A bright, oppressive sun hung in the sky, illuminating the dense jungle landscape. The rising heat radiating off the asphalt made the road ahead appear to waver and warp.
Dominik and his group had the Hilux's air conditioning blasting on maximum, so the stifling humidity remained outside the glass; inside, it was a cool sanctuary.
Laura had claimed she was too stressed to eat, but her actions proved otherwise. She was huddled in the back with Ashley and Jean, playing offline puzzle games on a scavenged smartphone and steadily working her way through the rations Dominik had handed her.
Simon had pulled his skull mask down to his neck, revealing his hardened features. He remained silent, his eyes scanning the tree line as he drove. Dominik, sitting in the passenger seat, was intently listening to Quaid's analysis.
Quaid, with a slight frown, put away his ruggedized tablet and pinched his chin. "There were always rumors that there was something highly volatile inside the Shan bunker. After the initial LiDAR discovery, the sector was strictly cordoned off by shadow PMCs. Shortly after, this unprecedented epidemic occurred. Dominik, my boy, I do not believe this is a coincidence."
"Humm..." Dominik fell silent. He was a student of anthropology, not geopolitics, but even he could read between the lines. The Golden Triangle was a lawless zone controlled by drug cartels like The Syndicate and rebel militias, a constant thorn in the side of the neighboring governments.
Dominik lowered his voice. "Professor, what if—and I mean if—this virus was found inside that ruin, and a government or corporate entity weaponized it? What if they intentionally leaked it to wipe out the Golden Triangle cartels without risking a conventional war?"
"This!" Quaid's eyes widened behind his glasses. His academic mind recoiled at the sheer brutality of the thought. But after a moment of grim contemplation, he said, "I am just an archaeologist. I don't know much about virology. However, the timeline aligns perfectly. The virus almost certainly originated from that bunker. But only by accessing the site's primary logs can we know the truth."
"Knowing the truth won't change the fact that we're stuck in the middle of it," Dominik pointed out.
"Why would you immediately suspect a government conspiracy, though?" Quaid asked, still struggling with the concept.
"Because it's efficient," Dominik said grimly, looking out the window at the ruined villages. "The Syndicate controlled this region. The national army couldn't root them out without massive casualties. But a bio-weapon? It wipes the slate clean. They eliminate the cartels, the rebels, and the local population, leaving the rare-earth minerals and whatever is in that bunker free for the taking once the infected decay."
Just then, Simon, who had been listening silently, spoke up. His voice was gravelly. "The kid's logic is sound."
Simon didn't take his eyes off the road. "When I was operating , we picked up chatter about a 'clean sweep' protocol proposed by certain intelligence agencies to pacify this region. It was ultimately blocked by international oversight. A full-scale invasion would have sparked a regional war. But a virus? Plausible deniability. And notice how the infection is contained primarily to the lawless zones, while the fortified borders remain intact. It's suspicious."
"No... it can't be. Governments must consider the collateral damage, the civilians," Quaid stammered, his worldview shaking.
"Collateral damage is just a statistic on a briefing slide, Professor," Simon said coldly.
Dominik waved a hand to ease the tension. "It's just a theory. No one knows the real reason yet. And right now, our only priority is crossing the border."
For the next day, the Hilux drove almost unimpeded south along the Asian Highway, heading straight for the Thai border.
Even if they encountered the infected on the road, they were scattered and easily bypassed. The jungle terrain naturally funneled movement along the main arteries.
By the second day, they had left the deepest parts of the Shan State behind and were approaching the border crossing near Mae Sot.
As they neared the border zone, the highway was no longer empty. A trickle of civilian vehicles, packed with terrified refugees, had merged onto the road, all fleeing south. The traffic wasn't congested—a grim testament to how few had survived the initial outbreak—but it was steady.
A few miles before the border town, the highway came to a dead halt.
Dominik leaned forward. In the distance, a massive Royal Thai Army checkpoint blocked the highway entirely. It was heavily fortified with concrete barriers, razor wire, and mounted heavy machine guns.
It was clear that this blockade had been prepared rapidly but efficiently. The neighboring government had responded with terrifying speed to seal the border.
Dominik wasn't concerned about grand political conspiracies right now; he only cared about getting past those guns and officially registering his Mercenary PMC through the System to unlock the Shop.
Dominik looked down at the suppressed Type-56 resting against the center console, then at Simon's SCAR-L and the 40mm launcher. "How exactly do we explain this arsenal to the border guards?"
