THE MASKED HIT

EIGHT YEARS AGO. The auditorium buzzed with excitement.

Parents filled the seats, their faces glowing with pride as they watched their sons and daughters walk across the stage to receive their degrees.

"Camilo Vélez!"

The Dean of the Faculty of Master's in Data Analytics called his name.

A wave of applause erupted through the hall.

Camilo rose from his seat, his heart pounding with excitement. Every step toward the stage carried years of sacrifice, sleepless nights, and determination. He accepted the certificate with a proud smile before turning to face the audience.

His eyes searched the crowd.

Mom... Dad... where are you?

The Dean handed him the certificate, and together they paused for photographs. Camera flashes lit up the stage.

Then...

A man stood from the audience.

At first, nobody paid him any attention.

He slowly removed his black jacket.

Gasps spread across the hall.

Strapped around his chest were explosives.

Before anyone could react, he pulled a small remote from his jeans pocket.

"Allahu Akbar!"

For a split second, time froze.

Then he pressed the button.

The explosion ripped through the auditorium.

A deafening blast shattered the celebration into chaos.

Camilo was hurled off the stage. His head slammed against the floor before everything disappeared beneath smoke, dust, and screams.

...

Silence.

At least, that was all Camilo could hear.

His ears rang as he slowly forced himself to his feet.

The graduation hall had become a graveyard.

Bodies lay scattered everywhere.

The stage had collapsed.

Blood stained the polished floor.

Camilo's hands trembled.

His breathing became shallow.

"No..."

His eyes searched desperately through the smoke.

His mother.

Gone.

His classmates.

Gone.

The professors.

Gone.

But...

Where was his father?

Tears blurred his vision.

His entire future had vanished in a single heartbeat.

Then...

Gunfire echoed through the ruins.

Camilo instinctively ducked.

Another attack?

No.

This wasn't over.

Several armed men dressed in black tactical gear moved through the smoke, executing anyone who had survived the explosion.

Camilo watched them carefully.

Something wasn't right.

These weren't ordinary terrorists.

They moved with military precision.

Each man covered another.

Every movement was disciplined.

Every shot was deliberate.

Someone had trained them.

A hand suddenly grabbed his shoulder.

Camilo spun around in terror.

"Dad..."

His father stood behind him, badly wounded. Blood soaked one side of his shirt, yet somehow he remained standing.

"Get up," Mr. Vélez said through gritted teeth. "We have to leave."

His voice shook from pain.

Camilo stared at him in disbelief.

"Dad... you're hurt."

"Camilo!" his father snapped. "They're coming. Move!"

The two ran toward the parking lot.

Hope flickered.

Maybe...

Maybe they could still escape.

They were only a few meters from the car when a masked gunman stepped into their path.

He raised his rifle.

"On your knees!"

Camilo and his father slowly obeyed.

Mr. Vélez studied the man's voice.

The accent wasn't Colombian.

It wasn't American either.

Asian.

The gunman probably didn't understand Spanish.

That gave him one chance.

Only one.

Keeping his voice low, he whispered,

"¡Yo lo detendré! ¡Corre al coche y no me esperes!"

I'll hold him off. Run to the car and don't wait for me.

Camilo shook his head.

"No."

The gunman's rifle shifted toward him.

"Go!" his father shouted.

With every ounce of strength he had left, Mr. Vélez lunged forward, grabbing the rifle.

The two men crashed to the ground, wrestling for control of the weapon.

Camilo's heart pounded.

Every instinct screamed at him to stay.

Instead...

He ran.

He reached the driver's door and pulled it open.

A gunshot echoed behind him.

Camilo froze.

Slowly...

He turned around.

His father stood over the masked gunman.

The rifle had fired.

The attacker collapsed lifelessly onto the pavement.

Relief washed over Camilo.

His father had won.

Then—

BANG!

Another shot rang out.

Mr. Vélez's body jerked violently.

The bullet tore through his back.

He slowly dropped to his knees.

Blood streamed down his clothes.

Camilo's world stopped.

Standing several meters behind his father was another man.

Unlike the others, his mask was different.

Black.

Thin white lines stretched from the eye sockets down to the jaw, creating a face that looked almost skeletal.

