FAST TEAM is a serialized novel published weekly on Substack—structured like a season of television, but written sentence by sentence for the page. It follows a highly trained DEA FAST team (Foreign-Deployed Advisory and Support Team,) operating in the grey spaces between law enforcement and warfare.
This is an ordered story. It’s built to be read from the beginning.
Begin at Chapter 1 read forward, and let the story build…
Renee and Max hit the bathroom door together, throwing it open. Inside the cramped space with cracked tile, one working bulb, graffiti on the stall doors, is a full-on fight between Bobby and Gabriela. Both are in bad shape, but Gabriela’s getting the worst of it. Blood on her lip. Her movements are getting slower.
The other two guys push Gabriela around between them like a game. Not a fair fight.
Gabriela swings at Bobby, but he moves aside and slams her head into the stall door. She falls to the floor, semiconscious. Renee moves in fast at Bobby.
Max takes on the other two guys, driving them back against the sinks.
“Hey!”
Bobby whips around.
Renee cold-clocks him across the face. She follows it up with a knee to the chin. Bobby’s head snaps back.
Max slams both of the shady characters into a stall and shuts the door, wedging it with his boot.
Then two local police officers in uniform burst into the back area, weapons drawn. The chaos freezes.
“Alright. Everybody, freeze! Hands where I can see them.”
The melee stops. Everyone’s hands go up.
“We are DEA! I am reaching for my badge.”
Max slowly pulls out his badge. The officers’ postures relax slightly.
“These two are with me. We are taking these assholes with us.”
“No, you’re not. This is a bar fight in our jurisdiction. We will take them down to the holding cell. We can sort it out there.”
Bobby writhes in pain on the floor. The cops start to cuff him. Renee helps Gabriela to her feet.
“You okay?”
Gabriela checks herself. She’s shaken, bloody, struggling for balance. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
Gabriela realizes Renee came to her rescue. Something shifts in her expression.
“I’m... Thanks.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“No. Don’t... Let’s just get out of here.”
Before they exit, Renee spots Bobby’s wallet on the floor. She picks it up, pulls out the driver’s license, and snaps a photo of it on her phone. She also notices a couple of packets that have fallen from Bobby’s pocket, two plastic pouches filled with white powder. She grabs them as well and pockets them.
Gabriela and Renee make their way back to the main bar area, Max following. They’re bruised, disheveled. Gabriela slumps into a barstool. Max joins them.
“What the hell just happened?”
Gabriela signals the bartender. “Hey! Can I get some ice over here?!”
The bartender nods and fetches some ice wrapped in a towel.
“An asshole got out of line. But we handled it. Right?”
“That was no ordinary asshole. That shit bag was from Darfur. He killed Deuce.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah.”
“We need a warrant. Bring him in for questioning.”
Renee rubs her head, grimacing. Max and Renee look at each other for a moment.
“You okay?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You’re still as tough as ever.”
“We should get going.”
Renee stands and stumbles a bit, catching herself on the bar. The adrenaline is wearing off, and everything hurts.
“I’ll drive.”
Renee stops, pulls out the two packets from her pocket, and hands them to Max.
“Here. The asshole was carrying these. Drop it by the lab tomorrow?”
Max pockets the packets and nods. They head toward the exit.
Hours later, in the sterile fluorescent glow of the local police station, Max, Renee, and Gabriela approach the front desk. The shift sergeant sits behind bulletproof glass, typing at a computer. This late shift is quiet, bureaucratic, tired.
Renee hands him a folded piece of paper through the slot. “We have a transfer order. You have a couple guys in custody. You picked them up at a bar fight a couple hours ago.”
The desk sergeant takes the papers, reviews them with the careful deliberation of someone who’s worked this desk too long. He types into his terminal, eyes scanning the screen. His expression shifts to confusion, then something like concern.
“Are you sure about this?”
Gabriela leans forward, voice sharp. “Of course we are. What the hell are you talking about?”
“Well, according to my screen, they were released. Orders came from someone pretty high up. I don’t have details. I do know they are not here now. Happened really quickly.”
“What do you mean? They’re not here?”
“Like I said, we got an order to release them. You can talk to the captain, if you want.”
The three of them exchange looks. Something’s wrong. Very wrong.
“Yes. Let me talk to your Captain.”
The sergeant picks up his phone and dials an extension. The team stands there in the harsh light of the station lobby, processing what this means. Bobby, a Russian operative who killed Deuce, caught red-handed in a bar fight with drugs in his pocket, was released within hours by someone with enough pull to override DEA jurisdiction.
The implications hang heavy in the air.
…to be continued in Chapter 6…
“FAST TEAM” is Written by Brian S. Kalata and Rick Shaughnessy. Based on the screenplay by Brian S. Kalata & Eric Hooge and the teleplay by Brian S. Kalata & Rick Shaughnessy. Copyright 2025