Ghosts of the Last War

Into the Dark

The compound swallowed them whole.

Xander moved through the darkness, his night vision goggles painting the world in shades of green and black. The corridors were narrow, the walls lined with pipes and cables that hummed with the dying echoes of electricity. The backup generators hadn't kicked in yet. They had maybe seven minutes left.

Hawthorn was at his side, silent as a ghost. They'd done this before, a hundred times in a hundred different hellholes. The rhythm was familiar, almost comforting. Move. Pause. Listen. Move again.

The first guard appeared at the end of the corridor.

Xander saw him a second before the guard saw them. He dropped to one knee, raised his pistol, and fired twice. The silenced rounds punched through the guard's chest. He went down without a sound.

Hawthorn moved past him, checking the body. "Clean shot. No alarms."

"Keep moving."

They found the stairwell at the end of the corridor. The compound was built into the mountain, three levels deep. Thorne would be in the lowest level, where the research facilities were located. That's where they kept the test subjects. That's where they did the work.

Xander started down the stairs, his weapon ready.

The lower level was different. The walls were smoother, the corridors wider. This was where the real work happened, where the Ghost Protocol was developed and refined. The air was colder here, the silence absolute.

They reached a door marked with a red warning sign. Xander pushed it open and stepped inside.

The room was vast, filled with rows of computers and monitors. In the center of the room was a chair, the kind used in medical facilities. Wires and cables trailed from it, connecting to machines that hummed with quiet power.

And in the chair sat Dr. Aris Thorne.

He was alive, but barely. His face was pale, his eyes half-closed. Bruises covered his arms, his clothes torn and bloodied. They'd been working on him, trying to extract information.

Xander moved to him, cutting the restraints. "Thorne. Can you hear me?"

Thorne's eyes fluttered open. "Cross. You came."

"Of course I came. We're getting you out of here."

"No." Thorne's voice was weak, but urgent. "They're too strong. You can't fight them. You have to destroy the facility. Burn it all down."

"That's the plan. But we need to get you out first."

"Too late for that." Thorne's hand closed around Xander's wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. "I know what they're planning. They're not just creating weapons. They're building an army. Thousands of soldiers, reprogrammed and controlled. They're going to use them to take over the world."

"We'll stop them. But we need you alive."

"No. You need this." Thorne pressed something into Xander's hand. A data stick, small and cold. "The fail-safe. Everything you need to destroy the Ghost Protocol. Find the server room on the third level. Plug this in. It will do the rest."

Xander pocketed the data stick. "I'm not leaving you here."

"Yes, you are." Thorne's eyes were fierce. "This is the only way. You save the world, you save your men. I'm just one man, Cross. I'm not worth the risk."

The lights flickered. The backup generators were kicking in.

"We have to go," Hawthorn said. "Now."

Xander looked at Thorne. The scientist was right, and they both knew it. There was no time to save him.

"I'll come back for you," Xander said.

Thorne smiled, a sad, tired smile. "No, you won't. But it's nice to hear you say it."

Xander turned and ran.

---

The corridor was alive with activity now. Guards were pouring out of side rooms, their weapons ready. Xander and Hawthorn moved through them like ghosts, taking them down one by one. It was chaos, brutal and efficient.

They reached the stairwell and started climbing. The third level was where the server room was located. If they could reach it, they could destroy everything.

The stairwell door burst open, and a squad of guards poured through. Xander dropped to one knee and fired, taking down the first three. Hawthorn was at his side, his weapon roaring, cutting down the rest.

They pushed through the door and into the third level corridor.

The server room was at the end of the hall, a massive vault of steel and glass. Xander could see the servers through the window, rows of blinking lights that held the Ghost Protocol's digital soul.

"Cover me," Xander said.

Hawthorn nodded and took up a position at the end of the corridor.

Xander moved to the server room door. It was locked, a keypad on the wall. He didn't have time to hack it.

He shot the keypad. Then he shot the lock. Then he kicked the door open.

The room was enormous, filled with servers that hummed with power. Xander moved to the main console, pulled out the data stick, and plugged it in.

The screen flickered. A progress bar appeared.

Deleting Ghost Protocol files. Estimated time: 10 minutes.

Ten minutes. He had to hold them off for ten minutes.

Xander turned and moved back to the door. Hawthorn was still there, his weapon ready. The guards were regrouping, massing for another assault.

"You got what you need?" Hawthorn asked.

"Just need to hold them off."

"How long?"

"Ten minutes."

Hawthorn's face was grim. "That's a long time."

"Then I guess we'd better make it count."

The guards came again, pouring through the corridor. Xander and Hawthorn fired, taking them down one by one. But there were too many. The corridor was filling with bodies.

