BRIEFING ROOM 4
The tension in the room could be cut with a knife.
The nine handpicked operatives each one battle-tested, each one trusted with a mission no one else wanted were seated around a rectangular table, most still in half-gear from prep, while quiet murmurs gave way to louder disagreements.
Corporal O'Connor leaned forward, his voice rising with frustration. "I'm just saying what the rest of you are thinking. This isn't just any mission. We're going back into the red zone. No support, no evac window. And command's handing us a man who hasn't been active in over a year—"
"Careful what you say," Lieutenant Emily Zhang cut in, her tone sharp. "That man held the Mahana perimeter longer than any unit did. You think they handed him this mission out of pity?"
O'Connor scoffed. "No. They handed it to him because he's the only one who knows the layout. That's what this is, familiarity, not stability."
Corporal Nguyen nodded in agreement. "I respect his service. I do. But being legendary a year ago doesn't mean he's fit now. We're not talking about shooting paper targets here. This is Mahana, where he lost everything. His wife. His family. His whole squad. You want me to believe that won't mess with his head?"
Sergeant Ramirez raised an eyebrow. "You ever lost a squad?"
Nguyen glanced away.
Ramirez leaned back. "Then shut up about what trauma does or doesn't do to a man."
O'Connor didn't back down. "You don't need to have lost a squad to know sending an emotionally unstable man into a mission like this is suicide, for him and for us. What if he breaks down mid-op? What if he pushes too hard? What if he's chasing ghosts instead of objectives?"
"And what if he's exactly the man who can get it done?" Zhang fired back. "How many of you even read his dossier? Twenty-three high-risk missions. Zero failures. When Mahana went dark, he stayed behind longer than anyone else just to get one last survivor out. He made it back alone. And you're questioning his will?"
"That was then," Nguyen muttered. "Before everything went to hell."
"What do you think, Lieutenant Carter?"
Everyone turned to the corner of the room where Lieutenant Carter sat on a crate, lacing his gloves. He had been silent through it all. He hadn't said a word since they walked in.
Sergeant Ramirez looked toward him. "Carter. You've worked with him before, right?"
O'Connor nodded reluctantly. "Yeah. What's your take?"
Carter didn't lift his head. He tugged the glove tight, then finally looked up, his eyes steady.
"I met Captain Quinn on a recon op three years ago. Back then, we were mixed in with units from the top camps, Elites, Black Falcons, Hawks. Everyone had medals on their chest. Everyone thought they were something special."
He paused, his voice even but quiet.
"Quinn came from a camp no one had heard of. Mahana. Small base. No prestige. We saw his patch and thought it was a joke. First week, we gave him all the grunt work—supply checks, gear hauls, radio detail. He never complained. Never said a word."
Carter's gaze drifted to the side, like he was replaying it in his head.
"Then one night, during our third sweep, we got hit hard. Ambush. Our comms were jammed, the exfil route compromised. People panicked. I did, we all did, but not him. It was that same quiet guy who'd been hauling our crates who dragged two of us out of the kill zone, set up a fallback point, and led us through a tunnel route he memorized during prep."
He looked back up, his voice firmer now.
"That mission had six survivors. We'd have had none if not for Quinn. And none of us said a damn thing afterward. Because we all knew we'd misjudged him."
Carter stood, grabbing his vest off the bench.
"I went on two more missions with him, and I got to know him better. He transitions like a machine. One moment he's a monster in the field, and the next, you won't find anyone calmer. That man's mental state isn't something you can fathom."
"You asked my opinion? That's my opinion. There's no one more fit to lead this mission than Captain Quinn. You want someone calm under fire? Someone who'll finish the job no matter what he's carrying inside? That's the man."
He slung the vest over his shoulder and returned to prepping his gear without another word, like he hadn't just shut the room down.
No one spoke after that.
Even O'Connor leaned back, folding his arms, eyes lowered in reluctant silence.
The discussion was over. Lieutenant Carter had said what everyone needed to hear.
---
Outside Briefing Room 4
Darius stood silently beside Colonel Glenn in the corridor, arms folded across his chest. The two men had been outside the briefing room for some time, long enough to hear the heated conversation taking place inside. Voices rose and fell through the door, some tense, others defensive.
Glenn let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head.
"Ooh," he said quietly, glancing at Darius, "looks like someone's just done your homework for you."
Darius didn't respond. He just exhaled through his nose, his expression unreadable.
Glenn's voice dropped a little. "They don't know you yet. But they will."
Then, without another word, he reached for the handle and opened the door.
---
Inside Briefing Room 4
The door swung open, catching the attention of everyone inside.
Nine soldiers seated around the rectangular table turned toward the entrance as Colonel Glenn stepped in, followed by Darius in full gear.
The room fell into complete silence.
Glenn's tone was calm but firm. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "this is Captain Darius Quinn. He'll be leading this operation."
He looked at each of them briefly. "I trust you've all been properly introduced—though not officially." His tone held just enough irony to acknowledge what had likely been said.
"He'll be in charge from this moment forward. I'll let you handle the rest."
With a final nod to Darius, Glenn turned on his heel and left the room, the door clicking shut behind him.
---
Darius stepped forward.
He looked around at each of the soldiers, the nine handpicked operatives he'd be entrusting his life to, and who would be trusting him in return.
"I know some of you are still questioning my appointment as the mission commander," he began, his voice steady, his gaze direct. "And God knows you have every right to question it."
He took a breath. "The nature of this mission alone is enough to make any of us second-guess every little detail. So if you're questioning my mental state… if you're wondering whether I'm stable enough to lead you back into the heart of Mahana…" He paused, letting the silence speak for a beat.
"You don't have to worry about that."
He didn't pace. He didn't try to command the room with volume, just calm conviction.
"Yes," he said, "I lost everything I ever cared about there. My pregnant wife. My mother and father. My older sister. Friends. Comrades. I lost them all."
His jaw tightened slightly.
"But I didn't just lose them. I ended them. With these hands."
He held his gloved palms out for a second before letting them fall back to his sides.
"I used these hands to protect them. And when there was no hope left, when they were no longer themselves, I used them to do what was right. I didn't hesitate. I didn't run. I did what had to be done."
He let the weight of his words hang there.
"So if you're worried I'll hesitate when it matters… don't."
"If you're worried I'll push too far… maybe I will. But I'd rather die pushing too hard than live knowing I failed to do what was necessary."
His eyes moved across the room, locking briefly with each soldier.
"I'm not here to earn your approval. I'm here to bring you back alive and bring back the only thing that can save this country."
He took a step back, shoulders squared.
"You don't have to like me. But you'd better believe I'll do whatever it takes to complete this mission."
The room remained silent.
They all looked at the man standing in front of them, the man who had once been forced to end the lives of the very people who gave him a reason to live.
And now, that same man was being asked to lead them back into the fire.