[...]

"What happened to those officers you used to work with?"

"Liron, our liaison with the Mossad, returned back to Israel when Hamas shook up the region in late 2023. We have never heard from him ever since. Maximilian on the other hand.. He took a bullet to his neck in Kazakhstan when were ambushed by Mathilde's troops. We got out of the area, but Max died from his wounds on the way to hospital. Maximilian's death caused Caseman to put us out of commission temporarily, and when that 'intel' about Zamosc came in, he had you and four other CIA SOG operators unrelated to our unit sent to Ukraine. I was against it, because not only the 'intel' seemed suspicious, but I know for a fact that Caseman was blinded by his anger. One of our own had just left this world, our most valuable asset within the network went missing, and the people we worked with were being slotted left and right. He needed a win, and in the end I relented. But I shouldn't have."

Winslow turned at you and spoke with a solemn tone, "I'm sorry, Lieutenant. It should have been us over there."

>["Don't be. The reason why we're here is because you weren't there. That op was a curse for everybody involved."]
>["Noel betrayed you, and he along with Hansa killed most of my teammates. If there's anyone who's at fault, it's him."]

>>5822121
>>["Noel betrayed you, and he along with Hansa killed most of my teammates. If there's anyone who's at fault, it's him."]

>>5822121
>>["Noel betrayed you, and he along with Hansa killed most of my teammates. If there's anyone who's at fault, it's him."]

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1.59 MB JPG

"No," You replied, "Noel betrayed you and Caseman, and he was there along with Hansa when my teammates were being slaughtered. If there is anyone who the fault lies at, it's him."

"Don't mention about Noel to the team, Lieutenant. They need to focus on the mission at hand and they have enough distractions as it is, I can't afford them one more. But if what you say is true.." Winslow lets off a deep exhale. "..then he'll pay. We'll see to it personally."

[...]

AMSTERDAM AIRPORT SCHIPHOL

After arriving at the airport, Winslow drives the BMW sedan past the main building for the General Aviation Terminal, where the private jet belonging to the the task force is currently stationed. It was a brief ride from the entry gate to the terminal, and the sedan came to a complete stop after taking its place at the underground parking lot of the building. Exiting the vehicle, Winslow realizes that you weren't carrying any personal belongings, and so he queried.

"Are you not bringing anything with you?" The man asks.

"I left the states with only my wallet and the clothes on my back. That's all I'm bringing with me. I'm more worried about the car; are you just going to leave it like that?"

"Relax, lass. No one will know it'll belong to us. That's a perk of being an intelligence agent." Winslow laughs proudly.

>["I'm happy to know that our taxpayer dollars are being used for such noble and grand purposes, like paying parking tickets for rental cars in foreign soil."]
>["Consider this me taking notes, sir."]
>[WRITE-IN]

>>5822299
>>["Consider this me taking notes, sir."]

>>5822299
>["Consider this me taking notes, sir."]

>>5822120
nice to see this back and it seems that I missed the 2nd arc. I'll try to catchup.

>>5822299
>>["I'm happy to know that our taxpayer dollars are being used for such noble and grand purposes, like paying parking tickets for rental cars in foreign soil."]

7274154709 for more quests

"Consider this me taking notes, sir."

"I'm flattered to know somebody will make good use of my lessons in the future." Winslow shoots back with a remark.

The two of you proceeded to walk up from the underground parking lot to the ground floor of the terminal, where just outside the building, a black and white private jet of Gulfstream design was parked. On both sides of the aircraft's fuselage was the livery logo of the private charter company that owns the aircraft, Global Executive Aviation. Knowing the CIA's lengthy history with creating front companies to fulfill their needs, particularly with aviation coupled with the agency’s lack of imagination when it comes to naming said companies, you were able to tell at a first glance that the jet belongs to Langley.

A man stood near the gate of the terminal, facing the glass walls that covered the front side of the building with his arms crossed before turning around over to you and the Captain. The man was of fair complexion, bore blonde hair and blue eyes, and he sported a youthful look that made you think he was no older than 25. Either he really is of that age, or he had some extraordinary skincare routine for someone in this line of work.

"Hey! Been waiting for you lads. The PJ's ready to go." He calls out to Winslow as the two of you approach the man. He then glances over to you. "And you, you must be the new member of the task force we've been expecting so much about. We weren’t expecting you to be a wo-."

"Ash, mind your manners. This is Lieutenant Kate Marsh. Ex-Green Berets. She's our team XO from now on, so I suggest you boys be nice to her now." Winslow pivots his direction over to you and begins introducing the man standing in front of you, "This is Sergeant Ashley Cutter. He's our team breacher and demolitions expert. Fished him out of SO15 myself when he was an Expo."

Ash placed his hands on his hips. "Here's a tip for you ma'am, in case you run into improvised explosives in your bathroom: don't cut the red wire. You'll be ruining everyone's day."

>["I gotta worry about the IEDs in my bathroom now? What are the chances of that?"]
>["Thanks for the tip, but I’m sure I won’t be needing that in the foreseeable future.”]
>[WRITE-IN]

>>5822417
//Welcome back!

>>5823000
>["I gotta worry about the IEDs in my bathroom now? What are the chances of that?"]

>>5823014
It is good to be back.

>>5823000
>>["I gotta worry about the IEDs in my bathroom now? What are the chances of that?"]

>>5823000
>["I gotta worry about the IEDs in my bathroom now? What are the chances of that?"]

"I gotta worry about some IEDs in my bathroom now? What are the chances of that?"

"It's slim, ma'am, but it's never zero. Ask the Chief about it, he'll know."

"It's a long bloody story, Lieutenant, and one I'll hopefully never have to tell to you, or my grandchildren. Now c'mon, let's get going yeah?"

You followed the two men out of the building and climbed aboard the aircraft through the staircase that had been deployed from the door. Once you were inside, the staircase folded itself up and the door was closed automatically. You then tagged along with Winslow and entered the cabin, while Ash paid the pilots a visit in their cockpit. In the cabin were two men: one of whom obscured his face behind a mask, not letting others see a shred of his skin while on the other end of the table was, of course, someone you've known before: Castle. They were seated around a table with a set of cards in hand. They were oblivious to your presence; too absorbed in their game in silence.

"Alright, listen up!" Winslow shouted at the duo while knocking on the walls of the cabin, gathering their attention. They shifted their focus over to you from the game, and Castle's eyes lit up and were locked onto you and nothing else the moment he saw you. Winslow continued, "Let me introduce you to the newest member of the task force. This is LT Kate Marsh of the CIA, she will be serving as the team's executive officer going forward. I want you to treat her like you would to anybody else in this team, and if you don't.. you'll know it." He then beckons over to the man in the mask, beginning the introduction of the two with him first. "Marsh, this is Staff Sergeant Roy Finnegan, from the Special Boat Service. We call him Scar. He's our team gunner. When push comes to shove, you bet your ass you can rely on taking cover behind him while he dispenses hate. You wouldn’t want to ask him about his mask though.”

“Shut up, Captain.” Scar interrupts, irritatedly. He puts down the cards on the table and sets off for the kitchen, to which Winslow simply laughed in response. Castle then stood up from his seat and walked over to you.

“And this is Corporal Clark Ferguson, Marine Corps scout sniper and the team’s commo. I believe you two have worked together?”

“Y-Yes.. we’ve had some history. A brief one.”

“Let me get out of your hair then.” Sensing that you and Castle could use some space to catch up, Winslow decides to leave the two of you alone in the cabin, heading for the kitchen as well.

An awkward atmosphere permeated all over the cabin, as you struggled to come up with something to greet him with. However, right now Castle was the only person you had in common with; someone you could relate with. You feel it is important to get to know him a little more.

>[“Hey, it’s been a while.”]
>[“I wasn’t expecting you to keep on working like this.”]
>[“Clark Ferguson? I’ve never heard your name before.”]
>[WRITE-IN]

>>5823439
>[“Hey, it’s been a while.”]

>>5823439
>[“Hey, it’s been a while.”]

>>5823439
>>[“Hey, it’s been a while.”]

>>5823439
>[“Clark Ferguson? I’ve never heard your name before.”]

>>5823439
>[“Hey, it’s been a while.”]

"H-Hey Castle." You anxiously uttered your greetings. "It's been a minute, huh?"

