Since their arrival at Black Plateau Camp, Number One had spent most of his time in his tent behind the main pavilion, lounging with his legs propped on the table. He passed the time by crumpling fallen leaves from the forest floor and tossing them into the side pocket of his tailcoat, which hung neatly on a nearby rack nine feet away.

  So far, he hadn’t missed a single shot.

  Number Two, his right-hand man, leaned back in a chair next to him, hands clasped behind his head, sunglasses perched on his forehead, watching. Number One knew Number Two was his biggest fan—had the situation been different, he probably would’ve cheered for every shot like it was a basketball game.

  The other team members were elsewhere. Numbers Four and Five were likely sneaking a smoke behind the nearest trees. Number Three had wandered off, announcing he was going to stretch his legs—and take a leak.

  What else was there to do but kill time? According to Satellite Agency protocol, the Force Team had to remain wherever the division chief was stationed. Like shadows, the five of them were bound to his movements.

  Most of the time, it was routine. Rarely did they face urgent calls to action. Today didn’t seem to be any different—escort the boss to Black Plateau, hang around, then return to Proxima. Predictable. Boring.

  Number One tossed two crumpled leaves in quick succession. The first shot landed perfectly. The second hit the edge and fell. His first miss.

  Just as he prepared for a rematch, one of the many sweaty, foul-smelling scientists shamelessly wandering through the jungle—one of those who couldn’t seem to keep their damn shirts tucked into their damn cargo shorts—burst into the tent, panting and wide-eyed. Trouble.

  Number One stood up, grabbed his tailcoat from the rack, and shrugged it on in one smooth motion.

  “The-the Division Chi-Chief needs you urgently!” the scientist stammered, his jaw trembling. “Something’s ha-happened!”

  Before the man could catch his breath, Number One and Number Two were already out of the tent, heading for the main pavilion. The rest of the team wasn’t far behind. Despite being scattered around the camp moments earlier, the five of them gathered so quickly no one would think they’d never left each other’s side.

  What they encountered upon entering the tent was a mix of chaos and astonishment, underscored by a frantic and indecipherable murmur. Biologists and geologists darted back and forth, speaking all at once, fear etched across their faces. Number One recognized that look—the kind people wore when they thought they had all the answers, only to be blindsided by something beyond their understanding.

  Indeed, there was trouble.

  A tall, heavyset scientist and an older woman who was like a high-strung, female version of David Anderson crowded around Luciano Green, bombarding him with questions as the guy tried to decipher something on the control panel.

  “Could we at least hear what’s going on?” a woman in the crowd asked.

  “The audio was the first thing to go!” someone else snapped, clearly annoyed. “I’ve told you a thousand times!”

  The Division Chief stood firm, impassive amid the swirling nervous energy, watching two holographic monitors displaying glitchy, interference-filled images. As always, he was dressed in black with a striking red tie—elegant and immaculate, in stark contrast to the sweaty, dust-covered scientists around him. Anderson was beside him, struggling to project a calm he didn’t feel; his trembling voice betrayed the unease mirrored in his shaking arms and legs.

  The source of all the commotion had to be on the monitors.

  Both screens looped the same video, over and over again. Number One assumed it was the last transmission received: a dark, viscous liquid erupting toward the sky. A newly discovered oil deposit, perhaps? But what about that could unsettle a group of people who had surely encountered similar phenomena dozens of times before?

  No. As the video restarted, just before the interference obscured the image, he saw the strange liquid emerging from a small opening in an oval-shaped rock. Then it reared up like an enormous anaconda, smashing through the dome and tearing the plastic covering apart. But… what the hell was that? Tar, maybe? No. It wasn’t black—it was purple.

  Number Two glanced at him sideways, silently asking the same question. What the hell was that?

  Anderson was trying to explain it to the chief. “When the substance erupted from the Ita-Hu, the electromagnetic charge from the Kappa-nine-point-one must have intensified to the point where it’s now interfering with all transmissions. Who knows if it’s even measurable at this point!”

  “I’m going out to see what’s happening,” Luciano Green announced. “I’ll take a communicator.”

  “Are you insane?” a man in gray interjected. “That thing is still out there—we all saw it!”

  Okay. It was time to make their presence known.

  “Sir!” said Number One sharply, snapping to attention—arms behind his back, legs together, chin up. His deep voice echoed through the tent, and the anxious murmurs died instantly. “Satellite Force Team, reporting in!”

  Halstein turned toward them, calm and unperturbed; Number One’s announcement didn’t seem to surprise him as it had the others.

  “I want White and Viveka back at camp,” Halstein replied, acknowledging the greeting with an order. “You’ll guard the Ita-Hu clearing until the construction crew arrives with the equipment needed to permanently seal the area.”

  Permanently seal the area—that meant encasing the clearing in a concrete dome instead of a plastic one.

