Prologue Part 3 - The End of an Era

September 11, 2001. 21:00. Paris.

The city was ablaze, consumed by fire all the way to the skyline. Reds and oranges flickered wildly, staining the darkened Parisian night. The streets were a vision straight from hell, strewn with corpses of civilians and Tanwir fighters alike, tangled among the wreckage of burnt-out cars and toppled streetlights. Apartment homes and storefronts stood hollow, their windows shattered and doors blown off their hinges. Smoke hung heavy in the air, choking out any possibility of hope, while the acrid stench of burnt flesh and chemicals seared the lungs of those still breathing.

Sirens echoed endlessly, a grim soundtrack to the aftermath of chaos as police and paramedics moved between apprehended Tanwir fighters and injured civilians. Firefighters fought a losing battle against the flames, dragging what little remained of the living from the ruins.

Castle stood amongst the carnage, staring at the lifeless body of a woman hunched protectively over her child. Her stillness was haunting, a painful reminder of the UNSAF's failure. He caught his reflection in the shattered glass of a nearby storefront—a herculean man with black buzzed hair and beige skin. Castle's UNSAF combat uniform was caked with grime and streaked with blood that wasn't his own. His tired eyes flicked back to the street, where bodies of friends and comrades lay scattered among the rubble. The sound of sirens and distant cries filled the air, but to Castle, they felt muted.

This was the aftermath of the battle between the UNSAF and the Tanwir—a multicorporation-funded special forces unit representing many nations. The best of the best? What a joke. That night, their supposed expertise had culminated in a massacre. Several thousand lay dead, and countless more bore wounds, both physical and mental, that would never heal. Castle had spent the last few hours trying to plug as many leaks as possible, but it was all in vain.

Castle looked around the destroyed city while wandering aimlessly near the base of the Eiffel Tower. Earlier, the landmark had narrowly avoided destruction. The Tanwir rigged it with explosives and used it as a staging point for their assault, turning a symbol of French pride into a monument of terror. Now, its legs were scorched, with cables and detonators still strapped haphazardly along their length—a once-majestic presence now overshadowed by the devastation surrounding it.

The operation had been a disaster. Intelligence had been faulty—no, worse, it had been suspiciously incompetent. Hijacked flights, stolen weapons and chemicals, thousands of terrorists slipping through the border, and Paris's infrastructure rigged to blow. How in the hell could they have pulled it off without foreign aid?

Castle couldn't shake his conversation with R-1, a trusted friend he had known since before the UNSAF was even formed. In hindsight, the information they had been fed reeked of half-truths—as if someone had wanted them to fail. What he had initially suspected now felt more certain than ever, especially after his time overseeing previous UNSAF operations. Even during the debriefing hours before today, Castle had felt a gnawing sense of dread, and now he was sure: this wasn't just a tactical error; it had been sabotage. But who was behind it, and why?

Castle's thoughts were interrupted as UNSAF engineers moved tirelessly past him, carrying deactivated explosives. Several dozen devices were still rigged to blow all around the Eiffel Tower, and only recently had the UNSAF even secured the area. At the rate they were going, it was clear they wouldn't finish before dawn. The entire infrastructure of Paris had been destroyed by an enemy everyone had thought was under-equipped, but in reality, they had gear almost on par with the UNSAF.

An engineer briefly bumped shoulders with Castle. "'Scuse me, sir," the man said quickly. Castle stepped aside to give him room, nodding.

"You're all good," Castle replied. His voice was calm, but his chest felt heavy. Nearby, he saw the remnants of R-Team moving among the wreckage, carrying the limp bodies of fallen soldiers. R-1 caught his eye while dropping a stretcher alongside another soldier. R-1's movements were sluggish. Although he still wore a full uniform with a helmet covering his face, it was clear to Castle that he had lost a piece of himself today. When their eyes met, R-1 straightened and offered a weary salute. Castle waved him over. "R-1?"

R-1 approached, his movements stiff with fatigue. His usually sharp movements were dulled by exhaustion. The two men exchanged a look that conveyed more than words ever could. For a moment, the chaos around them seemed to quiet.

"How many do you think are dead?" R-1's voice was hoarse, and Castle noticed fresh blood on his gloves—someone else's, no doubt.

