When Instincts Speak

Some soldiers slept deeply, exhaustion overtaking them the moment they lay down. Others remained half-awake, their weapons close at hand, their minds still racing through scenarios—calculating risks, considering survival.

Bogi lay on his back, staring at the ceiling of his tent. His body ached with fatigue, but sleep refused to come. His thoughts churned relentlessly—plans, dangers, responsibilities, the weight of command pressing down on him like an unseen force.

With a quiet sigh, he reached for his jacket, hanging beside him. His fingers found the pack of cigarettes, one of the few luxuries he had left. He pulled one out, struck a match, and lit it with the ease of an old habit. The ember flared in the darkness, casting a faint glow across his face. He inhaled deeply, letting the smoke settle in his lungs before exhaling in a slow, steady stream.

The tension in his body eased, just slightly. His thoughts, once tangled and relentless, began to align. They needed to secure that water supply—no matter what dangers lay ahead, no matter what they would have to face. It was their lifeline now, and without it, they were already dead. But they wouldn't face it alone.

Oliver and his company stood beside them.

Bogi closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of that thought sinking in. He was not alone. His men trusted him, followed him. He trusted them. And—perhaps for the first time—he found himself beginning to trust Oliver as well.

The cigarette burned to its end, and with it, the last of his tension faded. He finally allowed himself to close his eyes. Sleep came swiftly.

Dawn broke, bleeding through the purple sky and dyeing it blue. Bogi's eyes opened, clear and focused. His thoughts were no longer muddled by exhaustion. From today, I have changed completely. I am ready for this challenge.

He rose, dressing quickly and efficiently, as a soldier should. There was no hesitation in his movements—only firm resolve. Stepping out of his tent, he made his way toward the command post.

Oliver was already there, speaking with Ogar and Zeke, likely briefing them. Bogi observed them for a moment before approaching with his usual crisp, direct manner.

"We need ten," he said simply. Oliver met his gaze and nodded."Highest kill count?" Bogi agreed. "Two scouts—Rashid and Roki." Oliver nodded. "Four more?"

"Felix and Julius from your company," Bogi said. "Sergei and Olek from mine. That makes ten."

"Agreed," Oliver said. "We depart in one hour."

Bogi acknowledged with a short nod and turned to gather his men. Oliver watched him leave before turning to Zeke and Ogar. Once more, he felt the need to say it.

"We need to work with them." His voice was lower now, serious in a way that was rare for him. "I can feel it—Bogi has changed. He's accepted the situation. He's started to trust me." His piercing blue eyes locked onto his two sub-captains. "You both have been with me for as long as we can remember. Now, I ask you this—not as an order, but as a request. Cooperate."

The words carried weight. Oliver was not a man who asked. Not often. Maybe only a handful of times in all the years they had fought together.

Zeke and Ogar exchanged glances. At first, they were shocked. Then, almost reluctantly, small smiles crossed their faces. Zeke smirked. "Lazar will need to convince me first, though. Haha."

Ogar, ever the quiet one, simply nodded to himself. Working with Michael wouldn't be so bad. He was a good man. Seeing their acceptance, Oliver resumed his usual rigid demeanor. "Good," he said simply, turning away. "Get Felix, Julius, and Rashid. Prepare them."

Without another word, he walked off, already focused on the mission ahead.

Meanwhile, Bogi found Lazar and Michael near the armory tent, checking over the squad's equipment. Michael inspected a rifle with his usual methodical precision, while Lazar leaned against a crate, arms crossed, his sharp eyes flicking between passing soldiers. They were always on alert, always analyzing, always ready.

Bogi approached them without preamble. "We leave in one hour. Ten men." Michael straightened, setting the rifle aside. "You've already chosen?"

Bogi nodded. "Rashid and Roki for scouts. Felix and Julius from Red Rose. Sergei and Olek from our side. That makes ten."

Lazar let out a low whistle. "Felix and Julius, huh? Those Red Rose guys pack a punch." He smirked. "Guess we'll see if they can keep up."

Michael, always more serious, gave a slight nod. "Solid picks. Heavy hitters, but not reckless. We'll have firepower and speed. Should work."

Bogi's gaze settled on them, steady and unreadable. "That's not why I'm here." Lazar's smirk faded. Michael's expression didn't change, but his posture shifted slightly—more attentive.

Bogi exhaled, running a hand through his hair before speaking. "This mission isn't just about water. It's about proving something." His voice was low, measured. "Oliver and I—we're leading this together. I know some of you don't like it. I didn't either. But we don't have the luxury of division anymore."

Michael's brow furrowed. "You trust him now?" Bogi was quiet for a moment. Then, with a short nod, he said, "Enough to know that we survive together, or we die apart."

Lazar chuckled, shaking his head. "Hell must've frozen over. Never thought I'd hear you say that."

Bogi shot him a look, but there was no real heat behind it. "I need you both on this," he continued. "Not just for the mission. But for the men. They follow us. If they see hesitation, they'll hesitate. If they see division, they'll divide."

Michael folded his arms. "And if they see unity, they'll follow without question." Bogi nodded.

