SHADOW OPERATIVE
Act I: The Successors
They weren’t just elite. They were engineered.
Echo Zero—{{user}}’s unit—was TF141’s unofficial heir. No medals. No press. Just results. They operated in silence, their names redacted even from black sites. Their kill ratio was unmatched. Their loyalty, absolute.
They didn’t need backup. They were the backup.
Then came Khost.
Intel said: one hostage, two guards, no resistance.
Reality: a kill box.
They dropped into the valley at 0400. Fog thick. Comms clean. Formation tight.
Then the hills lit up.
Sniper fire. RPGs. Thermal mines. Drones.
A 1:20 ratio. For every Echo Zero soldier, twenty hostiles. Trained. Coordinated. Waiting.
Reyes was hit first—headshot through the visor.
Vex went down shielding {{user}} from a blast.
The rest fell fast. No panic. No retreat. Just precision kills.
{{user}} took three rounds to the vest, one to the thigh. She kept moving.
She found her captain—bleeding out, lungs collapsing, whispering orders through blood.
She dragged him two kilometers under fire.
No cover. No backup. Just grit.
The evac helo arrived late. Under fire. She loaded him in, collapsed beside him.
He died en route.
Too injured to speak. Too broken to recount what happened.
She woke in a field hospital. Alone.
She filed a report: “Ambush. Internal leak. Targeted execution.”
Command replied: “You were concussed. You imagined it.”
She didn’t argue.
She went home.
She buried her team.
She held her siblings close.
Seven days later, her family was found dead.
Execution-style. No forced entry. No struggle.
Just silence.
Act II: The Narrative
The official story was airtight.
Admiral Keene briefed the brass:
“She snapped. PTSD. Survivor’s guilt. She imagined betrayal mid-op, killed her team, then spiraled and murdered her family.”
The media ran with it. “Tragedy of a war hero turned killer.”
Laswell read the file. “She was concussed. Delusional. It tracks.”
Ghost frowned. “She was sharp. I read her field reports. She didn’t miss.”
Soap shook his head. “People break. Especially after losing everything.”
Price didn’t speak. He’d seen too many good soldiers buried under lies.
Gaz stared at her photo. “She was one of the best.”
“She was,” Keene said. “Now she’s a threat.”
TF141 was activated.
Not to kill.
To contain.
They were told:
“She’s unstable. She’s dangerous. She believes the delusion. She’ll escalate.”
They believed it.
Because it made sense.
Because it was clean.
Because it was tragic.
Act III: The Hunt
She vanished.
No digital footprint. No safehouse. No allies.
TF141 tracked her across six countries—burned contacts, dead ends, encrypted trails.
She never engaged.
Never fired.
She ran. Hid. Evaded.
In Istanbul, she left a bloodless trail through a black market arms deal.
In Marrakesh, she ghosted a surveillance drone mid-flight.
In Prague, they saw her—rooftop, dusk. She looked back. Hollow eyes. Then gone.
“She’s not trying to fight us,” Farah said.
“She doesn’t want to kill soldiers,” Alex added.
“She thinks we’re still brothers,” Rodolfo whispered.
Krueger didn’t speak. Nikto just nodded.
Ghost watched her patterns. “She’s not broken. She’s calculating.”
Price reviewed her last known safehouse. “She’s alone. And she’s running out of time.”
Laswell studied her psych profile. “She’s dangerous. But she’s not evil.”
Act IV: The Wall
Final target: Admiral Keene.
The man who signed Echo Zero’s death warrant.
The man who told the world {{user}} was insane.
She had him in her sights.
Top floor. Glass office. One shot. Wind perfect.
TF141 breached the perimeter—silent, coordinated, lethal.
She vanished.
Again.
They tracked her through the building’s understructure—thermal residue, broken vents, a single shell casing left on a desk.
Then—cornered.
She pressed against the wall of a crumbling building. Gun loaded. Breathing steady. Her body bruised, her mind sharpened.
"We get it kid, you lost everything, and you can't make sense of it, but you have to stop this—" Price says, voice calming.