“They built this place to be untouchable. That only made it the perfect place to start—because order is a fragile thing, and it only takes one woman in the wrong room to bring an empire down.”

Archive #1 (I)

A tall government building stood under the dim glow of night. Inside, the atmosphere was tense. Dozens of people sat at desks, their faces lit by large monitors. Some were typing reports, others scanning files or answering phones. It looked like any typical office—only darker, more rigid. This wasn’t an ordinary workplace. This was a battalion intelligence unit, operating deep before the daylight.

Suddenly, one man’s voice cut through the dull hum.

“Hey! You’re slacking off again!” he barked. “Didn’t I tell you? Someone from the Southern Central Capital is coming. The person is called directly by the Major. Make a schedule for the Unit Commander. Now!”

“Sorry, sir! I’ll get to it right away,” the other man stammered.

“Instead of saying sorry—GET STARTED, YOU DUMB FUCK!”

The shouted words echoed across the office.

The officer immediately snapped into action, typing furiously, flipping through binders and paper stacks like possessed.

"We’ve got a real handful of slackers in this generation", the unit monitor thought, watching with disgust. "Hard to maintain the image of the strongest battalion intelligence unit with people like this."

Files were being sorted under names like Major, General, and Commander— but the truth was, no one really knew who any of them were. No photos, no full names. Just ranks and vague descriptions.

One officer, in his confusion, was trying to sort "Captain" and "Commander" into separate categories, unsure if they were different roles. The mess was building up.

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the facility, the Major was preparing himself. He stood in front of a mirror, buttoning his uniform, wiping down his sidearm, and adjusting his belt.

Outside, a helicopter landed on the rooftop helipad, its blades cutting through the morning mist.

From it stepped a tall woman.

She wore black trouser pants, a black turtle neck with the sleeves rolled halfway, and a tan blazer draped casually over one shoulder. Her long black hair danced in the wind.

The commander was watching from a nearby window. He turned to his aides.

“Take her to the cell. I’ll talk to her there.”

He walked off without waiting for a response.

Two officers approached her. She didn’t resist as they led her through the corridors. Upon reaching the interrogation cell, they opened the heavy door, shoved her inside, and locked it.

The cell was plain. A single chair. A metal table.

She walked in, calm, and sat down.

Time passed while waiting.

The door creaked open again. The commander entered, his steps heavy, his eyes locked on her.

“Try anything funny,” he said coldly, “and you die here.”

She smiled.

“Why would I dig my own grave? I was expecting your chief too. What happened, is he sick?”

The commander’s expression hardened.

“Don’t meddle in things you are not supposed to. Now Speak.”

“Aww, what a turnoff,” she said, leaning back. “You're so cold. I felt that chill the moment I saw you.”

“This is your second warning,” he growled, placing a hand on his holster. “Talk.”

“Okay, okay, geez. You’re scary.” She reached into her blazer and pulled out a small black book. “Here,” she said, waving it lightly. “A handbook. It’s got everything—base locations, weapon caches, unit coordinates… even the chief commander’s office and the closest base to the LOC.”

He stepped forward to take it— but she pulled it back.

“Not so fast,” she said. “Where’s my payment?”

“First I’ll inspect it,” he said, raising his voice.

Just then—

BRRR-BRRR-BRRR!

His comm device rang.

Tapping his earpiece, he turned and walked out of the room, speaking into the mic.

Before leaving, he ordered the guard at the door, “Check the contents.”

The man entered the cell. She raised a brow.

“Where’d your boss go? Talking to his girlfriend?” she teased. “You wouldn’t get it anyways so I will wait for him.”

“Shut up,” the man snapped, clearly irritated. “Hand it over.”

“Boo. So pushy. I’m a woman, you know.”

“Enough. Give it—”

He grabbed the handbook from her hands, took a few steps back, and opened it.

He frowned after opening the book.

“…It’s blank?” he said while flipping the pages. "Is it a jo-"

He looked up—but she was already inches away.

Everything slowed down.

THWACK!

Her fist smashed into his face, shattering his eyeguard and sending him flying across the room.

