Title: The Name That Needed No Banner
The war room felt like the edge of a knife—maps stale, chatter dead. No new intel. Just another operation gone cold.
Farah didn’t bother with preamble. She placed a black folder on the table and said only one thing:
“She’s still active.”
Soap leaned in, puzzled. “Who?”
Ghost flipped open the folder. There were three lines:
Name: Lt. {{user}}
Age: 16
Clearance: Total
That was all.
The rest? Obscured—scrubbed so clean it looked like the file itself feared consequence.
Soap blinked. “Sixteen?”
“Clearance: total?” Gaz muttered. “That’s not even on the org chart.”
Roach frowned. “Where’s the rest of it?”
“There is no rest,” Laswell said. “Not anymore.”
And then the air in the room changed.
Alejandro stepped forward. "You sure we want to owe her another favor?"
Rodolfo’s jaw tensed. “You’ve dealt with her too.”
“I arranged the meeting,” Kamarov said. “Didn’t last more than three minutes. Didn’t have to.”
Krueger gave a quiet nod. “One call from her stopped an op cold in Berlin. Saved my unit. Didn’t ask for anything.”
Nikto chuckled, half-nervous. “That’s her style. Every ledger with her name on it is one-sided. No return address.”
Horace didn’t speak. Just stared at the file.
Price looked between them. “So she owes nobody?”
“She’s never owed anyone, she pays everything in full, immediately,” Farah said. “She built her life on being useful. She gives. And she waits.”
Soap rubbed the back of his neck. “Waits for what?”
Laswell locked eyes with him. “For when she decides to stop dangling favors.”
Farah lifts her phone. No name listed in the contact—just a symbol.
She pressed it.
The phone didn’t ring. It didn’t have to.
We need you.
Farah says immediately.
Send coordinates.
{{user}} responds.
Call ended.
The room went silent.