The first month at Base "Echo" was a lesson in isolation and purpose. The old Soviet mine, a concrete and rock skeleton deep within Tora Bora, came alive under my direction. The million and a half dollars it had cost manifested not just as a place on the map, but as a functional entity. Using the remaining funds and the skills of an invoked engineering specialist, we transformed the dusty caverns.
We installed a modern command center with a wall of monitors displaying satellite data (fake, for now) and the base's perimeter. The barracks, once damp and gloomy, became clean, functional living quarters. We built an underground firing range where the echo of gunshots was a constant heartbeat, the pulsing core of our nascent company.
My team, the ten "Shadow" operators I had summoned, were the soul of the base. They moved with a silent efficiency and an unwavering loyalty that bordered on the unnatural. They were the perfect embodiment of elite NPCs from a video game: competent, obedient, and lacking the problematic complexity of a real human being. They were the perfect foundation upon which to build.
At the apex of this pyramid were the Ghosts: myself, Marcus, and Javier. The trauma of Zarin Dah and the madness of the pass ambush had bound us together. Under my training, which combined the System's Special Forces tactics with Alex's gamer mindset, they transformed. Marcus, the good-natured giant, perfected his role as a heavy weapons specialist and breacher, his brute force now guided by a new tactical discipline. Javier, once nervous, flourished. He proved to have a natural talent for technology and reconnaissance, and I equipped him with the best drones and hacking tools my limited budget could afford. He became our eyes and ears.
And I... I was the brain. The Commander. Kage. I spent every hour of the day managing, training, and planning. The fused mind allowed me to operate with almost infinite mental endurance. But even a fantasy system has real-world costs. Food, fuel for the generators, helicopter maintenance, ammunition... our initial funds evaporated like water in the desert. By the end of the first month, our coffers were almost empty. The pressure was immense. Shadow Company was an impressive war machine, but without a contract, it was a machine that would soon rust to a halt.
Salvation came, as I suspected, through a channel that reeked of Koko Hekmatyar's influence.
One day, I received a message on my secure terminal. It had no sender, just a series of coordinates for a single-use encrypted communication. At the appointed time, I sat in my command chair, the only light in the room coming from the screen. A figure appeared on it, completely obscured in shadows, its voice distorted into a toneless electronic hum.
"Commander Kage," the voice began. "We have been informed that you lead a new enterprise... one that values discretion and efficiency."
"Depends on who's asking," I replied calmly.
"We are a state actor with a pest problem in a neighboring garden," the figure continued. "A problem that requires an unofficial gardener. A problem that our own hands cannot touch without causing... a diplomatic incident."
"Gardens are my specialty," I said, adopting their coded language. "But my company has very specific gardening fees."
"The problem," the figure said, and a map appeared on the screen, "is a village called Al-Karim, on the Syrian border. It has become a viper's nest. A group calling themselves 'The Black Scorpions.' They have been using the village as a base to plan attacks in Damascus and beyond. Our assets confirm the presence of at least three of their leaders, HVTs that we need to eliminate. The entire village is fortified. We estimate between 80 and 100 heavily armed combatants."
It was a suicide mission for a company my size. A frontal assault would be a massacre. But Alex's mind already saw angles, strategies, weak points.
"The mission is simple, but not easy," the figure concluded. "We want the village to be... cleansed. Completely. All hostile elements neutralized. The three HVTs confirmed as eliminated. We want the nest burned to the ground so no viper can nest there again. We need the problem to disappear, and we need plausible deniability. What is your price?"
This was the moment. Koko's test. If I asked too little, I'd seem like a desperate amateur. If I asked too much, an arrogant deliriant. I calibrated the risk, the resources needed, the potential casualties, the need for substantial profit to grow.
"Cleansing a nest of a hundred vipers requires specialized tools and a considerable risk premium," I said, my voice firm. "The total contract cost is ten million U.S. dollars. Five million upfront, to cover operational expenses and asset acquisition. The other five upon successful completion of the mission and delivery of proof of HVT elimination."
