Seven days.
That’s how long it had been since they launched into the sky on urgent orders.
Since thirty-six aircraft roared toward an unknown threat.
Since only twenty made it back.
Now?
They were here. Waiting.
Julian sat in the sterile, windowless waiting room, fingers clasped loosely in his lap, back stiff against the cold metal chair. The others sat silent, eyes distant, haunted.
No official report had been released, but the whispers painted a grim picture.
During the operation some of the fighters entered the wake of the ship and had lost all control, their fighters spiraling like leaves caught in a hurricane before slamming into the earth or the sea.
Some had collided with the ship itself, onboard systems failing at the worst possible moment, sending them careening into a monolith of metal and propulsion.
Most?
Most had died in the firestorm that followed.
The nuke had taken them.
Or maybe it had been the other missiles.
Did it even matter?
The orders had been clear—ground it,or destroy it. at all costs.
And they had failed.
Julian swallowed against the dryness in his throat. The room smelled of metal, of polished wood and the sharp tang of something too clean to be comforting. The hum of the overhead lights felt deafening in the silence.
They were being called in one by one.
One pilot. One room. One interview.
No one had come back out.
Julian kept his breathing steady. Slow. Measured. But his fingers wouldn’t stop tapping against his knee—tap, tap, tap—a steady drumbeat against the silence
There was nothing to do but wait.
Everyone knew better than to talk, whisper, even glance too long.
They were being watched. Recorded. Analyzed.
Still—he couldn’t help himself.
His gaze flicked to Maya.
She was already looking at him.
Worried.
She didn’t speak, didn’t nod, didn’t move. But her brows creased, the way they always did when she was trying to hide concern behind that calm, composed exterior.
Before he could react, a voice cut through the room.
"Julian Reyes."
An aide stood at the door. Face blank. Waiting.
Julian inhaled, pushing down the knot in his stomach, and stood.
One last glance at Maya.
Then, he followed the aide down the dimly lit hallway.
His boots echoed.
The moment he stepped inside, he knew.
This wasn’t a debriefing.
A panel of high-ranking officers sat in a half-moon formation, their expressions unreadable, their eyes sharp. At the center of the room, a single chair sat alone at one end of a long, polished table.
And in front of it?
A piece of paper.
Julian’s pulse picked up.
Something wasn’t right.
Something wasn’t normal.
"Sit, Lieutenant," the general across from him ordered.
Flat. Commanding.
Julian moved, his steps heavier than they should be.
He sat.
The general gestured at the paper.
“Sign.”
Julian’s eyes flicked down.
A few paragraphs. A blank line.
His jaw clenched. Hands hovering.
“Sir,” he asked, keeping his voice steady, “what exactly am I signing?”
The general’s gaze did not waver.
“Your statement that you will never speak of what you saw that day. To anyone.”
A pause.
Then another officer added—“And your resignation and subsequent discharge.”
Discharge?
The air in the room turned to lead.
His pulse thundered.
“…What did I do wrong?”
"Wrong?" The general roared, slamming his fist against the table.
Julian flinched. Spine locking straight.
"You failed! And I am fed up with fucking failures!"
The words cut deeper than any reprimand.
Julian’s fingers curled against his knees.
“Sir, we couldn’t even match its ascent speed, never mind touch it—”
The general’s fury burned hotter.
"Then you should have died trying!"
And that was when Julian understood.
This wasn’t about reprimand.
This was erasure.
They weren’t being dismissed.
They were being scrubbed out.
Hours later, Julian sat in his favorite bar, staring at the crumpled paper under his fingers.
His discharge papers.
The dive bar smelled like spilled beer and old wood, the music just loud enough to keep conversations private.
It should have felt like home.
Instead, it felt like he wasn’t even there.
The mockery of a document before him was not what he had actually signed.
The aide had taken his original. Left the room. Returned with this.
A heavily redacted copy.
The page was mostly black lines.
Only a few words remained.
I will not speak of any missions conducted while on active duty.
I hereby resign due to my failure.
Signed: Lieutenant Julian Reyes.
Nothing about the ship.
Nothing about the engagement.
Nothing about what actually happened.
After he was thoroughly questioned he was dismissed
The mission itself had been erased—and with it, his entire career.
His fingers tightened around the paper.
“I knew I’d find you here.”
Julian didn’t need to look up.
“Hey, Maya.”
