Arcane Exfil

The drive back was silent, naturally. There was simply nothing that could’ve been said that wouldn’t have made things worse. When words failed to bridge the gap between what happened and what people could live with, silence became the only honest response.

The silence didn’t last all the way, though. Six blocks from headquarters, they hit heavier traffic than usual – not quite LA rush hour, but enough to suggest something significant had happened.

Another problem to add to the list. His team needed decompression time, not another crisis. Mack hadn’t said a word since they’d left the warehouse, just stared straight ahead with his hands folded on his lap. In cases like these, even random shit could send somebody over the edge. Traffic, snagging a shirt on a door, hell, even the wrong word at the wrong time.

And the traffic here was already testing Cole’s theory. Each stop-and-go lurch seemed to push Mack deeper into the seat, his breathing going shallow until Cole had to watch for it to be sure it was happening at all. The hands stayed folded, but the knuckles had gone white at some point that Cole couldn’t pinpoint. There was something about the stillness that made Cole want to crack a window, like Mack was using up all the oxygen just sitting there.

But as they got closer to OTAC, the flow opened up. They had finally hit the tail end of the recall wave.

OTAC’s parking lot didn’t fare too much better. The courtyard was jammed with personal vehicles – the fancy carriages intelligence analysts drove, family Foreas that belonged to filing clerks and quartermasters. Someone had abandoned an expensive model with its door hanging open, probably too rushed to care. No military wagons anywhere, which meant every trigger-puller was already deployed somewhere else.

When they arrived, OTAC's courtyard was busier than usual. Personal vehicles and carriages stacked up near the entrance like a valet setup minus the valet.

A shuttle from the residential district squealed to a halt just past them, dumping passengers like a campus bus five minutes before finals. Same energy, too: most of them had the wardrobe of disheveled panic – the random hodge-podge of shit they could slap together in under a minute. A few lucky ones looked suspiciously put-together, probably caught mid-date or on their afternoon strolls.

This was all hands on deck. Just what kind of shitstorm had materialized while they were clearing that warehouse?

Miles wedged their Forea between two civilian carriages. Cole’s door opened just over a foot before hitting metal. Well, OTAC would probably cover that.

He moved toward the main structure. Inside, extra desks had sprouted up to process the influx. The whole building had that distinct smell of a long night ahead – fresh tea brewing and the underlying scent of too many people in too small a space.

One of the duty watchmen stood when he spotted them. His eyes flicked to the blood on their gear, but he ignored it. “Sir Heroes. The Director-General requests your immediate presence in the operations center. Most urgent, sirs.”

Cole just nodded and kept moving. They pushed through corridors packed with recalled staff, half of them still blinking away what they’d been doing twenty minutes ago.

Cole kept Mack in his peripheral. The man moved like a zombie beside him, present enough to shamble forward but his eyes were focused somewhere past the walls. Miles and Ethan had naturally fallen into flanking positions without making it obvious.

Elina stayed close, unconsciously wiping her hands on her cloak every few steps. First real combat, first kills, first time seeing what a revolver did to a kid’s skull at close range. The Slayer Elite training was good – probably the best Celdorne had to offer – but there was no simulation for seeing the aftermath of a clean op turned bad.

Cultists were one thing; she’d already handled that no problem. But an innocent kid? That was the kind of thing training couldn’t prepare anyone for. The adrenaline crash was coming, and when it hit, she’d need somewhere safe to process it.

Cole wanted to stop, find an empty office, and check on his people. But whatever had triggered the recall was still active. They’d report in, get briefed, then he could take care of his team.

The operations center doors were open, voices carrying into the hallway. Warren’s voice cut through – already taking charge.

Time to find out what couldn’t wait. Cole led his team inside, and immediately his eyes went to the tactical map. Alexandria looked like it had developed a case of measles – red pins clustered across the port district, the merchant quarter, the warehouse districts. First real demon activity since the castle, and they’d gone for saturation over subtlety.

Warren stood at the map’s edge with Syndra and Fernal, all three focused on a weary communications officer who was placing another pin. The poor bastard looked like he’d aged five years in the past hour; Cole had seen that exact expression on green soldiers after their first real engagement.

“The Riverside cold stores, sir,” the man explained. “A mimic found its way in amongst the provisions. Captain Morrison’s men have destroyed the creature, though we’ve lost three of the watch. They’re putting the stock to the torch now, sir; cannot chance any taint remaining.”

Fernal closed his eyes briefly. “The seventeenth such incident today.”

“Within the same hour,” Warren clarified. “Not since the castle affair have they moved thus.”

Syndra connected the dots. “Should this be the reach of their coordination – here, in Alexandria, it bodes poorly for our operations in the Wastes. We must assume they know.”

