Scene 02: Debriefing
The debriefing room was a tomb of soundless pressure — sterile, sleek, and deliberately cold. Every surface was matte black or gunmetal gray, designed to suppress light and absorb sound. No echoes. No comfort. Just engineered quiet, built for precision and protocol.
The chairs lining the far side of the table were hard-backed and evenly spaced, never touched unless summoned. The lights were recessed and indirect — no shadows, no warmth. Screens built into the walls ran silent streams of data, mission tags and bioscans flowing like bloodless veins through the concrete.
Agent Summers stood at the front of the room, hands clasped behind her back, eyes forward. She had been in this room before, many times, but today it felt different. Not colder — just… closer. Watching her breathe.
Kellan stood beside her, shoulders square, expression carved from stone. He didn’t twitch, didn’t blink. But she could feel the tension radiating off him like static waiting to arc. Sosh leaned against the back wall, posture casual, flicking a stylus between her fingers. Her visor cast a faint green glow across her face as she scrolled through their synced footage, already prepping her segment for playback.
Across from them sat Director Halvors, his posture relaxed in a way that felt predatory. He didn't look up right away. He skimmed the preliminary report on the display embedded into the table, expression unreadable. Two aides flanked him in silence, one whispering into his ear occasionally, the other scribbling notes onto a slim, unmarked tablet.
And then there was the outsider.
Summers hadn’t been told his name. He wore no federal badge, no agency seal, just the letters “OVC” on his shoulder. He sat stiffly, as if the chair offended him, glancing at the clock three times in as many minutes. His suit was too clean. His presence was a signal — but not to them.
The air in the room carried the weight of something unsaid.
Finally, Halvors spoke. “You may begin.”
He didn’t look at her when he said it. He didn’t need to.
Summers gave a single nod. “The operation commenced at 0413 hours following intelligence of a human trafficking exchange at a freight warehouse outside Stockton, California.”
“—information was provided by Confidential Informant A13C-a. Routing data confirmed two AI-driven transport trucks carrying sealed containers would arrive at the designated location.”
“Once the trucks entered the industrial zone, my team deployed through the north entrance. Resistance was minimal. We detained six suspects and neutralized one during breach entry.”
She paused briefly, just long enough for the information to be absorbed.
“Inside, we recovered twenty-one inactive Variants and one Tier 3 spontaneous activation. Additionally, we recovered approximately fifteen deceased Variant individuals—charred remains—discovered inside the second container.”
As Summers spoke, Sosh activated the synced field footage. Helmet cam overlays lit up the holotable — tactical unit vision, breach moments, container interiors. When the scorched bodies appeared, the unnamed agent at the table recoiled visibly, his disgust thinly masked. One of the aides swallowed hard. .
Halvors simply nodded. “Go on.”
Summers continued, her tone unshaken. “The Tier 3 subject exhibited the ability to generate extreme heat in her immediate vicinity. Temperature levels recorded were sufficient to melt reinforced composite plating on Tactical Unit One — designation: BigBoy.”
“At initial recovery, the subject was unconscious, but responsive. Once cradled by the unit and exposed to auditory cues — specifically her mother’s voice — her vitals spiked and thermal output escalated. The response appeared involuntary.”
She glanced slightly toward Kellan, not enough to be noticed, but enough to acknowledge him.
“Agent Kellan discharged his weapon at the target — non-lethal to the head. This allowed the medical units to administered a long-duration tranquilizer. Target should not suffer long lasting injuries and is presently being transferred to the Fridge.”
Summers left out the protocol breach.
She didn’t mention how she had signaled to let the mother through.
Didn’t mention how the mother clung to her daughter’s hand before both were hit with the sedative.
And she didn’t need to — because she knew Halvors already knew. And because saying it aloud would make it real.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
"All right. Do we have any idea who’s behind this operation?" Halvors asked, finally breaking his silence.
The outsider's posture shifted — subtle, but noticeable. His eyes lifted from the display for the first time in minutes. He was listening now.
Summers didn't react to him. Her gaze remained fixed ahead. “From what we’ve gathered so far, the on-site crew appears to have been hired muscle — ex-military. Some of their backgrounds align, but mostly disjointed. No confirmed ties to a specific cell yet, but the method suggests contract work. Disposable assets.”
She paused briefly.
“We were expecting greater resistance. The intel suggested the exchange would be more heavily guarded — and that our informant would be present, possibly alongside a mid-tier organizer or even a local cell leader. Neither showed. Either the timeline shifted… or someone tipped them off.”
She let that settle, then continued. “Now, the informant on-site — the one who tipped us off. Code: A13C-a. We have law enforcement searching his last known locations. Not being captured during the operation could mean he’s compromised… or running. Either way, we need to locate him before someone else does.”
At the corner of her eye, she noticed the aide lean in and whisper into Halvors’ ear again. Halvors didn’t respond right away. He was staring through the holotable, somewhere far away in his head.
