PROJECT: CAYRO

Raven Skitchatory

October 22, 2025

01:46 EST

152nd STS Briefing Room

Langley AFB, Langley, VA

I sat next to Ray and Sergeant Helsing, waiting for Captain Edwards to come speak with us. This was the fifth meeting in the last thirty-six hours that the three of us had to endure since the disaster that unfolded nearly forty-eight hours earlier. We had been tasked to join the strike team headed into Hampton to capture the subjects Star Zaraki and Cayro Bracton.

Needless to say, the entire mission went to hell in a handbasket. Colonel Sirnic had assigned us to observe how we would perform against the two supernaturals being harbored, but what none of us expected was the appearance of an entire security force backing them. And then there was this strange entity—none of us could have predicted its arrival. That’s when things went completely sideways.

The team commander panicked, ordering us to hit the dining room where the targets had gathered with a grenade. It was almost as if he feared the man that had appeared out of nowhere and didn't want to risk a confrontation. What floored me was that despite the blast, nobody inside that room got hurt.

After that, the security team that had materialized on-site blocked any attempts for us to push forward. And then came the second explosion inside the house, but what came next truly left me in disbelief—one of Team SAF’s skycars roared out from behind the house, followed by two motorcycles.

Team SAF. The world-renowned transport team that specialized in dignitary transport and high-profile logistics across the globe. As a follower of their activities, I’d spent hours digging into who they were. The government labeled them terrorists, but outside of the U.S., they had a spotless reputation. Nothing ever added up—especially not now. Worse yet, Star and Cayro’s performance video had leaked hours before our attack, drawing more attention to them.

Then we learned the truth: we hadn’t just struck any house. We had hit the Bracton residence. Cayro Bracton, a name tied to Team SAF’s logistics, and a member of a well-known military family. The house belonged to a retired Senior Master Sergeant running a motorcycle dealership and repair shop. And what’s more, the strike team faked credentials, claiming to be CIA agents accusing the Bractons of drug trafficking.

Local law enforcement got involved, led by Chief Copeland, who outright dismissed the CIA’s claims. He made it clear that the Bractons weren’t involved in drugs and even implied that, despite Cayro’s links to Team SAF, there was zero evidence supporting the government's claim that SAF was a terrorist organization. After all, Cayro was still a U.S. citizen.

Now, there’s a media firestorm. The local police aren’t backing down, and they’re calling out whoever orchestrated this mess. Honestly? I agree with them. This whole situation has me on edge. I didn’t join the military to hunt down innocent people. I could see Ray next to me, worry clear on his face. We hadn’t had a chance to talk about what happened, and I knew it was gnawing at him as much as it was me.

Sergeant Helsing wasn’t pleased either. She had ordered us to keep our mouths shut and only speak when asked—brief, clipped answers. The mission had gone south fast, and she was furious—not with us, but with the entire situation.

When the door to the briefing room opened, I looked up to see Captain Edwards step in. We all moved to stand, but he waved us off. His face said it all—exhaustion, anger, and frustration. He dragged a chair across from us and sat, meeting each of our gazes one by one.

"What happened?" Captain Edwards’ voice was sharp, barely restrained frustration boiling under the surface. He wanted answers, and he wanted them now.

Sergeant Helsing opened her mouth to speak, but Captain Edwards cut her off with a wave of his hand. "I don’t want the political bullshit or the runaround, Ashley. My first sergeant and two of my airmen are neck-deep in a media firestorm because of a mission they were assigned by our Wing Commander. This is a mess. A disaster. And I need every single detail—no filtering." His voice had dropped into a dangerous growl, anger barely held in check.

Sergeant Helsing exchanged a brief glance with Ray and me, her expression calm but tight with understanding. "Who would you like to go first, sir?" she asked, her tone careful.

"I don't give a damn. I just want the truth," Captain Edwards snapped, visibly straining for control. The room felt suffocating with the weight of his words.

