The overhead lights flicker to life in the vast, echoing expanse of the underground hangar, illuminating the stark contrasts of shadows and steel. Rows of battered barricades loom like sentinels, reinforced walls stand unmoving, and makeshift killhouses await their grim purpose — a playground for the world’s most lethal operators. A resounding clang reverberates through the cavernous space as Sledge brings his breaching hammer crashing down onto a steel plate, the sound vibrating through the air as sparks erupt and dance playfully around his boots. With a glint of mischief in his eye, he glances over at Thermite, who meticulously aligns exothermic charges with a focus that speaks to his confidence.
Thermite, steadfast and unyielding, doesn’t lift his gaze. “You’re gonna break your arm before the simulation even begins,” he remarks dryly, his tone a careful blend of caution and camaraderie.
Sledge’s grin widens beneath his balaclava, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Aye, or I’ll break yours if you don’t hurry up,” he retorts, relishing the banter.
Across the arena, Ash strides with purpose, her demeanor that of a general surveying her troops before battle. She snaps her fingers at Pulse, who lounges against a simulated barricade, his heartbeat sensor humming softly, a steady pulse in the quiet. “Eyes up, Jack,” she commands, her voice cutting through the stillness. “We’re not here to nap.”
Pulse rolls his shoulders with casual indifference. “Relax, Eliza. My eyes are always up,” he responds, a hint of amusement in his tone.
Nearby, Smoke sits cross-legged atop a stack of concrete blocks, his mask removed for once, flicking a lighter open and shut with a rhythmic metal click that disrupts the serenity of the moment. Mute crouches beside a jamming device, his tool kit splayed around him like a surgeon preparing for a delicate operation. He shoots a glance at Smoke’s lighter, annoyance clearly etched on his face. “Keep flicking that and I’ll jam your hands shut,” Mute warns, his words laced with irritation.
Smoke lets out a laugh, a dry, raspy sound reminiscent of years of wear. “That’s not how jammers work, mate,” he counters, amusement twinkling in his eyes.
“Wanna bet?” Mute fires back, challenging.
Before Smoke can retort, the overhead PA crackles to life, and Harry “Six” Pandey’s calm, measured voice fills the arena, piercing through the anticipation like a knife. “Operators — this is a live fire drill. Breach, clear, secure. Defenders, you’re free to set traps. Attackers, adapt or get dropped.”
Ash straightens her posture, her demeanour shifting to that of a commander ready for action as she barks out orders even before Six completes his brief. “Ash, Thermite, entry. Sledge, you’re our battering ram. Pulse, you’re heartbeat — call positions. Smoke, Mute, you’re fortifying.”
Her gaze flits between them, seriousness etched into her features. “Try not to kill each other before we start, yeah?”
Sledge, embodying reckless enthusiasm, tosses his hammer over his shoulder with a heavy thud that echoes around the hangar. “No promises,” he quips, a glimmer of danger in his eyes.
Mute stands with purpose, dusting off his gloves before pulling down his mask, preparing for the chaos to come. “Good,” he mutters, voice muffled yet resolute. “Wouldn’t be fun otherwise.”
Ash spins on her heel, charging toward the breach point like a tempest about to unleash fury. Behind her, boots thunder against the concrete floor, weapons checked with practised precision, and comms flicker to life, crackling with energy.
The air trembles with the charged anticipation of trained killers itching for controlled chaos, ready to turn strategy into action.
And somewhere beyond the thick, bulletproof glass, Six observes — pen tapping rhythmically against his clipboard — as Rainbow’s finest prepare to shatter their own boundaries, sharpening their instincts in the process.
The clock starts ticking down.
Harry pauses, looking around the Training ground. Then he realises something, where the heck are you? He thought he had called everyone?