Chapter 9 - THE SHIFT IN REALITY
Sergeant Collins stood near the edge of the briefing table, his broad shoulders slumped slightly as he watched the woman he had mocked five minutes ago re-architect the entire combat mission with cold, terrifying brilliance.
He looked down at his own combat uniform, his polished tactical gear, and his squad's weapons—and then looked at Monroe’s grease-stained olive coveralls. The contrast was stark, yet there was no doubt who the real predator in the room was.
"Monroe," General Gerald said softly, stepping up beside her at the map board. "The target inside the facility... you know who is holding the grid key."
Monroe’s blue eyes narrowed slightly. For the first time, a flicker of cold, lethal intent flashed deep within her gaze.
"I know," she replied simply.
"You don't have to take this drop," Gerald added, his tone carrying a rare, paternal concern that shocked every officer in the room. "You earned your rest seven years ago."
Monroe closed the lid of the black rifle case with a sharp, heavy snap, securing the latches with two quick flicks of her thumbs. She gathered the heavy case into her right hand, holding it effortlessly by her side as if it weighed nothing at all.
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"Some debts don't expire, General," Monroe said quietly.
She turned on her heel and began walking toward the heavy steel exit doors leading to the armory and the flight line.
