Middle East, Ashvale Town
As the sun sank beneath the horizon, darkness swept over the land. Where Ashvale Town had once flourished, only smoldering ruins remained, the silent testimony of a past long forgotten. In the heart of the destruction, a massive warehouse stood, its walls thick with the presence of heavily armed terrorists, their figures casting long, menacing shadows into the night.
Inside the warehouse, two soldiers stood, their fingers tight around the grips of their rifles. They exchanged quiet words, the sound of their voices barely audible over the tense stillness. Without warning, a single, sharp crack echoed through the air—a bullet striking one of the men. His body crumpled to the floor, lifeless.
The second soldier, his heart racing, grabbed his sniper rifle in desperation, his eyes scanning the distant mountains through the scope. In the distance, he saw them—dozens of figures clad in black military gear, silver lines etched across their uniforms like deadly markings.
As his gaze locked on the figures, terror froze him. The uniform's unmistakable insignia, the silver claw, sent a chill down his spine. His mind raced, but his mouth could only whisper in disbelief.
"Th-the Silver Claw..."
Before he could react, his world exploded in an instant—a bullet tearing through his skull. His lifeless body fell forward as the mountainside, far in the distance, held the figure responsible. Among the trees, a sniper, cloaked in shadows, lowered his rifle with cold precision.
sniper click on his headset and said,
"Brother, the tower's clear. You can move forward now."
Andrew, his eyes cold and focused as he gazed at the warehouse, nodded without a word. Turning to his team, he made a silent gesture, signaling for them to move in.
His team responded with precision, slipping through the shadows as they approached the warehouse. Quiet as ghosts, they eliminated anyone who crossed their path, swiftly and efficiently, until the warehouse was cleared of life.
In the basement of the warehouse, four people stood, one bound tightly to a chair, struggling against the ropes. His face twisted into a sneer as he glared at Andrew.
"Haha, you can't do anything to The Crimson Dawn," he jeered. "Even if you cage me, victory will never be yours! Hahaha!"
Andrew's expression remained icy as he stepped forward, delivering a sharp kick to the man's stomach. The bound figure gasped, his body wracked with pain.
"Akkhhhh!" he screamed, gasping for air.
Andrew gripped his face, his voice cold and cutting. "Who said I was going to cage you? Don't worry... I won't do that."
The man's laughter, though strained, resumed once the pain subsided. "Hahaha, I knew it. Everyone fears the Crimson Dawn—even you, Silver Claw. Release me if you want to live."
Issabelle, standing by Andrew's side, shook her head with pity. She made a gesture to the two guards, signaling them to follow her as she exited the room.
Andrew's face remained emotionless as he pulled out his pistol. The bound man's eyes widened in horror as Andrew raised the weapon, and in a single, unflinching motion, fired. The sound of gunshots echoed through the room as the magazine emptied, each bullet tearing through the man's body.
When the pistol clicked empty, Andrew grabbed the man's head once more, his grip like iron. "I don't give a damn about the Crimson Dawn," he said, his voice laced with venom. "And I promise you... the end of the Crimson Dawn will come at my hands."
With that, Andrew turned and left, his footsteps echoing in the silence.
The helicopter hovered in the air, its blades slicing through the silence. Samuel and his team readied themselves, their ropes unfurling as they prepared to drop. One by one, they leapt from the aircraft, hitting the ground with precision, quickly slipping into the shadows and making their way toward the warehouse.
As they neared the structure, a sense of unease settled over Samuel. He glanced up at the silent building, feeling the weight of its eerie quietness. He spoke into his headset, his voice tense.
"Be careful, the warehouse is too quiet. I think they know we're coming."
Each member of his team stiffened, their senses heightened as they moved cautiously toward the building, staying low to avoid any open areas where snipers might have a clear shot.
The door creaked open as they slipped inside, and the sight that met them was enough to send a chill down their spines. The warehouse, once a place of life and activity, was now filled with the lifeless bodies of their enemies. Blood pooled on the floor, staining the concrete, a grim reminder of the destruction that had come before them.
Samuel's eyes scanned the room, his heart pounding. Without a word, the team sprinted toward the basement, hoping to find something, anything, to explain what had happened. But when they entered the room, they were struck silent by what they saw.
Samuel quickly reached for his walkie-talkie, his voice grim as he reported back.
"Mission failed, sir. Saiman is dead, even before we arrived."
Back at the USS base, Ace's face darkened as he listened to the report. His jaw clenched, a silent fury building within him.
"This is probably the Silver Claw," he muttered to himself before speaking into the comms. "Get out of there and find a place to rest for the night. Tomorrow, you move on to the next target. I want them alive—understood?"
"Roger that, sir," Samuel replied, his voice heavy with defeat but carrying the weight of his duty.