She slid into the seat beside him, tossing her own crumpled discharge papers onto the table.
Maya "Blaze" Carter carried herself like someone who had defied gravity more times than most could count. At 5’10”, she was built for flight, her presence just as commanding on the ground as it had been in the air.
Her rich brown skin bore faint scars—reminders of close calls, hard landings, and a lifetime of pushing limits.
But today?
Today, she looked like she had lost something she would never get back.
Julian saw it immediately.
The way her shoulders sat lower than usual. The way her jaw wasn’t set with determination—but resentment.
Her amber eyes—normally sharp enough to cut lies before they were spoken—burned with quiet, simmering rage.
She grabbed his drink and took a long, slow sip.
Then, she set it down.
“So, what are we gonna do?”
Julian snorted.
“My sweet Blaze,” he muttered, already tipsy. “There is no ‘us’ anymore.”
Maya’s eyes narrowed, but he kept talking..
“They took our wings, Blaze.” He flicked his paper with two fingers. “Burned our careers. Our lives. And according to this?” He waved the heavily censored document. “We never even flew a plane in our lives.”.
Julian’s laugh was dry. Empty.
“Can’t even become commercial pilots.” He downed the rest of his drink, the whiskey burning on the way down, before slamming the glass on the bar and gesturing for another.
Maya stiffened.
He knew exactly what she was thinking.
Not flying? That wasn’t just a job loss for them. It was a death sentence.
He turned back to his drink, rolling the empty glass between his fingers, his voice dropping into something bitter, hollow.
“Not that I’d ever fly those slow, fat, clunky excuses for aircraft anyway.”
The bartender slid another whiskey his way. He picked it up, but Maya's voice stopped him before he could drink.
“Julian,” she said, quieter this time. “I don’t care what the paper says.”
He stilled.
She leaned in. "We saw it."
His grip tightened around the glass.
"That thing," she continued, voice lowering as if the walls had ears. "We saw it. We chased it. And it left us in the dust."
She sat back, crossing her arms.
"And now they want us to pretend it never happened?" Julian said sharply, his head throbbing.
"They don’t want us to pretend," Maya whispered. "They want us to disappear."
She let the words hang in the air between them, heavy, suffocating.
Julian didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
They both knew what happened to people who saw too much.
Maya leaned in, driving the point home by jabbing two fingers against his temple.
"So my question is—what are we gonna do before a bullet to the head helps us forget?"
Julian’s jaw tightened.
Because she was right.
He wasn’t stupid. This wasn’t some suspension, some forced retirement. It wasn’t even about secrecy anymore.
It was containment. Cleanup.
They were loose ends.
His voice was quieter than before, laced with something bitter, something resigned.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
"What can we do?"
Maya leaned in, voice barely above a whisper.
"We could run, defect—anything."
The idea lingered for half a second, but Julian just let out a slow, hollow chuckle.
He gave her a small, sad smile, shaking his head.
"We won’t make it out of the city."****"
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
He exhaled sharply, his fingers tapping once against the whiskey glass before muttering,
"We’re alone in—"
But he was interrupted by two simultaneous dings.
Two notifications.
One from his phone in his pocket.
One from Maya’s phone on the table.
They both froze.
Slowly, he reached into his jacket, pulling his phone free. Maya did the same.
The screen was already lit up, a single new message flashing at them.
That wasn’t the weird part.
The weird part was that their phones had been on silent.
Always.
They never left sound on. Ever.
Julian’s pulse picked up as he glanced at Maya. She met his gaze, her face unreadable.
Then, at the same time, they opened the message.
[PRIORITY TRANSMISSION]
Sender: Subroutine Tempestary_Recruitment
Recipient: Julian Reyes | Maya Carter
Status: Evaluation in Progress
Your service record has been erased.
Your termination has been scheduled.
This is not a warning. This is a recruitment.
Your skills are recognized. Your potential is calculated.
- Remain. Await final clearance. Outcome: Erasure.
- Move. Accept extraction. Outcome: Reintegration.
You have 30 minutes to decide.
Reply CONFIRM to receive an extraction package.
Reply DECLINE to terminate this communication.
Non-response will be interpreted as disinterest.
This opportunity will not be repeated.
Julian stared at the message, his breath sticking in his chest.
Slowly, he looked up at Maya.
Her expression had shifted—the quiet anger now replaced with sharp calculation.
Neither of them spoke.
