Forging a Rebellion

Melina Thorne guided us through the labyrinthine alleys of the slum district to the rebel hideout. Their headquarters—a term far too grand for the reality—was a modest, unassuming cottage that blended seamlessly into the surrounding squalor.

Inside, a number of civilians were scattered about the main room. They had been conversing in low tones, but their chatter ceased the moment we entered. Every eye immediately fixed on me. Why the stares? I wondered, a flicker of unease running through me. It wasn't my looks; it was something else. They were sizing me up, trying to decide if I was a threat or a savior.

Melina led us to a door that opened onto a set of basement stairs. Descending into the lower level, we found ourselves in a spacious chamber where a large group was gathered around a central table. These people, unlike the ones upstairs, were armed. They were a motley crew, clad in a hodgepodge of steel armor and civilian attire, carrying a rustic arsenal of pitchforks, crossbows, spears, and swords. They reminded me of a medieval peasant militia.

"Melina, you're late," a man at the head of the table boomed, his voice a low growl. He appeared to be around Cutter's age, with a powerful build that was evident even under his dark blue, sleeveless t-shirt and torn shorts. His dark gray hair was curly and fell to his shoulders.

"My apologies, Spike," she said, glancing from him to Brielle and me. "I was almost captured by the guards, but Elara's companions saved me."

"Greetings," Brielle said, stepping forward to address the man. "I am Captain Brielle Vance of the Order of the Knights of the Azure Cross." She gestured to me. "And this is Lieutenant Arc of G.A.I.A. Squad. His real name is classified, so he operates under a codename."

"You can call me Spike, but the name's Lorne Axelrod," the man declared, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. "I'm the leader of this rebellion." As I studied his face, I recognized the look in his gray eyes. I'd seen that look countless times before—the haunted, weary gaze of a man who had seen too much combat. His soldiers continued to stare as he fixed his attention on us. "So," he asked, his voice laced with a challenge, "what are your impressions of our town?"

"It's overcrowded, and the people are living in misery," I replied in a deadpan tone, meeting his stare without flinching. "It reminds me of the favelas back home. Not to mention, your guards smell like dog shit."

A few of his men chuckled, and Spike let out a short, barking laugh. "Heh. I've only known you for five minutes, kid, but I like you already."

"There's a reason my colleagues call me the 'Sniper's Idol'," I said evenly.

"You can joke later," he grunted, his expression turning serious. "We have work to do." He gestured to a map spread across the table. I stepped closer for a better look.

"This is where they're holding the girls," Spike said, pointing to a location deep within the slum district. Since it was on their home turf, I figured this operation should be straightforward.

"Is the intel solid?" I questioned.

Spike's eyebrows shot up. "Pardon?"

I sighed. "Are you certain this is the correct building?"

"Yes," he answered, his gaze shifting between Brielle and me. "I'm absolutely certain. You two look like you've seen your share of fights. Care to lead the raid?"

Brielle and I exchanged a look and nodded. "We'll take the lead," she confirmed.

"Good," I said. "I suggest we move tonight to avoid the town guard. I'll need ten of your best men for retraining."

Spike looked perplexed. "Retraining? Why only ten when you can have everyone here?"

"I need a trained squad, not a mob," I replied simply. Every night op I'd ever run was with a small team of six to twelve. I couldn't remember the last time I'd taken an entire legion on a covert mission.

He stared at me for a long moment, then gave a curt nod. "I understand. You have your pick." He motioned for his men to form a line.

I glanced over at Elara. "Elara, I need you to return to the shop I mentioned earlier and stand by."

"Roger that!" she said with a cheerful grin and a casual salute.

I walked toward the line of rebels, my hands clasped behind my back in my command stance. I assessed each one, my eyes sharp, evaluating their posture, their build, and the look in their eyes, searching for a spark of mental fortitude. "Okay," I said, pointing to a young man holding a crossbow. "You're in." I then gestured to a man carrying a shield. "You. You, with the great hammer. You. And you."

As night fell, we commenced the raid. We moved in a single file line, advancing tactically and stealthily toward the target building. Before we'd set out, I had drilled my chosen ten in the fundamentals of military operations—hand signals, terminology, and basic maneuvers. I couldn't risk them acting on impulse and compromising the mission.

The town was shrouded in darkness, with only the occasional candle or lamp flickering in a window. The silence was eerie, a stark contrast to the lively nights of Aethelgard and Darrow. It was clear the locals were too terrified to venture outside after dark.

I took point, my suppressed MP5A3 at a low ready. I'd left my assault pack at the hideout for greater agility. Brielle, my second-in-command, was right behind me. The rail-mounted flashlight on my SMG was our only source of illumination; I had forbidden the use of torches, knowing their flickering flames would give us away instantly.

