At the Facility – Istanbul Outskirts
The dim corridor reeked of rust, gunpowder, and smoke. Mikael's boot slammed against the chest of a soldier lunging at him, sending the man crashing into the steel wall. Before the soldier could recover, Mikael's elbow cracked against his temple—knocking him out cold.
Mikael exhaled sharply, brushing dust off his black uniform.
Mikael: Hmph. Amateur.
From behind, Abdullah crossed his arms, watching calmly.
Abdullah: I would've expected that from you. Efficient and brutal.
Before Mikael could respond, another voice echoed through the corridor, cold and sharp.
Sheraz: And yet—who tried to infiltrate us during a mission? Don't think I've forgotten. Boss gave us strict orders not to come in contact with you.
Sheraz stepped forward, his soldiers fanning out like shadows behind him. His presence filled the room like a blade pressing against the throat—controlled, but threatening.
Mikael's grip on his rifle tightened, but Abdullah raised a hand, diffusing the tension.
Abdullah: Enough. Sheraz, we're not here to waste time. I hope—at least for tonight—we share the same goals.
Mikael, still catching his breath from the fight, looked at Abdullah in disbelief.
Mikael: Wait, what? Same goals?
Behind them, more of Sheraz's men had clashed with the remaining guards. Metal rang, boots pounded, but Sheraz ignored the chaos, his eyes locked on Abdullah.
Sheraz: You came here to rescue that man. Admit it.
Abdullah: No. We came here to free our workers. That's all.
Sheraz's lips curled into something between a smirk and a snarl.
Sheraz: Wrong. We came here to kill him. That traitor doesn't deserve saving.
Mikael stepped forward, blood still dripping from his knuckles.
Mikael: Whether he lives or dies doesn't matter to us. What matters is getting our people out alive.
Abdullah leaned closer to Sheraz, lowering his tone.
Abdullah: If you help us, this will be easier for both sides. And Boss—he'll never know.
For a moment, silence weighed heavy. Then Sheraz let out a slow breath, almost a laugh.
Sheraz: …Fine. But remember this.
He raised his hand.
Sheraz: At ease!
His soldiers lowered their weapons instantly, forming neat ranks. Mikael sighed, rolling his shoulders.
Mikael: You've got well-trained soldiers.
Sheraz's gaze flicked to the unconscious bodies Mikael had left sprawled across the floor.
Sheraz: You destroyed half of them already. Some help you are.
Mikael smirked, brushing off the jab.
Mikael: Don't worry. We'll make it up to you.
Sheraz's face darkened.
Sheraz: Remember one thing—once this mission is over, we're enemies again. Don't mistake tonight's cooperation for peace. Tomorrow, I'll cut you down myself.
Without waiting for a response, he turned and ordered his men to begin analyzing the surroundings.
Mikael watched him go, muttering under his breath.
Mikael: He really has turned into a damn terminator, hasn't he?
Abdullah: It's obvious. After all, he watched his own father die in his hands. That kind of wound—it never heals.
Mikael's eyes softened for a brief second.
Mikael: We've all been through hell. But that doesn't mean you abandon the people who still love you.
Abdullah: Let him be, Mikael. We're barely in our twenties. What do we really know about the weight he's carrying?
Mikael opened his mouth, about to answer—
Sheraz (interrupting, cold): Are you here just to talk? Or are you here to work?
Mikael flinched slightly at the sharpness in his tone.
Mikael: Whoa—easy there.
Sheraz pulled a folded sheet from his coat and tossed it onto the table. A detailed map spread open, lines and scribbles marking floors and chambers.
Sheraz: This is the interior layout of the facility. Every floor, every corridor.
Abdullah studied it carefully, his expression grim.
Abdullah: Soldiers stationed in every corner. And if I'm reading this right, heavy choke points at each stairwell.
Sheraz: Correct. But that's not the worst of it. They're using Germaic rifles.
Mikael's eyes widened.
Mikael: What?! Those aren't even supposed to exist anymore.
Abdullah: You've got to be kidding me.
Sheraz: I wish I was. Germaic weapons were forged from experimental alloys. Their bullets explode on impact, tearing through flesh and armor alike. One shot—and you're dust.
Explanation (Narration):Germaic metal was created during the late stages of World War III. The bullets crafted from it cause instantaneous explosions upon impact. The only countermeasure: anti-metal shields, rare and difficult to produce. Without them, Germaic fire is devastating.
Mikael clenched his fists.
Mikael: Damn it. That complicates everything.
Sheraz leaned over the map, pointing with his gloved finger.
Sheraz: That's not even the real problem. The real problem is this—we don't know where his lab is hidden.
Abdullah: …You mean the target's main lab?
Sheraz: Exactly. We can search all we want, but first we have to get inside.
Abdullah rubbed his temple, weighing options. Mikael, restless, tapped his boot against the floor.
Mikael: If this is what we're dealing with, then… maybe. Just maybe.
Sheraz: Enough "maybes." Listen carefully.
He tapped another section of the map, outlining the plan.
Sheraz: Get your Alpha Unit to secure the first floor. Hold position until my signal. Only then do you free the hostages. If you act early, you'll get everyone killed.
Abdullah nodded, tension in his jaw.
Abdullah: Understood.
Mikael glanced between them, then smirked faintly.
Mikael: Guess tonight, fate decided we're allies.
Sheraz (coldly): Don't flatter yourself.
And so, for the first time since the war, Darkforce and the Black Owls began a combined operation—two rival forces united by necessity, yet divided by ideology. The air was thick with distrust, the weight of old scars pressing on every move. Tonight, their blades pointed in the same direction. Tomorrow, they would clash again.