Hi everyone !
Thank you so much for your feedback on Chapter 1.
I'm excited to share Chapter 2 with you now.
Can't wait to hear your thoughts on this one !
Enjoy reading !
LedJen
Chapter 2: The Ghosts of the Past
Flashback: Iron Dagger
Operation Iron Dagger – Central Asia – 9 years ago
The rain was pouring down relentlessly on the jagged mountains of Central Asia, rushing down the steep slopes like a myriad of projectiles striking the ground with unimaginable violence. Each drop seemed like a cold arrow, crashing against the rocks and sheer cliffs with such force that they emitted a dull, almost metallic sound. The air was frigid, saturated with humidity and ozone, the atmosphere heavily impregnated with the smell of damp earth and decaying vegetation. Each gust of wind was like a freezing embrace that seemed to want to snatch the warmth from their bodies, forcing them to retreat into the darkness of the night. The darkness itself seemed almost palpable, a heavy and damp blanket, within which only the rare flashes of lightning pierced the black sky, briefly illuminating the mountains, revealing the grandeur and violence of the landscape.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, a constant noise that echoed through the mountains like a reminder of nature's untamable power. This natural racket, made up of the pounding rain and the ferocious gusts of wind, provided the perfect cover for the team's infiltration. But paradoxically, it only heightened the tension in the cramped, dimly lit cabin of the helicopter. The machine hummed almost melodiously, but the atmosphere inside was electric, charged with palpable energy.
Six men in combat gear stood in the shadows of the cabin, each absorbed in their own concentration, their faces partially illuminated by the red and flickering light of the tactical lamps. Their features were hardened by experience, invisible marks from years spent in war zones where the slightest mistake could be fatal. Yet, tonight, despite their experience, a strange feeling hung in the air. It wasn't the mission itself that caused the pressure – infiltrations into hostile zones were routine, and these men were masters at it. But there was something else. A shadow of uncertainty, a quiet threat, that seemed to destabilize even the most battle-hardened.
Steve McGarrett, his helmet securely fastened, was intensely scrutinizing the rugged terrain through the small oval window of the helicopter, his eyes fixed on the valleys below. The glowing screen of his tactical tablet shone in the dimness, casting a cold light on his stern features. Every detail of the rebel complex they were about to attack had been meticulously studied: entry points, supply routes, potential enemy positions. But despite the exhaustive preparation, the pressure weighed heavily on his shoulders. Time was their enemy. Bekov, their primary target, an internationally renowned rebel leader, was about to leave the area in less than six hours to hide in a network of underground caches. After that, it would be nearly impossible to track him down. Their window of opportunity was narrow. They had little time to execute the operation and leave before the situation escalated.
Suddenly, the pilot's voice broke the heavy silence in the cabin, a metallic vibration in Steve's earpiece: "We're approaching the deployment zone, Commander. Two minutes to go."
Steve immediately turned his gaze to his team. His men. His Bravo unit. They were a well-oiled machine, seasoned in war, and yet, tonight, Steve couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Not with the operation itself, no. But with the atmosphere. He observed each of his men, scanning their closed faces, their precise movements. Every team member knew what they had to do, but an imperceptible tension lingered. Everyone was on edge.
Then his eyes landed on him. Lieutenant Jack Keller, sitting at the back, was fine-tuning his assault rifle with almost manic concentration. This was Keller's first mission with Bravo. A young man with undeniable potential, a promising soldier, but with that unpredictable zeal that sometimes bordered on impulsiveness. Steve knew Keller had an impressive track record. Successful missions with other units, impeccable physical fitness, tactical intelligence above average. But the real test was in the field, at the heart of the action, where everything could change in an instant. And Steve couldn't help but feel a slight unease, a premonition that this young lieutenant wasn't yet ready to face the harsh realities of the field as coldly and methodically as their mission required.
Steve straightened despite the violent shakes of the helicopter, locked his gaze on Keller, and took a deep breath before speaking. His voice was calm, but his sharp gaze left no room for doubt.
"OK, listen up." He paused, his eyes scanning the team before returning to Keller. "This is a quick mission. We go in, capture Bekov, gather the intel, and get out. No airstrikes, no collateral damage. A clean extraction. This is a covert operation. We're alone in this. No room for mistakes."
A murmur of agreement swept through the team, each man focused as usual. But Steve felt the need to emphasize one crucial point. His eyes hardened as he turned directly to Keller, whose confident smile seemed a little too wide to be natural.
"Keller."
The lieutenant immediately raised his head, surprised by Steve's serious tone. "Yes, sir?"
Steve took a step forward, standing close to the edge to avoid losing his balance. "You follow my orders to the letter. No improvisation. No lone wolves. No hasty decisions. Understood?"
Keller already shrugged, as if to brush off the tension in his voice. A nonchalant smile, but one that fooled no one, not even Steve. "Roger that, sir. Promise, no deviations."
Steve nodded slowly, but a part of him wasn't entirely reassured. He didn't let it show, his piercing gaze scrutinizing Keller's one last time before he turned away to look at his other men. Veteran Scott Ramirez, sitting next to Keller, briefly placed a hand on his shoulder in a gesture halfway between camaraderie and a silent warning. But Keller didn't react. He seemed calm. Too calm.
The approach signal suddenly sounded, a discreet beep announcing their entry into the operational zone. The helicopter immediately slowed down, its blades cutting through the air with a disturbing hum. It descended low, grazing the bare treetops that swayed under the force of the wind. A green deployment light flickered on in the cabin, bathing the inside of the helicopter in a phosphorescent, almost unreal hue, as Steve once again checked his equipment and weapon.
"Let's go." The order was simple, but in the air, it carried the full weight of the operation.
One by one, the men stood up, preparing to leap into the night. As they plunged into the muddy clearing below, their boots sank deeply into the soaked ground. The sound of the blades faded quickly, swallowed by the roar of the approaching storm, with its wild gusts and thunderous rumbles, which soon became their only ally. The men assumed position, adrenaline pushing every fiber of their being, but deep in their minds, they knew that the stakes were higher than anything they'd faced before. They were in the eye of the storm, and the mission had only just begun.
/
The dense forest stretched before them like a sea of moving shadows, a black and impenetrable mass that seemed to extend endlessly. The trees, gnarled giants with rough trunks, twisted and contorted by decades of storms and battles with the elements, formed a silent army of still observers, their branches hanging like arms stretched toward the sky. The wind blew between the treetops, whispering forgotten secrets, and the rain beat down on the ground and foliage in a steady, persistent sound, almost hypnotic. The rhythm of the drops striking the leaves, rocks, and waterlogged earth was a melody that seemed to want to soothe the soul. But not tonight. Not here. Every sound was a warning, each breath of wind carried an invisible threat.
Lightning streaked across the sky in intense blue, tearing the darkness into fleeting flashes. For a moment, the forest illuminated like a war-torn landscape, every detail of the rugged terrain and each tree trunk perfectly visible. Then, in the blink of an eye, everything closed back into near-total darkness, barely disturbed by the sounds of the wild nature. The flashes of light danced on the ground, casting enormous shadows that moved like ghosts fleeing the light, stretching and shrinking before disappearing again into the darkness.
Steve McGarrett led the way, his sharp gaze scanning every inch of the terrain before him. He was a stoic figure, almost spectral, barely discernible in the dark. His weapon, held with unyielding precision, was aimed forward, ready to react to any threat. His other hand, clenched into a fist, was ready to give signals to his team, every movement measured, every gesture calculated. This wasn't coldness, it was necessity. In this hostile environment, every step, every breath, every decision mattered. The uncertainty, the omnipresent danger, made each moment gravely significant.
Behind him, the team moved in tight formation, perfectly synchronized despite the difficult conditions. The slippery ground and treacherous roots tried to ensnare them, but their movements remained fluid, relentless. Each man knew exactly where he needed to be, at every moment, like a well-oiled machine. Ramirez and Matthews, the veterans of the unit, occupied the flanks, their rifles slowly swinging in almost imperceptible movements, methodically sweeping the opposite angles to cover every possible avenue of attack. They didn't speak. They didn't need words. Their vigilance, every muscle tense, every fiber of their being, was the answer. The forest all around seemed to belong to these men. They moved like shadows, an elusive presence, like predators in their natural territory.
