The four days following the "Convergence Vector" report were paradoxically the most peaceful and the most stressful of Akira Sato's recent life. Peaceful, because his newly assembled team of accidental agents seemed satisfied with Zero's understated "Excellent work" and awaited further instructions patiently. Stressful, because Akira now knew his bullshit directives could intersect with reality in dangerous ways. Argent Syndicate. ChronoCorp. Nexus Capital Partners. Serpens Network. These weren't just cool-sounding names he'd half-invented or pulled from forum rants anymore. They were real entities, involved in real, shadowy dealings that Nightingale, his fictional organization, had just poked with a digital stick.
He found himself obsessively scanning news feeds, financial reports, anything that might hint at fallout from their discovery. Had Nexus Capital partners suddenly vanished? Were Argent stocks plummeting? Had ChronoCorp deployed killer robots? Nothing. The world outside his cluttered apartment remained stubbornly mundane. Maybe he'd gotten lucky. Maybe the connection they found was real but compartmentalized, buried so deep that Nightingale's digital sniffing hadn't triggered any alarms.
He tried to relax, tried to get back into the rhythm of his escapist fantasy. But the Zero persona felt heavier now, tainted by the cold sweat of potential real-world consequences. Every cryptic pronouncement he typed felt like loading a gun with bullets he didn't understand.
Then, a subtle ripple disturbed the digital calm. Oracle sent a brief, encrypted message through the Nightingale channel, not just to Zero but flagged for the whole team:
Oracle: // Passive network monitoring: Detected elevated, anomalous activity originating from Argent-linked security nodes targeting Nexus Capital internal servers and Serpens-Epsilon infrastructure. Signature suggests counter-intrusion sweep / data scrubbing protocols activated. Aggressive, not subtle. Recommend caution regarding related assets. // Oracle Out.
Akira's blood turned to ice water. Counter-intrusion sweep? Data scrubbing? Argent had detected them. His team's flawless execution, Oracle's deep dive into their shell network, hadn't gone unnoticed after all. They weren't launching a cyber counter-attack, not yet. They were cleaning house. Erasing the tracks Nightingale had followed.
Panic clawed at his throat. This was bad. This was real organizations reacting to their actions. What if the scrubbing wasn't just digital? What if Argent sent people?
He looked back at the "Convergence Vector" report. Wraith had noted that Serpens-Epsilon maintained a minimal physical presence, co-located within a building housing ChronoCorp servers. A physical location. A place people could go.
Akira's mind raced, fueled by cheap coffee and sheer terror. Zero wouldn't just sit back. Zero would want eyes on the situation. Zero would anticipate the enemy's move. He needed to know what was happening at that physical node. It was reckless, insane even, but the logic of the Zero persona demanded it. Besides, if Argent was sending people, wasn't it better to know?
His fingers trembled as he typed a new directive, addressed solely to Wraith. He tried to make it sound routine, a standard follow-up, channeling a calmness he absolutely did not feel.
// Nightingale Protocol: Sentinel Stance //
Subject: Follow-up Observation - Serpens-Epsilon Node.
Reference: Convergence Vector Analysis & Oracle Alert (Timestamp [Current Time]).
Directive: Conduct passive, short-duration physical reconnaissance of Serpens-Epsilon location ([Address Coordinates Redacted]). Observe for any non-standard activity, personnel movement, or indications of physical security adjustments correlating with Oracle's alert. Maintain extreme discretion. Non-engagement protocol remains paramount. Report findings immediately.
Timeframe: Commence ASAP, duration 4 hours max.
Comment: Echoes in the digital often manifest in the physical. Confirm the resonance.
// Zero //
He hit send, his stomach churning. Non-engagement protocol remains paramount. He repeated it like a mantra. Just look. Just observe. That's all. Wraith was disciplined, professional. He wouldn't do anything stupid. Right?
________________________________________
Alex Volkov, codenamed Wraith, received Zero's directive with quiet acknowledgement. Serpens-Epsilon. Oracle's alert about data scrubbing protocols. Zero's order for immediate physical recon. The pieces clicked together with military precision. The enemy was reacting to Nightingale's probe, and Zero wanted ground truth on their physical response. The "non-engagement" order was standard procedure for initial reconnaissance.
He wasn't thrilled about operating on Japanese soil without backup or official sanction, a ghost outside any system, but the directive was clear. He quickly gathered a minimal kit – not weapons, but tools of observation and infiltration: compact high-magnification binoculars, a directional microphone, lockpicks (old habits), a burner phone, dark civilian clothing that blended into urban shadows. Within thirty minutes, he was on a train heading towards the district housing the Serpens-Epsilon office.
