The Unseen Hand

The dawn's light broke over the horizon, casting a dim glow on the sparse, rocky landscape below. The ragged remnants of Vale's team trudged onward, each step heavy with fatigue and the weight of the unknown. They had made it through another night, but the shadows of uncertainty still loomed large.

"Where are they, Zero?" Vale asked, his voice low but edged with impatience. "The comms are dead. No sign of backup yet."

Zero, ever the stoic, tapped his wristpad. His brow furrowed as he scanned the static-filled display. "Still no signal from base. But I'm picking up some unusual activity on the outskirts of the settlement."

"We don't have time for ghost stories," Vale muttered. "That's our only lead, Zero. Let's go."

Despite his impatience, Vale couldn't ignore the growing sense that something was off. The air had been thick with tension since their mission went sideways. This was supposed to be a simple retrieval, a one-day job at most. But the false intel, the trap, the betrayals—nothing about this had gone according to plan. And now they were stuck on a planet far from the mission's original objective, surrounded by an unpredictable rebel group.

Kiera, ever the perceptive one, squinted into the distance. "This doesn't feel right, Vale. What if we're walking straight into a trap?"

Vale didn't slow his pace. "I don't plan on being anyone's bait." He glanced at Zero. "Stay on high alert."

As they neared the settlement, they could see the faint outline of makeshift buildings, with crude barriers strewn about like afterthoughts. The rebel group they'd been tracking was based here, but the closer they got, the more surreal the situation felt. They weren't just dealing with rebels—there was something else at play, something darker.

Doc, carrying a med kit at his side, raised his rifle but kept his gaze on the surroundings. "Feels too quiet. We should be getting company by now."

"You're right," Vale said, his tone sharpening. "Keep your heads on a swivel."

The team moved cautiously through the open expanse, their boots crunching the dry, cracked earth. It wasn't long before they spotted figures in the distance—too many to be coincidental. A large group, all armed, moving in military formation, though their insignia was foreign.

Zero paused, a look of realization crossing his face. "They're not rebels. These are mercenaries. We've been played."

"We need to move," Vale ordered, his voice cold with the knowledge that they had walked right into the enemy's embrace.

The mercenaries didn't hesitate. They raised their weapons as soon as they noticed Vale's team, and gunfire erupted. Vale dropped to the ground, instinctively pulling Kiera and Doc into cover. Zero returned fire with deadly precision, dropping one mercenary after another.

"Hold them off!" Vale shouted. "We need to fall back to the ridge!"

The mercenaries weren't backing down, though. They advanced in a wave, and Vale knew they had to act fast.

"We don't have much time, Zero! Get us out of here!" Vale barked, pulling out a grenade and tossing it toward a group of mercenaries. The explosion sent debris flying, and for a split second, the mercenaries hesitated.

"Moving out," Zero said, switching to a tactical retreat. They dashed for higher ground, each step a risk as the sound of enemy gunfire grew louder.

As they reached the ridge, Vale took one last glance at the advancing mercenaries. They were relentless—far more organized than any rebel group they had encountered before. They couldn't fight their way through this; they needed answers, and they needed them fast.

"What now?" Kiera asked, breathless.

Vale surveyed the terrain ahead. "We regroup, then we find out who's pulling the strings. We can't leave this planet until we know who set us up."

"And if it's Sokolov?" Zero asked, his voice tight.

Vale clenched his jaw, the name of the general lingering in the air like an unspoken curse. "Then we deal with him."

Just as they were about to make their move, their comms crackled to life. It was a garbled transmission, but the voice that came through was unmistakable.

"Vale," the voice said, distorted by static but unmistakably familiar. "You've been running for too long."

Vale's blood ran cold. There was no mistaking that voice.

General Sokolov.