The night was oppressive, thick with fog and the odor of gunpowder. Captain Grant crouched behind the crumbling wall of concrete as bullets flew by. The warehouse wasn't holding as well as she expected, her breathing steady and silent as she checked over her weapon that was strapped to her thigh, feeling the cool metal beneath her fingers. The adrenaline coursing hot through her veins. A silent promise to those who stand against her, surveying the dusty warehouse once more before moving slowly the darkness and decay scattered the flooring and walls, the only light source came from the security lights outside, a very dim glow.
"Eyes on the target, Angel," A hushed voice came from her earpiece, Mika, her lieutenant was stationed on a rooftop nearby in a sniper's nest. Her voice was steady, but Grant could hear the tension behind it, they had been tracking this particular cell for months. A high-profile trafficking ring operating in a small town in California.
"Copy that Eagle. Team two, move into position," Grant whispered into the mic, her voice low and authoritative. Her eyes flickered down to the infrared scanner on her wrist, four bodies inside, four souls she needed to rescue. Each rescue reminded her of her future failure to prevent the next one.
Her hand tugged at her rifle strap, pulling the large weapon into her hands. The worn fabric of her gloves creaked as she adjusted the rifle to where she needed it. The team moved slowly and with precision, shadows blending into shadows, Grant led them in, her steps silent and calculated, every muscle coiled and tense, preparing for the oncoming battle. Her mind raced every possibility, every move, every angle. She was a weapon, built by herself for others to use for their safety.
They breached the back door without sound, the stench of dampness and decay filled the air, but beneath was something worse, fear. Grant could feel the terror radiating from the rooms ahead, this was the part she hated the most, but the hunt was exhilarating, every takedown was almost too satisfying, but the aftermath, knowing what she did, always clawed at her soul.
A flicker of movement caught the team's attention, and Grant held her fist up to halt the team, Finally, she signaled with two fingers sending Ryder and Chaney around to flank. She moved in slowly, her breathing controlled and steady. Her pulse pounding into her ears as she approached the door, leading into a room. With a swift kick, it flew open. Time stood still.
Grant looked down to the two little girls, no more than the five-year-old tied and laying on a bed together, she let out a sigh and signaled for a medic. Ryder and Chaney standing guard at the door before them. It was dark, damp, and smelled horrific. She watched as the medic began to calm the two crying girls down and untie them. She turned her head slightly, memories threatening to resurface if she continued to stare. Grant clenched her jaw, the scene in front of her was almost too much. The sight of the two little girls, bound and terrified, stirred something inside raw, primal, damn near feral inside her, an ache she had long since buried. The medic worked quickly on their wounds, whispering sweet comforts to the children as they sobbed. Grant heard the soft gasps and hisses as the medic worked, the bruises that marred their fragile skin, made the bile rise in her throat. Not again, she thought she had steeled herself against these moments, each mission seemingly stripping away at her armor.
"This never gets easier, Angel," Ryder muttered from the doorway, his voice barely audible over the quiet cries and sobs. He was also staring, his usual sharp eyes dulled by the weight of what they were witnessing.
"No," Grant replied, her voice colder than intended. "It never does."
She straightened, forcing herself to focus once more. There were still enemies lurking, she couldn't afford this slip-up. She wasn't there to feel. She was there to fight, the momentary slip of weakness was over, and the captain had taken control of herself once again.
"Secure the area," She turned to Ryder. "No one gets in or out without my order."
"Yes, ma'am," Ryder whispered, he tapped Chaney softly for him to follow as they moved towards the hallway.
As the two disappeared into the dark, Grant moved towards the far end of the makeshift cell, looking out into the corridor. She kept her weapon raised, the silence was thick with anticipation, and there were still pieces of this operation that didn't add up. Where were the rest of the cells? Where are the guards? Her intel said that there would be more bodies, something was off. She pressed forward, slipping into the darkened corridor. The air felt heavier, and oppressive in a way that made her skin prickle. She'd learned to trust that instinct over the years, something was off and she could feel it.
She pressed her gloved palm to a door, it creaked lowly, nothing, but death and decay. She pushed on, were the guards outside it? No one else was there other than the two little girls. Were they set up? Was there a rat in their team, someone telling their cells their movements?
