The room was a kaleidoscope of personalities and fashion choices, each attendee as unique as their gaming avatar might have been. A woman in an immaculately tailored business suit sat next to a man wearing a hoodie emblazoned with the logo of a popular MMORPG, Nexus Eternal Online. Across from them stood a couple dressed in full cosplay -one in flowing wizard robes complete with a staff that glowed faintly, the other sporting leather armor and a quiver of arrows, clearly channeling their inner elven huntress. If this gathering wasn’t the strangest assembly Emily Smoke had ever seen, she couldn’t imagine what would top it.

  She tried to put names to their faces, but failed miserably. That just wasn’t her strong suite. So instead she focused on just studying them. Committing their faces to memory. She never forgot a face. It was a strange handicap.

  She shifted uncomfortably at the edge of the room, clutching her clipboard as if it might shield her from the absurdity before her. Seriously questioning her life choices, she winced as the elven huntress adjusted her headdress with a flourish. This was the motley assemblage of geekdom subculture that her weeks of exhaustive research and sleepless nights had led her to recommend.

  Emily’s gaze darted to the general standing at the head of the table. Flanked by senior officers from every branch of the military, he exuded a steady authority that seemed impervious to the surreal scene unfolding around him. Maps, tactical overlays, and classified dossiers were spread across the walls and table, stark reminders of the stakes at play. Emily marveled at the general’s composure. How he was able to keep a straight face in the presence of a man in glowing robes and a woman wielding a foam bow, she would never know. If she were in his shoes, she’d already have tendered her resignation -or fled the country.

  “You’ve all been brought here because you’re the best at what you do,” the general began, his gravelly voice cutting through the low hum of chatter. His no-nonsense tone immediately commanded attention, silencing even the soft rustle of the wizard’s robe. Emily couldn’t help but feel a flicker of admiration. The man was unshakable. Meanwhile, she fully expected this meeting to end with her career in tatters and her name permanently blacklisted.

  “You may not wear a uniform,” the general continued, “but the skills you’ve honed in your games and simulations are exactly what we need. And now, it’s time to put them to the test.”

  A wiry man with glasses and an irrepressible smirk raised a hand as though he were back in a college lecture hall. “So… we’re supposed to, what? Teach the military how to min-max their stats?”

  A ripple of laughter coursed through the room. It was warm, knowing laughter -the kind shared by those fluent in the same language of spreadsheets, dice rolls, and meticulously crafted builds. The general, however, wasn’t amused. His cold, cutting glance silenced the group as effectively as a gavel.

  “When do we get paid?” a remarkably nondescript young man asked, his voice casual. His features were so unremarkable that Emily had to look twice to notice him at all. The man seemed like someone who could vanish in a crowd without effort -a trait that made her uneasy.

  “What have we been dragged here for?” the elven huntress interjected, her tone plaintive as she gestured dramatically. “I mean, the money promised was enough to get us here, but as you can see,” she waved a hand down her meticulously crafted costume, “we aren’t exactly dressed appropriately for -this.” Her eyes flicked disdainfully over the more formally attired attendees.

  “Yeah, talk about a deep-state government op,” another voice chimed in, this one carrying a sharper edge. Emily turned toward the speaker, and her breath caught. He was an outlier.

  Broad shoulders, chiseled features, and a predatory glint in his eyes -he looked more like a professional fighter than a gamer. If it weren’t for the calluses on his fingers that she recognized as the mark of years of gaming, -and the fact that she remembered seeing his face in the list her team had compiled, she might’ve thought he’d wandered into the wrong meeting.

  Then again, she reminded herself, some of the biggest Hollywood celebrities were diehard gamers. Perhaps it wasn’t so unusual after all.

  Her musings were interrupted as the general raised a hand, commanding quiet. The room obeyed instantly. Even the elven huntress folded her arms and fell silent, her lips pursed in frustration.

  “You’re here to help us develop a strategy,” the general said, his voice sharp enough to cut through the lingering tension. “A strategy that combines your expertise with our resources. This is no game. This is an all-hands emergency declaration. Lives are at stake, and the fate of the world depends on what we do next.”

  The general turned to his officers, his tone sharp and decisive. “Under their recommendation, we’re deploying an elite joint task force. We’ll draw from the Green Berets, SEALs, Delta Force, Pararescue, and Rangers. This will be a Tier One operation.”

  A brigadier general stepped forward, his hand steady as he pointed to the tactical map glowing on the screen. “The strike force will be divided into four primary teams: Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, and Delta. Each team will consist of ten operators, broken into two five-man units. Every unit will be self-sufficient -medic, marksman, close-quarters expert, communications, and demolitions. Adaptability is key.”

  The general nodded, his expression grim. “The top operatives will form Team Sigma. They’ll handle the most critical missions.”

  “Wait, are you being serious?” The voice came from the corner, soft but cutting. One of the quieter gamers, a Japanese American world champion who went by the moniker JSOR, spoke for the first time. He leaned forward slightly, his sharp eyes scanning the brass with clinical precision. Emily noticed his fingers twitching, like he was tapping out commands on an invisible keyboard against his leg. “Did you just give your teams ranks? Tiers D through S?”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  A ripple of chuckles passed through the room, breaking some of the tension, but the humor was short-lived. The reality of the situation pressed down on everyone like an oppressive weight. For the first time, the gamers seemed to grasp just how serious this was.

  Across the table, a pixie-like woman with green-dyed hair leaned forward, her expression skeptical. “Are these teams just going to brute-force their way through everything? Because, no offense, brute force doesn’t work in most raid encounters.”

  “That’s why we have you,” the general replied, his tone calm but unyielding. “You’ll assist with training, simulation scenarios, and live mission analysis. They’ll study. Train. And train some more. These teams will be ready for deployment ASAP.”

