"Lucy! I told you not to- Are those ammo from Hibana's X-KAIROS? Shit, no, Lucy, do not drop them, just put them down slowly…"
- Dusk
Minato, Japan
Grim's voice broke the silence, cold and dispassionate as he stood over the now-lifeless Shimura.
"Seems someone did my job for me," he remarked.
Azami, who had been watching the exchange quietly, turned her gaze to the two devices—Shimura's tablet and the data key—now in Hibana's hands.
"What should we do with these?" she asked, her voice calm but tinged with curiosity as Grim stepped forward, his attention sharp as ever.
"I'll take both."
Lion crossed his arms, his tone firm.
"No. We'll handle the information from both devices. You'll get what you need, but we'll be keeping control of the intel. We'll give you the info when we're done analysing it. You'll have what you want, but we keep both."
"And why would I trust you to share that intel?"
Tubarão, sensing the rising tension, stepped in smoothly, his voice calm as he spoke, "Let's share. NIGHTHAVEN can have one but leave the other one for Rainbow."
To everyone's surprise, Grim nodded.
"I'll take the tablet. I'll make sure my boss shares the data from it, but only after you give us what you find on the data key."
"I didn't expect you to be this cooperative, Grim," Hibana admitted, half-joking but entirely relieved.
"Don't mistake cooperation for camaraderie," Grim replied as he took the tablet, turned and left.
The tension in the warehouse remained thick, even after Grim's departure. Dokkaebi slammed her laptop shut, her frustration evident as she glared at Dusk.
"You pulled me out of there!" she snapped at the Singaporean, voice rising, "I was this fucking close to getting the full data… You've no idea how important that information is!"
"The sniper was going to hit you. You were too exposed."
"You think I don't know the risks? But that data could have saved us weeks of work. Weeks, Dusk! You could've just trusted me to finish the hack. I know what I'm doing."
Dusk's expression shifted, the calm beginning to crack. His jaw tightened.
"I'm sorry, Dokkaebi, but that data is not worth your life. I don't care who's hacking the data, I'm not standing around watching my team-mates get themselves killed."
"I'm trying to do my job, Dusk! You don't get it. We need that intel, and if it costs me a little risk, so be it. But you… You think I don't know how to make decisions?"
Dusk was caught off-guard by what Dokkaebi was implying, but before the argument could escalate further, Doc stepped between them, his voice steady and calm.
"Enough, both of you. Dusk was right. You were exposed. We can't afford to lose you over data. That's not why we're here."
Dokkaebi opened her mouth to argue but hesitated. The tension didn't dissipate, but it hung there, unresolved. Dokkaebi exhaled slowly, her posture stiff but subdued.
"Fine," she muttered, turning away, "But don't ever pull me from a hack again unless it's really necessary."
Dusk didn't respond, but the look he gave her spoke volumes. The quiet tension remained between them as the rest of the team began to reorganize.
"Well, now that things have settled down, I'll need to report this situation to my boss," Azami said, her voice calm but businesslike.
"Hey, Azami, you mentioned Yahata earlier. Do you work for Masayuki Yahata, the founder and CEO of Yahata Data Security?" Dusk asked.
"Yes. I'm his personal bodyguard."
Hibana, always the one to offer clarity, added, "Azami's... well, not just a bodyguard. She's part of Yahata's inner circle, more than just a protector. Her skills go beyond what you'd expect."
"I've been hearing stories about a recent agreement between the Singapore Armed Forces and Yahata Data Security," Dusk explained, "That's how I heard about your company."
"Indeed. If Rainbow is ever in Japan next time, you can visit our headquarters. Yahata-san is well aware of the type of situations Rainbow gets into. He might be able to offer some insights," Azami offered.
"We'll consider it, if we have the time," Hibana quickly replied.
The subtle tension in the air didn't go unnoticed by Doc. He has picked up on the slight unease between Hibana and Azami, but remained silent, his expression neutral.
Over the Pacific Ocean
Dokkaebi sat at the far end of the cabin, her laptop open but her mind elsewhere. Her fingers hovered over the keys, but her eyes rarely left the screen. She wasn't really working. Not really.
The team was mostly quiet, but the occasional murmurs between Lion and Tubarão drifted her way. Dusk and Lucy were seated on the opposite side, away from her. Dusk was deep in conversation with the two of them, his voice low but steady, his body language calm as usual.
Dokkaebi glanced at him, just for a moment. He didn't seem to be angry. In fact, he rarely was. But then again, he has never really lost his patience with anyone before either. Not like that.
I shouldn't have snapped at him, she thought, her lips pressed in a thin line. He was just trying to help, and I—
The guilt hit her harder than she expected. She had let her frustration with the destroyed server cloud her judgment, and in the end, Dusk had been right. She should have been more grateful. He had put her life first, even when she hadn't been willing to admit how dangerous the situation was.
Her eyes flicked back to him. Dusk seemed unbothered, his attention now on Lion's joke. Dokkaebi bit her lip, feeling the weight of something she couldn't quite name. There was a growing sense that despite all the shared missions, she wasn't truly part of the team. Not like them.
She glanced back at her laptop, not really seeing anything on the screen. It was going to take more than data and hacking to prove herself.
Lion was laughing as he recounted an old story, his voice carrying across the low hum of conversation.
"I tell you, I pissed Thatcher off one time, and the next thing I knew, I was eating dirt after a right hook to the face. Almost started a full-blown brawl between the GIGN and the SAS right there in the middle of the training grounds."
