They made their way down toward the security core, where the building's CCTC (Central Command and Tactical Control) Room was located.
Inside, the smell of burnt electronics and scorched plastic clung to the air like a ghost. But surprisingly, the hard drives and the data cores were still intact.
Which meant someone left them on purpose.
The tech sergeant moved quickly, booting up the main console. Cameras flickered to life, some feeds still operational despite the damage.
"Rewinding now, sir."
The room fell silent. They watched. And what they saw turned their blood cold.
A dropship descending like a meteor. Gatling Lazer fire lighting up the courtyard.
A figure in a skirt and demon mask carving through guards like a dancer at a massacre.
A two meter tall armored from head to toe man moving with military precision, gunning down hostiles with terrifying efficiency.
Twelve black equally armored and armed soldiers, male and female, moving in perfect formation, completely unfazed by return fire.
And then… the prisoners being extracted. The camera caught the face of the man leading them.
Frame freeze. Enhance. Dracula Von Death. Confirmed. Alive. Upgraded. And back.
The room stayed frozen in silence for a full ten seconds.
Then the commander growled.
"Back up everything. Every second. Every camera. Every audio feed."
"Yes, sir."
The tech sergeant worked furiously, dumping all files to a portable drive.
"And once it's done..."
The commander said as he turned to the racks of storage servers,
"…wipe it. Burn it. Smash it. Leave nothing."
"Sir?"
He looked at the frozen screen, where Dracula stared back, helmet in hand, face cold and calm and very much alive.
"Because if this ever gets out…"
He muttered, voice dark,
"…the whole world's gonna realize how truly f*cked it is."
And with that, the operatives went to work.
...
MC POV
The dropship thrummed beneath us, a deep mechanical purr that vibrated up through the boots and into the bones.
Across from me sat my five glorious disasters of batlebrothers Julian, Paul, Robert, Darius, and Airid still in their orange jumpsuits, bruised, scraped, and thoroughly confused.
Their eyes kept darting around the dropship's sleek interior, which looked nothing like any aircraft they'd ever seen.
Minimalist control panels. Automated systems. A full blown tactical interface humming on the far wall.
Invicta, of course, sat casually beside me, legs crossed, her demon mask hanging lazily at her hip, looking like this was just another Tuesday errand.
The clones sat motionless in their crash seats, weapons locked to their chests, helmets tilted forward in disciplined stillness, death incarnate, waiting for orders.
Finally, Airid snapped. He sat forward, eyes wide and voice laced with every bit of emotional whiplash he'd been bottling up.
"Okay. Nope. F*ck this. Mind telling us what the ACTUAL f*ck is going on here?"
Before I could answer, the dropship jolted slightly, our descent finishing. The ramp hissed and began to lower, steam curling up from the hydraulic ports.
A smile pulled at the edge of my mouth. I stood, helmet in one hand, rifle slung across my back, looked back at them over my shoulder.
"Follow me."
They did. With hesitation, caution, and all the skeptical muttering of seasoned old and grumpy bastards who had been through too much and trusted too little.
But the moment we stepped out onto the lowering ramp. They froze. Literally. Five men. Hardened by s thing called living In the 21 st century.
Just stood there, mouths slowly unhinging, eyes bulging like cartoon characters seeing something they had no right to witness.
The hangar was massive. Not military big. Not aircraft carrier big. We were talking nation scale infrastructure floating inside a mountain.
Dropships lined in rows, dozens deep. Deadly spacefighters hissed steam as they were rearmed.
Bombers with wingspans the size of commercial jets stood silently under massive scaffolds while ground crews bustled around them, tightening, welding, calibrating.
Interceptors were being fueled, drones zipped overhead carrying munitions with humming magnetic clamps.
And amid it all clone soldiers marched in perfect formation. Rows upon rows. Each one identical in armor, precision in movement, boots clanking on metal grates with the rhythm of a war machine.
Ground control AI voices crackled over intercoms. Robotic arms were fitting warheads onto ship pylons. The whole place felt alive.
A breathing, marching, flying engine of war. And it all belonged to us. I turned back just in time to see Robert's mouth move, but no sound came out.
Julian blinked, tried to speak, failed, blinked again. Paul pointed at a fighter slowly rising into the upper levels of the hangar.
