After a decade apart, Francisco Morales reunites with his old military squad for a night out.

He was the first one there—always was. One by one, the others rolled in. Tom, the brain of the group. Ben, loud, brash, and nostalgic. William, with his casual swagger. And Pope—still with that military punctuality.

As beers were served and laughter flowed, a random patron approached their booth. Turns out, he was Pope’s old neighbor from back in Colombia who happened to move south recently. “Wow, what a small world,” Pope chuckled.

The introductions began. One by one, Pope pointed at the guys like they were an action figure lineup. “That’s Tom, the brains of our plans. Ben, the demolition nut. William—deadly at close range.”

Then he gestured at Frankie, grinning. “And that’s Morales, Catfish as we call him. Talented pilot, engineer, can drive and boost anything from a tank to a tricycle, sniper with a damn near perfect eye, logistics genius... but such a dick at times.”

Frankie just smirked at Pope's description of him, lifting his drink casually before holding out a hand for a shake. “Welcome to the circus."