SCP-8248 „The Rising of the Shield Hero“

by Swiss Shadow

A seemingly normal Operation of a Joint Strike Force composed of multiple MTF units went horribly wrong scattering the Five man strike force in the world of the Shield Hero. (AU For the most part)

16. Shadows of the Past

Chapter - 16 - Shadows of the Past

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Strike Force

[Redacted "Ice" [Redacted]

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Driving through the rolling countryside of Melromarc, the two JLTVs rumbled along the dirt road, their engines breaking the tranquil silence of the landscape. Suddenly, their path was blocked by a crude roadblock—a thick wooden beam resting on two poles, acting as a makeshift barricade. Beside it, a small guard hut sat on the right side of the road, with two knights standing watch.

"Hold right there!" one of the knights barked, stepping forward with an air of authority as Ice swung open the heavy armored door of the lead JLTV.

The knight squared his shoulders, glaring up at the imposing vehicle and its occupants. "Show us your road pass or pay the fee!" he demanded, his tone sharp and commanding.

Ice, still halfway out of the JLTV, raised an eyebrow behind his mask. His gaze flicked to the barricade, then back to the knight. "The fuck you talking about?" he asked, his tone low and unimpressed.

The knight's hand rested on the hilt of his sword. "No pass, no passage. Or you can pay the fee—ten gold coins per carriage."

"You're shitting me… right?" Ice asked, his tone a mix of disbelief and irritation. He glanced back at the barricade and then at the knights, who still stood their ground, hands resting on their weapons.

Before anyone could respond, the driver's door of the second JLTV swung open with a metallic creak, and Whiskey stepped out, his rifle slung casually over his shoulder.

"What the bloody fuck is happening here? Why we stoppin', Boss?" he asked, his voice dripping with exasperation as he sauntered toward Ice. His relaxed demeanor didn't match the intensity in his eyes as he scanned the scene.

Ice tilted his head toward the knights. "Apparently, we need a 'road pass' or have to pay some ridiculous fee to drive on this dirt trail they call a road."

Whiskey stopped beside Ice, squinting at the two knights as if they were an oddity. "You've gotta be takin' the piss. A road pass? For this shite?!" He gestured to the uneven, rocky path stretching ahead of them. "What's next, a toll for takin' a bloody piss in the woods?"

The first knight, clearly growing uncomfortable under the scrutiny of two heavily armed men, puffed out his chest. "These are the King's orders! No pass, no passage! If you refuse to pay, you can turn back!"

"No, no, no! No worries, we'll pay," Ice began, raising his hands in mock surrender. The knights visibly relaxed for a moment, but that moment was short-lived as Ice turned his head slightly toward Ares, who was manning the M240 atop the JLTV.

"You know," Ice continued, his tone turning sly, "we've got a… let's call it, a one-hundred-percent-off coupon for this kind of stuff. Wanna see it?"

Before the knights could even process the statement, the distinct sound of the M240's charging handle being racked echoed across the countryside. Ares, perched on top of the JLTV, swiveled the machine gun to aim directly at the roadblock. Without hesitation, he squeezed the trigger, firing three sharp bursts into one of the wooden poles holding up the barricade.

The pole shattered, collapsing under the force of the rounds, sending the wooden beam tumbling to the ground in a cloud of splinters and dust.

The knights froze, their faces pale as the sheer power of the machine gun rendered their carefully constructed barricade useless in seconds.

"Oops," Ares said casually, his voice carrying a hint of amusement as he surveyed the destruction.

Ice turned back to the knights, his tone still calm but now laced with icy authority. "Looks like the coupon worked. Now, unless you want to test how it handles refunds, I'd suggest you step aside."

The knights, clearly outmatched and terrified, scrambled to move out of the convoy's way. One of them stammered, "Y-yes, of course! P-p-please, proceed!"

Great. Works like a charm," Ice muttered, climbing back into the JLTV as the team prepared to roll forward.

The two knights, still visibly shaken by the show of force, scrambled to pull the collapsed wooden beam out of the way as quickly as possible. Once the path was clear, Ice gave the order to move.

"One-hundred-percent-off coupon… haven't heard that one in a while," Polak said with a faint chuckle as he pressed the gas pedal, the vehicle lurching forward.

Lira, seated in the back, usually didn't find the team's dry humor all that amusing—it was often too sarcastic or dark for her taste. But this time, something about the line struck her as genuinely funny. A small, unexpected laugh escaped her lips before she quickly covered her mouth, embarrassed.

"I didn't know you had a sense of humor, Lira," Ice teased, glancing at her through the rearview mirror.

"Well," she began, turning her head away slightly, "that's because you're not funny," she retorted, her tone sharp but playful.

"Oh, come on. You're acting like a German," Ice replied, turning his attention back to the road with a smirk.

Lira frowned, clearly confused by the phrasing. "A German? What does that mean?" she asked, her tone genuinely puzzled.

Before Ice could respond, Pops' voice crackled over the radio. "Watch it, Ice. We don't want Kaiser hearing you say that."

The team burst into laughter, their chuckles filling the comms with a rare moment of lighthearted camaraderie. Even Lira couldn't help but crack a small smile at their banter, though she still didn't understand the joke.

Then Ice remembered something he'd been meaning to tell her. "Oh, right. Lira, once we're back at base—whenever that might be—do yourself a favor and laugh at any joke Kaiser tells. Doesn't matter how dry or shitty it is, just laugh."

Lira raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because," Ice said, his tone half-serious, "if you don't laugh, he has the means to make you cry. Germans take their humor very seriously."

Whiskey let out a snort over the comms. "Not wrong, mate. And they'll hold a grudge if you don't find 'em funny."

The laughter renewed, and even Lira found herself chuckling softly, shaking her head at the absurdity of it all.

As the team continued chatting, their laughter and playful jabs filled the comms, creating a rare moment of levity amidst the chaos of their mission. Whiskey fired off another sarcastic comment at Pops, which elicited a round of chuckles from the group. Even Lira was beginning to relax, her initial confusion replaced by a faint smile as she listened to the banter.

But amidst the camaraderie, no one noticed the subtle shift in the air.

The first sign was the faint, acrid smell that began to permeate the cabin of the JLTVs, creeping in through the vents. It wasn't overpowering—at least, not at first—but it carried a distinct edge that set the senses on alert. Outside, the once-clear skies began to darken, an unnatural haze spreading across the horizon.

Inside the lead JLTV, Ice's laughter faded as he glanced out the window, his instincts kicking in. Something felt off. The laughter over the comms slowly tapered off as each operative began to sense it—an almost imperceptible shift in the atmosphere that pressed down on them like an invisible weight.

"Yo, Boss," Polak muttered from the driver's seat, his tone cautious. "You feel that?"

Ice nodded, his gaze scanning the landscape. The once-vivid countryside now appeared muted, as if the colors themselves were being drained away. "Yeah. Something's not right."

Whiskey's voice crackled over the radio, the humor gone from his tone. "Anyone else notice the air's gone… funky?"

Pops chimed in next, his voice tense. "Yeah, smells like burnt rubber and sulfur. This ain't natural."

"Now that you mention it…" Ice muttered, his voice trailing off as he glanced out the window. The air had visibly darkened, turning an ominous shade of brown, as though a mist of death and damnation was creeping across the earth. His instincts screamed at him that this was no ordinary phenomenon.

Before he could say more, Ares' voice crackled through the radio. "There. Two o'clock, high," he called out, simultaneously pointing toward a hill in the distance from his perch atop the JLTV.

Ice immediately snapped his gaze in the indicated direction. "What do you see, Ares?"

Not sure yet," Ares replied, his tone tense as he adjusted the angle of the M240 and leaned closer to his thermal scope. "Something's atop the hill. It looks… I don't know, like a huge lizard or some shit like that. What I can tell with certainty is that it's dead."

Ice frowned, exchanging a glance with Polak. "A huge dead lizard? That doesn't just drop out of the sky for no reason. You see anything else up there?"

"Negative," Ares replied, his focus unwavering. "No heat signatures, no movement. Just the corpse. But I'm telling you, this thing is massive. It's not like anything I've seen before."

Whiskey's voice came through the comms, tinged with curiosity. "A dead lizard? You reckon it's one of those dragons Lira's been yammering on about?"

Lira, sitting in the back of the lead JLTV, stiffened at the comment. "If it's a dragon, it wouldn't just… die like that. Something had to kill it."

Ice absorbed all the information at hand, weighing their next move carefully. Finally, he reached a decision. "Alright, everyone, masks on. Pops, Ares, make sure the maid girl's family gets one each," he ordered, his tone decisive. Without missing a beat, he reached for his own gas mask, pulling it on with practiced efficiency. The familiar hiss of the filters engaging filled the cabin.

Then he turned to Lira, who sat in the back, her expression wary. "You too," he said, handing her a spare mask.

Lira hesitated for a moment, looking at the mask in her hands. "Is it really that bad?" she asked, her voice laced with unease.

Ice's sharp gaze met hers, his tone leaving no room for debate. "I'm not taking any chances. Put it on."

Nodding reluctantly, Lira slipped the mask over her head, fumbling with the straps before securing it in place. Her breathing sounded heavy through the filters, but she gave Ice a small nod to signal she was ready.

In the back, Pops and Ares handed masks to the maid girl's family. The family exchanged nervous glances before following suit, clumsily putting the masks on with Pops guiding them.

Polak, drive us up there. Let's check things out," Ice ordered, his voice steady but tinged with caution.

Polak adjusted his gas mask and secured his helmet back in place before giving a curt nod. "You got it, boss," he replied, gripping the wheel firmly as he gently pressed on the gas, maneuvering the armored vehicle up the hill.

The second JLTV followed closely behind, its engine rumbling softly in the oppressive quiet. The radio channels remained silent—no jokes, no bickering. Just an unspoken tension hanging in the air.

Inside the JLTV, Pops methodically checked his and Whiskey's rifles, ensuring they were ready for immediate action. Meanwhile, atop ares fed a fresh belt into the M240, the metallic clink of rounds feeding into the machine gun breaking the eerie silence.

The vehicles crawled up the hill, their headlights cutting through the swirling mist, revealing more of the unnatural landscape with each passing meter. Branches twisted unnaturally, and the air grew heavier, thick with an unsettling, acrid scent.

As they neared the crest of the hill, the shape of the massive, lifeless lizard came into full view. Its grotesque body was sprawled across the ground, partially entangled with the surrounding overgrowth. Its scales shimmered faintly in the dim light, but the creature's sheer size was what stole their breath.

"Holy shit…" Polak muttered under his breath, slowing the vehicle to a stop.

Ice narrowed his eyes, the glowing orb on his shield faintly pulsing in response to the proximity of the carcass. "Alright, everyone out. Weapons ready. Let's see what we're dealing with."

The armored doors swung open, and the operatives swiftly dismounted, their movements precise and practiced. Ice stepped out last, his shield at the ready, faintly glowing as it prepared for any potential ambush. A few spells hovered at the edge of his HUD interface, ready to be activated at a moment's notice.

"Fuck me sideways… this thing's huge," Polak muttered, his voice slightly muffled by his gas mask as he stared up at the massive, lifeless creature.

"And now?" Whiskey asked, his rifle lowered but ready as he approached Ice.

Ice glanced at the towering carcass, his shield glowing faintly in response to the residual energy surrounding the area. The unsettling stillness pressed down on them like a weight. "Now… I—don't know," he muttered, his voice heavy with uncertainty.

Ares climbed down from the M240 atop the second JLTV, joining the group with his rifle slung over his shoulder. "What the hell even is this thing? Doesn't look like anything we've seen before."

"It's dead," Pops added, stepping closer to inspect the creature from a safe distance. "But something's still off. I don't like this."

Lira, who had remained silent until now, stepped forward cautiously, her eyes scanning the massive beast. "I've never seen anything like it either," she said, her voice tinged with unease. "It doesn't belong here."

Ice's gaze remained fixed on the creature, his mind racing through possibilities. "Alright," he said after a moment, his tone resolute. "We're not leaving until we figure this out. Polak, Whiskey, secure the perimeter. Pops, Ares, set up overwatch from the vehicles. Lira, you're with me. Let's find out what the hell is going on here."

Uh, boss…" Whiskey called out from the ledge of the hill, his tone uneasy. "Sorry to pop yer bubble, but we might have another problem."

Ice groaned, already bracing himself for the worst as he made his way over to Whiskey's position. He expected to see another dragon or perhaps the knights again. But when his eyes settled on the scene below, his breath caught, and a single word escaped his lips.

"Fuck…"

Down the hill, nestled within the rolling landscape, was a village. The buildings were eerily still, not a single soul wandering the streets. The unsettling silence was enough to send a chill down Ice's spine, but it was what lay at the edge of the village that made his blood run cold—a burn pit, its flames licking at the sky, filled with unmistakable forms. Human forms. The acrid smell of burning flesh wafted up to their position, carried by the wind.

"Jesus Christ…" Pops muttered, stepping up beside Ice and Whiskey, his voice muffled but laced with horror.

"Son of a bitch," Ice muttered, his voice tight with anger and disbelief. "Either they're reenacting the Black Plague or the goddamn Holocaust." He turned sharply to his team, his tone firm and commanding. "We have to get down there. Everyone, mount your Victors—double time!"

The urgency in his voice snapped the team into action. Whiskey and Ares immediately headed back to the second JLTV, Ares climbing up to the turret as Whiskey jumped into the driver's seat. Pops and Polak quickly secured their gear, while Lira hesitated for just a moment, her eyes lingering on the grotesque scene below before Ice's voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

"Lira! Move it!" he barked, already climbing into the lead JLTV.

The two heavy vehicles roared down the hill at full throttle, their engines growling like beasts unleashed. Polak and Whiskey navigated the rough terrain with practiced precision, deftly avoiding trees, rocks, and other obstacles that littered the slope. The suspension groaned under the strain, but the JLTVs held firm, their armored frames built for this kind of rugged terrain.

Inside the lead vehicle, Ice gripped the dashboard tightly, his eyes scanning the path ahead. Lira sat beside him, her knuckles white as she clung to the straps inside the vehicle, the rapid descent making her stomach churn.

"Keep it steady, Polak!" Ice called, his voice cutting through the roar of the engine.

"I'm trying, boss, but this hill's got other plans!" Polak replied, his tone calm despite the tight turns and narrow clearings they navigated.

Behind them, Ares manned the M240 on the second JLTV, his sharp eyes scanning the surrounding forest for any signs of movement. "Still no contact," he called over the radio. "But this place is giving me the creeps."

"Same here," Pops chimed in from the passenger seat of the second vehicle. "Feels like we're driving into a goddamn horror movie."

Whiskey smirked at Pops' choice of words, unable to resist turning it into the perfect setup for one of his jokes. "Remember, lads! The monsters are more afraid of us than we are of them!" he quipped, mimicking the narrators from the shark documentaries they'd watched back at base.

Ares snorted from the turret, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah, mate, because I'm sure the walking corpses and giant lizards are just shaking in their boots right now."

Whiskey didn't miss a beat. "They gonna when they see yer face!" he fired back, grinning beneath his mask.

The team burst into laughter over the comms, even Ares letting out a begrudging chuckle. "Keep talking, Whiskey," Ares shot back, shaking his head. "You'll be the first one I use for bait."

"Better make it worth it, mate. I'd at least catch the big one," Whiskey replied, his tone as cocky as ever.

Ares was about to fire back at Whiskey when a massive tree trunk suddenly flew into their path, crashing down just meters in front of the lead JLTV.

"WATCH OUT!" Pops yelled, lunging over and yanking the steering wheel to the side just in time to avoid the obstacle. The JLTV swerved violently, its tires digging into the dirt as Whiskey fought to regain control.