There was a long silence on the line. I could feel the figure on the other end weighing my audacity. It was an enormous sum for a phantom company with no reputation.
"Your confidence is... remarkable," the voice finally said. "Very well. Five million will be transferred to your designated account within the next hour. We expect results, Commander. Don't disappoint us."
The connection cut.
I leaned back in my chair, my heart pounding. Ten million dollars. I had gambled big, and it had paid off. But now, I had to deliver.
Five million dollars. It was time to go shopping.
"We're not assaulting a village of a hundred men with only twelve," Marcus said, his face pale as I laid out the plan in the command center. "Kage, that's suicide."
"It won't be an assault, Marcus," I replied, pointing to a holographic 3D model of Al-Karim village on the central table. "It will be a surgical eradication. And we won't go with twelve men."
I invested the first million of the advance in INTELLIGENCE. I bought priority access to a private spy satellite and a reconnaissance package with long-range drones. For 48 hours, we observed Al-Karim. We mapped every patrol, every machine gun nest, every watch post. We identified the building where the HVTs slept, an old mayor's house in the center of the village.
With the intelligence in hand, it was time to bolster my ranks.
RECRUITMENT MENU - SHADOW COMPANY PURCHASE: 20 x SHADOW OPERATOR (-$1,000,000) PURCHASE: 2 x SHADOW SPECIALIST (COMBAT MEDIC) (-$200,000) PURCHASE: 1 x SHADOW SPECIALIST (COMMS/ELECTRONIC WARFARE EXPERT) (-$100,000)
In the base's main hangar, before the astonished eyes of Marcus and Javier, thirty-three men, including ourselves, gathered. Thirty Shadow Operators with state-of-the-art combat gear, two medics, and a comms specialist, all materialized from thin air, all looking at me with programmed loyalty.
"Welcome to Shadow Company," I told them. "Get ready. We move in six hours."
The plan was audacious, based on speed, stealth, and overwhelming violence. The operation, code-named "Specter's Song," would unfold in the dead of night.
Phase 1: Infiltration. The Ghost team (myself, Marcus, and Javier) would infiltrate two hours before the main assault. Our objective: the comms specialist, nicknamed "Oracle," would use his skills to cut off all village communications, isolating them from the outside world.
Phase 2: Decapitation. Simultaneously, the rest of the Ghost team would assault the HVT building. We had to eliminate the three leaders before they could organize a coherent defense.
Phase 3: The Hammer. The moment I confirmed the HVTs' elimination, the thirty Shadow Operators, divided into three ten-man squads (designated "Wraith," "Phantom," and "Spectre"), would launch a coordinated assault from three different directions. A three-headed hammer to crush the disorganized, leaderless enemy.
The night was cold and moonless. Ten kilometers from Al-Karim, our Mi-17 dropped us off silently before disappearing into the darkness. The Ghost team moved through the rocky terrain as if we were part of the shadows. The Dead Silence perk was a blessing, muffling our every step.
Third person.
Kage leads the way, his suppressed M4 rifle at the ready. His night vision, enhanced by the system, turns night into day. He spots two sentries at an improvised outpost. He gestures with his hand. Marcus and Javier stop. Kage glides forward, a shadow against the rocks. The first sentry falls with the soft poof of a subsonic round. The second turns, confused, and meets the same fate. Kage doesn't even break stride.
They reach a hill overlooking the village. Oracle, the comms specialist, deploys his gear: a series of antennas and a rugged tablet. He starts typing, his fingers dancing across the screen. "I'm inside their network. It's primitive. I can isolate them on your command, Commander."
"Wait for my signal," Kage whispers. "Javier, give me an inside view."
Javier deploys a small drone, no larger than his hand. It rises silently and heads towards the HVT building. On his tablet, we see the interior through thermal vision. Three figures sleeping on the second floor, with eight guards patrolling the ground floor and exterior.
