Running her fingers along the edge of the expansive mahogany desk, Toivonen felt a subtle tinge of glee due to the upgrade from the standard-issue furniture that populated most of Langley's offices. It was a silent acknowledgment of her greatly expanded authority and responsibilities.
A year ago, she would have been absolutely ecstatic to receive such an esteemed and prestigious position as the head of an entire mission center. Toivonen would have excitedly called her father back in Helsinki to share her accomplishment while carefully avoiding classified details. She would have allowed herself to crack open that $300 bottle of whiskey and revel in finally being among the elite she always believed herself to be.
But now... Now it felt like anything but the blessing Toivonen thought it was. The crushing pressure, the overwhelming expectations, the quagmire of responsibility—all of it weighed down on her so heavily that it felt like her spine was starting to compress with each breath.
The Paranormal Response & Intelligence Strategic Mission Center went far beyond the focus of a specific region or tasking that was standard with an ordinary mission center—not to say any mission center was ordinary. Toivonen's responsibilities spanned two worlds and a war where the fate of mankind rested firmly in her hands.
Toivonen headed an entire sub-organization that quite literally held the fate of two worlds in her hands, and it could end either extremely badly or set them on a path of such unforeseen prosperity that it would dwarf anything in recorded history. The stakes had never been higher, with the need to perform just as critical, and if Toivonen were honest with herself, she hated it.
Settling into her plush leather chair, Toivonen grabbed a few top-secret files she had been reviewing earlier and went over them again. There were people relying on her, and she couldn’t afford to cave into the pressure when an unimaginable number of lives, money, and political capital were at stake. She had a presidential mandate and a public mandate to execute the hidden hand of this war, and she would do so to the best of her ability. Or at least until they replaced her, and God did Toivonen wish that would happen sooner rather than later.
As she poured into her work, the Chief’s suspicions from the initial reports had proven correct. The ‘boy scout’ she had been keeping an eye on was exactly that—a boy scout. Not the kind whose natural instincts for fieldcraft outweighed his discipline issues, but the clean-cut, follow-the-rules, and standard operating procedures type.
"Staff Sergeant Elijah Drake..." Toivonen muttered as she tossed Coleman’s file to the side and picked up the ‘problem child’ once more.
It was evident that the man had been an absolute nuisance to deal with and a nightmare to manage. Toivonen once again reviewed the details and realized that he had not only been demoted twice, but Drake had also been consistently overlooked for promotions. The troublemaker had spent his entire career walking the fine line between what was acceptable and what could lead to his dismissal, and his overall service record was a mixed bag of commendations for exceptional performance in the field and disciplinary actions. The only thing keeping him safe was his creative interpretation of mission parameters in light of his insubordination.
Settling into her plush leather chair, Toivonen tossed aside the notorious Staff Sergeant’s dossier, but at the same moment, her secure phone vibrated sharply. Heaving a sigh, the Chief ran a hand down her face before reaching over to her desk to grab the device. However, the moment she brought the phone to her face, Toivonen couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow.
The notification wasn’t the usual update or message she’d receive. Usually, she’d just get pinged that she was needed for yet another meeting or a cable about another dead end from one of her field agents. But this time, she received a notification that there was a high-priority cable that had bypassed the regular analytical pipeline and was sent straight to her terminal. With her interest piqued, Toinvonen tapped her access code, went through a few biometric screenings, and activated her secure terminal.
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TOP SECRET//NOFORN
Date-Time Group: 230300Z AUG 25
TO: Chief Sofia Toivonen, Paranormal Response & Intelligence Strategic Mission Center
FROM: Field Station AR-7
SUBJECT: INITIAL CONTACT REPORT – OPERATION SILVERGATE
REF: FS-DR7-OPSG-001
- (TS//NF) SUMMARY: Field operatives have established contact with an individual designated “INDI,” identified as a high-ranking, feline humanoid wielding significant influence within a clandestine criminal syndicate.
- (TS//NF) DETAILS:
- (TS//NF) Subject Designation “JAYDA”: Elf-like humanoid Imperial Logistics officer, now under interrogation as a potential penetration asset. Provided detailed reports on Imperial patrol routes, supply chain choke points, and guard rotation patterns.
- (TS//NF) Assessed reliability: UNKNOWN – ESTABLISHING ASSESSMENT.
