The bus rumbled to a stop in the middle of nowhere.
I an nowhere. So dirt clearing on the side of a two-lane road, surrounded by scrub grass and the kind of trees that looked like they’d lost an argunt with the sun. A chain-link fence ringed the periter, its posts sagging under faded FGRA warning signs that had been zip-tied at uneven heights. No shade. No water fountains. Just gravel, dust, and the absolute certainty that we were about to walk through hell for loot.
"This is it?" Jordan pressed his face against the bus window. "This looks like where serial killers bury evidence."
"That’s the vibe," Belle said, already on her feet and reaching for her gear. "Very ’nothing to see here, definitely not a tear in reality behind that fence.’"
Misato stood first, adjusting her tactical suit with practiced efficiency. Her li-green hair caught the light filtering through the grimy windows. "Everyone off. We walk from here."
I grabbed my spear from the overhead rack and followed Naomi down the narrow aisle, my boots crunching on gravel as I stepped off the bus. The California sun hit like a physical blow. Hot. Dry. The kind of heat that reminded you that you were basically in a desert that pretended to be habitable. My shirt started sticking to my back within seconds.
Belle landed beside , shading her eyes with one hand. "Where’s the gate? I thought these things were supposed to be obvious."
"About a mile that way." Misato pointed toward a dirt trail winding into the hills. "They keep the access points away from public roads. Security reasons."
"A mile." Jordan’s voice ca out completely dead. "Of course it’s a mile. Why would they put the gate sowhere convenient, like next to the parking spot where it makes sense?"
"Consider it part of the warm-up." Misato started walking, and we had no choice but to follow.
The trail cut through dry grass and rocks that looked like soone had dumped them from orbit. Naomi matched my pace, her staff balanced across her shoulders. The sun turned her pink hair almost luminescent, and for half a second I forgot we were about to fight amphibious monsters for points and rent money.
"You ready?" she asked.
"Ready as I’ll ever be."
"That’s not actually reassuring."
"I know."
Belle walked ahead with Misato, probably trading notes on detection thods. Jordan trudged behind us, muttering about heat and dirt and why couldn’t the FGRA invest in shuttle service instead of making students walk through the wilderness like so kind of survival challenge.
The walk took twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of sweat, dust, and increasingly creative complaining from Jordan about gate placent logistics and whoever designed the access protocols. By the ti we crested the final hill, my shirt clung to my back and my boots had collected a fine layer of California dirt.
The gate sat in the center of a flat clearing ringed by more chain-link fence. A vertical tear in the air, maybe fifteen feet tall and six feet wide, glowing faint purple around the edges. No sound. No wind. Just a wrongness to the way light bent around it that made my brain itch.
A single handler waited near a folding table with a laptop, his FGRA windbreaker too bright against the dull landscape. Middle-aged guy, balding, coffee in a thermal mug that probably tasted like regret and institutional disappointnt.
"Midnight Foxes?" he called as we approached.
"That’s us," Misato confird.
He tapped his laptop twice, squinted at the screen. "Three minutes past your scheduled ti slot. Almost had you down as a no-show."
"Got lost."
The handler didn’t look up. "ID cards."
We ford a rough line and scanned our academy cards against his reader. Each beep sounded too loud in the quiet clearing. Belle. Naomi. Jordan. Misato. .
"Tier Two swamp bio." The handler’s voice carried all the enthusiasm of soone reciting phone numbers. "Estimated clear ti ninety minutes based on your submitted team stats. Amphibian-class hostiles. Paralytic venom in the dominant species. Environntal hazards include soft ground and unstable footing. Boss signature present but unclassified. Sensors put it sowhere in the mid-Silver range." He paused long enough to take a sip of coffee. "Questions?"
"What’s the backup extraction protocol?" Belle asked.
"Two hours after entry we send in a recovery team if you haven’t exited." The handler gestured vaguely at the gate. "Pressure readings are stable. Gate’s been open for six hours without fluctuation. Should be straightforward."
Should be.
The word every dead hunter probably heard before they walked into their last gate.
"Alright." Misato turned toward the shimring tear. "We’re going in."
"Good luck." The handler returned his attention to his laptop, already bored.
Belle moved to my left, checking her crossbow bolts for the third ti. Naomi stood on my right, her staff in hand and her expression focused. Jordan brought up the rear, his shadows already twitching across the dirt like restless dogs.
Misato looked at each of us in turn. "Formation on entry. Stay tight. Watch your footing. If you fall in the muck, you’re on your own."
"Motivational," Jordan muttered.
"Move."
We walked toward the gate.
Up close, the tear looked worse. The edges didn’t just glow, they pulsed, like sothing breathing. The air slled like ozone and copper. My skin prickled.
Naomi reached over and squeezed my hand once, quick.
Then Misato stepped through, and the gate swallowed her whole.
Belle went next, disappearing into the shimr without hesitation.
Jordan took a breath. "If I die, tell my mom I was brave."
"You won’t die," I said.
"But if I do—"
"You won’t."
He stepped through anyway.
Naomi glanced at one last ti. "Together?"
"Always."
We walked through the gate holding hands.
Reality twisted.
My stomach dropped like an elevator with cut cables, and the world turned inside out for half a second. Cold pressure squeezed my entire body, then released all at once.
I stumbled forward, gasping, and my boot plunged into water.
Not water.
Calf-deep water.
"Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding ," I said out loud.
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