Guldrin’s Gluttony: Family Bound by Speed & Food

Shiro's fingers danced across the keyboard with the kind of precision that made even the most complex security systems seem like child's play. Her golden eyes gleamed with an unnatural glow, pupils constricting slightly as she tore through encrypted layers with an almost predatory intensity. 

Firewalls weren't obstacles, they were inconveniences. 

Encryption wasn't security, it was a flimsy suggestion. 

There wasn't a system in existence that she couldn't crack, no file buried deep enough that she couldn't unearth.

Alisa stood behind her, arms crossed, the soft hum of the monitor's glow casting shadows across her face. 

She was analyzing, dissecting, and pulling apart each piece of information as it flickered onto the screen. 

Shiro might have been the one peeling back the layers of Anvil's digital skeleton, but Alisa was already seeing the shape of the beast underneath.

Strings of code flooded the display, scrolling so fast that most would see only a blur, but to Shiro and Alisa, it was a language they understood better than spoken words. 

Secure military servers; breached. 

Hidden offshore accounts; unlocked. 

Operational directives, stored in locations that didn't officially exist, were laid bare.

Anvil was dark, they weren't just another low-budget mercenary outfit. 

They weren't a ragtag band of soldiers-for-hire playing war for the highest bidder.

No. These men were something else entirely.

Government-backed. 

Military-trained. 

Sanctioned and actively utilized by those in power; men who were supposed to uphold the law but instead wielded Anvil like a scalpel, carving out their own version of control in the world.

Shiro's breath caught in her throat as she cracked into a sealed archive. The contents were stark, clinical, devoid of morality, and concerned only with efficiency.

Kandahar, 2005 – Civilian Casualties: 274. Mission Success: 100%.

Hong Kong, 2007 – Target Elimination: 3. Collateral: 89. Mission Success: 100%.

Urban Suppression Protocol, São Paulo, 2008 – Dissent Neutralized: 100%. Collateral Casualties: 516.

Her stomach twisted.

Alisa exhaled slowly through her nose, her green eyes dark with something unreadable. "They don't leave survivors," she murmured. "They do the job in a way that ensures no one ever knows they were there. Or at least leaves tangible evidence… Who can report them if they are all dead…" She shivered, while she may have learned to accept death, that didn't mean massacres like this didn't affect her.

Shiro's fingers stilled for a fraction of a second before she forced them to move again.

She wasn't squeamish. She had seen death. Had caused it. She understood the necessity of violence when survival demanded it. But this? This wasn't war. This wasn't battle.

This was annihilation on obscene scales.

Her hands moved faster now, a slight tremor running through her fingers as she dug deeper. 

Names. 

Locations. 

The men behind the curtain. 

The ones who signed the orders, the ones who pulled the strings.

More encryption. 

More redactions. But Shiro wasn't fooled by blacked-out names and erased identities. 

She traced the funding, and followed the money trails that slithered through banks like veins pumping blood to a black rotting heart.

A name appeared: Senator Pierce.

Then another: William J. Rawlins III, Chief Special Agent (formerly), Director of Covert Operations

And another: Ray Schoonover, Colonel.

Generals. Senators. Defense contractors. CEOs with ties to weapons manufacturing. Some of the most powerful men in the world, condone Anvil's existence and actively feed it.

Alisa's voice was quiet, but sharp as a blade. "They're untouchable in the eyes of normal people… Their actions are completely backed by those that matter, but hidden from those who should know."

Shiro's grip on the keyboard tightened until her knuckles went white. "Not for long. I wonder, what happens if the wrong people get a hold of this information? Or the right people?"

Her screen flickered.

For the first time in years, something pushed back.

Shiro's lips curled in a silent snarl.

They knew she was there.

It wasn't a passive security measure, this was an active countermeasure, something insidious, built to trace, to destroy, to erase. 

A script, designed to snake its way back through her connection, to find her, to eliminate her systems while sending a ping to multiple sources to handle the fallout.

But they had underestimated her.

