Undisclosed Safehouse — 0610 Hours
Ghost sat on the metal examination table, the room still spinning from the impact of the refinery explosion. His cracked skull mask rested beside him, split diagonally from temple to jaw.
A medic waved a penlight across Ghost's eyes.
"Head trauma, possible rib contusion, mild concussion," the medic muttered. "You should be unconscious."
Ghost grunted. "I'll sleep when I'm dead."
"You already look halfway there."
Before Ghost could respond, the safehouse door hissed open.
Commander Ward stepped in.
His presence filled the room instantly.
Tall, broad shoulders, streaks of gray at the temples—he'd aged like a carved statue rather than a man worn by war. His voice, when he spoke, was gravel wrapped in authority.
"Simon," Ward said. "You look like hell."
Ghost slid off the table. "Rook's alive."
Ward froze.
Not a flinch.
Not a blink.
A complete stop—like someone had cut power to him.
"…Repeat that," Ward commanded.
Ghost's voice was ice.
"Rook. He's alive. And he's working with Dominion… or leading them."
The silence stretched.
Ward finally exhaled. "Impossible."
Ghost stepped forward, jaw tightening. "I fought him. I'm telling you—he's enhanced. Faster, stronger. And he had intel about Unit Zero that isn't in any file I've ever seen."
Ward rubbed his forehead, the weight of ten thousand unspoken things sinking into his bones.
Ghost continued: "He said Unit Zero wasn't wiped by insurgents. Said Command set us up."
Ward's eyes sharpened. "You believe him?"
Ghost hesitated.
Not because he doubted his instincts…
but because everything Rook said echoed the cracks Ghost had ignored for years.
"Something felt wrong that night," Ghost admitted quietly. "But this—" he gestured at the broken mask. "This changes everything."
Ward sighed and motioned Ghost into the briefing room.
BRIEFING ROOM — 0625 Hours
The room was small, illuminated by a single hanging lamp over a metal table. Ward typed a sequence into a secured terminal, unlocking a file Ghost had never seen.
The folder name was a single designation:
OMEGA-ZERO
Ghost stiffened.
Ward slid the screen toward him.
"This," Ward said slowly, "is everything command buried."
Ghost scanned the first page.
CLASSIFIED: OMEGA-ZERO — OPERATION NIGHTFALL
Status: TERMINATED
Personnel: Unit Zero
Result: Purged
Ghost's blood ran cold.
Purged.
Ward continued. "Nightfall wasn't a recon op. You weren't sent to extract intel—you were bait."
Ghost clenched the table's edge. "For what?"
Ward scrolled to the next briefing.
Objective: Draw out experimental insurgent technologists.
Risk: Extremely high.
Survivability: Acceptable losses.
Ghost whispered the words like poison.
"Acceptable losses."
Ward nodded, shame flickering behind his eyes. "I didn't know. Not then. I only learned after they declared you all KIA and sealed the files. I tried to push back—Command stonewalled me."
Ghost's throat tightened.
Unit Zero were more than soldiers; they were brothers.
And they had been sacrificed like spare ammunition.
Ward continued scrolling.
Subject: Operative Rook (Callsign: Shade)
Initial casualty status: MIA — presumed dead
Final status: Recovered by third-party paramilitaries
Note: "Unfit for reintegration. Terminate if located."
Ghost's chest felt like it was imploding.
"They wanted him dead," Ghost murmured.
Ward nodded. "Dominion found him first. And from the sounds of your report… they rebuilt him."
Ghost stared at the lines of text until they blurred.
Ward placed a hand on the table. "Simon… what did he say to you?"
Ghost took a breath.
"He told me: 'Find the truth, if you dare.' He wants me to know something. Wants me to see the bigger picture."
Ward grimaced. "And you believe following that thread won't get you killed?"
Ghost didn't answer.
Because he already knew the truth:
He'd walk into hell itself if that's where the truth waited.
