"Who sent the newbie?" Erion’s voice was calm, but the disappointment in his tone was palpable. It was the kind of disappointment that curled into the chest, making it hard to breathe. His icy blue eyes swept over the room, and no one dared meet his gaze.

Erion Macquiade.

Major General of the Grand Covenant Order for Zone 4: Y'Ruen.

At 26 years old, he had already commanded this zone for three years—years that had shaped him into a figure of respect, and fear, in equal measure.

Inside the truck, the usual cargo was nowhere to be found. Instead, four high-resolution monitors lined the walls, each one displaying a live feed from different corners of the city. They were connected to hidden cameras—discreet, well-positioned, all with the highest frame rates and crystal-clear resolution. Below the monitors, a row of knobs and switches glowed faintly, tended by two men at their stations. Behind them, three others spoke into microphones, their voices muted and sharp through the headset communications.

"I’ll take full responsibility, Major," a petite man said, his voice full of regret. He bowed his head, the weight of failure pressing on his shoulders. "I didn’t expect this simple operation to go this badly."

The man was the head captain of The Cloak—a covert division within the Grand Covenant Order, specializing in intelligence gathering and analysis. They didn’t fight in the frontlines. Their battlefield was one of secrets, shadows, and surveillance. They tracked political movements, intercepted communications, and analyzed enemy military activities. Their work provided vital insights, shaping the strategic decisions of the Order. But the Cloak wasn’t built for combat. It was never supposed to get this messy.

The mission had seemed simple enough: obtain intel on the location of the main office for a notorious drug syndicate. But for a new recruit, that was a task far too dangerous to handle alone. The enemy they were up against didn’t hesitate to kill to protect their operations. It was a mistake that could cost lives. "I’ll fix it, Major." The captain started toward the door, but Erion's hand shot out like lightning, gripping his shoulder firmly.

Erion didn’t raise his voice, but there was an unmistakable authority in his words. "I’ll deal with this. Give me the duplicate cloak. Rescue him from the rendezvous point."

The captain’s eyes widened, but he quickly saluted. "Yes, Major!"

Without wasting another second, Erion turned on his heel and stormed out of the truck. The door slammed shut behind him with a finality that resonated through the air, leaving the rest in silence.

Y'RUEN'S MAIN STREET

"Can you hear me? Seven-two-one, cloak." Erion’s voice cut through the silence as he pressed a small device into his left ear, his tone calm but purposeful.

CLOAK 721: “Ma-major General..." The voice crackled back, a young man’s voice filled with fear and uncertainty. "I-I’m still running... they’re still chasing me." The words were rushed, stammering, as the sound of hurried footsteps echoed in the background. Surrounded by a sea of pedestrians, the rookie knew he couldn’t lose his pursuers in the crowded street.

"I’m sorry! It was my fault, I didn’t mean to mess up... I never—" The young man’s voice broke, his panic evident. Erion could hear it, but he was unmoved, his focus unwavering.

"Calm down," Erion interjected sharply, his voice slicing through the chaos of the street like a blade. "Avoid the police. Stay in crowded areas. Blend in." His instructions were concise, firm—he didn’t have time for hesitation. Erion's grip tightened on the cloak he’d just received from the head captain, and with a swift motion, he pulled it around his shoulders. "Yes, Major!" The voice on the other end trembled. The rookie’s nervousness was palpable—not from the chase itself, but from speaking to the Major General. The young man, with his skinny frame, blond hair, and boyish face, couldn’t seem to shake the weight of failure, even in the midst of the most critical moment of his life.

"Meet me at the market center," Erion commanded, his tone brokering no room for argument.

He wrapped the duplicate cloak tightly around himself. The fabric was dark, its hood deep and concealing. As he fastened it, the cloak began to shift—slowly at first, then with increasing speed.

The edges blurred, the details refined. The fabric took on an uncanny resemblance to the one worn by the rookie on the other end of the line. The cloak seemed to meld with his body, as if it were alive, reshaping him.

Within seconds, Erion’s appearance had vanished. In place of the Major General stood a figure nearly identical to the rookie—his hair darkened and reshaped, his features altered, even his body language mimicked to perfection.

Like a chameleon, Erion thought, blending in with the surroundings.

With the latest technology at their disposal, everything was possible. In mere moments, he’d erased all traces of his true identity.

"Once you see me, turn your cloak off," Erion instructed, his voice still commanding but more reassuring now.

"Affirmative, Major," came the reply from the other side.

Erion exhaled sharply, his eyes scanning the street. "Turn sub-zero on," he added, "It’ll disable all your devices. There's a chance you’re being tracked."

"Understood, Major."

"Head back to the rendezvous point," Erion continued. "I’ll deal with them." His voice was unwavering, exuding the calm assurance of a man who had seen countless battles.

"Yes, Major!" The rookie’s voice, though still shaky, carried a sense of resolve now. With that, the call ended, and Erion moved swiftly, vanishing into the crowd as if he had never been there.