Varkadia

Alisa strode through the pristine white-stone halls of the Varkadian capital’s intelligence sector, Coco close behind. Unlike her usual military garb, Alisa wore formal civilian attire—a tailored slate-gray dress with subtle silver trim—while Coco, ever the consummate operative, donned a sleek black suit. She clutched a handheld screen, thumb scrolling briskly through streams of data.

As they passed a squad of guards, one offered a respectful nod.

“Good day, Miss Alisa.”

She acknowledged him with a curt glance, then pressed on, her heels clicking toward the massive doors of the Varkadian Information Storage. Two guards stood rigid outside, hands resting on their sidearms. They straightened further at her approach.

“Good day, Miss Alisa.”

“Good day,” she replied evenly, stepping inside with Coco in tow.

The room was dim, a cavernous archive with rows of shelves stretching from the walls to the center, laden with secured drives and encrypted data units. Alisa wasted no time. She settled at a desk near a wall-mounted terminal nestled between two towering shelves.

“Alright,” she said, gesturing for Coco to come closer. “Get started.”

Coco gave a silent nod, quickly connecting her device to the terminal. The screen blinked to life, lines of encrypted files scrolling at a dizzying pace.

“Remember, anything on the UAF attack,” Alisa said, eyes narrowing on the data. “Especially if it involves SF and the UAF fighting each other.”

Coco’s fingers moved swiftly, filtering through military logs, strategic communiques, and after-action reports. At first, there was nothing—no direct mention of any clash between SF’s group and the UAF.

Then something caught Coco’s attention: a brief patrol report, nearly lost among mundane entries.

It was dated the same night SF had hit the rebels’ warehouse. The log noted an unidentified group fleeing toward the valley, engaged by a UAF unit. The skirmish had resulted in four enemy dead—but at the cost of twelve UAF soldiers.

Alisa and Coco exchanged a look.

“That has to be SF’s group,” Alisa muttered, her expression shifting from irritation to intrigue. She leaned back slightly, piecing the implications together.

“If they lost people that night, it means SF doesn’t cooperate with the UAF. Which means there’s a good chance they attacked the UAF unit in the area after we fought him.”

Coco remained focused eyes never leaving her screen and just a few moments later she found a report stating that the commander of the UAF unit was fired, Alisa’s lips curled into a slow smirk.

“That works in our favor, Varkadia would never fire a commander like him, but they would absolutely cover up his death like this” she said, tapping the desk. “If we move fast, we can claim credit for the attack—and rally more support.”

Later that night

Coco had finally drifted off, half-sitting in a chair, the early sun spilling across her face through the balcony doors. Her laptop hummed quietly in sleep mode on the table beside her.

Alisa stood on the balcony, phone pressed to her ear. The city stretched below her, a maze of white towers and golden-lit streets under a pale dawn sky.

“There hasn’t been a single official report about what happened a few days ago,” she murmured.

Inside, Coco remained half-awake, running silent countermeasures to scramble any attempt to trace their call. Her tired eyes met Alisa’s briefly, giving a small nod that their line remained secure.

On the other end, Claus listened, his breath faint through the line.

“Claus, there’s something else before we move on with this plan,” Alisa continued.

A frown crept into Claus’s voice. “Go on.”

Alisa exhaled, her tone uncharacteristically wary.

“I’m not sure the other players in this war—besides us and the UAF—will take kindly to us taking credit for that attack. If they find out, we could be their next target.”

She had spent the past hours running every possible scenario through her mind, and none ended clean. Even with three Exo-Suits under their control, she doubted they could handle Sear or Number 2 head-on if things escalated.

Claus was silent for a moment, then his voice came calm, unwavering.

“We’re aware. Marco is already working on contingencies based on the intel you’ve gathered. I trust his judgment.”

A small smile tugged at Alisa’s lips despite herself. “I see. Perhaps I was overthinking it.”

She glanced back inside to see Coco typing again. The girl looked up, giving another silent nod that the call was still secure.

“One more thing,” Alisa added. “I’ll need to stay here a few more days. Apparently, my… services are still required.”

“Understood,” Claus replied. “Your Exo-Suit is still hidden at the border?”

Alisa gave a short, almost playful laugh. “Of course. You know me.”

The call ended, leaving only the distant hum of the waking city.

Days later

The capital offered little excitement—endless briefings, school, and the same mundane political maneuvering. Meanwhile, the rebel cells and even the lab stayed quiet, licking their wounds or waiting for the next inevitable clash.

But everyone felt it—tension simmering just beneath the surface. And when it broke, both the lab and the rebels intended to be ready.