Shiro moved before the attack could sink its claws in, her fingers a blur as she spun the code back on itself, reworking its parameters, and twisting its directives into an endless loop. It would eat itself now, cannibalizing its own data until nothing remained.

But the damage was done.

They had seen her.

A figurative warning shot across the bow.

Alisa didn't flinch. "Can you pull up field ops? I want to know where their teams are right now."

Shiro's heart pounded as she forced the system open again, ripping through files that had been locked down tight. 

More missions. 

More redactions. 

Some were wiped entirely, erased from existence with surgical precision.

Except one.

A single file is still marked as active.

Shiro's pulse spiked.

Downtown. Five minutes from Letty's last location.

Guldrin's breath came out in ragged, seething bursts. His fists clenched so tightly that his nails threatened to draw blood from his own palms. His entire body trembled, not with fear, but with barely restrained fury.

"They're there on orders," Shiro said, her voice sharper now, her fingers still flying across the keys. "Classified as protecting a high-value target. Braga." She spat the name like it tasted foul on her tongue. "Why the hell would they protect a drug-runner, kingpin, despicable fiend like him?"

That was it. The final straw.

Guldrin, who had been gritting his teeth so hard he swore they'd crack, finally lost whatever control he had left. His aura, which he had been desperately trying to suppress, erupted. 

A violent surge of red lightning crackled around him like a living storm, licking the air with an almost sentient hunger. 

The chair beneath him exploded, shattering into a thousand splinters that flew in all directions like shrapnel.

Before the destruction could spread further, Alisa reacted instantly, flicking her fingers to construct a translucent barrier around him. 

The protective shield absorbed the energy before it could ripple outward, preventing what would have undoubtedly been a catastrophic event. 

A blast of that magnitude could have fried every electronic in the room and potentially alerted unwanted attention. 

After all, the mundane world remained blissfully ignorant of the supernatural, and an outburst like this could shatter that illusion in an instant.

"How…" Guldrin growled, his voice a guttural rumble, thick with rage and something far deeper, far darker. His eyes glowed, burning like molten embers, one golden and the other red. "…Fucking… Dare… They…"

The air grew thick, and heavy. An ominous presence pressed down on the room, as if the very universe itself had stopped to acknowledge the fury brewing in its midst.

"All those innocent people…" His breathing grew heavier, and his muscles tensed. The tattoos that normally lay dormant on his skin ignited, glowing with an eerie, pulsating light. His horns stretched higher, curling slightly, growing as his power clawed its way to the surface, demanding release.

"The corruption, the gross misuse of power-"

CRACK.

A powerful shockwave pulsed outward as something ripped through the fabric of reality. A tearing sound, almost like flesh being rent apart, filled the air.

From his back, wings burst forth.

Two immense, resplendent appendages unfurled, shaking free errant sparks of energy as they spread wide. 

One, a brilliant, dazzling gold, radiated warmth, like a celestial dawn breaking over an untouched world. 

The other, as black as the void itself, drank in the light, pulsing with a quiet, almost hungry darkness. 

Both were composed of feathers, but they were no ordinary feathers. Each one shimmered, shifting between solid and ephemeral, as if existing in both reality and something beyond it.

Revy whistled low, watching the display with her usual casual air, though there was a glint of something else, something keen, something intrigued, in her sharp eyes. 

She leaned back against the wall, arms crossed.

"Oh, so the brat finally embraced his true self?" she mused, smirking. "Mama's gonna be pleased as hell to hear this."

Alisa's eyes snapped to her in an instant, her sharp glare like a blade pressed against the throat.

"You will not inform Mistress Unohana." Her words left no room for debate. "If you do, she will take him. You know that as well as I do. And if that happens, we won't see him for years."

Revy scoffed, unimpressed. "And? He's got power, real power. She'd just be doing what she does best, making sure he can actually use it."

Alisa stepped forward, voice measured but firm. "And what happens to Letty in that time? What do you think Guldrin's feelings will be if he finds out his mother died while his so-called birth mother whisked him away for some insane, years-long training marathon? No." 

Her tone hardened, final. "We tell her when the time is right. Not before."