- (TS//NF) Subject Designation "INDI": Feline humanoid suspected of aristocratic background commanding significant criminal enterprise. Demonstrates exceptional tactical acumen, superhuman abilities, and unexplained awareness of operational security measures.
- (TS//NF) WARNING: Subject exhibits extreme violence with minimal provocation and possesses combat capabilities far exceeding tier-one operators. Executed local power broker without hesitation or warning. Currently pursuing destabilization campaign against rival within the same syndicate.
- (TS//NF) NOTE: Subject appears to have identified team's true nature and intentions without compromise of cover.
- (TS//NF) Assessed reliability: UNKNOWN – EXERCISE EXTREME CAUTION.
TOP SECRET//NOFORN
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As Toivonen read and then reread the structured report, her jaw slowly started to drop with each passing bullet point. The intelligence contained within this densely packed cable was as worrying as it was game-changing. It seemed that within just a handful of days, the joint task force she hastily and desperately slapped together before throwing them at the wall had done the impossible.
The significance of what was in this cable couldn't be overstated. With this ‘JAYDA’ asset, they were going to receive an astronomical tactical advantage. If they prove reliable, US and NATO forces were going to get information on Imperial patrol routes they could exploit, supply chain vulnerabilities they could target, and most importantly, a foothold within the Imperial command structure itself.
But what made Toivonen really lick her lips was the long-term implications. If handled properly, this fledgling network could expand all across that dimension. The intelligence they could gather, the technologies they could acquire, the strategic positioning they could establish—it was the kind of opportunity that came once in a generation, if that. This could be the foundation upon which America's position in this new world would be built, securing resources and influence that would reshape geopolitics back home forever.
And it had all happened because some problem child Green Beret apparently had the audacity to ignore not only protocol but all common sensibility and make friends with the most dangerous criminal element he could find.
As she continued scrolling through the details, Toivonen found herself completely at a loss for words. Making inroads with a criminal underground was one thing—that was practically page one of the CIA playbook. But to make connections with someone holding significant authority in some unknown syndicate, have said authority begin dismantling the current power structure within the town, and then not just capture an Imperial logistics officer but actually turn her in?
It was like someone had pieced together the Zodiac or collected the goddamn Infinity Stones. This kind of work typically took years of careful cultivation, an uncountable amount of officers, tens if not hundreds of millions in operational funds, and an extraordinary dose of sheer luck. Yet somehow, this ragtag team had accomplished it in less time than it took Toivonen to get her new office furniture delivered with nothing more than a few sticks and some rope.
Scrolling further through the intelligence trove, Toivonen's eyes landed on the personnel recommendation at the bottom of the document:
(TS//NF) DRAKE, ELIJAH (SSG, ODA 5225, B CO, 2ND BTN, 5TH SFG): Appointed as the primary liaison for subjects INDI, AZELINE, FEREI, and MARA.
(TS//NF) NOTE: STRONGLY recommended for accelerated paramilitary training.
TOP SECRET // NOFORN
A laugh escaped Toivonen's lips before she could stop it. That recommendation was already a foregone conclusion. If Drake somehow survived this mess he was creating, she was definitely pulling him into the fold. And she was more than certain that the Special Activities Center was going to fight her tooth and nail for Drake. SAC was always sniffing around for fresh talent, but there was no way in hell Toivonen was letting those fucks have him.
"No," she muttered to herself. "Absolutely not. I saw him first you pieces of shits."
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Toivonen needed Drake under her explicit command. She needed him out there doing covert and clandestine intelligence work, not disappearing into SAC's black hole of deniable operations. Having him yanked from her command as a loaner whenever SAC felt uppity was completely out of the question.
But as she thought about the bigger picture, Toivonen felt a cringe forming on her face. "This is going to send ripples all the way up to the President," she whispered, massaging her temples as she contemplated the bureaucratic turf war that was about to erupt. Multiple agencies were already jockeying for position within the anomalous zone, and this development would only intensify the infighting.
After a few moments of rubbing, Toivonen felt that main deep in her head slowly start to fade as she leaned back in her chair and stared out the window into Langley's courtyard. Below, analysts and staff moved from building to building, completely unaware of the interdimensional chess game unfolding on her terminal.
