The squad moved with precision through the compound's labyrinthine halls, their boots silent against the cold concrete floors. Sparks walked in the center of the formation, her glowing tablet reflecting the faint tension on her face as she worked to maintain control of the situation.
"Clear left," Ox rumbled, his voice low over the comms as he scanned the corridor ahead.
"Clear right," Alistair confirmed, signaling the group forward.
From his overwatch position, Cross's voice crackled in their ears. "I've got eyes on the northwest corner. Two guards approaching your sector. Take it slow."
Alistair raised a hand, motioning for the squad to halt. He pressed himself against the wall, his sharp gaze sweeping the dimly lit passage. The faint hum of security cameras reverberated above, their lenses scanning lazily across the room.
"Sparks, can you handle the cameras?" Alistair murmured.
A soft chuckle came over the comms. "Already done. Cameras on your route are blind for the next sixty seconds. Move fast."
The squad advanced quickly but cautiously, their movements synchronized. Sparks lagged slightly, her fingers flying across her tablet as she worked to infiltrate the compound's network.
"They're monitoring us," she muttered, her brow furrowed. "Whoever's in charge here is watching our every move."
"Then give them something to watch," Alistair replied, his tone sharp.
As they approached the next intersection, the faint crack of a rifle shot echoed through the comms. Cross's calm voice followed almost immediately. "One down."
A pause. Then another shot. "Two down."
Over the comms, Rashads voice—smooth, mocking—interrupted the team's rhythm. "Ah, the infamous eyes of Squad Alistair. Corporal Cross, I presume?"
Alistair stiffened, exchanging a sharp look with Ox. "Rashad" he demanded, his voice cold.
Rashad chuckled. "I'd introduce myself, but I think you're already acquainted. You've been making quite a mess of my compound."
"Don't engage," Sparks whispered, her eyes wide as she glanced up from her screen. "He's piggybacking on our comms. If you respond, he can track our movements."
The voice continued, undeterred. "I see you, Commander. All of you. Moving so carefully, so quietly… Do you think you're the hunters here?"
Alistair motioned for the team to keep moving, his jaw tight with frustration.
"Cross," Sparks whispered over the secure channel she managed to isolate, "they've found your position. I'm picking up chatter—orders are pending. Get ready to move."
"I've got it," Cross replied, his voice steady.
Alistair's voice was clipped as he addressed the sniper. "Hold position for now. If they get too close, move fast."
---
The target's voice came again, now more direct, almost taunting. "You're making this far too easy, Alistair. I've studied your team, your tactics. Did you really think you could waltz into my domain and walk out unscathed?"
"Shut him down, Sparks," Alistair ordered.
"I'm trying," Sparks hissed. "But he's good. This system is layered—he's feeding off their security network to bounce his signal. I'm locking him out, but it's gonna take—"
"Move faster," Ox interjected, his tone gruff but protective.
Alistair held up a fist, signaling the team to halt as they approached a large reinforced door. Sparks immediately stepped forward, her tablet plugged into the control panel. The door's red indicator light pulsed ominously, a clear sign of advanced security measures.
"This is it," Alistair murmured. "The Rashads inside."
Sparks worked quickly, her fingers flying over the screen. "The encryption's layered. It'll take me a minute."
"Then take it," Alistair said, his tone firm. "We'll cover you."
Rashads voice broke through again, his tone dripping with amusement. "Oh, Sparks. The tech genius of Squad Alistair. Do you think you're the first to try and outsmart me? Let me save you the trouble: You're out of your depth."
Sparks gritted her teeth, her screen flashing as she countered his interference. "You talk too much," she muttered under her breath, her focus unbroken.
Alistair stepped back, keeping his rifle trained on the hallway they'd come from. "Cross, status."
"Still in position," Cross replied. His voice had an edge to it now, a subtle tension that hadn't been there before. "But they're moving closer. I count five, maybe six heading my way."
"Can you take them?" Alistair asked, his voice calm despite the situation.
"Always," Cross said, a faint smirk audible even over the comms.
Sparks' tablet chimed softly, and she straightened slightly. "Got something," she said, her tone tinged with urgency. "Their comms are open. They're talking about Cross. Orders are imminent."
---
The hallway seemed to grow quieter as the weight of the situation settled over them. Alistair glanced at Sparks, his voice low. "Can you warn him?"
"I'm trying to ping his position," Sparks said, frustration lacing her words. "But their jamming field is strong. It's like a—"
Her sentence was cut off by a sharp crack over the comms. A gunshot.
"Cross?" Alistair said sharply, his voice cutting through the tension.
"Still here," Cross replied, his voice steady but tight. "They're closing in. Got two already. Three left. You'd better hurry."
"Hold tight," Alistair said, his gaze hardening. "We're almost through."
Sparks let out a triumphant noise as her screen flashed green. "Door's unlocked. But he knows we're coming."
"Good," Alistair said, his voice cold. "Let him know. Ox, you're on point. Sparks, stick close. Zara, be ready."
The squad moved into position, their weapons raised as the massive door began to slide open. The sound of heavy machinery echoed through the corridor, and the tension in the air became almost unbearable.
"Stay sharp," Alistair said, his voice low.
As the door opened fully, the team caught their first glimpse of the chamber beyond. Rows of terminals and equipment lined the walls, their screens flashing with data. At the far end of the room stood their target, flanked by a squad of heavily armed guards. His smirk was visible even from a distance.
"Welcome," he said, his voice amplified by the room's acoustics. "I've been expecting you."