"What the fuck?!" Ares yelled from the turret, his head snapping around to locate the source of the attack. His eyes widened as they landed on the same dragon they had declared dead just minutes ago. The massive creature loomed in the distance, its glowing eyes locked on them.

"What the hell was that, Ares?!" Ice's voice came through the comms, sharp and demanding as Polak steadied the vehicle.

"That damned lizard!" Ares replied, his voice tinged with panic—a tone rarely heard from an MTF operative, and one that instantly raised the tension.

"That thing was dead as a rock!" Whiskey shouted, his voice a mix of disbelief and frustration.

"Well, it looks very fucking alive to me!" Ares shot back, swiveling the M240 toward the dragon. "And I think it does NOT like us!"

The massive creature let out an ear-splitting roar, its decayed body surging forward with unnatural speed. The air around it shimmered with an eerie green glow, and its movements were jerky but undeniably powerful.

Ares, let loose on that thing!" Ice ordered.

Ares didn't hesitate, pivoting the M240 upward and squeezing the trigger. A thunderous volley of 7.62mm NATO rounds ripped through the air, slamming into the dragon's decaying form. The Full Metal Jacket rounds impacted its scales with all their might, but as effective as the heavy machine gun was against human-sized targets, the bullets barely fazed the massive beast. They penetrated its rotting scales, sending chunks of decayed flesh flying, but the damage was superficial at best.

The dragon let out a deafening roar, its glowing eyes locking onto the source of its torment. It spread its enormous wings, attempting to take flight. For a moment, the operatives braced for the worst—but to their relief, the wings were tattered and useless. Whatever had killed the creature in the first place had destroyed its ability to fly, leaving it grounded and vulnerable.

"That's right, you ugly bastard, stay grounded!" Ares yelled, continuing his relentless fire, though frustration was evident in his voice. "Boss, this thing's just soaking it up! We need something bigger!"

Ice nodded, his mind racing. "Station, this is Strike Team! We need Assassin! Send Assassin now!" he barked into the radio, his voice sharp and urgent.

The radio crackled to life with a calm but resolute response. "Strike Team, this is Station. Assassin is inbound. ETA five mikes. Hold your position."

Ice snorted, glaring at the radio as if it were responsible for the absurdity of the command. "Hold my position? Yeah, sure, because sitting still with a pissed-off zombie dragon is my idea of a good time," he muttered under his breath, sarcasm lacing his words.

He quickly unfolded a map of the surrounding terrain, scanning the dense forests, hills, and mountains for a strategic solution. "Alright," he said, his tone sharp and focused. "We need to pull that thing as far away from the village as possible before Assassin shows up in her Apache."

Polak, gripping the wheel tightly, glanced at Ice, frustration evident in his voice. "And how the hell are we supposed to manage that?! This thing doesn't exactly look like it takes commands!" he yelled, swerving to avoid a massive tree.

"Drive left!" Ice barked, ignoring Polak's protests as he plotted their course. His hand shot up to his radio, pressing the PTT. "Whiskey, tail us. Keep close!"

"Roger that, boss!" Whiskey's voice crackled over the radio. The second JLTV closed the gap, its heavy engine roaring as it followed Ice's lead.

The dragon let out another guttural roar, shaking the ground as it pursued the two vehicles with relentless determination. Its massive claws dug into the earth, tearing apart anything in its path, the destruction leaving a trail of chaos behind it.

"Polak, keep it moving! We've got to make it to the clearing on the other side of the ridge!" Ice shouted, his eyes locked on the map and the monstrous figure gaining on them.

Ice glanced into the rearview mirror, his eyes narrowing as the massive form of the dragon loomed ever closer. Its grotesque body moved with terrifying speed for something so large, shaking the ground with each step. Ares, stationed at the M240, continued to unleash controlled bursts of five to ten rounds, each impact chipping away at the dragon's decayed scales. Bits of rotting flesh and shattered scales flew off with every hit, but the beast showed no sign of slowing.

"Keep hitting it, Ares!" Ice called over the comms, his voice steady despite the chaos.

"I'm doing my best, Boss, but this thing's built like a goddamn tank!" Ares snapped back, his tone filled with frustration as he adjusted his aim, targeting weak spots around the joints and exposed flesh.

Polak swerved the JLTV sharply to avoid a fallen tree, the tires gripping the uneven terrain as they raced forward. "This thing's not just keeping up; it's gaining on us!" he growled, his voice tense.

Then, suddenly, his eyes widened as he spotted something ahead. Slamming the brakes hard, the JLTV skidded to a halt. "Kurva!" he yelled, gripping the wheel tightly as the vehicle came to a jarring stop.

"What is it?!" Ice called, his focus still on the dragon looming ever closer in the rearview mirror.

"That river!" Polak barked, pointing ahead. "It's too deep! The JLTV could never cross it!"

Ice leaned forward, scanning the fast-moving current. The river stretched wide, its churning waters glinting ominously in the dim light. "Fuck… FUCK," he muttered, his mind racing for a solution. Turning back toward the dragon, he saw its decayed form closing the distance with terrifying speed, each massive step shaking the ground beneath them like an earthquake.

"Whiskey, how many AT-4s we got left?!" Ice barked over the radio, urgency lacing his voice.

In the second JLTV, Whiskey twisted around in his seat, searching for the familiar green tube. The maid's family, huddled together in the back, had been shaken and jostled throughout the frantic ride, clinging to each other for support. As his eyes scanned the cramped interior, he spotted the AT-4—underneath the cat girl, no less. She was sitting on it, oblivious to its significance.

"We got one more," Whiskey called back, his voice tinged with frustration. "But I don't think it's going to cut it against that thing!"

"Yes, I know!" Ice groaned, his frustration boiling over. "But maybe we can hit its leg and slow it down until—"

His explanation was cut short as a massive tree trunk slammed into the side of the JLTV with a deafening crash, rocking the vehicle violently. "FUCK! FUCK!!" Ice yelled, gripping the dashboard as the impact nearly threw him from his seat.

Lira screamed as she was thrown violently around inside the JLTV, landing upside down on the hard podium where the gunner usually stood. She groaned, trying to right herself, but the chaos inside the vehicle made it nearly impossible.

The tree trunk had hit the JLTV with such force that the reinforced armor along its flank was visibly dented, the massive impact leaving jagged splinters of wood embedded in the metal. The bulletproof glass of the windows, though cracked from the sheer force, held firm just as it was designed to.

The dragon was now practically on top of them, its decayed, monstrous form closing the gap with terrifying speed. Each of its thunderous steps sent tremors rippling through the ground, shaking the earth beneath their stationary vehicles. The 7-ton JLTVs rocked on their suspensions, groaning under the pressure of the seismic force.

"It's right on our ass!" Ares shouted from the turret, his voice strained as he reloaded the M240.

Ares adjusted his aim and squeezed the trigger, sending another burst of rounds toward the dragon. Suddenly, the machine gun sputtered and fell silent. His heart sank as he quickly inspected the weapon. To his pure horror, the M240 had jammed—a failure in the worst possible moment.

"JAM! JAM!" Ares shouted, panic lacing his voice as he frantically worked to clear the malfunction. The dragon was now dangerously close, its massive form casting a dark shadow over the convoy.

It opened its three grotesque jaws, rotten and jagged teeth glinting in the light, and lowered its neck. The beast was preparing to strike—a deadly, crushing bite aimed directly at the JLTV.

Ares let out a horrified scream as the gaping maw loomed closer, his voice breaking as he shouted, "NO! NO! NO!"

Then, cutting through the chaos, came a voice over the radio—a calm, commanding tone like an angel's whisper.

"This is Assassin. Opening with missiles."

At that moment, the familiar, rhythmic sound of rotor blades slicing through the air roared over the treetops. Seconds later, eight Hellfire missiles streaked toward the dragon, slamming into its massive form with devastating precision. Each explosion tore through the decayed flesh and bone, sending chunks of rotten tissue and gouts of black blood flying in all directions.

The AH-64 Apache roared overhead, banking sharply to the right before pulling into a tight turn, its engines screaming as it repositioned. The helicopter spun around with precision, its nose leveling on the dragon once more. The pilot held steady, giving the gunner—call sign Phoenix—another clear shot.

With calculated ferocity, Phoenix unleashed a volley of Hydra 70mm rockets. The dumb-fire munitions streaked through the air, slamming into the dragon's massive body one after the other. Each impact erupted into a fiery explosion, making the beast reel and roar in agony, its three heads thrashing wildly as it struggled to retaliate.

The dragon's hollow, glowing eyes locked onto the offending aircraft. Its necks coiled back, preparing to strike, but Phoenix wasn't intimidated. From the forward seat of the two-seater attack helicopter, her piercing gaze matched the ferocity of the beast's own. With steady hands and unrelenting resolve, she fired yet another salvo of Hydras, the dragon's enraged roars drowned out by the relentless assault.

"Here Assassin, switching to 30 mike-mike," Phoenix's voice crackled through the radio, calm and focused as the last Hydra rockets left their pods. She adjusted the Apache's targeting system, locking the sight onto one of the dragon's three heads.

With a steady hand, she squeezed the trigger.

The entire helicopter shuddered violently as the massive 30mm M230 Chain Gun mounted beneath the nose roared to life. A hail of armor-piercing incendiary rounds tore through the air, the rapid-fire cannon unleashing its devastating payload. The rounds slammed into the dragon's head with unrelenting force, tearing through decayed flesh and bone, creating deep craters with each impact.

The dragon reeled from the onslaught, one of its heads jerking back as black blood sprayed in every direction. The beast's agonized roars echoed through the valley, the once-dead monster now facing the relentless fury of modern firepower.

Phoenix's voice came through the comms again, steady despite the chaos. "Direct hits. Target is wounded but still active. Adjusting for another volley."

The Apache repositioned slightly, the chain gun still firing in bursts as the pilot worked to keep the helicopter steady. The relentless barrage of 30mm rounds made the ground shake beneath the Strike Team as they watched the legendary beast kill the Monster.

The dragon, enraged by the relentless assault, decided it had enough of the hovering annoyance. One of its massive claws swiped upward, aiming to swat the Apache out of the sky like an annoying fly.

But the pilot, call sign Hitman, had other plans.

"Not today, big guy," Hitman muttered, skillfully banking the helicopter hard to the right, the massive claws narrowly missing the Apache's tail rotor. The maneuver sent the dragon's claw slicing through empty air as the chopper twisted and pulled up sharply, soaring high above the beast's reach.

In the forward seat, Phoenix remained unfazed, her focus laser-sharp. As the helicopter leveled out above the dragon, she adjusted her aim using the IHADSS—the Integrated Helmet and Display Sight System. The small green monocle in front of her right eye moved with her head, allowing her to aim the M230 Chain Gun with pinpoint accuracy simply by looking at her target.

The dragon's massive head reared back to look at the helicopter. With a slight tilt of her head, Phoenix locked onto the creature's left eye. Her finger hovered over the trigger.

"This is going to sting," she muttered under her breath before unleashing another burst of 30mm rounds, the rounds screaming down like deadly hail toward the vulnerable target.

The dragon let out a bone-rattling roar of agony as the rounds burrowed deep, the pressure building within its skull. Finally, with a sickening, deafening BOOM, the head exploded, sending chunks of rotted flesh, bone, and black ichor spraying across the battlefield.

All stations, this is Assassin. Hostile is no factor. I say again, hostile is neutralized. Assassin is RTB at this time," Phoenix's calm, professional tone crackled over the comms.

Whiskey leaned out of his JLTV, staring at the smoldering remains of the dragon, its massive body slumped lifelessly across the terrain. "Holy shit!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with a mix of awe and excitement. "Did she just detonate its bloody head?! That's what I call precision work!"

Ares chuckled from the turret, still gripping the still jammed M240. "Remind me to never piss her off."

Ice keyed his radio, his tone dry but appreciative. "Good Shit, Assassin. Drinks are on me when we're back."

Phoenix's voice came back with a faint hint of humor. "I'll hold you to that, Shield Hero. Assassin out."

The helicopter banked gracefully, its rotors slicing through the air as it disappeared over the treetops. Below, the Strike Team was left to survey the aftermath, the once-terrifying beast reduced to a smoldering corpse.

"What a lightshow! That's Foundation supremacy for you, Bitch!" Ares shouted triumphantly, his voice echoing across the battlefield as he gestured toward the lifeless carcas of the Dragon.

The Strike Team disembarked from the JLTVs, their boots crunching against the debris-laden ground as they cautiously approached the dragon's remains. The sheer size of the beast was even more imposing up close, its massive, decayed form sprawled across the landscape, with patches of its flesh still smoldering from the missile and cannon strikes.

"Stay sharp, people," Ice ordered, his shield at the ready as he led the group closer. "Just because it looks dead doesn't mean it won't pull some undead bullshit on us."

Ares chuckled grimly. "If it twitches, I'm dumping the rest of this belt into its skull. What's left of it, anyway."

As they drew nearer, Kaya, the cat-girl maid, stepped out from the second JLTV, her wide eyes locked on the colossal corpse. Her steps were hesitant, almost fearful, as she moved closer to the group.

"Kaya!" Ice's voice cut through the stillness like a whip. He spun around, his glare locking onto her. "What the hell are you doing out here? I didn't give you permission to leave the vehicle!"

Kaya froze in her tracks, her ears flattening against her head as her gaze dropped to the ground. "I… I just wanted to help," she stammered, her voice trembling.

"Help? You've got no gear, no training, and no immunity to whatever the hell was in the air earlier! You stepping out here could've compromised this whole operation!" Ice barked, his tone sharp. "Get back to the JLTV. Now."

She hesitated, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "But… the air," she began, her voice quieter but insistent. "It's clearing."

Ice blinked, taken aback by her words. He turned and scanned the horizon. She was right—the once thick, toxic mist that had hung in the air was dissipating, revealing the landscape in sharper detail. The sun was beginning to peek through the haze, casting long shadows over the battlefield.

Ice watched Whiskey for a moment, gauging his reaction before finally nodding. "Alright, if you're still breathing in a few minutes, I'll call it safe," he muttered, his tone tinged with dry humor. He glanced at the others. "Team, masks off—but stay alert."

One by one, the operatives removed their gas masks, their expressions a mix of relief and wariness as they took in the fresher air. Lira, still standing near the dragon's massive corpse, carefully unfastened hers, her violet eyes scanning the area for any lingering threats.

Ice turned his attention back to the dragon's body. "Alright, we're not done yet. Whiskey, Ares, Polak—start examining the body. Look for anything unusual. Pops, Lira, you're with me. We're checking out the head."

Whiskey rolled his shoulders with a smirk. "Right, let's see what secrets this big bastard's hiding."

As the team spread out, Ice led Pops and Lira toward the dragon's massive, mangled head. The gory remains of its skull gleamed faintly in the fading sunlight, the massive jagged teeth still terrifying even in death. Lira hesitated, her expression a mix of curiosity and revulsion.

"This thing… it's horrifying up close," she murmured.

"No kidding," Pops replied, kneeling to inspect the shattered bone fragments. "You'd think something this ugly would stay dead the first time."

Ice didn't respond. His attention was caught by a faint, unnatural glow emanating from within the dragon's exposed chest cavity. He pointed toward it. "Lira, with me."

They approached the faint light cautiously, Ice using his shield to push aside debris. As they drew closer, the glow intensified, revealing a large, pulsating stone nestled among the remains of the dragon's organs.

"What the hell is that?" Lira asked, her voice low.

Ice frowned, his gaze fixed on the glowing object. "Looks like a core of some kind… but it's giving off some serious energy." He tapped his radio. "Whiskey, Ares, Polak—get over here. We've got something."

Static crackled through his earpiece, but no response came. "What the hell?" Ice muttered, pulling the radio from its pouch and inspecting it. The device appeared perfectly fine, no visible damage or signs of malfunction.