MISSION BRIEF — 0650 Hours
Ward projected satellite images onto the wall. Dominion outposts, encrypted networks, heat signatures—an entire web of enemy activity stretching across continents.
"This is what Dominion became after Rook joined them," Ward said. "They went from well-funded terrorists to global shadow players practically overnight."
Ghost watched the board with a burning stare.
Ward tapped a red-marked location.
"Your next target is here. A relay site in Kyrgyzstan. Rook's communications bounce through it. You take it out, we break his primary network."
Ghost tilted his head. "And if he's there?"
Ward's voice hardened. "Then you do what you should've done years ago."
Ghost flexed his bruised knuckles. "I tried."
"Try harder," Ward said.
Ghost grabbed his cracked mask, turning it over in his hands.
"You're not going out with that," Ward said firmly. "We made you something… better."
He opened a metal case.
Inside lay a new mask.
Sharper lines. Reinforced plating.
The skull pattern replaced with matte tactical black accented by faint silver fractures—almost like scars.
"Polysynthetic armor," Ward said. "Stops small-arms fire. HUD integration. Thermal overlays. And full anti-scan shielding. Dominion won't track you by signature anymore."
Ghost lifted the mask.
"Feels heavier," he muttered.
"It is," Ward said. "Because you'll need it where you're going."
Ghost examined the inside.
Lining. Sensors.
Everything perfectly fitted to his face.
Ward stepped back.
"Once you put that on, Simon… you're declaring war. Not just on Dominion. But on every corrupt bastard who signed off on Nightfall."
Ghost slid the mask over his face.
It sealed with a soft click.
For the first time in years…
Ghost felt whole.
"I was already at war," he said.
AIRBORNE — 0940 Hours
Over Central Asia
The transport jet roared over snow-covered mountains. Inside, Ghost sat alone, checking weapons with methodical precision.
Holo-point sidearm.
Suppressed Valkyrie rifle.
Shock knives.
EMP charges.
Two experimental gadgets Ward said were "still in testing."
Ghost didn't ask.
The ramp hatch opened slightly, cold air flooding in.
A voice crackled in Ghost's earpiece.
"Ghost, come in."
It was Gaz.
"Still breathing?" Gaz asked.
"For now."
"Good. Because intel says Dominion expects you. You're walking into a hornet nest."
"When do I walk into anything else?" Ghost replied.
Gaz chuckled. But the humor faded quickly.
"Rook being alive… you good, man?"
Ghost stared at the mountains beneath them.
"No," he said. "But I'll handle it."
Gaz sighed. "He was your brother once."
"He's not anymore."
"Doesn't make it easier."
Ghost didn't reply.
The light in the plane turned green.
Pilot's voice came through. "Drop zone in thirty. Good hunting."
Ghost stood, pulled his hood up, adjusted the mask.
"Ghost," Gaz said. "If you run into him—"
"There's no 'if,'" Ghost cut in.
Silence.
"Just… don't let him pull you into his head," Gaz said. "He knows how you think. Knows how to hurt you."
Ghost stepped toward the ramp.
"He already did," he said. "Now it's my turn."
The ramp opened fully.
Wind howled into the cabin.
Ghost jumped.
Kyrgyzstan — Dominion Relay Site
1032 Hours
Ghost crashed through the treeline like a living shadow, snow spraying off his gear. His new mask's visor displayed markers—moving heat signatures, electronic traces, perimeter sensors.
Dominion had turned the mountain base into a fortress.
Ghost crouched, scanning.
Four guards.
Two snipers.
One comms officer inside.
Automated drones circling every forty seconds.
Ghost exhaled slowly.
This wasn't an infiltration run.
This was a message.
He activated his shock knives.
Electric arcs danced along the blades.
Ghost moved.
Silent.
Deadly.
Unstoppable.
He reached the first guard—
knife to throat—
dragged him behind a crate—
body down.
Second guard turned—
Ghost snapped his neck before he could scream.
