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The third floor of the main compound gave Silvija the best vantage point of Oscorp Research Facility. She held a highly modified Accuracy International AWM, its 27-inch fluted barrel extended through a narrow firing port cut into the reinforced concrete. The rifle was a custom-built masterpiece by one of her contacts.
The world narrowed to the heat-signature targets in her thermal-optics scope. The embedded ballistic chip processed wind, elevation, and bullet drop and fed corrections directly to her reticle. Her mind processed the data and the target potential movement in milliseconds.
Her finger squeezed the trigger.
BANG.
The recoil used to be like a little kick, but it barely tickled her new, improved physique. The custom titanium suppressor swallowed the worst of the blast, leaving just a sharp muffle. A Hand operative two hundred yards out jerked backward as blood sprayed from his throat. His hands flew to his neck before his legs gave out.
One red marker disappeared from the holographic map in her mind.
"Target down, east quadrant."
Five tactical radios clung to her shoulder rig. The panicked, calm, wounded, and triumphant overlapped into one messy broadcast; it would've driven a normal person insane.
"North bunker holding, suppressing their advance."
"Tactical drone strike confirmed, five hostiles down."
"Reloading, covering fire from south tower."
The chaotic comms were filtered out by her mind at an incredible pace, leaving only what mattered—the information necessary to update the ever-changing three-dimensional holographic map in her mind, which showed every firing position, line of sight, chokepoint, fallback route, and the number of enemies.
Dante's optimizations weren't just limited to her physique. No, the improvement in her body felt measly compared to the changes in her mind.
Her mind could now easily track crucial information and even the psychological aspects like morale, the impact of casualties, and the impact of losing key positions without any conscious thinking on her part.
She could see it all, process it all, and adjust for it all in real-time.
The feeling of having the entire battlefield in the palm of her head was intoxicating. Like playing chess when your opponent could only see two moves ahead but you could see ten.
It almost felt like Dante had given her a superpower uniquely suited for her position as a leader of mercenaries.
"Commander, Raul here." Raul's voice cut through the radio chatter. He was on Wild Pack's private channel. "Three allies wounded in the eastern perimeter. Drones report that the enemy forces are regrouping behind the tree line."
Her mind map updated instantly, only then she caught up with how she was treating her allies as just dots, not real people.
She switched channels without looking. "Rotate the wounded out. As I said before, no one fights injured."
Dante could easily heal the wounded back to peak health with his new powers. But he couldn't bring the dead back to life, not unless she forced him to fight his cosmic girlfriend. And Silvija had no intention of asking him to negotiate with Death over fallen mercenaries.
It was better to keep them alive in the first place.
"Raul, status on ammunition."
"Around seventy five percent."
"Reassign Drone Team Two for surveillance. No territorial advances unless we're actively under fire."
"Message delivered." Raul took a pause. "The men are cheering your name, Commander. They appreciate your care."
Silvija's mouth twitched. They thought she was being noble and compassionate about valuing lives over objectives. In reality, she was keeping casualties minimal because she didn't want to lose her men for Norman, that evil bastard.
"Excellent work, Raul. Maintain current operations."
"Yes, Commander!"
She spotted a patient enemy crouched behind a tree. He believed the cover would keep him safe.
'Amateur mistake.'
The .338 Lapua round pierced through the tree like it was cardboard, then through the man's ribcage, and out the other side in a spray of bone fragments and lung tissue. He dropped without a sound.
The next target was even easier. Some idiot tried to sprint across open ground in a suicidal charge toward the central compound. The bullet caught him mid-stride and spun him like a broken puppet.
The battle was progressing well, too well for her comfort. The Wild Pack dominated every critical position except the scattered pockets on the outer edges of the private property. The bunkers were still fortified, watchtowers operational, and crossfire fields established for all approach vectors. Each minute that passed, they chipped away at the Hand's assault. Enemy ammo consumption climbed while their own supplies remained steady.
The Hand's assault felt... underwhelming.
They had arrived light on equipment. Handguns and rifles, standard tactical gear but nothing heavy like rocket-propelled grenades, shaped charges, or anti-materiel rifles. They didn't even bring designated marksmen to contest Wild Pack's elevated firing positions.
By contrast, her forces unleashed tactical drones circled, which fed real-time intelligence while grenade payloads rained death on clustered enemies. The spread out motion-tracking sensors caught any sneak attempts. Blind spots still existed in their coverage, they always did for such a massive area. But so far, the Hand hadn't exploited a single one.
The one-sided massacre made her feel the Hand were cavemen charging at an army of the modern army.
Her side was winning, which was exactly what made her nervous.
Amy Chen was crouched beside her, picking targets through the same firing port. The assassin squeezed off three rounds in rapid succession, but only one hit the mark.
"They're falling back again," Amy reported, satisfied with her work. "I feel pity for them now."
Silvija ejected the spent casing and chambered another round. "Don't celebrate yet."
"They're throwing bodies and still can't break through." Amy grinned. "We've got better positions, better equipment, and a way better commander who treats us like actual humans."
