Chapter 304: Shadows On The Line

The room was dim,intentionally so. It wasn’t the cozy glow of a candlelit library or the soft ambiance of a lounge.

It was an oppressive darkness, where shadows loomed ominously against the walls, and light struggled to penetrate the gloom.

Everything about this space was designed to make a man feel insignificant.

A single lamp on the desk cast an amber pool over neatly stacked papers,one pile labeled “Reports,” the other “Excuses.”

The man who inhabited this room had already rehearsed which category tonight’s call would fall into.

Dread coiled in his stomach like a serpent.

Though expansive, the office lacked any warmth one might associate with wealth.

The furniture was purely functional,built for durability rather than charm even the chair squeaked as he shifted his weight, adding to the unsettling atmosphere.

The air carried a faint scent of dust and cold metal, while silence weighed heavily around him, making each sound he made feel like an act of betrayal.

He wiped his palm on his trouser leg, checked his notes once more, and glanced at the encrypted phone resting on the desk,a matte black device devoid of markings.

This was not a phone for brand loyalty; it was for men whose very loyalty could be questioned daily.

Two weeks’ worth of disasters were condensed into a dossier that felt like poison on his tongue. Two weeks of failure disguised in phrases he hoped wouldn’t echo defeat.

’They won’t like this,’he thought grimly. ’No one will.’

Taking a deep breath, he exhaled slowly and reached forward to tap the phone.

The line didn’t ring,it never did. There were no satellites or towers involved; it simply existed in that moment.

One second it lay silent; the next, there was an open line accompanied by an even heavier silence,the kind that signaled someone powerful was listening.

“Report,” came the voice on the other end, calm yet curt, capable of swallowing you whole if you weren’t careful because it offered nothing solid to grasp onto.

Straightening up immediately, he replied, “Yes, sir. As of this morning… we’ve lost two-thirds of our laboratories across Noctis Continent.”

Those words tasted bitter in his mouth.

He pressed onward quickly,like ripping off bandages from wounds long overdue for care.

“Twenty-one sites gone: fourteen in the south, six central, one northern,all completely destroyed. Whoever is behind this isn’t leaving rubble; they’re leaving craters,smooth and surgical cuts into our operations.”

Silence enveloped him again as he fought against its suffocating grip.

Finally the voice came,”And you still don’t know who is behind it?”

“No, sir. Our intelligence teams are meticulously cross-referencing every lead. These strikes? They’re too precise to be mere coincidence. We’re not dealing with mercenaries or politicians here; this is something far more coordinated. Whoever orchestrated this has resources that rival our own,perhaps even surpasses us.”

He paused for a moment, the weight of his words hanging in the air before he continued,

“The weapons being used… none of our analysts can identify their signatures. We’ve detected plasma burns and rail-like magnetic traces, and in some cases, we’re seeing warhead signatures that are completely alien to us. Entire facilities have been vaporized without leaving any secondary contamination.”

His knuckles turned white as they gripped the desk tightly. “Local media in the northern corridor has picked up drone footage of these events.

It’s beginning to spread,slowly for now, but enough that whispers are reaching ears that shouldn’t hear them.

They’re dubbing it ’the God’s Hammer strikes.’ People are starting to believe divine judgment has descended upon Panterra.”

A heavy silence followed,a silence longer than before,as he shifted uneasily in his chair, beads of sweat forming at his collar.

Finally, a voice broke through the stillness: “Not good.”

He lowered his head slightly. “No, sir.”

“Do you still hold the virus?” the voice asked, its calm tone sharper than any anger could convey.

Sitting up straighter, he seized on this question as an opportunity to provide a confident response.

“Yes, sir. The virus remains secure in cryo-storage across six different sites. We also have contingencies in place,vials, aerosolized capsules, and dispersal drones ready for deployment at any moment.”

“And do the other divisions possess it as well?”

“Yes,” he confirmed quickly. “Parallel divisions maintain their copies,nineteen separate caches worldwide,all untouched and uncompromised.”

The voice weighed this information carefully before asking, “And what is your recommendation?”

