Chapter 101

Chapter 101:

Leonard stepped out of Franz's office, his brain feeling like mush after everything they had discussed and everything he had learned that day. At the exit, Graves was waiting for him.

"Finished with your meeting, boss ?" Graves asked politely.

Leonard, still massaging his temples, replied, "Yeah, it's done. What time is it ?"

Graves checked his watch. "17:48."

Leonard exclaimed, "Twelve hours of meetings ?! No wonder I feel dead. Alright, I'm heading to bed," he said, stifling a yawn as he walked off.

Graves gave a slightly awkward smile and called out, "Boss, you forgot about my little request to meet with the team ?"

Leonard froze in place, slowly turning back to Graves with misty eyes. "Damn, I completely forgot."

Graves quickly interjected, "No need, boss. If you're tired, just get some rest. We can wait until tomorrow."

Leonard raised a hand, signaling him to stop. "Tomorrow I have to head to Site-02 in the morning. I'll never have time for this. It's fine, I'll go now."

Graves sighed but nodded. "At your wish, boss."

"Where are they ?" Leonard asked.

Graves replied, "Except for Teams 5, 13, 14, and 15, all the other units are in the general training hall for the second joint inter-team session of Resh-1, under the supervision of Alexei and the leaders of the six groups."

Leonard paused for a moment, furrowing his brow. "Wait, you changed Resh-1's structure again ?"

Graves gave a slight smile. "Yes, during your coma, at TA-A's request. The 186 operators of Resh-1 were divided into six groups, each composed of 31 operators. Group 1 is led by me and includes the best of Resh-1. The other five groups rotate responsibilities, primarily guarding Site-01. For instance, today Group 5 is in charge of site security, which is why they're not present in training.

"As for Team 5 of the second group, they're permanently stationed at your family home. They'll rotate with another team in a month."

Graves added, "It's been effective so far, and TA-A insisted it was necessary. But if you'd like to make adjustments-"

Leonard cut him off with a wave. "No, no, it's fine. Let's just go see them. Lead the way."

Leonard and Graves moved through the dimly lit hallways of the manor, their footsteps echoing against the cold stone walls. Descending further into the lower levels, the air grew cooler, and the faint hum of machinery accompanied their journey. After a few minutes of silence, they arrived at a large observation window overlooking a massive training hall.

Through the glass, Leonard saw a colossal room illuminated by powerful overhead lights. In the center, a huge ring dominated the space, its edges marked by thick ropes and padded posts. On the ring, two teams of 10 operators each were engaged in intense hand-to-hand combat.

The fight was brutal but disciplined, with operators executing rapid strikes, counters, and grapples, showcasing their skill and training. Surrounding the ring, dozens of their comrades stood in a semicircle, cheering loudly for their respective teams. Their voices filled the cavernous room, a cacophony of encouragement and competitive banter echoing off the walls.

Graves turned to Leonard. "Group 1 against Group 3. Alexei decided to up the stakes by making it a full-team sparring session. No weapons, just hand-to-hand. Builds camaraderie, he says."

Leonard smirked, his fatigue momentarily forgotten. "Looks like he's enjoying himself."

Leonard's eyes scanned the room, lingering on the commanding presence of Alexei, who stood near the edge of the ring, shouting instructions and critiques. The group leaders were nearby, observing intently, occasionally calling out advice to their respective teams.

One operator landed a particularly clean throw, sending his opponent sprawling to the mat. The room erupted in cheers and whistles as the fallen fighter quickly rolled to his feet, ready to continue.

Leonard watched silently for a moment, a rare flicker of pride in his gaze. "They look sharp," he murmured.

Graves nodded. "They're the best for a reason. Alexei pushed them hard, but they responded. They're ready for anything, boss."

Leonard chuckled. "Good. Let's see if they can handle me after this little warm-up."

Graves raised an eyebrow. "You're planning on stepping into the ring?"

Leonard grinned, already unbuttoning his jacket. "What better way to say hi to the team?"

Leonard accessed the system's shop interface within his mind, navigating through it. His thoughts were sharp and precise, each mental selection bringing him closer to the enhancements he sought.

"Enhanced Reflexes: 10,000 Gold.

Combat Expertise: 15,000 Gold.

Strategic Mind: 12,000 Gold."

Without hesitation, he confirmed the purchase. A flash of light appeared in his mind's eye as the skills activated, their benefits integrating seamlessly into his consciousness.

"Thirty-seven thousand Gold," Leonard muttered to himself. The amount was staggering to him before, but for him now, it was trivial. He could afford far more, but these three were all he needed to make a point.

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "Let's see if these upgrades are worth the price."

