Soon, 1-3 and 1-5 entered through the front door in formation, part of the team taking over the uncleared room, which the old lady referred to as her family living space.

The long column raised their muzzles toward the upstairs. Without a word, they proceeded to climb up, still silent and gradual as the group advanced meticulously.

1-1, 1-2, and 1-3 moved up while 1-5 waited until their teammates' stack cleared the fatal funnel. The 1-5 point operator with a shield gave a small shake of her pistol muzzle to signal her partner standing opposite.

The old lady wanted to protest upon seeing Spirit Fox's intention to burst into her family room, a little worried that her family's overreaction might trigger misfortune.

The remaining 1-3 operator attending to her rubbed and squeezed the elder's shoulder. Fortunately, the elder understood she needed to control her emotions; otherwise, more danger could arise—though the operator winced inwardly at the lady's mistrust of Spirit Fox. They weren't Country A Police, panicking and shooting at the mere sight of a gun.

Well, they really might just put a bullet in the head and end the drill instead of giving a warning, provided, of course, they knew the intel beforehand.

1-5 had no time to pay attention to the dilemma. The door swung open with an eerie groan, and the operators flooded in after the pointswoman. Their gentle steps caressed the floor. Shieldwoman in the center, two on the left and right.

One big bed stood close to the baby's swing. From the old lady's description, Spirit Fox guessed it was the sleeping space for the grandparent and grandchild.

A child slept on the small bed, bubbling cute lips, almost drawing awws from the women armed to the teeth.

Another door remained closed, and the three operators tested the doorknob, then entered. Glancing at the cuddled couple in a disheveled state, the girls politely closed the door after roughly checking for threats.

On the second floor, the operators separated into smaller teams. The most dangerous structural position was covered by a shield and her partner behind. The rest used their utmost stealth skills to minimize their signature.

Though confident in their abilities, they still respected their foes. They weren't dealing with ordinary gangsters; the enemies were experienced mercenaries. Catching them off-guard ensured living specimens.

Among the members, a few had participated in a border-crossing mission. Compared to the ridiculous militias they'd encountered there, mercenaries were clearly more formidable.

They had no idea at the moment that their fellow sisters had already clashed with the world's elite black-ops—former special-forces operatives—and achieved an absolute victory.

So most operators in this mission still exercised the highest caution. They waited for 1-5 below to catch up and weren't in a hurry, since nobody seemed alerted.

Naturally, no one dared underestimate the alertness of their opponents. Sometimes that sixth sense, hard to explain through scientific perspectives, worked miraculous wonders.

Soon, 1-5 climbed up and passed them across the aisle to reach another ascending staircase. They made no sounds apart from a few ruffles from the equipment they wore, swinging with each movement.

1-5, with the shieldwoman at the front, stacked and occupied halfway up the stairs. Without needing to communicate, the others moved in sync and breached.

All doors were locked. They couldn't risk the slightest noise that might allow the opponents to prepare, even one caused by a black-technology magnetic door unlocker.

"Province N Police!"

"Hands! Show me your hands!"

As expected, their entry woke the sleeping occupiers, who jumped from the bed. In their most vulnerable state, pointed at by beaming green lasers, confused and yet to extract themselves into reality, they raised their hands to surrender.

Not all rooms belonged to the suspects Spirit Fox wanted. There were innocent tenants. Regardless, everyone was cuffed after their compliance.

Surely, not all rooms had sleeping tenants. The one stacked by the shieldwoman's duo, upon entry, discovered a couple discussing at the coffee table. The man and woman flinched from the forceful entry and immediately sprinted.

Their behaviors, all subconscious, came after noticing Spirit Fox's attire. They didn't think, nor did they have the time.

Of course, Spirit Fox operators wouldn't let them. The shieldwoman and her partner rushed. The former tripped the woman and bashed her with the heavy shield, pressing it diagonally on the chest and sandwiching her against the soft bed. Her pistol touched menacingly on the head.

"Don't even think about it if you wanna live!"

On the other side, meanwhile, the man threw the flower vase and pulled the chair to block the intruder.

Clank!

The vase shattered into pieces as it collided with the high-speed ballistic visor. The cloud of shrapnels blew away; the operator didn't flinch, her stance steady and firm, still honed on the man.

As for the chair, her sturdy legs didn't even bother to kick. Her momentum was enough to fling it away as it hit her body. Clearly, the man resisted to buy just enough time to reach his weapon. The operator didn't know where it was, but nobody would allow giving them a chance.

Too fast.

The man knew instinctively he couldn't make it and tried to grab the operator's weapon. Before his hands touched, the operator compressed her rifle, causing his hands to follow the trajectory in mid-air and muzzle-punched him in the chest.

All happened too fast. His lungs stung from the pain, and a brutal smack slid across his cheek. Then, like a little chicken, his neck was grappled and thrown toward the bed near his partner.

