James stretched as he jumped down from the transport truck, boots hitting the gravel with a heavy thud. The sharp scent of diesel and burnt insulation clung to the air. Ahead, rows of prefabs and comm towers loomed through the haze—an SDS field camp hastily erected in the shadow of what used to be Pittsburgh.
A team of medics rushed past, hauling Rios onto a stretcher. Ghost followed behind, supported between two corpsmen.
Wrench dropped down beside James with a grunt, rubbing at his shoulder. “Well, that could’ve gone a lot worse, boss. Only losing one on a mission like that? Not exactly something to be troubled by.”
James didn’t even look at him. “I’m not troubled by it,” he said flatly. “Losing people’s just part of the job.”
Wrench gave a small shrug. “Good. Saves me the trouble of pretending I’m broken up about it.”
James finally turned his head, scanning the camp. Trucks rumbled past. Soldiers barked into comms. Somewhere nearby, a generator groaned to life.
“So... where the hell are we?” he asked.
“We’re in a forward ops camp, just outside what used to be Pittsburgh,” Wrench replied.
James frowned. “Now that I think about it—since when did SDS have reach this far west? Wasn’t this Commonwealth of Steel territory?”
“Was,” Wrench corrected. He leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “They got folded into SDS about two years back. Didn’t make much noise—probably a deal done behind closed doors.”
James gave a low grunt. “That explains the lack of news. Haven’t heard a peep about them in a while.”
“Yeah, well, if you ask me?” Wrench glanced around, then lowered his voice further. “I think SDS pushing this far is what drove the CVC to crawl into EHD’s lap. And EHD... they’ve been expanding too. Fast. Word is they’ve got power all the way up into Maine now. Coastal grip, at least. Makes you wonder if this whole war was always the plan.”
James didn’t reply right away. His gaze drifted to the horizon, where a rusted steel bridge arched across a ruined riverbank.
“I really haven’t been keeping up with the faction drama,” he muttered. “Guess I should study up before I sign the next contract.”
Wrench smirked. “You’ll figure it out. Or shoot your way through it.”
James cracked his neck. “For now, I need a ride back to Norfolk.”
“I’ll line something up,” Wrench said, clapping him once on the shoulder. “Go get some chow, boss. You look like shit.”
He gave a lazy salute and wandered off into the maze of tents.
James stood there for a beat longer, the smell of rain and old steel drifting through the camp. Then he turned and walked toward the mess hall, his footsteps slow but steady.
___________________________________
A knock on the door.
Kane didn’t look up. He kept his eyes on the slate in front of him, thumb slowly dragging down the mission summary.
“Enter.”
The door creaked open. A junior officer stepped in—young, sharp uniform, eyes slightly too wide.
“Sir. The debrief package just came through from the Battle of Rochester.”
Kane motioned silently toward the desk.
The officer crossed the room and placed the slate beside the one already glowing on the surface. Then he stood at attention, awkward in the silence.
“Dismissed,” Kane said.
The door closed again.
Kane leaned back in his chair. The lights in his office were dim, filtered through reinforced blinds that cut the glow into hard angles. Outside, the low hum of generators echoed beneath a sky the color of gunmetal.
It’s going to rain today.
He tapped the new slate, bringing up the header:
Operation: GHOSTWALL
Final Status: Objective Secured
Primary Target: Elric Vance – Confirmed KIA
Team: Phantom
Operators: Grayson, Levan, Kade, Rios, Tran [KIA]
Secondary Objective: Breach Secured
Kane exhaled through his nose and flicked to the next page—helmet cam stills, sat-feed images, thermal overlays of the breached wall, timestamped footage of James Grayson executing Vance mid-sentence.
That made him pause.
Grayson hadn’t hesitated. No speech. No drama.
Just one shot, and the war moved forward.
Kane stared at the image a moment longer, then swiped it away.
Another report blinked to life beside it:
Operation: SPEARHEAD
Final Status: Secured
Primary Target: Rochester Captured
Command Element: Second Infantry Division
Estimated Enemy Combatant Casualties: 8,340
SDS Casualties: 2,340
Time Elapsed: 3 Days
They’d taken the city.