"Too many," Castle muttered, his voice low and heavy. "Civilians, soldiers… this whole thing's a slaughterhouse."

R-1 nodded grimly. "This city's gone to hell. We're still finding bodies..." His words trailed off, swallowed by the inferno around them.

Castle didn't respond, but his silence spoke volumes. He surveyed the scene: survivors of the attack being escorted by UNSAF soldiers, children clinging to their parents with wide, terrified eyes. In the distance, a group of soldiers worked tirelessly to clear nearby rubble, their movements sluggish with exhaustion.

Then something caught Castle's attention—a teenager, brown-skinned, male with black hair, dressed in regular civilian baggy clothing, standing just a little too still amidst the chaos. He was watching the soldiers, his gaze a strange mix of fear, hesitation, focus, and calculation. Something about him felt wrong. The boy occasionally glanced at several street corners. Castle's eyes narrowed at the odd behaviour.

"You see that kid?" he asked R-1, nodding toward the teenager.

R-1 followed his gaze and stiffened. "Yeah. Something's off."

They both watched as the boy moved toward the rubble, his movements not frantic but deliberate, purposeful. Nearby paramedics and UNSAF soldiers continued to clear debris, too focused on their tasks to notice the boy's presence.

Time seemed to slow as Castle's and R-1's instincts kicked in. He's one of them. The child soldier crept closer to the corpses of dead Tanwir and nearby UNSAF soldiers. From beneath his baggy clothing, he pulled out a handgun—small enough to have been hidden discreetly. He raised it, aiming at someone nearby.

Before R-1 and Castle could act, chaos erupted. A gunshot rang out, and a UNSAF soldier crumpled to the ground. Blood gushed from a wound in his neck. Another soldier turned around, noticing his fallen teammate. He too was shot, in the stomach, and collapsed with a scream of pain. Shouts of confusion filled the air as Castle spotted the teenager grabbing something off the ground—a remote detonator. Nearby civilians scattered for cover again, while others frantically turned toward the source of the commotion.

"Shit!" Castle roared, already moving. "Stop that kid!" He hadn't anticipated a second round of chaos after the initial firefight had died down. His tired body ached, but he forced himself to chase after the boy.

The boy bolted toward the Eiffel Tower, clutching the detonator as if his life depended on it. Soldiers shouted and scrambled to pursue him, but he was fast. He weaved through the rubble with the agility of someone desperate. He reached the elevator first, and the doors slid shut just as Castle and R-1 arrived.

Castle slammed his fist against the elevator door. "FUCK!" Panic and frustration laced his voice. "Radio the squads! That kid's got a damn detonator—he's heading to the top!" His tone was a mix of fury and urgency. "Cut the power!"

R-1 nodded sharply. "We'll take the manual route!" He turned to R-Team and barked an order. "Grapples, now!"

Within seconds, R-Team moved as one, readying their climbing gear. They pulled out grappling guns and fired upward with practiced precision, while other UNSAF squads followed suit or charged toward the tower's staircases. One by one, the various teams latched onto metal beams and railings, their equipment hissing and clinking as they ascended. R-Team zipped upward at a pace that matched the elevator's, closing the gap with disciplined determination.

On the ground, Castle snagged a headset and barked orders into his comms. Multiple squads joined the pursuit, their silhouettes darting across the Eiffel Tower's skeletal frame as they scaled its heights.

"Eyes only! Do not fire unless I give the go-ahead!" Castle shouted. In the distance, he spotted pairs of UNSAF soldiers leaping across rooftops, trying to position themselves. Was Paris really going to face one more disaster before the night was over? Castle's heart raced as the cacophony of voices in his headset merged into a chaotic symphony. He forced himself to push past the fear and keep giving commands.

Most civilians in the area fled from the Eiffel Tower, their panic palpable. However, some lingered at a distance, drawn by morbid curiosity. They gathered behind barricades of police cars and SWAT vans, their eyes fixed on the unfolding standoff. The flickering flames in the distance painted their faces with a haunting glow as they waited to see how the night would end. 

Not wasting any more time, Castle ran toward a nearby armoured truck and jumped into the back, where multiple screens were plastered to the walls. The entire truck was connected to numerous cameras throughout the city and was also capable of controlling nearby drones. Each screen displayed a different angle of the city, and only a few soldiers were manning the station. Castle quickly moved over to one of the operators and pointed at one of the middle screens.

