In the year 2043, America once again stood as the world's leading superpower. With nuclear weapons disbanded, nations turned to the next great weapons of war: super soldiers.
Brandon Jones was the best of them all—the only S-Rank super soldier in existence, fighting proudly for America.
Somewhere in the rugged mountains of Pakistan, a man in his mid-thirties clutched a bleeding wound at his side. He was 6'6" with tanned skin and an imposing build, his presence commanding despite his injuries. This was Brandon Jones—the world's strongest super soldier, and the protagonist of a mission destined to be his last.
"Sir, we have to leave now," a young Hispanic soldier urged, glancing around nervously. The distant echoes of gunfire still rang out in the barren, rocky landscape. "The mission was successful, but we won't make it if extract isn't here within the hour."
Brandon looked at the soldier—Sanchez, he reminded himself. He'd always made a point of knowing the names of the men who fought beside him, even if he'd rarely used them. "Sanchez," he said, his voice steady but weakening. "This mission was never planned for a return trip. We were sent on a one-way, and it ends here. I'm sorry for bringing you along, but I needed good men to make sure we got it done."
Sanchez stared at him, disbelief etched on his young face. "Sir, with all due respect, how am I supposed to believe that our country would send its greatest weapon on a suicide mission? The military—the citizens—they'd never allow it."
Brandon chuckled, a low, rasping sound that turned into a cough, splattering blood on the dusty ground. "Soldier, our government has two other S-Ranks moving in the shadows. I've been replaceable for a while now. My death… serves a purpose. Several, actually, that are too important to those suits up high."
Sanchez fell silent, processing the shocking revelation. Brandon could see the gears turning in the younger man's mind, the bitter realization dawning.
"The first purpose," Brandon continued, "is to wrestle back control from me. As the world's greatest weapon, countries feared me more as an individual than they did our government. With two others to replace me, they'll show the world they still hold the power."
Sanchez's fists clenched at his sides. He wanted to shout, to argue, but he held his tongue, sensing there was more.
"The second reason is an excuse for invasion," Brandon said, his voice dropping lower. "We weren't supposed to be here officially, but the UN will look the other way if America loses its greatest weapon in the process. They'll sign the invasion papers to keep us happy, and when they do, the US will reveal my replacements."
"How can they do this for such petty reasons?" Sanchez finally exploded. "We just risked our lives killing eight of their super soldiers and fought off the remaining two! We should be celebrated, not left to die!"
"That's enough, soldier!" Brandon snapped, his tone sharp, though it cost him. The pain in his side flared, but he pressed on. "We signed up for this the day we enlisted. This is how it goes in Spec Ops. But you don't have to die here. My death is the only one that matters. I'll create a diversion—you slip out the back. They'll be too focused on me to notice you."
"Sir, I can't—"
"I'm not asking, Sanchez!" Brandon cut him off, his eyes locking onto the younger man's. "This is a final order. You'd be honoring me by taking this chance. I need a message delivered to my cousin if you make it out alive. I've written it down here, along with final words to my wife and daughter. Please." He handed Sanchez a bloodstained letter, his hand trembling slightly.
Sanchez stared at the letter, then back at Brandon. "Sir… that's the first time you've called me by my name," he said, his voice thick with emotion. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he forced a solemn smile. "How can I refuse?"
Brandon nodded, the corners of his lips lifting in a faint smile. He didn't trust himself to say more. He rose to his feet, every movement a painful reminder of his injuries. Refusing to look back, he gathered his remaining strength and charged forward, crashing through the wall with a force that belied his condition.
The enemy soldiers beyond the wall were caught off guard, scrambling to react. Brandon moved swiftly, his training taking over even as his vision blurred. He fired a single, precise shot that took off one soldier's head. But before he could line up the next shot, a bullet tore through his shoulder, spinning him around. Another hit his leg, and he dropped to one knee, gritting his teeth against the pain.
But Brandon wasn't done yet. He unleashed six more shots, each finding its mark. Six enemy soldiers fell, their lifeless bodies hitting the ground in a sickening thud. Brandon stumbled, his back hitting the wall as he slid down, finally succumbing to the pain and fatigue. The surviving enemies watched from a distance, too terrified to approach. They waited, silent, hoping to witness the fall of a legend.
Brandon knew his time had come. He only hoped Sanchez would make it out, giving his death a shred more meaning. His thoughts drifted to his wife, Kayla, and their daughter, Iris. He pictured their faces, his heart swelling with love and regret. Fumbling with bloody hands, he pulled out a small photo from his shirt pocket—his family, smiling back at him.
He wished he'd had more time with them. More moments to cherish. But as he stared at their faces, a sense of peace washed over him. His life had been worth living, and he was ready to meet his end with a smile on his face and their picture in his hand.
As Brandon's heart beat its final rhythm, far away in a darkened room, an alarm blared. Twelve elite American soldiers stood in attention, their faces obscured by shadows. At the center of the room, a general stepped forward, his expression grave.
"America has just lost its first S-Rank super soldier," the general announced, his voice resonating with authority. "He was brave and defended his country a dozen times over. We will not let them take his body and parade it around like a trophy. We will strike, and we will avenge him. He willingly sacrificed his life for this operation, for our country, and we will honor him—with blood and tears!"
The twelve soldiers turned to face the screen displaying Brandon's last known coordinates. They snapped to attention, saluting in unison. "SIR, YES SIR!"