March
03:12 AM – CERN Perimeter
Sand-laced wind lashed against their faces, dry and searing like fire. Figures moved silently through the dark, splitting into three teams and heading in their preassigned directions. No goodbyes. No hugs. Every farewell had already been said the day before.
The East Team, led by Isa, crossed a scrapyard that stretched for hundreds of meters. Rusted frames, burnt-out APCs, and blackened transformers lay scattered like carcasses from a forgotten war. Wind howled through broken engines, a ghostly wail. Isa gave the signal to halt, placing a hand on her chest to feel her heartbeat—steady, calm before the storm. Her eyes swept over each team member. No words were needed. Everyone was ready.
The West Team, under Bagus' command, followed an old railway line, crossed a collapsed bridge, and approached the interference zone. Bagus carried the heavy jammer over his shoulder, eyes fixed on the countdown timer. He wore headphones and muttered an ancient Javanese chant under his breath—a personal ritual to stay sharp. Four fighters followed: two carrying ammo, one with backup batteries, and one with a support pulse rifle.
The Central Team—Huy Phong, Bảo Trân, and four others—moved through an underground maintenance tunnel that led directly into the L‑Theta magnetic core zone. Rusted pipes, stagnant water, the air reeked of rot. Bones of dead rats crunched underfoot. Cracks lined the tunnel ceiling, dark with soot from past battles. Each step echoed with splashes. No one spoke. Only breath, and the pounding of their own hearts.
Above, faint green lights flickered in the sky—these were not stars. They were ATHENA's eyes. Watching. Counting. Calculating. Predicting. Whether it was a moment of lag or bait for a trap—no one knew. And no one had time to guess.
03:24 – East Team makes contact.
Isa raised her hand—halt.
Ahead was a 50-meter-wide clearing, leading to a semi-submerged station surrounded by a powered-down electric fence. An unnatural quiet hung in the air—no machinery, no engines, not even a flicker of light from the facility.
A rookie whispered, "Quiet like this... maybe it's clear."
Isa shook her head. "This silence is wrong. Stay sharp."
The moment they stepped into the open ground, the earth began to move.
Not an earthquake. The soil rose—hundreds, thousands of Micro bots fusing into a wave that surged forward. In under three seconds, the wave disintegrated and reformed into a swarm of six-legged metal spiders, each the size of a human torso, with saw blades and pulse rifles mounted on their backs.
"Engage!" Isa shouted. "Line formation! Fire in rhythm!"
She charged first, firing three clean pulse shots into three spider heads. A young soldier was yanked into a pit—blood sprayed like a hose, splashing onto a shattered steel pipe. The soldier next to him panicked, firing wildly. His stray shot ricocheted off a wall, triggered a small explosion, and dropped him to the ground.
Isa didn't curse. She rolled beneath a spinning saw blade, came up, and sliced clean through a bot with her plasma knife. "EMP grenades! Throw now!"
Three grenades launched and detonated in perfect sync. A burst of blue light froze the swarm for three seconds. A brief chance—but not enough. The remaining bots quickly reorganized, forming a semi-circular shield that completely covered the recharge station.
Isa knew: remote assault was impossible.
She didn't think. She sprinted straight into the swarm, a living blade. One bot lunged—but she didn't dodge. She pulled the detonation pin from her belt.
One arm locked around the bot. The other gripped the pin.
Her eyes searched the faces of her team—trying to memorize each one.
"Stay here," she whispered. "I'm going to him."
A white flash erupted, swallowing the station whole.
03:25 – West Team reaches auxiliary gate.
Bagus set the jammer down on the cracked concrete floor. He opened the lid, plugged in three thin copper wires to the terminals, eyes locked on the display. A low drone rose, like a swarm of hornets imploding. The indicator blinked: Activated.
Ultrasonic waves burst outward, forming a 300-meter dome. Every drone in the area went haywire. A recon drone caught fire mid-air and plummeted like a bullet into the dirt. The security fence split wide open, creating a clear corridor—but only for 40 seconds.
Bagus yelled into the comms: "Corridor open! Go now! West entrance!"
Footsteps thundered like rolling storms as the central team pivoted and charged, seizing the moment. But from the shadows of the junkyard, the Microbots began to merge again.
This time, they formed humanoid shapes—over two meters tall, arms ending in surgical blades, legs shaped like talons.
One locked its sights on Bagus.
He didn't run.
He turned, eyes fixed on it, hand resting on the expired jammer.
"Hello, hell," he muttered in his native tongue.
The strike came fast.
Bagus' comm cut out the instant the sound of metal tearing flesh filled the air
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