The wail of sirens cut through the chaos of Berlin, blending with the cacophony of gunfire that echoed through the streets. I pressed my back against the cold, dented car door, sweat soaking through my dark green army shirt, the humidity clinging to my skin like a second layer. The night was unusually clear—stars spread out like scattered diamonds across the inky sky—but the clarity only made the reality of our situation more stark.

"Where the hell are the team?" Mason shouted, his voice barely rising above the sharp cracks of gunfire around us. His face was streaked with grime and sweat, eyes sharp but strained.

"Fuck knows," I grunted, my breath ragged. The radio was still sitting uselessly in the car. We'd lost that crucial link when Mason had driven us away from the vehicle.

Suddenly, a man in black clothing stumbled into view. I raised my gun and fired two quick shots, both hitting their target square in the chest. The man crumpled to the ground, his lifeless body collapsing in a heap. I dropped back down behind the car, my chest heaving.

A bullet tore through the air inches above my head, the sound a razor-sharp hiss that made me gasp. My ears rang with the noise, but survival instincts kicked in before I could think further.

"Jesus, Bell! Keep your fuckin' head down!" Mason roared, the intensity in his voice driving me to focus. He fired more rounds into the advancing enemies, each shot a testament to his relentless determination.

"Over there!" I shouted, spotting an enemy group moving to our right. I stood up, took a breath, and fired two quick rounds. Both men fell to their knees, collapsing silently onto the pavement.

In the distance, I spotted our team—Park, Sims, Hudson, and Lazar—fighting their way through the chaos. Their movements were precise, focused, but exhaustion was visible in every exchange. They shot, moved, and shot again, a synchronized unit determined to carve a path through the enemy forces.

I swivelled to my left and fired another two rounds before spinning back to the right, squeezing off four more shots. My arms shook with the effort, sweat and blood mixing on my hands.

But then, a sharp, searing pain erupted in my waist. Twice. I glanced down quickly and saw the dark bloom of blood soaking through my shirt, the crimson stain spreading like a grim warning.

My breath caught in my throat as I pressed my hand tightly against the wound, the pain radiating through my body, a cruel reminder of the reality we were facing. I prayed Mason wouldn't see the blood, not now, not until we were out of this mess.

I forced myself to stand taller, pushed through the pain, and raised my gun again. Each shot I fired was a refusal to let the enemy take me down, a testament to survival, a stubborn commitment to keep fighting until the team was safe.

The battle wasn't over. Not by a long shot. And I wasn't ready to let it end—not here, not now.

I watched as Park moved through the battlefield with lethal grace, clearing enemies left and right. Her eyes were locked onto her targets, unwavering even in the chaos. Lazar and Hudson stuck close together, a tight unit pushing forward with ruthless efficiency, systematically cleaning the streets of threats. Their gunfire was relentless, a testament to the kind of loyalty and camaraderie that kept us going.

But the streets were a mess of chaos and blood. Blood everywhere—pooling on the pavement, smearing across car doors, staining faces and hands. The scent of gunpowder and sweat filled the air, a suffocating mix that burned my nostrils.

I dragged myself over to the nearest car, every step a jolt of agony that shot through my body. My legs trembled, and my hands were slick with blood, a deep red that seemed to seep into everything I touched. My gun dangled limply in my grip, barely raised.

"Fuck," I groaned, my breath ragged. I shifted slightly to the right, seeking better cover, but my vision was starting to blur at the edges.

Mason appeared beside me, his face streaked with dirt and sweat. He glanced at my blood-covered hand, shock flickering in his eyes.

"It's fine," I muttered through gritted teeth. "Two shots in my stomach. Just ignore it till we get out of here."

He stood up, a fierce determination settling over his expression. With a raw, furious energy, Mason raised his gun and began firing at the remaining enemies around us. His shots were driven by sheer anger, each one finding its mark with unyielding precision. He dropped five enemies in rapid succession, a wild, unrelenting force of fury.

"All clear!" Park shouted, her voice cutting through the noise. She bounded over the fallen bodies, agile and unstoppable, landing beside us with a determined look.

I tried to stand, but my vision wavered and my head felt heavier than it should. The world around me felt like it was tilting sideways, and a fog of dizziness began to settle in.

"Shit, Bell. Sit down." Lazar appeared at my side, his eyes filled with a mix of urgency and worry. He dropped to his knees and pressed his hands over my bleeding stomach wounds, his touch firm but careful. The pain was unbearable, but I grunted through it. I'd been shot before. I was a human target, a shooting range for people who wanted to end me—and I had survived every time.

Blood continued to pool around me, a grim testament to the reality of our fight. My light-headedness worsened, my vision dimmed until everything around me became a haze of shadows and light.

"Park, this really hurts." My voice barely made it out, a whisper against the roar of adrenaline and fear that coursed through me.

The darkness crept in slowly, the edges of my consciousness slipping away. My head dropped back against the cold metal of the car, the last thing I saw before everything went black was Mason's clenched jaw and the determined look in Lazar's eyes.

Too much blood loss. Too little time. Too much fight left in me slipping away.

