The converted maintenance room smelled of rust and pressure. Light flickered overhead like a nervous tic.

Duras sat strapped to a reinforced chair, jaw bruised, his once-pristine officer’s uniform now smeared with dirt and blood. Sweat beaded at his temple. He wasn’t broken—but the cracks had started to show.

Sai leaned in the corner, silent, still. Brinn stood near the door like a mountain with a heartbeat. Jarek circled the table slowly.

“You’re not from the Black Ring,” Jarek said, voice low. “So tell us what you do know.”

Duras tried to smirk. “I was stationed in Core command. Temporary assignment. I had nothing to do with that base.”

Pepe buzzed overhead, projecting a floating emoji that looked deeply unimpressed. “Oh, wonderful. A tourist with a uniform.”

Brinn grunted. “He was scheduled to be transferred inside. That’s enough.”

“I hadn’t even set foot in it,” Duras muttered. “I was told to check in, be visible, boost morale. That’s it. I don’t even know who pulled my file.”

“You expect us to believe that?” Jarek asked.

“It’s the truth. Orders came with no clearance level. Just a name and a room number. You think I wouldn’t remember if it was important?”

Sai finally moved. He crossed the room slowly, stopping just short of the table.

“You weren’t briefed?” Sai asked.

Duras met his gaze. “No one gets briefed about the Black Ring. They either get inside, or they don’t come back.”

A flicker of something passed over Sai’s face—recognition, maybe.

Duras continued, quieter now. “Rumors are all we get. That people go missing. That shifts get reassigned without warning. That entire squads vanish from records.”

Brinn’s voice rumbled from the door. “Why do they need a general trainee if nothing’s happening?”

Duras shook his head. “You think they’d tell me that? I'm not even ranked for real command. This was supposed to be a visibility tour. A face. A suit.”

Ramm’s voice piped in from outside the room, cheerful and unhelpful. “He’s not lying. That’s exactly what I’d do with a boring figurehead.”

Pepe hovered lower. “So you’re not the prize. You’re the delivery boy.”

Duras didn’t deny it.

Sai stepped back into the shadows. “Then he’s useless for intel. But not for infiltration.”

Jarek nodded. “We use his ID. His schedule. His access.”

Brinn cracked his knuckles. “We still need a way in.”

Pepe spun once, lights blinking. “We’ve got a plan. Now we just need the acting skills of a delusional raccoon and the subtlety of a malfunctioning toaster.”

“Perfect,” Jarek muttered. “We’ve got both.”

By the end of the hour, they had what they needed.

A schedule. A code. A rank identity from one of the newly assigned junior officers—one close enough to infiltrate the Black Ring facility unnoticed.

Ramm looked ecstatic.

"I'm finally gonna be someone important!" he said, strapping on the officer’s gear. “Wait. Should I act stoic? Or like slightly constipated?”

“Just don’t speak unless necessary,” Jarek muttered. “Or do. Maybe they’ll think you're just broken.”

Brinn donned modified armor, playing the role of his assistant—silent and intimidating.

Sai simply vanished into the shadows. "I'll follow. When it matters."

Jarek and Pepe stood at the base gates as the trio prepared to leave.

“Keep your comms tight. If something goes wrong—” Jarek said.

“We die?” Ramm offered cheerfully.

“No. We improvise,” Brinn said.

Pepe hovered between them. “I'm placing bets on who messes up first.”

“Are you betting against us?” Brinn asked.

“No,” Pepe said. “I’m hedging emotional investments.”

The disguised crew stepped toward the shuttle hangar at dusk—Ramm adjusting his collar too high, Brinn already looking too real, and Sai nowhere to be seen but definitely watching.

Behind them, Jarek crossed his arms and muttered, “This is either genius… or completely insane.”

Pepe nodded. “Why not both?”

And with that, the plan took its first real step—from rebellion into war.