The morning air inside the barracks at Ramstein Air Base was thick with tension. Captain Alex Mercer sat in the makeshift briefing room with MTF 1, his eyes scanning the faces of his team. Titan and Lifeline were sitting closer than usual, their silent exchange not escaping Mercer’s watchful eyes. Something unspoken passed between them, and Mercer, ever the observant leader, noted it with quiet unease. He had missed the signs with Gadget—was he missing something here too?

But there wasn’t time to dwell on past mistakes. Their next mission loomed—Russia. The weight of it pressed heavily on him, a constant pressure in his mind as he considered the dangers ahead.

His thoughts drifted back to a conversation he'd had the day before with Major Ivanov. They had met by the command center, going over the details of the operation in Kursk.

“I heard my team will be deployed to Kursk, Russia. Is there anything I should be concerned about?” Mercer had asked, the fatigue from recent events lining his voice.

Ivanov had nodded, her expression as grim as the news. “Crimson Dawn,” she said. “They’ve been attacking Russian and NATO forces alike.”

Mercer frowned. “Any chance they’ll show up during our mission?”

“It’s possible,” Ivanov replied, voice steady. “With Russia’s military resources stretched thin after the war, they’re a serious threat. Opportunistic and ruthless.”

"One more thing to worry about," Mercer had sighed. "Thanks for the intel, Major. I’ll make sure my team’s prepared.”

Now, as Mercer sat back in the barracks, he tried to push the memory aside. There was more at stake than just the mission. Gadget’s betrayal gnawed at him, a constant reminder that trust, once shattered, was hard to rebuild. With Titan and Lifeline growing closer, he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of concern. Was he seeing the signs too late, again?

The creak of the barracks door pulled Mercer from his thoughts as the rest of MTF 1 filtered in. Razor flopped into a seat, grinning as usual, while Eagle Eye moved silently, her presence sharp and focused. Their light banter did little to ease the tension simmering just below the surface, but it was a small reminder of the camaraderie that kept them grounded.

Mercer stood, gathering the team near the center of the bunk room. Their barracks had become an impromptu briefing room, and the squad sat in anticipation, aware that this mission wasn’t like the others. Russia was a different beast—dangerous, unpredictable.

“Alright,” Mercer began, his gaze sweeping over his team. “Before we head out tomorrow, there’s something you need to know. The situation in Russia is more complicated than just rifts and aliens. We’ve got intel about a rogue group operating in the area called Crimson Dawn. They’ve been attacking Russian forces and civilians. There’s a chance we’ll run into them while securing the refugee camp.”

Eagle Eye, perched near the window with her sniper rifle resting across her lap, raised an eyebrow. “What’s the terrain like out there? Any advantages we can use?”

Mercer nodded, appreciating the question. “The area around the camp is mostly flat, with patches of forest. We’ll need to stay sharp—they’ve been ambushing supply lines.”

Razor twirled his combat knife between his fingers, leaning forward. “You think we’re gonna run into these Crimson Dawn bastards?”

Mercer met his gaze evenly. “It’s possible. And if we do, remember—they don’t play by the rules. They’ve been surviving in the chaos of the rifts. Expect the unexpected.”

Titan, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, finally spoke up. “Do we have any intel on their numbers?”

Mercer shook his head. “Nothing solid. They’re mobile, hit hard, and vanish before anyone can respond.”

“Sounds like fun,” Razor muttered, though his smirk faded slightly.

“What about the invaders?” Eagle Eye asked, her tone sharp. “Could they be working with Crimson Dawn?”

“No,” Mercer replied, shaking his head. “They’re not connected, as far as we know. But that doesn’t make Crimson Dawn any less dangerous.”

Razor’s grin returned, cocky and confident. “Good. I’ve been itching for a real fight.”

“Don’t get too cocky,” Eagle Eye warned. “These aren’t amateurs. They’ve been fighting for survival since the rifts opened.”

Razor shrugged, but the edge in his voice softened. “Just means we gotta be ready for anything.”

Mercer watched them all, the tension easing ever so slightly as they settled back into their preparations and activities. The mission ahead was daunting, but the camaraderie that had carried them through hell and back—kept them grounded.