Kane swiped to the next file, the soft click of the slate breaking the silence again.
Operation: BLACK VEIL
Target: Buffalo
Objective: Eliminate Cartel Leadership and Fortified Zones
Deployment Authorization: PENDING
Expected CVC Resistance: High
Estimated SDS Losses: Medium
EHD pressesnes: Unlikely
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
He stared at the name—Black Veil. The kind of title some intel officer thought sounded poetic. Kane hated that.
He wasn’t looking at a poem. He was looking at a street-by-street bloodbath. Buffalo wasn’t going to be as easy as Rochesster. It would be fortified, layered with cartel redoubts, makeshift bunkers, and thousands of civilians caught in the crossfire and a high command on high alert.
He keyed in a short voice note, his tone flat and without inflection:
“Intel on Buffalo remains inconclusive. Recommend delaying launch until after deep scan recon. CVC resistance projected to be significantly more organized than Rochester. Reconfirm civilian density before Greenlight.”
The cursor blinked for a moment.
Then he sent it.
Kane sat back, watching the tactical overlay shift. Buffalo glowed red on the map—fortified zones pulsing under layers of encryption and outdated intel. No margin for error this time. The assault would need more than bodies.
Then the door was thrown open.
Aurora stood in the doorway, her eyes hard, coat half-unbuttoned, hair damp from the gray drizzle outside.
“What the hell was that, Aurora?” Kane snapped, rising halfway from his chair.
“I told you to let me know when you were making a move on—”
“Close the door before you start shouting about that,” Kane cut in sharply.
Aurora held his gaze for a second, then nodded once and kicked the door shut behind her. The latch clicked into place, sealing them inside.
______________________________
James yawned as the transport truck came to a stop just outside the military station on Norfolk’s outskirts. The ride back had been uneventful. The size of the convoy must’ve scared off any wildlife, and the war probably had every raider and independent settlement tucked deep into hiding.
With a final nod to the other riders, he hopped down and stretched, boots hitting gravel.
Damn, he thought, it’s going to take forever to make it back to SDS HQ on foot.
He started toward the entrance, hands in his pockets, head down, already deep in thought.
As James entered the outskirts of the city, something tugged at his memory. He spotted a figure by a rusted checkpoint, prepping a battered motorcycle—young, nervous, familiar.
James couldn’t place the face. But he knew it was one he’d seen before.
He walked straight over.
Just as the kid straddled the bike, James grabbed him by the back of the shirt, yanked him off, and lifted him clean off the ground. The kid squawked in panic as James spun him around, holding him effortlessly in the air.
“Where do I know you from, child?” James asked, voice low and dangerous.
“U-uhhh... could you maybe put me down first?” the boy stammered.
“Not until you tell me where I’ve seen that face. It’s hard for me to forget one.”
The boy gulped. “Sir—your eyes are glowing.”
“Where do I know you from.”
The kid squinted. “I... I offered you drugs a few days ago? You didn’t want any. Please don’t kill me.”
James blinked once. Then he dropped the kid flat onto the pavement.
“I’m taking your bike. Its payment.”
“Payment for what?” the boy asked, incredulous. “I didn’t even buy anything from you!”
James gave him a cold look that could’ve cracked concrete.
The boy raised both hands. “It’s all yours.”
James stepped over and mounted the bike. He paused, glancing back.
“What’s your name, boy?”
“Ryan,” the kid said, rubbing his neck.
James smirked. “Huh. Third Ryan this year. You lot are really unlucky.”
Then he revved the engine and tore off into the city
James pulled into the cracked side lot of the Harbor for the Weary, the engine of now his bike rumbling into silence as he parked it beside his car. The sight of it—still there, untouched—made him smirk. He gave it a light pat as he passed, then popped the trunk.
He pulled out his duffel and slid his HK inside before zipping it up. No need to walk in armed.
