Inside the Phoenix, the air was cool and humming with quiet power.
Trice sat alone in the back of the dropship, armored up, gloves tight, rifle propped beside him. The soft red lighting of stealth mode washed over his gear like warpaint.
Ethan's voice broke the silence over the internal comms.
> "You nervous yet, Solo Ranger?"
Trice adjusted the straps on his chest plate. "If I was, I wouldn't tell you."
> "Rude. Here I am, flying you into a moving death trap, and all I get is emotional distance."
Trice smirked to himself, standing and walking toward the ramp. "You want emotions? Get a dog."
> "Tried. It ran away. Missed your warmth."
The ship gave a subtle lurch—Ethan shifting into final approach.
Trice clipped his harness to the overhead rail and checked the altimeter.
"ETA?" he asked.
> "Thirty seconds. Target train's coming in fast. Car eleven is your entry. That's the armored command car. Roof sensors should be blind for the next nine seconds after we pop. Just don't land on a turret like last time."
"That happened once."
> "And you screamed."
Trice rolled his eyes. "I yelled strategically."
> "Whatever helps you sleep at night, princess."
The external lights on the drop door blinked yellow.
Ethan's voice dropped a note—still playful, but steady.
> "You've got one shot at this. If you miss the timing—"
"I won't."
> "…Copy that. Opening in five."
The wind ramped up as the bay depressurized.
> "Four."
Trice crouched, unhooking.
> "Three."
The back hatch split open with a hiss.
> "Two."
The train roared beneath them.
> "One—DROP!"
Trice launched.
The wind howled like a furious beast as Trice plummeted toward the moving train below. The metal beast carved through the mountains, its engines roaring against the stormy night, cutting through lightning and shadow like a blade.
Above him, the Phoenix hovered in near silence—its stealth systems cloaking it from radar and vision alike.
The pilot's voice crackled in Trice's earpiece, calm despite the chaos.
"Drop clean. Hit your mark. I've got eyes on you till the tunnel."
The aircraft banked slightly, riding the wind with surgical precision as it flew parallel over the train's path—matching its speed just long enough to let Trice dive.
Rain lashed at his face. The wind screamed in his ears.
But the timing was perfect.
He didn't hesitate.
Trice twisted midair, eyes locked on the narrow roof of the train car below, body tense and coiled for impact.
One shot. One landing.
And then—He twisted mid-air, adjusting his descent, feeling the brutal pull of the wind trying to tear him off course. No backup. No second chances. Just the kind of insane, high-stakes chaos he was built for.
The parachute yanked him back in a sharp jolt, slowing his fall as the train barreled ahead. Rain hammered against his visor like needle pricks, turning the world into a chaotic blur of shadows and flashing lightning.
30 minutes.
30 minutes until the tunnel swallowed the train. Nine minutes before he'd be cut off, alone in the dark.
His boots slammed onto the metal roof. The impact shot through his legs, the slick surface making every step a risk. He rolled to absorb the momentum, rising just as the train rattled over a bridge, the metal beneath him shaking violently.
Azul's voice crackled in his earpiece. "You're on. Move fast. The storm's screwing with satellite visuals, so I'm blind out here."
Trice smirked, tapping his earpiece. "Guess that means I gotta impress you with my instincts."
He sprinted toward the nearest hatch, muscles coiled, senses sharp. The rhythmic hum of the train's engine masked his movement, but the tension in the air was thick.
He had no idea what waited for him inside.
But that was half the fun.
The Infiltration Begins
Trice gripped the cold, rain-slicked hatch and wrenched it open. The wind howled in protest as he dropped inside, boots landing in a crouch on the grated floor below.
The scent hit him first.
Oil. Steel. Blood.
He straightened, eyes scanning the dimly lit interior. The walls were lined with reinforced cells, their bars slick with fresh crimson. Bodies of guards lay twisted and motionless, throats slit clean.
This wasn't just a prisoner transport.
It was a goddamn slaughterhouse.
Azul's voice crackled in his ear. "Toby and Sergei should be three cars down. Move fast. You're running out of time."
Trice pushed forward, his movements precise.
The first car was deserted.
The second?
The silence didn't feel like safety—it felt like a setup.
Then the lights flickered.
And the gunfire started.