A little further back, Keller, the youngest and least experienced of the group, brought up the rear. Unlike his comrades, his movements were more hesitant, betraying a nervousness he struggled to conceal. His rifle was tightly gripped, his fingers white with tension, and with every flash of light, Steve noticed his fleeting, nervous gaze, briefly resting on the threatening shadows of the forest. Each flash of lightning made him jump, and Steve could catch Keller's irregular breathing through the intercom, a sound almost imperceptible, but distinct enough for the leader's experience to detect.
Steve slightly slowed his pace, his sharp instincts telling him something was wrong. He extended his arm backward, a minimal but precise gesture to signal a temporary regroup. The team stopped in silence, and Steve leaned forward slightly, getting closer to Keller to whisper in a calm but firm voice, breaking the oppressive silence of the forest.
"Keller. Relax. Breathe deeply. You know what you're doing. You know the procedures. This isn't your first mission. So trust them. Trust yourself."
Steve's voice, low and full of conviction, slipped through the intercom, a lifeline of calm in the young lieutenant's inner turmoil. Keller swallowed, his throat tight, and replied in a low, trembling voice, as if fighting against the waves of doubt that overwhelmed him.
"Yes, sir. Sorry. I'll... I'll get myself together."
Ramirez, who had overheard everything, turned his head slightly toward them, a discreet smile playing on his lips. He said nothing too much, not trying to overplay the situation. His words were simple but carried a quiet assurance, a perfect balance between camaraderie and instruction.
"Relax, kid. Those guys out there don't stand a chance against us. They don't even know what's coming for them."
The tone was light, without insistence, but the intention was clear. Calm Keller, bring him back into the reality of their collective efficiency, without ever compromising vigilance. Steve nodded silently, appreciating Ramirez's discreet intervention. A knowing wink, a small gesture that only those who had spent years together could understand. Without another word, Steve resumed his progress, his gaze scanning the darkness, each step heavier in the atmosphere saturated with tension.
The forest seemed to close in on them, the trees tightening their embrace like specters. The sound of the rain grew more insistent, the flashes of lightning more rare, as if nature itself wanted to swallow them into a menacing silence. But the team moved on, unyielding, ready to face the shadows lurking in the dark.
/
The wind was rising in gusts, blowing in stronger bursts that shook the trees and bent the tallest trunks, throwing leaves and splinters of branches into a chaotic ballet. Each gust seemed to tear at the air, a tumultuous symphony of pounding rain, distant thunder, and sharp noises, like metallic clashing or the groaning of the heavens. The scent of wet earth and damp vegetation filled the air, each breath bringing a sense of intensity, as if nature itself was holding its breath. The night was dense, an almost tangible darkness, and each tree, each bush seemed to carry its own secret in the silence suspended between the bursts of the storm.
Despite this natural chaos, the team moved with an almost supernatural fluidity. Their movements were precise, synchronized, a silent choreography shaped by years of training. Boots sank slightly into the mud of the soaked ground, but never faltered. There was no unnecessary noise. No superfluous gesture. Each man seemed perfectly in tune with the environment, listening not only to nature but also to the slightest disturbance around them: the crack of a dry branch, a furtive rustle in a bush, or the metallic click of a misadjusted weapon. The heavy, rain-soaked air seemed to vibrate with every movement.
Steve McGarrett was at the front, every muscle taut, every sense on alert. He suddenly stopped, raising a clenched fist. In an instant, the team froze as one entity, their bodies becoming an extension of the shadows surrounding them. Silence fell over them, almost oppressive, a suffocating sense of stillness. The wind blew in waves, but no sound disturbed their focus. Steve calmly raised a hand to his helmet and adjusted the thermal visor on his glasses. Through the green and black glow of the screen, two figures appeared in the night, moving slowly on a narrow trail about fifty meters ahead of them. Their movements were cautious, their bodies leaning forward, an unmistakable sign of distrust.
"Two hostiles, eleven o'clock," Steve whispered into his microphone, his voice as quiet as a breath but clear enough to resonate in the team's intercom. "Ramirez, Matthews, flank them and take them out quietly. Keller, stay back and cover our four. No engagement without my order."
An almost imperceptible smile appeared on Ramirez's face, a brief flash of excitement lighting up his dark eyes. "Roger that, sir," he replied, and in an instant, he disappeared into the darkness, with Matthews blending into the shadows behind him. The two men were like moving shadows, their bodies gliding through the vegetation with a fluid, almost unreal ease, as if they had been made to blend into the surroundings. Every movement was measured, calculated, a perfect demonstration of the expertise they possessed.
Steve crouched down, his gaze fixed on the two targets through his thermal scope. The tension behind him was almost palpable. Keller, the youngest, was still lagging behind, a certain nervousness hovering around him, though he had made visible efforts to control it. Steve could hear Keller's regular breathing, but he also sensed the slight tremor in the air, a contained energy that signaled the lieutenant was about to give in to the pressure. He slowly turned to look at him, his sharp gaze landing on the young man. "Keep your cool. They don't see us. We control the situation." His voice was calm, firm, and the echo of his words seemed to soothe Keller, who nodded, gripping his weapon tighter, trying to suppress the anxiety boiling inside him.
Within seconds, Ramirez and Matthews reappeared silently, taking positions on either side of the two enemies. Their movements were so subtle that even Steve, who was watching them carefully through the intercom, would have struggled to hear the slightest sound without the cues he was receiving. They were like ghosts, invisible to their targets. Ramirez raised a finger, a discreet but effective signal. The two enemies were now perfectly positioned, vulnerable.
Steve scanned the surroundings again, checking if any other patrols might be nearby. He searched for moving shadows, scrutinizing every corner with cold precision. Once he ensured the path was clear, he whispered in a measured, but determined voice: "Now."
No sooner had his words been spoken than two muffled shots rang out almost simultaneously. The sound of bodies collapsing onto the muddy ground was muffled by the density of the humid air. No screams, no movement. Everything had happened in the blink of an eye, a clean, silent, and efficient execution. Ramirez and Matthews reappeared as silently as they had left, their faces calm, but the intensity of their gaze betrayed the focus that had never left them.
"It's clean," Ramirez reported in a steady tone, while checking his weapon with methodical precision, as if nothing unusual had occurred.
Steve nodded slowly, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Well done. Let's move on."
He turned to Keller and gave him a look, a brief but meaningful gesture. A small motion, a silent acknowledgment. Even though Keller hadn't been directly involved in taking out the targets, his presence, his calm in the situation, had played a crucial role. He had been there, ready to intervene if necessary, supporting his teammates without faltering. Keller responded with a nod, both shy and respectful, his expression slightly more relaxed than before, as if a part of the pressure he had been feeling had lifted.
The silence of the forest surrounded them again as they resumed their progression. The sound of the rain falling, the wind whistling through the trees, the regular creaking of branches in the night, all created an almost supernatural atmosphere. But in Steve's mind, one thought persisted. Every step brought them closer to the complex, but also to the real battle. What they had done so far was just a prelude. The danger was not a question of "if," but "when." He knew that nothing was certain, and yet he felt a deep confidence in his men. Their unity was more than just a group: it was a family, bonded by experience and respect. Every mission, every challenge, was not only a test of their skills, but a test of the strength of this unity.
And as long as Steve was there to guide them, there was no room for error.
/
The SEAL team came to a halt, blending into the shadow cast by a crumbling wall marking the outer edge of the enemy complex. The air was dense, charged with palpable tension. The darkness of the night, barely disturbed by a few moonbeams, felt even more oppressive in this heavy silence. Each team member breathed cautiously, as if the slightest sound could awaken imminent chaos. Steve McGarrett, his piercing gaze scanning the horizon, made a discreet hand gesture. At that exact moment, every movement was perfectly synchronized, a well-orchestrated ballet of the operation about to unfold in the next few seconds. Ramirez and Matthews moved fluidly, slipping silently between the shadows to neutralize the two sentinels guarding the side entrance of the complex.
