GDI HIGH-COMMAND, PETERSON SPACE FORCE BASE
09:17 MST
General McCaffrey's new office, two-hundred-and-fifty-feet underground, was a concrete box designed to survive a direct nuclear-strike. He had never felt more safe.
He was being "pestered."
The "new normal" meant that while half the world was in a state of terminal, religious panic, the other half—the scientific community—had exploded with a manic, obsessive, almost predatory hunger for knowledge.
"General, you don't understand," Dr. Evans, the obnoxiously-smug head of DARPA's new "Xeno-Biology" division, was saying over the secure video-link. "We can't fight them if we can't study them. The bodies from the Jerusalem-incident were... compromised. Incinerated by your Apaches. The Avenger team... lost. We need fresh samples from the 'K-Strain' hostiles. R&AW is hoarding them. I'm petitioning GDI to..."
"You are not petitioning GDI," McCaffrey said, his voice a low, flat-line of pure, unadulterated fatigue. "You are, Dr. Evans, the fourth department-head this morning to request 'samples.' CERN wants to know what their 'magic' is made of. The CDC is convinced they're a bio-weapon. And you, you... want to what? Clone them? Build a 'Franken-ninja'?"
"We want to understand their physiology, General! Their speed! Their..."
McCaffrey cut the connection.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose, the headache that had been his constant-companion for three-weeks threatening to split his skull. The scientists were vultures, picking at the scraps of a war they didn't have to fight.
The reinforced-door to his office slammed open, bouncing off its hydraulic-stop.
McCaffrey's hand didn't go to his M17 sidearm anymore. He was too tired. He just looked up, ready to chew out whatever aide-de-camp had...
He stopped.
It was Dr. Aris. The same "maddened-eyed" NORAD analyst who had confirmed the kunoichi drop over Kanchenjunga. The man looked like he'd been awake for a year. His tie was undone, his hair was a static-charged mess, and his eyes... his eyes were wide, wet, and terrified.
"Sir," Aris panted, leaning on the doorframe. "It... it's...another one."
McCaffrey's blood didn't just run cold. It felt like it evaporated.
"What?" he whispered.
"The Amazon," Aris said, stumbling to the General's desk and keying in a command. The main holo-display lit up. "Not Omega, sir. Earth. 09:12 MST. High-speed, powered-descent. We thought it was a meteor... but it... it braked. It stopped. It landed."
The screen showed a satellite-thermal-image of a remote, triple-canopy jungle in the Brazilian-Colombian border. A single, white-hot dot was cooling in the middle of nowhere.
"It's a pod, sir," Aris whispered, his voice cracking. "A... a futuristic-looking pod. Sleek. No seams. No heat-signature, until it landed. It's... it's them. Sir... it's the Third Faction."
For a full ten-seconds, McCaffrey did not move. He did not speak. He just... stared.
He had been so focused on the Elves, the Orcs, the Ninjas... the Medieval and Fantasy threats... that he had forgotten the third, terrifying descriptor.
Futuristic.
The 'Architects of Flesh.' The "real" enemy, as the captured kunoichi had called them.
"God... damn it," McCaffrey breathed. It was not a curse. It was a prayer.
He hit the secure-comms button. Not to the general-war-room. To a private, GDI channel.
"Director Ogunsanwo. Wake up."
A moment of static, then a rich, deep voice, sharp and alert, with a heavy, Nigerian accent. "I am awake, General. I see it. My facility in Brasília is tracking it. It is deep in the 'Green Hell.' My Força de Reação Rápida (Quick Reaction Force) is spinning up."
Director Chidike Ogunsanwo, GDI-SouthAm. The "firefighter" for the entire continent.
"Negative, Director," McCaffrey said, his mind already calculating. "Your men are light-infantry. They're not equipped for this. This isn't a 'Strain-K' or 'Strain-O.' This is... it. The main event."
"What is your order, General? We must... know..."
"I know," McCaffrey said. He looked at the ROK 'Geobukseon' transports, which had just landed back at Peterson yesterday from their FOB-build. "The 'White Tigers.' The ROK 707th. Their exosuit-team. They're the heaviest, toughest, most-hardened asset we have on a 2-hour-leash."
"You are sending them in? Alone?" Ogunsanwo asked, his voice sharp with disbelief.
"It's a recon-in-force, Director," McCaffrey said, his voice like iron. "Tell them... find the pod. Secure it. If it's... manned... engage and destroy. I want that pod, and I want a body. Whatever it takes."
OMEGA. FOB BEDROCK. 10:29 GST
"This isn't a city," Harris's dual-voice rumbled. "It's a tomb. And... we're not alone."
Captain "Stone" Russo's hand was on his M17. "Brown... what do you see?"
"You don't see it," Harris whispered. He was staring, his blue, glowing, pinprick-eyes fixed on the massive, dark, unlit tunnel at the far-end of the hangar. The "Phase-2" tunnel.
"You... smell it. Blood. And... ozone. Something... died in there."
"Edison, get a light," Russo ordered, his voice a tight whisper.
The Comms-officer fumbled with the high-intensity-spotlight on his M4. He clicked it on.