---
The room was a became a cacophony of gunfire, shouting, and the sharp clatter of bullets against metal. Sparks dove behind a console, her tablet glowing faintly as she worked furiously to bypass the last layer of encryption. Ox stood like a wall in front of her, his machine gun roaring as he held back the advancing enemy.
"Cross, report!" Alistair barked over the comms, firing a controlled burst to take down two more hostiles.
"Lost visual," Cross replied, his voice clipped but steady. "Relocating for a better angle. They're moving on my position."
"Stay put!" Alistair ordered. "I don't want—"
"They've already seen me, boss. I'll take care of it."
High above, Cross moved with precision, his rifle slung across his back as he repositioned. He found a new vantage point and quickly sighted in on the advancing guards. His shots were swift and deadly, each one dropping a target with practiced ease.
"Two down," he murmured. Another shot rang out. "Make that three."
But then, his instincts screamed a warning. He spun just as a shadow emerged behind him—a guard who had climbed silently to his perch. Cross fired, the bullet catching the man in the chest, but not before the guard's knife slashed across his side.
Cross stumbled, blood pouring from the wound. His vision blurred, but he steadied himself against the railing. Through the haze, he saw the orange cat, its amber eyes glowing softly as it sat motionless, watching him.
"Well, you're an odd one, aren't you?" he muttered, a faint smirk crossing his lips before his legs gave out. Cross slumped against the railing, his rifle slipping from his grasp as the world went dark.
Down below, Ox was a force of nature. He charged into the fray with a guttural roar, his machine gun empty but still clutched in one massive hand. He swung it like a club, smashing through the enemy lines with brutal efficiency. Bullets riddled his chest and shoulders, but he didn't falter. With a mighty swing, he sent three guards crashing into a wall before dropping the weapon and lunging at the next attacker.
Ox's fists became his weapons, each strike a devastating blow. He took down three more men, breaking bones and crushing ribs, but the damage was taking its toll. Blood poured from his wounds, and his breathing grew labored. Finally, a stray shot struck him in the side, and he staggered.
As he fell to his knees, the orange cat appeared again, sitting calmly in his line of sight. Ox chuckled weakly, his bloodied hand reaching toward it. "Guess I'm outta gas," he muttered, collapsing with a faint smile on his lips.
Zara knelt beside Sparks, her pistol in hand as she provided cover fire. Her calm demeanor belied the storm around her as she took down two attackers with precision shots. When Sparks' hands began to tremble, Zara placed a steadying hand on her shoulder.
"You're doing fine," she said, her voice firm but soothing. "Just breathe and focus. We're almost there."
"I can't—" Sparks stammered, tears streaming down her face. "I can't do this!"
"Yes, you can," Zara said sharply, her tone leaving no room for doubt. "We don't leave things half-finished, Sparks. Get it done."
Sparks swallowed hard, nodding as she resumed typing. But Zara's words had drawn attention. Two guards charged their position, and Zara turned, her gun barking twice. One man fell, but the second got a shot off, hitting Zara in the side. She gasped, dropping to one knee as blood pooled around her.
She looked up, locking eyes with Sparks. "Finish it," she whispered. "For all of us."
Sparks choked back a sob, her fingers flying over the tablet. The screen flashed green, and she let out a shaky breath. "It's done," she said, her voice trembling. "The intel's secure."
Before she could say more, a single bullet found its mark, and she collapsed beside Zara. The orange cat padded softly into view, curling up beside Sparks as her eyes fluttered closed.
Alistair stood alone now, the weight of the drive heavy in his pocket. He turned to face Rashad the insurgent leader, who stepped forward from the shadows, his lips curled into a mocking smile.
"You've lost everything, Commander," the man said, his tone cold and measured. "But I'll give you this—you put up a good fight."
Alistair said nothing. He dropped his rifle, his fists clenching at his sides. Rashad smirked, mirroring the gesture as he tossed his own weapon aside.
"What's the matter?" Rashad taunted. "Afraid to die without a gun in your hand?"
"No," Alistair said, his voice low and steady. "Just wanted to make it fair."
The fight that followed was brutal and unrelenting. Fists met flesh, knives flashed in the dim light, and blood stained the floor. Alistair fought like a man possessed, his movements calculated and vicious. Rashad was skilled, his strikes precise, but Alistair's rage made him relentless.
They grappled, each landing devastating blows. Alistair managed to disarm the leader, sending his knife skittering across the floor, but not before taking a slash to his arm. Blood dripped from his wounds, but he didn't stop.
Finally, with a surge of strength, Alistair drove Rashad back against a console, slamming him into the metal with enough force to knock the wind out of him. He grabbed the man's discarded pistol, pressing it against his chest.
"This is for my team," Alistair growled, pulling the trigger. Rashad slumped to the ground, lifeless.
Alistair staggered back, his breathing ragged. His vision blurred as pain radiated through his body. He looked down and saw the blood soaking his uniform, his wounds deeper than he had realized. He collapsed against a console, his strength leaving him.
The orange cat appeared beside him, its amber eyes calm and unwavering. It nudged his hand gently, curling up against his side.
Alistair raised his comms with trembling fingers, his voice weak but resolute. "Colonel… mission complete. The intel… it's secure."
There was a pause, then the colonel's voice crackled through the static. "Alistair? Alistair, come in!"
"I'm sorry," Alistair whispered, his gaze unfocused. "I failed you all…"
The cat's presence was the last thing he felt as his eyes closed, its warmth a small comfort in the cold, silent room.
The compound lay in ruins, its halls eerily quiet. The transmission beacon glowed faintly on the console, signaling mission success. And amidst the wreckage, the orange cat sat silently, its amber eyes fixed on the horizon as the first rays of dawn began to break.