The operator struck again with her muzzle at his back and slammed the buttstock to his head. Bang!

His body drooped and stopped moving.

The shieldwoman and her captive watched with mouths agape. The latter felt lucky the violence she suffered was nowhere near the disaster level she just witnessed. Apart from the shield bash that brought a little pain, she wasn't injured at all. She lamented, perhaps, that she didn't resist much except the fleeing attempt.

The former was speechless at her partner's violence. Sis, he only threw a flower vase and chair at you. She suspected that without orders to capture alive, this man would have been riddled with holes on his first try.

Watching her partner execute rifle martial arts, she felt pain at the mere sight and lit a candle of sympathy for the man. First a muzzle-thump, then a swinging rifle butt, and finally a knockout blow. No more than two seconds.

She couldn't help but say, "Sis, we want living suspect."

"He is alive, isn't he?"

Glancing at the bleeding cheeks and the redness staining the back of his shirt, she clicked her tongue and said nothing more as her partner yanked the man's hands behind him and zip-tied them.

Afterward, she approached the shieldwoman to assist with her captive. If the man noticed the difference in treatment, he'd definitely shouted out injustice citing gender discrimination.

The commotion roused the entire house. Rapid footsteps echoed from the floors above. Panicked voices shattered the quiet.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Footsteps and frantic questions.

"What happened?"

"Gosh! Darling, what's going on?"

"Something's wrong! How the heck? We've likely been busted!"

"What do we do?!"

Each room produced distinct reactions. Some occupants remained oblivious, while others sensed the hunters' intent.

1-5 waited for 1-1, 1-2, and 1-3 to clear the second floor. Overextending for speed and surprise was suicide, even with all their god-like advantages. Hmm, not tactically sound, despite the edge they held—and they could still win.

After all, fielding so many Captain America-level operators was overkill, if not for the need to restrain themselves from exposing Ling Qingyu's secrets. Even the tech already revealed had drawn eyes; anything more…

Unfortunately, no plan survives contact unchanged.

A door on the second-floor landing burst open without warning. 1-5 pointswoman, shield forward, snapped her pistol toward the motion and caught a glimpse of a man ducking back inside. A panicked shout ripped through the house:

"It's Spirit Fox—they're here!"

The cry detonated a chain reaction: footsteps sprinting, drawers slamming, the unmistakable metallic clatter of magazines being seated. Suspects, not civilians. Some bolting for exits, others reaching for guns. Spirit Fox's worst-case scenario—indiscriminate fire in a crowded house.

No time for debate.

The lead operator charged, ballistic shield high. Her two partners stacked tight behind her, boots thundering up the last three steps. At the threshold, the second operator ripped the pin and lobbed a flashbang underhand through the widening gap along their entry.

They never intended to follow the crash and breached in straightaway.

BOOM.

Eight million candela and 170 dB turned the room into a strobe-lit hell. The boom rattled in Spirit Fox's faces. The three suspects—male, mid-thirties, hardened—also didn't flinch. Veterans.

Neither side displayed any adverse reactions.

The flashbang bought zero disorientation, but it delivered a needed distraction; fortunately, Spirit Fox held the advantage of being on the offense, giving zero preparedness—merely seconds had passed since the first awareness.

The shield followed the runner's direction on the right. The two adjusted to the lead operator's action.

The center suspect already had a Beretta 92FS up, finger on the trigger. The operator, covering his sector, put two suppressed 5.56 rounds through the wrist—puff-puff—the pistol spun away in a red arc. Before the man could scream, she transitioned high and punched a round into the meat of his shoulder, then dropped low and shattered the femur. Three hits, sub-second and fluid.

The suspect collapsed, howling. She stepped over him, muzzle never wavering, and drove the carbon-fiber butt of her assault rifle into the bridge of his nose. Cartilage crunched. Silence.

The left suspect lunged for an AK under the bed. The third stitched him across the torso—puff-puff-puff—center mass. He rag-dolled into the wall, but every shot missed vital areas.

The right suspect froze, hands half-raised, a Glock on the nightstand three feet away. The previous pointswoman shield-slammed him into the dresser, forearm across the throat. Zip-ties snapped on before he could blink.

Outside, the trailer caught up and held the perimeter, rifles trained on doors and the next stairwell. The flood reiterated in no time, repeating the second-floor drama.

By now, the remaining floor should have reacted. Spirit Fox also slowed down and methodically initiated deliberate clearance. But their pace was still fast in spite of the lack of rush.

"Zero to all stations, X-rays secured. Wrap everything up and commence SSE. We have more jobs to do, ladies."

"Alpha received."

In no time, Jiang Yu declared all suspected mercenaries arrested and escorted them to HQ for further interrogation.

Two teams stood guard in the villa as they patched up the injured and waited for the ambulance and police to take over while they comforted the innocents.

In the coming nights, for sure, several might suffer insomnia from nightmares of doors broken by shadow demons.