The rhythmic slicing of helicopter blades echoed through the forest. Cold, dark, and wild — the woods below were untouched, untamed. Simon sat inside the aircraft, eyes fixed on the vast canopy beneath, opposite Jake, who silently checked his gear.
Around them, the squad loaded magazines, tightened vests, and secured knives in sheaths. Radios buzzed to channel 3. A mission was underway. Silence wrapped the cabin, broken only by the low thrum of the rotors.
The helicopter descended. The moment the skids kissed the earth, the forest was swallowed in wind and sound. The soldiers poured out, boots crushing moss, rifles raised. Team Atlas had landed.
With practiced precision, they slipped through the drenched trees, approaching the southern perimeter - a wall. High. Guarded. Lethal.
Simon gave a subtle nod. Captain Victor scanned with his equipment, then signaled with a short tilt of the head. Clear.
Simon raised two fingers, and just like they'd rehearsed, the team fired. Suppressed shots - thuds, not cracks - sent the guards down before they could react. They hit the wall. Grapples up. One soldier climbed, peeked over, and flashed a hand signal. Clear.
Like shadows, the team ascended and slipped over. The compound was theirs now. Guards were falling in silence, disappearing without a trace. Even the bodies seemed to vanish into the darkness.
The metallic entrance loomed ahead - steel, cold and wet from mist. Jake approached with his digital keypad. A click. The lock released. The door opened.
Concrete. Damp. Narrow stairs spiraled up, their boots echoing like war drums. Fingers rested on triggers, nerves tight but trained.
First floor. A guard stood alone, facing away.
Simon lifted a hand. Mine.
He crept forward. The silence was so deep, he could hear the man breathing. One hand over the mouth - the other drove a knife across the throat. Warm blood spilled on Simon's cold skin.
They moved again. Floor by floor, clearing each level before alarms could be raised. Like ghosts.
Then came the shot. It wasn't theirs.
The soldier ahead dropped - clean headshot. Blood sprayed Jake's face.
"Shit," Captain Caesar snapped. "We're compromised!"
Gunfire erupted. Bullets zipped past like lightning. The ambush was real - but Team Atlas wasn't made of rookies. They returned fire with deadly focus, stepping over bodies, moving forward through blood-soaked floors.
Jake shouted, "They're escaping!"
They pushed to the final floor. The rooftop was near.
Simon, Jake, and McMillan broke ahead, storming upward. Resistance was heavy - enemies blocked the stairwell with suppressive fire.
Jake pulled a grenade. "Frag out!"
Boom. Concrete trembled. The path opened. They surged forward.
The rooftop was chaos. Wind tore through the night as a black helicopter rose, blades howling like banshees.
"McMillan, the payload!" Jake shouted.
A man with a suitcase was boarding. Simon aimed, fired - the bullet ripped through the man's hand. The case tumbled down onto the rooftop. But the chopper lifted off.
Suddenly, another soldier leaned from the aircraft - RPG on his shoulder.
"RPG!" Jake yelled.
Simon lunged, grabbing Jake and shoving him behind cover. Then came the blast.
A shockwave slammed into Simon's body. Everything went silent - except a high-pitched ringing. His world spun. He didn't know if he was dead or alive.
His vision blurred, like underwater. Gunfire echoed, distant and distorted. Voices screamed. Shapes moved.
Then… the case. Lying at the edge of the rooftop. Slightly open. Something strange protruding from it.
Something that would start a catastrophe.
Copyright © Sobhan Omidvar, 2025. All rights reserved.
This story is a work of fiction. No part of it may be copied, reposted, or reused without permission from the author.