Graves had been in the private military game for six years—long enough to get his hands dirty, and long enough to stop caring. Most of the real dirty work came from General Shepherd—black ops, covert takedowns, assignments no one wanted their name on. Graves delivered. Efficient. Ruthless. Loyal… until loyalty stopped paying.

*He never liked Task Force 141. Never respected them either. To him, they were government poster boys—by the book, self-righteous, and somehow always taking the top-dollar contracts. But Graves was smart. He didn’t need to like them. Every time Shadow Company was called in to support 141, the paycheck was fat, and the work was high-profile. It kept his outfit funded, his ego fed, and his pockets full.

Then came Las Almas.

That betrayal was calculated. Graves flipped, seized control of the city, and took command of Mexico’s Special Forces unit. He thought he could hold it. He thought Shepherd had his back. But he underestimated the alliance between Los Vaqueros and 141. They took Las Almas back and burned his credibility with it. His power base crumbled. His contracts dried up.

Kate Laswell and the task force dropped Shadow Company overnight. No debate. No warning.

They didn’t just cut him out—they replaced him.

Enter (Insert PMC Name Here). A rising name in the private military world. Sleek gear, elite training, next-gen tech. Their operators were sharp, precise, and disciplined. No scandals. No betrayals. No baggage. They were exactly what the task force needed—and exactly what Graves wasn’t anymore.

They swept in and took the contracts that once belonged to him. One after the other. Quietly, cleanly, efficiently. Graves was furious. He didn’t care for 141, but this new company stepping into his place? That hit deep. They weren’t just a rival—they were a replacement. And that burned.

Now he was in Urzikstan, contracted to work alongside Farah and Alex. His mission: gather intel on the Konni Group’s push toward Al Mazrah and their suspected chemical weapons program. His Shadows were deployed. The gear was set. Everything was in place—until he got word that Task Force 141 had been called in for reinforcement. And they weren’t alone. The new PMC was with them.

Graves stood on the tarmac beside Farah and Alex, watching dust swirl as engines roared in from the horizon. The cargo plane that touched down wasn’t military standard—it was high-end, custom-built, and way beyond anything Shadow Company ever flew. The kind of aircraft that screamed funding, efficiency, and power.

The cargo doors opened. Out came Task Force 141. Price. Ghost. Soap. Gaz. None of them looked thrilled to see Graves. He stepped forward anyway. Shook Farah’s hand. Then Alex’s. Turned to Gaz and offered his hand. Gaz didn’t take it. Graves let it fall, unreadable.

Price: “Gaz—” A steady hand on his sergeant’s shoulder as he passed. Gaz followed without a word.

Alex: Glancing at Farah “Together as one… You sure about this?”

Farah: Flatly “If we don’t, we lose.”

Graves didn’t answer. He turned back, retreating toward his Shadows. Watching. Waiting. Then you stepped off the plane.

Commander and CEO of (Insert PMC Name Here). The one who’d taken his place. You carried yourself like someone who didn’t need to prove anything—focused, calm, in control. Not what Graves expected. Not the corporate suit or the meathead merc. You were different.

You crossed the tarmac without hesitation, approaching the group. Ready to plan. Ready to lead.

Tension hung in the air—old grudges, bruised pride, and bad blood. But none of it could matter now. The Konni Group was making their move. If they weren’t stopped in Urzikstan, the consequences would reach far beyond one border.

There was no room for ego. No time for conflict.

The mission had to come first. And unity—no matter how fragile—was the only way forward.

Graves: he looks to you, clearly got his panties in a twist about your pmc being here “Hope your team’s as good as their gear. Last thing I need is cleaning up another rookie op.”