Warren frowned – a rare sight. “Allesoire and Strinrik are three weeks into the Wastes.”

Cole recognized the names; it was the elf and dwarf duo behind Artifact research. Apparently, they were the two responsible for breakthroughs in firearms technology, electricity, and that pale concrete that made up the kingdom’s walls.

He could already see where this was going – somebody was going to have to pull their asses out of the fire. And with his team’s luck…

Fernal turned to the communications officer. “Establish communication with the expedition.”

“At once, Director.” The officer moved to a Scrying Pane hooked up to a larger mana supply than the others. Even with the extra oomph, the best he could manage was a grainy blob that made NIPRNet look like 4K.

“Connection established, sir,” the officer reported after a long moment. “Sir Allesoire responds.”

Fernal nodded and stepped to the pane. “Allesoire. Recall the expedition at once. Immediate withdrawal, whatever the state of your investigations.”

A voice crackled back: “Director, I beg you reconsider – we have gained entry to an Istraynian research facility, military in nature! The archives alone… A week, I entreat you. One week and we shall have such intelligence as has not been seen since the old Istraynian Empire. To withdraw now would be to throw away the very prize we sought!”

Allesoire’s pitch was enough to catch Fernal’s attention. “The preservation level of this facility?”

“Untouched, sir; the seals have held since their Calamity. Artillery plans, alchemical work, their crystallization methods. All of it legible! This was a principal establishment, by every sign.”

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Warren stepped closer. “A week in the Wastes with demons stirring…”

But Syndra was already sold. “Should it prove fruitful, securing Istraynian ordnance would very well answer half our difficulties. The risk bears taking.”

Cole hadn’t seen Fernal look this stumped. It was a gamble, but one with a crazy ROI.

The silence stretched before Fernal spoke again. “Three days, then. But heed well – should you be taken with such intelligence upon your persons, we are all undone. I would have the findings intact, but I will have you back alive. This knowledge profits us nothing if it dies with you in those Wastes.”

“You’ve my word, Director.”

The connection faded as the officer powered down the pane, and that was when Fernal finally turned his gaze toward Cole’s team.

“Captain Mercer. Your report?”

Cole gave them the rundown. The cultists had gotten spooked by the inspections and were prepping their ship to sail for Auber. They couldn’t let a vessel full of tainted cargo leave port, so the team had to move early. They’d rescued the hostages and left behind nothing but cultist corpses and one captain for Vale’s particular expertise. The cargo, as predicted, consisted of contaminated foodstuffs that could have corrupted half the district.

Then came the complication: Gerrick.

Cole tried to keep it as neutral as possible. “Dock worker consumed contaminated goods prior to our entry. Had to neutralize the threat.” He pivoted, “Based on the timeline, it looks like we get less than thirty minutes from ingestion to full possession.”

“How can you be certain?” Syndra asked.

“We spotted him hauling crates when we arrived at the site. According to the workers, he went missing when the cultists rounded them up. I’m guessing that’s when he got into the cargo. Found him possessed at the end of the operation with an empty can.”

Fernal nodded and pushed the conversation along, thankfully not dwelling on the topic. “The scale of it,” he hissed. “Cultists possessed of such reach, whilst the Mimics alone tax our resources… What of Auber? Have we intelligence beyond their heading?”

Cole shrugged. “I can have Darin stick around, see if there’s anything else he found. Other than that, Vale’s team is working on intel. We know that the cultists were ready to bolt when we hit them – they figured it out somehow. And all those strikes across the city, all within the same hour we’re hitting their warehouse? They needed us looking everywhere but the docks.” He glanced at the map with its rash of red pins. “Coulda worked too, if we hadn’t caught them when we did.”

Fernal nodded, then turned to Syndra. “I shall leave Darin in your care. Send word to our men in Auber – they must investigate. Whatever Vale discovers, see that they have it.”

Throughout the exchange, Cole felt Mack’s deterioration. The man stood at parade rest but his eyes were gone, locked on some internal loop. Elina shifted her weight every few seconds, exhaustion making her sway like a reed. Even Miles and Ethan showed the strain, adrenaline crash hitting hard.

Fernal noticed too. He glanced at his aide, a thin man who looked like he’d crawled out a bureaucratic hellhole. “The situation stands contained?”

“Yes, sir. There have been no incidents since Captain Morrison’s report. All sites remain secure.”

Fernal took a breath, then faced Cole’s team. “You stand relieved until summoned. See to your people, Captain.”

Thank fuck for that.

“Yes, sir.”

Cole turned and led them out.

Elina had already started to peel off toward the side exit, probably figuring she’d catch a shuttle home. Even now, she moved like there was still a distance between them, as if she was a temporary contractor instead of part of the team. Cole caught up before she could get too far.

