The rhythmic hum of helicopter blades cut through the night air as the aircraft
descended toward the base. Inside, Jeffrie leaned against the wall of the
chopper,
His muscles ached from the back-to-back missions, the exhaustion settling deeper
now that the adrenaline was gone.
Beside him, Ray adjusted his vest, cracking his neck with a satisfied smirk.
Across
from them sat their four recruits—Elliot Kane, Luis Vega, Adrian Voss, and
Dante Alvarez. Each bore the marks of captivity and battle, but not all of them
were in the same state.
Elliot
sat silently, arms crossed, already healed up, a few faded bruises visible
beneath his rolled sleeves. His eyes scanned the base perimeter as they
approached, always alert.
Luis
leaned forward, the bandages around his ribs hidden beneath a clean shirt, his
movements smoother now—less pain, more control.
Adrian
sat with his head tilted back, face still pale, taking slow, deliberate breaths
as he adjusted to freedom.
Dante
tapped his fingers restlessly against his knee, his body jittery from
withdrawal and too much time spent drugged.
Jeffrie
glanced at Ray. "You sure this wasn't too much for back-to-back nights?"
Ray
chuckled. "What, you tired already, Brudda?"
Jeffrie
rolled his eyes but smirked. "Nah. Just wondering how we're going to fit all
these hardheads into the team."
The
pilot's voice crackled through the comms. "Coming in for landing. Get ready."
As the
helicopter descended, the base's floodlights swept across the landing zone—a
bright, familiar glow cutting through the darkness. A group was already waiting.
Trice
stood at the forefront, arms folded, unreadable expression as the ramp lowered.
Behind
him, Scarlett, Sophia, and Lily stood ready with med kits and towels. Azul
stood off to the side, tablet in hand, scanning data on their new arrivals.
It
wasn't a welcome party. It was an assessment.
Raven's
voice came through Jeffrie's earpiece. "Welcome back, hotshot. You bring us
some new toys?"
Jeffrie
smirked. "Something like that."
Trice
glanced at the recruits. "Damn. Y'all had a hell of a night."
Jeffrie
motioned toward the four men. "Elliot, Luis, Adrian, Dante—meet the team."
Scarlett
arched a brow. "Did they come willingly, or did you have to drag 'em out?"
Dante
let out a short laugh. "Let's just say it was a mutual understanding."
Luis
grunted. "Yeah. After they knocked some sense into us."
Trice
chuckled. "Sounds about right."
Azul
checked her tablet. "All right, get them settled. But first—debrief in an hour.
We need to talk about the next steps."
Jeffrie
exchanged a glance with Ray. No rest for the wicked.
Ray
clapped his hands together. "All right, y'all heard her. You're part of the
team now."
Elliot
finally spoke, his voice calm but firm. "Only if this team is ready to do what
it takes."
Jeffrie
met his gaze. "We wouldn't be here if we weren't."
Elliot
nodded. "Then let's get to work."
As the group made their way inside,
the weight of the night still hung in the air. The war wasn't over—far from it.
But tonight, they won.
Calm Before the Next Storm
The base hummed with activity as the
newly rescued soldiers settled in. Despite the late hour, no one was sleeping.
The adrenaline from the missions still ran hot, and the anticipation for the
debriefing hung heavy in the air.
Jeffrie stood outside, leaning against
the railing of the elevated platform overlooking the training yard.
The rain had stopped, but the scent of
wet concrete and steel still clung to the air. Puddles shimmered under the
overhead lights, and the night wind carried a chill that cut through his shirt
and straight to the bones that had taken one hit too many.
He rolled his shoulder slowly, feeling every bruise from the night's chaos. His body screamed for rest— But his mind wouldn't stop. Footsteps approached. He didn't need to look. Ray.
"Damn, Brudda," Ray muttered, stretching his arms behind his head. "How long's it been since we actually stopped moving?"
Jeffrie let out a dry laugh. "Long enough that stopping feels unnatural."
Ray leaned beside him on the railing, their shoulders nearly touching. For a few seconds, they just stood there in the quiet.
Below, the compound lived and breathed—muted conversations, the low hum of generators, the occasional bark of laughter or the clatter of gear. It was peaceful, in a way that felt foreign.
Ray tilted his head toward the yard. "Think they'll fit in?" Jeffrie didn't answer right away.
He watched Luis and Adrian near the mess hall entrance, talking with Trice and Nyah—trying to look relaxed, but still carrying the edge of people who didn't know what to do with peace.
Dante stood off to the side, arms crossed, restless and sharp. Elliot was nearby, quiet but alert, like he was still waiting for someone to pull the rug out from under him.