"That's a space capable model… what the f*ck... that's a g*dsdamn orbital interceptor..."
Darius clutched his head.
"Am I dead? Is this Valhalla?"
Airid was just vibrating.
"I need to sit down. I'm about to have an dopamine induced heart attack."
I clapped a hand on his shoulder.
"Welcome to my mancave, boys."
Invicta sauntered past us, her hips swaying, her voice as smug as a g*ddess who'd won a bet against fate.
"And this... is just one of the hangars for onboard space craft"
The five of them stood there, overwhelmed. And for once they shut the f*ck up. We moved through the corridor, a column of boots and awe, and for once, the five loudest bastards I knew were reduced to gaping children in a war museum that came alive.
The corridor was immaculate cleaner than a government lie, walls laced with glowing conduits, floor panels humming faintly underfoot.
Technicians and engineers bustled past in uniforms so crisp you could slice open egos with them. Maintenance drones zipped overhead, vent systems whispered, and everything moved like clockwork tuned by a mad genius.
And the soldiers… Every few meters, another unit of clone troopers passed us by male and female, all dressed in that every mans romance pitch black full body combat armor, helmets clipped to their sides or sealed on. And the women?
Absolute tens. Tall, athletic, built like tactical goddesses with faces that looked like someone ran tactical beauty through a genetic enhancement algorithm.
One walked by, short silver crop top under half zipped armor, sidearm swinging at her hip. Julian nearly walked into a wall.
Paul's mouth moved without sound. Robert hissed through his teeth. Darius let out a low, reverent, "Hnnnnngh."
Airid mumbled something about d*vine femininity and thigh highs. I was trying not to laugh when Invicta elbowed me in the ribs.
Gently. Which meant I nearly folded like an accordion.
"Were they always like this,"
She asked sweetly.
"or is this your influence?"
I coughed and rubbed my ribs.
"The f*ck I know. They were like this from the start Its more correct to say I was the one led astray by them."
She just smirked as we reached the next blast door. It hissed open with a hydraulic sigh, revealing the lab I had last seen from inside a tank full of goo and regret.
My battlebrothers halted just inside the doorway, the old dogs had a keen sense to danger after all.
"Hey... Vamp."
Airid pointed toward the rows of massive tanks, their blue green liquid softly glowing.
"What the hell are those for?"
I turned around, grin wide and predatory.
"You'll find out... in a year."
Five heads tilted in unison.
"A year?"
Robert asked.
"Invi, if you please."
She raised a brow, clearly amused.
"Invi? We're doing nicknames now?"
She said with a smirk while simultaneously flicking her hand. Without a word, robotic arms began to drop from the ceiling like lazy predators coming down from a tree.
One by one, each of my battlebrothers was seized with precise, mechanical grace.
"Hey... HEY!"
Julian yelled as his jumpsuit got unzipped by cold servos.
"What the... IS THAT A NEEDLE?"
Paul roared, thrashing.
"I DIDN'T CONSENT TO SCIENCE!"
Robert bellowed.
"I'm too pretty for this sh*t!"
Darius cried.
"KAMI SAMA PLEASE, I'VE BEEN GOOD LATELY!"
Airid shouted before he took a dart to the neck. While they were panicking, Invicta casually leaned into me, her voice smug, seductive, and way too close.
"You know, you really do have a type. Violent, unhinged, loyal to a fault, and easy to medically violate."
"You say that like it's a problem,"
I muttered as one of the robotic arms tried to give Robert a shot while dodging his spitting.
"Well, they're entertaining. And useful. Like puppies that know how to handle automatic weapons."
She snapped her fingers. The tanks hissed open, releasing cold vapor into the lab like a sci-fi baptism. Robotic arms surged from the ceiling, cords coiling with serpentine grace.
Within seconds, my five belligerent, bulky an fatt bastards were stripped, knocked out, and hoisted into their respective tanks like very loud, very muscular, and very fat burritos.
Clamp. Plug. Inject. Suspend. Seal.
They now floated in green blue nutrient fluid, frowning even while unconscious like they were arguing in their dreams.
A bunch of tubes and needles were inserted into every viable part of their bodies, arms, legs, necks, and more intimate places I pretended not to notice.