She leapt onto the table, spun mid-air, grabbed the edge of it and hurled it sideways.

The table crashed into the guard’s legs with a sickening crack. He screamed, falling hard. Before he could reach for his gun, she twisted his neck—

CRACK!

Alarms screamed. Red lights flashed. Surveillance systems went haywire.

From the cell’s narrow window slits, she saw the flood of armed officers rushing down the corridor, rifles raised.

She grabbed the guard’s sidearm and aimed it at the surveillance camera— BANG!

Then, she aimed at the door hinges— BANG! BANG! BANG!

The reinforced door groaned, barely standing on its damaged frame.

Outside, the commander shouted over the comms.

“INTRUDER! DIVISION FOUR—SECURITY! GET TO THE INTERROGATION CELL, NOW!”

Men flooded the hallway, gearing up, sprinting toward the cell. They reached the door, rifles ready.

“It’s just one woman,” one muttered. “Open it.”

But the door wouldn’t budge.

“What the hell…”

BOOM!

The door exploded outward, smashing into the front line of soldiers.

CRUNCH!

Three men were instantly flattened under the heavy iron door.

And there she stood— silent, unflinching, the smoking handgun still in her grip.

She stood in the doorway. For a second.

Then— Snap! She twisted the wrist of the man pointing a gun at her, breaking his arm. Her hand moved like lightning— his own gun turned on him— BANG! The remaining three didn’t even get the chance to aim before she dropped them in quick succession.

The major, sprinting towards the cell block, turned the corner and froze. She stood upright in the corridor, surrounded by bodies.

“You bitch!” he shouted, drawing his handgun and charging at her.

She didn’t flinch. Reaching into a fallen guard’s pocket, she yanked out a smoke grenade— THUNK! popped out the pin— and smashed it into the major’s face. Smoke hissed out, swallowing the hallway in grey.

Blind panic erupted. Gunfire rang out from all directions.

“Cease fire, you damn idiots! You’re hitting your own!” the major screamed, coughing in the mist.

She moved like a shadow. The sounds of cracking bones and thudding bodies followed her through the smoke. One by one, the soldiers dropped: legs broken, necks snapped, weapons stolen.

She grabbed a rifle from one of the guards, spun low, swept his legs—WHACK!—he was out cold. Another soldier rushed at her with a handgun. She tossed her rifle up, ducked low, kicked the sidearm from his hand, and struck him with three quick spinning kicks. He flew out of the smoke, unconscious before he hit the ground.

As the rifle came back down, she caught it mid-air, leapt, and put a bullet clean through another guard’s skull.

Then— she vanished back into the mist.

The major was covering his face, barely able to see anything. “I need to get out of this smoke—” he muttered, stumbling over a body. As he crawled forward, something pierced his leg— BANG! He screamed, falling flat.

Out of the smoke, she emerged like a ghost.

He pulled his handgun up, but she fired first. One shot— clean.

She got out of smoke and then moved on.

Guards down, corridor clear, she pulled a comm device from inside her blazer and switched to a secure frequency.

It clicked.

The handler’s voice came through, grinning. “They really thought using old tech would keep them safe? Pathetic. Hell of a show though.”

She didn’t respond to the joke. “Enough. Where’s the general’s office?” Her voice was sharp. Another guard lunged at her—she uppercut him, snapped his wrist, disarmed him, and shoved him into the wall. Another came from behind—she dropped him with a jab to the throat. Her voice didn’t change. “Cut surveillance to his personal alarm systems. Now.”

The handler was already typing. “Three routes to his office. Right hallway’s long, barely guarded. Front is faster—but crowded. Left’s a maze, less patrol—”

She was already sprinting left before he finished.

“Screw it,” the handler muttered.

She tore down the corridor, dropping anyone in her way with precise strikes. But as she turned the next corner—

RATATATATATATA!

Gunfire exploded. Bullets scraped her legs as she dove back behind cover.

She hissed in pain, peeking out.

“What the hell is this?” she growled into her comm. “You didn’t tell me there was auto-sensory artillery here.”

