Glaz Fic

My name is Timur Glazkov, and let me tell you about the first time I met Caveira.

The day started out like any other in Hereford – a morning jog through a haze of grey rain. I know what you’re thinking… ‘Rain in England? Perish the thought.’

But today, no one was paying the weather any mind.

There was a lot of chatter about the arrivals, two Brazilian operators from tropical Rio de Janeiro. We’d been getting a steady flow of new comrades after the Bartlett incident, a few Canadians and Americans. Nothing unexpected. But Brazilians?

Needless to say, there was some interest. Scorn too, as these people belonged to Batalhão de Operações Policiais Especiais – not exactly a regular of the Special Forces community. They made the Americans especially uneasy - Jenson was vehement about it, going on about ‘standards of professionalism’ or something like that. I didn’t catch all of it, as he had a habit of mumbling his words into that ridiculous beard of his.

I didn’t say much. Rarely did. English (Rainbow’s lingua franca) wasn’t my first language, and I didn’t have anything significant to contribute. So far, every single Rainbow operator belonged here. Why wouldn’t these two?

I hadn’t seen their profiles yet, that shit was strictly need-to-know. Six was rather uptight about that. About everything, really.

Around 1000 hours, their helicopter finally touched down. I was putting down a few rounds on the nearby range, keeping my skills sharp. There was a buzz in the air, even though everyone else pretended to go about business as usual. It was the same way we felt when the Canadians and SEALs arrived.

Who was going to step off that helicopter? Membership in the revived Rainbow Six was an exclusive honor after all, and everyone here was the best of the best. What did Brazil have to offer?

The first one to disembark threw my expectations, that’s for damn sure. He was a grizzled old man with a fucking eye patch, chomping on a cigar like some kind of action movie superstar. Holding his beret down with one hand, he scooped his bags up with the other and headed for the barracks, not deigning to look at the rest of us.

And next… well, you know who stepped out next.

She was a vision of death, brown eyes radiating cold confidence and a ‘don’t fuck with me’ attitude. A long braided ponytail whipped out behind her, prop-wash sending it into an agitated flurry. And her face… her face was covered in paint, a skeletal visage straight from hell.

Yet the way she moved was downright magical. Her hips swayed to a tune only she could hear, each footstep the epitome of lethality and predatory intent. Combined with her excessive (yet terrifying) face paint, you could say I was getting some mixed signals.

And that’s when she caught me staring. We had to have been more than thirty meters away, but she met my eyes anyway. In that moment, I knew there was something primal about her. Something raw and primitive that polite society couldn’t strip away.

There was no kindness in her gaze then, nothing but unremitting steel.

She followed after her Captain, and the spell was broken. I resumed my practice, trying to focus on the target downrange.

It was difficult.

They weren’t what I was expecting, but who could’ve predicted a pair like that? Just who were these people?

 For the first time, I questioned Six’s judgment. The guy didn’t even have both his eyes, and the other one looked like a psychopath. A lithe, sexy psychopath, but a psychopath nonetheless. And hey, I know – Special Forces is an intense lifestyle. Tends to attract intense people, intense personalities. But really? Skeleton face paint?

I sighed. There was a simulation planned for later tonight, after introductions. Give the new operators a chance to gel with their new team, assess their abilities. I’d get more info then. After wrapping up my shooting, I headed back to the barracks to collect my breakfast. Already, the place was abuzz with rumors. What these people were like, what they’ve done in the field.

Breakfast was decent, as it usually was. Don’t listen to the people who rag on English cuisine - compared to the slop they fed us back in Moscow, it tasted like gourmet fare from the Ritz.

My mind wasn’t really on the food though.

With a flash of red hair, Eliza dropped her plate across the table from me, a wide grin on her face. Even if she wasn’t technically American, she was just as bombastic and gregarious as her adopted kinsmen. Also possessed of the notion that everyone was her friend… ‘everyone’ including me, despite my attempts to remain solitary.

”Hey Glaz. See the newbies?” She asked.

I nodded. “Yes. An interesting pair.”

She huffed. “No shit, Sherlock. See that motherfucker with the eye patch?”

