Ghosts of the Last War

The Hunters Become the Hunted

The cabin was supposed to be safe.

Xander had chosen it himself—a remote hunting lodge in the Austrian Alps, miles from the nearest town, accessible only by a narrow mountain road. It was the perfect staging point for their first mission: destroying the European copy of the Ghost Protocol.

But safe was a relative term.

Xander stood at the window, staring out at the snow-covered peaks. The sun was setting, painting the mountains in shades of orange and red. It was beautiful, in a cold, unforgiving way.

Reynolds was behind him, his face drawn. He'd been quiet since they'd left Afghanistan, his mind still struggling to process what had happened to him.

"We have a problem," Reynolds said.

Xander turned. "What kind of problem?"

"The soldiers. Davis and the others. They're not... they're not themselves."

Xander moved to the main room, where the soldiers were gathered. They were sitting in a loose circle, their faces blank, their eyes distant. Davis was in the corner, his hands shaking, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

"What's happening to them?" Xander asked.

"I don't know." Reynolds's voice was tight. "They were fine when we left Afghanistan. But now they're... they're shutting down. Like the programming is taking over again."

Xander moved to Davis, kneeling in front of him. "Davis. Can you hear me?"

Davis's eyes flickered. "Cross. I'm sorry. I can't... I can't control it."

"Control what?"

"The voice. It's in my head. It keeps telling me to... to do things. Things I don't want to do."

Xander's blood ran cold. "What kind of things?"

Davis's face twisted. "Bad things. Terrible things. I don't want to do them, but I can't stop it."

Xander looked at Reynolds. "We need to help them. We need to find a way to break the programming for good."

"How? We don't have Thorne. We don't have the data stick. We don't have anything."

Xander was silent for a long moment. Then he pulled out his phone. "I know someone who might be able to help."

---

The call was answered on the first ring.

"Cross." Reyes's voice was sharp, urgent. "I was just about to call you. We have a situation."

"Tell me."

"The European copy. It's not in a data center. It's in a military base. The Swiss Army has been using the Ghost Protocol for years. They've been testing it on their own soldiers."

Xander's heart pounded. "How do you know this?"

"Because I found the files. Thorne kept records of all his dealings. The Swiss military was one of his biggest clients."

"Then we need to get to that base. We need to destroy the copy."

"Already on it. I've got a contact inside the base. A scientist who's been working on the project. He's willing to help us."

"When?"

"Tonight. He's going to meet us at the base's perimeter. But Cross, there's something else."

"What?"

"The soldiers. Davis and the others. I think I know what's happening to them."

Xander's grip tightened on the phone. "Tell me."

"The Ghost Protocol doesn't just erase memories. It creates a kind of... dependency. The soldiers who are programmed need regular 'maintenance' to keep the programming stable. Without it, they start to deteriorate. Their minds start to fragment."

"How long do they have?"

"Days. Maybe less." Reyes's voice was grim. "If we don't find a way to stabilize them, they're going to lose their minds completely."

Xander closed his eyes. The weight of it all pressed down on him, crushing and suffocating.

"Then we don't have time to waste," he said. "We move on the base tonight."

---

The Swiss military base was a fortress.

Xander stood in the darkness, studying the perimeter through his night vision goggles. The walls were high, the guards numerous, the cameras covering every angle.

"We're never getting in through the front," Hawthorn said.

"Then we don't go through the front." Xander's voice was hard. "Reyes's contact is waiting for us at the eastern wall. There's a drainage tunnel that leads into the base."

"That's our way in."

"Exactly."

They moved through the darkness, staying low, staying quiet. The snow was deep, crunching beneath their boots. Xander's leg was aching, the old wound throbbing with the cold.

They reached the drainage tunnel and slipped inside.

The tunnel was narrow, dark, filled with the sound of dripping water. Xander moved forward, his weapon ready. The others followed, their breath misting in the cold air.

They emerged in a maintenance area, a maze of pipes and machinery. Xander consulted his map, orienting himself.

"The data center is on the third level," he said. "We need to get there without being detected."

"How?" Hawthorn asked. "This place is crawling with guards."

"We create a distraction." Xander turned to Reyes. "You said your contact has access to the base's systems?"

"Yes."

"Then have him shut down the power. Just for a few minutes. Long enough for us to get through."

Reyes pulled out her phone and typed a message. A moment later, the lights flickered and died.

The base went dark.

Xander moved, his night vision goggles guiding him. The guards were shouting, their confusion palpable. They weren't prepared for this.

They reached the stairwell and started climbing. The third level was quiet, the data center empty. The servers hummed with power, their lights blinking in the darkness.

Xander moved to the main console, pulling out the data stick Reyes had given him. He plugged it in, watching the progress bar appear.

Deleting Ghost Protocol files. Estimated time: 5 minutes.

"We need to hold them off," Xander said. "Five minutes."

The guards found them at the three-minute mark.

They poured through the door, their weapons blazing. Xander took cover behind a server rack, returning fire. Hawthorn was at his side, his face grim. Reynolds was covering the other entrance, his weapon steady.

The progress bar crept forward.

Two minutes left. One minute.

And then the door exploded.

A figure stepped through the smoke, tall and imposing. It was a man, his face hidden by a mask, his body covered in tactical gear. He moved like a predator, taking down guards with brutal efficiency.

Xander stared. He knew that movement. He'd seen it before, in another life.

"Who the hell is that?" Hawthorn shouted.

Xander didn't answer. He couldn't. His mind was racing, trying to process what he was seeing.

The man moved to the console, his hands flying across the keyboard. The progress bar jumped to 100%.

The Ghost Protocol was gone.

The man turned to Xander, pulling off his mask.

Xander's blood ran cold.

It was Captain Reynolds.

The real Captain Reynolds.

The man who had been standing beside Xander for the past week, the man who had helped them destroy the mountain facility, was gone. In his place stood a stranger, his face cold, his eyes empty.

"Reynolds?" Xander's voice was a whisper.

The man smiled. "Not quite."

He raised his weapon and fired.

Xander dove, the bullet passing where his head had been. He rolled, coming up behind a server rack. The man was advancing, his movements fluid and precise.

"Who are you?" Xander shouted.

"I'm what happens when the Ghost Protocol works." The man's voice was cold, mechanical. "I'm the perfect soldier. The future of warfare."

Xander's mind raced. The man was Reynolds, but he wasn't. He was a copy, a duplicate, created by the Ghost Protocol. The real Reynolds was still out there, still trapped inside the programming.

"You're not him," Xander said. "You're a fake."

"Am I?" The man laughed. "I have his memories. His skills. His personality. I'm more him than he ever was."

Xander's grip tightened on his weapon. "I'm going to kill you."

"You can try."

The man lunged, and Xander met him head-on. They crashed together, fists flying, bodies slamming into the server racks. Xander's leg was screaming, his body exhausted, but he kept fighting.

He had to. For Reynolds. For Davis. For all of them.

He drove his fist into the man's face, feeling bone crunch. The man staggered back, his eyes wide with surprise.

"You're stronger than I thought," the man said.

"I'm stronger than you'll ever be."

Xander grabbed the man's weapon and twisted, wrenching it from his grip. He reversed it and slammed the stock into the man's temple.

The man went down, unconscious.

Xander stood over him, breathing hard. His body was a network of pain and exhaustion. But he was alive. He'd won.

"We need to get out of here," Hawthorn said. "Now."

Xander nodded. He grabbed the unconscious man and dragged him toward the exit. If this was a copy, there might be a way to use it. A way to find the real Reynolds.

They ran through the darkness, the base collapsing behind them.

The war was far from over.