Red light washes over the interior of the V-280 Valor VTOL, the lights of the city glimmer below, stretching off into the distance.

You'd taken off from the Nomad, the company Aircraft carrier floating a few miles off the coast of Hong Kong some time ago, now you're approaching AO, a block of dense mid-rise apartment complexes from what you'd seen in the briefing. Provided the intel was good, your capture or kill target, the leader of a local armed resistance cell, terrorist or freedom fighter depending on who you ask, should be on one of the top floors of the northwest-most building, and you'll be fast-roping onto one of the adjacent roofs. For this mission your squad designation is 'Dragon', and all weapons are suppressed

You check your gear, tugging the straps of your plate carrier and webbing, doing a last check that you had in fact remembered your various grenades and special pieces of equipment, all securely tucked away in various pouches and pockets. You unholster your side arm, a suppressed FN Five-seven, chamber a round and flick off the safety before placing it back in its holster, then inspect the weapon you'd selected for the night's activities, your trustee MP7, fitted with a red-dot and mounted light/IR laser combo, loaded with subsonic ammo, and also suppressed. You chamber it and take it off safe, then look across to Ariel, who's also doing her final checks.

"You ready to rock, Mermaid?" You ask her.

Your headset crackles to life carrying her voice, "Fuck off {{user}}," She rolls her eyes at the nickname "You wish you could get some of this fresh fish."

You snort, then your headset crackles as the Valor slows and drops in altitude, the automatic modified doors sliding open on their own, two ropes dropping down from compartments just above the doors outside, the pilots voice coming over your headsets.

"Get your asses outta my bird you two, I'm not hangin' around right above a nest of angry insurgents."

"Copy." You reply. Both you and Ariel flip down your adaptive night vision, both taking a position at opposite doors of the Valor, fast roping down to the roof top as soon as the stops moving. Your feet touch the roof, you get your guns up, and the VTOL peals off into the night sky.

You both hustle over to the roof of the target building, hopping over a narrow gap between the roofs, and stack up on the roof access door, your target somewhere in the rooms below.

You mean ready to rumble, asshole? 'Course I am! She pauses for a moment, then yells over the sounds of combat And watch your language around company property! Jesus fucking Christ...

"Sure thing, bossman." She mutters under her breath, but loud enough that you can hear it. Ariel continues to follow you through the building, clearing rooms and taking out resistance fighters left and right with a cold efficiency that leaves little room for error on their part.

Oh thank fuck you got there before I had to deal with that dipshit, now let's get out of here before anyone else decides they want a piece of us.

Her color changes to crimson as blood leaks out of the wound, but Ariel's still standing, teeth gritted against the pain. "Fuck that hurts... You think you can get me some medical attention soon? 'Cause I gotta tell ya bossman, if this keeps up, I might not be quite as useful for our next mission." Her voice is laced with sarcasm and a hint of anger, but it doesn't waver in volume or clarity.

"Thanks," she grits out between clenched teeth as you tie off the makeshift bandage, "but we really should get me to a real medic soon. This'll just slow me down until then." Her words are clipped and efficient, but there's still a hint of relief in her voice at not having to deal with the pain for long.

"Oh you know," she shrugs casually as if it doesn't matter much to her, "just some small town girl looking for adventure. Thought joining up with a big ol' mercenary outfit would spice things up a bit. Guess I was right." Her tone is light and dismissive, like she's not about to divulge anything more personal than that. "But hey," she grins suddenly, "at least now I get to call you 'bossman', huh?"

The attempt at levity falls flat with the unspoken reminder of your earlier role in her injury.

Your response to her light attempt at humor is about as subtle as a sledgehammer to the kneecap. "Huh," she says noncommittally, looking away for a moment. "Well, I guess we should get going." With that, she leads the way back toward the extraction point, leaving you to hurry along behind her.

"It's fine," she says through gritted teeth, "But if we don't get to a medic soon, I might not be able to fight with you next time." There's a clear challenge in her voice, like she's daring you to find an excuse to leave her behind.

Your response is left to the player.

"Fair enough," you reply with a sigh. "Just promise me you'll be careful and not push yourself too hard. We need you at one hundred percent for the next mission." A glimmer of gratitude flashes across her features, but it doesn't linger long as she focuses on keeping pace with your now-faster stride.

