Never forget even the smallest things can be useful in the future
The hideout was quiet that night — too quiet. The air still smelled of smoke and blood from the explosion earlier. Everyone was scattered around the room, bandaged and breathing heavy. Celeste moved from one to another, silent but focused, patching wounds and stitching cuts with hands that refused to tremble.
Diana was sitting on a crate, one arm wrapped, eyes half-closed. Kane lay on the floor, tired beyond words, still holding an ice pack to his face. Valeria leaned against the wall, arms crossed, pretending she wasn't injured.
Emma sat by the window. Her eyes weren't on the city lights — they were far past that. The gears in her head were turning.
"We're blind," she muttered under her breath. "No intel. No network. No eyes."
Celeste glanced at her for a second, then went back to work.
Emma leaned forward, elbows on her knees, lost in thought. They needed more than strength now. They needed information.
That's when it hit her. A name. A face. A memory buried deep under years of chaos.
Carlo.
Vencor's old hacker — quiet, brilliant, paranoid. Emma remembered him from her earlier years, when she was still gathering intel for the underworld. He was the kind of man who could break through any system, but who smiled like someone who'd lost everything.
She remembered his story: Vencor had killed Carlo's wife, accusing her of betrayal. Carlo was kept alive, forced to work under threat, chained to Vencor's network.
Emma's eyes narrowed.
"If he's still alive," she whispered, "he hates Vencor more than anyone."
Mostang looked up from cleaning his gun. "Who're you talking about?"
Emma turned toward him, her gaze sharp.
"Carlo. The hacker Vencor keeps. He's useful — and dangerous. But if my memory's right, he might want Vencor gone as much as we do."
Diana looked over, tired but curious. "You think he'd help?"
"If he's still sane… maybe."
Emma stood, wincing slightly as her ribs protested. She crossed to the desk and started writing notes on a scrap of paper — connecting the dots, tracing the risk.
Then she frowned. If he hated Vencor this much, why hasn't he contacted anyone yet?
Her mind clicked through possibilities — and one made her eyes widen.
"He's being watched," she said softly. "That's why."
She turned to Mostang, who was already half-standing.
"Mostang. I want information. See if Carlo's still alive, and where Vencor's keeping him. Don't get spotted — if they know we're sniffing around, they'll move him."
Mostang smirked. "Got it, boss."
Emma nodded, voice calm but her mind sharp as a blade.
"Find him. If we get Carlo… we'll turn Vencor's own network against him."
Mostang grabbed his jacket, loaded his pistol, and nodded once before disappearing into the night.
The others watched silently as Emma turned back to the window.
Her reflection in the cracked glass looked colder than ever — half shadow, half fire.
Outside, thunder rolled through the city.
And Emma whispered to herself, just loud enough for no one to hear —
"The game's about to change."
----
The next morning came heavy — clouds thick and low, wind cold against the cracked glass of the hideout. Mostang hadn't returned yet. The group stayed restless, each of them knowing the tension meant something was about to happen.
Emma stood near the window again, her bandages hidden under her long coat. Her eyes traced the horizon — the city stretched before her like a battlefield waiting to happen.
Celeste was asleep at her desk, and Kane was sitting cross-legged on the floor, tinkering with an old pistol's parts. Valeria sat nearby, sharpening her knife with silent rhythm.
Emma's voice broke the quiet.
"He's not back yet."
Diana, who was leaning against the wall with arms folded, looked up. "Mostang?"
Emma nodded. "He's been gone too long. That means he's either deep in the mission… or he's in a fight."
She turned around slowly, eyes hard, her tone calm but firm — that kind of calm that always came before violence.
"Diana."
Diana straightened immediately, already sensing what was coming. "Yeah?"
Emma walked toward her, slipping on her gloves.
"You're going after him. I'm not losing another one to Vencor."
Diana blinked once, pushing off the wall. "Assist?"
Emma nodded. "Assist — and if there's a fight, end it fast. Don't hold back. He's probably dealing with resistance. Carlo's location might've triggered something."
Diana smirked faintly, stretching her shoulders. "Got it."
As she moved toward the exit, Emma added quietly:
"Stay sharp. If Carlo's being watched, they won't hesitate to eliminate anyone who gets close. If you can't reach Mostang, don't chase too far. Return."
Diana paused at the door, turning her head slightly. "What about you?"
"I'll prepare for his return… or what comes after."
For a moment, the two locked eyes — soldier to soldier. Then Diana nodded and stepped into the night.
The wind outside howled, carrying the city's distant echoes of sirens and chaos.
Emma stood there for a long moment, eyes fixed on the door Diana just walked through.
Then she whispered, almost like a prayer — though her tone was far too cold to sound like one:
"Don't die out there. Not you, too."
She turned back to the table, pulling out a map and marking new routes.
The mission had just split into two paths — one in the field, one in the shadows —
and Emma Elarat was ready to command both.