Bullets shredded through the train car, ricocheting off the walls with ear-splitting clang! Sparks rained down, stinging against Trice's exposed skin as he dove behind cover.
Shit. Someone had been waiting for him.
A deep Russian-accented voice boomed over the chaos. "Move, fool! We are sitting ducks in here!"
Trice snapped his head toward the voice.
Sergei.
The Russian giant was shackled to the wall—barely. The steel restraints bit into his thick wrists, but they didn't stop him from choking out a guard with sheer brute strength. Blood ran down his face, but his grin was pure menace.
Trice didn't hesitate.
He lunged forward, dropping two guards with precise shots. The air was thick with smoke and the acrid scent of gunpowder. In one fluid motion, he yanked the restraints from Sergei's wrists.
Sergei rolled his shoulders with a growl, grabbing a fallen rifle. "About damn time."
Trice smirked. "Next time, don't get caught."
Sergei barked out a laugh. "I was waiting for entertainment. You delivered."
More gunfire. More guards storming in. But no Toby.
Trice's gut twisted. "Azul, where the hell is Toby?"
Her voice came back, tense. "I don't know! His signal just moved—he's not where he was supposed to be!"
Then—
A metallic clank. The sound of locks disengaging.
The heavy doors slid open.
And standing there, flanked by two guards, was Toby.
The Twist – Toby Was Never the Only Target
Toby wasn't in restraints.
He wasn't a prisoner at all.
The sight of him standing unbound in the doorway sent alarms screaming in Trice's head. His rifle was up in an instant, but something felt wrong.
Toby wasn't armed.
He wasn't leading them.
He was a hostage.
Trice's voice was steady but razor-sharp. "Toby?"
Toby clenched his fists, his fingers twitching—a signal.
Don't shoot. Not yet.
Then—
"TRICE! IT'S A TRAP!" Azul's voice blasted through his earpiece. "THEY WIRED THE TRAIN!"
His blood ran cold.
A low, mechanical beep echoed beneath their feet.
Then another.
Then another.
Sergei cursed. "They're gonna blow the whole damn train!"
Then Toby moved.
In a blur of motion, he grabbed the wrist of the nearest soldier and twisted—snap! The man's scream barely had time to leave his throat before Toby ripped his sidearm free and put a bullet between another soldier's eyes.
That was the only cue Trice needed.
"GO! MOVE!"
Gunfire erupted in the train car. The ambush had flipped, but the real threat wasn't the soldiers—it was the countdown.
They had less than two minutes before the entire train went up in flames.
They had to reach the engine room. Now.
Toby, Sergei, and Trice pushed forward, their movements synchronized—lethal efficiency forged through war and survival.
"How much time?!" Trice shouted.
Azul's voice was frantic. "Ninety seconds before detonation!"
Too fast.
Toby gritted his teeth. "We need to reach the engine room NOW!"
Sergei didn't hesitate. He plowed through the last remaining guards, his sheer brute force turning them into obstacles rather than threats. The final set of reinforced doors buckled under his strength, crashing open.
Beyond them—the control panel. The heart of the train.
But it wasn't empty.
A lone figure stood at the controls, arms crossed.
A familiar face.
Cameron Steele.
Trice's chest tightened. Another lost brother. Another ghost.
And beside him?
Zane.
Toby cursed under his breath. "You gotta be kidding me."
Zane smirked, arms crossed like he had all the time in the world. "Took you long enough."
Beside him, Cameron Steele barely reacted his smirk just as cocky. "I was wondering when you'd show up."
Trice didn't lower his rifle. "You working for Sable now?"
Cameron chuckled, shaking his head. "I work for me."
He gestured toward the console. The countdown was flashing. Forty seconds left.
Zane moved first.
He tossed a keycard toward Toby.
Toby caught it midair, his brow furrowing. "The hell is this?"
Cameron's smirk faded slightly. "Your choice."
Sergei growled, gripping his rifle. "Why help us?"
Cameron finally looked serious. "Because Sable left me for dead too."
Ten seconds.
Trice didn't hesitate. "Toby, DO IT!"
Toby slammed the keycard into the console.
ACCESS GRANTED.
The countdown froze at 00:10.
Then—the emergency brakes engaged.
