Somewhere along the road to Kediri City...
A black, heavily armored vehicle thundered down the asphalt under the cloak of the dark night, its matte blending seamlessly with the surrounding like a phantom blur.
Trees whipped past its sides like silent sentinels. Inside, the Hum of the engine and the faint clink of gear were the only sounds present.
Ten operatives sat shoulder to shoulder in rigid silence.
Five of them were draped in plague doctor suits—hooded and masked, with beaked visors like some grim parodies of medieval surgeons. These were the personnel of MTF Gamma-8, codename: 'Tappa'—observers, analyzers, and recorders of disasters.
Across from them, decked in full tactical heavy military gear, sat the warriors of MTF Theta-0, codename: 'Banaspati'—brawlers in flame emblazoned armor. Each of their uniforms bore tokens of red fire. Amongst the other, one man distinctively stood out from the rest, he alone bore a token of blue fire.
Damar Hadi, codename: Torch, sat with arms crossed and one boot tapping slowly against the floor. The blue token on his chest swayed gently with each bump in the road.
He turned his head toward one of the plague masked figures across from him, then his voice came low and measured from under his mask.
"Any guess what kind of chemically active anomaly could raise this much hell?"
The plague doctor tilted his head like an intelligent crow cooking up a plan.
Raihan Rahman, codename: Crick, leader of Tappa, gave a half hearted shrug. "Frankly? I have no damn clue. I mean, It could be anything really."
He brought up a gloved hand beneath his mask, fingers stroking in the leather beak in a mock thinking pose.
"Having said that, I could name a few suspects." He paused dramatically. "Maybe something like SCP-0-850? The one where taking a bath turns you into a melting soap."
He snapped his fingers. "Or worse, it could be something like SCP-0-0444. You know, 'Devil Palm Oil.' turns your skin red hot, vaporizes your water content, and makes your eyes boil like eggs."
His fingers clenched and trembles ever so slightly unintentionally. "If I'd known those cursed trees could produce something like that, I'd have drown the whole grove in corrosive acid."
Torch noticed it, the sharp shift in tone, the tension in Crick's knuckles, and the weight of the horrible past memory.
Torch having seen him did these behavior involuntarily a couple times in the past didn't flinch.
"You can't change what already happened, Crick. You can't bring back civilians nor can you ressurect your dead teammates. The best thing we can do is honor their death by moving forward." Torch responded, his voice still retain the unshakable calm.
Crick let out a long controlled exhaled, the tightness in his body gradually eased. "Yeah, yeah... You're right. No use drowning in it now."
Then he turned to one of his teammates, "Patch, got any tea on ya?" Crick asked casually.
From further down the row, a plague doctor sat incredibly still with a plate and teacup in hand without spilling a drop of tea.
Agent Yanto, codename: Patch, raised a metal flask like a priest offering communion.
"If I ever showed up without tea, consider that man an imposter." Yanto answered jokingly to ease the tension.
Shortly after he handed some kind of flask filled with a warm tea and casually handed it to Crick.
Crick accepted the flaska and popped open the cap, he brought it closer to his mouth—tipping it just enough to lift his mask slightly.
*Slurp.*
He sighed contently. "Ah... still hot, that's proper nice. You're such a godsend."
Then suddenly—a woman's voice cut through the conversation. The voice sounded crisp, precise, and professional.
"Snack time's over, arrival in Kediri city will approximately be less than ten minutes. Cease chatter and finalize gear checks."
Tiva Sari, codename: Pale Ember. Youngest in the group. Her eyes were fixed on the rifle in her lap, she methodically checking the chamber with movements so practiced it felt like a normal everyday chore.
Though she's technically the 'support' within Banaspati, everyone who recognize her knew very well she wasn't to be underestimated. The codename wasn't just a fancy nickname, there's a reason why she got 'Pale Ember' as her codename.
The casual camaraderie atmosphere vanished in an instant. Without needing to be told twice, each operative began checking their load outs. Magazines clicked into place, sights were adjusted, and armor straps tightened.
Now, silent readiness is the only thing exist within the vehicle.
Ten minutes blurred past like fading wisp of smoke.
The armored vehicle came to a grinding halt, tires kicking up dust. The back doors swung open with hydraulic hiss, revealing the elite squads ready to descent.
One by one, operatives filles out with precision. Crick was the last one to disembark, his gaze glancing briefly at the dark horizon.
Then he gave a knock—two taps on the vehicle's hull.
The driver acknowledged the signal, without hesitation shifting gears and driving off to find cover somewhere nearby.
Crick pulled a shortwave radio from his belt. A small recording screen blinked to life.
"Agent Crick, lead of Gamma-8 'Tappa,' reporting. We've reached the anomaly epicenter outskirt, joint operation with Theta-0 'Banaspati' is officially underway."
The radio buzz then a response came in.
["Report successfully received, Agent Crick. Good luck on your mission, we'll be on standby for any updates."]
"Copy that."
He returned the radio to his hip and tapped the square AEMS unit on his chest.
"Input command: Scan and search for chemically active anomaly signature."
[AEMS Response: Command received. Result: Possible chemically active anomaly signature 1 kilometers east.]
Beside him, Torch activated his own system.
[AEMS Response: Parathreat-class canid signature detected. Estimated count within 3 kilometers radius: 40.]
Torch's jaw tightened. "...Forty."
Crick turned toward the east, eyes narrowing behind the beak.
"Well... guess there goes my night plan, seems like this tea's gonna get cold fast."
And with that, the operation began tactfully and swiftly.
The streets of Kediri City were dead.
A city meant for hundreds of thousands now whispered only echoes. No cars, no chatter, no children. Only the rustle of wind and distant hum of broken power lines.
