CHVLR: Mission 2

Deployment Phase

Ongoing cards:

ace of hearts

An order comes down the line from mission control to lower weapons. A ceasefire has been called. The war could be over any time now. Tokens left: 10 Keep card in play. After each mission log, roll a d-6 die. If a 6 is rolled, remove one token. Refer to field manual when all 10 tokens are removed.

The roll from last mission log was 3. No tokens removed

D6 roll: 1

1. 10 of hearts

Few understand the burden upon your shoulders. During a tense briefing, you are ordered to head into an active situation. There are troops already on the ground and engaged in combat, yet you refuse orders to pilot your CHVLR and enter battle. How are you punished for it? [Return any cards to the deck that you haven't yet turned over and shuffle it.]

Mission Log

20/9 13:32

Designation: 23

Unit: Canter 01

This is absurd. The colonel called me into his office for what I thought would be more details about the recent ceasefire. I was wrong. It wasn’t what I expected. It felt like the calm before something I couldn’t see. But the air in his office was different. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that weighs on your chest.

He handed me the mission file without a word. I scanned it—pinned-down troops near the breach. Casualties, escalating fast. I could almost hear the gunfire, feel the heat of the situation from the words alone. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not with a ceasefire in place.

“We need Canter-01 in the field immediately.”

His voice was steady, but I could sense the urgency beneath it. I should’ve stood up, should’ve followed the command without question. But I couldn’t. Something inside me balked, a tightness in my chest. I knew the stakes, but my instincts screamed that there was more to this than just a rescue mission.

“Sir, why are we deploying if the ceasefire is still active?”

He didn’t look at me right away. His eyes lingered on the papers scattered across his desk, then briefly flicked toward the door. When he finally spoke, his voice was clipped, but not harsh.

“Orders from above.”

That was all. Short, clean. The colonel had always been a man of few words, but something in his tone was off. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it was there. A crack in the surface.

It had been gnawing at me for weeks—the dreams, the flashes of something else. The Resonator sessions had become more frequent, and every time I walked out of that room, a piece of me felt... missing. Like I was forgetting something important. Sometimes, when I slept, I heard voices—not human ones. A whisper in the dark. A warning, maybe? A voice that felt too close, but whenever I tried to hold on to it, it would slip away. And when I woke, the Resonator had wiped it clean again.

I wanted to tell him everything, about the whispers, the flashes, how I was starting to doubt the very mission we were being sent on. But the words wouldn't come. I couldn’t even find the right way to explain it.

“I can’t,” I said quietly, almost to myself. “Not like this.”

His hand tensed on the desk, but he didn’t shout, didn’t scold me. Instead, he looked at me. Really looked at me. Not as a subordinate, but as something else—someone he understood. His silence was thicker than words, and for the briefest moment, I thought I saw something in his eyes. Was it sympathy? Or... regret?

"You understand what this means, don’t you?" His voice was softer now, more careful.

I nodded. Punishment was inevitable. I was refusing a direct order. I could see it in his face, feel it in the air between us. But still, the knot in my stomach wouldn’t loosen. There was something happening, something they weren’t telling us. And I wasn’t sure if even the colonel knew the full picture. Maybe it was above him too. Maybe it was above all of us.

"You’re confined to quarters," he said after a long pause. The words were formal, but his tone wasn’t hard. “There will be consequences, Edward. Serious ones.”

He hadn’t called me by my name in months. I think that’s what made it sink in. He wasn’t just punishing me—he was trying to shield me. From what, I still didn’t know.

The silence in the room pressed down on me, heavy, like a memory just out of reach. There it was again—a voice, faint, like an echo from far away. It wasn’t mine, but it spoke to me. Few understand the burden upon your shoulders. The words faded, disappearing into static, just as they always did. Whatever it was—whatever they had taken from me—I could feel its absence like a ghost.

I didn’t know if I was supposed to feel relief or fear. All I knew was that the voice, that presence, was slipping away further every time I set foot in that Resonator room. And no matter how hard I tried to hold on, the memories—the truth—was always out of reach. I was starting to wonder if we were fighting the wrong enemy. Or if we were being told to fight at all.

“Dr. Mengue...” I started, testing the waters.

The colonel didn’t respond, but his jaw tightened ever so slightly. That told me enough. The doctor, the Resonator, whatever it was doing to us—he knew. He just couldn’t, or wouldn’t, say.

“I’ll comply,” I said, resigned. “But this isn’t right. Something’s wrong, and I can’t—”

“You don’t need to explain yourself,” he interrupted. His voice was steady again, controlled. “Go to your quarters. That’s an order.”

I stood, and for a moment, the room felt smaller, like it was closing in. I couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever this was, it wasn’t just a battle. There was something deeper, something older at play. And I was only seeing fragments of it. Flashes that were always taken away before I could piece them together.

“I won’t stay silent,” I said quietly, knowing full well the risk.

He didn’t reply, just gave a small nod, his eyes avoiding mine as I turned to leave. The punishment was inevitable—demotion, confinement, maybe worse. But I knew one thing: there was something bigger happening here. Something we weren’t being told.

And I wasn’t sure who was on our side anymore.

Edward Sander, signing off.

End of mission log roll

D6 die: 6 6! Edging towards active duty retirement! Tokens left: 9

Whoops, that took a dark turn... I guess that's what child warfare and tough moral decisions look like. I promise the next log won't be as dark!