STEP ███/███:
Proceed.”
Returning to the darkness felt different, this time. They weren’t reassuming their roles as phantoms ruling the corridors. They weren’t predators stalking through the metal wild. They were rats, hiding in the alcoves, scurrying down the hallways.
“For we walk by faith, and not by sight,” Dault whispered to himself through his mask, standing next to Mark. “Corinthians.”
Shouting came from down the hall behind them. Mark glanced backwards and so did some other soldiers, but mainly the detachment carried on, as though unbothered.
Most of them likely feared no ambush at all. When the Foundation found them, it would go as they all expected. They would hear a request for the Insurgency’s surrender, not sudden gunshots. The Foundation were not hitmen, after all. The request for surrender would go ignored by the Sergeant, of course, but also ensured that no bullets would speed from the shadows and kill them without warning. At least there’s that, thought Mark meekly.
Even in times like this, the Insurgency steadfastly held on to one belief; that the Foundation was bound by its image in a way that they were not. They had to do things the right way — or look as though they were, at least. The Insurgency had no such compunction. That gave them, even in dire straits, a small but measurable advantage. Even if it was just to —
A shot exploded behind them.
Bullets from the shadows.
A soldier of the Insurgency collapsed. Dead.
STEP ███/███:
Proceed.
Like lightning, shots bathed the hall in white flashes. The sound of thunderous explosions, sharp and stinging, bounced off metal walls and gathered speed. It surrounded the detachment within moments, wrapping them in a flurry of overwhelming noise.
Mark was part of the flank team, closest to the enemy; before he could even react, a shot whizzed past his ear, and another grazed his leg. Whirling, his heart surging with adrenaline, he clenched his jaw against the pain and fired back.
Across the corridor, briefly lit up by their own rifles, stood members of the Foundation’s MTF. One line crouched, another line standing. A firing squad.
In this lighting they looked oddly like the Insurgents; their mouths covered, their brows obscured, their heads encased in their helms. But the difference was in the eyes. Every time they shot, the light was reflected in their eyes.
Mark shot once, shot twice, backing away. He was the front line; he needed cover, but they were in a corridor. There was no cover.
Another shot sliced open the armor on his left bicep, and blood burst out from it in spurts. Grunting, Mark aimed, and an MTF soldier fell. Then another. And another. Their formation had its advantages, but their mobility was restricted. He had to lean on that.
Another two enemies fell as the flank team kept returning fire, backing away. But too many of the Insurgency were dying already. Mark resisted the urge to look backwards. They had to reach a corner, a crossroads, something. And then get the hell out of here. They likely had to be just moments from being surrounded.
“Flank team!” shouted the Sergeant. “With me! Center team, cover us!”
What? Mark frowned at that. The Sergeant and the rest of the detachment began backing away even faster. That made no sense. The flank team did have the better gunmen. They’d certainly get the Sergeant to safety, but if they left the center team behind, those men would be… fodder. Bait. Buying time.
And Philip would be one of them.
STEP ███/███:
Cull at necessity.
There was no time to argue. And if there had been, no one would’ve listened.
The center team had been those guarding One and Two. Even that meager physical proximity to Research and Development had redoubled their fanatical loyalty to the Chaos Insurgency, so Mark wasn’t shocked when doomed men appeared beside him, rifles in hand, somehow not recognizing the face of death.
Mark was in the flank team. They’d been called to retreat. Protect R&D. Protect the Sergeant.
But he didn’t move.
“Mark fucking Shane!” shouted the Sergeant. “Flank team comes with me! That’s an order!”
Rifle in hand, Philip appeared next to Mark. He raised his gun and shot wildly, frantically. Mark couldn’t tell if he was hitting anything.
He heard a final curse in the Sergeant’s voice. When Mark glanced behind him, the Sergeant — and the rest of the detachment — were gone.
This is it.
Mark shot and shot. He hit one more gunman, but another stepped out from the shadows to fill the gap. The soldiers of the MTF were dying, but it wasn’t fast enough. And in the time it took to kill one, two more CI soldiers hit the floor.
He had to think. Quickly. In a firefight, they were outmatched. As he aimed, he tried to observe them. For anything, any idea he could have. Something to save him. Something to save Philip.
