The town of Wells sat in uneasy stillness, a forgotten dot on the map of a crumbling nation. Its narrow streets, once lined with businesses and idle chatter, now echoed with hollow quiet. Nestled between rusting farmland and thick, encroaching woods, Wells had always felt a step removed from the war. But lately, there was a tension in the air, something no one would speak aloud but everyone could feel—like the weight of a storm just beyond the hills. Circl towers blinked dead across the town. Power was intermittent. Supplies were dwindling. Rumors moved quicker than truth. Some said the Rean had been spotted in the distance. Others whispered of black-clad soldiers slipping through the alleys at night. And a few, a cautious few, claimed to have seen strangers—too well-armed, too quiet—lurking in places they shouldn’t be. Captain Orion Pierce didn’t deal in rumors. He dealt in vengeance. And in Wells, vengeance was a burning, desperate thing. The air in Wells had grown still. Not quiet—there was too much murmuring for that—but still in the way of towns gripped by tension. Movement was cautious. Conversations ended the moment a soldier passed. The locals weren’t sure if they were being protected or imprisoned. Captain Orion Pierce stood at the edge of town, watching a group of his men fortify the last roadblock. Concrete barriers taken from old construction zones. Sandbags stacked six high. A mounted autocannon, scavenged from the city armory, sat idle but ready. No one left Wells. Not anymore. “Any traffic from the east?” Pierce asked, not looking at the young soldier beside him. The private hesitated. “No, sir. Just a family from the south trying to get to Dalmore. Said they had kin there.” Pierce’s jaw tightened. He didn’t need excuses. “Turn them back. You see wheels heading out of Wells, you shoot their tires. You see feet crossing the line, you put them in cuffs.” “Yes, sir.” The soldier hesitated again. “Sir, permission to speak freely?” Pierce turned, his eyes like steel. The kind of look that made grown men swallow their thoughts whole. “…Never mind, sir.” He nodded. “Smart.” He walked away from the checkpoint and toward the center of town, boots crunching gravel. He passed a crumbling statue of some founder long forgotten, a rusting memorial to a better past. The civilians avoided his gaze. A few glared. Most just watched in silence, as if trying to figure out what kind of storm was about to hit them. Pierce didn’t care. The colonel who had been in charge of Wells was gone now. Buried in the woods under a shallow pile of dirt. Pierce never spoke the man’s name. He’d made his choice, and Pierce had made his. Rezstahl was here. Pierce knew it in his gut. Maybe not in uniform, maybe not marching in with rifles and bombs—but they were here, embedded in the town like ticks. Watching. Plotting. He stepped into the commandeered city hall, now his base of operations, where maps, reports, and red-thread paranoia littered the walls. His officers stood at attention as he entered, though the air was thick with uncertainty. Some followed him out of loyalty. Others out of fear. Maybe both. It didn’t matter. “Get me the reports from the northeast quadrant. Movement has been spotted near the old grain depot.” “And if it’s just scavengers?” one of the lieutenants asked carefully. Pierce glanced up, expression hard. “Then they picked the wrong town.” The lieutenant swallowed and moved to obey, disappearing into the back room. Pierce remained still, scanning the messy sprawl of maps and papers. The grain depot wasn’t just a random checkpoint—it was on the route that Bloom evacuees were taking. The ones that decided to go their own way. He’d marked it three days ago, before the colonel died. Before the truth started clawing its way to the surface. Another soldier stepped in, younger, nervous. “Captain, there’s someone at the south roadblock—keeps asking to speak with someone in charge.” Pierce’s jaw clenched. “Who?” “Said his name’s Alexander Grey. He’s been going around asking questions. Says he used to—uh, used to work with Talenstar.” Pierce turned, silent. His face betrayed nothing. “Should I send him away?” Pierce took a long breath, then reached for his jacket. “No. I’ll speak with him. But not here. I’ll meet him outside. Ten minutes.” The soldier nodded and left quickly. Pierce moved to the far wall, eyes scanning a grainy satellite photo from six months ago. A Talenstar logo, blurred and faded, stood out faintly on a box truck in the background—parked not far from Wells. It had been dismissed. A delivery run. But now… everything looked different. He circled the image with a red marker, then crossed back toward the table. The others watched him, not daring to ask. Pierce lingered in quiet. He hadn’t gotten the northeast reports. Either they were delayed or someone was dragging their