Tubarão burst out laughing, shaking his head in disbelief. Even Dusk cracked a small smile, glancing at Lion with genuine amusement. The soft, steady breathing of Lucy next to him seemed to punctuate the moment. The Belgian Malinois sat quietly, her head tilted in mild curiosity, almost as if she understood the absurdity of the story.
"Can't believe you really mouthed off to Thatcher?"
Lion grinned, shrugging. "What can I say? I was stupid. Thought I could get away with it. But trust me, I've learned to be a lot more mindful of my words since then. You don't mess with a guy like Thatcher unless you're ready for a lesson."
Tubarão laughed again.
"I can't even picture you talking back to him. You've got guts, Lion."
Dusk's quiet laugh joined in. Even Lucy gave a soft bark, almost as if she was in on the joke. Lion, still grinning, shifted his gaze to Dusk.
"But seriously," he continued, his tone turning more serious, "when I first met you, Dusk, I didn't think much of you. But you can fight. Not many can take on what you've done and walk away with their head held high."
"I prefer showing people what I'm capable of, rather than asking for their respect immediately."
Lion nodded, the tone between them now solidifying into something like camaraderie, "Well, just so you know, I've got your back from now on."
Dusk gave him a small nod, his eyes glinting with quiet understanding. It wasn't about words—it never was.
Hereford, England
Three days after the mission to Japan, Hibana sat alone in the briefing room, her tablet in hand as she sifted through the latest operator reviews. The feedback on Dusk was largely neutral. Several operators mentioned his quiet demeanor and tactical expertise, while others praised his decisiveness in the field. A few comments stood out, especially from those who had worked with him on Thermite's mission to the oil rig a few weeks ago. Even Thermite himself had written a glowing review of Dusk's performance.
One particular report caught her eye: Lion's. His assessment was neutral, but it leaned towards approving. Hibana set the tablet down, her fingers drumming thoughtfully on the desk. Lion, despite being one of the younger operators, was notoriously hard to impress. For Dusk to earn his approval spoke volumes.
With a slight frown, Hibana stood up and walked over to the monitor in the corner of the briefing room. She plugged in a drive and began pulling up training footage. The screen flickered to life, showing Dusk alongside other recruits, moving through a series of drills. The operators were using rubber rounds against cardboard targets, practicing their response times and accuracy.
As she watched the video, Hibana couldn't help but notice the precision with which Dusk moved through the exercise. His reactions were those of a seasoned soldier, something one would not expect from a soldier whose country has neither experienced war nor mass violence in the 21st century. His expression was focused, as if ready to kill without hesitation. Yet, every time his crosshairs aligned with a target, there was a brief but noticeable hesitation. In an almost imperceptible shift, his aim would adjust towards non-lethal areas of the cardboard targets.
The contrast was striking. He was suppressing something instinctual. Hibana leaned closer to the screen, her eyes narrowing. Dusk's movements were so fluid, so natural, that it made her wonder if he even realized what he was doing.
Could it be that Dusk was unconsciously suppressing a more dangerous side of himself? Hibana exhaled slowly, shaking her head as she stepped back from the screen. The suspicion wouldn't leave her, but she didn't think it was significant enough to dwell on.
Either way, there was a decision to be made. It was clear that Dusk was a team player who had seamlessly integrated into Rainbow's operations. Despite some occasional faults, he was becoming a reliable asset. Hibana exhaled slowly, her decision firming up in her mind. She just hoped Doc wouldn't mind if she made the first move.
Later that afternoon, Hibana stood in John Clark's office with Doc beside her. The director's sharp gaze met her eyes as he leaned forward, folding his arms across his chest.
"Is your decision final?" he asked, his voice steady but probing.
Hibana nodded with resolve, her posture unwavering.
"Yes. Dusk has proven his versatility, although there are some areas we'll need to work on. I want him in Viperstrike. Given his experience with rescue operations, I also believe he could contribute to Wolfguard, particularly in non-combat situations, like crisis zones."
"I hate to lose Dusk to Hibana's squad, but we appreciate the flexibility she offers," Doc added.
Clark's gaze softened for a moment, his tone neutral but approving.
"I'll agree to both. Dusk will be part of Viperstrike but will also be allocated to Wolfguard as needed."
"Thank you, Director," Hibana replied, offering a nod of gratitude. She looked over at Doc, then returned her focus to Clark, "I'll make sure Dusk knows the decision."
Clark gave a sharp nod in acknowledgment.
Dokkaebi sat at one of the workstations in the R lab, her eyes scanning the screen in front of her but not really seeing the data she had ripped from Shimura's data key. The numbers blurred together as her mind replayed the events in Japan. She had been so quick to lash out at Dusk despite him pulling her out of harm's way, saving her life only to get yelled at for interrupting her work. Her fingers tapped restlessly against the edge of her desk.
"I messed up," she admitted, her voice barely audible.
Mira glanced up from calibrating a new gadget, her sharp gaze softening as she noticed the tone in Dokkaebi's voice.
"What do you mean?"
Dokkaebi hesitated, looking down at the data key in her hands. She hadn't really talked to anyone about it, too caught up in the adrenaline and the mission. Now, the guilt settled in heavy.
"When Dusk pulled me out of that firefight in Japan... I yelled at him. He was just trying to keep me safe. And I..."
Mira put down her equipment, stepping closer, a gentle smile on her face as she placed a reassuring hand on the younger woman's shoulder.
