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Betrayed by the one who should have protected him the most—his father, a visionary and obsessed scientist—he was injected with a serum that altered his body and mind into something beyond common human.

During an ultra-secret mission deep in Russian territory, Ghost and his elite team come across something far beyond their understanding: deformed creatures... the undead.

With the original mission compromised and all contact with the U.S. government lost, the team is forced to improvise a risky escape.

But upon returning, they no longer find the most powerful nation in the world—only ruins, chaos, and destruction.

Ghost is the leader of Spectre, the most powerful paramilitary organization on the planet. For years, they operated from the shadows, manipulating wars, controlling governments, and adjusting the world's balance like pieces on a chessboard—Ghost as the master strategist.

But now, with civilization in collapse, there’s no reason to remain hidden.

Ghost is convinced that humanity, left to its instincts, will only destroy itself. People will form gangs, factions, and dictatorships—bringing even more chaos.

To Ghost, the only salvation lies in the imposition of order—and he will do it through overwhelming force, blood, and strategy.

Spectre steps out of the shadows to become the last pillar of humanity. It now takes its mission public: to restore the world—not with hope or democracy, but with order, absolute control, discipline, and ruthless military force.

Spectre: The Pillar of Humanity

"Gentlemen, we're officially screwed."

My voice echoed through the small room, cutting through the tense silence that hung over us.

All eyes were fixed on me—some filled with anticipation, others trying to mask their concern. I took a deep breath before continuing.

"As you've probably noticed, we've lost contact with base. We've searched every inch of this lab and found nothing useful—no alternate exit, no functional comms gear... nothing."

I paused deliberately, letting the weight of our situation settle into each of their minds. I saw their eyes meet, tension building, and then I dropped the final bomb:

"In other words… we've got no ride home."

An invisible weight seemed to fall over the group.

The defeat in their eyes was clear, but these men weren't your average soldiers. They were the elite of the elite, hardened by years of combat, forged in the fire of impossible missions.

And even so, even the bravest could taste the bitter sting of uncertainty when staring into the unknown.

It was Joel who broke the silence, muttering as he rubbed his gloved hands together.

A man who radiated leadership just by the way he walked, close to 35 years old, standing at 6'2", with a powerful frame—broad shoulders, strong chest, the kind of physique that looked carved out of steel.

His long black beard gave him a commanding presence, while his neatly combed military haircut reinforced his disciplined nature. His dark eyes held a silent intensity, like they were always ready to make a hard call or dive into hellfire for someone.

Joel carried himself upright and firm, with a heroic aura that made anyone nearby feel like they were in good hands. He was the kind of man you'd follow into hell—and he'd bring you back alive.

"Ghost, what's the plan to get outta this damn place? My balls are freezing out here."

I let out a small nasal chuckle, shaking my head.

"Well… simple." I crossed my arms and looked at each of them before continuing. "According to some reports I read before we came to this frozen shithole, there's a Russian military base a few kilometers from here."

The eyes around the room sharpened, waiting for more.

"We go in." I paused, letting the words hang. "Kill whoever needs to be killed." Another pause. "Steal a plane and fly the hell home."

The silence was broken by Richard's dry laugh.

Tall, blond, with blue eyes as bright as a clear sky, Richard looked like he'd walked straight out of an American action movie. Standing at 6'1", muscular and laid-back, he always had a cocky smirk or a sarcastic comment ready.

His light blond hair was cut short and practical, and his face was rarely serious—even on the battlefield, he had that "troublemaker brawler" vibe, the type to taunt enemies over comms right before dropping them with a clean shot.

Richard was the comic relief in the chaos, but behind the jokes was a lethal warrior—fast reflexes, sharp mind, and a heart loyal to the bone.

"Simple?! We're just gonna invade a Russian base? Kill people? Steal a damn military plane?!" He ran a hand down his face, laughing nervously. "That's anything but simple, man!"

And then, like we'd all been struck by the same wave of collective insanity, we started laughing—a rough, exhausted laugh, full of adrenaline and pure madness.

"That's it." I shrugged, glancing at the group with a crooked grin. "Simple, right?"

No one replied, but I could see it in their eyes.

They knew there was no other option.

And if hell was what waited for us... then we'd burn in style.

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