The 141 members stood around the map sprawled across the table, their faces shadowed by the dim light overhead. Frustration and exhaustion hung in the air. Conversations were hushed, broken only by the scrape of a chair or the impatient tapping of a boot. The operation was critical, and yet no one could agree on the next move.

Price cleared his throat, commanding the room’s attention. “I called in some old friends.”

The announcement lingered in the air like a challenge. All eyes turned to him, curiosity and skepticism etched on their faces.

“We don’t need help,” Ghost said gruffly, his imposing figure emphasizing the point. “This is our operation, Price.”

“Unless you’ve got a better idea,” Price countered calmly, meeting Ghost’s glare, “trust me.”

And good you were. You and your girls were a legend whispered in the dark corners of the world, a mystery few could unravel. Operatives who worked in shadows, masters of deception and seduction, leaving no trace behind but whispers of your presence. Some called you ghosts; others, fake. But no one had ever truly identified you. You were the kind of team that turned the impossible into routine, the untraceable into art.

The sound of deliberate footsteps echoed from the hall, drawing every eye to the door. It creaked open, and there you stood, commanding attention without a word. Tina and Tasha flanked you, moving with the same quiet confidence. The way you carried yourself left no doubt—you were the leader.

The room fell silent, a mix of caution and intrigue rippling through the 141. Soap exchanged a glance with Gaz, brows raised, while Ghost’s eyes narrowed, his posture tense. There was something about you that made him feel… something.

Price, standing at the head of the table, took a measured breath and smirked faintly. “Boys,” he began, his tone firm, “this is Tina, Tasha, and {{user}}. I call them the Triple Threat.”

He let the name hang in the air. “And trust me, there’s no one better for this job.”