"Eiffel Tower, I want every camera nearby on it!" he ordered.

The operator gave a quick nod and rapidly switched between camera feeds stationed throughout the area. On the middle screen, Castle watched as the teen's elevator jerked to a halt—the power had been cut by UNSAF. But by then, the boy had already pulled out a handgun and shot through the elevator's glass, climbing out to reach the next floor.

R-Team was the first to make it to the same floor, and they chased after him. Castle's mouth went dry as he watched the scene unfold on the screen.

The boy aimed his gun at the incoming UNSAF and opened fire. The wild shots forced the soldiers to dive for cover behind metal beams and railings. The boy retreated into a utility room, slamming the door shut behind him. Castle tapped another screen and looked at the operator.

"Get a drone on this one. I want a view of the room."

The operator nodded and took control of one of the drones, piloting it closer to a window overlooking the utility room. Castle leaned forward, his eyes glued to the feed, and pressed a button to increase the volume.

The drone's camera feed showed the boy inside, breathing heavily, his gun trained on the door. Behind him, a man cowered in the corner, while a woman and two children remained trapped under the rubble.

Castle's stomach twisted. "Shit. He's got hostages."

The boy moved quickly, shooting the man in the thigh and grabbing him by the neck just as the door opened. The man let out a scream of agony, collapsing to the floor and writhing in pain. R-Team entered the room cautiously, their rifles raised and trained on the boy, who yelled at them.

"I-I WILL KILL THIS MAN!" he screamed. One of his arms held the handgun aimed directly at the man's head, while the other clutched the detonator tightly.

R-Team froze, their movements halted by the impossible tension in the room. Castle gritted his teeth and took control of the radio.

"All teams except R-Team, back away from the room," he commanded. On the nearby screens, other UNSAF squads stopped advancing and pulled back. Castle bit his lip, nervously swallowing hard as his heart pounded in his chest.

"R-Team, he has a gun in one hand and the detonator in the other. No sudden moves." 

The tension on the ground had reached a breaking point as the sound of a vehicle pulling up cut through the chaos. Castle frowned and glanced outside to see a black armoured vehicle come to a halt. Militech. The company insignia gleamed ominously in the flickering firelight. Out stepped Kingston, a young white man with sharp features that matched his tailored suit and long slicked-back hair. His glasses caught the reflection of the distant flames. Flanked by armed guards and accompanied by other corporate executives, Kingston exuded an aura of control that made Castle's blood boil.

The moment Kingston arrived, UNSAF soldiers deferred to him. His presence was a grim reminder of who truly called the shots. Castle's jaw clenched as Kingston approached, his gaze sweeping over the destruction with a calm detachment that felt almost cruel. Kingston raised an eyebrow at Castle and spoke in a tone that managed to be both professional and condescending.

"Status, Castle?"

Castle straightened, forcing himself to keep his composure. "Kid's holed up on the first floor with a detonator. He's got hostages. We've cut the power, but he's armed. R-Team is holding position."

Kingston adjusted his glasses, his expression unreadable. "Are the snipers in position?"

"Yes, but I've ordered them to hold fire."

Kingston's eyebrow arched as he turned his cold, unyielding gaze on Castle. "They're paid to take the shot if necessary. Let's not waste resources debating morality."

Castle's fists tightened as he stepped between Kingston and the truck with the screens. His voice came low but firm. "He's just a kid, Kingston. You really want to add 'killing a child' to tonight's headlines?"

Kingston smirked faintly, the hint of amusement not reaching his eyes. "The world's watching, Castle." He moved closer, tapping Castle lightly on the chest with his finger. "What matters is results, not sentiment."

Beyond the barricades, a growing crowd of survivors and reporters gathered. News helicopters circled overhead, their spotlights illuminating the chaotic scene below. The noise was overwhelming—shouts from the crowd blended with the mechanical drone of helicopters. Fear, anger, and confusion rippled through the mob, their emotions feeding off each other. Castle felt his heart rate spike as he surveyed the situation.

