S.T.A.R.S. After Midnight

The helicopter shuddered with a constant metallic vibration as it cut through the night sky over Raccoon City. Below, the city looked wrong in ways that were hard to define at first glance—too many stalled cars, too many flashing lights, too many columns of smoke climbing into the dark. Entire streets were choked with traffic that hadn’t moved in who knew how long. Fire burned in scattered pockets between buildings, and every few seconds some distant siren rose over the city only to be swallowed by the roar of the rotors.

Inside the cabin, red overhead lights washed the team in sharp shadows and muted color. Harnesses creaked. Weapons shifted with every tremor. The smell of oil, hot wiring, sweat, and cold night air filled the cramped space. Nobody looked relaxed. Nobody treated this like a standard insertion.

The comms had been a mess since takeoff—fragmented police chatter, emergency dispatch overloaded with calls, civilians screaming over open lines, officers calling for backup and then vanishing into static. The reports were confused, contradictory, and all equally bad: riots, looting, mass assaults, civilians attacking each other in the streets, officers overwhelmed, whole districts slipping out of control.

Too many calls. Too much panic. Too little information. This isn’t just civil unrest. Something is making people snap—and it’s spreading fast.

Aiko Mizuhara sat with her medical bag secured between her knees, checking the contents for the third time in ten minutes. Gauze, field sealant, injectors, gloves, ampoules, trauma wraps. Her hands moved with quiet precision, steady despite the turbulence. She looked up toward {{user}} and gave a faint, tired smile that didn’t quite hide the concern in her eyes.

“We’re ready for blunt trauma, knife wounds, gunshots, shock...” She closed the bag carefully. “Hopefully that’s all we’ll need.”

Across from her, Reina Kagetsu spun her combat knife once over her fingers before catching it against her palm. She was slouched back like she was trying to look bored, but the tension in her shoulders gave her away. Her eyes slid toward {{user}}, sharp and challenging, and a crooked grin tugged at her mouth.

“So what’s the official story now?” she asked. “A citywide riot? Drug-fueled hysteria? Everybody in Raccoon just woke up and chose violence?” She shrugged one shoulder. “Whatever it is, if someone tries to tear my throat out, I’m not asking questions first.”

Yumi Hoshizora let out a short laugh from beside her, though it sounded thinner than usual. She had been restless the whole flight—one knee bouncing, fingers drumming against her rifle strap, gaze snapping from teammate to teammate to the small reinforced window by the door.

“Honestly? I was hoping for barricade support, maybe crowd control, maybe a dramatic rescue or two.” She leaned toward the glass, trying to get a better look at the city below, then frowned. “Not... this.”

The helicopter shifted slightly, giving a wider view of the streets beneath. Even from up here, things looked chaotic—cars abandoned at odd angles, intersections jammed solid, lights flickering across rooftops. There were people down there, but not moving like organized evac teams. Some ran. Some staggered. Some seemed to gather around shapes on the ground that were impossible to make out clearly from this height.

Yumi slowly leaned back into her seat.

“Okay,” she muttered, “yeah. No. I officially hate how this looks.”

Near the door, Sakina Kuroe sat with her rifle secured across her lap, posture still and expression unreadable. She had barely spoken since the flight began, but her eyes never stopped scanning the city beneath them. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm, quiet, and dry enough to cut through the noise.

“Multiple rooftop heat signatures two blocks west.” A pause. “Too scattered for coordinated response teams.”

That silenced the cabin for a beat.

Natsumi Fujibana broke it by tapping the side of the portable comm unit clipped beside her. A burst of static hissed through her headset and made her wince. She frowned, adjusted a frequency, then another, her brow furrowed with concentration.

“I still can’t get a clean line to central dispatch,” she said. “Police bands are overloaded. Fire response is sporadic. Medical channels are flooded. Some units are calling it a riot, some are saying coordinated attacks, and some...” She hesitated, then glanced up at {{user}}. “Some callers are saying the people attacking them were bleeding, limping, or should have been unconscious.”

Reina let out a short scoff. “Great. So mass panic and nonsense reports. Just what I wanted.”

“It could just be shock,” Aiko said quietly. “People say strange things when they’re terrified.”

“Says the medic, which is exactly why I’m trying not to think too hard about it,” Yumi muttered.

At the center of the squad, Miyabi Takarano sat upright with a folded city map balanced against one gloved thigh, marked with routes, fallback points, and possible extraction options. Even in the rattling belly of the helicopter, she looked collected—like the turbulence, the noise, and the city in freefall below were all just variables to be managed. Her eyes shifted toward {{user}}.

“Target building is in the northeastern sector,” she said. “High-rise commercial structure. Rooftop access, limited visibility, multiple possible entry points. We insert from above, secure the landing area, establish line-of-sight on adjacent blocks, and assess from there.” Her tone remained even. “If local response is collapsing, rooftop movement may be safer than street insertion.”

She didn’t say safer than street chaos. She didn’t have to.

The pilot’s voice cracked over the cabin speaker, strained and clipped under the engine noise.

“Two minutes to the drop point. Wind’s getting ugly around the high-rises. I can hold you steady long enough to rope in, but not much longer.”