Their movements were almost invisible, like ghosts merging into the night. In an instant, the guards were taken down, their bodies collapsing to the ground without a sound, in a deathly silence. The air, already heavy with palpable tension, seemed suspended as the team finished their work in the blink of an eye. Ramirez grabbed one of the bodies by the shoulders, while Matthews firmly grasped its legs. With mechanical precision, they dragged the corpses into a dark corner, out of sight, like barely visible shadows in the dimness.
Steve, who had stayed back, turned to Keller, observing his teammate as he scanned the darkness with nervous vigilance, every muscle in his body taut like a bow ready to snap. Steve's gaze softened, though his tone remained firm and authoritative. He placed a reassuring yet firm hand on Keller's shoulder: "Stay focused. No unnecessary movements. Follow me."
Keller nodded, his face impassive but his fists clenched around his rifle. He knew what this meant: every second counted, and in this mission, the slightest mistake could be costly. He took a few steps forward, falling into step with Steve without another word. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and in that silence, a tacit connection formed, a silent pact made of trust and determination.
Arriving at the side entrance, Steve crouched with apparent calm, pulling a fiber-optic camera from his bag and gently sliding it under the metal door. His movements were as natural as they were automatic, but beneath this outward tranquility, a part of him remained constantly on alert. The image appeared immediately on his tablet: a dimly lit corridor, bathed in flickering light, and two armed figures standing about six meters ahead.
He whispered into his microphone, his voice low but authoritative: "Two guards, six meters ahead. We enter and neutralize them quickly. No noise. Ramirez, Matthews, form up on me. Keller, cover our six."
In the blink of an eye, the team members took their positions. Their movements were fluid, unified, like a single entity blending into the darkness. Each gesture was the extension of Steve's will, each glance a silent pact between the team members. Steve did a quick countdown with his fingers, his eyes fixed on the door, on the mission. At "three," he slowly turned the handle, and the team surged inside like a shadow, stealthy and precise.
The two guards didn't even have time to react. Matthews lunged at the first one, his body moving with superhuman speed, knocking him out with a single fluid motion. At the same time, Ramirez, with the dexterity of a ghost, neutralized the second with his knife. The bodies of the two sentinels collapsed almost without sound, their limbs sliding across the floor in an almost supernatural silence. The flickering light danced across their lifeless faces, but nothing broke the stillness of the room. An almost absolute silence reigned.
Steve gave Keller a quick nod to enter. He scanned the corridor again, ensuring everything was clear. The tension didn't subside; it remained, like an indefinable shadow, ready to strike at any moment. He activated his microphone, his cold but measured voice emanating from the earpiece: "Base, this is Bravo 1. We're inside. First section secured. Heading to the hard drives. Bekov status?"
The response came quickly. Graham's calm, professional voice answered immediately, like an anchor in the chaos: "No change for now. Thermal signatures still indicate a presence in the central building. Bravo 1, you're on schedule, but keep the pace."
Steve glanced around at his team, ensuring everyone was in position. The team members were ready for anything, their focus palpable. Steve, fists clenched, gave a slight nod of understanding: "Copy that. We move out."
The plan was simple, but execution had to be flawless. They had no margin for error. Steve signaled his team to move. The corridor ahead was bathed in dim light, the lamps fixed to the walls flickering slightly, casting moving shadows that seemed to dance with every step. The tension rose with each flash of light, each echo of their footsteps reverberating in the metal walls of the complex. Ramirez and Matthews moved ahead as scouts, their weapons trained forward, their eyes constantly alert, while Keller watched the rear with extreme vigilance. His eyes scanned every corner, every movement, as if the shadows themselves could rise up against them. Seconds stretched like taut strings, ready to snap at any moment.
But for now, they moved forward together, a perfect unit, relentless, guided by the unshakable will of Steve McGarrett.
/
Upon reaching a door marked with technical symbols, half-erased by time and handling, Steve slowed down, his eyes scanning every detail around him. The silence was complete, but in this strange place, every breath seemed too loud, every movement too heavy. He paused for a moment, focusing on the door, analyzing every feature, every lock, every shadow that could conceal a trap. Ramirez stopped beside him, his body tense, ready to react to the slightest threat. Matthews, on the other hand, had already taken position for cover, his rifle aimed down the hallway. The slightest suspicious sound, and he would be ready.
Steve crouched in front of the electronic lock, his gaze cold and methodical. He studied the interface for a moment, a fleeting flash of frustration crossing his mind. Then, with a discreet hand gesture, he called Matthews.
The technician approached silently, his heavy bag of computer equipment hitting his thigh. Without a word, he knelt in front of the control panel, pulling a portable keyboard from his bag. His fingers began to dance across the keys with almost supernatural precision, the rhythmic sound of light keystrokes resonating in the room. His eyes sparkled with intense focus as he concentrated on the task. "Give me a minute to bypass this," he murmured without looking up.
Steve nodded, his gaze still fixed on the dark corridor. His hands were both tense and relaxed, like a lion ready to pounce. "Hurry up," he whispered, his voice low but imperative. Every second was precious, each one bringing the team closer to potential danger. They weren't alone here, Steve was sure of it.
The seconds ticked by, long and silent, until a faint "beep" sounded. The insignificant noise seemed to echo in the void, like thunder in a sky of dread. The door slid open smoothly, almost silently, revealing the room behind it. A technical room. Servers hummed, emitting a constant and reassuring sound, while electronic equipment blinked in a gradient of green and red. It was a sanctuary of technology, but also a potential trap. The air was electrified, saturated with that tension that seeped between each team member.
Matthews entered first, quickly moving to the main terminal at the back of the room. He dropped his bag, pulling out his tablet to connect to the hard drives, his nimble hands mastering every movement. Steve glanced at Ramirez and Keller, two moving shadows in this cold, metallic room. "We secure the room. Keller, watch the entrance. No one enters without my order," Steve commanded in a firm yet measured voice.
Keller, his eyes shining with the same intensity as Steve's, nodded without a word. He calmly but swiftly moved toward the door, taking position, his rifle now aimed at the corridor. Every muscle in his body was taut, every fiber ready to react to the slightest signal. Steve knew he could rely on him. Not a second of distraction. Not one.
As Matthews connected his tablet, the sounds of activity in the room became clearer, more perceptible. Steve cast a quick glance at his watch. The adrenaline was palpable. Every second was a promise of uncertainty. Without wasting a moment, he activated his microphone to contact the base. "Base, this is Bravo 1. Transfer in progress. Two minutes to finish. General status?"
The response came quickly. The calm, mechanical voice of a technician echoed in his earpiece. "No immediate changes on your peripherals, Bravo 1. However, we're observing increased activity to the south. Some enemy patrols seem to be moving." The technician hesitated for a moment, as if evaluating the best way to phrase his next remark. "Nothing clear yet. It could be a routine reorganization or a security measure. But the number of movements is increasing. Stay alert."
Steve furrowed his brow, a flash of determination crossing his eyes. He exchanged a fleeting look with Ramirez, who was crouched beside Matthews, attentively watching the data on the tablet. "What kind of activity?" Steve asked, his voice low but sharp, like a knife ready to cut through the tension. Every piece of information was crucial. They couldn't afford to remain in the dark.
The technician paused for a moment before answering, his hesitation betraying a barely perceptible concern. "Not clear yet. We can't tell if it's just movement or if it's more organized than that. The movements are increasing, but nothing concrete for now."
Ramirez, eyes fixed on the data, muttered to Steve in a lighter tone, though the anxiety in his voice was palpable: "This is starting to stink, boss." His hands trembled slightly, but he wasn't the type to give in to panic. Still, the situation was becoming more unstable, and it was hard not to feel the pressure.
