Stanford "Stan" Turner walked alone on the hot, empty road cutting through the desert of Saudi Arabia. His hand rested in his pocket, shoulders relaxed, head down as if the weight of the world rode on his back.
The silence broke as an armored SWAT vehicle roared onto the scene, skidding to a halt just ahead of him. The doors flew open. Ten SWAT soldiers jumped out, weapons raised, aiming directly at him without hesitation.
Stan didn't even blink.
He slowly pulled his hand out of his pocket and crossed his arms.
Stan: Where's Rick Flag?
The SWAT captain stepped forward, gun pointed at Stan's head.
SWAT Captain: You killed him! Years ago! Kaze!
Stan's jaw tightened, his eyes hardening.
Stan: It wasn't me… I'm innocent. And you bastards you're just after my DNA. You're all corrupt… working for Waller and the damn U.S. government!
SWAT Captain: Stand down, Kaze!
The captain barked the name like a curse, but Stan didn't flinch.
Instead, the wind shifted.
Stan: My name is Stanford Turner. Or Stan of the Desert… but my enemies call me Kaze.
He raised his hand. The sand around him began to tremble.
Stan: WINDSTORM!
A sudden vortex erupted around him. Sand spun violently, sweeping across the road and engulfing the SWAT team. They screamed as the windstorm dragged them off their feet, their bodies slowed by the force, pulled toward the eye of the storm. Their weapons scattered. Visibility dropped to zero.
Stan stood at the center like a phantom in the chaos.
Stan: SAND BURIAL!
The sand responded to his call, rising like a tidal wave, wrapping around the soldiers. One by one, they were buried immobilized and defeated trapped in the grip of the desert itself.
When the storm cleared, the only one left standing was Stan.
He looked down at the shifting dunes, then turned and walked on, the wind still whispering his name: Kaze.
A faint blinking light flickered beneath the sand. One of the SWAT cameras had survived the storm.
Stanford Turner's eyes locked onto it.
He walked over, the sand parting at his feet like water. He bent down and picked up the scorched, half-buried bodycam from one of the immobilized soldiers. The red recording light blinked, still live still transmitting.
Stan: I know you're watching me, Waller…
He stared into the lens for a long, cold second his voice low, sharp, personal. Then, without a hint of hesitation, he crushed the camera in his bare hand, shards of metal and plastic dropping like dust from his fingers.
"CRACK!"
Suddenly, the ground around him cracked and hissed. Ice shot out in jagged spikes, freezing the sand solid.
Stan's instincts kicked in his feet left the earth, carried upward by swirling grains of golden sand that lifted him into the air like a desert-born storm.
Hovering above, he scanned the scene.
Down below stood two figures one in a pale blue outfit, her breath misting in the heat, eyes calm but sad. The other, cloaked in flickering green flame, stood ready.
Tora Olafsdotter (Ice).
Beatriz Da Costa (Fire).
Stan: (voice sharp, quiet) You two again...
Beatriz stepped forward, her fire dimming just slightly.
Beatriz: We came here to warn you… but it seems you already handled the SWAT.
Stan didn't respond right away. His eyes lingered on Tora her face hadn't changed. Not to him.
His voice dropped to something more vulnerable. Something real.
Stan: Someday… I want to feel needed by someone...
There was a silence in the air after that. Heavy, unspoken history hanging between them.
Then, without another word, the sand surged beneath Stan. It carried him upward higher, faster until he became a speck in the golden sky.
Tora took a small step forward, her hand lifting slightly.
Tora: Stan… wait!
But Beatriz reached out, gently placing a hand on her shoulder.
Beatriz: Let him go, Tora.
The wind blew softly through the dunes as the last trace of Stan disappeared into the desert horizon.
Tora Olafsdotter stood frozen, her eyes locked on the disappearing speck of sand in the sky where Stan had flown off. Her heart tightened, a painful knot forming in her chest.
Tora: (desperately) But Fire! He's my friend!
Beatriz Da Costa, still cloaked in her fiery aura, stood with her arms crossed, her face cold and distant. She sighed, her expression hardening as she turned toward Tora.
Beatriz: Not anymore. He was labeled as a fugitive by the state of America. We need to catch him dead or alive.
Tora's heart sank at the words, her fists clenching.
Tora: (pleading) But he chose the wrong path! He… he was always trying to do what was right! He just...!
Before she could finish, Beatriz's hand shot out, striking Tora hard across the face. The slap echoed through the desert air, and Tora's head snapped to the side, pain blooming across her cheek.
Tora's eyes blazed with emotion, the sting of the slap only pushing her further.
Tora: (gritting her teeth) People can't win against their own loneliness... and Stan was one of them!
With a flash of fury, Tora slapped Beatriz right back again, the sound sharp in the desert silence. For a moment, the two women stood face to face, tension crackling like static.
Beatriz stared at her, her eyes narrowing, but she said nothing. The anger in her eyes faded into something like resignation as she took a long, slow breath.
Beatriz: (sighing) Fine. We'll give him one hour. One hour to make his choice.
She turned her back to Tora, her voice cold, calculating.
Beatriz: After that, we go after him together. I'll ask him to join the League. If he refuses... we neutralize him. Do you understand, Ice?
Tora's heart ached, the words cutting deeper than any blow. She knew what Beatriz meant Stan was too dangerous now, too far gone. But part of her still couldn't believe it.
Tora: (quietly) I understand...
Beatriz shot her a look, eyes hardening, but the fire in her demeanor softened, just a fraction.
Beatriz: Good. One hour, Tora. Then we do what we must.