The metal casing of Vane's wristband vibrated violently against his skin. The digital clock glowing on the glass read exactly fifteen zero nine.
Vane tapped the screen, bringing up the holographic tactical overlay. Two grid sectors south, a Zenith unit had been flashing a frantic distress beacon for forty straight minutes. The initial timestamp read fourteen thirty. The hostile cluster density swarming their coordinates had vastly exceeded the Academy's morning projections, finally tripping the automated emergency alert.
Vane read the raw numbers scrolling across the map. He stared at the tiny, flickering cluster of green dots trapped entirely inside a suffocating sea of angry red markers.
'They are drowning down there,' Vane thought.
"We are going south," Vane announced to the squad.
