Scorned (Rainbow Six Siege Fanfiction)

First Impressions

After what felt like ages of travel, Ritual steps out onto the crisp snow freshly blown off of the helipad. The blades whirring above send the freezing crystals into her clothing and flying through the vents in her helmet. Clutching her duffle bag, she waves off the pilot, Hatch, before trudging into the path of the snowed-in base.

She pulls out the ring of keys given to her, selecting a silver one through her thick gloves and plunging it into the lock. She then reaches for a card attached to her belt and gives it a quick swipe. With a beep, a turn and a firm push, she enters, struggling to shut the door over the harsh wind. It slams and she takes a deep breath before leaning against the couch and removing her snow shoes.

"Might as well try to make this place presentable." She flicks the light switches, all five, and throws her snow covered belongings aside. She looks around contentedly. Everything was exactly as she left it last time. The spacious living area had three soft brown couches with a table in the center. Its dark wooden surface was painted by a few years of scuffs and use. The kitchen's marble countertop was spotless, and the cupboards all emptied. On each side of the large room are ledges jutting out from the walls with ladders attached. She looks at the loft on the left, then her own on the right before climbing up.

Ritual unlocks the door, cautiously peeking in as if it was still inhabited. She examines the miniature barracks. The eight beds were still made and they only needed a little love, and the nightstands, a light dusting. "Home sweet home..." She says in her native tongue as she wipes the dander from every surface.

Ritual hears a beep; Motion sensor, she remarks in her head, then the front door latch clicks. She stands in front of it with her arms crossed, waiting, until it swings open and six men stumble inside. She steps back slightly, a little surprised but unamused, and slams the door shut.

"Damn, it's cold." The red haired male pulls himself off of the ground. He is wearing traditional GIGN gear, as Ritual had seen it many times before. His bags are light and few, all of it and himself being covered in the sky's powder.

"Why didn't they pack us coats?" A blonde man also stands up, dusting himself off. The snow falls from his plate carrier and onto the wood floor. He wore more than most GSG 9 operators, which Ritual is pleased to see. She always found them a little too casual.

"Same reason they don't give us helmets: Not in Rainbow's budget." Another man chuckles as he adjusts. He had a combination of gear and bags, none from any specific place. It appears he put the look together himself.

Ritual crosses her arms and clears her throat loudly. The men's eyes all scan the area before meeting her in unison, to which they lock with her gaze and quickly stand.

"On your feet!" She calls, watching them form a line and stand perfectly straight. She looks them over curiously. They all looked like average recruits, a blank slate, and yet they each had deep eyes and rooted boots, like they'd been through as much as she had already. A small hum escapes her as her eyes soften to them. "Who is the Spetsnaz?"

"Would be me, Ma'am." The tallest man says in his thick Russian accent. He looks at her with his round hazel eyes, his strong jawline slightly stubbled and resting on broad, muscular shoulders.

"First in line," she points. He grabs his bags from the floor and follows her gesture, large footsteps seemingly shaking the room as he walks. "Who's the FBI?" Ritual's eyes scan the group further. The man gives her a slight nod. He has deep brown hair and eyes, matching his dark skin. She points behind her first Recruit, and he steps into line. "GSG 9?"

"Me, Miss." The German man grins a little before he falls into line. His bright blonde hair catches the lights as he walks and his green eyes trace the floor.