Moving Out
The warehouse didn’t just feel purposeful. It felt like a deployment zone. Crates were stacked open across the floor. Armor plates laid out in rows. Rifles being cleaned and checked under harsh overhead lights. The low murmur of thirty voices blended into a steady undercurrent of readiness. Bootsteps echoed against concrete. Metal clicked into place. Someone tested comms on a secure frequency. This wasn’t a small team slipping into the dark. This was a coordinated strike. Iris stood near the back wall for a moment, taking it in. Thirty people. Some veterans. Some newer recruits. All of them knew what Black Talon had done. Some carried scars from it. Some carried names of people they’d lost. They weren’t here because of her. They were here because they’d been waiting for this op
- Writer
