Yellow Jacket

The supply cache sat half-buried beneath a collapsed rail overpass, its entry shielded by warped struts and fused rubble. They reached it by foot, the lead group breaking off from the convoy to scavenge what they could before dusk. Rain slid down cracked asphalt in thin sheets, pooling in jagged fractures, the kind of cold that soaked deep even when movement kept you warm.

The conversation started quiet, as most hard ones did.

"You know when we get back to the city," Isol said, voice dry, "the Green's going to send more Enforcers. That's not a maybe. That's a certainty."

Warren was already pulling tarp from one of the crates. "It's going to be okay," he said. "We can deal with them."

Isol crouched beside him, checking for mold. "The problem isn't Enforcers. It's if they send a relay upstream. Broadcast a request for full suppression. If this looks like rebellion, there won't even be a war. It'll be an extermination."

"We need to do this strategically," Warren said. "We may have to camp outside the city. Wait for Muk-Tah. When he brings the tribes, we can storm the Green before they do anything."

Jurpat stepped out from under the overpass, shaking water off his hands. "That won't work. They've got enough relays to get a message out long before we get through the walls."

Warren looked up at him. "Then we go under the walls."

Grix froze mid-bite on a ration bar. "Wait, what?"

"Do you fucking mean," Batu said, standing slowly, "that we're going to take three hundred warm bodies through the Red? That's more than insane, Warren. Most of these people are civvies."

"No," Warren said, locking eyes with her. "We take everyone. The tribes. The Yellow scavvers. Even the fucking cats if they'll come. We can do this. I know we can."

Wren stepped forward. "Warren, a group that big through the Red? We'll lose so many. The Broken will end us. That amount of heat."

"It's not too much," Warren cut in. "We just need to stay ahead of them. The Green might send forces to stop us, but what if we had an army of Broken following behind? We set up. We go fishing. But this time, we use a bigger lure."

Grix started laughing. "If Warren and I can kill a mountain of Broken on our own before he even hit Level 10, imagine what we can do to the Green if they don't see it coming."

She high-fived Warren hard enough to echo under the concrete.

"No," Wren said, anger sharpening. "This is stupid. It's insane. There are kids with us."

"Then we take only volunteers," Warren said, his voice quieter now. "And we keep the kids and anyone not ready for this safe. Ernala would take them back to the tribal lands if this goes sideways."

Cassian stepped forward, soaked and shivering but defiant. "Fuck it. I don't want to live in a world the Green wants anymore. If that means dying in a suicide run, yeah. Better than living like a dog at their feet."

A few others murmured agreement. Not all. Some shook their heads, some looked away.

Wren turned back to Warren, her voice lower now. "Warren, this is a dumb idea. I know you make these things work, but even for you, this is too far."

He looked at her with none of the fire, none of the defiance. Just truth.

"Azolde," he said, and her breath caught at the sound of her real name, "I went to kill the Warlord because of what he did to you. Not for anyone else. I did it for you. I'm doing this for me. For the people who've lived under Green rule their whole lives. But if you ask me not to, truly, I'll stay."

Wren frowned, torn. "That's not fair. You can't ask me to choose you or freedom. We both agree these people deserve better."

"I'm sorry, my love," Warren said.

"That's the worst part," Wren replied. "I know you would stay if I asked. And I really fucking want to. But I won't. Because this is the only chance we have of changing anything. And you know I'm coming too."

He smiled, reaching for her hand.

"I wouldn't have it any other way, my love."

A silence settled over the group, thick and electric. The kind that follows a declaration that might change everything. Rain tapped on broken steel and concrete above, a metronome for the tension none of them knew how to name.

Isol rubbed his face, water and sweat and frustration mixing in his palm. "You really believe we can get through the Red intact?"

Warren didn't answer immediately. Instead, he looked out across the landscape, where the convoy waited just over the ridge, a dark silhouette of Haulers and huddled bodies against the broken skyline.

"I believe we don't have another option," he said finally.

Jurpat paced a slow circle, then stopped. "There's another option. We disappear. Scatter. Go dark. Hide in the Wilds or go back to the compound, let the Green rot on their own."

"And then what?" Grix asked. "We wait for them to come hunt us down one at a time?"

