The yacht cut silently through the Straits of Johor, the lights of Senai a distant, glittering line on the shore. Jäger stood on the deck, the night air cool against his face, but his mind burned. The mission had been a success, the quantum encryption algorithm secured, Dato' Malik neutralized. But one detail gnawed at him, a splinter under his skin: The Viper's words.
"The Division," she'd hissed, her eyes burning with furious recognition. "You're supposed to be dead!"
How? How could she have known? No government agency had been able to pinpoint them with such accuracy, not even during the Coalition's global hunt. The Syndicate's cover was ironclad, their methods ghost-like. Unless… unless it wasn't his current identity she recognized, but something deeper. Something from the past.
His SHD watch, now subtly glowing with the Syndicate's integrated network, offered no answers. Its primary function was data, not conjecture. He ran through scenarios, replaying the chaotic scene in the high-roller lounge. His tailored suit, his calculated 'accident,' his controlled aggression – all carefully crafted to be generic, elite. Yet, she'd seen him. A former Division agent. The thought was a cold knot in his gut. Could there be others? Other survivors from their past, out in the world, with information the Syndicate didn't have? Or worse, information that the Syndicate knew but hadn't shared?
His thoughts were cut short by the insistent thrum of his comms unit. "Jäger, to the briefing room. Urgent." It was Merlin's filtered voice, devoid of inflection, but the urgency was clear.
Emergency Call
The holographic projection in the briefing room showed a churning, pixelated image of deep ocean. Below it, schematics of a massive, clandestine underwater laboratory.
"This is the 'Leviathan Project,'" Merlin's modulated voice began. "A black-site research facility, operating under the guise of deep-sea mineral extraction. Our intelligence indicates it's run by a rogue faction of bio-engineers, funded by a consortium of former industrial cartels—remnants we believed were neutralized."
"What's the emergency?" Jäger asked, his gaze fixed on the glowing nodes in the schematic, indicating volatile substances.
"They've achieved a breakthrough," Merlin stated. "A highly virulent, airborne pathogen. Unstoppable, untraceable. They intend to auction it to the highest bidder in 72 hours. Our usual assets are too far to intercept in time. You and your team are the closest, and most capable."
Percival stepped forward, his usual detached calm replaced by a rare flicker of concern. "It's a high-risk insertion, Jäger. The facility is heavily guarded, and underwater. Deep saturation diving, sub-aquatic infiltration. Not exactly our usual urban playground."
"We adapt," Jäger said, a familiar mantra. This was a clear, tangible threat. This was the kind of crisis the Division had been built for, even if the tools were now borrowed. He glanced at the holographic representation of the pathogen. This was the world they were now sworn to protect from the shadows.
A Ghost Resurfaces
While Jäger and his team prepared for their deep-sea insertion, donning specialized submersible gear designed by the Syndicate's advanced R&D, miles away, in a secure, reinforced chamber, The Viper thrashed against her restraints. Her eyes, still burning with fury and a touch of something else—fear? desperation?—darted around the sterile room. She had been interrogated for days, but had given nothing. She had nothing to give, not to them.
Suddenly, a muffled thud. The whirring of the automated door, usually impervious, shuddered. Then, with a groan of tortured metal, it peeled open inward.
A figure stood silhouetted in the dim light of the corridor. Tall, broad-shouldered, moving with an impossible fluidity. His face was obscured by shadow and a tactical hood, but his posture, the very way he held himself, was profoundly familiar.
"Viper," the figure's voice was a low rumble, laced with concern, "Are you alright?"
The Viper's eyes widened, her struggles ceasing. "Rex?!" she choked out, a raw, almost disbelieving sound.
Rex moved swiftly, his hands deft as he disabled her restraints, the specialized tools on his belt clinking softly. He wore no Syndicate insignia, no clear affiliation. His gear, though advanced, had a distinct, utilitarian look. A black-and-yellow watch, unlike Jäger's integrated SHD unit, glowed faintly on his wrist.
"What were you thinking, getting caught like this?" Rex's tone was sharp, but his touch as he helped her up was gentle.
The Viper stumbled, then regained her footing, clutching his arm. "I saw him, Rex. In Johor. He was there. With them." Her voice dropped to a frantic whisper. "The Division. They're not dead. He's alive."
Rex froze. His head snapped up, his eyes, grim and weary, locking onto hers. He had been so careful. So, utterly, completely careful.
"What?! Are you sure?" His voice was a harsh exhale, laced with a fear The Viper rarely heard from him.
"Yes!!! Is it him I saw!! Should we call Kelso?" she insisted, her voice rising with a desperate hope.
Rex didn't reply immediately. His mind raced, a thousand scenarios flashing behind his eyes. Kelso. His contact. His friend. And the woman who would move heaven and earth, burn every bridge, every asset, every ounce of her remaining sanity, if she knew what The Viper had just claimed. Kelso, whose life had shattered when her husband, Jäger, had gone dark during the global hunt, declared KIA by the very governments they had fought to protect. Kelso, who had never truly believed it.
A cold dread settled in Rex's chest. No. Kelso couldn't know. Not yet. Not like this. Not without a plan. The potential for her to do something utterly reckless, something that would destroy everything they'd built in the shadows, was too great.
He turned to The Viper, his voice low, firm, edged with a warning. "Keep a look out for him."
Rex then pulled her towards a hidden exit, the breached door groaning shut behind them, leaving the facility to the unknowing mercenaries and the approaching Syndicate. The hunter had just become the hunted, and the ghost of the Division, thought long dead, had just found a new, terrifying, and very much alive purpose.