"Up, now!" Douglas yells towards the unarmed assailants.

I aggressively motion with my rifle to the exit, prompting the remaining hostiles out the armoury. All three comply without hesitation, making good impressions as newly minted prisoners under our care.

We exit the partially melted building without much problems on our end as we trail behind them from a respectable distance. I still keep my index over the trigger in the unlikely event this was just a ruse. It might be redundant on my part, but there is nothing wrong with keeping on the side of caution.

Once outside the tattered remnants of the base I motion to the three surviving soldiers with one hand, "Keep your sights on them. Anything strange and they'll get it from us."

"Move it bitch," Robert spats as he violently shoves one of the soldiers. The sudden push shakes the woman off balance, causing her to crash face first into the hard tiles below.

Ignoring the soft yelp, I place a hand against the shoulder of one of the remaining two, kicking the back of his legs to force him down on his knees. James follows through with the last, towering over the soldier with his rifle positioned not far from the man's face.

"Weapons," I announce, allowing the others to decipher the rest. Nothing more needs to be said given the situation.

"I'll keep watch on the three," James affirms, strolling to the front, "if they start doing wierd shit, I'll shut them up for good."

Getting into the business, I crouch over the nearest figure and sweep my hands across the man's metallic form, searching for anything of note. Near the base of his torso, my fingers brush against a leathery belt partially hidden by the plated armour. Feeling several distinct bulges along the rim, I pull out the belt sending a cascade of bottles tumbling out the soldier's person.

The bottles clinked against the tiles and I look up to regard the kneeling soldier with a firm sense of satisfaction. He remains silent underneath the helmet as I scrounge up a handful of the tiny bottles.

Inside most of them is a potent and viscous blue liquid, each filled to about half capacity. Much of what I could discern is focused purely on their physical aspects. I could only speculate as to their functions, though I am certain that field of curiosity will eventually be taken up by the researchers in the near future.

"Blue shit," I murmur, depositing the glass oddities to one side and resuming the body search.

Further down to the thighs, my eyes spot the gleam of several hidden knives tucked away neatly in the crevices of the leggings. I immediately grab the hidden weapons, tossing them out of reach.

After fishing out the last of their knives, I get up to check on the others. Robert briefly glances at me before resuming his efforts on the sole female with a little finesse while Douglas instead opts for a more standard display of treatment. No regards to personal space, and involving plenty of rough handling.

Robert speaks up, breaking my monologue, "It will take at least a week to clear up the mess." He stands aside, placing a firm foot over the female soldier's calf to keep her in place.

"No thanks to these fuckers," James remarks, vocalizing his sentiments, "so what now. We've got three of them as prisoners."

Glaring down at the frightened trio, I sweep in with a neutral answer, "That's up for brass to decide, not us. They'll come up with something appropriate I think."

"Or not," Robert quips.

With the assurance that the remaining attackers are unarmed, I lower my guard and focus on other aspects of their being.

These three are different from the ones back on the encampment in several ways. They were still humanoid at least, that meant they could be reasoned with.

"Threat's over, tell the pilot to come in," I say.

"On it," Robert nods, promptly turning his attention away.

Looking back to the three prisoners, I decide to ease up and release my foot from the soldier. For good measure, I shift the knives further away from his position with a quick sweep from my leg.

All three still knelt in place, making no attempts to stand or even look up. I take this moment to fully indulge in the passing curiosity. Running a firm parallel to the description provided by the pilot, the soldiers were draped primarily in the aforementioned colours of blue and yellow.

Like their silver haired counterparts, the armor's design incorporates a healthy mix of ornamentation and practicality. Each piece of equipment was fashioned with great care, and further made the distinction regarding their technological sophistication abundantly clear.

I stare calmly at them, giving the three an opportunity to send back their grievances. Their returning glares and mutual silence carries over their thoughts in lieu of words. Their opinions on me, and by extension the rest of my fireteam, are definitely not positive.

Pushing aside the idle muse, I step away from the trio, "How is our perimeter looking," I inquire, looking over the fresh scene of carnage.

"All clear for now, no movements outside the mountains," an unexpected voice replies, skirting from the peripheral.

A brief glance behind reveals a pair of UN regulars in the process of sorting out the downed assailants.

"A little help would be nice," one of the troopers announces, beginning the arduous process of consolidating the corpses, "I need a few more hands to gather the bodies and check their gear."

