PROJECT: CAYRO

1st Lieutenant Edwards:

August 19, 2025

07:00 EST

Langley Air Force Base, VA.

Standing at my desk, I surveyed the surveillance photos spread out before me, my fingers unconsciously running through my military-cropped blond hair. At six feet tall, I didn’t need to move around the desk to take in every detail. Each image was a fresh stab of frustration. The SAF Autumn, parked smugly just 30 miles off the coast of Virginia, seemed to taunt me from beyond the reach of U.S. military jurisdiction. They knew exactly where the line was and straddled it with infuriating precision. Just outside U.S. airspace, they were untouchable, protected by a web of NATO treaties that my hands were tied by. As long as they stayed there, they were immune to the might of the U.S. military—an irony that gnawed at me.

These treaties painted them as mere dignitary chauffeurs, but we all knew the truth. The SAF Autumn and its crew were smugglers, traitors of the worst kind. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I fought back a wave of bitter frustration. They weren’t in my backyard for some routine political pickup; that much was clear. I had been recently assigned command of the 405th Quick Response Force Airwing Squadron, tasked specifically with defending Langley Air Force Base, Virginia. And here, practically in my front yard, was the embodiment of everything that made my blood boil.

But as much as I wanted to be the one to bring down the SAF, I knew the consequences. Starting an international incident was the last thing anyone needed, and the SAF knew that. They had the public eating out of their hands with their flashy international skyboarding tournaments, spinning their treachery into something glamorous. The public didn’t care that they were traitors. If anything, they celebrated them for it. They had exposed a secret faction within the U.S. military, along with a cadre of corrupt politicians who had been manipulating global politics and economies. With a few damning photos and videos, they had plunged the United States into economic turmoil and political chaos. And in the aftermath, NATO had extended its protective arm over them.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that my hands were tied by the very treaties that were meant to maintain peace. Picking up one of the photos, I brought it closer, the glossy surface reflecting my thin, angular face. My hazel eyes, narrowed in a glare, locked onto the figure of Captain Clark standing defiantly on the Autumn’s flight deck. The sight of him twisted my stomach. Clark wasn’t much older than me when he betrayed the United States, and now he flaunted his success as a professional skyboarder and a smuggler, parading stolen U.S. military equipment around the globe.

He embodied everything I despised—a rogue element with experimental gear, slipping through our grasp and mocking our inability to act. The thought of him getting away with it, protected by the very systems he’d betrayed, filled me with a cold, simmering rage.

Taking direct action against the SAF would be tantamount to admitting that the Air Force had once sanctioned a unit like them, and that would create a political shitstorm no one wanted. The only saving grace for the U.S. Air Force was that the government had officially branded the SAF as traitors for nearly thirteen years now. According to standing orders, if the SAF re-entered U.S. airspace, they were to be treated as terrorists. The unofficial history whispered in the halls of the Air Force was that the SAF was originally intended to be a Special Operations Squadron based at Langley, tasked with executing black ops missions from their airship—a vessel designed specifically for them.

For five years, the unit had operated in the shadows, conducting test missions that were never officially recorded. They had access to the latest technology, constantly pushing the envelope in areas so classified that even their research was redacted beyond recognition. Then, everything changed. Their commander was sent to the Middle East to disarm a supposed nuclear device, and the mission went catastrophically wrong. The device detonated, killing him and triggering the Twilight Winter. In the aftermath, the SAF went rogue. The reasons behind their defection were never officially determined, though it was speculated that their commander had left explicit orders: if he didn’t return from the mission, they were to abandon their duties. Why he gave such an order remained a mystery, but the SAF followed through, vanishing into the wind.

My thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. I looked up from the photos, irritation creeping into my expression.

“Enter,” I barked, my voice cutting through the air like a knife.

Sergeant Rodriguez stepped in, snapping to attention with a salute. “Sir, Colonel Sirnic is here to see you.”

A flicker of surprise crossed my face as I returned the salute. “Send him in,” I ordered, dismissing the sergeant with a nod. The Colonel wasn’t supposed to arrive until next week. Was his early visit prompted by the SAF’s proximity to our base?

As Colonel Sebastian Sirnic entered my office, I snapped to attention, offering a crisp salute. “Sir, I wasn’t expecting you until next Monday, Sir,” I said, a hint of confusion lacing my words.

“At ease, Lieutenant,” he replied in his deep, gravelly voice, a tone that commanded respect without effort.

I shifted to the at-ease position, watching as the Colonel stepped up to my desk and surveyed the array of photos spread across it. Colonel Sirnic was a man who bore the marks of extensive combat experience. In his late forties, the edges of his dark hair were beginning to grey, though his high fade cut still spoke of discipline and precision. The thin lines etched into his face told stories of a hard life, a stark contrast to my own youthful mid-twenties complexion. But despite his age, there was nothing weak about him. He stood just a few inches shorter than my six-foot frame, yet his presence filled the room, making me feel smaller in comparison.

