Dragon's Lair

“We’re diving straight into the belly of the beast,” Song shouts over the deafening rumble of the Jethawk’s plasma thrusters.

“Hot dropping straight onto a Triad ship? Madame really thinks we’re miracle workers,” quips Specialist Jade Chao, adjusting her beret. She stretches her small frame in her Flextex combat bodysuit, bouncing lightly on her toes before throwing a few quick punches in the air.

“We wouldn’t be Unit 7 if we couldn’t pull off a miracle,” replies Sergeant Randell Johnson, his voice a deep rumble. His towering height forces him to hunch over in the cramped Jethawk. He secures a massive matte-black composite broadsword into its quick-deploy sheath with a satisfying click, attached on the back of his titanium armor encasing his burly frame. “Especially on Flint’s last mission. “Ain’t that right, Ray?”

The final passenger, Agent First Class Ray Stoner, seated at the edge of the cabin, remains silent. His sunken, watchful eyes pensively track the raindrops splattering across viewport.

“Silent Ray as always,” Jade says, smirking.

But Ray does respond this time. “I have a feeling something feels off about this one.”

That gives Jade pause. What did he mean by that?

There’s no time to ask. The Jethawk pitches upward as it slows, reaching its destination. Its thrusters rotate for a vertical hover over the deck of the ship below.

The rain whips against the hull of the ship. Heavy watertight doors fling open as multitudes of Triad gangsters flood onto the deck, brandishing melee weapons, anticipating the descent of the intruders.

The Jethawk’s cabin lights flash green.

“Get ready! Lenses on!” Flint barks, sliding on a set of combat glasses. The others follow suit, pressing their lenses into place.

Ray’s amber-tinted combat glasses flicker to life, an interface scrolling in front of his eyes. A computerized female voice buzzes in his ear through bone-conduction earpieces.

“Advanced Combat Interface initializing. Connecting to Combat Suit… Checking Vitals… Complete. Welcome, Agent Stoner.”

Flint gives the side of his armored prosthetic leg a good-luck tap, then grabs the cabin’s sliding door handle and yanks it open. The sound of rain and thrusters floods the cabin. A rope drops, unravelling fifteen meters to the ship deck below. “One last dance.”

“And I’ll be their first partner,” Jade chirps, snapping her belt onto the rope before zipping down. She lands with a powerful stomp of her thick-soled combat boots on a thug’s now-cracked chest. She immediately spins into motion, each kick and elbow strike delivered with high precision, her martial arts skills fluid as water.

Ray follows, sliding down the rope and landing in a splash. He draws his short sword in one fluid motion and cuts down a thug on impact. More Triad foot soldiers rush him, but Ray’s blade finds them first, each cut and stab with deadly precision. But one manages to sneak up on him with a swing…

Thud. Flint’s shield intercepts the strike. Without hesitation, he drives his sword into the thug’s gut.

“You gotta watch your back more, Ray,” he says while yanking his bloodied sword free.

Ray smirks. “Thanks. I owe you again.”

“Another round of drinks on you?”

“Oh no…”

The two hear footsteps rushing them. Four gangsters charge the duo with raised weapons, but Randell’s broadsword cleaves through them.

“And you two need to leave the small fry to me,” Randell says as he heaves his blade over his shoulder, pleased with himself.

Suddenly, a broadhead arrow slices Ray’s shoulder and embeds itself in a container right next to his head. A warning flashes in his HUD.

“Laceration detected. Minor injury.”

“Archers!” Ray calls out.

His interface scans and highlights five Triad archers with rustic compound bows on a higher balcony.

“Get down!” Flint raises his shield as arrows thud against it. Ray ducks behind a crate as another volley strikes the wood.

“Jade, take care of them!” Flint orders.

“On it!” Jade sprints across the deck. In the time frame it takes the archers to reload from their quivers, she’s already vaulted onto the upper deck.

“Why don’t you become real men and fight up close,” Jade taunts. She whirls in, flashing twin karambits in each hand. Before the archers can aim at her point blank, she swings behind them and slices their heels. All five drop their bows and crumple to the ground, crying out in agony.

She dusts herself off and waves at her squad. “Cowards, I mean, Archers down.”

Flint nods and replies in his earpiece. “Good work. Jade, you and Dell take the bridge and stop the ship. Ray and I will find Yi Yang.”

The squad splits into their duos. Flint leads Ray down a hatch into the dimly lit cargo hold. Jade bounds up the rusting stairs with a playful skip, Dell hustling to keep pace.

Jade kicks down the bridge door with a playful grin. “Interpol here! Hands up, and nobody gets hurt!” she announces gleefully. Jade’s karambit flicks into view, and the bridge crew immediately comply as its curved edge gleaming in the dim bridge lights.

Jade levels the blade at the captain. “Good,” she locks eyes on him, “now stop the ship.”

The captain’s gaze flickers to his crew but finds no courage there. He reaches for the lever and pulls it to “Stop.” The propulsion engines fade to a low hum as the ship’s momentum dies. They drift to a halt beneath the towering beams of a traffic-heavy suspension bridge crossing the bay. Enforcement drones buzz into view and circle around the ship, sensors monitoring the situation.

Above, crowds gather along the bridge railing, necks craned to witness the activity below. Traffic slows to a crawl as rubberneckers snap photos with their phones. Hiding in the middle of the crowds, a woman with a oversized zipper jacket and long scarf partially covering her face, tracks the ship like it’s her prey.

Enforcement arrives in their squad vehicles with lights flashing. Officers disembark, halting traffic and shouting for the crowd to disperse. “Enforcement activity in the area,” one of the squad car’s PA system blares, “please evacuate the bridge for your safety.”

The crowd slowly filters away—all except for the woman with the scarf.

An Enforcement Officer approaches her. “Show’s over, ma’am. Move along,” her tone firm.

But the woman doesn’t respond. The Officer draws her stun sword, letting it spark and crackle as a threat.

“I said move,” she orders sternly and places a hand on the woman’s shoulder.

Big mistake.

The woman glances back, eyes dark and hollowed. In a flash, she grabs the officer’s wrist, twists it, and flips her flat onto the bridge’s steel grating. Landing hard with pain, she gasps in shock. She radios in for help. “Officer requesting backup. Citizen non-compliance. Aggressive and possibly armed.”

Before she can recover, the mysterious woman is already walking to the bridge’s edge. She climbs onto the narrow railing, balancing delicately in high-heeled boots.

“Hey! Stop!” the officer protests, scrambling to her feet.

The woman eyes her target below and shrugs off her jacket, revealing a sleek, dark, form-fitting bodysuit.

Without hesitation, she dives off the bridge, plummeting toward the ship’s dark crevices. The officer runs to the edge just in time to witness the woman disappear into the rain and shadows below.