Chapter 6 Hell week

Hell Week Begins

The recruits scrambled into their gear, adrenaline already setting their nerves on edge. Within minutes, they formed a rigid line on the training field, their voices cutting through the crisp morning air in rapid succession.

"Private Sophie, ready!"

"Private May, ready!"

"Private Lina, ready!"

"Private Shin, ready!"

A brief silence followed before the last recruit stepped forward, voice firm. "All members accounted for, ma'am!"

Captain Yumi of the 33rd Special Task Force Squadron took a sharp step forward, her boots grinding against the dirt. Her tone was precise, unwavering. "Captain Yumi, reporting for duty, ma'am! Attention!"

The recruits stiffened as a tall, sharp-eyed woman strode toward them. Every step carried weight, every movement calculated. She didn't need to speak to command respect—it was written in the way she carried herself.

Her voice was steady, deliberate. "Good." She let silence linger, her gaze sweeping over them like a blade. "My name is Josephine Ling, and I'll be overseeing your Hell Week. If you've watched military documentaries—forget them. What you're about to experience is unlike anything you've seen."

A faint shuffle of boots betrayed the unease of a few recruits. Private Lina's fingers flexed over the strap of her rifle, instinctively tightening.

Josephine continued. "Your mission? Take on one of the most notorious secret organizations in existence. These people aren't just dangerous. They tamper with things beyond human comprehension—things you wouldn't believe unless you saw them yourself."

A beat of silence. Someone swallowed hard.

Josephine turned slightly, gesturing to the woman beside her. "This is Instructor Sam. She'll break down what you're up against."

Instructor Sam, a stocky woman with an air of no-nonsense authority, stepped forward, a stack of folded maps in hand. She tossed them to the recruits. "Listen up. You each have a map. Your mission is to navigate four designated points while carrying your supplies. No extras. If you run out, you improvise."

She rapped her knuckles against a recruit's paintball gun. The hollow sound echoed. "These aren't toys. They mimic real firearms—same weight, same balance. Limited range, but still dangerous. Move tactically. Stay undetected. Engage designated targets at each checkpoint. If you hit your mark, you secure the point. If you're spotted or captured..." She smirked coldly. "Well, let's just say you'll learn firsthand what 'torture' means. Fail, and you'll repeat Hell Week from the beginning. That's not a threat—it's a promise."

The wind picked up, rustling through the trees, the distant scent of damp earth filling the air. The recruits remained stiff, absorbing every word.

Captain Yumi's eyes swept over them once more. "Understood?"

A unified response shook the air: "Ma'am, yes ma'am!"

She nodded. "33rd Special Task Force Squadron, move out!"

Into the Jungle

Boots thudded in unison as the recruits disappeared into the wilderness. The dense jungle swallowed them, humidity clinging to their skin. Leaves rustled overhead, insects buzzed, and the faint call of distant birds echoed through the trees.

Several miles in, Captain Yumi raised a clenched fist—halt.

The squad froze, breath held. She turned, voice hushed. "What's the plan?"

A brief pause, then she glanced at Private Lina. "I heard you excel in navigation. Lead the most effective path to the first target while avoiding any contact. Understood?"

Private Lina gave a sharp nod, crouching as she unfurled her map. Her fingers traced the terrain, eyes flicking between the landscape and her notes. "Alright... We take this ridge, stay low to avoid breaking the skyline. Thick foliage here—perfect for cover. We move in a staggered formation to minimize noise, maintain visual contact, and cross one by one through open terrain."

Captain Yumi nodded. "Do it."

With precision, they advanced—slow, measured. Leaves whispered as they passed, boots pressing softly into the damp earth. Insects scattered, the jungle thickening around them.

Five Miles Ahead—The Mercenaries

Deeper into the jungle, four soldiers lounged around a small campfire, their relaxed posture betraying the danger they had yet to realize. Smoke curled lazily into the air, mixing with the scent of burning wood and damp foliage.

Private Hans leaned back against a tree, rifle resting across his lap. He exhaled slowly. "Man… This feels more like a camping trip than a job."

Captain Herald chuckled, kicking at the dirt. "Right? A lot less intense than what we're used to."

Lieutenant Gord stretched, rolling his shoulders. "Honestly, I kinda like it. No warzones, no messy shootouts—just easy cash." He turned to Private Hans. "What about you?"

Hans grinned. "Yeah, I like it. How about you, Rin?"

Silence.

Hans frowned, glancing around. "...Rin?"

Captain Herald sighed, barely looking up. "Nah, leave him. You know how he is. Likes to wander."

Lieutenant Gord groaned, standing up. "Whatever. I gotta take a piss."

Crunch. A branch snapped beneath his boot as he walked a few paces toward the underbrush. The jungle loomed, thick and dark beyond the firelight.

Unzipping his pants, he let out a relieved sigh. "Damn, this place is humid as hell—"

Rustle.

His breath hitched. He turned his head slightly, scanning the shadows.

Silence.

He exhaled, shaking his head. "Damn monkeys…"

Then the bushes exploded.

A flash of scaly green and razor-sharp teeth lunged from the undergrowth.

Snap.

A sickening crunch filled the air as Gord vanished—dragged into the darkness, his scream cut short.

Back at the camp, Captain Herald barely had time to blink.

The fire flickered.

Then, silence.

Hans sat up, his hand hovering near his rifle. "Uh… Gord?"

No response.

The jungle had swallowed him whole.

And somewhere, beyond the trees, something moved.

Hans and Captain Herald stood tense, rifles raised, eyes locked on the rustling bush ahead. The jungle had gone unnaturally silent. No birds. No insects. Just the soft crackle of their dying campfire.

A low snarl echoed from the darkness.

Then—a blur of scales and fangs lunged forward!

"AAAGH!"

A giant, red-eyed lizard exploded from the underbrush, crashing into Hans. Its teeth sank into his shoulder, dragging him down as he thrashed and screamed.

"Hans! Hold on!" Herald barked, pulling the trigger—thwap-thwap-thwap! The paintballs slapped uselessly against the creature's thick hide.

His stomach dropped.

The training rounds were worthless.

The beast turned to him. Its bloody maw twisted into something almost like a snarl.

No choice. Herald dropped his rifle and yanked his knife free. With a desperate lunge, he slashed deep across its side.

The lizard shrieked, dark blood spilling onto the dirt. Its glowing eyes locked onto him for a moment before it bolted into the jungle, rustling the leaves as it vanished.

Silence.

Herald panted hard, gripping his knife. His gaze flicked toward Hans—his body was still. Too still.

A faint rustle behind him.

His instincts screamed at him to move, but before he could react—

A hand shot out from the darkness!

A strong grip yanked him back, an arm wrapping around his chest. Another hand clamped over his mouth, silencing his breath.

Herald's body tensed—then froze.

A whisper brushed against his ear.

"Stay quiet."

It was Rin.

The jungle wasn't empty. They weren't alone.