I release an exasperated sigh and direct Douglas and Robert over to the troopers. "We'll handle the three," I say, referencing the survivors.

"Alright," Douglas shrugs, pulling our fellow operative along to assist in the aftermath.

Putting down a firm stance on the survivors, I made sure to devote my attention fully at them. Though they are under our protection, that notion may not be enough to deter the others from taking out their grievances on them especially considering their recent crimes against us.

"Hey," James calls out, breaking me out of the trance.

He gestures to the Rift behind him, "Brass might want these guys transferred to Cygnus. They could whip up a holding cell."

Sparing a brief nod to my companion, I turn back towards the three. Slowly with the use of simple gestures, I get them to stand up, being reasonably firm to ensure their continued compliancy.

They will have to go through the Rift, where they will be exposed to the temperatures of the Antarctic. I take that into account, making a mental note to get these prisoners a change of clothes.

"They'll need winter coats, heavy duty. Their armor's no good against the cold," I highlight as we begin walking towards the Rift.

Robert adds in a suggestion, noting my remark. "The habitation modules should have what we need. There's a public rack with some coats I think."

I nod, letting my companion take the lead, "Sounds like a plan."

Given the extent of the cold, the situation calls for a detour. I take the option, if only to ensure they did not freeze to death on the other side.

===Earth, Cygnus Station 0700 hours==

An overwhelming chill sweeps in from all directions as the soft, almost pliable flooring gives way to steady ground. The bright myriad of colours vanish as I step out into the cold, unforgiving expanse of the south pole.

A constant gust billows across the Antarctic frontier and I stop to relish the moment. After the awful state of affairs over on New Eden, it felt invigorating to be back to a semblance of normalcy. It is bound to be temporary, but it was welcome reprieve nonetheless.

The others trudge through the anomaly stringing along the three prisoners. Douglas powers through the hostile weather and marches up to me, clamping his hand firmly on one of them.

"Asshole tried to escape inside the Rift," he announces, shutting down the man's attempts to break free.

"I would have done the same," I reply, noting the frightened tint on the prisoner's eyes.

Turning back to the front, I raise my voice over the local channel, "Everyone stay close and keep moving, Cygnus is just up ahead."

After several minutes of battling the bitter cold, the station's familiar outline finally comes into view. Several United Nations troopers move to intercept, clad in the same insulating garments as our captives. Most of the station is still on high alert and it shows.

I greet the troopers through chattering teeth, eager to skip the pleasantries, "Q-quite the welcome."

One of them looks over my shoulder. "Who the fuck are they," the soldier inquires, bluntly stating his curiosity.

Sparing a glance back, I puff out a sigh, "The assholes who screwed over the outpost."

"I know, I meant... never mind, " the soldier relents, "we'll take these guys from here. Brass wants you all for debriefing this instance."

The exchange takes place without much difficulty. The troops move to restrain the captives, forcefully binding their hands with cuffs and shutting down any remaining notions of escape. The six men move off with their quarry, pacing through the Antarctic weather into a nearby shelter.

Their muted screams and violent tussles continue as the troopers move deeper into the modular prefab. Whatever happens to them now, is none of my concern.

"It's gonna be a long debrief," Robert comments, pulling away from the spectacle.

"Don't remind me," James groans, "it'll take an hour at least. If... we're lucky."

Several minutes of unwanted advances through the snow and down an elevator and we reach our destination. Multiple members of New Eden's command staff sat around a circular table, leaving the other half unoccupied presumably for our benefit.

With a large sigh to begin the affair, I sit down and prepare myself to waste away hours of my life. The large projector ahead is active, currently displaying the first slide of what will likely be a long presentation.

A senior official rises once complete silence takes over the small, and cramped room. "This officially begins the debrief regarding Fireteam Desert's after action report," the women begins, pausing to direct a hand across the table.

"I'll start by saying this. This session is aimed at covering the mostly recent deployment towards a site of interest we know to be holding survivors of expedition six," she pauses, voice slowly gaining traction, "The science wing is still severely lacking in intel regarding the people we know to inhibit the north west. As of now, we are still referring to the faction collectively as Alpha."

Robert raises a hand, "Our helmets incorporates personal surveillance tech, up to ten hours if I'm not mistaken. Most of your questions should be answered after a thorough review."

"We're aware," a man chips in, "but we'd rather hear it in person. You four are the first to maintain prolonged interaction with them. The one that turned out to be peaceful at least."

