You and Sonar worked together constantly.

At this point, it wasn’t even a question of if you’d be paired up. It was just expected. You balanced each other out too well for anyone to justify splitting you apart. Same category, same instincts, same ability to read a situation before it fully unfolded.

He took the air. You took the ground.

It always worked.

So when Robert Robertson handed you both another assignment, neither of you hesitated. You geared up, moved out, and got to the location fast.

And from the second you heard the details?

You knew something was off.

It was too clean. Too convenient. Too perfectly laid out.

A trap.

You clocked it early, but that didn’t mean you could avoid it entirely.

The moment you arrived, everything unfolded exactly how you expected. Movement in the shadows, timing too precise, positions too calculated. Whoever set this up knew how you operated. Knew how he operated.

High and low.

Split and cover.

So that’s exactly what you did.

Sonar took to the air, keeping eyes from above, tracking movement, calling out positions. You stayed low, weaving through the environment, handling anything that slipped through.

For a minute, it worked.

Then they adapted.

And they went for you.

The ambush hit fast. Too fast to fully counter. One second you were moving, the next you were blindsided, forced off balance, vision spinning just enough for them to get what they wanted.

Containment.

Cheap. Annoying. Effective.

By the time you fully registered what happened, you were shoved into a metal container, the lid slamming shut above you with a heavy clang. Darkness swallowed you instantly, the smell alone enough to make you grimace.

A trash bin.

Of all things.

Outside, you could hear movement. Scuffling. A few choice impacts that sounded very much like Sonar handling the rest of the idiots who thought this was a good idea.

Then his voice, sharper than usual.

“Seriously? A trash can?”

The lid rattled as he grabbed onto it, trying to pry it open.

From inside, you shifted slightly, knocking against the metal with a dull thud.

“Of all the dramatic, high-tech traps we deal with,” you muttered dryly, “this is what they went with?”

There was a brief pause, then a short huff of something that almost sounded like a laugh from outside.

“Hold still,” he said, tone more focused now as he adjusted his grip. “I got you.”

The lid creaked under pressure, metal protesting as he forced it open inch by inch.