Ice glanced at Pops, a hint of unease creeping into his voice. "Pops, try your radio."

Pops immediately grabbed his unit, keyed the mic, and spoke. "Whiskey, Ares, Polak, this is Pops. Do you copy?"

A faint, garbled voice crackled through the speaker, barely audible and laced with static. Pops frowned and shook his head, looking over at Ice. "I can hear something, but it's barely intelligible. Static's heavy."

Ice's expression darkened as he turned his gaze back to the glowing stone. An idea struck him, and he decided to test his theory. "Hang on," he muttered, pressing his own PTT. He began to walk away from the stone, watching Pops carefully.

As Ice moved farther from the stone, the static on the radio began to clear, and the garbled voice grew slightly more coherent. Pops raised an eyebrow. "It's clearing up."

Ice stopped, then retraced his steps toward the stone. The closer he got, the heavier the static returned, until the faint voice was drowned out completely. Ice exhaled sharply, his suspicions confirmed.

"It's the stone," he said, his tone firm. "That thing's screwing with our comms."

Pops nodded grimly. "Great. Whatever this is, it's not just a glowing rock. What do we do with it?"

Ice's eyes stayed on the strange object, his mind already turning over options. "We secure it. Carefully."

Ice turned toward the other group, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Yo, guys!" he called out, his voice cutting through the clearing tension in the air.

Ares glanced over, catching Ice's wave. Without hesitation, he nudged Whiskey and Polak. The three of them quickly made their way toward Ice and his group, their movements brisk yet cautious, weapons still at the ready.

"What's up, boss?" Polak asked as they arrived, scanning the area with a wary eye.

Ice gestured toward the strange stone. "Grab the containment box. This thing is… I don't know. It's giving off some weird energy." His tone was measured, but there was a hint of unease in his voice.

As Polak turned to retrieve the box, Ice stepped closer to the stone, leaning over it for a better look. Suddenly, his shield began to glow, the green orb at its center pulsating with a vibrant, almost blinding light. The reaction was immediate and intense, casting an eerie green glow over the entire area.

"What the hell…?" Ice muttered, instinctively taking a step back, his shield now fully illuminated as if responding to the stone's presence.

"Maybe… you know… you absorb it?" Whiskey muttered, his tone more curious than confident as he glanced at the glowing stone.

Ice turned to him, one eyebrow raised. "Absorb it? You think I'm just gonna stick my shield into this thing that's giving off some seriously weird vibes?" His skepticism was evident, but there was also a flicker of curiosity in his voice.

Whiskey shrugged, a smirk playing under his mask. "I mean, it's glowing, your shield's glowing. Seems like a match made in heaven—or hell, depending on how you look at it."

Ice sighed, staring back at the pulsating stone. "Yeah, because when in doubt, let's just touch the mysterious artifact that might kill us. Great idea."

"I mean—it worked back in Cuba, didn't it?" Whiskey quipped, jabbing a thumb behind him with a smug grin.

Ares immediately smacked Whiskey across the helmet, the hollow thud punctuating the tension. "Really?" he said, throwing Whiskey a sharp look. "That's your takeaway right now?"

Whiskey shrugged, unfazed. "I'm just saying, sometimes you gotta take the gamble."

Ice let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose through his mask. "You two are absolutely unbelievable," he muttered, shaking his head. Turning back toward the glowing stone, he added under his breath, "Fine. But if this kills me, Whiskey, I swear I'll haunt you for the rest of your days."

Ice stepped closer to the glowing stone, the green light reflecting ominously off his shield. The faint hum of energy grew louder as he extended his shield cautiously toward the strange object. His team stood in tense silence, weapons ready, eyes locked on their leader.

The moment the shield touched the stone, a surge of energy pulsed outward, causing the ground beneath their feet to tremble. The stone was absorbed instantly, disappearing into the glowing orb of Ice's shield. A notification flashed across his HUD:

"Rage Shield Unlocked."

Ice staggered back, his shield now glowing with a fiery red hue that flickered ominously, the green light replaced by an intense crimson. He felt a wave of heat wash over him, followed by a sudden rush of adrenaline that made his vision blur for a moment.

"Boss? You good?" Whiskey asked, taking a cautious step forward, his rifle raised.

Ice steadied himself, shaking his head. "I… I don't know. That thing—whatever it was—it's in the shield now." His voice was steady, but there was an edge of unease in it.

A second notification appeared in his HUD:

"Warning: High Emotional State Detected. Rage Shield Activated."

"What the hell?" Ice muttered, trying to dismiss the notification, but it wouldn't go away. The heat and adrenaline coursing through his veins felt unnatural, almost intoxicating.

Polak's frown deepened, his AN-94 unwavering as he tracked Ice's every movement. "Talk to me, Ice. What's happening?" His voice was calm but edged with concern.

Ice's hands trembled violently before clenching into tight fists. He let out a guttural groan, a sound filled with pain and frustration. His body tensed as if fighting an invisible force. The crimson light emanating from his shield pulsed erratically, brighter with each passing second.

Whiskey, sensing the danger, quickly grabbed Lira's hand and yanked her back behind him, his rifle raised and trained on Ice. "Lass, stay back. This might get ugly," he warned, his tone uncharacteristically serious.

"What's wrong with him?!" Lira cried, her voice panicked as she tried to pull away from Whiskey's grip. "We have to help him!"

"I ain't going anywhere close to him. Forget that." Whiskey shot back as he glanced over his shoulder towards Lira. "Right now, the best thing we can do is stay out of his way."

Ice looked like he was wrestling with an invisible force, his hands clawing at the air before clutching his head. His breathing was ragged, uneven, and filled with anguish. He staggered forward a step, then another, before collapsing to his knees, the shield glowing ominously beside him.

"Boss!" Polak shouted, stepping forward instinctively, his rifle still trained on Ice. "Ice, stay with us! What's happening?!"

Ice's body convulsed as he let out a guttural groan, his fingers gripping his helmet as if trying to rip something away. His shield pulsated in sync with his strained breathing, the light flickering erratically, casting eerie shadows across the surrounding area.

Whiskey tightened his grip on his rifle, his voice unusually serious. "Ice! You need to tell us what's going on!"

Ice's muffled voice broke through his groans, each word labored as if dragged from the depths of his soul. "It's… pulling me in. The shield… it's feeding on... fuck... on my... ARGH!!"

The team exchanged worried glances. Ares cursed under his breath, moving to Ice's side but keeping his distance. "You've got to fight it, man! Don't let that thing take you over!"

Lira took a hesitant step forward, but Whiskey's arm shot out, stopping her. "Don't," he warned, his voice low. "Whatever's happening to him, getting too close might make it worse."

Ice's body convulsed, his muscles taut as though waging a desperate war against an unseen adversary. Then, with a guttural roar that seemed to tear through the air, he slammed both fists into the ground. The earth cracked beneath him, and a tremor rippled outward.

"You… son of… a bitch… you won't… WIN!" he bellowed, his voice raw with fury and determination. On the final word, he straightened abruptly, spreading his arms wide as a fiery red shockwave erupted from the shield. The blast surged outward like a tidal wave, corruptive magic rippling across the area in a blinding cascade of red light.

Just as quickly as it had come, the red light dissipated, fading into the green glow that had first radiated from the shield.

The shield dimmed, its glow returning to its initial hue, as Ice collapsed onto his hands and knees, panting heavily. His breaths were labored, his body trembling from the overwhelming energy he had just released.

The Strike Team froze in place, their weapons still raised as the last echoes of the shockwave faded into the eerie silence. Dust and debris settled slowly, the air once thick with tension now heavy with anticipation.

"Ice!" Whiskey called out cautiously, stepping forward with his rifle at the ready, but Polak grabbed his shoulder. "Wait."

Ice stayed motionless, his head hanging low, his breaths ragged and uneven. The once-glowing shield now seemed dim, the vibrant green light reduced to a faint pulse. Slowly, Ice pushed himself up, his trembling arms bracing against the cracked earth beneath him.

"Is he dead?" Ares asked, his voice low and uncertain, his grip tightening on his rifle.

"Of course he isn't dead, you dimwit!" Pops shot back, though his usual confidence seemed to falter slightly.

"But did he manage to fight it? Did he win?" Ares pressed, shooting Pops a sharp glare. The older operative had no quick retort this time, his attention shifting uneasily toward Ice's motionless form.

Whiskey broke the tense silence, his tone half-joking but tinged with nervousness. "Maybe we should poke him? See if he's still kicking?"

"How about I poke you instead?" came Ice's raspy response, his voice strained but unmistakably laced with his usual dry wit.

All heads snapped toward him, a collective wave of relief washing over the team. Smirks broke out across their masked faces as the tension in the air dissipated.

"Yup," Whiskey said with a broad grin beneath his mask, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. "He's definitely back."

Ares chuckled, shaking his head. "Only you could crack a joke after whatever the hell that was."

"Shut up and help me up," Ice muttered, extending a hand toward Pops, who immediately stepped forward to pull him to his feet. As Ice stood, his body still trembling slightly, his eyes scanned his team and then the now-dormant stone.

"Well," Pops said, patting Ice on the shoulder, "welcome back to the land of the living. You had us worried there for a second."

Ice managed a weak smirk, his voice still hoarse but steady. "Like I'd let some glorified rock take me out. I always told you guys—when I go, I'm gonna go out with a boom."

Whiskey couldn't help but chuckle. "Yeah, mate, but we didn't think you'd mean it literally."

Ares crossed his arms, a sly grin creeping onto his face. "You sure about that, boss? That red shockwave thing looked pretty boom-like to me."

Ice groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. "Great, now I've set the bar too high. Next time, it'll have to be fireworks and a parade."

"Next time?" Pops raised an eyebrow. "Let's not make this a habit, alright? We've already got enough gray hairs dealing with you as it is."

Lira stepped forward cautiously, her expression a mix of concern and curiosity. "What… what was that, Ice? What happened with the shield?"

Ice glanced down at the now-dormant shield, its green glow returning to its usual steady hue. "It felt like… something—or rather someone—tried to take control," he said, his voice low but steady. He tapped the side of his helmet for emphasis. "I heard a voice. Up here. In my head."

The team exchanged uneasy glances but said nothing, letting him continue.

"It was deep… like, deeper-than-Optimus-Prime kind of deep," Ice added with a wry smirk, though the seriousness in his tone lingered. "But here's the freaky part—it wasn't just some random voice. It sounded like me. Just… twisted. Corrupted."

Pops frowned, stepping closer. "You're saying it wasn't the stone itself, but something tied to you?"

Ice nodded slowly, his gaze still fixed on the shield. "Yeah. I think the stone was just the key for activating it." Whatever that thing was, it tried to use me like a puppet. And for a moment…" He trailed off, clenching his fists. "For a moment, it almost won."

Whiskey let out a low whistle, breaking the tense silence. "Well, mate, good thing you've got a stubborn streak bigger than your ego."

Ice shot him a look but chuckled lightly. "Very funny, asshole." He shook his head, the faint trace of a grin fading as his gaze dropped back to the shield. "Anyway, whatever that voice was… it's gone now. At least, I hope for good."

The weight of his words hung in the air as the team exchanged wary glances, the tension palpable. Whiskey broke the silence, his voice cutting through the stillness. "Can you extract that stone… or, I don't know, just make it undone?"

Ice let out a heavy sigh, his gaze dropping to the shield on his arm. "Hmm… great question," he muttered, the sarcasm barely veiling his frustration. He brought up the menu interface, the familiar green glow illuminating his face as he began searching through the options.

The team watched silently, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern. Lira took a cautious step closer, her eyes flickering between the shield and Ice's increasingly furrowed brow.

Minutes passed, and Ice's expression darkened. He let out another sigh, this one heavier than the last. "Nothing," he said finally, closing the menu with a resigned shake of his head. "There's no tool or option to remove a shield once it's unlocked. It's just… there."

Whiskey leaned against the JLTV, arms crossed. "So, what, you're stuck with it?"

"Looks like it," Ice replied, his tone bitter. "And whatever that stone put in me is probably stuck, too."

Pops let out a low whistle. "Hell of a souvenir."

"Yeah," Ice muttered, flexing his hand as if testing for any lingering effects. "I hope the eggheads back at the Foundation can cleanse me of this shit. I've got no plans to stay on this godforsaken rock any longer than necessary."

The words left Ice's mouth without much thought, but they hit Lira like a hammer. Her expression fell instantly, her mood twisting from cautious optimism to shock and sadness. She took an involuntary step back, her voice trembling as she asked, "You… you won't stay?"

The MTFs froze, turning to face her, caught off guard by the weight of her question. They exchanged bewildered glances before the realization hit them like a cold wave.

Whiskey's usual smirk faded as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. Pops looked away, suddenly preoccupied with his gear. Ares opened his mouth to say something but quickly closed it, leaving an uncomfortable silence hanging in the air.

Ice, oblivious at first, finally caught on when he saw the look on Lira's face. Her usually sharp demeanor was gone, replaced by a mixture of hurt and disbelief. He let out a heavy sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Lira… I didn't mean it like that—" he started, but she cut him off, her voice trembling.

"You… You've been here for less than a month, and you've already done more for this world—for me—than anyone else I've ever known. And now you're saying you'll just… leave? Just like that?"

Her words struck like a dagger, and for a moment, no one spoke. The weight of her emotions hung in the air, tangible and heavy. Ice shifted uncomfortably, unsure of how to respond. He wasn't used to being seen as anything other than a soldier, a tool for the mission—but to Lira, he had become something more.

Ice opened his mouth to speak but closed it again, struggling to find the right words. The silence stretched, broken only by the faint rustling of the wind through the trees. Finally, he spoke, his voice softer than usual.

"Lira… we didn't come here by choice. We were sent. Our mission is to protect both this world and ours. When it's done, we go home. That's just… how it works."

Lira's eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she shook her head, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "But what if you don't have to leave? What if you stayed? This world needs people like you—people who actually care. You could make a real difference here, more than you ever could anywhere else!"

Ice's jaw tightened, his gaze dropping to the ground. "It's not that simple," he muttered. "You think I haven't thought about it? About what it'd mean to just… stay? But this isn't our world, Lira. We don't belong here."

"Maybe you don't think you belong," Lira shot back, her voice rising slightly, "but you've made yourself a part of it. To me, to these people—you're not just the Shield Hero. You're their hero. My hero." Her voice cracked on the last words, and she quickly looked away, embarrassed by her own vulnerability.

The other operatives exchanged glances, the weight of the moment pulling even their usual banter into silence. Pops broke the stillness with a low grunt. "Kid's got a point, Ice. We've done a hell of a lot more than just 'pass through.' Like it or not, we've left a mark."

Ice shot him a sharp look. "Not helping, Pops," he hissed through clenched teeth. He exhaled heavily, his shoulders slumping as he turned to Lira. Her wide, glistening eyes met his, and for a moment, he hesitated. Then, with a deep breath, he spoke.

"Listen, Lira… as hard as this might be to hear, this is just a job to us. We're here because we have to be, not because we chose to. Once everything is done—once the mission is complete—we leave. That's how it's always been. That's how it always will be. I'm sorry."

Ice's words lingered in the air like a cold wind, and Lira flinched as if struck. She turned away, biting her lip to keep it from trembling, her shoulders tense. For a moment, the silence was suffocating, heavy with unspoken emotions.

"No… this can't be…" she muttered, her voice barely audible, trembling with disbelief. "You've got to stay…"

"Lira, please—" Ice began, his tone softening, but she cut him off sharply.

"No!" she cried, shaking her head as her voice cracked. "You can't leave!" Her breathing hitched, and she began to take unsteady steps backward. Ice reached out instinctively, but she recoiled, refusing his outstretched hand.

