A thick, mist-laden jungle deep in Kalimantan, untouched by modern civilization. The canopy is dense, allowing only slivers of moonlight to pierce through. The jungle is alive—not with the usual sounds of insects and birds, but with an eerie, unnatural silence.
A team of elite mercenaries, handpicked by the Nine Dragons, moves in tight formation, their rifles raised and their breath measured. Their faces are painted black, their equipment cutting-edge, but their nerves are already beginning to fray.
Ahead of them, Liang Ren walks with deliberate calm, his gloved fingers tapping the hilt of a silver dagger at his belt. Behind him, Chen Lu The Surgeon adjusts his tinted surgical glasses, scanning the dense foliage with an infrared device.
The comms crackle. A scout’s voice comes through—shaky, barely above a whisper.
Scout whispered, terrified. “It’s… watching us.”
Static. Then—a scream.
Gunfire erupts, then silence.
Liang Ren calmly, to his men. “Move forward.”