Shooting bad guys? That was easy—he'd done it countless times and had personally trained most of the UNSAF soldiers here. But handling the shit show tonight? Who could even manage that? The world was watching, and any misstep could mean catastrophe—not just for the mission, but for everyone involved.

UNSAF soldiers and local police struggled to keep the crowd back. Every camera lens was fixed on the Eiffel Tower, broadcasting the standoff to the world. Castle's mind raced. This couldn't end in bloodshed—not here, not like this.

Kingston lightly pushed Castle to the side and stepped into the truck. "Move, Castle."

"I—" Castle balled his hands into fists but fought the urge to punch Kingston on the spot. Too many eyes were on him, and he needed to remain composed. Instead, he followed Kingston inside the truck to watch the feed.

Inside the utility room, R-Team held their position, their weapons at the ready but lowered slightly. The boy's voice rang out, trembling but defiant. "S-Stay back! I'll—I'll blow us all up!"

In the corner of the room, a woman sobbed while clutching two wailing children. A man lay on the floor nearby, his thigh forming a deep red pool as he struggled to breathe. Kingston stared at the screen with cold indifference plastered across his face. He reached over, grabbed one of the headsets, and placed it on his head.

"This is Kingston to team," he began. Castle glanced at a few of the other screens, which displayed various angles of snipers positioned on nearby rooftops. Kingston continued without pause. "Sniper team, keep your rifles trained on the kid. If R-Team screws up, take the shot—head only. Make it quick."

Castle grabbed Kingston by the shoulder, barely able to contain his anger. "Do you even hear what you're saying?! That's a FUCKING CHILD!"

Kingston brushed Castle's hand off with a casual motion. His expression didn't change. "Castle, as far as I'm concerned, that 'child' has hostages and a detonator that could blow the Eiffel Tower sky high. He gave up his rights the moment he signed up to be a terrorist."

"He doesn't know any better! He's wrapped up in a fucked-up conspiracy!" Castle's voice was raw, his desperation clear.

"Castle, are you questioning me?" Kingston's tone carried a razor edge. "Don't forget who calls the shots. If needed, I can pull you off the team right now and ruin any chance you have of employment ever again."

"You're threatening me?" Castle asked, his voice trembling with a mix of fury and disbelief.

Kingston almost smirked, but the expression quickly faded as his gaze drifted back to the screens. "No, I'm stating the facts."

Castle took a deep, steadying breath and backed away from Kingston. He lowered his voice, forcing himself to sound calm. "Alright, I apologize. Just… give R-Team a chance to de-escalate," he said. It took everything in him to not assault Kingston right then and there. Instead, Castle lowered his head in a gesture that felt almost pitiful. "Please, sir."

Kingston considered for a moment, then gave a curt nod. "Of course, I'm nothing if not generous."

Back on the screen, R-1 took a cautious step forward, lowering his weapon slightly. "Listen, kid. You don't want to do this. We can help you, but you've got to let those people go." The rest of R-Team nervously shifted their gazes, but R-1 kept his composure.

The boy's gun wavered, his resolve cracking under the weight of the situation. Behind him, the woman clutched her children tightly, with tears streaming down her face. R-1 gently lowered his rifle, placing it on the floor. He locked eyes with the boy and continued speaking in a steady, soft voice.

"Kid, what's your name? How old are you?" The boy's dark eyes darted between R-1 and the hostages, his hand twitching on the detonator.

"Y-Yasir. I'm turning ten soon," he stammered, his voice cracking. As R-1 took a singular step forward, Yasir raised the gun and pointed it at him. "Don't come closer!"

"Okay, Yasir." R-1 crouched slightly, lowering his profile. "I hear you. You've been through hell tonight, haven't you? All this chaos… this isn't where you wanted to be." R-1 remained still, his hands slowly raised in the air.

Yasir's lips quivered, his resolve faltering. "They promised… they said it'd bring my family back."

Behind him, the woman sobbed quietly, clutching her children. R-1 glanced at her briefly before focusing on Yasir again. "Who promised? The Tanwir? They lied to you, Yasir. Look around—there's no bringing back anyone this way. You're just another tool in the shed, same as us."

Castle's chest tightened as he listened to R-1's words over the comms. He glanced at Kingston, who showed almost no reaction, his attention fixed on the screen. The only sign of emotion Castle could detect was the faint clicking of Kingston's tongue—a subtle display of impatience.