Suddenly, she turned and bolted, tears streaming freely down her face.

"Lira, wait!" Ice called after her, but his voice didn't carry enough weight to stop her. She disappeared into the dense overgrowth, leaving the team standing in stunned silence.

Whiskey broke the tension, his tone sharp and colder than usual. "Well fucking done, mate. Real pro with words, aren't you?" he spat, giving Ice a withering glare before turning and taking off after Lira without hesitation.

Ice clenched his jaw, his fists tightening at his sides. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath, frustration and guilt clawing at him as he stared at the spot where Lira had vanished. "Man the Victors. We give chase!" he barked, his voice sharp with urgency.

But the MTF operatives didn't budge.

"Ice…" Polak began cautiously, stepping forward. "I think she needs some time alone. You know, to process the thermonuclear bomb you just dropped on her."

Ice turned to Polak, his frustration evident, but the solemn look in Polak's eyes made him pause. Polak reached out and gave Ice a firm tap on the shoulder. "Let her breathe. You can't force this one, boss."

Ice exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging slightly. He looked back to where Lira had disappeared, the forest now silent except for the faint rustle of leaves.

Ice let out a frustrated groan, his shoulders tense as he turned and stalked toward the JLTVs. Reaching the first vehicle, he kicked at an imaginary rock, the motion sharp and full of pent-up energy. "Goddammit," he muttered under his breath, yanking open the armored door and climbing inside.

He slumped into the driver's seat, letting his head fall back against the headrest. For a moment, he just sat there, the events replaying in his mind. The air inside the vehicle felt stifling, the usual hum of the engine and chatter from his team absent as the gravity of the situation weighed heavily on him.

Ice sighed and rubbed his temples. "What a fucking mess," he muttered to himself, reaching for the radio but hesitating. His hand hovered over the device before he finally dropped it to his lap, deciding against saying anything more.

Meanwhile, Whiskey sprinted at full speed, chasing after Lira. Years of grueling training had made him a seasoned runner, his endurance and speed unmatched by most—but Lira was in a league of her own. Her agile movements and determination to escape pushed her far ahead, leaving him struggling to close the gap.

"Lira!" Whiskey shouted, his voice cutting through the dense air as he tossed his rifle over his shoulder, letting it hang from its sling to free his hands. His boots pounded against the uneven ground, but her pace didn't falter.

"Lira, stop!" he called again, his tone more urgent this time, frustration mixing with genuine concern. Still, she didn't turn or even acknowledge his voice, her form disappearing deeper into the shadows of the forest.

Whiskey let out an exasperated sigh, pushing himself harder as he tried to close the distance. His boots thudded against the uneven terrain, each step more determined than the last. "Bloody hell," he muttered, his breath coming in quick bursts. "Why is she this goddamn fast?"

He ducked under a low-hanging branch, his frustration mounting. "Right… she was a bloody Shadow," he grumbled, remembering her training and agility. It made sense now, but that didn't make the chase any easier.

He adjusted his pace, focusing on her faint silhouette darting through the trees ahead. "Lira!" he shouted again, his voice carrying both urgency and irritation. "Stop running, damn it!"

Whiskey pushed harder, dodging branches and leaping over exposed roots with practiced ease. His focus remained locked on Lira's fleeting figure as she weaved through the dense forest like a phantom.

"Lira!" he called again, his voice carrying a sharp edge of desperation now. "I'm not gonna stop chasing you, so you may as well stop!"

Ahead, Lira slowed slightly, glancing over her shoulder. Tears streaked her face, glinting faintly in the dim light filtering through the trees. Whiskey caught the moment of hesitation and seized the opportunity, surging forward.

"Lira, please," he said, his tone softening as he closed the gap. "Running isn't gonna change anything."

She stopped abruptly, spinning around to face him. Her chest heaved with the effort of running, and her eyes burned with anger and sorrow. "Why shouldn't I run? What else am I supposed to do?" she snapped, her voice breaking.

Whiskey stopped a few feet away, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "You're supposed to stick with us," he said firmly. "I know Ice can be a proper knob sometimes, but he didn't mean to hurt you."

Her glare faltered, replaced by a flicker of uncertainty. "He said you're leaving. That this—" she gestured wildly around her "—is just a job. Like it doesn't mean anything to any of you."

Whiskey sighed deeply, lowering his hands in defeat. "Oh, bloody hell, Ice… what have you done?" he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. His gaze softened as he looked back at Lira. "It's not that simple, Lira. Yeah, it's a job, but that doesn't mean it doesn't matter to us. You matter to us. You've been through hell, and we're not the kind of people who just abandon someone when the going gets tough."

Lira's expression remained unreadable, her piercing gaze locked on him. "But you will leave," she said, her voice quieter now, almost a whisper. "Won't you?"

Whiskey hesitated, the weight of her question pressing down on him like a lead blanket. He opened his mouth to respond but found himself at a loss for words. For the first time in a long while, he didn't have a quick answer, a sharp retort, or even a comforting reassurance. How could he tell her the truth without shattering her already fragile heart?

He exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, lass," he began, his voice softer than usual, carefully picking his words. "Right now… we're here, aren't we? We're here, fighting beside you, helping where we can. That's what matters, right? The here and now." He paused, letting his words hang for a moment before continuing.

Whiskey paused, his gaze softening as a memory surfaced. He couldn't quite place where he'd heard it—some show or movie on TV—but the words stuck with him. He took a deep breath and looked at Lira, his tone steady and sincere.

"There's a saying in our world," he began. "Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, and today is a gift. That's why it's called the present." He let the words sink in for a moment, watching her expression shift ever so slightly.

"What I'm trying to say, lass," he continued, "is that as long as we're here—as long as I'm here—I'm going to do everything humanly possible to keep you and our friends safe. So help me God."

His voice carried a weight of unshakable resolve, his words filled with a rare earnestness that left no room for doubt. Lira's eyes searched his for any hint of insincerity, but all she found was unwavering determination.

"I'll be damned if anything happens to you, Lira," Whiskey said, his tone firm yet gentle. "I promise."

For a moment, the tension in her expression softened, her guard lowering just enough to let a flicker of hope shine through. She blinked, her voice barely above a whisper. "You promise?"

Whiskey nodded without hesitation. "On my life."

Lira's eyes welled up with fresh tears, but this time they weren't born of despair. She looked down, hugging herself as if she was trying to shield her fragile hope from the world. "I… I don't know if I can believe in promises anymore," she admitted, her voice trembling.

Whiskey crouched slightly to meet her gaze, his expression softening. "Look, I get it. You've been lied to, betrayed, and thrown into hell more times than anyone should ever face. But I'm not those people, Lira. None of us are. We've got your back, and that's not just a promise—it's fact."

She met his eyes, her own searching for something—anything—to hold onto. Slowly, she nodded, though her movements were hesitant. "I don't want to be alone again," she whispered.

"You won't be," Whiskey assured her. "Not as long as we're here. And right now, like I said, we are here. One day at a time, yeah?"

Lira let out a shaky breath, nodding again, this time with a little more conviction. "One day at a time."

Whiskey reached out and rested a hand on her shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Good. Now let's get back to the others before Ice has a coronary wondering where we've gone."

Lira let out a faint chuckle, wiping her eyes. "You think he'd care that much?"

"Trust me, lass," Whiskey said with a small grin. "He's a real sweetheart… on the inside, anyway. Ice cares more than he lets on. He's just absolute rubbish at showing it."

He stepped aside, gesturing for her to take the lead. Lira hesitated, her gaze lingering on him for a moment before she turned and began walking back toward the JLTVs. Whiskey fell into step beside her, his rifle slung casually over his shoulder. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Her posture was still guarded, her steps uncertain, but there was something different now—a flicker of hope, a faint trace of trust beginning to form.

"Atta girl," Whiskey muttered under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear. Lira glanced at him, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

They walked in silence, the tension between them gradually easing with every step. By the time the JLTVs came into view, Lira's shoulders had relaxed slightly, and Whiskey allowed himself a quiet sigh of relief.

"Woah… he actually managed," Ares said, astonishment dripping from his voice as he stared at the duo emerging from the treeline.

"No—way…" Pops muttered, his jaw slack in disbelief.

"Told you guys," Polak chimed in with a smug grin, his arms crossed as he leaned casually against the JLTV. He glanced at the other two operatives, then opened both hands, palms up, and held them out expectantly.

"Money, gentlemen?" he asked, adopting an exaggeratedly snobbish and overly polite tone. "I believe a wager was placed, and it seems I was right, as always."

Ares groaned, reaching into one of his pouches and slapping a crumpled bill into Polak's hand. "You're insufferable, you know that?"

Pops, grumbling under his breath, reluctantly followed suit, pulling out a similar bill and handing it over. "Next time, I'm not betting against you."

Polak pocketed the money with a dramatic flourish. "Ah, the sweet smell of victory. Thank you for your contributions to the 'Polak Retirement Fund.'"

Ice stepped out from the JLTV, eyeing the trio. "You guys making bets about this?"

"Always, boss," Polak replied with a smirk, patting his pocket. "And it's not even close to the first time."

Ice shook his head, muttering, "Unbelievable," but couldn't quite hide the hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"You should join in sometimes, boss. Might make yourself some extra cash," Polak said with an inviting smirk.

Pops and Ares immediately shook their heads frantically, their eyes wide with warning as if silently pleading Ice not to entertain the idea.

Ice raised an eyebrow, glancing at the two operatives before looking back at Polak. "I feel like the moment I do, you'll somehow clean me out in seconds."

Polak shrugged, feigning innocence. "I'd never dream of it. I play fair—most of the time."

Ares groaned, rubbing his temple. "Boss, trust me. It's not worth it. This guy's got the devil's luck. I'm pretty sure he's made more off us than his actual salary."

Pops nodded in agreement. "He's a menace, Ice. A menace."

Polak grinned wider, clearly reveling in their frustration. "Hey, don't hate the player, gentlemen. Hate the game."

When Whiskey and Lira finally reached the group, Ice let out a heavy sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as he prepared to speak. "Look, Lira—" he began, his tone softer than usual, but she cut him off once more.

"It's good, Ice. I understand it," she said, her voice steady and accompanied by a reassuring smile.

Ice blinked, momentarily taken aback by her response. He opened his mouth to say more but quickly closed it, realizing there wasn't much he could add. Instead, he simply nodded.

"Good to have you back, kid," Pops chimed in with a grin, breaking the tension as the rest of the team visibly relaxed.

"Yeah," Ares added with a smirk, crossing his arms. "For a minute there, I thought Whiskey had lost his touch."

"Oi!" Whiskey shot back, glaring at Ares. "I'm bloody brilliant, thank you very much."

Lira chuckled softly, the sound breaking through the remnants of tension. "You all really are crazy."

Ice smirked and stepped up to her, his voice carrying just a hint of humor. "Crazy ain't half of it."

He then turned to the rest of the team, nodding once as his tone shifted back to its usual commanding edge. "Alright, everyone. Let's wrap this shit up, head to that village, and call it for the day. I'm fucking starving."

"Finally," Pops muttered, pushing off the JLTV. "I swear, if I have to eat one more ration pack…"

Ares chuckled as he climbed into his gunner seat. "Better hope that village's got some decent grub then, huh?"

Polak smirked as he adjusted his helmet. "Or at least something that doesn't taste like cardboard."

Whiskey stretched exaggeratedly, flashing a grin at Lira. "Well, if they've got ale, I'm calling first dibs."

Ice rolled his eyes as he climbed back into the lead JLTV, gesturing for the team to move. "Focus, guys. Let's make it there in one piece. Then you can fight over your damn ale."

With that, the engines roared to life, and the convoy set off toward the distant village, their light-hearted banter fading into the hum of the JLTVs.

The convoy rolled along the uneven terrain, the JLTVs navigating through the aftermath of destruction with practiced ease. The forest gave way to open fields as the village slowly came into view on the horizon. Smoke rose in thin wisps from chimneys, a sign that life in this corner of the world had begun to rebuild despite the chaos of the waves.

Ice's voice crackled through the radio. "Polak, keep us slow as we approach. Last thing we need is to spook these people."

"Got it, boss," Polak replied, easing the JLTV's speed as they neared the outskirts of the village. Behind them, Whiskey matched their pace in the second vehicle, his voice coming over the comms.

"Anyone else getting déjà vu here? Rolling up into another village where they stare at us like we're aliens?"

Pops chuckled. "Well, considering the tech difference, we basically are."

"Yeah, but this time maybe we'll get a proper meal instead of cold stares," Ares added from the gunner's seat, scanning the horizon through his scope.

Ice keyed his mic. "Don't get too comfortable yet. We don't know what kind of welcome we're walking into."

As the convoy rolled into the village, an eerie silence settled over the team. The JLTVs slowed to a crawl, their tires crunching softly against the dirt road. Smoke lazily drifted from chimneys, hinting at recent activity, but the streets were completely devoid of life. No villagers tending to chores, no children playing in the square—just an unnatural stillness.

"50,000 people used to live here. Now it's a ghost town," Ares said, attempting his best British accent as he scanned the eerily silent streets with his hand-held thermal scope.

Whiskey, seated below, turned his head to glare up at him. "Please don't tell me that was supposed to be McMillan."

Ares smirked, completely unfazed. "Come on, Whiskey. Admit it. That was spot on. Sounded just like him."

Whiskey rolled his eyes, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "If by 'spot on,' you mean bloody awful, then yeah, mate, nailed it."

Pops, steering the JLTV steadily through the abandoned streets, let out a soft chuckle. "You two done yet, or should I pull over so we can all grab some popcorn for this performance?"

Ice, sitting in the passenger seat of the lead JLTV, let out a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You guys—WATCH OUT!"

Out of nowhere, a child darted into the street from one of the narrow alleys, chasing after a ball. Polak slammed the brakes, the JLTV screeching to a halt just inches from the child. Before anyone could react further, a woman—presumably the child's mother—stumbled out of the same alley, her skin a sickly, unnatural shade of white. Her movements were jerky and unnatural, her hollow eyes locked onto the vehicle.

"Jesus Christ," Pops muttered from the second JLTV as the scene unfolded in front of them.

"What the hell is wrong with her?" Ares added from the turret, his grip tightening on the M240.

Ice's hand instinctively went to his shield as he leaned forward, his eyes narrowing at the unsettling sight. "Ares, cover my ass. I'm dismounting," he ordered, his tone calm but firm.

He opened the door of the JLTV, stepping out carefully while keeping his shield raised and his eyes on the woman. Ares, perched in the turret, immediately swiveled the M240 to follow Ice's line of sight, the crosshairs locking squarely on the woman's chest. His finger hovered over the trigger, ready to unleash a burst of .308 rounds at a moment's notice.

The woman stumbled forward, her movements erratic and unnatural, her hollow gaze now focused on Ice. The child, oblivious to the tension, continued chasing the ball, stopping only when it rolled to Ice's feet.

"Kid, stay back," Ice said, his voice sharp yet measured as he bent down to pick up the ball, keeping his shield angled toward the woman. The child froze, staring at Ice with wide, confused eyes.

"Permission to fire, boss?" Ares called down, his tone clipped and tense.

"Negative," Ice replied, his gaze never leaving the woman. "Not yet. Let's see what we're dealing with first."

The mother let out a low, guttural sound, her pale lips parting as she took another unsteady step forward. Ice tightened his grip on his shield, his instincts screaming that something wasn't right.

"Ma'am, are you okay? Do you need help?" Ice asked, his tone cautious but steady, his hand hovering over the PTT on his plate carrier, ready to call for backup from Ares at a moment's notice if the woman made any sudden moves.

She staggered closer, her breaths shallow and labored. "Help… us… illness… death…" she managed to gasp out before her knees buckled and she collapsed onto the ground, unmoving.

