The Politics of Pretending

You ever get that feeling like you're being slowly digested by a system too big to fight and too stupid to understand?

That's what being in Mercer's camp felt like.

Not prison. Not freedom either. Just… tolerated. Like we were guests at a dinner party where the host smiles too wide and the knives are all within reach.

We'd been here three days. Long enough for the novelty of "new blood" to wear off, but not long enough for them to forget we weren't really theirs. Not yet.

Mercer's Sector Six was less of a military outpost and more like a kingdom in miniature. Tents arranged in perfect grid lines. Flags stitched with their sector number in red. Uniforms. Patrol shifts. Schedules. Rules. Too many rules.

You couldn't walk ten paces without someone shouting protocol at you.

And Mercer? That man never stopped watching.

From his platform tent — part throne room, part surveillance bunker — he saw everything. Like he didn't sleep. Or didn't need to. Like a man trying to outthink death by working harder than it.

He still hadn't spoken to me directly since the first day.

But I felt it coming.

Ava was adapting. Slowly. Like a lion pretending to be a house cat just long enough to survive the living room.

She spent most of her time sparring with Mercer's top lieutenants — earning bruises, respect, and just enough suspicion to keep her interesting. They didn't trust her, but they didn't want to lose her either.

Theo, meanwhile…

Theo was thriving.

Which should've been the biggest red flag of all.

He was palling around with a guy named Corven — lanky, sarcastic, a little too quick to laugh at Mercer's jokes. The type that survives by proximity to power and throws you under the bus if it means a warmer meal.

They were inseparable now. Theo even started wearing a Sector Six patch. Said it was "just for blending in." Right.

When I brought it up, he got defensive.

"You said yourself this place is temporary."

"I did."

"And I'm just making it easier for us to move around. Learn the terrain. That's what we do, right? Adapt."

I nodded.

But I saw it in his eyes.

He wanted to belong here. He wanted to be useful. Wanted to be wanted.

And Mercer's people knew it.

Hell, they probably planned for it.

That night, we were summoned.

All three of us.

A soldier led us to Mercer's tent like we were walking into a courtroom or a stage. Probably both.

Mercer sat behind a massive desk made of scavenged wood and metal plating. His armor was clean. His beard sharper than memory. He gestured for us to sit without saying a word.

Then he opened a map.

A giant one — charcoal-drawn with frayed edges and bloodstains for bookmarks.

"This," he said finally, voice low and calm, "is the current territory spread."

He tapped Sector Six — marked in bold red. Then circled three others: Seven, Eight, and Thirteen.

"Seven is run by jackals. Eight is run by a group that doesn't even speak a common language. And Thirteen is led by a woman named Halden. She's a problem."

Ava leaned forward. "Why tell us this?"

Mercer looked at her. Then at me.

"Because I want you to fix it."

I blinked. "Fix what?"

"The stalemate. I need eyes and hands that aren't tied to my flag yet. People who can slip in, listen, learn, disrupt."

He smiled. It wasn't a nice smile.

"Infiltrate. Sabotage. Return. Or don't. Either way, I win."

Theo opened his mouth.

I gave him a look that stapled it shut.

Mercer continued. "You'll have autonomy. Supplies. No direct orders beyond progress."

"And if we say no?" Ava asked.

"Then you can stay. Blend in. Become part of the background. Forgotten."

He stood.

"You want to survive Skull Island? Control is currency. And you don't have any yet."

Later, around the fire, Ava and I didn't talk much. We didn't need to.

We were going to say yes. Not because we trusted Mercer. Not even because it was a good idea.

But because motion was the only way to stay alive in this game.

Still… I couldn't sleep that night.

Because in the far side of the camp, beyond the patrol lines, beyond the firelight, I saw a figure watching us from the treeline.

Calen.

Not moving. Not waving. Just watching.

I blinked, and he was gone.

But the unease stayed.

Because it wasn't just Mercer playing this game.

And it wasn't just about who won.

It was about who remembered the rules when the pieces started moving.