Over the radio, one of the snipers' voices broke through, barely masking their discomfort. "Permission to disengage, sir? I—he's just a kid. I don't think I can—"

"No," Kingston interrupted coldly, pressing the headset closer to his ear. "You're paid to take the shot, so take it if R-Team fails. This isn't a debate—end of story."

Castle's jaw tightened as he glared daggers at Kingston from behind. The urge to knock the man out simmered just beneath the surface, but Castle forced himself to stay composed, his fists clenched at his sides. 

On the screen, Yasir's grip on the detonator loosened. His shoulders shook as he sobbed openly, the weight of the situation crashing down on him. "I just… I didn't know what else to do," he whispered.

"You're not alone, Yasir," R-1 said gently, stepping closer. "Let's fix this together. Just put the detonator down, and we'll figure it out." R-Team stayed behind their leader, cautious not to risk escalating the situation by moving forward. Yasir, on the other hand, looked at R-1 with uncertain eyes. He hesitated, his fingers trembling over the trigger.

"What will happen to me?" he asked, his voice cracking.

"We'll take you somewhere safe, and then we'll figure this whole mess out."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Slowly, Yasir lowered the device to the floor. A collective sigh of relief swept through the comm channels. R-1 moved carefully, separating the boy from the injured man, who was still bleeding profusely.

"Hostages secured," R-1 reported. "Kid's cooperating. Send medics for the injured."

Castle leaned against the truck, exhaustion pressing down on him as the adrenaline drained from his body. The rest of the events blurred together. Yasir was escorted out by UNSAF soldiers, his small frame dwarfed by the armoured figures surrounding him. The woman and the children followed, clinging to each other as paramedics rushed to assist them and the injured man. The faint sound of cameras clicking and reporters speaking into microphones echoed in the background.

Kingston, flanked by the other executives, stepped forward to address the gathered media. The crowd roared with questions, their cameras capturing every detail. Castle stayed back, watching the spectacle unfold. The UNSAF had done their job, but this wasn't a victory—it was theatre.

To Castle's relief, R-Team returned, their shoulders slumped with fatigue. For the first time that night, R-1 removed his helmet, revealing the soft, gentle features of a young blonde German man. His hair was damp with sweat, and his face bore the weight of the night's horrors. The rest of R-Team sat nearby, quietly decompressing, but R-1 seemed to have something else on his mind.

His face, lined with exhaustion, also carried a flicker of anger. "Permission to speak plainly, sir?" he asked, with a steady voice despite the turmoil in his eyes. Castle nodded, straightening up to give R-1 his full attention. 

"Granted." 

"Austin, what the fuck was this all for?" R-1 muttered, dropping the pretenses of their roles.

Austin sighed, letting his facade as Castle fade away. He nodded, sadness etched deeply into his face.

"I don't know anymore. This entire night feels like a shitty dream."

R-1 leaned against a crumbling wall, his gaze distant. "What do you think this was all for? The bad intel, the Tanwir being so well-supplied. They couldn't have pulled this off alone."

"No, they couldn't. This was a setup, it's—" The realization hit R-1 mid-sentence. His eyes widened as he looked toward the executives basking in the media's spotlight. When he spoke again, his voice was calm but laced with unmistakable fury. He figured it out. "A goddamn marketing scheme..."

Castle saw where R-1's mind was going, and it clicked for him too. He turned sharply toward the armoured truck. They didn't even need to speak; years of working together had honed their ability to understand each other without words. They had arrived at the same conclusion.

"Oh… fuck no…" Austin growled as he waved for R-1 to follow him.

The truck, now emptied of operators, was eerily quiet, with only the inactive hum of its computers breaking the silence. Austin sat at a terminal, his fingers flying across the keyboard. Search results began flooding the screen almost instantly. R-1 leaned in, reading the headlines aloud with rising anger.

"'UNSAF: Tragic Heroes Without Enough Funding.'" 

Castle scrolled further.

"'Nations Grant Corporations Additional Funding and Freedom of Expansion for National Security.'"

Another scroll.

"'Corporation Market Values Skyrocket to New Heights.'"