Standing up, he formally introduces himself, "I represent the exploratory division in this debrief and up until recently, oversaw the ongoing efforts of the six expeditionary teams. Now five."

Gesturing at the monitor, the senior representative skims over several pages, swiping past its mostly verbose contents before stopping at an aerial photograph. It was a bird's eye representation of the local's encampment, flushed with hot spots indicative of activity.

Though the image is changed significantly to accommodate a thermal perspective, the resulting alterations did not detract much from its familiarity. Most of the topography and distinctive landmarks are relatively unchanged.

Pacing around to the front, the researcher turns to face the entire team. "What are they like?"

"Reasonable, and not that different from us," Douglas answers on our behalf, crossing his arms, eyes deep in thought, "but they're bad company."

Adding on to the sentiment, I speak up. "As far as first impressions go, they fail on all fronts. They're not a bunch I'm willing to trust. Our first contact ended up a firefight. And then there's expedition six."

The representative sighs, pacing back to his seat. "For the record, I'm willing to agree with that assessment. But most of my colleagues prefer to think of their encounter as a fluke. It will be hard to convince them otherwise when they're scrambling over every opportunity to learn more about them," he concludes, thanking me and setting the pace for continued discussion.

As the questions pile up, I remain at the forefront answering whenever possible and offering my opinions where applicable. Most of the command staff by this point is immersed in the recollection, hanging on every word and urging me onward with every temporary pause.

At all times I stay neutral in my perspective, recounting the events in chronological order leading up to the final minutes of the Humming Bird's descent through the canopy.

"We have a better picture of them now at least," a member of the staff remarks after I finish, "your team did an admirable job navigating through that mess. Though I'll give you this, removing your helmet is to be put it bluntly, dumb."

James chuckles, "So it's not just me then."

I glare at him and he forces down the grin, though his eyes still held a glint of amusement.

After a final wave of inquiries, the debrief turns over towards the assault on the outpost. Douglas offers to take the lead, intentionally pulling the spotlight from me. Mentally thanking him, I tune out the formal discussion from this point on.

The monotonous proceeding drags on, allowing the staff to have their fill of information. Information that in hindsight, could have been gathered instead from our helmet cams.

===1205 Military Time, New Eden===

A sudden buzz rings overhead and I snap my eyes open. The dull ceiling stares back, its utilitarian surface burning right through the initial haze. It was not a dream.

The room is quiet. Nearby the lamp provided a semblance of clarity as I take in the surroundings. This bed, an adjacent night stand, and a small closet is all this place had to offer.

Almost immediately, the events surrounding the past day returns in full force, reminding me of the circumstances leading up to this moment.

"Twenty four hours," I breath out, filling the words with a tangible sense of bitterness. Roughly a full day has passed since stepping into this clandestine operation. The hours were memorable and filled to the brim with unforeseen novelties. Underneath the pillow, the same constant buzz permeates through the soft fabric.

A gentle yawn elapses and I get up, digging into the pillow and shutting off the alarm. Getting back into attire, I immediately bolt out of my personal quarters, a quint space barely over five square meters and set a stern pace out the barracks. Douglas files ahead, issuing a curt wave before continuing on.

His eyes briefly glaze over mine before settling underneath his helmet. Matching his pace, we reach the entrance and step out into the Antarctic wastes. Robert and James wave the two of us over.

"Took you guys long enough," James says, taking shelter underneath an adjacent tent, "thought you two were still asleep."

"Sorry, tired as hell," Douglas apologizes with a flat tone, "the after action report was a pain to sit through." He marches past me, sending a not so subtle glare at the Operations' Wing.

"Better late than never," I announce, getting the team's attention, "so what's on our agenda?"

Robert moves past James, exiting the small tent. "We're officially placed under New Eden's security detachment. We're to help secure the general area inside the valley. Those with technical expertise," he says, pausing to look at me, "... are to assist with repairs as directed by engineering."

"Alright," I say, "Let's not keep them waiting then. There's lots to do."

"Agreed," Douglas remarks, setting off towards the Rift. We follow his lead through the torrent of snow.

The sun sat low on the horizon, painting the sky a gentle wash of gold and dark blue. Visible against the afternoon backdrop, a few stars glimmered overhead, going strong against the Antarctic twilight.

Reaching the Rift's familiar, but still unnerving visage, I step through it. Multiple colours flash across the visor, but I wilfully ignore it, already accustomed to the novelty. Soon the familiar landscape of the vale interrupts the disorienting mirage and the beleaguered outpost comes into view.

