The night broke slowly over the Arctic valley, retreating in deliberate hues—first bruised purple, then blood-washed crimson, until orange-gold crept across the distant ridgelines like fire licking the edge of a frozen world. Long shadows withdrew from the glacier’s face, surrendering the cracked ice and snow-laden infrastructure to the return of light. The storm had passed, but it had left its mark.
Cracks spiderwebbed across the valley floor like old wounds, and beneath the translucent ice, soft pulses of green and blue hinted at the buried collider—shallow structures glowed for a moment more before fading under the encroaching daylight. One by one, the lights vanished as sunlight touched the frozen surface, hiding the facility under a façade of calm.
A swirl of loose snow danced at the ground level of the landing platform, spinning over the fresh powder like breath in cold air. The air was almost entirely still, the silence absolute. For the first time in weeks, the sky was unbroken—a pale sapphire canvas streaked with amber.
Lianna stood motionless at the edge of the platform, her boots locked into the hardened mesh. The cold bit at the exposed edge of her collar, but she didn’t flinch. Her gaze moved methodically across the valley, taking in the landscape with the patience of a predator. The jagged peaks stood sharp against the burnished sky, immobile witnesses to the fragile peace.
Below, her squads moved with precision. Men and women made their rounds in the knee-deep snow, weapons slung low, faces hidden behind thermal gear. After weeks of confinement in the subterranean levels, most were glad to be topside—even if the temperature was far below freezing. She’d drilled them relentlessly, kept them sharp when boredom might’ve dulled them. Her unit didn’t slack—not ever.
She let her eyes drift across the snowpack, noting faint, rounded mounds. Somewhere beneath them lay supply crates, maintenance skiffs, and half-buried equipment stations. The storm had done its best to erase the world. Almost three feet had fallen since the last full deployment. Paths had been cleared between operations, but nature was winning the long game.
Lianna finally turned away, descending the winding stairs that curled around the landing platform’s spine. The metal groaned faintly under her weight, a rhythm of boots against steel echoing in the cold air. Technically, the platform was meant to retract when not in use—but under her command, it served as a sentry’s perch. It didn’t rival the height of the surrounding cliffs, but it was high enough to matter.
Halfway down, she reached up to the insignia over her heart—a sharp, gold V set into a black circle, rimmed in silver. Behind it, twin copper lines shimmered faintly beneath the surface like slashes of light in a storm. She tapped it once. Beneath her uniform, thin dermal nodes engaged. A soft chime echoed in her ear.
“Message to all,” she said, her voice low but clear. A second tone confirmed the open line. “I know the last couple weeks felt like vacation, but it’s over. Orders are incoming. Clean it up, lock it down—we might be here longer than we’d like. Make it home.”
She tapped the badge again and the channel closed with a final, muted pulse.
At ground level, she moved across the cleared paths with practiced ease. The specialized flooring resisted ice, but snow piled too fast for it to keep up. Two soldiers were already digging out a broader route with light carbon-shovels. Lieutenant Commander Jenson had ordered the area cleaned further for visibility and landing lanes, and Lianna didn’t argue—more visibility meant fewer surprises.
She climbed the stairs up the inner wall—a modest five meters tall but reinforced, lined with monitoring equipment and turret anchors. Originally built as part of a science settlement, the wall had evolved. Now it was tactical infrastructure. The collider’s shell had become a bastion.
Cables, sensor pods, and high-pressure coolant lines had been spliced into the wall’s structure after Rowan’s override. Integration with mobile weaponry was underway. The wall hummed now—not just with purpose, but tension. Lianna paused by one of the heavy auto-turrets. The alloy supports were starting to strain. She made a mental note.
She finished her check and studied the surrounding slopes. If someone wanted in, they’d either need airlift or a death wish. The terrain favored the defenders—steep, icy, visibility-dependent. Maybe they had chosen this place for science, but it worked just fine as a fortress.
As she returned to the inner corridors, warm air greeted her like breath from a sleeping beast. She walked the same loop inside now—past high observation windows that stretched waist to ceiling, offering a full view of the outter facility. The base glowed faintly beneath the rising light, mist curling off vents, armored vehicles still half-buried in snow. Her own men moved between towers and corridors like shadows.
