The facility producing the vaccine is in the middle of nowhere. Good for us. No one will intervene. If we're lucky, only smoke and flames will warn people that something has happened there.

We attack in three teams. They're led by Mint, Jorge, and I.

Mint's army is a well-organized, effective branch. I can tell that they went through classic Agency training. And I have a fucking great sharpshooter on my team, too. Olaf. He's incredible. It's good to know that a guy like him is covering our asses.

"Close on the target. Two minutes until shooting range."

It's Gabriel on the radio. This time, her voice isn't distorted, but it's still as monotone and machine-like as always. My heart jumps every time she says something. I've never hoped to do this with her again.

It feels like being under the wings of an angel—all safe and sound.

"Copy that," I answer.

I better concentrate on the mission instead of nostalgia. We weren't sent on our way without her blessing this time either, anyway. She recited her Credo when we started to move towards the lab.

It didn't have the same effect on Mint's men, of course. They have no idea what a difference she makes in the outcome of an operation, but they still seemed relieved when she promised them that she'd look after them and she wouldn't let any of them get lost.

They respect her without knowing that she's a real guardian angel in fight situations. Not for being a tactical controller but for being Mint's lady. The one who wrapped their boss around her finger, against all odds.

There. I said it.

I know they are fucking.

It's pretty obvious. Mint made it evident to me when he returned with Jorge and the news that the army is ready to move. And a request directed at Gabriel, asking her to treat him like a person and not like a tool next time, while he caressed her arm.

That touch. It was so telling. It was full of love, ad nauseam. And not the unrequited kind, not at all. I almost got sick seeing it.

They are fucking.

It's still not too late for me to shoot him. In the chaos of the situation at hand, I could easily find a way. But I'm not sure I'd enjoy Gabriel's company for long afterward. If she ever embarrassed me like Mint with the laundry, it's highly improbable that I'd caress her with such disgusting gentleness. I'd shout at her. Or, even worse, I'd try to humiliate her in return, because that's not normal. And then, we'd break up.

But still. I don't understand why she chose—

Okay. After the mission, I'll think about it.

Now, act. Then, think.

This time, Gabriel does the thinking. And I do the fighting. I breathe out three times.

"Jorge, I see something to the right. Can you tell me what it is?"

It's Gabriel's voice, again, on the radio.

"A vehicle," Jorge answers. "A Range Rover, I guess."

"What color?" I ask.

"Navy green."

"Mr. Toe is here then, indeed," I tell them. "It's his car."

Just like Gabriel predicted. She told us he'd be here because he's not feeling safe anywhere else than under heavily armed protection. And she grinned. In a quite unnerving way, compared even to her usual smiles.

"We don't have the layout," she says. "But the offices are always in the back of the building. Jorge. I've been thinking—"

"Sure thing, ma'am."

I'm positive I hear a smile in Gabriel's voice when she goes on.

"Be careful, Jorge. You'll meet the least armed resistance in there, quantitatively, but the best-trained ones."

"Copy that," Jorge says. "But it's too quiet here, isn't it? Are you sure we're at the right place? This facility seems desolate."

"It's because you don't see the guards I see on camera 86, moving slowly at 45 degrees. And the owner of the said camera doesn't seem to see them either. I wonder why."

I hear the man marked 86 apologizing, admitting that he wasn't paying attention to the outskirts.

"If you notice any kind of movement," Gabriel educates him, and us all, "you have to presume that it's a hostile creature, all right?"

"Yes, ma'am," Jorge answers.

He's a promising leader. He takes responsibility for the actions of his team.

"But I still don't understand how you localized the lab," he goes on.

He's promising but talks too much. I hear Gabriel sighing impatiently.

"It's not the right time to discuss it, Jorge. The information was in Duke's mind, in pieces. He knew a lot about Pavlov's daily patterns, I just had to combine the fragments. But that was the last methodological issue we talked about today, okay? Now neutralize the guards quietly, move to the windows of the office, and wait for my sign."

"Copy that."

"Duke."

When I hear my name, I can't help but smile. But then she goes on.

"And Mint. You'll attack the hangar. It's probably nothing special, just like in the Sevastopol mission. You know what to do. Try to avoid flames and explosions until Jorge's team gets the job done. Mint left wing, Duke right wing, as usual. Nothing else at the moment. I'll be on the watch."

"Copy that," we say in unison.

We move to our positions.

Gabriel's giving orders personally to those who aren't so good at staying undetected. She calms those who're on the verge of panic. She addresses each and every man who needs reassurance or encouragement.

Now she doesn't control a team, she controls an army. And yet, she's exactly as calm and composed as always. She's the voice in the darkness. She's the hand that leads us to safety.