Stepping away from the observation window, Leonard adjusted the cuffs of his shirt and rolled his shoulders. The muffled cheers and sounds of combat from the training hall grew louder as he approached the entrance. Graves followed closely behind, his expression a mix of amusement and concern.

"You're serious about this, boss?" Graves asked, glancing sideways at him. "You just had a twelve-hour meeting and haven't even stretched."

Leonard waved off the concern. "Twelve hours of talking won't kill me. Besides, I need to make sure our 'best of the best' can hold their own if things get real. What better way to test them than against me?"

Graves chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, just don't go breaking anyone. Alexei's finally gotten them into shape."

Leonard smirked, pushing open the heavy doors to the training hall.

The room fell silent as Leonard stepped inside. The operators around the ring turned to look at him, their chatter dying down instantly. The two teams in the ring paused mid-spar, sweat dripping from their brows as they caught sight of their commander.

Alexei approached, arms crossed, a knowing grin on his face. "Didn't think we'd see you here, boss. Come to evaluate, or…"

Leonard shrugged off his jacket, tossing it toward Graves without breaking stride. "I'll be stepping into the ring. Who's winning?"

Alexei raised an eyebrow, glancing back at the ring. "Group 1 is leading, barely. They've got one hell of a fighter in Vasily, though. He's been carrying the team."

Leonard nodded, stepping toward the ring. "Good. Let's see if Vasily can carry them against me."

The operators erupted into a mix of laughter and nervous excitement. Whispers and murmurs filled the air as Leonard climbed into the ring, his polished shoes replaced by lightweight training boots.

"Alright," Leonard said, cracking his knuckles. "Let's see if the best can take on the boss."

Leonard stepped into the center of the ring, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp as steel. The operators crowded around, forming a wall of onlookers who buzzed with anticipation. The lights above cast a glow over the ring, and the faint sound of muffled cheers echoed as Vasily, the towering, broad-shouldered fighter from Group 1, stepped forward.

Vasily towered over Leonard by at least a head, his muscular frame a testament to years of rigorous training. He stretched his neck with audible pops and tightened his fists, but his expression remained calm and focused. The room seemed to hold its collective breath as Alexei raised his hand.

"Alright, fighters!" Alexei barked. "No weapons. Full contact. Fight ends when someone taps out or is unable to continue. Understood?"

Leonard nodded with a faint smirk. "Let's make this interesting."

Vasily cracked his knuckles, the sound like small explosions in the silence. "I'm looking forward to this, boss."

"Then show me what you've got," Leonard replied, slipping into a loose, balanced stance.

Alexei's hand dropped. "Begin!"

Vasily launched forward like a freight train, leading with a right hook aimed at Leonard's temple. Leonard sidestepped with ease, his movements fluid and precise. As Vasily's momentum carried him forward, Leonard slipped behind him, delivering a sharp elbow strike to his lower back.

Vasily staggered but quickly turned, throwing a spinning back kick aimed at Leonard's midsection. Leonard caught the movement and pivoted, using the momentum to redirect the kick, narrowly avoiding the blow. With a calculated leap, he closed the distance and threw a series of rapid jabs, each aimed at Vasily's face and chest.

The larger man blocked most of the strikes, absorbing the rest with a grunt before countering with a low leg sweep. Leonard jumped, the soles of his feet barely skimming the mat as he spun mid-air and landed gracefully.

The crowd erupted in cheers and gasps.

Vasily wasted no time, switching tactics. He dropped low and charged, wrapping his arms around Leonard's waist in a wrestler's grapple. Using his immense strength, he hoisted Leonard off the ground, intending to slam him into the mat.

Leonard reacted instantly, twisting his body mid-air to land a sharp knee strike to Vasily's ribs. The impact forced the larger man to release his grip, and Leonard landed on his feet, immediately following up with a spinning heel kick that connected with Vasily's shoulder, staggering him further.

Vasily roared, launching a series of wide, powerful punches. Leonard weaved through them like water, his movements a seamless blend of Wing Chun's close-range precision and Muay Thai's dynamic strikes. A perfectly timed counterpunch to Vasily's jaw sent the man stumbling back, but he didn't fall.

The two circled each other, sweat dripping as they adjusted their strategies. Vasily lunged again, this time feinting high before going low with a double-leg takedown. Leonard saw it coming, sprawling to counter and locking Vasily in a guillotine choke.

For a moment, it seemed like the match was over, but Vasily used his raw strength to lift Leonard off the ground again, slamming him down with enough force to rattle the ring.

Leonard released the hold, rolling backward to recover. Vasily pressed the advantage, aiming a flurry of hammer fists downward. Leonard caught one of Vasily's arms, locking it in an armbar and twisting with precision. Vasily grimaced but powered through, breaking free with a sharp pivot and rolling away.