"You're still.. alive. How..?" He replies shakily, his voice brimming with excitement and confusion at the same time. "And you look a little different now, too."

"Oh.. this?" You gestured to the roll of bandages that has been applied over your face. "I guess it's because I just got a little lucky. Apparently I had a .32 ACP round lodged in my right eye socket, but thankfully it didn't go through it. Still, they put me in a 3-month coma in a hospital in Moldavia for it.

"Then I suppose this will make us even." Castle raised his left leg and rolled up the bottom of his jeans, revealing a prosthetic leg to your surprise.

"I'm sorry-"

"No, don't be. I think it's pretty cool. I've always wanted a metal leg since I was a kid, it makes me feel like a cyborg. Also, this is no prosthetic you could buy on the cheap. It's one of those ones that would cost you an arm and a leg to get. Thankfully I didn't have to sacrifice the other one." He breaks off into laughter, and it was the first time you've seen him to do so. Maybe he's the type of person who laughs at his own jokes.

[...]

"So that's the lady we saved in Ukraine." Scar mutters to Winslow, as he leered at you and Castle from the kitchen of the cabin. "It's a regular family reunion. Although I'm still not sure how I feel about bringing outsiders into the task force, Chief."

"It was Caseman's idea." Winslow responds as he pours reheated tea into a few cups from a pot. "He has the final say on what goes in and what doesn't. Besides, that Castle kid is pretty good at his job. isn't he? We could always use an extra pair of hands for a team like this. I'm sure if you spent enough time with them," He then strolls over to Scar with two cups in hand and offers one to him, "you'd work just as well as you did with Liron and Maximilian. You and Ash are flexible people."

"Max.." Scar murmurs the name to himself, as he looks away from you and into the cup, swirling it and watching the tea spin from the motion.

[...]

You were seated alone at a table of the front row seats of the cabin, looking outside the window as the aircraft took off. Once the aircraft has stabilized, you hear the speaker crackle to life.

"Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen,” The pilot begins to speak over the PA system of the aircraft, addressing the passengers which as of now, includes you. “This is your captain speaking. We are currently cruising at an altitude of 41,000 feet and at an airspeed of 460 miles per hour. Unfortunately, due to the Agency’s cost-saving measures, we had to forgo the cabin crew. But rest assured, you’re able to move in the cabin freely, so you can help yourself to all the snacks in the back. Until then, kick back, relax and enjoy the flight.”

A few seconds after the announcement had concluded, you then heard footsteps on the rugged floor of the plane heading towards your direction. It was Winslow, carrying a teapot and a cup.

"Tea? It's darjeeling." He asks.

>[ACCEPT]
>[REFUSE]

>>5824803
>>[ACCEPT]

>>5824803
>[ACCEPT]

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"Sure, I don't see why not."

Winslow sets the cup down on the middle of the table and pours the tea before stirring it with a spoon. “So, how did your little reunion with your friend go?”

“It went well, all things considered.” You wrapped your finger around the cup handle and lifted it up from the table. “He’s got a new leg now.”

“Uh-huh. That and your facial reconstruction surgery was paid for by the Agency’s black budget, which in turn was provided by your taxpayers.”

“Wow, well look at that- my people’s hard-earned money is finally being put to good use. But really, why are you here, ‘Chief’?” You placed the rim of the cup in your mouth and sipped the tea within before lowering it down. The tea had a floral scent to it and it tasted deliciously mildly sweet. Unfortunately, as you weren’t a tea enthusiast, you really weren’t able to pick up on the more subtle hints of the flavor.

“I just wanna talk, Marsh.” Winslow sits down on the other end of the table and lets off a deep exhale as he leans back on the seat. “I’m getting old. And there’s a lesson to be had from being old. For me, I learnt that the world is not as big as it seems. There’s a lot of events that have unfolded in my life that at first, feel like they were unrelated to each other, but sooner or later, I would find myself realising that they were in fact intertwined.”

“I never pegged you for the sentimental type.”

“Oh, I’m not being sentimental, Lieutenant. This is just how it is. This will inevitably happen to you too, one way or another. Soon enough, you’ll find yourself discovering your place in the world like I have. You’re here not because Caseman picked you for the job on a whim, he picked you.. Because this is what you’re destined for.”

“Destiny?” You chuckled to yourself at Winslow’s seemingly nonsensical word salad. “Captain, you’re being oddly cryptic.” You then notice the illuminating blue sky outside the aircraft suddenly begins rapidly shifting into darkness, as if you were currently experiencing a solar eclipse that totally obscured the sun, engulfing the cabin in black, bereft of any light. By the time you had looked out of the window however, the sky had begun to revert into its bright self.

“Am I now?” You hear Winslow ask. You divert your focus from the sky back to him, but what you in his stead was a young, pale woman clad in a stark white trench coat.

—
https://voca.ro/1drSBxpV6BzF
—

“Mathilde–!?” You jolted from your seat and stood upwards, alarmed by her abrupt and impossible presence. You lost the grip of the tea cup that you held in your hand, letting it fall onto the table and shatter into multiple pieces, causing the tea to splash everywhere. Mathilde however, remained indifferent.

“How’s it going? You holding up well? Tee-hee~” She utters her greetings to you in a sarcastic fashion, mocking you.

>[“How did you get here? What do you want from me!?”]
>[“I should have shot you when I had the chance!”]
>[“No, you’re not real!”]
>[WRITE-IN]

>>5825777
>[“No, you’re not real!”]

>>5825777
>>[“No, you’re not real!”]

>>5825777
>[“How did you get here? What do you want from me!?”]

>>5825777
>>[“I should have shot you when I had the chance!”]

>>5825777
>[“I should have shot you when I had the chance!”]

>>5825777
>[“How did you get here? What do you want from me!?”]
finished catching up and right on time for a hallucination

“No, you’re not real!”

“Are you sure of that?” Mathilde smirked widely; a trademark of her arrogance.

“I had you in my sights back in Ukraine.. I should have taken that shot!”

“But you didn’t do that, did you?” Mathilde stirs on a tea cup that is identical to the one that you drank from that has seemingly appeared out of nowhere, as if she had just materialized it into existence when you weren’t looking. She then held the cup close to her lips and sniffed the aroma of the tea. “Hmm, darjeeling, very nice. Your team leader has great tast-”

“Cut the fucking bullshit!”

You snatched a tiny shard of the broken cup from the table and clutched it so tight that your fingers bled. But before you could pick it up and thrust the makeshift blade into her neck, you feel your arm locked into position, it being stuck to the table and unable to move. Bizarrely, there was nothing holding it back, nor was there anyone else in the cabin but you and Mathilde.

“Ugh, what the fu–!?” You repeatedly struggled to move your hand.

“You still have a little fire in you, hm? Well, backing out isn’t exactly what you're known for.” Mathilde giggled as she took a sip from her cup. “I suggest you don’t do anything rash now, Miss Marsh. I don’t want you to spoil an otherwise good tea. Please, sit down.”

You sat back down on your seat, conforming to her words begrudgingly. You still held the shard in your hand as blood had pooled up near it. “How did you.. Get here? What do you want from me!?”

“Nothing. I only came here to laugh at you. You seeked me out, walked into my life and meddled with my affairs, and what did you have to show for it? Three dead CIA agents, two wounded." She took her second and final sip of her tea and set the cup down on the table, before rising up from her chair.

“Don’t be so foolish to let another disaster like Dnipro happen again, Ms. Marsh. The only reason why you’re here is because your superior, Caseman, sees you as an instrument of violence appropriate to further his agenda in his personal vendetta against me. Save yourself, and your friends from becoming yet another casualty.”

“A vendetta? Then we two have something in common.” You smugly replied with a witty remark, to which Mathilde scoffed at.

“Choices lead to consequences. If that is what you believe in, then so be it. Until next time then.”

After she bid you her farewell, Mathilde strolled down to the rear end of the cabin, but you weren’t done talking to her yet. You looked to the back from your seat to call her out and perhaps even chase her down, but by then she had already vanished. You return your look to the table, expecting the bloody mess you’ve made but was only met by the teacup on the table before you, still very much intact, and Winslow, who sat across your table holding your hand.

“Is something the matter, Lieutenant? Your hand was shaking a lot.”

>[“I’m sorry sir, it seems I got kind of carried away.”]
>[“Maybe coffee would be a much better option.”]
>[WRITE-IN]

//Sorry for the super late update, everyone! Been busy with local community stuff for the last two days!

