The Falcon

Darkness greeted Noah like an old enemy.

Not just blackness—no, this was something deeper. Something watching.

He blinked, but nothing came at first. Just silence. Pressure. A cold so thick it clung to his lungs.

Then, slowly, the world bled back in.

Steel beams crisscrossed overhead like skeletal ribs. Grey concrete walls boxed him in, damp with the scent of gun oil and disinfectant. His wrists burned. Bound tightly behind him. Raw skin against coarse rope. Ankles locked around the chair legs, metal biting into bone.

Where am I?

The chair itself? Cold. Hard. Military-grade. Not for comfort. For control.

His breaths were short, shallow. The air tasted sterile, like a hospital after midnight.

This isn't a kidnapping.

That thought settled like a stone in his gut.

This is a statement. Whoever took me knows exactly what they're doing.

Then someone moved.

A man sat behind a desk too clean for the room. White beard. Sharp uniform. Eyes like polished steel. He didn't speak. Didn't need to. Power wasn't in his voice—it was in the way he sat .

Like he'd decided wars over breakfast.

Noah's throat cracked open with dry words.

"Where… where am I?"

The man didn't answer.

Instead, another voice cut through the quiet.

"You're at Falcon Corps headquarters."

Noah stiffened.

Falcon Corps. Everyone had heard of them. News headlines whispered about their tech breakthroughs. Governments negotiated behind closed doors for their support. Underground forums speculated endlessly about the elite cadets trained in secret wings across the globe.

Yes, they were secretive. Yes, they operated in gray zones. But they weren't some rogue kidnap squad pulling teenagers out of the night.

They were power. Influence. Control.

And now, somehow, he was inside the heart of it.

How did I get here?

His mind raced.

Was this part of Renzo's plan? Is this why he kept secrets from me? Why he never told me who he really was?

Then the older man leaned forward, fingers steepled.

"Noah," he said, calm as a scalpel, "I know this isn't how I'd have chosen to meet you. But circumstances left little room for courtesy."

He gestured slightly—either permission or instruction—and the ropes binding Noah loosened. Not fully, but enough that he could shift without tearing his skin further.

"I'm Chairman Vance," the man continued. "Your foster father, Renzo Cruz, once asked me to look after you. If anything ever happened to him."

Noah's chest tightened.

Renzo.

Even now, even after death, his influence stretched farther than Noah had ever imagined.

So this was part of your plan, huh? You always said you had contingencies.

Chairman Vance went on. "Renzo wasn't a soldier. But he helped build the foundation of this place. And when a man like that asks a favor, you don't forget it."

Silence settled between them like dust.

Noah's jaw clenched. His fingers curled into fists.

I hate this. I hate being handled. Being pulled into something I didn't agree to.

But then—

Wait.

He hated being controlled. Hated being pulled into something without a say.

But this wasn't some random abduction. This was orchestrated. Planned. Maybe even... inevitable.

From the shadows, a new voice cut through.

"He's emotionally unstable," said Tadashi, stepping forward. Arms crossed. Posture rigid. "Untrained. Unfiltered. You really think throwing him into the Junior Elite Program is wise?"

He crossed his arms, voice edged with skepticism.

"That's not some crash course for future soldiers. It's Falcon Corps' most prestigious developmental initiative—reserved for recruits who've already proven they can handle pressure, discipline, and responsibility across multiple fields."

He paused, glancing at Noah again. "Tech. Strategy. Intelligence. Field ops. Leadership. The JEP isn't just about potential—it's about polish. Precision. Preparedness."

His tone hardened.

"You don't just drop someone like him in there without prep. He doesn't understand what he's walking into—and worse, he doesn't even realize he doesn't understand. That kind of ignorance gets people blacklisted. Or worse."

You don't know me , Noah thought, staring at Tadashi.

I've been training for years. Scraping knowledge from scraps online. Building my own curriculum. You think I'm unprepared? No. I'm hungry. And hunger makes people dangerous.

Chairman Vance didn't react to Tadashi's words. His gaze remained steady on Noah.

