Blood

The blades of the helicopter were loud, but the four operators inside were just staring out of the open sides, jumping off once they were close enough to the ground.
"Sheena Richardson," one of the men continued their fuck, marry kill. The others laughed, "Marry, for sure," the captain said, his rifle to his chest as he led the way to the safehouse. "Kill, not my type," the dark, monotone voice of the lieutenant chimed in.
"Sweets?" The sergeant proposing the dilemma at hand grinned at the woman walking after them, holding the gun pointed up on her shoulder, that familiar smug expression of excitement on her face. "Nah, I'd fuck."

-=~=-

Six military personnel.
Two who pull the reins.
Four on the front lines.
Zero pretty endings.

The second Mercie heard Torin's wish to start a task force, she knew it was bad news. But then she saw the files.
They were three impressive operators from Europe, Russia, and even the USA. And all wanted in some country for some reasons.