As I studied his features, I noticed the slightly crooked nose—a testament to multiple breaks over the years. The muscles in his sharply defined jaw rippled as he examined the photos, his sunken, ice-blue eyes scanning each image with a piercing intensity that could strip away any airman’s facade. Those eyes, which had undoubtedly seen through countless layers of bullshit, were now focused on the same photo I had scrutinized earlier—the one capturing Captain Clark on the Autumn’s flight deck.

A wicked smile curled at the corners of the Colonel’s mouth as he adjusted his crisply ironed uniform, a familiar gesture that signaled the birth of an idea he was eager to share. The anticipation in the air was palpable, and I knew that whatever plan he was about to unveil, it would be nothing short of audacious.

"It seems the SAF has decided to grace us with a brief visit, Lieutenant," Colonel Sirnic remarked, his eyes still locked on the photo.

"Yes, sir, it appears that way," I replied, doing my best to maintain composure under the weight of his piercing gaze.

The Colonel placed the photo back on my desk with a casual flick of his wrist, yet his actions were anything but careless. My eyes followed his hand, noting that he had positioned the photo directly above another one—an image of a young woman with dark brown hair streaked with purple, captured mid-flight on a skyboard. The photo had been taken over a year ago, and despite our best efforts, we hadn’t been able to identify her. She had been with the SAF for the past decade, but her identity remained an enigma. No name, no alias, no records in any government or foreign agency. It was as if she didn’t exist. The military had been slowly piecing together the profiles of the SAF crew members, but she was the only one who remained a ghost, meticulously hidden or perhaps erased from existence.

"Have you heard of Project Cayro?" the Colonel asked, pulling me from my thoughts.

"Yes, sir, but only in fragments—more like a rumor than anything substantial," I admitted, curiosity piqued.

"That’s where you’re wrong," he corrected, raising a single finger as if to punctuate his point. "Project Cayro is not a rumor. In fact, it was a very real project, and it may very well still be ongoing. What you might find particularly interesting is that the head researcher who organized the project was one of the cofounders of the SAF."

"Captain Clark, I assume, sir?" I ventured, trying to connect the dots.

"No, Lieutenant," he responded, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "It happened to be the so-called hero, Captain Bracton."

I blinked, momentarily thrown by the revelation. My mind raced as I tried to reconcile this new information with what little I knew. The Colonel had my full attention now, and I could sense that we were venturing into murky waters.

"Let me get this straight, sir," I began, trying to piece together the fragments of what I’d heard over the years. "From my limited understanding, Project Cayro was an initiative aimed at creating enhanced humans, specifically trained for special operations—tasks so high-risk they would be nearly impossible for any other military unit. Essentially, a true black ops group that would operate outside the bounds of official existence. If I’m not mistaken, that’s the rumor I’ve heard."

"You’ve summed it up well, Lieutenant," Colonel Sirnic confirmed, his tone steady.

"Why on earth would Captain Bracton undertake such a project?" I asked bluntly, struggling to fathom the motivations behind such a venture.

The Colonel sighed, his expression darkening as he prepared to delve deeper. "The project was classified, not just because it was part of the SAF, but because of the nature of the research being conducted."

"What do you mean, sir?" I pressed, the pieces still not fitting together in my mind.

"You were correct about the enhanced human aspect," he began, his voice taking on a graver tone. "However, Project Cayro had a much darker side—one that has been meticulously covered up. All documentation regarding the subjects involved was completely destroyed."

"Sir?" I echoed, confusion seeping into my voice. "Was the project not volunteer-based?"

“Therein lies the dark side of the project, Lieutenant. The subjects were children—around the age of five, if I’m not mistaken,” Colonel Sirnic stated, a rare flicker of regret crossing his otherwise cold features.

“Children?” I exclaimed, unable to mask my shock.

“Yes, they were to be trained from a young age to ensure absolute loyalty and dedication to the U.S. military. The original plan was to groom them as the second generation of the SAF, but the project suffered a catastrophic failure that resulted in the deaths of all the subjects. That was when Captain Bracton was reassigned to the Middle East, where he met his untimely end. However,” the Colonel continued, a dark undertone in his voice, “the person Bracton left in charge of the SAF made a grave mistake.”

He picked up the photo of the young girl with the dark brown and purple hair, pointing to her with a sense of grim satisfaction. “One of the subjects survived the operation.”

“Who is she?” I asked, my curiosity piqued, desperate to connect the dots.

