21:00
Special Conference Hall, Administration District, New Eden
The conference room was a cold expanse of steel and shadows.
Its long, oval-shaped table gleamed under the harsh white light of a single overhead strip, the rest of the room drowned in dimness. The only other feature was a towering wall screen, its inactive surface reflecting the generals like a dark mirror.
Three of the seven generals of the SNA sat on one side of the table — their uniforms immaculate, their postures statuesque. Medals and service ribbons caught the light, muted flashes of gold and silver against deep navy cloth. Their eyes followed every sound in the room, unblinking.
The door at the far end slid open with a soft hiss.
Sohel stepped inside.
He was still in the same black suit and white shirt he'd been wearing in his office earlier that day, but the travel had left a faint dust on his shoulders. His steps were measured, almost deliberate, the click of his shoes echoing faintly against the polished floor.
Without breaking stride, he crossed to the chair opposite the generals and sat. His gaze moved from one face to the next, reading them like a battlefield map.
"Good evening, Generals," he said, voice low but steady.
General Rahat — the Overlord — leaned forward slightly, the corners of his mouth threatening to curve but stopping short. "Good evening, Sohel. You were brought here today—"
"To go after Phoenix Company," Sohel cut in, his tone sharp but not disrespectful. "Or, to be more exact… Tatsuo Kuroshima. General Sage filled me in on the jet."
A subtle shift passed through the three — a tightening of jaws, a slow exchange of glances. Rahat gave the barest nod.
"Yes," he said. "We have to put our full weight against the FNA. But even if we win this war, it won't be truly over. Phoenix Company must be exposed, and Kuroshima brought down. We'll fight to win the war… you'll fight to end it. We'll provide whatever you need for that."
Sohel raised a hand, palm outward. "Wait. Who said I've agreed?"
A ripple of tension moved through the room. General Snow Leopard — his nickname earned for his speed and ferocity in combat — narrowed his eyes. "You didn't? Then why are you here?"
"To negotiate," Sohel replied evenly. "You meet my terms; I take the job. You don't… I walk away."
The air seemed to thicken. Snow Leopard's fist slammed onto the table, the sharp crack echoing in the sparse room. "Negotiate? What gives you the impression you're in a position to negotiate with us?"
Sohel didn't flinch. His voice was calm, almost conversational. "What gives you the impression I'm not? If I leave this room now, I can unearth more dirt on the SNA than you'd want aired. Are you sure that's a problem you want right now… in the middle of a war?"
Snow Leopard's chair shifted as he leaned forward, but before he could speak again, General Oracle — the oldest of the three, his lined face unreadable — rested a hand on his shoulder. A silent signal. Stand down.
Oracle's voice was measured, like a scalpel cutting through the tension. "What do you want?"
Sohel leaned back, as if the battle had already tilted in his favour. "First — full SNA backing for everything I do from this point forward. No interference. Second — once the war ends, the SNA comes clean about its dark past. Third — the SNA defines its role more clearly and stops hiding behind vague mandates. And finally…" he let the pause hang just long enough, "I want a team."
Oracle's gaze didn't waver. "And if we don't agree?"
Sohel's reply came without hesitation. "Then tomorrow's headlines read: 'SNA sends assassin to kill ex-soldier'… or 'Operation Deep Impact unearthed: the story of when the SNA killed four of their own after attacking an American ship unprovoked.'" He let the words hang, the silence afterwards heavier than the threat itself.
The three generals exchanged a look — unspoken calculations passing between them. Rahat broke the silence first.
"Alright", Rahat said slowly. "We'll meet your demands. As for the team — do you have a shortlist?"
"I do," Sohel said.
"Who?"
"Captain Mei Watanabe — goes by Aphrodite now. Sergeant Mitali Roy. Sergeant Arina Sergeevna Kuznetsova. Sergeant Tiziano Joaquin De Luca. Flight Lieutenant Leonard Petrov. And finally… Lieutenant Annabelle Josephina Watson, aka 'Princess'."
Rahat's brow furrowed. "The others I understand… but Princess isn't an SNA soldier anymore."
"Then give her rank back," Sohel said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "That shouldn't be hard."
The room went still. A long moment passed before Rahat finally nodded. "Fine. Lieutenant Watson will have her rank reinstated."
A faint hum from the overhead lights filled the pause that followed. "What will you call this task force?" 'Rahat' asked.
"Task Force Seven", Sohel said.
The name hung in the air like a drawn blade.
