Piltover - Raul Menendez's Safehouse - [Continued]

Bangalore, alongside Danse and Sova, paused mid-stride as the sound of a distant explosion rumbled through the structure. She quickly activated her comms. "What the hell was that explosion? Chief, report."

Master Chief's calm voice came through the line. "The threat is neutralized. The path is clear."

Bangalore nodded grimly before adding, "What about Ezio? Is he alright?"

Above, Ezio dragged the unconscious woman out of the room, leaning her against a wall to ensure she wouldn't pose a threat if she woke. "Va bene," (All good) he responded, his voice steady. "I'm unharmed. Mission continues."

Satisfied, Bangalore shifted her focus. "We've searched nearly every section of this place. Lena," she called over the comms to Tracer, using her given name, "what's your status? Have you found Menendez?"

Tracer skidded to a halt mid-run, her pulse pistols raised as she scanned her surroundings. "Negative, Captain," she said, her usual energy dampened by frustration. "No sign of him on my end."

As the team regrouped, Caitlyn, still perched on her vantage point, continued to scan the area with her scope. Her eyes locked onto a figure casually exiting one of the buildings below. Menendez. He was walking with the same air of confidence and calm that had frustrated them all throughout the mission.

"Menendez sighted," Caitlyn said urgently into her comms. "Just outside the compound."

The news sent a ripple through the comms. Hearing this, Woods growled audibly, his frustration boiling over as he immediately sprinted toward the exit. "MENENDEZ!" he barked, his voice raw with rage.

"Woods, wait!" Mason shouted, following closely behind, his weapon raised. As they burst through the exit, Woods scanned the area, his eyes locking onto the man who had eluded them for so long. Menendez stood with his back to Woods, his posture relaxed, as if he had been waiting for this moment.

Woods didn't stop. He growled again, a sound filled with years of hatred and vengeance. Caitlyn, watching from her vantage point, urgently spoke into her comms. "Woods, stand down! Do not engage! I repeat, do not engage!"

But her words fell on deaf ears. Woods, consumed by his fury, reached up and yanked his earpiece out, tossing it aside as he picked up speed.

"Woods!" Caitlyn called again, her voice filled with desperation. "Are you there? Woods?!"

Menendez turned slowly, the same infuriating smirk spread across his face. He held a glass in one hand, filled with an amber liquid, as though he were savoring a victory toast. His gaze locked onto Woods, the recognition clear in his eyes. "Frank Woods," Menendez said, his voice smooth, almost taunting. He raised the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip before letting the glass fall to the ground, where it shattered at his feet.

The tension in the air was electric, a standoff between two bitter rivals. Mason, aiming his weapon, kept glancing at Woods, silently begging him to stay in control. But Woods was too far gone, his rage consuming every fiber of his being as he prepared to face the man who had haunted him for so long.

"No where to run you son of a bitch." Woods barked, the rage in his eyes was full of hatred towards him.

Bangalore, standing just behind Mason and Woods, leveled her R301 Assault Rifle at Menendez. Her team, including Danse carrying his Laser Rifle in his imposing power armor and Sova with his Vandal, followed suit, their weapons trained on Menendez. Behind Woods, Hudson had his weapon aimed as well, his voice calm but firm. "Woods, keep calm. We've got him."

Further back, Johnson barked orders to the Marines and Enforcers flanking the area. "Surround him! Keep your distance, but don't let him slip!" The Marines and Enforcers quickly spread out, forming a perimeter around Menendez, ensuring there was no escape route.

Danse, his voice amplified and authoritative, stepped forward, his power armor whirring with every movement. "Raul Menendez," he announced, his tone as commanding as a judge handing down a sentence, "you are under arrest for illegal activities, including conspiring with Ambessa Medarda and Atriox against Piltover. Drop any weapons and surrender immediately."

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Menendez stood at the center of the encirclement, his expression unreadable but far from panicked. He slowly raised his hands, almost as if considering compliance, but the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips suggested otherwise.

"Under arrest?" Menendez repeated, his voice carrying a mocking lilt. He chuckled softly, shaking his head as if amused by the very idea. "You think a circle of rifles and armor will stop me? Do you have any idea who I am? What I've done?"

He turned his gaze to Woods, his smirk sharpening into something more personal, more venomous. "You of all people should know, Woods," he said, his tone heavy with condescension. "You can surround me, threaten me, accuse me... but Piltover's laws? Your rules? They mean nothing to me. I've already won."

