Darkness cloaks the untraversed path as mist fractures under the surge of the sea wind sweeping past Agent Czar.
He issues a silent command with a flick of his hand, dispatching his covert team across separate routes for the midnight infiltration.
The night-vision optics lock onto a hostile—one soldier patrolling the perimeter of the abandoned monastery, its bones eaten by rust and time.
A black panther closing in on its prey, an agent moves unseen behind the guard. One precise strike, and he catches the collapsing body to silence the sound of impact.
Lanterns flicker, casting gold through the dust-choked corridor as Agent Czar leads his elite team forward, silent and controlled, weapons primed for the strike.
The mission has one objective: eliminate Alfredo, leader of the rogue militant faction known as the Red Sheol Directive.
Red Sheol is linked to a rival nation and responsible for multiple hijacking and a chemical attack over Erriadorian airspace.
A staged uprising has drawn most guards away, leaving Alfredo isolated with fewer men.
But it isn't long before the operation begins to unravel—hundreds of rounds erupt, smoke swallowing the air as shards of concrete and debris are flung into chaos.
Yet there is no room for failure. Their mission is to bring down Alfredo's design to destabilize Erriador's standing on the world stage through aviation terrorism.
In the sacred east wing of the monastery, Agent Czar stands alone with Alfredo as bodies litter the rusted tiles, metallic scented blood spreading in dark pools.
Before the altar, Alfredo sinks to his knees, hands lifted over his head.
"Surrender—" the ginger-haired man breathes, voice unsteady as blood slips from his temple. "I surrender—"
Agent Czar cocks his head to the side,
eyes fixed on the dark-brown–skinned man in his mid-thirties, the barrel of his assault rifle unwavering.
He tracks Alfredo's glance toward a discarded pistol beside a fallen guard.
The moment he moves, a shot rings out.
Alfredo cries out as a bullet tears through his shoulder.
He advances in silent footsteps.
With a swift kick, he sends the weapon skidding away, then brings the barrel of his HK416 to Alfredo's head.
Alfredo spits blood, clutching his bleeding shoulder as he glares up through the pain. "You and your country will pay," he rasps in a broken accent.
Before Czar can respond, footsteps sound out behind him.
"All clear, boss," an agent reports.
"Bind him." He jerks his chin toward Alfredo.
An agent nods, holsters his weapon, and moves in, pulling out a set of restraints.
"Any casualties?" He strides into the corridor,
where dawn fractures through the towering stained-glass windows, blurred by fog.
"None, boss," the agent says. "Just a few minor injuries among the soldiers—otherwise the mission's unscathed."
The agent falls into step behind Czar as he halts. The drifting snow stirs an ache,
and a quiet hope, for the one he loves, separated by thousands of miles.
"Boss!" An agent lifts a hand, armed, and clad in black like the rest—tall, lean, his tousled brown hair still dusted with snow.
Ace approaches with a blonde-haired woman in tow—Sky, who frowns up at the blue-eyed man flashing her an easy grin.
"You've got something here, boss." Ace lifts a finger to his own cheekbone.
Czar brushes his finger along the spot Ace indicated. The wetness draws a frown from him. He rubs the blood between his thumb and forefinger, studying it.
"We leave in ten," Sky says, looking up from her watch.
"With the way he runs us ragged," Ace says, shaking snow from his tousled hair. "Elk better raise our pay."
Sky only snorts in response.
"I just hope I get to spend Christmas with my family," Agent Kane sighs.
''I'll bet ten bucks he'd hand us another job before we even report this one," Ace says, chuckling.
"Deal."
Wind drifting through the corridor muffles their voices, and Czar moves ahead, solitary against the chill.
And silently, he prays that Ace never claims the ten dollars he just wagered, for it isn't a holiday he aches for, but the woman to whom he has pledged his heart.
Now that the EIS Black Ops Division's classified mission is done, weeks of exertion weigh on his shoulders.
Failure was not an option. One misstep, and Alfredo could have triggered another hijacking plan already in motion.
Alfredo had evaded drones, cut off tracking lines, and left behind only bodies in his wake.
Then he had placed bounties on the heads of ministers, making the conflict blood-deep.
He lifts his gaze to the white snow swirling from the gray sky, sighing—wanting nothing more than to return to his Angel.