The annihilation of the village of Al-Karim was not a shout that shook the world. It was a whisper. A hissing whisper that slithered through the halls of power, the meeting rooms of intelligence agencies, and the seedy bars where violent men trade lies and ammunition. For the general public, the story was a blur of contradictory news that lasted less than a news cycle. A Syrian government spokesperson blamed an "internal dispute between terrorist factions" that resulted in a tragic ammunition depot explosion. Conspiracy theorists spoke of an unclaimed drone strike. The truth, as always, was far stranger and more terrifying, and known only to a select few.
Langley, Virginia. CIA Headquarters.
In a sterile conference room known as "the Fridge," the Deputy Director of Operations, a man named Marcus Thorne (no relation to the ex-Kilo leader), watched images on a giant screen. They were thermal satellite images, grainy but unmistakable.
"At 01:00 hours," a young analyst began, pointing at the screen with a laser pointer, "our satellites detected an insertion by a single unidentified helicopter ten kilometers from the target. At 03:00, the main assault team, consisting of approximately thirty individuals, moved into their positions. At 03:17, we detected a total communications blackout within a five-kilometer radius around the village."
The screen changed to show a series of synchronized thermal flashes. "The assault began with the simultaneous elimination of exterior watch posts and the neutralization of three HVTs in this building. What followed was... a model of efficiency. Three ten-man teams executed a perfect pincer movement. Organized resistance ceased in less than forty minutes. The complete operation, from insertion to extraction, lasted just under three hours. Zero casualties on the assault team. One hundred and four casualties on the enemy side."
Thorne rubbed his temple. "So, it wasn't an internal dispute."
"No, sir," the analyst replied. "It was a decapitation and annihilation operation carried out by a Tier 1 force. The problem is that none of our forces, nor the Russian SVR, nor the Chinese MSS, nor even the Mossad, had assets in that area at that time."
"So, who?" Thorne asked the room.
"All we have is this," the analyst said, showing a blurry image of the ambush on Koko Hekmatyar's convoy a month earlier. "The only other time we've seen this level of unclaimed efficiency was here. In both instances, Ms. Hekmatyar was... nearby. In the first incident, an unknown operator with the moniker 'Kage' was the decisive factor. We don't have a name, a face, or a nationality. For now, we've designated this new entity as 'Specter.' They are a ghost army, sir. And we have no idea who holds the leash."
Tel Aviv, Israel. Mossad Headquarters.
The man known as "Gad" stood before the agency director's desk.
"It was a resounding success, sir," Gad said. "The Black Scorpions have been eliminated as a threat. The message has been sent."
"Ten million dollars is a very high price for a message," the director replied, looking out the window at the illuminated city.
"We paid for efficiency and plausible deniability. And we received both in abundance. Their methods were... impeccable. No trace, no evidence, just a village full of dead terrorists. They are the perfect tool for dirty work."
"And do we know who they are?" the director asked.
"Only their company name, 'Shadow Company,' and their commander, 'Kage.' They seem to have emerged from nowhere. Their digital footprint is almost nonexistent. Whoever they are, they are a ghost. But they are our ghost, for now."
"Keep watching them," the director ordered. "A tool so sharp is incredibly useful, but also incredibly dangerous if it falls into other hands. I want to know everything about them."
Somewhere over the Pacific Ocean. HCLI Private Jet.
Koko Hekmatyar laughed as she read the report on her tablet, ice clinking in her orange juice glass. Lehm sat across from her, cleaning his rifle, while Valmet practiced her knife throws at a target at the back of the jet.
"Ten million dollars!" Koko exclaimed with delight. "The boy has ambition! And he delivers!"
"Annihilating a hundred men with a force of thirty and taking no casualties isn't just ambition, Koko. It's a statistical anomaly," Lehm said, without looking up from his weapon. "What he did for us in the pass was impressive. This... this is something else. It's like he has the enemy's playbook before the game even starts."
"His 'air mortar' and 'smoke drone' weren't from any known manufacturer," Valmet added, her voice taut with suspicion and grudging respect. "Their logistics are impossible."
"Exactly!" Koko said, her eyes gleaming with feverish excitement. "Isn't it wonderful? I've spent years mastering the arms trade game, a game with predictable rules and players. And suddenly, a new piece appears on the board. A wild piece. A wildcard. Our wildcard!"
She leaned back in her leather seat. "I created Shadow Company as much as he did. I gave him the opportunity, the initial capital, the first contract through my contacts. I pushed him onto the world stage to see how he danced."
"And now what?" Lehm asked.
"Now, we observe," Koko said. "We let the world react. We let the big players wonder who he is. We let him build his reputation and his legend. Because when he's strong enough, legendary enough... his value to me will be incalculable. Not as an employee, but as a partner. A partner with abilities that defy explanation."
The whisper of Al-Karim even reached the darkest, most anarchic corners of the world.
Roanapur, Thailand. The Yellow Flag Bar.
The bar reeked of stale beer, cigarette smoke, and desperation. Revy, feet on the table and her Cutlass in her lap, listened to the stories drunk mercenaries told at the bar.
"I'm telling you it was a ghost team," a scarred ex-French Foreign Legionnaire was saying. "They went in, killed everyone, and vanished. Not even Spetsnaz are that clean."