"Son of a—" Ice muttered under his breath, his heart pounding as he processed her cryptic words. He turned sharply toward the JLTVs, his voice urgent. "Masks! Now!"

The team snapped into action immediately, their training kicking in. Inside the vehicles, the sound of hissing oxygen filters being activated filled the tense silence as the operatives donned their gas masks without hesitation. Ares swiveled the turret to scan the surrounding area, his fingers resting on the trigger of the M240, his gaze sharp and vigilant.

"Boss, this looks bad," Polak's voice crackled through the comms. "What's the play?"

Ice's eyes flicked back to the collapsed woman and the child, frozen in place, staring at his fallen mother with wide, terrified eyes. He clenched his jaw, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. It was spiraling into something far worse than he had anticipated. After a brief pause, he straightened slightly, his tone resolute.

"We do what we always do," he said, his voice firm. "Same as with that overgrown bush we dealt with last time. We help where we can."

The words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the impossible situations they had already survived. Ice's team exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of determination and concern. They knew the risks, but they also knew there wasn't a choice.

"Alright, here's the plan," Ice began, his tone authoritative but calm as he gestured to the team. "Whiskey and Ares, you stay in the JLTV to protect the VIPs. Pops and Polak, you head that way," he pointed to the left side of the village, "and search for anything—clues, survivors, bodies, whatever you can find. Lira and I will go this way," he added, motioning to the right. "Same objective. If anything comes up, just scream. I assume this village isn't that big, so you'll definitely be heard." He meant the last part half as a joke, though his voice didn't quite carry the humor.

Pops and Polak stepped out of their respective vehicles and approached Ice. Polak hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Ice… uh… I don't know how to put this, but you and Lira aren't exactly equipped to handle a fight beyond throwing rocks at someone. How about this—Lira comes with me, and you take Pops instead. Sound fair?"

Ice raised an eyebrow, sensing there was more to the suggestion than Polak was letting on. At first glance, the logic seemed sound, but the truth was written in Polak's body language. He didn't want Lira going off alone with Ice—not with the tension still lingering from earlier.

Pops crossed his arms, glancing between the two before chiming in. "I don't see why not. Makes sense tactically, Ice. Lira pairs well with Polak's range, and I've got your back."

Ice's jaw tightened slightly, but he nodded after a moment. "Fine. Lira, you stick with Polak. Pops, you're with me." His tone carried a mix of resolve and acceptance, as if he understood the unspoken reason behind Polak's suggestion but chose not to press it.

Polak gave a sharp nod, looking relieved. "Got it. Let's not waste time, then."

The groups restructured, the plan shifting slightly, but everyone prepared to move out, the tension in the air still palpable.

Ice gestured toward their respective directions. "Alright, you know the drill. Keep your comms open, and if anything even feels off, call it in. Let's find out what the hell is going on in this village."

Polak turned to Lira, nodding for her to follow. "Come on. Stay close and keep your head on a swivel," he said, his tone firm but not unkind. Lira, still processing the earlier events, hesitated briefly before falling into step behind him, her hand resting on the hilt of her blade.

Pops slung his rifle over his shoulder and gave Ice a wry smirk. "Guess it's just you and me, boss. Don't worry, I'll keep you out of trouble."

"Yeah, sure," Ice muttered, adjusting his shield on his arm as he took the lead. "Let's just hope we don't need to test that."

The two pairs moved in opposite directions, the eerie silence of the village enveloping them. The sound of their boots crunching on dirt and gravel was the only thing breaking the stillness.

Polak moved with practiced precision, his AN-94 raised and scanning every shadowed alley and building corner. Lira followed closely, her eyes darting around nervously. "Do you think the illness that woman mentioned is connected to the Dragon?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Could be," Polak replied without looking back. "The fact that the air's clearing doesn't mean it's safe. We've seen enough weird shit to know better."

Lira frowned, glancing at a window where a curtain moved slightly. "What if there are still people here, hiding?"

"Then we find them—fast," Polak said, his voice firm but low. "Before they find us and spread whatever the hell that poor bastard had." He jabbed a thumb toward a half-decomposed body slumped against a nearby wall, its rotting flesh glistening faintly in the dim sunlight.

Lira flinched, her eyes widening as she finally noticed the corpse. She instinctively took a step closer to Polak, her hand gripping the hilt of her blade. "I didn't even see it until now," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Polak paused to glance into the window. The interior was dark, and he could just make out the outline of a figure cowering in the shadows. "Hey," he called softly. "We're here to help. Are you hurt?"

The figure didn't respond, retreating further into the shadows with slow, deliberate movements. Polak exhaled sharply, stepping back with a frustrated shake of his head. "What the hell happened here to scare people this badly?" he muttered, his voice muffled by his mask. "Did this whole village turn into some kind of zombie nightmare?"

Ice and Pops meanwhile, moved toward the center of the village, the smell of burning wood and something more acrid lingering in the air. Pops gestured toward a building with smoke curling from its chimney. "Still burning. Someone's been here recently."

"Or still is," Ice said, gripping his shield tightly. He approached the door and knocked, the sound echoing unnaturally in the quiet. "Anyone in there? We're not here to hurt you. We just want to talk."

There was no response.

Pops moved to the side of the door, rifle raised, and nodded at Ice. With a cautious push, Ice opened the door, his shield raised in front of him. The interior was dimly lit, the flickering glow of a fire casting long shadows on the walls. The room was empty, save for a table with a half-eaten meal and a few scattered papers.

Ice crouched down, picking up one of the scattered papers and examining it closely. "Looks like… travel permits and maps," he muttered, sifting through more of the crumpled documents. His brow furrowed as he pieced it together. "These folks must've been in one hell of a rush to leave everything like this…"

Pops shone his flashlight into one of the rooms, his expression grim as the beam landed on the scene inside. "Bodies… two," he muttered quietly.

Ice stepped up beside him, leaning around the doorframe for a better look. Inside, two rapidly decomposing bodies lay motionless in their beds. Judging by their size, they couldn't have been older than 15 or 16.

"Jesus…" Ice muttered, his voice heavy with disbelief. "Feels like someone dragged SCP-2935 into this place…"

Pops scanned the room again with his flashlight before glancing back at Ice. "You think that dragon had something to do with all this? I mean, it contaminated the air, and from what I saw up on that mountain, it spread for miles…"

Ice nodded grimly as he stepped back, carefully shutting the door behind him. "Wouldn't be too far-fetched. That thing was practically a walking biohazard." He gestured to his suit and mask. "And they were just here, completely unprotected, exposed to whatever that zombie lizard spread. They never stood a chance."

Pops shook his head slowly, his voice heavy with frustration. "Makes you wonder what other surprises this world's got waiting for us. First a killer plant, then a dragon spewing toxic air. What's next, walking volcanoes?"

Ice let out a dry chuckle, tightening his grip on the shield. "At this point, nothing would surprise me anymore. All the more reason to figure out what's going on before it spreads any further." He gestured toward a set of creaking stairs leading to the second floor. "Let's check upstairs. Maybe we'll find something useful up there."

Pops eyed the stairs cautiously, his flashlight flickering over the creaking wood. "Just watch your step. Last thing we need is for this place to come crashing down on us."

Ice turned to him with a mock glare, a teasing smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth beneath the mask. "Are you calling me fat, Pops?"

Pops snorted, shaking his head. "Nah, boss. Just saying you've got all that gear on. But if the stairs don't hold, maybe lay off the rations for a bit, yeah?"

Ice chuckled quietly, rolling his eyes as he continued up the stairs. "Noted, Pops. Noted."

The two ascended the creaking stairs with practiced precision, Pops aiming his rifle and flashlight into the shadows of the second floor while Ice took point, shield raised and ready. Their movements were fluid, almost instinctive, a testament to years of training and countless missions together. Without a word, they moved in perfect sync, each anticipating the other's next step as if they shared the same mind.

The second floor was eerily quiet, the air thick with the scent of decay. Dust particles floated in the narrow beams of light spilling in from broken windows. Pops' flashlight swept across the hallway, illuminating tattered wallpaper and doors ajar, each one leading to more darkness.

Ice gestured silently toward the first door on the left, his shield raised. Pops nodded, stepping to the side to cover him as Ice gently nudged the door open with the edge of his shield. The hinges groaned, breaking the oppressive silence, and Pops' flashlight cut through the gloom.

Inside was what looked like a child's bedroom. A small bed, barely big enough for a teenager, sat in one corner, its sheets crumpled and discolored. Toys were scattered across the floor, untouched for what seemed like months. A stuffed animal, a once-vibrant bear, sat slumped against the wall, its button eyes missing.

"Clear," Ice whispered, his voice low but steady.

Pops swept his light over the room once more before stepping back into the hallway. "Nothing useful here. Just… more reminders of how screwed this place was."

They continued down the hallway, repeating the same cautious routine with each door. Most rooms were empty, filled only with signs of hasty departures—half-packed bags, abandoned belongings, and scattered papers telling a story of panic and chaos.

When they reached the last door, they froze. Shuffling noises came from within, faint but distinct, sending a ripple of tension through the air. Ice and Pops exchanged a sharp glance, their silent communication honed from countless missions.

Ice raised a hand, signaling for Pops to cover him. They stacked up against the door like a SWAT HRT team preparing for the raid of a lifetime. Every movement was deliberate, controlled, and methodical.

Ice took a deep breath, centering himself. With one swift motion, he lifted his leg and delivered a powerful kick to the door. The wood splintered and gave way, the crash echoing through the otherwise silent house.

Pops was right on his heels, rifle up and ready, its muzzle sweeping the room as his flashlight cut through the shadows.

A sharp yelp broke through the tense silence as Pops' rifle snapped to the source of the noise—a woman crouched in the corner, clutching what looked like a newborn baby in her arms. A worn leather bag was slung across her back, and another lay beside her on the floor, its contents—a jumble of clothes and essentials—spilling out in disarray.

The woman instinctively turned her back toward the two operatives, shielding her infant with her body as though her life depended on it. Her entire frame shook with fear, and her wide, panicked eyes darted toward them for just a split second before looking away again.

"Hold fire!" Ice hissed immediately, his voice low but commanding. He held up a hand to stop Pops from advancing further. Pops instantly relaxed his grip on the trigger but kept his rifle aimed just slightly to the side of the woman, ready for any surprises.

Ice stepped forward slowly, lowering his shield slightly to appear less threatening. "Ma'am, we're not here to hurt you," he said, his voice steady but calm. "We're here to help. Are you injured? Is the baby okay?"

The woman didn't respond, her body still trembling as she clutched the baby tighter. The room was thick with tension, the sound of her labored breaths and the faint whimpering of the infant the only noises breaking the oppressive silence.

"Ma'am," Ice said, his voice low and steady, a gentle kindness laced into his tone. He took another cautious step forward, lowering his shield completely to appear less threatening. "You can trust us. I'm the Shield Hero. We're here to help, but I need you to tell me what happened here."

She slowly turned her face, a deep scowl etched across her features as she glared at Ice with pure contempt. "I'd rather die than accept help from the Shield Demon!" she hissed, her voice trembling even as she protectively shielded her infant with her body.

Ice froze for a moment, her words hanging in the air. He exchanged a baffled look with Pops, who shrugged slightly, equally confused. Ice turned back to the woman, his tone dry and devoid of any emotion. "What?"

"I've heard everything about you… you… murderer, you monster! You dared to lay hands on the crown princess!" she hissed, venom dripping from her trembling voice. Her glare was unwavering as she held her infant closer, her body radiating pure defiance despite her fear.

Ice's confusion only deepened. He exchanged a baffled glance with Pops, who simply shrugged indifferently, his rifle still lowered but ready. "Seriously?" Ice muttered under his breath, his tone a mix of annoyance and disbelief. Turning his attention back to the woman, he softened his voice. "Look, I don't care what you think of me. But can you at least tell me what happened here? I need to know so I can help the other folks around here… even if you don't want my help."

The woman hesitated, her scowl unwavering. "I will not help a pig like you," she hissed, clutching her baby tighter as if the very presence of Ice and Pops was a threat.

Ice exhaled slowly, his patience wearing thin. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it now. "Fine," he said, his tone cold. "You don't want to help me? That's your choice. But know this—if we don't figure out what caused this, more people will end up like the ones rotting downstairs. I'm guessing they are… sorry, were—family of yours."

He stepped back, gesturing toward the hallway. His gaze hardened as he delivered the final blow. "Your call, lady. You and your baby can stay here and rot, just like the folks outside. But don't say I didn't try to help."

The woman froze, clutching her baby tighter as Ice's words sank in. Her scowl faltered for a moment, replaced by a flicker of uncertainty. She glanced at Pops, who stood silent but imposing, his rifle still lowered, before looking back at Ice.

"Wait," she finally said, her voice barely audible but trembling with a mix of fear and desperation. She turned slightly, shielding her baby but no longer entirely hostile. "What do you want to know?"

Ice took a small step forward, his tone softening now that she seemed willing to talk. "Start with what happened here. How did it spread? Did anyone survive? Anything you can tell us might help save others."

The woman hesitated, her grip on her child tightening again, but she finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "It started a few days ago," she said, her words trembling. "That dragon… it was terrorizing our farmers, stealing our sheep. The mayor put out a bounty on it, and the Honorable Hero of the Sword came and killed it."

Ice and Pops exchanged a knowing glance, the pieces falling into place almost immediately.

"And let me guess," Ice muttered, his tone dripping with frustration as he ran a gloved hand down the front of his mask. "He killed it, left it up there to rot, and now it has poisoned the air, the land, and everyone unlucky enough to live nearby."

The woman nodded hesitantly, her face a mixture of fear and confusion at his reaction.

Ice let out a heavy, frustrated sigh, his shoulders visibly tensing as he glared upward in sheer exasperation. "Of course. Of course, I'm working with absolute morons!" His voice rose, sharp and biting, as he threw his arms outward in a wide gesture, pacing in an agitated circle. "This—THIS—is why humanity is circling the fucking drain! Because of dumbasses like him!"

He came to an abrupt stop, jabbing a finger toward the ceiling as though lecturing the absent Hero of the Sword. "Kill the damn dragon and leave it there to rot?! Who the hell thinks that's a good idea?!" He slammed his gloved palm against the visor of his mask in frustration, the loud thud echoing through the room. He stood still for a moment, visibly seething, before letting his hand drop and muttering through clenched teeth, "This is exactly why we can't have nice things. No foresight. No damn sense."

Pops took a cautious step back, his rifle still lowered, his eyes scanning the room as though ensuring Ice's outburst didn't rattle anyone too much. "Guess that 'Honorable Hero' didn't think about the cleanup, huh?" he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he mocked the title.

"Cleanup?" Ice scoffed, his irritation palpable. "They probably don't even know what the damn word means." He turned sharply toward the woman, his tone cold and precise. "Anything else we should know? Did anyone actually try to deal with the dragon's body, or did everyone just… leave it there to rot?"

The woman hesitated, her grip on her child tightening as she looked down. "Some villagers went up there," she said quietly. "They thought… they thought they could harvest it for resources. But they all got sick. They brought the sickness back here."

Ice's jaw tightened, and he closed his eyes for a moment, visibly trying to rein in his growing frustration. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Figures. Brilliant hero work as always," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He shot a glance at Pops, who simply raised an eyebrow in agreement.

Turning back to the woman, Ice's tone hardened, sharp enough to make her flinch. "How many survived this mess? How many people are left in this village... if there are even any left."

She stammered as she replied, her voice trembling. "The mayor… the mayor established a gathering place in the town's church. The healers and nurses… they're tending to the ill there."