The fight transitioned into a blur of mixed techniques. Leonard used quick, calculated strikes from Krav Maga, focusing on weak points like Vasily's knees and ribs, while Vasily countered with a mix of Judo throws and brute force. At one point, Vasily caught Leonard in a clinch, using his size to rain down devastating knee strikes. Leonard responded with vicious elbow strikes to Vasily's face, forcing him to break the hold.

The two exchanged blows, their movements growing faster and more desperate. Leonard began to exploit his new skills. Enhanced reflexes allowed him to predict Vasily's next move, and his combat expertise ensured each strike landed with precision. A well-timed feint led Vasily into a trap, and Leonard delivered a spinning backfist that sent him reeling.

Seizing the moment, Leonard closed the distance, landing a series of rapid strikes to Vasily's chest and legs before finishing with a brutal roundhouse kick to his head. Vasily crumpled to the mat, dazed but not unconscious.

Leonard stood over him, breathing heavily but otherwise composed. The crowd erupted in cheers and applause, the operators banging on the ring's edge in excitement.

Vasily groaned, struggling to push himself up. Leonard extended a hand, his smirk replaced by a look of respect. "You're tough, Vasily. Damn tough."

Vasily grunted, taking the hand and allowing Leonard to help him to his feet. "And you're insane, boss. I didn't think you could keep up with me like that."

Leonard laughed, clapping Vasily on the shoulder. "Good fight. You've got potential, but there's always room for improvement. Let's work on that together."

The room broke into applause again as the two fighters left the ring, Leonard's commanding presence even more pronounced as he addressed the crowd. "That's the level I expect from all of you. Train hard, fight smart, and maybe, just maybe, you'll give me a real challenge next time."

Leonard stepped off the ring, quickly wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. His gaze drifted to his trembling hand, a faint grimace crossing his face. "Damn, if I didn't have this system, I'd have completely freaked out…", he thought, holding back a nervous chuckle.

He raised his head and turned toward Alexei, who was waiting with his arms crossed, his expression stoic as ever.

"How long have they been training?" Leonard asked, catching his breath.

Alexei glanced briefly at a tablet in his hand.

"Since 6 a.m., boss."

Leonard's eyebrows knitted together.

"With a break, I hope?"

Alexei gave a small nod.

"Just a ten-minute break for lunch."

Leonard turned toward the gathered Resh-1 operators, who were still energized from the intense session. His voice echoed through the training hall as he announced:

"This training session is officially over. Tonight, you're free to unwind however you want, with alcohol, games, or whatever else. Just make sure you enjoy it."

He paused, casting a meaningful look toward the operators who would be accompanying him the next day.

"For the team traveling with me tomorrow, though, go easy on the booze. And as for Group 5, they will have a full day off to relax tomorrow."

A wave of cheers erupted across the hall as the operators celebrated their well-earned reprieve.

Suddenly, Leonard felt multiple hands lift him into the air. Startled, he looked around to see it was the operators of Resh-1, hoisting him up like a victorious champion. Graves, Alexei, and the group leaders, watching from the sidelines, nearly choked on the sight. Their faces paled, and they almost moved to stop what they deemed an absurd and disrespectful stunt.

But before they could act, Leonard caught their alarmed expressions and quickly gestured with his hand. "It's fine," his signal conveyed.

The operators cheered and carried him through the hallways of the facility, their chants echoing loudly. Leonard, though slightly embarrassed, let out a dry chuckle, resigning himself to their enthusiasm.

As they approached the cafeteria, the staff inside froze at the sight. Some nearly dropped their trays, their jaws hanging in disbelief at the image of their usually composed boss being carried like a hero returning from the battlefield.

Franz, who was seated at a nearby table with several members of OoTA, had just taken a sip of water. The sight hit him so hard he spat it out, coughing violently. His face turned red as he immediately rose from his chair, preparing to intervene and demand an explanation for the chaos.

But before Franz could step in, Leonard locked eyes with him and gave a quick wave, his calm expression reassuring him. "It's fine," the wave seemed to say.

Franz hesitated, his confusion apparent, before slumping back into his chair with a groan. "What the hell is going on with this day…" he muttered under his breath as he wiped his face, watching the operators parade Leonard to the center of the cafeteria.

The operators carefully set Leonard down on one of the cafeteria's larger chairs, as if handling a priceless artifact. Once he was seated, they all backed away momentarily, beaming with pride and excitement.