The building was a non-descript, mid-rise structure predominantly occupied by tech companies and data services – exactly the sort of place ChronoCorp would have server infrastructure. The Serpens-Epsilon "office" listed on the directory was just a suite number on the fourth floor. According to his earlier OSINT assessment, it was likely little more than a server rack and a rented desk, rarely occupied.
Alex didn't approach the building directly. Instead, he found a vantage point on the rooftop of a slightly taller apartment building opposite, offering a clear view of the target building's entrance and the fourth-floor windows associated with the Serpens suite. He settled into the shadows behind an air conditioning unit, the city lights painting streaks below. The night air was cool. He began his observation.
For the first two hours, nothing. Lights were on in various parts of the building, including the ChronoCorp floors, but the Serpens-Epsilon windows remained dark. Typical automated office building activity – cleaning crews moving through lower floors, the occasional late-working drone leaving for the night.
Then, just after 1:00 AM, a dark, unmarked van pulled up to the service entrance at the rear of the building. Not Nocturne Logistics – different model, different vibe. Two men got out. They weren't wearing security uniforms. They wore dark work clothes, tool bags slung over their shoulders, but moved with a coordinated, purposeful tension that prickled at Alex's trained senses. They didn't look like late-night maintenance. They looked like trouble.
They gained entry using a keycard – likely cloned or stolen. Alex focused his binoculars. He couldn't see inside the lobby clearly from his angle, but he tracked their progress by the lights flickering on briefly on the fourth floor, near the Serpens suite. They were inside.
Alex adjusted his directional microphone, trying to pick up any sound from the fourth floor. Faint thuds. A scraping noise. Then, silence. What were they doing? Planting listening devices? Removing servers? Wiping data physically? Oracle had mentioned data scrubbing. Maybe they were just destroying hardware.
Minutes stretched into tense silence. Alex remained perfectly still, observing. Then, a muffled shout, quickly cut off. Another thud, heavier this time. Lights flickered erratically on the fourth floor. This wasn't a quiet data wipe. Something had gone wrong. Or someone unexpected was there – a cleaner? A security guard doing rounds?
The two men reappeared at the service entrance much faster than they went in. They looked agitated, glancing around nervously. One wiped something dark from his hand onto his trousers. Blood? They quickly loaded something bulky and covered by a tarp into the back of the van. It could have been server racks, but the haste, the agitation... it felt wrong.
They were about to drive off. Alex had his intel. Non-standard activity confirmed. Likely physical data destruction, potentially involving violence against an unexpected witness. His directive was clear: observe and report. Non-engagement.
But as the van's engine started, Alex saw something else through his binoculars. A faint, chemical smell drifted on the breeze, confirmed by a flicker of movement near the fourth-floor window – one of the men had tossed something small and metallic back inside just before leaving. An incendiary device? An explosive charge to finish the job and cover their tracks? The building housed ChronoCorp servers, data centers, civilian offices…
Non-engagement protocol remains paramount, Zero's order echoed in his mind.
Alex grit his teeth. Protocol be damned. Letting them leave, potentially letting the building go up in flames or explode, endangering dozens, maybe hundreds of lives, destroying unrelated infrastructure… that wasn't reconnaissance. That was negligence. Nightingale, whatever it truly was, felt like it stood against this kind of ruthless collateral damage inflicted by groups like Argent. Didn't it?
Decision made.
He moved with fluid speed, vaulting over the rooftop ledge, landing silently on a lower fire escape, and descending the levels with practiced agility. He hit the alleyway just as the van was pulling out.
He didn't try to stop the vehicle directly. Instead, he sprinted towards the service entrance the men had used. The lock was standard commercial grade; his picks made short work of it. He slipped inside, ignoring the security camera he knew was likely recording – speed was essential.
He took the emergency stairs, covering the four floors in under thirty seconds, his movements economical and silent despite the ache in his leg. He emerged onto the fourth-floor corridor. Smoke was already curling from under the door of the Serpens-Epsilon suite. He could hear a faint, rapid clicking – a timer.
He kicked the door open. Inside, chaos. Office furniture overturned. Server racks smashed open, components ripped out. On the floor lay a middle-aged man in a cleaner's uniform, unmoving, a pool of blood forming around his head. And on the wreckage of a server, a small device with a blinking red light clicked down the seconds: 0:17... 0:16...
Alex didn't hesitate. He recognized the device – a simple timed thermite charge, designed to melt circuitry into slag. Enough heat to start a serious fire in an office environment. He lunged forward, grabbed the device, his fingers expertly finding the kill switch sequence he'd learned years ago (amazing what stuck with you). 0:09... 0:08... Click. The blinking stopped. Device neutralized.
He took a steadying breath, the smell of smoke and blood thick in the air. He checked the cleaner. No pulse. The fixers hadn't just been messy; they'd been brutal. They'd silenced a witness.
