After securing the perimeter, the first thing Alex did was shut down the extractor. The machinery was "technically" operational, but the collateral damage from the battle required a check-up before they could resume pumping.
Alex activated his communicator and contacted headquarters, his voice professional:
"This is Recon Squad. Intruders neutralized. The extractor is secured, though it requires minor repairs. Requesting transport."
Blakk Industries' response was one of initial disbelief, followed by an order to hold their position. They had to remain in that toxic hellhole for another day, guarding the machinery until the relief and maintenance crew arrived.
Finally, they were able to return to the stronghold. The trip back was very different from the way there. Alex and his squad were no longer simple grunts marching to the slaughter; they were returning as unexpected heroes who had cleaned up the mess left by a cowardly commander. They had defended Blakk's most valuable asset and defeated (or at least repelled) the organization's enemies.
Upon arriving at the hangar, Maurice was already waiting for them, tablet in hand and, for the first time, wearing a faint expression of approval.
"Good work, Alex," the administrator said bluntly. "You've been notified of an immediate promotion. Dr. Blakk wants to speak with you personally about the details of your new rank... but that will be tomorrow. For now, get some rest."
And then came the best part of the news:
"Oh, and collect your things from the barracks. You've been assigned new quarters in the West Wing."
[Location: Alex's New Quarters, Officers' Wing]
"Ahhhhh..." Alex let out a long, deep sigh, one that seemed to come from the very bottom of his soul.
He had just walked into his new room, and the difference was night and day. It was no longer a broom closet with a cot; this was a suite. The place was at least three times the size of his previous cell. It had a living area with leather armchairs, a separate bedroom, a mahogany desk, and, most importantly, a private luxury bathroom.
But Alex didn't waste time admiring the furniture. He went straight to the bathroom.
Right now, Alex was submerged up to his neck in a ceramic tub filled with steaming water and foam.
"This... this is the life," he murmured, closing his eyes and letting the heat penetrate his aching muscles.
One of the things Alex missed most about his life on Earth, aside from his family and the internet, were long, hot baths. He hated the feeling of being dirty, and after days covered in dust, sweat, and toxic residue inside a Hazmat suit, feeling clean again was practically a religious experience.
He stretched out in the tub, feeling the tension of the battle dissolve into the water.
I have a promotion, I have a suite, and I have hot water, he thought, grinning like a kid on Christmas. I'm happy as a clam.
For a moment, he allowed himself to forget about Dr. Blakk. in that instant, only he, the hot water, and absolute peace existed.
The next morning, early.
Alex showed up punctually at Dr. Blakk's private office. Upon entering, he noticed he wasn't alone; El Diablos Nacho was there too, standing like a chastised gargoyle.
Alex shot a quick glance at the giant and had to bite his lower lip hard to keep from bursting out laughing. In his mind, the image of Nacho fleeing in terror toward the train—frantically moving those disproportionately thin little legs compared to his massive torso—played on a loop like a comedy GIF.
"Good morning, sir. Alex reporting for duty," the young man said with a cheerful and amused tone, fueled by the laughter he was barely managing to contain.
Dr. Blakk, seated behind his immense desk, looked up.
"Alex... the hero of the operation," Blakk said, returning the greeting with a nod. Despite being a ruthless villain, Blakk was a man of impeccable manners. "Please, come in."
Blakk gestured with his hand, indicating for Alex to come closer and stand beside Nacho. The difference in height and build was comical, but the difference in their current status was massive.
"Our operations will benefit enormously from the extra Dark Water we continue to harvest from the well," Blakk began, speaking in his serious, unwavering voice, adopting a tone that mixed the authority of a general with the disappointment of a strict father.
Blakk looked at Alex with clear approval.
"Thanks to the great work of one of you, our production can proceed at a higher rate... despite the mistakes of others."
As he said the last part, Blakk's gaze drifted toward Nacho. His eyes narrowed with disapproval and his voice hardened, becoming cold and cutting.
"Hmph," Nacho growled under his breath, clenching his fists in humiliation.
Alex saw his chance. He knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but with Blakk's favor on his side, he felt untouchable.
"Don't worry, sir," Alex interjected, injecting a mixture of poisonous sarcasm and feigned arrogance into his voice. "Even if you can't count on Little Legs here... I mean, on Commander Nacho, who seems to prefer using his agile limbs to run away from danger, you can always count on your best soldier."
Alex smirked, enjoying the moment. He had finally mocked the giant's ridiculous anatomy right to his face.