”I wonder what Michael will have to say about him,” I said. “I wager he’ll be reluctant to give up his title of ‘Oldest Salt’.”

Eliza snorted. “I’m pretty sure Mike was at the Somme. The new guy can’t be more than forty-five, tops.”

I smiled, poking at my mashed potatoes. “I suppose you’re right,” I replied. “And what about the woman?”

”You mean Skeletor?” She asked, wearing a toothy grin. “I heard she’s mshuge.”

”Mshuge?” I asked.

”She’s bugshit,” Eliza clarified. “A bloodthirsty piranha that’s grown legs and crawled out of the Amazon.”

”I don’t think she’s sharpened her teeth,” I said, “but I don’t dispute the ‘bloodthirsty’ part. There’s something off about her.”

“I heard she tortured people,” Eliza whispered. “Drug lords and the like. Peeled them like grapes before dumping them in the Atlantic.”

”Iisus,” I muttered. It was probably bullshit, but the fact that it seemed plausible was troubling. “Is that the kind of person we’re letting in Rainbow now?”

Eliza shrugged. “They’re BOPE, you know. Got into some shit with Amnesty International after killing some civilians. They’re basically government-sponsored vigilantes.”

I hummed. “Well maybe we could use her type. You know how the White Masks are. They haven’t disappeared. They keep making threats, and until we can get some real intel, we can’t do more than react.”

“Fair enough,” Eliza said. She chuckled. “Hell, after Bartlett, I’d be willing to peel them myself.”
We’d been two of the five that deployed to Bartlett during the attack. It was a nightmare. A sea of yellow fog and tangled corpses, their faces twisted up into masks of unimaginable agony. Most of them were kids.

I nodded. “I suppose we’ll get to know the new meat pretty well,” I said. “Hopefully they’ll be just as good as the rest of you.”

Eliza punched my shoulder. “C’mon man, you keep saying that.”

”Saying what?”

”You keep saying ’the rest of you’, like you’re not one of us,” she said. “I know you have the whole ‘lonely artist’ thing going on, but you gotta socialize a little bit. You’ll go stir-crazy otherwise. Why don’t you come sit with us?”

She gestured over to her regular table, where Maxim, Tsang, Weiss and Kötz sat. “They won’t bite,” she added.

”I’m fine,” I replied. “Thanks for the offer though.” I never did well in groups. Putting more than two people together leads to a flood of information I can’t handle. Too many voices, too much body language. It’s like trying to make sense of a Pollock painting.

Eliza rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say, man. Offer stands.” She left me to my devices and went to sit with her friends.

I finished my breakfast and returned to my barracks. There was a piece I’d been working on that needed attending to. When I sat down with my paints however, I couldn’t make any decent headway. In the back of my mind, I kept seeing the new arrival, and her eyes that stared like daggers.

Instead of making a mess, I packed up my paints and marched back down to the range.

Briefing call came at 1500 hours, a little later than usual. Probably to let the new operators catch up on jet lag. I showed up early, making sure to get the chair in the corner. Six was there already, shuffling around a set of papers.

She always made me uneasy. When she looked at you, it felt like she was staring into the depths of your soul, plumbing it for fault or error. Wasn’t common to see her at a simulation briefing, but she always put in an appearance when new operators arrived.

”Glaz,” she said, not looking up from her podium.

”Ma’am,” I replied.

There wasn’t anything else to say. In this corner of the hangar, her presence seemed to swallow me whole. Probably shouldn’t have been the first one to show up.

Mercifully, the rest of my comrades showed up a few minutes later, most of them chatting amicably. The two newbies arrived as well, but everyone gave them a wide berth. Once everyone was settled, Six got our attention.

”As you are all aware, we have two new arrivals to the Rainbow Team. First among them is Capitão, a distinguished Captain of the BOPE. Capitão?”

The man with the eyepatch stood up and saluted. “Happy to serve ma’am,” he said, his voice a low rumble.  It bespoke of experience and hardship, though his easy smile showed none of it.

Six continued. “Capitão specializes in breaching and area denial. He’s developed a unique set of tactics over his tenure, tactics that have garnered my attention. I believe he’ll make an excellent addition to our team.”