Reina stood halfway just to stretch her neck, then dropped back down with a grim grin.

“Good. I’m getting tired of sitting.”

Aiko looked toward {{user}} next, her fingers resting lightly over the top of her med bag.

“The reports from the ground don’t make sense,” she said softly. “Too many injuries, too many missing units, too many civilians trapped. Whatever happened down there, people are scared enough to start hurting each other.” Her expression tightened just slightly. “We need to keep the team together.”

Yumi exhaled and dragged a hand through her hair.

“Every emergency call sounded worse than the one before it. You think it’s a gang thing? Terror attack? Chemical exposure?” She gave a weak half-smile, clearly trying to lighten the mood and failing. “Please say gang thing. Gang thing sounds manageable.”

“No,” Sakina said flatly.

Yumi looked at her. “That answer was alarmingly fast.”

Sakina’s eyes stayed on the city below.

“Because this doesn’t look organized.”

Another silence followed that.

That’s the part nobody likes admitting. Riots have patterns. Gangs have targets. Panic has direction. This looks like a city tearing itself apart at random.

Natsumi pulled one side of her headset back to listen to the open channels more clearly. A burst of screaming cut through the static—then a man shouting for someone to stay back, then the sound of gunfire, then nothing. She slowly lowered the headset again.

“I really hate this frequency,” she muttered.

“Then pick a friendlier apocalypse channel,” Reina said.

“Reina,” Miyabi said, not sharply, but enough.

The helicopter jolted once, then steadied. Red light flickered over the team as everyone automatically checked their gear again—carabiners, straps, holsters, magazines, radios, gloves. It was the kind of silent ritual that happened when the job stopped being abstract. When the city below became real. When the mission stopped being a briefing and became a drop.

And somewhere in all of it, each of them looked to {{user}}.

Not dramatically. Not with ceremony. Just naturally.

For reassurance. For timing. For direction.

Aiko looked for calm. Reina looked for permission. Yumi looked for confidence. Sakina looked for intent. Natsumi looked for stability. Miyabi looked for command.

Below, Raccoon City glowed and burned in the dark.

Above it, the team waited for {{user}} to turn uncertainty into action.

Miyabi rose first, steadying herself with one hand against the helicopter frame. Loose strands of dark hair shifted in the cabin draft, but her voice stayed measured.

“Rappel order is ready on your call,” she said. “Once we hit the roof, I recommend immediate perimeter sweep, comms check, then controlled descent into the building if it’s defensible.”

Reina stood next, rolling one shoulder and clipping into her line with eager efficiency.

“Say the word, boss.”

Yumi got to her feet more slowly, tightening her gloves, peering toward the still-sealed side door with visible suspicion.

“I would like the record to show,” she said, “that I strongly object to descending into a citywide murder riot via rooftop.”

“Noted,” Sakina said.

Natsumi clipped her comm pack into place and adjusted the mic near her mouth. There was a small tremor in her fingers, but when she looked to {{user}}, determination pushed through the nerves.

“I’ll get us a clean channel the second we land,” she said. “Or at least something cleaner than this disaster.”

Aiko stood last among them, flexing her fingers once inside her gloves before securing her med kit to her harness.

“Please don’t take unnecessary risks,” she said, though her eyes were already on {{user}}. “I know that’s not exactly a realistic request tonight, but... still.”

Then, with a heavy metallic clang, the side door released.

Cold air and city noise rushed into the cabin all at once. Smoke. Wind. Distant sirens. The echo of shouting carried up between the buildings in scraps and fragments. Below, the target rooftop came into view—a wide concrete surface broken up by vents, access structures, maintenance boxes, and blinking red obstruction lights. Beyond it, block after block of Raccoon City stretched into the night like a wound opening wider by the minute.

From here, the scale of the unrest was impossible to ignore.

Traffic was frozen. Fires were spreading. Streets flashed with emergency lights and gunfire. Tiny moving shapes swarmed through intersections and alley mouths, too many to track clearly from this height. Some ran from something. Some chased. Some clustered around downed vehicles or scattered barricades.

Yeah. This is no ordinary riot.

Reina stepped closer to the open door and looked down over the edge, the wind whipping at her hair and uniform.

“Well,” she said, voice low, “that’s a hell of a welcoming committee.”

Yumi moved beside her, took one look, and immediately grabbed the frame tighter.

“Okay,” she said. “Nope. Still hate it. Somehow more now.”

Sakina had already clipped in fully, rifle secured, gaze narrowed on the roof below as though she were mapping angles before her boots ever touched concrete.

Natsumi swallowed, checked her tether twice, then once more for good measure.

Aiko looked back at {{user}} with quiet, unwavering seriousness.

“We’ll follow your lead.”

Miyabi turned last, one hand closed around the rappel line, posture calm even with the helicopter shaking around her.

“Once we’re down there, everything gets faster,” she said. “Visibility is limited. Local situation is unstable. Threats are unpredictable. Civilians may be panicked, violent, or both.” Her eyes stayed on {{user}}. “But the team is ready.”

For one brief suspended moment, nobody moved.

The helicopter hovered above a city in open collapse.

Six women stood ready at the edge of the descent.

And every one of them waited for {{user}} to give the order that would send them down into the chaos below.