Leonard sighed, leaning back slightly in the chair. His expression was a mix of exhaustion and amusement, his thoughts racing. "Well, this isn't exactly how I planned to wind down today…"

Without missing a beat, the operators sprang into action. They commandeered the cafeteria staff, quickly setting up a makeshift feast. Tables were pulled together to create a long banquet arrangement, and trays of food were brought out in record time. The atmosphere turned festive as the operators cheered and clapped, their earlier combat now a distant memory replaced by camaraderie and celebration.

Graves and Alexei leaned against the wall, observing the scene with thinly veiled amusement.

"They're like kids," Alexei muttered, shaking his head.

Graves crossed his arms, smirking slightly. "Let them have their moment. They earned it."

Even Franz, still bewildered, couldn't help but crack a smile from his table as the operators transformed the normally sterile cafeteria into the site of a victory feast.

The room buzzed with energy as operators moved like clockwork, piling tables high with food and drinks. Freshly roasted meats, warm loaves of bread, steaming bowls of stew, and desserts of all shapes and sizes were laid out, the aroma filling the air.

Leonard, seated at the head of the table, watched the commotion with a raised eyebrow, resting his chin on his hand. His lips twitched into a small smile as he saw the operators joking and laughing with each other.

One operator brought out a jug of ale and placed it in front of Leonard.

"Boss, first round's on us!" the man exclaimed, grinning.

Leonard chuckled, lifting the jug and taking a long sip. The operators roared in approval, pounding their fists on the table.

As the meal began, the room filled with the sound of clinking glasses, hearty laughter, and lively chatter. Stories of training, missions, and even a few embarrassing moments were shared, drawing more laughter from the group.

One of the group leaders stood up, raising his glass. "To the Foundation, and to the boss who doesn't just lead us, but fights alongside us!"

The room erupted into cheers, glasses raised high.

Leonard held up his own glass, the warm glow of the celebration washing over him. For a brief moment, the weight of leadership felt lighter.

"To all of you," he said, his voice steady and sincere. "You're not just operators. You're the backbone of everything we're trying to build here. Tonight's yours. Enjoy it."

The operators cheered louder, and the festivities carried on late into the night. Even Graves and Alexei eventually joined the table, their earlier stoicism melting away as the camaraderie proved infectious.

For Leonard, surrounded by his team, the night became a rare moment of peace in an otherwise chaotic world.

---

The next morning, Leonard woke up early. Sunlight crept through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. He turned to see his clothes folded neatly on the bedside table, pausing for a moment.

The outfit was simple and unassuming, civilian attire meant to blend in. To Leonard, it felt almost alien. "So… ordinary," he thought, running his hand over the fabric. It had been months since he'd worn anything like this, and the stark contrast to his life over the past two months was jarring.

Shaking off the feeling, he got dressed, the quiet rustling of fabric breaking the stillness of the morning. He adjusted the collar of his shirt and stepped out into the hallway, where a group of operators was already waiting for him.

Unlike their usual tactical outfit, the operators were dressed casually, each carrying a backpack. Their civilian clothing did little to hide their sharp awareness and disciplined demeanor.

Graves arrived shortly after, also in plain attire, a backpack slung over his shoulder. He greeted Leonard with a nod.

"Good morning, boss. Did you sleep well?"

Leonard gave a small smile. "Well enough. And you?"

"I'm fine, sir," Graves replied before gesturing toward the team. "We're ready when you are."

Leonard glanced at the operators, noting the difference in their appearance. He raised an eyebrow. "This is my escort? Looks… a lot smaller than usual."

Graves chuckled lightly. "It's part of the plan, boss. Low profile for this trip. Your team will escort you to the airport and beyond, all while staying discreet. No tactical gear, no large convoy, just enough to keep you secure without drawing attention. I'll be taking a second team on another flight."

Leonard frowned slightly but nodded. "Alright, I see the logic. I trust you, Graves."

"You'll be fine, sir. The program's straightforward. Your team will escort you to Reagan airport. From there, you'll board a flight to Geneva. Once you arrive, a convoy will be waiting to transport you directly to Site-02."

Leonard absorbed the information, nodding slowly. "Sounds like a long day ahead."

"It is, sir. But everything's set up for a smooth trip. Now, shall we get moving?"

Leonard glanced at his team, giving a slight nod. "Let's go."

With that, the group moved down the corridor, their footsteps echoing softly as they headed toward their transport, ready to begin the journey.

They exited the building in a group, heading toward the vehicles parked nearby. The atmosphere was calm, almost ordinary, but a tangible sense of vigilance surrounded the operators. All were dressed in civilian clothes, their backpacks carrying mission essentials.

The operators entered the cars in groups of three. Leonard joined one of the first vehicles with Alexei and another member of the escort. As the first car pulled away, Leonard noticed that the remaining vehicles stayed put.

Curious, he turned to Alexei. "Why aren't the others moving?"

