The objective came into sight. Blue flags lined the rooftops in the distance. Mercer slowed, eyes scanning, counting.
"…four," he said under his breath.
Eight were gone.
He felt his chest tighten slightly. 'Eight teams already made it… or eight teams got wiped trying.'
He looked at the others. Asher had noticed. Silas definitely had. Elliot followed their gaze, his expression tightening.
No one said it out loud, but the thought was the same across all of them. They weren't early. They were behind. And whatever was left ahead of them… wasn't going to be easy.
As the group moved down the last stretch of the street, the shift was immediate. The buildings thinned out behind them, and what lay ahead was a long, open road with no real cover in sight. Broken pavement stretched forward, flanked only by the final pair of buildings at the end of the block.
Mercer felt it before he could fully process it. Something was wrong. His grip tightened around his rifle as his eyes scanned ahead, then to the sides, then back again. The street was too quiet. Too clean.
'There's nowhere to move if something goes wrong… why didn't I slow us down?'
"We clear the end," Mercer said, his voice lower now, more controlled. "I'll take left. Asher, you take right."
They started forward, closing the distance. They never made it.
Four figures snapped into view almost at the same time, emerging from behind the buildings at the end of the street. Two on the left, two on the right. Their spacing was deliberate, clean. No overlap. No hesitation.
Gunfire erupted. The sound hit all at once, sharp and violent, echoing down the open street. Elliot froze.
Mercer reacted on instinct. He dropped into a crouch and fired toward the closer of the two on the left, the one leaning just a little too far past the corner. His shot landed clean, and the green light on the enemy's vest flashed red.
But it wasn't enough. Asher fired almost at the same time, taking one of the enemies on the right, his shots controlled even under pressure. But the return fire came faster than Mercer expected.
Too fast and much more coordinated. A burst cracked past Mercer's shoulder, close enough that he felt the air shift. Another followed, tighter, more accurate.
His vest lit up. A sharp tone rang in his ears. For a split second, everything went quiet.
'No… not here. I saw it too late.'
He lowered his rifle slowly, the weight of the mistake settling in before the sound returned all at once.
Elliot's alarm went off next. Mercer turned just in time to see him standing half-exposed, too slow to react, his rifle raised but unfocused. The hit registered, and Elliot flinched hard, his body locking up as the signal blared from his gear.
Asher went down right after. He had tried to shift position, to adjust his angle, but there was nowhere to go. Another clean shot, another sharp tone, and he was out.
Three of them gone in seconds. Mercer exhaled sharply, frustration rising fast and hot in his chest. He yanked the magazine from his rifle and slammed the weapon down against the pavement, the sound cracking louder than he intended.
'I rushed it. I walked them straight into it.'
Silas was the only one left. And unlike the others, he didn't hesitate.
The moment the ambush began, he had already dropped, his body hitting the ground in a controlled motion as he slid into a prone position. His rifle came up smoothly, no wasted movement, no panic.
One shot. The enemy on the left side of the building dropped instantly, their vest flashing red.
The last remaining opponent reacted fast, snapping back around the corner before immediately leaning out again and unleashing a stream of suppressive fire toward Silas's position. The rounds tore across the pavement, kicking up dust as they tracked toward him.
Silas didn't stay still. He rolled to his right, the motion tight and deliberate, bullets chasing just behind him as he moved. In his head, everything narrowed.
He counted without thinking.
'Thirteen… twenty-seven… thirty…'
The firing stopped. Reload. Silas was already moving.
He pushed up from the ground and closed the distance at a sprint, his boots striking hard against the pavement. As he reached the corner, he caught the sound he was waiting for, the click of a fresh magazine locking into place.
Silas rounded the corner. All it took was one shot. The enemy's vest lit up red before they could even bring their weapon back up. Silence followed.
Not complete silence, distant gunfire still echoed somewhere deeper in the town—but here, on this street, it was over.
Silas didn't linger. He moved into the building without a word, clearing it quickly before ascending the stairs toward the roof. His pace never changed, his breathing steady, his focus locked on the objective.
Moments later, one of the blue flags was pulled free. A horn sounded from across the street, sharp and final. On the rooftop of a nearby building, the drill sergeant stood with his arms crossed, watching. There was something faint in his expression now, not quite approval, but not indifference either.
Mercer stayed in the street for a long second, chest heaving, eyes locked on Silas moving toward the flag, and the weight of his own mistakes pressed down harder than the heat of the sun. Reminding him that leadership wasn't just about getting through it alive, but about keeping everyone else alive too.