"You were frustrated. I get it. But, Dokkaebi, you've gotta remember: he saved you. He's not perfect but neither are you. Everyone has their moments of messing up."
"I didn't even apologize. I mean, I know he's not the type to hold a grudge, but... I still feel like I messed up."
From the corner of the lab, Echo looked over at them, his expression as neutral as always as he responded, "He probably doesn't care. Given Dusk's personality, he's probably already forgiven you without saying anything."
Dokkaebi glanced at him, not fully convinced.
"I hope so. But still… I don't want him to think I don't appreciate what he did."
"Then go talk to him. Dusk may be quiet, but he's straightforward. If you apologize, he'll respect it."
"Just make sure the last of his known languages isn't in your native tongue if you don't want him hearing something you said. Echo found out the hard way," Mira commented cheerfully, earning an annoyed scowl from the Japanese drone operator, "Hibana mentioned that Dusk actually knows nearly as many languages as she does, although he's not as fluent as she is in all of them."
Dokkaebi took a deep breath, her resolve slowly building. She nodded, pushing away the feeling of discomfort. Maybe she had messed up, but it wasn't too late to make it right. She just had to face it.
Dusk and Lucy walked into the armory, greeted by the familiar scent of steel and oil—until a strange, pungent odor hit them. It was like a cross between burnt plastic and something very expired. Dusk raised an eyebrow, following the trail of fumes to a makeshift lab in the lower levels of Hereford. There, thick, green smoke was oozing from a doorway.
Before he could get any closer, a voice barked from within.
"Stay back, Dusk!"
It was Fenrir, stumbling out of the lab, looking like he had just lost a fight with a chemistry set.
"This batch is bad," Fenrir muttered, waving his hand in front of his face like that would make the smoke go away, "I think I might have created a new form of toxic waste. And I will be collapsing right about now."
And with that, Fenrir collapsed face-first into the floor. Dusk stared at the chemist with incredulity before pulling out his communicator.
"Medical, we've got a code 'science experiment gone horribly wrong' down in the armory."
By the time Doc and Lion arrived, Fenrir was still on the floor, mumbling about "fumes in the vents" and "potential catastrophic chemical reactions."
"You're not going anywhere tonight, Fenrir. Medical ward, now," Doc said sternly as he and Dusk helped the chemist up.
Fenrir, despite looking like he had been steamrolled by a truck, waved his hand weakly, complaining, "No, no... the vents! Lesion and Lion need to purge them, or the whole base will be breathing in my failure."
"You're more worried about the air vents than your own health?"
"Well, yeah. I can recover from a little poisoning. But if I've polluted the air supply, we've got a bigger problem."
Dusk, watching from the side, let out a half-laugh, "Guess it's lucky I showed up, huh? You might've poisoned the whole team with your 'toxic waste' if I hadn't."
"Yeah," Fenrir grumbled, "Lucky. But I swear I'm this close to discovering a breakthrough... though I might need an oxygen mask next time."
"Don't get too close to him. He'll try to make you his human test subject next," Lion joked.
Fenrir looked offended as he replied, "How rude! I always test my creations on myself first."
"Fenrir's always been like this. He'll kill himself trying to prove he can be trusted," Doc explained to Dusk, "Some of us have already told him that he doesn't have to prove his sincerity to everyone as long as he knows he's doing the right thing, but I guess the Keres Legion left quite a stigma on him."
"Yeah," Dusk said with a chuckle, "You've got a way of getting attention, Fenrir. But seriously, take it easy for once."
Doc agreed, "We'll get the vents purged, but you're not going anywhere until I say so."
"Fine, fine... but hurry it up. I think I'm about to develop a new body odor..."
Dokkaebi took a deep breath as she made her way down the long corridor leading to the training grounds. She had spent the past few days replaying the mission in Japan over and over in her head. Each time, her stomach churned with guilt over how she had lashed out at Dusk after he saved her life. The more she thought about it, the clearer it became that she had been wrong. He had acted calmly and professionally while she had been reckless and emotional. She owed him an apology, even if it meant swallowing her pride.
As she rounded a corner, she spotted Phaya leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his eyes focused on the door to the training room with a quiet intensity. Seeing him made her pause.
"Phaya," she said, trying to sound casual but unable to hide the tension in her voice.
Phaya looked up, offering a brief smile. His gaze flickered over her, sharp and attentive.
"Dokkaebi," he greeted, his tone friendly but with an underlying distance, "How was the mission? I heard you were in Japan."
Dokkaebi stiffened slightly at the mention of the mission but managed a nod. "Yeah. It was… intense."
She forced a smile, then added, "You did well on your last mission, too, right? The senior operators were impressed. Not bad for a rookie."
Phaya gave a slight shrug, his expression neutral.
"Just doing my job. Nothing extraordinary."
He shifted his weight slightly, then added with a quiet, almost offhand tone, "I've heard some things about you and Dusk, though. Seems like there's a bit of tension between you two."
Dokkaebi's stomach tightened. She had hoped to avoid talking about it with anyone, least of all Phaya. The last thing she needed was him prying into her personal matters. Still, she met his gaze, masking her unease with a professional calm.
"What do you mean?" she asked, keeping her tone measured.
"I'm just curious. You two don't exactly seem to be on the same page."
"It's not a big deal," she replied quickly, trying to downplay it.
"Maybe. But you know, Dusk's not the type to take risks. He always plays it safe."