Steve showed no outward sign of concern. He simply shook his head and responded in a firm tone, his voice cutting like metal: "Base, keep monitoring. If you detect any anomaly, let me know immediately." He knew that the slightest mistake could turn everything upside down. They weren't on a simple routine raid. This mission smelled like a trap from miles away. But there was no turning back. They were already too deep.
"Copy that, Bravo 1. We've got you covered." The quick response from the base confirmed they were on guard, just like the team. But Steve knew the situation could deteriorate in an instant. The danger was omnipresent, lurking in the walls of every room, every hallway. And in this metallic room, every noise seemed to amplify the tension building in everyone's stomachs.
/
Matthews, sitting in front of his terminal, his face marked by concentration, murmured in an almost inaudible voice without ever lifting his eyes from the screen: "Fifty percent complete. Another minute, maybe a little less." His fingers danced quickly over the keyboard, his mind absorbed in every line of data he was analyzing. The tension in the air was palpable, like a thin layer of ice ready to crack under the slightest wrong move.
Steve nodded, keeping his gaze fixed on Keller's tense face. His teammate was scanning the darkness around them, his rifle pressed against his chest, his eyes sweeping each shadow, each corner with an almost tangible intensity. "Keller, see anything?" Steve asked, his voice low but firm, a tone he used to restore order amidst uncertainty.
Keller slowly turned his head towards him, a shiver of unease crossing his gaze. He shook his head, but his tone left no room for doubt. "Nothing for now, boss. But I've got a bad feeling." His voice betrayed the anxiety he was trying to hide behind his apparent calm. Every fiber of his being seemed tense, as if the air itself had become heavier, more oppressive.
Steve approached him slowly, his presence imposing yet soothing. He placed a hand on Keller's shoulder, his gaze intense yet calm, like an anchor in the storm threatening to break. "Listen, focus on what you know how to do. Stay calm, control your breathing. You're trained for this kind of situation." His words were simple, but he knew that, at this very moment, Keller's ability to control his mind and body could make the difference between life and death.
Keller took a deep breath, his chest rising as he tried to calm his thoughts. A slight tremor in his hands was the only sign of the internal tension that gripped him. He nodded slowly, his jaw clenched, before relaxing his grip on the rifle a little. "Got it, boss. Thanks." He seemed a little more at ease, but Steve knew that this slight relaxation didn't mean the threat had dissipated. The anxiety still lingered, invisible, ready to strike at any moment.
Ramirez, who remained nearby, watching Matthews with constant attention, threw at Steve in a deliberately light tone, as if trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere: "Boss, we're going to finish this transfer and walk out like nothing happened, right?" His normally unshakable tone carried a hint of defiance, as if the simple question could chase away the oppressive tension hanging around them.
Steve gave a nearly imperceptible smile, but the gravity of the situation did not escape anyone. He turned his gaze toward Ramirez, his face now as impassive as the calm sea before the storm. "That's exactly the plan, Ramirez." He paused, a flash of clarity in his eyes before continuing in a more serious voice. "But stay ready. We're not out of the woods yet." There was no room for false hope. The mission wasn't over until they were out of danger, and Steve knew that a single moment of inattention could turn everything upside down.
Suddenly, a beep sounded from Matthews' terminal, piercing the tension like a shard of glass. "Done," Matthews announced, his eyes shining with satisfaction but also relief. "I've got everything we were looking for."
Steve didn't wait a second longer. He immediately activated his mic, the base team's voice coming through his earpiece in the silence that had fallen around them. "Base, Bravo 1. Transfer complete. We're heading to Bekov. Peripheral status?" His voice was calm, almost detached, but every word carried the weight of the responsibility on his shoulders. The mission wasn't over yet, and every move had to be calculated, every decision weighed with precision.
Graham responded promptly, his voice cold and clear, yet filled with a contained urgency: "No alarming updates for now, Bravo 1, but activity to the south continues to increase. Prepare for potential engagement." There was no embellishment in his words, just raw, clear, and precise facts. Every second counted now.
Steve gestured for his team to get ready. Faces hardened instantly, weapons tightened, and movements became more measured. Everyone knew what was coming. The real challenge was just beginning. But Steve didn't show any concern, not even for a moment. He raised his fist and signaled for the team to regroup, his eyes scanning the darkness, ready to dive into the unknown once more.
They had been through hell together, but the greatest danger was still to come.
/
"Boss, this silence... I don't like it. Do you think they know we're here?" Ramirez murmured, a shiver of unease in his voice. He was scanning the shadows around them, his gaze avoiding the dark corners as if the walls themselves had eyes. He was right to be wary: the air seemed charged with a palpable tension, like a storm ready to break at any moment. The atmosphere was heavy, suffocating, as if the slightest breeze could make everything explode.
Steve slowly turned his head, observing the entrances, the windows, every corner, every blurry figure in the darkness. He didn't need words to know that Ramirez was right. "Not yet," he replied in a calm but sharp voice, "but it can change in an instant." He paused, feeling his own heartbeat pounding in his chest, his gaze fixed on the entrance. "Stay focused."
It was an order, firm and unyielding, but in moments like these, authority alone wasn't enough. Steve knew that for his team to hold it together, it took more than words. They had to trust him, trust his ability to lead them through this maze of danger and uncertainty. And he couldn't afford to falter, even if deep inside, a strange feeling gnawed at his stomach. The worry of losing control, of not measuring up.
Suddenly, a gunshot split the air. A sharp, clean sound that shattered the illusion of tranquility that had surrounded them until then. Immediately, a piercing alarm went off, cutting through the calm like a razor slicing through skin. It was the signal. Chaos was underway. The entire complex seemed to wake violently, doors slamming, walls vibrating from the impacts. The sound of bullets whizzing through the air, hitting walls and windows with metallic cracks that rang out like a death sentence hanging over their heads.
Keller, reactive, took down an enemy with surgical precision. His weapon cracked, and in a flash of light, the man collapsed. "We've been spotted!" he yelled, adrenaline coursing through his veins. The next moment, everything turned into a frantic dance, a waltz of violence and survival. Steve, fully focused, immediately split into the ranks, his voice sharp as a guillotine. "Matthews, Ramirez, with the hard drives! Keller and I will cover their retreat!"
Bullets whizzed around them, tracing deadly lines through the air. The sound of gunfire mixed with the distant explosions. Each second seemed to stretch time endlessly. Steve responded without hesitation, his shots precise, methodical. He was protecting his men, each movement dictated by the urgency of the situation. But a shadow loomed over him. They were outnumbered. The weight of this reality pressed down on his shoulders. Their position was becoming more precarious, and every second lost could be their last.
"We need to leave, now!" he shouted, his voice full of tension. But as he stole a quick glance at Keller, he instantly understood that his teammate didn't share the same idea of retreat. Keller, in a frantic dash, was already trying to carve a path through the debris. His eyes shone with fierce determination, his mind locked on one thing: complete the mission at all costs.
"I'm going after Bekov! We can't go back empty-handed!" Keller called out, his face marked by adrenaline, his gaze piercing, as if he had found a cause greater than himself. He saw nothing but his objective, like a racehorse with blinders. Steve felt his heart tighten hearing his words. He knew exactly what Keller was risking. But the situation left no room for discussion.
"Keller, come back! This isn't an option!" Steve shouted, his voice filled with authority, but also a deep worry he couldn't hide. There was no room for heroic gestures, not on this kind of mission. They all had a role to play, and Keller had just lost sight of his. But Keller, stubborn, didn't seem to hear. He sprinted off without a second glance, weaving his way into the main building where the mercenaries were already positioned. A gunshot rang out in the distance, and Steve realized that waiting was no longer an option.
The air seemed to freeze around him. An unbearable tension flooded the team. Steve felt the eyes of his men on him, uncertain, but he knew his decision was the only one he could make. He was fighting for his men, not for glory. And losing Keller now... it wasn't just his ability to lead at stake. It was the integrity of the entire team. "Base, this is Bravo 1, Keller is off the leash, I repeat, Keller is off the leash, pursuing Bekov. Request permission to follow."