The beam, a perfect, white, 1000-lumen-cone, shot into the darkness.
It didn't have to go far.
Twenty-meters into the tunnel, it stopped.
The "Hell's Mother" excavator sat there, silent. Its massive, six-legged-frame was dark, its power-core cold.
"It's... it's fine," Specialist "Psycho" Ramirez whispered, his M249 aimed at the dark. "It just... stopped. Maybe it just... ran out of..."
"Look... closer," Harris growled.
Edison narrowed the beam, focusing it on the front of the excavator... on the drill-head.
The squad, as one, let out a collective, choked-off gasp.
It was... jammed.
The massive, diamond-and-adamantium-laced drill, designed to chew through solid-granite, was choked... with flesh.
It was a body. Or... what was a body.
A black, tattered-suit. A shattered, white, porcelain-mask.
It was a kunoichi.
She was... brutalized. She was wrapped around the drill-head, her limbs twisted at impossible angles, her entire-torso shredded. She had, it seemed, been fighting the 30-ton-machine when it was active, and she had lost.
"Jesus... Christ..." Russo breathed, his face pale. "She... she was in the tunnel. She was... waiting..."
"Captain," Edison said, his voice shaking. "I... I think... I think the excavator didn't 'just stop.' I think she stopped it. She... she broke it, sir."
"Edison," Russo snapped, trying to get his mind back on-track. "Get to the command-module. Get on the horn to GDI. I want... I want answers. Psycho, 'Wrecker,' you're on me. We're checking the... rest of this place."
Edison, the Ranger comms-op, ran to the two-story module marked COMMAND. He hit the pressure-seal, and the door hissed open.
He sat at the console. It was... Chinese. All of it. The keyboards, the displays, the language...
"Ah... shit," he muttered. "Okay, okay... where's the... English... ah, there." He found the language-toggle.
The screens flickered, translating. He got the sat-uplink running.
"Control, this is Sentinel-1. Do you copy? We are in Bedrock. The... the LZ is hot, sir. The... the excavator... it's... it's compromised. We have a... a 'Strain-K' KIA, in the drill-head."
The line was static, then a GDI-analyst's voice came back. "Sentinel-1, we... we copy... General McCaffrey is unavailable. Standby for GDI-Command... we have a... a situation... on Earth..."
"Sir?" Edison said, confused. "What situation?"
"Standby."
Edison, his hands shaking, decided to do an inventory. "Control, I am... I am checking the armory-manifest. The PLA... they... they stocked us."
He pulled up the manifest. His blood ran cold.
"Control?" he said, his voice a low-panic. "Control, I... I got a problem. I'm in the armory-manifest. It's... it's all 5.8-millimeter. I'm reading thousands of rounds of 5.8... but... no 5.56. Sir, do you copy? We... we do not have ammunition for our primary-weapons. We are... we are dry, sir. All we have is what we're carrying."
The line was silent.
"Control, please acknowledge!"
"Sentinel-1," the analyst's voice was grim. "We copy. You... you are on your own. All... all GDI transport-assets are... redirected. Brazil. The Amazon. It's... it's... God help us..."
The line went to static.
PART 3: THE THIRD FACTOR
AMAZON RAINFOREST, BRAZIL-COLOMBIA BORDER
11:47 MST
The "Green Hell" was a claustrophobic, 120-degree, 100-percent-humidity nightmare.
The ROK "White Tiger" squad was not built for this.
Their H-ULC Exoskeletons, which had been a symbol of power on the open, cold, plains of Omega, were now coffins.
HISS-CLANK... HISS-CLANK...
The sound of their hydraulic-pistons and heavy, metal-feet was deafening in the dense, silent, dripping jungle.
"Captain Park," the point-man, Sergeant Kim, said, his voice strained over the comm. "Visibility is... zero. Thermal is useless; everything is 'hot.' I... I don't like this, sir. We are... too loud."
"We are heavy-infantry, Sergeant," Captain Park, the team-leader, growled. "We are not ninjas. We are a hammer. Keep moving. Intel says the pod is... 200-meters, north-east."
"Sir," the rear-guard, Corporal Choi, said. His voice was... wrong. "Sir, my... my suit. My HUD... it's... glitching..."
"What is it, Choi? Report," Park ordered, his 10-man-team halting.
"It's... it's... like... static... in my eyes..."
And his comm went dead.
"Choi?" Park said. "Choi, report!"
He turned.
Corporal Choi was just... standing there. His K16 machine-gun was pointed at the ground. He was... slumped.
"Choi!" Park yelled, his clanking steps moving back.
He got to Choi. The man was... fine. No blood. No wounds.
"Choi, what are you..."
Park tapped the man's helmet.
Choi just... slumped, his 1.5-ton-exosuit crashing, face-first, into the mud.
"He's... he's dead," the medic whispered. "Sir, his... his life-signs are flat."
"How?!"
"Contact!" Sergeant Kim screamed. "Ten-o'clock! A... a shimmer! Like... like the heat!"
"FIRE!" Park roared.
Kim's K16 7.62mm machine gun erupted. BRRRRRT!
