Chapter 46: CHAPTER 46: Shadows
The dawn broke in molten amber streaks across the silent desert airstrip. Heat waves shimmered over the sand-coated tarmac, distorting the line of matte-black SUVs parked in silent formation. Overhead, a vulture circled lazily, as though sensing the coming storm.
Inside the largest hangar, Aaron stood at the head of a folding metal table. Tactical maps, satellite imagery printouts, and hastily scrawled notes were weighed down by black steel magazines and a half-empty canteen. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, forearms marked by fading bruises and inked calculations.
The team assembled before him in rigid silence: Bravo lounging with deceptively careless posture, Specter kneeling beside her rifle cleaning kit, Reaper looming at the rear with arms crossed, Ghost typing furiously on his tablet, Maya seated beside two crates of medical gear, eyes never leaving Aaron.
At the flanks stood two dozen new recruits, clad in mismatched tactical gear. Their eyes were hard but uncertain. Some clutched their rifles like lifelines. Others shifted restlessly under Aaron's gaze.
He tapped a satellite printout with two fingers. The paper rippled in the hot dry breeze drifting through the hangar.
"This is our perimeter," he began, voice low and even. "Three kilometers east to west. Two to the north. Sector 17D will remain unoccupied. Ghost has confirmed French Legion patrol patterns – no incursions expected for seventy-two hours."
Ghost didn't look up from his screen, merely muttering, "Confirmed. Satellite sweeps clean."
Aaron moved on, gesturing at a sketched blueprint pinned beside the map. "This mining compound is to become our command hub within the week. Specter and Reaper will coordinate defensive overwatch and sniper nests on these towers. Bravo will establish forward observation posts beyond the dunes to the south."
He paused, eyes scanning each recruit. The wind outside gusted, rattling the hangar doors against their bolts like muffled gunfire.
"Fuel and water convoys will arrive every forty-eight hours. Contractors are compensated at market rate plus hazard pay. If they breach protocol, Reaper will handle disciplinary actions."
Reaper grunted, lips curling into a thin, cold smile.
Aaron picked up a small black device – a signal jammer – and rolled it across the table. It clinked against a cluster of rifle magazines, halting at the edge.
"This is your life now," he said quietly, his gaze sweeping the new recruits, dissecting them with scalpel precision. "We are building what no nation, no corporation, no private army could ever achieve. We are becoming what they fear."
Silence pressed down like a smothering blanket. No one moved.
Aaron folded his arms, looking at each of them in turn, his grey eyes hard as gunmetal in dawn's light.
"If you want to remain men," he said, voice a razor's edge in the heat-hummed stillness, "leave."
No one shifted. Dust motes danced lazily between them in slanting sunbeams.
His lips curled faintly, cruel and cold.
"But if you want to become shadows," he continued, each word weighted with absolute finality, "stay."
Outside, engines rumbled as the first convoy arrived, black silhouettes against the rising sun. The wind picked up, sweeping through the hangar and ruffling papers, carrying with it the scent of hot sand and scorched iron.
Aaron turned away from them, picking up a folded satellite image and tucking it into his vest pocket. The meeting was over.
Behind him, no one moved to leave.