Raider GL Side Story #5: The Briefing

@12:16 AM EST

Description

#NÜÜBCo #NÜÜB #Nüübco #Nüüb #nüübco #nüüb #NUUBCo #NUUB #NuubCo #Nuub #nuubco #nuub #RaiderGL #sidestory #RaiderGLsidestory #superhero #superheroes

Raider GL Side Story #5: The Briefing

Armstrong is inside a secure facility operated by the Strategic Innovation Directorate (SID), where he and his squad receive a classified mission briefing. Their objective: deploy to a Forward Operating Base within the black and white second dimension—a strange, hostile environment rendered in stark monochrome. The American unit currently stationed there is under sporadic attack by elusive locals, and Armstrong’s team is set to relieve them. With minimal intel, no reliable comms, and a reality stripped of familiar rules, the mission offers no guarantees—only silence, shadows, and the quiet resolve of those sent into the unknown.

Buy

• Raider GL Volume 1: https://www.nuubco.com/product/raider-gl-volume-1/

Follow

• NÜÜB Co. Chatroom: https://www.nuubco.com/chatroom/
• NÜÜB Co. Blog: https://www.nuubco.com/category/blog/

Support

• PayPal: [email protected]

Transcript

Raider GL Side Story #5: The Briefing

The lights in the SID briefing chamber didn’t hum or flicker—they pulsed, low and rhythmic, like a heartbeat designed by engineers who’d long stopped believing in coincidence. The room sat deep within an undisclosed location, a labyrinth beneath reinforced layers of earth, steel, and signal suppression. Armstrong stood at ease near the far wall, silent and still, absorbing every flicker of data as the holographic terrain spun slowly in front of them.
The Strategic Innovation Directorate was unlike anything aboveground. Here, technology bled into theory. Concrete answers were traded for classified assumptions. And today, everything pivoted around a location known only by coordinates and silence: the black and white second dimension.
The analyst’s voice was steady but not rehearsed—calm, like someone used to being just on the edge of knowing too much. “The squad currently stationed at Forward Operating Base RGL 1-00 is maintaining perimeter integrity,” she said, “but they’ve been under persistent, sporadic engagements by local forces.” No elaboration. No visual ID. No names for the opposition. Just that word: locals.
Armstrong listened without moving. No questions. None were necessary. He caught the sideways glances between operators around him, not in fear or confusion, but in the calibrated, quiet readiness that defined their type. They weren’t new to impossible missions, and this one had that feel—something that would never see headlines or ceremony, only silence.
The hologram shifted to a stark representation of the target environment—flat monochrome terrain with no recognizable landmarks, rendered in high-contrast black and white. The visual simplicity was unsettling, like reality itself had been boiled down to only shadow and light. No color, no gradient, no texture. Just binaries. Yet beneath that simplicity lurked layers—ambiguous movement trails, strange thermal echoes, irregular static fields. None of it added up, but all of it mattered.
“There are no reliable comms once you’re inside,” the analyst added. “You’ll get your objectives from the last recorded uplink before entry. Exfil is to be determined, based on conditions on the other side.”
A low click signaled the end of the briefing. No grand send-off. No “good luck.” Just data, strategy, and the hard reality that every mission out of SID ran on shadows and silence.
Armstrong turned without needing to be prompted. Gear was already packed. Mind already set. Another threshold. Another unknown.
The lift to the access bay opened with a hiss, revealing a corridor lit in sterile blue. No one spoke. The squad moved as one, their boots making no sound against the polished floor. Beyond that hallway was the gate—a standing wave generator that shimmered like oil on glass. It waited, pulsing slightly, as if alive, as if listening.
The black and white second dimension wasn’t metaphor. It was fact. A place where everything known became relative, and every step forward felt like walking into an old photo frozen in time. A place where locals knew the terrain better, where shadows bent the rules, and where the laws of engagement were always written in pencil.
Armstrong didn’t hesitate as he passed through the gate. Behind him, the world retained its color. Ahead, everything reduced to contrast, decisions, and motion.
No glory. No headlines. Just purpose in monochrome.