Chapter 4
The difference between life and death is knowing when something is wrong.
Day 3.
I spent the morning mapping the surrounding terrain, expanding my knowledge of the land beyond the sweep area. The boreal forest stretched endlessly, the snow-covered ground unmarred except for the occasional animal track.
The campfire loomed at the edge of my thoughts, but I wasn’t going to stumble into it blindly.
Caution first. Always.
It was a tiny thing. A brittle fragment sticking out of the snow, barely noticeable.
If I hadn’t been scanning the area so methodically, I would have walked right past it.
I crouched, brushing away the snow with gloved fingers. The object was about four centimeters long, metallic but weathered, dulled by exposure.
At first, I thought it was a shard of natural ore—maybe iron or nickel, something pulled from deep underground. But the way it reflected light in uneven patches made me pause.
I pulled out a sensor tool from my belt, running a quick scan.
The readings came back normal. Too normal.
It was processed metal.
I frowned, turning it over in my hand. A perfectly straight edge. Slight curvature.
I felt something crawl up my spine.
This wasn’t a naturally occurring fragment. It was manufactured.
But who had made it? And when?
For a long moment, I just stared at it. It could have belonged to anything—a rusted tool, a broken knife, even a piece of armor.
Claire's voice broke my thoughts.
[ "Erika, you are deviating from your primary objective." ]
I blinked. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”
Still, I placed the fragment inside my sample pouch. I’d analyze it later.
With the campfire site still an unknown, I decided to prepare the approach.
I spent the next few hours setting up temporary defensive emplacements along the direct path toward it.
This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
The terrain was mostly flat, but I used the environment to my advantage—positioning reinforced barricades of fallen logs, digging shallow pits, and strategically placing tripwires that connected to small, non-lethal noise traps.
I wasn’t expecting a fight.
But I wasn’t going to be caught unprepared.
Once I had secured my position, I returned to the Vanguard and prepared another distress signal.
I fired the flare, watching as it soared into the sky, burning with an intense red glow.
At the same time, I activated the broadband distress broadcast.
Nothing.
The same deafening silence.
I clenched my jaw, staring at the signal monitor, waiting for something—anything—to change.
Static.
I gripped the console tightly, feeling frustration bubble up inside me. Three days. Three flares. Three broadcasts.
And nothing.
Not even an automated satellite response.
I forced myself to inhale deeply, calming my pulse.
Claire, ever the observer, intervened.
[ "Your heart rate has increased by 17%. I recommend breathing exercises." ]
I exhaled, closing my eyes for a second. "I’m fine, Claire."
[ "That statement contradicts available data." ]
I chuckled dryly. “You really don’t let things slide, huh?”
[ "Correct." ]
I shook my head, letting the tension fade. No use wasting energy on frustration. I had other things to focus on.
The sky darkened. The forest changed.
During the day, the boreal landscape had felt quiet, serene. Now, it felt vast, hollow, unknowable.
As I secured the Vanguard for the night, I did my final checks.
The tripwires were in place.
The defensive structures were stable.
The drones were still patrolling.
Everything was in order.
And yet…
A deep unease settled in my gut.
It was the kind of silence that wasn’t normal.
Not a single branch cracked. Not a single animal stirred.
I knew this feeling.
Something was watching.
Then—
A sudden, sharp tremor.
It wasn’t natural.
It wasn’t random.
The ground shook once, as if something had slammed into the earth—far away, but heavy enough that I could feel it through my boots.
I immediately switched my visor to infrared scan, but the distance was too great.
Claire’s voice came through, steady but alert.
[ "Seismic disturbance detected. Source: Unknown. Distance: Estimated 6-10 kilometers." ]
I swallowed. "Was that… a natural quake?"
[ "The pattern is inconsistent with tectonic activity. Likely caused by external force." ]
I stared toward the darkness. My mind immediately flickered to the campfire.
Had something happened there?
A battle? A struggle? Had someone been attacked?
I took an unconscious step forward—then stopped myself.
No. Not yet. Too soon to jump in blind.
I had to gather more information.
Then, five seconds later—
A roar.
Deep. Monstrous. Ancient.
My blood ran cold.
I knew that sound.
I had heard it in old UN footage. I had seen the grainy black-and-white recordings from 1960.
The first Wave.
The roar of a Juggernaut.
Massive, four-legged beasts that had ripped through entire battalions in the early days of the invasion. Thick armored hides, tusks that could impale a tank, and unrelenting aggression.
Humanity had feared them in the first three Waves—before learning how to bring them down.
But this wasn't Earth.
And if that was truly a Juggernaut…
I felt my fingers twitch toward my plasma rifle.
Claire’s voice came through, softer than usual.
[ "Erika." ]
I exhaled, slowly lowering my hand. “I know.”
We weren’t ready.
I turned my gaze toward the dark forest beyond the perimeter.
The roar faded into the night.
But something had changed.
Until now, I had been clinging to the belief that I was simply stranded in an unknown part of Earth.
That belief was crumbling.
Because if the creatures from the Wave existed here…
Then what exactly had I stepped into?