"Bravo 1, Base here. No, Steve. Do not follow Keller. Return to your position immediately and evacuate the building with the hard drives." The base's voice, clear and authoritative, pierced his earpiece. But the words had no hold on him. The mission was still in play, and as long as Keller wasn't back, he couldn't leave a man behind.
But before Steve could respond, another message broke through the tense air, the imperious voice of Graham: "Keller, we order you to return immediately! This is not the time for heroics!" The transmission buzzed, orders followed, but none of them reached Keller. And Steve knew that now, it was too late to bring him back.
In an instant, everything seemed to unfold in total confusion, a strange sensation where each second seemed to stretch its time and, at the same time, pass at a dizzying speed. Steve moved forward with a determined step, feeling the tension rise in every fiber of his body. The building in front of him appeared lifeless, like a silent monster waiting to be awakened. He was about to cross the threshold, to defy the forbidden, to take the lead in this delicate mission. But the moment his feet touched the interior floor, an explosion of unimaginable violence shook the world around him.
The explosion, as brutal as it was sudden, ripped through the air in a deafening roar. The ground beneath his feet seemed to vanish, as if the earth itself had decided to crack open. The sound, initially muffled, rose in crescendo, filling everything with a shrill blast. The walls of the building trembled from the force of the shock, like giants seized by convulsions, and a hellish heat, burning and relentless, engulfed the room, suffocating the air in a choking embrace. Glass shards, pieces of metal, and dust rose like a raging storm. Steve suddenly felt himself thrown backward, his body torn from the ground, and the shockwave slammed him violently against the cold floor, a dull pain making him roar inside. His ears rang, the resonance of the detonator still present in every fiber of his being, and a throbbing pain settled in his skull, as if his very mind were shaken. He barely breathed, his breath short, before his body twisted and a metallic taste filled his mouth. Blood. He instinctively spat, but the taste wouldn't go away.
He rolled through the debris, his mind overwhelmed by the violence of the shock. His muscles, already stretched to the limit, seemed to no longer obey. The air was thick with dust and smoke, and every movement required energy he no longer had. He forced himself to lift his head, trying to understand the situation, but all he could see was a maelstrom of flames and moving debris around him. His first instinct, despite the searing pain pulsing in his veins, was to look for Keller. He shouted, but his voice was lost in the turmoil. "Keller!" But he heard no response. A heavy silence settled around him, even though the roar of flames and gunfire continued to tear through the air. The smoke was so thick he could no longer distinguish any details. He rolled to the side, but the shockwave had left him disoriented, and he couldn't find his bearings anymore. His vision blurred, the sounds distorted, and he no longer knew if the noises were real or the echoes of his own brain, overwhelmed by the shock.
His heart raced as he struggled to sit up, his elbows crashing against pieces of concrete and glass. He tried to stabilize himself, but the adrenaline that pushed his body was no longer enough to mask the exhaustion and confusion. The flames danced before his eyes, threatening to engulf the little clarity he had left. His legs gave way again, and he rolled once more through the wreckage, utterly disoriented.
Then, amid the chaos, he heard it. Ramirez's voice, through his earpiece, cutting through the air with a calm authority that, though worried, carried the clarity of a professional in the middle of a crisis.
"Base, this is Ramirez. We've lost Keller. I repeat, we've lost Keller. Major explosion in the building. We are retrieving Steve immediately. Casualties, I repeat, casualties. Requesting immediate extraction at the designated point."
The words hit Steve like a punch to the gut. Keller. The name, like a scream in his head. This wasn't just a mission that had spiraled into chaos; it was the loss of a man, a comrade. The base's voice responded in a blur of confusion, a cacophony of distorted sounds and fragmented sentences, but in Steve's mind, there was no room for hesitation anymore. The mission was compromised. Reality carved its way into his mind, as brutally as the explosion itself. He hadn't seen this coming. He hadn't seen the fragility of the team, hadn't perceived the risk, hadn't seen the cracks in trust. Keller... he had lost himself in his own arrogance, in his own judgment. Why didn't I see this coming?
The rest of the team rushed around him, their faces masked by thick smoke, but their actions precise, synchronized. Without a word, they grabbed him, dragging him through the debris, their visibility nearly nonexistent, the ground flooded with flames and enemy fire shooting in every direction. Steve, wounded but still lucid, let them drag him without protest. The pain pulsed through his veins, but his mind was elsewhere, haunted by the events, turned toward Keller's absence, toward the tragedy unfolding inside him, a weight he would never be able to set down.
They finally reached the extraction point, but the relief, if it was there, had a bitter taste. The horizon before him, distorted by flames and dust, seemed further away than ever. The silhouette of Keller, who should have been by his side, was drifting away forever in the wreckage of the world. Steve, his gaze lost in that horizon he would never reach, realized that the mission had changed, but not in the way he had hoped. He let himself be carried, his teammates' arms like chains, and closed his eyes, trying to escape the reality crumbling beneath his gaze.
/
Pause on the Investigation
The days that followed stretched out like a long, endless spiral for Five-0. The team dedicated themselves tirelessly to the case, juggling between reading the classified files Steve had managed to obtain, interrogating Matthews' associates, and the long searches to locate former members of Bravo Team from that time.
Despite all their efforts, one frustrating truth persisted: they had no reliable leads. The clues gathered always seemed to bring them back to square one, as if an invisible force was systematically erasing all traces.
To make matters worse, the JAG had started to put pressure on them, claiming that the investigation fell under their jurisdiction due to Matthews' military ties. It was a nerve-wracking ordeal, but Steve had fiercely opposed their involvement. The exchanges were tense, almost heated, but Commander McGarrett didn't give an inch. His status as a Navy SEAL Corvette Captain, his experience, and reputation were enough to keep control of the investigation. It was a hard-won victory, but the team could feel the weight of time working against them.
That morning, Danny walked through the HQ doors with a coffee cup in one hand and a stack of notes in the other. A deep furrow crossed his brow as he scanned the large room. The atmosphere was heavy with concentration and fatigue. Chin, Kono, and Lou were sitting around the touchscreen table, buried in files, occasionally exchanging hushed words.
But something was off. Danny furrowed his brow and placed his coffee on the edge of the table before glancing toward Steve's desk. Empty. The blinds were slightly open, letting in a beam of sunlight that illuminated the deserted room.
"Steve's not here?" he asked, his tone intrigued, drawing Lou's attention.
The tall man looked up from his file, clearly surprised by the question. "No, we haven't seen him this morning. Didn't you stop by his place?"
Danny nodded slowly. "Yeah, I went there, but he wasn't home." He paused, squinting as if an idea was forming in his mind. "But I have a pretty good idea where he might be…"
Kono, who was taking notes on reports, set down her pen and looked up at him, suspicion in her gaze. "And what's this idea? Because if Steve's starting to hide things from us, especially about this investigation, it's going to be a real problem."
Danny sighed. He understood the young woman's concern. Steve had always had a tendency to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, and this case was no exception.
"I don't think he's hiding anything from us," he said, trying to reassure her. "But I bet he's at training."
Lou furrowed his brow, clearly puzzled. "Training? What kind of training?"
Danny straightened up slightly, crossing his arms. "He got a letter from the Navy a few days ago. They sent him a warning regarding his reserve status. His medical file was updated, and... let's just say his condition doesn't quite meet the standards for an active SEAL anymore. But they're giving him a chance. If he passes the physical tests, he can keep his status."
A silence fell over the room.
Chin, who had been silent until then, put down his file and stared at Danny with a mix of disbelief and concern. "Wait a minute… He really wants to try this? After everything he's been through? He realizes he's not in the same physical condition as before, right?"
Lou spoke up, his tone serious and direct. "It's insane. He should know that missions like these—going to the ends of the earth in extreme conditions—are no longer for him. His health is at stake, and he knows it. So why insist?"