------
The scene cut to the outskirts of the city — an abandoned construction site bathed in dull orange from a flickering streetlight. Dust drifted through the air like ghost ash.
Diana's boots hit the wet pavement quietly. Her breathing was steady, her expression sharp and focused. She'd been tracking Mostang's GPS signal for the past hour, and it finally led her here — somewhere no sane man would hide.
She turned a corner — and there he was.
Mostang sat behind a half-collapsed concrete wall, his gun resting across his lap, his hair messy, a streak of blood down his cheek. His cigarette had long since burned out between his fingers.
Diana approached slowly, hands in her jacket pockets.
"So this is what 'gathering intel' looks like, huh?"
Mostang lifted his head slightly, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. "You're loud as hell for someone sneaking up on me."
She smirked faintly. "You're slipping. I found you in under an hour."
He leaned back against the cold wall, exhaling sharply. "Good for you. Now, unless Emma sent you with food, go back."
Diana crouched down beside him, scanning the area. "You're bleeding."
"Yeah, thanks, I noticed."
She rolled her eyes and tossed him a small first-aid kit from her bag. "Here. Celeste made me carry one."
He caught it lazily but didn't move to use it. Diana sighed and grabbed it back, opening it herself. Without asking, she started cleaning the cut on his cheek.
Mostang winced. "Ow, shit—careful."
"Don't whine," she said flatly, finishing the bandage with a slap on the side of his face.
For a moment, there was silence between them. Only the wind and the hum of a distant highway.
Then Diana leaned against the wall beside him. "So… what happened?"
Mostang's eyes darkened. "Vencor's men. They're guarding Carlo. Heavy. Carlo's chained in a small server compound — he's alive, but they're forcing him to hack for them. If we go loud, he dies first."
Diana frowned. "You're waiting for an opening."
"Exactly," he said, looking over at her. "But I didn't expect backup."
She shrugged. "Emma said you might need it."
Mostang chuckled under his breath. "Yeah, figures. She doesn't like losing people, huh?"
Diana looked away, the light catching the scar on her cheek. "Neither do I."
The two sat there quietly for a moment, the air heavy with mutual understanding. Then Diana cracked her neck and stood up.
"Alright, enough hiding. You got the layout?"
Mostang smirked faintly, standing too. "Of course I do."
"Good," she said, pulling her gloves tighter. "Then let's go get your hacker."
two of them disappeared into the night, side by side.
-----
Diana peered through the grimy windowpane. Inside: a dim room of humming servers, a single fluorescent strip, and Carlo — pale, gaunt, wrists shackled to a steel rail, eyes hollow but still sharp behind the glass. Two guards paced with ritual slow steps; a third sat at a terminal, coffeesmoke in the air. Cameras blinked red in the corners.
Diana pressed her forehead to the glass for a second, then stepped back. "We either rush, take him, and run," she said flat, "or we plan something cleaner."
Mostang dropped into a crouch beside her, palms on his knees. He had the tired look of a man who'd gambled and lost a hand. "We plan tight," he said. "No broad fireworks. If we do this loud, they call every unit in a twenty–minute radius. If we're surgical—two minutes in, two minutes out—we minimise the chase window."
Diana's jaw tightened. "Two minutes is optimistic."
"Then make it one. Make it perfect," Mostang answered. "I'll cut the cameras for ninety seconds. You give me the opening. I get him loose. You cover the exit. No chatter. No extra bodies."
She looked at him — at the cut on his cheek, the way he pinched the cigarette stub between lips he didn't light. He wasn't asking. He was sure. That steadiness calmed her.
"Fine," she said. "We do it fast. We do it silent. We leave nothing but a blank bed and a broken lock."
They went over it once, twice—timing, angles, fallback points.
Plan: • Mostang takes the south access — three steps to the camera bank. He'll feed it a loop, then cut power to the local AP for ninety seconds.
• Diana moves to the maintenance grate under the window: ram it, slide through, neutralise the nearest patroller. No killing unless necessary. Fast pain, silence.
• Mostang picks the lock and undoes Carlo's shackles. Carlo moves only on command — he's watched and fragile.
• Exit route: across the service tunnel to the east yard, through the grate two guards never check. Run to the van at point Delta. If anything goes wrong, burn the loop and scatter—meet at secondary safe-house.
They dressed in the dark — wet-weather jackets, soft-soled boots, gloves. Diana checked the compact knife at her hip; Mostang checked the micro-injector he kept for shutoffs. A breath. A nod.
They moved.
Mostang slipped away first, a shadow folding into the alley. Diana crouched by the grate, fingers finding the screws like muscle memory. The city around them sounded ordinary — traffic, a distant siren, a dog barking — and that normalcy felt obscene.
Two minutes until the loop.
Diana climbed through the grate and dropped onto a strip of shadow behind a dumpster. The first guard rounded the corner slow, radio chattering nonsense. Diana stepped out like cold weather — one quick impact to the throat, a soft thunk, a body folded and silent. She worked fast, muffled, practiced. No time to taste fear.