“Where you headed?”

“Home.” She gave a straight answer, but her eyes flicked to the blood on her cloak.

Cole paused. He could’ve done the cliche ‘but we’re a team, and teams stick together’ shit, but he’d never been a fan of that. Instead, he eased into it. “You eat yet today? Besides whatever we grabbed this morning?”

She blinked at the change of subject. “I… no, I’ve not.”

“Yeah, me neither. We’re gonna get Lisara to cook tonight.” He steered her back toward the others. “You saw what she did with that burger during the interview. Be a shame to miss out on what else she can do, right? We tried teaching her some recipes from back home, and somehow she’s nailed everything. Every single dish. Even through Garrett’s uh… experimentation.”

“Experimentation?” Miles perked up, mock-offended. “Alright, it ain’t fine art, I’ll admit it, but y’all gotta give it some respect. All the shit I do? Hell, that ain’t no ‘experimentation.’ That’s called innovation. Ain’t seen anyone else try to revive recipes.”

“You made ten different bowls of red sauce,” Ethan shot back. “Ten, Garrett. One tasted like pure sugar.”

“I was adjustin’ the sugar ratio! It’s called process refinement!”

“It’s called not knowing what a tomato should taste like.” Cole was fighting not to laugh. “You should see how Lisara reacts every time you try to ‘innovate’. Like she wants to pat you on the head, give you a toy, then push you outta the kitchen.”

“She said it was a good attempt,” Miles defended, but he was already grinning. “Eventually. After she fixed it.”

Even Mack’s mouth twitched – just barely, but it was something.

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“Tell me, then. What marvel shall we be graced with tonight?” Elina asked, falling into step with them.

Cole smiled. Elina inserting herself into their banter was progress.

“No idea,” he admitted. “But even if it’s a surprise, you know damn well it’s gonna be good.”

The corridors had thinned somewhat – most of the recalled staff were at their posts now, settled into whatever all-nighter OTAC had planned for them. The parking lot was still a mess, but at least nobody had blocked in their Forea. A few other sorry bastards weren’t so lucky – Cole spotted at least three vehicles boxed in by panic parking. Their owners were probably inside, discovering they’d be working even later than expected while waiting for whoever had decided diagonal parking was acceptable in a crisis.

Mack climbed into his usual spot in the back without a word, muscle memory still functional even if higher processing was occupied. Good sign, actually. When people started breaking routine patterns, that’s when he worried.

Elina joined in as well, hesitating for half a second before climbing in back with Ethan and Mack – still calibrating her place in their formation, but getting there.

And that’s when it hit him. With the sun already dropping and evals still on the docket, no way they were sending Elina home after all that. She had a room at the estate. Had since they’d made her official, actually.

But having a room and actually using it were different things. Like having off-base housing approved but still sleeping in the barracks because that’s where the routine was. She always went back to her own place, maintaining that professional distance. This would be her first time staying over – first time being family instead of just team.

Traffic was almost non-existent heading out. Miles drove smooth and steady, checking the back mirror more often than usual. It definitely wasn’t for traffic. More like… Mack was a full pot of soup, and Miles couldn’t afford to spill a drop.

At least he was still tracking; still looking out.

Eventually, the estate gates appeared in fading orange. Melnar was at his post, same as always. The old man took one look at them – blood on the gear, Mack’s zombie shuffle, Elina’s anxiety – and gave them the nod. Been there, done that. Melnar wouldn’t pry, but he’d definitely be there if they needed him.

Cole returned the nod as Tenna met them at the door with her usual sixth sense for timing. One sweep of her eyes and she went straight into recovery mode. No fussing about the blood or mud, surprisingly. She just herded them into the living room – the comfortable one, not the museum piece they used for formal visits. A brilliant play, honestly.

Maybe she figured they needed soft cushions and familiar spaces, or maybe she just didn’t want to deal with getting blood out of silk old money upholstery. Probably both. Tenna had that gift for making practical decisions look like kindness.

And as expected, everyone crashed hard. Mack folded into the armchair like someone had cut his strings. Elina perched on the sofa’s edge, still working out if she belonged here or if this was just professional courtesy. The rest of them sprawled wherever, sinking into the ambiance.

Tenna looked at the blood and dirt soaking into the furniture and just smiled. “Don’t trouble yourselves. I shall see to the cleaning later. For now, do try and rest.”

Cole nodded. She’d been doing this long enough to know exactly how to read people.

Cole headed for the kitchen while everyone decompressed. Food was the mission now. His mom always said the right meal could fix what pills couldn’t touch, and after today, they needed all the help they could get.