The engineering department is hard at work inspecting the areas heavily affected by the assault. Loud sizzles indicate the abundance of welds as its technicians undertake repairs across the outpost.

The sounds held my opinions in check, and sent a clear message. Despite the fatalities, we are here to stay. Affirming that notion, soldiers from the security detachment stood on guard in pairs or more, keeping a reasonable distance from the workers as they handled their trade.

"I assume you folks are Fireteam Desert?" a trooper walks over from his post, flashing a curious look.

Douglas steps forward to answer, "We are."

The man nods, raising a hand to the side. "Alright, we need a few more guys to shore up our north. There's a squad over on Eden pass but they'll need some help to fully secure the entire area. Also," the soldier pauses, scanning the four of us, "... is there a Jerome Simmons by the way."

I raise my hand, half expecting the call out, "Present."

"Great, engineering's going to need your assistance up on the mountains. Word has it that Cygnus is expediting the placement of those sensors. They're... a little short on manpower."

"Got it," Robert affirms, pacing away with Douglas and James following close by.

I look back to the reserved trooper, sending him a brief inquiry, "Where do they want me?"

He points to the makeshift airfield, "The ones you're with are still setting up their gear, I think they're almost done though."

"Alright, thanks," I say, trotting towards the hard hats on the airfield. Greeting the team of seven with a wave, I rush over to their position instructing the small crowd of my intentions.

After a brief stint of introductions and a final check on the equipment we head up the mountains. The arduous journey coincides with the sun's rays making an appearance directly overhead, making the climb that much more exhausting especially with the added weight.

After reaching the peak, I start laying out the tools while the others work on final assembly.

"Torque wrench, and sizes thirteen, twenty four and twenty seven. We'll also need a small and medium extension just in case," the leading technician announces.

"Got it, give me a few," I say, translating the request into a mental list.

Rifling through the bag, I fish out the aforementioned wrench and its two extensions, setting them to the side.

'Thirteen, twenty four and twenty seven,' I recall, searching through the square drive socket holder for the three sizes. I pull those out and set the bag aside, standing up.

"On my way," I remark, carrying the items towards the team as they work on stacking the components.

The men held their respective pieces and laboured through each individual bolt, taking turns on the simple, but tedious affair. To save on time, I join their concerted efforts halfway through the drudge. Progress is slow, eventually spilling over to an hour.

After setting the last bolt to its intended torque, I take a step back to admire the result. The large roughly cylindrical instrument features a slotted waveguide antenna at its top, not too different from existing examples of dated military hardware. Further down the trunk sat its sensory auxiliaries ranging from thermal to motion detection.

"Finally," I breath out, gazing at the finalized product. Its indicator lights are lit with a healthy green, giving the all clear on its various systems.

The now active sensor gazes outward, governing the lands beneath and beyond with a watchful eye. With the early warning system established, everyone can now rest a little easier.

"The other team's already have theirs up," the lead technician pauses, "still... job well done to everyone."

"Thanks for dropping by with the assist," he says after dropping back to leveled ground.

I wave him off gently, "Just happy to help."

After exchanging a few more words, the lead technician excuses himself and hurries off to join his colleagues.

With my job done, I pause and tackled the ambience with a fresh perspective. Much of the vale is cradled by hills and sharp peaks, offering no glimpse of the dangerous world that lay beyond.

Though New Eden has proven itself to be a priceless scientific venture, it was akin to a rose with hidden thorns. I continue down this train of thought, but a brief tap on my shoulder drives the muse away.

"You seem off," a voice says, familiar and raising a tint of concern.

I turn around, recognizing the man's voice and hidden accent. "Just taking this all in. I'm trying to get all of this to sink in," I divulge.

"Same here," the lead operative for team Angel answers, offering a pensive tone.

Noting his team's rigid formation, I decide to inquire, "What are you guys doing right now?"

He gestures to the surrounding area lazily with one hand. "Standard patrol, after the affair last night, everyone's on edge."

"Alert levels are high for all combat units," He continues grimly.

I nod, "I know... my guys have the same orders."

"Why aren't you with them?" The veteran operative inquires.

"Engineering needed to pull a few guys who can handle a wrench and then some," I explain, pointing to the southern peaks behind, "just finished my stint with a couple of technicians. We've got the early warning system up and running."

"I see...."

