The wall behind her shifted to photos of men and women wearing government badges from the DOJ all the way down to local police, and a few labeled Private Sector Security.
“These,” Jo continued, “are individuals who used the Ravens in unauthorized contracts and missions for personal or private gain. Black-market arms recovery, assassinations ofpolitical rivals, trafficking networks disguised as Intelligence extractions.”
Ex cursed under his breath, and Meridian knew what his partner was thinking. How many of those corrupt missions had they executed? How many innocent lives had they taken under the deception of justice?
He rubbed his hand over Ex’s thigh beneath the table until the tight muscle began to loosen from his touch.
Jo’s fierce gaze scanned around the table before she narrowed her eyes at him.
“I know that look, Meridian. You have to let it go.”
She sighed as if she knew it wouldn’t be easy for a man like him.
“One of my favorite philosophers said, ‘The past is a place of reference, not a residence. You can’t dwell there.’”
She went back to surveying the room before she continued.
“Those days are over. Together, we’ve rebuilt this organization from the ruins of its own destruction. The new Ravens will serve only sanctioned mission and aiding in counterterrorism. We’ll assist in international stabilization, execute tactical recoveries, and much more.”
No one spoke because none of them needed to. They were all in agreement.
Jo nodded to one of the Intelligence officers on her right. “Run the footage.”
The hologram shifted again, and the room darkened.
The image that filled the screen was grainy security footage from the old facility. Scientists in lab coats moving between restrained subjects. Men in white hospital gowns, unconscious on surgical tables with needles embedded in their veins.
Meridian flexed his jaw as disgust lodged in his throat before he swallowed it back down.
“These are the last known recordings before the destruction of White Sector Thirty,” Jo said. “The subjects were a part of the director’s final experimental phase—what he called the White Ravens.”
The Greens straightened in their chairs, having been the only ones in the room who’d encountered them.
Rory, an Intelligence officer, stood and went to one of the screens.
“Their files were incomplete, but the data recovered helped us rebuild partial profiles. The subjects who escaped the Greens are the only two confirmed survivors from the White experiments.”
The holograph split, displaying two faces, both police mugshots.
One man had jagged features, eyes hard as iron, and the other was a bit tanner, younger, with eyes bright and dangerous like static before a strike.
“Subject One,” Rory said. “Oscar Calloway, known as Scar on the streets.”
A murmur rippled through the room.
“He’s the former leader of the South Side Kings gang. Was serving three life sentences on a triple homicide conviction in ADX Florence penitentiary. His file describes him as brutal, merciless, lacking emotion, and extremely resourceful. Cruel even before the serums.”
Meridian studied the image, gaze lingering on Scar’s face. He didn’t blink or shift, just stared at the holograph until it disappeared.
If Scar truly was cruel, violent, and emotionless, he’d be the kind of weapon Meridian understood too well… and could train.
“Calloway was extracted from a prison transport by the director’s people before serving even a quarter of his time. Records say he was killed in the explosion of that transport.”
Zorion leaned forward. “That’s not what he looks like now.”
Jo raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t he hooded?”
Zorion nodded. “Yeah. But when he ran, his hood fell for a moment before he threw it back on. His hair is longer now and fuckin’ snow white.”
