The Operator Between Worlds [ONGOING]

Chapter 1: Blood Brothers

The desert sun was merciless, hanging in the sky like a cruel overseer. The heat warped the horizon, and the sweat on Mason's brow evaporated the moment it formed. But he didn't complain. If he had time to think about how hot it was, he had time to focus.

He lay prone in the sand, his eye fixed to the scope. Beside him, Will scanned the horizon through his spotter's scope. No chatter—just the hum of cicadas and the distant hiss of wind dancing over the dunes. Silence was their discipline. But silence never lasted forever.

"Hey, John..." Will's voice cracked through the stillness. "You ever think about finding someone? Settling down? Somewhere far from all this... maybe a patch of green where the sand can't reach you?"

Mason didn't look away from the scope. "Not really. Why?"

Will smiled faintly. "Just feel sorry for you, man. At least I've got someone waiting back home."

"So that's what keeps you going, huh?" Mason's voice softened, a rare warmth threading into it. "Maria."

Will hesitated, then added, "Not just Maria... Lilly, too."

Mason finally glanced at him. "Lilly?"

"You're the first to know. Maria's pregnant."

Mason blinked. His chest tightened unexpectedly. "Damn. That's... that's huge. Congratulations, Will."

Will chuckled. "Thanks. Honestly, I'm scared shitless. But it's the good kind of fear."

They fell quiet again, but now the silence was heavier. Mason didn't let it show, but a storm brewed beneath the surface. A war fought not with bullets—but with regrets.

That should be you. You should've left already, Will. Found peace before all this could take it from you.

Mason adjusted his grip on the rifle. "After this mission, we get out. All of us."

"Yeah," Will said, almost wistfully. "Just one more day in a minefield."

Mason took a breath. "You ever think it's time to hang it up?"

Will didn't even hesitate. "My family's here. You, the team... I'm not leaving you behind."

Makes it harder for me to do what I have to.

"Movement at the rendezvous point."

Mason shifted, eyes locking onto the scope. A convoy emerged—dust trailing like smoke behind them. Trucks, personnel... and a sleek, black shadow gliding just above.

"MI-28. Damn it," Mason muttered. "Intel didn't say anything about an attack chopper."

"We withdraw?" Will asked, voice taut.

"If we lose Antonov now, we won't get another chance."

Mason exhaled. "We stay. Just like old times."

Will nodded, adjusting his scope. "Target confirmed. General Dimitri Antonov. He's the linchpin—feeds Russian arms to Syrian forces. This is the kill shot."

Mason found him: tall, composed, his uniform spotless. A war criminal playing businessman.

"Distance: 2390 meters. Wind steady. You're dialed in."

Mason's finger rested on the trigger. His breath slowed. In the space between heartbeats, the world stilled.

"Send it."

Crack.

Antonov crumpled before he hit the ground.

"Target down."

Panic erupted—men scrambled for cover, weapons drawn. The MI-28 flared, pivoting to search for the shot.

"Time to go," Mason said, already moving.

"No. Chopper's scanning. Stay low."

They flattened themselves into the sand. Mason prayed their thermal cloaks would work. But fate was cruel.

The chopper turned.

It saw them.

"Shit! We've been made!"

Will was up, shouting into the comms. "Ghost Actual to Lima-Charlie, we are compromised! Extraction point C—request immediate support!"

"Copy that. Reaper drone inbound. ETA five minutes."

Five minutes is a damn eternity when death is flying right above you.

"We need a plan," Mason gasped between strides. "What about the ravine we passed?"

Will's eyes snapped to him. "That drop's thirty meters."

"We have gear. It's our best shot."

Bullets carved the sand around them. The MI-28 loomed like a reaper in the sky, its blades screaming like banshees. The ground behind them erupted in fire and dust.

They ran like hell.

The ravine was close. Salvation—or a grave.

A spray of bullets forced them into a dive. The cliff edge rushed toward them.

"GO!"

They launched off the edge, gravity snatching them mid-sprint. Time stretched thin—seconds became lifetimes.

Will managed to bury a pickaxe into the cliff wall. He held on with raw desperation, the muscles in his arm straining. Mason dangled below, dead weight.

"Mason! Get footing!"

"I can't!" he shouted. "Left arm's busted!"

Will's face twisted in agony. Not from pain—but from the realization.

Above them, the MI-28 hissed—then erupted in a plume of fire.

Reaper had arrived.

"Ghost Actual, enemy air threat neutralized. Extraction inbound. Two minutes."

Will clung tighter. "Hold on! We're almost there!"

But the pickaxe groaned, slipping with each heartbeat. Will's fingers were already going numb.

Mason looked up—into the eyes of his best friend. And he saw everything: fear, refusal, love. The loyalty of a brother.

And he made peace.

"Will..."

"No. Don't say it—don't even think it!"

"I have to. There's no time."

Will's voice cracked. "You let go and I swear to God I'll—"

"You'll live," Mason said softly. "You'll go home. You'll hold your daughter in your arms. That's all I want."

Tears streamed down Will's face. "You don't get to decide this, John. Not alone."

Mason smiled faintly. "I'm not dying. I'm choosing."

"Please..."

"Tell Maria... I'm proud of her. And tell Lilly... her dad's the bravest man I've ever known."

The pickaxe slipped another inch.

Mason's eyes glistened—but they were calm.

"And Will... promise me you'll retire."

"I promise."

"Then this is goodbye."

And with that...

He let go.

"JOHN!!!"

Will's scream shattered the sky.

Mason fell—wind tearing at his face, arms limp at his sides. The sun above was blinding. But he didn't fear the end. His last thoughts weren't of war.

They were of peace.