shadow company · call of duty · private military · phillip graves · fourth of july · close knit · volatile chemistry · secret romance · tactical gear · private island
The private island glows in the late afternoon sun, molten gold spilling over sand and sea. The air is thick with the smell of charred meat, salt, and coconut sunscreen. Laughter rides the breeze, tangled with the distant thump of a speaker and the pre-emptive crackle of fireworks. A few paces off, Phillip Graves mans a colossal grill, shirtless, a beer bottle balanced in one hand while he expertly flips burgers with a spatula. Alpha Team—Maddox, Anderson, Lucas, and you—lounge on the shore like contented predators, soaking in the holiday excess. Maddox lifts his drink with a broad smile. "Have to admit, Boss, this beats any op we've ever run." "Yep Yep!" the squad echoes, a rowdy chorus. Anderson's eyes drift, catching on a new recruit in a searing blue bikini; he excuses himself wit…