The scent of ozone, blood, and dust lingered in the humid air. Streetlights flickered, half dead, casting twitching shadows along the cracked pavement. Overturned vendor carts lay forgotten along the sidewalks their wares are nowhere to be seen.
Through this corpse of a city moved two units— MTF Theta-0 "Banaspati" and MTF Gamma-8 "Tappa" advancing in a wedge formation, cutting a silent path through the hollow streets like blades through fog.
Banaspati took some of the critical and vital point. Five soldiers moves with crisp and lethal precision in full military armor, their M14 rifles glinted under the moonlight—ready to strike.
Behind them followed Tappa team, a quieter and subtler presence. Five agents in plague doctor suits, gliding like composed crows beneath the watchful wings of predators. But make no mistake, these crows carried hidden blades under their sleeves, sharper and more dangerous than mere bullets.
Agent Rangga Lara, codename: "Flare," led Banaspati's front with measured confidence, fingers resting against the trigger guard of his rifle. Just behind him, Pale Ember waked silently, eyes flicking through shadows, her mind calculating distance, light source, and kill zones with quiet intensity.
To her left, agent Galang—codename: "Salamander," scanned their flank. Quiet as ever, his silence a comfort to those who knew him.
On the rear right, agent Hazael Jumangun—codename: "Spectre," walked with a calm that could pass for indifference , the dismantled sniper rifle across his back tapping lightly against his armor with every step he takes.
Torch, their commander, was at the heart of the formation. Firm stance, unreadable eyes. He watches everything, ready to give out command at any moment. Beside him walked Crick, leader of Gamma-8, seemingly still gazing at something on the horizon.
"There's a power outage," Pale Ember said calmly beside him as she gaze from time to time at her gadget.
She continue, her voice maintain the cold and straightforward tone. "Multiple sectors are down, but fortunately not all of then. As we speak there's no civilian contact, and no irregular movement."
Torch didn't answer immediately. He gave a brief nod, his stern expression remain unchanged—then he raised two fingers to his lips, theb pointed to his eyes. Silence. Watch.
Pale Ember nodded once in return, tucking her gadget away and shifted to her rifle.
As they advanced further into the dead city, the silence thickened. It clung to them like a dense veil, making each step heavier.
They'd traveled roughly 600 meters in around 10 minutes, steadily nearing toward the epicenter of the energy spike. The readings from each operative's AEMS flickered more frequently now, anomaly presence confirmed.
Then—a signal.
Torch raised his fist.
A full halt. No hesitation, no sound. Ten operatives turned statuesque, firearms raised slightly, eyes scanning where Torch pointed.
He pointed at a dilapitated fast food joint, its neon sign flickered red-blue like a dying siren. From behind the counter a grotesque silhouette twitched. Two meters in height, dog like, no fur, its skin looks raw and red—like muscles pulled from the inside out. It feasted on something behind the counter, only showing its lower half visible.
Torch read the options.
Silent takedown or wake the entire damn block and let them come on their own.
The second one was riskier, but it aligned with one of the two mission they're tasked for: Roghul termination.
He motioned with a clear swift signal at the whole group: Forward. Slow. Ready.
The squad crept forward, boots grazing broken concrete. Not a single words get exchanged as they took cover around vehicles and alley edges, their barrels aimed at the window.
Torch raised a clenched fist, the pumped it forward.
The signal to fire.
*RATATATATATATA!!!*
All five Banaspati agents fired in flawless sync.
Bullets tore through the window—glass exploded inward in shards, ripping through the counter, the tiles, and most importantly into the creature.
The Roghul barely had time to raise its head before its skull got riddles with bullets. Its body twitched violently as dozen rounds shredded it into wet chunks, slamming it into the kitchen wall before crumpling to the floor in a pool of dark, steaming blood.
"Cease fire!" Torch's voice rang through the comms.
Silence fell again. Thin wisps of smoke rose from their gun barrels, the red glow from the beast's blood cast flickering light against broken tile.
"There's no visible mutation on the subject, composition consistent with Roghul standard type." Pale Ember's voice cut through the ringing silence. "Result suggest low likelihood of mutating variant in this area."
Then suddenly a howl began to filled the air not far from their position, a howl so deep, guttural, and unnatural cut through the silent night.
Then another howl follow.
And another one.
The sounds are echoing through the streets from multiple directions, some close, others distant but approaching fast.
Pale Ember's eye narrowed behind her visor. "Captain," she said calmly. "Permission to deploy Brahma Imprisonment Field?"
"Granted." Torch answered immediately.
She broke into a sprint, finding strategic positions in entranceways, collapsed alley gaps, and exposed corners.
She crouched and with practiced hands she activated the seal, small black pucks embedded with glowing Sanskrit glyphs. She clicked them to the ground. A Golden rings immediately burst out in a dome like manner, forming an invisible kinetic barrier.
Then a low growl came from behind her.
She turned her head and saw a roghul charged straight at her with terrifying speed, it bounded over a crushed sedan, saliva and smoke trailing from its open jaws.
But she didn't flinch. In one swift fluid motion, she reached for her side, pulled a SoL grenade with one hand, bit the pin loose with a sharp jerk, and hurled it with astonishing speed and accuracy into the air.
*FWUMP—BOOM!!!*
The grenade exploded, erupting into a miniature blazing sunburst and swallowed the charging Roghul. It wailed briefly once upon its mid pounce, then its entire body scorched and crumpled before it even touched the ground.
The surrounding air smelled like charred flesh and ozone.
Pale ember turned and walked away from the scene, cold indifference etched on her face.
"All agents. Defensive position. This is it." Torch called into the radio.
The Roghul were coming, and they would be warmly welcomed with judgement in hand and cold blazing steel, sending them back straight to where they truly belong: The deepest pit of hell.