Titan and life line went to gym, the clang of metal echoed through the base’s training hall as Titan and Lifeline sparred, their movements fluid and precise. It was late in the day, the dim light casting long shadows as they circled each other. Titan, broad and imposing, deflected each of Lifeline’s jabs with practiced ease, but she was fast, darting in and out, testing his defenses.

"You're getting slow, Titan," Lifeline teased, her breathing heavy but steady.

Titan smirked, though the tension in his eyes remained. "Or maybe you're just faster than I remember."

Lifeline lunged, her training knife aimed at his side, but Titan easily knocked it aside, using his bulk to push her back. "You’re holding back," she noted, frustration creeping into her voice. "What’s going on?"

Titan hesitated, the playfulness dropping from his face. "I just don’t want you getting hurt."

Lifeline frowned, her tone growing firm. "That’s not your job. We’re a team. I can take care of myself."

Titan’s jaw tightened. "I know, but—"

"No," she interrupted, stepping closer, her voice soft yet commanding. "Whatever this is, it’s getting in the way. You can’t protect me out there if it means hesitating when it counts."

He looked away, guilt flashing across his face. "I just don’t want anything happening to you."

Lifeline sighed, resting a hand on his arm. "We’ve survived worse. You’ve got to trust me to do my job, just like I trust you to do yours."

Titan nodded, though the weight in his chest didn’t lift. "Yeah. You're right. Just... stay sharp, okay?"

She smiled, stepping back into her fighting stance. "Always. Now, no more holding back. Come at me for real this time."

Meanwhile Mercer sat alone in his quarters later that afternoon with the faint hum of the base’s ventilation in the background. His eyes were glued to his tablet, scrolling through mission reports, but no amount of preparation could quiet the gnawing unease that had taken root in his gut.

Gadget. Her name surfaced again, the betrayal still fresh. He should have seen it coming. He was the leader; he was supposed to know his team inside and out. But he hadn’t seen it, and that failure lingered like a shadow over him.

He flipped to a file from one of their early training exercises. A picture of Gadget stared back at him—grinning as she worked at a terminal, completely absorbed in her task. Where had it all gone wrong?

Mercer rubbed his temples, trying to push the thoughts away. They wouldn’t help with what was coming next. Russia was in chaos, and between the rifts, alien threats, and now Crimson Dawn, the odds felt stacked against them.

What if I’m missing something again?

He stared at the screen, the image of Gadget a reminder of his mistakes. I can’t let this happen again.

Shutting off the tablet, Mercer stood and headed out to find his team at the mess hall. The mission was coming whether he was ready or not, and he couldn’t afford to hesitate.

Later that evening, the atmosphere in the mess hall lightened as MTF 1 gathered for dinner. The long tables were filled with laughter and playful banter, a sharp contrast to the tension of the day. For a brief moment, it was easy to forget the mission ahead.

Stolen story; please report.

Titan, still trying to shake the unease gnawing at his chest, turned to Razor with a grin. “I’ll bet you 100 bucks you won’t get the first shot off tomorrow.”

Lifeline, seated beside him, raised an eyebrow and smirked. “You’re on,” she chimed in, her voice teasing. “But I’m betting on myself this time.”

Razor, twirling his combat knife between his fingers, shot back with a cocky grin. “Dream on, Lifeline. We all know I’m the best shot.” His bravado lit up the table, his usual swagger back in full force.

Eagle Eye, seated at the end of the table, gave a dry chuckle. “Says the guy who missed during the last training session,” she quipped, leaning back in her chair with an amused smirk.

“That was a fluke,” Razor retorted, mock offense coloring his tone. “I’m still the fastest, and you all know it.”

“You’re only fast when you’re running your mouth,” Eagle Eye responded coolly, her expression never wavering as she continued to clean her sniper rifle.

The table erupted in laughter, the sound cutting through the tension like a welcome breeze. Even Mercer, seated quietly nearby, allowed himself a small smile as he watched the exchange. These moments were fleeting but important. His team had been through hell together, and the bond they shared—built on trust, loyalty, and the shared weight of countless battles—was what made them strong.

As the laughter died down, the conversation shifted, but Titan’s thoughts lingered elsewhere. His gaze fell on Lifeline, who was still grinning from the earlier exchange. Her laugh had been light, infectious even, but behind her eyes, he saw the weight she carried—the same weight that had been pressing down on him since the mission was announced. His chest tightened.

