The target building stood in silence, its worn-out frame bathed in moonlight. It wasn’t just old—it felt abandoned, too still for something rumored to hold classified secrets. Arthur’s eyes swept across the empty gate, then up to the second-floor balcony where guards should’ve been stationed.

  Not a single shadow moved. His footsteps slowed. Each crunch of gravel beneath his boots echoed too loud, too clear. His heart pounded in his chest, a warning bell in the quiet. Something’s not right, he thought. It felt less like an opportunity—and more like a trap waiting to be sprung.

  Arthur moved cautiously along the left side of the building, his eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of danger. Every step was deliberate, every movement measured. His senses were heightened, alert for even the slightest noise, yet all he encountered was the hollow silence of the night. The air was still, the tension thick around them.

  Finally, reaching the back of the building, Arthur paused, his gaze flicking to the others across the way. With a subtle motion, he signaled for Ray and Therese to move in closer. Ray responded first, his steps quick but smooth, as if he belonged there. Therese followed shortly after, his movements just as calm, his expression neutral. They walked with the kind of ease that would make anyone believe they were nothing more than ordinary strangers passing by—nothing to suspect, nothing out of place.

  When they finally reached the spot where Arthur was waiting, he made a subtle signal to the rest of the crew, signaling that the plan was about to begin.

  As they slipped through the back doors of the building, the world seemed to grow quieter around them. Shadows clung to the walls, and the darkness in the corridors swallowed their footsteps whole. Every step they took felt like a countdown—closer to danger, closer to something they couldn’t imagined.

  They all knew the stakes. If they were caught here, on foreign soil, war wouldn’t just be a possibility—it would be inevitable. That knowledge sat heavy in their heads, but even heavier in their chests. Logic could only do so much when fear curled cold fingers around their spine.

  Arthur led the way, his steps confident but quiet. At one turn, he glanced back at the team. That’s when he saw it—Therese’s hand, barely trembling. A subtle shake, but enough. Arthur pressed his lips together in a hard line, then spoke low, steady.

  “Soldier, your hands are shaking. Be at ease.”

  Therese’s eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the leader’s calm voice. He quickly gripped his wrist with the other hand, trying to still the tremble.

  “I’m sorry, Sergeant. Of all the missions we’ve taken... this one feels different.”

  “I know.” Arthur’s voice didn’t lose its calm. “It’s okay to be scared. There’s nothing wrong with that.” He paused, then added, “But once your foot hits the battlefield, fear has to kneel. You know that.” he said as gripped his hand tightly.

  Therese nodded, drawing in a slow breath as they moved forward again. The tremor faded, but the tension in the air didn’t.

  Arthur, on the other hand, moved with precision—mind sharp, senses alert—but his thoughts were murky, clouded by something heavier than doubt. As they passed through the dim, lifeless hallways, a cold knot began to form in his stomach.

  The silence wasn’t just unsettling—it felt intentional. Too genuine. Too still.

  No guards. Not even the sound of a distant voice or a flicker of movement.

  Just the soft, rhythmic echo of their boots against the concrete floor, as if the building itself was holding its breath, waiting for them to get caught by the trap set for them.

  As they were about to turn the corner, they stopped because Arthur raised his hand, gesturing them to halt.

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  He took a glance at the new path—he wanted to make sure they were safe. There, he saw a wall that didn’t quite match the others. The concrete was cleaner, and the paint looked fresher than the other walls they had passed earlier. It was enough to trigger his instincts. He slowly walked toward it, eyes scanning for signs of hidden mechanisms. Ray, on the other hand, stepped beside him, kneeling to inspect the base.

  As he seemingly searched for something near the bottom, a few seconds passed before his eyes widened in surprise.

  “There’s a seam here,” Ray whispered, brushing his gloved fingers along the edge. “It’s a hidden door.” He paused and looked at Arthur. “It camouflaged well—but not well enough for us not to notice it.” He smiled.

  Therese kept watch, his pistol trained down the corridor. “A hidden room in a place like this… it has to be where the data's stored.”

  Arthur nodded once. “Or it’s a trap set for us,” he responded.

  No one spoke after that. The silence closed in tighter than ever, heavy with the weight of decisions. Arthur exhaled—slow and steady—then placed his hand on the wall. A faint click answered back.

  The panel hissed open.

  Behind it was a narrow staircase descending into darkness. A sudden silence lingered in the air for a couple of seconds, but then—unexpectedly—a bellowing cry echoed from within. A woman’s voice, trembling and pained, rang out from below, sending shivers down their spines.

  But what chilled them most… was how familiar it sounded, like the voice sounds like Sasha’s.

  Thankfully, Arthur held back his urgency. He looked at the two of them and gave a firm nod—twice.

  “Stay sharp,” he said, taking the first step down the staircase, then slowly walking toward the bottom. The others followed close behind.

  Every step felt like walking deeper into a nightmare. The air grew heavier, the shadows denser.

  Then—suddenly—the staircase gave way.

  The structure collapsed beneath their feet, and in an instant, they were sent tumbling down. There was no time to react. Their bodies rolled violently through the pitch-black shaft, a blur of limbs and gear crashing against cold steel and concrete.

  They fell fast, swallowed by the dark—toward the unknown pit at the heart of the hidden room.

  As they scrambled to their feet, the flicker of a light bulb snapped on, blinding them for a moment. When their eyes adjusted, their breath caught in their throats.

  Before them, a massive group of uniformed soldiers stood, their weapons raised, heavy guns aimed directly at them. The cold metallic gleam of the guns reflected the harsh light, and the tension in the room was thick enough to cut through.

  Arthur froze, his instincts screaming in protest, but the reality of the situation settled over him like a heavy cloak. His mind raced, calculating every possible outcome, none of them favorable.

  With a sharp exhale, he motioned for the others to lower their weapons. Slowly, one by one, they did the same, the weight of the guns pressing down on their consciences.

  They had no choice but to surrender.

  Arthur bit his lip as the soldiers shoved his crew to their knees. But what surprised him most was that none of them laid a hand on him. Only his team—Ray, Therese—were forced down, the cold barrels of rifles pressed to their backs.

  Then, as his vision adjusted and the scene became clearer, his gaze shifted to the side of the room. There—barely conscious, bloodied, and blindfolded—were Sasha, Danny, and Albert. Their bodies trembled with pain, stained with dried blood, their breaths shallow and uneven.

  Arthur’s heart clenched, but what truly made it stop for a beat was the realization that hit him as he scanned the soldiers more carefully. These weren’t Exolus uniforms.

  They were his own countrymen. A uniformed soldier of his own nation pointed a gun at them and even got to a point where they brutally beaten up his crew where they almost died.

  He glared at the soldier still pointing a rifle straight at him.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Arthur demanded, his voice sharp and clipped. Urgency and confusion warred in his chest while his emotions spiraled beyond control.

  The soldier stared back coldly, unflinching by his intimidation.

  “This is a direct order from command. Don’t resist, Sergeant,” he said flatly. “Or we’ll kill your squad.”

  Arthur’s fists clenched at his sides. His jaw tightened.

  He didn’t know how to respond. His thoughts raced, colliding with each other. Why? Why are we being treated like traitors? We followed orders. We did everything they asked… So why are our own soldiers the ones with guns to point in our heads?

  He bit down hard on his tongue, the bitter taste of betrayal rising like bile in his throat.