And then, suddenly, something unexpected happens. We hear a gunshot, and everything goes south.

"It's okay," Gabriel tells us. "We were detected. Plan B. Move in ASAP."

After that, the usual chaotic order of a battle. Order in the chaos and chaos in the order. I experienced it hundreds of times, and yet, you can't really prepare for the feeling of being shot at.

Mint's army is good. There are seasoned veterans among them, but most of them become a bit overwhelmed soon.

I shout orders at them. Now I realize the difference between almost classically trained and classically trained. They need my help and my direction.

And Gabriel's, of course, in the first place. Her monotone voice floats above the commotion, over our heads, like a magical protective layer, sown of peace. The voice of a real angel. It isn't any less convincing than back in the time when she didn't have a face. Now that she's saving our asses by foreseeing things as if she knew the future itself, there isn't a difference.

I only realize that she's on the edge when she shouts at Frank, who's sitting by her side in the control room of Mint's headquarters, to shut up and wait with the mental health until the physical one is secured. But one second later, she's already warning man 107 to fall back.

She's an expert in the art of making other people survive, and her special interest is our only luck. Pavlov finally listened to my proposition and enlisted serious armed forces, damn him. Or was it Mr. Toe? I'm not sure.

It's the former name Jorge uses when he announces that he's down.

Strangely, I feel a pang of loss for a second. No matter what, he's been my boss for years. And maybe more than that. A father figure. An abusive father, but still. My real one wasn't much different, to be honest. He never tried to kill me, though, I'll give him that.

I shake my head, and I try to gain my focus back. I need to be present. My team needs me. This one, and the other one, back at the headquarters, too. Nicole wanted to come and wait for us in the car. She's totally clueless, bless her.

When I look up, I meet Mint's eyes from a distance. He was checking on me after Jorge told us about Mr. Toe's death. I give him the thumbs up. He nods and turns away quickly.

"Mint, Duke!" It's Gabriel, again. "It's time. Take out the officers. Their coordinates are..."

And a list of numbers and visual cues spills from her mouth.

We have to abandon our teams. This is a solitary mission, but a crucial one. A check-mate, if executed well. And Gabriel makes sure that we finish in less than five minutes, just like in the Sevastopol mission.

With the officers down, the hostile army falls to pieces. It's easy to convince them to surrender.

We gather the hostages outside of the building. Mint informs them about the true nature of the vaccine produced there to prevent them from meaningless heroic acts, and then we set everything on fire.

I report the mission's success back. In half an hour, we're on our way back to Mint's headquarters. Everything seems to be all right, except for one thing.

We have three bodies with us.

In the car, when our eyes meet, we think about the same thing. Gabriel. She saw those men dying.

We find her in a corner, turned to the wall. She's repeating something.

"I knew the two hundred and fiftieth mission would be a fail."

I have no idea what to say. Except that she couldn't really expect to control a whole army without casualties, and it's called a fucking huge victory by any sane consideration, but I'm sure Nicole already told her that. And Frank. He's a psychiatrist, for God's sake, and he seems to be just as impotent as everybody else.

Except for Mint. He knows what to say.

"Hey, baby, you're wrong."

"I'm not. It's a fail."

"Not that. It wasn't the two hundred and fiftieth mission. The two hundred and fiftieth was Tobey, right? This was the two hundred fifty-first."

And this helps. I don't see why, I don't know how, but this technical problem with the numbers opens her mind up enough to make her stop the rocking and turn around to face us.

"Besides," Mint goes on, "you had no way to know everybody's strengths, weaknesses, dreams, and deepest fears. So these men weren't committed to your care."

"I was on my way to learn them," she says, sounding as if she was serious about it, as impossible as it sounds. "But I messed up."

"No, you didn't. They weren't your lambs. They—"

"Number 9, 38, and 124."

"Yes," Mint says gently. "Number 9, 38, and 124 weren't your lambs. They were my men, not yours. And you saved everyone else."

"You're a real superhero," Nicole cuts in. "I have no more doubt."

"DC or Marvel?" Gabriel asks.

"DC and Marvel," Nicole answers.

Gabriel stands there, looking all disheartened, like a miserable little sparrow in the rain, and we have no way to explain to her that she just performed another miracle. One that no one else possibly could, on Earth, on Mars, or anywhere else in the whole universe. I know it's not the cleverest move, but I act on instinct, stepping closer, hugging her.

She breaks out in tears, mourning number 9, 38, and 124.

Mint walks by our side and hugs us both.

As sad as the moment is, for a short time, I feel whole.