Danny sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging slightly. "Because it's Steve. You know how he is. He told me that without the Navy, he feels like he's losing part of himself."
Kono narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. "Did you talk to him about Five-0? Did you tell him he has an ohana here, people who care about him?"
"Of course I told him!" Danny replied, his tone slightly louder than he intended. "I told him everything. That he has us, that he has a family, a mission here. But... I don't know. It didn't seem enough for him."
A new silence fell, this one heavier.
Chin shook his head, his voice tinged with sadness. "He's heading for a wall, Danny."
"I know," Danny replied in a quieter voice. "And this investigation into Matthews is only making things worse. I can feel it. He's feeding something dangerous. A need for justice, or worse, for revenge."
Lou firmly placed a hand on the touchscreen table, drawing their attention. "So, what do we do?"
Danny lifted his head slightly, his eyes shining with a new determination. "I'm going to the base. I'm going to try to talk to him, at least convince him to pause the training while we wrap up this investigation. He can't take everything on at once."
Kono nodded. "Okay. In the meantime, we'll keep digging here. We'll find something."
Lou nodded in agreement, adding, "Good plan. Go get him. We'll handle the rest."
Danny didn't waste another second. He grabbed his coffee cup, his gaze fixed on the horizon. He knew convincing Steve wouldn't be easy. But he had to try—for him, for the team, and most of all, for Steve himself.
As he walked out of HQ, he murmured to himself: "This time, McGarrett, you're going to listen to me… whether you want to or not."
/
Danny's Sermon
The morning sun bathed the Navy SEALs training center in a harsh, relentless light, but Steve didn't seem to notice. Sweat streamed down his face and soaked his t-shirt as he exited the training room. He had just finished another exhausting session that had started long before dawn. His body was on the edge of breaking, his muscles sore and protesting with every movement, and a sharp pain beginning to form around his scar. Yet, he moved forward with firm steps, as if refusing to give an inch to the pain that gripped his body.
He had spent hours pushing his limits. Endless sets of push-ups, frantic runs, hand-to-hand combat with training partners who now outmatched him in raw strength. With every fall, every mistake, Steve picked himself up, furious with himself, forcing himself to start again until he reached a semblance of perfection. There was nothing enjoyable about this persistence, but he kept going, stubbornly, as if every physical effort erased a little more of the invisible scars that haunted his mind.
As he walked toward the parking lot, shoulders slumped and a hand resting on his aching stomach, a familiar figure caught his attention. Danny was there, leaning against his car, arms crossed, his face set. His expression oscillated between concern and exasperation. He had been waiting for a while, and Steve immediately sensed that this conversation was not going to be pleasant.
Danny lifted his head slightly as he saw his friend approach, a resigned sigh escaping his lips. "You done? Or are you planning to train until you're good for the hospital?" he asked, his familiar tone tinged with irritation.
Steve slowed down, then stopped in front of him, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. His face was marked by exhaustion, his features drawn, but his gaze remained as hard and determined as ever. "I'm fine, Danny."
Danny raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms more firmly. "Oh, sure, you're fine. That's exactly why you look like a zombie who just ran a marathon. Seriously, Steve, stop kidding yourself. You're destroying yourself."
Steve gave a joyless smile, shaking his head slightly. "I don't need your sermon, Danny. I know what I'm doing."
But Danny took a step forward, closing the space between them, his piercing gaze cutting through Steve's defenses. "No, you don't know what you're doing. And that's the problem. You think you can fix everything by pushing yourself to the limit, ignoring what your body and mind are telling you. But it doesn't work like that, Steve."
He paused, searching for the words that might reach his friend, then continued in a more serious tone. "You really want to keep going like this? Because right now, you're heading straight into a wall. You're exhausted, Steve. And you know what? It's human. You're allowed to be tired. You're allowed to breathe."
Steve looked away slightly, his jaw tightening from frustration that he struggled to contain. "I don't have time to rest, Danny. Not now."
"Not now? And why not? Because you think destroying yourself in training is going to bring Matthews back or erase that damn letter from the Navy?" Danny replied, his voice rising. "Listen to me. What you're doing isn't training, it's running away. You're hiding behind these exercises like they're going to fix all your problems. But guess what? It doesn't work like that."
Danny's sharp tone made the tension already in the air crackle. Steve straightened up, crossing his arms over his chest, a defensive posture that spoke volumes about his state of mind. "You think I'm running away? You don't understand anything, Danny. Nothing at all."
Danny burst out with a brief, joyless laugh. "Oh, of course, I don't understand anything. Because it's you, Steve McGarrett, the man who can bear everything alone. The one who doesn't need anyone." He pointed an accusing finger at Steve, his eyes darkening. "Do you know what's going to happen if you keep going like this? You're going to collapse. Or worse, you're going to die before you fix anything. And we'll be there to pick up the pieces. Again."
Danny's words struck like a whip in the air, and Steve clenched his fists, his face darkening. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. He knew deep down that Danny was right. But admitting it... that was another story.
Seeing Steve's silence, Danny softened his tone slightly, a note of genuine concern breaking through his anger. "Look, I'm here as a friend, Steve. I'm here to tell you that you need to slow down, at least for this investigation. We need you whole, not broken. And you know what? You need that too."
But Steve, stubborn as ever, shook his head, his gaze hardening again. "This investigation is my responsibility. It's my team that was targeted, Danny. If I don't do everything I can to solve this, then..."
Danny interrupted him, his voice firm. "Then what? You think you're nothing? You think you're only worth something if you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders? Let me tell you something, McGarrett: you're worth so much more than that, but you're the only one who can't see it."
The silence that followed was heavy, almost suffocating. Steve looked away, staring at an invisible spot on the asphalt of the parking lot. He knew Danny was right, but he wasn't ready to hear it. Not now. Not with the dull pain inside him, the rage he no longer knew how to tame.
Danny, for his part, sighed deeply, shaking his head with a weariness tinged with disappointment. "Do what you want, Steve. But know that I'm not going to watch you destroy yourself without saying anything."
He turned on his heel, walking toward his car. But before getting in, he tossed one last sentence over his shoulder, his voice soft but firm: "Just remember that you're not alone. Whether you like it or not."
And with that, he left, leaving Steve standing alone in the parking lot, his thoughts swirling in a chaos he struggled to control.
/
The New Murder
In the early afternoon, the team gathered at the Five-0 HQ. The atmosphere was tense, almost palpable, with everyone busy with tasks that seemed to lead nowhere. When Steve walked through the office doors, he immediately felt the eyes on him. Tired, drawn features, he didn't try to justify himself. Danny had probably already explained everything. He didn't want to face their comments or their concern. Not now.
Steve placed his bag in his office with a mechanical gesture before stepping back out and heading toward the touchscreen table where his colleagues had gathered. But as soon as he had taken a few steps, he sensed an unusual tension in the air. It wasn't just worry; it was something darker, heavier.
Before he could even open his mouth to ask a question, Kono spoke, her deep voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "We have a new murder," she said, her tone marked by an unusual intensity. She paused, exchanging a glance with Chin, then continued in a lower voice, almost as if she feared her own words. "Graham."
The name echoed through the room like thunder. Graham. That familiar face they had all seen in the photos of the files, that name linked to so many memories of Operation Iron Dagger. Steve froze, unable to hide the shock that surged through him. He had known, somewhere deep down, that another name would eventually fall. But knowing didn't make the announcement any less brutal.
Kono continued, her eyes fixed on the information she had in front of her. "His body was found this morning in a motel in Florida." She looked up to meet Steve's gaze before continuing. "No signs of a struggle. No break-in. Everything was done cleanly."
A heavy silence filled the room. Even Lou, usually quick to speak up, remained silent. Steve slightly turned his gaze away, his closed-off face betraying the turmoil inside him. Graham. One of the masterminds behind Operation Iron Dagger. The strategic leader of their Bravo team. Another victim in a spiral that seemed to have no end.