Revy sucked on her teeth, rolling the thought around in her head. A beat passed. Then another. Finally, she exhaled through her nose. 

"Fine," she relented, though the reluctant edge in her voice was impossible to miss. She jabbed a finger at Alisa. "But if he awakens his spirit side fully? All bets are off. If I don't tell Unohana, she'll have my ass. And trust me, she'll never forgive me for keeping this from her. We will just have to make the circumstances clear and prevent her from taking him."

Alisa scoffed. "Telling the Lady what to do? Right. Because that'll go well."

Meanwhile, Guldrin stood at the eye of the storm, trembling, still overwhelmed by the emotions crashing through him like tidal waves against an unsteady shore. The war raged inside him, two halves, two forces, pulling him in opposite directions. 

The celestial part of him, that piece forged from light and justice, demanded retribution, righteous judgment. Holy fury.

The other side, the darkness, the abyssal hunger, wanted destruction. It wanted to drag those responsible into an endless void of suffering. Not just to end them, but to make them feel it. To carve their sins into their very souls.

His breath came in short, shallow gasps. His fingers curled, nails digging into his own palms once more. He wanted, no, needed, to act. He couldn't just sit here. He couldn't let this injustice continue unchecked.

Then there was Shiro.

Shiro, who had been sitting so still, so silent, watching him, feeling everything he felt, but unable to do what he could do. Her hands clenched at her sides, shaking.

She was jealous.

Not because she envied his power. Not because she wanted his wings.

She did want his wings, or more accurately, her own wings.

But because she, too, was furious. She, too, felt the weight of the injustice pressing down on her chest like a lead weight. And yet, her wings, her own, remained hidden. Buried.

They did not answer her call.

And that burned.

For the first time in a long time, she felt small. Not weak, never weak, but trapped. Trapped inside a shell that refused to crack, behind a door that refused to open. She wanted to scream, to tear it all apart. But she couldn't.

Not yet.

Shiro's gaze locked onto Guldrin's with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. There was no need for words. The weight of everything they had just learned, the implications of it all, sat heavy between them like a loaded gun on the table.

This wasn't over.

Not by a long shot.

Meanwhile, in a rundown district halfway across the state, 

How did she end up halfway across the state?

Gabriel.

Nuff said, 

A different kind of storm was brewing. A small congregation of the desperate and the lost huddled around a makeshift shelter, where two figures moved through the crowd like shepherds tending to a scattered flock. 

Gabriel and Clara, an unlikely duo of faith, duty, and the occasional poor life choice, had spent the better part of the past few weeks handing out food, clothing the needy, and curing ailments with the kind of care that made people whisper about miracles.

It was thankless work, but Gabriel carried it out with a perpetual smile, a warmth that seemed boundless. To the outside world, she was a radiant force of nature, kind, clumsy, and at times, infuriatingly oblivious.

Until the air shifted.

Gabriel froze mid-step, the loaf of bread in her hands forgotten as something ancient and powerful stirred within her. 

The sensation sent chills down her spine, something she had felt before, but not for countless centuries. A raw, celestial force trembled across the fabric of existence, undeniable and absolute.

The birth of a fledgling angel.

Her little brother had finally earned his wings.

Gabriel's pupils shrank, her cheerful mask slipping away like a discarded veil. The friendly, scatterbrained woman who fumbled her way through mortal society vanished, replaced by the hardened warrior of Heaven, the woman who had stood on battlefields painted in divine fire and the blood of her kin.

A judgment domain.

Her little brother had gained the domain of judgment.

This was not something that could be ignored. This was the kind of event that sent ripples across the heavens, that made angels turn their heads and question what came next. And if she had felt it, so had others.

Her brothers and sister for sure.

Gabriel's fingers twitched at her side, itching to unfurl her wings and take off toward the source. She had to get there first. Had to reach him before anyone else did. Before Heaven, before Hell, before the ones who would seek to use him, mold him, or destroy him.

Clara, who had been adjusting the supplies in the van, turned just in time to see Gabriel crouch as if preparing to launch herself into the sky.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, what the hell are you doing?" Clara's voice was sharp, yanking Gabriel back to the present.

