[0320 HOURS - TOKYO SUBURBS - DECEMBER 26TH 2032]
This operation was bullshit.
That was all Hudson's mind would let him think about.
The sedan lurched ever forward regardless, light from the streetlights danced by, making the pitter pattering rain drops on the windows shine like jewels. The smell of burnt gunpowder, and blood, mixed with the stench of a man who hadn't known a day of rest in weeks and permeated the expensive vehicle. Hell, it even had heated seats that Hudson was absolutely ruining with the mud from his uniform.
Hudson looked at his team's liaison, first name John, last name Doe.
The man was sitting next to Hudson in the back of the car. Hudson swore if he looked hard enough at the man, he could still make out the factory creases in his uniform, meanwhile Hudson could still feel the sand from Tehran in his boots. Doe pulled out a bottle cologne and sprayed himself with it. They were a few minutes out from an operation and this guy cared more about smelling nice than telling Hudson what was going on.
What Hudson wanted to ask was, "Care to explain what the hell you took us off theater for? Are you trying to get us killed?!"
Instead, Hudson had to be diplomatic. He started.
"Sir, could you please elaborate on the mission? We've almost arrived on site."
Doe stared at Hudson for a minute, face unmoving. And then he smiled, a smile too wide to be natural.
"Ever the inquisitive one Staff Sargent Hudson." Doe said. He pulled out a dossier as if it was a chore for him and started rifling through it.
The driver yelled out, "ETA 5 minutes!".
Five minutes out and they were getting their briefing now. Ridiculous, it's almost like Doe was trying to get them killed. As Doe took his sweet time going through the files, Hudson wondered what they were going after. Was it an Al-Qaeda safe house filled to the brim with highly armed and motivated foreign fighters? Or Red terrorists armed with suicide vests and sarin gas? North Korean infiltrators working with Chinese MSS? What if they knew his team was coming? One PKM machine gun nest overlooking a stairwell could turn his entire squad into pink mist. What if the whole damned house was rigged to detonate?
In fact, what the hell was even the composition of the house? Or was it an apartment?
All Hudson knew was one moment he was door knocking Iranian Revolutionary Guard remnants in the Global War on the Axis and the next he was on a plane to Tokyo. And then he was in the back of a luxury Japanese Sedan with this pencil pushing incompetent while his team was behind him following in an up armored black Toyoda Land curser being led into a complete shitshow. He had to protect them.
Doe finally picked up a picture and held it up. Hudson's hands went cold.
"Shiro Kuroi. Age 17. Student at Sakuragaoka High School. Capture or kill."
Doe's smile was gone. His tone had switched, as if he could finally drop the act and be his true self. Doe continued.
"Of course that's what the lawyers make us say, I wouldn't mind an unfortunate accident."
Looking back at Hudson were the eyes of a man who had seen too much, done too much. He was ordering the death of a high school student as if reading off the chemical composition of a mixture of steel.
Hudson's train of thought had stopped working. This made zero goddamned sense. They were here to kill a high school kid?
Doe held up the next picture, "This is his domicile, he is alone. Electricity to the neighborhood will be cut by support elements, and Electronic Warfare jammers will be activated."
Doe next pulled out a signed and sealed document, "You are no longer assets of the US Military for the duration of this operation. By order of the President of the United States you now operate under Title 50 of the United States Code for covert operations."
He put down the paper, the shifting beam from streetlight for a moment illuminated a scar on the neck of the man in front of him, a scar Hudson had never noticed before. As if Doe was only now allowing Hudson to view the truth of the matter. Before Hudson was a killer of men.
"Welcome to the third option."
Third option, or tertia Optio.
The motto of the Special Activities Center (SAC), the premier covert paramilitary arm of the CIA. When diplomacy is impossible, when military action is unwise, there is the third option. The invisible hand.
The ice spread through Hudson's body, into his chest. They'd brought out Presidential Authorization, the SAC, and a whole host of support assets along with a veteran premier Special Forces detachment to at the tip of the spear to carry out the hit.