For the next hour and a half, we laid everything out—every horrifying detail, every decision that had spiraled into chaos, every moment that led to this point. The room was thick with tension, and the deeper we got, the angrier Captain Edwards became. It was in the way his fingers clenched around the edge of the table, his jaw tightening with each piece of information that compounded the disaster. By the time we finished, he was teetering on the edge of explosion.

Finally, when he couldn’t take anymore, he lifted his hand, cutting off Sergeant Helsing mid-sentence. "Enough," he growled. "That’s enough."

He looked down at the table for a moment, as if gathering himself, before he addressed us again. “Specialist Oakland. Specialist Skitchatory. From this moment on, you are not to speak a word of this to anyone. Not one goddamn word. Understood?” His eyes were hard as steel, but it was the exhaustion beneath them that unnerved me the most.

Then, sliding two sheets of paper toward us, he added, "Sign these. Now."

I picked up the sheet in front of me, my throat going dry as I scanned the contents. It was a formal, written order, stating in clear terms that I was forbidden from discussing the events we had just relayed to anyone—no one in our unit, not the colonel, not even anyone higher up than Captain Edwards. The only exceptions were Sergeant Helsing, Ray, and the Captain himself. If I violated the order, I would face court-martial, dishonorable discharge, and a minimum of ten years in military prison.

My stomach churned. This was serious—deadly serious.

"Sign it," Captain Edwards repeated, his voice quieter now, but no less commanding. "This is for your own protection."

With a heavy hand, I pulled a pen from my pocket and scrawled my name across the line. I could feel Ray’s tension next to me as he did the same. Sergeant Helsing, stone-faced, added her signature as well. Captain Edwards gathered the papers and strode over to the copier, making copies for each of us.

When he returned, he handed us two copies each. “Keep one in your personal records binder and carry the other on you. If anyone questions you, show them this and direct them to me. That’s an order.”

"Yes, sir," we responded in unison, the weight of the situation sinking further into our bones.

“Skit, Oakland—consider yourselves dismissed. You have the next twenty-four hours off. I want you both to stay scarce and stay out of sight. Sergeant Helsing will contact you within that time to let you know whether or not you’ll be returning to the unit. Clear?"

Ray and I stood at attention and saluted. "Yes, sir," we echoed, voices tight.

As soon as we stepped out of the briefing room, the oppressive weight I’d been carrying on my shoulders eased slightly, though not by much. The silence between Ray and me was thick as we made our way back to the barracks. When we reached the smoke pit outside, we found a group of our team hanging around—smoking, laughing, oblivious to the shitstorm swirling around them.

The moment they saw us, they swarmed, peppering us with questions, clearly desperate to know where we had been and what the hell had happened. Ray was the one who raised his hand first, silencing the barrage.

“Listen, we can’t talk about it,” he said, his voice strained. “We’re under orders not to discuss anything, and we need to stay out of sight.”

Their faces shifted from curiosity to concern as Ray and I pulled out the signed documents to show them. The impact was immediate—their expressions morphed from frustration to understanding, and they quickly stepped aside, letting us head to our rooms without another word.

Reaching my door first, I unlocked it and stepped inside, Ray following close behind. I dropped into my desk chair, the weight of the day crashing down on me all at once. I turned to look at Ray, who was staring at the floor, clearly lost in thought, the same gnawing dread written across his face.

“Aren’t you heading to your room?” I asked, my voice heavy with exhaustion, barely hanging on after the relentless waves of doubt.

Ray shook his head, his voice low and weary. “Raven, I can’t be alone with my thoughts right now.”

It hit me like a punch to the gut—he wasn’t just troubled; he was spiraling, just like I was. The weight of what had happened, the absurdity of it all... it was gnawing at both of us.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked, a softness in my voice I rarely showed anyone but him.

“Yeah,” he muttered, nodding slightly before sitting down on my bed, eyes lost in whatever hell was haunting his mind.

I leaned back in my chair, eyes tracing the tension in his body, trying to get a read on just how deep this ran. “What's bothering you?”

