Success is a slow-acting poison. With nearly nine million dollars in the bank and a reputation as the most lethal cleanup crew on the planet, Shadow Company was at the top of the mercenary world. But the top is a lonely, windy place. Every decision, from ammo allocation to payroll planning, passed through my desk. I was the Commander, the CEO, the chief strategist, and, when necessary, the lead operator. Kage's fused mind allowed me to handle the load, but I was becoming a bottleneck. I was building an army, but I was running it like a one-man operation.
The new contract highlighted this weakness.
The offer came through a South African mining conglomerate called "Africorp." The tone was one of barely disguised corporate desperation. A warlord named General Amsalu Mboto, a man with a taste for brutality and bombastic nicknames, had seized their most profitable diamond mines in the Democratic Republic of Congo. The mission wasn't a simple eradication like Al-Karim. It was more complex.
Africorp wanted Mboto captured alive. They wanted his forces dispersed, not annihilated, to avoid a power vacuum that would attract other predators. And they wanted the mines operational again within a week. It required logistical planning, combat execution, and political finesse that demanded all my attention. While planning the operation in Congo, I couldn't oversee training at Base Echo. While negotiating transport logistics, I couldn't analyze new threats emerging on the world map.
I needed a second-in-command. A Chief Operating Officer. I needed someone who understood the business of for-profit warfare as well as I did, someone who could lead the men in the field so I could lead the war from the throne.
My first instinct was to promote Thorne or another veteran if I could find one. But I needed someone who understood the fundamentally abnormal nature of Shadow Company. Someone who wouldn't ask too many questions about how new recruits and equipment appeared out of thin air.
The answer was in the System. A dangerous, expensive, and probably incredibly stupid answer.
In the PERSONNEL menu, there had always been a tab I had avoided: ELITE ASSET RECRUITMENT. Opening it brought up a list of names that made Alex the gamer's heart skip a beat. John Price. John "Soap" MacTavish. Simon "Ghost" Riley. They were heroes, legends. But their system profiles indicated an inherent morality, a code that would clash with the pragmatic and often brutal nature of our work. I couldn't risk a Captain Price organizing a mutiny because a contract was morally grey.
But there was another name on the list. A name that fit perfectly.
Skills: Charismatic Leadership (Level 5), Complex Operations Planning (Level 5), Corporate Strategy (Level 4), Morally Flexible. Description: A former CIA operator who founded the most successful PMC in his world. Expert in logistics, combat, and navigating the murky waters of politics and warfare for hire. Believes in victory at all costs.
SUMMONING COST: $10,000,000 USD + FACTION REPUTATION (LEVEL 1).
Ten million dollars. It was a sum that would leave me almost broke, even with the advance from the new contract. It was all my profit from Al-Karim. But the cost wasn't just financial. The System seemed to require my company to have a reputation solid enough to attract someone of his caliber. It was an all-or-nothing gamble.
Phillip Graves was a villain in his story. A traitor. But he was also a brilliant leader. A man who understood that patriotism was often a cover for profit. He was the perfect man to be the COO of my Shadow Company. A devil to lead my devils.
"Do it," I whispered. I confirmed the transaction.
Base Echo's command center plunged into darkness for a second. Emergency lights flickered. A pure data burst, a whirlwind of green code, swirled in the center of the room. The energy in the air was palpable, like ozone before a storm. The manifestation was far more violent and powerful than that of standard operators.
And then, as quickly as it began, it stopped. Standing in the center of the room, blinking as if adjusting to a bright light, was Phillip Graves. He wore the same tactical gear he wore in Mexico, his characteristic baseball cap and a smug smile already forming on his face.
"Well, I'll be damned," he said, looking at his own hands and then around at my command center. "Last thing I remember is a tank and a lot of Mexican screaming. This ain't Las Almas. Who the hell are you and what is this place? Looks like my HQ had a baby with the Death Star."
I rose from my chair and walked over slowly. "You're Phillip Graves. Commander of Shadow Company. I am Kage. And this... is the new Shadow Company."
Graves assessed me from head to toe, his gaze sharp and analytical. He saw the operators at their stations, the high-tech equipment, the world map on the screen. "The new Shadow Company? What happened to the old one?"
"Let's just say there was a hostile cosmic restructuring," I replied calmly. "I'm offering you a second chance, Graves. Your company, your life. I need a Chief Operating Officer. A field commander to lead my armies while I lead the war. The position is yours if you want it. The rules are simple: I am the Commander and CEO. My word is law. Other than that, you have full autonomy in the field."
Graves let out a chuckle, a sound full of arrogance and genuine amusement. "Let me get this straight. Some masked guy calling himself 'Shadow' pulls me from the afterlife, shows me a private army named after my company, and offers me a job as his second. Kid, you've got the balls of a bull."
He walked around the room, touching a console, inspecting a Shadow Operator's gear. "But I like your style. This place... it's got potential. A lot of potential." He turned and pointed a finger at me. "I accept. But let's be clear. I'm no one's second. We're partners. Partners with a very clear hierarchy. You're the store owner. I make sure the store is the most feared and profitable on the planet. Do we have a deal?"
"Deal, Graves," I said, extending my hand.
He shook it, his grip firm. "Excellent. Now, bring me up to speed. Who are we killing and how much are we getting paid?"
