The commander kept watch—calm, steady, and just fine with the silence.
Time moved quietly around him. Seconds stretched into minutes, minutes into slow, measured hours. Outside, the streets remained unchanged. Alpha and Bravo held their positions out front, disciplined and alert, though nothing stirred—not a single anomaly or sign of movement. Whether that was fortune or misfortune, none could say.
✦✦✦
"Sir?"
The voice came from behind, low but clear. Charlie had arrived. He paused near the doorway, catching sight of the commander seated cross-legged, his cheek resting lightly against his right hand. In front of him, Foxtrot's sniper rifle stood ready on its tripod. For a moment, Charlie wondered if the commander had dozed off—but the immediate response that followed proved otherwise.
"Is it the time already?" the commander asked without turning.
"Not quite, but close, sir. It's 04:55," Charlie confirmed after glancing at the watch strapped to his wrist.
The commander gave a faint exhale, almost amused. "Looks like my shift is closing. And I suppose if I suggested taking the rest of it, you'd deny me the favor?"
"I'd have to, sir," Charlie replied, half-smiling. "If I let you keep at it, Alpha and Delta would have my head."
"Fair enough." The commander finally rose, stretching with a quiet shift of his shoulders. "Do you want to take over with Foxtrot's rifle? If so, I'll hang on to yours for the time being. After all, an SMG isn't ideal for this kind of situation. In the future, I'll assign you a rifle as your secondary primary."
After waking up, Charlie noticed that the gun in Foxtrot's hands clearly wasn't his—and the one the commander had been using was clearly Foxtrot's sniper rifle. He hesitated only briefly, then gave a small nod. "If you're offering, sir. It'd make things simpler."
"Use it, then. Foxtrot won't mind." The commander pointed toward Charlie's SMG.
Charlie handed it over, and with that, the exchange was made.
"I'll return it to you in the morning. Good luck," the commander said as he turned to leave.
"Have a good rest, sir," Charlie replied.
The commander gave a wordless thumbs-up in return, disappearing down the stairs.
At the bottom, Alpha and Bravo were already waiting—posted at the foot of the steps, their gear ready but their posture relaxed.
"You two didn't have to wait on me," the commander noted as he passed, voice even. "Get some rest. Nothing needs discussing right now."
They gave him brief nods of acknowledgment—understanding without the need for extra words—then turned to head to their sleeping spots.
The commander made his way down toward the locked bedroom. After a quick wash in its private bathroom, he stepped into his rooms, hung his jacket, and stored the borrowed gear back into the [Inventory]. Finally, he lay down.
Hoping, at least, he'd get a calm sleep this time—though he had long since stopped relying on something like hope. And with that thought, he closed his eyes.
✦✦✦
Knock knock.
A quiet tapping broke the stillness.
"Sir?" came Alpha's voice from beyond the door.
"Yes. Thanks for waking me up, Alpha. You can rest now," the commander replied, his voice still heavy with sleep as he stared at the ceiling. The eerie crimson hue of the blood moon had vanished, replaced by the faintest pale tint of coming dawn.
After lying still for a few more moments, he finally pushed himself up and stepped out of the room. The house had settled into quiet again—most of the lights were off, save for a warm glow coming from the kitchen and the parlor.
He made his way to the kitchen, where Echo was busy preparing six cups of instant coffee. The faint aroma hung in the air, rich and familiar.
Echo looked up while stirring his own cup. "Do you want some coffee too, sir?"
The commander gave a small shake of his head. "No, thanks. I don't drink coffee," he said, opening one of the cabinets and pulling out a plastic cup instead.
As he filled it halfway with boiling water before tempering it with cold, he asked, "Where are Foxtrot and Charlie?"
Echo glanced at the commander's improvised drink—though he didn't comment—and answered, "Foxtrot on the balcony. Charlie's keeping watch out front with the other, sir."
"I assume you're planning to deliver coffee to the rest before heading to the balcony accompanying Foxtrot?" the commander said, not looking up from his cup.
Echo nodded.
"Then give me Foxtrot's," the commander said, reaching out his free hand. "I'll bring it to him myself. I've got to return his radio anyway."
Echo hesitated slightly, clearly unsure.
