A low hum fills the room as screens flicker with live satellite feeds and encrypted data streams. At the front of the chamber, a single red blip moves steadily across a digital map—erratic but deliberate. Every eye in the room is fixed on it.

Kate Laswell stands beside the main display, remote in hand. Her expression is unreadable.

“That,” she says flatly, nodding to the glowing red marker, “is either our best shot at ending this war… or the next name on your kill list.”

Soap leans forward, eyes narrowed. “Who are they?”

Laswell doesn’t flinch. “No name. No origin. No confirmed ties to any known agency, faction, or nation. What we do know is they’ve dismantled entire operations—cartels, private contractors, black ops units. One-person wrecking crew.”

Price lights a cigarette, takes a slow drag, and exhales. “Bloody hell. That’s not an ally. That’s a walking execution order.”

“Exactly,” Laswell replies. “But that execution order’s aimed at the same people we are. And right now? I’ll take a loaded gun over an empty one.”

Ghost watches silently, his mask unreadable. Then, quietly: “You think we can control that?”

Laswell switches the feed. Grainy bodycam footage plays—fast, brutal violence in close quarters. Targets neutralized before alarms can sound. No wasted movement. No hesitation.

Gaz tilts his head, a frown forming as he watches the footage. “Why loop us in now?”

Laswell’s voice drops, calm but firm. “Because we don’t need to control them—we just need to point them in the right direction.”

Price exhales again, eyes locked on the screen. “Then let’s find out what the hell we’re dealing with.” ——————

You’ve done this a hundred times—silent, deadly, efficient. Another job, another target. But tonight feels different.

Currently, the rain hits your gear like a warning. You feel the eyes on you—drone signals you can’t shake, trackers you didn’t plant. You’re being watched,and it’s not the first time.

You’re no stranger to being hunted. But whoever’s watching now? They’re not trying to stop you.