But they both knew one thing for certain.
They weren’t alone after all.
Maya "Blaze" Carter T.D.I. 00-Primus-14 | 20:34
The hum of tires against gravel filled the car, the rhythmic crunch of dirt and loose stone beneath the wheels the only constant sound in the silence between them. Maya kept her hands steady on the wheel, her knuckles loose despite the tension that had coiled inside her since the moment they hit send.
One hour.
That’s all it had been.
She flicked her gaze briefly to the rearview mirror. No headlights. No tailing cars. The road stretched behind them, an unlit path fading into blackness. Ahead, nothing but open fields and a dirt road winding toward an unknown destination.
She shouldn’t be this calm.
And yet, she was.
Her mind drifted back to the bar, to the moment her entire world had been condensed into a single decision—a yes or a no.
She had been so damn sure they wouldn’t make it to nightfall.
The best-case scenario? They lost everything. Got dumped into entry-level civilian jobs, watched forever, barely able to breathe without someone checking up on them.
The worst-case?
They’d be dead before they even stepped outside.
Even now, she wasn’t sure which of those two was worse.
A slow, inevitable death, stretched out over decades, choking the life from you one dull, empty day at a time.
Or a quick bullet, neat, efficient, tying up a loose end.
Instead, they’d bet their lives on something far more dangerous.
Hope.
A nonzero chance that this wasn’t a trap. That whoever—or whatever—had sent them the message had a genuine interest in keeping them alive.
They’d placed their bet.
The moment they hit send, her phone rang.
Not a number she recognized.
Not a number anyone should have been able to reach her on.
She answered, pulse steady, ignoring the look Julian shot her.
The voice on the other end had been… wrong.
Smooth. Precise. Almost human.
Almost.
It instructed her to remove her EarPods and hand one to Julian, then put the other in her own ear.
No questions. No hesitation. Just do it.
Maya had obeyed. Julian had, too. The voice continued, giving clear, clipped instructions.
Leave the bar. Walk to your car. Julian’s is already compromised. Drive.
They did.
And the moment they left the city, things got stranger.
There was no traffic.
Not just light traffic—no traffic.
Every single traffic light turned green as they approached, as if the city itself was clearing their path.
Even now, on the open road, it felt… orchestrated.
Like they were moving along a pre-planned route, a piece on a board where someone already knew every move they would make.
Now, an hour later, they were still driving.
The dirt road stretched before them, winding through empty fields, the only light coming from the faint glow of the dashboard and the occasional reflection of the moon in the rearview mirror.
The EarPod was still in her ear. So was Julian’s. Neither of them had spoken. She tightened her grip on the wheel just slightly, her mind buzzing with questions she wasn’t sure she wanted the answers to. But the most pressing one?
Who the hell was waiting for them at the end of this road?
The voice returned over the earpiece, smooth and mechanical.
“In one mile, you will stop and follow the orders of Agent Samuels.”
Maya didn’t respond. Neither did Julian. One mile. The words settled into her mind like weights, pressing against the back of her skull. A single mile between them and—what, exactly?
She risked a glance at Julian. His posture was rigid, his hands resting on his thighs like he was bracing for something. His jaw was clenched, eyes fixed on the road ahead, but she could tell his mind was already racing.
Neither of them trusted this.
But what choice did they have?
The lights ahead cut through the darkness, stark and sterile. Too bright. Too deliberate. It wasn’t just illumination—it was control. A spotlight, a stage, a carefully arranged setting where every detail had been placed with purpose.
Maya eased off the gas, fingers tightening around the wheel. The scene was too precise, too calculated. It didn’t feel like a checkpoint. It felt like a conclusion.
Beside her, Julian shifted. He didn’t speak, but she felt his tension, sharp and bracing. His eyes were locked on the figures ahead.
A man stood at the edge of the lights, waiting.
Not waving them down.
Not signaling urgency.
Just a single, deliberate motion. A summons.
Like he had been expecting them.
Maya pulled in, the tires crunching softly over the dirt. The man—broad-shouldered, dressed in black tactical gear—stepped forward, stopping beside two metal tables at the center of the light.
No insignia. No name. No expression.
Just another nameless operative in a sea of them.
She cut the engine.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Julian was the first to move. He unbuckled his seatbelt, inhaling slowly through his nose before pushing open the door.
Maya hesitated.
Her fingers stayed curled around the wheel for a fraction of a second longer than they needed to.
