The silence after the suicide bomber lasted only three heartbeats.

Athena's voice cut through the net like a scalpel.

"All Stations, new priority: every adult civilian is now a possible dead-man trigger. If they move wrong, center mass and keep moving. We are not dying for optics tonight."

No one argued. They had seen the crater where Delta-3 7—9's window used to be. Although they doubted women would do the same, nothing was absolute here. What if some were brainwashed or had their child threatened? The scariest aspect of humanity was destruction in the name of love.

A dead man's switch was one of the worst threats to deal with because, other than persuading the attacker psychologically, there was nothing specialists could do to stop an explosion. Everything relied on the attacker's mindset.

Against fanatics intent on killing you, an explosion was the inevitable outcome. To solve such problems, distance was the only solution. After all, the attacker had pressed the bomb button that would detonate once pressure was absent. Dead meant the body relaxed and ultimately triggered the explosion.

Another Spirit Fox stack flowed down the corridor of the target building, boots barely touching the packed-earth floor. Delta One 1-4 was on point tonight, QBZ-95B carbine tucked tight, red dot floating just below her line of sight through the GPNVG-18. Behind her, her partner covered high with the QBZ-95-1, an improved version with ergonomic enhancements, suppressor long and black as sin.

Athena fed them the live map straight into the visor overlay: blue icons for friendlies, red for confirmed hostiles, gray pulsing question marks for unknowns, yellow marking previously detected threats.

Basement, east corner. Two operators diverted their course according to Athena's intel. The others moved to clear upstairs.

They hit the stairwell moving like liquid. No talking now—just hand signals and the soft click of selectors shifting from safe to fire.

1-4's lips peeled back from her teeth. "1-4 Delta One approaching possible hostages' location."

"Noted. Be advised, presence of mercenaries in the AO highly likely. Barricaded situation—recommend loud and dynamic. We can't let them relocate the hostages."

"Understood. Any Mossad agents?"

"Same category as mercenaries, except our two targets."

Halfway down, the lights died. Someone below had finally found the generator kill switch.

1-4, amused, exchanged glances with her partner. Silent message—confirmed, they knew the duo's presence.

Pitch black to human eyes. Child's play to future-gen tubes and Athena's infrared flood that no one else could see.

Nonetheless, the opponents they were about to face shouldn't be underestimated. Mercenaries with Mossad backgrounds, even if bounty hunters, were likely equipped with advanced tech.

Perhaps they chose not to equip them in order to hide identities and avoid diplomatic backlash. So, 1-4 and her sister didn't turn on the infrared laser that would expose their actions and positions.

As they sauntered down, a portion of a head leaned out and 1-4 lined up her green laser, squeezing the trigger immediately. Her aim, finger manipulation, and trigger squeeze were almost simultaneous.

Puff! Puff! Puff!

The head drooped and the body fell. Blood splattered against the wall behind him. The last two rounds hit center mass, confirming the kill.

After firing, the green light disappeared. A hesitant voice asked, "Hasen…."

An intangible hushed query flooded across the silent hall. 1-4 stepped up her pace and peeked from the threshold, muzzle aiming wherever her eyes landed.

Several rooms appeared in her sight. The complex narrow aisle heightened the difficulty.

The shouting man panicked and asked again. His exposure cost him his life, taking a triple-tap to the face before his rifle even cleared the corner.

1-4 and her partner rushed in. The body hadn't finished falling when 1-4 stepped over it and put two more into the chest of the second guard, who was still fumbling for his flashlight.

Then the screaming started—female, high-pitched, panicked. Arabic and something that might have been Hebrew.

1-4 rounded the corner and the scene snapped into perfect clarity through the nods:

A circle of five terrified women and children pushed to the back wall.

Between the hostages and the door: an armed guard, mid-thirties, lean, eyes burning with hate, pistol pressed to the temple of a teenage girl who was almost certainly local, another aiming his AK-47 at the threshold.

And five meters to the side, half-hidden behind a support pillar, the mercenary. Black plate carrier, no patches, SCAR-H across his chest, finger already indexed straight but ready. He was watching the local terrorist the same way a leopard watches another leopard that wandered into its kill zone.

The room stank of cordite, piss, and the copper reek of fresh death.

"Drop it," 1-4 said in English, voice perfectly flat. There were no signs of hostages yet. Maybe Spirit Fox had acted too fast, not giving them a chance. They had skipped the rooms on the side as they pursued the commotion and the sound.

Her partner called for backup through the comms.

The local terrorist cursed in Arabic and smiled without warmth. "You first, little girl."

The other terrorist answered her call by spraying at the entry point. 1-4 backed out and let the situation breathe.

"Drop it, you have nowhere to hide. You're surrounded, and the end is being killed by us."

"Who are you guys? Which country?" the man asked. "I don't think NATO or Country A would send girly soldiers."

1-4's partner patted her shoulder and stretched out the flashbang. Receiving her nod, she tossed it in.

Bang!

