The Zulu Squad had accomplished a feat achieved by no other Replica squads that night: they won a battle against a full pack of shadow creatures without losing any squad members.
Unless you were to count Assassin Z-3. At this moment, the Assassin was just starting to wake to strange, low voices coming from outside the bathroom door.
"Sir, there are still no signs of Replica activity. I think they're deactivated for good."
"Very well, but stay sharp. We still need to apprehend Morrison."
"Roger that, sir."
Assassin Z-3's mind raced, desperately searching for some sort of an escape route. All of a sudden, in a rare burst of ingenuity, he remembered his trump card.
--
The voices outside belonged to none other than the merciless mercenaries known as the Nightcrawlers. Had the one of their sentries been just a bit more attentive, he might have noticed a slight distortion in the air traveling from the restroom to the center of the station.
One of the ceiling vents was swiftly torn off and came clattering to the floor, accompanied by a quick buzzing sound and strange blue electric arcs. This caught the attention of Zach Parker, a former Special Forces soldier and relatively new recruit to the Nightcrawlers.
He nervously motioned to Jake Price, one of his comrades. "Did you see that?" he asked, his voice heavily distorted by his facemask's built-in vocoder.
Price looked up stoically at the fallen vent, then at Parker. "That thing? I think it was a squirrel."
"Are you kidding me? There's no way a squirrel could've-…"
"Do you want to take a closer look for yourself?"
Parker thought about it for a moment, then made his decision. "All right. It was a squirrel, then."
--
His body coursing with adrenaline, Assassin Z-3 sped through the ventilation shaft towards what he hoped might be the location of the rest of his squad. He spent what seemed like days traveling through the maze of tunnels before he heard an encouraging sound: a voice that sounded very much like that of another Replica. Overjoyed, Z-3 punched open a ceiling vent and dropped to the floor, landing right in front of two Replica soldiers.
One of them was turned away, and didn't notice him immediately. The other soldier, who was facing Z-3, did a comedic double-take and whipped out a remote bomb detonator. A dangerously overstuffed backpack was slung on his shoulder.
"I'll do it, dammit…I swear…take one more step towards my things, and we'll be, uh…" The soldier paused, searching for a suitable threat. "We'll be digging latrines in HELL!"
The other Replica gracefully turned to face Z-3. "Oh dear! My most sincere of apologies, sir," he spoke with an aristocratic British accent. "My comrade is afflicted with a highly peculiar neurosis; he is fond of picking up…goodness, I seem to have already forgotten. What are they again, Yankee Four?"
Yankee Four's posture eased, but his hand remained on the detonator. "My treasures. And it's not neurosis, Yankee One." He said "Yankee One" in a sarcastic, shrill tone of voice usually reserved for complaints expressed by 13-year-old sisters. "It's why I was placed on this world. To collect treasures."
"He really is quite a remarkable fellow, isn't he?" Yankee One chuckled. "Oh, good heavens, where are my manners? May I ask what your name might be, good sir?"
Assassin Z-3 was stunned. "You…you guys are survivors from the Yankee Squad! I thought you were all dead!"