"They already hunt us," Batu muttered. "We just haven't made them bleed for it yet."

Deana had arrived at some point, arms crossed, face unreadable. "You plan this out, you better start thinking like the Green. They don't care about losses. They care about control. If you make them feel out of control, they go scorched earth."

Warren nodded. "Exactly why we hit them in a way they don't understand. The Red's chaos. We use it. We turn their fear of it into our weapon."

"I can't believe I'm saying this," Isol said, "but that's... not the worst logic I've heard this week."

"Stylls Warren eat all they green meat," a small voice declared.

Everyone turned. Styll stood on a broken bit of pipe, arms out like wings, head tilted sideways like she'd heard a secret.

"Styll woked 'cause noise got big. Plan noise. Boom noise. Stylls likes boom."

Wren exhaled, a mix of laugh and groan. "Styll. Where did you even come from?"

"Woke 'cause dream said walk," Styll said proudly. "Feet moved. Now Styll here."

Cassian grinned. "She's not wrong. This smells like a Warren plan."

"A dumb one," Wren muttered.

"But ours," Grix added.

Zal-Raan arrived next, with Yeri just behind him, their boots wet and shoulders hunched from the rain. "We heard," he said simply. "Word's already moving."

"How fast?" Warren asked.

"Fast," Yeri said. "People are scared, but they're listening. They'll follow if the core does."

"We'll need to do more than follow," Deana said. "We need discipline. Structure. Scouting. Load balancing. If this falls apart halfway through, we lose everything."

"We'll need maps," Batu added. "Anything we have on the Red's sublevels. Access shafts. Utility grids. Whatever the old world left behind."

"We'll make our own if we have to," Jurpat said.

Fizzy stood beside Dr. Morgan now, clutching her doll. She hadn't spoken, but her eyes blinked slowly, all three in slow sequence.

"They're listening already," Morgan said. "She hasn't stopped twitching since Warren started talking."

"Good," Warren said.

"Not good," Morgan corrected. "This is a line. You can't uncross it."

"I don't want to uncross it," Warren replied. "I want to draw it so deep they remember it forever."

Bee emerged from the shadows near the rubble pile. She hadn't spoken in some time. Now, she just said one word.

"Noise."

Warren turned to her. "You think they'll hear us?"

"No," Bee said. "They'll feel us. The Broken. The ground changes when people move like this. We'll stir them."

"We want to," Warren said. "We want them on our heels."

Bee tilted her head. "They'll come. But they won't be the same ones."

"What do you mean?" Wren asked.

Bee didn't answer.

Tamsin yelled something from the Hauler line behind them. It was mostly about ration distribution. No one responded.

"We'll need signals," Jurpat said. "Comm discipline. Hand codes. Voice comms'll fail underground."

"I've got old Legion patterns," Isol said. "We'll drill them."

"Medical evac plans," Morgan added. "Fallback teams. Trauma kits. Who carries what. I'll draw it up."

"This is turning into an op," Wren said, half in disbelief.

"This is a war," Warren said. "Just one the Green doesn't know they've lost yet."

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Styll raised her hand again. "Styll thinks... big too big," she mumbled. "Too many peoplings. Brokns not like big. Big make scream in dirt."

Cassian blinked. "Still no idea what that means."

"Brokns see big, get scared. Or get bitey. No sure which. Maybes both. Maybes all. Maybes bad." She squinted toward the convoy. "Maybes good too. Big means big loud. Big louds makes all things look."

"We'll need to vote," Deana said. "At least among the core. Even if Warren's in command, this changes the entire strategy. People should have a say."

Warren nodded. "Fine. But it's not about fear. It's about will. We don't win by surviving. We win by moving forward."

"I vote yes," Grix said, without hesitation.

"So do I," Cassian added. "I'm tired of waiting for the future to show up. Let's drag it in."

"Count me in," Batu said. "We've bled too long not to make it mean something."

Wren closed her eyes.

Then opened them.

"You already know my answer," she said.

Warren looked at the others. "That's enough. We start prepping tomorrow. Calra, take a team into the viable tunnel. Clear anything you find. Grix, go with her. Deana, take inventory on med supplies. Isol, you're training the guards."