"Phaya, you don't know what you're talking about. Dusk put himself in danger to pull me out of there. I was being stubborn, and he didn't hesitate."
"I get it. He did what he had to do, but sometimes playing it safe can be more of a liability than anything else."
"I trust him, Phaya. You don't have to worry about Dusk."
Phaya's gaze lingered on her, his smile still there, but now it seemed sharper, more knowing.
"I'm not saying you shouldn't trust him. Just… be careful, okay?"
Dokkaebi felt a brief spark of irritation at his insinuation, but her professionalism kicked in. She took a deep breath, maintaining her composure as she replied, "I'll be fine."
She turned, resuming her walk toward the training grounds, but Phaya wasn't ready to let it go.
"So, still planning to find Dusk?" he asked, his voice carrying a trace of curiosity.
Dokkaebi sighed, glancing over her shoulder. "What's it to you?"
"Just making sure you're not getting into anything you can't handle."
Dokkaebi eyed him warily, a flicker of suspicion crossing her mind.
"You've been keeping track of my business a lot lately."
"I care," Phaya said, his voice smooth but with a hint of something else underneath, "Just trying to look out for you."
"Look out for me? You're not my babysitter, Phaya."
"Maybe not. But you should know, I'm just looking out for your interests. Dusk might be a solid guy, but when it comes to certain things, he can be… predictable."
Dokkaebi's steps slowed, but she kept her face neutral, determined not to let her emotions show. The way Phaya spoke about Dusk didn't sit well with her, but she kept her voice steady, avoiding any sign of offense.
"You don't know him the way I do."
Phaya met her gaze evenly, though there was a flicker of something hidden beneath the surface.
"Just don't let him get you into more trouble than it's worth. That's all."
Dokkaebi didn't respond immediately. She studied him for a moment, her suspicion still there but buried under a layer of professionalism. Finally, she gave him a cool nod and continued on her way, but Phaya's words lingered in her mind, gnawing at the back of her thoughts. He had been subtle, but the insinuation was clear: his opinion of Dusk wasn't exactly glowing.
The more she thought about it, the more she realized how calculated his remarks had been. It was almost as if he was trying to plant a seed of doubt in her mind. His criticism of Dusk's approach to risk-taking felt less like an observation and more like an attempt to drive a wedge between them.
She frowned slightly, trying to push the thoughts aside. It wasn't lost on her that Phaya had behaved differently today compared to when he first arrived at Rainbow earlier this year. Back then, his comments toward her had been laced with a subtle, almost flirtatious undertone. But today? He had been all business. There were no lingering glances, no snide remarks. Just a quiet intensity that felt more like scrutiny than interest.
She snorted softly under her breath. This is ridiculous. Phaya had no real grounds to criticize Dusk or her relationship with him. To Dokkaebi, Dusk was just a colleague, someone she had developed a strong working relationship over time. She knew Dusk thought the same. The more she thought about Phaya's words, the more it dawned on her: Phaya's jealousy and one-sided hatred for Dusk might be causing him to try creating tension between them. And for what?
Dokkaebi rolled her eyes as she quickened her pace. Phaya's still a man-child, she thought to herself.
The soft sound of paws padding against the concrete echoed through the corridors of the Rainbow Six kennels.
Dusk stood in front of a training pen, a Cane Corso at his side, carefully adjusting the harness on the dog's back. The rest of the dogs—German Shepherds, Dobermans, and a few more Malinois—milled about, following his every movement. Lucy, of course, was lounging near the edge of the pen, watching her fellow canines with an air of lazy superiority, having earned the undivided respect of every dog in the kennel to claim the title of "top dog"—perhaps because the others could sense the raw power beneath her calm exterior. After all, she'd been trained as a fighting dog before she was rescued, and something in her still carried that intensity.
Dusk had been put in charge of the canine training program, a task he carried with the quiet dedication he brought to everything. He was as comfortable with the dogs as he was with his weapons, and it showed. But as much as Dusk was at ease with the animals, the tense air in the kennels wasn't lost on him. He could feel it before he even heard her footsteps—Dokkaebi was nearby, and there was something different in the way she was approaching. He didn't need to look up to know she was hesitating.
"Hey, Dusk," her voice called out, but it wasn't the usual playful tone.
Dusk finally turned, leaning against the side of the pen. Dokkaebi awkwardly cleared her throat, fidgeting with her hands as she glanced at the dogs and then back at Dusk.
"You know, I was thinking… about that mission in Tokyo. You remember the sniper, right? I guess I kind of, uh, lost my cool when you pulled me off that server. I was really close to getting the data, and you—well, you just yanked me away. And I, uh… I was pissed."
Dusk's expression was unreadable, but he nodded slowly, letting her continue, not interrupting.
"I know you were trying to help, and I was, well… pretty unreasonable. But, you know, I just… You should've trusted that I could've handled it," she finished, trailing off awkwardly.
The silence between them lingered for a moment, until Dusk finally offered a small grin. He reached over and gave her a gentle tap on the head, the gesture light but somehow reassuring.
"You're tough, Wednesday. But you should at least know how to take care of yourself, yeah? You don't have to prove anything to me."
Dokkaebi blinked, caught off guard by the easy forgiveness in his tone. For a split second, her eyes widened, realizing that Dusk had already let the matter go, much sooner than she had expected. The tension in her shoulders melted, replaced with a sense of surprise, but then...
