The rain pattered against the canvas roof like fingertips tapping glass. Outside, the forward camp was a mess of light and motion—medics processing the wounded, drones overhead humming like silent ghosts. But inside the tent, it was quiet. Too quiet.
The kind of silence that waits.
Phillip stood at the entrance, arms crossed, watching the man seated calmly beneath the interrogation floodlight.
Matias Reyes.
He looked clean—too clean for someone pulled from the remains of a destroyed base. Uniform scrubbed, boots laced tight, no visible wounds. On paper, he was a civilian contractor. Logistics support. Checked into the Bataan base just six days ago.
No prior military record. No government ties. No digital footprint before the outbreak.
Which made him dangerous.
Phillip stepped inside. Behind him, Shadow 4 and an Overwatch analyst followed in silence. A scanner hummed softly in the corner, logging neural activity, body heat, pulse.