Mr. Vélez looked toward his son.

"G... g... go..."

Blood spilled from his mouth.

Seconds later...

He collapsed.

Dead.

Camilo couldn't move.

Tears streamed down his face.

The masked man slowly removed his mask.

A white American face stared back at him.

Expressionless.

Cold.

Their eyes met for only a moment.

It was enough.

Camilo knew he would never forget that face.

He climbed into the car.

Started the engine.

Looked at his father's body one last time...

...and drove away.

THE PRESENT DAY

UNITED STATES SPECIAL OPERATIONS COMMAND General Nathaniel Walker stepped onto the podium and looked across the silent assembly hall.

Every soldier stood at attention.

"Yesterday, we laid Colonel John Walker to rest.

He was more than a decorated officer. He was a leader who never asked another soldier to face a danger he wouldn't face himself. His courage, loyalty, and sacrifice saved countless lives—including mine. His loss leaves a void that cannot truly be filled.

But the enemies we fight will not stop because we are grieving. They are already planning their next move. Because of that, we must honor Colonel Walker the only way soldiers know how—by standing our ground and continuing the mission.

Today, I am proud to appoint Colonel Victoria Hayes as commander of this Special Operations Task Force.

Colonel Hayes has earned this position through years of exceptional service, unwavering discipline, and outstanding leadership. I have complete confidence in her ability to lead this command into the future. I expect every one of you to give her the same respect and commitment you gave Colonel Walker."

The General paused as Colonel Hayes stepped forward.

A ripple of applause filled the room before silence returned.

"There is one more matter."

His eyes settled on Captain Camilo Vélez.

"Captain Vélez... Shadow."

"You proved during our last operation that leadership is not measured by rank alone. It is measured by judgment, courage, and the willingness to protect those beside you. Colonel Walker believed that. So do I.

Effective immediately, you are authorized to assemble your own special operations unit.

You will handpick every operator.

Choose wisely.

Skill alone is not enough. I want soldiers who can think under pressure, trust one another, and complete the mission when everything else falls apart.

The team you build will undertake assignments too dangerous, too sensitive, and too important for conventional forces.

Success will never be guaranteed.

Failure will never be acceptable."

The General straightened his uniform.

"Honor the fallen.

Protect the innocent.

Complete the mission."

"Dismissed."

The soldiers executed a sharp about-face and marched out of the hall.

"Colonel Hayes," the General called. "My office."

"Yes, sir."

She followed him without hesitation.

Camilo remained where he stood.

Thousands of soldiers...

How am I supposed to choose just four?

He exhaled slowly.

There was only one man who could help him.

Chief Instructor Major Daniel Frost.

If anyone knew what kind of operators belonged on Ghost Team, it was Frost.

Without wasting another second, Camilo headed for the instructor's office.

He knocked twice.

"Sir, Captain Vélez requesting permission to enter."

Silence.

A moment later...

"Enter."

Camilo stepped inside.

Major Daniel Frost sat behind his desk.

His expression was as hard as stone.

Many soldiers feared him.

His voice alone could silence an entire training ground.

But Camilo had never feared him.

Over the years, Frost had transformed him from an inexperienced recruit into one of the military's finest operators.

To Camilo, he was more than an instructor.

He was family.

Camilo saluted.

"Good morning, sir."

"At ease, Captain."

Camilo lowered his salute.

"What can I do for you?"

"Sir, I'd like to discuss selecting my unit."

A faint smile crossed Frost's face.

"I had a feeling you'd be here."

Camilo smiled back.

"It's harder than I expected, sir. There are thousands of soldiers on this base. I barely know any of them."

He paused.

"But you know me."

"You trained me."

"You know exactly the kind of people I need."

Frost leaned back in his chair before reaching for a thick personnel file.

"I've been keeping records on the best operators for years."

He placed the file on his desk.

"Don't worry, kiddo."

"I'll find your team."

Relief spread across Camilo's face.

He stood and saluted once more.

"Thank you, sir."

"Dismissed, Captain."

Camilo lowered his hand, turnedturned, and walked out of the office.

For the first time since accepting the mission...

Ghost Team had begun to take shape.