The enemy started breaking formation.
They were advancing on them, finally. Shouts rose from their side of the battlefield; it seemed they’d realized most of the detachment was retreating.
They were scared, too. They were rushing. They weren’t careful.
They’d shot first, without warning. This entire place, this entire facility reeked of fear, of haste, of scrambling to fix things.
In the military, soldiers were taught something to use as a last resort — as a Hail Mary.
Mark and Philip were on the leftmost extremity of the little makeshift front line that had been created. It wasn’t much of a front line — more like a front cloud, made up of scattered corpses and soldiers.
“Philip,” Mark shouted to his brother. “Middle of the line. Come!”
Philip blinked out of his firing. He probably had no idea what Mark meant. But he came anyway. He was scared.
Still shooting, they backed up slightly and made their way behind the rest of the center team.
And the instant they were behind the others, obscured from the MTF, Mark…
…shoved Philip to the ground.
Then he, himself, collapsed backwards.
“The… fuck?!” cried Philip, groaning. “Fuck… my shoulder…”
“Don’t move,” Mark said. “Lay on your stomach.”
“What?”
“Do you have a wound? Are you bleeding?”
“My… my hand…”
“Put it under you. Under your chest.”
“That’s… I’m going to bleed a lot.”
“Good. When it gets quiet, don’t breathe.”
It got quiet fast. Staring blankly at the ground next to him, Mark felt the ground rumble as body after body came crashing to join him.
One fell on top of him — from the pain and shock, Mark guessed he might’ve just fractured a rib. But he kept staring forwards, and made not a sound.
Footsteps rung behind them. Mark wished for a moment that the masks of the Insurgents showed their eyes. It would make the subterfuge harder, but it would’ve let him see Philip’s. Perhaps calm him down. He knew his brother. Behind that mask, his eyes were wider than ever, weren’t they?
“Cover all the exits,” yelled some voice. “All of them! We’ll call reinforcements from outside. We can deal with that thing later. Get everyone here! Now!”
Mark’s heart hammered in his chest. But they paid no mind to Philip, laying motionless in a pool of his own blood, nor to Mark, hidden underneath his comrade’s corpse.
They marched past the dead.
It worked.
STEP ███/███:
Proceed to final marker.
Grunting, Mark shoved the body off of him. His rib wailed in protest, and he gasped, clutching his chest. He was bleeding from at least five different wounds — thankfully all minor, save the one on his left bicep. He needed to bandage it. Now.
While Philip crawled to his feet, Mark faced the body that had fallen on top of him. He stripped off armor and ripped up the dead man’s shirt, before —
It was Dault.
Mark paused.
His hand shook for a moment. His jaw tightened.
Then, slowly, he ripped up the dead man’s shirt, before using the cloth — unclean though it was — to at least slow his own bleeding. He tore some more of Dault’s shirt off and turned to Philip.
“Don’t move so much,” he said. “Show me your hand.”
Philip stretched out his hand. “Can’t believe that worked.”
“Long shot,” Mark said. “Rule 113 of customary International Humanitarian Law.”
“I don’t know,” Philip said, staring at his own blood, “what that means.”
Mark glanced at his brother’s masked eyes. “The unnecessary mutilation of dead bodies is prohibited.” He paused. “Most people don’t care, you see. But this is the Foundation, and they were in a hurry. They would’ve needed a good reason to dead-check us, I think.”
“Yeah.”
“And, well, they had a far better reason to just ignore us. If they’d searched us, or stopped, the Insur — the rest of us would’ve gotten away. If they’d split up, they would’ve lost the next firefight. You saw them. Heard them. They just now called for reinforcements — that was just a scout team, investigating the noise.”
“Scout team,” Philip repeated slowly.
“Mhm.”
Philip winced at the bandage. “This… is this Dault’s shirt?”
Mark nodded. “If it were up to me, we would all have backpacks with primitive med-kits. First aid. But, we make do with what we have.”
Philip looked at Dault’s body a while. Then, he looked to where the MTF detachment had gone. “Those… If we chased them now… they wouldn’t expect it.”