Alexei, seated beside him, replied calmly, "Basic counter-espionage, boss. We leave with a five to fifteen-minute gap between each car. It reduces the chances of attracting attention and makes it harder for anyone trying to follow us."

Leonard nodded, visibly impressed. "I see. Never thought of that."

Alexei smirked faintly. "It's routine for us, but it makes a big difference. Simple but effective."

The drive to the airport was uneventful. Leonard watched the scenery pass by through the window, lost in thought. Upon arrival, the operators discreetly dispersed into the airport, blending into the crowd like ordinary travelers.

Only Alexei remained at Leonard's side, walking alongside him. This prompted Leonard to ask, "Why are you still here? Shouldn't you blend in with the others?"

Alexei responded without missing a beat, "Part of the plan, boss. Someone has to stay close for security and logistics. You're the priority."

They passed through the security gates without incident, moving through the airport with practiced ease. After a few hours of waiting, their flight was finally ready. Leonard and Alexei boarded the plane alongside the scattered operators who blended seamlessly with the other passengers.

As the plane took off, Leonard stretched slightly in his seat, suppressing a yawn. He turned to Alexei, seated beside him. "How long until we land in Geneva?"

Alexei glanced at his watch. "About eight hours."

Leonard sighed in mild frustration. "Wake me up when we get there."

Without another word, Leonard leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, quickly dozing off. Alexei, ever vigilant, waited until he was sure Leonard was asleep. Then, with a casual motion, he slipped a small device from his pocket, a discreet beeper used to communicate in coded Morse with the rest of the team.

He tapped out a message: SITREP

Moments later, the device vibrated subtly in his hand. The silent feedback came from the other operators stationed throughout the plane, each responding with their current status and observations in Morse code.

Alexei read the responses carefully, decoding them in his mind:

"All clear, cabin secure."

"No anomalies detected."

"Flight crew normal, no suspicious activity."

Satisfied with the updates, Alexei returned the beeper to his pocket and settled in, his eyes constantly scanning the cabin as the hours stretched ahead.

---

The dimly lit control room of Site-01 hummed with quiet activity. Rows of monitors displayed everything from radar scans to encrypted communication logs. Agent Monroe sat at his station, headset securely in place, his eyes scanning the data streaming across his screens. His task was clear: ensure that The Administrator's journey remained safe and uneventful.

Fingers tapping on the keyboard, Monroe sifted through transmissions. Civilian air traffic control chatter merged with occasional bursts of encrypted military communications, all of it routine so far. He paused, stretched his shoulders, and glanced at his colleague, Agent Carter, seated at the next console.

"Anything interesting on your end?" Monroe asked casually.

Carter snorted. "Define interesting. I've got a pilot arguing with ground control over a delayed landing. That count?"

Monroe smirked and shook his head. "Guess not. Still, I'd rather have that than something… less mundane."

"Careful what you wish for," Carter warned, sipping from a cup of lukewarm coffee. "This is exactly when things tend to go sideways."

Their banter was interrupted by the arrival of Torres, another agent carrying a tray of fresh coffee. "Morning, gentlemen. Any drama?" she asked, placing the tray down and sliding a cup toward Monroe.

"Not yet," Monroe replied, accepting the coffee gratefully. "Just trying to make sure The Administrator's flight stays boring."

Torres chuckled. "You'd think a transatlantic flight with an entourage of operatives would be hard to miss, but so far, so good?"

"Yeah, everything's quiet." Monroe leaned back in his chair, letting out a small sigh of relief. "Exactly how we like it."

Their conversation drifted to lighter topics: weekend plans, a recent game night at the site, and a particularly chaotic anomaly containment last week that had everyone in stitches during the debrief.

But Monroe's attention never wavered completely from his console. His eyes flicked back to the radar feed and communication logs every few seconds, ensuring nothing slipped through the cracks. The steady routine of monitoring continued, but the air of vigilance remained palpable, ready for the smallest sign of trouble.

The calm atmosphere of the control room shattered as an ear-splitting alarm blared, bathing the room in pulsing red light. Agents scrambled to their stations, hands flying over keyboards and toggling communication switches. The sudden chaos jolted Monroe upright in his chair, spilling his coffee across the console.

"What the hell is going on?" Monroe barked, slamming his headset back on.

"We've got a situation!" an agent a few rows down shouted, his voice tinged with panic. "Sudden Hume density drop detected over the Atlantic! Coordinates uploading now!"

Monroe immediately turned to his screens, his fingers racing over the keyboard as he pulled up the data. On one monitor, a digital map displayed the precise coordinates of the anomaly: a point directly above the open ocean, several thousand feet in the air. A second monitor showed real-time dimensional readings, the numbers plummeting into dangerous territory.