[TO BE CONTINUED]

All Missions Are Suicides, Some Just Come With Maps

We left before dawn.

No goodbyes. No ceremony. Just a rucksack full of dehydrated misery and a vague directive to "disrupt a woman named Halden" who may or may not skin people for sport. Mercer handed us a half-burned map and a compass that spun like it was drunk.

Theo was excited.

Of course he was.

"This is a good thing," he said, for the third time in an hour. "We're finally doing something."

"We've been doing things," I muttered. "Mostly the kind that almost get us killed."

Ava didn't speak. She was focused — scanning the terrain like every rock might hide a landmine. She didn't like this mission. Which meant I didn't either.

We followed a canyon trail east, then cut north through what Mercer called the ashwood stretch. It looked like a forest that had lost an argument with hellfire. Charred trees, gray soil, everything silent. The kind of place where even your thoughts echo wrong.

The deeper we went, the less it felt like Skull Island.

And more like something it coughed up.

Around midday, we found the outpost.

Or what was left of it.

Three tents — shredded. A watchtower, collapsed. Ash everywhere, like a blizzard of soot had settled and then just… stopped caring.

Ava stepped into the center, crouched low. "This wasn't recent."

I walked to the burned flagpole. No insignia. Just a melted metal ring where a banner used to be. "This Thirteen territory?"

Theo nodded slowly, checking Mercer's map. "Says so."

"Guess Halden redecorates."

We were about to turn back when Ava froze.

Her hand went to her blade. She didn't say anything, didn't move. Just stared at a patch of earth by the collapsed tower.

I stepped beside her.

That's when I saw it.

A foot. Bare. Small. Sticking out from the rubble.

Theo backed away instantly.

Ava didn't flinch. She knelt and cleared the debris with calm, almost reverent movements.

It was a girl. Maybe twelve. Burned. Thin. Eyes still open.

Her throat was marked with a symbol — a crude triangle slashed with a line through the middle.

A warning?

Or a claim?

Ava stared at it for a long time.

Then stood. "This wasn't a raid. This was a purge."

I turned toward the trees, suddenly aware of how quiet it was again. "So what the hell are we walking into?"

By nightfall, we'd found shelter under an overhang that smelled like rust and mushrooms. Ava didn't sleep. Theo tried, but kept jolting awake.

And me?

I stared at the fire, thinking about Mercer.

About Halden.

About Calen.

And how every side of this war seemed more interested in wiping each other out than surviving the island itself.

I turned to Ava. "Why do you think Mercer really sent us?"

She didn't answer at first.

Then: "Because if we succeed, he gets an advantage. If we die, he loses nothing."

"And if we switch sides?"

She looked at me.

Not surprised.

Not angry.

Just... tired.

"We won't," she said. "Because there are no sides. Just factions of the damned pretending their flag makes them clean."

Theo stirred. "What if we made our own?"

That caught both our attention.

He sat up, eyes brighter than they should be after a day like this.

"A sector," he said. "One that doesn't answer to Mercer. Or Calen. Or Halden. Just... us."

"You want to start a revolution," I said.

He shook his head. "I want to survive without becoming them."

Ava blinked.

I laughed. Bitterly. "You really think people are gonna follow three nobodies with no supplies and no muscle?"

Theo didn't blink.

"They won't follow us," he said. "They'll follow what we build."

I didn't say it out loud.

But something shifted then.

A new seed. A new possibility.

And maybe Mercer saw it coming. Maybe that's why he sent us out here.

Maybe we weren't a threat in his camp.

But out here?

With an idea?

We could be dangerous.

Somewhere far behind...

Calen watched the ashwood from a perch above a ridge. His second-in-command — the redhead with the cleaver smile — approached from behind.

"They're moving north," she said. "Straight into Halden's zone."

He nodded. "Let them."

"You sure they're worth it?"

Calen's grin was calm. Patient. Dangerous.

"They're not a threat yet," he said. "But they will be. We just have to be standing nearby when the knife turns."