The night was thick and quiet. The kind of quiet that held its breath right before chaos broke loose.
At the hideout, Ewan and Athena crouched low on a ridge of coarse ground, meters away from the sprawling house that loomed like a beast in the dark. Beside them were Aiden, Susan, Sandro, and a small team of trained agents—ten in total—each assigned to the mission with silent precision.
Their black tactical gear blended into the night. Every one of them was dressed in full armor—matte helmets with reflective visors, combat vests strapped tight across their chests, weapons slung low and ready. Black gloves, black boots, black everything—not a streak of skin exposed.
Even their breaths came out muffled through the filters attached to their masks, faint puffs against the moonlight.
Athena adjusted her ear mic, her gloved fingers brushing the side of her helmet. She could hear Spider's voice crackling through the static, sharp and clipped with urgency.