Lazar sighed, rolling his shoulders. "Alright, Captain. You're calling it. I'll keep the smart-ass remarks to a minimum." He paused, then smirked. "Mostly." Michael's agreement was more subtle, but it was there. "We'll make it work."

Bogi studied them for a long moment before giving a short nod of approval. "Good. Get the men ready."

As he turned to leave, he heard Lazar mutter under his breath, "Still can't believe he said 'we survive together.' What's next? A campfire sing-along?" Michael exhaled sharply, the ghost of a rare chuckle escaping him. "Shut up, Lazar."

Bogi ignored them, but for the first time in a long while, he felt something solid beneath him—something unshakable. Trust. And for now, that was enough. 

The camp pulsed with a quiet, focused energy. The chosen ten moved with sharp efficiency, checking weapons, strapping on armor, and securing their gear with precise, measured motions. Each of them knew what they were walking into—this wasn't just a mission. This was a kill squad.

Their weapons were lethal, but they weren't going in with just rifles and knives. They were carrying something new. Something untested. Six plasma blades.

Bogi ran his fingers along the hilt of his own, feeling the cold alien metal beneath his grip. A single button on the side—one flick, and the blade would hum to life, crackling with energy capable of slicing through flesh and armor alike. They had scavenged these weapons from the Blue Humans, but now they would wield them as their own.

The others carried them as well. Oliver kept his strapped to his belt, his sharp blue eyes giving nothing away. Lazar tapped his fingers against the hilt absentmindedly, already thinking about the moment he'd get to use it. Rashid and Roki, the two scouts, carried theirs light but ready, their quick reflexes suited for the unknown dangers ahead. Zeke's blade rested on his hip, the weight a reminder that this world would require more than just bullets.

The air was thick with tension—not fear, but something sharper. A coiled anticipation. A silent agreement. They were moving into unfamiliar terrain, but this was what they did. They were hunters, killers, survivors.

Bogi stood at the edge of the camp, scanning his squad one last time. These were his best. If anything lurked out there in the jungle, it would regret ever setting eyes on them.

He exhaled, his voice firm. "We move in formation. No unnecessary risks. Water is the priority, but if something is waiting for us, we don't hesitate. We hit first, hit hard, and don't stop."

Oliver nodded, his expression unreadable. "Scouts take point. Rashid, Roki—you move ahead. Silent. No engagements unless absolutely necessary." The two scouts exchanged a look, their hands tightening around their rifles. "Understood," Rashid said simply.

Bogi continued, his voice steady. "Felix, Julius—you take rear guard. Sergei, Olek—stay close to the center. If we get ambushed, you're our hammer." Oliver crossed his arms. "Ogar, Zeke—you hold midline. We need flexibility. If we get flanked, you break them."

No one questioned. No hesitation. They knew their roles. They knew what was at stake. Without another word, they stepped forward, vanishing into the mist-laden passage.

The moment they crossed the pass, everything changed. It wasn't just the shift from a rocky valley to a dense jungle—it was something deeper, something unseen yet undeniably present.

The towering trees stretched high above them, their canopies thick and tangled, allowing only thin slivers of light to pierce through. The air was heavy, saturated with the scent of damp earth and unfamiliar flora. The soundscape was alive—not with the howling winds of the desert, but with the rustling of unseen creatures, the distant calls of something unknown, the rhythmic hum of a world untouched by their war.

Then—it happened. A sudden pulse surged through Bogi's body, like an electric current threading through his veins. It wasn't painful, nor was it overwhelming. It was an awakening. Time slowed.

The jungle around him came into razor-sharp focus. Every leaf, every branch, every subtle shift in the undergrowth crystallized in his mind, each detail as vivid as if he had studied it for hours. He could feel the air moving against his skin, the faint tremor of the earth beneath his boots. The rhythmic rise and fall of his own breath felt synchronized with the world around him, his heartbeat steady yet heightened, as if something inside him had expanded beyond its limits.

And then—a presence. Not seen, not heard—felt. Somewhere in the dense foliage ahead, something stirred. A break in the natural rhythm, a distortion in the order of things. It was watching them. Then—the moment shattered.

Everything snapped back to normal. The jungle moved again, the distant calls resumed, the oppressive humidity returned. Bogi's breath hitched, his fingers tensing against his rifle. His head whipped to the right. At the exact same moment, Oliver turned as well.

Their eyes locked onto the same stretch of trees, scanning for something—anything. But there was nothing. Just the same dense wilderness stretching endlessly before them. Yet they both knew. A fraction of a second later, their gazes met. No words were spoken, but understanding passed between them instantly. They had both felt it.

Neither of them understood what it was—only that it had happened. No one else had noticed. The rest of the squad moved with their usual vigilance, oblivious to the shift their captains had just experienced. Bogi inhaled slowly, steadying himself. Oliver exhaled, his expression unreadable. This wasn't the time for questions.

The mission came first. They would secure the water supply. Then—and only then—would they find out what had awakened inside them. Without a word, they pressed forward.

The jungle swallowed them whole.