The ocean is black under the moon.
A faint glow breaks the darkness.
A yacht drifts across the surface—neon lights flicker in rhythm with the bass thumping through the dark.
Seven men in black tactical gear cut across the water in a low-profile speedboat, their silhouettes swallowed by the crashing waves.
At the front of the boat, a man in a black tactical helmet sits still, a faint skull painted across the faceplate.
He turns to the team, the skull's empty stare fixed on them.
A distorted voice crackles through the mask.
"We go in quiet. Move quick. Group A will cut the power. Once it's down, apprehend any armed targets and round up the rest on the main deck. Leave the VIP to me. Once the package is secure, we take the ship back to port and disappear."
The men nod. The masked man turns back to the yacht without another word.
The man closest to him turns to the crew.
"You heard him, boys. We touch down in four minutes. Recheck your NODs—make sure they're up and running." He taps the night vision goggles resting above his helmet.
The team checks their gear as the boat closes in.
The engine cuts off, and the boat drifts toward the vessel.
Music spills from the yacht, the water trembling with each bass hit. Lights strobe across the sky above it.
As they close in on the ship, the masked man gives a signal— two fingers toward the hull, then up.
One man pulls a grappling hook from a duffel bag, rope coiled tight and tosses it.
The hook arcs through the air and catches along the upper railing. He pulls himself up the rope, boots braced against the side of the yacht as he climbs. At the top, he slowly lifts his head above the edge.
A grand cabin structure sits directly ahead. The deck wraps around both sides. A door rests just a few feet away. Colored lights flicker as music pounds overhead, but this side is clear for the moment.
He pulls himself over the railing and drops into a low crouch against the polished deck. He scans once more, then signals the others up.
One by one, they follow.
The masked man is last to come over the railing.
The men draw their pistols and begin threading suppressors onto the barrels.
The team spreads out. Four men take cover facing the party. Two others move east to cover the rear. The masked man stays near the door, centered between them. He taps the side of his helmet.
His voice keys in through the comms.
*Move on the power cut. We'll have five minutes until backup comes online. Execute.* The comm clicks out and the teams disperse.
He turns to the door and slips inside.
Inside, the music is much louder, the bass pulses through the floor and up his spine. Strobe lights cut the room into flashes, bodies pressed tight, flickering in and out of view. Neon paint glows across skin and walls, streaked in color.
His pistol hangs low at his side as he moves through the crowd, eyes scanning for threats.
He pushes past, weaving through the crowd, and spots a neon-lit staircase along the side of the room.
Two at the VIP. Arme...
A girl presses into him from the side, dancing against him.
He firmly pushes her off without breaking stride.
"Hey, what the hell!" She pushes him back.
He turns toward her.
She sees the skull stretched across the mask, its empty gaze fixed on her—and freezes.
The power cuts. The music dies with it, the room falls into complete darkness.
The woman screams.
He taps his helmet and his thermal vision flickers to life. The darkness lights up. The crowd blooms into glowing figures, yellow heat signatures standing in confusion.
Now where were we?
For a moment, the room goes still. Then panic erupts—more screams break through the darkness.
A wall of bodies surges toward the exit, slamming into him.
Damn it…
He pushes through the stampede and makes his way to the base of the staircase.
The two guards call out to each other, trying to get their bearings.
"Damn, power must've gone out."
"I'll radio it—"
A suppressed shot snaps through the dark. One man drops.
"What the—"
Another shot. The second man collapses.
The masked man steps over the bodies and moves up the stairs.
At the top of the stairs, a narrow hallway stretches out. Two men stand guard outside a door, one fumbling with his radio, the other scanning the dark hallway, weapon raised.
"You getting anything?"
"Nah, nothing. Damn thing's busted."
The masked man aims down his sights—
Music blasts through the halls and the lights snap on.
The guard spots him instantly, raising his rifle.
"What the f—"
A suppressed shot cuts him off.
His rifle clatters to the floor as he crumples.
