The storm over Budapest hadn't stopped.
It had only changed frequency.
Rain hammered the windshield as Ethan drove through the empty outskirts, the car radio crackling even though it wasn't on. Every few seconds, a whisper crawled through the static — fragments of the same voice that haunted his sleep.
> "Phase Three initiated…"
He tried not to listen, but the rhythm was hypnotic, like his pulse had synced with the transmission.
The coordinates from the last drive led him to an abandoned freight terminal on the Danube's southern edge. Division 7 had used it years ago to smuggle equipment through neutral zones. Now, it was little more than rust, graffiti, and ghosts.
Ethan parked under a flickering floodlight and stepped out. His boots splashed into puddles reflecting the fractured glow. The air smelled of iron and oil. Somewhere in the dark, metal scraped against metal — a slow, deliberate echo.
He raised his pistol. "Marcel, if you're alive, you've got five seconds to walk out."
Nothing.
Then a voice answered — not Marcel's. A woman's, filtered through an earpiece he didn't remember putting in.
> "Put the gun down, Ethan. We need to talk."
He froze.
That voice.
Seraphina Kade. Division 7's chief signal architect. Dead for three years.
He scanned the shadows. "If this is another hallucination—"
> "It's not," she cut in sharply. "You're standing in an active node. The signal you're hearing is real — and it's eating you alive."
He lowered his weapon slightly, jaw tight. "Explain."
> "STRAY wasn't just a conditioning program. It was an integration. They didn't erase memories, Ethan — they uploaded them. What you call yourself now — your instincts, your thoughts — are all built from a reconstructed template."
Ethan's stomach twisted. "You're saying I'm… synthetic?"
> "Partly. You were the prototype that survived. But Phase III is something else. They're transmitting identity across frequencies — creating duplicates of you in every communication node they control."
He laughed bitterly. "Great. So I'm franchised."
> "It's not a joke. One of them is already awake."
The rain outside intensified, pounding the roof like machine-gun fire.
Ethan whispered, "Where?"
> "Berlin. The original STRAY chamber. If you don't terminate the broadcast, you'll lose coherence within seventy-two hours."
He didn't want to believe her, but deep down, he felt the static crawling behind his eyes — the same faint hum he'd ignored for weeks.
"Send me the location."
A data ping flashed on his wrist interface. Before he could speak again, the signal cut. Silence.
He exhaled shakily and stared at the old terminal around him. Every wall was covered in flaking paint, but one section gleamed faintly — fresh metal behind the rust. He brushed away grime to reveal a small console blinking blue.
A message waited:
> WELCOME HOME, ETHAN.
The floor beneath him clicked.
He dove sideways just as the trap detonated.
Flames burst through the terminal, throwing him into a heap of twisted crates. His ears rang, vision spinning. Through the fire and debris, silhouettes advanced — four soldiers in Syndicate armor, moving in perfect formation.
Ethan rolled behind a forklift and drew his backup sidearm.
Three shots. Two hits. The first soldier collapsed; the second staggered, armor sparking.
The others opened fire, shredding the forklift. Sparks rained over him. Ethan kicked a gas canister toward them, then fired. The explosion tore through the hall, scattering bodies and glass.
When the smoke thinned, one figure remained standing — a tall operative wearing a cracked mask shaped like a fractured mirror.
> "Division 7 sends its regards," the voice said.
Ethan limped forward, gun raised. "Who are you?"
The figure tilted their head. "You, of course."
Before he could react, the operative removed the mask — and Ethan found himself staring into his own eyes.
Same face. Same scar.
Only colder.
> "Phase III complete," the duplicate said softly. "Echo Unit online."
Ethan fired, but the clone mirrored the move perfectly, diving for cover at the exact same angle. Their movements were synchronized — a deadly reflection.
He ducked behind a pillar, breathing hard. "How long have you been alive?"
> "Long enough to understand that I'm the upgrade," the Echo replied. "Division 7 doesn't need the original anymore."
They moved in tandem, circling each other between flames and falling beams. Ethan feinted left, then threw a metal shard to disrupt the rhythm. It worked — the Echo hesitated just long enough. Ethan charged, slammed him into the wall, and ripped the weapon from his hand.
But the clone smiled. "You can't kill what you are."
The floor beneath them groaned.
The fire had reached the fuel lines.
Ethan punched the clone once — hard enough to send him reeling — then sprinted for the exit as the building erupted behind him.
He hit the ground outside just as the shockwave knocked him flat. The terminal folded inward, flames painting the night sky.
For a moment, everything was silent except the soft hiss of rain cooling metal.
Then his comm crackled — the voice of Specter.
> "Ethan, report. What the hell happened out there?"
He swallowed, staring at the blaze. "I met myself."
> "Come again?"
"Phase III isn't about mind control. It's replication." He glanced down; a charred data chip lay near his boot. He picked it up carefully. The label read E-STRAY 03.
He pocketed it. "I'm going back to Berlin. If the original chamber's still active, that's where this ends."
> "You sure? Division 7's entire strike force is stationed there."
"I'm not running anymore."
He climbed into his car, the rain pounding harder. The radio flickered, catching a faint heartbeat-like rhythm.
> "Welcome back, Agent Cross."
Ethan's hands tightened on the wheel.
Somewhere inside him, two frequencies fought for dominance — his own thoughts, and something colder whispering commands he couldn't quite hear.
He pressed a small injector against his neck, flooding his bloodstream with anti-signal nanites. The static dimmed, but not completely.
> You can't silence the echo.
He ignored it, revving the engine and speeding toward the border.
The camera feed on the dashboard blinked to life. For a split second, he saw himself driving — but from another angle, inside another car.
The duplicate was still alive.
And it was smiling.