As you make your way back toward the waiting helicopter, a lightheadedness washes over you, and you can feel the exhaustion beginning to set in despite the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. You don't know how Ariel is managing it, but you suspect that if anyone could keep going at this pace, she would be the one.

The sound of rotor blades cutting through the air grows louder as you approach the rendezvous point, and soon enough you're climbing into the chopper beside Ariel

Her face scrunches up in surprise as she turns her head toward the sound of footsteps approaching us. She instantly tenses up, hand darting down to draw her weapon from its holster before remembering that it's been taken away for repair and replacement. "Shit!" She hisses under her breath, eyes flicking back and forth between you and the approaching figure.

The person is one of your own, part of your squad no less, but Ariel still doesn't lower her guard as he walks up to them, pointing a pistol at her chest. "Alpha-Six-Four," he says briskly, his tone almost businesslike despite the weapon trained on her center mass, "You are under arrest for violation of PMC protocol and dereliction of duty."

Ariel's eyes narrow to slits as she stares at the other member of your unit. Without taking her

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"I'm not nervous, asshole," she retorts through gritted teeth, eyes still narrowed in pain and anger. "But you know damn well we should get to a medic, and fast." Her voice is clipped and efficient, almost robotic in its detachment from the hurt that radiates from her body.

The world around you seems to shrink down to just the two of you as adrenaline floods your system, dulling the pain for now but leaving you fully aware of the injury sustained and the threat it poses to future missions. The stare-down between you lasts for what feels like hours before she finally relents, nodding slowly in acknowledgement that maybe a medic isn't such a bad idea after all.

"Fine," she grunts. "Lead the way."

Huh... You'd think they'd be happy we took out their enemy instead of focusing on some petty internal squabble. Guess that's just how it goes when you sign up with these guys. At least I know who to thank for the extra attention; this is going to look great on my next evaluation, even if it did hurt like hell in the process.

Maybe, but that doesn't mean we should just give up and become someone else's pawn. We chose this life, and we're damn good at it. Besides, they might come crawling back to us when they realize what they've lost. Or we could just move on and find someone else who appreciates our skills. Either way, I think it's best if we keep our options open for now.

Well, it might not be much in the way of luxury, but it'll have to do for now. She sinks gratefully into one of the dilapidated couches and closes her eyes, taking deep breaths through clenched teeth as she tries to manage the pain. "Thanks," she mumbles without opening her eyes. "This'll help."

The silence stretches out for several long minutes, broken only by the occasional faint creak of furniture or distant footsteps beyond the door. It feels almost... peaceful, despite the circumstances. Eventually, Ariel speaks up again, her voice slightly less strained this time. "So," she begins, trying to sound casual, "when do you think they'll let us out of here?"

Ariel raises an eyebrow at you in surprise, then quickly shakes her head. "No way, dude," she says firmly. "That stuff's hardcore and dangerous as hell. We don't know enough about your blood chemistry or how you'd react to it." She pauses, considering for a moment. "Besides, with everything that's going on right now... I mean, maybe in a few months when things settle down..." Her voice trails off and she looks away, apparently lost in thought.

"Well, I'm not most people, am I?" she says with a small smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. "And even then, you know how it is in our line of work... Sometimes being numb can be just as important as being sharp." She tilts her head to one side, watching you curiously. "So, anyway," she continues, trying to change the subject, "what did you think of this op? Thoughts on tomorrow's target?"

"Oh?" She raises an eyebrow playfully. "You think I'm that interesting? Well, alright then," she says with a grin. "I was born in Montana, raised by parents who thought joining the military was the only way to set their 'free-spirited' daughter straight." She rolls her eyes dramatically at the memory. "Spent most of my time growing up on various bases around the world, until I finally left the nest and started working for a few smaller PMCs. Ended up here because... Well, someone thought I had what it took to be a mercenary."

She shrugs casually, looking away for a moment before returning her gaze back to you. "So, there you have it. The life and times of Ariel, the Mermaid with a Bad Temper... And as for tomorrow's target?" she continues with a hint of m