"What about you?" Jurpat asked.

Warren turned back to the cache crates. "I'm going to make sure we have enough to feed three hundred people on the road to hell."

And then he smiled.

They left the road before dawn.

Warren signaled to pull to the right, toward the edge of the fungal forest, where the earth turned mossy and the air changed. The road was wide enough for a clean column of Haulers. Zoomers wove between them, engines screaming, repulsors cutting shallow arcs. Now, they were off it. Into broken paths and tangled terrain, where the machines struggled and wheels dug ruts in soft mud.

Warren led from the front, mounted on the same Zoomer he'd taken from the compound bay. Wren sat behind him, arms around his waist, her eyes locked on the forest that crept closer with every mile.

"We're cutting right," Warren had said before they moved. "Toward the forest line. That's where Muk-Tah will be coming from. If we meet the caravan before we hit the city, we'll have the numbers to make this more than a risk."

Isol had lit up the moment the forest came into view. "Wait, are we heading back in?" he asked, almost bouncing in place. "Because last time I saw this fungal bloom near the low ridgeline, it was crawling. Like actually crawling. Looked like it was trying to eat a rock. I need a sample."

"We're not," Warren replied. "They're coming out. We hold here, they meet us at the edge. We set camp, we link up, and we finish this together."

Cassian had grinned. "So we're setting up right where the caravan's gonna pop out. Sounds about right."

"Better than wandering blind," Deana said. "If nothing terrible happens, they'll walk straight into camp and we move as one."

Now they moved like ghosts in a shifting line, weaving between shattered stone and collapsed irrigation pillars, all half-swallowed by vine creep and broken canopy growth. The terrain wasn't ideal, but it was quiet.

Warren rode with his eyes forward. He wasn't worried about the Green out here.

Behind him, Grix and Batu rode side by side, arguing over route angles and whether the vines ahead were touch-harmful or just ugly. Nanuk rode on a Zoomer with Deana, seated steady behind her as she handled the throttle. He scanned the treeline with the calm of someone waiting for trouble that hadn't shown up yet.

Styll sat with Warren, curled in the hollow behind his back, her voice quiet but meant for him alone.

"Greens no looking," she said. "fourest stinky no likes"

The forest loomed larger now, but no one flinched.

Wren tapped Warren's shoulder. "We stopping near the ridge?"

"Yeah," he said. "Set up camp. Let the caravan come to us."

"Assuming nothing goes sideways."

"Nothing will," he said.

They began breaking off into staggered formation, creating space for the haulers to maneuver as the path narrowed. On the flanks, scouts peeled off in pairs, checking ridgelines and game trails for any sign of movement.

The forest's edge wasn't hostile, but it pulled the eye in strange ways. Towering fungal pillars rose like the towers of a shattered cathedral, their caps unfolding in silent, layered fans that stretched ten meters wide. Bioluminescent strands hung from their undersides like braided nerve cords, swaying with no breeze. Moss spread in thick carpets of neon green and lavender, spiraling around rock outcroppings in almost deliberate shapes.

It wasn't alien to them. Not anymore. The fungal forest had its own logic, its own rhythm, and to those who'd walked it before, the beauty had become familiar. Dangerous or not, it was still one of the last wild places in the world that didn't care about the System.

Pale lycans wrapped stone and fallen transport husks, forming tight mesh structures like living fabric. In some places, the growth pulsed faintly, as if breathing. A dozen shades of amber and blue drifted across the terrain in slow, natural gradients. Light caught on a spiraled bloom that glistened wet in the shadows, and even Wren leaned forward slightly to stare.

"This place is weirdly beautiful," Cassian said over the open comms. "Even when you're used to it, it still makes you feel like you're walking through a dream someone else had first."

"Feels like we're inside something's lungs," Deana replied.

"Don't breathe too deep," Grix said. "Last time I did, I lost three memories and a tooth."

"Echo-One to base," Mabok's voice crackled over comms. "Got clear footing for staging. Low ridge, thirty meters north. Looks stable."

"Copy," Batu replied. "Mark it. We'll swing wide and loop in from the south. Keep it clean."

"Clean's a stretch," Cassian added. "But it's not glowing, so I'll take it."

