** CAMP BLACKTHORNE Colorado, United States 0537 Hours The Rocky Mountains were still dark. Snow drifted across the mountain peaks surrounding Camp Blackthorne, masking the existence of the most secretive military installation in America. Above ground, it looked abandoned—a forgotten Cold War relic left to rot. Below ground was a different story. Three hundred feet beneath the mountain sat the headquarters of the United States Shadow Corps. Operators moved through steel hallways lined with reinforced blast doors. Intelligence officers monitored satellite feeds from around the world. Mechanics worked on drones. Armorers checked weapons destined for places that would never appear on a map. The facility was awake long before sunrise. At the end of the command wing sat the office of the Corps' commander. A plaque beside the door simply read: STAFF SERGEANT HENRY BRIGGS SHADOW CORPS COMMAND Inside, a wall-sized digital map displayed dozens of global hotspots. Eastern Europe. The Middle East. South America. The South China Sea. Most people would have seen random red dots. Briggs knew every one of them represented a potential war. His desk was cluttered with classified mission folders, satellite imagery, and intelligence reports from agencies that officially had no relationship with the Shadow Corps. One report sat open. IRON SYNDICATE ACTIVITY INCREASE DETECTED The words had been highlighted three separate times. Outside his office, operators began arriving from morning training. Titan could be heard arguing with Lockpick somewhere down the hallway. Patch was finishing a medical evaluation. Longshot sat in the briefing room cleaning his rifle. Ghost had somehow appeared inside the facility without anyone noticing him enter. Normal morning operations.