The pressure was a physical weight, a constant, crushing reminder of the miles of water above them. Jäger's specialized submersible suit was a marvel, the Syndicate's engineers having seamlessly integrated SHD's biometric monitoring and tactical displays into a design that felt less like armor and more like a second skin. Yet, the cold, silent depths were a primal enemy, far removed from the urban battlegrounds he'd known.
"Pressure holding at 300 atmospheres," Percival's calm voice crackled over the comms, surprisingly clear despite the distortion. He was a dark, agile silhouette beside Jäger, his own suit perfectly suited for the mission. "Perimeter scans show thermal signatures consistent with automated patrols. Three hostiles, moving in a standard grid pattern."
"Acknowledged," Jäger replied, his voice a low rumble in his helmet. The nagging question of The Viper's recognition still clung to him like a burr, an unwelcome distraction in this unforgiving environment. How did she know?
They were descending towards the Leviathan Project, the clandestine underwater lab, a monstrous, barnacle-encrusted shadow against the abyss. Its exterior was a mosaic of hardened titanium and reinforced glass, designed to withstand the ocean's fury. But also, presumably, an unwanted inspection.
Their insertion point was a discarded geothermal exhaust vent, a narrow, treacherous passage that led directly into the facility's lower levels. Syndicate intel, delivered by Merlin, had been precise, outlining the exhaust cycle and the brief window when the vent would be inactive.
"Vent cycle approaching zero," Percival announced. "Entering now."
Jäger led, his movements deliberate, his powerful legs propelling him through the churning currents of the vent. The tight space barely allowed for their suits, the rough metal scraping against their reinforced exteriors. This was the raw, unglamorous side of black ops: brute force and precision, far from the elegant chaos of a casino.
They breached the inner conduit just as the vent system rumbled back to life, its massive fan blades beginning their slow rotation. Seconds later, and they would have been shredded. Jäger felt the familiar spike of adrenaline, a cold comfort in the deep.
Inside, the facility was stark, utilitarian. Corridors of polished metal, bathed in the hum of machinery, stretched into the gloom. Air purifiers hissed, pushing the stale scent of recycled oxygen.
"Internal patrols detected," Percival reported, his helmet display showing glowing red figures moving through the walls. "Standard security. Heavily armed, but no enhanced combatants. Good."
"Stay silent," Jäger ordered. "No alarms. No trace."
They moved like wraiths through the corridors, the quiet efficiency of their joint training on full display. Jäger, with his SHD integration, could map the facility in real-time, predicting patrol routes, identifying weak points in the security grid. Percival, with his Syndicate training, was a master of exploiting those weaknesses, slipping past cameras, neutralizing motion sensors with barely a touch.
Their targets were the rogue bio-engineers, and more critically, the highly virulent, airborne pathogen they intended to sell. Merlin's directive had been chillingly clear: contain and neutralize the threat. The engineers were expendable.
They reached the central research level. Rows of glowing containment units, filled with bubbling liquids and strange, glowing biological samples, lined the pristine white lab. In the center, under powerful magnification, pulsed the pathogen, a horrifyingly beautiful testament to man's destructive ingenuity.
"Target sighted," Jäger confirmed, identifying the lead bio-engineer, a gaunt man with frantic eyes, huddled over a terminal, initiating the auction. "Two hostiles in the main lab. More on the way."
"Siphon initiated," Percival whispered, already tapping into the lab's network, attempting to download the pathogen's data and simultaneously wipe it from their servers. "Estimated time: 90 seconds."
Then, the alarm. A piercing wail that echoed through the underwater complex, turning the silent hum into a frantic throb.
"Dammit!" Jäger cursed. "Perimeter breach! They knew we were coming!"
His SHD map flared red. Not just security, but specialized units, converging rapidly. They were using some form of advanced sonar, detecting their movements even through the sound-dampening qualities of their suits. This wasn't standard Leviathan Project security. This was a response unit, waiting.
"An ambush," Percival stated, his voice losing its usual calm. "They were expecting us."
Jäger remembered The Viper's words. You're supposed to be dead! The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Had she been captured and broken? Or… was there another explanation?
"Percival, get that data. I'll hold them off," Jäger ordered, his instincts taking over. He deployed a miniature SHD turret, its silent whirring barely audible as it locked onto the approaching hostiles. He then activated his Chem Launcher, loading a riot foam cartridge. This was the Division's domain – creating chaos and control in tight quarters.
As the first squad of armed men burst through the reinforced doors, Jäger unleashed a volley of riot foam, instantly encasing the lead two in an immobilizing goo. The turret opened fire, its precision bursts picking off targets with ruthless efficiency. Jäger moved, a blur of motion, engaging the remaining hostiles in brutal hand-to-hand combat, their suits protecting them from the suffocating pressure of the deep. He was a force of nature, a ghost of a past war, honed to perfection.
But they kept coming. More doors burst open. The hostiles wore no discernible insignia, their gear advanced, their tactics disciplined. They moved with a chilling coordination, bypassing some of the foam, flanking the turret.
"Data transfer at 80%!" Percival yelled, his fingers flying across his interface. "But we're being swarmed! They have too many numbers!"
Suddenly, a massive pressure wave slammed into the lab, reverberating through Jäger's suit. The lights flickered. The containment units shuddered.
"What was that?" Jäger demanded, even as he twisted, firing his suppressed weapon at an incoming combatant.
"External breach!" Percival screamed. "Something just hit the main dome! Large-scale penetration!"
Through the reinforced glass of the main lab, Jäger saw it. Not another submersible. Something colossal, something that moved with unnatural speed. And clinging to its side, like barnacles on a whale, were figures. Too many. Far more than any conventional special operations team. Their suits were sleek, dark, and utterly devoid of identifying marks. They moved with a terrifying unity, already cutting through the dome's outer layers.
It was a force he had never seen before, not even during the global hunt. A scale of operation, a depth of resources, that dwarfed even the Syndicate's known assets. A cold dread, far deeper than the ocean surrounding them, settled in Jäger's gut.
This isn't the World Government, he thought, even as he prepared for the inevitable, for the new, unknown enemy to breach their final sanctuary. This is something else entirely.
He just wondered if this "something else" also knew who he was.