The Situation Room in the basement of the West Wing was a space designed to strip away the concept of time. There were no windows to show the sun rising over the Potomac.

  The air was recycled and kept at a constant sixty eight degrees. The only light came from the massive digital maps on the walls and the harsh fluorescents overhead that hummed with a low frequency.

  It was 4:15 AM.

  The mood around the long mahogany table was less "national crisis" and more "hostile negotiation."

  President Robert "Dakota Bob" Singer… not yet elected to the oval office in the public eye, but currently serving as the Secretary of Defense and acting as the President's proxy for superhuman affairs due to the incumbent's 'medical leave,' sat at the head of the table. He rubbed his temples, his eyes bloodshot. A styrofoam cup of lukewarm coffee sat untouched in front of him.

  To his right sat General Francis "Ironhead" Higgins, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. He was a man carved from granite, his uniform immaculate despite the hour, though his jaw was set in a line of irritation that threatened to crack his molars.

  To his left was Director Raynor of the CIA, looking disheveled and frantic, clutching a tablet like a shield.

  And standing at the far end of the room, looking like the only person who actually wanted to be there, was Grace Mallory.

  "Grace," Singer rumbled, his voice a gravelly rasp. "You have exactly three minutes to convince me that dragging the Joint Chiefs and the Director of the CIA out of bed before the birds are even awake was not a fireable offense. And since you're retired, I mean 'fireable' in the sense that I have you fired out of a cannon."

  Mallory placed a thick file folder on the table. It landed with a dull thud that echoed in the silent room.

  "You're not sleeping, Bob," Mallory said, her voice sharp. "Not with what's happening in New York and Pennsylvania."

  "The fire at the psych ward?" General Higgins grunted, crossing his massive arms. "State police ruled it an electrical fault. Why is this a federal issue?"

  "Because it wasn't an electrical fault," Mallory stated. "And the sixteen dead bodies at the Gilded Lily hotel weren't a drug overdose. And the crater that used to be a research facility in the Pennsylvania woods wasn't a gas leak."

  She opened the folder. She slid three high resolution photographs across the polished table.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The first showed the interior of the Gilded Lily suite, leaked from a police source before Vought clamped down. It showed the bodies.

  The second showed the half melted remains of the Sage Grove main gate, the steel warped by impossible cold and force.

  The third was a satellite image of the Project Odessa site. The thermal residue, even hours later, was blindingly white.

  "Gentlemen," Mallory said. "We are looking at a shadow war. And Vought isn't the one winning it."

  Director Raynor picked up the photo of the Gilded Lily. "We've heard the chatter, Grace. The 'Z-Drug.' Vought's already spinning it."

  "It's a lie," Mallory snapped. "I have contacts in the coroner's office who saw the bodies before Vought's cleaners arrived. They were neutralized instantly. All of them."

  She pointed to the Sage Grove photo. "And this? This was a tactical demolition. The facility was stripped of assets and then burned with thermite to destroy the evidence."

  General Higgins leaned forward, picking up the photo of the Odessa site. He squinted at the blast pattern on the gate. He traced the line of entry with a calloused finger.

  "Breach and clear," Higgins muttered. "Look at the spacing of the takedowns on the perimeter guards. Two distinct drop points. Simultaneous engagement. The guards didn't even unholster their sidearms."

  He looked up at Mallory, a strange glint in his eye. "Who hit this facility, Grace?"

  "We don't know," Mallory admitted. "But look at the pattern. High value Vought targets. Zero civilian casualties. And zero collateral damage to non Vought infrastructure. Whoever did this infiltrated a high security hotel, a black site asylum and a hidden research bunker. They went in, they killed every Supe and Vought contractor inside and they vanished without leaving a single trace of DNA or digital footprint."

  Singer sat up straighter, the fog of sleep clearing from his eyes. "You're saying it's a team."

  "It has to be," Mallory said. "The coordination required to pull off the Gilded Lily hit alone, looping the security feeds, neutralizing the targets, planting the cover story that's a squad level operation. Five, maybe six highly specialized operatives."

  "And the discipline," General Higgins added, his voice dropping to a low rumble of appreciation. He tapped the photo of the Gilded Lily again. "Look at the positioning of the bodies. The targets were identified, isolated and terminated with extreme prejudice. This was a professional hit squad."

  "Do you think it's a Vought Rival?" Raynor suggested. "Maybe a foreign state actor? The Russians?"

  "No," Higgins shook his head firmly. "Foreign actors want credit, or they screw it up. This?" He gestured to the destruction of Project Odessa. "This smells like American doctrine. Overwhelming force applied with surgical precision. The thermite charges? The lack of forensics? That's the Army Field Manual, Chapter 5. That's Ranger school. That's Delta."

  The room went silent. The implication hung in the cold air.

  "Are you suggesting," Singer asked slowly, "that we have an active Special Forces unit operating on domestic soil, targeting a private corporation, without my knowledge?"

  "No, sir," Higgins said, his tone shifting to one of professional certainty. "A domestic strike of this magnitude would require a specific set of authorizations that haven't crossed my desk. If a tactical hit were operating in that sector, I would be the one holding the leash. Every unit capable of this is either in their barracks or on a scheduled deployment. These operatives are completely off the grid."