Gabriel blinked, frowning. Oh, right. The rules.

Michael had been very clear, do not expose the supernatural. Heaven and Hell were always at odds, but they did have one common interest: keeping the mortal world blissfully unaware of the war constantly raging just beyond the veil of their perception.

Gabriel let out a frustrated breath through her nose. She wanted to fly. It would be faster. But, of course, she couldn't just do that in front of humans.

Her expression darkened. Fine.

"We need to get to the car," she said, her voice clipped and lacking its usual warmth.

They had rented a car after learning that Gabriel couldn't stand taking public transportation after she nearly assaulted a drunk guy who was yelling at his wife. To her dismay, the wife defended the husband.

Clara, ever the practical one, crossed her arms. "And where exactly are we going? Because I swear to God, if this is another one of your 'I felt a disturbance in the Force' situations-"

Gabriel didn't answer. She was already walking away, her pace swift and determined.

Clara cursed under her breath, grabbing the car keys and hurrying after her.

"Gabriel, talk to me! What's going on?"

For once, Gabriel did not offer an explanation. She simply climbed into the car, slamming the door shut and fastening her seatbelt in one fluid motion.

Clara had no choice but to follow. She slid into the driver's seat, glancing at the celestial warrior beside her. There was something different about her, something sharper, something that made Clara feel like she was sitting next to a ticking bomb.

Gabriel clenched her fists, still feeling the energy radiating from where her little brother had awakened. 

She had to get to him. She had to reach him before it was too late.

Because if she could feel him, then so could everyone else.

And the race had already begun.

-

–

—

Back with Guldrin, everything about him had shifted. His usual detached, observant demeanor was gone, replaced by something far more dangerous. His eyes burned with a cold fire, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like he might shatter his own teeth. His hands, usually steady, flexed at his sides as though itching to grab something, anything, that could be used to inflict the kind of suffering he now felt boiling in his chest.

"These people will pay." His voice was low, steady, but there was an edge to it that made the room feel smaller, like the walls were pressing in under the weight of his anger.

Shiro, who knew him better than anyone, wasn't surprised. If anything, she had been waiting for this moment. "I know you're angry-"

"I am much more than angry." His voice cut through hers like a blade. His gaze snapped to her, sharp and full of barely contained fury. "I am incensed. Drug runners. Killers. Protected by the darkest branches of our own government? Our own black ops units, running cover for these bastards? They deserve no forgiveness."

His words came out like venom, each syllable dripping with unrelenting rage. His chest rose and fell in controlled, measured breaths, but the fire inside him threatened to consume everything. 

"All the innocent lives they've destroyed. The pain. The suffering. The bodies left behind in unmarked graves. The families that never even got to know what happened to their loved ones. Someone…" He exhaled sharply, feeling something inside him screaming to avenge them. "I… I have to do something."

The room fell into silence for a moment. Revy, leaning back with her boots propped up on a table, took a long drag of her cigarette, exhaling a slow, curling stream of smoke as she regarded the kid. She had seen this kind of fire before. Hell, she had lived it. She knew what it looked like when someone hit their breaking point, the moment when all the lines between right and wrong blurred, and the only thing left was the need to act.

"You ain't alone, brat," she said, voice rough, but there was something oddly reassuring about it. She took another drag, then waved a hand lazily. "Even your da-" She stopped abruptly when she caught the glare Guldrin shot her way, the kind of look that could make lessers shrivel into themselves.

She sighed, raising her hands in surrender. "Right, right. Forgot you don't recognize the old man as 'Dad.' Not yet, or ever, anyway. Either way, I get it." She tapped the ashes from her cigarette into a nearby tray, the smirk on her face dimming just a little. "I've seen that look before, y'know. Jin used to get the same way when he saw some real heinous shit. Couldn't help himself. The need to set things right, it eats at you. Hell, I think we all got that streak in us."

Guldrin said nothing, but the fire in his eyes didn't fade. If anything, it burned hotter.

