None of it absolved him. Not the precision. Not the outcome. Watching it again didn’t answer anything. It only carved the truth deeper. You could do everything right and still lose. Responsibility didn’t come with guarantees. Leadership wasn’t control. It was standing in the aftermath when control failed.
He handed the phone back, his throat tight. “I don’t know how to process this.”
Joker took it, slipped it into his pocket. “You don’t yet,” he said quietly. “That part comes later.”
“I did everything right,” Fly said, the words tearing out of him before he could stop them. His breath hitched, grief dragging at him like an undertow. “I still lost her.”
Joker held his gaze. “Perfection’s a lie,” he said. “That video doesn’t show failure. It shows the cost of command.”
“She wasn’t just a crewmate,” Fly said quietly. “Or a classmate. She was a friend.” His jaw tightened. “Even that word doesn’t touch it.”
Joker nodded once. He didn’t rush to fill the silence.
“That’s the other side of command,” he said at last. “Not the authority. The access. How far inside you let them get.”
Fly didn’t look up.
“Your brothers won’t just fight beside you,” Joker went on. “They’ll hold you up. They’ll carry you when you don’t think you can stand, and all the while, their lives will still be in your hands.” He leaned back, eyes distant for a moment. “I lost people I didn’t think I’d survive losing.” Fly finally looked at him. “I kept leading,” Joker said, steady now. “Not because I had to. Walking away would’ve meant they died for nothing. Leadership is how you honor them. You don’t abandon the work. You carry it forward.”
Joker squeezed his shoulder, the pressure firm and grounding. Then he pulled Fly into a hard embrace, holding him tight for a long moment before pulling back to look him in the eye.
"Your job is to complete the mission and get your people home," Joker said, his eyes steady and piercing. He let the words settle in the silence between them, heavy and absolute. “You didn’t falter, Fly, or make a mistake. But we’ll carry everyone we lose, a burden, and a sacrifice we’ll never be able to shake. But that’s what we signed up for, and maybe we don’t understand until our first loss, but every fiber of our being will be locked onto the people we are responsible for, not because we’re leaders, but because we feel every one of those losses.”
Fly let the words sink in, the truth of them settling into the hollow spaces of his chest. It didn't make the pain go away, but it gave the pain a purpose.
Joker gripped the back of his neck one last time, his eyes steady. "You and me. We'll carry it all." Joker stood. “Try to sleep. I’ll be here for the funeral. I’ll be back for the inquest.”
Fly nodded, the words settling over him like a heavy blanket. He knew the inquiry was coming, the formal investigation into the incident. He would face the board, and he would tell the truth. For Mei. For his crew. For himself. Mei would matter.
"Thank you, sir."
Joker gripped his shoulder one last time, gave him a nod, and walked out.
17
Hell’s Eight Compound, Outskirts of Kamloops, British Columbia.
The blast reverberated in Blair’s ears and bones, the pressure wave slamming into her chest and shoving hot air into her face. The door bucked inward, crashing to the filthy floor in a splintered collapse. Smoke and dust surged past her, the bitter tang of burnt wood and explosive residue burning her nose.
Ice flowed through first, rifle up, already cutting angles. Boomer split off with him, fanning left to clear the immediate lane. Blair flowed in next, Beef tight on her shoulder, muzzle up and tracking. Breakneck stayed tucked behind her, rifle aimed and ready, covering her blind side as they moved. Kodiak sealed the rear, weapon tracking the space they left behind.
The interior erupted into chaos, sound, light, movement. Music blared from a jukebox in the corner, some hard rock anthem strangled mid-chorus when a biker lunged for the cord. Tables and chairs lay scattered, beer bottles rolling across a sticky floor, cards half-played and forgotten.
For one stunned second, three bikers at the nearest table just stared at them.
They died before they could finish the thought.
Ice’s weapon coughed in short, precise bursts. Boomer’s roared once, twice, his fire cutting down the man reaching under the counter. Breakneck pivoted with the motion, tracking secondary movement before it could materialize, taking out the guy that burst out of the bathroom.
Blair moved on instinct, rifle snapping to a chest packed with leather, patches, ink. She squeezed.
The man jerked back as the round hit center mass.
Her brain logged it clinically. First kill at this range with Tier 1 beside her. No time for anything else.
“Left clear,” Ice called.
Kodiak slid on the slick floor as he pivoted. “Right side clear.”