Between their Hilux and the checkpoint, there were three other survivor vehicles slowly inching forward for inspection.
"Just say they're for personal defense," Simon said calmly, casually resting a hand on the steering wheel.
"Right," Dominik scoffed. He picked up the SCAR-L, tapped the underbarrel grenade launcher, and frowned. "A 40mm launcher for home defense? Not to mention the duffel bag in the back with over $300,000 in Syndicate drug cash. They'll execute us as cartel runners before we can blink."
Simon fell silent. Brute force was his specialty, not border diplomacy.
However, Quaid leaned forward from the back seat. "Dominik, you will say you are our armed escort."
"Oh?" Dominik turned to look at the professor. "Do academic escorts usually carry military-grade explosives?"
"I don't know the exact legal parameters for private military contractors in this region," Quaid admitted, adjusting his glasses confidently from the back seat. "But I can officially declare that Oxford University contracted your firm to protect my students and me during our expedition into a hostile region. I am a senior faculty member; my word carries weight. A high-value academic expedition easily justifies the heavy weapons and the large amount of operational cash."
Dominik, keeping his eyes on the road and his hands steady on the steering wheel, considered this. During their harrowing escape, the group had bonded. He knew the professor wouldn't sell them out, and the story had a ring of plausible, bureaucratic truth to it.
"It's a solid cover for me and the Type-56," Dominik nodded, easing off the accelerator as the checkpoint drew closer.
"But it won't work for me," Simon interrupted from the passenger seat, his voice cutting through the humid air in the cab.
Simon was staring intently through the windshield at the distant floodlights and the heavy machine gun nests of the Royal Thai Army checkpoint. "Pull over. Put it on the dirt shoulder, out of their direct line of sight."
Dominik did as instructed, steering the Hilux off the asphalt and idling the engine in the shadows of the dense tree line.
"Professor, your academic credentials might excuse a local guide with a rusty rifle," Simon said, unbuckling his seatbelt. "But they won't excuse a foreign operator carrying a heavily modified SCAR, a 40mm grenade launcher, and military comms. If they see me, they won't ask for a university permit; they'll detain us all as foreign mercenaries or cartel leaders."
Dominik frowned, his hands gripping the leather of the steering wheel. "So what's the play?"
Simon reached into the back to grab his tactical assault pack. He shoved his spare magazines, the White Phosphorus rounds, and a portion of the Syndicate cash into it.
"I'm going off-road," Simon stated flatly, pulling his skull balaclava back up over his face. "I'll slip across the border through the jungle. It's porous if you know how to move. I'll find a high vantage point overlooking the checkpoint and provide overwatch."
Simon opened the passenger door, the dense heat of the jungle immediately flooding the cool cab. He looked back at Dominik.
"You keep driving. Stick to the Professor's story. Keep your hands visible on the wheel, be polite, and let Quaid do the talking. If things go south and they try to execute you, drop to the floorboards. I'll provide covering fire from the tree line and punch a hole for you to escape. If you get through clean, I'll rendezvous with you five miles south on the other side."
"You're going to cross a militarized border alone, on foot, in broad daylight?" Quaid asked, his voice laced with disbelief.
Simon said, his eyes cold and calm beneath the mask. "They won't see a thing."
Dominik didn't hesitate. He knew Simon's capabilities. "Understood. We'll meet you at the rendezvous point. Stay safe."
"I will watch your six, Dom," Simon replied.
With that, Simon slipped out of the passenger side. He didn't run; he simply melted into the dense foliage bordering the highway, and within three seconds, the jungle swallowed him whole. He vanished without a sound.
Dominik took a deep breath, letting the tension settle in his chest. He reached down, ensuring the Type-56 was completely hidden beneath a tarp under his seat, leaving only the scavenged Glock visible on the dashboard to fit the "light security" narrative.
He looked in the rearview mirror at Quaid, Laura, Ashley, and Jean. They all looked terrified, but resolute.
"Alright, Professor. Have your university ID ready," Dominik said, shifting the Hilux back into drive. "Let's go talk to the men with the machine guns."
He pulled the truck back onto the asphalt, slowly creeping forward to join the small queue of vehicles waiting at the barricades. All the while, Dominik felt a strange sense of comfort, knowing that somewhere in the dense green canopy above, the deadliest sniper he knew had his finger on the trigger, watching over them.