Revy stretched, then rolled her shoulders as if loosening up for something. "Alright, kid. We got your back. No question about that. So, how do you wanna handle it?"

For the first time since his outburst, Guldrin's expression shifted from pure fury to something far colder. Calculating. Focused. His mind was already running a hundred miles an hour, piecing together possibilities, formulating plans, picking apart every angle.

"I assume you wanna extract Letty from the situation before things get messy," Revy continued, watching him carefully. "Though, if I'm being honest? I'd bet money that she knows exactly what she's dealing with. And if she's still there, that means she has a damn good reason."

That much was true. Letty wasn't the type to wade into danger without knowing what she was walking into. She had instincts sharper than most seasoned mercs. If she had gotten close to these people, it was because she was playing her own angle.

But that didn't mean Guldrin was going to sit back and wait.

He turned away from them, stepping toward the nearest table, where a sleek laptop sat waiting. His fingers moved with almost mechanical precision as he pulled up feeds, encrypted communications, and locations. 

His mind was already four steps ahead, setting up contingencies, and preparing countermeasures. 

He wasn't going to run into this blind.

Because, unlike the people he was about to go up against, he didn't make mistakes. His countless years as Big Boss gave him an edge they didn't have.

Shiro stepped closer, watching the glow of the screen reflected in his narrowed eyes. She said nothing at first, but she could see the gears turning in his head. And beneath the fury, beneath the cold, calculated planning, she saw the resolve.

He wasn't doing this for vengeance.

He was doing this because it needed to be done.

—

–

-

Turning his attention back to the feed of Letty, the atmosphere had shifted. The air crackled with something almost tangible, like the pressure drop before a violent storm. She could feel the weight of too many eyes on her, reading her, waiting for her next move.

Suddenly, the facial recognition software pinged. A familiar name flashed on the screen.

Fenix Calderon, an enforcer for Braga.

The same man she had humiliated before, the one who had eaten a well-placed knee to the groin courtesy of her. And there he was again, stepping into view, exuding an air of smug confidence that made Letty's teeth grind. 

He barely had to say a word before Spencer, the mercenary holding her at gunpoint, obediently backed off. But the message was clear, just because they weren't pointing a weapon at her right now didn't mean she was free to walk.

Fenix said something in Spanish, his voice sharp, commanding. The words were spoken low, but there was no mistaking the authority behind them.

Letty held his gaze, her face an unreadable mask. Then, she nodded. A slow, measured nod that gave away nothing.

But for those watching from a distance, the body language spoke volumes.

"They're not giving her a choice," Shiro murmured, her gaze locked onto the screen. "Look at the way she's holding herself. That's someone who knows they're cornered."

Guldrin was silent, his jaw set, his fists tightening at his sides. He didn't just see what was happening. He knew it. This wasn't some random shakedown, or an attempt to intimidate her into compliance. This was the beginning of a relocation.

They were taking her.

And he knew exactly how it would play out.

"I've seen this kind of shit before," he muttered, his voice dangerously low. His heart pounded in his chest, but his mind was sharp, cutting through the panic with razor focus. "They're going to move her. And knowing Mom…" He exhaled sharply, jaw clenching. "She's not gonna fight them on it. She'll go willingly."

Because Letty was smart. She knew when to throw punches and when to play along. If she thought resisting would put her in a worse position, she wouldn't resist. Not yet.

The realization burned like acid in Guldrin's chest.

Before anyone could respond, the situation escalated.

The feed showed Letty moving. Not toward an escape, not toward a fight, but toward a transport.

She revved her car, but not to flee. Instead, she drove it straight into the open container of a waiting semi-truck, metal ramp clanking beneath her tires as she disappeared into the trailer's shadowy interior.

And just like that, the doors slammed shut behind her.

Guldrin's breath caught. The truck jolted forward, its massive frame rolling onto the road, carrying her away.

"They're taking her." His voice came out hoarse, almost disbelieving, but the fury was bubbling beneath the surface, fighting to break free. His hands slammed onto the table as he tracked the moving vehicle.

