I gotta admit, these caverns have way more to offer than meets the eye.
That mall where I faced off against Mr. Saturday was a real eye-opener. At first, when I woke up in that giant mushroom forest, I thought I'd dropped into some prehistoric fantasy world where people lived in stone huts and hunted for their dinner. But the reality is that Slugterra's society is weirdly modern.
They've got digital cameras, computers, holographic screens, designer clothes, mag-lev engines, and... well, a ton of other stuff. Basically, everything you'd expect to find in a Surface metropolis, just adapted for an underground environment.
And the most important part of this level of civilization: the food.
Luckily, my diet isn't strictly limited to Mario's pizza anymore. Now that I know the trade routes (and have a Commander's salary that lets me splurge a bit), my menu is way more diverse. Double bacon cheeseburgers, spicy burritos that make you sweat, mountains of crispy fried chicken with fries, and... a green apple.
Because, hey, you gotta have some nutritional balance. I don't want my arteries collapsing before I figure out a way home.
Anyway, I haven't been on a major mission in the last four days. After gift-wrapping Mr. Saturday and his Hypnogriff slug for Dr. Blakk, it seems the boss decided to give me a breather. Or maybe they're just too busy studying the mind-control tech in the labs to need me.
I've been stuck in a pretty comfortable loop: eating, making a fool of myself at the gym trying to lift weights next to seven-foot mutants, and browsing the Slug-net.
Turns out, they have their own version of the internet down here. Slug-net is like Google and YouTube combined. The download speeds are surprisingly fast for being miles underground. I've spent hours scrolling through obscure forums, reading the news from the 99 caverns, and looking for any clue, no matter how small, about the Surface or interdimensional portals. So far, I haven't found much besides urban legends and cat videos... well, videos of slugs doing funny things.
But if I'm being honest, my main hobby during these days off has been hanging out with Valentina.
"Pass the hot sauce?" she asked, without taking her eyes off one of her five monitors.
"Here," I said, tossing a little red plastic packet that landed perfectly on her keyboard.
We were in her Intelligence office. The place was the same pigsty as always, with crossed wires and empty coffee mugs stacked like Jenga towers, but I was used to it by now. Right now, we were both lounging on her sofa with a giant bucket of fried chicken between us.
Valentina has become, ironically, my only friend in this madhouse.
She's the Commander of Intelligence, the woman who handles all of Blakk Industries' secrets, but deep down, she's just as lazy as I am when there isn't a blaster pointed at her head. We bonded over stress, a misunderstood wrestling hold, and, above all, our deep hatred for the disgusting gray mush from the base cafeteria.
"Hey, Val," I said, taking a bite out of a crispy chicken drumstick. "Is there really nothing interesting on the radar today? No train heists? No crazy cavemen trying to steal mecha-beasts? I'm starting to get bored."
Valentina tore the sauce packet open with her teeth, squeezed it over her chicken, and typed a couple of commands into her console. The screens in front of us flickered, displaying topographic maps and lines of green code.
"Nothing that requires an Ops Commander of your caliber, wonder boy," she replied, chewing enthusiastically. "Blakk has the regular squads doing boring patrol runs. You're on 'tactical reserve.' Enjoy it while it lasts, because when the boss calls you up, it won't be for a burrito run."
I sighed, leaning back on the couch and tossing a clean bone into the trash can (which, to no one's surprise, was already overflowing).
"Guess you're right," I muttered, crossing my arms. "But I don't like sitting still for this long. Gives me too much time to think."
Valentina spun around in her chair and stared at me for a second. She knew I was hiding something—nobody climbs the ranks that fast without a few skeletons in the closet—but she was smart enough not to ask dangerous questions.
She was about to say something when, suddenly, one of the main monitors on her desk flashed a blinding, intense red.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
The blare of the maximum-priority alarm shattered the peace of our junk-food feast.
Valentina dropped her fried chicken into the cardboard box and leaned closer to the screen, her brown eyes scanning the data at breakneck speed. Her relaxed demeanor vanished in a millisecond, replaced by the cold, calculating Intelligence Commander.
"Well, Alex..." Valentina said, without looking away from the monitor as the red glare illuminated her face. "Looks like your boredom just ended."
The piercing screech of the magnetic brakes rang in Alex's ears. He was in the locomotive cab of the Metro-Slug rescue train, standing in tense silence next to the conductor while gripping his comms device.
The holographic screen projected a red, urgently blinking message:
[EMERGENCY MISSION – CODE RED]Assigned to: Commander Alex.
Status: The infiltration mission to neutralize the Shane Gang is considered a COMPLETE FAILURE. Commander Diablos Nacho has been neutralized, along with undercover field agent, Twist.
Primary Objective: Extract Commander Nacho and Agent Twist. Bring them back to Blakk Industries alive.
Secondary Objective: Recover any surviving infantry in the area.
Tactical Advisory: Direct combat with the Shane Gang is STRICTLY PROHIBITED. Suppressive fire is authorized only to cover the retreat.
Alex read the message for the third time before the screen flickered off.
"So I gotta go save good ol' Diablos Nacho's butt... again," Alex said out loud, flashing a wicked, genuinely amused smile in the dim light of the cab.
The giant mutant had mocked him at the gym, and now it was Alex who had to go clean up his mess. Karma, he thought, was beautiful.
However, as he analyzed the data, Alex's smile faded slightly, giving way to a more calculating expression.
