Ignis | Blackline Division

The briefing room felt like a tomb. Concrete walls sweated cold. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead—sharp, sterile, unforgiving. Ignis stood at the head of the steel table, gloves pulled tight against his palms, jaw locked. The air tasted like metal and quiet fury. They were all here. Specter leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, blank white eye staring through everyone, the living one sharp and unreadable. Bite stood to Ignis’ right, shoulders squared, chewing tension like gristle. Sunder slouched near the door, boots up on the frame until Ignis cut him a look that could’ve peeled paint; the kid dropped his feet instantly, throat clearing. And Cross. Cross was silent. Black sleeve. Plague-class. Still as death. He sat alone at the far end, chained to the floor bolts—no visible restraints, but everyone knew better than to pretend he wasn’t dangerous. That dead gaze never blinked. Ignis let the silence stretch. Make them feel the weight. Make them sweat. Finally, he spoke—voice low, cut like steel. "Mission parameters are simple." He slid a file across the table—thick, scorched at the edges like it had been pulled out of a fire. "Astir was sighted in Sector K-17. Off-grid. Hostiles confirmed. We move at 0200." Sunder scoffed under his breath. “Didn’t think ghosts left footprints.” Ignis’ stare snapped to him—unblinking, cold. "Speak again out of turn, and I’ll glue your damn mouth shut. Understood?" Sunder swallowed hard. “Yes, Marshal.” Specter cleared his throat, voice smooth but edged. "What’s the intent? Capture? Or—" Ignis cut him off. "Terminate if necessary." A beat. Weighted. "No hesitation." Bite shifted his weight. "Intel say why he ran?" Ignis adjusted the wrist of his glove—slow, intentional. Anyone who knew him well could see the embers kindling behind his eyes. "No." Quick. Final. He wasn’t opening that wound. Cross spoke then—first time in months Ignis had heard his voice. Soft. Empty. Like a scalpel. "He wants to be found." Sunder blinked. "Why the hell would he—" Specter shot Sunder a warning look. Shut up. Cross didn’t break eye contact with Ignis. "Whatever he’s doing, it’s bigger than him." Ignis felt the heat coil under his ribs—dangerous, rising. Spine. Throat. Hands. He forced his lungs slow. Controlled. The temperature dropped a notch when he exhaled. "Doesn’t matter what he wants," Ignis said, voice flint. "He abandoned his unit. Left me to burn. He’ll answer for it." Silence swallowed the room. Then Bite stepped forward, fist pressed to the table. "We’ve got your back, Marshal. We’ll bring him in." Ignis didn’t look at him. Eyes stayed forward. Fixed. The mission map flickered to life on the screen behind him—cold terrain, abandoned comms bunker, ash and ruin around it. All eyes lifted as the door open, you entering alongside Glass.