Silvija didn't allow herself to feel pride at the compliment. Her scope swept the battlefield in search of the trap she knew was coming. "The Hand aren't fools."
The sheer numbers advantage they had brought should have told her everything. Over three hundred men committed to this assault. But quantity alone didn't explain the Hand's confidence.
The Hand had survived for centuries. They wouldn't throw away lives on doomed frontal assaults. They knew how to fight, how to plan, how to win.
So why did this feel like they were just... testing defenses? Probing for weaknesses?
Her eyes widened as a vicious realization hit her.
'Are they using people to wear us down? No, that doesn't make sense.'
Yet the thought had taken root in her skull.
She took out her phone and dialed her assistant surveilling everything back from Manhattan's branch.
"Anna, check up on all bridges connected to Oscorp Island. Do you see incoming vehicles?"
Anna loudly typed on her keyboard and the gasp that came through the speaker told Silvija everything she needed to know. "Madam, I see many cars here."
"How many?"
"Around thirty armored SUVs in the North and West. One heavy truck and sedan just crossed the southern bridge."
A three-sided assault—only because there was no eastern bridge leading to the island.
She put her phone away and cursed under her breath, "Treating their men like fodder in this age. These scum."
Norman felt like a lesser evil compared to the Hand's heinous tactics. Just this many kills would put her organization in the bad light internationally. The more they killed, the worse her soldiers' mental will be.
When the real assault began, her side might not even have the energy to fight.
"Relax, Commander. We still got our death god in the backpocket to bail us out." Amy laughed, unconcerned. "Die! Die! Die! That will clear the battlefield."
Amy had more confidence in Dante than his own lover did. Then again, Amy hadn't seen him collapse in bed from overusing his powers. The Wild Pack didn't know that side of him. They had only seen Hades, the man who had single-handedly destroyed a Maggia assault and ripped symbiotes with bare hands without a scratch.
An unstoppable death god who answered to their commander—that was the impression Dante's two public performances had burned into Wild Pack.
Silvija's next bullet punched through a Hand soldier's chest at two hundred and thirty yards. "My country's fate depends on my Wild Pack. I'll never revolve my operation around one man's existence."
"Ironic when Symkaria is relying on one woman."
The old Silvija would've tried to argue, but now, she was quite unbothered. She had someone else to ease her burden. The only price was revealing her vulnerabilities and laying her heart bare, but that was nothing compared to the relief, comfort, and pleasure in his company.
Silvija returned to relaying new defensive measures to Raul while killing one man per bullet.
"You're coordinating four teams, calling tactical adjustments and still—" Amy squeezed the trigger but missed the mark. "—hitting every goddamn shot!"
"'Behind every great man there is a great woman'. I found my great man."
"He is a great man alright," Amy said cheerfully, yet it felt like a bitter compliment. "Where exactly is he, though?"
Silvija's finger froze on the trigger. She had no answer, not one she could give. Amy was loyal. Amy was trusted. Amy had bled for the Wild Pack and for her. However, there were some secrets that couldn't be shared even with her friend who had taken a bullet for her three years ago.
She couldn't tell Amy that Dante and Felicia were somewhere beneath her feet right now, stealing from the very vault of their client while she let her soldiers bleed to keep their cashflow going.
"He's where he needs to be," Silvija said. "He'll be back soon."
Channel three crackled to distract both of them. "Commander, west tower reporting—" Static covered the comms, interrupted by erratic gunfire and screams. "Ambush, they came from—we didn't detect them until—"
Silvija's blood went cold. "West tower, report!"
"Two wounded, location compromised." The voice was younger, breathless with fear. One of the rookies. Konstantin, maybe, or John. "Ninjas—they're inside, they're—"
The transmission cut off completely as static took over.
Her enhanced mind was already racing through implications. The west tower provided covering fire for the southern approach and overlooked their main ammunition depot. Losing it opened a gap in their defensive perimeter. The worst part was if the Hand had infiltrated close enough to ambush the tower without triggering motion sensors, then they had stealth operatives that could bypass their thermal sensors.
Either full-body armor or some supernatural bullshit, which had become an everyday occurrence ever since Dante came into her life.
"Shit." Silvija switched channels. "Our unit in the west tower was ambushed. Raul, get me a drone overhead, now."
"On it. Redirecting Drone Four."
She pressed the channel five. "Medical team, any evacs from the west tower."
"Medical responding. Negative, Commander. West tower's entire team is radio-silent."
A whole team fell without the scouts and drones didn't find any single approaching threat.
She switched to channel two, which was for the west bunker positions. "West bunker teams, listen carefully. Send drones to scout for the wounded and evac them to your place. Do not attempt recovery if you're under fire. We don't trade two lives for one."
"Roger. Moving to extract."
"And remember my standing orders," she continued. "Anyone injured withdraws from the battle. No heroics. No last stands. You get shot anywhere, you leave. Understood?"
A chorus of affirmations answered back. A few hot-headed mercs were reluctant, but the rest were relieved.
