Ian nodded toward her. "Your mission is internal. No one gets near Raphael's system. No one, not without your approval knowing your vice is said to be the best."
"Understood," Scarlet replied, voice low but firm as she stole a glance at Kristen to check how she was luckily she still had her usual work expression.
Ian's gaze shifted again, resting on a thick-shouldered man with a calm, authoritative stance. "Andre and his men will be overseeing direct protection of the convoy. The merchandise moves at dawn two days from now. You'll coordinate with Lucas, the primary driver, and his team of transport specialists. If anything happens, you hold position until instructed otherwise. No heroics bullshits and all."
Andre gave a single nod, his voice deep but it could not hide the excitement in it. "Copy that, sir."
"Area surveillance," Ian continued, glancing to another corner of the courtyard, "will fall under Adre, my cleaner. He's responsible for erasing loose ends witnesses, leaks, trackers. He'll have full support from the extreme operations unit seventy of you under his command."
A ripple went through the assembled soldiers. That group Klaus belonged to was already known for its reputation. Not just clean-up, but elimination. Their work was surgical, although not invisible, it could be said to be very good.
Ian turned toward them, eyes landing briefly on Klaus himself.
" you there" he pointed at Klaus, he being known was surprised but then again after being chased down and having been wanted before it should be expected.
"Yes sir " he resounded a little hoarsely.
"Klaus. You'll coordinate with Adre directly. Area scans, visual sweeps, and containment. Your focus is on isolation and recovery of any compromised site. I expect full silence and no reports unless it's done."
Klaus's jaw flexed slightly, his expression unreadable beneath the drizzle. "Understood," he said quietly, voice low and husky.
Ian clasped his hands together, pacing once across the line of troops. "You'll all receive your division markings and command briefings within the hour. Remember this isn't a warfront. It's an operation. AXILE's name doesn't need to go public. You leave no messy prints. You leave no bodies unless necessary."
He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. "And if necessary… you make sure they're never found and if found, you'd better not let it be traced back to us at the very least."
A faint murmur of acknowledgment rippled through the ranks, some grim, others almost eager to get into action and that was only relatable to those of the Axile group.
As the groups began to disperse, Klaus's team remained standing longer than most. Seventy men and women, all trained arms men, their black gear reflecting the muted sunlight. Despite the tension, many of them looked almost *relieved*.
Clean-up meant freedom.
Clean-up meant no scrutiny, no delicate politics and just results which is all that matters.
Scarlet's team, too, stood apart, their crimson insignias gleaming against the black. Across the courtyard, her gaze briefly went towards Klaus's wanting to see his current reaction to being made in charge of his team.
Surprisingly they all didn't have issues with it , it all seemed like nothing's changed in how they moved or the relationship between them. " Weird, but it's none of my business" she thought.
In the distance, Ian and Raphael spoke in hushed tones near a large holomap displaying the Parisian city grid, dots of red blinking around the river and the industrial districts.
"Every route covered," Ian said. "By the time they move the cargo, I want the city blind, but don't cut the power supply."
And from somewhere above the clouds, the faint whir of drones echoed, AXILE's invisible eyes already in motion.
The city of Paris continue shimmered beyond the fences and its beauty deceptive, its charm only skin deep.
The underground train cut through the darkness beneath northern France like a steel serpent its carriages trembling softly with speed, the faint hum of magnetic rails thrumming underfoot. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered in steady rhythm, washing the passengers in pale light.
For nine hours, the world above had been little more than an echo. No landmarks, no sunlight only the vibration of motion and the dull, constant humming of the train's systems announcing every city it sliced beneath.
Among the scattered passengers, four figures sat quietly in different compartments, their faces half-buried in ordinary distractions travelers, tourists, perhaps even students on exchange. To the casual observer, nothing about them suggested anything more.
Yunli, seated near the center of the train, was dressed plainly a gray coat, her black hair tied into a neat bun, thin spectacles perched on her nose. A folded Le Monde newspaper rested across her lap as she flipped a page, scanning headlines about local elections and trade strikes. Beneath the paper, however, was her real focus a digital notepad hidden between the folds, flickering faintly with encrypted lines of text: *AXILE SIGHTINGS CONFIRMED. RUMORS: MERCHANDISE = BIO-WEAPON?*
Every few minutes, she sipped her tea from a cardboard cup, lips curved in the faintest smile a mask she wore flawlessly. Across the aisle, her "seat partner," an older French man, tried to strike conversation about Parrisian art museums. Yunli responded with polite laughter and broken French, every word rehearsed.
A few compartments down sat Oscar, totally buried in a travel magazine about mountain hiking. His long fingers flipped the pages idly, but his eyes were on the reflection in the window from time to time scanning, counting passengers, memorizing every face that glanced too long in his direction. Every now and then, he chewed on a biscuit, letting crumbs fall onto the page like a careless traveler.
In the fourth car, Vincent had his hood up, earphones in, pretending to doze while his screen glowed faintly with scrolling code. Each line corresponded to the satellite interference readings Yunli had sent hours earlier. A faint smirk touched his lips. "So, AXILE really is building a blackout zone," he muttered under his breath, switching the display to a harmless playlist of French jazz as a ticket inspector passed.
At the far end, Sonia was playing her role to perfection. A colorful scarf wrapped around her neck, camera slung over her shoulder, she was chatting animatedly with a young tourist couple beside her about pastry shops and the "romance of France." Her laughter rang out now and then natural, disarming. The couple loved her instantly.
And so, for nine long hours, the team moved like ghosts behind masks separate, unconnected, but pulsing with quiet coordination beneath the façade. They didn't glance at one another. They didn't share a word.
Each time the train slowed through a checkpoint, they all subtly adjusted switching newspapers, checking phones, mimicking boredom like seasoned travelers. When one of the vendors passed, they even ordered snacks. Oscar and Vincent bought sandwiches and beers; Yunli accepted a croissant and another tea; Sonia took photos of the vendor like a tourist obsessed with local life.
By the eighth hour, the rhythm of the train became almost hypnotic. Laughter. Crumpled newspapers. The smell of food. The faint rattle of wheels. For any surveillance AI monitoring the passenger cars, they were nothing but harmless civilians enjoying the long ride to Paris.
But beneath that act, their minds were sharp.
Yunli's gaze occasionally drifted to the window not to see the darkness outside, but to watch the faint reflections of her team members scattered through the train. She didn't need to speak to know they were all on edge. The deeper they went, the quieter the digital world became.
Parris wasn't just another city. It was a sealed ecosystem, a black box where even satellites faltered.
The ninth hour came with a deep tremor as the train began its final descent. The voice of the automated conductor echoed through the cabin, smooth and accented:
"Prochain arrêt… Gare souterraine de Paris Nord. Veuillez rassembler vos affaires."
"Next stop, Parris North Underground Terminal. Please gather your belongings."
Passengers stirred, folding papers, stretching, chatting softly.
Yunli closed her newspaper neatly and slid the digital pad into her coat pocket. Her eyes met the faint reflection of Vincent three cars down. He looked up at the same time, the barest nod exchanged through the glass was a ghost recognition, invisible to anyone else.
Sonia snapped one last photo of her laughing companions before turning toward the exit. Oscar tucked his magazine away, stretching like a man who'd just woken from a nap.
When the train hissed to a halt, the doors slid open to reveal a massive subterranean terminal, visibly all concrete and steel, glimmering with cold blue lights. The air smelled faintly of oil and static.