Midnight. Target: a four-story building. All floors belonging to the same residents.

Just meters away, in the backyard alleyway that connected to the main road, two inconspicuous vans sat parked in unassuming spots.

With a sudden slam, the rear doors flung open, and figures clad in full tactical gear leapt out in unison.

Boots thudded quietly along the narrow alley as ten operators advanced toward the rear fence. Despite the late hour, the surrounding neighborhood remained somewhat active—on the ground floor, elderly residents lingered, playing chess and murmuring over cups of tea, enjoying the cool night.

Their homes cast dim light onto the sidewalks. Hearing movement, a few paused and squinted into the shadows, catching glimpses of dark silhouettes—operators in full black tactical suits moving in a column.

Some of the Spirit Fox members broke formation momentarily to silently signal for quiet, placing fingers over their lips. Despite ballistic visors concealing their faces, the residents understood the gesture. A few gasped in excitement and whispered amongst themselves.

Younger onlookers itched to capture photos, eager to post them online, while the older generation offered quiet nods of understanding. They had heard rumors of earlier chaos and quickly connected the dots—tonight's midnight action was a continuation.

Reaching the backyard gate, the two pointwomen halted. One pulled out a bolt cutter, snapping the lock with a loud clink, and tossed it aside.

The formation passed through without delay.

"Zero, Alpha 1-1 and 1-2 in position," the team leader radioed in.

"Zero copies," came the calm reply. "1-3, 1-4, and 1-5 en route."

"Roger."

The two teams now waited, stacked against the final obstacle—an exterior wooden fence leading directly to the target building's backyard. The point operators quickly scanned the gate for traps, then gave a nod. Clear.

Meanwhile, three more teams—1-3, 1-4, and 1-5—had dismounted from their vans on either side of the building, approaching along the main road. Their flanking maneuver was met by more curious stares from lingering locals who, despite the late hour, had not turned in.

No one worried about potential alarms being raised. Jiang Yu's SUV had already parked nearby, its onboard electronic warfare module jamming all communication signals across the block. Anyone trying to call out would find their devices useless—for now.

Unlike the backyard elements, these front teams had pointwomen equipped with ballistic shields.

All five teams converged on the target at once, synchronized to prevent any escape attempts.

But just as 1-3, 1-4, and 1-5 moved into final position, they encountered a complication.

A trio of young women—likely returning from a night out with friends—stood frozen in shock. Caught between the operators and the building, they stared wide-eyed at the encroaching force, paralyzed by fear and confusion at the sight of leveled rifles and combat armor.

After all, anyone suddenly surrounded by armed operators would instinctively assume they were the targets.

The three young women stood frozen, wide-eyed, staring at the gear and weapons. They seemed to recognize the rifles—and the suppressors attached.

Among the front teams, an operator with higher authority stepped out from the stack and held up a finger to her lips, signaling for silence.

The trio nodded quickly, biting their lips nervously.

Then, the operator curled her forearm inward, motioning for them to approach.

The girls complied hesitantly, prompting the operator to hasten her gesture—clearly telling them to move faster.

They trotted past the stack of operators. A rear security member silently waved them onward, ensuring they exited the area safely.

With the path now clear, all three front teams moved into final position.

"1-3 in position," the team leader reported, her sights trained on the metal gate just inches from the building's main entrance.

"1-5 in position," came the next call. That team had cleared the right-side exterior, ignoring the flowerbeds, potted plants, and other decorations cluttering the walkway.

"1-4 awaiting Zero's call," reported the last team, stationed on the left flank near the descending staircase that led to the basement.

The building had an unusual layout. The basement wasn't truly underground—it had external access from both the front and rear. A separate stairwell led down from the backyard, next to a small children's swimming pool and a lounge area—clearly designed for the homeowner's leisure.

Structurally, it resembled a ground floor disguised as a basement.

This meant simultaneous breaching was necessary.

The plan: the backyard team would breach through the rear door and clear the "basement" from behind. At the same time, 1-4 would enter from the side basement door.

After securing the level, the backyard team would ascend the indoor staircase to clear the actual ground floor—eventually linking up with the front teams.

Only after that coordination would 1-3 and 1-4 continue upward, clearing the higher floors.

"Zero in control," Jiang Yu said as she listened to the teams' reports and watched the helmet cam feeds displayed on multiple screens.

