WARZONE - König

1 - Pt. One

In his secluded office, General Shepherd meets with Phillip Graves, the leader of Shadow Company. The closed blinds allow a sliver of daylight to filter through, casting a faint glow in the room. The office is devoid of any extravagant decorations, save for a simple name stand positioned at the edge of the desk, facing the door.

Graves stands upright, his arms folded behind his back, as he gazes at Shepherd. They exchange a nod, acknowledging each other's presence.

"Give me the details," Shepherd begins, prompting Graves to relax his stance and lower his arms. Graves places a folder on Shepherd's desk, and Shepherd swiftly turns it around to face himself. As he opens the folder, the contents reveal a file belonging to one of his soldiers.

"After Lt. Ghost and Sgt. Nosia ran Hassan out of Al-Mazrah, we got approval from Laswell to send one of the KorTac private contractors along with one of our own there to finish off the rest of the AQ's and rescue the hostages. I personally chose Sgt. Nadja to accompany their man into the warzone."

"KorTac—that private company Laswell put together. Glad to have some help from their end. Is your Sergeant up and ready then?"

"Yessir."

"Then what're we waitin' on? Let's get 'em out there." Shepherd commands.

-

As the helicopter touches down on the U.S. military base in Al-Mazrah, the cargo door gradually lowers, revealing the dim, empty interior. Nadja, AKA "Siren," shields her eyes from the wind and sunlight with her arm. Her rifle hangs loosely at her side, black hair whipping across her face, while her headscarf protects the rest from the harsh elements.

Squinting against the bright light, Nadja waits patiently for the door to fully open and the engines to quiet. With a swift movement, she lowers her arm and strides forward. Her outfit is practical—a dark blue combat jacket over matching cargo pants, both neatly fitted. Black combat boots hit the metal floor with a steady rhythm as she walks, the ammunition strapped to her vest and the plain backpack slung over her shoulders completing her look.

"Siren, this is Graves. You know the mission. If the KorTac operator causes any trouble, handle it. Get in, rescue the hostages, and get out. Communications may be spotty once you're in, but you've got execute authority. Do what's necessary."

"Affirmative, sir," Nadja replies, her voice steady. She steps onto the bridge connecting the landing zone to the helicopter, her boots clanging against the metal as she boards. The interior is dim, shadows enveloping the narrow aisle lined with empty seats—except for one.

Settling into a seat, she secures her rifle between her knees, buckles the straps over her chest, and adjusts in the hard plastic seat. Her focused, serious expression doesn't waver until her eyes flicker to the left, where the KorTac operator assigned to the mission sits—Konig.

A wide smile greeted the mysterious man, barely visible in the unlit darkness of the helicopter. His black mask draped over his face like an executioner's hood, leaving only a pair of dark eyes glaring at her through the cutouts.

As the cargo door screeched shut, the dim red light flickered on, casting an eerie glow over the cabin while the helicopter was refueled.

"Hi," Nadja broke the silence, attempting to engage in conversation. Konig, however, averted his gaze, staring off into the empty darkness beside them, deliberately avoiding her. 'Damn,' she muttered under her breath, her chin jerking back in mild offense as she awkwardly turned away.

The engines roared to life, and the pilot's voice came through the comms, informing them they were ready for takeoff. The flight was short, tense, and uncomfortable, the howling winds outside rattling the helicopter's frame, filling the air with uneasy silence.