General Vance, the base commander, had stood up. He was a man of iron, known for his icy demeanor. But now, he looked like he’d seen a ghost.
He marched over to our table, ignoring the officers scrambling to salute him. He stopped in front of Dana.
His eyes were locked on the brand. His hands were shaking.
“I thought Unit Zero was a myth,” the General whispered.
Dana just looked at him. “Myths don’t bleed, sir.”
The General turned to Kyle, his face purple with rage. “You were mocking her?”
“It… it was a joke, sir,” Kyle stammered.
“That ‘joke’ on her arm,” the General growled, “means she has killed more men with a spoon than you have met in your entire life.”
He turned back to Dana, dropped to one knee, and asked the question that made the entire room freeze.
“Does the President know you’re still alive?”
Dana holds the General’s gaze, unwavering. The silence in the mess hall is suffocating. Trays are frozen midair, jaws hang open. She doesn’t blink. “No,” she replies. “And I’d prefer it stays that way.”
General Vance exhales like he’s been punched in the gut. He lowers his voice. “Then why are you here? Why now?”
Dana finally looks away, pulling down her sleeve. “Because something’s coming. And you’re not ready.”
The words hit harder than a siren. Vance straightens, barking an order to the nearest lieutenant. “Clear the mess hall. Now!”
No one questions him. Chairs scrape, boots stomp, and within seconds, the room is empty except for Dana, the General, and a few stunned officers.
Kyle lingers at the door, pale as chalk. Vance jerks his head toward him. “You. Stay.”
Dana folds her arms, scanning the empty hall like she’s back in a warzone. “We don’t have time for games, General.”
Vance gestures to a table. “Then let’s talk.”
Dana doesn’t sit. She remains standing, poised, every inch the soldier she once was. “Unit Zero was never decommissioned,” she says flatly. “They told the public we were killed in an ambush. Burned the records. But they kept the program running — underground.”
Vance’s lips thin. “We suspected. But there was no proof.”
“I am the proof,” Dana snaps. “And I wasn’t the only one who made it out.”
A chill creeps down Kyle’s spine. “Wait… you mean there are more of you?”
Dana turns to him. “There were twelve of us. I’m the only one who walked away.”
She pauses. Her eyes darken. “Until now.”
Vance stiffens. “Who?”
“I don’t know yet,” she says. “But two weeks ago, I intercepted a code embedded in a radio transmission. It used the old cipher — one only Unit Zero knew. I cracked it.”
“And?”
Dana reaches into her pocket and tosses a crumpled note onto the table. Scrawled coordinates. A time. Tonight.
Vance studies it, then meets her gaze. “You think it’s a trap?”
She nods. “But if it’s not, then someone’s trying to finish what they started. Someone who knows what I am — what we were trained to do.”
Kyle gulps audibly. “Trained to do what?”
Dana’s voice is ice. “Things your nightmares wouldn’t dare imagine.”
Vance straightens. “You’re not going in alone.”
“I am alone,” Dana replies. “That’s the point.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not letting you walk into an ambush.”
Dana steps closer, her voice low and fierce. “With all due respect, General, I survived a black site in Siberia. I took out a cartel leader with a toothbrush. I can handle this.”
Kyle whispers, “A toothbrush?”
Dana doesn’t smile. “Ceramic handle. Sharpened. Slipped it through customs inside a protein bar.”
Even Vance looks impressed.
A beat passes. Then Dana sighs. “I need your help. Just this once.”
“What do you need?” Vance asks.
“A drone. Unmarked. No transponder. I need it in the air above those coordinates by 2300 hours. Infrared sweep. And access to the armory. Quietly.”
Vance hesitates for half a second, then nods. “Done.”
Dana turns to leave, then pauses. “And General?”
He looks up.
“If I don’t come back, burn everything.”
Then she’s gone.