"I don't make choices based on who someone is today," he said. "I choose based on who they can become."

His voice softened, just slightly. "You've been fighting battles alone for a long time, Noah. Fear. Doubt. Silence. What if the strength you've been chasing… was never meant to be found on your own?"

Noah's pulse thudded. Not fear. Not anger either.

Recognition.

This wasn't a threat.

It wasn't pity.

It was opportunity.

"I don't trust you," he said quietly.

"I wouldn't expect you to." Vance smiled faintly. "Trust is earned. All I need is your answer."

Noah looked down at his bound wrists, then up at the man offering him something more dangerous than force.

Choice.

He took a breath.

I could walk away. Pretend this never happened. Go back to hiding in the dark, scraping by with stolen knowledge.

But then—

Or I could take this. Learn. Grow. Become something real.

"I want to learn," he said. "I want real power—not handed down, not given. Earned. Built by me. No strings. No lies."

Vance nodded once.

Tadashi let out a low whistle. "Didn't see that coming."

Noah turned his head toward him.

"If you're bringing me in, I won't be dead weight. But I need to know—what do you really want from me?"

Vance leaned back.

"The Junior Elite Program. Training. Discipline. Proving ground. You earn your place here—one step at a time."

He gave a single nod.

The ropes dropped completely.

Noah stood slowly, rolling his shoulders, flexing his hands. Pain lingered—but so did purpose.

"I'm not here to play soldier," he said.

Vance's smile returned, thinner this time.

"Good. I'm not here to play teacher."

From the side, Tadashi called out.

"Harvey!"

A tall man in a crisp uniform stepped in—military posture, no-nonsense expression.

"Show him to his quarters."

Noah walked out without looking back.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Tadashi remained.

"You really believe in him?" he asked.

Vance folded his hands again.

"Renzo helped shape this organization. When a legacy like that fades, we bury it—or we pass the torch."

He paused.

"We're passing it."

Tadashi exhaled sharply.

"He's untrained. Emotional. Fights like a street dog."

"And yet," Vance replied, "he landed a hit on you ."

Tadashi narrowed his eyes.

"That was luck."

"Maybe. But you noticed."

Another pause.

"I want you to train him."

Tadashi snapped his head around.

"What?"

"It's a request," Vance said, voice slicing like steel.

Tadashi held the silence for a moment. Then sighed.

"Fine. But I'm not holding his hand."

Room B3 – Falcon Corps Dormitory

Noah stepped inside and paused.

It wasn't what he expected.

Clean desk. Decent bed. Mattress actually looked comfortable. A laptop. Bookshelves. Even a private bathroom.

Not a prison.

Maybe not freedom either—but close.

He dropped onto the bed. Springs groaned beneath him.

Renzo was gone. Someone made that happen.

And Falcon Corps?

They were tangled in it all somehow.

Was this your backup plan? Did you know something was coming?

Noah stared at the ceiling.

"Was this your plan?" he whispered. "Did you know something was coming?"

His fists tightened.

"I'll find them. Whoever did this—I'll find them."

A knock broke the quiet.

He opened the door.

Tadashi stood there, leaning casually against the frame.

"You'll meet your team tomorrow," he said. "Try not to start a war before breakfast."

Noah raised an eyebrow. "Team?"

But Tadashi was already walking away.

Noah shut the door slowly.

What the hell was that smirk for?

He fell back onto the bed. Closed his eyes.

Sleep took him like a tide.

Falcon Corps Training Complex – 11:46 PM

The gym lights buzzed low. Metal clanged. Rubber squeaked.

Brian grunted under the weight bar, veins popping, red hair matted with sweat.

"Yo, Brian!" one of the other recruits called. "You hear? New guy's assigned to your team."

Brian didn't look up.

Thick shoulders. Close-cropped hair. A body built not in gyms—but through pain.

He racked the bar. Sat up slowly. Sweat rolled down his spine.

His eyes flickered. Just once.

"A new guy, huh?"

He didn't smile.

Didn't frown either.

Just muttered under his breath.

"He better not be a clown."