Three squads. Fifteen. Efficient. Trained. Lianna led seventeen total, counting herself and Aldin. They weren’t just soldiers. They were precision.
Her comms clicked.
“Alpha squad to Overwatch.”
She touched the insignia again. “Go ahead.”
“The mark is requesting your presence in the main room.”
Lianna exhaled through her nose. “What’s it in reference to?”
“Another glitch in the override, from what I heard.”
She rolled her eyes. “Understood.”
She opened a line. “Echo team, Kendra. Just got word—system issues cropping again.”
Kendra’s voice came through with a crisp edge. “Confirmed. We’ve seen uplink instability out here. Nothing that jeopardizes field readiness.”
Lianna walked, her boots clicking. “Copy that. Send Rykar to command. I might need his eyes on this.”
“On it. Echo out.”
Lianna turned toward the command center but hesitated, her steps slowing. Down the adjacent corridor, beyond the sealed partitions and dim emergency runners, was the semi-permanent residence they’d arranged for the detainees. The “guests,” as some still called them—though no one really believed it. It had been weeks now, and the weight of their silence was starting to press like ice on her skin.
She shifted direction and walked that way instead.
Two guards flanked the reinforced door, sitting lazily in half-collapse. One flipped casually through a paperback, pages yellowed from time and repetition, while the other was glued to a small personal console. Judging by his grin and the furtive angle of the screen, it wasn’t mission logs. It wasn’t even regulation.
Lianna’s boots crunched to a stop on the gridded flooring. She didn’t speak at first—just stood there, letting the silence do the work.
The guard with the book glanced up. The other didn’t move. “How are our guests?” she asked, her voice quiet but with a steel edge. The soldier with the console kept scrolling, unconcerned. The one with the book set it down on a knee and straightened his back. “They’re quiet. No complaints.”
Lianna’s gaze dropped to his collar—bent, misaligned, slouched like the rest of his posture. She didn’t look away. “This the level of discipline I can expect from the rest of you?” The man blinked, looked down as if only just now realizing he wore a uniform. His hands moved quickly, tugging the collar straight. His cheeks flushed.
“We’re under orders to give you free rein, ma’am,” the other guard said without lifting his eyes. “But don’t forget—you’re just a merc.” The insult slid off her like frost off armor. Lianna didn’t respond. She simply stared at the door. “It’ll only be a minute.”
The book-reader reached over and tapped the panel. The door unlocked with a faint hydraulic sigh, and she stepped through into the low-lit room.
The interior was spare and functional, but the air was heavier than it had any right to be—tension baked into the walls. Bryan was across the room doing pushups, his muscles moving like coiled wire. Isaac lay sprawled on his cot, one arm behind his head, the other tracing idle circles in the air. At the small table, Rowan and Miranda sat in silence, mid-thought or mid-argument—it was hard to tell.
Bryan didn’t stop. Miranda didn’t stand. Rowan turned slightly, eyes finding Lianna’s with quiet calculation. The door sealed behind her.
“You look warm,” Miranda said, voice laced with contempt. Lianna didn’t rise to it. “I have a request.” Miranda scoffed. “You don’t get to make requests. Neither does your boss.” Rowan raised a hand. Miranda stopped instantly, but she didn’t look away.
He stayed seated. “You manipulated me. You made me believe I was shutting it down. And now you want favors?”
“I wasn’t part of that,” Lianna said. “I need to know how to stop it.”
There was a pause, and for the first time since stepping in, the temperature seemed to drop a few degrees. Isaac turned his head. Bryan finally stopped mid-set and stood slowly, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his forearm.
Rowan leaned forward, fingers threading together. “You don’t.” Lianna’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve blocked systems before. Locked functions. You were the only one who could.”
“That was before they got what they needed.” He nodded slowly. “My biometric data. My authorization chain. The system showed me a lie—an illusion of shutdown while it executed a full unlock. They didn’t just take control—they took me with it.”
Her jaw tightened. “You gave them access to everything, even the safeguards you hid.”
