The war against the Volkov Group ended not with a bang, but a whimper. After our lightning offensive, their forces crumbled. Dmitri Volkov, along with the remnants of his command, fled the country, leaving behind a power vacuum and a trail of abandoned equipment. We had won. General Vance's contract was fulfilled, and the objective bonuses had made us one of the wealthiest private entities on the planet.
At Base Echo, the atmosphere should have been celebratory. Instead, it was one of expectant tension.
"The job's done," Graves argued, pointing at the map of Africa on the holoboard. "We've decapitated the competition, we've been paid a fortune, and we've become legends. It's time to pack up, go back into the shadows, and wait for the next hundred-million-dollar contract. We're not an occupying force. We're a company."
Ghost, methodically cleaning a combat knife in a corner, said nothing, but I felt his silent agreement. His nature was that of the lone predator, not the zoo keeper.
But for the first time, I adamantly opposed them. Alex's mind saw the value of a strategic withdrawal. But Kage's mind, the commander who had seen the cost of this victory, saw the bigger picture.
"No," I said, my voice echoing in the command center. "If we leave now, we'll leave a vacuum. Another warlord, another rival PMC, perhaps even a resurgent Volkov, will fill that void in six months. Everything we've done will be in vain."
I approached the map. "Real power isn't about winning a battle. It's about controlling the battlefield afterward. We're not going to be a one-time tool for the U.S. government. We're going to become an indispensable part of this continent's security equation."
Graves raised an eyebrow. "And how do you propose we do that? Occupation? Nation-building? That's not profitable."
"You're right," I conceded. "It's not profitable if we use our own men. Our operators are elite assets, too expensive for low-level patrol and security missions." I pointed to the new CAR government, a puppet regime installed by the Americans. "General Vance has offered us a new contract. A long-term security and training contract. They want us to build their new national army."
A flicker of understanding appeared in Graves's eyes. "Cannon fodder?"
"A local interposition force," I corrected, though his term was more honest. "We train them, equip them, pay them a salary. They handle the patrols, the mine security, fighting the remnants of the insurgency. They become the shield. And we, Shadow Company, remain the sword, the rapid reaction force that intervenes when the shield cracks. We control the country, secure a steady revenue stream, and keep our elite operators fresh for the jobs that truly matter."
It was a cold, pragmatic, and ruthless strategy. It was the move of true power.
Graves slowly smiled, admiration overriding his mercenary instinct. "Kage... sometimes you scare me. It's a brilliant plan. A passive income stream while we maintain our lethal edge. I love it."
Ghost finally looked up from his knife, his eyes fixed on me. I couldn't read his expression behind the mask, but I felt I had just crossed a threshold in his estimation. I was no longer just a prodigy on the battlefield. I was becoming a warlord, a large-scale strategist. And I wasn't sure if he liked it.
Two weeks later, FOB "Janus" was born.
Using twenty million of our new funds, I invoked a complete prefabricated operating base and materialized it on the outskirts of the Bakoro airfield, the same one we had taken by force. Unlike the secret Base Echo, Janus was a statement. It was a fortress of HESCO walls, watchtowers, barracks, a massive motor pool, and training grounds that stretched across the savanna. It was Shadow Company's African headquarters, an embassy of our military power.
I left Graves in command of Base Echo, our global headquarters. I, along with Ghost and the full Ghost team, plus fifty Shadow Operators and a cadre of instructors, moved to Janus. It was time to build our army of recruits.
The first candidates for the new "Garde Républicaine" were a motley crew. Former soldiers of the old regime, young farmers looking to escape poverty, even some former rebels who had been offered amnesty in exchange for service. They were scrawny, undisciplined, and desperate.
Commander Wyatt, the same one who had led the armored assault on Route 7, was put in charge of the training program. And it was brutal.
I watched from the command tower as my Shadow instructors, men I had created from data and money, screamed at, pushed, and drove the African recruits under the scorching sun. They broke them down, stripping away their old loyalties and weaknesses, to rebuild them in Shadow Company's image.
A part of me, the Kenji who remembered humiliation, felt a sharp unease. I was perpetuating a cycle of dominance, using these desperate men as pawns to secure my own objectives. But the other part, the Kage who had accepted the burden of command, knew it was necessary. It was the cost of maintaining power. Every drop of sweat they shed on the training ground was a drop of blood my own men wouldn't have to shed on the battlefield. They were the price of my empire's security.
"They're shaping up into a decent fighting force," Ghost's voice said beside me. I hadn't realized he had approached. "They're tough."
"They need to be," I replied, my gaze still fixed on the recruits now practicing fire and movement drills.
"There's a difference between forging a weapon and running it until it breaks, Kage," he said quietly. It was the first time he offered unsolicited advice, a warning. "Make sure you know which one you're doing."
Before I could reply, a comms operator turned to me. "Commander! Unidentified aircraft approaching our airspace rapidly! Not responding to calls. It's a luxury jet, Gulfstream G650 model."
My blood ran cold. I knew only one person who traveled like that.
"Don't shoot it down," I ordered, as I put on my skull mask. "Ghost, with me."
We headed to the airstrip just as the sleek white jet landed with insulting grace. The ramp lowered. As always, Valmet and Lehm appeared first, their professional eyes scanning the perimeter. They looked tense, more so than usual.
And then, Koko Hekmatyar appeared at the top. But something was different. She wasn't wearing her impeccable white business suit. Instead, she was dressed in a stylish khaki safari outfit, with leather boots and her hair pulled back under a wide-brimmed hat. She looked less like an arms dealer and more like an early 20th-century explorer about to embark on a grand adventure. Her smile, however, was the same as always: bright, enigmatic, and full of hidden knowledge.
She ignored my honor guard and walked directly toward me on the airstrip. The Ghost team tensed, their hands on their weapons. I myself braced for a negotiation, a threat, a new twist in her twisted game.
I expected anything. Except what she did next.
She didn't stop at a respectful distance. She didn't stop at all. When she reached me, she closed the final gap and, before my tactically trained brain could process the anomaly, she wrapped her arms around me.
She hugged me.
A full, warm, firm embrace. My entire body froze. Years of training, the combat system, survival instincts... everything evaporated. My mind was a chaos of conflicting messages. THREAT! UNEXPECTED PHYSICAL CONTACT! Alex's logic screamed. TRAP! IT'S A TRICK! But the Kenji inside, the young man who couldn't remember the last time he'd received a touch that wasn't violent or indifferent, was simply... in shock. The scent of her perfume, this time something floral and exotic, filled my senses.
She leaned in and whispered in my ear, her breath warm against my skin, her voice an intimate murmur that contrasted wildly with her reputation.
"I missed you, my little ghost," she said in perfect Spanish, sending a shiver down my spine. "Building an empire is exhausting, isn't it? You look tired."
She pulled back, but kept her hands on my shoulders, looking at me with a radiant, genuine smile that seemed utterly out of place in the middle of an African military base.
"I've come to see my best investment!" she announced loudly, for everyone to hear, her tone now light and cheerful. "And to propose a new business. But first..." her eyes swept over my base, the training grounds, the soldiers, the hangar... my kingdom. "...show me the empire you've built on the grave of the Russian bears."
I stood there, completely disarmed. I had fought elite soldiers, professional mercenaries, and ghostly assassins. I was preparing for a war of wits against the world's best detective. I was managing an army, an economy, and the ambitions of men like Phillip Graves.
But with a simple hug, Koko Hekmatyar had reminded me who truly had the power to unbalance me. Not with a bullet, but with a gesture. The game had changed again, and I had no idea what the new rules were.