“We’re both wounded,” Mark said, “Our wounds are going to get infected. Fast. We’d die. And, technically, if we chase after them now, that also could be a war crime. It’s called perfidy.”
“Who fucking cares,” Philip muttered. But he let it go.
They set off in a direction opposite where the MTF had gone. They had to find an exit. Fast. And, somehow, navigate the maze without getting lost, cornered, or surrounded.
“They said,” Philip mumbled, straining as they walked, “that they were going to cover all the exits. How… do we even get out?”
“We might be able to get out fast enough if we go away from the fight,” Mark said. “Get out before they close in.”
“I don’t know if I could run,” Philip said.
Mark looked at him. He’d taken a pretty bad shot to the leg — thankfully the bullet had only grazed him, but still. The cut was deep.
He was right. Not only would they have trouble even finding an exit, but they’d be too late. They’d be captured or gunned down.
He needed to find an exit that they wouldn’t expect. And one he was already aware of.
And he thought of it.
“Come with me,” Mark said. “I have an idea.”
STEP ███/███:
Exit via southern passage. Cf coordinates C025.
“Breaking the window?” Philip mumbled.
Thankfully, the conference room they’d abandoned earlier was still vacant. The curtains were still open, the bodies still on the floor. The door to the room had been ajar, so likely the MTF had come to investigate and then rushed to meet the Insurgency in combat. Mark had been worried that they might’ve left a man or two guarding it, but, thankfully, they’d saved him the trouble.
“Won’t that make noise?” Philip asked as Mark walked, hand on his chest, towards a rolling chair near the large conference table.
“Yes,” Mark said, grunting as he pulled it towards the window, “but they’re all distracted. You heard them, they’re… gah, scrambling. They won’t notice this.”
Philip came close to the glass and craned his head to the side. “There better be a way around this stupid crater. It’s a long way down.”
“We have to take that chance.” Mark prepared to throw the chair through the window. He braced himself for the pain in his ribs, and —
“Wait,” Philip said. “Wait. Mark. Look.”
One of the four scientists was still alive.
Somehow, even with a shot to the chest, he was breathing. No one had noticed during the earlier commotion. The opening curtains, the violent Sergeant — but now they could see. He was face down on the floor, sputtering slightly.
“He’s dead anyway, Phil,” Mark said softly.
Philip glanced at Mark, then back at the scientist. Then he pulled something out of his pocket — the picture. Charlie’s picture.
For fuck’s sake, Phil, thought Mark. But he didn’t stop him.
Philip crouched next to the dying man. He flipped him over; the man’s eyes widened and he coughed blood.
“This woman,” Philip said. “Charlie Callin. Who is she to you? Why do you want her? Tell me, and I can help get you to safe… I mean to safety.”
The scientist looked up. “Charlie…”
“Or her sister,” Philip said, holding him up. “Her sister. Her sister Harper. Charlie and Harper? Who are they to you?” Philip paused. “Where… where are they?”
Still a shit liar, Mark thought.
The man coughed again.
“Answer me,” Philip said. “Please. I care. About her.”
The man shook his head. “You chose… a good… fucking day.”
“Huh?”
“We’re all… s—so turned around,” the man mumbled. “So much loss, so much pain… and you just walk in while the fire’s burning and do what you want. I guess that’s why… they call you that, hm?”
“Help me,” Philip said, “and we’ll get you out of here. We’ll help.”
“Outside,” the man said suddenly, doubling up. “Don’t go outside. Or, do go outside. It’s dark outside. She’s outside.”
“She?” Philip leaned in. “She?”
The man nodded. “Get… get…”
“Get what?”
He fell backwards, his chest heaving. “Get the fuck away from me.”
Philip tried a few more questions — even tried to shake the man awake. But he didn’t rise, didn’t say anything, didn’t open his eyes. He was still breathing, still coughing. But he chose to die there, quiet, alone, in the dark.
“Fine,” Philip said. “Let’s go.”
With a wail of pain so bad he nearly fainted, Mark heaved the chair over his head and threw it against the window. He had the foresight to duck out of the way, in case the window was too thick to break and the chair bounced back towards his face — but the glass broke just fine.
The pain in his ribs was truly bad now. He’d been able to ignore it before, but that throw had sparked it alive and he now had to strain to avoid doubling up in agony.