Capitão nodded sagely.

”The other operator joining us today is Caveira, one of BOPE’s most promising lieutenants. Caveira?”

She stood and threw a quick salute, as if the very act of it caused her pain. Her earlier movements spoke of an easy grace, but here she seemed stiff and robotic.

“Caveira is an intelligence acquisition specialist,” Six said, “something sorely needed on our current team.”

Not exactly a reassuring introduction. ‘Intelligence acquisition’ invariably meant some nefarious shit. SPETSNAZ didn’t have the best reputation in that area, I admit it, but that wasn’t my department.

Probably why we had Caveira.

“Today, we’ll be running a hostage recovery mission on an apprehended yacht,” Six said. A collective groan rippled through Rainbow, before a sharp glance from our commander strangled it into silence. “Needless to say, our newest operators will be participating. They have been briefed on the location, and are ready for their first simulation. Thermite, Thatcher, Sledge, Glaz, and Capitão are tasked with rescuing the hostage, while Frost, Jäger, Caveira, Mute, and Rook are tasked with defending her. Are there any questions?”

There were none.

“Good,” Six said. “If your callsign was not listed, you are dismissed for the evening.”
I heard a few grumbles from my less frequently chosen comrades, but they obeyed regardless. Simulations were a popular way to relieve the monotony of life at Hereford, and while everyone had their own hobbies, nothing could quite compare to the thrill of an operation.

Alexsandr and Maxim clapped me on the back as they headed out. “Good luck Glaz,” Alexsandr said. “Do us proud.”

I nodded.

“Give ‘em hell, Glaz,” Eliza said, a disappointed smile on her face. She loved the simulations, and was constantly selected for drills. This must have come as a shock.

Those chosen followed Six into the Simulation Room, a nest of snaking cables, monitors, and dim mood lighting. I can’t talk about how they plugged you in or how it all worked – even if I understood how it worked, that shit is classified to hell and back.

I’ll give you the short, clean version – simulations looked real, felt real, and acted real. Some seriously state-of-the-art tech.

I tried to relax as the process began. I’d been in my fair share of simulations, but this one… I don’t know, I couldn’t sit still. It was exciting to work with the new operators, sure, but there was an undercurrent of danger this time. No one knew what the newbies could do.

When I opened my eyes, I was at a familiar site – a frozen yacht in the middle of an arctic hellscape, a symbol of wealth and privilege left to despair and ruin. But it was more than that – it was a fucking killbox, with no safe avenues of interior approach or room to maneuver.

As a marksman, this place bugged the hell out of me. Why did Six want me along?

I shivered in the cold, huddling myself against a slicing midnight wind. Beside me, Capitão frowned, looking completely out of place in thin grey fatigues and rolled up sleeves.

“Pretty real, innit?” Seamus asked, hefting his sledgehammer. “Almost feels like you’re actually freezing yer noots off.”

“Fookin’ wizardry,” Michael muttered behind his gasmask.

“Let’s quit the bellyaching,” Jordan said. “Focus up. It’s about to start.”

The Director’s voice echoed across the ice – “Locate the Hostage.”

“Let’s get to it boys,” Seamus said, pulling out his phone.

We did our scouting, checking each room of the frozen behemoth for our objective. I found it without too much effort, as my drone spawned close to an adjacent door.

“Hostage sighted, Kitchen,” I said, alerting my team. They chorused an acknowledgement before scattering their drones for good vantage points. I moved my drone away before it stopped responding, and the camera soared upwards.

Caveira appeared in the feed, wearing a grin that seemed to reach her ears. With her face paint, it looked downright demonic.

Something snapped, and my feed cut to static.

Fuck.

I watched the other feeds, trying to get a bead on the defenders’ strategy. They’d fortified most of the breaching locations, but very few operators remained near the hostage. What were they planning?

“I say we breach here,” Seamus said, tagging one of the far walls. “Mike’ll grab the hostage, then we’ll bug out. Capitão, think you can keep them off us?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I can keep their heads down.”

“I’ll break down the hallway wall,” I said. “Keep them uncomfortable.”