>>5828009
>>[“Maybe coffee would be a much better option.”]

>>5828012
Dropped

>>5828009
>[“Maybe coffee would be a much better option.”]

>>5828009
>[“I’m sorry sir, it seems I got kind of carried away.”]
>>5828012
alright, thanks for keeping us up to date

>>5828009
>[“I’m sorry sir, it seems I got kind of carried away.”]

>>5828009
>>[“Maybe coffee would be a much better option.”]

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“Maybe a cup of coffee would have been more suitable during this time of day.”

Winslow lets out a deep sigh as he releases his grip around your hand and rises to his feet. “I’ll put the kettle on, then. Briefing is in thirty minutes. Make sure you’ve washed your face by then.”

[...]

After drying your face with a hand towel, you walked out of the washroom into the cabin, where the rest of your team had gathered around a table.

“Is everyone present?” Winslow glances around before unrolling a map on the table. “Let’s get this started then.”

“This is Arauca, a department in eastern Colombia bordering Venezuela. Hidden beneath the jungles of Arauca lies a FARC dissident encampment dubbed THE ANIMAL PEN, in use by rebels under the leadership of a commander referred to internally by the Colombian Army as POISON. Poison is a highly valuable individual to the Colombians, as he is responsible for more than three dozen guerrilla attacks on their personnel and raids on Army outposts combined—it’s the most a rebel cell has attacked in modern FARC history. They’ll want to seize him badly. If we secure him alive, the CIA will then have leverage for future negotiations with Colombia.” Winslow then beckons over to Scar. “Your turn.”

“Right.” He stood up from his seat and began describing the defenses of the encampment. “The Animal Pen is operated by an 80-strong rebel battalion as well as the families of some of the higher-ranking officers. Like what the Chief said earlier, Poison’s rebels are some of the most experienced guerrillas the country has ever seen. They may not be Taliban, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t watch our arses, as they are some of the hardest people around. The rebels maintain tight security within the camp’s perimeter 24/7. They have sentries and guard dogs and at night, they perform five-man patrols on the outskirts of the camp so look out for those.”

Scar sat back down on his seat while Ash got up, his turn. “We will split the camp up into three named areas of interest. NAI 1 “Cordelia” is the Pen’s barracks. This is where most of the rebels stay if they don’t have an assignment to perform, we wouldn’t wanna mess with this one and it’s better if we leave it alone as it is. Next is NAI 2 “Regan”, this is the storage for the camp. Ever since Poison made that deal with Mathilde, we’ve seen rebels stockpiling the Regan with trucks. Can’t get a good picture of what was stored in those trucks though, so we’ll need someone to get inside and take a look and if possible.. Burn it.”

“You willing to volunteer, Ash?” Winslow questions.

“Well, I’m the one here doing demos sir.” He answers with a smirk on his face. “I think it’s a no-brainer.”

“Continue then.”

“Last is NAI 3 “Goneril”, the encampment’s command center. This is where the leaders of the officers converge during the day and is also the full-time residence of our beloved Commander Poison and his family.”

“Lovely home there, mate.” Scar quips dryly.

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“Indeed. A few hundred meters behind Goneril and the camp overall is a river, the Rio Arauca. It’s about 15-20 meters wide and is the only thing close to a border wall between Colombia and Venezuela in this area. We assume they have boats near the river but we’ve canvassed the riverbanks and couldn’t find it. They must be pretty well-hidden.”

“Regardless, we can’t afford to have Poison cross the river.” Castle pitched in, while Ash sat down. “If Venezuelans discover that this op spilled over to their country, we will be risking a potential conflict in the region, and the Colombians will sever all forms of diplomatic contact with the US no matter how much we try to deny it. It’s ideal that we capture Poison in Goneril, then and there.”

“Yeah, but with the manpower we have? It’ll be difficult.” You stated to Castle while crossing your arms, before turning over to Winslow to suggest your idea.

“Captain, there are too many moving pieces at play here. If we want this to work smoothly, we’ll need some critical redundancy.”

“You mean a third-party?”

“Yes sir. Local or contracting support. If we move ahead on this the way we are right now, it’d be too much pressure. We need more personnel to alleviate that.”

“Hmm. I don’t know a lot of Colombians who are likely to help us out on this one, but I can refer you to someone I’ve worked with personally.” Winslow takes out his phone and lays it down on the table, its screen displaying a photo of a man. “This is First Sergeant James Russo, he goes by “Butch”.” Former ex-Green Berets, like you. He runs his own private military company now. Preying Mantis. What do you say, Marsh?”

>[LOCAL SUPPORT]
>[CONTRACTING SUPPORT]

>>5830097
>[CONTRACTING SUPPORT]

>>5830097
>>[CONTRACTING SUPPORT]

>>5830097
>[CONTRACTING SUPPORT]

>>5830097
>[CONTRACTING SUPPORT]

“I say we take it. They could use the money and we could use their service. For an op like this, it never hurts to bring some more experienced shooters under our wing.”

“It’s decided then. We’ll plot a course to Philadelphia for an arrangement with Butch. Once we can secure a contract with him over supper, we will set off for Bogota with their personnel. Any questions?”

Castle raised his arm and asked, “What are the means of our transportation from Philadelphia to Colombia? I don’t think a private jet like this would suffice to carry us and contractors combined.”

“You leave that to us, Sergeant. Besides, I think you two would like what we have to offer.” Winslow replies while he switches looks between you and Castle as he speaks before redirecting his focus to the group at large. “Anyone else?”

Ash holds the palm of his hand up. “We still haven’t adopted a proper name, sir.”

“Perfect timing, lads.” Winslow plants his hand on your shoulder and proudly says, “I’ve made the choice of bestowing our newest recruit here the honor of our task force’s christening.”

“Wait,” You spun to face Winslow, “You weren’t kidding back then? Wait, I can’t-”

“Why would I?” Winslow interjects before you could protest. “This is a special occasion, dedicated to you, Lieutenant. Make sure it counts.” He says proudly while gives you a pat on the back before walking away to the back of the cabin.

You then turned back around to your teammates who were seated around the table and looked to them for guidance. But they simply shrugged at you without a word, including Castle. Scar raises a glass of whiskey that had been on the table and utters to you, “Welcome to the task force, Ms. Marsh.”

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[...]

—
https://voca.ro/11uwuuLqlCBo
—

NORTH ATLANTIC OCEAN - 41,000ft AGL.
EN ROUTE TO PHILADELPHIA INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

“Hmm..”

You are lost in your own thoughts, having wracked your brain trying to figure out a decent-sounding suggestion for the name of your unit, but only three have come up thus far. After all, you never had a penchant for naming things.

Firstly is “POACHER”, which you picked as a name inspired by Mathilde Hansa’s alias in use internally by the CIA, White Swan. Like poachers, the nature of your team’s existence and its objectives are bound within the law, and would be deemed illegal if uncovered by the public at large, which made it an appropriate option for your team to adopt. However, you didn’t feel it was compelling enough to be a name.

Second is “EUCHRE”, you don’t know what that word means nor where it came from, but it sounded cool and it rolled off your mouth pretty well, which is why you considered keeping it.

Third and lastly is “CINDER”, a small piece of a burning substance in a dying fire. This was a name of which you feel rather strongly about. Perhaps it is because you have a thing for fiery motifs that made you feel pulled to this option. But nevertheless, you kept the two previous options open.

And so you were there, sitting next to the window, holding a blank piece of paper in your hand and a ballpoint pen in the other while you stared blankly at the table in front of you. You then feel a pinch on the sleeve of your shirt followed by a tug that reeled you back to your surroundings, to which you turned to Castle’s direction.

“Have you finally settled on a name, Marsh?” He asks, to which you responded with the shake of your head. You look over to the table, of which there are three ceramic cups, a glass of whiskey and rocks, and an ashtray with a cigarette still alight that belongs to Ash on top. You grabbed your cup that held coffee in it and gulped half of it before putting it back on the table.

“Alright,” You shifted your attention to the group at your table, which included Castle, Ash and Scar. “I have some suggestions, but I’m not fully confident in all of them. I might have to hear your guys’ input on this..”

“Let’s hear it, ma’am.” Ash replied, eagerly.