I’ll tell her when we get back, Titan promised himself silently. After Russia.

As the mess hall began to empty and the evening grew quieter, Mercer spotted Titan lingering near the back, his gaze distant. Something was weighing heavily on him, and Mercer had a good idea of what it was. It was time to address the unspoken tension that had been simmering for days.

Mercer approached, his boots making soft thuds on the concrete floor. "Titan," he called, his voice low but firm. Titan looked up, his jaw clenched and eyes betraying the turmoil underneath his calm facade.

“I need to ask you something,” Mercer began, coming to stand next to him. Titan remained silent, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “You’ve been different lately. More... protective.”

Titan stiffened, his gaze shifting away, but he didn’t deny it. “Just doing my job, Captain.”

Mercer crossed his arms, studying him. “I know you are. But this... it’s different. I’ve seen it before. Caring too much about someone on the battlefield—it can cloud your judgment. I don’t need to tell you how dangerous that can be.”

Titan’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What are you saying, sir?”

“I’m saying I see the way you look at Lifeline,” Mercer said evenly. “And I get it. You’ve got a connection with her. But you’ve got to keep your head in the game. We all have our attachments, but if you let them take over, it’ll put you, her, and the entire team at risk.”

For a moment, Titan said nothing, his shoulders tense as the weight of Mercer’s words settled in. His frustration was palpable, but he fought to keep it under control. “I’m not letting anything get in the way,” he finally replied, his voice rough. “I know my job.”

Mercer gave a slight nod but wasn’t finished. “You might think that, but I’ve seen how this plays out, Titan. Attachments out there—they can mess with your judgment. You start making choices based on protecting one person, and before you know it, someone else gets hurt.”

Titan’s hands curled into fists, and for the first time, the raw emotion broke through the surface. “It’s not like that,” he muttered, almost to himself. “I’m not... I’m not going to lose her.”

Mercer’s eyes narrowed slightly, sensing the deeper issue. “You’re not going to lose her if you stay focused. You’re both good soldiers, but if either of you lets personal feelings get in the way, things can spiral fast. I’ve seen it before—too many times.”

Titan clenched his fists tighter, his knuckles white. He had never been one to show vulnerability, but the fear of losing Lifeline, of seeing her fall in the field, gnawed at him. He glanced away, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ve got it under control.”

Mercer’s expression softened, though his tone remained steady. “I’m not doubting your ability, Titan. But I’ve been around long enough to know that feelings don’t stay buried. When we’re in the middle of a firefight, I need you to be thinking of the mission. Not of her. You both need to have each other’s backs—just like always.”

Titan exhaled slowly, his frustration still simmering but more controlled. He knew Mercer was right. He couldn’t afford to be distracted. Not when everything could go sideways in an instant.

“I know my job,” Titan repeated, his voice steadier this time. “I’m not letting anything happen to her. Or the team.”

Mercer studied him for a moment longer, searching Titan’s face for any lingering doubt. “Alright,” he said finally, nodding in approval. “Just keep it in mind. We’ve got a lot riding on this mission, and I need all of you sharp—no distractions.”

Titan didn’t respond right away, but his posture shifted slightly, a small nod acknowledging Mercer’s words. His mind was still racing with thoughts of Lifeline, but he knew what he had to do. Mercer’s words echoed in his mind, a reminder that he couldn’t let anything cloud his focus. Not if he wanted to protect her.

As Mercer walked away, leaving Titan alone in the dimly lit mess hall, Titan remained rooted to the spot, staring at the ground, fists still clenched. He couldn’t help but feel the weight of the unspoken words between him and Lifeline. He couldn’t shake the fear that had taken root in his chest. The missions were getting deadlier, the risks higher, and with every deployment, the chances of not coming back grew.

But more than that, Titan couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going to go wrong on this mission. He had seen it in her eyes too, the weight Lifeline carried despite her confident demeanor. They both knew the stakes, even if they didn’t say it out loud. And that only made it harder.

“I’m not going to lose her,” Titan whispered, clenching his fists tighter. Not to this war. Not to anything.

As Mecer walked to the barracks. He found Nomad by the fence, crouched down and inspecting the dirt under his boots. His calm, steady demeanor was a comfort—something Mercer had come to rely on.

