Simultaneously, small, stealthy attack drones bearing the insignia of their respective countries of origin (which Daniel had hacked for camouflage) swooped down on homes in upscale neighborhoods and shadowy alleys, releasing small, direct-impact projectiles. These weren't explosives, but kinetic projectiles designed to pierce armor and lethally and silently disable humans. The target was only the individual, the source of terror.
In Paris, the missile struck the rural fortress. Satellite imagery showed an energy wave spreading from the point of impact, disintegrating the main structure and leaving behind a crater of smoking debris, but the impact was confined, the surrounding earth intact.
In the Nevada desert, the missile struck the underground complex. The earth shook, a column of smoke and dust rose into the sky, but the surrounding area remained untouched, a testament to the precision of Daniel's warhead.
In Dubai, just a few kilometers frommansionDaniel's missile struck the private compound. Daniel could feel the slight vibration in the floor of his control room. A screen in his office showed a thermal image of the site, which faded within seconds, the terrorist command center reduced to ashes and electromagnetic pulses. The smell of ozone seemed stronger in the air.mansion.
And in Gaza, the kinematic warhead plunged into a densely populated apartment building. The explosion was contained, a compact fireball that pulverized the building but left adjacent buildings, though shaken, standing. Daniel's strategy was devastating in its precision, but cruel in its execution.
The five red dots on Daniel's maps disappeared, replaced by controlled impact marks.
"Terrorist command and control centers neutralized," Daniel announced, his voice as cold as before, but with a note of finality. "The leaders and financiers, shot in their homes. None of them escaped. Terrorism against me is what I do to them."
A shocked silence fell over the conference. No one dared speak. They had witnessed a display of power and a form of justice that defied all convention. It was brutal, illegal, but incredibly effective.
The President of the United States, thetired eyes, but now filled with a dark reverence, looked at Daniel on the screen. "Ghost... you... you took down the network. You did what our armies and agencies couldn't do in decades. But at a cost..."
"The cost of freedom, Mr. President, is paid in blood," Daniel interrupted, his voice grave. "Their blood. No longer the blood of the innocent. This is my form of war. It's their game, but played by my rules. The hunt is over. For now."
Daniel turned off the conference. The screens on hismansionThe traffic in Dubai calmed down, the maps and data returning to a dormant state. Henry, exhausted, slumped in his chair, his hands intent on the keyboard. He glanced at Daniel, who was now silently studying the world map, his expression unreadable.
O ar na mansionHe seemed lighter, but still burdened with the weight of what had just happened. Daniel, the nameless orphan, the "Twelve," had declared war on terrorism, and won. But in his eyes, Henry could see that victory did not bring peace. Just a brief moment of respite in an endless war.
In the imposingmansionIn Dubai, the silence that followed the frenzy of the past few hours was almost deafening, broken only by the soft hum of Daniel's servers. The screens in his office, once a whirlwind of critical information, now displayed static maps with blue impact points, a silent reminder of the battle won. Henry, exhausted, had leaned his head back against the swivel chair, breathing deeply, relief beginning to mix with the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. The ozone-laden scent of high-tech equipment hung in the air, and cold sweat was drying on his forehead.
Daniel, his expression impassive, thehoney brown eyesfixed on the main screen, where the image of the President of the United States was still visible, activated the communication channel. The President, in his austere bunker, sat with his hands resting on his knees, his face weary, but his eyes showed deep gratitude. He seemed to have aged ten years in the last few hours. The Vice President and the Chief of Staff sat silently beside him, their worried gazes fixed on the screen.
"Mr. President," Daniel's voice echoed, without the urgency of before, but with an unquestionable authority that filled the space between them.
The President raised his head,tired eyesmeeting Daniel's on the screen. "Ghost. I... I don't know what to say. You saved millions of lives. Saved cities. Saved the world. I said I wanted to meet you. In person."