  “But what are we training them for?” This came from the handsome man Emily had noticed before -the one with the broad shoulders and the intense, predatory gaze. He looked past the brass, his dark eyes locking onto hers with unnerving precision. Emily swallowed, her throat dry, but she forced herself to meet his gaze.

  When no one immediately answered, she stepped forward, her voice measured but tense. “This is classified,” she began, her words slow and deliberate.

  The plain-clothed agent cut her off. “Break the NDA, and-”

  “We don’t need threats, Mr. R-” the rear admiral interjected, her voice carrying an edge of authority. The same admiral who had spoken the day before. “I’m sure these fine gentlemen and ladies understand the significance of being brought here -and the consequences should anything revealed here be exposed.”

  There was a moment of tense silence, broken by a slow, deliberate clap from the back of the room. Emily turned, startled, as a short man stepped forward, his presence somehow commanding despite his stature. He wore a leather trench coat over a worn Sevendust T-shirt, combat boots scuffed from use, and carried himself with a fluid, predatory grace. He moved like someone who had seen real violence and walked away unscathed.

  “That was a nice play, boss lady,” he drawled, nodding toward the rear admiral. His tone was casual, but the subtle mockery in his words made the admiral stiffen. She opened her mouth, clearly ready to fire back, but he continued, ignoring her as if she no longer existed. Instead, his gaze settled on the agent, a sharp smile curling his lips.

  The agent didn’t flinch. Instead, he smiled back, a thin, humorless gesture, and waved his hand as if encouraging the man to continue.

  The man obliged. “Let’s cut through all the bull,” he said, his voice slicing through the room like a scalpel. “This is about the dungeons that have been appearing around the world. Why else would you call together a group of gamers?” He gestured around him with a theatrical sigh, his expression a mix of amusement and disdain. “I mean -no offense- but you must be desperate if we’re your last resort.”

  A heavy silence followed his words, every eye in the room shifting uneasily. Emily tightened her grip on the clipboard in her hands, bracing herself for what came next.

  The general nodded gravely, then turned his steady gaze to Emily. “Answer him.”

  Emily adjusted her glasses and cleared her throat, buying herself a precious second to compose her thoughts. She couldn’t let her nerves betray her in front of this room, especially not in front of this group of unconventional recruits. “You’re right,” she said, her voice carefully measured. She caught the subtle flicker of satisfaction in the trench coat man’s expression as his suspicions were confirmed. “This is a matter of national security. We need your expertise -your specific skill sets and knowledge- to help us craft a strategy to deal with the dungeon threat.”

  “Well,” he replied, tilting his head with a faint smirk, “that explains everything.”

  Before Emily could respond, another voice joined the conversation. A woman stepped forward, her movements deliberate, her presence commanding despite her casual attire. The redhead’s oversized hoodie and sweats made her look like she had just rolled out of bed or finished a marathon gaming session. But there was something subtly otherworldly about her.

  Her makeup was meticulous, her pointed ears so convincingly elven that Emily almost dismissed them as part of an elaborate costume. But it was the faint pearlescence of her skin -visible on her face and hands- that caught Emily’s attention. The effect was too natural, too seamless to be makeup. For a moment, Emily wondered if anyone else had noticed, or if the sheer absurdity of the group had made her blend in.

  The woman’s voice, soft yet deliberate, carried a distinct southern drawl that immediately triggered Emily’s memory. Dolly. That was her name. Guild leader of a casual group of some of the best players in the world in NEO.

  “You’re going to need well-rounded teams, twelve-man not ten,” Dolly said, her tone calm but authoritative, as if she were used to command. “Six members per unit. Versatility’s the name of the game. They’ll need to be able to adapt to whatever’s thrown at them.”

  Her gaze swept across the room, her posture relaxed yet imposing. “There has to be an on the ground tactician, one of us. Years of experience can’t be learned in a matter of days, no matter how talented you are,” she paused there, smiling wanly as she finished. “And you’re going to need a rogue.”

  Derrick -Emily finally remembered- the trench-coat-wearing gamer, let out a dry laugh and spread his hands theatrically. “Guess that’s my cue. I’ve always wanted to save the world.”

  The room rippled with a mix of chuckles and murmurs, but the tension remained palpable, threading through every word spoken.

  “There’s no way-” the rear admiral started to say.

  ∞

  After the Briefing-

  ∞

  The last of the gamers had been escorted out, their laughter and chatter fading into the distant hum of the hallway. The general remained at the head of the table, his imposing figure casting a long shadow under the sterile overhead lights. He surveyed the room, his gaze unyielding. The officers and analysts stood at attention, awaiting his next command.

  “You’ve seen the -consultants. They’re an interesting bunch. But they just might save the world. Now -you’ve all got your orders,” he said, his voice clipped and firm. “Execute them.”

  The room stirred to life as officers filed out, analysts clutching their tablets and dossiers, the buzz of activity resuming. But before anyone could fully exit, the general’s voice rang out again, sharper this time, cutting through the din like a blade.

  “And one more thing,” he said, his tone dark and deliberate. “If you run into that man -the one who saved our asses at the western incursion- Jack.” He paused, his steely gaze sweeping over the room. “Bring him in. Alive. That’s an order.”

  The room fell deathly silent for a beat, the weight of the directive settling over everyone like a heavy shroud. Then, as if a switch had flipped, the rush of movement resumed, tension crackling in the air like a live wire. The officers moved with renewed urgency, their faces tight with unspoken questions.

  As the room emptied, the general stayed behind, staring down at the map spread across the table. His jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. The world was unraveling before his eyes, and somewhere out there, one man might know how to stitch it back together.