“She’s the daughter of Dr. H. M. Zaraki, the lead technical engineer of the project,” he answered, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

Dr. Zaraki was a name that had come up repeatedly in my research, but the man was as elusive as the SAF itself. He would surface sporadically across the globe, only to disappear without a trace. Now, looking at the girl’s image, I could see the resemblance—her sharp features, the same intensity in her eyes. The Colonel reached under his uniform coat and handed me a file, a picture of the girl attached to the front. The photograph showed her much younger, a stark contrast to the recent surveillance images.

I flipped the file open, revealing a mugshot of the girl along with documents detailing her medical stats and personal information. Much of it was heavily redacted, but enough remained to piece together a disturbing narrative.

“Sir, I thought you said all the documentation was destroyed,” I remarked, looking up at him with a mix of confusion and suspicion.

“Oh, supposedly it was,” the Colonel responded, a sly smile playing on his lips. “This is one of the copies I kept on hand for future reference. I served as an advisor to the project at the time and thought it prudent to retain some documentation, just in case. If you catch my drift.”

“I wasn’t aware you were involved, sir,” I replied, the realization dawning that the Colonel’s role in the project was far more significant than he was letting on.

“And there’s more,” he continued, his tone darkening. “Captain Bracton’s son was also a subject in the project—another casualty of the operation. I genuinely believed he was dead because, had he survived, he would have surfaced on some record by now.”

“Sir, if the project is no longer active, why are you telling me this?” I finally asked, my mind racing to understand his motives.

“Oh, that’s an easy question to answer, Lieutenant,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his gaze locking onto mine. “After reviewing several candidates and their service records, I’ve decided that I want you to lead a new group under my command. Your service records indicate that you served as a Second Lieutenant in the recent Second Korean War. You and your squadron sergeant managed to hold the Osan Air Force Base landing strip when the North Koreans overran the northern forces. The tactics you and your sergeant employed were impressive, to say the least. I believe you would be a valuable asset to my team. It’s rare to see a new Lieutenant work so effectively with the enlisted side and accomplish a mission as you did. Several reports from those who served with you express admiration for your actions and leadership.”

“Thank you, sir, but I was just assigned here only a few months ago. I highly doubt I’ll be able to transfer now,” I tried to explain, careful to keep my tone respectful and avoid sounding like I was complaining.

“I’ve already taken care of that little issue, Lieutenant. Let’s just say my orders come from much higher up in the food chain,” he elaborated, his voice carrying an ominous weight that made it clear this wasn’t a request—it was a directive.

“Uh… Yes, Sir,” I stammered, the realization dawning that I had no say in the matter.

“You are now in charge of capturing Staralyne Tabitha Zaraki from the SAF, whom they’ve been harboring, and bringing her back alive by any means necessary. In the meantime, I’ll be overseeing the development of a new version of this project,” the Colonel said, handing me another thick packet of files before turning sharply on his heel and leaving my office without another word.

I stood there, momentarily speechless, as the gravity of what had just been assigned to me settled in. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone with the weight of my new responsibility.

Sinking back into my chair, I released the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The full implications of the Colonel’s words were beginning to take root in my mind. I was now directly in charge of capturing a member of the SAF—a mission that carried enormous risks and potential fallout.

With a sense of trepidation, I opened the file he had handed me. To my surprise, sitting on top of the documents was a set of Captain’s rank insignia, pinned to a set of promotion orders. The orders stated that I was to take full command of the Air Force’s 152nd Special Tactics Squadron, the very unit that Colonel Sirnic had been in the process of forming.

Underneath the promotion orders were detailed files on Project Cayro—the very project the Colonel had just revealed to me. The more I read, the more I understood the depth of the operation I was now a part of, and the darker it became.

DEPARTMENT OF THE AIR FORCE

408th ISR WING

Langley Air Force Base

MEMORANDUM FOR RECORD

FROM: 480th ISR Wing Langley Airforce Base

TO: Edwards, John N. III

CLASSIFICATION: Top Secret

SUBJECT: Promotion to the rank of Captain/Transfer

References (a) DAFI36-2502 16 APRIL 2021 Military Promotion and Demotion and Department of Defense Instruction (DoDI) 1304.3

Purpose: You are here by promoted from the rank of 1st Lieutenant to the rank of Captain. All previous orders are rescinded.

Unit Release: By the order of COL Sebastian Sirnic, CPT Nicholas Edwards is hereby reassigned to the 152nd Special Tactics Squadron effective immediately.

Orders: Report to the Air Combat Command building on 22 August 2025 at 0900 to briefing room 31B for unit briefing and to take command of new unit.

Sabastain Sirnic, COL, USAF

Commander of Joint Task Force of ACC

and 480th ISR Wing

S. Sirnic