"Wednesday? What are you mean? Wait, did you just…? I'm not Wednesday! I don't even follow the goth culture!"
Dusk raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against the pen.
"Oh? Well, if you don't like Wednesday, how about Wendy's?" he said, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.
Dokkaebi's patience snapped.
"You're asking for it, Dusk!" she said as she turned toward the Cane Corso, commanding it with a snap of her fingers, "Go, get him!"
The Corso, however, simply flopped onto its side, rolling over in an exaggerated display of laziness and refusing to move. Dokkaebi groaned.
"Of course, you too," she muttered, shooting Dusk a glare.
Dusk laughed softly, enjoying the moment of levity, "Guess he prefers his downtime too."
Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia
The humid air hung thick around the training compound as the Royal Malaysian Police's Unit Tindakhas (UTK) ran through their hostage rescue simulation. Dr. Harishva "Harry" Pandey and former Rainbow field operative Jamal Murad stood off to the side, observing the intricate movements of the team as they breached the mock building. Their eyes were keenly focused on every detail—the officers' formations, their tactical choices, and the equipment they employed.
One officer in particular stood out among the group—a tall, young Malay man with a sharp presence. His movements were precise and controlled, exuding the confidence of a natural leader. As the simulation progressed, he commanded his team with clear, decisive orders, navigating them through each obstacle with a blend of professionalism and quick thinking.
What truly caught Murad's attention, however, was the officer's choice of breaching tool. Instead of the usual explosive charges that tore doors inward, this officer wielded a unique mechanical tool that looked almost like a large snare. While it too some time for him to set the device up against the reinforced door, it held fast, and rather than a violent explosion, the snare wrapped around the doorframe, tearing the entire door outward in a single fluid motion while emitting thick smoke as cover.
Pandey exchanged a look with Murad. Both had seen their fair share of tactical innovations over the years, but this tool, combined with the officer's calm under pressure, was something different.
"He's good," Pandey said quietly, his eyes narrowing as he watched the officer lead the takedown of the mock hostage takers. "Very good."
Murad nodded, a rare flicker of approval in his normally stoic expression.
"He's got the leadership qualities we need and that breaching technique could give us an edge. He's definitely on the list for our next recruitment."
"Agreed. We'll make sure to pull him into Rainbow before NIGHTHAVEN gets their hands on him."
The officer's team had completed the simulation with precision and professionalism, and Pandey and Murad were already making mental notes for the future. This man, it seemed, was a perfect fit for what Rainbow needed next.
Mojave Desert, USA
The harsh sun beat down on the vast, empty expanse of the Mojave Desert as a convoy of military trucks rumbled towards an unmarked camp hidden in the sand. The hum of engines and the crunch of tires on dirt were the only sounds breaking the silence. Armed soldiers patrolled the perimeter, eyes scanning the horizon, their movements slow and methodical in the oppressive heat.
As the last truck entered the gates, a sergeant standing by the entrance scanned the convoy, ticking off the trucks on his clipboard. Five... six.
He paused, his finger hovering over the list. His brow furrowed. Six?
"Something's not right," the sergeant muttered under his breath, "Hold up! We were expecting five trucks, not six. Get around it, now!"
The soldiers snapped to attention, their instincts kicking in as they cautiously circled the mysterious sixth vehicle. The truck's paint was dull, its sides unmarked, and the dust from the desert wind clung to its surface. It looked like every other vehicle in the convoy—but it wasn't supposed to be there.
The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances as they carefully approached the rear of the truck. Their hands instinctively gripped their weapons, fingers twitching on the triggers, but no one made a move yet. There was something about the situation that didn't feel right.
The sergeant gave a nod to one of the men, who stepped forward to unlock the truck's back doors. The heavy metal hinges groaned as the doors slowly swung open.
And there, nestled inside the truck's cargo bay, was the unmistakable silhouette of two automatic turrets, their sleek, menacing barrels pointed directly at the soldiers.
A collective breath was held. Tension rippled through the air. No one dared speak, the weight of the discovery pressing down on them.
"Shit," the sergeant whispered, his voice barely audible over the crackling static of his radio. This was never part of the plan.
In a van concealed in the desert brush, a bespectacled man grinned sinisterly, fingers flying across the laptop keyboard. The screens flickered, displaying both turrets and live footage from their cameras. His eyes gleamed as he typed in the final command.
"Let's see how they handle this," he muttered.
The turrets immediately came to life, tearing through the first six soldiers in their path.
"Ambush!" the sergeant screamed as alarms began blaring around the base.
More soldiers emerged, opening fire on the truck, but without warning, a hulking figure erupted from its side. Fully armored from head to toe, the massive soldier wielded a minigun with terrifying ease, his presence a wall of unstoppable force. With a roar, he opened fire at the soldiers, eliminating several of them in the process.
The attack did not end there, however. As guards on a tower started taking aim at the giant soldier, one of them is suddenly hit in the head, blood spraying onto his partner as he fell from the tower.
From a hidden vantage point, the sniper—the same one who had dealt with Shimura weeks ago—observed with focused detachment. Her movements were fluid, her presence barely a whisper in the chaos below as she took aim and eliminated another guard. The soldiers in the towers, now uncertain, began to falter, unable to aim properly with some even abandoning their posts.
Only now did the driver and his passenger swiftly exited the truck, immediately engaging the soldiers with calculated precision. Both wore ballistic masks, their movements sharp and purposeful. The male, wearing a sleeveless shirt beneath his Kevlar vest, carried apart from his automatic rifle a homemade flamethrower, using it to disorient and create chaos among the soldiers as he burned them alive. His tactical approach was methodical, forcing enemies to retreat or hesitate.