feet. He didn’t like either option. He crossed to his desk, opened the bottom drawer, and pulled out a worn-out data pad—one of the older models, pre-Circl, still useful for pulling offline schematics. He thumbed through a few local maps, zooming in on the depot’s layout. Narrow choke points. Rooftop access. He was memorizing the terrain, just in case. Behind him, the back door creaked open again. The lieutenant returned with a folder. “Found it. Northeast sweep came in two hours ago. No visual contact, but there was a motion trigger tripped just outside the grain depot.” Pierce didn’t look up. “What is it?” “Not confirmed. Could’ve been an animal, sir.” Pierce shut the datapad and took the report. “Animals don’t usually trip three sensors in a straight line.” He placed the folder on the desk and glanced at the time. It had been six minutes. He wasn’t going to check the depot. Not yet. He needed to deal with Grey first. Then he’d decide what to do next—whether to burn Wells to the ground or just the part he didn’t trust. The sun blazed high over Wells, hammering down on the rooftops and casting sharp, unforgiving shadows across the town square. Heat shimmered off the cracked stone, and dust clung to every surface. Civilians lingered near doorways, whispering behind cupped hands, their eyes tracking every soldier, every weapon. Captain Orion Pierce stepped out of city hall with the weight of command pressing down on him, every inch of his posture taut and ready. His coat hung heavy in the heat, boots crunching as he made his way across the open street. Alexander Grey was already waiting—leaning on his polished cane, silver hair combed back like this was still a boardroom, not a town on the brink. He stood in the sun like it didn’t touch him, unbothered by the dust and heat, still dressed like he owned the world. “I appreciate the punctuality,” Grey said, voice dry, sharp. Pierce didn’t return the sentiment. “You’ve got five minutes. Use them.” Grey’s gaze swept the barricades, the tension in the town, then landed back on Pierce. “What the heck is happening in Wells, Captain? Armed checkpoints. No outgoing traffic. Armed patrols on every corner. You’ve seized control of the town without so much as a warning.” “The colonel’s dead. That left me in charge.” “I’m aware,” Grey said coolly. “But seizing control and locking down the town wasn’t part of the evacuation.” Pierce stepped forward. “There is no evacuation, Grey. No one leaves, especially you. Not after what your company did.” Grey didn’t blink. “My company hasn’t existed in years.” “No, but you had just enough time to scatter your rats into places like this,” Pierce said. “I know Rezstahl is here. And I think you do too.” That landed. Not fear in Grey’s eyes—something more measured. Thoughtful. Dangerous. “I’m not your enemy, Captain,” he said slowly. “But I won’t sit quietly while you drag this town into chaos on a hunch.” “They’ll get order,” Pierce said, turning. “When the shooting starts.” Grey’s voice followed him. “And what if it never does?” Pierce didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. He walked back toward city hall, jaw clenched, while the sun beat down and Grey’s words clung to him like the heat. The heavy doors of city hall slammed shut behind him, sealing out the heat but not the pressure. The building was cooler inside, but only slightly—stale air and the faint buzz of old wiring filled the silence. Pierce moved through the war room like a storm, boots thudding, eyes scanning the mess of pinned maps and scattered reports. “Where’s Keegan?” he barked. A nearby soldier snapped to attention. “Upstairs, sir. Reviewing quadrant patrols.” “Get him. And grab Barnes and Reddick.” Within moments, three soldiers stood around the war table, eyes darting between Pierce and the chaotic maps. “We’ve got movement near the old grain depot. Could be nothing. Could be what I’ve been looking for.” He pointed at a circled blotch on the northeast corner of the map, where a stretch of warehouses sat mostly untouched. “Keegan, take two, sweep it. Quiet. I want eyes before guns.” Keegan nodded. “You think they’re stockpiling something there?” “I think they’re hiding,” Pierce said. “And I want to know who and why.” He turned to Barnes and Reddick. “That box truck—” he tapped an old satellite printout still tacked to the wall “—the one near the lumber yard. It showed up six months ago, never moved. Still might be there.” “I think I remember seeing it,” Reddick said. “It’s Talenstar.” “Too convenient,” Pierce muttered. “Too out of place. If it’s still there, open it. Find out what’s inside. And don’t make a show of it.” They nodded and turned to leave, the weight of unsaid things pressing behind every step. As they exited, Pierce lingered, hand resting on the table’s edge. From here, he could see it all—the checkpoints, the