Chapter Two: The First Blood
1444 Words
The rain came without warning. Not the gentle sort, but a hard, cold downpour that drummed relentlessly against the rooftops of Fort Wexler. By morning, the entire compound was cloaked in grey mist, the kind that blurred outlines and muffled sound. Kain stood by his window, unmoving, watching the distortion of shapes beyond the glass. His fingers absentmindedly toyed with the strip of red cloth.
Three knocks. The missing folder. The photograph.
They hadn’t just been messages; They were calculated steps in something bigger. Someone was orchestrating this. Someone who wanted him rattled. And they were succeeding.
His comm buzzed. Again.
[URGENT: Report to CID Command. Investigation briefing. Room 2-A.]
He straightened. CID—Central Investigation Division. They handled high-priority internal matters. And a sudden summons was never routine. Before he left, he messaged one person: Cole Brenner.
Cole wasn’t just a fellow soldier. He was Kain’s closest friend—an ex-recon specialist turned internal tactical advisor. Calm under pressure, blunt in speech, and fiercely loyal. They had bled together in the mountains of Darvyn Ridge and covered each other during Crimson Veil. If anyone could be trusted to help dig deeper, it was Cole.
“Something’s going down,” Kain texted. “If I’m not back in two hours, go to Mace.”
Cole replied instantly: “Got it. Stay sharp.”
When Kain entered the briefing room, silence greeted him. A long table dominated the centre, its sleek glass surface reflecting the harsh fluorescents above. A few figures sat at the far end—officers, one intelligence rep, and a woman he didn’t recognise. She stood out. Not just for her presence, but for the way she didn’t look at him like the others did. There was no awe, no reverence, only scrutiny.
“Kain Daniels,” said the man at the head of the table. Colonel Wess. Gruff, ageing, and always three seconds from irritation. “Take a seat.”
Kain obeyed. The woman’s eyes followed him.
“We’ve got a situation,” Wess continued. “Three bodies were found last night. Barracks 5C.”
Kain’s breath caught.
“Who?”
“Hess. Lang. Ebo.”
The names hit like blows. He had just remembered them last night, voices echoing in his mind, as if summoned from somewhere beyond. And now they were dead.
“Their throats were slit,” Wess said. “No signs of struggle. No weapons fired. The perimeter footage is scrambled, but someone...” he looked directly at Kain, “ left behind a piece of your uniform, with your name tag still attached.”
Kain froze.
“That’s not possible,” he said quietly.
“We know,” Wess replied. “It’s too clean. Too staged. But we need answers. And you’re the last person seen anywhere near 5C during night rotation.”
Kain’s voice stayed even.
“That was three nights ago. And I wasn’t inside.”
“Doesn’t matter. You're a suspect. Protocol demands containment and internal clearance.”
Kain clenched his fists. “You think I killed my men?”
“No,” said the woman finally. Her voice was measured, controlled. “But someone wants us to.”
Wess turned to her. “This is Agent Elira Voss. Internal Affairs. She’s heading this investigation.”
Her gaze met Kain’s. Unblinking.
“I’ve read your file, Sergeant General,” she said. “Tactical genius. Decorated veteran. Survivor of Crimson Veil. But there’s a ghost trail behind you. Operations lost. Witnesses missing. And now, your closest brothers in arms show up dead.”
Kain didn’t flinch. “I’m being set up.”
“I believe you,” she said.
That caught him off guard.
“But,” she added, “belief doesn’t free you. Facts do. And right now, all the facts point to you.”
She handed him a datapad so he could see for himself. Photos. The bodies. The message scrawled on the walls in blood-red ink:
“The Traitor Returns.”
“I want you off base,” Wess said. “At least until all this is resolved.”
“Off base?” Kain stood. “You’re exiling me?”
“Call it protective relocation,” Wess said. “You’ll have escort clearance, and Agent Voss will monitor your movements. You’ll stay within the city’s perimeter, under observation while we look into this.”
Kain’s mind raced. Someone had planned this perfectly. Remove him from command, isolate him, strip him of allies. And now, control the narrative.
“Give me 12 hours,” Kain said. “Let me find something. Then do what you have to.”
Wess hesitated.
Elira stepped in. “Let him. But he’s my responsibility now.”
They locked eyes again. A silent agreement formed. Kain didn’t know if he trusted her, but she hadn’t called him guilty. Not yet, at least. That was something.
As they left the base, Kain texted Cole again. “Get Mace ready.”
They drove into downtown Emeran in silence. Civilian vehicles passed by like ghosts in fog. Elira’s attention drifted occasionally to her phone.
“You keep checking in?” Kain asked.
“No. Texts from my sister,” she said simply. “She’s a pharmacist. She always worries I'll forget to sleep or eat.”
She chuckled dryly. "She doesn't understand how dynamic this job can be sometimes".
“Does she know what you do exactly?”
“She knows enough to pray harder.”
Back at Mace’s den: Three floors below the surface of a ramen shop, tech clutter filled every space. Screens. Servers. Wires that blinked like veins. You name it, he had it somewhere. His very own Shake Shack.
Mace greeted them with a grunt and two mugs of lukewarm coffee. Cole was already waiting.
“About time,” Cole said, rising. “You walk slower when you’re hunted?”
Kain gave a dry smirk. “I walk more carefully. That's all”
Elira raised an eyebrow. “Is this your friend?”
“Cole Brenner,” he said, offering a hand. “I’m the guy who digs around when things go south.”
“Mace’s backup,” Kain said. “And mine.”
Together, the four of them pulled up surveillance loops from the night of the murders. Mace found the glitch. Cole found the pattern.
“This loop was planted before the murders,” Cole said. “That takes inside access. Whoever did this knew timing, clearance and blind spots.”
"Careful planning and coordination".
A frame froze. A silhouette, not Kain, dragging something. He had the wrong build, wrong stride and wrong posture.
Cole leaned in. “Zoom in on the patch.”
A foreign triangle insignia. Elira’s breath hitched. “That’s not from our military.”
They stared in silence. Then Cole said, “Looks like your ghost had help.”
"But who could this be?"
"And why me?" Kain silently asked.
He gave a signal to Cole to meet him outside in a few minutes. Cole stepped outside in a few minutes to see Kain in a vehicle, motioning to him to come in already. He came in.
"Where are we going?" Cole asked.
“There’s one more place I want to check,” Kain said.
“Lead the way, then,” Cole replied.
They drove to an abandoned depot once used as a supply cache during the tail end of Crimson Veil. Kain vividly remembered the routes. Cole kept watch while Kain scanned the area. It was quiet, overgrown.
Inside, the air smelled of rust and dust. The echo of their boots filled the space. It was empty, thankfully. He didn't have to give any weird explanations to anyone or anything like that.
“You think someone’s using this place?” Cole asked.
“Either that,” Kain said, “or I’m grasping at ghosts.”
They moved deeper, finding nothing but crates and broken shelving, until Cole stopped.
“Back wall,” he said, pointing. “See that smudge?”
It was faint. A shoeprint. Recent.
They followed it to a panel. Kain pried it open. Inside: a locker box. Inside the locker box: Maps. Transmission logs. And a file marked with a symbol matching the triangle patch.
“Bingo,” Cole said.
Kain stared. “This changes everything.”
As they left, Cole glanced over. “You know I’ve got your back, right? No matter how ugly this gets.”
Kain nodded. “I know. That’s why I’m still breathing.”
And in that moment, the bond between them, battle-forged and blood-tested, tightened like armour.
They were starting to get some kind of lead on this case at least....
- Writer