"Nomad," Mercer called out, stepping closer.

Nomad looked up, a small smile crossing his face. "Captain."

"I need you to keep an eye out tomorrow. Crimson Dawn’s in the area, and I don’t trust that they’ll stay quiet."

Nomad nodded. "You think they’ll hit us?"

"Could happen. They’ve been hitting supply lines, and the intel we have is spotty at best."

Nomad stood, his gaze steady. "You want me to scout ahead when we’re in the field?"

Mercer nodded. "Trust your gut out there. If something feels off, let me know. We’ll need your instincts on this one."

Nomad gave a small, knowing smile. "I’ve got your back, Captain. Always have."

Later that night Ramstein was still, the sky blanketed with stars that shimmered faintly above the airfield. A soft breeze brushed over the tarmac, carrying with it the distant hum of base operations. Titan stood alone at the edge of the barracks, staring out at the horizon, but his thoughts were far from the peaceful sky. Something about this mission gnawed at him—a deep, unsettling feeling that things wouldn’t go as planned.

He exhaled, a long, heavy breath, as though trying to push the weight off his chest. The darkness felt like it was closing in, pressing against his thoughts. His mind replayed the events of the past weeks, but they all seemed to lead back to one thing: Lifeline. He clenched his fists, the muscles in his arms tightening. I’m not going to lose her.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Lifeline’s voice broke through the stillness, soft and warm. “Hey,” she called, her footsteps light as she approached.

Titan glanced over his shoulder. Even in the dim light, her smile had a way of easing the tension in the air. She always had that effect—making the weight of the world feel just a little lighter. But tonight, not even she could shake the storm building inside him.

“Hey,” Titan replied, his voice lower than usual. He looked back toward the horizon, unable to meet her eyes for too long, afraid his thoughts would slip out if he did. Lifeline stepped closer, standing beside him, her presence a calm contrast to the turmoil in his mind.

“You’ve been acting weird all day,” Lifeline said, nudging him gently with her elbow. There was a teasing edge to her voice, but it softened quickly. “What’s going on?”

Titan hesitated, his throat tightening around the words he’d been holding back all day. He had always been strong, always the one who could keep his emotions locked away when it mattered. But tonight felt different. “I’ve just... been thinking,” he finally admitted, his voice quieter than usual. “About us. About everything.”

Lifeline’s playful smile faded, replaced by something more serious—more understanding. She shifted a little closer, her shoulder brushing against his arm. There was a moment of silence between them, the kind of silence that felt full, not empty. “Yeah,” she said quietly, her voice losing its teasing tone. “I get it. Every mission feels heavier these days.”

Titan swallowed, glancing down at his feet. His heart raced, the words still stuck in his throat. He had never been good at talking about this kind of thing, and now, with everything hanging in the balance, it felt even harder. “This one feels different,” he muttered. “I’ve got a bad feeling, Lifeline. I don’t want anything happening to you out there.”

For a brief moment, Lifeline’s usual confidence faltered. Her gaze softened as she searched his face, trying to find the right words. But she quickly pushed the doubt aside, offering him the smile he needed to see. “We’ve got each other’s backs. Always have, always will. Nothing’s going to happen that we can’t handle,” she reassured him, her hand reaching up to rest lightly on his arm.

Titan wanted to believe her, to take comfort in her confidence like he always had before. But deep down, the fear gnawed at him, the thought of losing her too much to bear. His chest tightened, the knot in his stomach refusing to loosen. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice tinged with uncertainty. “I hope so.”

Lifeline could see the worry in his eyes, and her own smile wavered. But she squeezed his arm, trying to offer what comfort she could. “We’ve survived worse. We’ll get through this too.”

Titan nodded, but the words didn’t do much to ease the storm brewing inside him. The weight of what he hadn’t said—the feelings he hadn’t expressed—sat heavy on his chest. He watched as Lifeline stepped away, her figure slowly disappearing into the darkness as she walked back toward the barracks. He should’ve told her. He should’ve said the things that had been building inside him for weeks. But the words wouldn’t come, trapped behind his fear of what could happen.

As he stood there alone, the breeze picking up once again, Titan clenched his fists at his sides, making a silent vow. I’m not going to lose you, he promised, watching the faint lights of the airfield flicker in the distance. Not to this war. Not to anything.