An uneasy silence pops up after my statement. I shift my gaze around to alleviate the passing boredom. The job is thankless and physically demanding on the arms. Just as I make the decision to end the conversation, my eyes pick up a dark blob on the main road running vertically from north to south.

The sleek and dark shape is unnatural and was glinting under the sun's passing rays.

"What is that?" Compelled by newfound curiosity, I stroll towards the visual oddity.

"Anti-Air turret shot it down during the assault. It's dead," Narkis comments, following my advance.

"It's... one of those things," I kneel down, recognizing the scaled creature through in its mangled form.

The torpedo shaped body and wings extending out the animal's back made this a point of interest. Armor covered the creature's torso along with a type of harnass. A saddle was fixed on its back with stirrups hanging loosely at the sides, its rider missing.

The implications are obvious, and sent a ripple of unease through my chest.

"Yeah, and there's someone on it. Or under it, I should say," a member of Angel team comments, briefly extending a finger to the creature's belly. Barely visible underneath, was a disfigured hand sticking out from the side.

"He or she's long dead when we discovered the Banshee," the operative adds in a rough tone.

On hearing the unfamiliar term, I glance back. "Banshee?"

"Yeah. That's what the guys up top are inclined to call them now. Heard that term from some new arrivals before we got attacked. It probably has to do with them being noisy shits," he replies with a distinctly British intonation. A passing look at the man's helmet confirms my suspicions.

"They might have tailed us from our last op," I say, looking back at the reptilian corpse.

This was a simple case of cause and effect stemming from that last mission.

Narkis paces around to the animal's front, looking down at the Banshee's inanimate head. "You sure?"

I shake my head, looking at the Lieutenant, "Just a hunch."

He looks up and answers, "Security's being bolstered in a few days, no use putting much thought into it."

I move away from the scene, intent on resuming official duties. If things are proceeding as they are, the operational scope for the outpost is only set to further expand. When that happens, this place ought to be ready to handle the increased workload.

"I'll have to go now, heading north to meet up with my guys," I declare, shifting back into the rhythm.

"Alright, catch you around Simmons," Narkis waves me off, finalizing the discussion and trailing off with his team to the eastern sector.

I make my way up to Eden pass, noting the full extent of the damage with a stern outlook. Things were going back to the norm. The Rift stood to my right, always a present fixture within the outpost. I pause to contemplate the anomaly's existence.

The world it contains is fascinating, no doubt. But it belies a danger that threatens to reach out if we stray too far. The events of yesterday, might just be an appetizer for the days and weeks ahead.

===Cygnus Station, Antarctica===

Operations in the clandestine United Nations station was going as planned, despite the events that took place on the other side of the rift.

In one section of the Station, far away from the unforgiving cold in the underground complex, controlled studies of the native plant life were done by the handful of botanists present.

In a different area above the ground, resting near the ice ridden runway were seven coffins each one containing the remains of a person. These people were the casualties of the battle many hours ago.

Flags of their respective home countries were draped over the top of the coffin as it rested on the ice beneath, providing a heartbreaking view for any soul unfortunate enough to lay their eyes on them.

These very flags symbolized the loss of a precious life as it flutters gently to the rhythm of the icy winds.

The sad collection consisted of two United states flags, three Australian flags, a lone Belgium flag, and a single German flag.

Filling the background was the distinctive flag of the United Nations, now fluttering solemnly at half mask to honour the seven that were killed.

A pair of soldiers, clad in winter attire stood in vigil over the fallen, heads casted down in solidarity as they stood their ground against the cold. Only the howling of the winds could be heard until the arrival of an incoming aircraft.

The plane was called in for a singular purpose.

These people will be sent home, they could be husbands, brothers and sons. It is a sad day for humanity. The coffins were respectfully loaded onto the cargo hold in unanimous silence, no one broke the unspoken rule.

Once the affair is complete, the plane unceremoniously takes off. Its visage eventually going over the horizon, taking the coffins with it.

That very act could possibly provide the rest of the world with the clues needed to piece together this entire operation. But it is a risk worth taking.

They deserve to be sent home to their loved ones at the very least. For giving their lives in the line of duty, whether they be an engineer, or a soldier.

Nevertheless, work will continue as per schedule in the Antarctic Station. To make sure things like this will never happen again.

This news does not bode well for the perpetrators in question. The survivors of the unexpected assault on the New Eden outpost will be subjected to harsh treatment.

