When three members of the ruthless Shadow Syndicate decided to harass the quiet man in the wheelchair at Ray's Diner, they had no idea they were provoking one of the deadliest Navy SEALs ever to serve in Team Six. David "Ghost" Morrison had spent months concealing his lethal abilities behind the facade of a disabled veteran – the wheelchair wasn't a lie, the explosion in Yemen had taken his legs, but what these criminals didn't know was that he was now working for an elite DHS task force investigating their billion-dollar trafficking empire.
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The late autumn sun cast long shadows across Main Street in Harbor Springs, Michigan, as David Morrison wheeled himself along the cracked sidewalk with measured precision. His weathered hands moved with practiced efficiency over the chrome push-rims of his wheelchair, each movement calculated and smooth. The familiar weight of his concealed SIG P226 pressed against his lower back, hidden beneath his navy-blue windbreaker.
Four years of life in this chair had taught him to transform every SEAL combat technique into something new, something unexpected. The wheels weren't a weakness – they were just another tool in his arsenal, like the diving gear and night vision equipment he'd once relied on during midnight ops in hostile waters.
The morning crowd at Ray's Diner was starting to thin out as David approached the entrance. The smell of coffee and bacon lingered in the crisp October air, mixing with the salty breeze from Lake Michigan. Sarah, the diner's owner, spotted him through the window and gave him her usual warm smile – one of the few genuine connections he'd allowed himself to make in this small lakeside town.
"The usual, David?" Sarah called out as he maneuvered through the door. Her red hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, crow's feet crinkling at the corners of her eyes as she smiled. Like everything else, David's entrance was a carefully choreographed movement. His tactical awareness never switched off – noting exit points, line of sight to windows, potential cover positions. Old habits died hard, especially for someone who'd spent fifteen years in the Navy's most elite special operations unit.