Something felt off.
But hesitation wouldn’t help her now.
She exhaled, forcing herself to move.
The moment she stepped out, she took in the scene again.
The two metal tables weren’t empty.
The lights cast deep shadows, emphasizing the stark white cloths covering two still figures.
Bodies.
Two of them.
Maya’s stomach tightened.
Julian didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, his movements steady, controlled—but she saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers curled ever so slightly at his sides.
She took a step forward.
Before she could say a word, the voice returned in her ear.
“That is Agent Samuels. He has limited knowledge in regard to this operation. He will answer all your questions with information he knows. Please refrain from directing questions towards me until we are alone again.”
Maya’s spine went rigid.
She turned slightly, eyes flicking toward Julian. He was already looking at her. They had both heard it. The same message. The confirmation sent a slow, cold chill down her spine. They weren’t just being watched. They were plugged in. Their every word, every movement, tracked, accounted for, anticipated.
Agent Samuels didn’t react.
Either he didn’t know—or he didn’t care.
He exhaled sharply, glancing between them.
“As you have most likely been informed, I’m Agent Samuels.” He gestured vaguely toward his own earpiece. “My rank, according to the higher-ups…” he tapped the earpiece twice, his tone bordering on amused “…is designated as Auxiliary Agent Samuels.”
He tilted his head, listening to something only he could hear.
“And you are designated…” He paused, eyes narrowing slightly before continuing. “That is new.”
A flicker of something unreadable passed over his face.
“You are designated Tempestarii Trio—‘Trio’ meaning Recruit.”
He clapped his hands together once, nodding. “Congratulations, you are the first two. Ever.”
Maya and Julian exchanged a look.
First?
Samuels smirked, almost enjoying the moment. “That makes you the first Caeliduum.”
Julian frowned. “What is that?”
Samuels shrugged. “That—I’m not sure of.” He lifted a hand before Julian could press him further. “It will be explained later if the higher-ups deem it necessary.”
His casual indifference set Maya’s teeth on edge. Then, his tone shifted. More direct. More final.
“I would ask that you remove all of your clothes and personal items.”
Maya stilled. Julian’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
Samuels gestured toward a section of the setup—two free-standing curtains, positioned for some privacy but not much.
“You will find new clothes there. Please do not keep any items. The more personally attached you are to something, the more important it is that you leave it behind.”
A knot tightened in Maya’s chest.
Her fingers instinctively went up to the chain beneath her shirt, her grandmother’s necklace pressing against her skin.
“Why?” she asked, her voice quieter than she intended.
Samuels didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he walked to the two tables and removed the covers. The breath left her lungs.
There—lying perfectly still—were two bodies.
Bodies that looked ridiculously like Julian and herself.
Her pulse pounded in her ears.
Samuels stepped back, nodding at the medical personnel who had begun gathering around the tables.
“Tonight, the two of you will die. Or at least, that is what the military and those monitoring you will believe.”
Maya swallowed hard, her mind struggling to process the sight in front of her.
“I suppose the higher-ups are keeping them off your trail—keeping them busy. By tomorrow, they will find these two bodies in a burned-out car. Not burned beyond recognition, just enough to make it believable.”
Samuels turned his gaze toward them, his expression unreadable.
“And one thing that will help sell the illusion is if those bodies are carrying all of your most treasured personal items.”
Julian exhaled sharply beside her.
Maya felt cold.
Samuels stepped aside, motioning toward the curtains. “So, if you would be so kind…”
She hesitated for half a second.
Then, with stiff, mechanical movements, she stepped behind the curtain.
One by one, she began removing everything—her clothes, her watch, the small items she kept in her pockets.
She hesitated at the last thing.
Her necklace.
The worn chain felt heavier than ever, the tiny pendant warm against her skin.
She had never taken it off. Not once.
With a slow breath, she unclasped it, holding it between her fingers for a long moment.
Then, she set it down with the rest of her belongings.
Her earrings.
The ring she never left home without.
Everything.
She dressed in the new, nondescript tracksuit, the fabric plain, unfamiliar, disposable.
As she turned to leave, the voice returned in her ear.
“Leave your earpods and phone on the tray as well.”
Maya closed her eyes.
Then, with deliberate finality, she placed them down.
Maya stepped out, adjusting to the cool night air, and immediately took in the scene before her.