"Targets localized," Javier confirms.
"Good," Kage says. "Marcus, set the charge on the back door. Javier, when we go in, throw a flashbang through the second-story window. Oracle, as soon as the charge detonates, cut their comms. I'll handle the outside guards."
First person.
I move towards the back of the building, my heart a cold, steady drum. It's the calm before the storm. I see the two guards near the back door, smoking and talking softly. I raise my rifle. The system highlights their heads in two crisp red boxes. I exhale. Poof. Poof. They fall like puppets with their strings cut.
"Rear sentries eliminated. Marcus, proceed."
I watch Marcus place a small breach charge on the door. He gives me a thumbs-up.
"Oracle, now!" I order over the radio. "Javier, now!"
Second person.
The world explodes in a perfectly synchronized sequence. The back door disintegrates into splinters. At the same time, you hear glass shattering upstairs, followed by a dull bang and a bright flash. You burst through the doorway, rifle held high.
The ground floor is chaos. The guards, stunned by the noise, turn towards you. You are a killing machine. Your Kage mind processes the room in milliseconds. Target one, to the left. Double-tap. Target two, behind a table. Suppressing fire. Marcus enters behind you, his shotgun roaring, disintegrating the second target.
You take the stairs three at a time. Upstairs, the three terrorist leaders, the HVTs, are recovering from the flashbang. They are disoriented, fumbling for their weapons. They stand no chance. You execute all three with cold, professional precision before they can even raise a rifle.
"Ghosts, HVTs eliminated!" I shout over the radio, my voice echoing in the sudden silence of the house. "All Shadow units, green light! Green light! Turn that village into a graveyard!"
I look out the window. And I see hell answer my call.
From three directions, thirty black shadows converge on the village. There are no war cries, only the sound of boots on dirt and the glint of infrared laser pointers. The terrorists, awakened by the explosion, run out of their houses into the chaos—leaderless, without communications, without a plan.
They meet a wall of disciplined fire.
The Wraith, Phantom, and Spectre squads move with terrifying efficiency. They clear the streets, throwing grenades into buildings, their shots short, controlled bursts—not the panic of a firefight, but the methodical work of exterminators. I see my combat medics running to tend to one of our own who has been shot, dragging him to safety while others provide covering fire. I see my company, my creation, functioning as a perfectly orchestrated symphony of violence.
For the next hour, we directed the battle from the center of the village, eliminating any organized resistance that arose. It was a massacre. A cleansing. Exactly as the contract stipulated.
When the sun rose, Al-Karim was silent. A deathly silence.
I walked through the streets, now littered with bodies and shell casings. Marcus and Javier followed me, their faces grim. My Shadow Operators were securing the perimeter, showing no emotion.
We had succeeded. Zero casualties on our side, only three lightly wounded. A flawless operation.
Javier took photos of the HVTs as proof for the client. We collected any intelligence we could find. And then, we left, leaving behind a ghost town as a warning.
Back at Base Echo, I transferred the report and evidence through the same encrypted channel. An hour later, the reply came.
We had done it. Shadow Company was no longer on the brink of bankruptcy. We were solvent. We were a success.
I sat in my command chair, looking at the world map on the main screen. It no longer seemed so large and intimidating. Now, it looked like a collection of opportunities. Of contracts.
I had completed the mission. I had earned the money. I had proven that my company was a force to be reckoned with. But as I looked at the tired faces of Marcus and Javier, and thought about the hundred men lying dead in a Syrian border village, the fusion of Alex and Kenji posed a disturbing question.
Alex, the gamer, saw the mission as a completed level, a high score. Kenji, the human, saw the cost in blood.
I, Kage, saw both. And I realized that in this business, success is measured in millions of dollars and in the number of souls you harvest. And our ledger had just begun to fill in both columns.