“I didn’t give them anything,” Rowan snapped. “I was tricked. Same as you’re being now.” Isaac chimed in, dry and emotionless. “So now we all go boom.” Miranda glared at him. He shrugged.
Bryan stepped forward, the sweat still beading on his arms. “You’ve gotten everything you’re going to get from us. You’re on the wrong team.”
Lianna said nothing at first. Then, quietly, “Too much power in one man’s hands is dangerous. Especially when I’m the one expected to guard him.” Miranda rolled her eyes. “Hopefully not for long.”
Lianna didn’t flinch. She didn’t show it, but she agreed more than she’d like to admit. Rowan stood. His voice dropped to something colder. “If you want to help, find a way to let us leave. That’s the only chance left.”
Lianna studied him. He meant it. And yet—if they were telling the truth, letting them go might cause even more harm. They were volatile. Dangerous. But maybe not wrong. “I don’t make those calls,” she said. “Not without orders.”
“You already got the order,” Bryan said as she turned to leave. “You’re just too buried in the snow to feel it.” She didn’t answer. The door hissed shut behind her.
The hallway was colder now, or maybe it was just her perception. Why did there have to be sides? The collider was supposed to be a beacon—a bridge to humanity’s future. But to them, it was a grave.
She walked toward the command center, one question echoing like boots on steel: What if they’re right?
Lianna approached the command, her mind still replaying fragments of the last conversation. The heavy door hissed open and she stepped inside, blinking once as a wave of air struck her cheeks. The room was already active. Heads turned. Faces watched. The tension crackled beneath the surface like static in a too-quiet room.
“You took your time,” Albert barked, hunched over a large 3D tactical display. His breath was shallow and sharp, his tone sharp as broken glass. “If this were an actual emergency, I’d be rotting in my boots. Maybe it’s time I found someone better suited to your position.”
Lianna barely blinked. “What’s the issue?”
Albert stabbed a finger toward the rotating display—fat, sausage-like, and as aggressive as his voice. “See anything wrong?”
She approached slowly, eyes scanning the model. It hovered in soft light above the table, a slow counterclockwise rotation revealing the geography of the valley: cliff edges, snowfields, the jagged ridges surrounding the base like the teeth of a sleeping beast. The collider facility gleamed at the center like a silver eye, perfectly still.
After a moment, she nodded. “It’s not registering personnel or craft.”
“Exactly,” Albert grumbled. “We finally get access, and the damn thing’s still broken.”
Lianna’s eyes drifted around the room. Her people were present—quietly embedded in the scene like shadows in motion. Rex leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, gaze sweeping the room with practiced calm. He met her eyes, gave a silent nod, and went back to watching.
Alexandra sat cross-legged at a low station, her portable system rigged into one of the uplinks—probably double-checking their remote turrets. Coran paced along the outer perimeter of the room, slow but purposeful, keeping eyes on everyone. Raf and Tank were absent, but she trusted they were doing something valuable. Her squads knew how to stay useful.
The door hissed open again.
Theodore stepped in, flanked by Ryker. The tech specialist moved with quiet purpose, his long black hair tied back, his beard thick and streaked with grey. A pulse rifle hung across his shoulder like it belonged there—though Lianna knew he rarely needed to use it. His real weapons were code and circuits.
“The supply sortie’s in the air,” Theodore said. “Southbound. They’ll be back by nightfall.”
Albert grunted. “They’ll do their job.”
He leaned both arms on the table, his bulk pressing into the wood with a creak that made Lianna wince. The oak was solid, but even that could buckle under enough arrogance. If they had to evacuate in a hurry, the man would be a liability.
“Ryker,” she said, stepping beside the table, “you confirmed the system was fully unlocked?”
“Yes,” Ryker replied, stepping closer to the map. His eyes flicked across the holo-display as if reading invisible code. “But many of the exterior sensors are either degraded or outright dead. We’ve had to swap out some of the more essential components just to keep things functional.”
He circled the table slowly, examining the map as it rotated.