The second turns—
Another shot drops him.
He taps his thermals off and the world snaps back to normal.
Backup generator wasn't supposed to kick in for another few minutes. So much for going in quiet.
As he approaches the door, he twists off his suppressor and reloads.
He reaches for the handle and turns it slowly—
The door cracks open.
He grabs one of the bodies, hauling it up in front of him as cover.
He readies himself, then kicks the door open.
A man stands front and center in the dimly lit purple room. His gut pokes through the opening of his velvet robe, a gold-plated pistol aimed at the door. A woman is pinned under his arm, held as a shield.
The fat man's voice shakes. "Ha… looks like we had the same idea."
Behind him, half a dozen women cower on the bed.
"Only difference is mines not alive..."
The man stiffens.
"Y-you've got some big balls, crashing my pad with that creepy-ass mask. D-do you know who the hell I am?!"
"Uh yeah."
The man freezes, thrown off.
"T-then you know… there are people who will hunt you down if you touch me."
"I wonder… if you're not around, who's going to fill their pockets? A hungry dog doesn't stay loyal for long."
He steps closer.
"Stay back!" He pulls the gun off the masked man and presses it to the woman's head.
"I swear to God, I'll blow this bitch's brains out!"
The masked man stops.
"That's right! Who's the dog now? Be a good boy and toss the gun aside."
"You think I'd trade my life for some hookers? Ha. Knock yourself out."
He takes another step forward.
"Just know, the longer you keep me waiting, the more pissed off I'll get. And that decides how intact you walk out of here."
"W-what do you do mean walk out of here? You're not here to kill me? Thank God!"
He shoves the girl aside and drops the gun to the floor.
"Well what is this then? A kidnapping? Blackmail?" The man's demeanor shifts. He steps toward the masked man.
"Money? That's what you want, right? Listen, I've got a lot of it. I could give you everything and have it all back by the end of the week."
The masked man drops the body and smashes the robed man in the nose with his pistol.
"People like you disgust me."
He grabs him and hurls him to the foot of the bed.
"I want the drive!"
The man clutches his nose, blood pouring between his fingers. "Jesus Christ! What the hell are you talking about? Drive? What drive?"
The masked man pulls out a device and holds it up.
"This is you and Gino Vescari, that day he gave you something. I want it."
"That thing?!"
The man bursts into laughter.
"You came all the way here for that? Ah—ahaha… you got duped, buddy!"
He spits blood to the side.
"Even I knew it was a dud. You think they'd trust me with something like that?"
He lets out a breath. "Ahh God… I'd kill to see the look behind that mask right now."
The masked man cocks his hand back and strikes him, dropping him cold.
"Fuck!" His shout sends the women scrambling from the room.
He steadies his breathing, then keys his comms. *Mission's done. Intel's compromised. Finish up—we're still bringing her to port, then back to base.*
The man takes off his helmet and throws it to the floor.
"Goddamn it!"
An older Jake squats beside the helmet. His light hair has grown out, stubble lines his jaw.
He exhales through his nose, jaw tight, then pulls out a radio.
He keys the radio, then lifts it to his ear.
"This whole thing's a bust. We were played. We're dropping off the package, then heading back to base."
Samantha answers. *Damn it Jake! I told you we should've given this more time!*
"It wouldn't have mattered, the intel was shit. They knew we were on to them, and they got the up on us—that's all there is to it."
*You don't know that! We didn't have confirmation, and you still pushed for the op! Time is our friend with these things. I thought you would've learned that by now.*
"Every time we give them time, they vanish. And we're no closer to ending all of this!"
*Enough. We'll debrief later. You still have to get that ship back to dock. Get back to base.*
There's a pause.
*I wish you just trusted me on this one. Doesn't matter now...*
The radio cuts out.
Jake tucks the radio away.
"The hell's she on about?"
He picks up the helmet, pausing for a moment.
He stands.
A slow exhale.
Then he pulls it on.