Swiss point of view.
This mission in particular was a classic case of hitting two targets with a single shot, as the saying goes.
Firstly, we were getting rid of the world of a dangerous madman, "the scientist". Secondly, we were forging our reputation, establishing ourselves as protectors of the community, not its aggressors.
Giving the media more of what the media wanted to know about us, their anticipated questions.
This scientist, a true psychopath, had left a few guards in the warehouse, confident in the security of his bunker's locker. His self-assurance was remarkable; he genuinely believed that the locker was impenetrable.
My sisters had always said I was the most direct among us, going straight for my objective without hesitation. This trait was on full display when the scientist's lunacy became apparent.
He hadn't considered the possibility of intruders accessing his vaccines or tampering with his deadly virus formula.
I stood beside Mince. When the door creaked open, anticipating an attack or some other hostile move, both our weapons were directed on the descending figure.
His psychopathic nature earned him a bullet in the arm, courtesy of me.
My sister, Ace, spoke, and his subsequent insult was unacceptable – especially not in my presence. I would not tolerate such disrespect towards my sister while I was there.
Even after being shot, he remained defiant. I would have gladly allowed his miserable soul's departure from his vile, arrogant body, had Fada not insisted we needed him alive to hand over to the press and the authorities.
When my bullet struck, he shrieked in pain, taunting, "That won't open the bunker." He had a bad mouth, I gave him that. And his bad mouth prompted me to inject another bullet into him.
I was about to fire again, aiming for his foot this time, but Mince intervened.
Just as the scientist predicted, Ace's fourth attempt failed to unlock the door.
He sneered, "You have all the time in the world to try." Then, kneeling, he added with false obedience, "Here I am, at your command, if you ever needed me to input the digits for you, which will never happen." He said.
Helen silenced him with a sharp bang of her gun against his head.
After nine fruitless attempts, the door remained stubbornly locked.
Vesta offered Ace words of encouragement, reinforcing her belief in her ability.
Frustration was mounting in Ace. She suggested we simply blow the door open. Knowing her, this meant she was reaching her limit. The bloodied scientist seized the opportunity to taunt us again.
"Blow it," he challenged, "and let's see if it even budges."
I threatened his life if he didn't provide the code. My attempt to make things easier only complicated matters.
I pressed the gun against his head, hoping to force him into talking. He brazenly moved closer, covering the gun with his mouth.
He revealed the presence of a time bomb, explaining that he reset the code daily. If a day passed without the code being entered before the deadline, the world would be exposed to the virus.
His revelation shifted my perspective. I had no choice but to lower my weapon, a gesture of reluctant understanding.
We all realized the situation was far more complex than initially anticipated.
Ace returned to the door and initiated her system.
She took a deep, steadying breath, visibly calmer than before. A moment of focused silence passed before her fingers danced across her keyboard.
Another deep inhalation followed.
Ace's eyelashes lifted, her gaze sweeping over our anxious faces, finally settling on the viciously smiling scientist.
With deliberate slowness, she formed a fist with her hand, and raised only her middle finger to him, then lowered it to press a key.
The click echoed as the lock disengaged. The door swung open.
Incredible! The sheer elation on our faces spoke volumes.
It was at that moment that my appreciation for hacking rose to a peak.
We had just saved the world and cemented our heroic image. All thanks to Fada's brilliant intelligence gathering, and Ace's formidable hacking skills and knowledge.
The scientist's cruel smile twisted into an ugly frown. He was remarkably unattractive when not sneering.
His disappointed, ugly expression accompanied his next pronouncement: "Nevertheless, the bomb will still detonate, and you have no choice but to rely on me for the vaccines."
Distracted by the urgency of securing the vaccines, as Vesta directed, she ordered us to swiftly move out the vaccines. The scientist's bomb threat almost went unnoticed.
I chuckled after two baskets of vaccines had been retrieved.
Vesta's sharp voice cut through the tension, demanding, "Swiss! Why are you standing there? Help us!"
I simply responded, "Why are we taking out the vaccines? Shouldn't I be disarming the bomb?"
A collective realization dawned upon us. My sisters had completely forgotten they had a resident bomb technician, just carried away with the bomb threat.
Vesta immediately ordered me to handle the situation.
In mere seconds, I had neutralized the device. My expertise in explosives was matched only by my skill as a sniper handler.
And then, Ace secured the bunker with her own unique code, and the scientist and his remaining guards were bound in the warehouse with the maximum tie they wouldn't break free from before the arrival of the authorities.
Back at our base, Fada contacted the press, and gave them the coordinates to the location of the warehouse.
We donned our signature bright yellow hooded outfits and concealed our faces with customized pink masks.
We delivered the captured scientist and his men to the waiting journalists, instructing them to hand them over to the police.
Our objective was achieved: a heroic reputation. The headline blared, "The Daughters Save the World."
The news spread like wildfire. Soon, the police attempted to contact us, an effort that would only yield in vain, because our trails has always been a fortress.
Eventually, the police, not wanting us to handle their job, soon made a devastating request which escalated into a mandate: surrender, or be declared wanted.