The morning sun barely filtered through the frost-covered windows of Ivanov's office. The room was cold, both in temperature and atmosphere. Ivanov, a stern-faced man with steel-gray hair and a gaze sharp enough to cut glass, sat behind his desk, reviewing a file.
Akio stood silently in front of him, his hands at his sides, his 13-year-old frame tense but composed. Despite his youth, his presence carried a weight that most men would falter under.
"You've done well in training," Ivanov began, his deep voice reverberating in the small room. "But training and fieldwork are two entirely different beasts. You're not a soldier yet—not until you've proven yourself where it counts."
Akio said nothing, his sharp eyes meeting Ivanov's unflinchingly.
"There's a mission," Ivanov continued. He pushed a folder across the desk. "A terrorist cell is moving a bio-weapon through the city outskirts. We've tracked them to an abandoned trainyard. Your objective is to intercept and neutralize the threat before they reach their target."
Akio's eyes flicked to the file, scanning the images and mission details.
"You won't be going alone," Ivanov added. "You'll be joining an elite team. They're veterans—men who've been in this line of work longer than you've been alive."
"And they don't trust me," Akio stated flatly, his tone devoid of emotion.
Ivanov smirked. "You catch on quick. They'll doubt you, maybe even despise you. Prove them wrong."
Akio closed the folder and looked up. "When do we leave?"
---
### Into the Fray
The mission began at dusk, the team landing on the outskirts of the snow-covered trainyard. The biting cold seeped through even the thickest of gear, but Akio didn't flinch. He adjusted the strap of his tactical mask, falling in line behind the operatives.
He could feel their disdain. They didn't bother hiding it. Oleg, the largest of the group, sneered openly.
"Hope you brought a babysitter," he muttered.
Akio ignored him, focusing instead on the layout of the trainyard visible through his night-vision goggles. Rows of rusted freight cars created a maze of potential cover—and potential ambush points.
---
### The Briefing
The team gathered behind an old train engine, their breaths misting in the frigid air. Mikhail spread out a map on a crate.
"Seven targets, heavily armed," he began. "The leader's carrying the detonator for the weapon. We have to neutralize them all without giving them a chance to use it."
"The trainyard's too open," Akio said, cutting in.
The operatives turned to him, their expressions ranging from skeptical to hostile.
Akio continued undeterred. "If we approach head-on, they'll pick us off before we get close. We need to funnel them into a chokepoint—make their numbers irrelevant."
"And how do you suggest we do that, genius?" Oleg asked sarcastically.
Akio pointed to the map. "We create chaos. Block the exits here and here," he indicated the two main escape routes. "Force them into this section of the yard. It's narrow, with limited cover. Once they're bottlenecked, we pick them off."
Mikhail studied the map, then Akio. After a moment, he nodded. "Let's move."
---
### The Ambush
The plan was set in motion with precision. Two operatives moved to block the exits while the rest, including Akio, took positions around the chokepoint.
But the terrorists weren't unprepared. As the team approached, gunfire erupted from the shadows. One operative was hit immediately, his body crumpling into the snow.
"Sniper!" Mikhail shouted.
The team dove for cover as bullets tore through the air. Akio pressed himself against a freight car, his mind racing. They were pinned down, the sniper's elevated position giving the enemy a deadly advantage.
"We're sitting ducks here!" Oleg growled.
"Give me covering fire," Akio said suddenly.
Oleg turned to him, incredulous. "Are you insane?"
"Do it," Akio snapped. "Or we all die here."
Reluctantly, Oleg nodded. The team opened fire, drawing the sniper's attention. Akio sprinted through the maze of cars, his smaller frame making him harder to target.
He reached the sniper's perch—a rusted crane—and climbed silently. The terrorist was focused on the firefight below, unaware of Akio's approach.
With one swift motion, Akio drove his knife into the man's neck. The sniper slumped forward, his rifle clattering to the ground.
---
### Turning the Tide
With the sniper neutralized, the team regained the upper hand. They advanced on the remaining terrorists, who had retreated toward the chokepoint as planned.
But the leader wasn't going down without a fight. As the operatives closed in, he activated a trap—explosives rigged to a nearby freight car. The blast sent shrapnel flying, wounding two operatives and leaving Mikhail bleeding from a deep gash in his leg.
Amid the chaos, the leader pulled the detonator from his jacket, a crazed grin on his face.
"You're too late!" he shouted.
Akio, hidden in the shadows, watched the scene unfold. His mind raced, analyzing the angles, the timing, the distance.
"Cover me," he ordered, his voice cold.
Before anyone could argue, he moved.
---
### The Kill
Akio darted through the chaos, his movements swift and precise. The leader spotted him and raised his pistol, but Akio was faster. He slid under a freight car, emerging behind the man.
The leader turned, too late. Akio's knife plunged into his chest, the force knocking the detonator from his hand.
The man gasped, blood bubbling from his lips. Akio yanked the knife free and stepped back, letting the body collapse into the snow.
He picked up the detonator and crushed it under his boot.
---
### Aftermath
The surviving terrorists were subdued, the bio-weapon secured. As the team regrouped, bloodied and exhausted, they looked at Akio with a mixture of shock and newfound respect.
Mikhail, clutching his wounded leg, managed a weak smile. "You're a scary kid, you know that?"
Akio didn't respond. He simply turned to Ivanov, who had arrived with the extraction team.
"Mission accomplished," he said.
Ivanov nodded, his expression unreadable. "You did well, Akio. But remember, this is just the beginning."
Akio glanced back at the blood-stained snow, his knife still dripping red. He knew Ivanov was right. The road ahead was long—and it would only get harder.