Danny, still by his side, finally broke the silence. "This is too many coincidences, Steve." His voice was calm but firm. He turned to face his friend, seeking his gaze. "Matthews, and now Graham? Someone's targeting your team, and we all know it's not a coincidence."
Steve lifted his eyes to Danny but didn't respond immediately. His mind was racing, going through every detail, every memory related to Iron Dagger. He saw the faces, the decisions made, the mistakes. And above all, he felt the weight of the truth he struggled to put into words: they were all in danger, every member of Bravo.
Chin, who had been watching Steve silently until now, spoke next. "This can't just be revenge, not after all this time. If someone is methodically eliminating Bravo members, there's something much bigger behind it. An operation, a leak, maybe a secret that should have stayed buried."
Kono nodded slowly, her expression serious. "It all goes back to Iron Dagger. Everything points to that mission. If we want to understand what's going on, we have to lay it all out. All the reports, all the decisions, even the ones no one wants to revisit."
Steve clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. He knew they were right. Iron Dagger was the key. But diving back into that mission also meant waking up memories he had tried so hard to forget, decisions he would have preferred never to have to make.
Danny, sensing his friend's inner conflict, placed a hand on his shoulder. "Steve, listen. I know it's hard for you to look back. But we have to act now, before another name gets added to this list. You can't carry this alone."
Steve looked up at Danny, and in that gaze, one could see a flicker of determination mixed with a pain he struggled to hide. He slowly nodded, as if reluctantly accepting what he already knew.
"Iron Dagger," Steve murmured, his voice deep and heavy with meaning, resonating in the room like an irrevocable verdict. He straightened up, clenched his fists, and his gaze met each of his team members, the intensity in his eyes betraying the depth of his resolve. "We start there. Everything that happened. Every detail. We're going to find out who's behind this."
Kono, without wasting a second, turned towards the touchscreen tablet. Her fingers slid quickly across the screen, pulling up the files they had managed to gather on Operation Iron Dagger. The giant screen in the HQ lit up, displaying a mosaic of images, classified documents, and reports. Matthews' face appeared first, followed by Graham's, and then, one by one, the familiar faces of the other Bravo team members took their place. A team once united by a common goal, now fragmented, hunted, reduced to names on a target list.
Kono zoomed in on the photos of the Bravo team members on the screen. The atmosphere in the room grew heavier as the faces appeared one by one. Ramirez, Steve's right hand, loyal and steadfast. Matthews, the technical leader, whose skills had often tipped the scale in their favor. Graham, the meticulous strategist, always two steps ahead. And finally, Keller, their newest recruit, young but promising, whose face appeared last. Next to his name, in red, the words "Presumed dead" blinked.
The silence that followed was deafening, loaded with unspoken emotions. The memories of that mission resurfaced, brutal and vivid, like an open wound.
"Keller," murmured Chin, finally breaking the silence. He crossed his arms, his dark gaze fixed on the screen. "No body. No confirmation. We assumed he didn't survive, but..."
Danny furrowed his brows, letting out a frustrated sigh. "Assumed? What if he's still alive? What if..." He stopped, but the unspoken words were clear. The idea that one of their own might have survived without ever returning was unbearable.
Steve slowly shook his head, his face expressionless. "No. Keller would never do that. He was loyal. If he had survived, he would have come back. He would never have abandoned Bravo." His words were sharp, but a flicker of doubt passed briefly in his eyes. A small voice inside him whispered that, maybe, there were things he didn't know.
Kono, unfazed, opened another file. The images on the screen changed, revealing tactical maps, attack schematics, and mission reports. "Here are the operational data from Iron Dagger," she explained. Her voice was steady, almost clinical, but there was a slight emotion in her tone. "The primary objective was to neutralize a heavily armed terrorist cell, recover sensitive data, and bring in Begov, their leader. But..." She scrolled through the photos, stopping on those taken after the extraction. "... it turned into a disaster."
The photos showed a devastated battlefield. Buildings reduced to ashes, vehicles burned out, traces of explosions still fresh. Among the debris, bodies could be seen, some barely recognizable. These images, though old, still carried the weight of the trauma they represented.
"We were spotted almost immediately after securing the data," Steve said in a low voice, his gaze fixed on the photos. "The building was rigged with C4. Everything was meticulously planned to wipe us out. Keller and I were covering Ramirez and Matthews, who had the data." His voice cracked slightly before he continued, more harshly: "Keller made the decision to pursue Begov. He thought he could capture him and bring him in alive. I wanted to follow him, but Graham ordered me to stay and cover the team. Then the explosion..."
He left his sentence hanging, his eyes darkening as he relived that day in brutal flashes.
A heavy silence descended again, only interrupted by the hum of the computer system. Kono continued her search and opened a medical report. On the screen spread a list of the injuries Steve sustained during that mission: multiple fractures, deep lacerations, severe concussions. The photos accompanying the report showed a broken, emaciated man, but miraculously alive.
Danny looked away, his jaw clenching in anger and concern. "And despite all that," he said, his voice shaking with emotion, "you still want to prove you can take more? Steve, you came back from hell. You should be grateful you're alive."
Steve ignored the remark, his gaze never leaving the screen. With a gesture of his hand, he signaled for Kono to continue. "What were the official consequences? What does the final report say?"
Kono opened one last document, the official Navy seal clearly visible at the top. "Officially, Iron Dagger was a success," she stated, her tone tinged with bitter irony. "The data was recovered. The failure to recover Begov and the loss of Keller were deemed..." She paused, her eyes hardening. "... acceptable."
"Acceptable?" Lou growled, finally breaking his silence. His tone was charged with indignation. "That's their definition of success? A decimated team, a leader left for dead, and answers we'll never have?"
Steve raised a hand to calm Lou, although his own face betrayed a cold anger. "That report is empty. It doesn't tell what really happened. We need answers. We have to dig deeper. Start from the beginning, trace it back to Begov, and understand what happened afterward."
Kono nodded and zoomed in on a note in the report. "At the time, there were suspicions of a leak of information. But the investigation was closed. Officially, the data was deemed sufficiently usable for the rest to be considered non-priority."
Steve clenched his fists, staring at the screen as if he could extract answers from it. "Then we'll reopen the investigation. Every detail. Every decision. We won't let anything slide."
A new silence fell, but this time, it was filled with a dark energy, an unyielding determination. The Five-0 had just declared war, not only on those who killed Matthews and Graham, but also on the ghosts of Iron Dagger and the secrets that still haunted that mission.
"Whatever they want," Steve murmured, his eyes burning with rage. "They'll regret touching my team."
/
The Call to Ramirez
After a long evening of intense research, Steve gave the team some time off, insisting that they get some rest. Kono, Chin, and Lou left reluctantly, visibly tired but aware that a break was necessary. Danny, on the other hand, lingered a little longer. As he walked past Steve's office to say goodbye, he noticed his friend was deep in a phone conversation. Steve's grave and tense tone left no doubt: this conversation was serious.
Danny hesitated for a moment. It wasn't unusual for Steve to continue working well after everyone had left, but he felt that this call was particularly important. Curious and worried, he quietly approached and leaned against the doorframe, watching his friend without interrupting. Then, in the midst of a sentence, he realized that this conversation was directly linked to their investigation.
Without waiting for an invitation, Danny entered the office and sat down in front of Steve's desk, crossing his arms, ready to listen. Steve, noticing his presence, moved the phone slightly away from his ear and placed it on speaker, so Danny could hear.
"Tell me what happened," Steve said in a dry, no-nonsense tone. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes scanning the phone as if he could unravel the secret behind every word spoken. The fatigue from hours of work seemed to have no hold on him, and he knew this conversation could be the key to unlocking an increasingly oppressive mystery. The tension in the air was palpable, heavy with unspoken words and unanswered questions.
A hoarse voice, raspy from fatigue and the trials of the field, echoed in the room. It was Ramirez, his tone tired but undeniably precise, the voice of a man who had seen far more than he ever wanted to. It carried years of experience, tough missions, and a certainty that left little room for doubt.