Mark kicked pieces of glass off, making the opening big enough for himself and Philip. When it was done, he nodded to his brother, and they climbed out.
Thankfully, the Foundation had left some margin between the beginning of the crater and the station walls, so — crouching, and moving slowly — Philip and Mark were able to creep soundlessly along the sides of the countless, rectangular metal buildings, ducking under windows and going completely still when they heard shouting.
Neither of them spoke. They walked with the Foundation on their left and the largest abyss they’d ever seen on their right, night falling upon them, silent as mice.
Eventually, they rounded the final corner, and they were faced with a large open space and a good, clear view of the facility. The entire thing sprawled out like some strange, metal spiderweb — but still it seemed to hug the crater as much as it could, with some parts of it looking almost serpentine as a result.
On one side of it, the crater; on the other, a large, sprawling wooded expanse. A forest. Tall pines, motionless against the night sky. Mark remembered getting a glance of it when climbing out of the truck on arrival, though they’d moved so fast and so close together that, as part of the detachment’s flank, he didn’t see very much at all.
Philip nudged him. “Look.”
MTF soldiers were rushing out of the forest in droves. Through the woods, Mark could see their flashlights — most of them were searching the trees for something, but were being recalled back. Presumably to fight the Insurgency.
“We could wait,” Philip said. “Then walk through the forest to the truck. I think I remember where it is.”
“If we wait too long,” Mark said, “they’ll come back before we reach it. Then we’re in the forest, alone, outmanned, outgunned, and shit out of luck. We have to time it right.”
“What do you think they’re looking for in there? In the forest?”
“Don’t know. Not our problem.”
The forest shuddered as he said that. Mark shoved his own uncertainty to the side. After all, they had no other option. Only a pale imitation of choice remained, mimicking it, goading them forwards.
WALK TEN PACES AND DIE
STEP ███/███:
Follow procedure for scenario A7 if condition Theta is met.
When the timing was right, they walked into the open.
It was dark now; dark enough that the lights surrounding the facility and the enemy’s flashlights were the only things protecting the world from going pitch black. That meant that ‘the open’ was actually fairly safe, so long as they kept close to the ground, kept moving, and moved fast.
His rib wailed. Doubling up helped somewhat with the pain, but moving quickly was a struggle — Mark ended up in a sort of half-gallop, whilst Philip behind him shuffled and panted and coughed trying to keep up.
When they reached the treeline, Philip gasped, hands on his knees, and Mark groaned at his wound. He pulled his arm away from his chest. It was soaked red.
“We have to keep going,” he heard himself say.
“Fuck,” Philip said. “Give me a second, will you?”
Mark grimaced.
But he said nothing. He leaned back against a tree, too, but one facing the facility. He followed every blink of light, every flash, every shout. They needed to get back to the truck. Fast.
“Always on the job?” Philip said between pants.
“When the job’s keeping us alive, then, yes.”
Philip pursed his lips.
Distant bangs wafted into earshot. Mark looked past the trees, trying to spot the fighting, but saw nothing. It was probably still happening inside the facility.
“Think they’ll… make it?” Philip asked, following his gaze.
Mark turned to him. “Maybe,” he lied.
The truth was, if the fighting was still happening inside the facility, that meant the Insurgents had not managed to escape before MTF reinforcements arrived. It meant they were outnumbered, outgunned, outmaneuvered, and stranded in unfamiliar territory. Their knowledge of Foundation tactics might’ve served them — but the Foundation… felt off today. They should have never fired from the dark like that, without warning. And with a firing squad?
Despite everything he constantly told Philip, Mark couldn’t stop himself from wondering.
Something had happened here. Something had changed. The Foundation and the Insurgency both were rushing against each other, almost sloppily, thirstily. Why?
And, for all he’d said, they did have a picture of Charlie.
How long had it been since he’d seen her? He couldn’t quite tell. Although he’d pretended the picture barely resembled her, Mark had recognized it from across the room. Seeing it from up close, eyes blacked out, stuck to a Foundation whiteboard with arrows and scrawled notes crowding around her…
Of course he’d recognized her. She looked just like her sister, after all.
No. He couldn’t think like this.
