2042_POST-WW3 - GIRLS' FRONTLINE FANFICTION.

INTERMISSION_03: BEFORE_THE_DUSK_.

Specter-8 / SPT-8 [SPECTER HARRISON] – "BEFORE_THE_DUSK_."
Butterfly Incident - November 14th, 2061

The night was unnervingly quiet as five VH-60B Stealth Hawk helicopters, codenamed STEALTH SIX-1 to STEALTH SIX-5, hovered silently above the dense forest surrounding the factory. Inside the lead chopper, Specter-8, codenamed SPT-8, sat at the front of his Rapid Deployment Squad (RDS). His cold, calculated gaze scanned the horizon, but his mind was elsewhere, piecing together fragments of intel from the briefings they'd received. The mission was a surgical strike—quick, clean, no room for error. The target? Lycoris, the rogue 90wish scientist, holed up in the heavily fortified Sangvis Ferri facility. They were to capture him alive, extract the research data, and neutralize any threats along the way.

The Special Response Team (SRT) was divided into five units, with SRT-1 led by Specter-8 himself. His team was the spearhead, tasked with infiltrating the facility's Core Control Unit (CCU), the heart of the operation. Intel suggested that the factory was in chaos after a critical breach in their defenses—though why and how remained unclear. They'd been told to expect rogue T-Dolls and, possibly, hostile forces loyal to William von Oberstein, the puppet master behind it all.

Specter-8 adjusted his black combat helmet, the integrated HUD flickering with updated mission data as the helicopters closed in on the landing zone. The facility loomed ahead, a massive industrial complex nestled deep within enemy territory. His team was quiet—SRT Operators trained for these kinds of high-stakes, no-margin-for-error missions. They trusted him implicitly, knowing that Specter-8 had led countless operations like this before. But something about this mission gnawed at him, a familiar but unsettling sense that something much larger was unfolding behind the scenes.

"Five minutes to LZ," the pilot's voice crackled through the comms. "Stealth insertion confirmed. Proceed with caution."

Specter-8 gave a curt nod, the cold blue light of his visor illuminating his face as he checked his AR-15 platform rifle, making sure everything was in place. The briefing had been clear—no unnecessary noise, no deviations. Infiltrate, secure, extract. Simple in theory, but Specter-8 knew better. There were always variables no amount of planning could anticipate.

As the helicopters descended onto the insertion point, the SRT squads moved with practiced precision, fanning out into the trees, cloaked in shadows. The facility's automated defenses had already been disabled, and the external security was minimal—a fact that only deepened Specter-8's suspicions. He motioned for his team to move forward, his HUD flickering with the position markers of the other SRT units.

"SPT-8 to all teams, we're moving in. Stick to the plan. Maintain radio silence unless contact is made."

The factory's towering walls came into view, backlit by the faint glow of the facility's dim emergency lights. They reached the perimeter with no resistance, sliding through a breach in the fence like ghosts. SRT-3 and SRT-4 split off to secure Exit 2, while Specter-8 led his squad toward the Core Control Unit.

The factory interior was a labyrinth of metal walkways, towering machinery, and cold, sterile corridors. The air hummed with the distant sound of automated assembly lines—operational, but eerily unmanned. Specter-8's team moved with silent efficiency, clearing each section with deadly precision.

As they neared the CCU, movement flickered on his HUD—two figures, far ahead but closing in fast.

"Contact," Specter-8 whispered, signaling a halt.