“This system—at full capacity—should detect any movement larger than an ankle-high rat,” he continued. “If we’re missing crafts or squad tags, it could mean the net is running in passive mode. Static scanning instead of active sweeps.”
Albert slammed both hands down on the table, the hologram briefly flickering. “Then fix it! I don’t pay you to guess. If you’ve got access—make it work!”
Ryker didn’t flinch. He glanced toward Lianna. She gave a small nod. Without a word, he moved to the nearest wall panel, removed it with practiced ease, and began diagnosing the systems beneath.
Lianna watched him for a moment, then blinked—an unfamiliar sensation creeping in. Blindness. Not physical, but tactical. She’d always relied on information as a weapon, and this moment made her feel stripped bare. Her mind reeled. Not because she feared failure—but because she feared uncertainty. The systems had become her second sight, and now it was faltering.
Arnold’s voice rose behind her, grumbling complaints and half-formed threats, but she’d already tuned him out.
She turned on her heel and walked toward the exit.
The door hissed open and the cold slapped her across the face. The sun had risen fully now, low but fierce, cresting the mountain ridge like a molten coin. The world was lit in strange golds and silvers—shadows stretching long, edges burning orange.
She climbed the southern ramp of the base, boots crunching over freshly packed snow. The air was bitter, but still. A rare morning of calm. She reached the top and scanned the sky. The sortie was already gone—no visible trail, no craft in sight. Just the empty blue above the white.
She stood there for a while, letting the silence sink in.
What else had they missed?
The collider had been dark for decades, and now it was reawakening with systems that hadn’t spoken to each other since she was a teenager. What if something essential had failed, quiet and unnoticed beneath the snow?
She remembered Rowan’s warning—the look in his eyes. Not fear, not exactly. Resignation. He said the system had been hacked. That messages appeared, then vanished without trace. Logs scrubbed. Echoes of something deeper. No one had believed him.
But now the glitches were real. The shadows were flickering. And the deeper they went, the more she wondered if this base was still theirs… or if it had already been claimed.
Lianna’s eyes narrowed as she scanned the horizon. The facility was fortified by ice and time—but even fortresses could fall. And fighting an enemy you couldn’t see, with systems you couldn’t trust? That was a war she didn’t want to fight. But it was the one already knocking at her door.
As Lianna turned to head back inside, a glint on the eastern horizon caught her eye—just above the serrated peaks, where morning light bled into the icy sky. Her breath stilled. She scanned again, recalibrating her senses in case the high-latitude sun had tricked her depth perception.
But it wasn’t an illusion.
The supply sortee was long gone, trailing southward over the far range. This—whatever it was—was east. She narrowed her eyes and pulled her field binoculars from her side holster, bringing them to her face. A slim dark shape hovered against the pale sky. “Which direction…” she muttered, tracking its slow, deliberate arc. “…are you moving?”
Her thumb grazed the edge of her insignia, but she stopped short of speaking. It could be a high-altitude scramjet, nothing more. Still… it wasn’t moving away. It was getting closer.
She adjusted the magnification, but her optics weren’t strong enough to make out its signature or model. No contrail, no lights. Just a ghost in the sky.
This time, she tapped in with purpose.
“Overwatch to all squad leads,” she said, voice crisp. “Unidentified aerial contact. Bearing east, high above the ridge line. Moving westward—trajectory suggests it’s inbound. Facility scan grid is still down. Any confirmations?”
A beat of silence.
Then replies began filtering in. One by one, each squad confirmed what she already knew: no planned arrivals, no radar tags, and no IFF pings. Whatever this was, it wasn’t scheduled—and it wasn’t showing up on any internal systems.
She hesitated, calculating the optics of overreaction.
“Raise status to Level 2,” she said firmly. “Maintain discipline. Eyes up.”
Just as she lowered the binoculars, a second object emerged from the haze—slightly higher and trailing behind. Then a third. Her gut clenched. A soft chime echoed in her ear.
“They’re ignoring all hails,” Kendra’s voice said, tight and alert. “No origin tags, no transponder signals. They’re invisible to system scans—completely ghosted.”
Lianna’s grip tightened. “Could be a broadcast failure. But, assume it’s intentional.”