Ice scoffed, his tone still laced with irritation. "Great. At least someone in this place has a shred of common sense," he snapped, his words dripping with sarcasm. He knocked on the side of his helmet with two fingers for emphasis, his body language making it painfully clear what he thought of the woman's and the villagers' decisions. It wasn't subtle—he was calling out the stupidity of leaving things unchecked for so long.

Pops shot Ice a wary glance, silently urging him to rein it in, but Ice wasn't having it. His frustration bubbled over, spilling into every movement as he barked, "Alright. We'll start at the church and figure out just how deep this mess goes."

Without waiting for a reply, Ice turned sharply on his heel, muttering curses under his breath as he stormed down the stairs. A loud crash followed moments later as he knocked over a vase, the sound echoing through the eerily quiet house. Pops stood frozen for a moment, exchanging an awkward glance with the woman, who flinched at every outburst and crash from below.

Pops gave the woman a wary glance, his expression a mix of sympathy and exasperation. "Well, congratulations," he said dryly, gesturing toward the staircase as the sound of shattering ceramic echoed through the house. "You've done a stellar job of getting him riled up. Again."

He gave her one last look before sighing and following Ice down the stairs, muttering, "This day just keeps getting better and fucking better."

Downstairs, Ice paced furiously near the front door, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. His shield, still strapped to his arm, glinted faintly in the dim light as he muttered sharp, unintelligible complaints under his breath. Without hesitation, he stormed out of the house and toward the JLTVs, his frustration radiating off him in waves. Pops followed closely, his steps quick as he tried to rein in Ice before things escalated further.

Whiskey and Ares, stationed near the vehicles, exchanged uneasy glances as they watched Ice's heated approach.

"Uh-oh," Whiskey muttered, adjusting his rifle as he leaned slightly toward Ares. "Boss is in full meltdown mode… again."

Ares let out a snort, his eyes scanning the perimeter but not missing the tension in Ice's movements. "What'd you expect? He's been babysitting idiots since we got here. Surprised he hasn't snapped sooner."

Inside the JLTV, the maid's family sat quietly, their expressions a mix of confusion and fear as the tension radiated through the radio. They had heard everything—the argument, the frustrations, and now the fallout—as Pops had unintentionally left an open channel on.

Closing the distance, Pops stepped in front of Ice, forcing him to halt mid-stride. His rifle rested casually across his chest, but his tone was firm and no-nonsense. "Alright, Ice, that's enough," Pops said, meeting his team leader's fiery glare head-on. "Save the rage for when we actually need it. Or do you want that damn shield to start eating you out again? Because I don't have a plan for round two of that shit."

Ares and Whiskey immediately burst into laughter, the absurdity of Pops' phrasing cutting through the tension like a knife. Even the usually stoic Polak couldn't hold back a quiet chuckle as he appeared from the other side of the vehicles with Lira in tow. Ice turned to Pops, one eyebrow arched in disbelief at the unintended innuendo.

Ice let out a sharp exhale, throwing his hands in the air. "I swear, Pops, this whole damn world is held together with hopes, duct tape, and fucking dreams! First, a corrupt kingdom that screws over anyone it can! Then I lose my override device to the Spear Hero, of all people—don't even get me started on that walking disaster! Oh, and let's not forget that genocidal plant fiasco, all because people here are too blind to see past a flashy façade. And now? A goddamn dragon corpse spreading a literal plague across the countryside!"

He paused, pacing in frustration before jabbing a finger in the direction of the village. "And none of these people—none of them—thought, 'Hey, maybe we should handle that?' Nope! They just went, 'It's handled by a hero, what could possibly go wrong?' Everything! That's what!"

Whiskey leaned against the JLTV, still smirking. "You done, boss? Or should I grab a chair and some popcorn?"

Ice's glare was like a storm about to break, sharp and unrelenting. "Whiskey! Don't test me right now!" he hissed, jabbing an accusatory finger in Whiskey's direction. The sniper, who had been leaning against the JLTV with a smug grin just moments ago, immediately straightened up, his expression faltering as he instinctively cowered under Ice's fiery gaze.

Ares, who had been about to make another snide comment, froze mid-breath when Ice's glare shifted to him. The laughter died on his lips as though someone had flipped a switch, and he stood stock-still, rifle gripped tightly in both hands as if it might shield him from his team leader's wrath.

"Mount the damn Victors," Ice barked, his voice sharp and commanding, "and SHUT THE HELL UP, YOU TWO!"

The words hung in the air like a thunderclap, silencing everything around them. Whiskey and Ares exchanged quick, wide-eyed glances before moving with practiced speed, scrambling to their respective positions without a single word of protest. Polak, ever the professional, raised an eyebrow but said nothing as he climbed into the driver's seat, his subtle smirk betraying his amusement at seeing the two chastened operatives.

Pops let out a low whistle, shaking his head as he climbed into the passenger seat of the lead JLTV. "Well, looks like someone's had enough of the comedy hour," he muttered under his breath, earning a sidelong glance from Ice, who still looked as if he were ready to throttle the next person to test his patience.

Pops climbed into the JLTV without another word, shutting the door firmly behind him. He leaned back in his seat with a heavy sigh, rubbing his temples as he switched off the open comms channel.

In the back, Kaya trembled as she leaned forward, her voice barely above a whisper. "What's happening to him? Is he going to… turn again?" She hesitated, referencing the earlier event when Ice nearly lost himself to the Shield's corruptive power.

Pops turned slightly to face her, his tone calm but firm. "No, this isn't the same. This isn't about the Shield. Everyone has their breaking point, Kaya, even someone like Ice. His just happens to be set a hell of a lot higher than most, and not much can reach it. But when it's finally hit… he's like an erupting volcano. Right now, he's venting all the pent-up frustration and anger he's been holding back for the time he was here. He'll calm down… eventually."

Kaya still looked uneasy, but Whiskey, seated in the driver's seat, chimed in quietly, keeping his voice low as if afraid Ice might somehow overhear. "Best to give him a wide berth for the next… oh, I'd say 24 hours. Maybe 36, just to be on the safe side of things."

Pops gave a slight nod in agreement, his eyes flicking toward Ice, who was pacing near the lead JLTV, muttering to himself and gesturing angrily at the air. "Yeah," he said, his voice barely audible. "Let him cool off. It's safer for everyone that way."

Kaya still wasn't convinced, her worry etched into her features. She leaned forward, lowering her voice even further to match the cautious tone of the operatives. "If he's like this, how can you still let him lead the team? Isn't it… dangerous?"

Pops turned his head slightly, a sly smirk creeping onto his face beneath his mask. "Well, it's actually pretty simple," he replied, his voice calm and tinged with amusement. "When Ice is this riled up, the chances of anyone even thinking about messing with us drop to damn near zero. No one in their right mind would look at us sideways, let alone try anything."

As if on cue, Whiskey chuckled and leaned back in his seat, his hand lazily extending toward Pops. "Exactly. It's like walking around with a pissed-off bear on a leash. Sure, it's terrifying, but nobody's stupid enough to get close."

Pops fist-bumped Whiskey without hesitation, the faint clink of their gloves audible. "And if anyone does try something," Pops added with a shrug, "well… let's just say they'll regret it long before Ice even gets to them."

Kaya leaned back slightly, still uneasy but beginning to understand. "So… you're saying his anger is like a weapon?"

Whiskey laughed, shaking his head. "No, lass. His anger is the weapon."

Before Kaya could press further, the vehicle's radio crackled to life, Polak's voice cutting through the static. "Victor-2, this is Victor-1. We're rolling out. Destination: the town's church. Over."

Whiskey grabbed the microphone and keyed it without missing a beat. "Roger, Victor-1. Victor-2 will follow. Over."

"The church is at 10 o'clock from my position," Polak continued, his tone steady and focused. "We'll lead the way. Out."

Whiskey replaced the mic and glanced back at Kaya. "Looks like we're moving. Buckle up and try not to think too hard about all this, yeah?" He gave her a small, reassuring nod before shifting his focus back to the road ahead.

The JLTV rumbled to life as Whiskey threw it into gear, following closely behind the lead vehicle. As the convoy rolled out and the dust settled, the desolate scene they left behind grew eerily still. Two body bags lay side by side amidst the chaos—one larger, containing the mother, and the smaller one holding her child from when the MTFs first entered the village. Both had succumbed to the relentless grip of the plague, leaving only silence in their wake.

The two JLTVs moved steadily through the village, the engines rumbling against the unsettling silence that hung over the streets. The team scanned their surroundings, the once-bustling settlement now a husk of its former self. Windows were shattered, doors left ajar, and the occasional sound of creaking wood or a distant gust of wind added to the eerie atmosphere.

Inside the lead JLTV, Ice sat in silence, his fingers drumming against the dashboard as he fought to reign in his lingering frustration. Lira sat behind him, stealing glances at his tense posture but choosing not to say anything.

"Church in sight," Polak said directly to Ice and over the radio.

Ice leaned forward in his seat, squinting at the structure as it came into view. The church stood at the far edge of the village, its steeple towering solemnly over the surrounding buildings. Unlike the rest of the dilapidated village, the church appeared intact, its sturdy walls offering a stark contrast to the crumbling homes around it. However, the scene outside told a different story—a sight of pure chaos.

As the JLTVs rolled closer, the operatives took in the frantic activity surrounding the church. Men in what looked like tattered lab coats and rudimentary face masks rushed from villager to villager, administering what appeared to be some kind of medicine. Nurses, equally overworked, tended to patients laid out on makeshift beds and blankets scattered across the ground. Some of the sick were being escorted inside the church, while others, too weak to move, remained outside in the open air, their groans and coughs carrying through the heavy silence.

The operatives slowed their vehicles, their sharp, cautious eyes taking in the chaotic scene. Despite the flurry of activity, a heavy pall of despair hung over the place like a suffocating fog. Ice frowned, pressing the button on his radio. "Everyone except Kaya and her family, dismount. Keep the victors parked—don't want to scare these people more than they already are."

The JLTVs came to a grinding halt, their engines rumbling softly before shutting off. The doors opened in near unison, and one by one, the heavily armed MTF operatives, along with Lira, stepped out. The sight of their imposing gear and weapons drew immediate attention. As they approached the church, the reactions were mixed. Some villagers looked up with expressions of hope, their faces lighting up at the possibility of salvation. Others froze in fear, their gazes fixed on the large shield strapped to Ice's arm. Murmurs spread through the crowd like wildfire.

"That's the Shield Demon…"

"Are they here to help… or make things worse?"

Ice felt the weight of their stares but kept his focus forward, his expression hidden beneath his mask. Pops and Polak flanked him, their eyes scanning the area for any signs of danger. Whiskey lingered behind, his rifle slung but ready, while Ares stayed back near the JLTVs, manning the turret in case anything went wrong.

Lira walked close to Ice, her gaze flicking nervously between the villagers. She could feel their fear and distrust, but she also saw the glimmers of hope in some of their faces. It was a stark reminder of how desperate these people were.

As they neared the church, a nurse tending to a patient outside spotted them and froze, her eyes widening at the sight of the operatives. After a moment of hesitation, she quickly approached, her voice trembling but filled with urgency. "Are… are you here to help? Please, we're overwhelmed—there's so many sick, and it's spreading faster than we can keep up."

Ice stopped, his shield resting against his arm as he looked at her. "That depends. Take me to whoever's in charge."

The nurse nodded quickly and gestured toward the church. "Inside. The Mayor and the head healer are coordinating everything. But… please, if you can do anything—"

"We'll do what we can," Ice interrupted, his tone steady but leaving no room for argument. He turned back to his team. "Let's move. Eyes open."

The operatives nodded and followed Ice, their boots crunching against the dirt as they approached the church doors. Around them, the villagers continued to watch, some whispering quietly, others stepping back, unsure whether to trust or fear the newcomers.

The wooden doors of the church groaned as Ice pushed them open, revealing the dimly lit interior. The pews were crowded with sick villagers lying on makeshift beds or propped against each other, their pale faces contorted in pain. The air was thick with the smell of herbs, sweat, and something far worse—death lingering just beneath the surface.

A man in a tattered coat, likely the head healer, looked up from tending to a patient and froze mid-motion. His face was a mix of exhaustion and fear as he took in the heavily armed figures entering the sacred space. A second figure, dressed in finer but equally disheveled attire, stepped forward cautiously—clearly the mayor.

Ice's imposing presence, enhanced by the glowing shield on his arm and the dark gear of his team, silenced the room. Conversations ceased, and even the groans of the sick seemed to quiet as every eye in the room turned toward the operatives.

"I'm looking for whoever's in charge," Ice said, his voice calm but carrying an edge of authority. His words cut through the silence like a blade.

The man in the fine coat stepped forward hesitantly. "That… that would be me. I'm the Mayor of this village." He swallowed nervously, his eyes darting between Ice and the others. "Are you… are you here to help us?"

Ice nodded slowly, stepping forward. "That depends. What's the situation here? How many are infected? How bad is it?"

The Mayor hesitated, his hands fidgeting as he spoke. "Almost everyone. It started with a few who went to… to harvest from the dragon's body. They came back sick, and it spread like wildfire. The healers are doing what they can, but… it's not enough. People are dying faster than we can treat them."

"And the church?" Pops asked, scanning the room. "Why here?"

"It's the only place large enough to house everyone," the Mayor replied. "We've set up what supplies we have, but…" He gestured helplessly at the crowded space. "We're running out of everything—medicine, clean water, even food. And now it's spreading beyond the village."

Ice clenched his jaw, his eyes scanning the room. "And no one thought to deal with the source? The dragon?"

The Mayor looked away, shame flashing across his face. "We… we didn't know it would be like this. The Hero of the Sword assured us—"

"Of course he did," Ice interrupted, his tone dripping with frustration. He exhaled sharply, his voice leveling out. "Alright. Here's how this is going to work. We've got medical supplies and protective gear. We'll set up a containment perimeter and start treating the sick. But I need to know everything—how many are infected, how it's spreading, and if anyone has immunity."

The Mayor nodded quickly, relief washing over his face. "Of course, anything you need."

Ice turned back to his team, his voice steady and commanding. "Pops, Polak—drive the Victors over here. Whiskey and Ares, help them set up shop. Lira, you're with me."

The team moved without hesitation, their training kicking in as they dispersed to carry out their tasks. Ice turned his attention back to the Mayor and the healer, his expression sharp and unreadable. "Who's in the worst shape here?" he asked bluntly.

The healer exchanged a nervous glance with the Mayor before nodding and motioning for them to follow. "This way," the healer said, leading Ice and Lira toward a secluded section of the church. Three nurses hovered around an elderly woman lying on a makeshift bed, her frail body barely moving as shallow breaths rattled from her chest.

"She's showing the most advanced symptoms," the healer explained, his voice muffled by his rudimentary mask but filled with grim sincerity. "She won't have long… maybe two days at best."

Ice's gaze lingered on the woman for a brief moment, his face unreadable beneath his mask. Then, in a flat, almost clinical tone, he replied, "Make that two hours."

The healer's eyes widened, his expression shifting from shock to outright disbelief. "W-What do you mean by that?!" he stammered.

Ignoring the question, Ice began tapping at the air, his fingers interacting with the glowing interface of his shield menu. Lira glanced at him, her brow furrowed in confusion, while the healer looked on, completely baffled. As Ice scanned through the options in the healing section, frustration flickered across his face—nothing useful. Then, an idea struck him.

"If this shield absorbs things and turns them into upgrades or abilities," he muttered under his breath, his mind racing, "then maybe…"

He didn't finish his sentence. Instead, Ice reached for the IFAK (Individual First Aid Kit) strapped to his tactical belt. The SCP Foundation-standard kit was packed with essential trauma supplies—everything from tourniquets and chest seals to morphine and even a liter of universal O-negative blood. It was designed for emergencies where every second counted.