>[SUGGEST “POACHER”]
>[SUGGEST “EUCHRE”]
>[SUGGEST “CINDER”]
>[WRITE-IN]

>>5832420
>>[SUGGEST “CINDER”]

>>5832420
>[SUGGEST “CINDER”]

>>5832420
>>[SUGGEST “POACHER”]

>>5832420
>[SUGGEST “CINDER”]

“It’s Cinder..” You muttered the name nervously. "It's like an ember. A piece of something that is still burning, when that something is about to go out."

“Cinder, eh? I like it. I guess I can drink to that one.” Scar muttered, clearly having gotten tipsy from all the whiskey he had been drinking, and raised his half-empty glass to the air for an invitation to toast. “To “Cinder”, and our latest newcomer, Lieutenant Marsh. Cheers.”

You, Castle and Ash followed suit by raising your respective drinks in tandem and gently tapped your glasses against each other before gulping down your drink. As you drank what was left of your coffee, you saw that Scar had lifted his mask up to his nose when he took a drink, and caught a glimpse of the bottom of his face that was significantly disfigured before he covered it back down with his black balaclava. Scar then cleared his throat, and got up from his seat and left for the kitchen, claiming he was only going to get a glass of water to sober himself up.

“Be careful not to trip on your way to bed!” Ash shouted from his seat in Scar's direction, to which he responded in the form of throwing profanities at Ash in jest.

"Don't worry about him, he just hasn't taken his meds at all today." Ash jokingly stated as he turned back over to you and Castle, crossing his arms while he sinks into the backrest of his seat. "By the way, Cinder. It's a good name. It's got a nice ring to it."

"Yeah, it was certainly an improvement over yours, Ash." Castle replied, blankly.

"Bugger off, Clark. ‘Warmonger’ sounds metal, alright? It's better than what Scar came up with. I mean, ‘Scarecrow’? What is this, Halloween?" Ash scoffs following his sarcastic rant. "What did you come up with, Castle? Come on, share it with the Lieutenant here."

"Draconia. A bit corny, I know." Castle says under his breath as he looks away, evidently embarrassed by his suggestion. But to you, it sounded fine, in fact it sounded cool if anything.

Winslow then walked past your table before stopping. “I heard about it from Scar. Cinder, right? It sounds good, we’ll take it.” He declared approvingly, before moving on to the next topic. “Anyway, I just got off the horn with Russo; he agreed to the arrangement. I’m going to need one more to come to the meeting with me, any volunteers?”

[...]

CHAPTER 6 - AGENCY SPOOKS AND HIRED GUNS

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN PARKWAY - PHILADELPHIA

City lights flash past you outside the window of the cab as you lean against it before pulling yourself back and panning over to your left. You felt a little lightheaded and your movement sluggish, possibly from the jetlag. To your left was a sharply-dressed Winslow relaxedly resting his body against the seat he was on, looking over at his phone. Noticing you, he then puts it away and looks over to you.

“You don’t look too pleased, Ms. Marsh.” He uttered softly.

“I told you I didn’t want to come.” You protested and let off an exasperated sigh. “What I’m doing right now is the opposite of volunteering.”

“You were nominated. Besides, this was your idea to begin with. So live a little more. I know fine-dining isn’t everyone’s thing, but this is going right out of Caseman’s wallet. I don't know why you're complaining.”

>["Could have gotten me a better dress."]
>["Why me, really?"]
>["Don't tell me you're hooking me up."]
>[WRITE-IN]

>>5834226
>["Why me, really?"]

>>5834226
>>["Could have gotten me a better dress."]
What is our dress like?

>>5834226
>["Could have gotten me a better dress."]

>>5834226
>["Don't tell me you're hooking me up."]

>>5834226
>["Could have gotten me a better dress."]

>>5834226
>>["Don't tell me you're hooking me up."]

You lowered your head down to reflect on the dress you wore. It was a nylon sheath dress dyed in black that extended down to your ankles with sleeves that reached your elbows. It wasn’t something brimming with flair and the material felt a little cheap, but it’ll do. Still, an improvement could have been made.

“You really could have gotten me a better dress.” You said tiredly, as you pinched and rubbed your dress to feel the cheapness of the material.

“It was what we were able to get you on a short notice. If I had to get you a suit, I would have.” Winslow then glances away from you for a second to search the pockets of his suit and withdraws a small wooden box from one of them. “But, if this makes you look and feel any better..” He forwards the box to you, to which you accept.

“What’s this?” You check the top and the bottom of the wooden box to look for any distinctive markings, but it lacks any whatsoever, leaving you no option but to open the box to find out what’s inside. And so you unclasped the latch of the box and lifted up its top lid, revealing a pristinely white Omega Seamaster watch strapped to the cushion within that greets you with its brilliant glint.

“It’s a welcoming gift.” He answers you while he watches you open the box with a smile on his face.

“Wh- why would you-?” You stuttered frantically, unable to put together a complete sentence as you were overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. You still vividly remember your days in the Army’s Female Engagement Teams before you became a Green Beret, saving up cash from your monthly pay to buy a luxury watch just so that you could have a matching pair of timepieces with your then-fiance. It was all the talk around base.

But those days didn’t last long enough. After his passing, you wasted all your money that you had saved on alcohol and gambling; the gateways to your most self-destructive phase in your life that nearly culminated in your own death. It took you quite some time to readjust your life and even then, the tendencies to relapse into that phase lingers, especially after Syria. But after all the years that have passed, you have mostly made peace with your fiance’s death and moved on.

But this, you weren’t able to decide what to make of it. Would you rather keep it, as a reminder of those sweet bygone days or return it so that you can put those memories to rest and look forward only to the future?

>[REFUSE - “I can’t take this.”]
>[ACCEPT - “I will treasure it.”]

>>5836880
>[ACCEPT - “I will treasure it.”]

>>5836880
>>[ACCEPT - “I will treasure it.”]

>>5836880
>[ACCEPT - “I will treasure it.”]

>>5836880
>>[ACCEPT - “I will treasure it.”]

>>5836880
>>[ACCEPT - “I will treasure it.”]

—
https://voca.ro/1017LdGoCxHd
—

“I will treasure this..” You pivoted to Winslow with a gleeful smile, something he was taken aback by. “..thank you.”

“You really don’t have to thank me, it was Caseman’s idea.” He snickered. “Now put it on.”

You complied with him without a word and unstrapped the watch from the cushion, putting away the box to the side, and placed the stainless-steel bracelet around your left wrist before clasping your buckle shut. You then tapped the crystal with your fingertips and held your wrist close to your ears to listen for any ticking from the watch—a ticking would mean the watch is a counterfeit—but there weren’t any.

“I wonder how he’d think if he could see this..” You spoke to yourself as your mind flashed glimpses of your radiant, untroubled past before your very eyes while you flourished your arm around to see how the watch looked on you. The glow of the city lights outside the cab that penetrated through the windows gleamed dazzlingly on the steel brace of the watch like a spotless mirror, just like his was whenever he showed it off to you. Perhaps it isn’t time for you to let go of those memories - not yet.

“It looks perfect on you.” Winslow says, wearing a broad smile, seemingly satisfied by your reaction. “Take good care of it, Marsh, and it might take care of you too one day.”

“I will.” You replied surely.

[...]

The cab had slowed down at the gates of your destination—”The Med”, a critically-acclaimed Italian fine-dining restaurant—where two valets stood readily at their posts, clad uniformly in white-buttoned shirts, navy vests and black trousers. Once the cab had rolled to a halt, the valets jogged over to the car and gently opened the passenger doors for you and Winslow to depart. Winslow paid the driver his dues coupled with a three-figure tip and remarked to him before leaving, “Treat your family to something nice tonight.”

After the cab had driven away from the restaurant, the valets escorted you and Winslow into the restaurant. Inside the building was one giant hall lit in an orange glow with the ceiling pervaded by expensively elaborate decors and ornaments and a faint scent of garlic and tomatoes permeated over the air. Many tables inside this hall are occupied by couples or families being politely attended to by waiters and waitresses, each wearing all-black uniforms with the restaurant’s logo above the breast pocket while carrying a clipboard in their hands.

It’s a busy night, it seems, and with Butch nowhere to be seen, finding him in this restaurant is going to be like finding a needle in a haystack.

