Chapter 13: The Rescue
Misleading Thorne
Ruby's temporary quarters in Port Elara were a stark contrast to the Ministry's opulence—a functional pod with minimal amenities, the holo-display her only link to the power centers. The doctor's confession still reverberated in her mind: The institute's twisted origins, the coercion, the mole's desperate motive tied to a sick child. A high-up with a daughter needing a transplant... the evil duplicating. Armed with fragments she could spin as "deductions," Ruby initiated the secure call to Thorne. This was the pivot—mislead him into granting resources for the rescue, all while pretending career hunger. Her heart pounded; one slip, and the web unraveled.
The holo flickered to life, Thorne's form materializing—impeccable suit, silver hair, eyes like polished steel. "Envoy Vance. Your report on the doctor—be concise."
Ruby met his gaze evenly, her voice laced with feigned eagerness. "Sir, success on persuasion. The doctor cooperated during the interview—slipped details on setup. He suggested meeting short-listed candidates in Cygnus for face-to-face persuasion. Said some captured medical team members can access the Combine's secret facility; persuade them to defect, send back via 'secret prisoner exchange' to help duplicate here discreetly."
Thorne's brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of surprise breaking his composure. "Defection? Duplication logistics? Vance, your clearance doesn't cover those details. How do you 'know' this?"
Ruby didn't flinch, channeling her interrogation training—calm, convincing. "Deductions from his slips, sir. He rambled under pressure—mentioned 'clients'. Combined with Erden rumors and my analysis, it fits. My skills teased it out—no breaches, just insight."
Thorne leaned back, eyes narrowing in assessment—surprise shifting to calculation, as if weighing a new piece on his board. "Insightful. Continue."
She pressed, injecting ambition into her tone. "Also intel from his hints: Combine's hiring Sirona warlord remnants for a rescue— not through the current mole. Separate op, desperate to retrieve him."
"Warlords?" Thorne's surprise deepened, but interest sparked—the post-Corvus instability was a sore point. "Sources?"
"Slips again—combined with refugee chatter in Dunfeld. If true, our duplication's at risk. Most captured soldiers have disobedience histories; their loyalty's questionable. Persuade defection for infiltration back into Combine ranks."
Thorne steepled his fingers, the web of implications unfolding. Ruby's "deductions" positioned her as sharper than expected— a tool to wield. "Ambitious analysis, Vance. If accurate, this advances our interests. Your proposal?"
Ruby leaned in, her pitch aggressive, eyes gleaming with feigned hunger. "Let me take charge, sir. Recruit an escort team from Cygnus mercs for the doctor's trip—meet candidates, persuade personally. If south, disown as 'rogue op.' Contact the mole directly for candidate sneaks and exchange setup. With warlord threats looming, recruit a red-team for FIA detention assessment—impress them by uncovering vulnerabilities. Interrogate the Combine team for defection intent, arrange infiltration."
Thorne paused, probing. "And you orchestrate? Why?"
Ruby met his stare, voice firm with calculated ambition. "I'm key—the doctor trusts me from the interview; previous interrogations failed. Give me higher clearance, less restriction, handsome budget for team and bribes. I'll deliver duplication at top level—prove my value. This is my chance to rise, sir."
Thorne's smile was thin, the bait taken— her "insight" and drive made her useful, the threat justification covering risks. "Bold. Very well—elevated Level 4 temp, budget approved. Keep it quiet—results to me. Fail, and it's your career."
"Yes, sir," Ruby replied, triumph masking her relief. He bought it—ambition as blindfold.
The call ended. Ruby exhaled, the deception weighing heavy. Now, with these resources—the plan lives.
Contacts the Mole
Ruby's elevated quarters in Port Elara—upgraded with her new Level 4 temp clearance—felt like a gilded cage, the holo-comm setup a tool for deception. FIA had bought her proposal hook, line, and sinker, granting direct mole contact via a secure Cygnus relay—neutral encryption to avoid traces. Thorne's "suggestion" had worked: The exercise approved as anti-threat prep, her role central. Now, to hook Volkov. She initiated the encrypted message, her voice steady but laced with feigned authority.
The holo connected—Volkov's form materialized, shadowed and tense, his Combine uniform crisp but eyes weary. "Who is this? Channel's secure, but identify."
Ruby leaned in, projecting confidence. "Your new Federation contact. Proceeding the operation. Arrange prisoner exchange for the doctor's assistants in Cygnus—they'll infiltrate the Combine institute to facilitate duplication here. Tell Combine: Intel from Erden—doctor has important package (Erden officials' DNA samples) locked in a device there, needing family biometrics to open. Unknown which member, bring the whole family to Erden. We'll collect them."