"The mission is a go."

With that command, all teams moved into action.

In the backyard, 1-1 and 1-2 swung the wooden gate inward and entered swiftly.

While a few operators remained outside to secure the perimeter, the main assault element pushed forward. From their angle, they could spot 1-4 descending the exterior stairs toward the basement's side door, shieldwoman leading the way.

Equipped with night vision, the backyard teams cleared the windows first before moving in. They unlocked the secured doors using an advanced magnetic lockpick tool.

The operators flowed into the basement—smooth, silent, synchronized.

Within minutes, 1-1, 1-2, and 1-4 had cleared the basement level. As planned, 1-1 and 1-2 ascended to the ground floor, while 1-4 remained behind to secure and control the cleared zone.

On the upper floor, 1-1 and 1-2 emerged into a dimly lit kitchen connected to the basement stairwell.

The operators fanned out around the furniture, their rifles trained toward three closed doors.

The nearest was swiftly cleared by two operators: a bathroom and a toilet.

Two doors remained.

Suddenly, the door on the right creaked open.

A woman stepped out, humming a tune, seemingly in a good mood.

Before she could process the scene, the nearest operator assessed her and reacted instantly.

She lunged forward, clamped a hand over the woman's mouth, and issued a low warning:

"Quiet."

The woman, startled, instinctively let out a stifled cry—but it was muffled by the firm hand.

Realizing the gravity of the situation, her resistance faded. Her eyes widened as she caught sight of the tactical gear and the Spirit Fox insignia.

What the hell is going on?

Though confused, the woman composed herself enough not to struggle. The operator swiftly zip-tied her wrists behind her back.

Meanwhile, her teammates stepped past the subdued woman, clearing deeper into the house.

One file team pushed through the now-open doorway, scanning down the hallway. Another stacked on the unopened door, preparing to breach.

Ahead, the dim hallway opened into a spacious hall, main stairwell on the right and a living room on the left. The operators could already see the double front doors—where the three front teams stood ready, awaiting their own green light.

Light spilled faintly from the living room, casting long shadows. Voices echoed softly from deeper inside.

From the memorized blueprint and current visuals, the operators knew that all doors on this floor eventually connected to the living room and the spacious hall.

Scurrying forward with deliberate silence, they advanced, keeping to the shadows. Another team opened the final door and slipped through.

Two file teams flooded into the living room. Most operators on the right shifted focus—covering the stairwell and another door near it.

Inside the living room, an old lady lounged lazily on the sofa, casually flipping TV channels with a remote.

Across from her, a younger man sat, irritated, smacking his phone against his palm—likely frustrated by the sudden loss of internet.

It was midnight, but in the digital age, not everyone was asleep. Even the old lady, seemingly calm, must have sensed something in the atmosphere.

The man didn't react when he heard the door open.

Not at first.

But the second he looked up and locked eyes with the approaching figures—he froze.

Despite his hardened past and all his composure, fear struck instantly.

A bright green laser danced on his forehead. Every instinct screamed at him not to move.

He didn't dare utter a sound. The raw killing intent in the room was unmistakable.

Whoever these people were—police or not—they wouldn't hesitate to end him.

"Don't do anything stupid. Hands up, slowly," came a calm, lethal voice.

The old lady turned toward the voice, surprised. But when she saw the official POLICE insignias across their tactical vests, her fear gave way to quiet relief.

Spirit Fox?

One of the operators gently approached her, gave her shoulder a reassuring rub, and whispered something in a low voice.

The man couldn't hear what was said—but the change was immediate. The old woman's expression stiffened.

She glanced at him again—this time with pure contempt, like she'd just found vermin in her home.

...What the hell did she say to her?

With the situation under control, 1-1 and 1-2 finished clearing the ground floor, leaving only one door unchecked—just beside the stairwell.

Rather than risk unnecessary noise or aggression, the operator asked the old woman a direct question about who was inside.

She answered with calm clarity.

1-1 and 1-2 decided to set aside the last unchecked room for the moment. According to the old lady, her children and grandchildren were inside—already asleep.

Apparently, the parents had gone to bed early to accompany their young ones.

The old lady herself had also intended to turn in, but the young man beside her had come downstairs, and the two ended up chatting. Their conversation had drifted from family matters to politics and the world's increasingly volatile state until Spirit Fox stepped in.