Philip had crumpled to the ground in front of him, sitting with his back against a tree, eyes closed and panting. They had to be focused if they wanted to make it back. Mark had to be focused. Mark had no choice.
He straightened up, groaning. “We have to go.”
“Give me a second,” Philip said again.
“You had one.”
His brother, in a heap on the floor, looked up at him. His face softened somewhat, but his eyes did not. “I don’t get it.”
“We don’t have much time,” Mark explained, grunting and holding his side. “If we don’t make it back to the truck —”
“I get that,” Philip said. “I just don’t get you. How you can just… not care.”
“Philip, not now.”
“Fuck off,” Philip growled, standing with a wince. “How can you just… carry on? How does nothing get to you? Spent all this time with the Insurgency, and you defect like… like that was your plan from day one. Even met Dault, spoke to him, I saw it and — and you f…fucking loot his body or whatever. Like you didn’t even know him…”
“This isn’t the time.”
“Even… all those years, when we were kids. Charlie, Harper… we grew up together. You too. When Harper vanished, I thought you’d rip apart the Earth to find her, but you did nothing. And when Charlie went after Harper, I thought you’d at least let me go with her… and then she vanished, too, and you said you were coming after her with me, but… That was a lie. You didn’t go after her, or Harper. You went after me.” Philip shook with an odd mixture of a cough and a sob. “You always go after me…”
“You want to cry about this?” Mark asked. “Now? Really? You were going to die, Phil. You were —”
“You don’t know that!” Philip shouted. “But you know what I know? That Dault… all those men… they’re really dead. Because you couldn’t just trust that things were going to turn out fine. That other people had it handled. You’re such a jackass… always need to be in charge.”
Mark’s nostrils flared. “And you always need someone in charge.”
“Huh?”
“You don’t think,” Mark said, “before you do. You don’t question the insanity of your choices. You seem to ambiently piss off everyone who’s ever had authority over you. You walk into danger like crawling into bed, and you want me to just watch? You can’t do that.”
“It’s my call,” Philip muttered. “It’s my call if I want to be in danger. It’s my call if I want to fight. I have that choice!”
“No, you don’t!” Mark shouted at him.
Philip’s mouth hung open. He didn’t answer. His face was still scrunched up, turning red, but his eyes widened slightly.
“We’re getting out of here,” Mark said, turning. “Someone might’ve heard us. You remember where the truck is?”
Philip blinked, glancing at him. “Yeah.”
“Let’s go.”
Mark started forwards. And, although he was stumbling, Philip came too. In silence.
The woods were turning darker by the minute. They were cold. Damp. Mark had expected them to smell of tall pines, of earth and oak and life, but… he barely smelled anything at all. Just the lingering scent of nighttime moisture that follows early fall evenings.
If there had been wildlife beneath that canopy, it did not make itself known. They heard the occasional ruffle from above them, or a scuttle in the dead leaves littering the forest floor — but no chirping of crickets, no birds, no bats, no shuffling in the bushes, no shadows in the corners of their eyes. Mark had been on assignment in forests before, stalking through greenery, a rifle in hand. Through his tinted visor, he’d watched squirrels and magpies scatter away and he advanced. He remembered how much he’d felt like an intruder then. Having to watch the forest empty beneath the rumble of his march. He’d held his weapon in his hands, and felt like a devout sinner walking into church, all eyes on him.
But this time, he didn’t feel like an intruder at all. He felt worse — the forest wasn’t emptying, it was already empty. The church was in ruins, and it didn’t matter if he was a sinner or not. Under the gaze of those wordless pines, he felt too tall, too clumsy, too bold. Although the sounds of fighting grew distant with every step, he felt very eerily like he wasn’t escaping anything at all.
“How much further are we from the truck?” he asked under his breath.
Philip shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “I don’t know. Dozen more minutes.”
If they didn’t find it… His heart began to beat faster again, like it had when the Sergeant had threatened his brother. He felt like they’d been sailors aboard a burning ship, and to save themselves they’d jumped overboard into the water… only to realize, right as the ship vanished beneath the waves, that they were surrounded by nothing but vast, solitary, open ocean.
And what if there was something else under the water?
