I was too young when it all started. Too young to understand the weight of a single command. But I wasn't blind. I watched the way people bowed their heads when they spoke to him, how the room seemed to bend under the weight of his presence, his voice sending chills down my spine, sounding like the souls of the damned. And then there were the whispers, the stories that slipped through the cracks like blood on cracked pavement.
He was a man of power, but power, I learned, was a hunger that couldn't be sated. It was a thirst that could only be quenched by others' suffering, their fear. I watched him make decisions, ones that seemed small at first, but slowly getting worse until it added up where there was nothing left but ruins. And people, people would be disappearing in the dead of night, their names erased, as if they never mattered at all.
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Mission Type: Covert Infiltration & HUMINT
Callsign: JESTER
Unit: Omega
Mission Code: OPERATION SILENT DAGGER
Task Force: DIVINITY
Date-Time Group (DTG): 204220APR10Z
Time (UTC): 0300Z
Location: Amman, Jordan
Grid Ref: 31.963158N / 35.930359E
Elevation: Approx. 776m
I'd never forget my first mission. A solo, it was a test I knew. I knew they were testing if I'd abort, but lives were at risk back at base, and I wasn't going to be the reason half of them were going to be sent on suicide missions. I trained so hard, and finally I had what felt like freedom, but they didn't. I knew what was right, even if I had to continue living this hell life.
My mission wasn't just about retrieving intel. It was about shadow games—uncovering the mind behind a rising bioweapon threat: the elusive rogue scientist known as Saqr. Word from DIVINITY Command was that "Saqr" had resurfaced, using Amman as a staging ground for something deadly.
My boots touched Jordanian soil at 0245Z. Unmarked vehicle. Civilian clothes. Glock 19 in waistband, suppressed. No backup. No drones. This was HUMINT[1], raw and old-school. The meet point: a graffiti-tagged alley behind a closed spice shop in Jabal Al-Weibdeh.
At 0304Z, the contact arrived—"Nomad", a ghost from the Jordanian intelligence underworld, face wrapped in a keffiyeh, movements like vapor. No names. No pleasantries. Just a palm-sized data chip slid into my hand, warm like it had been clenched for hours.
"They're working under the citadel," Nomad whispered. "Vaulted chambers. Roman stone. No one goes down there anymore… except them."
Before they could vanish, I felt it—a shift in the air. My comms picked up an echo, SIGINT trace—low frequency, scrambled. Someone was listening. Maybe Saqr, maybe worse.
Plan B kicked in, Ditch (HUMINT)
By 0346Z, I was underground—navigating a forgotten Roman aqueduct, water brushing my boots, Glock drawn. Above, the city's heart beat unaware. By 0353Z, I emerged two blocks south, behind an old Christian church, exfil prepped by Nomad's people.
Mission incomplete. No blood spilled. But the war had shifted.
The chip revealed more than just coordinates—it held blueprints. Gas dispersal drones. Genome-mapped viruses. Names of targets. And a timestamp.
Saqr wasn't planning an attack.
He was planning a demonstration.
[1] HUMINT, or Human Intelligence, refers to the collection of information from human sources.