Summers pressed on. “Our second lead is the containers themselves. Their internal lining matches high-end variant shielding — materials typically restricted for military or agency contracts. Based on initial scans, they’re constructed similarly to our own USVA detainment transports.”
“Their design suggests containment — not transit. Someone wanted these Variants secure, but alive.”
She let that implication hang in the air.
“Our techs are dissecting the containers now. We expect a data trail. Serial logs, supplier IDs, maybe access tags burned into the insulation. Something traceable.”
For a moment, the room felt less suffocating. She wasn’t sure if she actually exhaled — or if her body just wanted to believe it had.
“I recommend we split. Agent Kellan and Lang can follow up on the informant — last known in the Edgewater zone. Agent Vega and I will return to the operation site and consult with on-site tech personnel. If the containers came from in house, I want eyes on everything.”
Halvors was still quiet, weighing something she couldn’t see.
Then, finally, he nodded. “Approved. Good Operation. We’ll talk about your interpretation of protocol later, Agent Summers,” Halvors said, his voice flat. “For now, I need you on lead. Stay sharp.”
Summers gave a crisp nod. “Yes, sir.”
He raised his hand, motioning them toward the door.
As the team exited the debrief room, the silence didn’t last long.
Sosh nudged Kellan with her elbow. “100 bucks she’s getting chewed out later?”
Kellan didn’t break stride. “Mind your own damn business.”
Summers didn’t respond. Didn’t need to. She kept her eyes forward, footsteps measured. The weight between her shoulder blades hadn’t lifted — it had just learned to sit quietly.
It always did before it bared its teeth. Summers resisted the urge to glance over her shoulder. But Sosh didn’t. She glanced back once —and Summers saw the shift in her face. Subtle. Wary.
The outsider was staring at them. At her.
Halvors leaned in toward him and began to speak, his voice too low to catch. The outsider didn’t respond — not immediately. He just kept watching Summers until the doors hissed closed behind them.
And even after the doors sealed behind her, she still felt it — that weight. Not quite fear. Not quite threat. Just presence. Like someone still had her name in their mouth.
She forced the feeling down as they turned the corner.
A figure stood at attention directly in their path — spine straight, chin high, hands crisply behind his back.
“Reporting for duty!” Agent Lang barked, snapping a textbook salute toward Summers.
Before she could respond, Kellan reached out and casually slapped the salute down. “Kid, knock it off. We’re not at the academy.”
Lang blinked, then quickly fell into step behind them without another word. Summers caught the flush of embarrassment in his cheeks, but he hid it well. At least he was trying.
Summers didn’t slow her stride. “All right. Sosh, you’re with me. Lang, you’re with Kellan. I want you two heading to the informant’s last known address ASAP. Grab all the files we’ve got on A13C-a before you leave.”
Kellan gave a noncommittal grunt and seized Lang by the back of his vest, tugging him forward like an unruly backpack. “Come on, Rookie. Salute the lady, we're gonna put some wear in that nice uniform.”
Lang stumbled for a step but recovered, shooting Summers a quick, sheepish salute before following the grizzled agent down the hallway.
Sosh, unfazed, blew a bright pink bubble between her lips and popped it with an audible snap. Summers blinked.
Chewing gum?
“When did you even—” Summers started.
Sosh raised a brow. “Chewed it through the whole debrief. Kept me from asking about that handsome suit ”
Summers didn’t even look over. “You thought your last boyfriend was a ‘reformed arms dealer,’ Sosh. You don’t get to comment on suits.”
Sosh grinned. “He was reformed. Mostly.”
Summers shook her head. “I’ve never even heard of OVC. No agency seal, no record. Has to be some private firm.”
“Spooks-for-hire,” Sosh said. “Classy.”
“Right."
Summers allowed herself a rare laugh — short, dry, but real. These moments mattered. They were the cracks that let her stay human, however briefly. The last time she laughed like this, it had been...
Chris.
“Earth to Summers.” Sosh’s voice cut in, smirking as she nudged her shoulder. “You checking out on me already, boss?”
Summers blinked, the warmth gone. “Just recalibrating.”
“AH, speaking of recalibrating. I need to check BigBoy into diagnostics before we roll,” Sosh added, shifting her weight as she handed over a hardened control tablet. “You mind grabbing Fen and making sure he’s locked into the transpo properly? He gets fidgety when I’m not around.”
Summers accepted the tablet with a nod. The interface lit up under her touch, displaying Fen’s standby vitals, command override queue, and behavioral settings.
“Got it. I’ll make sure he doesn’t bite anyone.”
Sosh smirked. “He only bites people who mess with us.”
“Good boy.”
They split at the corridor junction, boots clicking against polished tile, the hum of drone scaffolds echoing above them. And for a moment — just a moment — Summers let herself breathe.
Orders had been given. The team was moving.
And the shadow in the debriefing room hadn’t followed them.
Yet.