>[“This is going to be tricky. Maybe we should split up and canvass the area out?”]
>[“You sure we didn’t get in the wrong restaurant? We should probably ask around.”]
>[WRITE-IN]

>>5839076
>[“This is going to be tricky. Maybe we should split up and canvass the area out?”]
You should reuse your trip

>>5839076
>>[“This is going to be tricky. Maybe we should split up and canvass the area out?”]

>>5839076
>[“This is going to be tricky. Maybe we should split up and canvass the area out?”]
with your ip changing, you should use a trip like the other anon suggested

>>5839076
>[“This is going to be tricky. Maybe we should split up and canvass the area out?”]

“This place is way too busy, no way we’re going to discuss a multi-million dollar military contract in a room like this. Maybe we should split up and canvas the area.”

“Take it easy, Lieutenant. We’re not in a Syrian sushi restaurant.”

“I beg your pardon,” You hear someone with a hoarse voice address you from a distance. Taking a quick look in that way, you see an elderly man with a hunched back approach you while holding onto the top of his cane that reaches up to his waist for support. He was dressed in a three-piece suit consisting of a black jacket and pants, along with a gray waistcoat, while hanging from his collar was a long black tie with thin stripes of gold, a pocket square in his jacket and on his hands, a pair of white cotton gloves. Because of his exquisite wear, the man carried an air of importance that surrounded him. “Could you two possibly be Gareth Winslow and Kate Marsh?”

“That would be us.” Winslow gestured affirmingly.

“Ah, my apologies for keeping you waiting, Mr. Winslow.” He raises the palm of his gloved hand to his own chest, “My name is Giuseppe Leo Navarra but you may call me “Joseph”. I am the proud steward in charge of this fine establishment—which Mr. James Russo is an esteemed patron of—and he has informed me that he is expecting guests and has requested me personally to escort you both. Would you kindly come along with me to his table?”

“He certainly knows how to make his guests feel welcomed.” Winslow jokingly whispers to you, before looking back to Joseph. With a slight bow, he says, “With pleasure.”

“Good,” Joseph beckoned to you and Winslow. “Please, follow me.”

[TO BE CONTINUED - SOON™]

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//A little bit of an announcement. I'm going to take a break from running the quest for a few days (hopefully only three but it could be more) while I get all my affairs sorted. There's been a lot of things going on behind the scenes, but right now the biggest factor that is holding me back from running this quest properly is that my uni has begun mid-term exams, so I'm giving that my full attention first.

I will still be active on the thread if you guys wish to forward any questions over to me. Thanks frens!

>>5839118
>>5839387
Is there any problems about me not using my trip? I don't think I ever used one to begin with.

>>5840926
>Is there any problems about me not using my trip?
it's mostly for safety and to prevent a hijacking, even though I doubt someone could emulate any qm easily

>>5840926
It's easier to find your posts when you use a name or a trip. If I want to go back to the archives and read the story only I'd search for the qms trip.

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>>5840956
//That can be a genuine cause of concern, yes. I do have an account in the /qtg/ server though so in the event that a hijacking did indeed occur, I'll put a PSA both there and here as a verifiable source of information.

>>5841067
Very well. I'll use a tripcode next time I start the next chapter.

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//My exams have concluded. Will return to the regularly scheduled posting tomorrow. Stay tuned, frens.

>>5847776
More dress and high heels action, hurrah

>>5847776
thanks

You and Winslow followed Joseph’s lead, trailing behind him carefully. With the place bustling with so much activity, it was difficult for you both to maneuver around the hall without bumping into a customer or the restaurant staff, and so the two of you proceeded to follow Joseph in a single line. He walks you to a pair of wooden doors with intricately designed door knobs, and he twists them in opposite directions before pushing the doors open.

Behind these doors was a dimly-lit lounge with black walls and furniture in white and gold, with each table already having been set with plates and utensils that were orderly arranged. The lounge was sparsely populated as opposed to the hall from before, with the only people presently in it being you, Winslow, Joseph, and a handful of servers and other clients. You could already tell this place was only reserved for the most privileged.

“Right this way.” Joseph guides you and Winslow to “Butch” sitting at the table located at the far side corner of the lounge, who was accompanied by a female server pouring wine into three separate glasses. The man was attired in a stark black two-piece suit and white dress shirt underneath, similar to Winslow’s. To break up the monochromatic nature of his outfit, Butch wore a crimson tie with a motif formed of tiny dots.

After she was done pouring the wine, the server walked back to the bar counter of the lounge with the bottle in her hands, leaving Butch in solitude. As he was about to lift his glass, he spotted you, Winslow and Joseph approaching his table and proceeded to rise up from his chair in excitement.

“Captain!” Butch hollered to Winslow and embraced him in a brotherly fashion. “Man, it’s been a long fucking time, nice to see you again. Welcome to the states.” After he lets go, he pans over to you. “And you.. you must be Lieutenant Kate Marsh. 1st SFG, right?” Butch extends his hand gracefully, offering you a handshake. “Nice ‘eyepatch’ by the way.”

You took his hand and shook it firmly. Now that you’ve got to meet the man in person, you feel reminded of someone you’ve met back in your SF days, but couldn’t quite put your finger on who or where. "I'm sorry, but have we met before?”

“Oh yeah, sorry about that. I’ve just heard a lot about you. You know, there was word around Aleppo back then; a female operator in ODA 135 apparently was busting down doors shoulder-to-shoulder with Kurd SOF, looking for IS fighters. It's kind of hard to miss. My name is James Russo, 5th Group. Your guys did one hell of a job back in Aleppo and Raqqa; ops that my guys also took part in. Hell, we may have even crossed into each other without knowing, so maybe."

“It’s a small world out there.” Winslow remarked casually, placing his hands on your and Butch's shoulders. Butch retreated back to his seat and beckoned you and Winslow to sit down, which you both obliged to.

Joseph then walks over to the table and states, “As much as I would love to personally serve you three, I’m afraid I have other customers to attend to. If you have anything else you need from me, please let my staff know. Have a great night.”

“Thanks a lot, Joe. I owe you a lot.” Butch says. The elderly man bids his farewell to you and the others with a slight bow and takes his leave for the hall shortly thereafter. Once Joseph was gone, Butch lifted his glass to take a sip of and taste his wine, smacking his lips in the process. “You guys want to pick anything to eat yet?”

"Nah, we'll have some when the hard part of the day is done." Winslow refused, to which you nodded in agreement. It’s not dinner time yet.

Butch set down his glass back on the table and placed the palms of his hands together; his fingers intertwined. "I must say, you guys really picked one heck of a time to talk about business. Truth be told, we're gonna get bought out by this Swiss conglomerate for like five billion dollars. It's Mahler International, you’ve probably heard of them."

“Five billion? Looks like you’re moving up in the world now, kid.” Winslow lifted his glass as a gesture of salutations. “I've been hearing a lot about them buying out these Kraber Defense Electronics and Digital Perspicacity companies. What kind of business do they want with a grunt like you?” He asks.

“That hurts, old man. I'm no longer a grunt, you know. I’m a self-made entrepreneur now." Butch chuckled before letting off a sigh. "God knows what they want with someone like me or a fledgling PMC like Preying Mantis in particular, as the acquisition is yet to be finalized, but they did promise us a new facility in southeast New Mexico that is much bigger than the ones we have in Philadelphia, and we’ll also have access to Kraber’s prototype tech way earlier before anyone else, which is what sealed the deal for us. We’re going big, baby, woo!” He cheered, and eagerly began rubbing his palms against each other. Now is the time for you and Winslow to get down to brass tacks. “So, what brings you two to Preying Mantis?"

“We're looking to shop around for some third-party personnel and equipment, gonna put together a strike team here. What kind of capabilities does your company have?” Winslow replied. For now, you've decided to let him handle the negotiations and remain quiet in your chair, watching the two old friends converse with one another.

“Last time I checked, I have 150 contractors abroad protecting petro-corporate interests in MENA and about 220 domestic and standing-by. I got two C-130's for logistics, a fleet of special operations variants of Black Hawks and Little Birds, and three active Reaper drones for ISR and close air. How’s that for capability?” Butch boasted proudly.

“That’s overkill. Where we’re going, we won’t need that much.”

“Well, what do you need me for? Knowing the line of work you two are in, I thought you guys would pay me to make a country go through a regime-change or something. Where is this shit going anyway? I need to know before I give my signature on this.”

