"We have a Code Black situation! I repeat, Code Black! We received a duress code from Gao Executive Tower, there are nineteen supposed hostages including Prime Minister's daughter. The White-Mask Terrorist Organization is currently claiming responsibility, though there is little evidence to verify this. This message is being sent through Channel Seven, over and out."
"Copy that from Channel Four! I've forwarded your message, and we currently have two teams being evaluated, one is being lead by Elias 'Blitz' Kötz, while the other team is being lead by Maxim 'Kapkan' Basuda. The Russians sent in numerous complaints that they weren't getting enough leadership positions. At least they didn't inaugurate Kessikbayev as authority for a hostage scenario. Anyways, we have the press on scene, I would advise them to be discreet. Checking out."
"Will do. I just received the rosters for the teams. Basuda's team will consist of defensive and technical specialists, including second in command Streicher, followed by (L/N), de Luca, Nizan, and Kateb. We're still awaiting the composition of Kötz' squad. Over and out."
In Dominic's right hand, he gyre a hoary cigarette. In his left, he yield a metallic lighter, erratically flicking the spark-wheel. He sit on a lumber crate, the timber screeching among the concrete of the helipad, watching the freighters who vie to load stocks of arbalests, ammunition, and prophylactics attentively. He cursorily deposit Marlboro between his chapped lips, emanating a plume of cinders and smoke.
"Dominic, you came to say goodbye to me! How lovely." Maxim mock, promenading towards him and coercing his neckerchief beneath the stubble which pepper his chin. He brandish a tenuous smirk, desiccating his toned appendages over his bosom, followed by Dominic who shrug.
"Of course, just for you liebling," Dominic beleaguer at Maxim, "just be safe out there, this mission isn't going to be easy." Dominic caution as Maxim saunter abroad, clutching his verdant coif and kepi, preventing it from being fanned by the gale. He squint, his picturesque cerulean eyes resting upon Dominic's slouching chassis.
"I understand now. Dominic, you look distressed, ironic considering you're not going into combat. It's a look I know all too well. Its her, isn't it? If it makes you feel better, I can give (Y/N) a message, I'm her team captain after all."
"Your years of wisdom have done you well. Nope, nothing that I haven't already said. I just want to keep it sweet and to the point."
"Sure."
Dominic nod with curtesy, cramming his hands into his pockets and leaning into the hyperborean draft. He revere the panorama of the dramatic dusk firmament. The spectacle was apocalyptic, a crimson backdrop highlighted by an amalgamation of ominous marigold and lavander cumuli. A miasma of thin fog encompass the celebrated Liede overpass, obscuring the Xi river and the abstract metropolitan skyline. His breath always culminate at the panoply. He twist the cool doorknob and enter, sighing as he contact the balmy interior air.
He kick the door shut, cascading down the escalade languidly. He interlude, reclining against the rusting alloy palisade, espying the sight of you haphazardly clambering to codify your apparatuses. Aria de Luca, a young woman contracted under the pseudonym of "Alibi," wrap her bough around your waist, vellicating the stubborn back-zipper of your vest with a grunt. You reciprocate favor, your hands quivering due to sleep deprecation and apprehension. Dominic pity your antsy state, watching survey your surroundings, fidgeting with the charm which pendulated from your gun. Your gaze meets his.
"Have fun and don't kill yourself on accident. Arnot will punish us all if you mess up. I heard that Six looking for an executive position in the U.S. Government, so don't rob her of that opportunity." He confess as you scan his lanky frame aloofly, your lips subsequently tugging into a prudent simper. You shake your head with a cachinnate, dismissing his banter. He tug at his calico textile bandana, concealing his cheeks, rosy from the algid weather outside. You escalate the stairwell as he juxtaposingly descend. As your shoulders graze, he glance once more towards you.
"Your pistol, it's in the wrong pocket." Dominic comment.
"Oh! Sorry, I got ready in a rush, didn't expect a mission this early in the morning. Thanks, you probably just saved me a beating from Maxim!"
"I don't know which would be worse, participating one of the largest counter-terrorist attacks in history, or being condemned by Basuda. I would go for the former." He jest.
"It's just another day in the business, right Dom'?" You inquire comically with a chuckle. He facetiously roll his eyes before offering a lethargic salute. His heart was throbbing in dolor.
Your burke the perturbing knob, lackadaisically pushing open the door. There was an atmosphere of a premature morning as you insufflate the gelid, polluted air. Approximately twenty technicians scamper about two helicopters conspicuously, emphatically clamoring to assess the vehicle. The rogue cilium unrestrained by your armor went berserk among the revolution of the chopper's blades.
You delegate your hands to the helicopter's carapace and ascend among some scaffolding, an unyielding hand gripping your scapula and heaving you intramural. Marius lug your thorax and legs into the alcove whilst Maxim canter behind him, auditing your synergy with a stern bore.
"Thank you." You articulated, nodding your head.
"Not a problem." He contest cordially while popping his lips, tenderly squeezing your shoulder before absolving. He squat among the aperture, extending his palms for the Italian before asperously vellicating her into the cabin. She briefly seethe, bashing her abdomen on the foyer. Maxim aid her, gandering towards Marius who mutter an unapologetic redress.
"Damn you, you're completely shameless, Marius."
Aria click her tongue, disposing between the cantankerous men and snagging onto the hilts overhead. Her aplomb in vexing situations was admirable. Though perspiration accumulate among her hairline, her visage portrays repletion. Her umber and lissome fingers nimbly pull up her bandana and goggles. Marius respire, peering at his wristwatch.
"It's getting close... we depart in five minutes, and every second draws nearer. See, it's a little over four minutes now." Marius allege, enervated. He indolently chafe with pealing laminate on the bulwark of the Helicopter.
"Don't bother look at the time. It does not help us." Maxim retort.
"Don't bother to be condescending then." Marius reciprocate, composing his posture. Maxim glower, his brows varnished in a thin laminate of malachite pigment. You perch, harnessing yourself into the chopper. Gustave emulate your actions, tapping his uzi against the mortar flooring, followed by Maxim and Marius who enter the cabin. Marius cross his legs, wrapping his fingers against his denim trousers. Maxim repose, monitoring his squadron with pulchritudinous cobalt eyes.
Marius recline besides you, his adroit fingers flicking with the grant selvage of his vest. His headgear tilt towards you before genially taking your listless mitt in his. His lips were static; sealed collinearly. Contact was his coping mechanism, recognizing that the mission was not going to be convivial. His hands lax and he begins massaging reassuring circles. He bow towards your ear, and with a torrid and labored breath, he murmur:
"Good luck, we're going to need it."
YOU ARE READING
Redacted: Rainbow Six Siege Various! x Reader
Romance"That morning I learned how it feels to lose everything you've ever worked for. Do you know how it feels to fall from the title of a hero, only to be rebranded as a villain? Do you know how it feels to have your name redacted from the history books...
