The Black mamba

Thaurex sat in silence, his expression carved in frustration as he faced the garden of sunflowers he had nurtured. Falethier's favorite. The vibrant blooms swayed gently in the breeze, their golden hues almost mocking his turmoil. His gaze dropped to the yellow book tucked under his arm—a haunting reminder of his mission. He inhaled deeply, steeling himself. He knew what had to be done.

Rising from the bench, Thaurex shrugged on his coat with a sense of finality. "Prepare the pod," he commanded, his voice firm yet distant. Before stepping inside, he turned to look back, his eyes lingering on the sunflowers and the yellow book. A flicker of hesitation crossed his face, but it vanished as quickly as it came.

The pod tore through the planet's atmosphere like a fiery comet, roaring against the stormy skies. The deafening sound of its descent echoed across the barren landscape until it landed with a calculated precision. Heavy rain poured relentlessly, reducing visibility to a blur of grey and wet.

Thaurex peered through the rain-streaked glass at the massive silhouette of the HQ looming in the distance. As the pod's engines powered down, a soldier sprinted toward him, struggling against the downpour.

Thaurex stepped out, instantly drenched as sheets of rain struck him. "Good to see you again, sir!" the soldier shouted, his voice barely cutting through the cacophony of roaring engines and hammering rain.

"Good afternoon, soldier! Is Zaulkom here?" Thaurex called back, shielding his face from the onslaught.

"No, sir! But the General might be, sir!" the soldier replied, raising his voice even higher. "For your safety, I'd recommend checking with him first!"

"Understood! Thank you, soldier!" Thaurex responded with a nod, his voice firm. Without wasting another moment, he turned toward his assigned vehicle, its sleek frame barely visible in the storm.

Thaurex climbed into the vehicle, the doors sliding shut with a hiss, muffling the relentless downpour. The dashboard glowed with an eerie blue light, displaying coordinates and mission updates. His grip tightened on the controls, his knuckles whitening as the vehicle hummed to life.

As he navigated through the rain-slick streets toward HQ, Thaurex couldn't help but replay his outburst in his mind—the words he had thrown at the General and Zaulkom: impulsive, unfiltered, and driven by grief. He clenched his jaw. There was no room for mistakes now. He had to make things right—not just for himself, but for the mission.

The vehicle came to a halt at the entrance of the massive HQ. Towering walls of reinforced steel loomed overhead, punctuated by floodlights slicing through the gloom. Thaurex stepped out into the heavy rain and made his way to the main gates.

"Commander Thaurex," a gruff voice called. A pair of guards saluted, their faces partially obscured by rain gear. "The General is in his office. Shall we escort you?"

"No need," Thaurex replied curtly. "I'll find my way."

The guards stepped aside, and the heavy doors groaned open. Inside, the HQ was a stark contrast to the storm outside—warm, well-lit, and bustling with activity. Soldiers moved with purpose, their boots clattering against polished floors. Thaurex's presence turned heads, but no one dared comment.

He reached the General's office, pausing briefly before knocking.

"Enter," came the gruff voice from within.

Thaurex stepped in, his posture rigid. The General sat behind a massive desk, his gaze sharp and unreadable. "Thaurex," he greeted, setting down a tablet. "What brings you back so soon?"

Thaurex took a steadying breath. "General, I owe you an apology for my behavior during the last mission briefing. I let my emotions cloud my judgment and spoke out of turn."

The General leaned back, his gaze razor-sharp. "You know, Thaurex, you're a very strong soldier. Very brave. You can kill without question, but you also made my daughter pregnant... and then killed her." He paused, placing his pen on the table.

Thaurex stiffened, but then relaxed. "That wasn't my fault, sir. I wouldn't have done such a thing."

The General's eyes narrowed. "What do you want, soldier? And don't tell me you're here to ask for my granddaughter back."

Thaurex exhaled heavily. "I need to be included. I need to know more about Avitraux, sir."

The General stared at him, eyes scanning his face as if weighing his words. "Let's go. I have a meeting to attend. I'll tell you about Avitraux while we get there. And you'd better hope Zaulkom's in a good mood."

"What exactly is Avitraux?" Thaurex asked, his voice steady despite the unease simmering beneath the surface. The white halls stretched endlessly, with doors lined up side by side. Each corridor carried an air of secrecy, and Thaurex was certain one of them held the key to finding Falethier.

The General didn't break stride. "Avitraux is—was—a group. Some might call them terrorists. But at one point, we worked with them."

Thaurex's steps faltered. "Worked with them? What do you mean?"

The General cast a glance back. "Decades ago, a group of independent scientists, Avitraux, created a weapon—a devastating one. They called it The Black Mamba. When we learned of its destructive potential, we couldn't ignore it. We intervened, not just to shut them down, but to partner with them. Promised them funding and security in exchange for research."

Thaurex's brow furrowed. "And then? What made them enemies?"

"Greed," the General replied bluntly. "The Black Mamba was far too dangerous to leave unchecked. We ran tests, pushing the boundaries of what it could do. Avitraux grew wary of its potential for destruction and tried to hide it. But we weren't ready to let go. We took it by force. That's why you were sent to recover those files during your last mission—remnants of their work left behind in their evacuation."

They reached a white door reinforced with scanners and guards. The General pressed his finger against the biometric scanner, and the heavy doors slid open with a mechanical hiss.

As they stepped inside, Thaurex noticed a black vault at the far end of the room. The staircase leading down to it was flanked by two massive guards. "What's in there?" he asked, unable to mask his curiosity.

The General paused, glancing at the vault before turning back to Thaurex. "That? It's classified. Even I don't have access without Valmor."

Thaurex frowned. "Valmor? Who's that?"

"Zaulkom's right-hand man," the General explained. "Some say he's like a son to him. Others say he's one of the original architects of The Black Mamba. Whatever the case, he holds the key to that vault—and what's inside it is on a need-to-know basis."

The conversation ended as they reached another door guarded by armed soldiers. The General glanced at Thaurex. "This is where we part ways. Stay sharp, Thaurex. You're walking a fine line."

Steam hissed as the General stepped into the decontamination chamber beyond the glass door. Thaurex turned on his heel, his mind racing.