The abandoned warehouse reeked of rust and decay. Shadows stretched like claws across the floor, flickering under a single swinging bulb. Agent Shadow crouched behind a stack of crates, his gun drawn, eyes scanning the dimly lit expanse. He stood like a shadow in the chaos, his tall figure blending effortlessly into the darkness. His black tactical gear clung to his muscular frame, each movement deliberate, almost predatory. His expression was unreadable, cold eyes narrowing slightly as he surveyed the room with the precision of a trained predator. His jet-black hair was short, a few strands sticking out—a subtle reminder that the man in front of them was all business.

His sharp jawline, carved with an almost sculpted perfection, was covered in a faint stubble—more from lack of care than style. The lines beneath his eyes told stories of sleepless nights, haunted by demons from a past that would remain unspoken—for now. His pale skin contrasted sharply with the dark, armored suit, making him seem like a living shadow, his every movement calculated, and measured. The only hint of humanity left in him was the subtle twitch of his left hand, barely visible as if restraining the storm within.

Agent Shadow wasn't here to be liked. He was here to get the job done—and nothing else mattered.

"Six hostiles on the east side," he muttered into his earpiece, voice as cold as the steel in his hand. "Three on the west. Take them out silently."

"Silently?" Agent Bullseye's voice crackled through. "Do you know who you're talking to? Silent is boring."

Agent Bullseye was the polar opposite of his commanding officer. Standing a few inches taller than Shadow, his broad shoulders and easygoing posture made him look almost casual in comparison. His face was often lit up with a grin, but there was an edge to his sharp blue eyes, one that hinted at his deadly precision with a rifle. His unruly dark brown hair always tousled from a rush or a fight, fell loosely over his forehead, though he never seemed to care. A thin scar ran across his left cheek, a souvenir from an old operation that he hardly ever talked about.

His gear was slightly less formal than Shadow's—a loose jacket over a black shirt, tactical pants with too many pockets for anyone to need, and a pair of black combat boots that clicked against the floor with every step. He wore a pair of aviator sunglasses on his head, even when there was no sun, always ready with a quip or a smart remark. Despite his relaxed demeanor, there was a sharpness in the way he moved—almost as if his body was always on the edge of a sprint.

A burst of gunfire erupted from the east, followed by a yelp.

"Bullseye!" Shadow growled.

"What?" Bullseye's voice was mock-innocent. "You said take them out. Never said how."

"Seriously?" Agent Viper whispered, crouched beside him. "You're the sharpshooter, not the noisy-shooter." She rolled her eyes, adjusting the blade strapped to her thigh.

Agent Viper was the definition of grace under pressure, but don't mistake her poise for weakness. Her long black hair was tied in a tight ponytail, swishing behind her with every swift movement. Her dark eyes, almost black, were always scanning, always calculating. Despite her delicate frame, she was deadly with every weapon she touched, whether it was a blade or a sniper rifle. Her sharp features were framed by a leather jacket that was more about practicality than fashion, and her boots made no noise as she moved, as though she were part of the shadows herself. A subtle smirk danced on her lips as she flicked her knife between her fingers, an unconscious habit when she was focused. Aria's cool demeanor was contrasted only by her sharp tongue. She was quick to throw out a sarcastic remark or joke, especially to keep the team's spirits up. She always knew how to handle the chaos of a mission, and even though she could be hard to read, her team knew she had their back—no questions asked.

"You're welcome," Bullseye quipped. "Just saved you from breaking a nail."

Viper huffed. "Unlike you, I don't need a gun to get the job done."

Shadow's voice cut through their banter. "Focus." One word, ice-cold. The type of voice that could stop a heartbeat.

"Boss!!!" Agent Bullseye said. "There's nothing—it's empty. Totally empty."

A low growl echoed through the warehouse. Not human. Not normal.

Viper froze, her humor replaced by unease. "Uh… did anyone else hear that?"

Before Bullseye could answer, something crashed through the far wall—a hulking figure cloaked in darkness, its glowing red eyes cutting through the gloom.

"What the hell is that?" Bullseye yelled, raising his rifle.

"Don't ask. Shoot," Shadow ordered, already firing.

Bullets ricocheted off the creature's metallic hide as it advanced, unfazed. It let out a guttural roar, shaking the walls.

Viper pulled out her blade, muttering, "Of course, it's bulletproof. Why wouldn't it be?"

Bullseye grinned despite the chaos. "Well, this just got interesting."

"Bullseye," Shadow snapped, his tone sharp, "if you don't focus, I'll leave you here with it."

