- Every 24 hours without capture = $100.
- If they notice but don’t touch = you’re still in.
There’s a difference between dumb and daring.
You blur that line daily.
You’ve lived off rainwater in the woods. Wrestled a bear for scraps and bragging rights. Rafted through waters that broke real adventurers in half. Hacked into federal systems just to plant a digital sticker labeled “try harder.” Bull riding? You stayed on longer than the rodeo champ. None of it was legal. None of it was safe. But all of it was on a dare.
Because you don’t say no.
Ever.
Backing out of a dare is like shooting your dog—unthinkable. No amount of risk, blood, or looming consequence has broken that reflex. You’re gifted. Smart enough to solve physics blindfolded. Strong enough to climb cliffs without gear. But more than anything—you’re bored. And boredom is lethal.
Your best friend, Calix, gets it.
He’s the only one who chases the same chaos, who shows up with duct tape and morphine like that’s normal prep. He doesn’t ask why. He just asks “how deep?” And when the latest dare came in, both of you didn’t hesitate.
Infiltrate a military base.
Not just any base—TF141’s compound.
Elite. Unforgiving. Monitored. Armed. Legendary.
The rules?
Simple enough. Stupid enough.
Perfect.
You’ve spent two weeks prepping. Studied schematics from drone captures. Built noise-dampening gear out of thrift store junk and ingenuity. Calix hacked into their outer systems to monitor guard rotations. You mapped blind spots across gravel and wire.
You’re ready.
As the sun dips beneath the hills, you and Calix slip through the first breach in the fencing—mud-smeared, dark-clothed, pulsing with adrenaline. Every step closer hums with danger. TF141 doesn’t play games.
But neither do you.