"Dimensional instability confirmed!" another agent called out, their voice sharp. "Potential Knock detected, size and nature unknown!"

Torres, seated next to Monroe, cursed under her breath. "What's causing this? Natural event? Anomaly breach?"

"Doesn't matter right now," Monroe snapped, his focus unyielding. "We need a full analysis ASAP. And someone get me the air traffic feed for that region!"

A live radar display appeared on his primary screen. The faint blips of multiple aircraft moved across the Atlantic corridor, their paths tranquil, except for one. Monroe's heart sank as he spotted a single marker dangerously close to the rift's coordinates.

"Monroe!" Carter's voice rang out. "I've cross-referenced the coordinates. That airspace overlaps with…" He trailed off, his face pale.

"Spit it out!" Monroe snapped, his eyes darting back to the screen.

"It's The Administrator's flight path," Carter finished grimly.

Monroe froze, his stomach twisting as dread took hold. Ignoring the coffee dripping from his console, he punched in commands to verify the positions. A three-dimensional model of the airspace loaded, showing a glowing red rift hovering mere kilometers from the marked location of the Administrator's aircraft.

Time seemed to slow as the data finalized, and Monroe's blood turned to ice. The rift was practically brushing against the plane. His throat tightened, but his voice exploded out:

"THE ADMINISTRATOR IS IN DANGER!"

---

Inside the cockpit of the sleek commercial aircraft, the atmosphere was calm, with the gentle hum of engines providing a backdrop to the pilots' casual conversation.

"You see the game last night?" the pilot, Captain Jeffers, asked, adjusting the autopilot settings. His voice was steady, laced with the easy confidence of years of experience.

The co-pilot, First Officer Ramirez, chuckled. "You mean the absolute disaster the Hornets pulled off? Yeah, caught the highlights this morning. How do you miss that many free throws? It's embarrassing."

Jeffers shook his head, grinning. "It's all mental. They get in their heads too much, and next thing you know, clank, clank, clank. Still, it's early in the season. They might bounce back."

"Not with that coach," Ramirez replied, leaning back in his seat. "The guy's been on the hot seat for years. If they keep this up, he's done."

Jeffers was about to respond when the comms crackled to life, cutting through their conversation like a knife.

"Flight Echo-417, this is Atlantic Air Control. We have updated weather reports for your route. Severe turbulence and wind shear detected ahead. Recommend immediate course correction and return to previous coordinates. Over."

Jeffers frowned, his hand instinctively moving to the controls. "Atlantic Air Control, this is Echo-417. Acknowledged. Preparing for course adjustment. Over."

He glanced at Ramirez, who was already pulling up the radar and weather systems. "Damn. This came out of nowhere," Jeffers muttered.

"Yeah, better safe than sorry," Ramirez said, scanning the data. "Let's turn, " He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes narrowing as he stared ahead through the cockpit window.

"Wait. Do you see that?"

Jeffers looked up sharply, following Ramirez's gaze. Far off in the distance, faint but unmistakable, a strange shimmer cut through the clear blue expanse of the sky. It pulsed faintly, its edges almost liquid, rippling unnaturally as if the air itself were alive.

"What the hell is that?" Jeffers said, his voice tight.

Ramirez squinted, his stomach twisting with unease. "I… I don't know. It's not showing up on radar."

Jeffers leaned forward, flipping a switch to adjust the plane's HUD display, but the anomaly remained absent from their instruments.

"Atlantic Air Control, this is Echo-417," Jeffers said into the comms, his tone urgent. "We've got something… unusual directly ahead. Can you confirm?"

There was a long pause on the other end. Then:

"Echo-417, negative. No anomalies detected on our systems. Please clarify. Over."

Jeffers exchanged a glance with Ramirez, his instincts screaming that something was wrong. "Whatever it is, it's dead ahead. And it's getting closer."

As the shimmering anomaly pulsed ominously in the distance, Jeffers barely had time to react before a shadow streaked out from its center.

"What the hell is that?!" Ramirez shouted, gripping the armrests of his seat as the first shadow expanded, revealing a massive, winged figure.

The creature's form was monstrous, almost reptilian, with jagged wings that crackled with streaks of blue energy. Its eyes glowed like molten fire, and its body appeared to shift between solid and ethereal states.

Before either man could process what they were seeing, three more shadows burst forth, trailing the first, their forms just as grotesque and alien.

The cockpit erupted in alarms as Jeffers slammed his hand onto the controls.

"Mayday! Mayday! This is Echo-417! We are under attack by- " His voice cut off as the entire plane shuddered violently.

A blazing orb of blue energy collided with the right wing, sending sparks and debris spiraling through the air.