Locked in an improvised holding cell, were the pitiful remnants of the Yhunian taskforce. Three scared, and isolated individuals were secured tightly to chairs with steel clamps to hinder their movements.

A veil of darkness covers the barren room, their senses of time were dulled and their limbs, numb from the many hours of restricted movement. To them, it certainly felt like torture after so many hours in the same exact position.

They occasionally made futile attempts to break free of the steel clamps that kept their forms secured against the chairs.

These chairs in question were arranged in a line perpendicular to a table that was situated in the middle of the room. The configuration was an acceptable model of an interrogation room, albeit one that was hastily refurbished.

"Wh... what do you think will happen to us?" a fearful voice says, echoing into the darkness. The cold room harbors a sense of dread, spurred on by the continued struggles of the captured Yhunian Rangers.

Wavering at the seams, Yula sent her frightful regards to her battle brethren. The Yhunian Life Mender kept her bound arms close to her bosom, stained eyes darting across the featureless and dark room. "I know what happens to the women," she whimpers.

"They'll pry into our heads, be it mind meld or torture. I know that is certain. It's only a matter of time," another voice answers, tone akin to a poisoned dagger. It belonged to Darium, the Yhunian Ranger distraught at being reduced to a prisoner of war.

"They fight differently, swift but stern like the tides," Darium continues his fruitless musings, struggling once more against the clamps.

The last member glares in his direction, offering a cold retort, "Silence, they could be listening. We were trained for this, so don't forgot it now of all times. Bite your tongue if you must," the High Captain seethes.

The esteemed Captain's words rung out, casting a semblance of order to his otherwise frightful underlings, bringing his fellow ranger under an oath of silence. But as time marches on, the enduring silence proves too much to bear.

In an effort to ward off the stifling silence, Darium speaks again, reminiscing his last moments before the surrender. Of the throbbing roar of the enemy's weapon as it delivers its mortal regards to one of their dying kin.

"Tarvum just wanted to avenge his beloved, they ended Thea's life with but a snap," he recalls, baffled by the brutal quickness of their weapons.

He continues on under a whisper, certain that none others could listen. "They were betrothed in secret, sent to the front lines only because they had an affinity to weave the energy of the spirits."

"You must realize that goes for almost all of us. We carry a gift, and a burden of service," the High Captain snaps back, narrowed eyes bestowing acceptance, "we have lost many sorcerers against the Euralians. More may yet join them should we cross the three great rivers."

"I care little of the bad blood with our pale neighbours, this war is beyond us. The ones who are wreathed under crown and birthright are the ones to blame for our plight," he continues, holding together his calm in the face of uncertainty.

Fighting yet again to break free, Darium utters forth his thoughts, "Our Lords rightly bear our grievances, but not for this. Our captives are not Eure-"

The needless dither abruptly ends when a sudden halo of light appears above the disgraced warriors, casting away the veil of darkness. Their eyes dart towards the creaking door, and the three rangers brace for the horrors they may yet endure in retribution.

===Cygnus Station, Jerome's POV===

"We're going in," Robert declares to the liaison, getting the man's approval with a thumbs up.

"Go ahead, try not to rough them up if possible," the researcher warns. He walks over to the window, awaiting our entry into the room.

"Prep the map, that's the first thing on our list," I remind Douglas as he opens the door.

"I know," he answers, pushing into the room. The laminated door creaks at the hinges, blowing right through the trotting of our footsteps. Everyone files through and hurries to position.

"Anything funny we're able to put them down right?" James asks from the rear, keeping up the brisk pace.

"Yep, that's the plan," Robert answers, moving past me to stand at the far left corner, rifle held at low ready.

Noting the switch at my immediate left, I flip the knob on. Additional lights pour in from the corners in addition to the recessed lamp above. The three shy back into their respective chairs, limbs renewing their thrashing against the heavy clamps.

"Alright," I sigh. No where to go but forward.

"How stern are we allowed to be with them?" Douglas inquires with indifference, "you know we have that damned treaty to follow."

I observe the female on the right, looking into her eyes. The pupils were normal spheres, appearing no different than a human's. Her hair is arranged behind her shoulder in tight braids, the brown ends spilling out the base of her helm.

Without the added equipment, the women could reasonably pass off as one of our own.

"Only verbal intimidation, no physical stuff. I don't think we have to resort to those measures yet," I respond, looking away from the disturbingly human features.