A child's voice briefly cut in, background chatter from one of the rear Haulers. Someone shushed them, then a medic's voice replied calm and clear. "Convoy Three, please keep comms clear unless reporting."

Rain still fell in steady curtains, light but constant. It slicked the moss, gathered in slow-dragging beads on fungal caps, and traced thin rivulets down every surface it could find. Everything was soaked, not from storms, but from the endless drizzle that never stopped in this part of the world. Boots slid. Wheels struggled.

"Zoomers are overheating," Batu muttered over channel two. "We're running too slow for too long. They're not meant for terrain like this."

Wren shifted in her seat, one arm loosely draped over Warren's side. "Feels too quiet," she said, not afraid, just noticing.

"It's the good kind of quiet," he said. "Means we're ahead of the problems for once."

Nanuk said something soft to Deana, a rare almost-joke about how the air smelled less like mold and more like breakfast. She smirked and elbowed him in the ribs, then turned her attention back to the layout.

The convoy was settling in without urgency. Packs were being offloaded. Folding shelters deployed. No barking orders. Just practiced movement, people who knew how to make temporary feel like home.

Children's voices rose faintly in the background. Not cries. Just talk. Someone had found a dry patch under a bloom cap wide enough to play cards. A pair of older scavvers were debating whether the glowing moss was warm or just wet.

The ridge gave a good vantage. Enough that Warren could see the natural funnel where the caravan would have to pass. No choke points. No blind turns. Just clear, soft ground, veined with moss and bordered by quiet light.

They were going to be okay.

Further back, cook teams began radioing in to ask for setup zones. The plan was simple, split the groups across two ridges, keep a narrow middle line open for visibility, prep fires only in shielded pits.

"Echo-Two, any signs of the caravan?" Isol asked.

"Nothing yet," came the reply. "But the trail looks recently disturbed. Could be them."

Styll leaned against Warren, resting her head against his shoulder. "They comes," she said. "Not far now."

He didn't ask how she knew.

He just believed her.

The pillars didn't shift. The wind didn't change. But something in the air bent, slight, but real. Like the moment before a tide rolled in.

They were still. Ready.

Waiting for Muk-Tah.

They heard it before they saw it.

A low, distant sound, steady at first, then growing. the low thrum of engines and the soft vibration of linked frames, the uneven percussion of carved chimes, talking drums, and the occasional crack of ceremonial calls echoing faintly from deep within the fungal growth.

It was a sound too large to mistake. Not a migration. A war caravan.

The forest shimmered at its edge, not from heat or mist, but movement. Linked Haulers floated in segmented chains, maglocks binding each one in perfect rhythm, forming an unbroken line from deep within the bloom. Banner poles waved above them, tall and fluid, their clan glyphs marked in fungus-dyed thread and old scav cloth.

Warren stood beside Wren, still in his coat, helmet off. Styll perched at his hip, hand fisted in his belt. Around them, the camp had gone still.

"Sound like a war front," Batu muttered. "Except they're singing."

They were. Low and layered, voices in five dialects rising like overlapping waves. Not for peace. For battle. For the Tidelord.

Nanuk stepped up beside Deana, blinking. "That's not a caravan," he said. "That's everyone."

"They brought the whole damn Wilds," Isol said, almost under his breath.

A break formed in the front. Five figures emerged first, riders on long-legged fungal-coated mounts with plum collars braided in scav steel. Muk-Tah rode at the center, his eyes forward, body upright and wrapped in layered hide and crest-threaded armor. To his right and left, the four of the other chiefs: No-Rel, Ra-Sa, Kor-Ven, and Ha-Lek.

They dismounted at the base of the ridge where Warren stood.

Muk-Tah approached first, removing his helm with a practiced sweep. "Tidelord," he said, bowing deeply.

Warren stepped down from the rise and met him halfway.

"Muk-Tah," he greeted. "You made good time."

Muk-Tah looked around the encampment, his smile widening. "You killed the Warlord and took his Haulers, I see. Good. That is good news."

Ra-Sa was already scanning the camp, counting positions. "You set camp right. Good funnel. Strong exits. This was well done."

Kor-Ven grunted. "Didn't think you'd beat us here. You really are itching for war."