He took a breath, exhaling it like he was trying to expel all the anger, confusion, and guilt tangled inside him. “This whole damn mess. We attacked a family, Raven. American citizens. We completely ignored due process, everything this country stands for, all because someone higher up said so. I didn’t join the military to be used as a tool to attack my fellow citizens.” He let the words fall like lead weights before collapsing backward onto the bed.

I stood up, moving towards him. Laying across his chest, I felt his arms wrap around me instinctively, offering a bit of comfort neither of us could fully grasp right now. I looked down at him, trying to smile softly, to show him the rare part of me that only he ever got to see.

Without a word, he leaned up, kissed me gently, and then lay back down, eyes closing like he was trying to shut out the entire world. "Raven, I didn’t sign up for this. The augmentations, fine. Stronger, faster? Sure. But to be part of something secretive, something okay with attacking innocent people without a shred of evidence? I didn’t sign up for that."

“I know, Ray,” I whispered, my own guilt gnawing at me. “I didn’t either. And honestly, even if Cayro and Star are part of Team SAF, there’s no proof they did anything wrong. They’re just... kids. Like us. They aren’t a threat.”

He let out a tired sigh, his voice heavy with regret. “What the hell did we get ourselves into?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, laying my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. It felt like we laid there forever, drowning in our own helplessness.

A knock at the door snapped us both out of it. Sitting up, I glanced at Ray, who was staring up at the ceiling, his mind still somewhere far off. The knock came again, more insistent this time. With a heavy breath, I got up and opened the door, coming face-to-face with First Sergeant Helsing. She looked just as ragged and worn out as I felt.

Without a word, I stepped back and let her into the room, staying silent. The last time she’d been here, she had made it clear not to announce her entrance. She took in the sight of Ray sprawled out on my bed, then turned to me with a raised eyebrow, a silent question hanging in the air.

"Is there something I need to know?" she asked, her tone sharp but tired.

I hesitated for only a second before deciding to just lay it all out. There was no point in hiding it. “Ray and I have been together since before we joined the Air Force. We don’t exactly have a label for it, but... yeah.”

She tilted her head, clearly processing this new information before giving a small, dismissive nod. “Fair enough,” she said, her voice losing some of its edge as she walked over to my chair and plopped down. She reached into her pocket, pulling out a flask, unscrewed the cap, and took a deep swig before wordlessly offering it to me.

I gave her a questioning look, but her expression said it all—don’t argue. I took the flask, brought it to my lips, and nearly choked as the whiskey burned its way down my throat. The sharp, acrid taste hit hard, making me cough, and I shoved the flask into Ray’s chest as I tried to catch my breath.

He sniffed the liquid, then took a much smoother gulp before handing it back to Sergeant Helsing. She took it, capped it, and tucked it back into her pocket, leaning back in the chair like the exhaustion was finally catching up to her.

“Have you spoken with your team yet?” she asked, her tone lower now, almost weary.

“Uh, no...” I answered, giving her a look that questioned her sanity. Talking to the team? Now? About this?

She snorted, shaking her head with a chuckle that was more bitter than amused. “The Captain and I both know that eventually, you're going to talk to them, despite that damn paper. It’s inevitable. You’ll get close. They’ll become your family. And family doesn’t keep secrets.”

The way she said it, the quiet conviction in her voice—it sounded like she knew firsthand just how tight a bond like that could become.

“We would rather not find out how serious that document really is,” I replied, feeling the knot in my stomach tighten.

“Fair enough,” Helsing said, her voice softer than usual, almost like she was trying to shield us from something darker. “But eventually, your loyalty to your team will outweigh the order the Captain gave us. Just... keep that in mind.”

Ray and I both nodded, but the weight of what she said lingered. It was clear that things weren’t going to stay simple—or safe—for long.

Sergeant Helsing rubbed her temples, her eyes fixed on the floor like she was deciding how much truth she could share without breaking everything wide open.