Nacho whipped his head around toward Alex, eyes bloodshot and a bestial growl vibrating in his throat. He was ready to crush him. Even Blakk's expressionless face suffered a micro-reaction: he raised an eyebrow, surprised by the boy's audacity, but he didn't reprimand him. After all, Alex was right.
Ignoring the homicidal tension in the room, Blakk stood up and began walking toward the large window, launching into one of his classic monologues.
"With this supply, my plans to unify Slugterra will move forward. Order is necessary, Alex. The chaos of the caverns must end. With me in command, we will bring about a new era of industrial progress, where weakness will be purged and..."
Blah, blah, blah... Alex thought, tuning out while keeping a face of feigned interest.
He had heard enough villain speeches in movies to know how they ended. He was bored and, most importantly, hungry. The night before, he had arrived so exhausted from the mission that he went straight to sleep after his bath, skipping dinner. His stomach was roaring louder than Nacho.
Finally, Blakk concluded his speech and officially confirmed Alex's new rank within the organization, granting him the position of Operations Commander.
"Thank you, sir. I won't let you down," Alex said, giving a quick military salute.
Without waiting another second, he turned on his heel and left the office, leaving a furious Nacho and a contemplative Blakk behind.
As he walked down the hallway, Alex rubbed his hands together.
"Alright, mission accomplished, promotion secured, enemy humiliated. Now, my next objective is of vital importance: getting a greasy, delicious breakfast."
Alex walked through the wide corridors toward the cafeteria with his face uncovered. He was no longer wearing the standard mask of the Blakk Industries uniform.
According to regulations, only grunts had to wear them at all times to maintain uniformity and anonymity. Operations Commanders, however, had the privilege of showing their faces. Alex was infinitely grateful for this distinction. He hated that mask; it was ugly, caused an unbearable itch, and was stiflingly hot. Feeling the fresh air on his face was the first real benefit of his promotion.
As he walked, he noticed the change in the atmosphere. The guards he passed stopped, snapped to attention, and saluted with respect. They already recognized him as a symbol of authority.
"Attention," they said as they saw him pass.
In an organization as militarized as this one, when someone is promoted to a position as high as Operations Commander, a priority notification is sent to the communicators of all personnel on the base. His photo and rank were already in the system.
Alex was aware of the whispers. He had skipped several intermediate ranks in a single stroke. Some looked at him with surprise, others with evident jealousy, and a few—the veterans who had been waiting years for a promotion—with undisguised anger. How was it possible that a rookie achieved in less than a week what took them years?
But despite the looks of envy, Alex knew he had earned his spot.
It wasn't luck, he thought, returning a military salute with half-hearted effort. It was competence.
He had proven to be more capable than even the veteran commanders. His merits spoke for themselves: first, the logistics of managing and transporting a massive fleet of slugs and mercenaries the moment he joined the organization; and second, his tactical prowess and leadership under fire to regain control of the Dark Water extraction when his superior fled. In a place where brute force reigned, Alex's efficiency was his superpower.
On his way, he noticed the vastness of the Blakk Industries facility again. He passed laboratories, armories, and training rooms that sparked his curiosity.
In his head, he noted a new Secondary Objective.
Exploration, he told himself.
His interest was no longer limited to the cold barracks of the fortress, but expanded to all of Slugterra. Since arriving in this world, his path had been a frantic straight line seeking survival and a way home. But now that he had resources, security, and a rank that allowed him some freedom, why not do a little tourism?
He felt a spark he thought had gone out. His adventurous nature had just reactivated; that same restlessness that, in his previous life, drove him to leave the house every weekend on his motorcycle to travel unknown roads, rivers, and mountains.
"I have a whole world beneath my feet... literally. I always wanted a great adventure, and now I'm living one. I have to get to know this place, understand it... and dominate it."
His epic thoughts of exploration and conquest, however, came to a dead stop upon arriving at the cafeteria.
Minutes later, Alex was sitting at a table with tears in his eyes. But they weren't tears of emotion. They were tears of comedic suffering.
He shoved a spoonful of the "food" they had served him into his mouth: a grayish, viscous paste that smelled like wet socks and tasted like dirt mixed with metal.
"Gag... this is horrible," Alex coughed, forcing himself to swallow the nutritional sludge. "I have to explore, it's urgent. But not for the scenery."
He looked at the plate with contempt and stabbed the spoon into the mass.
"I have to go out and explore this world to get a decent meal. I don't like this at all. My kingdom for a burger... or better yet..."
His eyes shined with an almost spiritual desire.
"I will go out and explore this world in search of a pizza. There has to be someone in these 99 caverns who knows how to make a damn pizza."