"Not war yet," Wren said, stepping up beside Warren. "But something close."

Ha-Lek stepped forward, arms crossed. "Tidelord. These are your people?"

"They are now," Warren said. "Some were lost. Some found. All followed."

No-Rel gave a slow nod. "Then you'll have ours. The tribes answer the call."

Behind them, the line of people kept growing. Thousands. Families, warriors, scavvers, beast-handlers, smiths, medics, cooks, lore-keepers. The Wilds were coming, not in straggled groups, but as one.

Wren leaned toward Warren. "This is it, isn't it?"

He nodded. "This is the line we draw."

And the forest, behind them, kept singing with wheels and voices.

The Tidelord had been answered.

Muk-Tah gestured toward the other chiefs. "We have strength. We have steel. What is your plan, Tidelord?"

Warren didn't hesitate. He stepped forward and turned slightly so the others could see him, his voice steady.

"We're going through the Red. All of us. We cut beneath the city and come up inside the Green. Before they can call for help."

There was a pause. Not disbelief, calculation.

Ra-Sa folded her arms. "There are thousands of us the reds not stable let alone safe."

Wren answered. "We've scouted it before. The tunnels are real. Part of the old sub-grid from the Empire. Wide enough for Haulers. Still stable."

Isol added, "And the Green won't be looking down. They think the Red is chaos. They don't care if it's navigable."

No-Rel gave a low grunt. "And the Broken?"

"They'll come," Warren said. "But not before us. We'll move fast. In tight formation. Minimal light, silent comms."

"Even fast," Kor-Ven said, "many will die."

Grix leaned against her lance. "Maybe. But we've killed more with less."

Muk-Tah nodded slowly. "You want the Broken to follow."

Warren met his gaze. "Yes. Let them chase us. Let them flood the surface while we strike beneath."

Batu smirked. "So the Green sees a riot while the blade's already inside the walls."

"That's the idea," Warren said. "We give them panic. They respond with force. By the time they're facing the swarm, we're already inside."

Ha-Lek stroked his chin. "And the civilians?"

"We take only volunteers," Warren said. "Anyone who can't fight or endure the run stays here. Ernala's will hold them back."

"Who says I'm not going?" Ernala's voice cut through the crowd, sharp and clear. She stepped forward, eyes locked on Warren. "You think I've come this far just to babysit tents?"

A dry voice followed hers, old, cracked, but still sharp as flint. "Then I will," said the eldest elder, stepping forward with her staff. "These bones aren't meant for battle, but they're strong enough to watch over fools and children. Go wage your war. I'll keep what's left safe."

Deana stepped up. "We'll take medics. Engineers. Anyone who can walk and pull weight."

Muk-Tah looked toward the distant ridge where the rest of the caravan still flowed. "You'll need signals. Control groups. Layered convoys."

Isol lifted his tablet. "Already started assigning units. Old Legion pattern. Split by speed and payload. Front, center, tail."

"Supplies?" Ra-Sa asked.

Wren answered before anyone else could. "They won't need them. Based on the map Warren made the last time we were in the Red, we won't be down there for more than three hours. We move fast, stay tight, and don't stop. No rations required if we keep pace."

Yeri added, "There are side tunnels if we need fallback options. Some open to drop shafts."

"That's where we'll lose people," No-Rel said.

"Maybe," Warren said. "But we've been losing people to the Green for our whole lives. I'd rather lose fighting back."

Muk-Tah took a long breath. Then he looked to the other chiefs. Each gave a nod in turn. Even Kor-Ven.

"You're certain this works?" Muk-Tah asked.

"No," Warren admitted. "But it's the only thing they won't expect. And I won't sit back while the Green keeps grinding the world down."

Styll leaned out from behind him. "Red's no safe, buts life no safe."

Kor-Ven actually chuckled. "Little one's right. Safe never fed us."

Warren looked over them all. "This isn't a death march. It's a take our lives back. And we're going to break their walls from the inside."

The chiefs stood quiet.

Then Muk-Tah raised his hand, and every warrior within sight paused. Looked. Waited.

"This is the will of the Tidelord," he said. "We go beneath. We rise inside. And we burn them to ash."