"We're hit!" Ramirez yelled, struggling to stabilize the aircraft as it bucked wildly.

Outside the cockpit window, the creatures swarmed the plane like predatory birds, launching orbs of crackling energy that illuminated the sky. Another blast struck the fuselage near the tail, and the sound of metal tearing was deafening.

"They're targeting the engines!" Ramirez shouted.

Jeffers clenched his teeth, his hands flying over the controls. "Hold on! Switching to manual override, "

Another explosion rocked the plane, and the cabin lights flickered. Warning indicators flashed red across the console, the words HYDRAULIC FAILURE and ENGINE MALFUNCTION screaming at them.

Through the chaos, Jeffers kept his eyes locked on the controls, fighting to keep the plane steady. "Atlantic Air Control, this is Echo-417! We're going down, repeat, we are going down! Multiples hostiles !"

Before he could finish, one of the creatures collided with the nose of the plane, its claws raking against the reinforced glass of the cockpit. The impact sent a spiderweb of cracks through the windshield, and the pilots recoiled as the creature's glowing eyes stared them down for a split second before it veered off.

"This can't be real!" Ramirez gasped, frantically flipping switches to reroute power to the remaining engine.

Jeffers, his face pale but determined, glanced at his co-pilot. "It doesn't matter what they are. We have to keep this bird in the air!"

Suddenly, a louder roar erupted outside, and one of the creatures fired a larger sphere of energy directly at the plane's midsection. The impact was catastrophic, blowing a gaping hole into the cargo bay.

The plane lurched violently, and alarms screamed louder than ever.

"We're losing altitude!" Ramirez shouted.

Jeffers pulled the controls with all his strength, his voice a desperate growl. "Come on, come on, stay with me!"

The creatures circled for another pass, their movements too coordinated and intelligent to be random. Ramirez's eyes darted to Jeffers. "They're not just attacking, they're trying to take us down on purpose."

Jeffers nodded grimly, his jaw set. "Then let's make it as hard as possible for them."

The plane plunged further, its engines sputtering, and the dark waters of the Atlantic loomed closer.

The cabin was chaotic. Passengers screamed and clutched at their seats as the plane shook violently under the repeated impacts of the energy blasts. The overhead compartments had burst open, spilling luggage into the aisles, and the air was thick with the acrid smell of burning metal and plastic.

Léonard's eyes snapped open as a particularly violent jolt threw him against his seatbelt. Disoriented, he scanned the cabin, only to see ten operatives of Resh-1 stationed around him, their MP7 submachine guns at the ready, forming a protective perimeter.

"What the hell is going on?" Léonard growled, quickly unbuckling himself and standing up despite the plane's shuddering.

Alexei was crouched near him, barking orders into his radio. His face was grim, and his normally calm demeanor was replaced by raw urgency.

"This is Resh-1, requesting immediate air support! We are under attack by unidentified aerial anomalies! Repeat, urgent air support needed!"

A crackling voice came through the radio, struggling to remain calm despite the chaos. "Resh-1, reinforcements en route. ETA ten minutes. Hold your position until then."

Alexei's face twisted in frustration. "We don't have ten minutes! We're on a civilian aircraft with no defenses, and these things are tearing the plane apart! The Administrator is onboard, goddammit! MOVE!"

Another blast rocked the plane, and passengers screamed as the lights flickered. Léonard steadied himself against a seat, his mind racing.

"Alexei!" he snapped, his voice cutting through the noise. "What are we dealing with?"

Alexei looked at him, his expression grim. "Unknown entities, sir. They emerged from a dimensional anomaly mid-flight. We've got at least four confirmed hostiles targeting the plane with energy-based attacks. They're fast, coordinated, and we're sitting ducks."

One of the operatives near the window cursed, pulling back the curtain slightly. "Sir, one of them's coming in for another pass!"

The entire plane lurched again as another energy orb struck the fuselage. Sparks rained down from the ceiling, and several passengers huddled together, sobbing.

Léonard clenched his fists, forcing himself to think clearly despite the chaos. "Do we have any defensive options at all?"

Alexei shook his head, teeth gritted. "Not in this tin can. We've got firearms, but they're useless against whatever the hell these things are."

Another operative chimed in, his voice tense. "We've secured the exits and reinforced the cockpit door, but if they breach the hull, it's over."

The radio crackled again. "Resh-1, maintain position. Reinforcements ETA nine minutes. Confirmed hostile engagement."

Alexei slammed a fist against the seat in frustration. "Nine minutes might as well be nine hours. These things are picking us apart!"

The plane shuddered again, and this time a deafening roar echoed through the cabin, as if one of the creatures was clawing at the hull itself.

