Ibris crouched low behind one of the mud brick homes. The air was thick with the scent of tropical plant life, animal waste, and heat, if you could smell heat. Laser gunfire echoed through Tzultac, a remote jungle village in central Yuca.

Suddenly, a shot whizzed by, barely missing his face.

Fuck. That was close.

He signaled his team to retreat. They vanished into the jungle and the mud structures, slipping away like shadows.

His nano-fiber combat suit blended with the jungle's backdrop, offering perfect disguise. His well-fitted green shirt accentuated his tall, muscular frame, while the camouflage pants allowed for mobility and breathability in the heat. Armor plating, light but strong, was strapped across his chest and limbs.

Today, he would finally rescue an entire shipment he had been tracking with the Yucan army for the past week. A shipment of twenty some captives. Atlantean women, girls, and halfbreeds, taken from small villages in the Western Atlantis. They were bound for the  Mutapu slave trade. He was determined to get to them before their pick up today.

Alright then. Let's try this another way.

He moved low to the ground, slipping to the other side of the mud brick home. His horns tilted slightly, still hidden, as he peeked around the corner, tracking the mercenaries' movements.  The bright afternoon sun beat down on his armor, reflecting off the metal plating, sending heat back into the already sweltering air.

His senses were heightened on custom STIMs. Courtesy of Don Cavialli's new Underworld lab.

He could feel every detail. Each pulse of the environment amplified. The heat rising from the jungle floor, the sweat trickling down his back.

Beside him, his squadmate, a fierce Yucan warrior named Nayeli Tulan, crouched low as well, her movements precise and swift. Blending strength and beauty in equal measure, she was armed to the teeth, weapons strapped everywhere, a silent testament to her lethal capabilities.

She was a sight to behold. Dark hair pulled back into a tight braid. Her dark eyes scanning the jungle and structures ahead, alert and unflinching. She was lean, rippling muscles contrasted with her feminine grace.

Having been part of a small rebel group in her earlier years, she had joined the Yucan army "to clean up her country."

Something Ibris understood better than most.

Ibris' thoughts flickered unbidden as his gaze traced over Nayeli's armor-clad form. She was a balance between sternness and softness: deep pink, full lips, high cheekbones, and a sharp nose that defined her striking allure. For a moment, his mind wandered, longingly.

Focus, focus, focus, he reminded himself.

He quickly looked away. Bringing himself back to the mission. But a small part of him couldn't help but wonder how much longer he'd be able to keep his thoughts in check.

She was already taken and dating someone he respected.

The sound of gunfire grew louder, closer. The enemy was advancing. Their shots rang out in short bursts, tearing through the air like venom.

Nayeli's gaze flicked toward him.

"What's taking him so long?" Her voice cut through the din of battle, harsh, urgent. Her words carried a hint of a Yucan accent, each syllable rolling off her tongue with a warmth, like a melodic echo.

"Maybe we should—" she continued.

Ibris could sense she was worried.

"No. We wait. Just a little longer."

He tightened his grip on his laser rifle, ready to unleash hell. His heart raced. He couldn't help but feel the STIMs flooding his system with adrenaline. He raised his fist to signal "halt," ensuring everyone behind and around them could see. Waiting.

There was no room for a mistake here.

From above, the magnificent bird halfbreed, Quetzalu, soared down, a laser rifle in his hand, blasting enemies from their hiding spots with deadly precision.

"Time to paint the sky with some chaos!" he bellowed.

Quetzalu was a sight to behold. A tall, muscular man with the wings and features of a quetzal bird, shimmering iridescent feathers of green, gold, and red. His arms and legs were fully human, strong and built for battle, while his wings stretched wide in an arc of color as he moved through the air. He wore khaki pants to his knees, refusing military gear—it didn't suit him anyway—a simple garment that complemented the colors of his feathers.

As he shot down the enemy, he emitted a distinct quetzal sound, a beautiful, haunting call.

"That's the signal," Ibris muttered, a grin tugging at his lips. He ran forward, gun in his hand, held in front of his face as he charged toward the hut. Ready for whatever was coming. Nayeli was close behind, mirroring his every move.

From behind them, the remaining five members of their team emerged, sprinting from the jungle and other nearby structures. Weapons drawn, they moved in sync, a seamless extension of Ibris and Nayeli's lead.

Together, they were lethal, efficient, and unstoppable.

Quetzalu soared overhead, his wings cutting through the air with precision as he fired off shots from his laser rifle. His bright feathers glistened in the sunlight. Each shot landed with deadly accuracy. The enemy falling one by one as they tried to retaliate from their positions.

Ibris and Nayeli moved forward. The jungle seemed to come alive around them. Their movements fluid, like a well-practiced dance. They exchanged no words, only glances, and the understanding between them was clear. They were here to liberate the captives and take them out of this hellhole before it was too late.

