For a few long minutes after the platinum-blonde woman left, Kael just sat there, staring at the sleek black tablet. It rested on the sticky countertop, a piece of high-tech from another world, an invitation from hell or a chance to escape it.
Silence or Vengeance.
He closed his eyes. The image of yellow optical sensors flared in his mind. Raptor's scream. The smell of mud and blood.
Ashes or Gunfire.
Kael opened his eyes. The hesitation was gone, replaced by a cold, smoldering fire. He'd lived in the ashes long enough.
His hand, steady now, reached for the tablet. The screen lit up at his touch, displaying a single icon: a hummingbird in flight, stylized with sharp, dagger-like lines.
He pressed it.
The screen went black, and a single line of green text appeared:
CONNECTING TO ORACLE...
SECURE LINK ESTABLISHED.
A voice spoke from the tablet. It was the woman's, but now it was completely devoid of emotion, filtered through a digital speaker.
"Spectre, do you read me?"
Spectre. A ghost. The name was no longer an insult. It was a designation.
"I read you," Kael replied, his voice low and firm.
"Good. Your decision has been logged. As of this moment, Kaelen Vance no longer exists. You are a deniable asset of Operation Hummingbird. You have no name, no past, no nationality. You only have the mission. Understood?"
"Understood."
"First directive: Leave the bar immediately. Head east two blocks to an alley between a laundromat and a pawn shop. There will be an unmarked black van waiting. You have two minutes."
"And if I'm not there?" Kael asked, a small test.
"Then we will assume you've changed your mind. And this tablet will self-destruct along with everything you now know. One minute and forty seconds."
A corner of Kael's mouth twitched into a slight smirk. He liked this efficiency.
He placed a few crumpled bills on the bar—enough for the drink and a generous tip—and stood up. Without a backward glance, he walked out of the bar, out of his old life, and into the darkness of the alley.
Just as she'd said, a black van was waiting, engine idling, lights off. The side door slid open as he approached, revealing an empty rear compartment.
He climbed in. The door slammed shut behind him, plunging him into total darkness. The van pulled away instantly, smooth and fast.
The life of Kaelen Vance was over. The life of Spectre had just begun.
After about twenty minutes of driving in silence, the van stopped in what felt like an abandoned warehouse in the city's industrial district. The doors opened, and Kael was motioned to step out.
He was standing on a massive cargo lift. In front of him, what he thought was the warehouse wall began to separate, revealing what was inside.
It was the cargo bay of a massive military transport plane. A Boeing C-17 Globemaster, but modified almost beyond recognition. Inside weren't crates or military vehicles, but a state-of-the-art mobile command center.
Banks of servers hummed. Holographic displays showed world maps, data streams, and satellite imagery. A few technicians in black, insignia-free uniforms worked quietly.
The Nest. A fitting name.
The lift brought him level with the plane's ramp. The platinum-blonde woman was waiting for him. She was no longer in the elegant coat, but a black tactical uniform like the others. Her hair was still in its neat bun.
"Welcome to the Nest, Spectre," she said. "I am Oracle. Your handler."
"Anya Petrova," Kael stated flatly. He'd run her face through his memory banks back at the bar. Old BSAA habit.
Anya's blue eyes narrowed slightly, but she showed no surprise. "That knowledge is now useless. Anya Petrova is just another name in an old file. Here, I am Oracle."
She led him deeper inside. The air was cool and smelled of ozone from the electronics.
"The Nest is our base, our transport, and our intelligence hub. We can be anywhere in the world in under twenty-four hours," she explained, her tone as level as a museum tour guide's. "All intel, tactical support, SIGINT, HUMINT... it's all processed here."
They passed a small area that looked like a medical bay. An older doctor with tired eyes nodded at Anya.
"All of Kaelen Vance's identification and biometric data will be scrubbed from every system within the hour. To the world, you've vanished. A homeless man who died of alcohol poisoning in an alley. No one will look. No one will ask questions."
Anya stopped in front of a metal locker. "This is yours."
She opened it. Inside was a brand-new set of black tactical gear, a customized SIG Sauer P320 pistol, several magazines, and a combat knife. No patches. No symbols. Completely anonymous.
"You are not a soldier of any nation anymore," Anya said, her voice stressing the hard truth. "You are an instrument. Sharp, efficient, and, when necessary, disposable. Do you understand?"
Kael picked up the pistol. It felt right in his hand, familiar yet new. "I understand," he replied. "So, what does this instrument need to do?"
Anya nodded, a flicker of satisfaction crossing her impassive face. "Follow me. The briefing is about to begin."
Anya led Kael to a holographic table in the center of the cargo bay. She gestured for him to take his position.
"Commencing mission briefing: The Macau Gambit," Anya commanded.
A 3D image materialized in the air. First, the complex architectural schematic of a glamorous skyscraper.
"This is the Fortuna Grand Hotel and Casino in Macau. In thirty-six hours, an auction will be held in its high-security sub-level. This is not for art or wine."
The image shifted to a file labeled "CATALOGUE." Inside were blurred, encrypted images of bio-weapons. Kael narrowed his eyes. He recognized a few old Umbrella designs, but most were new. More refined. More lethal.
"The Broker," Anya said, the name sounding like a curse. "He is liquidating some 'old inventory' to make way for the next generation of products. The clients are heads of Triad and Yakuza syndicates. They're looking to upgrade their turf wars."
"What's my objective?" Kael asked, his eyes still locked on the screen. "Sabotage the auction? Capture The Broker?"
"No," Anya replied instantly. "Both are too loud. The Broker would never show up in a place like this. He only operates remotely. Your mission is far more delicate."
The hologram shifted to the profile of an Asian man in his 50s with a self-satisfied smile.
"This is Liang Wei, right-hand man to the head of the 14K Triad. He will be attending. Your mission: replace one of his bodyguards, infiltrate the auction, and plant a micro-tracker on the main 'item'."
Another image appeared. A titanium briefcase secured with multiple locks.
"This is the 'Crown Jewel'. We don't know what's inside, but intel suggests it's a live specimen. Something new. We need to know what it is, and more importantly, where it's going after the sale."
"Just plant the tracker? No interference?" Kael asked, a hint of dissatisfaction in his voice.
"Precisely. You get in, you do the job, and you get out. Like a ghost. Any hostile action will expose our existence and send The Broker deeper underground. We're playing the long game, Spectre. This is just the opening move."
Anya looked him straight in the eye, their gazes meeting across the blue light of the holographic map.
"You have thirty-six hours to prepare. Study the schematics. Memorize the faces. We've prepared a cover for you. You'll be a Serbian mercenary with a troubled past. The papers are ready."
The C-17 gave a slight shudder as it gained altitude, climbing into the night sky.
Kael nodded, his initial skepticism giving way to the focused intensity of a professional. The past was behind him, on the ground. His future was here, in this metal cage, flying towards a foreign city to face new monsters.
"I'm ready," he said.
Anya turned away, her voice returning to its cool, professional tone. "Good. Because at forty-thousand feet, there's no room for hesitation."