Volkov's face hardened, suspicion sharp. "New contact? Prove it. Codeword—now. And how do you know the plan details?"
Ruby didn't flinch—her "deductions" and Sean's intel prepared her. "Codeword: Shadow Veil. I know because the doctor's cooperating, slipped your name in interrogation, Colonel Volkov. Your daughter's status: 8 years old, heart-lung transplant denied as 'non-priority' in the institute. That's why you turned—hoping for the duplication here to save her."
Volkov's composure cracked, eyes widening in shock and fear. "How... you know about my daughter? That's not in the briefs."
"Insights from the doctor," Ruby lied smoothly. "He's on board now. But we need your help to make this work."
Volkov leaned closer, voice low and desperate. "If this is a trap... my family—"
"It's not," Ruby interrupted, her tone softening with calculated empathy. "I promise, we'll save your daughter. The duplication will prioritize her transplant. Your cut: Full access, no questions. But only if you facilitate the exchange and family move. Refuse, and the leaks start, your betrayal exposed."
Volkov paused, the weight of his daughter's life visible in his trembling hands. "You... you can guarantee it? The transplant?"
Ruby nodded firmly. "I can. Think of her—healthy, safe. This is your way out."
He exhaled raggedly, the hook sinking in—desperation overriding caution. "Fine. I'll arrange it. Tell Combine the package story—family to Erden. Exchange in Cygnus. But if you double-cross..."
"We won't," Ruby assured. "Proceeding."
The call ended. Ruby sat back, the deception's weight settling. Hooked—his love for her blinds him. Now, the plan moves.
Recruitment and Briefing
The warehouse on Aurora Isle smelled of ozone and stale desperation. Fifteen mercenaries, a motley crew of disgraced Federation cadets and hardened Cygnus locals, stood in a loose semi-circle, their eyes tracking Sean with a mixture of suspicion and avarice. He was a ghost here, a "logistics consultant" in a sharp, anonymous suit, brought to this neutral world on a black-market shuttle and armed with a budget that would make a planetary governor blush. The funding had arrived via a dead-drop, courtesy of Ruby: 500,000 untraceable credits and a simple directive: "Recruit your team for the 'escort.' My clearance will handle the rest."
A holographic projector cast a cool blue light on Sean’s face. He let the silence hang for a moment, meeting their gazes one by one.
"You don't need my name," he said, his voice a low, steady hum that cut through the warehouse chatter. "What you need to know is that the first half of your payment is already on your cred-sticks. The other half arrives upon successful completion of the mission."
A man with the cynical eyes of a failed officer, Jax, crossed his arms. "Before we get to the mission, let's talk about who's paying the tab. This has the feel of an FIA operation."
"The money is real and the paperwork is clean," Sean countered, activating his datapad. An official-looking document materialized in the air—a Level 4 FIA Security Assessment Directive, forged with Ruby's expert touch. "Your job is to escort a high-value asset from an FIA black site to a secure location here on Cygnus. Phase two involves the transfer of several prisoners to the Combine in a classified exchange."
A sniper named Lena, a Cygnus native with ice in her veins, raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "A prisoner exchange with the Combine? That's a hot ticket. Why hire cutouts like us?"
"Plausible deniability," Sean said smoothly. "The FIA wants a neutral party to handle the transfer. But before that, you have a secondary objective. You will act as a red team to test the facility's security." He gestured to the schematics now glowing on the projector. "I'm giving you the intel to bypass their defenses—guard rotations, camera blind spots, access codes. You will penetrate the detention block, access a series of designated cells, and display this on tablets to cell cams: 'FIA, YOUR SECURITY IS A JOKE.' Then you will seal the cells and exfiltrate without a trace, proceed to escort."
A low chuckle rippled through the group. "A humiliation op," Jax surmised, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Sounds like someone in the Agency is getting their knuckles wrapped. What's the catch?"
"The catch," Sean said, his expression turning grave, "is that we have credible intelligence suggesting a Sironan warlord plans to sabotage the operation with nerve gas." He produced a case of auto-injectors, each filled with a clear liquid. "This is an advanced neuro-antidote. A necessary precaution."
A burly ex-cadet named Rico scoffed. "Nerve gas? Are you sure we're not just the bait in a trap?"