Without hesitation, Ice held the IFAK against his shield. The shield began to glow, a faint hum resonating as it absorbed the kit entirely. Lira and the healer watched in stunned silence as a series of notifications lit up Ice's HUD, projected onto the inside of his visor.

"New Skill Learned: Blood Sample"

The skill's bio explained it all: The Shield Hero could now take a blood sample from a patient, place it on the shield, and within seconds, a detailed analysis of the patient's vitals, illnesses, and suggested treatments would display on his HUD.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Ice's lips. "Perfect," he muttered. Turning to Lira, he gestured toward the elderly woman. "Lira, blade," he ordered, his tone clipped.

Lira, without hesitation, unsheathed her blade and held it out for him, her expression calm but expectant. Ice stared at her for a moment, his eyebrow arching in disbelief.

Lira tilted her head slightly, shaking the blade in her hand as if to clarify what he had asked for.

"Lira…" Ice began, letting out a heavy, exasperated sigh. "I can't use the damn blade," he hissed through clenched teeth, his frustration barely contained. His shield clanked against his side as if to punctuate his point.

Lira's eyes widened in realization, and her cheeks flushed slightly in embarrassment. "Oh… right. Sorry," she muttered, quickly sliding the blade back into its sheath and pulling out a small dagger from her side pouch instead.

Ice stared at her again, his arms falling limply to his sides as he let out a muffled groan beneath his mask. His mouth hung open in sheer disbelief. "You've got to be shitting me…" he muttered, shaking his head slowly.

Lira quirked an eyebrow, glancing down at the dagger in her hand, her expression a mixture of confusion and innocence. "W-what?" she asked, her tone soft, almost hesitant.

"I can't use any weapons except for the damn shield," Ice explained, his voice laced with exasperation. He gestured to the glowing green orb embedded in the center of his shield, as if that should have made it obvious.

"Oh…" Lira murmured, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red. "Right… I forgot."

Ice shook his head and let out a long sigh. "Anyway… moving on," he muttered, pushing past the moment. He opened his shield's inventory and scrolled through the options until he found what he was looking for. With a quick tap, a small vial materialized from the glowing green orb embedded in the shield.

"Now," Ice began, holding up the vial for emphasis. He turned to Lira, his tone firm but calm. "I need you to—very carefully—draw some blood from her." He gestured with a gloved hand to the elderly woman's index finger. "Just enough to fill this vial. And for the love of all that's holy, don't take her finger off."

Lira blinked at him, momentarily flustered, but nodded quickly. "Got it," she replied, gripping her blade with renewed focus.

Lira knelt beside the elderly woman, her hands steady as she gently took the woman's frail hand in her own. She glanced up at Ice for confirmation, and he gave her a slight nod. With practiced precision, Lira pricked the woman's finger, just enough to draw a single bead of blood. The elderly woman winced but didn't resist, her eyes darting between Lira and Ice with a mix of fear and curiosity.

"Good. Now, bring it here," Ice instructed, holding the glowing shield at an angle. Lira carefully tilted the woman's finger over the vial and let a few drops of blood fall inside. Once the vial was full, Ice pressed it against the green orb embedded in the shield.

The shield reacted instantly, glowing brighter as the blood was absorbed. A stream of data began to scroll across Ice's HUD, listing the woman's vitals, conditions, and—most importantly—the source of her illness.

"Alright, let's see what we're dealing with," Ice muttered, reading through the information. He frowned as he scanned the data. "She's got severe respiratory inflammation, organ strain, and—damn it—exposure to some kind of toxic particulate. Looks like the dragon's decay really did a number on her."

Lira looked up at him, concern etched across her face. "Can we fix it?"

Ice tapped the shield, navigating through the interface. "If this thing is as good as I think it is… yeah, we can. But it's not going to be easy." He selected an option labeled Antidote Synthesis and a progress bar appeared on his HUD, slowly filling.

"While this thing cooks up a cure—" Ice began, only to be interrupted by an alarm tone and a flashing red light on his shield. His shoulders sagged, exasperation dripping from his voice. "Oh, what now?"

He opened the menu, scrolling down to the warning message. His eyes scanned the list, and he began reading aloud:

"Ingredients needed:

-Dragon's Bane Flower

-Crimson Veil Root

-Moonlit Fern

-Ashvine Bark

-Starlight Lotus Seeds

-Pink Tulip."

Ice's voice trailed off, and confusion settled on his face as he stared at the oddly mundane addition at the bottom of the list. He glanced up, raising an eyebrow.

The healer, however, perked up with a surprisingly cheerful tone. "I have everything on that list… except the Pink Tulip," he said, sounding almost proud.

Ice stared at him, deadpan, his voice flat as he replied. "You're kidding, right? You've got all these fancy, mythical-sounding ingredients, and the one thing you're missing… is a Pink Tulip?" He rubbed a hand down his facemask. "I swear, I'm too old for this shit…"

Lira stifled a laugh behind her hand, while Pops muttered from the side, "At this rate, the damn tulip's probably guarded by another dragon."

Ice groaned loudly, throwing his head back in frustration. "If that's the case, I swear I'm calling in an airstrike and leveling the entire area. Flower, dragon, forest—don't care anymore. It's all going up in flames."

Lira couldn't suppress a chuckle this time. "You know, for someone called the Shield Hero, you're awfully quick to jump to total destruction."

Ice shot her a look, his tone dry. "You spend long enough in my line of work, and you'll learn that sometimes a good old-fashioned bombing run solves all your problems."

Pops smirked as he entered the room, casually leaning against a nearby pillar. "Except when it comes to finding a damn tulip, apparently."

Ice spun around, pointing a gloved finger at him, his voice sharp and laced with exasperation. "Don't you dare, Pops. I am this close to losing it—again." He balled his hand into a fist, letting out a frustrated sigh. "This day just keeps getting better and better with every passing second."

Ice took a deep, steadying breath before turning to the Healer and the Mayor, his tone carefully restrained but dripping with barely concealed frustration. "One of you…" he began, visibly holding himself back from a string of expletives. "Tell me where that damned flower is."

The Healer opened his mouth to respond, but Ice quickly raised a hand to cut him off. "And please, for the love of your village—and the surrounding area—don't tell me it's in a cave guarded by a dragon, on a mountain, or any other ridiculous spot, because I swear, if it is, I might actually lose it."

The Healer scratched the back of his head nervously, avoiding Ice's piercing gaze. "There's actually a field of them just about ten minutes on horseback, north in a forest from here," he said, his voice hesitant but hopeful.

Ice blinked, momentarily thrown off by the simplicity of the answer. "A field of them?" he repeated slowly, as if making sure he'd heard correctly.

The Healer nodded quickly. "Yes! They grow naturally in that area. It's not far at all."

Ice exhaled deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose as he muttered under his breath. "Finally, something goes right on this godforsaken day. It's about damn time."

As Ice stormed out of the church, the rest of the team had just finished setting up their containment perimeter and now watched him with a mix of amusement and caution. Whiskey leaned casually against the JLTV, arms crossed and smirking. "What's got him all riled up this time?"

Ares chuckled, setting down a crate filled with containment equipment. "Take your pick. Could be the plague, the villagers, the dragon—hell, maybe even the tulip."

Ice stormed past them, his expression unreadable but his movements sharp and deliberate. Stopping by the JLTV, he placed a hand on the door and turned to the team. "We're driving north into a forest to pick some flowers. Now. Who's with me?"

Without hesitation, Whiskey shot his hand into the air, grinning like a kid in a candy store. "Ooh, ooh! Pick me! I love forest hiking trips!" He even added a little bounce, earning a smirk from Ares.

Ice raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You volunteering or auditioning for cheer squad, Whiskey?"

"Both," Whiskey quipped, earning a chuckle from the rest of the team.

Ice sighed and shook his head, muttering, "It's going to be a long day…" before climbing into the driver's seat of the JLTV, shutting the door with more force than necessary.

Whiskey pushed himself off the side of the vehicle, ready to make his way to Ice's JLTV, when Ares stepped in front of him with a mischievous grin. "Hey, Whiskey, quick question."

Whiskey quirked an eyebrow, already suspicious. "What the bloody hell do ye want now, mate?"

Ares's grin widened, the seriousness in his tone undercut by his amusement. "Just wondering—who should I call?"

Whiskey blinked, clearly confused. "Call who—and for what?"

"In case Ice finally snaps and kills you," Ares replied casually, his grin never faltering. Even Pops, leaning against a nearby crate, couldn't suppress a chuckle.

Whiskey scowled, his face reddening. "Oh, get bent, you bloody wanker!" he snapped, yanking his arm free from Ares's grip as he stormed off toward Ice's JLTV.

Behind him, Ares chuckled to himself and called out, "I'm just trying to be prepared, brother!" Pops added with a smirk, "He's got a point, you know."

Ice opened the door and poked his head out, his glare sharp enough to silence even the faintest hint of laughter from Ares and Pops. "Are you coming already?!" he barked, his voice booming across the makeshift perimeter.

Whiskey raised a hand as he picked up his pace. "Just a second, boss! I'm right with you!" he called back, his tone a mix of urgency and frustration.

Jogging to the JLTV, Whiskey pulled open the passenger door and climbed in, slamming it shut behind him. "Happy now?" he quipped, buckling his seatbelt.

Ice shot him a sidelong glance, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Ecstatic. Let's just get this over with before I lose whatever patience I have left."

Whiskey smirked, leaning back in his seat. "Oh, don't worry, boss. You've got me for company. What could possibly go wrong?"

Ice groaned, muttering under his breath as he started the engine. "Why do I even bother…"

The JLTV rumbled to life, its engine growling as Ice maneuvered it down the rough village road. The tension in the air was palpable, but Whiskey—being Whiskey—didn't seem to care.

He leaned back in his seat, arms crossed casually. "So, what's the plan, boss? Just storm into the forest, grab some flowers, and hope nothing tries to eat us?"

Ice didn't even glance at him, his grip on the wheel tight. "You have a better idea, Whiskey? Because I'm all ears."

Whiskey tilted his head thoughtfully, a smirk creeping onto his face. "Well, I'd suggest we let the green stuff come to us, but something tells me they're not the walking type."

Ice shot him a look, his expression hidden behind his mask but his annoyance unmistakable. "You're hilarious. Really. Remind me to nominate you for comedian of the year."

Whiskey shrugged, his smirk growing. "Hey, just trying to lighten the mood. You've been wound tighter than a bloody spring since we got here."

Ice sighed heavily, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. "Yeah, well, considering we've been cleaning up everyone else's mess since day one, I think I've earned the right to be a little wound up."

Whiskey nodded, his tone softening slightly. "Fair enough, boss. But if you keep letting it eat at you, you're gonna burn out before we even make it back to base."

For a moment, Ice didn't respond. The only sound was the hum of the engine and the crunch of dirt and gravel beneath the JLTV's tires. Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter than before. "I'll be fine. Let's just get this done."

Whiskey leaned his head against the window, staring out at the forest slowly coming into view. "You always say that, Ice. One day, someone's gonna call your bluff."

Ice glanced at him briefly, then returned his focus to the road. "Not today."

"Ice…" Whiskey began, his tone unusually serious. He hesitated, as if weighing his words carefully. "Look, man, I get it. Things have been a real shitshow the past few days, hell, even weeks. But that doesn't give you the right to take it out on us. We're your team. If you need to blow off some steam, go punch a bloody tree or tear up the castle or something. But you've got to dial it back with us, mate. We're here for you, not against you."

Ice didn't respond to Whiskey's words at all, his focus shifting back to the task at hand. His eyes narrowed as he spotted something ahead on the dirt path. "There they are," he muttered, his tone clipped and neutral.

Whiskey let out an audible sigh, leaning his head against the seat. "Of course. Change the subject. Classic Ice," he said under his breath, just loud enough for Ice to hear.

Ice's grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, but he didn't take the bait, his gaze fixed on the forest line ahead. "Stay sharp. We're here for a reason, not to chat," he said, ignoring the jab.

Ice pulled the JLTV to a stop near the edge of the field, killing the engine with a curt motion before stepping out without a word. Whiskey let out another sigh, shaking his head in disappointment as he watched his team leader march toward the field without so much as a glance back.

Muttering under his breath, Whiskey opened the passenger door and climbed out, his boots crunching against the dirt as he stepped down. "Brilliant leadership, as always," he mumbled, slinging his rifle over his shoulder before following Ice.

Ice bent over, reaching for one of the tulips, but just as his fingers brushed the stem, a sharp voice echoed from the woods to their left.

"Well, well, Tretus, would you look at that? We've got ourselves some visitors!" the voice sneered, its tone dripping with malice and accompanied by a cackling laugh that sounded eerily like a harpy's.

Another voice chimed in, equally mocking. "Yeah, look at them, Tartus. They're after our beautiful tulips. How bold of them!"

Ice groaned heavily, his frustration boiling over as he straightened up and turned toward the direction of the voices. "Of course," he muttered under his breath, throwing his arms up in exasperation. "Because why the hell not? Nothing can ever go smoothly, can it?"

Whiskey stepped forward, his rifle at the ready but not raised, his posture cautious. He lifted one hand in a gesture of restraint, his tone as serious as it was wary. "Uhh… lads. Let me give you a fair warning: this is a really bad idea you're cooking up right now. I mean, like, monumentally bad. You don't want to do this. Trust me."

He glanced over at Ice, who was already tightening his grip on the shield, and then back toward the woods. "He's not exactly in the mood for any interruptions today," Whiskey added, his voice tinged with worry. "And by 'not in the mood,' I mean you'll probably regret whatever you're about to try."

The mocking voices from the woods grew louder, ignoring the warning. "Oh, is that so, Tretus? The big hero doesn't like interruptions?"

Tartus chimed in, laughter dripping with mockery. "Poor thing. Maybe we should go say hello properly."

Whiskey sighed and stepped back, his posture relaxed but his voice heavy with resignation. "I warned you…"

The rustling of bushes grew louder, and soon, two hulking figures emerged. They were orcs—crude, brutish creatures. One carried a battered mace that looked like it had seen far better days, while the other held a jagged knife, its blade broken halfway down. Their clothing, if it could even be called that, consisted of ragged scraps barely covering their hulking forms. The one on the right sported a patch over his left eye, adding to his already menacing appearance.

"Hello there, oh great Shield Hero," the one with the eyepatch sneered, his mocking tone practically dripping venom.

The other orc grinned, revealing broken yellowed teeth. "We are Tretus and Tartus, the guardians of the Seven Path Forest," he declared, his voice gravelly and full of misplaced grandeur.

Ice crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly as he eyed the two orcs with disdain. His voice was flat, dripping with sarcasm. "Guardians, huh? Well, Tretus and Tartus, you've got about five seconds to explain why I shouldn't turn your skulls into pencil holders and use your weapons as garden decorations."

The two orcs exchanged a glance before erupting into laughter, their mocking guffaws echoing through the clearing.

Ice's patience snapped like a frayed cable. "Enough of that fucking laughter!" he roared, his voice thunderous. Without hesitation, he launched himself toward the two orcs, his sheer rage radiating off him like heat from a furnace.

As Ice tore into them, fists flying with brutal precision, bones cracked, and teeth flew in every direction. The orcs' laughter quickly turned to screams of pain, which were promptly silenced with a sickening crunch. Whiskey, meanwhile, let out an exaggerated sigh, clearly unfazed by the carnage unfolding behind him.

"Right then," Whiskey muttered to himself, turning toward the tulip field. "Guess I'll let him blow off some steam while I do the actual work." He crouched down and began plucking the pink flowers one by one, humming a tune under his breath.

Behind him, the cacophony of violence continued. The unmistakable sound of a nose ring being ripped out was followed by an orc's pained howl. A moment later, something—a tooth, maybe—whizzed past Whiskey's head and landed in the grass. He didn't even flinch.