The binoculars were back up. Four now. Sleek, unfamiliar silhouettes. No military markings. No wing lights. Not birds. Not weather drones.
No explanation.
“Level three alert,” she ordered, stepping into motion. “I repeat, Level three. Four unidentified craft, vector unknown—assume approach is hostile until proven otherwise.”
She pivoted and moved fast through the corridor, boots striking the floor with purpose. By the time she entered the command center, Arnold’s voice was already booming.
“Where the hell have you been? Second time you’ve vanished, and now we’ve got ghost planes flying in like it’s a bloody air show. Why didn’t you catch this on your scans?!”
“They’re invisible to radar and all standard telemetry,” she replied, brushing past him. “We’re flying blind right now.”
She scanned the 3D map. No changes. Still static. The topographic display rotated with sluggish precision, but nothing showed. No moving targets. No sensor returns. Just a sterile, untrustworthy rendering of their world.
“Kendra?” Lianna asked as her second-in-command entered from the south corridor. “Any contact yet?”
“Negative. Signal sent, confirmed received. No broadcast from them. Either they’re ignoring us or we’re deaf on the loop.”
Lianna’s mind raced. They had ships in the hangars, pilots on standby. Launching a response was an option—but this wasn’t American airspace. Not officially. This entire operation was an international powder keg sitting on Canadian land, run by U.S. contractors and private capital. Her mercenaries gave them teeth, but one misstep would draw blood.
Arnold slammed his palm on the table. “Someone give me real answers! Who are they?!”
Theodore, ever calm, chuckled from his corner. “You know you can’t bark your way into clarity, Albert. Let the professionals work.”
Arnold glared. “I’m in charge here. This is my money—”
“Our money,” Theodore cut in smoothly. “Don’t forget I’ve invested just as much in this folly as you have.”
Arnold sneered. “For now.”
Theodore’s face never changed. “I’ll be in my room. Let me know if this gets interesting.” He vanished through the sliding doors, leaving Arnold fuming. Lianna didn’t even turn his direction.
“We’ve got contact,” Kendra called out. Her voice sharpened as she translated the signal. “They’re claiming to be United States. Requesting permission to land. A single ship only—others will hold perimeter.”
Lianna frowned. “They’re coming from the east. There’s no landmass east of us—not at this latitude. Where exactly are they launching from?”
Kendra tapped her console. “No flight path filed. No air base listed. Just a request and a generic diplomatic header. They say they have a proposition for Arnold regarding the collider.”
Arnold waved a dismissive hand. “Tell them to turn around. We don’t need more meddlers. This is under control.”
Lianna’s jaw clenched. Something wasn’t right. Ghost aircraft with falsified IDs. No transponders. Coming from a direction where no legitimate air corridor existed. And yet… they wanted to talk. If they didn’t act now, they’d be reacting later, and that would be too late.
Kendra’s voice came through, calm but edged. “We’ve just received a secondary transmission. Direct authority—from the President of the United States. It includes the official sigil. They’re requesting the message be delivered in person.”
Lianna’s brow furrowed. That was unusual, and not in a good way.
Arnold sighed, tipping his head toward the ceiling with exasperation. “Of course,” he muttered, weighing his options as if someone had offered him two poisoned goblets. After a beat, he waved dismissively. “Fine. Let him land.”
Kendra turned to issue the order.
“I would hold that,” Lianna said, stepping forward. Her tone was cool but authoritative. “We don’t have verified telemetry, no encryption, no confirmation of intent. We don’t even know where they came from.”
Arnold shot her a look, then gestured broadly toward the 3D table map. “Half our systems aren’t even functioning. Who’s to say they didn’t send something we just didn’t receive?”
Lianna didn’t respond, but her expression said enough. How am I supposed to protect you from everything you keep inviting in? Arnold clapped his hands together. “Bring down the delegate. But I’m still in charge.”
“I’m staying in command,” Lianna replied flatly, eyeing the flickering map again. The table stuttered for a second, briefly distorting before stabilizing. Arnold slammed his fists down. “Billions of dollars,” he growled. “Billions—for this hunk of junk!”
