“Nest to Wasp. Good work. Bring the pack home.”
Today, Peaseblossom was not alone. It flew as the lead element of a “targeting pack” – a five-drone hunting unit designed for one purpose: to find, fix, and finish a single high-value target. The pack consisted of Wasp-14 (Recon/Sniper), Hornet-7 (EWAR/Decoy), Firefly-3 (Demolitions), Cicada-9 (Cargo/Resupply), and the pack’s brutal heart, Scarab-2 (Kinetic Strike). They were a wolfpack made of carbon fiber and shaped explosives, tethered to Kael by a quantum-entangled comms link that not even the worst EM storms could sever.
“Wasp to Nest. Target acquired. Requesting final authorization.” targeting pack
The hatch blew inward, not upward, a sharp, loud pop. The Archivist screamed, but not in pain—in shock. He stumbled back, his foot plunging into the hole. He fell hard, the metal case flying from his grip. It clattered across the floor, coming to rest a meter from Peaseblossom’s perch.
The mission was a success. They had captured the target. They had secured the data. No one had died. “Nest to Wasp
The mission was simple. The pack would penetrate the exclusion zone, locate the Archivist’s bio-signature, and eliminate him before he could sell the schematics to the Carthaginian Collective. A single 9mm round from Peaseblossom’s integral railgun would do it. Clean. Quiet. Deniable.
“Nest, this pack is not configured for capture. We have no non-lethal options.” It flew as the lead element of a
Kael looked at his own hands. They were the hands of a poet who had learned to fly a wolfpack. He wondered if there was any poetry left in the world, or if the targeting pack had finally devoured it all. He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were clear. Cold. Like a drone’s lens.