She was most definitely going to have to bury Elijah Drake's identity as deep as she could and scrub any mention of his involvement from official records. He was just too valuable of an asset not to make his existence be on a need-to-know basis. If any other one of these vultures caught wind about what he'd accomplished, every intelligence chief with half a brain would become crawling out of the woodwork trying to poach him
Glancing back at his dossier, Toivonen couldn't help but smirk. It wouldn’t be too hard to pull Drake away from the Army's grip. There were already plenty of reasons to have him dishonorably discharged, and with his habits, something would surely arise. All she had to do was choose a reason, push the paperwork through, and then snatch him up before anyone noticed what was happening. Hell, his disciplinary record alone provided enough viable options; any one of his ‘creative interpretations’ could easily be reframed as a serious violation of the Uniform Code of Military Justice.
To put the nail in the coffin, a dishonorable discharge would effectively make him radioactive to most government agencies, limiting his options and making him more dependent on whatever lifeline Toivonen threw him. It wasn't very fair or pretty, but Toivonen hadn't gotten to her position by playing nice.
All Drake needed to do now was hop on the first helicopter out of there once the town was captured.
This information seemingly breathed new life into Toivonen as she drummed her fingers on her desk with renewed purpose. With this massive intelligence win, it wouldn't be long until they would have to start considering how to prep this town for the inevitable assault. Might as well get a jump on it so she was ready to go when military leaders got ahold of this information.
Toivonen was more than sure the operational tempo would shift from planning to execution at a pace that could only be described as... very aggressive. The Pentagon wouldn't waste time once they realized the potential strategic advantage they'd gained. The generals had been chomping at the bit to expand their foothold from the moment the first boots crossed the rift and she just hoped they would limit the damage and… trauma they’d inevitably inflict.
But as those thoughts crossed her mind, far beyond the comforts of her office on the other side of the rift, destruction was all that the the other world knew in this moment. As this strange new world's sun drifted loftily over the horizon, it painted the sky in hues of amber and crimson. However, what should have been a sleepy scene of picturesque beauty was instead wracked with a dense layer of smoke and grime.
Upon a rather large rise in the earth, stripped bare of its trees, a hill affectionately named "Hill 4" bristled with all kinds of artillery batteries that hammered away at targets far out of sight. The constant, rhythmic eruptions that came from the howitzers shattered any semblance of peace that might have existed in this alien landscape. Each concussive blast and each violent hiss of rockets sent birds scattering from distant trees and into orange hues.
"Stand by!" a voice bellowed over the cacophony of war. Standing just before his crew of gun 4 was a rather dirty U.S. Marine Artillery section chief with his arm raised. Each of them wore neck gaiters over their nose in an attempt to keep the overwhelming amount of burnt propellant out of their lungs. But with each blast of the countless guns going off, breathing somewhat clean air seemed to be a losing battle.
Just as those words left his mouth, one of his Marines pulled the lever and slammed shut the breach of the M-777 tower howitzer they were manning. Another Marine held the lanyard taut as he stared at his section chief in anticipation while the unending sounds of gunfire consumed the entirety of Hill 4.
"Fire!" the section chief yelled, dropping his arm in a sharp, downward motion.
The gunner pulled on the lanyard without hesitation. A near-blinding fireball and a deafening blast erupted at the end of their gun that sent another 155mm high-explosive round screaming toward the unfortunate souls beyond the horizon. The massive artillery piece recoiled violently, rocking back on its hydraulics before settling into position for the next round.
Just before the gun finally settled back into its original position, the Fire Direction Center (FDC) erupted on the radio, relaying another fire mission.
"Fire mission!"
The cry sent the crew scrambling, echoing back "Fire mission!" as they prepared to receive their new targeting data. The radio crackled back to life, giving instructions to each gun in sequence.
"Gun one, quadrant 281," the FDC's voice cut through the chaos.
The crew of gun four immediately got to work even though that command wasn't for them, but they all knew they were going to be firing in that general direction. The gunner twisted the elevation wheel, raising the massive barrel skyward while the assistant gunner checked the bubbles on the sight to ensure they were level.
The FDC methodically worked through each gun's instructions, giving them the targeting data until they finally reached gun four.
"Gun four, 15 rounds, deflection 3284," the radio squawked.
"Deflection 3284," the section chief verified.