He was firing at... nothing. Just a patch of jungle that seemed to be blurring, like a Predator-movie.
"I'm hitting... I'm hitting nothing...!"
"Sir!" the flanker, Sergeant Lee, yelled. "I see it! It's... another one! Three-o'clock! It's..."
Lee screamed.
It was not a scream of pain. It was a wet, choked, gurgle.
The 9-man-squad turned.
Sergeant Lee was clutching his helmet.
His helmet... his heavy, reinforced-steel, ballistic-armored-helmet... was...
It was denting. Crushing. Imploding.
It was caving in on his head, as if a giant, invisible, hydraulic-press was...
CRUNCH-SQUELCH.
The helmet, and everything inside it, just... popped. It didn't "explode." It "plummed." It was pulped. A shower of blood, bone, and gray-matter erupted from the neck-seal.
The exosuit, headless, crashed to the ground.
"BACK-TO-BACK!" Park roared, his voice cracking in sheer, inhuman terror. "FORM A PERIMETER! NOW!"
The remaining eight-men formed a circle, their heavy machine-guns pointed out at the jungle, their suits hissing and clanking.
"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!" one of them screamed.
"They're... they're in the trees!"
And then... one of them uncloaked.
It just... appeared. Twenty-meters away.
It was... beautiful. And terrifying.
It was a soldier. Taller than a man, impossibly slender. Its armor was not armor. It was a sleek, seamless, chrome-and-white suit, like polished-porcelain, with glowing, blue, circuit-like-lines. It had no visible-weapons. It had no face. Just a smooth, featureless, mirrored-visor.
It just... looked at them.
"LIGHT IT UP!" Park screamed. "CONCENTRATE FIRE!"
Eight K16 heavy-machine-guns opened up at once. The sound was apocalyptic, a solid wall of noise.
BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRT!
The 7.62mm rounds, designed to shred-cars, hammered the creature.
And they stopped.
They hit a... a shimmering-blue-shield... a hexagon-pattern... that had appeared, floating, in the air, in front of the soldier.
The bullets panged harmlessly off it, like rain.
"THE SHIELD!" Park yelled. "IT'S THE JERUSALEM-SHIELD! IT'S..."
The creature moved.
It didn't "run." It... glided. It moved with a speed that defied its size, closing the 20-meter-gap in... a second.
It was inside their perimeter.
It... placed its hand... on the helmet of the soldier next to Park.
The soldier just looked at it, his gun still firing uselessly at the jungle.
The futuristic-soldier's hand... glowed.
A high-pitched whine.
CRUNCH-SQUELCH.
The soldier's head imploded.
"KILL IT!" a soldier screamed, swinging his K16-butt at the creature.
The creature just... turned. It placed its hand on his helmet.
CRUNCH-SQUELCH.
Two more down.
It was a massacre. They were too slow. Their guns were useless. Their armor... their multi-million-dollar-exoskeletons... were coffins.
Captain Park saw it. He saw the shield flicker as the last few, stray, panicked-rounds hit it.
"It's... it's overloading!" he roared, his mind a frantic-mess of tactics. "SACRIFICE! ON ME! OVERLOAD THE SHIELD! RAH, RAH, RAH!"
He and three other soldiers, in a final, suicidal, desperate-act... charged.
They didn't try to shoot. They just... ran... firing their K16s from the hip, point-blank, into the shield.
The futuristic-soldier, confused by this... primal... tactic, just stood there.
CRUNCH. A soldier's head imploded.
CRUNCH. Another.
CRUNCH. The third.
But their combined, point-blank, 7.62mm-fire worked.
The blue, hexagon-shield flickered... sputtered... and died.
The futuristic-soldier... looked down at its chest, where a new spark-shower was coming from. It looked... surprised.
It was exposed.
"DIE, YOU FUCKER!" Park screamed, his voice pure-rage. He was the only one left. He had his K16 leveled, his finger down on the trigger, emptying his entire 500-round-backpack-supply, point-blank, into the creature's chest.
The 7.62mm rounds, with no-shield to stop them, shredded the sleek, white-and-chrome-armor. It sparked. It smoked. It bled... a thick, blue, viscous-liquid.
It stumbled back... it looked at Park...
And it fell, its head thudding into the mud.
Dead.
Captain Park stood there, his K16 clicking empty. He was panting, his suit's-ventilators screaming.
He'd done it.
"Control..." he panted, "This is... Park... 'White Tiger' is... is down... I... I got one. I got one. I killed... one..."
He looked around. His entire squad was dead. Nine men, all headless, their exo-suits still standing, or slumped in the mud.
He was... alone.
"I... I'm securing the... the body... I..."
He heard it.
A click.
He turned.
Standing in a semi-circle, their cloaks shimmering as they re-appeared...
Were three more of them.
Their featureless-visors stared at him. Their hands... were glowing... with that soft, blue, terrifying-light.
Captain Park's helmet-cam showed the GDI-Command-Bunker the three, beautiful, terrifying-figures.
It showed the blue-light...
And then, it just showed static.
The Third Faction... had arrived.