“We’re going to Colombia.”

“Shit, Colombia?” The tone in Butch’s voice shifts from excitement to disapproval. “Don’t tell me you’re looking for advisors to train some Venezuelan deserters. Believe me pal, some have tried to overthrow the Venezuelan government that way five years ago, and it didn’t turn out so well. If this is what this is about, I’m out.”

>["It's not a coup, it's an extraction mission."]
>["We can always ask the locals for assistance."]
>[WRITE-IN]

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//VBR is resuming activity!

>>5849265
>>["It's not a coup, it's an extraction mission."]
"We're not that stupid to try again"

>>5849265
>["It's not a coup, it's an extraction mission."]

>>5849265
>["It's not a coup, it's an extraction mission."]

>>5849265
>["It's not a coup, it's an extraction mission."]

>>5849265
>["It's not a coup, it's an extraction mission."]

“It’s not a coup, it’s an extraction mission. The Agency had nothing to do with the coup attempt in Venezuela five years ago anyway, and you certainly could bet your ass we wouldn’t be stupid enough to do it again with fishing boats and toy guns.” You riposted.

“You’re right. My fault, I must have forgotten who I was talking to.” Butch let off a giggle while taking another sip of his wine and glanced over to Winslow as put down the nearly empty glass. “So, an extraction mission? Who’s our guy?”

“A FARC commander hiding in an encampment near the Venezuelan border. The rest are need-to-know and details will follow if you agree to the contract.”

Butch’s tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth, as the taste of the wine lingered. “What do you guys need?”

“We’ll keep it simple for now. We want 25 personnel on the ground with SOF experience to work with—Rangers, SEALs, Snake Eaters, you name it—and two Little Birds for quick exfil along with one of those Reaper drones that you have, equipped with Hellfire AGMs for aerial reconnaissance and support. You can name your price.”

“That is some pretty serious hardware you’re asking for. If this contract isn’t just limited to one op only, I’ll need about sixty million in payroll, supplies and equipment. What about logistics? You sure you don’t need the C-130?”

“We got that one already covered. She’ll be touching down at the PHL in three days. In the meantime, we’d also like to have a tour of your facility, and if possible, rent a part of it. We need something to train in.”

“Shit, I’d let you use them for free. When do you guys want to have the tour arranged?”

[...]

CHAPTER 7 - MAKE YOUR MARK

STAGING ROOM - INDOORS KILLHOUSE A4
PREYING MANTIS HEADQUARTERS, PHILADELPHIA

25, 26, 27..

You muttered to yourself, counting the bullets you’ve loaded into a 30-round magazine as resistance from its spring accumulates over time while sitting on a bench in a dark room that was solely illuminated by a red light above a ply door that leads to the killhouse on the other side. After you’ve inserted the 30th round, the OpsCore AMPs on the helmet you’re wearing crackled and subsequently Winslow’s voice comes out from it.

“Cinder 1-2, radio check.”

You realigned the microphone of your headset to your lips and spoke into it, “I hear you Chieftain, loud and clear.”

You got up to your feet and began inspecting your primary weapon as Winslow recapped the briefing for your qualification exams over the radio. The carbine you’re currently assigned with is the Brownells BRN-180SH. It was a bit of new territory for you, as you’ve run with nothing but AR-15’s during your entire career, with Ukraine being the sole exception. Based on the AR-18 design, your BRN-180SH is a ten-inch side-charge carbine chambered in subsonic .300 Blackout rounds. It bears a stock with a folding adapter, an EOTech holographic sight mounted on an optics riser, a MAWL-C1+ laser device and a suppressor can. Still, it wasn’t completely alien to you as there is a semblance of familiarity through its use of an AR-15 lower, which means you would reload it the same way you would with an AR.

Like you, Castle also carries a 180 in a similar configuration, but his has a fixed stock and a magnifying sight. On the other hand, your teammates from MI6 carried .300 9” MCX Spear LT’s, with the sole exception of Scar, who carried an MGA SAW albeit depending on the mission at hand.

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“Listen up. The team and I will be on the catwalks above the killhouse to assess your performance, so watch where you’re pointing your rifle. Remember, your objective is to find, fix and finish an enemy HVT located in one of the four rooms you’re about to secure. The threshold for you to qualify is two minutes. I say again, two minutes. No more, no less. If your record exceeds beyond that limit even by a second, I may have to question Caseman’s judgment on vetting people he wants to put on the team. Don’t let that happen, understand?”

“Don’t worry,” You slammed the magazine into your carbine and pulled back its charging handle on the side, with the sound of it being chambered audible to the other end of your radio. “I aim to please.”

You hear Winslow laugh for a brief moment, amused at your comment. “Ash holds the team record, clocking in at 1:25. Here’s advice for you, LT: Focus on what’s in front of you, not on what’s on your timer. If you miss a target, we will add ten seconds to your time. If you miss your objective, you will be disqualified entirely. Is that clear?”

“Crystal.”

You approached the ply door with your weapon pointed forward in a low-ready stance. On the door, there was a drawing of a cross and beneath it were the words “KICK HERE” scribbled in white chalk.

“Let’s see how much you remember of your SF training. Shooter ready?”

You flicked off the safety of your carbine and positioned your finger within the trigger guard. You feel your leg tremoring; it is itching to slam the sole of your foot into the wooden door. With eagerness, you shouted into your microphone, “Ready!”

“On my mark.."

Silence sets in. Before long, that red light above the ply door changed to green, followed by Winslow shouting over the radio the word..

"..GO!”

>[CLEAN METHODICAL SWEEP - +15 SECS | +25 SECS PER ROOM]
>[HIGH SPEED RUSH - +10 SECS | +30 SECS PER ROOM]

//Run a dice+1d2 when you've chosen your choice. If you roll 1, you pick you get the former time (+15/10 SECS) If you roll 2, you get the latter ones (+25/30 SECS)

Thanks frens!

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>5852613
>>[CLEAN METHODICAL SWEEP - +15 SECS | +25 SECS PER ROOM]

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>5852613
>[CLEAN METHODICAL SWEEP - +15 SECS | +25 SECS PER ROOM]

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>5852613
>>[CLEAN METHODICAL SWEEP - +15 SECS | +25 SECS PER ROOM]

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>5852613
>[CLEAN METHODICAL SWEEP - +15 SECS | +25 SECS PER ROOM]

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>5852613
>[HIGH SPEED RUSH - +10 SECS | +30 SECS PER ROOM]

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[CLEAN METHODICAL SWEEP - 15 SECS]

—
https://voca.ro/1aQv1emRtSKQ
—

BZZZZT!

“Haiyah!”

Once the alarm was set off, you raised your feet up and kicked down the ply door right on the cross with as much energy as you could muster, causing the wooden barrier to break off from its hinges and collapse. You lifted your weapon up and had it pointed forward, and proceeded to move in cautiously, but without hesitation.

Setting foot in the first room of the killhouse, you attentively scanned your surroundings and reacted quickly to any form of threat—that being three paper shooting targets that depicted jihadists—with three well-placed center-mass shots each. As you only had your sight from your left eye intact, you held your weapon at an angle that aligned your left eye with the reticle of your holographic optic, despite the fact that you were right-handed. Still, you’ve trained sufficiently even with your condition that you've not let it hinder you yet.

You were swift in your movement, but you were also diligent enough to examine the room thoroughly even at a glance, leaving no stone left unturned behind when you pressed onto the second room.

CURRENT TIME: 0 MINUTES 15 SECONDS

[...]

The four team members of Cinder had gathered up on the catwalks above the killhouse, leaning forward against the handrails as they keenly watched every bit of your movement. They were impressed at your performance so far to say the least, not expecting you to do this well considering you had just begun re-training for only two days.

“Damn.. she’s not bad. For an analyst.” Ash remarked, jokingly downplaying your performance as he scratched the bottom of his chin.

“I’m betting against ya Ash,” Scar interjects smugly, “Sixty quid says she beats your record.”

“Fuck you, cunt. You’re just jealous I just snatched your spot by five seconds.”

Castle meanwhile remained silent, taking no notice of Ash and Scar’s antics. He was too invested in watching your performance to care to bet for or against you. Standing next to him was Winslow, who is timing you with a digital stopwatch while holding a newly-lit Lucky Strike cigarette.

