Rain lashed against the grimy windowpane, blurring the neon cityscape outside. Inside the dimly lit safehouse, the tension crackled thicker than the smoke curling from Sonya's cigarette.

"Phase One: recon," Sonya rasped, her voice a low contralto honed by years of clandestine dealings. "We infiltrate the World Summit gala under the cover of high-society charity donors. Mila, your intel gathering skills will be crucial. Identify the leader of Eschalon and any key lieutenants."

Mila, perched on a crate, her crimson scarf the only splash of color in the drab room, tilted her head. Her eyes, the blue-grey of a winter sky, held a predator's glint. "And Phase Two?"

Sonya took a long drag, her gaze hardening. "Elimination. A clean shot, one to the head. Disrupt their chain of command before they unleash whatever apocalyptic nightmare they're planning." Blair, the only one standing, leaned against the wall, her silhouette a stark contrast to the flickering lamplight. Scars etched a map of past battles across her weathered face. "And what about the rest, Sonya? Eschalon's a hydra, cut off one head, two more grow."

Sonya stubbed out the cigarette, a flicker of frustration crossing her features. "Phase Three. Simultaneous strikes on their global assets. We cripple their infrastructure, their funding, their ability to wage war." "Sounds ambitious," Blair remarked, a hint of skepticism lacing her voice. "We're three women against a well-oiled machine."

Mila snorted, a sound devoid of humor. "We're not just any three women."

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"Phase Four," Sonya continued, her voice regaining its steely resolve. "Expose their crimes to the world. Public outrage is our final weapon. And Phase Five…" she paused, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips, "mopping up the mess they leave behind."