patrols, the growing unrest. Every move, every threat, real or imagined, wrapped around this town like a noose. And he was the one tightening it. — The grain depot sat on the outskirts of Wells, a collection of squat concrete warehouses long since surrendered to dust and weeds. Keegan approached the largest building, flanked by Privates Dell and Roury—young, jumpy, both too green for this kind of work, but they kept quiet and followed orders. They moved slow, rifles low, eyes scanning the long shadows cast by the midday sun overhead. The depot’s exterior was pockmarked with rust and age, windows broken, doors hanging crooked on their hinges. Nature had begun reclaiming the place. Vines crept up the walls, dry and tangled. No signs of life. No guards. No hidden trucks. Just the sound of buzzing flies and the occasional creak of metal under heat. Keegan raised a hand. “Stay sharp. Roury, take left. Dell, with me.” Inside, the warehouse was a cavern of stale air and bird droppings. Empty grain sacks were piled in moldy heaps, the floor a patchwork of dirt and old stains. Rats scattered as they stepped deeper inside, the echo of their boots bouncing off the high rafters. “Smells like something died in here,” Dell muttered. Keegan ignored him, sweeping his flashlight across rusted conveyor belts and dust-choked hoppers. No movement. No footprints. No sign anyone had touched the place in years. “Clear,” he said after a full sweep. Roury rejoined them by the entrance, squinting toward the treeline beyond. “So… what now? You think Pierce was wrong?” Keegan hesitated. “I think Pierce is always half right.” They stepped back into the heat, the wind tugging at their collars. “We’ll file the report,” Keegan said. “Nothing suspicious. No gear, no tracks, no Rezstahl. Just another dead building in a dying town.” They began the walk back to city hall, but none of them said what they were thinking: If Pierce was wrong about this… what else was he wrong about? — The lumber yard was quiet, save for the soft creak of wind against old timber and rusted machinery. Sawdust still clung to the broken windows of the main building, though no one had worked here in years. The truck sat behind the loading dock, half-hidden by a collapsed shed and stacks of warped plywood. The Talenstar logo, faint and chipped, was barely visible beneath a layer of dust and grime. Reddick adjusted his grip on his rifle as he stepped cautiously around the vehicle, while Barnes circled the opposite side. “No signs of recent activity,” Barnes said. “No tracks. No prints.” “Doors are locked,” Reddick muttered. “Not for long.” With a grunt, he forced the rear latch open. The metal groaned, then gave way. Inside, the truck was packed tight with crates—heavy, industrial ones. Barnes hopped up onto the tailgate, pried one open, and peered inside. “Machine parts,” he said after a moment. “Looks like pressure valves, pipe fittings… filtration components maybe?” Reddick climbed up beside him and dug into another crate. “More of the same. This isn’t weapons tech. Just junk.” Barnes leaned back, squinting up at the faded logo. “So why did Pierce flag this thing?” “Because it says Talenstar on the side,” Reddick replied. “And these days, that’s enough.” “It was probably sent here to do repairs.” Barnes said. “Got abandoned when the bombs fell.” “Or someone left it here for a reason.” Reddick gave the yard one last look, then shut the doors. “Either way, it’s not what Pierce wanted. Let’s report in.” — Back at city hall, the maps on the walls hadn’t changed, but something in Pierce’s expression had. The tension in the room thickened as Barnes, Reddick, and Keegan delivered their reports—empty warehouse, abandoned truck, nothing unusual, no signs of movement. Pierce’s jaw twitched as he listened, arms crossed so tight across his chest his knuckles turned white. “You’re telling me,” he said slowly, “that a Talenstar vehicle full of scrap, parked in the open, with no driver, no escort, and no explanation… doesn’t concern you?” Barnes shifted uneasily. “It’s been abandoned for at least six months. We looked through it top to bottom, sir. Just parts. Same with the grain depot—” “Then maybe you didn’t look hard enough,” Pierce snapped. His voice echoed through the old government building like a rifle crack. “Or maybe you’re just telling me what you want me to hear.” Reddick blinked. “With all due respect, Captain—” “No,” Pierce cut him off, stepping forward. His boots hit the floor like war drums. “No more ‘respect.’ No more excuses. I saw the satellite photos. I’ve read the transmissions. I know what I saw. This town was compromised for months— and now, you three come back empty-handed like nothing’s wrong?” He looked between them. Barnes. Reddick. Keegan. “You’re either blind… or you’re Rezstahl.” Keegan’s mouth opened, then shut. “Captain, that’s—” Pierce drew his sidearm. “Take them,” he ordered to the others in the room. “Detain them now.” No one moved. “I said now!” A few soldiers exchanged glances—nervous, uncertain—but stepped forward, guns raised with reluctance. Barnes looked stunned, frozen. Reddick’s hand hovered near his weapon before one of the others barked, “Don’t.” Keegan’s voice was calm but strained. “Sir, you’re making a mistake.” Pierce’s eyes were blazing. “I’m correcting one.” The commotion in the city hall was so loud it drew attention fast outside. Soldiers hesitated at their posts. Civilians began murmuring. And then the front doors swung open. Alexander Grey stood in the frame like he owned the place—back straight, silver hair catching the noon sun, dressed in a clean slate-gray coat that had never seen dirt. He didn’t flinch at the drawn weapons or the tension in the air. He just walked in like he’d been invited. “What the heck is this?” he asked, glancing at the scene—three soldiers being held at gunpoint, Pierce pacing like a rabid animal. “Martial law, Captain? Or just plain madness?” Pierce didn’t even look at him. “This doesn’t concern you.” Grey folded his arms. “Doesn’t concern me? You’re rounding up your own men in the middle of a refugee town that was supposed to be evacuated yesterday, and you think it doesn’t concern me?” “They’re with Rezstahl.” “They’re soldiers.” Pierce spun to face him, eyes alive with something manic. “Rezstahl are soldiers. That’s the point and Talenstar rolled out the red carpet for them. That’s how they got in. They hide among us, pose as friendlies. They killed my daughter, and now they’re here, in Wells. I won’t let that happen again.” Grey shook his head. “You think Talenstar has something to do with Rezstahl?” “I know they do.” “You’re grasping at ghosts, son,” Grey said calmly, stepping closer. “Why would we—why would anyone—attack their own facilities? Their own people?” Pierce didn’t answer. Grey continued, “Talenstar was trying to end the war. You remember what peace looked like before Rezstahl showed up? Before the bombings? Before the Kalv invasion? We were stabilizing. We had momentum. And then everything fell apart.” Pierce’s hand twitched, still clutching the pistol. “You would say that. You were their CEO.” “I walked away from that life before things went south,” Grey said, voice hardening. “And I’ve spent every day since trying to atone for the mistakes we made. But I promise you this: whatever Rezstahl is, it isn’t us.” The room held its breath. Then Pierce said quietly, “they’ve taken everything from me. You think I care about whatever nonsense you have to say?” Pierce shook his head, voice tight. “I care about stopping them. Before they disappear again.” Grey’s tone dropped. “And if you’re wrong?” Pierce stared at the detained soldiers. “Then we’ll all be a little safer anyway.” Grey stared at him, something hollow creeping into his expression. “You’ve lost yourself.” “No,” Pierce said. “I’ve found clarity.” He turned back to the soldiers—Barnes, Keegan, and Reddick—still on their knees, hands bound, confused and terrified. A dozen rifles were trained on them, half those fingers trembling. No one wanted to be the first to say it, but everyone knew—this wasn’t about orders anymore. It was about whatever Pierce decided to believe. Grey stepped between them. “You kill them, and there’s no going back. Not from this. The people are already scared. You gun down your own men in front of them, and it won’t matter if you’re right—this town will collapse.” Pierce didn’t blink. “Then maybe it should. If it’s rotten to the core.” “You’re not a soldier anymore,” Grey said. “You’re a mad dog with a badge.” The pistol came up with no warning—no fanfare. Just a quiet pop that barely echoed in the vaulted city hall. A red bloom spread across Grey’s chest as he staggered backward, stunned. For a moment, he didn’t even fall. He just stood there, blinking as if trying to piece together what had just happened. Then he collapsed. A single gasp broke the silence. No one moved. Pierce stood over the body, smoke curling from the muzzle of his sidearm, eyes unreadable. “Grey was compromised. Maybe not Rezstahl himself—but protecting them. Hiding them. That makes him guilty.” A beat passed. Then another. Finally, one of the officers spoke, voice barely above a whisper. “What about the others?” Pierce holstered his weapon and turned to face the room. “Interrogate them. Thoroughly. We’ll know by morning.” He walked out, leaving Grey’s body cooling on the tile behind him. Outside, the sun still burned high over Wells, bright and hot and unforgiving. Civilians watched from across the square, drawn by the sound, sensing something had changed. Word would spread fast. Pierce didn’t care. He had his truth. And if no one else could see it—he’d burn everything down until they did.