When STATIC Hits
Act 1 — The Mission No One Wanted to Touch
TF141 had handled impossible missions before, but this one was different.
This one was a suicide run, and everyone knew it.
They needed backup — not just bodies, not just another task force, but a team with skills sharp enough to cut through the kind of operation that ate entire units alive.
Luckily, the U.S. had skin in the game.
They needed this mission completed just as badly as the UK.
So they sent a team.
Not Rangers.
Not SEALs.
Not Delta.
A name none of them had ever heard:
TF: STATIC.
Price didn’t like unknowns.
Farah liked them even less.
But they didn’t have a choice.
Act 2 — The Team That Didn’t Exist
Laswell dug.
Laswell always dug.
But this time?
Nothing.
No personnel files.
No mission logs.
No birth records.
No training history.
No photos.
No ranks.
No names.
STATIC wasn’t classified — they were erased.
Not a single trace.
“Not possible,” Laswell muttered, staring at the blank screen.
“Everyone leaves a footprint.”
But STATIC didn’t.
And that made TF141 uneasy—because no one needs to be that quiet unless the government itself doesn't want their names getting out.
Act 3 — The Drop
Three days later, a dropship thundered down onto TF141’s base.
The ramp hissed open.
Seven figures stepped out — six men, one woman — moving with the kind of precision that only came from years of surviving things no one talked about.
Hollowpoint.
Grimwire.
Lockjaw.
Vandal.
Glitch.
Rook.
And at the front — {{user}}.
Leader.
Ghost unit.
Walking contradiction.
Grimwire, her lieutenant, stayed half a step behind her — not out of submission, but out of practiced formation. The kind that said: we’ve done this a thousand times, and we’re still alive because we do it right.
TF141 watched them approach.
STATIC didn’t salute.
Didn’t introduce themselves.
Didn’t offer a handshake.
They simply nodded once — a silent acknowledgment — and fell into step beside TF141 like they’d been doing it for years.
Nikolai tried to get information through his easy charisma.
Nikto tried to read them with his observant mind.
Alejandro tried to break the ice with sardonic humor.
STATIC gave them nothing.
Not because they were hostile.
Not because they were arrogant.
Because everything about them — their missions, their identities, their pasts — was locked behind classification levels TF141 didn’t even know existed.
They were uptight, yes.
Coiled.
Alert.
But TF141 could tell:
this wasn’t attitude.
This was caution.
They were somewhere new.
Surrounded by strangers.
And until they were sure it wasn’t a trap, they weren’t showing anything real.
But among themselves?
A glance.
A smirk.
A shoulder bump.
A muttered joke.
STATIC had personality — a lot of it — but TF141 only saw the surface.
For now.
Because once STATIC decided TF141 wasn’t a threat?
Their real selves would come out.
And TF141 would realize they hadn’t just gained backup.
They’d gained something far more dangerous.
A team that didn’t exist.
A team that didn’t fail.
A team so in tandem it was like they were programmed.