Nayeli threw a pulse grenade into the group of mercenaries hiding behind a crumbling wall, sending them sprawling. Ibris, with a laser rifle in hand, took out a few more, his shots precise and deadly.

Quetzalu landed beside them in a graceful dive, immediately taking position as the enemy retreated into the jungle. His rifle roared to life, clearing the path ahead, each shot a burst of bright light streaking through the air.

Behind them, the rest of the team took out the remaining mercenaries. Tizoc, the sharpshooter, took his position in the back, his rifle raising with a smooth, practiced motion. Kima and Xochil flanked the right, firing in sync as they advanced, while Itzel and Cuauhtémoc moved along the left, covering their teammates as they pushed forward.

They were a well-oiled machine, their movements synchronized, every one of them an extension of the other's instincts. Nayeli and Ibris led the charge, and the rest followed with precision, clearing the way for the mission to continue.

In a coordinated strike, the team surged forward toward the hut. The captives—twenty-five women, girls, and halfbreeds—watched, wide-eyed but filled with hope. Ibris gave them a quick nod, signaling for them to move. Quickly.

Quetzalu held the door, keeping close watch for any remaining mercenaries. The captives were led out one by one, their restraints cut.

Behind them, the rest of the team moved with deadly efficiency, picking off any mercenaries hiding in the shadows. Xochil and Itzel's shots were sharp and calculated, keeping the enemy at bay. Cuauhtémoc provided rear support, his rifle maintaining cover fire to prevent any ambushes.

They ushered the captives through the jungle, moving fast, with the crack of gunfire echoing behind them. Quetzalu led the way, his wings spread wide for cover, protecting the group from any stragglers.

Nayeli covered the front left, while Ibris held the right, taking out any remaining mercenaries attempting a last stand.

"Hurry!" Ibris urged.

They reached the landing zone, an airship waiting to take them to safety. The captives clambered aboard, relieved but uncertain. The rescue team followed.

Ibris, Nayeli, and Quetzalu remained in the jungle for a moment, just long enough to catch their breath. The team had done their part on this first mission, now it was time to return to Taros and rest.

***

The airship flew toward the port city of Taros, a sprawling urban center and fusion of modern technology and ancient architecture in Yuca. The city stretched across the coast, nestled on the edge of a blue-green sea, with towering stone buildings, homes, and temples, and sprawling markets that blended seamlessly with glittering colorful lights. The streets were alive humans, halfbreeds, and outdated androids, moving together in the same space, a vibrant dance of old and new.

The rich and the poor walked side by side here. The towering buildings cast long shadows over the dirt roads where beggars sat, hoping for scraps. The marketplace was lined with both luxury items and scrap tech, a reminder of the city's contradictions. It was a place of great wealth and devastating poverty, all in one.

The airship touched down in a sky port near the water.

The captives were swiftly moved from the airship to another transatlantic airship bound for Atlantis. Many of them, exhausted, whispered the names of their homes, villages west of Bahyan City. Ibris had made arrangements for them, coordinating with trusted contacts in Southern Atlantis to get them home safely.

The weight of the mission was still heavy on Ibris. But a flicker of relief ran through him.

These people, these lives... they'll be returned to their families. To places far from the horrors they've endured.

***

Later, Ibris, Nayeli, and Quetzalu sat at a dimly lit, green-painted bar in a quiet corner of the city. Like many places in Taros, the establishment blended high-tech and ancient design—stone carvings on the walls, neon flickering dimly above. The air smelled of spice and herbs, while an old Enki-120 server android hummed softly in the background. The steady beat of music, flowing with a familiar rhythm, played in the background.

The bar was busy. The city's noise barely touched them.

Nayeli and Quetzalu clinked their glasses, both holding deep amber colored ambrosia. They shared a grin, alight with the thrill of their success.

"Cheers!" they said in unison, their voices full of relief and celebration.

Ibris cradled his cup of Jin Yal, a warm, soothing tea made from jungle herbs. Known for its calming properties. The earthy taste slid down his throat, easing the tension that still clung to his muscles. He let out a slow breath. The heaviness of the day finally started to lift.

"You really don't drink?" Nayeli asked, her voice soft, as she snuggled into Quetzalu, who wrapped a muscular arm around her.

Ibris shook his head. His horns catching the dim lighting. 

"During the war, he could drink anyone under the table." Quetzalu said, grinning proudly.

"That's a drastic change." Nayeli said, taking a sip.

Ibris couldn't help but feel a tightness in his chest watching them so close, so comfortable. His eyes lingered on their shared intimacy for a moment. The way Nayeli rested so easily against Quetzalu. The subtle affection between them. 

Ibris quickly looked away, the warmth in his chest twisting into something unfamiliar, something sharper.

He wanted it for himself. He wanted to care for someone again. But the prospect of that felt impossible now.

Why bother? What was the point if the world was ending? A thought that haunted him.

"I have to make a pick-up later tonight from the sky port," Ibris said, curtly.