Sean met his gaze, his face a mask of solemn sincerity. He slid a datapad across the table, displaying a forged threat assessment from Ruby, complete with casualty projections and Sironan tactical signatures. "The threat is real. That's why the pay is so high. For you cadets, a successful operation and a glowing review from an FIA 'consultant' could put your careers back on track. For the rest of you, it's a bonus that will set you up for a year."
Jax picked up the datapad, his eyes scanning the forged document. He looked at the antidote, then at Sean, and finally at his team. The promise of money and redemption was a potent cocktail. He nodded slowly. "The paperwork looks solid. The pay is too good to ignore. We're in."
Lena shrugged, a wry smile playing on her lips. "For this kind of money, I'd wrestle a Sironan myself."
A wave of relief washed over Sean as, one by one, the mercs picked up the auto-injectors and administered the contents. It wasn't an antidote. The real danger wasn't nerve gas; it was what waited for them inside that prison.
"Good," Sean said, his voice betraying none of his internal turmoil. "Your mission data-packs are being transferred now. Study them. We move in forty-eight hours."
As the mercenaries dispersed, their talk already turning to the money they would earn, Sean’s thoughts drifted back to Ruby. Her resources, her intelligence, her unwavering trust—they were the scaffold upon which this entire deception was built. Together, they would bring the whole rotten structure crashing down.
The Rescue
The Port Elara detention wing hummed with the false calm of a facility under "security assessment." From a shadowed maintenance alcove, Sean watched the feeds on his tablet, his heart pounding like a war drum. This was it. Weeks of infiltration, hacking, and deception boiling down to these final, critical minutes.
Ruby's resources had delivered. His fifteen mercenaries—a mix of grizzled Cygnus vets and eager ex-Federation cadets—were now inside, moving like ghosts through the corridors. Disguised as a third-party "red team," their official mission was to test the prison's defenses. Their real mission was about to begin.
In the isolation block, the merc leader, Jax, reached the door to Pod 7. He pressed a biometric spoofer to the lock—the override code fed directly from Sean's hacked manifests. The door hissed open. Inside, Major Ivan Rostova—The Ox—looked up from his bunk, eyes widening in shock. "What the hell?"
Jax ignored him, holding his tablet up to the cell's security camera. The screen displayed the pre-programmed taunt: "FIA, YOUR SECURITY IS A JOKE." As the camera registered the message, a hidden magnetic signature pulsed from the tablet, activating the nano-robots in Jax's bloodstream—the so-called "antidote" he'd been given for the non-existent "warlord gas threat." Jax's eyes rolled back, and he slumped to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut, tranquilized for hours.
The tablet, now lying on the floor, switched its display, its instructions meant only for Rostova: Swap uniform. Disguise as escort. Map to Gate A—meet Revenant Zero-Two. Move now.
Rostova’s shock morphed into grim, dawning comprehension. He recognized the callsign. He recognized Sean’s brutal efficiency. He stripped the unconscious merc, the uniform fitting like it was tailored for him—Sean had made sure to recruit men of similar builds to his team. "Walker... you magnificent, insane bastard," Rostova muttered, his heart hammering with a mixture of fear and wild hope.
The silent drama repeated itself across the detention wing. In the communal hold, Captain Eva Rostova watched as another merc burst in and held up his taunt to the camera before collapsing. She snatched up his tablet. Map to Gate A—meet Revenant Zero-Two. Move now. A fierce, predatory grin, the first genuine smile in weeks, broke through the toll of her isolation. "Brother," she whispered to herself, "you were right about that pilot." She rallied the rest of the captive soldiers and the medical team, her voice a low, urgent command. "Quietly. Freedom is waiting."
The phased waves of "rescuers" and "rescued" converged on Gate A, a chaotic but controlled flow of nearly thirty people disguised as a single, large escort team. They moved through the final checkpoint, their faked credentials and Sean's manipulated manifests holding up to the automated scans. No alarms triggered.
As they stepped into the humid night air of the shuttle bay, Leo Vance, now also in merc gear, spotted Sean emerging from the shadows. He didn't break stride, but his voice was a low whisper of pure awe. "How did you do this? The uniforms... the boots, the gloves... they were a perfect fit."
Sean, his eyes still scanning the rooftops for snipers, allowed himself a grim, fleeting smile. "I know," he said. "I recruited them."
As the last of the team scrambled up the shuttle ramp, Major Rostova clasped Sean's shoulder, his grip like iron. "You pulled us out of the grave, Walker," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "The Revenants live."
