hard. Then growled—
"—will show the world our resolve."