Shiro was already scanning multiple feeds, her fingers flying across the keyboard. "The signal's still active," she reported. "For now."

But even as she spoke, the image flickered.

Then it glitched.

Then.

Static.

Guldrin's stomach dropped.

"DAMMIT!" He smacked his fist against the table. "I KNEW this would happen! They've got jammers on board."

Of course, they did. These weren't common street thugs, they were professionals. They had planned for this. They knew they could be being watched. And now, they were cutting them off, severing the one lifeline they had to track Letty in real-time.

His breath came fast, but he forced himself to think. Panicking wouldn't help. Getting angry wouldn't help.

But acting?

That, he could do.

He turned to Shiro, his voice clipped and urgent. "How long before you can get me another way in?"

She didn't hesitate. "I need at least a few minutes to override their interference, but they're moving fast. By the time I get through, they could be anywhere."

"Then we need eyes on them NOW," he snapped, pushing off the table and moving to grab his gear. "We're not waiting for their signal to come back. We're going after them."

Shiro hesitated only for a second before nodding. She knew better than to argue.

Revy let out a low whistle from the corner, where she had been watching the whole thing unfold with her usual air of detached amusement. "Well, well, well," she drawled, stretching lazily. "Looks like things just got real interesting."

Guldrin barely spared her a glance as he strapped a weapon to his side. His focus was singular, his mind honed to a razor's edge. There was no room for hesitation, no space for doubt.

They thought they could take her.

His mother?

They thought they could slip into the night, bury her whereabouts under layers of deception, and vanish her from existence as if she had never been there to begin with.

They thought wrong.

Dead wrong.

His breath was steady despite the fire raging inside him, despite the adrenaline spiking through his veins like a live wire. 

Every second that passed was another second wasted, another second that Letty was in their hands. He wasn't about to give them one. Second. More.

A slow, wicked chuckle cut through the tense air.

"Well, well," Revy purred, rolling her shoulders with lazy ease, though her grin said anything but relaxed. That was the grin of a woman who lived for chaos, who craved mayhem like oxygen. And right now? She was starving for it. "You really think I'm gonna let my baby brother have all the fun?"

Guldrin finally glanced at her, his gaze sharp.

Revy just smirked wider.

"C'mon," she went on, lifting a hand and wiggling her fingers as if already counting down the seconds until the bloodshed. "Haven't gotten to kill someone in…" She tilted her head, pretending to think. "What's it been? Three days?"

She let out a dramatic sigh. "No wonder I've been feeling so tense."

Her fingers twitched, like a gunslinger aching to draw, and she clapped a hand against the holster on her hip with a gleam in her eyes that promised violence.

"Big sis needs to let off some steam."

Guldrin didn't respond at first, but Revy didn't need words to know he wasn't about to argue. She knew him, at least the old him, and what she had seen recently. Knew that beneath all that controlled, cold fury, there was something ravenous. A hunger to burn down the world of the people who had dared to take his.

And Revy?

She was more than happy to help light the damn match.

She crossed the room in two long strides, plucking something from the weapon rack and tossing it his way. Guldrin caught it instinctively, fingers closing around the grip with a familiar weight.

"Oh, and before you start playing hero," Revy added, her grin tilting just a bit sharper, "you're gonna want to try out the modifications I made to those poor, neglected babies of yours."

"I am not a hero… Nor will I ever be. I am necessary." He muttered as he caught his Mk. 23,

Guldrin's brow furrowed slightly as he took a closer look at the pistol in his hand. His pistol. Except… not quite.

The weight distribution was different, the trigger response smoother, and the recoil system adjusted. He could already tell without firing it that the performance had been enhanced.

His eyes flicked back to Revy.

She grinned like a cat that had just stolen an entire fish market.

"Figured you'd been ignoring 'em too long," she said with a faux pout. "So I made some improvements. Don't worry, they'll still shoot, just… y'know. Better."

She winked. "And then there's the real beauty."

With a dramatic flourish, Revy pulled out a long, sleek weapon, the kind that could make a grown man weep for all the right reasons. 