"Who?" Quetzalu asked, raising his colorful eyebrows and squeezing Nayeli's shoulder affectionately.

"Yoshua Imenti," Ibris replied.

"Oh, this is about to get wild," Quetzalu grinned, his eyes growing large.

"Who's that, baby?" Nayeli asked, leaning into him further.

"We fought in the Nori war together. He's one of the best warriors I've had the chance to fight alongside," he paused, "other than you, of course, Ibris."

Ibris rolled his eyes. "Of course."

"No, really," Quetzalu insisted, his words slightly slurred. "Nayeli, this man here is the best battalion leader I've had the honor of following." His voice still thick with ambrosia but sincere. "I truly believe I survived the war because he led us."

"To Ibris." Nayeli raised her glass to him, and they both drank again.

Ibris glanced over at them. A weak smile. Pride swelled in his chest. But it wasn't enough to mask the flash of discomfort he felt at the praise. Somehow, he wasn't sure he deserved it.

In that moment, the bartender approached. She was stunning, with short, sleek black hair that framed her sharp features and sunkissed skin. Her black sleeveless top hugged her curves, accentuating her assets. Her short shorts highlighted her toned legs. Every step exuded confidence.

Ibris' eyes lingered, then quickly pulled away to avoid being obvious.

He could feel the heat radiating from her. The air around her was electric. He rubbed his forehead, trying to clear his head. Maybe there were still STIMs in his system.

"You not drinking, Atlantean?" she asked. Her Yucan accent dripped with smooth charm.

Her gaze flicked from his tea cup to his horns, staying a moment longer than necessary. Her smile was suggestive. Warm. Flirtatious. Knowing.

He didn't mind her staring, it gave him time to study her perfectly proportioned body.

"No," Ibris replied, setting his tea cup down. He quickly looked away again.

She smiled, raising an eyebrow in a playful challenge. Her eyes twinkled with mischief. "Well, suit yourself," she said, winking. Her gaze lingered on him before shifting to Quetzalu and Nayeli.

"What about you two?"

"One more round for us," Nayeli said with a goofy grin, clearly already tipsy.

Ibris shook his head, slightly exasperated. But they're already wasted.

By the time the second round of drinks arrived, both Nayeli and Quetzalu were completely gone, slurring their words and laughing too loud. They began recounting their recent missions in the southern Yucan jungles. Their voices animated as they spoke of ancient structures they'd found, right in the middle of a full shootout with a group of terrorists.

"We barely made it out," Quetzalu slurred. "But those ruins? Man, they were beautiful. Almost as beautiful as Nayeli here."

"Oh, please," Nayeli laughed, waving him off. "You should've seen Quetzalu! He took down three of those bastards with his wings alone!"

Ibris couldn't help but roll his eyes again. His thoughts shifted back to the mission ahead with Yoshua.

Meanwhile, Nayeli and Quetzalu continued, their words growing less coherent as they leaned into each other, completely absorbed in the story. Before long, they were making out right at the bar, oblivious to everything around them.

Ibris tried not to watch their intense, passionate public display of affection. Instead, he focused his attention on his second cup of tea.

After a few more minutes, which felt longer to Ibris, Quetzalu pulled back and noticed him sitting there. His grin grew sly. "Oh, we should get going," he said, glancing at Nayeli with a playful glint in his eyes. "We've got a day ahead of us tomorrow."

And apparently, a long night too. Ibris shook his head.

"Yeah," Nayeli replied, swaying, with amusement.

"See you tomorrow." Quetzalu said, patting Ibris on the back as he wrapped one arm around Nayeli.

They both stood up and left together.

Now, Ibris was alone at the bar. His tea and tablet were the only things keeping him company. The bar had grown quieter, nearly empty now. Yoshua's flight wouldn't arrive for another three hours. The city was winding down, the hum of life slowly ebbing. Ibris wasn't sure where to go next, feeling restless and too awake to sleep.

Maybe it was the STIMs. Maybe it was just the tea.

He checked his tablet again. Why hadn't Yoshua sent him any messages before departure?

The bartender returned. "What's your name, Atlantean?" she asked, smiling.

He looked up, startled.

"I'm Inez," she added, her voice sultry. Her gaze softened.

Instantly, his body reacted to her presence again. He gave her a sly smile.

"Ibris."

She leaned in slightly. "What are you up to tonight, Ibris?"

"Killing time." He said, glancing at his tablet, then back at her.

"Time's a terrible thing to waste," she replied, leaning in further, just enough for him to notice her curves. The exposed softness of her skin.

She made sure he got the message.

"I suppose it is." He raised his eyebrows at the proposition.

She traced her finger along the counter. The movement was deliberate and slow, drawing his eyes to it. Then, with a subtle nod, she beckoned with that same finger, motioning toward the back of the restaurant. Her invitation was clear.

Without a word, Ibris stood. Moving in his usual composed manner. He followed her, step for step, through the dimly lit backroom of the bar. The air charged with anticipation.