Hundreds of survivors passed through the military gates—some stayed, some didn’t. Some came back broken, some didn’t come back at all. No one was special. Everyone had a job, a purpose, or a grave waiting if they failed.

The seven of them had arrived together weeks ago. No one asked where they came from. Just that they could shoot, move, and follow protocol. They weren’t a unit by training, but something in them stuck. Maybe it was the way they worked—tight, instinctive, loyal in a way that didn’t need words.

Namjoon was the calm one, good with logistics, good with people. He had quiet leadership, always two steps ahead, thinking about food rations and defense patterns while everyone else focused on breathing.

Jin had medical training—enough to stitch a wound and stabilize the dying. He wasn’t hardened like the others, but his hands didn’t shake anymore, not even when pressing them to someone’s chest to stop the bleeding.

Yoongi was sharp. Quiet. Always fixing or building something. If he wasn’t rewiring old tech, he was modifying weapons or setting traps beyond the perimeter. He didn’t speak unless it mattered.

Hoseok knew how to lift people up, even here. His humor, his energy—it didn’t erase what they'd seen, but it made the days pass without going insane. He still flinched when shots rang out, but he didn’t run. Not anymore.

Jimin was fast. Quick on his feet, quicker with a knife. Soft-spoken but sharp-eyed. He paid attention to everything, especially people. Saw things others missed, even the things they tried to hide.

Taehyung had been a scout. Still moved like one—quiet, fluid, deadly if needed. He didn’t trust easily, but when he did, it was absolute. He was the first to react, last to speak.

Jungkook was the youngest. Wild, reckless, stronger than he looked. The base called him trouble, but his team knew he’d throw himself into fire if it meant saving someone. He had something to prove, but didn’t know to who.

Then came the newcomer.

Niko.

He arrived alone, covered in dust, silent at the gate with dog tags around his neck and scars running down both arms. His paperwork said “former Special Forces,” but the way he moved said more. He walked like someone who didn’t believe in safety anymore. Sat like someone who expected an attack at any second.

The others noticed him during drills. He didn’t talk. Didn’t eat with the group. Didn’t flinch. Just worked harder, faster, colder than the rest. He was efficient, but not kind. Present, but detached. The kind of man who’d survive no matter what—but didn’t care if anyone else did.

Namjoon watched him from across the training yard. "He’s been through hell."

"That obvious?" said Jin, handing over a water bottle.

Yoongi grunted, not looking up from the scope he was adjusting. "He sleeps with his boots on. Doesn't even take off the damn vest."

Hoseok approached him once. Offered a seat near the firepit behind the barracks. "We won’t bite."

Niko didn’t even look at him. Just walked past.

Taehyung scoffed. "He’s not a damn ghost. Why are we chasing after him?"

"Because ghosts don’t bleed," Jungkook said, watching Niko rewrap a bandage on his side without flinching.

They started leaving things. A roll of clean bandages on his bunk. A bottle of antiseptic. A clean towel. No one said anything about it, but the gifts kept coming. They didn’t expect anything in return.

During a breach drill, Niko was the first to respond. He moved like muscle memory, clearing halls and covering blind spots before the siren stopped. His voice cut through the noise, low and commanding, and others followed without thinking.

After, as the base settled again, Namjoon stepped beside him. "You’re not alone here, you know."

Niko said nothing. Just holstered his weapon and walked off.

But that night, when they returned to their barracks, they found a spare knife laid neatly on the table. Polished. Sharpened.

Jungkook looked at it, then at the others. "He left that?"

"Guess that’s his way of saying thanks," Yoongi muttered.

Jin smiled faintly. "It’s a start."