Something in the trees…
He set his jaw even harder. He felt the muscles in his neck tense up against his camo.
He couldn’t do this. He’d made the call. Now they would survive.
Besides, if he was feeling this way, who could tell what Philip was feeling? Mark couldn’t let it show.
He turned his anxiety into a lump in his throat, and he swallowed.
“Did you hear that?” Philip asked suddenly, looking off to the side.
Mark glanced. “Nothing.”
“I think I heard someone…”
“Then walk faster.”
Maybe one of the other Insurgency soldiers had managed to escape. Or maybe one of the MTF was still trekking through the forest, on their way to provide reinforcements. Bad either way.
The fighting behind them, past the trees, had fallen rather silent — or perhaps they were far enough now to not hear the gunshots. But he doubted that. No, Mark was certain of something else: the Sergeant had finally been backed into a corner.
He tried to listen as intently as he could, glancing every so often behind them to try and make out what was happening.
And suddenly, he did hear something. A rustle in the leaves… coming from the other side, away from the facility.
Deeper in the woods.
“You heard that one, right?” Philip asked.
Mark didn’t answer. He just stared into the leaves, motionless. His grip on his gun tightened.
“Mark?”
“Quiet.”
Philip obeyed; so did the forest. Silence fell, and Mark strained, motionless, to hear it break. But nothing happened.
“What was it?” Philip asked, whispering.
Mark frowned. “I… don’t know.” He was getting a very odd sensation, all of a sudden. Almost like…
“This place… have we been here before?” Philip looked around, up at the canopy, down at the ground, then back at his brother. “It feels so familiar.”
Mark nodded slowly. “Maybe we took a wrong turn. Walked in circles.”
“We’ve been walking in a straight line,” Philip said. “I think we’ve been here before.”
“We haven’t,” Mark said, in a firmer voice than he intended. “Keep going. We’re close now.”
But it did feel familiar. Every step they took, every time Mark looked around — he felt it, creeping onto his arms, settling in his mouth… so familiar. It’s like he could taste the feeling itself, and it wasn’t altogether unpleasant.
What was this place? Where were they?
The sun had vanished now, and the shadows went with it — blurring out into darkness, into black ink oozing onto the forest floor. Nighttime had come, though the forest did not seem to react to it. Though the dull glow of twilight kept them company, it wasn’t comforting, no — it was just enough light to see the trees against the sky when they looked up, to see them crowding around like stone giants, their faces obscured and dripping with solemnity.
“It feels like Charlie,” Philip said quietly.
“What?”
“I know it’s weird to say. But… doesn’t it? Did we come here with her?”
Mark paused. “Maybe.” But they couldn’t have. It made no sense. And… and there was no point in thinking about it. “Focus. Keep walking.”
Philip cursed quietly.
Forward. Forward. Forward. Eventually, Mark let Philip lead — he had the better sense of where the truck was, anyway. Rifle in both hands, Mark watched his brother traipse through the wilderness, upending dead leaves with every step, glancing around at the slightest pause.
Crack.
Mark aimed without a second thought, whirling.
But it was too dark. He caught nothing, saw nothing — the scope turned up blank.
Philip had kept walking. Had he not heard…?
“We’re close now,” Philip mumbled when Mark caught up. “I can feel it.”
“Feel it?”
“Can’t you?” His brother’s eyes were turned skywards. “It’s obvious.”
He… he could. It was obvious. This was the right way. This was where they had to go. This was…
“Soldiers,” came a voice from the woods.
Mark stopped. Extending a hand, he stopped Philip, too.
“What?” Philip asked.
“Quiet.”
“Patrol ended,” the voice said again. “Regroup! Come together…”
It was distant. Far away.
But unmistakable.
“The Sergeant,” Philip said, eyes wide. “They made it out.”
“Impossible,” Mark said. “They might’ve made it close to the forest. But this far?”
“See?” Philip said, grinning. “See? Fucking see, Mark? If you’d just trusted them…”
Philip stumbled forwards. Towards the Sergeant’s voice.
Mark did not. He held his rifle up.
“Mar…” Philip turned around. “The… the fuck’s wrong with you? Put that away! You’re in enough trouble —”
“If that’s him,” Mark said, “then stay fucking put.”