My eyes felt really hazy and my legs felt like water. I could see Stitch in the corner of the room talking to a man in a white coat. He then made his way over to me as panic turned on me. 

"Well, hello," He smiled, his finger on my cheek. "Look who I've got in my grasp again."

The sharp sound of the knife was echoing through my ears as he ripped it harshly from his leg holster.  I couldn't move or scream as he put the knife against my cheek. 

I opened my eyes slowly, the world coming back into focus bit by bit. Across the small hospital room, I saw Mason standing tall and resolute, his eyes locked onto mine with a mix of relief and determination. Beside him was Emerson, his gaze filled with something softer, a genuine concern that made my heart flutter despite the lingering pain. Woods sat beside me, a hint of a smile on his usually stoic face, his presence a comforting anchor in the midst of everything.

"She's awake." Emerson's voice was a quiet relief as he gently placed his hand on my forearm. 

I managed a weak smile, shifting my gaze between Mason and Woods, both of whom wore smiles that seemed to push away some of the darkness that had been lurking. Their presence reminded me of how much we all relied on each other, the bonds that kept us going through every battle, every setback, every wound.

The pain in my stomach was present, a mild but sharp sting when I moved the wrong way. But it was nothing I hadn't dealt with before. I'd experienced worse, and resilience was something I'd gotten good at.

"You're always getting yourself hurt, Kiddo." Woods stood up, a small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He moved to the plastic cup filled with water on the bedside table, refilling it before handing it to me. The water was cool, and I drank it gratefully, the parched feeling in my throat disappearing in a few swift gulps.

"I know. Tends to be a habit now." I winked at them, a playful edge to my voice that brought a shared laugh from all three men. The sound was a small but necessary reminder that, even in our world of constant danger, we still found moments of levity.

Just then, the door creaked open, and a doctor stepped in. He had brownish, thinning hair and glasses perched on the edge of his nose. Despite his unassuming appearance, he radiated a reassuring warmth. "Miss Bell? Good to see you're awake."

I looked over at him, my smile widening despite the discomfort. "It indeed is."

Mason grinned, his expression a mixture of relief and unspoken determination. The laughter and camaraderie in the room felt like a shield against the shadows that loomed outside. Together, we were more than just individuals—we were a team, a family, a group that stood strong even in the face of everything the world threw at us.

For now, the fight could wait. Right now, the priority was survival—and we would do it together.

"So, no big damage was caused here compared to downtown," the doctor said with a light, nervous laugh. His eyes twinkled briefly with a strange levity before he continued. "But I did need to give you some blood while you were asleep. We patched you up, took some scans, and thankfully, everything looks good. Lucky to be alive, again, given your track record. We're ready to discharge you if you think you're up for it."

I sat up slowly, wincing as a dull ache shot through my body. My gaze met his, determination settling in my eyes. "I'll be fine, Doc. Send me on my way."

The doctor nodded, a satisfied smile flickering on his face, before he quietly stepped out of the room.

The room felt a little emptier without him. Emerson, still sitting nearby, shifted closer. His eyes searched mine, full of the unspoken loyalty and care that defined him.

"You alright?" he asked, his voice a gentle anchor in the whirlwind of thoughts swirling in my head.

"I'll be good," I replied, the words slipping out automatically, but my gaze flickered with something deeper. A question I couldn't shake. One that had been gnawing at me since everything went to hell.

"Has Adler been here?" The words came out before I could stop them, a mix of hope and dread churning in my chest.

Emerson hesitated for a brief moment, his brow furrowing. His eyes searched mine, a flicker of uncertainty passing across his face. "No, Bell. No sign of him."

The honesty in his voice felt like a punch to my gut. My breath caught, and I felt the sting of tears that I struggled to push back. I pulled my hand away from his when he instinctively squeezed it, the sudden movement a mix of vulnerability and determination.

I couldn't afford to let the questions consume me. Not now. Not when every second felt like a battle to keep moving forward.

I took a shaky breath, pushing aside the fear. My eyes met Emerson's once more, a flicker of something steely settling in me.

On the ride home, Mason, Emerson, and Woods sat in the car, the atmosphere a mix of cautious conversation and uneasy glances. We exchanged small talk, but they all knew I wasn't okay. The tension in the car was palpable, a heavy undercurrent that none of us could shake.

"Does he even know?" I finally blurted out, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

"Hudson told me that he knew," Mason said, his voice low and guarded.

The statement hit me like a bullet to the heart, a cold stab that felt worse than the gunshot wound I'd endured. My breath caught in my throat. I couldn't make sense of it. Adler. Someone I cared about. Someone I trusted. And now it felt like he didn't give a damn, all because of something that happened in the past.

I shook my head, unable to process the sting of betrayal.

We pulled up to the house, and Adler's familiar truck sat parked out front. My chest tightened at the sight of it. Taking a shaky breath, I struggled to open the door. Emerson quickly stepped out, positioning himself to support me, his arm wrapping around my waist, his presence a fragile anchor against the storm inside me.