Daniel nodded slowly, the slightest movement. "Yes, Mr. President. I heard. And the invitation is accepted. I make you a proposal." His voice was emotionless, but his words carried a weight that held everyone's attention. "Take a trip.Meet the leaders of these countries at press conferences, in public.And I'll be in one of those. You'll recognize me, you can be sure of that."
Daniel's proposal was as unexpected as it was audacious. The President blinked in surprise. "A diplomatic trip? With press conferences? And I'll meet him there, in public?" He looked at the Chief of Staff, who wore an expression of incredulity. The idea of Daniel revealing himself at a public event defied all logic for a man operating in the shadows.
"Yes, Mr. President," Daniel confirmed, his voice unwavering. "It will be a show of strength, of resilience. You will show the world that you are not broken. And I will be there, invisible to the rest of the world, but present to you and to the leaders of those nations. You won't need to look for me. I will find you. And when I do,let's talk alone, because your agents are no match for mine."
Daniel's final statement was a veiled display of power, a reminder of his ability to penetrate any barrier, to exist in the shadows of his most secure networks. The President felt a chill. The idea that Daniel might be in his bunker, there, invisible, was unsettling. He looked around the room, a slight tremor running through his body. The Chief of Staff and the Vice President looked at each other, their faces pale.
"So, you're proposing a global tour, with meetings at every stop, and you want me to know that you have full access to everything. That you can be anywhere at any time," the President said, trying to process the information.
"It's not a threat, Mr. President," Daniel corrected him. "It's a fact. It's the reality of who I am. I'm not an agency. I'm not a government. I'm a force. And that force is what saved your world. Do you want to know my story, President?"
Daniel's question took the President by surprise. He had asked to meet Daniel, but the question about the history of such an enigmatic, powerful man carried a gravity that went beyond a simple request for information. He thought for a moment, looking at the faces of his aides, who were staring at Daniel.
"Yes, Ghost," the President replied, his voice low. "I want to. I need to know."
"Let's talk here for now," Daniel proposed, his voice without a hint of hesitation. "There's no need for a formal meeting for this. Just you and me. And maybe the General, if he'll listen."
The Pentagon General, who had listened to everything in silence, nodded vigorously, hissteel eyesfixed on Daniel. He wanted to understand the man who had defied all logic of war and intelligence. The Attorney General and the other Secretaries, though not explicitly invited, remained connected, too curious to disconnect.
Daniel paused, and the silence inmansionin Dubai deepened. Henry, beside Daniel, felt a lump in his throat. He knew what was coming next. It was the story of "Twelve," the story Daniel had never told anyone but himself.
"As I said before, Mr. President, I was born an orphan in the United States," Daniel began, his voice lower, almost a whisper, but each word carrying an emotional weight that contrasted with his usual coldness. The image on his main screen focused on an old map of the United States, with a small dot blinking in a state Daniel didn't name, but which Henry knew was where it all began. "I have no name. I have no birth certificate. I have no date of birth. I was just a number. 'Twelve.' That's what they called me at the orphanage."
The President of the United States, his face grave, listened intently. He imagined little "Twelve," a nameless child, without a family, lost in a system that was supposed to protect him.
"Until I was ten," Daniel continued, his voice hardening slightly, "I was tortured. Not sexually, I assure you. But constant physical abuse. Deprivation. Violence that you, in your bunkers and offices, cannot even imagine. I saw the hunger in the eyes of the other children, the fear, the hopelessness. I saw the brutality. And I learned to survive." The image on Daniel's screen changed to a 3D representation of a gloomy building with barred windows, a place that seemed designed to suppress life.
"I ran away when I was ten," Daniel revealed, his voice maintaining a matter-of-fact tone, but with a lingering ache. "I lived on the streets. In various American cities. I ate whatever I could find, stole when necessary. I was invisible to the world. To its systems. To its statistics." He didn't use the term "the system," but its implication was clear to the President. "But I didn't starve. I didn't freeze to death. I read. Books thrown in the trash. Books from public libraries, at night, when the doors were unlocked or I found a way in. I ate knowledge. I absorbed everything."