Rahat straightened in his chair, his voice carrying the full weight of his rank. "Sohel Chowdhury — codename Ghost — is hereby promoted to the rank of Major… and placed in command of Task Force Seven."
The overhead light caught the faint glint in Sohel's eyes. He didn't smile.
Snow Leopard leaned back, studying him with something between respect and suspicion. Oracle's gaze was fixed on the table, already calculating the moves to come. Rahat kept his eyes on Sohel, the faintest nod of acknowledgement passing between them.
Sohel rose, the chair legs scraping lightly against the floor. "Then let's end this war."
No one spoke as he turned and walked out, the door hissing shut behind him.
The room stayed silent for a long moment, the only sound the soft hum of the lights and the distant thrum of rain on the roof.
Finally, Oracle exhaled. "He's either going to win us this war… or burn the world down trying."
Rahat's eyes remained on the door. "Maybe both."
The door slid shut behind Sohel, cutting him off from the dim chamber and the weight of the generals' stares.
The hallway outside was long and quiet, lit only by a thin ribbon of recessed lights along the ceiling. His footsteps echoed in the empty space, sharp and deliberate. Each step seemed to bleed away the tension of the meeting, replacing it with something heavier — resolve.
By the time he reached the main exit, the muted roar of the storm outside had grown louder. The doors opened, and the air hit him — cold, damp, laced with the scent of wet asphalt.
It was raining again.
Annabelle stood by a black staff car at the base of the steps, a dark coat draped over her shoulders, rain beading and rolling off the fabric. Her eyes caught his as he descended.
"Well?" she asked.
"They agreed," Sohel said simply.
Her lips curved — not quite a smile, but close. "Then it begins."
He came to a stop beside her. The rain slid off his hair and down the collar of his suit, but he didn't seem to notice.
"Task Force Seven", he said. "We move soon."
Annabelle glanced toward the rain-slick street beyond the compound walls, her expression unreadable. "You know, Jacob would have had something smart to say right about now."
Sohel didn't answer. His gaze followed hers, out into the darkness where the city lights were only faint smudges in the storm.
The staff car door opened. Sohel slid inside, Annabelle following a moment later. The driver pulled them into the wet streets, wipers thrashing against the glass.
Behind them, the SNA headquarters loomed like a fortress in the rain — its lights blurred and ghostly through the storm. Ahead, the road vanished into darkness.
Somewhere in that darkness, the war waited.
Great Japan Sea – 21:15 Hours (Local Time)
The rain came in sheets, driven sideways by the wind, but it did nothing to blur the chaos.
Gunfire lit the night in staccato flashes as SNA boarding teams clashed with entrenched Korean soldiers on the steel deck of the enemy supply platform.
Captain Mei Watanabe was already in the thick of it.
She moved like a streak of lightning between the muzzle flashes, weaving through the narrow spaces between containers and bulkheads. A burst of rifle fire chewed up the steel wall beside her — she ducked, rolled, and was already behind the shooter before the second burst left the barrel.
Her knee cracked into his ribs, her elbow found his jaw, and by the time he hit the deck, she had already launched herself into the next fight.
Another soldier levelled his weapon at her. She drew her sidearm, fired three times — and missed every shot.
Mei exhaled sharply, tossed the pistol aside, and sprinted straight at him. The man barely had time to curse before she drove a roundhouse kick into his chest, sending him sprawling over a crate.
"Better", she muttered to herself.
The last of the resistance was breaking when a soaked corporal approached, cradling a waterproof comms tablet. "Ma'am! Priority transmission from Central Command!"
Mei snatched it, her eyes scanning the encrypted lines through the water streaking the screen.
TO: Capt. Mei Watanabe (Aphrodite)
FROM: SNA Central Command, New Eden
SUBJECT: Reassignment Orders
You are hereby ordered to return to New Eden immediately.
Effective upon arrival, you are assigned to Task Force Seven under the direct command of Major Sohel Chowdhury, codename GHOST.
The rain didn't hide the way her pupils narrowed.
Five years of searching — of rumours, dead leads, and empty reports. Now, his name was in black and white.
She read the line again, almost expecting it to vanish. It didn't.
Snapping the tablet shut, she handed it back to the corporal. "Secure the platform, signal the evac team. We leave in twenty."
"Yes, Ma'am!"
Mei turned toward the dark horizon, wind whipping her hair against her rain-slick face. The Great Japan Sea was a churning black expanse, but in her mind, she was already halfway to New Eden.
If Sohel was truly back…
She intended to find him.
And this time, she wasn't letting him disappear.