The female, her hood concealing much of her face, relied on a combination of pistols and SMGs. Anyone who ventured too close, however, found themselves on the wrong end of her close-quarters combat skills. With swift, fluid movements, she disarmed and sliced open the throats of her foes, her combat knife a deadly extension of her martial arts expertise.
Together, they moved like a well-oiled machine, dismantling the opposition's attempts to retaliate. The soldiers guarding the base were quickly pushed to the brink, their coordination dissolved, replaced by frantic attempts to reestablish control. Confusion spread like wildfire among the ranks, the command structure fractured under an unseen pressure. The camp, once a well-oiled machine, was now on the brink of disorder. Before long, every soldier in the base were dead or dying, and the three combatants gathered at the entrance of the base.
"All right, Mercury, what now?" The flamethrower-wielding soldier asked, his voice crackling over the comms.
"Get into the storage building, of course. That door's no electronic door, so you'll have to do things the old-fashioned way, Ignis," Mercury replied, his voice cool and commanding, "Datura will keep an eye out for any signs of trouble while Gravitas ensures I have a clean route to pick you up. You and Undertow focus on retrieving what we came for."
"Ha! Right up my alley!" Ignis grinned, already eager to get started.
He turned, eyeing the massive steel door to the storage facility. It was old-school — no fancy security codes or biometric locks. Just solid, reliable brute force. Reaching into his bag, Ignis pulled out a small IED, its sleek design a stark contrast to the antiquated door. He slapped the device onto the door with practiced precision.
"Hey, Undertow, Gravitas, you might want to back up a little," Ignis called out over the comms, already stepping away. He didn't need to be told twice. The sound of his boots crunching against the gravel was the only noise for a moment, followed by a slight hum of tension in the air.
A second later, the IED detonated with a violent bang. The door exploded inward, its heavy steel frame crumpling into a mangled heap of metal. Dust and debris clouded the entrance, and a brief moment of silence followed the explosion.
"Well, that was effective," Ignis commented, his voice tinged with amusement. "Remind me again why I didn't just stick to explosives full-time?"
He and Undertow quickly advanced into the storage facility. As the air cleared, they were greeted by rows of crates, lab equipment, and a sprawling collection of what could only be described as experimental weapons. The darkened, sterile environment of the facility felt almost too clinical, too secretive for comfort.
"Now look at this treasure trove," Ignis muttered under his breath, eyes lighting up as he scanned the various weapons. "Wonder if I could get my hands on some of these babies if I had stayed with Delta Force. They don't exactly make stuff like this in your average weapons depot."
"Focus, Ignis," Undertow snapped, her tone more serious as her eyes scan the room for anything useful, "We're here on a mission. Not to reminisce about your glory days."
"Right, right… I'm on it," Ignis grumbled. He reluctantly pulled his eyes away from the weapons to join Undertow as she moved toward a different part of the facility, "A shame though. Some of these beauties would make a hell of a collection."
"True," Undertow agreed, but her voice softened slightly as she knelt to inspect a specific crate, motioning for Ignis to join her, "But this baby right here, now that is worth a king's ransom."
Undertow lifted a box full of strange, canister-shaped objects, each one radiating an almost ominous aura. The canisters had a slick, metallic sheen to them, the kind of technology that felt wrong to even look at for too long.
"Hey, careful with that!" Ignis cringed as he saw what she was holding, "You know how much I hate these things… Makes my skin crawl just thinking about it."
"Well, it's your government that keeps making them," Undertow pointed out, unfazed by his reaction as she carefully placed the canisters into the crate, sealing it tightly.
"Fair argument," Ignis conceded reluctantly, his voice tinged with humor knowing that he couldn't argue with that logic: the United States government had its hand in all sorts of interesting projects.
The two of them made quick work of securing the crate, loading it onto the dolly as they exited the storage room. Outside, Gravitas was waiting patiently, standing still like the hulking, imposing figure he was. The silence was broken only by the faint hum of their radio communications and the crunch of boots on gravel as they prepared to move out.
Just as they were about to make their exit, the familiar sound of Mercury's armoured van rolled into the compound. The vehicle's engine growled as it slowed, and it came to a stop with a slight screech of its tires. Mercury, ever the composed and calculating leader, emerged from the driver's seat, his bespectacled face betraying no hint of emotion.
"You got what we came for?" he asked, his voice calm but with an edge of impatience.
"Right here," Ignis replied with a grin, holding up the crate.
Mercury didn't waste any time. Without a word, he tossed a large, transparent Hazmat bag at Ignis. "Get the crate into the bag, and then we can fuck off from this place."
"Yeah, yeah, nerd-ass, we're on it…" Ignis muttered, holding the bag open while Gravitas carefully took the crate from Undertow and placed it inside. The bag sealed shut with a soft click, and the team readied themselves for extraction.
As Mercury climbed back into the van, he checked his watch. "Let's move out. This place is a time bomb waiting to go off, and Wu Hsing's not paying us to waste his time."
The team filed into the vehicle, and the convoy rumbled back into motion, leaving behind nothing but the scorched earth and the echoes of their brief, but chaotic, mission.
Hereford, England
Director John Clark's fingers froze over the keyboard, his face momentarily pale as the gravity of the report set in.