Drone buzzed overhead.
Ghost dropped to the snow, blending with thermal interference.
Drone passed.
Ghost rose and fired his suppressed rifle twice—
two snipers fell from their nests.
The comms officer panicked, rushing for the alarm.
Ghost sprinted—
scaled the comms tower—
dropped behind the officer.
Blade across his throat.
Body limp.
Ghost wiped the knife clean on the officer's sleeve.
Silence reclaimed the outpost.
Ghost headed inside the relay hub.
INSIDE THE RELAY—1040 Hours
The hub hummed with servers stacked floor to ceiling. The air was cold with recycled oxygen. Lights blinked like artificial stars.
Ghost placed Ward's EMP charge on the main conduit.
Three minutes.
He moved toward a terminal, searching for any trace of Rook's transmissions. His mask decrypted data streams sequentially.
Then—
A soft beep.
Incoming holographic feed.
Ghost froze.
The screen flickered.
Pixels swirled.
A figure appeared.
Black mask.
Silver eyes behind the visor.
Rook.
Ghost felt his pulse spike.
Rook leaned forward slightly, as if he could see through Ghost's mask.
"Hello, Simon."
Ghost tightened his grip on his knife. "Rook."
"You move fast," Rook said. "Faster than command ever gave you credit for."
"You watching me now?" Ghost spat.
"Always."
Ghost's muscles tightened.
Rook tilted his head. "You shouldn't have come here alone."
Ghost scoffed. "You scared?"
Rook chuckled darkly.
"No. I'm disappointed."
Ghost stepped closer to the screen. "What do you want from me?"
Rook's voice softened.
Not taunting this time.
Something darker.
Heavier.
"I want you to understand the truth. The world we served was never worth saving. It's rotted from the inside. Leaders who kill their own men… nations that sell soldiers like spare parts… peace built on lies."
Ghost's breath fogged inside the mask.
"You want me to join you," he said.
Rook didn't deny it.
"You were always the strongest of us," Rook said. "The most loyal. The one who understood what it meant to sacrifice. I don't want to fight you, Simon. I want you beside me. We can finish what we started."
Ghost's hands curled into fists.
His past screamed through him—
the missions they ran
the nights they nearly died
the brotherhood that had felt unbreakable.
But it was broken.
By betrayal.
By lies.
By Rook himself.
Ghost's voice came out low and dangerous.
"You're not my brother."
Rook paused.
And for a fraction of a second…
Ghost thought he saw pain behind the mask.
Then the moment vanished.
"Then you're my enemy," Rook said softly.
Ghost tapped the EMP on his belt.
"No," Ghost said. "I'm your reckoning."
The timer reached zero.
The EMP detonated.
The hologram flickered violently before collapsing in a burst of static.
Every light in the facility shut off.
Ghost exhaled.
But then—
A whisper crackled through his comms.
Rook's voice.
Calm.
Close.
Too close.
"You really think this ends with a relay station, Simon?"
Ghost stiffened.
"Enjoy the victory," Rook murmured. "It'll be your last."
The comms cut.
Ghost turned sharply, scanning every angle, every shadow.
But he knew—
Rook wasn't here.
He was already planning the next move.
Ghost strode out of the collapsing relay station as sparks showered from the ceiling.
Snow stung his mask as he emerged into the blinding cold.
He triggered extraction.
"Command," Ghost said, voice steady. "Relay destroyed. Rook made contact."
Ward answered almost instantly.
"Understood. We're pulling you out."
Ghost stared into the mountains.
"No," he said. "Not yet."
"Ghost—"
"I'm following his trail. Rook left breadcrumbs on purpose. He wants me to find something."
Ward cursed. "He's manipulating you."
Ghost's voice went ice-cold.
"Let him try."
He cut the channel and started down the mountain, moving like a shadow slipping into the world's darkest corners.
This wasn't just a mission anymore.
This was personal.
Ghost was done being hunted.
Now he was hunting.