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Chapter 25 - Chapter 25: Team Foundations

Chapter 25: Team Foundations

The Albuquerque skyline shimmered under a noon sun, its glass towers reflecting a harsh desert light that stung Alex Thorne's eyes as he stepped into a sleek conference room, a front for one of his shell companies. The air was crisp, humming with the soft drone of central air conditioning, the scent of new carpet and polished wood a stark contrast to the gritty warehouses he'd been navigating for weeks. He adjusted his jacket, the zipper snagging as he tugged, a familiar irritation he brushed off with a quick flick of his wrist. New player, new stakes. Let's build a team that can break the cartel. Jax Reed stood beside him, his usual tactical jacket swapped for a plain black shirt, his broad shoulders tense, gray eyes scanning the room with habitual paranoia. They awaited Lena Voss, an ex-CIA operative whose dossier Jax had pulled from his shadowy network. A ghost to catch ghosts. This better work. The mood was ambitious but cautious, the weight of expanding their operation settling like dust in Alex's lungs.

The glass door swung open precisely on time, and Lena Voss entered, her presence slicing through the room's sterile calm like a blade. She was twenty-eight, her dark hair pulled into a tight bun, her tailored gray suit unremarkable but crisp, blending seamlessly into the corporate backdrop. Her hazel eyes, sharp as a hawk's, darted across the room, cataloging the angle of the water pitcher on the table, the slight lean in Jax's posture, the faint scuff on Alex's boot. Hyper-observant. Perfect. Her handshake was firm, her grip cool, her posture radiating a guarded intensity that made the air feel heavier. Alex caught the faint scent of her mint gum, a grounding detail amidst the tension.

"Ms. Voss," Alex said, his voice steady, his smile calculated to disarm. "Alex Thorne. Thanks for showing up on time."

"Mr. Thorne," Lena replied, her tone low and direct, cutting through pleasantries like a scalpel. "Jax says you need a ghost. I'm a ghost. Let's skip the small talk and get to it."

The challenge in her voice was immediate, her guarded nature a wall Alex could sense. Straight to the point. I like her already. He slid a thick manila envelope across the glass table, the $50,000 in crisp bills inside rustling softly, their inky scent sharp in the cool air. His candor kicked in, raw and disarming, a weapon he wielded with precision. "I'm building an empire no one can touch, Lena. I deal in things that vanish—money, product, problems. Jax breaks what needs breaking, and I need someone who sees everything and leaves no trace. Someone who can get me cartel intel before they even blink."

Lena's eyes narrowed, ignoring the cash, her gaze pinning Alex like a specimen under a microscope. "You've read my file. CIA, off-books ops, one mission gone south. That kind of intel isn't cheap. Why me?"

"Because you're principled," Alex said, his voice softening, a faint smile breaking through to ease the tension. "You botched a mission because you followed rules your bosses ignored. I don't have rules, just results. That money's yours, no strings attached. But I need loyalty and a sharp mind that'll lie to everyone but me."

Her fingers brushed the envelope, weighing it without breaking eye contact, a beat of silence stretching as her lips twitched into a faint smirk—the first crack in her armor. "A ghost, a soldier, and… whatever you are," she said, nodding at Jax, then Alex. "What's this outfit called? A drug-lord startup with a conscience?"

Alex laughed, the sound easing the room's tension, his quip light but deliberate. "Noble spies, Lena. We're do-gooders who get rich breaking bad guys' toys." He leaned forward, his jacket zipper catching again, his sarcasm a bridge to trust. "Welcome to the team."

[SYSTEM: Ability Unlock: Infiltration intuition granted. New team member adds 25% to Covert Ops success rate. Welcome aboard, Ghost.]

Team's locked in. Now we test it. The air shifted, strategic focus replacing the initial tension. Lena's guarded trust was a foundation, her skills the mortar for their growing empire. Cartel's about to meet its match.

Midnight found them on a remote farm plot outside Albuquerque, the air heavy with the coppery tang of a nearby slaughterhouse and the shrill whine of desert cicadas. The target was a cartel stash house, a low-slung barn with peeling red paint, its windows dark but for a faint glow leaking from the cracks. Lena moved first, a shadow slipping through the tall grass, her stealth so fluid she seemed to bend the moonlight. She neutralized the perimeter guard—a lanky thug with a cigarette dangling from his lips—before he could blink, her silenced dart pistol a whisper in the dark, the man slumping silently into the dirt. Jax followed, his combat knife glinting as he dispatched a second guard inside, the man's snores cut short with clinical precision, his body eased to the floor without a sound.

Alex took the lead on the breach, his 16x strength a battering ram. The barn's reinforced door was no match—he gripped the handle and yanked, the metal shrieking as it tore free, hinges snapping like dry twigs. The stash lay exposed: crates of meth and guns, their chemical stink sharp in the close air. Jackpot. He keyed his comm, his voice laced with wit. "Noble demolition, check. Anyone want souvenirs?"

Lena's voice crackled back, dry as the desert. "Pass. I prefer my trophies less… felonious."

Jax grunted, already inventorying the haul—$30,000 worth, doubling to $60,000 through the System. They rigged thermite charges, the white-hot blaze consuming the stash in minutes, leaving only ash and the faint crackle of dying embers. Clean. Precise. Alex's pride swelled, masked by his quip. Team's a machine.

[SYSTEM: Challenge Evaluation: Stash destruction, A-Rank. Team's a beast. Next time, try a rocket launcher for variety.]

"Chemistry's solid," Lena said, her voice low as they retreated, her eyes scanning the horizon for threats. "What's next, Thorne?"

Next is bigger, Alex thought, his pulse steady despite the adrenaline. Cartel wars are coming, and we're ready. They slipped into the night, the barn's glow fading behind them, their synergy a living thing, a force honed by trust and precision.

Dawn broke as Alex drove back to the city, the sky a blaze of orange and pink, the hum of his rental car a steady pulse. He stopped at a gas station, the air sharp with diesel and burnt coffee, and used a voice-changer app on a burner phone to call Jesse. The kid was nearing a deadly cartel deal, the Salamanca cousins lurking in Breaking Bad Season 2's shadows. Not today, Pinkman. His care for Jesse was a quiet warmth, tempered by the need to stay invisible.

"Road to Juarez is closed," Alex said, his voice distorted but calm. "Stay home. Don't trust the cousins. Last call." He hung up, tossing the phone into a dumpster, the clang echoing in the quiet lot. Jesse's safe. Arc 1's done. His protective instinct flared, his quip soft but heartfelt. "Pinkman's guardian for life, signing off."

The road stretched ahead, the city waking under the rising sun. Alex gripped the wheel, his jacket zipper catching one last time, his mind on the empire to come. Lena, Jax, me. We're not just a team—we're a force. Time to go national.

To supporting Me in Pateron .

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