His mission had shifted from observation to intervention, and now to consequence management. He couldn't leave the scene like this. He couldn't call the authorities. He was a ghost.
He worked quickly. He used a fire extinguisher from the hallway to douse the small smoldering fire the thermite had already started. He wiped down the surfaces he'd touched near the device and the door. He couldn't do anything about the cleaner, a tragic victim of circumstance. He took the neutralized thermite device – can't leave advanced Argent tech lying around.
He slipped back out the way he came, melting into the pre-dawn city shadows. The entire intervention, from rooftop decision to exiting the building, had taken less than five minutes.
Back in the relative anonymity of a different train line, heading away from the city center, Alex pulled out his burner phone. He needed to report to Zero. How to phrase this? He defaulted to his training: concise, factual, devoid of emotion.
He typed the message into the secure 'Whisper' channel.
Subject: Observation Update & Intervention - Serpens-Epsilon Node.
Summary: Confirmed non-standard activity. Two hostile operatives detected post-1:00 conducting physical data destruction. Encountered unexpected civilian presence (cleaner, deceased). Operatives deployed timed incendiary device post-departure. Device neutralized prior to detonation. Hostiles departed scene prior to intervention. Site secured from immediate fire risk. Recommend temporary cessation of activity related to this node. Physical evidence of device retained.
Status: Observation complete. RTB.
// Wraith Out.
He hesitated before sending. He hadn't mentioned neutralizing the fixers themselves because... he hadn't. They got away. But the cleaner... the cleaner was dead because Nightingale had poked Argent. Because Zero had sent them looking. It felt wrong not to mention the casualty directly. He amended the message slightly:
Subject: Observation Update & Intervention - Serpens-Epsilon Node.
Summary: Confirmed non-standard activity. Two hostile operatives detected post-1:00 conducting physical data destruction. Civilian casualty (cleaner) confirmed, likely silenced by operatives. Operatives deployed timed incendiary device post-departure. Device neutralized prior to detonation. Hostiles departed scene prior to intervention. Site secured from immediate fire risk. Recommend temporary cessation of activity related to this node. Physical evidence of device retained.
Status: Observation complete. RTB.
// Wraith Out.
He sent it. The confirmation flickered. Report delivered. He leaned his head back against the cool glass of the train window, the city lights blurring past. He had followed orders, then broken protocol for the right reasons. He had prevented a larger disaster but failed to prevent a death. This shadow world Zero operated in... it had just drawn first blood. And Wraith knew, with chilling certainty, it wouldn't be the last.
________________________________________
Akira stared at the message from Wraith, his blood feeling like it had turned to slush in his veins. He read it once. Twice. Three times.
Civilian casualty (cleaner) confirmed, likely silenced by operatives.
Incendiary device neutralized.
Hostiles departed scene...
Someone was dead.
An innocent cleaner, working late, stumbled onto Argent fixers cleaning up a mess he had caused by sending his team after non-existent "harmonic resonance." They killed him. Just like that. Silenced.
And Wraith... Wraith had been there. He'd gone in. He'd stopped a bomb. He'd seen the body.
Akira scrambled out of his chair, stumbling over a stack of manga, and barely made it to the tiny bathroom before he threw up, retching violently into the toilet bowl. The greasy remnants of instant ramen and cheap coffee burned his throat.
He collapsed onto the cool tile floor, gasping for breath, cold sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. This wasn't a game. This wasn't a story. This was real. Real conspiracies, real corporations, real spies (or ex-spies), and now... real death. Blood on the floor of some anonymous office building, spilled because of him. Because of his stupid, escapist fantasy. Because he wanted to feel important, to play spymaster from his messy room.
The Zero persona shattered, leaving only Akira Sato, terrified and nauseous on his bathroom floor. He was responsible. He had sent Wraith there. He had poked the hornet's nest.
Civilian casualty confirmed. The words hammered in his brain.
Wraith had reported it so calmly, so professionally. Threat neutralized... Site secured... RTB. But beneath the jargon was a stark reality Akira couldn't escape. His actions had led to lethal consequences. Wraith hadn't engaged the hostiles directly this time, but he had walked into a murder scene and disarmed a bomb. He had the skills, the capability to operate in that world. Akira only had the capability to vomit in his toilet.
He didn't know what to do. He couldn't tell Wraith, "Oh god, I'm sorry, this was all just a game I made up, please stop!" Wraith clearly believed in Nightingale, in Zero. He might even see the cleaner's death as a necessary cost of the shadow war.
Akira dragged himself back to his chair, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked at the screen, at Wraith's chillingly calm report. He had to respond. Zero had to respond.
But what could Zero possibly say?