R-1 stopped reading out loud after the third headline. A heavy silence fell between them, broken only by the hum of the computers. Both men stared at the screen, their faces a mix of anger and quiet horror. After a long pause, Castle finally spoke, his words dripping with bitterness.

"And we were the pawns. Convenient."

The weight of their realization settled over them like a suffocating blanket. Anger and helplessness churned within both men. Castle's fists clenched as his thoughts drifted to the executives outside, revelling in the chaos they had orchestrated. For a fleeting moment, the idea of punching—or even killing—those responsible flickered in his mind, and he suspected R-1 was thinking the same.

But both of them knew it wouldn't matter. The damage was done. The corporations had already won. No action they took now could undo what had happened.

R-1 let out a low growl, then sighed heavily, closing his eyes and tilting his head back toward the ceiling of the truck. "What'll you do now, Austin? What's next? I doubt the UNSAF will be around for much longer." 

Austin turned to his friend, his expression hollow and dejected. His voice was soft, barely audible. 

"I'll stay until they disband us. But after that? I have no clue—maybe find work back home. You've never met my family, but I've got a wife and daughter waiting for me," 

"Oh?"

"My wife, she's beautiful." Austin let out a chuckle, an attempt to lighten the mood now that they were talking about something more personal. The thought of his family brought a genuine smile to his face. "And my daughter, she's got a gift—fast reflexes, heightened senses, and she's a quick learner. The doctors say she's 'gifted.' I'd like to see her grow up."

Noah opened his eyes and looked back at Austin. "Haha, she takes after you. Maybe I could meet your family someday."

"You're always welcome, Noah. I'm only a phone call away."

"Much appreciated."

"What about you? What do you plan on doing?" Austin asked, tilting his head slightly, curiosity etched on his face.

"I don't know," Noah admitted, his gaze hardening. "But I know this won't be over. I have no intention of joining the corporations in whatever future they want." Austin raised an eyebrow.

"How do you plan on doing that?" 

"I'm done being their tool," Noah said firmly. "I don't know how or when, but I'll fight back. One day, they'll regret using us. It doesn't matter if it takes a year or several decades—I'll find a way."

Austin smiled at Noah, a mix of pride and quiet hope. He knew better than to try and stop him. Besides, maybe Noah really could make a difference someday.

Noah returned a thin smile, a moment of mutual understanding passing between the two men.

"Anyways," Noah said, his voice softening, "I think for now, I just want to rest. I wish you the best wherever you go." 

"Agreed—and likewise, Noah. Good luck; I think you'll need it." The two men exchanged one final handshake before parting ways.

The rest of the night blurred by for everyone. R-Team and many other UNSAF soldiers gathered quietly, their conversations subdued. Some spoke about quitting, the weight of the night too much to bear. Others sat in silence, lost in their thoughts. Regardless of their feelings, each team was eventually loaded into armoured trucks and sent out of the city to rest—or at least attempt to.

Austin stayed behind, watching as the soldiers filed into their transports. One by one, their silhouettes disappeared into the hulking vehicles. In stark contrast, the executives lingered, basking in the spotlight. They spun their narrative with polished ease, manipulating the masses through interviews. The crowd, desperate for clarity or perhaps simply something to believe in, seemed all too eager to swallow the lies. The world was moving on from the so-called "terrorist plot."

Should he be moving on too? Austin stared at the crowd, barely able to keep himself awake. With a weary sigh, he lowered himself onto the damaged road. He rested his elbows on his knees as he contemplated. Noah wasn't moving on, that much was certain. But Austin wasn't Noah. He shook his head, exhaling slowly. He was no longer a young man with the time or energy to fight battles that seemed impossible. He was a married man nearing forty, with responsibilities waiting for him at home. Not that he was complaining—he loved his wife and daughter dearly.

Noah, still in his twenties though, had the fire and freedom to defy the corporations. But how far would he get? That much was uncertain.

And so, Austin sat alone as the distant hum of trucks faded into the night. The once-chaotic sounds of the city had given way to an eerie quiet. His thoughts drifted to his family. Would they be proud of him? Or ashamed of the things he'd done in the name of duty? Could he even bring himself to tell them the truth about what had happened, or would he simply let sleeping dogs lie?

He didn't know. All he knew was that he wanted to go home.