"Marsh is putting on a good show, eh?” Winslow chimes in, while taking a puff from his cigarette.

"Yeah, she’s fast.” Castle replied tersely, breaking his silence.

Exhaling the smoke from his nose, Winslow continued, “Caseman told me back in Langley that she’s the key to all of this; that it’s her that will get us close to Mathilde.” He then plants his hand on his shoulder and tells him, “If you want payback for your team, you’ll do me a favor: You watch her back in the field out there. Do you hear me, corp’? Be there for her. Always.”

Castle looked to his superior in the eye and nodded, responding with only one word. “Sir.”

[...]

After clearing the first room of hostiles, you strolled up to the doorway of the second room and simply gave the door handle a tap coupled with a forceful push to open it. Stepping inside, you were met with four targets all gathered up around a dining table with playing cards and poker chips on it. With no time to waste, you instinctively popped two rounds to each target as you flanked around the table to advance to the third room.

CURRENT TIME: 0 MINUTES 30 SECONDS

Before entering the third room, you slowed your movements to a standstill to give yourself a moment to breath. So far you’ve expended over 17 rounds—half the amount that your magazine holds. You pressed the mag release of your weapon, dropping the current magazine and replacing it with a fresh one from your plate carrier.

The entrance to the third room was unobstructed, which allowed you to have a peek inside from the second room, allowing you to assess for any threats inside by flanking the corner through the threshold; the doorway. However, there was nothing to be found other than a dirty couch, a dusty coffee table, a cupboard on the corner and an LG TV screen bolted to the wall in what seems to be an attempt to represent a living room.

Nevertheless, you scanned the room intensively with haste in your search for the possible HVT, but he was nowhere to be found. You then groaned, realizing the room may have been a red herring to waste your time.

CURRENT TIME: 0 MINUTES 40 SECONDS

As you were about to move on to the fourth room, the entrance was reinforced with a metal door. The only way to break through the door would be to use a breaching tool. Thankfully, you’ve packed a collapsible sledgehammer in the event that you ran into this specific situation. You reached for the sledgehammer strapped to the back of your plate carrier and extended its handle before ramming its metal head against the door handle, breaking its locking slots and opening the door wide open.

You tossed the sledgehammer on the floor and gained entry to the room with your carbine in hand. Within your line of sight were three more targets directly facing you, prompting you to shoot at them in rapid consecutive bursts. Upon closer inspection however, not a single one of them was the individual you’re pursuing.

“Fuck..” You cursed under your own breath. With the clock still ticking, you quickly went around rummaging through the room for the HVT. The room itself was filled with furniture, positioned in such a way to portray a private office of the subject you are looking for. After digging through some of the shelves, you scoured through the wooden work desk at the center of the office and discovered a rolled up paper in its drawer. Unrolling it, the paper was a shooting target of a man of Arabic descent wearing a light blue buttoned-shirt, holding his hands up as if he was pleading for his life.

“Got you.” You murmured. With a smirk on your face, you placed the target on the surface of the table and aimed the business end of your carbine at his face and opened fire, resulting in the target becoming impossible to recognize, while chunks of the table beneath it became sawdust.

CURRENT TIME: 1 MINUTE 0 SECONDS

BZZZZT!

The buzzer blares out again, signaling that the test has now concluded. You unbuckled the strap of your helmet to take it off and looked up to the catwalk above to see your team’s reaction. Sweat began running down from your head as you’re panting audibly. It’s been quite some time since you’ve done something like this.

>[“Like I said, I aim to please.”]
>[“Whose idea was it to put the target in such a inhumanly small space?”]
>[WRITE-IN]

>>5856563
>>[“Like I said, I aim to please.”]
Don't forget to put a name or trip on

>>5856563
>[“Like I said, I aim to please.”]

>>5856563
>[“Whose idea was it to put the target in such a inhumanly small space?”]

>>5856563
>[“Like I said, I aim to please.”]

>>5856563
>[“Like I said, I aim to please.”]

“Time: One minute, exactly.” Winslow scoffs, “That’s a new team record. Not bad at all.”

“Argh, great fuckin’ job Lieutenant, really. I’m out 60 quid now, thanks to you.” Ash said sarcastically in a deadpan manner, prompting your other teammates to laugh.

“Like I said, I aim to please.” You said back to him in response as you let off a small chuckle.

You later hear metallic footsteps above and spotted Butch emerging on the catwalk with a grin, having traded his suit for a set of black combat uniform of Crye make. With a shout, he attracts your team’s attention and asks, “Are your boys all squared away? I got the team all gathered up for the mission briefing, they are waiting outside the killhouse.”

“Yeah, we’re just about done here. Let’s get down there.”

As Winslow led your team down the catwalks, Butch stayed behind for a short moment. The man turns over to you with his arms crossed and looks at you with approval. “I saw your record on the timer on the way here. Solid work Lieutenant, ya aced it.“ He comments, before stepping off to tread on the heels of your team, to which you followed suit.

[...]

You met up with your team and Butch at the staging room of the killhouse and followed them on their way out. Along the way, you overheard a brief conversation between Butch and Winslow regarding a unit Butch had just assembled as you trailed behind them.

“I pulled some guys off with SF experience like you asked. All of them just got off a plane from Libya yesterday. Petro-dollar funded kill/capture programs and shit. I think you’re gonna like them.”

“Yesterday? Are you sure they’re ready for this?” Winslow asked worriedly.

“Oh, the shit we’ll be doing over there is Tuesday for ‘em. They are ready.” Butch assures him, “Besides, they’ll be making more off this single contract alone than they do five years in the military.”

“I didn’t know you were running a charity. Who are they?”

“Special Projects Component “LOCUST”, our finest of ‘em all.”

Exiting the killhouse, you and your team come across a group of two dozen men, all wearing the same combat uniform that Butch wears, converging around a table with their gear and weapons on top as they conversed and bantered with one another.

“Listen up, Locusts!” Butch yelled enthusiastically as he strolls forth. Taking notice of their superior’s presence, the commotion surrounding the group dies down in an instant. Once silence had set in, he continued, “The very fine people standing before you right now represent the number one client of our company - that other government agency. Today, they have sought out our services in exchange for a very fine reward. From this moment onward, you’ll exclusively be working with them until your contract is fulfilled. You’ll treat them like your own, you’ll listen to them like you would with me, and most importantly, you’ll fight with them until the very end of your contract. Is that understood!?“

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“Aye-aye!” The ‘Locusts’ yelled energetically in unison.

“Hahah, yeah. That’s the spirit. Alright!” Butch steps aside from the center, letting Winslow take center stage. “Chief, take it away.”

“My team has gone through this before so allow us to recap things for you yanks. We’re looking for an individual codenamed Poison, he is a high-ranking FARC commander in charge of a rebel contingent numbering in the eighties. The CIA suspects Poison and his rebels are responsible for over thirty-six attacks against government military personnel and hardware over the last few months in Eastern Colombia. These aren’t numbers to shrug off—this is a sign that the FARC is becoming bolder, as US support for Colombia continues to wane.”

He takes a rolled-up paper from a pouch on his vest and spreads it out on the table, revealing the map of the FARC encampment from the prior briefing. “This here is the Animal Pen, an encampment near the Venezuelan border off the Rio Arauca river, where the rebels are garrisoned. The camp itself is split into three sections: NAI 1, also known as “Cordelia”, is the camp’s general housing facility, where the rebels live. NAI 2 “Regan” is the storage installation of the camp, where resources and supplies are kept. Lastly, there is NAI 3 “Goneril”; this is the command center for Poison’s contingent, where officers link up during the day to discuss, plan and conduct their operations.”

“The security inside the perimeter is tight, with 30 guerrilla fighters guarding the site at all times in six-hour rotations. At night, that number increases to 45, with the additional 15 rebels tasked to patrol the surrounding outskirts of the camp in teams of five. Be advised: We have civilians present in the AO - Some officers have brought their family members to live with them at the encampment—primarily at Cordelia, while Poison’s family permanently resides at Goneril. Any questions before we proceed to preparations and planning?”

The Locusts remained quiet. Taking this as a yes, Winslow beckons to Butch to take over and steps back next to you.