“What’s up, Sergeant?” Ray asked, his voice low and cautious, noticing her hesitation.

“This mess…” she said, her voice heavy. “It’s too public. This isn’t how spec ops teams are supposed to operate.”

No shit. The whole point of our training had been stealth, precision. We were supposed to be invisible, not front-page news.

Ray and I exchanged glances, holding our breaths, waiting for her to continue. She didn’t disappoint.

“The Captain’s working on a plan to get us out of the limelight,” she finally said, lifting her eyes to meet ours. “He’s running it by the Colonel right now.”

“What’s the plan?” I asked, not sure if I really wanted to know. Every part of me screamed that this was about to get even messier.

“The idea is to get the two of you out of sight until this blows over. We need a reason to send you away, and we found one. Team SAF will be attending the International Skyboarding Association Grand Finale in Seoul, Korea, near the end of November.” She let that sink in before continuing, “You and your team are going to enter the competition as a new squad. The goal is to buddy up with Team SAF, get close to them. Ideally, you’ll befriend them and give us a clearer picture of who they really are.”

Ray and I stared at her, our thoughts mirrored in each other's eyes—this was not where we wanted to be.

Sergeant Helsing noticed our reluctance. “Look, I know you’re not thrilled. Hell, I can see that this whole situation has shaken both of you. But the Captain and I? We have the same reservations. The more we’re dragged into this... the more we realize that this is some seriously fucked-up shit.”

My jaw practically hit the floor. Ray’s eyes widened in shock. Sergeant Helsing wasn’t exactly the type to throw around opinions, let alone admit that she had serious concerns. The respect I already had for her skyrocketed. She wasn't sugarcoating anything—she was as fed up as we were.

“You didn’t expect that, did you?” she said with a bitter chuckle. “This mission is a joke, honestly. The real goal is to get you two away from Langley, away from the people pulling the strings—the Nact Society.”

Ray’s brow furrowed in confusion. “The Nact Society? Who the hell are they?”

Helsing sighed deeply before explaining. “They’re a deep-state organization. They’ve been around long before the U.S. was even a thing. Supposedly, they hunt supernatural creatures. But here’s the kicker—they employ supernaturals too. If you’re supernatural and you pledge fealty to them, you’re in. But you can’t ever leave. And if you don’t pledge? It’s a death sentence.”

Ray and I looked at her, stunned. This was insane. We weren’t supernaturals—at least, that’s what we had been told.

“We’re not supernaturals,” I said flatly, trying to make sense of it all.

Helsing gave me a knowing look, arching an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”

I hesitated, and she jumped on the moment.

“Think about it. You have elongated teeth, you're sensitive to sunlight, you prefer the night over the day. You need to consume blood to survive, you’re stronger, faster than normal humans... Do I need to go on?”

Ray let out a nervous laugh, but it was strained. “You make it sound like we’re vampires.”

Helsing’s eyebrows shot up, and she didn’t say anything. Just stared at us, waiting for the penny to drop.

Ray and I sat there, our thoughts spinning as her words sank in. Vampires? It didn’t make any sense. But then again… we did need regular blood transfusions. The doctors had always said it was a side effect of the augmentation—that we were anemic because of the chemicals. But the more she laid out, the more it clicked into place.

The room seemed to tilt, and I felt like I was going to be sick. Ray must’ve noticed because he pulled me into his arms, grounding me as the reality hit.

We were vampires.

“You’re not full vampires,” Helsing said, her tone gentler now, like she could see the horror settling in. “You’re hybrids. Vampires are undead. You’re still very much alive, but you have traits of vampirism. Whatever the medical team did to enhance you, it’s tied to an old project called Project Cayro. That’s why the Captain and I think we need to get you and your team as far away from Langley as possible.”

I swallowed hard, the bile rising in my throat as the reality of it all washed over me. Sergeant Helsing, the woman I had always looked up to, had just confirmed the one thing I never could have imagined.

We weren’t human anymore.