Outside, the air is thick with heat and tension. The sun dips below the horizon, casting the base in shadows. Dana moves like a ghost through the compound. Her boots make no sound. Her eyes scan every corner, every rooftop. She’s back in mission mode.
At the armory, she’s greeted by a soldier who pretends not to recognize her. No salute. No questions. He simply slides a duffel bag across the counter.
Inside: suppressed pistol, ceramic blade, recon goggles, and a small vial of something neon green. Dana pockets everything without flinching.
By 2245, she’s a mile from the coordinates. The landscape is barren — an abandoned industrial park with crumbling concrete and rusted metal skeletons. The kind of place people forget.
Her earpiece crackles. “Drone is live. No heat signatures. Yet.”
“Copy,” Dana murmurs.
She moves through the shadows, body low, breath slow. Every step is deliberate. Every sound matters.
Then — a click.
Too late.
The net drops from above, triggered by a hidden tripwire. She slams to the ground, but doesn’t panic. She rolls, flicks open her blade, and slices through the synthetic cords before they tighten.
Gunfire erupts.
She flips behind a pillar as bullets chip away the stone.
“Contact confirmed,” Vance’s voice crackles. “Three shooters. North sector.”
Dana doesn’t respond. She’s already moving.
She hurls a flashbang and sprints through the smoke. Her blade catches the first man in the throat before he can scream. The second raises his rifle — too slow. She twists it from his hands and fires point-blank.
The third runs.
“Drone — track runner. Tag and follow,” she says, panting.
“Locked,” the operator replies.
She retrieves the rifle and races into the warehouse. Her goggles flick to thermal. Nothing. She sweeps right. Then left.
Then—
A heartbeat.
Too close.
She spins just as a figure lunges from the shadows. They crash to the ground, grappling. He’s strong. Trained. But Dana’s stronger. She jams her knee into his ribs and slams his head against the concrete.
He slumps.
She yanks his hood back — and freezes.
It’s Alex.
Her old partner.
He’s older, leaner, but unmistakable. His face is bruised, bloodied, but alive.
“Alex,” she breathes.
He coughs, barely conscious. “They said… you were dead…”
“Not yet,” she mutters, pulling him upright.
“Trap,” he wheezes. “Bait… for you.”
“I figured,” she says grimly.
Then — static in her earpiece.
“Dana, we’ve got movement. Lots of it. Ten—no, twelve signatures closing on your position.”
She curses under her breath. “Extraction now.”
Vance replies, “Already en route. Three minutes.”
“We don’t have three minutes.”
She drags Alex to cover, rips open the vial of green liquid, and injects it into his arm.
“What… is that?” he groans.
“Adrenaline blend. It’ll keep you alive long enough to run.”
“Can’t… walk.”
Dana grabs the discarded rifle and braces herself against the wall. Footsteps echo. Shadows shift. She takes aim.
The firefight is brutal.
She moves like liquid shadow, every bullet a whisper of death. Two go down. Then three. But they keep coming. One grazes her arm. Blood slicks her sleeve.
Alex stirs. “Behind you!”
She spins, drops the attacker with a double tap.
“Where’s that evac?” she barks.
“Thirty seconds,” Vance replies.
“Make it ten.”
The roof explodes inward. A blackhawk drops low, its rotors screaming. A ladder dangles.
Dana hauls Alex over her shoulder and sprints. Bullets rip through the air. She jumps, grabs the rope, and they’re airborne.
Kyle’s voice crackles through her comms. “You okay?”
She exhales shakily. “No.”
Vance’s voice cuts in. “What the hell was that?”
Dana stares at the floor of the chopper. “They weren’t mercs. They were trained like us. Someone’s building a new Unit Zero.”
Silence.
Then Vance says, “We’ll find them. Together.”
Dana looks at Alex, barely breathing, but alive.
She finally nods. “Then let’s finish what they started.”
The chopper veers into the night, blades cutting through darkness like knives.
And this time — she isn’t alone.
