The combat simulation was scheduled for the following morning, and it would prove to be the test that changed everything. Hand-to-hand combat, one-on-one matches, no weapons, no mercy—a pure contest of skill against skill.
When the pairings were announced, fate, or perhaps a cruel sense of irony, pitted Olivia against Lance Morrison—six feet of solid muscle, unrestrained ego, and barely contained aggression. He towered over her small frame, his fists already clenched, a predatory grin spreading across his face.
Before the whistle had even blown to signal the start of the match, Lance charged forward like a bull, grabbing Olivia’s collar with both hands and slamming her back against the padded wall of the training area. The impact was so violent that her shirt tore, the fabric ripping from her shoulder partway down her back.
For the first time since her arrival at the facility, Olivia looked genuinely vulnerable, pinned against the wall by someone twice her size. The squad burst into cruel, unrestrained laughter.
«Look at that,» Madison jeered, her phone out and recording the scene. «She’s got tattoos, too. What is this, some kind of biker gang?»
But as Lance leaned in closer, his face inches from hers, preparing to deliver what he believed would be the final, crushing humiliation, something in Olivia’s eyes made him pause. There was no fear there, no panic—just a cold, calculating patience that he couldn’t comprehend.
«This isn’t daycare, Mitchell,» he snarled, trying to regain his momentum. «This is a battlefield. Time for you to go home, little girl.»
Olivia looked directly into his eyes, her voice steady and quiet. «Let go.»
Lance laughed, but his grip loosened just slightly, whether from overconfidence or some subconscious recognition that he was making a terrible mistake. That small degree of loosening was all Olivia needed. She stepped back, and the torn shirt fell lower, revealing more of what lay beneath.
And that’s when everything changed. The torn fabric fell away, and suddenly, the entire training yard went silent. Etched across Olivia’s shoulder blade in stark black ink that seemed to absorb the morning light was a tattoo unlike anything the cadets had ever seen.
It was a coiled viper, rendered in intricate detail, its body wrapped around a shattered human skull. The serpent’s eyes were hollow voids, and its fangs dripped with what looked like venom or blood. But it wasn’t just the craftsmanship of the tattoo that made everyone freeze; it was the symbol itself.
The laughter died in their throats. Phones stopped recording. Even Lance loosened his grip, his predatory grin fading as he stared at the mark on her skin.
«What the hell is that supposed to be?» Madison’s voice cracked slightly, her cruel confidence wavering.
But Colonel James Patterson, who had been observing the training exercises from across the yard, stepped forward with movements that were sharp and deliberate. His weathered face had gone completely pale, and his hands were trembling—actually trembling—as he approached.
«Who gave you the right to wear that mark?» he asked, his voice shaking with a mixture of reverence and terror.
The entire training ground seemed to hold its breath. Even the instructors had stopped what they were doing, sensing that something monumental was happening. Olivia stood there, her back straight despite Lance still gripping her torn shirt, the tattoo stark and prominent against her skin.
She looked directly at the colonel, her voice quiet but clear enough to carry across the silent yard. «I didn’t ask for it,» she said. «It was given to me by Ghost Viper himself. I trained under him for six years.»
The words hit the assembled crowd like a physical blow. Colonel Patterson froze completely, his eyes widening in a mixture of recognition and disbelief.
Then, as if his body were moving without conscious thought, he straightened to attention and snapped his hand to his forehead in a perfect salute. The other officers stared, their mouths agape. A nearby aide whispered urgently, «Sir, what are you doing?»
But Patterson held the salute, his voice filled with something approaching awe. «No one bears that tattoo unless they’re his final student. His only student.»
Lance stumbled backward, his face draining of all color. Madison’s phone slipped from her nerveless fingers, clattering onto the concrete. Derek looked as if he was about to be sick.
The name «Ghost Viper» was the stuff of legend in military circles—whispered stories of a unit that didn’t officially exist, of missions that never happened, of operatives who vanished from all records after completing impossible tasks. Five years ago, the entire unit had been declared KIA in a classified operation that was so secret, most people weren’t even sure it had actually occurred.
Ghost Viper himself was a mythical figure, a trainer so elite that he supposedly selected only one student per decade, marking them with this tattoo as proof of their lethal capabilities. Most people had assumed it was just another military urban legend. Looking at Colonel Patterson’s reaction, it was clear that the legend was very, very real.
