Chapter 4

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 4 •

My uncle’s office was dim, the only light spilling from the lamp that cast long shadows across the maps and dossiers scattered on his desk. His presence was commanding, the kind that silenced even the restless air.

“Alpha Team,” he began, his voice carrying the weight of iron. “We’ve intercepted intel. Children are being abducted. The syndicate is harvesting their organs for the black market.”

The words struck like a blade. My chest tightened. I felt Sabina stiffen beside me, her usual grin gone, replaced by a grim line. Quatro’s fists clenched, and Khalil’s eyes flickered with unease.

We always had missions—most of them life and death. But when the mission was about children, something in us shifted. We became different. Sharper. Colder. Because innocence stolen was a crime that burned deeper than any battlefield wound.

My uncle’s gaze swept across us, sharp and unyielding. “I know you are all still training and just starting out again. But I need your team on this case.” My uncle slid a case across the table. Inside lay weapons, comms, tactical gear—tools of war. He looked at me directly, his gaze sharp as steel.

“Uno,” he said, “you lead. No mistakes. No mercy.”

I swallowed hard, nodding. No mistakes. No mercy. But mercy for the innocent—that’s mine to give.

After leaving my uncle’s office, the weight of his words still pressed against my chest. Children. Organs. Black market. The thought alone was enough to make me sick. But fury wasn’t enough—we needed precision.

We headed back to headquarters in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. The file sat heavy in our hands, its pages filled with names, locations, and horrors that should never exist. This was my first mission with them again since coming back. And though every fiber of me wanted to focus on my grandfather’s murder, I knew returning here meant something greater—saving lives, saving the world one shadow at a time.

As we entered headquarters, the atmosphere shifted instantly. The team moved quickly, no hesitation. Boots echoed against the floor, lockers slammed open, gear was pulled out with practiced hands.

Quatro broke the silence first, his voice low but steady. “We’re really doing this.”

Sabina glanced at him, her usual grin replaced by a sharp edge. “We don’t have a choice. Those kids don’t have time.”

We wore our tactical gear piece by piece, the ritual almost sacred. Kevlar vests were strapped tight against our chests, comms units clipped to our ears so our voices could cut through chaos, holsters and blades secured with the whisper of steel promising survival, and rifles and katanas checked, loaded, and balanced with the weight of war. Each movement was deliberate, each strap pulled and buckle fastened like a vow.

Khalil muttered under his breath, almost to himself. “Feels heavier tonight again.”

I looked at him, tightening the straps on my gloves. “That’s because it is. This isn’t just another mission. This is about innocence stolen. We don’t fail here.” The room fell quiet again, but it wasn’t the silence of fear—it was the silence before a storm.

Sabina finally spoke, her voice cutting through the tension. “Uno, what’s the plan?

“We move at midnight,” I said firmly, my voice steady though the weight of the words pressed against my chest.

The room was dim, lit only by a single bulb that swung gently overhead, casting shadows across the long blueprint spread on the table. It was the floor plan of the syndicate’s compound. My finger traced the lines, the hallways, the exits, the choke points. Every detail mattered.

Quatro leaned forward, his sharp eyes scanning the blueprint.  “Quatro,” I said, locking eyes with him, “before we enter, I need the perimeter cleared. No visibility, no surprises. You’ll be our eyes. If anyone’s watching, I want them gone before we move.” He nodded once, silent but resolute.

I shifted my gaze to Singko.  “Singko,” I continued, “you’ll take the back door with Dos. Silent entry. No mistakes. The syndicate won’t know what hit them.”

I straightened, my hand pressing against the blueprint as if to pin the plan into reality. “I’ll cover the front and sweep the rest. The primary objective is rescuing the children. Second is eliminate the syndicate operatives. Tertiary, secure evidence of trafficking routes.”

Sabina’s eyes met mine, fierce and unyielding. “We’ll bring them home.”

Quatro smirked, though his tone was serious. “And make sure those bastards never touch another child again.”

Fayre drove in silence, her hands steady on the wheel as the city lights bled into shadows. The hum of the engine was the only sound, but inside the car the air was heavy, charged with the weight of what we were about to do. Khalil sat in the back, eyes locked on the satellite feed glowing across his tablet. Every street, every corner, every blind spot of the warehouse was mapped out in cold detail.

We parked at the east side of the building—the most abandoned, the most cleared. Perfect for ghosts like us. Fayre killed the headlights, leaving us swallowed by darkness.

“Khalil,” I said, my voice low, sharp. “Is everything clear?”

He didn’t look up, just answered flatly. “Cleared.”

Dos and Singko slipped out first, vanishing into the shadows as they headed for the back door. Their movements were silent, precise, the kind that came from years of training and the knowledge that hesitation meant death.

I adjusted the strap of my katana across my back, the weight familiar, comforting. My rifle hung at my side, loaded and ready. My pulse was steady—not from calm, but from cold fury. Children. Innocents. They think they can carve them apart like cattle? Not while I breathe.

“Alpha, we are already in position,” Dos’s voice came through the earpiece, steady and clipped.

I gave Quatro a single glance. He was already looking at me, smirking, the kind of grin that belonged to someone who thrived in chaos. “I miss this,” he whispered, almost amused.

I almost rolled my eyes, but instead pressed my finger to the earpiece. 

“We breach everywhere. No survivors.”