  Halstein dismissed them with a simple gesture, and, pivoting sharply, the Satellite Force Team exited the tent.

  The agents in morning coats, deep in the underbrush and holding their weapons aloft, following the path leading to the Ita-Hu.

  “Hey, did you guys see what I saw on the monitors?” Number Four asked.

  Number One had expected him to bring it up first.

  “You mean that weird purple thing that moved by itself?” Number Five replied.

  “No, I mean Anderson and that old lady making out. Of course, I mean the purple thing, idiot! What the hell was that?!”

  “We’ll find out soon enough,” Number Two said.

  “I just wish the Chief had been more specific about the mission,” Number Four muttered. “After all, it’s our asses on the line out here, not his.”

  In some ways, Number One shared Number Four’s sentiment. But he also knew that if they hadn’t been given more precise details, it was either because none existed or because they weren’t necessary.

  Number Two answered for him. “Risks come with the job,” he said.

  “I know,” Four replied. “But what about the potential biohazards we might face? In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not exactly wearing chemical protection suits.”

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Another fair point.

  “If the Division Chief didn’t mention biohazards, it’s because there aren’t any,” Number Two countered.

  Valid argument, but Number Four still didn’t look convinced.

  “Anderson didn’t say anything either,” Number Five added. “And he always speaks up when there’s something worth noting.”

  “Anderson speaks up when the Chief lets him,” Four shot back. “Hey, Three, you’re the medic—what’s your take on this?”

  “As far as radiation goes, I don’t think we’re in any real danger,” said Three. “We won’t be exposed to it for long anyway. And as for any kind of biological threat… don’t worry. If there had been one, I can assure you the camp would already be empty. Trust me.”

  Number One remained silent. He didn’t want to speak. Talking would only open the door to doubt. But as they approached the Kappa radiation zone, a tingling sensation ran through his body, like crossing under a high-voltage power line. He glanced back but saw nothing but trees and underbrush. Refusing to let anything delay their arrival at the Ita-Hu, he pressed forward, quickening his pace along the forest path.

  However, Number Three felt it too and paused momentarily to glance around.

  “Did you feel that?” Number Two asked.

  “Yeah,” Three replied, intrigued. “It was like walking under an electrical generator.”

  “Uh-huh,” Five nodded. “I overheard Anderson say the electromagnetic charge from the radiation had spiked. Maybe that’s it. Also, as far as I knew, a Cyclops unit was supposed to guard the dome’s entrance. Did anyone see it back at camp? Because I didn’t. Maybe it’s…”—he mimed an electrical zap.

  “See? That’s what I was talking about!” Four said. “Who says it’s safe to be here? Number One, what do you think?”

  Finally, One gave his first—and last—comment on the matter. “Move.”

  They wouldn’t solve anything by standing there staring at a bunch of plants.

  A minute later, upon reaching their destination, Number One tapped the communicator built into the frame of his glasses and heard nothing but static, confirming for himself that radio transmissions were still being jammed. Then his eyes locked onto the phenomenon, and it was only then that the gravity of the situation hit with chilling clarity.

  Seeing the purple tornado with his own eyes was a vastly different experience from watching it on a monitor.

  

  “Alright, Number One, what makes you think you can handle this? It doesn’t matter if your rifles are S747s—bullets won’t take that thing down.”

  At Vicky’s question, Number One pressed his lips into a thin line. His men had already asked him the same thing, and if he hadn’t answered them, why should he make an exception for this bold girl? Besides, he wasn’t interested in the mysteries surrounding this geological phenomenon—whether it was a scientific miracle or some sort of magic. That was a concern for people like Anderson or Green.

  The Division Chief had given them an order: guard the perimeter. That meant standing their ground against anything trying to come out of there, whatever it might be. And orders were orders.

  “The Satellite Force Team will handle this from here on out, Miss Viveka,” said Number One, baring his teeth. He wasn’t in the habit of repeating himself.

  Adam grabbed his partner’s arm. “You heard them. Let’s get out of here,” he said in a low voice, patting the vial with the sample she had tucked in her pocket. “Our job is done. You’ve earned your citizenship.” He glanced at the slimy column spinning on its axis. “…And honestly, I’d rather not get killed by that living sap.”

  Vicky nodded. Yeah, Adam was right. It was better to leave that place as soon as possible…

  But the ground began to tremble; they could feel it underfoot.

  A roar startled the birds again, and the few that could still fly—the smaller ones—took off. Adam had once heard a similar roar at a nature reserve—it had come from the maw of a bear.

  “Up there!” one of the agents shouted.

  The smoke from the tornado, which whistled like the chimney of a steam locomotive, thickened into a blend of dust, microscopic mineral particles, and ghostly wisps that danced in the air, forming a galactic tapestry that looked like it had been pulled straight out of outer space.

