In the dark night, illuminated only by the intermittent, blinking red light of a distant buoy and the stark glow of a single, flickering lamp, a group of figures moved in the deep shadows. They were positioned just below the creaking cranes in the deserted, old part of the cargo port. Each person was geared up with high-tech rifles and sleek, reinforced armor, their forms barely discernible against the stacked containers.
The last person to take cover, a figure known as A, lifted a hand. He spoke softly into a tablet-like watch strapped to his wrist, its screen glowing faintly. "You see anything through the drone, N?"
The reply came back instantly, a crisp whisper in his ear. "Negative, A. Maybe they changed their meeting spot."
From the center of their huddle, a voice, deep and hushed, belonging to M, cut in. "That cannot happen. I have solid intel the meeting is going to happen right here. Our source was absolute."
A gestured with a subtle flick of his wrist, and everyone became quiet, melting further into the gloom. The air thickened with anticipation. Across the vast, empty expanse of the loading bay, a low rumble vibrated through the ground. Headlights cut through the darkness, slowly approaching. Two men emerged from the vehicle, their figures silhouetted against the port lights.
One of them, a lanky man in a rumpled suit, looked overtly nervous, his gaze darting around, hands fidgeting at his sides. He kept looking over his shoulder, as if expecting something to burst from the shadows. The other, a stockier figure with a grim expression, held himself with a deceptive calmness.
A's voice, barely a murmur, broke the silence again, addressing his team. "D, you take the front. M, you'll be the one to secure them. I will take the rear." He tapped his watch again. "N," he spoke into the device, "you cover us from above. Disarm their guns if they get too creative."
"Roger that, A. Let's do this," N's voice crackled back, a faint whirring sound overhead indicating the drone shifting position.
In a matter of seconds, the operation was initiated. Person D, a formidable presence even in the low light, sprinted from behind the cargo container. He moved with a practiced fluidity, his rifle held ready, and burst into the open with a shout that echoed across the silent port. "S.D.F.! Both of you drop your weapons and keep your hands in the air!"
The nervous man flinched, his eyes wide with terror, and immediately tried to bolt back towards their vehicle. But A was faster. He intercepted him, appearing as if from nowhere, raising his rifle just as D had done. The weapon's dark barrel pointed directly at the man's chest. "There's no way you can run. Surrender now, or there will be more consequences."
Without waiting for a reply, A made a sharp, decisive gesture towards M, who immediately started moving forward, a pair of cuffs glinting faintly in his hand. The nervous man, his face pale with fear, crumpled to his knees and slowly raised his hands.
But the stockier man, who had been deceptively calm, wasn't so compliant. His hand flashed to his waistband, pulling a hidden pistol. He fired a single, deafening shot into the air, the sound ripping through the night. "Listen, you will let me go, or I kill the man!" he threatened, the muzzle of his gun now pressed against the kneeling man's temple. "He means nothing to me!"
A's jaw tightened. He tried to negotiate, his voice low and firm. "Listen, this isn't supposed to be like this. You'll face more charges if you don't cooperate. Think about what you're doing."
But it didn't seem like the gunman cared. His eyes were cold, devoid of reason, fixed on A. He was just about to pull the trigger again, a chilling smile forming on his lips, when a sharp crack echoed, distinct from his gunshot. Suddenly, the gun in his hand went flying, clattering loudly against the concrete. The gunman shrieked, clutching his hand. A dark, rapidly spreading stain blossomed on his palm—his hand had turned bright red with blood.
That's when Person A looked up. High above, almost invisible against the deep black of the sky, he saw the faint outline of a drone, its small, agile form barely a blur. Then, his gaze snapped to a nearby container crane, its massive arm looming over the scene. N! It was her. She had taken the shot, a perfectly executed disarming round from her sniper perch.
Before the gunman could even fully process what had happened, M and D rushed forward, moving in a coordinated pincer movement. M deftly secured the now-bleeding gunman, twisting his arm behind his back and snapping on the cuffs. D, meanwhile, quickly cuffed the still-trembling nervous man.
"Status," A called into his watch, his voice calm, the immediate threat neutralized.
"Targets secured," M reported, the metallic click of the cuffs a final punctuation mark. "No other hostiles detected."
N's voice came through, a hint of satisfaction in her tone. "Perimeter clear. One shot, one disarm. Told you I wouldn't let you down, A."
A allowed himself a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Good work, team. M, D, prepare for extraction. N, stay on overwatch until we're clear." He looked down at the two apprehended men, now sitting on the cold concrete. The stockier man was still gritting his teeth, glaring, but the light had gone out of his eyes. The nervous one was sobbing softly, mumbling about his family.
This was just the beginning of the night. A knew it. But for now, this part of the mission was complete. He had a lot of questions for these two, and he intended to get answers.