“Yep,” I respond, forcing my tone to be neutral, trying to sound masculine despite the fear constricting my throat.
“Stupid,” he mutters, spinning to leave.
I stand motionless, struggling to decide whether tucking my hair back would draw more attention than leaving it. Ultimately, I choose to leave it—adjusting it now might suggest I’m self-conscious about it, which could trigger suspicion. Better to act like it’s normal, like I don’t care that it’s fallen out.
Retrieving my weapon, I continue northward, more caution in my steps now. My body throbs from the encounter, and my bladder screams, pounding against my abdomen after having that Enforcer’s weight bearing down on it. I clench my muscles, refusing to give in to the discomfort.
Truthfully, I’m surprised it hasn’t burst yet.
The rain eases a bit, transitioning from torrential to merely heavy. It’s enough of a change that I hear better—distant gunshots and shouting echo through the city streets.
I approach the northernmost building, a four-story structure with most of its windows intact. Logic suggests the objective might be hidden at the furthest point from the entrance, forcing teams to navigate the entire city. The building is dark, its interior a maze of collapsed walls and shredded debris. I navigate in silence, inspecting each room and discovering nothing but more dust. The sense of being watched prickles at the back of my neck, but I see no one.
Reaching the top floor, I’m about to declare the building clear when a faint scraping catches my attention. It’s coming from above—the roof access must be nearby.
After a few minutes, I locate a ladder built into the wall, leading to a trapdoor in the ceiling. The sound is definitely coming from there. Someone’s on the roof.
Climbing one-handed, ensuring my weapon remains ready, I edge the trapdoor open just enough to peer out. Rain immediately streams through the gap, but I can make out a figure silhouetted against the dark sky, standing with theirback to me.
Guiding the trapdoor open further, wincing as it creaks, I haul myself onto the roof. The figure doesn’t turn. Either they didn’t hear or they’re pretending not to notice, hoping to draw me into the open. My body remains crouched, weapon trained on the Enforcer’s back. Standard procedure would be to announce myself and demand surrender, but this isn’t a real engagement—it’s a test. And Ineedto pass it.
The Commander is watching.
I advance at a neutral pace, shifting from cover to cover—air conditioning units, ventilation shafts, more piles of debris—until I’m within striking distance. The Enforcer remains facing away, seemingly unaware of my presence. It’s too easy.
That’s when I notice they’re guarding something—a small metal container identical to the one the other teams recovered. The objective. Right there for the taking.
Without further hesitation, I lunge forward, aiming to grab both the flag and the container in one swift move. But the Enforcer reacts with inhuman speed, whirling to block my attack with ease. They’re good—better than the one I encountered earlier.
We grapple, exchanging blows that the training center’s combat instructors would find laughable. I’m still new at this—my form sloppy, my strikes lacking helpful force.
But what I lack in technique, I will always make up for in desperation.
I manage to land a solid hit to a shoulder, unbalancing him. My fingers brush against the flag on his back, but before I can grab it, something stops me.
The flag is a different shade of orange.
It’s subtle—a deeper, more reddish hue than the standard flags. And this Enforcer was guarding the objective directly.
This isn’t just another Enforcer…no, this is their lead.
In a real mission, killing him might end the engagement,but it would also eliminate a valuable intelligence asset. Someone who might have information about other hostiles, their plans, and locations.
Decision time. Eliminate or capture?
I pause long enough for the man to recover, then make my choice. Instead of going for the flag, I swing my weapon in an arc, connecting with the side of his head—not hard enough to cause real damage, but enough to stun him.
While he’s disoriented, I snatch the flag I took from the first Enforcer and use it to secure this one’s wrists, tying them in a butterfly knot. My father taught me knot-tying as a child, one of the only ‘masculine’ skills he thought might be useful regardless of gender.
“Don’t move,” I order, my voice low and steady in an effort to sound authoritative despite my internal shakiness. I secure the metal container, clutching it under one arm while keeping my weapon trained on my captive with the other hand.
The Enforcer glares at me through the eye slit of his mask, saying nothing.
I nod behind him before commanding, “Get up. You’re coming with me.”
He remains seated. Defiant.
Unlucky for him, my patience is already stretched thin by pain and the increasingly urgent demands of my bladder, and snaps. I kick him in the side—hard enough to make my point.
