Chapter 3 – ARCHER #2
Bane stands guard by the door, rifle ready, but his eyes keep drifting to the victims. For all his gruffness, the man's got a protective streak a mile wide. "Three minutes until we need to move," he says. "Local cops might be dirty, but they'll still respond to this much gunfire eventually."
Carlisle kneels beside a cage where a young omega is curled into a tight ball, his movements graceful and deliberately slow.
His usual predatory energy is carefully masked behind a gentle smile and soft words.
"Hello, darling," he says, the lilt of his British accent softened into something less casually menacing than usual.
"Let's get you out of this dreadful place, shall we? "
The omega unfurls slightly, drawn in by Carlisle's seemingly harmless demeanor. He works the lock with efficiency, never breaking eye contact with the frightened victim. "There we are," he coos, offering his hand. "Just a few steps now, and you'll never see these bars again."
I watch as he helps the omega stand, supporting their weight with surprising tenderness.
It's almost unsettling how well he can play at being human, the same man who's made an entire career out of killing—and not just people who deserve it like the bastards we put down today.
But right now, his touch is careful, his smile warm, and if I didn't know better, I'd believe the concern in his eyes was genuine.
He catches me watching and winks, the gesture so quick I almost miss it. A reminder that under all that charm and the mask of harmlessness, the Jackal is still very much himself.
I focus on my own group, coaxing them out one by one. Some come willingly, desperate for freedom. Others have to be carried, too weak or too broken to walk. Each one breaks my heart a little more.
"It's okay," I murmur to a young man who won't stop shaking. "We're taking you somewhere safe. There are people waiting to help you, good people who'll make sure you're taken care of."
"Alpha?" His voice is barely a whisper. The word is something terrible to him, uttered in fear, and I can't blame him one bit.
"Yeah, I'm an alpha." I keep my tone gentle, non-threatening. "But I'm not like them. None of us are. We're here to help."
He studies my masked face for a long moment, then nods. Trust, fragile as spun glass, but trust nonetheless.
Elias finishes his initial medical assessments, marking the most critical cases for immediate treatment en route. "Two need IV fluids ASAP," he reports. "One possible concussion, several showing signs of prolonged sedative use. Nothing I can't handle, but we need to move."
"Copy that." Bane checks his watch. "Archer, how fast can you get the bird here?"
"Ninety seconds once I'm airborne."
"Do it."
I hate leaving them, even for that long, but I sprint back to the cliff and start the ascent. My muscles burn, but adrenaline pushes me faster. Can't waste time. Every second counts when you're racing against potential reinforcements.
The Blackhawk starts up smooth as silk, and I'm lifting off before the rotors hit full speed. The compound looks different from above, smaller somehow, less imposing. Just another scar on the landscape that we're about to cauterize.
I set down in the courtyard, rotors still spinning.
The team's already moving, carrying our rescued cargo.
Bane's got three omegas clustered around him, his presence somehow reassuring despite the tactical gear and weapons.
Carlisle and Elias each have two omegas in their arms but there are still five more inside.
"Go, go, go!" I shout over the rotor wash.
They load up fast, professionals doing what they do best. I keep the bird steady, eyes scanning for threats, but the compound stays quiet. Nothing left alive to cause problems.
"That's all of them," Elias reports a few minutes later, already starting work on the most critical patients. "We're clear."
I lift off immediately, banking hard toward the extraction point.
In the cargo area, twelve rescued souls huddle together, some crying, some silent, all free.
The team works among them, Elias handling medical needs and Carlisle acting as his assistant.
Bane is organizing supplies and making sure everyone has water and blankets.
"There's a plane waiting," I tell them through the intercom. "You're going somewhere safe where you can recover, figure out what comes next. No one's going to force you to do anything you don't want to do."
One of the omegas, the young woman from the first cage, looks up at me. "Why?" she asks. "Why did you save us?"
The question hits harder than it should. Why do we do this? Risk our lives, operate outside the law, paint targets on our backs?
"Because someone should have done it sooner," I answer honestly. "Because what happened to you was wrong, and somebody needs to make it right. Because you matter."
She starts crying then, but it's different from before. This is release, not fear. Hope, not despair.
Bane steps in to comfort her, even though he's clearly not as confident at the task as he is running into a building full of hostiles.
We all have our strengths and weaknesses.
The landing strip appears ahead, nothing fancy, just a dirt runway carved out of wilderness. But the plane waiting there represents freedom, a chance at a life beyond cages and cruel alphas who see omegas as property.
I set down smooth, and the transfer begins immediately.
Bane's contact—one of the few clean cops left in this cesspool who reported the facility to us in the first place and enlisted our help when his superiors insisted on looking the other way—waits with a medical team and counselors who specialize in trafficking victims. Real help, not just a band-aid on a bullet wound. Help we're simply not equipped to give.
"You did good today," the cop tells Bane as they shake hands. "Twelve more souls saved."
"Twelve out of thousands," Bane replies grimly. "Drop in the fucking bucket."
"Every drop counts," Elias interjects, his voice muffled behind the mask. "We can't save them all, but we can save these twelve. That has to be enough for tonight."
We finish helping the omegas onto the plane, and then watch it taxi and take off, carrying them toward something better. Not perfect, considering nothing ever is, but better. Safe. Free.
"Come on," Bane says finally. "Let's go home. We've got three days to rest before the next intel comes in."
I fire up the Blackhawk one more time, my team loading up for the flight back to base. Twelve saved tonight. Who knows how many more still out there, waiting. The math is depressing as fuck, but I can't think about that. Can only focus on the ones we can reach, the ones we can save.
That has to be enough.
It's never enough, but it has to be. And it's why I joined the Psychos to begin with.
The compound burns behind us as we fly away, charges Bane set ensuring nothing usable remains. No evidence, no trail, just ashes and justice.
Twelve drops in the bucket.
Better than nothing.
Always better than nothing.