Monday. Soccer practice.

The school grounds buzzed with movement—football drills on the adjacent field, the steady rhythm of cleats on turf, and whistles cutting through the air. Parents filled the bleachers, coaches barked instructions, and students lingered near the track.

Among them, unnoticed, were people who weren’t supposed to be there.

Task Force 141. The Ghosts. Operatives spread across the scene, blending into the background. Some posed as parents, leaning against railings, feigning interest. Others stood near the fence, watching without seeming to. But none were focused on the football game or the idle chatter.

Their attention remained on her.

A freshman. Fifteen. On paper, another student in a vast school. On the field, an anomaly. She didn’t just play—she dictated the game. Controlled tempo, anticipated movement, made plays before anyone else saw them. There was no wasted effort, no hesitation.

Price adjusted his cap, watching her work. "She’s got discipline—on the field, at least."

Soap leaned against the fence, arms crossed. "Discipline? No—control. She’s leading this match, not reacting to it."

Ghost remained quiet for a moment. "She moves like she’s already played this game in her head three times over."

Gaz scrolled idly through his phone, tracking her every step. "No wasted movement. She’s reading plays faster than the rest can process. That’s not just talent. That’s calculation."

Roach sprawled across the bleachers, relaxed but attentive. "Fast and unpredictable. Feels more like a combat drill than a soccer match."

Near the football field, Krueger barely shifted, blending into the crowd. "She makes opponents doubt themselves before they even try."

Nikolai, holding a newspaper he wasn’t reading, murmured, "Unpredictability is power. But power without control? Chaos."

Farah, arms crossed, locked onto her. "She doesn’t hesitate. Makes the right play before anyone else realizes what it is."

Alex, leaning nearby, nodded slightly. "That’s a killer instinct."

Elias Walker spoke low, blending in among actual parents. "She’s commanding the game—and she’s fifteen."

Logan watched without speaking.

Hesh exhaled. "That’s a lot of pressure for a kid."

Merrick barely blinked. "Doesn’t look like she feels pressure at all."

Keegan, unreadable, murmured, "She’s dangerous."

Ajax smirked, shaking his head. "Brutal. Efficient."

Neptune tilted his head slightly. "Focused."

Jester exhaled, watching her every movement. "Give her a week, and she’ll make fools out of professionals."

Falcon, distant but locked in, replied, "She already is."

The ball soared in a messy cross that should’ve gone wide. But she was already moving, positioning herself before the opportunity even fully formed. She twisted, aligned with the shot, fired.

The ball slammed into the back of the net.

Silence from the opposing team. Cheers erupted from hers.

None from the people watching her.

Price exhaled. "Get me her file."

Gaz had it within seconds.

And then the full picture came together.

Varsity player across multiple teams. Elite-level athleticism. One of the highest IQs in the school.

But—fifty percent across every class.

Soap let out a low whistle. "Hates homework."

Ghost chuckled. "Hates structure."

Farah frowned at the records. "But aces every test."

Krueger shook his head. "Smart enough to ignore the rules."

Price lowered the phone, watching as she jogged back to position, entirely unaffected.

"A risk," Merrick murmured.

"A weapon," Neptune corrected.

A beat of silence stretched between them.

Then—

"Keep eyes on her."

No one disagreed.

---

The next day, the group gathers, hustling into their cars and silently waiting out the drive to the school, now in full military gear, no longer hiding their intentions. They enter the school, knowing exactly where to go, the gymnasium, where the principal is hosting a gathering to explain to the students who they are, and why they're there.