"Noted, boss," Bullseye replied, diving for cover as the creature swiped at him with claws that left deep gashes in the concrete. "But if we survive this, I'm filing a complaint. No one said we'd be fighting robo-nightmares."

"Shut up and aim for the joints," Shadow ordered, his shots precise, and calculated.

Viper leaped onto the creature's back, driving her blade into a gap in its armor. Sparks flew, and the creature let out a distorted scream. "Got it!" she shouted triumphantly.

The creature staggered, but it wasn't down. Bullseye aimed, his usual humor gone. "I've got this." His shot hit the creature square in its glowing eye, and it collapsed with a deafening crash.

Viper dusted herself off, glaring at Bullseye. "Took you long enough."

"You're welcome," he replied with a smirk.

Shadow stood over the fallen creature, his expression unreadable. "This isn't over. Move."

"Not even a 'good job, team'?" Bullseye muttered as they headed for the exit.

Viper grinned. "Heartless, remember?"

"Heartless gets the job done," Shadow replied coldly, leading them into the night.

"Move to the left," a voice crackled across their earpieces. Agent Cipher's voice was calm and precise. "Left. Hurry up."

Agent Cipher wasn't just the tech genius of the group—he was their lifeline when it came to intel and strategy. His lanky frame was always hunched over a screen, fingers dancing across the keyboard like they were born for it. Glasses perpetually perched on the bridge of his nose, the thick frames magnifying his stormy gray eyes. He rarely bothered to look up from his work, even when the team was under fire. The buzz of his headset was his only connection to the outside world, and he thrived in the silence of his algorithms and codes. His short brown hair was tousled the result of hours spent working in dark rooms, lit only by the faint glow of multiple monitors. Jaxon's face always had the look of someone who hadn't slept in days, his skin pale and slightly flushed with the stress of always being two steps ahead of everyone else. Despite his pale complexion, his wide grin and geeky sense of humor were contagious, especially when his genius saved the team from certain death.

The whole team moved left, but a strange hand suddenly pulled them into a room.

"Ooh, that's you," said Viper, putting her weapon down. "Hi, Ghost."

Agent Ghost glared at her. He was a ghost in every sense of the word. The quietest of the team, he preferred to let his actions speak for him. His face was often hidden beneath the shadow of a dark hoodie, though his piercing green eyes were always sharp, and alert. His movements were smooth and calculated, each step a dance of stealth. His black combat gear fit him perfectly as if made for his slight but athletic frame. His short, messy hair was a mess of dark curls, sticking to his forehead when he was focused, but it never bothered him. A knife was always within reach, strapped to his thigh—a secondary weapon for when he needed to be up close and personal. His silence was his weapon, his calm demeanor hiding the storms within. His past? A mystery, even to his team. They only knew that he had come from nothing, and now, nothing could touch him.

"Stay silent," said Agent Ghost. His voice was low, steady.

"Guys, I'm sorry to say, but what did you all do? I can see many people and objects moving toward your room," said Agent Cipher.

Agent Shadow stood in the doorway, his cold gaze fixed on Agent Ghost as the latter entered, a slight glint of annoyance flickering in his eyes. "Where's the USB?"

"It's with me," Ghost replied quietly, his voice low and steady. He moved with the kind of precision that made it clear he wasn't one to waste words. "I found it in the last room, at the north end. There was nothing else—no people, no security. Just... emptiness. But there was something. A signal. Faint, but unmistakable. It led me to it. I decided to split off and track it down."

Ghost paused for a moment, his eyes scanning the room briefly before he continued. "Killed six of them in the process. Didn't make it easy. And that noise I heard?" He tilted his head slightly as if the answer was obvious. "That was me. Me and the others. Took down that damn machinery. They must've been guarding it. And now, they know we're here."

Shadow didn't flinch at the mention of six dead. He simply nodded, his cold eyes still calculating. "You did well. But next time, keep the noise down."

A loud crack echoed from behind them—someone was trying to break through the door. At first, the rattle of metal against wood seemed futile, but then the pressure built. The door shuddered under the assault as if the intruders were growing more determined.

"Guys, I don't know what's going on, but they're pulling back," came the voice of Agent Cipher, crackling through the comms. "Something's off. They're moving away from the building."

"Silent," Shadow commanded sharply, his voice cutting through the chaos. He barely heard Cliper's words before a soft click sounded from the door—faint, but enough to make his pulse quicken. His gaze shifted to the others, eyes narrowing as he realized what it meant. "They plan to kill us with a bomb. How original."

He said it with a cold, almost disinterested tone, as though the idea of a bomb was just another day at the office.

The silence in the room was broken only by the soft hum of electronics and the faintest sound of the door buckling under pressure. The team tensed, the reality of the situation sinking in.