"To protect what remains… even when all else has fallen."
For over two centuries since the bombs fell, I've forgotten my name, my life before, even the shape of who I used to be.But I remember the protocols. I remember the mission.I remember the Strategic Homeland Division.
The SHD was never meant to be known. Born in the shadows of the Cold War, established under Directive 51, it was signed quietly by the President of the United States in 1997—hidden from public records, buried so deep that not even most high-ranking officials knew it existed.Until October 2077, when the world ended.
When the Division activated, we moved fast. At first, we held the line—securing police stations, military outposts, and supply depots with the help of Joint Task Forces and surviving local militias. There were good people among them—tired, frightened, but determined.
But then… the power died. The factories went dark.Radiation sickness surged. Viral outbreaks spread.Morale collapsed.And high command's orders grew harsher… more ethically grey.The house of cards cracked.
And then he broke it.
Aaron Keener—a Division agent—went rogue.He sabotaged JTF coordination, burned safe zones, and turned SHD tech against us.We lost the last foothold we had.The fall of Fort Hamilton was the last thing I remember clearly.
Everything after was blood, fire, and metal. My team… my commanding officer… gone.My body torn apart, dragging myself across wreckage with one good arm and a failing sidearm.Somehow—somehow—I reached Port Chester in a dying Humvee, before everything went black.
That's when they found me.
Griffin & Kryuger.A private military and security contractor with deep black budgets and deeper secrets.They could've left me. Should've, maybe.But the site commander recognized me—said my team had once covered their evac from the Last Man Battalion assault on the old UN Headquarters.
They patched me up the only way they could: cybernetic replacements, nanite-infused synthetic skin, and what was left of my organs stabilized.What came back wasn't quite human anymore—but it could still fight.
During my recovery at the G&K outpost, we were under constant siege. Looters, rogue troops, mercenaries without a cause.Then one day, the G&K commander was sniped—critical hit, no saving it.With his final breath, he transferred command authority and all Tactical Doll protocols to me.
The company… became mine.
That was the end of Griffin US Branch as it was.But its legacy didn't die—it was entrusted.
New York had become a lost cause. So I moved to regroup what little remained of the Division.Boston. Commonwealth airspace.And with me, Squad 404.
How did we endure for over two centuries?That tale… is for another time.
For now, I return to the present.
ISAC: "System rebooting…"