Spawn of Nothingness

Five years had passed since the blistering heat of Afghanistan had nearly scorched the soles of his boots. Lance Cross was no longer a promising young operator on the rise—he was the guy.

The kind of name whispered with reverence, and occasionally, dread, across the special operations community.

As Commander of DEVGRU, Lance had earned a reputation that blended fearlessness with a ruthless efficiency that got results.

In his time with SEAL team five, he had accomplished almost every mission with delicate precision and finesse

Now, he stood in the Operations Command Center, reviewing mission details on an expansive digital display.

Task forces and reconnaissance footage played in real-time as intel flowed through like a living, breathing entity.

"Commander Cross, the team is ready for your final briefing," a lieutenant said, straight-backed and eager.

"Good. I'll be there in two minutes," Lance replied, his voice calm yet commanding.

The room buzzed with energy as operators prepped for another mission Lance would oversee, though this time he wasn't going to lead from the field.

DEVGRU commanders rarely did, but that didn't stop the itch in the back of his mind.

He stared at the map for another moment, his eyes scanning the terrain.

After years in the military field accessing any terrain or map had become second nature to him.

For a minute he recalled the mission when he had gone ballistic and almost compromised his position in the whole community

This Afghan rebel who had snuck up on him in a two man patrol had his head scorched to nearly distingerated when Lance's black heat vision been involuntary set off

That was all in the past though as he was a futurist for every aspect

He pivoted to leave, the quiet click of his boots trailing behind him. He exuded calm arrogance, the kind earned by knowing you were among the best—no, the best—to ever wear the uniform.

The day's operation concluded without fault. Not that Lance expected any.

He sat in his corner office afterward, running his fingers over the edge of a worn-out coffee mug, a token from his early SEAL days. It wasn't the most practical mug, and the faded logo barely held up anymore, but he kept it anyway. Not because he was sentimental—at least, that's what he told himself.

On his right shoulder was a skeleton frog tattoo bold in black holding a trident

It was a reminder of all the SEALs that died and also a burden to shoulder for many reasons

Lance although having amensia and having identity problems had developed sentiments with the SEALs

The knock at his door was sharp.

"Come in," Lance barked.

The man who entered was familiar. The same DOD representative who had first approached him five years ago after Kandahar, his posture as rigid as ever.

Beside him was a new face—a sharp-eyed, nondescript individual in a suit that practically screamed intelligence operative.

Lance leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of him, a sardonic smirk creeping onto his face. "This feels like déjà vu."

"Commander Cross," the DOD officer began, his tone clipped, "I'd like to introduce you to Mr. Greer. He's here on behalf of the CIA's Special Activities Center."

Greer gave a curt nod, his face unreadable. "Specifically, the Special Operations Group."

Lance raised a brow, his interest piqued though carefully masked. "Go on."

The DOD officer continued. "You've proven time and again to be an exceptional asset with a unique set of skills—one of a kind, actually. The CIA has taken notice, and they'd like you to consider transferring to their SOG division. This is strictly black ops, Lance. Higher stakes. Full deniability."

Greer finally spoke, his voice smooth and calculated. "The missions would make DEVGRU a little more grounded. We need people like you, Commander—people with skills, instincts, and," his gaze lingered briefly, "certain capabilities."

Lance didn't flinch under the implication.

He was fully aware that his certain capabilities—like his unparalleled healing and the heat vision no one had yet to know about fully except for him—made him a valuable wildcard.

Still, he wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of looking impressed.

"What's in it for me?" Lance asked nonchalantly, his tone bordering on cocky.

Greer adjusted his cufflinks. "A one-level increase in security clearance, for starters. You'd have access to operations and intelligence only the highest tiers are privy to. And a pay bump—$100,000 more annually."

Lance's eyebrow twitched upward, a sign of mild intrigue. They knew how to sweeten the deal, and as much as Lance didn't want to admit it, he appreciated the perks.

"Challenges," Greer added, his voice even sharper now. "The kind only men like you can handle."

A beat passed.

Lance couldn't help the flicker of a smirk. He told himself it was about the challenge, but deep down, there was something more. Maybe this was his chance to figure out some of his plans to come into fruition and make more money

Or maybe he was just curious if he could push himself further.

"I'll think about it," Lance said, knowing full well he'd already made up his mind.

For his various plans and enjoyments, he needed money and connections but there was something tugging on him

This was about something bigger. Something he didn't have a name for yet. He was building toward something. Only the greatest men do.

The DOD officer gave a satisfied nod, while Greer merely adjusted his cufflinks again. "You'll have the details soon. Be ready."

As the pair exited, Lance exhaled through his nose, his gaze drifting out the window. Beyond the walls of the naval base, the world churned with chaos, most of which barely grazed his attention. Somewhere on the news, billionaires like Tony Stark were making waves—proclaiming themselves superheroes, even. "I am Iron Man," Lance recalled hearing at some point. A moment that had captivated millions.

Lance, however, couldn't have cared less.

A photo holder sat in front of the desk, there was a picture of seven to eight men in black camouflage with heavy gear in seated position and in the very front a dirty hooded man

On the very right front of the picture Lance could be seen holding the hooded man

Lance put his eyes to the far side of the picture, it read "Deadly, Silent, Swift"

Since being in the Navy SEALS and especially DEVGRU some secrets had come to light

In any case there would always be darker and bigger forces at play no one knew about that

Let others bask in the spotlight. He didn't need the world to know his name at least not yet—he needed the world to feel his presence.

The next move was already set in motion.