Dagger sat in the briefing room, his new synthetic eye humming faintly as it adjusted to the light. Though his body had healed faster than most could imagine, the weight of his time in Black Sun still clung to him. His face was unreadable, but the tension in his posture spoke volumes.
PS stood at the head of the table, her usual unyielding demeanor in place. Next to her, Mr. B loomed silently, a statue of quiet authority. The rest of the team sat in silence, the gravity of the upcoming debrief palpable.
PS broke the silence. "Dagger's mission in Black Sun wasn't just intelligence-gathering. It was about finding a mole within our organization."
The words hung in the air like a guillotine.
"We've known for months that someone has been leaking the real identities of our agents," PS continued, her tone clipped. "These leaks have cost lives. Not just the agents themselves, but their families. And for the agents who survived… most of them went rogue, trying to exact vengeance. They didn't make it out alive."
Mr B exhaled slowly, his voice rough but steady. "The Black Sun isn't like us. They're not agents with codes or guidelines. They're degenerates—mercenaries and criminals. But even degenerates have rules. They don't go after civilians. That's why this whole thing doesn't sit right with me."
One of the men frowned, as if they had heard about a puppy being kicked.
This almost seemed hypocritical to Dagger, if he could say so himself. Codes, guidelines blah blah blah when all of them killed for money. He knew this news would get the ears of the council to perk up, but he didn't think all of them would be here.
"If they don't target civilians, why would they act on leaked intel?"
"They didn't," Dagger said firmly, locking eyes with the councilmen. "The hits weren't ordered by all of the Black Sun. Whoever the mole is… they're feeding intel to a faction within Black Sun, one that doesn't follow their usual code. They're trying to escalate things. To destabilize us."
One of the old men leaned forward in his video, his massive arms resting on the table. "You're saying Black Sun is fractured?"
"They've always been fractured," Dagger replied. "They're not unified like us. It's a loose network of cells. Each one operates independently, and some are more… extreme. I worked my way into one of those cells. The kind that doesn't care who gets hurt, so long as they get paid."
The councilman muttered under his breath, "Scum."
Dagger didn't flinch. "They are. But even among them, there's still a code. No unnecessary civilian casualties. The people I infiltrated didn't give a damn about that. They went after families, informants, anyone they could get their hands on. That's why this mole is dangerous—they're feeding intel to the worst of the worst."
PS nodded, her expression unreadable. "And this faction within Black Sun—they mentioned a purge?"
Dagger's face darkened. "I heard bits and pieces. They're planning something big. They're using the leaks to build a hit list—agents, allies, anyone connected to us. It's not just about destabilizing us anymore. It's about wiping us out."
Mr. B finally spoke, his deep voice a rumble of restrained anger. "If they succeed, they won't stop with us. They'll target anyone who's ever worked with us or you. It'll be a massacre."
PS straightened, her voice cold and sharp. "We're initiating an internal sweep. Every movement, every mission log, every communication will be reviewed. Until we find this mole, no one is above suspicion."
As the meeting adjourned, the team exchanged uneasy glances. The implications were clear: they weren't just fighting an external threat anymore. The enemy was inside the house.
Dagger remained seated as the others rose. His synthetic eye whirred faintly, adjusting to the dim light. PS paused at the door, looking back at him.
"You did well, Dagger. Better than anyone had the right to expect."
He nodded but said nothing, his gaze fixed on the table, the surface smooth and sterile, a sharp contrast to the storm in his mind. Mr. B lingered briefly, his imposing presence oddly comforting. His hand, heavy and warm, rested on Dagger's shoulder for a moment before he departed. It wasn't just an acknowledgment of Dagger's pain; it was a silent promise—we're in this together.
The door hissed shut behind Mr. B, and the room was consumed by an almost oppressive silence. Dagger exhaled slowly, his chest tightening under the weight of his memories. His synthetic eye hummed faintly, focusing and refocusing on the table as if searching for answers that weren't there.
His time in Black Sun had stripped away more than flesh and bone. It had eroded parts of him he didn't even know could break—his trust, his belief in the boundaries between right and wrong. He could still feel the cold metal of their cells, the weight of their twisted morality pressing down on him like a shroud.
For all their brutality, Black Sun had a code, however warped it might have been. Dagger hated them, but in a way, he could understand them. Rules were rules, even if they were carved into dirt.
But a traitor? That was something else entirely.
A traitor wasn't bound by codes. A traitor didn't operate within the lines, however twisted those lines might be. A traitor exploited trust, destroyed loyalty from the inside. They turned comrades into victims, allies into targets.
Dagger's hand curled into a fist, nails digging into his palm until he felt a sharp sting. The thought of someone within their own organization—someone who knew their faces, their families, their weaknesses—feeding their enemies information made his stomach churn.
He thought of the agents whose lives had been cut short because of this mole. He didn't know their faces, but he knew their stories—people who had trusted in the sanctity of their roles, who believed their families were untouchable. They had died not because of their enemies, but because of someone who was supposed to be their ally.
It was a different kind of betrayal. Colder. Crueler.
"Still here," he muttered to himself.
Dagger's thoughts shifted back to PS's words during the meeting. "No one is above suspicion." Even now, in the safety of their walls, paranoia would seep in. Who could he trust? How many more would die before the mole was found?
The door slid open, breaking his train of thought. The Doctor stepped in, her face calm but her eyes sharp, as though she could see every crack in his armor. She carried a small tray with what looked like nutritional supplements, placing it on the table without a word.
The Doctor hesitated, then said, "You're not the only one who feels the weight of this. Don't let it swallow you whole."
As she left, the door sliding shut once again, Dagger let her words linger. Swallowed whole. That was how he felt—consumed by the betrayal, the loss, the fear of what was coming next.
He sank back into his chair, staring at the empty room. Somewhere out there, the mole was watching, waiting, and calculating their next move. And somewhere deep in Dagger's gut, a fire was building, more volatile than the anger he'd felt in Black Sun.
This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.