Then the words appeared. See any ghosts, Lia? They blinked across the digital map—pale white, no source. Lianna froze.
The letters vanished as quickly as they came. No one else reacted. No heads turned. Had they not seen it? Or had she imagined it?
Then it returned—only for her eyes. They’re all around you.
She took a step back from the table. Her skin prickled beneath the collar of her uniform. This is what Rowan said happened. Messages, hallucinations… but not logged, not traceable.
It wasn’t superstition anymore. Someone was in the system. “Squad leaders,” she murmured, tapping her insignia. “Silent transition to Level 4. Too many unknowns.”
Across the room, Rex casually pushed off the wall and exited. Kendra caught her eye and nodded subtly. No alarm, no commotion. But each squad was already in motion—Viktor, Rex, Kendra. She didn’t need to see them to know they were falling into position.
Then the doors hissed open. One man entered. Tall, lean, glasses resting low on his nose. He wore a sharply pressed brown suit—ordinary in every way, but perfectly tailored, like he’d stepped out of a courtroom and into a frozen battlefield. A civilian, but Lianna didn’t trust him for a second.
“What the hell do you want?” Arnold snapped before the man had even cleared the threshold. The visitor didn’t flinch. Instead, he offered a half-smile and slowly retrieved an envelope from his inside pocket, passing it to a nearby soldier with smooth, deliberate calm.
“No introductions. Straight to business. My kind of room.” His voice was urbane—measured, almost smug. “Richard Harper. I’m here on behalf of the United States of America. And, by extension, the world.”
Lianna locked eyes with him. His posture didn’t shift, his pulse didn’t seem to rise. But he was watching everyone—gauging every breath, every flinch. He was dangerous, but not in the way the average man was.
Arnold grunted. “Good for you. What’s the letter say?” Richard inclined his head toward the sealed envelope. “You’re supposed to open it. Read it aloud.”
Arnold’s fingers twitched. He snatched it from the soldier and tore it open, his eyes scanning the printed page. Lianna watched his color change. First a flush to his cheeks. Then a twitch in his jaw.
“Are you serious?” he muttered. Richard’s smile deepened. “Every word.”
Arnold held the page up like it was infected. “You’re telling me,” he said, “that the President of the United States wants me to pause this project? That I’m to release the prisoners we captured for interfering with a global initiative?”
Richard gave a slight bow of his head. “In short, yes.”
Arnold blinked at the page, then—suddenly—let out a short, sharp bark of laughter. He folded in half, gripping the table as the laughter spiraled into a near-hysterical cackle. A few others around the room smirked nervously, unsure whether to join in or wait for the gunshot.
Richard didn’t laugh. Didn’t smile. Just waited.
When Arnold straightened, he jabbed the letter toward him. “Do you seriously think that’s going to work on me? I own the president. You think a piece of paper with the right watermark scares me?”
He crumpled the letter in one fist, then tore it in half. The pieces fluttered to the floor like falling feathers. “I’ve bought half of Congress,” he added, reaching into his coat. “The rest just haven’t named their price yet.”
He pulled out a cigar—precut, wrapped in gold foil—and lit it without ceremony. Richard didn’t move. But Lianna caught it—a slight shift. His shoulders drew a little tighter. Not fear. Frustration.
“Nice try, counselor,” Arnold said around the cigar. “But I don’t fall for paper tricks. The answer’s no. We keep moving forward. And as for the other part—denied. They stay where they are.”
Richard’s composure cracked for just a moment. A small tic at the jaw. His next words would carry weight. But Lianna was already calculating. A stealth insertion. No flight plan. Presidential authority. Phantom transmissions. Ghost messages. A system compromised.
This wasn’t a message. It was a probe. And whatever came next was already in motion. Richard’s eyes didn’t flinch, even as Arnold advanced. “This isn’t a request,” he said evenly. “It’s an order—release the prisoners and cease all operations immediately.”
Arnold exhaled a harsh laugh, his boots thudding as he closed the distance. He took a long drag from his cigar, held it, then exhaled a slow stream of smoke directly into Richard’s face.
