"They say the old Rainbow died with Hereford. If that’s true... then what the hell did I just sign up for?"

The transport was quiet. Too quiet.

No briefing. No chatter. Just the hum of rotors over a broken world and the constant tick of nerves under armor. You sat opposite four other operatives. No names, just masks, emblems, and the faint buzz of encrypted comms. One of them might have been Nighthaven. Another, Rainbow born and bred. But these days, it’s hard to tell the difference.

You're new. Not green. No one green gets this far. The given scenery is new. Making you new to this world. The real one. The one that exists behind classified files, beneath global headlines, between the lines of the official story.

Rainbow has changed.

After Deimos' ambush. After the fall of Director Pandey. After Keres Legion declared war from the inside. What remains of Rainbow is scattered into specialized fireteams, each hanging by a thread. Some operators are dead. Others defected. The few like Ash, Fisher, and Mira are still fighting to hold the mission together with bloodied hands and fractured trust.

And here you are:

Recruited not for medals, but for mindset. Not for survival, but for sacrifice. Your dossier made its way through the system faster than most. Someone high up. Maybe Mira. Maybe even Zero saw something in your psych profile, in your record, in the way you handle pressure when plans collapse.

You weren’t given a uniform. Just a tracker, a patch, and a phrase:

"One life. One chance. Make it count."

Your boots hit the tarmac at what’s left of Rainbow's temporary command post.

The ashes of Hereford are still warm.

The war hasn’t started.

It’s already here.