With Graves on board, a massive burden lifted from my shoulders. His mind was as sharp and pragmatic as his profile indicated. Within hours, he had absorbed all the details of the Africorp contract, optimized my logistical plans, and begun barking orders to the operators with a natural authority that inspired immediate efficiency. It was as if he was born for this.
His presence freed me to focus on the core of my company: the Ghosts.
I called Marcus and Javier to the armory. The workshop, run by my new weapon engineers, was a paradise of military technology. On a table, there were three sets of new gear. Lighter, yet stronger vests, M4 rifles customized down to the last screw, and three items that would change our identity forever.
They were masks.
These weren't just balaclavas. They were ballistic carbon fiber and polymer masks, designed for intimidation and protection. Each was hand-painted. Marcus's was solid, with a design reminiscent of a golem, emphasizing his role as a breacher. Javier's was sleeker, with circuit-like lines and enhanced optics over his right eye. Mine was the one I had seen in my past life's dreams, the one that defined the ultimate phantom: a human skull, chillingly realistic in its detail.
"From today, this is our face," I told them, holding up my mask. "When the world sees us, it won't see Kage, Marcus, or Javier. It will see a specter. It will see a Ghost. We create a legend, a myth. Fear is a weapon as effective as a bullet, and we will be the boogeyman for our enemies and a symbol for our clients. When a client sees these masks, they will know they have hired the elite. They will know their problem is about to be solved, no questions asked."
Marcus took his mask, his eyes wide with awe. "Damn, boss. It's just like in the game."
"Life imitates art, Marcus," I replied.
They put on the masks. The transformation was instantaneous. They ceased to be two lucky ex-mercenaries. Now they had an iconic, terrifying appearance. They were the embodiment of their name.
Democratic Republic of Congo. Night of the operation.
"Ghost-One, this is Overlord. Do you copy?" Phillip Graves's voice, crisp and clear, came through our comms. From the comfort of Base Echo, he was our mission commander.
"Copy, Overlord," I replied. My voice, filtered by the skull mask's communicator, sounded inhuman, spectral.
We were on the outskirts of General Mboto's main camp, a collection of dilapidated buildings and tents in the middle of the jungle. The Ghost team, in our new masks, moved through the dense vegetation.
"Intel confirms Mboto's in the main building, probably high or drunk, as usual," Graves reported. "The rest of my teams, Shadow Two and Three, are in position to secure the mines as soon as you give the go-ahead. The capture mission is all yours, Ghosts. Do it fast and quiet."
"Understood," I said. I gestured to my two comrades. The hunt had begun.
The sight of three masked specters emerging from the jungle in the middle of the night had the desired effect. The first perimeter guards, mostly teenagers with AK-47s bigger than themselves, froze in fear for a split second. It was all the time we needed. My suppressed shots were deadly whispers. Javier used a short-range EMP device to fry their radios before they could raise the alarm.
We reached the main building, a dilapidated colonial mansion.
Second person.
You crouch by a peeling wall, the smell of damp and rot filling the air. Marcus is beside you, breach shotgun ready. Javier is deploying a small, insect-like drone to sneak through a broken window.
"I've got thermal vision," Javier whispers. "Mboto's upstairs. Alone. But there are at least ten guards on the ground floor, playing cards."
"Too many for a direct, silent engagement," you analyze. You look at Marcus.
"Loud, then?" Marcus asks, his eyes glinting behind his golem mask.
"Controlled loud," you reply. "Marcus, the main door. Javier, when the door goes down, throw two flashbangs in quick succession. I'll go in during the confusion. Neutralize the ground floor. I'm going for the package."
They nod. You get into position. You give the signal.
The main door blows inward, splintered by Marcus's charge. Two blinding flashes and two deafening bangs fill the room. You enter, a skull-masked specter in the midst of chaos. The guards are disoriented, screaming, blind and deaf. Your rifle comes up, and you begin the work. Each double-tap is a life extinguished. You are death incarnate.
Marcus and Javier enter behind you, their weapons roaring, clearing what remains. You take the stairs three at a time, ignoring the fight below.
You kick open the door to Mboto's room. The warlord, a corpulent man in a ridiculously adorned uniform, is trying to crawl under his bed, whimpering. When he sees you, with the skull mask and rifle pointed at him, he wets himself.
"Overlord, this is Ghost-One. Package secured," you say over the radio.
"Understood, Ghost-One," Graves's satisfied voice replies. "Good work. All Shadow units, proceed to secure mining assets. Phase two has begun."
Back at Base Echo, we handed over a bound and gagged Mboto to Africorp representatives at a neutral meeting point. The other half of the payment was transferred.
Graves and I were in the command center, reviewing the mission reports. The operation was a resounding success.
"You're good in the field, Kage. Very good," Graves admitted, pouring himself a glass of whiskey he had insisted the System "materialize" in his quarters. "And your guys, the Ghosts, they've got style. People will pay more for style."
"And you're a good commander, Graves," I replied. "You did your job."
"We're a good team," he said, raising his glass. "The perfect partners. The specter in the field and the general in the chair. Together, we're going to make an obscene amount of money."
I looked at the world map on the main screen. Africa was now marked as a successful operation zone. My company had a COO. My elite team had an identity. I had shed one burden, only to take on another. I had summoned a man whose ambition was as great as my own, if not greater.
I wondered if I had just secured the future of Shadow Company or if I had planted the seed of its inevitable betrayal. Only time, and the next contract, would tell.