The morning of the raid.
Tristan and four of his subordinates for today were sitting inside a stuffy, dusty truck, sweating in their heavy gear even though the September sun wasn't up yet.
His team comprised Tomas, with whom Tristan had good rapport, and his three best subordinates: Trey, Owen, and Cutout. At least, those were their working pseudonyms.
Tomas didn't have time to fully recover from his arm wound, but he stoically bore the pain, and his experience compensated for any problems it might cause.
To make sure they succeeded, both teams were fit with the best gear available, including earpieces for communication, bulletproof vests, teargas grenades, protective goggles, and respirator masks.
The last two were the main reasons everybody was sweltering. However, they couldn't take them off now.
Twelve minutes earlier, the Strike Team One, also known as Pierce's team, went into the target building.
Since then, Tristan was tracking their progress in his head from the reports of Pierce in his earpiece. At any moment, he could be called to interfere—or decide to interfere himself.
"Smooth progress so far," Pierce said, then there was a gunshot. "Resistance is minimal. The apartment with the stash should be the next one."
Tristan frowned.
He expected Cuatro Angulos to be better. If Pierce just returned with a success, Tristan will have to work much harder to take his position.
There was a loud bang in Tristan's earpiece, which made him flinch. The bang echoed weakly in Tristan's other ear, and it took him a moment to realize that it came from the target building.
"What was that, Team One?"
There was no sound except for static. Tristan sat straighter.
"Team One? Answer!"
"This sounded like a flashbang," Tomas said, tilting his head. "Often the last thing you ever hear."
Tristan's eyes widened.
"A flashbang? Huh, what else did they smuggle from their homeland while they were at it? A rocket launcher? A tank?"
The small, dingy room really was "clean", but not from dirt. Whoever lived here left plenty of empty wrappers and dirty clothing lying on the floor and furniture.
However, there was no one alive—only a couple of corpses.
After making sure there was no one around, Tristan got a rope from his tactical backpack, tying the other end to a bed, and waved them to follow.
People in his team weren't all as athletic as Tristan, but they were all strong enough to walk two floors up a wall with the help of a rope and a person pulling them up from the other side.
Tomas went last—since his arm was wounded, he just sat in a rope cradle while the rest of the team swiftly pulled him up.
After that, Tristan's team hurried to enter deeper into the building.
On the doorstep of the first apartment, Tristan saw the first unusual corpse. The first two corpses he met were usual, since they were killed by usual means—bullets.
This one was cut with something sharp—definitely a knife—and in a manner Tristan had never seen before.
There were two precise strikes to nerve centers. Each was debilitating and excruciatingly painful, but not enough to kill someone immediately.
From the way the dead man was lying, and the way his face was frozen in a grimace of torment, he died unable to even scream—but wanting to very much.
There were more corpses like these amongst the other ones Tristan saw on his way to Pierce.
It was really foreboding, although not a single muscle on Tristan's face showed his emotions. For his team, he projected only determination, calm, and confidence.
"Team Two, we lost the elite team for a moment, now moving toward the fire stairs."
Tristan responded almost immediately—his combat analysis let him understand the situation in a matter of moments. Your story source m_v lem|p-yr
"Someone will be waiting for you there, Team One. Enemies."
"I know," Pierce spat back like it was acid. "But this is all we have, so you better be there, too!"
His team heard that, so Tristan only needed to glance at them for a wordless command to run even faster.
Soon, they could hear voices of the enemies—and Tristan's team met them with guns blazing.