All to take out a Japanese teenager. This was obscene.
Hudson's mouth was dry as he spoke finally, "Why sir?"
Doe's leaned back, "Vital national interests." Then let out a curt laugh and continued.
"You really shouldn't let appearances cloud your judgement so much. They can be deceiving. Please understand, time is of the essence. You must be fast."
The car sped up. The streetlights went out.
It was pitch dark in Tokyo. It should never be pitch dark in Tokyo. The heavy grey clouds above would not even let the moonlight in, the rain continued to come down, harder now.
The car stopped as Doe added his final remarks, "Your team has been briefed. Make contact, disrupt, apprehend." There was a pause before he continued, "If he resists, do not hesitate."
The driver clicked open the locks.
"Good luck Mr. Hudson. Be seeing you."
Ice had seeped into every part of Hudson's being. He opened the door and stepped into the rain.
He could have continued to complain, continued to dither, continued to think.
But time had run out. He had to protect his men the best he could, and to complete the mission. He wouldn't shoot Shiro if he could help it. Now was the time for instinct.
Apprehend the High Value Target, capture.
The moment his boot hit the wet pavement in a single motion he pulled up his mask and pulled down his quad tube 6th generation night vision. The city was lit up again, now in a dark blue. The dual thermal overlay lit up any objects warmer than ambient in a silver lining. Three men exited the SUV behind him, his team. Hudson keyed his comms, still set up from the battlefield they'd just left, and moved out as the vehicles behind him drove away.
"Move out."
In the top left of his vision, his NVG's had a small mini-map. Blue dots corresponded to his teammates with him at the center, updating live with their movements and his own. Hudson pushed forward towards the house, and the blue dots on the map formed a tight line as they sprinted forward.
The house was a two-story building. No outer concrete wall, no barbed wire. From the looks of it, three rooms on the second floor, 3 on the ground. In a flash the operators were on the front door.
Hudson's team did not ask him any questions, they trusted their leader to know best.
Hudson prayed he wouldn't let them down, that's why he was in the front of the stack. He would be the first one into the danger.
The world lit up for a second, as lightning streaked above him. This was the perfect night, the perfect weather. The cold was a comfort as was the darkness.
He pulled out a silenced Mark 23 handgun, put it up to the door lock and shot twice. The sound of thunder hit shortly after.
He pushed the door forward, making sure that it didn't slam, and his team flowed in, rifles up. It was textbook, room after room, they danced through them like a silent death. A performance perfected. The infrared laser light emanating from their rifles cut across the air in a surreal blue under night vision, in sync to a beat that played only in their heads. Details faded as they went room after room.
Hudson never noticed the family pictures up on the walls with the father's face scratched out, or the laundry piling up, or the dirty dishes in the sink. He only noticed entrances, exits, windows, wall composition. He never noticed the length of cut rope laying by the side of a trash can, or the note attached to the fridge.
Ground floor clear.
The team moved up the wooden stairs, each step creaking through the silent house, echoing.
Eventually they made it to the top. That's when he noticed something.
The layout was strange. There was only a single door here. No, that couldn't be right could it? The layout of the house... it wouldn't make sense. Hudson slowed down as he stacked up on it. There was something else now, it was quiet.
Dead quiet.
Almost as if the storm outside had stopped in an instant, as if the rain drops had just been frozen in place. He looked back at the staircase he had just come up from and it seemed a lifetime away. How long were they walking? It had only been a few seconds.
He looked at the door again, on the other side of this door could be certain death, or it could just be a teenager in bed.
He heard scratching from the other side of the door.
"You're not supposed to be here."
It was hushed, quiet, raspy. Old, so old.
"Too late." It spoke again.
There was no time to think, he was compromised. He had to protect his team.
Hudson threw the door open and forced a step forward. He would eat the bullet meant for them.
A snap.
The world went black, and Hudson started falling.
Falling.
Falling.
Falling.
Falling.
Falling.
Oblivion greeted him.