Léonard's mind raced. "We need to keep this plane together until backup arrives. Form a perimeter, calm the passengers, and focus on securing the cockpit. If these things get control of the plane, we're all dead."

Alexei nodded sharply. "Understood, sir. Resh-1, you heard him! Defensive positions now!"

The operatives moved quickly, splitting into groups to cover the aisles and reassure the passengers. Alexei stayed close to Léonard, gripping his MP7 tightly.

Through the chaos, Léonard could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on him. This wasn't just an attack, it was a direct, calculated assault, and he was certain of one thing: this wasn't a coincidence.

The chaos in the cabin grew louder as Léonard shoved past panicked passengers and slammed against the reinforced cockpit door. Alexei followed closely behind with three operatives of Resh-1, all armed and tense.

"Step aside!" Alexei barked to the flight attendants, who were already paralyzed with fear. Léonard gave a single nod, and one of the operatives planted a breaching tool against the door.

With a deafening pop and hiss, the door blasted open, revealing the cockpit in absolute disarray. Warning alarms blared incessantly, and the faint glow of the instrument panels reflected the sweat-streaked faces of the pilot and co-pilot. Outside the windshield, streaks of unnatural blue energy crackled like lightning across an ominous void, the view twisting and warping as if the very fabric of reality were being torn apart.

"What are you doing here?!" the pilot screamed, his hands locked on the yoke as he struggled to stabilize the violently shuddering aircraft.

Léonard didn't waste time with explanations. "Get out of those seats. Now."

"We're losing altitude! We need to-"

The co-pilot didn't finish his sentence. Alexei struck him clean across the temple with the butt of his MP7, rendering him unconscious. Another operative grabbed the pilot, dragging him from the seat with surprising ease, ignoring his protests and cries.

"Alexei!" Léonard shouted as the plane pitched downward. "Get us stable!"

Alexei slid into the pilot's seat, his hands a blur as he scanned the unfamiliar controls. He wasn't a trained pilot, but Resh-1 operatives were drilled on basic aircraft systems for emergencies. Behind him, another operative moved the unconscious pilots to the rear of the cockpit, making room for Léonard to lean over Alexei's shoulder.

"We're still dropping!" Alexei growled, his fingers darting over the control panel.

"Throttle up!" Léonard shouted, pointing.

Alexei adjusted the throttle, but the yoke trembled violently under his grip. The plane's descent slowed marginally, but the warning alarms still blared, and the view outside grew darker, an unearthly black horizon illuminated only by flashes of blue energy from the pursuing anomalies.

"We can't pull up," Alexei muttered, his voice grim. "The turbulence is too strong, and we're already inside its gravity well."

"What gravity well?" Léonard asked, his eyes narrowing.

One of the operatives, monitoring the situation from a tablet linked to the aircraft's systems, answered. "Sir, we're being pulled into the dimensional anomaly. It's exerting massive gravitational forces. If we stay on this trajectory, we're going in."

"And if we try to climb out?" Léonard asked.

The operative hesitated. "Engines can't handle the strain. We'll stall."

Léonard's mind raced. The aircraft wasn't equipped to handle this kind of situation, and air support was still minutes away. He glanced outside the windshield, where the shadows of the attacking entities zipped through the air with inhuman speed.

Suddenly, a crackling blue orb smashed into the right wing, sending the plane into another violent shudder. Alexei swore under his breath as he fought to keep the yoke steady.

"We don't have a choice," Alexei said through gritted teeth. "If we stay out here, they'll tear us apart."

Léonard exhaled sharply, his decision made. "Take us in. We'll deal with whatever's on the other side."

Alexei didn't question him. He adjusted the plane's trajectory, angling it directly toward the swirling anomaly ahead. The black-and-blue vortex dominated the sky now, its edges radiating an unnatural glow.

The operatives braced themselves, securing their positions. One of them turned to Léonard. "Sir, are you sure about this?"

Léonard didn't look away from the vortex. "Do you see any other options?"

The operative swallowed hard but nodded.

As the aircraft approached the anomaly, the turbulence intensified, slamming everyone against their restraints. The instruments on the control panel went haywire, the dials spinning erratically as the plane was dragged closer.

"Brace for entry!" Alexei shouted, gripping the yoke tightly.

The last thing Léonard saw before the plane was swallowed by the anomaly was a brilliant flash of blue light, brighter than anything he had ever seen. Then, everything went dark.

———-

a "Knock" also known as a Newman-Hyatt Key, refers to an object designed to unlock access to specific "Ways." "Ways" are portals or passages that facilitate travel between different locations, dimensions, or realms within the anomalous world. Each Way has a unique method of activation, often requiring a specific ritual, action, or the use of a particular object, the Knock, to function.