A grenade bounced into the room.

Xander grabbed Hawthorn and dove for cover. The explosion was deafening, throwing them across the floor. Xander's ears rang, his vision swimming.

"Cross!" Hawthorn's voice was distant, muffled. "They're coming through!"

Xander forced himself to his feet. The guards were pouring through the door, their weapons raised. He raised his pistol, but there were too many.

And then, from behind him, came a new sound. The sound of a weapon firing, rapid and precise.

Reyes was standing in the doorway of the server room, her weapon blazing. She was flanked by Anya, who was typing frantically on her tablet.

"The cameras are down," Anya shouted. "The alarms are silent. But they're using the PA system to coordinate. I can't stop that."

Xander moved to Reyes's side. "Where did you come from?"

"Service tunnel. Anya found a back way in." Reyes's voice was hard. "We don't have much time. They're flooding the compound with reinforcements."

"How many?"

"Too many."

The minutes ticked past. The progress bar crept forward.

Six minutes left. Five. Four.

Xander's leg was screaming, the old wound on fire. He'd lost his weapon, and now he was fighting with a knife, taking down guards one by one. Hawthorn was at his side, his hands bloody, his face a mask of concentration.

Reyes was down. A guard had gotten the drop on her, and now she was bleeding from a wound in her shoulder. Anya was trying to help her, her hands shaking.

Three minutes left.

Xander fought harder. He took down two guards, then three. He was bleeding from a dozen wounds, his body screaming for rest. But he couldn't stop. Not now.

Two minutes left.

The guards were regrouping, massing for another assault. Xander stood in front of the server room door, his knife ready. Hawthorn was at his side, his weapon empty.

"This is it," Hawthorn said. "We're not going to make it."

"We're going to make it." Xander's voice was hard. "We have to make it."

One minute left.

The guards charged.

Xander met them head-on, his knife flashing. He took down two, three, four. But there were too many. They were everywhere, pressing in from all sides.

And then, from the server room, came a sound. A high-pitched whine, growing louder and louder.

The progress bar had reached 100%.

The screens flickered. The servers went dark. The hum of electricity died.

Xander turned and saw it happen. The Ghost Protocol, the weapon that had destroyed his men, the weapon that had haunted his nightmares for seven years, was gone. Wiped from existence.

He felt a surge of triumph, brief and fierce.

But then the lights in the corridor went out.

And from the darkness, a voice spoke.

"Sergeant Cross. I was hoping you would come."

Xander's blood ran cold. He knew that voice. He'd heard it in his nightmares, in the darkest hours of the night.

Simon Webb stepped out of the darkness.

He was tall, thin, his face pale and cold. His eyes were like ice, devoid of emotion. He was holding a weapon, but he didn't raise it.

"You destroyed my life's work," Webb said. "I should kill you for that."

"Then why don't you?"

"Because I have something better in mind." Webb smiled, a cold, cruel smile. "You see, Sergeant, the Ghost Protocol wasn't just a weapon. It was a tool. And like any tool, it could be copied. Backed up. Stored in a place you can't reach."

Xander stared at him. "What are you talking about?"

"The fail-safe you used? It only destroyed the main data base. But I have copies. Hundreds of them, scattered across the globe. You can't destroy them all. You can't stop what's coming."

Xander's heart sank. "You're lying."

"Am I?" Webb stepped closer. "You've been so focused on the past, on your dead friends, that you haven't seen the future. The Ghost Protocol is bigger than you can imagine. It's already out there. It's already being used. And there's nothing you can do to stop it."

Xander raised his knife. "I can stop you."

"Can you?" Webb laughed. "I'm not the enemy, Sergeant. I'm the product. The Ghost Protocol was never meant to be a weapon. It was meant to be a tool for creating the next generation of soldiers. Soldiers like me."

"What are you?"

"I'm the future." Webb's eyes glowed with a cold, terrible light. "And you can't kill the future, Sergeant. You can only fight it."

Xander attacked.

He lunged forward, his knife aimed at Webb's throat. But Webb was faster, stronger. He caught Xander's wrist and twisted, sending the knife clattering to the floor.

"Pathetic," Webb said. "You're just a man. A broken, desperate man. And I'm so much more."

Webb raised his hand and made a gesture. The guards moved in, surrounding Xander.

"Take them," Webb said. "Take them all. And bring them to the processing room."

Xander fought, but it was useless. The guards were too many, too strong. He felt himself being dragged away, his vision swimming.

The last thing he saw was Webb's face, cold and triumphant.

"See you soon, Sergeant," Webb said. "We have so much to talk about."

The darkness closed in.