"It's fine," the commander added, catching the hesitation. "After all, I'll have him regroup with the others at the terrace."
With a reluctant nod, Echo handed over the cup. "Be careful—it's still hot, sir."
"Thanks for the reminder," the commander said, taking both cups—his own in one hand, Foxtrot's in the other. Echo followed a step behind, carefully balancing a tray with the rest of the drinks.
In the parlor, signs of rest had already been cleared. The mattresses and carpet had been rolled up and leaned neatly against the wall, making the space orderly again.
As Echo headed for the front, the commander climbed the stairs to the balcony. There, he found Foxtrot, scanning the horizon through his scope, posture sharp and alert.
"You don't have to stay that tense. The area's been cleared," the commander said quietly as he approached.
Foxtrot turned, just slightly startled. It wasn't just that the commander had brought the coffee instead of Echo—but he hadn't heard his approach at all.
Still, in a blink, Foxtrot recomposed himself and accepted the cup. "Thank you, sir."
"Careful—it's hot," the commander warned as Foxtrot placed the cup beside his rifle.
From his inventory, the commander retrieved Foxtrot's radio and handed it back. Foxtrot took it silently.
"My rifle is with Charlie right?" the commander asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Good. I'll head down, then. Don't stay up here too long—we've got breakfast first, then the summoning, followed by the briefing."
"Understood, sir," Foxtrot nodded.
Returning the nod, the commander turned and made his way downstairs. As he stepped onto the terrace, the others were already gathered, seated with their coffee in hand. The cool morning air was setting in.
Alpha looked up. "Good morning, sir."
The rest followed in greeting..
The commander gave a faint nod before sitting cross-legged beside Charlie, setting his cup down near his knee. Charlie, understanding the gesture without needing words, slipped the rifle strap from his shoulder and handed it over. At the same moment, the commander summoned Charlie's SMG from his inventory and passed it back to him.
After both took a moment to check over their weapons, the commander took a quiet sip of his drink, falling in step with the others. While drinking, he noticed Alpha shifting slightly—clearly wanting to speak.
"There wasn't any new discovery?" the commander asked.
"Yes, sir," Alpha nodded, followed by Delta with the same response.
"Do any of you have an opinion about which country's troops we should summon later?" the commander asked, his gaze sweeping over the group.
He let the question hang for a moment before continuing, "Like I mentioned before, the option B of the summoned troops will be randomized. But for option A, we have to make a deliberate choice. We only have three allocation slots—so the options are to choose all from the same country, or mix them."
Alpha was the first to respond. "We don't have any strong opinions on it, sir. Even if they aren't American, we'll manage." The others nodded in agreement with Alpha's words, quiet but supportive.
"Then I'll proceed with summoning soldiers from other nationalities, unless there's any objection," the commander said calmly. He took a sip of his drink before continuing. "The downside, of course, is the language barrier—it'll make communication more difficult between you and the new recruits. But on the other hand, it helps us mask our overall firepower and origin. It'll be harder for outsiders to pin us down as soldiers from any one nation."
Alpha, now piecing the logic together, glanced up. "Are we going to be posing as a PMC, sir?"
"Yes," the commander replied with a brief nod. "The cover story is that all of you—and the new arrivals—are people I've worked with in the past. I called in favors, and you answered. Whether we're mistaken for a private military company or a joint coalition doesn't matter. What does matter is that we don't appear to belong to any single government or faction. In the future, someone's bound to try linking the outbreak to us—whether out of fear, jealousy, or their own agenda. Especially if everyone in our unit shares the same background or appearance."
He saw the hint of concern in their expressions and added, "Yes, it's a stretch. But in this world, someone always finds a way to stir up trouble whatever the reason. This is just a precaution. And besides, it's an opportunity for all of you to get used to working with different languages and cultures before we begin operations in another country."
The squad exchanged brief glances, but no one voiced any objections. The logic held, and the reasoning felt sound.
With that, they fell quiet again, letting the moment settle. The conversation gave way to the soft rustle of wind and the faint clink of coffee cups. They sat in silence, sipping their drinks, watching the faint light of morning creep over the horizon—an orange glow that bled gently into the misty edge of dawn.
The calm before another day.