Wrapped in custom digi-camo, the blue and black pattern practically shimmered under the dim lighting, a visual whisper of death is coming, and it's coming fast.

Guldrin's reaction was immediate, his pulse spiked, his fingers twitched, but his expression? A mixture of awe and horrified betrayal.

He knew what that weapon was.

The M24.

His M24.

Except now, it looked like something a cyberpunk cosplayer would carry.

"You painted my rifle," he said flatly, his voice dangerously neutral.

Revy grinned like she had just torched a federal building and gotten away with it.

Pretty accurate.

"Correction," she said, tapping the side of the weapon with a dramatic flourish. "I improved it. Gave it some personality. You can't just be running around with a boring-ass sniper rifle like some two-bit army reject. You need style."

Guldrin ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply.

"You ruined it."

"I enhanced it."

"It looks like a goddamn energy drink ad." He grimaced when he said big G's name in vain but filed it away for later. 

Revy gasped, hand over her heart. "You wound me, baby brother. Do you know how much effort I put into this? Custom coating, optimal heat dissipation, recoil absorption tweaks-"

"You painted it blue and black like a neon zebra."

"And a badass new scope," Revy continued, ignoring his complaints entirely. "I also tweaked the bolt action for smoother cycling. You should be thanking me."

Guldrin sighed, gripping the rifle, running his hands along the frame. Okay, fine. It felt incredible. She hadn't just slapped on a paint job and called it a day, this thing had been tuned to perfection. It was his rifle, but better. Sharper.

Still ugly, though.

But aesthetics didn't change how a gun fired.

And right now, he needed the best.

Because this was going to be hell.

These weren't street thugs or amateurs. The people who took Letty were professionals. And worse? He didn't even know where the battle would take place. He was walking into the unknown, into the jaws of something bigger, meaner.

He needed every advantage he could get.

Thankfully, it wasn't the first time he had been in situations like this, at least if you counted his other life.

He slung the rifle over his shoulder, shaking his head at Revy's infuriatingly smug expression.

"Don't say it," he muttered.

Revy just smirked. "Oh, I don't need to. You're already thinking it."

A sudden pop of a can opening made them both turn.

Shiro was already parked at the monitors, legs crossed, one hand lazily bringing an energy drink to her lips while her other danced over the keyboard, streams of code and data flickering across multiple screens.

"I'll be your woman in the chair," she said simply, as if the entire situation was just another game she was about to dominate. Her eyes never left the monitors, fingers flying as she pulled up data, maps, tracking signals, everything.

"I'll stay behind and enlist Skye's help. We'll provide full support from here," she continued, typing furiously, her voice calm, and collected, but carrying the weight of someone who already knew they were going to win. "Save mother-in-law. I don't know what she was thinking getting involved in this, but…"

Her gaze flicked to Guldrin, her gold eyes gleaming under the screen's glow.

"It's our job to get her back."

Guldrin didn't need to hear anything else.

He was already moving.

Locked and loaded.

A soft sigh came from the corner of the room, hesitation hanging in the air like a faint whisper of doubt.

Alisa.

She stood at the threshold, torn between two conflicting instincts.

On one hand, she could be more helpful here with Shiro. The girl was brilliant, terrifyingly so, but physically vulnerable. Staying behind, ensuring her safety, assisting her in tracking and support? That was the logical choice.

But on the other hand…

Her gaze drifted to Guldrin.

Her little master.

The one she had sworn to protect.

And he was walking into the unknown.

A battlefield where anything could happen, where any moment could be his last.

Her fists clenched at her sides.

No.

She wouldn't let that happen.

Her decision was made.

Shiro glanced at her briefly, as if reading her mind, then simply nodded, as if to say, 'Do what you must.'

And with that, Alisa stepped forward.

She would go.

She wouldn't interfere, unless absolutely necessary.

But if the worst came to pass…

If things spiraled beyond control…

If Guldrin needed her, even for a second.

She would be there.

Because nothing was going to take him away.

Not like Jin.

No.

She would protect him.

(Give me your POWER, Please, and Thank You! Leave reviews and comments, they motivate me to continue.)