“He’s on our side.”
“Side?” Mark lowered his weapon, gritting his teeth. “And you honestly, truly, after everything you’ve seen, think he cares?”
“It’s not up to him,” Philip said. “He’s not R&D. He’s not Delta command. He can’t just execute us for something that you didn’t even admit to —”
“Keep your goddamn voice down,” Mark hissed.
“God, you’re so cynical!” Philip said. “And you call me arrogant. Well, guess what, Mark. You defected, and you’re bleeding out. They followed the plan — the same kind that never let us down — and they made it out, even when you didn’t think they could. Could you, for once in your miserable life, just have some faith?”
“Faith in the plan. And what’s the plan?”
“Again with that question. It doesn’t matter. Faith —”
“You must’ve read it,” Mark said, pressing his palm against his head. “You must have, right? You must’ve read the whole thing. And there’s a line at the bottom that says, ‘All infantrymen must survive the mission, as unit cohesion is the most important thing to the Insurgency. We, of course, pride ourselves on our low turnover rate.’” Mark’s words dripped with venom, but he didn’t care. “You read that, right? You read those words?”
Philip looked at him. Then looked away. He took a deep, shaky breath. “If only we could all care so little, and think so much of ourselves.”
“Alright, you wanna know?” Mark asked finally.
Philip didn’t answer.
Mark clenched his jaw, but continued. “Think about it, Phil. R&D, they don’t give a shit about us. You think Delta Command does? No. We’re infantry. Sent into a place with almost no intel, barely any training — fuck’s sake, you and I pretty much just joined this thing — and with so many ways it might go wrong?” Mark shook his head. “Only explanation is that it was a suicide mission. Meant to cause…”
Philip turned back at him.
“You know the word,” Mark said. “It’s in their name.”
His brother looked down. “Chaos,” he mumbled.
“Right,” Mark said. “Kill Foundation scientists. Gather intel, which One and Two probably reported back without us even noticing. Big uproar while leaving. Death toll on both sides, sure, but important personnel lost to the Foundation. There. Because, what’s the alternative? Do you think they could’ve predicted all of this? Every level of it, everything, written out in their little Step-compilations? Turn left, turn right, walk ten paces and die? It’s smoke and mirrors.”
“It’s not impossible. Not in their world.”
“Then they would’ve predicted me defecting, too,” Mark said. “And this is all still… according to plan.”
Philip didn’t meet his eyes.
“Philip,” Mark said slowly. “I just —”
Crack.
Mark’s head swiveled. The trees swayed, staring at him.
“I have to believe in it, Mark,” Philip said. “Because otherwise…”
“Quiet,” Mark said quickly.
“What?”
“Quiet.”
There was shuffling in the trees before them. Actual movement. In front of them. Then next to them. How…? It was as if… as if the sounds were coming from all directions.
And then silence.
Movement again, further away, off to the right.
Then suddenly to the left.
“The hell…” Philip stuttered. He held up his gun. His grip on it wavered for a moment.
“We won!” the Sergeant’s voice said. Mark turned to face it. “Homebound. Get in! We’re going.”
He sounded… cheery?
“Did something happen to him?” Philip asked under his breath. “He’s so… happy.”
“Delirious,” Mark said. “He has to be.”
“Off we go!” the happy Sergeant said again. “This way! This way! This way! This way! This way! THIS WAY! Now.”
“Mark,” Philip whispered. “You’re right. Let’s… let’s go the other way. Leave.”
Mark nodded.
“That’s an order,” the Sergeant said. His voice was fading suddenly, then growing louder again… as though he were rushing around them. Fast. Very fast.
They took slow, careful steps back. Dead leaves surrounded them, and they tried their best to avoid them, but every so often a soft crush would resound from the ground.
They kept going. Something was wrong. The Sergeant had never been so jovial. Never. And yet… everything was…
…so familiar.
Mark shifted before he even registered what happened. He’d seen something move — for the first time, he was sure something else in this godforsaken forest had just moved.
He’d seen it through the scope. Mark stood, holding his breath, still as he could be, gun touching his shoulder and cheek against metal.
In the faraway shadows, a red blur. Dashing through the woods.
