The broadcast was everywhere.
News anchors fumbled through redacted briefings. Intelligence officials denied involvement. Leaked footage of the Phantom Protocol lit up every screen—from congressional chambers in Washington to protest banners in São Paulo.
World governments scrambled to distance themselves. The phrase predictive assassination program dominated every headline. Mass surveillance scandals of the past looked like amateur work compared to what was now public knowledge.
And behind it all, one name kept surfacing: Captain Elias Mercer—Reaper.
Three days after the Yukon breach, the team hunkered down in an abandoned NATO weather station deep in the Arctic Circle. Wind howled outside like the ghosts of the men they'd lost.
Grimm stood near a frosted window, watching ice build along the glass. His breath was calm, but his mind churned.
They had succeeded.
And they had just made themselves targets of the entire intelligence apparatus.
Reyes sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by laptops and portable antennas. Tanya cleaned her rifle in silence. Bull sat in a corner with his shirt off, grimacing as he stitched a fresh wound on his shoulder with crude precision.
"This thing went nuclear," Reyes muttered. "Interpol wants us. The UN wants a tribunal. And the CIA… yeah, they just put a price on all our heads."
Tanya smirked. "Congratulations, gentlemen. We're officially international terrorists."
"No," Grimm said. "We're truth carriers. That still means something."
Bull looked up. "Yeah? Then why does it feel like we just lit the fuse to World War Three?"
Grimm turned back to the team. "Because we did more than expose a secret—we shattered control. The Phantom Protocol was how men like Kessler ruled without being seen. Now that power is gone, the balance is shifting. The question is… to what?"
Reyes sighed. "We've got bigger problems. Phantom's AI system may be dead, but its pieces—its code, data, handlers—they're still out there. Other factions will try to rebuild it."
Grimm nodded grimly. "Then we stay ahead of them."
Tanya leaned back. "How? We're ghosts with no home, no allies, and half the world aiming for our heads."
"We hit back," Grimm said. "Not with bullets. With truth. We track down Phantom's architects—the ones who bankrolled it, protected it. And we burn their networks down before they can rise again."
Silence.
Then Bull stood, cracking his knuckles. "Alright. Who's first on the list?"
Reyes tapped into a satellite feed. "We follow the money. Helix Dynamics took a hit, but some of their shadow divisions are still moving—redirecting funds, destroying evidence. I found a trail leading to Morocco. Casablanca. A Helix shell company that funneled billions into Phantom's development is still active."
Grimm checked his rifle. "Then that's our next destination."
Tanya raised an eyebrow. "Casablanca, huh? Sun, sand, bullets. Romantic."
Grimm cracked a rare smirk. "Only if you survive."
Reyes frowned. "There's another complication… Kessler."
Grimm's eyes hardened. "What about him?"
"I tapped into CIA chatter. Someone extracted him during the retreat. No visual confirmation, but I'd bet he's back in play."
Bull growled. "We should've put a bullet in him."
Tanya shrugged. "Next time, we won't hesitate."
Grimm looked out at the ice again.
Kessler was alive.
That meant the war wasn't over. Not yet.
He clenched his jaw. "Then let's make sure he has nowhere left to hide."
Elsewhere...
A luxury jet cut through the stratosphere, cloaked by diplomatic clearance and false transponders. Kessler sat in the dim cabin, hands folded, eyes closed. Across from him, a man in a tailored suit reviewed a dossier filled with redacted photos and mission logs.
"The leak was catastrophic," the man said. "But recoverable."
Kessler opened his eyes slowly.
"Reaper's not finished," the man continued. "He's targeting our fallback networks."
"He won't reach them in time," Kessler replied coldly. "Phantom's destruction was calculated risk. The real project was never stored on-site."
The suited man raised an eyebrow. "You mean..."
"Yes," Kessler said. "Protocol Sigma."
The man nodded slowly. "Then we move to Phase Two."
Kessler smiled faintly.
"Let Mercer chase ghosts. We'll be writing the future while he looks backward."
He poured a glass of wine and lifted it slowly.
"To order from chaos."
Back in the Arctic, Reyes finished decrypting a Helix document cache.
He frowned.
"Guys… you need to see this."
Grimm, Tanya, and Bull gathered around.
"It's a list. Targets Phantom flagged as future threats—before it went down. Some of them are dead. But a few… a few are still alive. Activists, rogue agents, defectors. People like us."
Tanya leaned in. "Names?"
Reyes nodded. "One in particular stands out—codename: Wraith. Real name unknown. But Phantom listed them as a 'Level 1 Disruptor'—high risk, unpredictable. And last known location... Casablanca."
Grimm's eyes narrowed.
"Then we find this Wraith. If Phantom feared them, we need them on our side."
He looked at his team—scarred, hunted, but still standing.
"This isn't the end. It's the beginning."