“Thank you, Chief.” Butch walks forward, now assuming the center stage of the room once more. He takes a few colored markers and begins drawing on the map. “This op will be a simultaneous snatch and grab and search and destroy. To do this, we will have two forward fireteams of five operators infiltrating the encampment. Team 1’s objective is to enter NAI - Goneril and immediately secure Poison, and perform sensitive site exploitation for any intel before exfil. For identity verification, look for the fatass who wears a black beret and a mask. That’s Poison. Team 2 on the other hand will make their way to NAI - Regan with the task of handling weapons inspection and demolition to permanently cripple the FARC’s future offensive capabilities.”

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"For support, two more fireteams will be standing by at the rear to support the forward teams. Team 3 will serve as backup for Team 1 as well as containment, as there is the possibility that Poison may have some form of a hidden route to cross the river, and we can’t risk letting him slip between our fingers in the event he makes a run for it for the border. Team 4 will support Team 2. If shit hits the fan, fret not; we got two Little Birds stationed a few klicks away from the encampment as QRF, ready to spool up at any given time. We’ll also have a Reaper drone equipped with AGMs orbiting over the AO for ISR and air support. Questions?”

“Alright!” Butch strikes the palm of his hands and energetically rubs them together. “Pack up your gear and get ready to leave for the airport in six hours. We got one hell of a business trip ahead of us. Let’s get this bread, yeah!?”

With the briefing now over, Butch and his Locusts leave the killhouse facility, leaving you and your team behind. You realize during this entire time, no mention of Mathilde had been made, as if she was deliberately omitted out of the picture. You then approached Winslow to inquire specifically about it.

“I noticed you and Butch didn’t mention a single thing about Mathilde.”

“Yeah, well that’s need-to-know, and he doesn’t. We can’t rope him into this mess any deeper or he’ll become a target.”

>[“Do you not trust him?”]
>[“He took the job. He’s deep enough already.”]

>>5860731
>[“Do you not trust him?”]

>>5860731
>>[“He took the job. He’s deep enough already.”]

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>>5860731
>[“Do you not trust him?”]

>>5860731
>[“Do you not trust him?”]

>>5860731
>[“He took the job. He’s deep enough already.”]

>>5860731
>[“Do you not trust him?”]

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“Do you not trust him?"

“I trust Butch as a friend, but he and his contractors are outsider elements in all this. I can’t trust any information about her to anyone not in this little circle of ours. This is operational security, I’m sure you’d understand.”

“What did you tell him then?”

He places the halfway-lit cigarette between his lips and takes one last puff of his cigarette before discarding it. “The cover story is we’re doing this to revitalize US interest in the region. By taking custody of Colombia’s most wanted, the CIA will possess a bargaining chip that will present a significant advantage over the local government in negotiations. The Colombians want Poison bad, and that means they will do anything the US tells them to do to have him be in their possession. But the truth is Poison means nothing to us, we only need what he knows about Mathilde.”

“Heh, it’s like taken right out of a page of SAC’s field operations handbook. Though, an MI6 agent forwarding US agenda in a region the UK has no stakes in is kind of bizarre, don’t you think?”

Winslow smirked upon hearing your question and let the smoke out of his lungs, watching it dissipate as it rose to the ceiling. “I’m sure the irony isn’t lost on Butch either.”

[...]

—
https://voca.ro/19dYJk881kUm
—

CORPORATE HANGAR 8 - PHILADELPHIA INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

The shuttle bus transporting you, Castle and Butch along with his contractors slows to a crawl on the tarmac of a hangar, where you are expected to rendezvous with Winslow, Ash and Scar who have driven to the airport a few hours in advance to oversee the loading of Preying Mantis hardware. Eventually, the bus comes to a complete stop and the doors autonomously open all at once, allowing its occupants to disembark.

From there, you and the others collectively marched to the hangar in an orderly fashion, where parked just in front of the structure was a massive airlifter aircraft with a black paint job and shapes distinctly unrecognizable from the others of its kind, in addition to the lack of any identifiable markings to speak of. You can see the ground crew loading multiple containers and pallets of supplies held down by nets up into the aircraft through the rear from a distance, and as you and Castle approached the plane closer and closer, the two of you slowed down to take in the sheer size of the plane. It was about 180 feet long, 60 feet tall, and its wings spanned over approximately 52 meters.

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“A beaut, ain’t she?” Winslow shouts to you from a distance as he approaches you with a relaxed gait. “I told you you’d like her. This is the C-20X Long Range Aerial Command Center, but we call her the Providence—Ash’s idea. She is a multi-mission strategic aerial transport craft originally built from the Globemaster III airframe, but we’ve had sent her up to companies like Kraber and Raytheon to retrofit her with stealth and electronic warfare capabilities.”

“It’s.. one heck of a plane for logistics, I’ll say that much.” You replied slowly so as to not stammer your words from the overwhelming wonder, while Castle simply nodded in agreement, as he was at a loss for words.

“Hahah, yeah. She used to be one of the eight Globemaster III in service within the Royal Air Force, carrying NATO personnel in and out of Afghanistan during the ISAF/RSM-era. After Kabul fell, however, C privately purchased the plane before she could get scrapped for parts and transferred its ownership to Caseman specifically for the task force. The rest is history.”

“Chief, Butch and his men are all already seated, and the ground crew just finished loading up their cargo. You should get inside.” Scar interrupts through the radio, cutting the introduction short.

Upon receiving this transmission, Winslow pressed the push-to-talk microphone on his vest to speak into it, “Roger, give the word to the pilots we’re go for pre-flight check.” He then gestured to you and Castle to enter the plane. “Welcome to Providence. Come on aboard, she is what you’ll be calling your new home now.”

—
https://voca.ro/16Is13jj3LDg
—

Winslow proceeds to escort you and Castle inside the Providence’s cargo bay, with the door promptly closing after your entrance. Passing through the containers and pallets of the hold, you sat down on the sidewall seats reserved only for your team on one side of the aircraft, with you at the center of it all as Ash and Castle were seated beside you—the latter of whom have already fallen asleep soundly. You fastened your seatbelt around your waist and leaned back against the backrest of your seat to relax.

A few minutes follow, and the jet engine begins whistling audibly outside the aircraft. You feel your seat vibrating through your rear end. Although there were no windows within the aircraft to look out from, you can clearly tell the Providence is on the move on the taxiway. Soon, you feel the side of your body beginning to resist some form of force, to which you determine the aircraft is currently accelerating on the runway of the airport before it tilts upwards gradually, making its ascent towards the night sky.

—
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lI03CyAYNhM
—

[ARC 2 END - TO BE CONTINUED]

SOURCES

ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIONS BY:
–Keitaro Takahashi (Original Work: Jormungand)
–Rei Hiroe (Original Work: Black Lagoon)
–Josh Taylor (Original Work: Black Powder Red Earth)
–Branko Bistrovic (Original Work: Splinter Cell Blacklist)
–MxNagant (@MXOFFICIAL6)
–Metal Doom Evil (@doom_captain)
–Xeph (@Paperboathat)

ORIGINAL MUSIC BY:
–Taku Iwasaki (Original Work: Jormungand Original Soundtrack / Shin Kamen Rider Music Collection)
–Shiro Sagisu (Original Work: Shin Ultraman Music Collection)
–Ludvig Forssell (Original Work: METAL GEAR SOLID V ORIGINAL SOUNDTRACK SELECTION)

MISCELLANEOUS MEDIA:
--Call of Duty: Modern Warfare II (2022, Activision & Infinity Ward)
–SCP: OVERLORD (2020, Interspace Anomalies & Retro Digital Media)
–Echo 3 (2022, Apple Studios & Keshet Studios)

SPECIAL THANKS TO:
–Metal Doom Evil (@doom_captain) for the Kate Marsh art!
–Xeph (@Paperboathat) for personally allowing me to use his art!

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This officially concludes the quest's 2nd arc. I would like to say thank you to everyone who participated in this thread and the one before, as it means very much to me and I am very grateful. Until next time, cheers!

ARC 2-β - NOW AVAILABLE ON THE ARCHIVES.
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2023/5822120/

>>5862750
thanks OP, it was a pleasure following you after all this time.

>>5862781
strange, it doesn't show with the other quests nor in the recent archives on qst https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=vengeance+burns+red

>>5862789
Weird

>>5862967
I've contacted the admin of the site regarding this problem. It should be rectified soon.

It's fixed. ARC 2-β is now available on the /qst/ Archive page for voting!
https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=Vengeance+Burns+Red