The tension in the air thickened as Menendez's words sank in, his unwavering defiance striking a nerve in everyone present. Despite the overwhelming force surrounding him, Menendez showed no sign of fear, his confidence unnerving and unsettling. He stood there, seemingly waiting for their next move, daring them to make it.

Woods stepped forward, his anger barely contained as he leveled his weapon, his voice a sharp growl. "You didn't win shit, Menendez," he snapped. "As much as I want to kill you, you're going to rot in a jail cell for the rest of your miserable life, and you'll watch as everything you've built crumbles around you."

Menendez, still unfazed, let out a low, mocking chuckle. "A jail cell?" he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "A cage won't stop me, Woods. You think bars and walls can contain a man like me? My plans for Piltover, for every corrupt city and the so-called capitalistic governments—like your precious Jayce Talis and the council—they're already in motion. I'll see their downfall, and when it happens, you'll know it was all because of me."

His gaze darkened as he turned to Woods, his smirk fading into something colder, sharper. "And you, Frank Woods..." he said, his tone venomous as he pointed a finger directly at him. "You're no different. You took something from me, something I can never get back. My sister—her blood is on your hands."

Woods froze for a moment, his grip tightening on his weapon as Menendez's words hit like a hammer. His jaw clenched, the rage building in his eyes, but before he could respond, Hudson's voice cut through the tension.

"Woods, don't let him get to you," Hudson warned, his tone steady but firm. "That's what he wants."

Menendez tilted his head, his smirk returning. "Listen to your handler, Frank," he sneered. "But it doesn't matter. My fight isn't over—it's just beginning."

The air was thick with tension as Menendez's words echoed, his defiance a clear challenge to everyone around him. It wasn't just a fight of weapons anymore—it was a battle of ideals, vengeance, and the ghosts of the past.

The tension snapped in an instant as Menendez, in a sudden motion, pulled out a sidearm—a sleek Colt 1911. He raised it, aiming directly at the group. Bangalore's voice rang out, sharp and urgent. "Woods, no!"

But it was too late. Woods, acting on instinct and years of pent-up rage, fired first, his shot ringing out before anyone else could react. Tracer, her eyes widening in shock, moved too late. She began to sprint toward Menendez, her hands outstretched, but she couldn't reach him in time.

The bullet struck Menendez square in the chest. He staggered backward, his sidearm slipping from his grasp and clattering to the ground. Johnson immediately barked, "Hold your fire! Hold your fire!"

Caitlyn, watching from her vantage point, saw it all unfold. She lowered her rifle slowly, her voice a whisper filled with disbelief. "No..."

Menendez, even as blood spread across his chest, smiled faintly, his eyes locking onto Woods with a look of bitter satisfaction. "You can't escape your ghosts, Frank," he murmured weakly. Then, he collapsed to the ground, motionless.

Tracer dropped beside him, her trembling hands quickly checking for a pulse. After a moment, she turned to the team, her face pale, and said, "He's... gone."

Mason spun toward Woods, his voice rising in disbelief. "Woods, what the hell—"

Hudson's voice came right after, rising in volume. "What the fuck did you just do, Woods?!"

Woods didn't respond immediately, his breathing heavy as his hands tightened around his weapon. He stared at Menendez's body, his expression a mix of rage and something darker—regret, perhaps. He muttered, almost defensively, "He pulled his gun..."

Master Chief stepped forward, his imposing figure drawing everyone's attention as he knelt beside Menendez. Calmly, he picked up the Colt 1911, ejecting the magazine and inspecting it. The chamber clicked open, revealing the truth. He stood, holding the weapon for all to see.

"It's empty," Chief said flatly, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

The revelation hung in the air like a thunderclap. Menendez had never intended to fire. It had all been a ploy, a final manipulation to push Woods to the breaking point—and he had succeeded.

Tracer's voice broke the silence, filled with frustration and sorrow. "He wanted this... He wanted us to do this."

Hudson shook his head, his tone sharp. "And we just gave him what he wanted. Damn it, Woods!"

Bangalore looked at Woods, her expression stern but tinged with disappointment. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"

Caitlyn, still looking through her scope, felt a sinking weight in her chest. The mission had been to bring Menendez in alive, to answer for his crimes. Now, that chance was gone, and the consequences of his death were still unknown.

Woods lowered his weapon slowly, his hands trembling as the reality of the situation settled in. "I wasn't gonna let him win," he muttered, his voice quiet but filled with a mix of anger and guilt. Despite everything, his victory felt hollow, his rage now replaced with an unsettling emptiness.

But as silence fell over the group, it was clear that, in his own way, Menendez had won—his final act a parting blow that left their team fractured and filled with questions about what came next.

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END OF PART 1 OF 2