On the Street, With the Wounded Operator

Especially that silly one—her eyes locked onto the blind man who had tripped after being shoved.

Girl… that man can't see you. And maybe worry about our situation first?

The operator nearly screamed in frustration at her hopeless partner.

Then there was the other one, sprawled out like she'd just been dumped by her high school sweetheart, basking in everyone's pity.

Could you stop pretending to be roadkill just to get pampered?

She didn't want to suffer alone. Once the nurse and doctor started properly checking wounds, they'd be so close to getting exposed.

Sure, she could always leverage Spirit Fox's power—and Athena's reach—to silence every single mouth involved. But you could never really silence sympathy once it had spoken.

Fortunately, her teammates knew how to respond fast. Athena had already pinged in, and the sirens she heard were Spirit Fox's—closer than she expected. A few local law enforcement units were tagging along, too.

Just as she feared, the doctor and nurse shifted their attention back to her.

The doctor jogged over, already asking diagnostic questions. The nurse reached for her leg as she limped.

She really wanted to confess. Just come clean and admit she was faking.

But alas, one lie demanded a thousand more to cover it. That ancient saying had never felt more true.

If she were dealing with cunning agents or ruthless informants, she wouldn't bat an eye. But against kindness—empathy, genuine concern—it was guilt that overwhelmed her more than any injury.

Thankfully, her sisters came rushing in, their sirens wailing just far enough to buy her time.

"I'm fine," she quickly said, trying to redirect the situation. "Really. It's nothing serious."

"No, you need proper medical attention. You were limping. We have to be sure," the doctor insisted.

"Thank you, Doctor. Miss Nurse. Truly. But I can't afford to lower my vigilance—not until my team secures the perimeter." She tried to sound professional, calm, steady.

"As expected of Spirit Fox," the nurse said admiringly. "Still, it's best if you let us check your injuries—just to be safe."

"Well, why don't you check on my sister over there instead? She's the one who got run over by a car," the operator said dryly, gesturing toward the dramatic figure still lying in the street.

"Oh—right! I almost forgot!" The doctor and nurse rushed off.

The operator didn't feel the least bit guilty.

Let them deal with it. Sisterhood meant suffering together.

Elsewhere—A Quiet Street Bench

Two other Spirit Fox operators were providing comfort to a mother and daughter who had just finished a quiet dinner outside. Neon lights from nearby shops lit the sidewalk, and the flow of vehicles and pedestrians gave the street a rare, serene evening charm.

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That calm shattered the moment they heard the code crackle over the channel:

"Fallen Angel."

They froze, instantly snapping to full alert. Their posture changed subtly, their attention sharpened.

One positioned herself between the civilians and the open street. The other turned her back to the bench, scanning the surroundings with her hand inching toward her sidearm.

The mother sensed the tension shift. Her smile faded.

"Officers… is something wrong?"

"Yes," one of them nodded grimly, exchanging a quick glance with her partner.

"Please, get in the vehicle," the other said. Her voice was calm, even soft—but it carried the unmistakable weight of urgency.

The mother obeyed instantly. She didn't understand what was happening, but she knew one thing: it was serious.

Just as the mother and daughter were about to board the SUV, a motorbike screamed toward them from the opposite end of the street.

Ordinarily, the two operators might have dismissed it—just another pair of rowdy teens riding like they owned the road. But the Fallen Angel code had sharpened their senses to a razor's edge.

That heightened vigilance paid off in the next second.

There were two riders. An ordinary commercial bike. Nothing tactical. But the passenger on the back wasn't just riding along—he was staring directly at them. His hand moved behind his back.

The operators reacted instantly. They snapped their bodies together, forming a human shield around the mother and daughter.

Their sidearms were already drawn low, close to the abdomen. The moment they confirmed the shape of a firearm in the attacker's hand, they extended their barrels and fired without hesitation.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Screech!

Boom!

A brief, brutal symphony shattered the night's peace. The first shots came from both sides, but the operators had the faster draw. Still, the assailant managed to get off two, maybe three rounds.

One operator felt a solid thud in her abdomen. But apart from that—nothing.

The final sounds came from the motorbike skidding and slamming into a parked car, the attackers tumbling violently.

One operator moved forward, checking the fallen threats. Both incapacitated—soon dead, no matter how fast EMTs arrived.

All shots had been center-mass, methodical and efficient, each threat finished with a round to the head.

There was no time to apply picture-perfect CQB techniques in such a sudden engagement—but that was the point. For Spirit Fox, this wasn't deliberate execution. Their bodies simply moved. Years of muscle memory kicked in before thought had time to catch up.

While one operator kept her sights on the downed threats, the other turned immediately to the civilians. Her eyes swept over the mother and daughter—and she exhaled sharply in relief. No injuries.

She herded them into the SUV, slammed the door shut, and keyed her comms.

"—We reacted to contacts. Two unknown attackers. Possible Fallen Angel. Request backup and immediate site lockdown."

Fallen Angel—a code to declare that Spirit Fox operators were being specifically targeted. It triggered a red alert.

Command had debated this possibility for months, analyzing every retaliation scenario possible—gang revenge, paramilitary strikes, rogue agents. Nothing had happened until now. But their planning paid off. A rapid response could prevent full chaos from spiraling.

Inside the SUV, the mother felt her world had collapsed.

First a rescue, then a shootout. Now an ambush?

What kind of misfortune is haunting us today? she wondered. But she swallowed the fear and turned toward her daughter, who was shivering uncontrollably. Pulling the child close, she began to hum a lullaby, soft and soothing.

Her eyes strayed to the rear window.

She had seen it—clear as day. One of the operators had taken a round to the stomach. She was certain.

Even if a bulletproof vest had saved her, the thought wouldn't go away. These women—these strangers—had saved them. Protected them. Treated them with kindness most people wouldn't offer friends, let alone strangers.

Outside the vehicle, neither operator spoke. They simply stared down the street.

This wasn't random.

Two attacks in minutes. Too fast. Too close. Too coordinated.

This was no coincidence. And the worst part?

It had only just begun.

Thanks to Ling Qingyu's extreme caution and Tang Ziyi's tireless tinkering with her latest inventions, no one ended up in truly dire danger.

Otherwise, they didn't dare imagine attending a fellow sister's funeral—though they'd all accepted that possibility the day they signed up to be bodyguards.

Those from the army were even more mentally prepared, especially since their recruitment had been overseen by Big Sis Su Ruomei.

Still, curiosity sometimes made fools brave enough to scratch a tiger's butt.

And once Spirit Fox found out who was behind this, they'd be sure to bare their fangs.