Suddenly, a sharp pain jolted through my stomach, a cruel reminder of my injuries. I crumpled to the ground, gasping.

"Shit, Bell." Emerson's eyes widened in alarm as he knelt beside me, trying to help me back up. Mason quickly joined him, the both of them lifting me with a careful but urgent determination.

"I'm fine, honestly. I'll be okay." I forced the words out, but each syllable felt like a lie.

Just as Emerson steadied me again, the sound of the porch door creaking open reached our ears. Adler appeared in the doorway, his face etched with guilt and regret. His gaze met mine, and for a brief moment, I saw the man I once trusted. But I couldn't bear to look at him. The hurt felt too raw, the betrayal too deep.

I felt like shit, a wave of conflicting emotions crashing over me—anger, disappointment, and that suffocating sense of loss.

Emerson and Mason gently helped me forward, guiding me towards the porch, their eyes flicking back to Adler, whose gaze remained on me.

I didn't speak. I couldn't. My throat felt too tight, every word caught somewhere between my heart and the hurt I tried to shove down.

Adler stood there, a man I once trusted, but now just a shadow of someone I no longer knew. And for now, I didn't want to.

Not until everything between us was clear—and the truth laid bare.

"Hi." Adler's voice was soft, almost a whisper, but it hit me harder than I'd expected. My eyes stung, and the lump in my throat threatened to break the facade I was barely holding onto.

"Nice of you to turn up now." Woods appeared out of nowhere, his usual defiant energy boiling just beneath the surface. He pushed Adler slightly, a shove that Adler didn't even attempt to resist. The confrontation felt like a blur to me, a painful background noise.

I didn't stop. I walked past Adler without sparing him another glance, Mason following close behind me. We made our way into the kitchen, where Park sat, casually sipping a cup of coffee. She glanced up at us, her expression a mix of casual coolness and something softer that I appreciated more than I cared to admit.

I sank into a chair across from her, the tension in the house pressing down on me like a suffocating weight. Every interaction felt overwhelming, and I found myself craving some kind of escape, even just for a few minutes.

"I need some space," I finally mumbled, barely acknowledging the world around me.

Mason nodded wordlessly, understanding the unspoken need. I stood up and made my way to the bedroom, shutting the door softly behind me. The room was a refuge, a small pocket of solitude amidst the chaos. I lay down on the bed, my head sinking into the pillow. My thoughts swirled—Adler, betrayal, loyalty, trust—all tangled together in a messy web I couldn't untangle.

Hours passed. I eventually sat up, the ache in my head growing sharper as I stood and began pacing the room. My feet shuffled across the floor, the quiet creaks of the boards beneath my steps a muted soundtrack to the whirlwind inside me. No one had come near me. No awkward conversation, no questions, no forced interactions. In a strange way, I found a twisted relief in the absence of attention. I welcomed the solitude.

Sometimes, isolation felt better than dealing with the mess that reality had become.

Suddenly, a knock at the door jolted me out of my thoughts. "Come in," I said, trying to steady my voice as I sat on the edge of the bed. The door creaked open, and Mason walked in. I couldn't help but let out a small, nervous laugh. "Oh, it's you."

"You sound disappointed," Mason teased, a tired grin slipping onto his face. "I need to change your dressing."

I nodded, lifting my shirt up toward my sternum. The old dressing was stained with dried blood, a grim reminder of the bullet wound that had become just another part of my reality. I couldn't manage it on my own—not with the awkward angle and persistent pain.

"He hasn't spoken a word," Mason muttered as he gently cleaned the wound. His eyes flicked up to meet mine, a mix of annoyance and exhaustion settling into his expression.

"I just... I don't get it, Mason," I admitted, the words escaping before I could stop them. "After everything we've been through, after everything we've done together, I really thought he cared more."

"Trust me, I'm still furious," Mason replied, his voice a low growl. The intensity of his loyalty made something inside me ache deeper than the physical wounds.

As Mason continued cleaning the dressing, I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. My mind was a whirlwind of doubts. Did Adler actually care anymore? Or was learning about the past I shared with Emerson too much for him to handle? Was there even a relationship left to salvage?

My thoughts were interrupted by Mason's fingers grazing the scars on my stomach—scars from encounters with Stitch. His touch moved across the areas where I was numb, where the nerve endings had long since stopped working. Those scars were a cruel testament to the life I had chosen, a life where pain was as routine as breathing.

"All done, Bell." Mason wrapped the fresh dressing securely, his brow furrowing as he met my gaze.

I sat up and pulled on a clean shirt, the sick feeling settling in my gut, but not from the wound this time. It was Adler's presence that had stirred something raw inside me, the confrontation with him reopening wounds I'd hoped were healing.

"We're all hanging out in the living area," Mason finally said, standing up. "Come out when you're ready. And trust me, Frank hasn't stopped giving Adler hell since we got home. Won't stop until Adler knows exactly how much he's screwed things up."

I rolled my eyes and laughed softly, a flicker of amusement breaking through the fog in my chest. Mason's loyalty was a lifeline. In a world full of betrayal and danger, having someone like him made everything seem a little less impossible.