Over 70 highly-trained personnel—Army Rangers, Delta Force operators, and CIA SAD agents—had been decimated at a secret military storage facility in the Mojave Desert. The attackers had been merciless, wiping out the defence force with alarming precision. But it wasn't the body count that grabbed Clark's attention—it was the fact that the assailants had left all the classified weapons untouched, instead focusing solely on one target: something marked only as "Project Cicuta."
"Project Cicuta…" Clark muttered, furrowing his brow. His mind raced, searching for any familiar trace of the name, but nothing came to mind.
Deputy Director Aurelia Arnot, standing at Clark's side, crossed her arms.
"This doesn't sit right. The Army and CIA are being uncooperative—tight-lipped, almost like they're trying to bury something."
Clark sighed, rubbing his temples.
"It's not surprising. The higher-ups are likely trying to keep this contained, but we won't let it slide."
As if on cue, the door to the command center opened with a soft click, and a figure dressed in a simple black tactical suit stepped into the room. The man was older, his features grizzled with years of experience, but his eyes still held that sharp, calculating edge that had made him a legend in the world of covert operations. Arnot's gaze shifted to him, and she let out a small breath.
"Sam Fisher," she muttered under her breath, her voice betraying a mix of admiration and awe.
Sam Fisher's reputation preceded him. A former operative of the CIA's Third and Fourth Echelon, now part of Rainbow's Operation Staff, Fisher had made a name for himself in the world of espionage as one of the most dangerous, resourceful, and ruthless men in the world. Even in his sixties, he exuded an aura of quiet menace—his experience and tactical knowledge made him an invaluable asset to Rainbow, especially in the shadowy world of espionage and covert operations.
Fisher approached the table, his gaze sweeping over the reports, his gravelly voice carrying a quiet authority as he spoke, "I hear there's a problem that needs solving, and I've got just the strings to pull."
Clark turned to Fisher, leaning back in his chair with a wry smile.
"The Army and CIA are tight-lipped about Project Cicuta. We need to know what it is—and why these mercenaries wanted it so badly that they wiped out over seventy of our best."
Fisher nodded, his eyes narrowing.
"I'll make a few calls. Pull some favors. These people don't hide things from me for long."
Clark stood and walked over to the window, staring out at the sprawling training grounds below.
"I don't care how you get the information, Sam. Just get it. If these mercenaries are willing to hit that hard, we need to know what's at stake before they make their next move."
"Consider it done, Clark. If there's anyone who knows how to get to the truth without leaving a trace, it's me."
Clark turned to his deputy, who was still absorbing the weight of the situation. As Fisher turned to leave, he paused at the door.
"By the way, don't worry too much about those mercenaries. If they wanted this to stay under wraps, they've got another thing coming."
The door closed softly behind him, leaving Clark and Arnot to ponder what lay ahead. If Fisher's promise was anything to go by, the next few days were about to get very interesting.
The cafeteria was buzzing with the usual noise of clinking trays and idle chatter, but in one corner, the atmosphere was tense. A large table was covered in a sprawling map of RISK territories, littered with brightly colored tokens and dice. Dusk sat with his arms crossed, glaring at the board. Dokkaebi, ever the instigator, was furiously pointing at different sections of the map, urging him to make a move.
"I'm telling you, we need to focus on the center! They're spreading too thin!" Dokkaebi insisted, her finger stabbing at a cluster of enemy tokens.
"No, no, no," Dusk muttered, leaning back in his chair, "We need to fortify the edges. That's the only way we can hang on to anything."
"Can we please agree on something before we're wiped out entirely?" Dokkaebi groaned, tapping her fingers on the table in frustration, "You're just gonna keep us here, fighting over this until the entire base comes crashing down around us!"
Across the table, the teams of Bandit/Mozzie, Ash/Castle and Lion/Twitch were all eyeing them like vultures, silently waiting for the chance to claim more territory. Bandit, ever the troublemaker, couldn't resist stirring the pot.
"Well, well, well," Bandit grinned, "Looks like Dusk and Dokkaebi are going down. Three territories left and no hope. Guess you two should've read the manual."
"Shut up, Bandit," Dusk growled, barely holding back from slamming his fist on the table, "We'll make our move when we're ready."
Bandit smirked as he replied, "Don't waste your breath. It's over. I guess you're out of luck."
The thing, was Bandit was seated next to Dusk, and without his tactical vest on, Dusk has been shown to be able to move with lightning speed. In a flash, Dusk had yanked Bandit into an arm lock that had the poor man squirming like a caught fish.
"Hostage diplomacy! Dokkaebi, do the honours," Dusk muttered through clenched teeth, not pulling Bandit's arm but making sure to hold firm.
Bandit yelped, flailing to free himself. Dokkaebi, ever the opportunist, was already rooting through Bandit's pockets for his phone, finding and unlocked it with a few swift presses before projecting the phone's screen to the large cafeteria monitor. Everyone turned as Bandit's search history filled the screen for all to see.
"How to make the Joker's shock glove? Cheap tattoo parlors near me? How to take a piss while climbing Mount Everest without getting frostbite?" Dokkaebi read aloud, with an exaggerated tone.
The room erupted into laughter. Mozzie, his face turning bright red as he covered his eyes, said in between laughs, "You should've stayed humble, mate."
Bandit, now a mix of amusement and embarrassment, is finally released from Dusk's arm lock, massaging his arm as he relented, "Alright, alright, I'll shut up."