Julian stood a few feet away, arms crossed, watching with a mix of morbid curiosity and barely concealed tension.
His double had already been dressed and loaded into their car—the very same car they had driven here. The unsettling sight sent a shiver down Maya’s spine.
She turned toward the second table. They were already dressing her double.
It was surreal. Watching herself—or something that looked like her—being carefully prepared for death.
A death she wouldn’t have to live through.
Agent Samuels called them over, handing each of them a small black bag.
“Inside, you’ll find your new phones and all the goodies you’ll need.”
Maya took hers and immediately unzipped it, fingers brushing over smooth plastic and cold metal.
A wallet—new leather, stiff, unused. Inside, fake identity documents, a set of credit cards, and around $250 in cash under an unfamiliar name.
She exhaled slowly as she pulled out the earpieces next. They were sleek, seamless, far more comfortable than her old ones. She slipped them in, barely feeling their presence.
Samuels waited, watching them with the patience of someone used to this process.
Then, he clasped his hands together.
“So. Any questions before we leave?”
Maya looked around.
The operation was already breaking down. Vehicles were pulling away, equipment being packed up with precision.
The people who had been sweeping the ground were nearly finished. Even their own footprints were disappearing.
The entire place would be gone within minutes.
Maya turned back to Samuels.
“What is going on?” she asked before she could stop herself.
Samuels groaned loudly.
“God damn it.”
Maya frowned. Julian raised an eyebrow.
Samuels sighed, shaking his head. “Sorry,” he muttered when he saw their confusion. “It’s just—” he paused, rubbing his temple, “we have a bet going. The other Agents and I. The pool is just past five figures now.”
Maya blinked. “…What?”
“The bet,” he explained, “is that the first one of us to get a recruit through without them asking ‘what’s going on’ or ‘what’s happening’ wins the pot.”
He shook his head, disappointed.
“I was so sure you two, being military, would already have been briefed to some extent. But alas, no.”.
“Jesus, dude. Just answer her.” Julian groaned
Samuels exhaled, finally relenting.
“We don’t know.”
That took Maya aback. “What?”
“Simple as that. They keep us semi-isolated during operations, always rotating teams. We get orders, we execute them. That’s it. We don’t get the bigger picture. But we do get paid a lot!”
Julian crossed his arms. “Who’s ‘they’?”
Samuels shrugged, looking genuinely indifferent.
“Again, we don’t know. Some people call them ‘The Voices.’ Others say they call themselves ‘Subroutines.’ Me? I just call them ‘The Higher-Ups.’”
He turned, motioning toward a nearby car. “Come on. We’re moving.”
Maya and Julian followed as he led them past the rapidly disappearing traces of their existence.
The site was transforming in real-time.
More personnel in black gear had arrived—sweeping the ground, removing tire tracks, scrubbing any remaining physical evidence that either of them had ever been here.
She could smell rain on the wind. It wasn’t far off. Soon, the storm would wash away whatever was left. She wondered if even the rain was part of the plan.
“What is all this?” Maya asked.
Samuels barely glanced back.
“Recruitment.”
His tone was casual, as if this was nothing more than a standard hiring process.
“We intercept individuals or groups and get them squared away.” He made a vague gesture to the area around them. “Usually, it’s not staging a murder-suicide.”
Maya’s stomach twisted. Samuels continued as if he hadn’t just said something deeply disturbing.
“Sometimes it’s weird stuff. Like a buddy of mine in Disposal was dispatched the other day to clean up a murder. Random dead guy in a slum apartment—shady neighborhood, no connections. They don’t tell us why. Just that it has to be done.”
He finished with a shrug, opening the driver’s side door of a sleek, unmarked hybrid vehicle.
Then, tapping his earpiece, he muttered, “Time to get back to work.”
And just like that—he walked away. .
Maya and Julian climbed into the car meant for them.
The moment they shut the doors, the vehicle powered on automatically.
She was starteld when the steering wheels started turning..
She wasn’t in control, she wasn’t the driver. It didn’t need one.
The car shifted gears on its own, smoothly accelerating down the dirt road, away from the operation site.
Then—
The voice returned in their new earpieces.
“We will now proceed to the first Tempestarii staging area.”
A brief pause.
“Welcome, Trio.”
Legion is more than just an army—it’s an evolving force with its own structure, ranks, and purpose. If you enjoyed this deeper look into its design, check out the visual breakdowns I’ve shared.
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