Sean gave a single, sharp nod. The shuttle doors hissed shut, and as the craft lifted into the night sky, a fraction of the immense weight on his shoulders finally began to lift with it.
A New Beginning
The shuttle touched down on a private landing pad on Cygnus, the glittering towers of the neutral republic a stark contrast to the war-torn landscapes they had left behind. After ensuring his team and the rescued personnel were secure in a safe house funded by Ruby's budget, Sean escorted Dr. Volkov to the Republic of Erden's embassy. There, in a secure video conference, he made a personal request to President Rask.
"Madam President," Sean began, "Dr. Volkov has been instrumental in this success. I am requesting that you grant him and his family, once we retrieve them, secret asylum in Erden. He is a man of science who was coerced, not a monster."
President Rask's image on the screen was solemn. "His expertise could save lives, Lieutenant. Many will benefit from his research. Asylum granted."
The next, more difficult conversation happened in a secure room at the embassy. Dr. Volkov sat across from the three key assistants he had identified from his captured team. They were wary, their faces etched with the trauma of their capture and the uncertainty of their future.
"They want me to duplicate the institute for them," Volkov began, his voice quiet but firm. "The same evil, just under a different flag. I refused." He looked at each of them, his gaze filled with a weary sadness. "Do you remember why we started this? Not for profit, not for power. For the boy who needed a new heart. For the girl on the waiting list for a lung that would never come. We dreamed of a world without waiting lists, without grief. We dreamed of miracles."
He leaned forward, his voice cracking. "Somewhere along the way, we lost that dream. They forced us to become monsters. But here, now, we have a choice. We can end it. We can burn it all to the ground, here and back home."
One of the assistants, a young woman, looked up, tears in her eyes. "I don’t want to continue this evil act of harming innocent people, Doctor."
"Me too," Volkov replied softly. "And this is the only way to truly save them."
The decision was unanimous.
With the assistants' high-level credentials, Sean's final digital assault was swift and devastating. From the secure embassy network, he tunneled back into the Combine, a ghost slipping through the firewalls of the secret institute. He didn't just erase the data; he poisoned it. He corrupted the core AI models, twisted the genetic database into an unusable knot of digital garbage, and set loose a logic bomb that would wipe the backups clean in one week.
But before he hit the final command, he made a complete, clean copy of the entire, uncorrupted database—the pure, life-saving research from the institute's early days. He encrypted it and passed the key to Dr. Volkov. Along with it, he transferred the remaining balance of the Federation's black budget—a small fortune he had saved by short-changing the mercenaries.
"For your new lab," Sean said simply. "For the real work."
His final act was a masterstroke of blackmail. He used steganography to hide the full list of the institute's "special clients"—high-ranking Combine and Federation officials alike—within the metadata of a seemingly innocuous image file, which he then posted to a public, decentralized blockchain. An anonymous, untraceable message was sent to the highest levels of the Combine's intelligence service: Never try to rebuild. A single password released to the media will expose every one of your VIP clients, and those of your allies.
The threat was absolute. The institute was dead, forever.
Months later, on a quiet street in the Erden capital of Northgate, two brothers met. Colonel Volkov, looking older and greyer, stood before his brother, Dr. Aris Volkov, who was now a free man. The meeting had been arranged by Ruby, fulfilling her promise.
"I can't save her completely," Aris said, his voice heavy with the complexity of their situation. "Not yet. But with partial organ cloning from your own bone marrow, we can replace the damaged tissue. It's not a permanent cure, but it will prolong her life. It will give her years, maybe more... enough time to wait for a true donor."
The Colonel, a man who had traded his country for this single, desperate hope, finally broke. The rigid military posture collapsed, and he wept, not for his lost career or his treason, but with the gut-wrenching relief of a father who had just been given back his child's future. The two brothers, both victims of the same cruel system, stood together in the quiet street, a small island of shared grief and impossible hope in a world still healing from its secret wars.
Scene from this Chapter:
Scene of Ruby's Power Play
"Let me take charge, sir. I'll recruit a deniable team from Cygnus... If it goes south, you disown it as a 'rogue op'.
I'll contact the mole directly, handle the exchange setup myself. The doctor trusts me from the interview"
"
Scene of The Predator's Smile
In the communal hold, Captain Eva Rostova watched as another merc burst in and held up his taunt to the camera before collapsing. She snatched up his tablet. Map to Gate A—meet Revenant Zero-Two. Move now. A fierce, predatory grin, the first genuine smile in weeks, broke through the toll of her isolation. "Brother," she whispered to herself, "you were right about that pilot."
"