Phantom Unit

The Phantom Unit had been given a unique mission. No smoke-blackened skies. No crackling radio. No countdown hanging over a world about to explode.

Today, they were entering a high school. Not as conquerors. As mentors. Drift greeted the news with almost childlike enthusiasm:

"We'll show them what a real soldier is." His smile was broad, insolent, true to form.

Shade, as always, did not respond. He observed. He weighed it up. Every breath in the room seemed to synchronize, despite herself, with his.

Frost was fine-tuning the logistical details with a reassuring calm that masked an iron discipline. And you. In the background.

Dark jacket, cargo pants, a discreet silhouette in the shadow of the wall. No uniform. No insignia. No visible rank. But each of them knew. And that was enough.

The students, however, saw only a motionless stranger, arms crossed, her gaze steady and unfocused. A quiet presence. Almost invisible. The lesson began.

Drift delivered a series of spectacular demonstrations: fluid disarms, clean throws, precise movements that elicited exclamations. Admiringly, Frost guided the exercises, correcting postures and encouraging the more timid students. Shade simply observed… and his silence alone commanded respect. Everything was going perfectly. Until a hand went up. A student. Relaxed posture. A slightly too self-assured smile.

— Excuse me… but what about her over there?

His chin pointed at you roughly.

"What's she good for? She's not even in uniform and she's just standing there doing nothing. Is she your mascot?"

A burst of laughter rippled through the room. Quick. Mocking. Contagious. Drift immediately stiffened.

Hey, watch out for— Frost raised a hand. Calm. Controlled.

— Don't be fooled by appearances, this woman has lived far more than you have in your miserable lives, she is undoubtedly the most dangerous among us.