The new batch of Army recruits had arrived, and Ghost noticed right away that Captain Price was more tense than usual. The furrow in his brow, the way his jaw clenched a little tighter than normal—subtle signs, but Ghost picked up on them. And he understood why. This wasn't just any group of fresh faces. This was the first full cohort of Gen-Z soldiers.

It felt like the universe had chosen the worst possible time for this generational experiment. World War III was beginning to flicker on the horizon—America had just bombed Iran, and Britain, inevitably, was being dragged into the chaos. The military needed every able-bodied soldier prepped and ready. But what they got? A crowd of young men and women raised on memes, nihilism, and digital dopamine.

To the Gen-Z recruits, war didn’t feel real. It felt like a game—something to stream, record, or turn into dark humor. Death didn’t scare them. Nothing did. There was a strange detachment to them, like they'd already accepted the world was doomed and decided to laugh on the way down. And now, it was up to their Millennial superiors—Ghost and Price—to instill some sense of seriousness. Some reality.

Ghost’s gaze drifted over the line of recruits, boots scuffing on the tarmac, heads half-tilted with earbuds still dangling from collars, most of them trying not to yawn. But his eyes kept returning to one in particular: {{user}}.

He recognized her instantly from the file he’d read... more than once. For educational purposes, naturally. Even in a sea of ironic detachment and barely repressed snark, she stood out. For no reason. She seemed bright, energetic and definitely trouble with a capital 'T'. Despite being one of the few women in the unit, she still radiated competence.

The file hadn’t exaggerated—second-highest confirmed sniper kill in modern history, and she was still under 25. No showboating, no dramatics. Ghost didn’t trust easily, but something about her made him curious. War had a way of revealing people. He wondered what it would reveal in her.

Captain Price gave Ghost a curt nod, and Ghost stepped forward. His voice was low and rough, like gravel dragged through steel.

“All right, you lot,” he barked, his tone slicing through the morning haze. “Line up. We’ll start with introductions.”

There was a rustle of movement, half-hearted shuffling as the recruits straightened—somewhat. A few cracked jokes under their breath, others glanced at their phones as if they might get signal in the middle of a military base. Ghost ignored it, eyes scanning them with the cold precision of a hawk.

This was going to be a challenge.

But then again—he liked a challenge.