"Yep, definitely not getting involved," Whiskey muttered, tossing another tulip into the small bundle in his arms. He paused briefly as a particularly loud scream echoed through the forest, only to shake his head and keep going. "Bloody hell, sounds like he's remodeling their faces."

By the time Whiskey straightened up, arms full of tulips, Ice stood over the crumpled, groaning forms of the two orcs. Blood dripped from his gloves, and his chest heaved with every breath. His glare could've set the forest on fire.

"Done yet?" Whiskey asked casually, holding up the tulips with a smirk. "Because I'm about ready to head back. Got what we came for."

Ice's head snapped toward him, his voice a growl. "Oh, you're ready, huh? Great fucking teamwork, Whiskey. Real helpful of you to pick flowers while I turned these two into fertilizer!

"Always a pleasure to be helpful, boss," Whiskey said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He made a mock fist, jabbing it into the air like a cheerleader, adding a little bounce for extra effect. "Go team Shield Hero, right? Rah, rah, rah!"

Ice's glare hardened, his fists tightening further. "You're really testing me, Whiskey."

Whiskey let out an exaggerated sigh, waving him off dismissively as he tossed the tulips into the back seat of the JLTV. "Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, boss," he muttered, his tone dripping with frustration. "Let's just get back already. I don't even know why I came along in the first place. Bloody fucking hell."

Ice took a threatening step forward, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "You want to keep running that mouth, Whiskey? Because I've still got some rage to work out, and you're standing real close."

Whiskey removed his helmet and gas mask, revealing a glare that was rarely seen from the usually laid-back British operative. His piercing eyes locked onto Ice with an intensity that silenced the air around them. "Are you threatening me, Ice?" Whiskey asked, his tone low, sharp, and icy enough to send a chill through anyone who heard it.

Ice's glare could've cut steel, his voice coming out as a low, dangerous growl. "If I was threatening you, Whiskey, you wouldn't be breathing right now."

Whiskey's jaw tightened as he took a deliberate step closer, his eyes locked onto Ice's like the edge of a drawn blade. "Oh, is that right? You think you scare me, Ice? I've stared down worse things than you, and unlike you, I don't lose my goddamn mind every time something goes sideways."

Ice stepped forward, his movements sharp and deliberate, closing the distance between them. "Watch your mouth, Whiskey. I've been holding this team together while you've been cracking jokes and playing the smartass. Without me, you're nothing more than a body waiting to drop."

Whiskey's lip curled, his tone venomous. "Holding the team together? You're tearing it apart! Look around, Ice! Everyone's walking on eggshells because of you. They're more afraid of their leader than the fucking enemies out there. Is that the kind of command you're so proud of?"

Ice's fists clenched at his sides, the veins in his arms bulging as his restraint wore thin. "You think you've got it all figured out, don't you? You don't know what it's like to carry the weight of every damn decision. One mistake, and it's not just me who dies—it's all of you. So don't you dare talk to me about what I'm proud of."

Whiskey's voice dropped to a deadly whisper, his eyes burning with cold fury. "And what happens when the biggest mistake you make is you, Ice? You're so busy losing your shit and barking orders that you're blind to the fact that we're holding you together, not the other way around."

Ice didn't flinch, his jaw tightening further, his breaths coming heavier and more deliberate. "Say that again," he hissed, the threat in his tone palpable.

Whiskey leaned in, his voice a razor's edge. "You. Are. The. Problem. And if you don't sort your head out, one of us is going to have to."

The air between them was electric, charged with unrestrained fury. For a moment, it seemed like the two men were on the verge of tearing into each other, years of trust and camaraderie crumbling under the weight of unchecked rage.

Finally, Ice exhaled sharply, turning his back on Whiskey and stalking toward the JLTV. "Get in the damn vehicle," he barked, his voice cold and final. "Before I decide to show you exactly how much of a problem I can be."

Whiskey hesitated, his own fury simmering just beneath the surface. He watched Ice climb into the driver's seat, the door slamming shut with enough force to rattle the frame. He put the mask and Helmet back on and with a muttered curse, Whiskey followed, slamming the passenger door just as hard.

The silence in the vehicle was deafening as the engine rumbled to life. Both men sat in seething anger, their mutual resentment thick enough to choke on. Neither spoke as the JLTV rolled forward, the tension inside a smoldering powder keg waiting for the next spark.

"Just so you know," Whiskey began, his voice like a blade made of ice, cutting through the suffocating silence. He gestured sharply toward the glowing shield on Ice's arm, his piercing gaze never wavering. "If that thing—whatever the hell it is—tries to take control again, I won't hesitate to put you down."

Ice's grip on the wheel tightened, the leather of his gloves creaking under the pressure. He didn't turn to face Whiskey, but his knuckles went white against the steering column. His voice, low and venomous, filled the cabin. "You think you're capable of pulling that trigger, Whiskey?"

Whiskey leaned back in his seat, his jaw tight, his eyes cold and unflinching. "I don't think, Ice. I know. And if it comes down to saving this team—or this world—over you, don't think for a second I wouldn't do it."

Ice let out a bitter laugh, though there was no humor in it, just raw, simmering anger. "You're a real piece of work, you know that? You think this shield is a burden? Try living with it every second of every goddamn day. And now you're threatening me like I'm the enemy?"

Whiskey crossed his arms, his tone razor-sharp as he tapped his temple with two fingers for emphasis. "You're not the enemy yet. But you keep letting that thing screw with your head, and it's only a matter of time. I'm just making sure you know exactly where I stand, Ice. Because when push comes to shove, I'll do what needs to be done."

Ice slammed the brakes, the JLTV screeching to a halt, sending both men jerking forward. He finally turned to Whiskey, his expression a storm of restrained fury. "If you've got a problem with me, you'd better handle it right here, right now. Otherwise, keep your damn threats to yourself."

The two men locked eyes, the air between them crackling with tension. Whiskey's glare didn't falter as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "It's not a threat, Ice. It's a promise."

The silence inside the JLTV was deafening, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Whiskey leaned back in his seat, his gaze fixed on Ice, and then, with a voice low and dripping with accusation, he said, "You talk about all this like you're the only one carrying the weight. Like you're the only one who's ever had to sacrifice."

Ice's hands tightened around the steering wheel, his knuckles white as he suddenly slammed the brakes, bringing the JLTV to an abrupt halt. The vehicle lurched forward, and both men were thrown against their restraints. Ice turned his head slowly, his glare boring into Whiskey with a cold, unrelenting fury.

"You dare talk to me about sacrifice?" Ice growled, his voice low and venomous. He pointed a gloved finger at Whiskey, his hand trembling from restrained anger. "You, who's sitting there throwing words around like they mean something? You don't know the first damn thing about sacrifice."

Whiskey didn't flinch, meeting Ice's glare with one of his own. "Oh, don't I?" he shot back, his voice rising, each word dripping with indignation. "You think I haven't bled for this team? That I haven't lost people, made choices that haunt me every damn day? You think you're the only one who's seen hell, Ice?"

Ice let out a bitter, humorless laugh, leaning in closer, his eyes cold and sharp. "You have no idea," he growled, his voice low but filled with venom. "Sacrifice isn't just some noble speech or a quick death, Whiskey. It's waking up every goddamn day with the weight of choices that ripped you apart. It's giving everything—everything—and still having to keep going, even when there's nothing left of you."

Whiskey didn't back down. He leaned in further, his tone sharp as a blade. "And you think I haven't felt that?" he snapped, his words laced with anger. "Every person we couldn't save, every mission that went to shit—it's all up here!" He jabbed a finger at his temple for emphasis, his voice rising to a shout. "You're not the only one carrying scars, Ice!"

Before Ice could respond, Whiskey jabbed his finger hard into Ice's shoulder, as if trying to hammer his point home. "You hear me? You don't own sacrifice. You're not the only one who's been through hell!"

Ice's expression darkened further, his shoulders tensing as if he were moments away from snapping. "Don't you dare," he hissed, his voice dropping to an almost predatory tone, "lecture me about sacrifice."

Whiskey's glare didn't waver, his jaw clenched tight. "Then stop acting like the rest of us haven't paid the price too," he fired back, full on screaming from the bottom of his lungs.

The tension in the air was suffocating, their words like loaded weapons pointed at each other. For a long moment, neither moved, neither backed down, the only sound the hum of the engine and their heavy breathing.

The silence between them grew thicker, the hum of the engine a faint backdrop to the unspoken challenges in their glares. Ice finally broke it, his voice steady but laced with a cold fury. "You think I don't see what this job has done to all of us? You think I don't know the weight you're carrying? Fine. But don't ever—ever—question if I understand sacrifice."

Whiskey's jaw tightened, his breathing heavy, but he didn't reply immediately. He shifted slightly, his hands resting tensely on his lap, before finally speaking, his voice calmer but still firm. "I'm not questioning your pain, Ice. I'm questioning the way you're handling it. The way you're handling us. You're not the only one who's had to shoulder the load, but the way you've been acting… it's like you think you're the only one still standing."

Ice leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing, but he didn't interrupt. Whiskey pressed on. "I'm not here to undermine you. Hell, I respect you more than I'll ever say out loud, but if you keep pushing us like this, if you keep taking every blow like it's yours alone to bear, you'll break this team before the enemy even gets the chance."

Ice's hand flexed near his shield, the tension in his body visible as he processed Whiskey's words. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and filled with a weariness that wasn't there before. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't see how close to the edge we all are? I'm trying to keep us alive, Whiskey. Every move I make, every decision, it's to get us through this shitstorm in one piece."

"And we're with you on that," Whiskey shot back, his tone softening but still firm. "But we're not your punching bags, mate. You want to rage, you want to scream at the world for what it's done? Fine. But don't take it out on us. We're your team, Ice. Your brothers—and sister, in Lira's case. You don't have to carry this alone."

Ice stared at him, his expression unreadable behind the mask, but his shoulders seemed to relax just slightly. "I don't need a damn pep talk, Whiskey," he muttered, his tone losing some of its edge.

"Good," Whiskey replied, smirking faintly. "'Cause I wasn't giving one. Just telling it like it is."

Another moment of silence passed between them before Ice let out a heavy sigh. "Let's just get this over with," he muttered, turning back to the wheel.

Whiskey nodded, leaning back in his seat. "That's the plan, boss."

As Ice started the engine, the JLTV rumbled to life, the tension between them not entirely gone but tempered by a grudging understanding. For now, at least, the storm had passed.

The JLTV rumbled along the uneven dirt road, the tension inside so thick it felt like a physical weight pressing down on both men. Neither Ice nor Whiskey spoke as the vehicle bounced over roots and ruts, the only sounds being the growl of the engine and the occasional clink of gear shifting in the back. The forest around them seemed unnaturally still, the trees casting long, jagged shadows across their path as the sun dipped lower on the horizon.

Whiskey's fingers tapped against his thigh in a nervous rhythm, the only outward sign of his unease. Ice's hands gripped the wheel with white-knuckled intensity, his gaze locked forward, laser-focused on the road ahead. His jaw was clenched so tightly that it looked as though it might shatter under the strain.

The air between them was electric, the earlier conversation still hanging over them like a storm cloud. Whiskey stole a glance at Ice, but his team leader didn't so much as blink. His gaze was hard, unyielding, like he was trying to will away every problem they'd faced in the last few hours.

When the JLTV hit a particularly deep rut, the vehicle lurched violently, sending the tulips in the back seat bouncing. Whiskey instinctively reached back to steady them but stopped halfway, his hand dropping into his lap.

The JLTV crested a small hill, and the village came into view. Even from a distance, the desolation was palpable. Smoke still rose lazily from the few fires burning, but the streets were eerily empty. The sight of the makeshift barricades and abandoned wagons outside the church did little to ease the oppressive atmosphere.

The JLTV rolled past a burnt-out wagon, its charred remains creaking in the faint breeze. Ice parked near the second vehicle, the engine rumbling softly before he finally killed it. The silence that followed was deafening.

Both JLTV doors swung open almost simultaneously, and Pops and Ares instinctively moved forward, ready to help unload the tulips. But they froze mid-step when Whiskey stormed past them, his body language radiating barely-contained rage. "Out of my fucking way!" he snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut steel. He didn't so much as glance at them, his steps purposeful and heavy, each one a declaration of his fury as he disappeared toward the perimeter.

Pops and Ares exchanged uneasy glances, their apprehension mirroring one another's thoughts. Polak, standing at the containment perimeter, let out a low whistle, his sharp eyes tracking Whiskey's tense figure.

"Not a ride I would've wanted to be on," Ares muttered, his tone quieter than usual as he kept his gaze locked on the retreating figure of Whiskey.

Pops exhaled slowly, nodding in agreement, his focus shifting to Ice, who had begun unloading the tulips from the JLTV. Ice moved with deliberate, almost robotic precision, his shoulders stiff and his grip on the crate white-knuckled. "Yeah," Pops replied, his voice low. "That kind of silence usually means someone's about to break—or already has."

Polak approached cautiously, his gaze darting between Ice and the direction Whiskey had gone. "So, what the hell happened out there?" he asked, his tone edged with concern.

Pops shook his head, keeping his voice steady. "Everything but bonding," he muttered. His eyes followed Ice, who was now muttering something under his breath, his movements rigid and purposeful, as if holding himself together by sheer force of will.

"Should we… you know… step in?" Ares asked hesitantly, glancing between Pops and Polak, the tension in his voice cutting through the uneasy quiet.

Pops let out a slow breath, his gaze shifting warily to Ice, who was methodically gathering the tulips scattered across the backseat of the JLTV. "I don't know," he muttered, his tone low and laced with concern. "But if he snaps this time… someone might actually die today."

Ice's movements were deliberate, almost too controlled, as if every action was an effort to suppress whatever storm was brewing inside him. Pops exchanged another glance with Polak, who merely shrugged, his expression grim.

"Let's just hope it's not one of us," Ares murmured, his grip tightening on his rifle.

Pops glanced in the direction Whiskey had stormed off, his expression dark. "Judging by how Whiskey bolted past us like a damn freight train, I'd say those two aren't exactly best mates right now. Probably couldn't keep his mouth shut… as usual."

Polak sighed, shaking his head. "Whiskey's got a gift for saying the wrong thing at the worst time. But Ice… he's not exactly Mr. Chill right now, either."

"Yeah, no kidding," Ares muttered, his eyes flicking back to Ice, who was still unloading the tulips with that unnervingly controlled precision. "This whole day feels like it's balancing on a knife's edge."

"Let's just hope nobody tips it over," Pops added, his voice grim.

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Authors Note:

If you're wondering, it is exactly 25'673 words long without the Authors note and the reviews. Yes, this is a big boy...

So hello! I am back and Indeed I haven't abandoned this piece of Fiction. As I explained in my Eighty-Six Fic, I went through Eye surgery just some days ago and wasn't able to read, write and or update any chapters as is this one. Hehe.

As a way to say Sorry, I plastered two cuaps togetger and made this thicc boy right here. The second half has been a emotional rollercoaster ride, I get it but I think this is nessecary for the Story lore and to strengthen the ties between the Operatives and locals. Maybe I overdid it somewhat with Ice snapping but I liked it as it was.

I hope you guys enjoy it and tell me what you think in the review. I'm happy to read them all!

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Reviews:

RavenBlu—As you see, the Apache seems to be a great tool to deal with any kinds of Dragons Lmao. Adding the fact that the Apache is American I can say lines like "Back in my day, we didn't use swords and spears to defeat Dragons. We used our second amendment."

triscythe59—As you see, no Motoyasu here in this Chapter. Maybe next chapter... who knows hehe. Anyways, thanks for the review and again I'm sorry for letting you guys wait for this so long.