"Target building, one hundred meters," I whispered, my eyes fixed on the structure ahead. It was a dark, subdued shape in the gloom, appearing like any other shop with a door on the right and windows on the left.

I crept to the entrance and positioned myself beside the door. I switched off my light and glanced at the rebel with the great hammer—Jake, or something like that. I made a fist and tapped my forehead twice, the signal to breach.

He nodded and moved to the door. With a single, powerful swing of his hammer, he blasted it off its hinges.

I rushed in, weapon sweeping the room. To my left, a slender, bald man with a wispy beard stood behind a counter.

"Freeze! Hands where I can see them!" I yelled, leveling my weapon at him. He reluctantly raised his hands. I gestured for the rebels to secure the area. "Turn around!" I commanded, motioning for him to face the wall.

Just as I was about to cuff him, I heard shouts and the crash of another door bursting open from a back room. "Intruders!"

I spun toward the sound as my team moved to engage the guards. Two of them charged directly at me, their swords raised for a downward slash. "Die!" they roared.

In a blur of motion, Brielle was in front of me, her rapier, Gleaming Falcon, deflecting their blades with a shower of sparks. She followed up with a flying kick to one guard's face, then spun and struck the other in the head with the flat of her blade. Both men collapsed, unconscious.

"Arc, cover me!" she yelled, deflecting another blow and kicking her new assailant away.

"On it!" I shouted, pressing my back against hers. Two more guards rushed me. I brought my SMG up, aiming for the nearest one's head, but Brielle's plea echoed in my mind: Don't kill them!

"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered under my breath. I shifted my aim to his legs and fired a five-round burst.

A series of muffled phuts escaped the suppressor, and the man crumpled to the ground. "Arrrgghh!" he screamed. I stomped on his head, knocking him out cold.

"Hraah!" The second guard swung wildly at me. He was too close to shoot, so I dodged his attack. As he stumbled past, I drew my Minato P9 sidearm, aimed at his knees, and fired a single shot. The bullet struck him in the buttock.

"Aagh! My ass!" he shrieked, dropping to his knees and clutching his rear. I almost felt sorry for him. A sharp elbow to the back of his head sent him slumping to the floor. That was easy, I thought, holstering my weapon.

I scanned the room. My squad had finished their fight. To my surprise, most of the guards were alive, merely knocked out. A few of the rebels had sustained minor cuts and bruises but were otherwise ready for action.

I turned back to the man behind the counter, who was now fumbling with something in a drawer. "Hey! What are you doing?" I yelled, swinging my weapon in his direction. He raised his hand, pointing a pistol at me. A pistol?

BANG!

A sledgehammer slammed into my chest, throwing me backward onto the floor. "ARC!" Brielle screamed. My plate carrier had stopped the bullet, but the impact had knocked the wind out of me.

Gasping for air, I saw the man take aim at Brielle. "Brielle, get down!" I yelled. As he squeezed the trigger, I lunged forward, tackling her to the ground. The bullet whizzed past, missing her head by millimeters.

The gunman then shot one of the rebels in the stomach, causing him to drop his crossbow. He began firing wildly around the room. A few unlucky rebels were hit, but most scrambled for cover.

Pinned down, Brielle and I struggled to our feet. The man vaulted over the counter, leveling his pistol at us. "A Knight of the Azure Cross and a strange man with a repeating fire-musket," he sneered. "This must be my lucky day."

I recognized the weapon—a Yamato-made semi-automatic. I'd encountered the model on a deep-cover op once. But as I looked closer, I noticed the hammer wasn't cycling correctly. A slow smile spread across my face.

"Hey, buddy," I said, pointing at his weapon. "If I were you, I'd have thrown that piece of junk away by now."

"What are you talking about?" he asked, bewildered.

"Pull the trigger," I pushed, knowing it would make the rebels panic.

"Arc!" Brielle yelled, grabbing my wrist. I just patted her hand and gave her a reassuring smile.

"Fine, if it's your last wish!" he growled and squeezed the trigger.

CLICK!

Nothing happened. "What?" He stared at the weapon in confusion and pulled the trigger again.

CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!

Still nothing. "Dude, that thing's out of ammo," I said, getting to my feet and brushing the dust off my uniform. The man dropped the gun and made a run for it. I sprinted after him, tackling him to the ground. He tried to push me off, but two quick punches to the face subdued him. I pulled a bag over his head and cuffed his hands behind his back.

I turned back to the others, dragging our prisoner with me. "Target secured."