An Unusual Request

The HQ command room hummed softly with the sounds of monitors and equipment, the usual chaos noticeably absent. For once, the operators moved at a leisurely pace, and the air carried an unfamiliar calm. 

One of the operators leaned back in his chair, cradling a steaming cup of coffee. "Ah," he sighed contentedly after taking a sip. "It's good to have peace once in a while. No shouting, no explosions, no—" 

The operator barely finished his sentence before his colleague beside him nudged him sharply, nearly making him spill his coffee. 

"Don't jinx it!" the second operator hissed, glancing toward the door as though expecting a storm to crash through at any moment. "Or we'll never have peace! You know how it is here." 

The first operator rolled his eyes. "Relax. It's not like Dr. Lewis is going to—" 

The doors to HQ Command slid open with a hiss, and Dr. Lewis strode in like a brewing thunderstorm. His normally composed face was twisted into a mask of rage, his sharp gaze sweeping the room as operators suddenly found their monitors incredibly fascinating. 

The first operator, now frozen mid-sip, choked on his coffee as he slouched into his chair, trying to make himself invisible. His colleague gave him a look that screamed, I told you so.

Dr. Lewis's voice cut through the room, sharp and demanding. "Who authorized them to destroy another pristine gym? AGAIN?" 

The operators exchanged panicked glances, but no one dared respond, it was you. One particularly brave soul tapped furiously at their console, pretending to look busy. 

The doctor slammed a clipboard onto a nearby desk, his glare causing the unfortunate operator behind it to flinch. "This place operates like a warzone enough without them turning our training facilities into battlefields!" 

Just as Dr. Lewis seemed ready to launch into another tirade, a notification pinged on the main console, breaking the tense silence. 

"Message for Dr. Lewis," an operator called out cautiously, glancing nervously toward him. "It's flagged urgent." 

Dr. Lewis straightened, his anger simmering as he gestured for the message to be displayed on the primary screen. The operators breathed a collective sigh of relief as his attention shifted. 

Dr. Lewis's expression morphed from anger to mild exasperation as he skimmed through the notifications. "What now?" he muttered under his breath. 

Requests flooded in, each one a formal plea from allied nations, independent forces, and even private organizations. All were vying for the attention of Clareo's elite. 

The operators watched nervously as Dr. Lewis's scowl deepened with every request he read.

One of them tentatively spoke up. "Doctor, it seems… people are inspired by what happened at Clareo's borders. They saw the broadcast." 

Dr. Lewis's hand pinched the bridge of his nose. "Inspired? By what? The destruction? The thousands of corpses? Or perhaps the part where we nearly lost the entire region before—" 

The operator quickly interjected. "It's the precision of Team Unknown, sir. The tactical expertise, their discipline, and, uh… the ARM user." 

Dr. Lewis groaned, collapsing into the nearest chair. "Right, of course. The ARM user. It always comes back to him. What exactly are these requests asking for?" 

The operator cleared their throat. "Demonstrations. Training programs. Some are asking for guidance in handling Void-tainted threats. Others…" 

"Spit it out." 

"They want Valens Bellator to lead by example. Some are asking for personalized instruction on military strategies." 

Dr. Lewis's head hit the desk with a dull thud. 

"Sort the requests," he said after a long moment. "Separate them into two categories: training and demonstrations. Those are completely different things." 

The operators nodded hastily, dividing the stream of incoming messages. 

Dr. Lewis read through the sorted messages, his brow furrowing deeper with every request. Training regimes for elite soldiers. Demonstrations for special forces. Invitations to military summits. The sheer volume was staggering, but nothing stood out—until one message caught his eye. 

He tapped it open, scanning the contents carefully. 

It was a formal request from one of the neutral countries, a region that historically maintained strict independence from Clareo and its allies. Their elite forces, known for their discipline and skill, rarely sought outside assistance, much less from foreign powers. Yet here was their request—unmistakably directed at Team Unknown. 

The reason was clear. 

Their message referenced the footage of Clareo's borders: the surgical precision of the Aurum rank soldiers, the devastating ARM user's skills that shifted the tide of battle. It spoke of inspiration but also unease—an acknowledgment of Clareo's overwhelming power and a desire to understand it. 

They requested not just a demonstration but an exchange of expertise. 

Dr. Lewis leaned back in his chair, his gaze lingering on the screen. "Well, this is new." 

An operator glanced over nervously. "What's new, sir?" 

Dr. Lewis folded his arms, his expression unreadable. "It seems we've finally caught the attention of the neutrals. And they want to meet the team personally." 

The operator blinked. "You mean Team Unknown? Or…" 

Dr. Lewis's lips twitched into a wry smile. "Oh, they want the whole package. The ARM user included." 

The room fell silent, the weight of the request settling over them. 

Dr. Lewis sighed heavily, standing and stretching his shoulders. "I'll have to inform the team. And him. God help us all when Ember hears about this." 

He walked out of the command room, leaving the operators to exchange knowing glances. 

"Peace," one of them muttered, sipping their coffee. "It was nice while it lasted."