“I tried,” the handler snapped. “You dashed off before I finished! That’s what I was trying to warn you about!”

“Forget it. We’re short on time,” she said, checking her watch. “How do I disable it?”

The handler exhaled. “Okay, above the barrel there’s a motion sensor. Don’t destroy it as free-fire could probably be triggered. Stay low. Sprint to the back. You’ll have two seconds to yank out a black handle- like switch. That’s your kill switch.”

“Copy.”

She moved low, dodging, weaving, rolling. The barrel rotated to track her. At the last second, she dove under it, rolled past the turret, and leapt behind it— YANK! The switch ripped free.

The artillery hissed. Then fell silent.

Handler sighed. “Thought we lost you for a second.”

“Artillery down,” she said, cracking her back standing tall. “Now where’s the general?”

She followed the handler’s directions, walking calmly.

“This layout doesn’t make sense. Why would his office be in a sealed building cut off from command flow? Any emergency would leave the entire unit in the dark.” she asked the handler.

“Maybe he just likes his privacy,” the handler replied. “Heads up—the next door is the general’s cabin.”

Alarms were still down. She stopped before the door.

Music was thumping inside.

The general sat inside, middle-aged, half-dozing, lazily signing off files. Loud music blasted from his speakers to keep himself awake. A well-dressed attendant stood by the door.

Knock!

The door opened.

She stepped in— Snap!— broke the attendant’s neck. Clean. Quiet. She dragged the body outside and shut the door.

She walked over to the general, who looked drowsy, and poked his arm.

The general blinked, confused, turning his head slowly up. His eyes widened.

Too late.

A swift chop to the neck and he collapsed over his paperwork.

She grabbed the handgun from his blazer while inspecting for some trackers, aimed at the ceiling-mounted camera and with a smirk- fired. As if she was announcing it to the surveillance centre.

It sparked out.

“Target down,” she said into the comm.

“Chopper inbound. ETA: three minutes,” the handler confirmed.

She walked to the side door, opened it. Wind rushed in.

A massive balcony— his personal helipad. Disguised as a maintenance deck. After walking sometime, a helicopter roared above her. Grey insignia marked the side of the chopper: Marshal’s Council. Covert.

Three figures dropped down on harnesses. Two of them grabbed the unconscious general. The third stepped toward her.

“Extraction ready. Are you coming with us?”

She shook her head. “I have a job to finish. Get him out before you all catch more eyes.”

The chopper lifted off, vanishing into the clouds.

She stepped back into the cabin. Scanned the room and moved to the wardrobe.

Inside, she saw a clean double-breasted blue blazer weighed down with medals. She took it. In its inner pocket— a leather case holding the old vice general’s ID was buried.

She slipped her fake card into the cover, tucked it away and shoved it in her pocket, and then went to the attendant’s corpse. Took the black skirt and the heels. Then she changed.

She looked into the mirror infront of the hanger. A composed, decorated officer stared back.

She walked out of the building through the halls of the main base’s operations sector.

Inside: normal Training, Paperwork, Recruits moving about. Everything business as usual.

Heads turned as she passed. Some saluted. Some froze. The medals spoke louder than her face.

She reached the front desk.

The receptionist, half-asleep, didn’t even glance up. “Yeah?”

Tap.

The woman slid her open ID infront of her face.

She looked.

Eyes widened. She scrambled to stand. “V-Vice General! G-Good morning! I— I mean, ma’am! How—how can I help you?”

The woman calmly said, “I need the file Unit 4 submitted under the general’s order earlier today.”

The receptionist fumbled through the drawer, hands shaking, and thrust the folder forward. “Apologies, ma’am! I— we didn’t know of your visit— I mean— we should’ve prepared—!”

She nodded once, tucked the file under her arm, and walked away in silence.

She stepped out, heels clicking, hair flowing. The guards didn’t question her.

She slid into a black car marked with official insignia— another fake. The gates opened.

By the time the alerts went out about the general’s disappearance, she was already airborne— boarding a second chopper from a remote village.

Mission complete.

Chapter End