Stone House

After several days of secret transfer and traversing numerous sunless transit stations, when the heavy blast doors slammed shut behind them, a strange feeling, a mixture of exhaustion and a brief sense of security, truly enveloped them.

"Stone House"—this unpretentious code name is truly fitting. Hidden deep at the end of a long-abandoned mine, the mountain serves as its best natural barrier. The exterior is composed of decaying sleepers and rusty rails, while the interior has been cleverly transformed into a modern underground fortress. Beneath the massive dome, living quarters, a command center, a medical station, and an armory are neatly arranged. A faint smell of engine oil and disinfectant permeates the air, while the distant, low hum of geothermal generators is the constant background noise.

Price stood under the lights of the main passage, his face bearing the deep weariness left by days of travel, but his eyes were still sharp, scanning each team member who returned weary from their journey, and finally nodding slightly.

Standing beside him, Logan, his left arm still bandaged and his face pale, gave Hesh a familiar, slightly roguish smile and gave the latter's shoulder a solid punch with his uninjured right arm. There were no cheers, no hugs; a heavy sense of relief and brotherly reunion flowed silently through the cold air.

Less than an hour after settling in, the command center's massive curved screen lit up, information flowing silently like an underground river. Elaine was the first to stand in front of the screen, her voice remarkably clear in the empty underground space. She integrated and compared the fragmented data obtained from Siberia with publicly available information gathered along the way, presenting her points clearly: "'Tree of Life's' charitable network in South America, especially in border and resource conflict zones, has an astonishingly wide reach. Their vaccine cold chain logistics system, theoretically, could be used to transport...other things." She pulled up several satellite images and complex financial flow charts, "Focusing on this general codenamed 'Vulture,' who controls the sensitive tri-border area, has recently been engaging in unusually frequent 'medical aid' dealings with 'Tree of Life,' and whose troop movements far exceed conventional defense needs."

“The ambush we encountered on our last evacuation route showed they knew our rhythm and path inside and out.” Price’s voice was deep and metallic, instantly lowering the temperature in the command room by several degrees. “This wasn’t luck. Either our communications were being monitored in real time, or… the intelligence had already been leaked at the source.” He didn’t look at anyone, but the word “traitor” haunted everyone’s minds like an invisible ghost.

In the corner, Konig pointed to the flashing red signal marker on the edge of the monitor screen, his voice carrying his characteristic, slightly hesitant rhythm: "Outside the stone house... there are high-intensity, short-cycle scanning signals... attempting to penetrate our shielding. The source... cannot be precisely located, but the purpose... is clear—they are looking for us." After speaking, his tall frame subconsciously shrank back, almost blending into the shadows beside Ghost.

“We’re like we’re under a spotlight.” Ghost’s voice, cold and hard, came through his mask. “Every step we take is part of their calculations.”

All the clues piece together a chilling picture: the enemy not only possesses vast resources and technological advantages, but may have also extended its tentacles into their core network of trust.

A subtle tension began to spread like a virus in the air. When eyes met, a barely perceptible scrutiny crept in. Elaine keenly sensed this shift. As a newcomer with a complicated background, her situation was particularly awkward at this sensitive moment. She silently retreated to a corner terminal, trying to use work to shield herself from the unsettling atmosphere.

Taking advantage of a gap in data transmission, she inexplicably bypassed several encrypted nodes again and clicked on the news link she both longed for and feared—a follow-up report about her "previous" family. The webpage loaded slowly, each second feeling like an eternity. When the page finally appeared, a bold black headline pierced her heart like an icicle: [Renowned sociologist Ms. YN suffers another devastating blow to her parents; her mother passed away yesterday morning at the city's central hospital due to excessive grief.] Below was a photo, taken at some unknown time: her father, the once upright and vigorous old man, now sat withered in a wheelchair, surrounded by reporters at the hospital entrance, his face a hollow void utterly destroyed. Her mother's portrait lay beside him, her smile gentle, yet forever gone.