Instantly, the two snapped their weapons to the edge of the threshold and began firing. The ruthless sprayer received four shots in the chest followed by a single headshot.

The 5.8 mm round took the despicable terrorist through the right eye. The pistol jerked but never fired—the bullet had already shredded the motor cortex.

The girl screamed and collapsed sideways, untouched. His behavior of hiding behind a group of children and women failed, proven by the skull embedded with two bullets.

He thought he hid well behind the girl's figure but the stun grenade ruined everything.

As for the mercenary or bounty hunter, he reacted quickly, hiding behind furniture to conceal himself and escape the shock grenade. He had no idea his act was hopeless.

In the same fraction of a second he moved—faster than anyone not augmented had any right to. The SCAR came up, muzzle hunting for the new threat.

The two operators saw the obvious red contour in their visors even if an obstacle blocked the line of sight. The smoke couldn't conceal the thermal signature.

Crack! Crack!

Both unleashed multiple suppressive shots through the objects. Debris and dust sparkled in the air. 1-4 shot him through the hand that held the rifle. Bone and polymer exploded. The SCAR clattered away. The man crunched before falling; his twitching body ended with a headshot.

Amidst the boisterous snaps of firearms discharging, women and children screamed nonstop and huddled together for protection.

With the premise of suicide bombers, 1-4 and her buddy dared not lose sight of them. For all they knew, these women and children could still pick up weapons against them.

The most difficult type of people to deal with were brainwashed, pitiful souls.

Fortunately, other Delta One operators arrived, cleared the locked compartments, and discovered three hostages in each room—cuffed tightly and blindfolded.

Their bodies trembled when the doors opened. Delta One operators reported: "All stations, Delta One has secured the packages. Three gifts in our hands."

"Roger that, Delta One. Advise you consolidate your position before extraction," Athena responded. "Two apples on the loose. Find and secure them. Two minutes have passed."

"Understood."

Just then, sporadic loud gunfire erupted. Whizzes and cracks of stray bullets spread across the urban structure.

Delta One operators cleared the building and established a temporary stronghold while medics tended to the hostages.

Hearing Country C's language, the three hostages burst into tears. They thought they were truly done for. After all, videos of throat-slitting had become ritual since terrorism spread.

Although they weren't Westerners who clashed with the locals here, the treatment of 'infidels' remained the same.

Like a citizen from Country J caught in the fire and captured—becoming the first beheaded victim in front of a camera shown to the world—the poor man wasn't related to any affair but became the perfect scapegoat to vent their hatred.

Country C, weak in military presence in the region, wasn't far off. They never expected the higher-ups to rescue them.

Listening to the violent exchange outside, it was clear the battle wasn't going to die down soon. Delta One trusted their sisters' prowess, and sure enough, the loud trade died down and turned surreptitious.

Hostages were hauled up, zip-ties cut, blankets thrown over shaking shoulders. The women and children were herded upstairs under the watchful muzzles of Spirit Fox to a secure room after being searched through their robes.

The women shrieked and resisted initially. Their struggles faltered when Delta One spoke, realizing the operators were women.

Elsewhere, Spirit Fox encountered organized defense, although it quickly collapsed under their fierce suppression in a matter of minutes.

In fact, if the stalemate had persisted, Athena was prepared to intervene with bombardments of drone swarms.

The enemies were outgunned and outmaneuvered. Although they posed "serious" threats with organized defenses, they broke down soon—totally outclassed by tier.

Obviously, the defenders exploited strongholds and terrain advantages to catch Spirit Fox off-guard. Under Athena's naked eyes, those "genius" strategic maneuvers became children's toys.

In terms of individual techniques and tactics, including marksmanship, was there even a need to compare?

Sure, mercenaries possessed vast experience in combat—years of struggles gambling their blood—yet in front of Ling Qingyu's cheats, experience paled.

Years of experience were outmatched by daily, non-stop rigorous simulations and a handful of real combat. Those with gambling careers who lived long were dangerous. Indeed, they were. Their ingenious thoughts and instincts forged by experience were precious, but Spirit Fox had Athena to analyze, advise, and aid as support.

Sometimes, people tend to overlook the importance of support, which far outweighs the main heroes. Whether military or civilian, most forget to honor the sacrifice of logistics and support.

Likewise, in special operations, tier classifications were based on the level of support received from behind. Spirit Fox, winged by Athena, brought capabilities beyond Tier One in direct assault. Perhaps the peak of Tier Two would be a more suitable description, since Tier One involved clandestine aspects.

The operation phases neared consolidation after securing hostages. Mossad Agent Claudia and Mercenary Sheemah weren't seen yet. Not surprising, since they were leader-like figures.

In a game, no boss appears in the early stage, right? Well, except Ling Qingyu, who never played by the rules properly and dared to test-fire an electromagnetic cannon to flatten the hill.

If she hadn't reined in her daughter—Elena, perhaps, White House might have evaporated entirely and became another urban legend.