Dokkaebi, still grinning, took a mock bow, holding up Bandit's phone triumphantly.
"Lesson learned, Bandit. Don't mess with the pro cheaters."
Dusk smirked, now feeling oddly satisfied as his team had the upper hand. As the laughter died down, Lion, looking amused, leaned back in his chair, muttering, "We can't even finish a game without it turning into some kind of spectacle."
Twitch, shaking her head but unable to stifle a chuckle, sighed.
"Guess we're all just lucky to be in the same room with such... professional behavior."
Dokkaebi gave them a cheeky grin.
"You're welcome for the entertainment."
John Clark stood at the window of his office, staring out into the quiet expanse of Hereford's training grounds. The soft hum of activity in the distance barely reached his ears, but his mind was far from peaceful. Inside the room, the tension was palpable. Aurelia Arnot and Harry sat across from him, their expressions a mix of irritation and skepticism. The cause of their discomfort sat in front of Clark's desk: Jaimini Kalimohan "Kali" Shah, the confident, if somewhat arrogant, CEO of NIGHTHAVEN.
Her presence in Hereford was unwelcome at best, a reminder of the fractures that had once torn through Rainbow. Kali's organization had poached several of Rainbow's top talents a year and a half ago, and now, she sat as if she owned the room, an insistent smile playing on her lips.
Arnot, never one for diplomacy, broke the silence.
"What exactly brings you here, Kali?"
Kali's response was immediate, smooth, and dripping with assurance.
"I'm here to collect the debts owed to NIGHTHAVEN, of course. You remember last year, when Rainbow so kindly raided our base not once but twice? We've been patient, but now, it's time to settle the score."
Clark's jaw tightened, but he didn't turn around. He already knew what she was after—the data key that had belonged to Taiga Shimura, the notorious and now-deceased guns smuggler whom both Rainbow and NIGHTHAVEN had been pursuing in Japan.
"We're still in the process of extracting valuable information," Clark replied, his voice calm but with a bite of warning.
"That's fine. However, I've seen what's on Shimura's tablet, Director. And it's clear that both Rainbow and NIGHTHAVEN have the same enemy: the Keres Legion. Instead of continuing to tear each other apart, why not join forces again? Think of it as a new business partnership."
Kali's proposal hung in the air, leaving an uncomfortable silence in its wake. The tension in the room deepened, and it was clear that not everyone was ready to accept her offer. Arnot was the first to speak, her voice sharp.
"You think we can just sweep the past under the rug and work with you again? The last time NIGHTHAVEN was part of Rainbow, you poached operators from us, caused rifts, and created chaos within the team. Now you want us to work together?"
Harry, equally distrustful, added, "NIGHTHAVEN's involvement caused nothing but trouble. We've spent months trying to patch things up and get the feuding operators to settle down. You really think we'll just welcome you back?"
Kali's confident smile didn't falter as she leaned back in her chair.
"I don't expect you to welcome us with open arms, but I'm not here to start another round of conflict. I'm here because we both have a common enemy. That is all."
Clark remained quiet for a moment, his gaze unwavering as he studied Kali. He could feel the weight of her words and knew she wasn't simply offering an alliance out of the goodness of her heart. Something had changed, and whatever it was, it had her attention.
"You're not here just for the debts, are you, Kali? There's something in that data you found that pushed you to come back to Rainbow."
Kali's demeanor shifted just slightly, her smile sharpening into something more serious.
"You're perceptive, Clark," she said, her voice now tinged with the gravity of her next words, "What we found in Shimura's data—it's far bigger than anyone anticipated. The Keres Legion isn't just operating on the fringes anymore. They're planning something massive, something that could change everything."
Clark's gaze remained sharp as he listened to Kali's words, weighing each one carefully. He knew better than to take her offer at face value. The debts owed to NIGHTHAVEN, the poaching of Rainbow operators, the messy fallout from their last collaboration—it was clear that any cooperation would come with strings attached. But if there was a chance that NIGHTHAVEN could prove useful in neutralizing the Keres Legion, he wasn't about to dismiss it outright.
He set his jaw and addressed Kali, his voice even but firm.
"I'll accept your offer, Kali. Rainbow will support NIGHTHAVEN's efforts in taking on the Keres Legion, but not without conditions. For your debts to NIGHTHAVEN, I'll allow your PMC access to Rainbow's resources—both operational and intelligence. But you'll be expected to honor our terms."
Kali's lips curled slightly, but she didn't interrupt as Clark continued.
"First, I'll agree that Rainbow will not interfere with NIGHTHAVEN's ongoing projects, as long as your men don't interfere with ours. That includes technology. I won't have another situation like the one with your chief of research trying to steal our tech again."
Kali's eyes narrowed slightly, but she maintained her composed smile, clearly aware of the weight behind his words. Clark leaned forward, locking eyes with her.
"If we share technology with you, you'll share your own in return. No refusal without a damn good reason. Otherwise, NIGHTHAVEN can handle this mission alone."
Kali raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed by his decisiveness, but she didn't back down.
"You drive a hard bargain, Clark," she said with a trace of respect in her voice, "But I'll accept your terms."
Clark nodded, his expression neutral but satisfied.
"Good. We'll draft the agreement, and you'll get what you need. But remember, we're working together for a common cause. If that ever changes, so will our arrangement."
Kali's smile returned, though it was tempered now with an air of mutual understanding.
"Agreed. Let's hope this partnership yields better results than the last one, Director."