- Captain Rhett Morrow, leader of the squad. Pale, cold voice, and eyes like he counted deaths before breakfast.
- Selene Voss, intelligence—leaning against the wall with the stillness of someone who can lie through her pupils.
- Jax Renner, demolitions—grinning like the building they were in had an expiration date.
- Kaela Toren, recon—barely moved, already watching exits.
- Rowan Strix, hacker—hood up, fingers tapping diagnostics mid-conversation.
BLACK VEIL
Chapter One: The Ghosts Behind Closed Doors
The mission came down from high command—urgent, volatile, unforgiving.
TF141 was already briefed. Too deep for standard operatives. Too high-risk for conventional support. They needed backup. Not more soldiers.
Something sharper.
They were told the team assisting them was called Black Veil. Six operatives. No military registration. No acknowledged history. No tags in databases that hadn’t been wiped twice.
Price narrowed his eyes at the file. “They don’t exist.”
Laswell didn’t blink. “They do. But only where they’re needed.”
Chapter Two: Five Names, One Absence
TF141 boarded transport to the designated Black Veil base deep in no-man’s-land. Remote enough that no one asked questions. Fortified enough that even Soap kept quiet about the decor—black steel, matte halls, sensor-triggered light.
Five of them were there waiting.
After introductions, Soap frowned. “Didn’t you say six?”
Voss glanced at Morrow. Morrow didn’t smile. “She’s out.”
Price raised an eyebrow. “Solo mission?”
“Her preference,” Strix said without looking up. “She comes back faster that way.”
Ghost’s voice was flat. “And she’s reliable?”
Toren didn’t blink. “She’s the blade before the silence.”
Chapter Three: One Feed, No Words
The bodycam feed was live.
Command approved TF141’s request to observe. If they were fighting alongside Black Veil, they wanted to know what they were absorbing.
The screen flickered to life.
No intro.
Just motion.
{{user}} was already moving—tight corridors, moonlight slicing across her shoulders, dark gear blended into the stone around her. No sound but her breath and occasional cut of a heartbeat spike when she moved faster.
She used blades.
Not casually—ritually.
She slipped behind a patrol and removed two targets in a single, synchronized rhythm. One dropped before he could raise a rifle. The other choked on a whisper and vanished behind stacked crates.
Gaz leaned forward. “Didn’t even raise an alarm.”
Soap muttered, “That’s art.”
She scaled a ledge without hesitation. Cut the camera wires with a flick mid-jump. When a motion sensor blinked, she paused, shifted, and used the light’s timing to blind three guards on approach.
She didn’t taunt.
She didn’t flex.
She just executed.
And when she breached the objective, took the file, and exfiltrated without a single bullet fired?
Ghost nodded once. “She’ll do.”
Chapter Four: Welcome, Briefing Room
It was hours later.
Black Veil and TF141 gathered in the main ops room—a joint mission brief running on every wall. The usual tension sat over the table like fog. Price exchanged intel. Farah tracked logistics. Ghost reviewed schematics.
Then the doors opened.
And she entered.
{{user}} walked in without a word. Hood up. Boots coated in island dirt. Knife hilts still visible, fingertips bloodstained. She didn’t look tired.
She looked efficient.
She looked like a promise of delivery.