He hesitated; he’d pondered over this moment all week long. Finally gathering his courage, he said cautiously,

“Sir… given the scale of these strikes, perhaps we should consider releasing a contained wave,a limited deployment,to remind the world that we still have teeth left to bite back with. Fear is leverage and right now, fear is slipping away from us.”

The ensuing silence felt heavier than any shout could ever be.

When the reply came through coldly clear: “No. You will wait until next month for release.”

He swallowed hard and bowed his head lower in submission. “Understood.”

But against his better judgment, he pressed on: “Sir… if I may… waiting risks exposure! Every day that passes allows our enemy to carve another wound into us! By next month….”

“You dare question me?”

The man froze, his breath caught in his chest. “N..no…no, sir. Please forgive me. I only….”

“Enough.”

Just like that, the conversation was over.

“Do you know,” the voice probed, “who stands behind General Dravik? Who pulls the strings in Varenya?”

With clenched fists hidden beneath the desk, nails digging into his palms, he fought to keep his voice steady.

“We still lack a definitive answer. Dravik is nothing more than a puppet; that’s obvious. He doesn’t possess the intelligence or resources to transform Varenya into what it has become today. Someone is funding him, a shadowy force guiding his every move.”

“Explain.”

He took a deep breath and laid out his carefully crafted theory. “First: timing. The rise of Varenya coincides perfectly with our lab losses.

Second: logistics,the same ports that used to transport our supplies are now reporting unexplained reroutes, shipments diverted and permissions denied. It feels like someone is choking our supply lines while Varenya thrives.

“Third: tactical signature,the attacks on our labs are executed with military-grade precision,too disciplined for mere terrorists and too quiet for any government involvement we’ve seen before.

It mirrors what we’ve observed from Varenya’s covert operatives over the past year: identical weapons and an eerie refusal to leave survivors behind.

“In short, sir… whoever controls Varenya is also orchestrating our downfall.”

Silence enveloped them once more, heavy and suffocating.

He worried he had revealed too much,his speculation hanging in the air like a fragile thread.

Then came the voice again, low and contemplative: “Perhaps.”

It wasn’t an agreement or dismissal,it was worse; it was contemplation.

Finally breaking the tension, the voice said, “Your failures are piling up like debris after a storm; your explanations are flimsy at best. But your continued existence shows you’re still valuable..for now.”

His heart raced with relief and dread intertwined.

“Continue monitoring closely,” it commanded. “Tighten internal security measures, delay the virus release until next month, and uncover who’s behind Varenya’s rise,I don’t care what it takes; I want a name.”

“Yes, sir.” His voice trembled but steadied as he added, “We will find them.”

“One more thing,” came the chilling reminder.

He braced himself for impact.

“If you fail again… don’t bother reporting back.”

And just like that, silence fell,the line went dead.

—

The man slumped in his chair, a heavy sigh escaping him as he finally released the breath he’d unknowingly held.

His hands trembled like leaves caught in a storm, and he pressed them flat against the desk, willing them to calm.

In VULTURE, failure didn’t just sting,it was fatal. Survival? That was merely a fleeting illusion.

His gaze drifted to the wall before him,a sprawling map of Noctis dotted with crimson circles marking where their labs had once thrived.

To an outsider, it might resemble a contagion spreading across the land. But to him? It felt like a wound bleeding out hope.

With a shaky hand, he reached for a glass of water. As he lifted it to his lips, his reflection stared back,hollow-eyed and gaunt, like a ghost trapped in this grim reality.

“Are we truly being hunted?” The thought echoed ominously in his mind. “And how many excuses do I have left?”.

He set the glass down with deliberate care and closed his eyes, surrendering to the silence that enveloped him.

Outside, the city buzzed with life; inside, he felt like an echo of himself,just another specter rehearsing words that might never escape his lips if the next report went awry.

The map glowed softly in the dim light, those red marks burning into the darkness like wounds that refused to heal.

And at the center of it all loomed one name,a whisper that haunted him like an unshakeable curse:Varenya.

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