Part IIChapter 1: The Ghosts We Create

The explosion didn’t shake Richard.
It shook the men who weren’t ready.
Dust rolled through the abandoned refinery like a living thing, swallowing light, swallowing sound. Somewhere to his left, a terrorist screamed. Somewhere to his right, Cobra moved.
Richard stepped forward through the smoke.
“Status,” he said calmly.
“Two down,” came Eva’s voice in his earpiece. “One runner heading east corridor.”
“Let him run,” Richard replied.
The man wouldn’t get far.
Across the metal platforms above them, Hassan was already repositioning. Silent. Precise. Watching angles no one else saw. The refinery had become a chessboard, and the enemy didn’t know they were already cornered.
A burst of gunfire ripped through the dark.
Not theirs.
Richard turned slightly. That was wrong.
“Contact, second level!” Marcus barked. “They weren’t on the drone feed!”
Richard’s eyes hardened.
So this wasn’t just a cell.
It was layered.
Good.
He preferred it that way.
He moved fast now—controlled violence in motion. Boots barely making a sound against rusted steel. A shadow among shadows. One hostile appeared through the smoke, weapon raised, fear written across his face.
Too slow.
Richard closed the distance in two steps.
A strike.
A twist.
A body falling.
No wasted movement.
No hesitation.
“Clear lower deck,” he said quietly.
But he felt it.
This wasn’t random.
Someone had known they were coming.
Above them, a red laser blinked to life.
Richard looked up.
And smiled.
“Now it gets interesting.”
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