“Or what?” he said with a smile—not amused, but threatening, his voice coiled tight with aggression. Richard didn’t blink. The smoke curled past his temples like fog around a statue. “I’ll give you one more opportunity,” he said, “on behalf of the President—”
He didn’t finish.
Arnold, with casual cruelty, pressed the lit end of the cigar against Richard’s chest and twisted. The smoldering hiss cut through the silence. Richard stepped back too late, a thin wisp of ash drifting to the floor between them.
“You’re not welcome here,” Arnold growled. “Give your boss my regards.” Richard’s jaw flexed as if considering a retort, but something in his instincts—or training—pulled him back. He stayed silent.
Lianna watched the shift—Arnold’s rage wasn’t performance. It was ritual, dominance, and indulgence rolled into one. He turned from the scorched mark on Richard’s suit and walked with practiced arrogance to the 3D table.
“Bring my chair,” he barked. “And get that liar out of my sight.” Kendra caught Lianna’s gaze. Two sharp nods. The signal was clear: all squads were in position.
As the guards gripped Richard’s arms and turned him toward the corridor, Arnold tried to ease himself into the chair. Halfway down, his knees gave out. He dropped heavily into the seat with a grunt—something Lianna had grown disturbingly accustomed to seeing.
The situation felt off. Her instincts whispered warnings she couldn’t yet explain. She turned and followed the departing escort down the hall.
A few quiet words passed between Richard and the guards, but Lianna was too far back to hear them. Her mind reeled. Why now? Why these four prisoners? No contact for weeks—and suddenly a blacksite-level ship shows up with Presidential credentials and demands their release?
She turned briefly down the hall toward the makeshift holding cell, the sterile corridor lined with overhead lights casting sterile reflections in the frosted floor. Something isn’t right.
Outside, Richard walked toward his ship without protest. Lianna followed far enough to keep him in sight as the bay doors opened and arctic wind curled into the corridor behind her. The VTOL was sleek, military-grade, matte black with reinforced armor plating. Definitely government-issue—and not the kind handed to just anyone.
You don’t fly one of those without biometric authorization, she thought. Whoever’s piloting has high level clearance.
The engines powered up slowly, humming with precision. As it lifted off the pad, the other four ships came into view—identical VTOLs, forming a silent escort across the open glacier. No transponders. No comms chatter. Just steel ghosts departing with the same unnatural silence they arrived in.
Lianna narrowed her eyes. That letter… Arnold destroyed it instantly. She hadn’t even seen the contents. And now it was gone, like a whisper in a storm.
She descended the stairs, her boots clicking against the metal steps. The wind cut across the pad as the VTOLs ascended higher, banking northward.
She wasn’t being told everything. And that infuriated her. She was paid to protect high-value targets. Paid to anticipate threats. But how do you guard someone who actively hides the danger from you?
The exterior door hissed shut behind her, sealing her back inside the pressurized base. Warm air wrapped around her face like a blanket. She let herself savor it for only a moment.
Then—another hiss. This one was long. Too long. She turned back toward the door, expecting a mechanical delay—just as the blast hit.
The wall ruptured inward with a flash of light and concussive force. A bloom of flame and smoke tore through the corridor. Lianna was flung backward, the wind knocked from her lungs as her body slammed into the floor and slid.
She gasped as her ears rang and her vision swam. Dust and sparks rained from the ceiling. Alarms were beginning to echo in the background, muffled through her damaged hearing.
She forced herself to sit up. Blood ran in a slow rivulet down the side of her face. Her fingers found a gash just above her right brow—shallow, but bleeding heavily.
Outside, the steady thump of returning fire rang out. Turrets—automated and angry—had locked on to targets.
Lianna rolled to her side and retrieved her combat knife. She tore at the lower leg of her uniform pants, spiraling the fabric upward to fashion a quick compress. She tied it tightly around her forehead, the fabric darkening as it absorbed the blood.
Adrenaline kicked in, burning away the fog. Her mind snapped back to form.
Whoever had arrived hadn’t just come for a message— were they testing response, pushing weaknesses? Lianna’s jaw clenched.
