Nine leaned against the cool metal frame of her narrow bed, eyes fixed on the cracked ceiling above. The faint hum of the base's power grid vibrated through the walls, a low, constant reminder of the pulse of this place—alive but unsettling, like a heartbeat out of sync. She flexed her fingers, feeling the slight ache in her knuckles from clenching them too tightly during the last mission. It felt like a distant echo, the pain of a different world.
An alternate reality.
That was the only way to describe it. The people around her—the faces she had seen fall in fire and acid, the voices she had heard scream their final words—were all alive, untouched, moving as if the horrors they endured had never happened. She had felt the burn of the acid, heard the grinding gears of that death trap, and yet here she was, staring at the same cracked ceiling she had known for years.
Max's smile lingered in her mind, a ghostly afterimage burned into her memory. She had seen it in the briefing room, the way he looked at Noah with a warmth that threatened to break her resolve. In her original reality, he might still be alive. Maybe he had found a way out of the trap. Maybe he had saved himself.
Maybe they could be something, if she found a way back.
She shook her head, pushing the thought aside. Wishful thinking. She didn't even know if she could return to her original reality, or if it even existed anymore. But the idea took root, threading itself into her mind like a creeping vine.
If this world wasn't real, then her original one had to be. And if Max was alive in that world, she couldn't waste her time hesitating here.
Nine stood, moving to the small metal locker by the foot of her bed. She yanked it open, the hinges creaking in protest, and grabbed a fresh set of clothes—a dark tactical suit, lightweight and flexible, with enough pockets to hide a dozen secrets. She changed quickly, feeling the comforting pressure of the gear against her skin, a second armor against the uncertainty of her situation.
She had just zipped up her jacket when a sharp knock echoed through the thin metal door. She froze, her heart giving a sudden, painful lurch.
"Nine," Joon's voice cut through the door, calm and direct. "We have a mission tonight. Get to the main room. I'll brief everyone there."
Nine hesitated, her fingers tightening around the collar of her jacket. This had to be an alternate reality. Because before the Silver Building mission—the one she had survived and that had somehow brought her here—in her world, they had spent a whole month preparing for it, without any other missions in between.
"Got it," she called back, forcing a steadiness into her voice that she didn't feel.
The footsteps receded, Joon's presence fading back into the dim hum of the base. Nine exhaled, leaning back against her locker for a moment. She had to keep up the act, play her part, and find a way back to her original timeline—where Max might still be alive, and where they might still have a chance.
"Alright," she whispered to herself, her eyes hardening. "Time to play along."
When Nine reached the main room, Rai and Charlie were already there, lounging on one of the worn leather couches that lined the far wall. Joon stood by the whiteboard, his posture rigid, eyes fixed on a stack of papers in his hand. The dim lights cast sharp shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the intensity in his eyes.
Nine slipped into the seat beside Rai, who shot her a lopsided grin. He always looked like a wild animal moments before a hunt, eyes bright and restless, his lean frame practically vibrating with anticipation. She had always found a strange comfort in his unpredictable energy—a wild beast, but a loyal one. Mikey, on the other hand, was her soft cloud tsunami, a force of nature wrapped in warmth and chaos. She hoped to see her later, if this mission didn't spiral out of control.
"Alright," Joon's voice cut through her thoughts, drawing the room's attention. He tossed a few grainy surveillance photos onto the coffee table in front of them. "Tonight's a straightforward hit. Three targets. Simple in, simple out. Rai and Charlie, you handle the close quarters. Nine, you'll provide long-range support."
Nine leaned forward, her eyes scanning the photos. Three faces stared back at her, their eyes flat and lifeless, unaware of the danger coming their way. She felt the familiar, cold focus settle over her, the kind that stripped away hesitation and second thoughts.
"Location's here," Joon continued, pointing to a rough map sketched out on one of the papers. "They're holed up in a small compound on the outskirts. Light security, but tight quarters. We move fast, we move quiet, and we're out before anyone knows we were there."
He paused, his eyes sweeping over each of them. "This is a direct order from above. It gets done tonight. No delays."
Nine nodded, her mind already piecing together the angles, the distances, the shots she would need to take. This might be an alternate reality, but the game was still the same. She just had to play it right.
"Alright," Joon said, folding his arms across his chest. "Gear up. We move in twenty."
As the others stood and headed for the equipment room, Nine lingered for a moment, her fingers brushing against the rough edge of one of the surveillance photos. The face of one of their targets stared back at her, blank and oblivious, a reminder of the stakes.
"If this is a different world," she whispered under her breath, "then I'll survive it. I'll find a way back."
With that, she stood, her footsteps echoing through the steel corridors as she headed to gear up.