“Good, good,” Seamus said. “Let’s keep this quick and professional.”

The allotted time for scouting ended, and we began our mission. I circled around to the bow, where I could check for stray roamers and peg anyone trying to flee the hostage room.

Despite being simulated, the cold air filling my fake lungs certainly felt real. Felt like home. Nothing I wasn’t used to, but that doesn’t mean it was pleasant. I heard the shattering of boards as my comrades breached further down the yacht.

Time to go.

I smashed a window open, checking the interior for hostiles. Nothing but snowdrifts and icicles. Busting down the last of the barricade, I vaulted inside. Still clear. I pressed on, checking my corners and listening intently.

In situations like this, I excelled. The slightest detail can be the difference between life and death. One careless footstep, one panicked breath, one break in the pattern… that’s all it took.

That was all I needed to do my job.

I slowed my breathing, making sure its fog didn’t escape my mask. “All clear so far,” I said into my headset.

“Same here,” Seamus said. “Me an’ Capitão haven’t seen heads or tails o’ them.”

“All quiet,” Mike drawled. “Like a guddamn graveyard.”

I peeked down the stairs, a favored killzone. Nothing. Taking care not to stomp on the steel steps, I descended. Was Yacht always this creepy? It was typically a clusterfuck of explosions and bullets, but today I half expected the ship to grow a pair of chicken legs and begin a maddened dance.

I checked the back room, which was clear of hostiles. Didn’t expect any, but you can never be too careful.

When I turned around, Caviera was in the doorway.

Waiting.

Before I could bring my rifle to bear, my kneecaps exploded, painting the floor in blood and bone chips. Agony ripped through me, and before I could cry out, my radio was torn from my head.

And let me tell you - just because the wounds were simulated didn’t mean they didn’t hurt like hell. It felt like someone set my nerves on fire, and I could feel the cold seep in as blood poured out from my shattered knees.

“Blyat!” I howled, before she mashed my face against the snow-covered metal. How could I have been so careless? How did I not hear her coming?

“Hey there atirador,” Caveira purred, knifing her knee into my back. “We meet at last.”

“Fuck you,” I managed. “That was totally… blyat… that was totally unnecessary.” I pivoted, trying to face my captor. Her eyes had not lost their predatory glee.

“Ah, semantics,” she said, pulling a knife free from its sheath. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

I reached my radio, only for Caveira to crush my fingers under the heel of her boot. A scream bubbled up in my throat, but I couldn’t give it air. Couldn’t give her the satisfaction.

“You don’t enjoy my hospitality?” Caveira asked. “I am deeply offended. Worry not, you can make it up to me.”

I spat. “Fuck yourself.”

“Oh come off it desgraçado,” she said playfully. “I saw you at the range earlier today. You can tell a lot about a man once you meet his eyes. But you know that, don’t you?” In the flickering light of the yacht’s fluorescent lights, her painted face radiated pure, unadulterated joy. This is what she was born to do, what she enjoyed more than anything else in the world.

I realized two things in that moment. One – she was right. Two – she was just like me, in all the ways I didn’t want to think about. She was the part of me that relished squeezing the trigger, that lived for the hunt.

“You aren’t what I expected Caveira,” I said.

“Thank you Glaz,” she said. “But we’re running out of time. I would love to continue this later... you seem like a fascinating person. As for now… where did your friends enter?”

I blinked. “Aftwards. Second level.”

I didn’t think it was possible, but she smiled even wider. There was a simple beauty to her smile, something genuine and radiant.

“See you soon, bonito.”

And that’s when she stuck a knife in my neck.

I awoke in the Simulation Room, sucking in air and clutching at my throat. My throat opened and closed, still believing it had been stabbed open. Why did I betray my comrades? What did she mean by ‘continuing this later’? What does ‘bonito’ mean? I coughed, trying to stabilize my breathing.

And just who the fuck was this person?

I didn’t have answers to any of those questions. Not yet, at least. All I knew was that the days of monotony at Hereford were over, and a svelte, sadistic intruder had inserted herself into my life.

As if it wasn’t complicated enough.