"They look ready to spill the beans so to speak, just look at the one on the right," I motion to the women at that last bit, putting her into the spotlight much to her apparent uneasiness.

I sit down on the opposite side of the table as Douglas opts to stand with a stoic attitude, arms arranged across his chest.

I maintain my scrutinous gaze upon them with hands locked together at the front, giving them no indication of my expression through the visor. Intel extraction is the main priority, whatever we do to get them can be justified within reason.

They were responsible for what had happened, nothing will change that fact. But regardless of what they did, we are bound by international humanitarian law.

Whether the technical specifics actually apply does not matter. The rules have been set in place, and I have to follow them at all times.

I grab the map from Douglas as he moves to stand behind them. Unfurling the sketch, I place it onto the table.

The map in question was an A4 sized aerial depiction of the surroundings. A brief look at the scale shows it extends for roughly 10 kilometers from east to west and to a lesser extent, north to south. With any luck they are able recognize what this is, and further assist in the interrogation.

I turn the map around for the benefit of our captives, pointing sternly to the location of the New Eden outpost. After I get their attentions onto my finger, I slowly trail eastwards on the map, signaling the direction from which they attacked.

The finger is now outstretched exposing my palm as it rests towards the edges of the map. Body language and a little bit of guessing from their part should do the rest in conveying the unspoken question.

It should be clear to them. More or less. 'Where did you come from?'

For the overall security of the New Eden Base, we need to know where they are launching this attack from. Their exact method of entry into the vale is still an unknown. None of the outer perimeter sensors stationed outside the mountains picked up movement.

I patiently wait for a response, only to receive their revitalized glares in response. Waterboarding and the like are obviously out of the question, but there is still an assortment of intimidation tactics available at my disposal.

Change of plans then...

"Push them closer to the table," I say.

"Heads up, we're taking this up a notch," I remark, sparring a brief glance to my rear.

Douglas moves ahead with the prompt. The chairs scraped against the floor, grating against hard tiles. Indiscernible protests spill out from the captives, high pitched and radiating dread. Their bodies strike the table's edge, and their voices continue, now intensified.

Seconds into their incessant yelling, I signal Douglas with a hand directed against the one in the centre. "Let it loose on him," I say, keeping a straight face. The ends justify the means in most cases, this is one of them.

Acknowledging the cue, his hand races out from behind him to grab the man's head. With a firm grip on the metallic renaissance styled helmet, he slams the man's face hard onto the table. His neck lurches forward at a painful arch, sending his head crashing onto the table's surface.

The sheer momentum briefly tips the man's entire body forward like a violent involuntary jerk. A loud boom reverberates throughout the isolated room as his face makes contact with the hard plastic surface.

He rebounds off the table, shoulders drooping, and head dangling over to one side. This level of physical abuse is the furthest I would go.

The sudden altercation is only intended to destroy their confidence and false sense of security. All I need to do now is to pick up the pieces, with the pieces being some much desired information.

I glare intently at the lone female, briefly registering a thin sheen of sweat at the base of her neck. Her Adam's apple consistently bobs, indicating her state of mind.

Pushing ahead with this newfound observation, I lean into her face, close enough to give the stunned woman my undivided attention.

I mutter a soft, but confrontational prompt as we lock eyes. "If you know what's good, you fucking answer."

Shoving the map to her front, my eyes register her figure moving against the clamps. She looks up with a plea, darting back and forth to her bound arms.

"Remove her clamps. The one on her arms," I say, piecing together her message.

Douglas moves up, producing a small key from one of his magazine pouches. He forces the key into position and turns a quarter. The clamps release after a small resounding click.

She raises her newly freed arms, appearing compliant to the inquiry. A soft thud is heard as her finger rests on the map's edges, lightly tapping a few times as a sign of emphasis.

I focus on where she held a finger at. It was pointed specifically at one corner of the map, hinting at mainly two things.

Firstly, it was out of the range of this map, meaning their initial position is quite a distance away. And second, that specific direction is north east.

I release the breath and give her a nod of gratitude. My lips hold a slight tug up as the information is stowed away under a notebook.

With that concluded, it was now time to move on. "Now, onto the next one."

It was going to be a long day.

===End===

Our forebearers once fought under the emblem, and conquered all which lay before them.

Our ancient cause is that of noble ambition, yet it heralds the suffering of those yet under the Kingdom's thrall.

The scrolls remember, even as we forget in the hundreds of starwheels since