Arora stood inside the cold, timber-lined armory room, inspecting every single piece of gear with mechanical, surgical precision.
She picked up her primary suppressed assault rifle, checking the weight, cycling the action, and inspecting the firing pin before clicking a full magazine into the well. She examined the thermal optics, checked the seals on her cold-weather tactical suit, and verified that every single spare magazine in her chest rig was seated properly.
To anyone else, it might have looked like paranoia. To Arora, it was survival. In a sub-zero war zone against thirty ghost mercenaries, a single jammed slide or a failing battery was the difference between bringing her sister-in-law home and dying in the snow.
Satisfied that the equipment was flawless, she finally set down her inspection kit and stepped out of the armory.
