Chapter Text
Ever since Miks joined the protocol, his life had never been short of adrenaline.
The rush of the battlefield was nothing like the carefree and vibrant life he once had being an underground DJ. Back then, the loudest thing he'd had to worry about was blowing out a speaker. Now it was the crack of gunfire, the deafening roar of explosions, and the sickening silence that followed when someone didn't answer their comms.
This was a life he’d never imagine for himself.
When he first joined the protocol, one thing had made the danger easier to accept.
Sage.
She was the team's anchor—the quiet reassurance that even if the worst happened, it didn't always have to be the end. Missions were brutal. People got shot. They bled. Sometimes they died.
And somehow, Sage brought them back.
It didn't make them reckless. At least, that's what everyone liked to tell themselves.
But it did make death feel... temporary.
Like another obstacle to overcome instead of an ending.
Until now.
No one knew exactly what the strange crystals spreading beneath Sage's skin were, only that they interfered with her radiant abilities. Every resurrection demanded more from her than the last. Healing left her exhausted. Reviving someone was becoming almost impossible.
She never complained.
She never admitted how much it hurt.
The others noticed anyway.
So the Protocol did what it always did.
They adapted.
Mission briefings became stricter. Retreats were called sooner. Risks that once would've been shrugged off were now carefully weighed.
Because for the first time in a long time…
Death meant something again.
Not just to the person who fell.
But to everyone left behind.
That’s why now as Miks tries to quickly reload his gun, a cold sweat ran through his forehead.
A hand grenade, one similar to the one Raze uses, is heading towards the direction of where Gekko is.
The small weapon hit the ground and a few moments later it exploded.
Miks froze. His body ran tense. There were so many things that ran inside his head. But one thing was for sure, it’s that he needed to know if Gekko was alright.
Every instinct screamed at him to hold the angle.
Every lesson Brimstone had drilled into him told him to wait for cover, clear the corner, and trust his team.
He ignored them all.
Gun clutched tightly in one hand, he sprinted into the smoke.. He rushed quickly to where Gekko was, in a corner where there was a box obscuring the enemy's vision of where Gekko was, only to find a puddle of goo and the paint from the grenade.
He barely has time to wonder what happened— until he winces. A bullet grazed his right arm. His smoke was dissipating and in a few moments the enemy will have a clear shot to his head. So Miks slapped himself and rushed to hide in a corner.
“Miks! Where are you?” Brimstone’ voice crackled through the comms “We need to go no–”
The rest of the transmission dissolved into static.
Or maybe it hadn’t.
Miks couldn’t tell. The pounding in his heart drowned out everything else.
He searched the areas once more, He searched the area one last time, his gaze darting between the shattered crates and the splatters of neon paint. Nothing.
No movement.
No calling back.
No sign of Gekko.
Swallowing the knot in his throat, Mks forced himself to retreat.
The VTOL's engines were already roaring, the downwash whipping dust and debris across the landing zone. Its rear ramp had already begun to lift.
Brimstone stood at the edge of the ramp, one hand gripping the frame as he scanned the battlefield.
“Move!”
Miks broke into a sprint.
Brimstone caught his forearm and hauled him aboard just as the ramp started to rise.
The doors seals shut with a heavily metallic thud.
“Wait!” Miks lurched toward them before they could fully lock. “Gekko’s still out there”
Brimstone didn’t answer.
He only rested a firm hand on Miks's shoulder.
“Easy, son.”
Miks lowered his gaze. Guilt washing over him, he should’ve searched for Gekko more. If only he had more time.
Suddenly a familiar voice echoed through the VL/TR’s speakers.
"¡Bueno, chicos! Let's fly this thing!"
It was Gekko, but how? Miks didn’t need to ponder that right now,
Miks rushed to the cockpit. There he was.
Gekko sat in the pilot’s seat, he leaned over the console, flipping a series of switches before poking at one of the displays.
For a heartbeat, Miks could only stare.
“He’s… flying?”
Gekko glanced over his shoulder, flashing the same carefree grin he always wore.
“Oh Miks! There you are. Go grab the little dudes and take a seat.”
Miks followed gekko’s gaze.
He carefully lifted Wingman and the others from the co-pilot's seat, each of them sound asleep in their encapsulated forms. Resting them gently on his lap, Miks slid into the seat beside Gekko. Relief washed over him at the sight of them, but the image of that empty corner still lingered in his mind.
“Idiot,” Miks mumbled.
“Hmm? What was that?” Gekko responded.
“You scared me half to death! I thought we’d lose you!” Miks cried out. “Why didn't you say anything after the blast? I... I couldn't find you..."
Gekko reached for Miks’ hand. “I’m sorry I should’ve informed you I was ok. I should’ve said something” Gekko sighed.
Miks’ hand was still trembling.
Gekko gave it a gentle squeeze.
“I’m ok, alright?” Geko said with a sheepish laugh. “Takes more than that to get rid of me.”
Miks didn’t answer, his eyes fixated on the clouds lost in thought.
After a moment, Gekko reluctantly let go of Miks' hand and returned it to the controls, guiding the VL/TR toward home.
It was already late into the night when the team returned to the base. As always, Sage and Skye were already on standby at the infirmary so they could run a post mission check up on all of them.
One by one, the agents filed past them. Some needed a little more than a few bandages. Others left with fresh stitches, bruises treated or minor fractures healed. It was always like this after every mission.
Miks was the last one to enter the infirmary. He barely acknowledged the room around him.
His thoughts remained on the battlefield, to the corner where he’d been certain Gekko had died.
“Miks,” Sage called.
No response.
“Earth to Miks!” Skye said, waving a hand in front of his face.
Still nothing.
Sage sighed before lightly flicking Miks’ forehead.
“Your arm.”
He followed Sage’s gaze.
Only then did Miks notice the wound on his arm. It was caked in dried blood, and now that the adrenaline had worn off, the pain came rushing in.
Sage guided Miks to a chair and knelt in front of him. As she cupped his injured arm, a soft green glow began to gather in her hands.
Before the light could spread over the wound, Miks gently pulled his arm back.
"Stop, Sage." He offered her a small, reassuring smile. "Don't waste your strength on this."
Sage looked up at him, confused.
"It's only skin deep. I can patch it up myself." Miks glanced toward the other agents waiting their turn. "You and Skye have already done enough tonight."
Miks stands up, grabs a nearby medkit and heads to the door.
“I’ll just patch myself up in my room, don’t worry about me.” Miks said in a hurry.
Before heading back to his room, he took a detour to the communal showers.
He needed a moment
He needs to freshen himself up if he wants to have a good night’s sleep tonight.
He puts the medkit down on the bench in front of the lockers and peeled off his bloodstained clothes.
The shower sputtered to life, and warm water met his body.
Pink ribbons of diluted blood swirled around the drain as he scrubbed away the dirt, soot, and dried blood clinging to his skin.
Alone with his thoughts, he realizes something.
Miks had always found comfort in sound.
The pulse of music beneath his fingertips. The chatter of his teammates over the comms. The excited babbling that always seemed to follow Gekko wherever he went. Even in the middle of a firefight, there was always something to hear—a heartbeat, footsteps, the distant crack of gunfire.
When all of that disappeared...
...what was left was silence.
For most people, silence was peaceful.
For Miks, it had become terrifying.
Because for one dreadful moment on the battlefield, all he had listened for was Gekko's voice.
And he heard nothing.