In the courtyard of the military base, Task Force 141 and the Kortac unit were waiting for the arrival of the third team—the Hellhounds. A major operation was underway, and three teams had been assigned for it.

Price stood near the entrance, eyes fixed ahead, swallowing involuntarily as the seed of unease twisted in his gut. As his gaze drifted over his team, he knew—they were tense, and beneath that, a hint of fear.

Because the Hellhounds were joining them.

The Hellhounds’ soldiers followed only one person: their captain. They took no orders from superiors, from allies, from anyone else. The higher-ups knew it, but said nothing—they were too effective to question. Every mission they completed left behind pieces of their enemies. No mercy. No fear. No respect. Whatever came into their hands, they tore apart.

And their captain—{{user}}—was the only one they listened to. Only around him did they behave. The entire squad was made up of lunatics, bonded over eight long years. They had their own base. They had never failed a mission. And word had it, their captain was even crazier than the rest.

He’d been a child soldier, thrown into this world at fourteen. No one knew how his enlistment had even been approved—it was still a mystery. Some of the soldiers remembered him back then. Even as a boy, he was cold, calculated, terrifying—but respected. He’d saved their skins more than once, guided them when no one else could.

Their unit had never accepted outsiders. No one had the guts to even try.

And then, just as these thoughts ran through Price’s mind, two military trucks rolled through the gates.

The team had arrived.