Grant's heart began to race more, it was all too easy, too quiet. The only captives were the two little girls. Intel had pointed to a larger operation, more victims, and far more guards. The absence of any resistance gnawed at her, a hollow warning in the pit of her stomach. She continued through the corridor, her weapon raised, her grip tightened, and as her senses heightened, she scanned every shadow for movement. The walls were damp, mold covered the rot, and the silence was the most unnerving thing of all. Her mind continued to race, were they tipped off? Was someone in her unit feeding the enemy information? The thought sent a chill through her, she trusted her unit, and she had hand-picked them for their skills and strength. But the possibility of a mole was undeniable now. She couldn't afford to ignore it, not with the lives of her unit at stake. Not with how her gut screamed something was wrong.
She reached the end of the corridor and slowly pushed open another door, her grip steady on her pistol, the sweat pooling in her palm. The room was empty, just like the rest, no traffickers, no victims. Only the stale scent of abandonment and dust swirling in the beam of her flashlight. Set up, she thought bitterly. They had been expected.
Grant pressed on her comms, her voice sharp with frustration. "Ryder, Chaney, report."
Ryder's voice came back instantly. "Still clear, Cap, no movement outside. You find anything down there?"
"Negative," She gritted out, her jaw tight. "No one's here. Just the girls, it's a damned ghost town."
A brief pause over the line, the crackle of static was the only sound. "You think we got played?"
"Feels like it." She responded with a huff, her mind spinning with questions that needed answers. "Get back to the entry point, some things are not right, and I want us out of here." She responded.
"Copy that," Ryder responded, his voice tense. Grant could hear the subtle shift in his tone he sensed it too. The weight of something unseen, lurking just out of reach.
She turned back toward the hallway, her movements swift but deliberate, her gun still raised. Every step echoed in the oppressive silence, each sound amplified in the eerie stillness of the empty building. Her heart beat a steady rhythm, keeping her grounded in the task at hand. She wasn't about to lose focus now.
The mission was over, but the real danger had only just begun.
As she neared the entrance, her comm crackled again. "Cap, we've got a problem," Ryder's voice cut through the static, sharper now. "Perimeter's hot—multiple hostiles closing in fast. They're cutting us off."
Grant's blood ran cold. "How many?"
"Too many. We need to move. Now."
Her mind raced. The extraction point was compromised. They needed to find an alternate route, but with hostiles closing in from all sides, time was running out. The girls—getting them to safety was the priority.
"Change of plans," Grant ordered her voice firm. "Fall back to the rear entrance. I'll cover you from the outside. We don't leave without those girls."
"On it," Ryder replied. "Chaney's got the girls. We're moving."
Grant broke into a sprint, her footsteps light and calculated as she moved toward the rear of the building. She could hear the distant sound of gunfire now—muffled but unmistakable. Ryder and Chaney were already engaging the enemy, buying time as they tried to maneuver the girls to safety.
Her heart pounded as she reached the back door, the night outside illuminated only by the faint, flickering streetlights in the distance. She crouched low, her eyes scanning the perimeter. Shadows moved among the crumbling structures, quick and elusive—too many for a clean escape. She was outnumbered, but it didn't matter.
She had one job, and she wouldn't fail.
"Ryder, status?" she demanded over the comm.
"Almost there," he grunted. "We're pinned down. Need a path cleared, Cap."
"On it."
Without hesitation, Grant raised her rifle and fired off a series of quick, controlled shots. The suppressed sound was barely a whisper in the night, but her aim was precise. Two of the hostiles went down before they could react, their bodies crumpling to the ground. She kept moving, repositioning herself to avoid detection, her movements fluid and instinctive.
"Clear on the west side. Move now!" she ordered.
Ryder and Chaney emerged from the shadows a moment later, the two girls clinging to Chaney as they sprinted toward Grant's position. More gunfire erupted behind them, but Grant's focus never wavered. She kept her weapon trained on the advancing figures, picking them off one by one, and giving her team the cover they needed.
As Ryder and Chaney reached the exit, Grant fell into formation, her back to the group as they retreated further into the night.
"Keep moving," she barked. "We're not out of this yet."
But even as they made their way toward the extraction vehicle parked a few streets away, Grant's mind raced. Someone had tipped off the traffickers. Someone knew they were coming.
And she was going to find out who.
9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡR0oXfwxsXb