Mostang's shadow crossed the window. A click. Then the camera lights stuttered. Ninety seconds of dark.
Mostang slid the glass pane up with a slow hand and slipped inside. The room smelled of heat and old coffee and metal. The terminal still glowed. He moved like a ghost—no flashy moves, just fingers on lock tumblers until the shackles popped with a soft metallic sigh.
Carlo blinked, eyes hopeless at first. Then recognition lit a dark spark. He mouthed, "Emma?" Mostang shook his head once — no time. He slipped a tourniquet off and worked the shackle free, breath measured. Carlo's wrists bled but freed, his limbs thin as rope.
At the door, a boot scuffed. Footsteps. Too close.
Diana heard it through the wall — the soft shuffle of a returning patrol. She pressed her back to the server rack, breath held, knuckles white on the knife. The seconds lengthened. Mostang's hand slammed a palm against Carlo's shoulder — move.
He moved.
They were a breath from the grate when the footsteps hit the stair. The light behind the patrol's visor snapped on. Heart in Diana's throat. She tasted copper.
Mostang shoved Carlo into the shadow. Diana lunged from the grate as the guard hit the landing — a hard, clean strike that folded muscle and lung. The guard collapsed with a muffled sound.
They slid through the grate into cool night air — Carlo supported between Mostang and Diana. Their bootprints splashed in gutter water as they sprinted for the east yard, breath cutting short, lungs burning.
Behind them: shouts. A radio struggling to form a sentence. A light sweeping.
Diana didn't look back. She ran.
They reached the van at point Delta — engine cold but ready. Mostang swung the door open, helped Carlo in. Diana slid in, slammed the door; Mostang started the engine. Tires screamed. They were gone.
But as the van ate distance, Diana's eyes were sharp in the rearview — a dozen headlights converging like locusts onto the warehouse.
"Too close," she said simply. Mostang's jaw set. Carlo clutched his bound wrist, head bowed but eyes burning now — alive and furious.
They'd made it out. Not clean, not pretty. Messy. Fast. Dangerous.
And somewhere back in the noise of the city, Vencor's men already knew something important had been taken from under their noses.
-----
Inside the hideout — the air was dim, thick with the smell of gun oil and sweat. A single hanging bulb swayed slightly, throwing slow-moving shadows across the walls.
Emma stood near the table, arms crossed, mask resting on the edge beside her. Her eyes, sharp and unreadable, turned as the metal door creaked open.
Valeria was in the far corner, sparring lightly with Kane, who was drenched in sweat and panting. "Come on, rookie," Valeria teased, flicking his forehead. "You swing like you're trying to scare mosquitoes."
He gritted his teeth, about to reply — but then he froze. Diana and Mostang stepped through the doorway, both dirty, scraped, and clearly exhausted. Between them… walked a thin man with long, messy hair, carrying the weight of years in his eyes.
Emma's gaze locked on him immediately.
"Carlo," she said flatly.
He looked up at her voice, and his expression trembled just slightly — recognition flickering behind his glasses. "Emma Elarat," he muttered, half in disbelief. "You're still alive."
Emma didn't move closer. "I could say the same."
Diana stepped forward, wiping the dust off her hands. "We got him," she said. "Almost got cornered doing it, but we made it."
Emma nodded once. "Good." Then she turned her attention back to Carlo. "You know why you're here."
Carlo gave a tired chuckle, rubbing his wrists. "Because Vencor's empire is crumbling — and you want me to help make it fall faster."
Emma didn't smile. "I want him erased," she corrected, her tone cold but controlled. "Every trace. Every connection. Every memory of his control over this world."
Kane walked over slowly, whispering to Valeria, "That's the hacker she was talking about?"
Valeria smirked. "Yep. Doesn't look like much, huh?"
Carlo shot her a sideways look. "I'm not supposed to," he said dryly. "People who look like me disappear better."
Mostang leaned against the wall, lighting a cigarette, watching quietly. Diana brushed past Emma, muttering, "He's on our side now. Whether he likes it or not."
Emma finally walked closer, stopping a few feet in front of Carlo. "You'll have what you need — access, protection, freedom," she said. Then, softer but edged, "But betray me once, and I'll make sure you disappear the way Vencor does."
Carlo's lips curved slightly. "You talk just like him," he said.
Emma's eyes darkened, her voice colder now. "That's your first and last warning."
The room fell silent. Even Valeria stopped teasing Kane.
After a long pause, Carlo finally nodded. "Fine. I'll help. For my wife's sake."
Emma turned away, picking up her mask from the table. "Then welcome to the White World."
The group stood together — Diana exhausted but proud, Mostang quietly exhaling smoke, Valeria leaning on Kane with a grin, Carlo looking haunted but resolute.
For the first time since their formation… the team was almost complete.
Chapter end