Amy glanced over, brow furrowed. "M'lady, if we keep pulling people back every time someone takes a hit—"
"This isn't a war," Silvija interrupted. "We're not defending Symkaria's borders. We're not fighting for survival. This is a contract. We have to weigh profit and loss."
"Then we should unload the heavy weaponry."
"We wait until Dante's back." Her voice grew cold, bloodthirsty. "Then we annihilate these cultists. Every single one of them will pay the price for stepping on my territory."
Even if she couldn't annihilate them, she would make the Hand pay a blood price for invading her territory.
Amy stared at her for a long moment as if searching for something. Whatever Amy was looking for, she didn't find it, or maybe she found exactly what she feared. Either way, she nodded slowly and returned to her scope, unwilling to probe further.
Silvija maintained her calm expression. Amy had caught onto something. It would be weird if she hadn't. But asking questions would force Silvija to lie to her face, and neither of them wanted that.
"Commander." Piotr's deep, accented voice came through Wild Pack's private channel. "One car, one armored truck. Approaching from the south."
Silvija's brow furrowed. As assault from the south made no tactical sense. The southern approach was a flat concrete expanse with zero cover for three hundred yards. A single heavy machine gun could mow down entire squads before they crossed half that distance. The Hand had to know that.
"This must be their plan," Silvija whispered. "Amy, south wall. Now."
Both women shifted positions and pivoted their line of fire toward the south.
Silvija spotted the vehicles parked brazenly in the open. The doors swung wide and Hand operatives wearing tactical vests over black combat gear poured out. They carried rifles and katana. They used the truck as a cover and set up firing positions.
A single man stepped out of the sedan.
He was short. Maybe five-foot-three, but built like a brawler with broad shoulders, thick arms, and a wide chest covered in a dirty white tank top. His hair stuck up in wild tufts on either side of his head, almost like an animal. Scruffy mutton chops framed a face that seemed straight out of an old cowboy movie.
He didn't carry a weapon, yet her instincts rang alarm bells in her mind. He was the most dangerous man she had ever encountered except Dante in his death authority form.
The man just started walking straight toward the central compound like he was taking a morning stroll through Central Park.
Silvija's radio crackled, and a new voice came through the western perimeter channel.
"Silver Sable." The accent was Japanese and refined, a bit theatrical. "The Hand extends a courtesy. Surrender the compound and withdraw your forces."
"What if I don't?"
"We'll have to kill every resistance. Remember, Norman Osborn is not a man worth dying for. He doesn't deserve such loyalty."
"There is no man worth dying for," she whispered, adjusting her scope's elevation. "Except mine."
She exhaled and squeezed. This was her answer.
CRACK.
The bullet struck the dead center of the dangerous man's forehead. His head snapped backward from the impact as he staggered half a step.
She didn't let herself smile because her instincts still rang, which turned out right. The man moved his head in place and reached up to casually pluck the flattened bullet from his skull. The wound in his forehead sealed itself in seconds until there wasn't even a scar.
His head turned, and he looked directly at Silvija. Three hundred yards away through a four-inch gap in the reinforced concrete.
He just stared at her with blank eyes. Then six claws erupted from his knuckles. Three per hand, each one a foot long.
"Mutant."
"Mutant," Amy echoed the same sentiment, but her voice wasn't as calm as Silvija. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, that's a mutant—"
Amy opened fire without waiting for orders. Her rifle roared and spat brass casings across the floor. She wasn't the only one as more mercs from nearby bunkers unleashed heavy fire on him. Blood sprayed as he staggered with the impact of the belt-fed machinegun fire. His white, dirty vest was dyed red in seconds, his entire body full of holes.
Yet he didn't fall.
"Grenades!" Amy screamed into her radio. "Someone hit him with explosives."
A muffled whump came from the southern defensive position. Six 40mm grenades arced through the air and struck the concrete five feet in front of the mutant. The explosion of fire and shrapnel engulfed him.
His skin blackened, burned, melted… and regenerated. Charred flesh sloughed off and pink, healthy skin grew beneath. The burns vanished like they had never existed.
The mutant roared and broke into a sprint. He covered ground like a missile, closing the distance to an eastern bunker position.
Silvija grabbed the radio. "Evac the eastern bunker number four."
"Preparing an evac," someone replied over the channel. "Commander, do we take supplies—"
"LEAVE YOU DUMBASSES."
"Roger—" someone screamed. "Arghhh!"
The mutant had already reached the bunker.
Silvija watched through her scope, helpless as blood sprayed on the bunker walls. A helmet went flying out of the bunker, still attached to part of a skull.
Four men died in eight seconds.
Symkarian blood.
Her blood.
Silvija's chest tightened. She could have avoided this by saying no to Dante's plan. She could've forced him to wait for another window. He would've listened and bent his entire plan around her comfort because he loved her.
But she hadn't because someone had to save the innocent people from being tortured in Norman's labs. Because this was the right thing to do.
But she didn't pay the price for that choice.
Her men did.
...
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