The lobby was empty. No mercs, no mechs, no wandering bounty crews trading war stories or credits. Just quiet.
He walked over to the VIP desk where Zack stood behind the counter. The man straightened the moment he saw him.
“Mr. Grayson,” Zack said, voice crisp. “Pleasure to see you again. We’ve lost quite a few of our... loyal customers so it's good to know you're still here.”
James set his bag down on the counter. “Yeah, it’s pretty dead in here. Why?”
Zack gave a half-shrug, hands folded neatly. “Well, you know how it is. When war comes, the merchants and the wealthy either flee... or bunker down. And the mercenaries get contracted.”
James grunted. “Huh. And here I thought war was supposed to be good for business.”
“Oh, it is—very lucrative,” Zack said with a faint smile. “Just not for this part of the organization.”
James gave a soft chuckle. “I see. Same room as always.”
Zack nodded and turned to the wall safe behind him. A moment later, he retrieved a small brass key and placed it gently on the counter.
James took the key without a word and gave a brief nod.
James made it to Room 24, let the door shut behind him, and dropped his bag in the living room with a heavy thud. Without pausing, he walked into the oversized bathroom, the one thing besides the bed he liked the most.
It was the first time he got a proper look at himself.
Blood. Gore. Soot. Dried flecks of something he didn’t care to identify caked across his face and chest. He looked like a murder scene that had walked off the report which wasn't to far off from the truth.
He peeled off his jacket, then unstrapped his vest and let out a long breath as the pressure across his ribs vanished. Finally—he reached up and scratched that one spot dead center on his chest that had been driving him insane since the drop.
Next came the combat shirt. It clung to him—drenched, sticky, and starting to stiffen. Pulling it off was unpleasant, but the shirt always does its job so it stayed.
Then he stepped out of his pants and boxers in one practiced motion, tossing all of his clothes into a chute embedded in the wall. The panel hissed shut behind them.
James stretched—muscles pulling tight across his frame—and stepped into the shower.
When James stepped out of the shower, the steam clung to the mirror like a second skin. He wiped a hand across the glass, gave himself a once-over, then pulled on his casual wear: shorts that double as swim trunks, and a snug, black t-shirt that fit like it had been made for him. The fabric was soft.
James made his way down the wide spiral staircase that overlooked the lobby, nodding at Zack as he passed.
The pool and bar area was quiet two patrons sat at the far end of the bar, their voices low, a drink in each hand. One looked like a retired smuggler, the other a burned-out contractor reading from a cracked e-slate.
James slid onto a barstool and gave a nod to the bartender, a thin man with synth-glass prosthetics for both arms.
“Back from up north?” the man asked, not looking up.
James didn’t answer right away.
“Something like that.”
The bartender just nodded and poured something strong and amber into a lowball glass.
James took the drink and leaned back slightly, soaking in the heat, the silence, and the beautiful laddies.
He took a sip.
The warmth was real.
For now.
James was finishing his fourth drink when he finally looked up.
He spotted a familiar face across the pool.
Celeste.
He hadn’t seen her in—what, two, three months?
They locked eyes for a second. The world was still for a second then she walked over.
“Well,” she said with a smile, “I didn’t think you’d still be alive haven’t heard your name since that DC mess”
He gave her a his signature grin. “So what I’m hearing is—you’ve been keeping tabs on me.”
She blushed and said . “No. I just keep my ears open.”
“Right,” James said with a grin. “So what can I do for you, Celeste?”
“I can’t just say hello?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
James stood in one smooth motion. In the same breath, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her in.
His face stopped just inches from hers.
She smelled like caramel and sweat. Not overpowering. She smelled good.
“Oh, you’re more than welcome to say hi,” he said, voice low. “But I’ve got a sixth sense for setups. So... what can I do for you?”
“Hmm… well, I do have a job I need someone to do for me,” she said.
“Yeah? And what would that be?” James asked, leaning in just a little closer.
“I think that can wait,” she said—and pulled him the last bit in for a kiss.
Do I write a smut scene or just leave it up your your imagination