Explosions rippled through the facility like war drums echoing across ice and steel. Lianna’s comms buzzed with sharp bursts of squad chatter—frantic but coordinated. Kendra was calling out movement patterns near the west corridor. Rex confirmed he had Arnold en route to the fallback zone. Viktor’s voice crackled in with static—Delta Squad engaging from the cliffs, doing what they could to flank the attackers.
No word from Aldin. Lianna’s gut told her he was already in motion—likely prepping the transport shuttle. He was young, but efficient. He’d know what to do.
She sprinted to the ruined entrance. Twisted metal and broken insulation crackled beneath her boots as she pried at the door with gloved hands. Through the narrow gap, she caught a glimpse of the sky—one of the VTOLs tumbling end over end in a spiral of smoke, slamming into the distant mountainside in a plume of orange and black. Another explosion followed—closer this time. The ground heaved under her as pressure cracked the wall supports.
She barely had time to brace as two streaks of smoke cut across the horizon—missiles. They curved like fingers reaching for her and struck just east of her position. The hallway shuddered and buckled. Steel groaned. A section of the structure collapsed just meters from her.
That was the detention area.
Lianna’s chest tightened as distant echoes filtered through the halls—screams, but not of pain. Urgent. Focused. An argument.
She sprinted through the ruined corridors, weaving past twisted rebar, splintered tiles, and fallen beams. Smoke hung in the air like gauze. She rounded the final corner into the detention wing and froze.
The reinforced door was gone—blown clean off. One guard lay bleeding out beside a crushed console. The other was pinned beneath a collapsed slab of wall, unmoving. The air inside the cell was thick with dust, lit dimly by the flicker of overhead emergency lights.
Inside, Rowan stood still, shaken. Bryan and Miranda were shouting—not at each other, but at him. “This is our only chance!” Bryan barked, urgency crackling in his voice. “We need to go now!”
Rowan shook his head, backing away from them. “This isn’t what I wanted. People are dying out there!” he shouted. His voice cracked on the last word. Bryan halted mid-step, fists clenched. Miranda remained silent, but her silence carried more weight than any words.
“We were supposed to save lives, Bryan,” Rowan said. His shoulders dropped like the weight of the world had finally settled onto them. Lianna stepped inside. Her presence broke whatever was holding the three of them in place.
Bryan glanced toward her, jaw tight. “It’s now or never, Rowan,” he said, motioning to the jagged breach in the far wall. “We have the chance to fix this. No more manipulation. No more lies. Come with us. Help us make it right.”
Rowan didn’t respond. His jaw was set, his eyes stormy. But something was breaking behind them. Lianna scanned the room quickly. Rubble everywhere. A hole blown through the rear wall. Her stomach turned.
“Where’s Isaac?” she asked sharply. No one answered. Miranda turned toward the breach and stepped through without a word.
“Rowan,” Bryan urged again, but Lianna raised her voice over an explosion nearby. “This whole section could collapse,” she warned. “We need to move.” Rowan’s eyes flicked to her. For a moment, the smoke between them thinned, and Lianna could see the guilt etched across his face.
“You disappoint me,” he said—not to her, but to Bryan and Miranda. “We had a chance to do this the right way. Murder won’t make us heroes. It makes us the very thing we stood against.”
Miranda’s voice echoed faintly from outside. “It’s the only way left.”
The ceiling above groaned.
Bryan lingered just long enough to say, “You know we’re not the villains here. You know it. But do what you have to.” A final glance. Then he vanished through the breach.
Rowan didn’t follow. Then the missile hit. There was no warning—just a flash, a pressure wave, and the roar of collapsing ice and steel. The far wall exploded inward, shattering glass and frozen stone in every direction.
Lianna barely had time to register the blast. She stood in the doorway when it hit, the force catching her full in the chest.
She flew backward—slammed into the hallway like a ragdoll. Her back struck the floor first, then her head cracked against cold tile.
The air fled her lungs. Her body seized, then went limp.
Smoke and dust spiraled above her, drifting through the flicker of emergency lights. Voices echoed somewhere distant—frantic, distorted.
And then everything went still as the silence and darkness consumed her.