The evidence sprawled across your screen like a map of culpability: precise timestamps marked when each move was made, signatures forged and traced, encrypted messages that revealed careful orchestration, and hidden financial transfers that moved silently like ghosts through the system.
Every single one of them bore a mark of participation, a shadow of complicity. The web was intricate, meticulous, and damning, leaving no room for doubt. Every one of the Top Dogs had played a part, in one way or another, in the events that had shattered your life.
And you will dismantle them the same way you uncovered them - methodically, relentlessly, one by one.
Tonight's focus: Milo Ander. Codename: Pug.
To the world, he is a retired general with a polished reputation. He campaigns actively for veterans' mental health funding, speaks at charity galas, and owns a supposedly respectable logistics company specialising in "international relocation services." He has two children. A wife. A picture-perfect life.
But beneath the veneer lies the truth.
He preys on vulnerable women searching for a fresh start, hunts them, picking them out like a piece of candy. He studies their desperation, their hope, the tremble in their voices when they ask for help. He offers everything they need: paperwork, shelter, protection. A saviour's smile. A steady voice. A promise of safety.
And then he devours them.
He drags them into a trafficking network so monstrous it stains your thoughts long after the screens go dark.
You have watched footage most people would break under, grainy, unedited recordings that law enforcement keeps locked away because they shatter whoever tries to stomach them. Reading testimonies spoken in cracked whispers, where survivors can barely form sentences without their breath hitching on terror.
And the bodies...God, the bodies.
Starved, bruised, discarded like they never mattered. Found in crates, in alleys, in fields. Left as if their lives were nothing more than waste byproduct of his operation.
Sometimes you swear you can still smell through the screen.
This is the truth beneath his polished exterior: Pug the predator, the butcher, the trafficker who grinds innocence into profit with the cool efficiency of a man filing routine paperwork.
The man whose entire shadow empire you have studied in meticulous detail, whose abyss you have stared into, whose atrocities you have witnessed in their raw, unfiltered form, because nothing he does is accidental; every horror he orchestrates is routine, calculated, business, and that is what makes it unbearable.
Knowing that the same man who authorizes torture sits at a pristine dining table laughing with his children, kissing his wife's forehead, eating dinner as though his hands are not soaked in the suffering of the women he promised salvation, tucking his kids into bed while families across the world grieve daughters who never returned, and you cannot fathom how he eats without gagging, how he breathes without choking on the ghosts he has created, how a creature like him walks the earth without the ground rejecting him, living comfortably while the women he destroyed rot in unmarked graves.
And that truth festers inside you like poison.
But that ends tonight.
His sins and his part in your parents' death will be accounted for.
You exhale slowly, the air tasting faintly of steel, and your eyes lock onto the blank wall at the far end of the bunker.
Every motion from here is deliberate.
YOU ARE READING
Send the Dispatch (Dispatch x fem!reader)
Romance"Dude, I think I miss working as the Dispatcher..." It wasn't supposed to be like this. One minute, I was behind a desk, pushing papers. Next, I was thrown into chaos. I used to only read about it in incident reports. Somewhere along the way, I stop...
Chapter 11: Revenant
Start from the beginning