  The Ita-Hu was putting on yet another spectacle in that untamed landscape, and everyone watched with the same fascination as if they were at a magic show.

  That rock had proven to be a strange Pandora’s box, constantly mesmerizing its spectators, who teetered between staying to witness its surprises or running away before discovering that staying might cost them their lives.

  The swirling dust and glimmering purple sparks, expelled by the supernatural geyser, coalesced into the enormous silhouette of a person. Where the head would be, sockets formed into a pair of eyes, and a slash shaped into a mouth. The dust sculpted a nose. Tendrils of gas snaked across the spectral face like creases in ancient parchment, stretching beneath the eyes, down the cheeks, and marking the corners of the lips, adding wrinkles to the ghostly visage. Dust tendrils transformed into dancing strands of hair, while others emerged from the chin, extending downward into a long beard. The purple grains enveloped the rest of the figure, layer by layer, clothing it in a robe of shadows.

  Silhouetted against the blue sky and bathed in sunlight, a dark, monk-like elder had been sketched into existence.

  The liquid whirlwind from which it had emerged collapsed, splattering at the base of the Ita-Hu with a sickening splat! The substance was so dense that, as it fell from the heights to form a violet puddle once again, it barely splashed on impact.

  And up there, now free of his rocky prison, the specter opened his mouth as if yawning, radiating from deep within his throat a fiery glow straight from the underworld. Announcing his awakening, he extended his arms, tearing through the air with long, pointed claws, then tilted his face down to the humans below, who stared back, open-mouthed.

  If the eyes truly were the windows to the soul, then the soul of this strange being was as dense as the substance he had emerged from and burned hotter than magma within the Earth. His eyes were two smoldering embers.

  “Al Shaula thanks thee for breaking the seal,” he said. No sound came from his lips; instead, a series of creaking noises, like logs cracking in a fire, formed words directly in the minds of those present.

  Adam flinched; it was like hearing the devil himself speaking directly into his brain, bypassing his ears. “We’ve freed the Genie from its stone lamp,” he thought out loud.

  “I don’t think this Genie is granting any wishes,” Vicky said, preparing to attack or defend against whatever might come next—because whatever was coming, it was coming.

  What she didn’t expect, however, was that the next, incredibly foolish move would come from the Satellite Force Team.

  The five agents stepped into the clearing and activated their S747 rifles, opening the door to a potential confrontation.

  “You arrogant fools!” Vicky shouted. “Do you really think you can take on a living specter? You’ve got zero chance against something without a solid form!”

  The agents ignored her. Their courage—and sheer madness—was almost commendable. Not just anyone would try to intimidate an ethereal, terrifying being while keeping a straight face as if this were a routine operation.

  And it was obvious that what Vicky saw as sheer irrationality, the ghostly elder found amusing. Beneath his dusty beard, the entity broke into a smile.

  Standing under the sun with his weapon at the ready, Number Two stepped closer to his leader.

  “Number One…” he murmured, swallowing hard, waiting for orders.

  Number Four also chimed in, speaking in a whisper, as if afraid the being might hear him. “We can’t fight a damn ghost,” he said, voicing what Number Two had been too hesitant to say. “The Chief ordered us to guard the clearing, not to go up against this… thing.”

  The specter stroked his long, dusty beard with his sharp, elongated fingers made of gas and shards of crystal. “I see thou wishest to test thy mettle against Al Shaula,” he said.

  He had repeated his name: Al Shaula—a name that surely carried some meaning. Adam wondered if it had done so deliberately, trying to provoke a particular reaction from them, much like he used his name and position at Homam Enterprises to secure special favors.

  Al Shaula. Maybe just repeating it, just speaking, was enough for the old being to get what it wanted and…

  Wait a second! What was he even thinking? Had he and Vicky seriously just made that ridiculous comment about genies and wishes? What state of mind were they in to daydream in such an extreme situation?

  And not just the two of them—judging by their faces, the agents were taking the situation just as seriously. They were facing a living specter made of crystalline dust; they shouldn’t be listening to what he had to say—they should’ve been frozen in fear. Al Shaula’s spectacle shouldn’t have been more powerful than the fear he inspired. Was the creature casting the same kind of spell a siren uses to lull her prey before the kill?

  Number One was the first to snap out of the magnetic trance. Slowly, he raised his rifle, aligning his eye with the sight. Halstein’s orders didn’t include going toe-to-toe with a ghost. Numbers Two and Four had every reason to be afraid. But he couldn’t just turn tail and leave without showing that the Satellite Force Team wasn’t easily intimidated. He waited for the rest of his men to follow his lead, and they did.

  All five aimed their weapons at Al Shaula.

  Big muscles, small brains, Vicky thought. She knew these guys were making a colossal mistake—probably an unjustifiable one—but she didn’t stop them. She was curious to see what would happen. As Adam had said, they’d released the genie; now they were stuck dealing with the consequences.