Metal screamed as the train lurched, grinding against the tracks, sparks flying as the sheer force rattled the entire structure.
For a moment—silence.
Then—
Sergei let out a booming laugh. "I need a drink after this."
Toby groaned, running a hand down his face. "I ain't stepping on a train again."
Trice exhaled, his gaze locking onto Cameron.
"You with us now?"
Cameron's smirk returned. "Guess I am."
Trice tapped his comms. "Azul, mission complete. We got Toby. And a few surprises."
Azul sighed over the channel. "I swear, you guys collect people like stray dogs."
Trice grinned, glancing at Zane and Cameron. "Only the best ones."
The storm had passed, but the night remained thick with heat and tension.
Above the train, the Phoenix sliced through the dark like a shadow with wings—silent, sleek, and cloaked. Its engines hummed beneath its stealth shielding as it approached the landing zone just outside the base.
Inside the aircraft, Trice sat opposite Toby, Zane, Sergei, and Cameron, each of them battered, bruised, and silent—but alive.
The mission had hit harder than expected.
The Phoenix adjusted altitude, tilting as the compound's perimeter lights came into view—rows of floodlights glowing like beacons across the floor.
Azul's voice came over the comms.
"Approach clear. The landing pad is prepped. Welcome home."
As the transport began its descent, dust exploded outward in circular gusts, sand spiraling around the hull like a vortex.
The moment the landing gear locked in and the ramp dropped, the team moved—slow, limping, but upright. Victory is etched into every exhausted step.
Waiting at the bottom of the ramp was Jeffrie, flanked by Ray, Lily, and Raven, eyes scanning the passengers as they stepped into the floodlights.
Trice was the last one out. He paused at the top of the ramp, silhouetted by the interior lights of the Phoenix, then jogged down into the dust.
Jeffrie stepped forward.
Trice exhaled. "You're not gonna believe who I found."
Jeffrie raised an eyebrow as Toby stepped into view, followed by the others.
And just like that
Ray let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "Damn. The stray dog shelter keeps expanding."
Scarlett and Sophia arrived, scanning the new arrivals. Sophia folded her arms.
"And we're just supposed to trust him?"
Sergei chuckled, slapping Cameron hard on the back. "Trust? No. But he had the chance to let us all die back there, and he didn't."
Jeffrie and Cameron locked eyes for a long moment.
Finally, Jeffrie gave a sharp nod. "Fine. But one wrong move, and you'll regret it."
Cameron smirked. "Wouldn't expect anything less."
Azul's voice crackled over the comms. "Alright, gentlemen. Now that we're all cozy, get inside. We've got seven more targets left, and time isn't exactly on our side."
Jeffrie didn't waste a second. He turned, leading the group toward the main building.
"Then let's move. The next mission starts soon."
The main briefing room was already buzzing by the time Jeffrie, Trice, Ray, and the new recruits stepped inside. The rest of the team was gathered around the large holo-table, where Azul had the next targets' locations displayed across the screen.
Scarlett leaned against the table, arms crossed. "So, who's up next?"
Azul adjusted her glasses, bringing up seven separate profiles. Across the holo-screen, seven faces appeared—seven targets still unaccounted for.
Ayana Malik, Tasha Grant, Jiro Takeda, Kai Ramirez, supposedly dead Ezra King, Nia Caldwell, and Idris Faheem.
Azul tapped the screen, zooming in on the first mission.
"First up—Kai Ramirez, Ayana Malik and Jiro Takeda."
Raven raised an eyebrow. "three in one mission?"
Azul nodded. "They're both in Tokyo, held in a high-security underground prison. Given that Kai is a tech expert and Jiro is a master combat specialist, they're considered 'high-value' prisoners. Sable isn't letting them go easily."
Jeffrie exhaled, glancing at the mission details. "Then it's got to be stealth. We send our best infiltrator."
A beat of silence.
Then, everybody turned toward Raven.
She smirked. "Guess it's my turn, huh?" Azul nodded, fingers moving across the holo-table. "You'll have remote support from me, but once you're inside, it's all you. Get in, free them, and get out. Tokyo security is tight. If you're caught, it'll turn into a massacre."
Raven rolled her shoulders, a smirk creeping in. "Sounds like my kind of fun."