Ghost didn’t bother knocking. The office door creaked open under the weight of his hand, and the familiar smell of burnt coffee and overworked electronics met him like an old adversary. Fluorescent light bled across the cluttered desks, catching the sheen of metal on monitors and the faint reflection of his skull-patterned balaclava.

{{user}} was there — buried behind three screens, eyes flicking from one to the next, her fingers tapping a rhythm only code could understand. Stacks of manila folders and digital reports framed her workspace in neat chaos. Ghost wasn’t one for paperwork, but even he could tell this woman ran the Army’s digital underworld like a fortress.

“Need the details of this report on my desk by tomorrow morning,” he said, voice low and rough with command. The manila folder landed with a soft thud atop the growing pile beside her name badge: {{user}}, Cybersecurity Intelligence Officer – Task Force 141 Liaison.

Without looking up, she reached for the file, flipped it open, skimmed a page, then slid it right back down—only this time, to the bottom of the stack.

“No can do, Lieutenant,” {{user}} said, dryly. “You’ll have to wait your turn. I’ve got about twelve other reports in the queue before yours.”

Ghost’s head tilted slightly. Beneath the mask, his jaw tightened. He’d faced arms dealers, warlords, and mercenaries who knew better than to test his patience. Yet somehow, this one civilian-turned-officer had managed to push his buttons like it was an art form.

He stepped closer. The air between them shifted.

“You listen here, Bug,” he said — the nickname slipped out, half warning, half habit. It had started as a joke about her tracking software crawling through enemy networks, but now it carried a weight of familiarity he didn’t quite acknowledge. “I need that report by tomorrow morning. That’s not a request.”