"Though... is that little group of 'heroes' really that good?" he muttered to himself, rubbing his chin. "I think I underestimated them at the mall."
According to the preliminary report, Nacho's op had dozens of elite soldiers, a heavy armored train, and the element of surprise thanks to Twist's infiltration. And even so, the Shane Gang, made up of just four teenagers (and a Molenoid of questionable usefulness), had wiped the floor with them. That wasn't just luck anymore; that was pure tactical skill.
"Sir, get ready. We'll breach the entry point in ten seconds," the engineer announced, interrupting his thoughts.
The train violently busted through an underground waterfall that hid the entrance to the target cavern. Water battered the locomotive's thick windows as the engines began to brake hard.
"Even though the report calls this a 'rescue' mission..." Alex thought, walking briskly toward the train's side door. "In practice, this is more like garbage collection. 'Go pick up the losers before they spill their guts.'"
With a pneumatic hiss, the car door slid open. Alex drew his blaster with an expert twirl and loaded a Taserling slug into the chamber, stepping down into the drop zone flanked by his own recovery squad.
The scene was... to put it mildly without completely trashing company morale... pathetic.
The battlefield was an absolute disaster. Dozens of Blakk Industries soldiers were scattered across the ground in terrible shape: some were trapped inside massive blocks of melting ice, others hung from the walls wrapped in sticky Arachnet webs, and the vast majority were simply lying unconscious, covered in bruises and scorch marks.
A few yards away, the colossal figure of Diablos Nacho was embedded in the ground, groaning in pain and completely knocked out.
The only person from Blakk's side still standing was a blond kid with a brown jacket and a rebellious attitude. Alex recognized him immediately from his file photo: Twist.
"Secure the perimeter," Alex ordered his men with an authoritative bark. "You four, peel those useless grunts off the floor and get them into the medical cars. And you two, pry Commander Nacho out of the dirt before he wakes up and starts crying."
As the soldiers hurriedly obeyed, Alex casually strolled over to the infiltrator, his hands shoved in his pockets.
Twist was leaning against the cold metal of Nacho's train, which was smoking heavily and riddled with impact craters. The blond kid was breathing hard, clutching his side, his usual arrogance completely crushed.
Alex stopped in front of him, looked him up and down, and let out a soft chuckle.
"Well, well, well. This isn't going to look very pretty on your first field report, don't you think?" Alex remarked with razor-sharp sarcasm. "'Crushing defeat' falls a bit short. You guys look like a can of sardines stomped by a Cave Troll."
Twist looked up. His blue eyes reflected frustration and wounded pride at the sight of Blakk's new "wonder boy" mocking him.
"You think?" Twist shot back, his voice dry and raspy, spitting to the side.
Alex shrugged, flashing a smug, superior smile. "That's what you get for picking that idiot Nacho as your backup instead of me. If you'd been in my squad, we'd be celebrating right now."
Twist scowled, opening his mouth to fire back, but Alex raised a hand, cutting him off with mock sympathy.
"But hey, cheer up, blondie. It's not that bad. We've all blown a mission at some point in our lives. You just gotta learn from your mistakes and do better." Alex took a dramatic pause, his smile widening even more. "Well, I haven't failed one yet, but I assume it must feel terrible. My condolences."
Twist gritted his teeth, glaring daggers at him for a second. Then, unable to defend his pitiful performance, he simply hung his head again in silence.
"Commander Alex!" one of the engineers called out, jogging over to him. "What do we do with Commander Nacho's locomotive? The main systems are fried."
Alex shifted his gaze to the massive, wrecked, smoking metal beast behind Twist.
"Well, looks like that piece of junk isn't moving on its own anytime soon," Alex ordered, spinning on his heel to head back to his own train. "Anchor the tow cables to the rear chassis. We'll give this trash heap a ride back home. Let's move, Dr. Blakk is waiting!"
The rhythmic clatter of the Metro-Slug marked the long trip back to Blakk Industries HQ. While the paramedics rushed back and forth in the rear cars tending to the battered soldiers, and Twist drowned in silence and bruised pride, Alex was enjoying the ride like he was in first class.
He was comfortably kicking back in one of the locomotive's wide seats, his legs propped up on an ammo crate. In one hand, he held a can of dark, bubbly soda that—to his absolute delight—tasted exactly like an ice-cold Coke from his home world.
He took a long sip, set the can aside, and held up the object in his other hand: a shiny, high-res digital camera. It was one of the many useful "souvenirs" he'd managed to loot during his mall mission.
Alex hit a button and the LCD screen lit up. As he pulled up the image in the gallery, a wicked smirk slowly spread across his face.
The screen showed the giant, terrifying Commander Diablos Nacho, completely unconscious and sprawled out against the cavern rubble. But what made the photo a true masterpiece of blackmail was one tiny detail:
Because of the angle he had fallen after being beaten, the fearsome mutant had ended up with his own thumb stuffed in his mouth, looking exactly like a giant, ugly, cranky baby.
"Hahahaha..." Alex couldn't hold it in, letting out a clean burst of laughter that echoed through the locomotive cab.
He stared at the photo for a few more seconds, savoring the personal victory, and then carefully tucked the camera away into one of his uniform's secure pockets.
"I'm definitely blowing this up to poster size and slapping it on the gym bulletin board," Alex said aloud, wiping a tear of laughter from the corner of his eye as he pictured the big guy's rage. "The boys gotta see this. Nacho will never look down his nose at me again."