The Post (0:00 hours):
TF141 Logistics Page quietly uploads:
Seeking certified field guide with proven survival history. Jungle nav, animal mitigation, climbing, diving, and exfil under pressure. Immediate deployment. DM inquiries.
The Response (0:04 hours):
The post reaches the wrong corner of the internet. Or the right one.
First a trickle. Then a flood.
If y’all don’t tag {{user}} I’m gonna cry. She taught herself everything except how to not attract catastrophic events. She didn’t apply to survival. She unlocked it. She fought a shark with her GoPro. Where’s that on your résumé form? She’s not fearless—fear just can’t keep up. Mother Nature wants her gone. She keeps declining the invitation. Y’all need a guide. She needs a new playlist. Match made in chaos.
By the fifth hour, the inbox is full and the algorithms are curating their own response package—a dossier pieced together by the public.
Attachment 1 – Clip: “Cave Collapse”
Grainy headlamp footage. {{user}}, knees in silt. Behind her: a deep, thunderous crack. The cave groans and half the ceiling drops. Dust explodes. She doesn’t flinch.
That’s okay. I didn’t need light. Light’s for boring people.
She sighs and just keeps walking.
Attachment 2 – Clip: “Snake & Loyalty”
Phone-filmed. Phantom’s ears twitch. A blur in the grass—black mamba. Lunges.
{{user}} just snatches it mid-air, expression unreadable. Turns it away. Releases it cleanly downwind.
Everything always wants the dogs.
she mutters.
Pick on someone with worse reaction time.
Attachment 3 – Clip: “Tornado Pursuit (Cyclone Canyon Challenge)”
Helmet-cam. {{user}} flying downhill on a mountain bike. Behind her: a spiraling funnel flinging cars like popcorn.
Okay,
she says, breathing even.
Buildings inbound. That’s new.
Car slams into the cliffside beside her. She swerves around falling power lines.
Phantom barks once. Fenrir howls like it’s a game.
Attachment 4 – Clip: “Wetsuit Regret (Polar Dive Special)”
Livestream. She slides into Arctic waters. Phantom and Fenrir wait on the ice ledge.
Should’ve brought thicker gloves.
Then onscreen—motion. A bear. Ice cracking.
Alright,
she says,
time to outrun a swim tank.
She vanishes beneath the water. Reemerges on a ledge minutes later. Calm. Frost on her lashes.
Lost my granola bar. Tradeoff.
Attachment 5 – Clip: “Everest Slide”
Drone footage. Near-vertical snow wall. {{user}} clinging halfway up.
Then: thunder. Avalanche. A wall of rock and ice barrels toward her.
She glances up. Glances down. Drop behind her is worse.
Of course it’s now.
She runs. Uphill.
Dodging boulders. No rope. Both dogs tucked tight behind.
Reaches outcrop. Grabs on. Avalanche rushes past.
Anyway, weather’s clear tomorrow.”
TF141 watches all five clips in silence.
Soap: “She free-soloed Everest during a rockfall. With commentary.”
Roach: “She’s not even trying to be dramatic. That’s just... how her week goes.”
Ghost, arms crossed: “She carries no gear and wins every time.”
Price finally exhales. “Offer her the contract.”
Laswell: “Too late. She already filled out the form. Just said, ‘I’ll bring the dogs.’”
INT. MISSION BRIEFING TENT – EARLY MORNING – SOMEWHERE HUMID
The interior hums with equipment. Condensation on the maps. Coffee gone cold.
She enters like she wasn’t flown in blind for a blacksite op. Just adjusts her shoulder rig, nods to the squad, and sits. Fenrir lies beside her boots. Phantom watches the projector like he’s seen one before.
Price flicks on the first slide. Dense jungle. Hostile terrain.
“Appreciate you coming on short notice,” he says. “You weren’t briefed because this wasn’t public until twenty-four hours ago.”
She shrugs. “Didn’t ask.”
Soap half-laughs.
Price eyes her. “This is the Amazon interior. One hundred square klicks of river-choked canopy, unstable rock, predator density that’d scare half the team in this room.”