As the jeep rolls to a stop, its occupants grow desperate, and the machine guns swivel in our direction. We burst from the vehicle, weapons raised. Four figures in tactical gear moving as one, a well-oiled machine of death and protection.
We fan out across the hill and start firing so there are too many targets for them to easily hit. Through our headsets, Kylian hums the song “Invaders Must Die” as bullets start to pelt the sand in front of my boots, sending up sprays of dirt.
Their aim is a little off, and they start to adjust, swiveling the barrel of that gun up toward my face. But I just grin as I lower my weapon, grab a grenade from my vest, and yank the pin with my teeth.
I lob it in a perfect arc as Ridge peppers the jeep with so many bullets that the windshield cracks.
A bullet slams into my vest like a punch, but the metal plates over my abs convert deadly fire into a bruise, and I laugh. Not because anything’s funny. But because it makes them pause.
Stupid.
Fatal.
Boom.
A neon-orange burst flares just above the left side of the jeep and swallows up the head of one of the gunners.
He slumps as Kylian punches the sky, voice amplified by the night air. “Fuck yeah! Hole in one!” Then, our wildest member sprints ahead, screeching, “Who wants a bullet necklace?”
The second gunner falls, and Kylian swivels back, pointing a scolding finger at Ridge. “Stop killing all my toys!”
Ridge simply replies, “Get the driver.”
My rifle kicks against my shoulder as I take down a passenger that flees out of the jeep, a clean shot through the chest. Kylian moves like lightning, eliminating the driver and another soldier with precise shots before they can properly aim. Ridge handles the remaining two that rush from the vehicle with cold efficiency.
But we've underestimated them. More soldiers pour from hidden positions in the surrounding hills and derelict buildings, their guns roaring to life. Bullets kick up dirt around us, tracer rounds painting deadly red streaks across the darkness.
"Cover!" Ridge yells, diving behind a boulder. "Colter, left flank! Kylian, right! Luka, provide suppressing fire!"
I move without thinking, years of training taking over. My rifle barks again and again, each shot finding its mark. The air fills with the coppery scent of blood, the screams of the dying, and the percussive thunder of gunfire.
Kylian is a whirlwind of motion as he ducks and weaves, his rifle a deadly extension of his arms. He takes down three enemies in rapid succession, a feral grin on his face. This is where he belongs, in the heart of chaos, the golden retriever transformed into a wolf.
Luka's voice crackles in my earpiece. "Sniper, ridge top, two o'clock. Colter, you're exposed."
I drop to the ground just as a bullet whizzes overhead, close enough to feel the wind of its passage. After rolling behind a cluster of rocks, I return fire, my shots keeping the enemy pinned down.
"Ridge, Kylian, advance on my mark," Luka directs, his voice steady despite the chaos. "Three, two, one…"
They move in perfect synchronization, Ridge's calm precision complementing Kylian's aggressive assault. Together, they clear the ridge top, the sniper falling with a choked cry as our psychotic team member rushes forward and slices at the man’s hand.
I push forward, my focus narrowed to a single point: eliminate the threat. Each target falls before my rifle, my movements fluid, deadly. This is what I was made for—big, scary, unstoppable.
But every kill is another moment away from her, another reason this war needs to end.
Adrenaline jolts through my veins with the speed of a train, but it’s for all the wrong reasons.
Hate.
Hurt.
I want to feel that rush from her instead.
The last enemy falls, and suddenly there's silence, broken only by the guttering rumble of the bus's engine, which sounds like it’s dying, and the ringing in my ears.
We approach cautiously, weapons still raised, scanning for any remaining threats. The bus has stopped, doors slightly ajar, smoke curling from its engine.
“Recruits, it’s Alpha Team X. We’ve been sent to retrieve you,” Ridge declares so that the passengers on the bus aren’t gearing up to fight. He begins to move forward. "Anyone injured?"
