I Am The Swarm

“Ha! I thought they didn’t need to eat, but look at all this stuff they’ve hidden away,” one soldier remarked.

“Wow, this is a massive granary!” another exclaimed.

As the team examined the white silk-wrapped bulges hanging from the ground, walls, and even the cavern’s ceiling, a wave of curiosity rippled through the ranks.

But then—

“Ahhh!” A sudden scream shattered the air.

Winter reacted instantly, sprinting over in a few strides.

“What’s going on?” he demanded. The screaming soldier wasn’t from his squad but a regular guard unit, though his rank was significantly higher, giving him the authority to question the situation.

“Sir, there’s someone inside,” the shaken soldier stammered, pointing at one of the silk-wrapped bulges. He had followed Winter’s earlier example and sliced open a cocoon out of curiosity, only to be startled by what he saw.

Judging by his reaction, he was still a rookie, with nerves that hadn’t fully hardened despite prior combat experience.

Winter leaned in and peered through the slit in the cocoon. Inside, a pair of wide, unblinking eyes stared back at him, unnervingly intense.

Even Winter, with his steel nerves, was startled, stumbling back two steps before composing himself. Steeling his resolve, he approached again. This time, prepared for the sight, he looked more carefully and realized the cocoon held a Riken.

The man’s pale blue face looked deathly pale, and his large eyes conveyed a complex mix of terror, confusion, and relief. Winter marveled at how much emotion could be transmitted through a single gaze.

The man’s body was curled up within the cocoon. Whether it was due to the binding silk or some other reason, he remained motionless, even after being discovered. His lips were tightly sealed, giving him the appearance of a lifeless corpse—if not for those vivid eyes.

Winter immediately called over several teammates, and together they carefully cut open the cocoon, freeing the trapped Riken.

Yet, despite the removal of the bindings, the man remained immobile.

A special operations soldier used a handheld scanner, waving it over the man’s face. Moments later, a string of information appeared.

“Captain, it’s one of the missing patrolmen from the initial disappearance!” the soldier reported.

Winter’s eyes widened. Though he had suspected as much, confirming the man’s identity still left him astonished. After all, nearly ten days had passed since the patrol had gone missing.

“Still alive after all this time? That’s one lucky bastard,” Winter muttered. Surviving without food for so long bordered on miraculous.

“Carson, report back to the base immediately. Everyone else, carefully open the remaining cocoons. Be mindful—there could be more of our comrades inside,” Winter ordered.

Carson, the team’s communications specialist, slung his equipment and sprinted back along their entry route, adjusting his gear to check for signals as he ran. Thankfully, he managed to relay the message without incident once he cleared the magnetic interference zone. Upon receiving the update, Lieutenant Colonel Cross promptly escalated the report.

This was no longer an isolated issue. Every ground base had experienced patrol disappearances. If even some of the missing personnel were still alive, the implications were grave.

“Cross, brief everyone on the situation,” General Masai said. Within minutes, an emergency video conference was convened. Thanks to the fleet’s readiness, the captains and strategists were all standing by, allowing for such swift action.

“Everyone,” Cross began, “a special operations team has discovered what appears to be an Insectoid Swarm granary. Inside, they found one of the missing patrolmen—alive but immobilized and unable to speak for unknown reasons.”

Her summary left the participants in a tense silence.

“Only one survivor?” a strategist finally asked.

Cross shook her head. “The situation on the ground is complex. Search and rescue operations are ongoing, but communication remains hindered, so specifics are still unclear.”

Silence fell again.

“We’ll wait for further updates,” one captain sighed.

Time passed as combat engineers worked to establish wired connections in the tunnels. Gradually, more footage and data streamed in, revealing massive subterranean chambers lined with white silk, cocoon-like bulges, and other eerie details.

The initial survivor proved not to be alone. As rescue efforts continued, additional survivors were discovered. By the end of several hours, all the silk-wrapped pods—including those hanging from the ceiling—had been opened with the aid of specialized equipment.

In total, 112 survivors were rescued.

This number was remarkable. Cross’s base, which had been the first to detect anomalies, suffered the fewest losses. Out of the 21 patrol teams initially attacked—each consisting of ten members—almost half had been recovered alive.

However, the discovery posed a new problem.

For Cross, the rescue was a success, reflecting well on her command. But for other base commanders, the news was a headache.

Most of the missing patrol members were rookies, but that didn’t diminish the obligation to save them. Now that their survival was known, abandoning them was out of the question. Refusal to attempt rescue would be seen as heartless, ending any commander’s career and risking backlash. In the isolated confines of an interstellar expedition, being ostracized by peers could be far more dangerous than any official punishment.

Yet the logistics of rescue were daunting.

It had taken nearly ten days of sustained effort to breach the granary. Replicating this feat at other Swarm nests wasn’t feasible given the time constraints—captives elsewhere likely couldn’t survive for much longer. Slow, methodical digging would only doom them further.

The only option was to send troops directly into the nests, fighting their way down as quickly as possible. But previous attempts to storm Swarm tunnels had resulted in heavy casualties. Now, they were expected to assault multiple unexplored nests simultaneously—a daunting and perilous task.

Although logic dictated that the captives be abandoned, such an act was unthinkable for a civilization composed of sentient, empathetic individuals. The decision weighed heavily on the gathered commanders, leaving the conference room in a pensive, oppressive silence.

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