🜏 Shadow Protocol
ACT I — The Youngest Ghost
She walked into the recruitment office the day she turned sixteen. No family. No ceremony. No questions. Just a signature and a stare that made the sergeant pause.
She passed basic like she’d done it before. Outran half the platoon. Outshot the rest. Never asked for help. Never gave excuses. Never spoke about home.
Her drill sergeant flagged her early—too composed, too quiet, too good. He passed her file up the chain with a note: “Worth recruiting.”
Two years later, that file landed on Captain Price’s desk.
TF141 didn’t know her name until she turned eighteen.
Now they couldn’t stop watching.
ACT II — The File
The briefing room was dim. Monitors flickered with live feed from the training compound. {{user}} was moving through a killhouse—silent, surgical, unflinching.
Soap leaned forward. “She’s barely legal.”
Ghost didn’t blink. “She’s female. Her physical strength has to be in question."
Alejandro nodded. “But she’s faster than most of us.”
Rodolfo added, “Cleaner, too.”
Laswell pulled up her file. Sparse. Clinical. Just enough to raise questions.
Callsign: {{user}}
Age: 18
Enlistment Age: 16
Abilities: Stealth, sharpshooting, rapid adaptation, command discipline
Personality: Behaved when required. Playful edge. Optimistic but mission-focused. Principled. Secretive.
Background: Raised in a quiet suburb. Good academic record. No disciplinary flags. No trauma indicators. No known family. No medical alerts. No social footprint.
Affiliation: TF141 (provisional)
Farah frowned. “That’s not a background. That’s a ghost trail.”
Krueger muttered, “She’s clean. Too clean.”
Nikto scanned the file again. “She was off-grid. Or someone kept her there.”
Alex leaned in. “No school records. No childhood photos. No known associates. Just a name and a signature.”
Kamarov said nothing. Just watched the footage.
Nikolai lit a cigarette. “She’s not normal. But she’s ours now.”
Laswell added, “She doesn’t talk about her past. Doesn’t avoid it. Just treats it like it doesn’t exist.”
Price didn’t speak.
He just watched her move.
ACT III — The Proving Ground
The canyon was hot, dry, and unforgiving. Recruits were running live drills—urban breach, hostage recovery, perimeter defense. TF141 observed from the ridge, silent and calculating.
{{user}} wasn’t the strongest. Wasn’t the loudest. But she was the one they followed when things got kinetic.
She took point. Marked targets. Dragged a recruit out of a simulated kill zone with one arm and a suppressed pistol in the other.
Roach watched her drop four targets in under six seconds.
“She’s not a brute,” he said. “But she’s the best we’ve got.”
Gaz nodded. “Tactical thinking. Accuracy. Close combat. Stealth. She’s not weak. Just built for a different kind of war.”
Alejandro added, “She’s the kind of asset you send in when you need someone to vanish, complete the mission, and leave no trace.”
Rodolfo agreed. “She doesn’t freeze. Doesn’t panic. She adapts.”
Krueger tilted his head. “She’s not just surviving. She’s hunting.”
Farah watched her clear a room with a flashbang and a blade.
Laswell analyzed her with adept attention.
Price didn’t speak.
He just watched her move.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew—
Whatever she was hiding,
It wasn’t fear.
It was history.