No tears, no sobs. Elaine felt an absolute chill instantly spread from her feet to the top of her head, freezing her in place. The sounds of the world vanished—the buzzing of the command center, the whispers of her teammates—everything became distant and unreal. Her mother… the mother who always reminded her to eat on time, who always smiled even more happily than her mother when she achieved something… was gone. And she, this unfilial daughter, couldn't even stand before her grave in her real identity and say "I'm sorry."

A bottomless numbness gripped her, more suffocating than the intense pain. She felt as if she were floating outside her body, coldly observing the shell called "Elaine." Expressionless, she slowly closed the webpage, clearing all traces of her visit. Then, she poured all her mental energy, like winding up a toy to its last turn, into the scrolling data before her.

With an almost self-destructive focus, she began frantically cross-referencing General Vulture's asset network, the flow of funds from Tree of Life's charitable endeavors, and every satellite communication record she could find. Every byte, every IP address, every tiny financial fluctuation became a barrier protecting her from overwhelming grief.

She wasn't doing it to prove her worth, nor to survive—only for the bone-chilling coldness and guilt in her heart. Keegan noticed her unusual silence and her almost life-burning work ethic. He didn't disturb her, but silently placed a warm drink beside her when she stared at the screen for a long time, her fingers growing cold, or reminded her it was time to eat.

During a heated discussion about the next course of action, Hesh and Logan argued over communications security. Keegan interrupted them. “Suspicion is instinct,” he said, his voice low but as firm as a rock, drowning out all other noise. His gaze swept across the room, finally settling on Elaine for a moment. “But we don’t have much time. The mole needs to be found, but the immediate threats—the ‘Vultures’ and the ‘Purification Protocol’—must be dealt with first. We can’t afford to lose our composure.” There was no grand pronouncement, just a calm statement of the stakes.

Price nodded slightly, and Ghost patted Keegan on the shoulder, showing his silent support. After an all-night analysis and debate, the final plan was decided: Price and Logan, who needed to be restored, would stay at the "Stone House," establish an independent emergency communication chain, and do their utmost to trace the source of the internal infiltration.

Ghost, Keegan, Hesh, Konig, and Elaine form a task force and infiltrate South America. Ghost, Keegan, Hesh, and Konig are responsible for external reconnaissance and military support. Elaine, using her academic background, disguises herself as an energy consultant conducting sustainable development research, attempting to approach local groups connected to General Vulture's forces through NGOs or academic exchange channels to gather intelligence from within. High risk, but perhaps the only way to obtain crucial information.

With the mission confirmed, everyone went their separate ways to prepare. Elaine, in her makeshift room, did a final check of her disguised documents and luggage. A knock came at the door; it was Keegan. He handed her a rather old-looking pocket watch.

"Take it." The answer was concise and to the point.

Elaine took it and found the pocket watch unusually heavy, with a tiny gap on the back.

“Turn the watch cover three turns to the left, then one turn to the right, and it will pop open. There’s a miniature transmitter inside, disposable. Don’t use it unless absolutely necessary.” He looked at her, his gaze behind his goggles calm and focused. “Remember your current identity, forget everything else. Safety first, at all times.”

Elaine gripped the cold pocket watch tightly; the metallic chill seeped into her palm, yet strangely, it brought a sense of peace. She looked up to meet his gaze: "Thank you, I'll be careful. You... be careful too."

Keegan nodded very slightly, said nothing more, and turned to leave the room. His silent words carried more weight than a thousand spoken words.

Two camouflaged transport helicopters, like two giant owls, took off one after the other from a concealed exit, tearing through the pre-dawn darkness. One soared south, carrying the hope and unknown dangers of infiltrating the rainforest; the other silently swept deeper into the mountains, shouldering the heavy responsibility of purging the interior and consolidating its foundation. Inside the cabin, Elaine gazed through the porthole at the dense rainforest below, gradually illuminated by the morning light, yet appearing even more unfathomable, clutching her pocket watch tightly in her hand.

Across from them, Keegan and Hesh were giving their weapons a final check, the cold metal parts clicking steadily in their hands. Ahead lay an unknown green abyss, cunning enemies, and ever-present danger, and they were the blades about to be plunged into this chaos.