"Bullshit!" Revy yelled, throwing an empty bottle that smashed against the wall. "It was probably the CIA cleaning up their own mess, as usual! There's no such thing as a perfect ghost team."
Dutch, polishing a glass behind the bar, shook his head. "I'm not so sure, Revy. The stories are too consistent. The lack of evidence, the precision... it doesn't have the Agency's clumsy style. This is different. It's a new player. And big new players make me nervous. They destabilize the market."
Sitting in a corner, Rock read the news on a tablet, cross-referencing underworld reports with contradictory news articles. "The key variable is efficiency," he murmured to himself. "A force capable of such a feat operates at a level beyond most state special forces. If they're a PMC, they've changed the rules of the game. It's not just about who has the biggest guns, but who has the best software, the best strategy. A company like that could overthrow small governments on demand."
Revy glared at him with disdain. "Stop overthinking, Rock. You're giving me a headache. If they show up around here, we'll fill 'em with lead like everyone else."
But Rock couldn't stop thinking. In a world of wolves, an alpha predator of an unknown species had just appeared.
Tokyo, Japan. Ministry of Health and Welfare, Public Security Bureau Headquarters.
Inspector Akane Tsunemori observed a hologram in Division One's meeting room. It showed a world map with a bright red dot over Syria.
"The Al-Karim incident has been classified by the Sibyl System as a Class A Latent Crime Event," Inspector Nobuchika Ginoza reported, in his usual serious tone. "The destruction of the terrorist cell reduced the region's overall Crime Coefficient by 0.2 points, but the responsible entity is a specter. Its Crime Coefficient is... uncalculable."
Akane frowned. "Uncalculable? How is that possible?"
"Because to Sibyl, they don't exist. No records, no manifests, no digital trace. They're a blind spot. A force capable of committing acts of mass violence without being judged by the System," Ginoza explained. "It's a paradox that has put Sibyl's analysts in a loop."
"Is there any connection to Japan?" Akane asked.
"Only one. The tenuous connection between arms dealer Koko Hekmatyar and the operator 'Kage' during the Khyber Pass incident. Tanaka Industries, the yakuza Kaito Tanaka's family business, has logistics agreements with HCLI's Asian branch. It's a very thin thread, but it's the only one we have. The System is concerned. An entity that can operate outside its judgment poses a philosophical threat to stability. It has ordered us to monitor any information related to 'Shadow Company'."
Akane looked at the red dot. She felt a chill. Her job was to confront criminals whose potential for evil could be measured and quantified. But how do you confront a ghost?
Base "Echo", Tora Bora.
I was aware of all of this. Or at least, a part of it. The System update after the mission included a new, terrifying tab: WORLD AWARENESS. It was a real-time intelligence aggregator. I saw the news reports, the increased data traffic in intelligence agencies, the code names they gave me: 'Specter', 'Ghost Team', 'Kage'. I saw the whispers and the theories. I saw the ripples my small stone had caused in the global pond.
Alex, the gamer, was fascinated. It was like seeing the consequences of a mission in a strategy game. Kenji, the survivor, felt a growing anxiety. The world was watching us.
But Kage, the Commander, saw it as an opportunity.
The eight and a half million dollars that now filled our coffers were not idle. I was reinvesting every penny.
PURCHASE: BASE 'ECHO' UPGRADE (LEVEL 2) - $2,000,000 (Includes: Improved Command Center, automated perimeter defenses, expanded medical bay, weapons workshop). HIRE: R&D TEAM (2x Weapon Engineers, 1x System Analyst) - $500,000 PURCHASE: GEAR UPGRADES FOR ALL OPERATORS (Vests, helmets, customized weapons) - $1,000,000
My small army of thirty-three men was growing in quality and capability. The base was becoming a true fortress. We were a nascent one-man nation, funded by violence for hire.
I was in my command center, watching my operators train in the base's chambers. Marcus and Javier, my Ghosts, were beside me, reviewing data from the last mission.
"People are talking, boss," Marcus said. "I've been monitoring the mercenary forums. We're the boogeyman."
"Fame is a double-edged sword," I replied, my eyes fixed on the world map on the main screen. "It attracts clients and enemies alike."
My knowledge from my past life was both a blessing and a curse. I recognized the names. HCLI. Roanapur. They were pieces of my old fictional worlds, and now I was one of them. Not only that, I was a catalyst, bringing their realities together through my actions. The whisper of Shadow Company had reached the ears of Revy and Koko alike.
I was contemplating the implications of this when an alert flickered on my private terminal. A new message. Not from my Israeli contacts. Not from a Koko channel. It was a new player. The encryption was military-grade, U.S. in origin.
The message was short and direct.
"To Shadow Company. We have a problem in Africa that requires your particular set of skills. A warlord has taken over some diamond fields. We need you to eliminate him and secure the assets. Payment is substantial. Await our contact."
Africa. Diamonds. A warlord. It sounded like the beginning of another video game mission. But now I knew that every mission sent more ripples, attracted more attention, entangled me deeper into the web of this new and dangerous world.
I looked at my army on the monitors. I looked at my growing funds. I looked at the world map, a chessboard awaiting my next move.
Fame and infamy were two sides of the same coin. And I was starting to mint a lot of them.