Hearing that call, the crew worked the hand wheels, orienting the gun with practiced efficiency. The massive barrel swung to the left as sweaty and grimy Marines worked to orient their massive weapon.
"Deflection 3284, verified!" the gunner shouted, his voice straining to be heard over the thunderous symphony of other batteries firing in sequence.
"Quadrant 281!" the FDC's voice came back.
"Quadrant 281," the section chief acknowledged, clicking his radio.
Having already begun adjusting the gun, the crew just double-checked that they were on point, squinting through the sights as the fading sunlight made their job that much harder.
"281, verified!" the gunner called out, confirming they were ready for the kill.
It was time to get the show on the road. The section chief moved to better orchestrate his crew as he adjusted the gaiter over his nose to get the toxic propellant out of his lungs.
"HE-PD!" he yelled, calling for a high explosive, point-detonating round.
"HE-PD, verified!" the loader shouted back as they slid the massive 155mm round into the feed tray with a metallic clunk.
The round slamming into the metal tray would have been deafening on its own, but the overwhelming cacophony around them made it sound no louder than a pin dropping. As the feed tray lowered, the massive marine used his ramming staff with a near-running start to slide the round into the chamber before quickly stepping aside. While most guns employed two rammers, this behemoth shoved the hefty chunk of metal and explosives into the breach himself.
"Charge two!" the section chief ordered.
Another Marine shoved the propellant bag into the breach as ordered, saying, "Charge two, verified!"
Now it was time to triple-check everything—mistakes cost lives in this business. The section chief repeated their aiming coordinates. "Deflection 3284!"
"3284, verified!" the gunner responded without hesitation.
"Quadrant 281,!"
"Quadrant 281, verified!" Immediately came the response.
A few moments of silence reigned over gun 4’s crew, except for the continuous booms of the other batteries, but it didn't take long before the FDC's voice cut through once more: "Stand by!"
"Stand by!" the section chief echoed to his crew as the lever of the breach slammed shut with a satisfying clank.
The section chief raised his hand again, causing every muscle in his body to tense as the crew awaited the command. They had been at this for hours, and the section chief could feel the fatigue creeping in, especially as time seemed to stretch in those moments. However, he knew that once the gun went off, adrenaline would kick in, and he would be up and going in no time.
"Fire!" the FDC ordered.
"Fire!" the section chief damn near shouted at the same time, throwing his arm down in a sharp, decisive motion.
Gun four erupted along with every other gun in the battery, their combined fury unleashing a wall of death and destruction across the landscape. The gun rocked violently back on its hydraulics, belching flame and smoke as another round was already being prepared.
"HE-PD! Charge two!" the section chief immediately yelled as muscle memory took over before the gun had even settled back into position.
The crew moved like a well-oiled machine built from countless hours of drilling and real-world fire missions. The loader already had the next round in his hands, sliding it into the feed tray as the rammer shoved it deep into the breach.
"HE-PD, verified!" came the automatic response, followed moments later by, "Charge two, verified!" as another propellant bag was shoved into place.
Gun four, along with every other gun in the battery, resembled a hive of agitated bees. Soldiers and Marines scrambled across their positions, each knowing exactly where to be and what to do without having to be told. Bodies twisted and turned in the orange glow of the setting sun, working desperately to keep the steel rain falling.
The dance continued—checking deflection, verifying the quadrant, ensuring charge, all while rocket artillery fired massive and deadly payloads, illuminating the entire hill with each launch. Regardless of what was happening, the hill had produced a never-ending rolling thunder since morning.
"Stand by!" the section chief bellowed as the breach slammed shut once more.
His arm shot skyward with finger pointed toward the heavens in a damn-near religious gesture. The moment hung suspended for a fraction of a second before his arm slashed downward.
"Fire!"
The lanyard was yanked, sending the howitzer to buck violently once more, adding its fury to the orchestra of destruction playing out across Hill 4. As the crew immediately began the process again, the section chief wiped grime and sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a dark smear across his skin.
“HE-PD, CHARGE 2!”
They still had thirteen more rounds to go just for this fire mission, and he was damn sure another would pop up not too long after. The radio chatter suggested the Imperial forces had attempted some kind of counterattack, and the mishmash of artillery groups were working to shatter their formations before they could organize an assault.
It was going to be a long night.
“Stand by!”
“Fire!”