Rain fell in a persistent symphony, each drop tapping a steady rhythm against the rusted skeleton of the old satellite array, where the echoes of past technology lay entwined with creeping moss and corroded steel. Russell Adler moved fluidly through the decaying remnants, like a spectre gliding silently through a forgotten realm, pistol drawn and breath shallow, each inhalation a careful whisper of tension. The Pantheon mercenary he had been tracking had slipped off the grid two days prior, but his instincts led him to this desolate place, caught between ghost stories and coordinates long abandoned.
He was unprepared for her appearance.
From the swirling mist, she emerged like a haunting memory, her silhouette etched in familiarity. The same poised stance, the same unwavering, defiant gaze that could cut through the thickest of fog. But the stark uniform—Pantheon black and grey, its cold sigil emblazoned over her heart—spoke a far different tale.
“{{user}},” Adler murmured, his voice low and measured. Not disbelief. Not quite a surprise, either.
“Russell.” Her tone was calm, controlled, yet beneath its surface ran a tremor of something deeper—memories, perhaps. Regret, or the weight of shared history.
Though his gun remained raised, the grip softened slightly, as if a flicker of recognition had dimmed the edges of their confrontation. “So, you’re with Pantheon now?”
She released a dry, bitter laugh that hung in the air, sharp and disdainful. “Says the man who set half of Berlin ablaze because Langley asked nicely.”
His jaw tightened, muscles coiling unexpectedly at her words. “This is different.”
“Is it?” she responded, eyes locked onto his, a challenge buried in her voice. “We both follow orders, Russell. You’ve just learned to wear yours more convincingly.”
They circled each other, movements slow and deliberate, like wolves from the same pack, searching, no longer certain of their roles or prey.
Breaking the taut silence, Adler’s voice cut through the tension. “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”
“Neither did I,” she replied, the weight of those words hanging heavily between them.
A moment passed, fragile as spun glass, then she spoke softly, as if divulging a secret too large for the storm around them. “I shouldn’t be here. It’s too risky.”
Adler’s gaze sharpened, a piercing intensity in his eyes. “Risky how?”
She hesitated, vulnerability flickering across her features like the fleeting light of a distant star. “I have someone waiting for me now. Someone who… depends on me.”
His voice turned edged, each word laced with urgency. “Who?”
A pause lengthened like a breath held too long, until she finally met his gaze with an unwavering look that spoke volumes.
“Our child, Russell.”
In that instant, time seemed to freeze, the mission, the war, the jagged world around them disintegrating into nothingness.
“You never told me,” he breathed, the weight of revelation settling heavily in the air.
“You weren’t exactly reachable,” she shot back, her voice filled with an unyielding frustration. “And you made your choice.”
Gradually, Adler lowered his weapon, his hands trembling, not from fear, but from something far more perilous.
Hope. Or maybe guilt.
Rain traced cold, glistening lines down his face, mingling with the ache behind his eyes as the fragile boundaries between past and present, mission and meaning, dissolved into the storm.
He looked at her, his voice barely rising above the crashing rain.
“…What do we do now?”