"They've all been through hell," Jeffrie said quietly. "But surviving hell doesn't mean you're ready to build something after."
Ray nodded. "No. But it means they're hungry for something real."
Jeffrie exhaled, eyes fixed on the yard. "They'll have to fit in. We don't get the luxury of waiting. Not anymore."
Ray didn't respond at first. Then, after a pause—
"You ever wonder if we're building a team…" he said, voice lower, "or just gathering the last survivors before the end?"
Jeffrie looked over, eyebrows rose.
"Since when did you start thinking like that?"
Ray smiled—but it didn't reach his eyes. "Since I realized every time, we save someone… it's like a piece of us goes missing." Jeffrie didn't argue. He didn't have
to. They both knew the truth.
A few feet away, Scarlett and Sophia
were laughing—not the loud kind, but the rare kind, the kind that sounded like
people trying to remember how. Lily was smirking, pretending not to enjoy being
the reason.
Azul was inside, eyes glued to her
tablet, calculating their odds like a strategist playing with time. Raven
leaned against the wall, arms folded, still and silent as always—but her gaze
missed nothing.
Inside the barracks, others rested. Or
tried to. Some patched wounds, others sat in silence—haunted by ghosts they
didn't talk about.
Jeffrie looked at them all.
The misfits. The broken. The ones left
behind.
And somehow, this was what they had
left to fight for.
"We're not just building a team," he
said finally. "We're building what comes after the war. Even if we don't live
to see it."
Ray let out a slow breath. "Then let's make sure it's worth something." For a while, neither of them said another word.
The wind moved through the platform,
carrying the scent of rain and gunmetal.
Below them, their future waited to be
forged.
Footsteps echoed up the metal steps
behind them.
Trice appeared, bottle of water in one
hand, a quiet weight in his step as he joined them on the platform.
He didn't speak right away—just looked
out over the yard with them, letting the silence stretch a little longer.
Then, casually, "So, what's next?" He
took a sip, eyes still on the team below.
Jeffrie glanced at his watch. "Thirty
minutes until the briefing."
Trice exhaled, rubbing the back of his
neck. "Hope Azul's got something solid for us. Not really in the mood for a
'make it up as we go' type of plan."
"She will," Jeffrie said without
hesitation.
Ray smirked. "Man's got faith."
Jeffrie shrugged. "I just know Azul."
Trice chuckled. "Yeah, well, I know
Azul too—and if she doesn't have a plan, she'll just build one from scratch
mid-fight and act like that was the idea the whole time."
Ray laughed under his breath. "Sounds
familiar."
Jeffrie leaned against the railing
again, letting his shoulders relax just enough to pass for calm. "It's weird."
Trice raised a brow. "What is?"
Jeffrie gestured toward the
yard—toward their scattered crew, their new recruits, their
barely-held-together sanctuary.
"This. Us. All of it. Somehow… it's
working."
Ray nodded slowly. "Barely." "But still," Trice added, "better than what we started with." Jeffrie cracked the faintest smile. "Yeah. A long way from that busted-out recon shack and three ration bars."
They laughed
The rain had finally stopped.
And for the first time in what felt
like forever, the storm inside them… had quieted too.
Another set of footsteps echoed up the
metal stairs.
This time, it was Dante.
He stopped a few feet away, arms
crossed, eyes scanning the yard before settling on the three of them.
"So," he said, voice low but edged,
"you get us out of hell… just to drop us into another one?"
Jeffrie turned to face him, his
expression unreadable. "No one's forcing you to stay."
Dante scoffed. "Yeah, but you knew we
wouldn't leave. Not with Sable still breathing."
Trice stepped forward slightly,
nodding. "You were always sharp enough to see the bigger picture."
Dante smirked, just a little. "Sharp
enough to regret it later, maybe."
Ray shrugged. "We all did. Still here
though."
A beat past tense, but not hostile.
Then Dante uncrossed his arms, letting
out a breath. "Just don't expect blind loyalty. I didn't survive that long just
to die."
Jeffrie nodded. "We don't need blind
loyalty. Just someone we can count on to cover are back when the time comes.
And a steady trigger finger."
Before anyone could say more, a voice
crackled over the intercom.
"Debriefing in ten minutes. All
personnel, report to the command center."
Jeffrie pushed off the railing,
adjusting his vest. "Showtime."
Ray popped his neck. "Here we go
again."
Trice gave Dante a sideways look.
"Welcome to the team.
One by one, they turned toward the
stairwell and headed inside.