"We were posted in Kandahar for a surveillance mission. Nothing extraordinary at first, just routine," Ramirez's voice softened for a moment, as if those first words evoked memories of a relatively calm past before everything changed. "But at one point, a guy attacked me. It was quick, violent. He didn't give me time to understand what was going on. My team reacted just in time to stop me from taking a serious beating. At the time, I didn't understand what was happening. I thought it was just some soldier kid, someone ready to die for a lost cause, like so many others. But… now that you're telling me about this, I'm starting to see things differently."
Steve furrowed his brow, absorbing every word. A chill of worry ran down his spine. The way Ramirez was speaking, as if there was more beneath the surface, sparked a feeling inside him he couldn't shake. It was clear that this attack wasn't just some isolated incident. Something bigger, more complex, was hiding behind it.
"Could this guy be connected to Iron Dagger?" Steve asked, his tone growing more urgent, more pressing. This was no longer just about understanding the attack; now, there was a direct link to the investigation, an invisible thread that could lead them to a truth he wasn't ready to face.
Ramirez paused, the moment stretching into a heavy silence, as if the memory of the attack was pulling him back to that moment of chaos and confusion. Steve could almost hear the thoughts of his interlocutor, as if he were searching for a way to phrase his response.
"Exactly, that's why I'm telling you I'm starting to understand," Ramirez's voice cleared slightly, worry settling into his words. "The guy was mumbling in a language I didn't quite understand, but I thought I heard something like 'two down, two more to go.' It sounded like Slovak, or some Eastern language. I didn't really pay attention at the time, I was too busy trying to stay alive. But with what you've just told me... it makes a whole different sense."
The words echoed in Steve's mind, like an alarm bell ringing through thick fog. He exchanged a quick look with Danny, the silence between them heavy with understanding. The connection was there, but he still didn't have the full answer. Every word from Ramirez seemed to confirm his fears, but everything remained unclear, like a silhouette in the mist.
"This guy… he said that before he let you go?" Steve asked, leaning slightly forward as if to catch every detail that could make all the difference.
"Yeah," Ramirez's voice was grave, almost bitter. "He had the chance to whisper that in my ear, probably thinking I wasn't going to make it. Before my team arrived to shoot him down." He paused, the weight of the memory pressing on his words. "He thought I was done for, Steve."
Steve felt the tension in the room thicken. He didn't need a detailed analysis to understand that every sentence Ramirez uttered carried considerable weight. They were stepping onto unstable ground, and the ramifications of this conversation could be far more dangerous than they thought.
"So, he's injured?" asked Steve, his eyes narrowing slightly, the intensity of his gaze leaving no room for doubt.
"Yes, but not mortally." Ramirez exhaled, as if trying to shake off the fatigue that was taking over him. "He managed to escape anyway."
Steve straightened up, his gaze becoming sharper. The silence between the two men was heavy, and the words he was about to say could very well be the key to unraveling this whole situation. "And blood?" He leaned forward slightly, his movements calculated. "Do you think you could get a sample of his blood? That could give us a crucial lead."
Ramirez exhaled lightly, a sound of frustration and resignation, but there was also a glimmer of determination in his voice. "Possible. I'll see what I can do. I'll talk to my guys and search all the equipment." He seemed ready to do whatever it took to get what they needed, as if the stakes had become too high to ignore.
Steve nodded, a faint, almost imperceptible smile forming on his lips. "Thanks, Ramirez," he said, gratitude in his voice. "Rest up and take care of yourself."
"Don't worry, Steve. It's just a little stitching, some painkillers, and a few days of rest. But you, take care." Ramirez's voice hardened, a clear warning. "If this guy really wants to eliminate everyone connected to Iron Dagger... then you're next on the list."
A cold shiver ran down Steve's spine. Those words, full of undertones, were more than just a warning. They were a statement. A brutal reminder of the reality they were stepping into. But before Steve could respond, one last question slipped from his lips, much more serious this time.
"One last thing. Do you think it could have been Keller?"
The silence that followed was almost palpable. A silence heavy with doubt and uncertainty. And when Ramirez answered, his voice betrayed complete confusion. "Seriously, Steve?" Surprise was evident in his tone.
Steve nodded slowly, a hardness forming in his features. "Yes, I'm serious. It's a possibility we can't rule out."
Ramirez took a moment before responding, weighing every word. "I don't know, honestly. The guy was bearded, covered in scars. Hard to say. But there is one detail..." His voice grew more serious. "It wasn't his native language he was speaking. I caught bits of what he was saying... it was clear. It wasn't his mother tongue, and that, I'm sure of."
The conversation ended on a somber note. Steve thanked Ramirez one last time before hanging up. He looked up and met Danny's gaze, who had come closer, his expression marked by worry and contained anger.
"So?" Danny asked, his voice breaking the silence but also the crushing weight of uncertainty that seemed to hang over the room. The simple word vibrated in the air, charged with palpable tension. His eyes scanned Steve, searching for an answer, an explanation, but more so, a reaction to what had just been said.
Steve didn't answer immediately. His gaze was lost in the void, his eyes fixed on nothing, as though contemplating an invisible reality. He stood there, frozen, arms crossed, his face impassive, but deep inside, a whirlwind of questions was raging. He felt trapped. This wasn't just a simple puzzle to solve; it was a much more complex one, with each piece carrying a meaning he couldn't quite grasp yet.
The silence stretched on, heavy and oppressive. Danny watched his friend, growing more concerned with each passing second, noticing every little hesitation, every imperceptible movement in his posture. It wasn't like Steve to get lost in his thoughts, especially when an investigation was at stake. But something had changed. The weight of the revelation, the doubt that had just been sown in their minds, was much heavier than anything they'd been through so far. Danny knew everything was about to shift. He waited, and each second seemed to stretch longer, more unbearable. He was waiting for a reaction. A word, a gesture, anything.
Steve finally broke the silence, but it wasn't with the words Danny had hoped for. It wasn't even a clear answer. It was a slow, almost imperceptible nod, as if he was trying to convince himself, to hold on to a reality he didn't fully understand yet. His jaw tightened, clenched under the pressure of a revelation he hadn't expected, but that was becoming more and more evident as the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place in his mind.
Danny didn't take his eyes off him, fully aware of the importance of this moment. He knew the situation had just crossed a new threshold. Steve, usually so sure of himself, had just encountered a much larger unknown than he had ever imagined. He knew, just like Danny, that the truth was within their grasp. But that truth, as clear as it seemed, was terrifying.
"Whatever happens, Steve... we face this together," Danny finally murmured, his voice grave, but also reassuring, as though he were placing an invisible hand on his friend's shoulder. "But if Keller is really alive..." He left the sentence hanging in the air, like an echo of the threat that now loomed over them. "We're going to have to be ready for anything."
Steve nodded slowly, but this time, there was no certainty in him like there usually was. On the contrary, his expression had hardened. His mind was making the connection between what he had just heard and the reality in front of him. The possibility that Keller was alive, after all these years, was starting to settle in as an undeniable truth. He was almost certain now: if Ramirez could find blood from the attacker, it would likely match Keller's. It was all there, right before his eyes. The pieces were falling into place, but a part of him still refused to believe it. Why him? Why after nine years of silence? Why now?
A deep rage built up inside him. Keller suddenly reappears, like a ghost, ready to take revenge on the team that left him behind. Why, why now, after all this time? What could have driven him to do this? The questions remained unanswered, but one thing was clear: if there was a connection, if all of this led back to Keller, he was going to have to face a very different version of the man he had once known.
"We're going to have to be ready for anything," Steve repeated, more to himself than to Danny. The words echoed in his head, a silent warning he kept repeating to himself. A certainty had just been born in his mind. This investigation had just shifted, and he knew they were about to enter a new phase. The rules had changed, and Steve was ready to follow them, wherever they led.
Danny watched his friend, understanding everything going on behind his eyes. He didn't need more words. He knew Steve was already in action, his mind bubbling with strategies, with plans. And they had to be ready for anything.
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