Chapter 5: The Architect's Shadow
Liz's POV: Elizabeth Keen stormed a decoy warehouse with Ressler, finding only empty crates. Her voice was tight, urgent: "Red's wasting our time." Ressler kicked a crate, his frustration raw. "Or someone else is," Liz said, her eyes narrowing. The comms glitch had delayed their raid, and the tip about Tom gnawed at her. Red's game felt personal, but something else was moving in the shadows, manipulating them.
The abandoned architectural firm stood like a broken skeleton against the D.C. skyline, its shattered glass glinting under moonlight. Toney crouched outside, the InfoGrid System scanning security, overlaying the darkness with glowing lines.
Red's latest message had led him here, a lead on the Freelancer case—a killer tied to chaos. Toney's alliance with Red was fragile, a tightrope, but this was his chance to prove his worth. The system guided him through lasers, his movements precise. He slipped inside, the air heavy with dust and electronics, the floor littered with broken blueprints.
Ressler's POV: In the war room, Ressler glared at a monitor, his voice biting: "The Freelancer's a ghost, and Red's playing us." Meera nodded, her calm infuriating. "We're missing something," she said. Ressler didn't notice Sarah Kline's nervous glance, her fingers sending Orlov the warehouse's decoy status. Toney's interference was unraveling their op, and Ressler's instincts were screaming, but he didn't know why.
The system mapped a route to a server room, where a safe held a satellite decryption key. Toney navigated traps, the system's combat patterns making him fluid, instinctive. He ducked under a laser, heart pounding, the air smelling of ozone and rust.
Orlov's POV: Orlov watched the firm from a distance, her scope catching Toney's shadow. Sarah's intel had been spot-on, but the Syndicate's orders were relentless: retrieve the key, kill the anomaly. "He's too good," she muttered, her accent thick. A new team—unknown, not hers—had appeared in her feed, moving toward the firm. Her jaw clenched. The Syndicate hadn't mentioned rivals. She sent a warning to her handler, her curiosity sharpening.
In the server room, the system flagged a decoy server, redirecting Toney to a ventilation duct. He pried it open, metal groaning, and crawled inside, the confined space pressing his shoulders. The safe held the key—a metallic device pulsing faintly.
Sarah's POV: Sarah's phone buzzed with Orlov's update: "Target has the key. Unknown team inbound." Her heart pounded as she deleted it, Cooper nearby, oblivious. She'd fed Orlov the firm's location, but the rival team wasn't in her intel. If the Syndicate blamed her, she was dead. She sent a desperate message: "Unknown players. Need orders." Her betrayal was a noose, tightening with every move Toney made.
The system flashed an alert, urgent, sharp.
Toney's blood ran cold. Heavy footsteps echoed—synchronized, professional, not FBI. The system showed five figures closing in, their heat signatures red. Toney dove behind a server rack, knife ready, breath shallow.
The first mercenary rounded the corner, rifle raised. Toney struck, the system guiding him. He disarmed the man, slamming him into the wall with a crunch. The others charged, boots pounding, but the system's data let Toney dodge and counter with brutal efficiency. A bullet grazed his arm, blood seeping, pain sharp but distant.
Cooper's POV: Harold Cooper reviewed the failed raid's report, jaw tight. "If Reddington's playing us," he told Meera, his voice gruff, "he'll regret it." The Freelancer case was slipping, and glitches—comms, surveillance—were piling up. He didn't know Toney's actions caused them, but he sensed a larger game. He ordered a system sweep, unaware Toney's key could shift everything.
Toney bolted for a maintenance shaft, the system mapping an escape through the narrow passage. He slid through, metal cold against his skin, emerging in an alley as the mercenaries' shouts faded. The key was secure, but the unknown team worried him. Not Syndicate, not FBI. A new player?
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