The night air of Berlin bit like glass. Neon reflections from damp cobblestones flickered under the drizzle, painting the streets in streaks of blue and red. From a distance, the faint hum of a passing tram mixed with the echo of boots hitting pavement — a sound that told Ethan Hunter he wasn't alone.
He tugged his black hood lower and pressed a small earpiece deeper into his ear.
"Cipher to Base," he whispered. "I'm at checkpoint Bravo. Target compound in sight."
"Visual confirmed," came Raven's voice through the static, calm as ever. "Intel says the Wraith Archives are two floors below the old parliament annex. You'll have ten minutes before the security sweep hits your sector."
Ethan exhaled slowly. "Plenty of time."
The compound ahead loomed like an iron fortress. Once a government records facility, it now housed the secret network of data brokers and rogue scientists known only as The Wraiths — the Archivist's European arm.
Ethan crossed the street under the cover of shadows, vaulting over a rusted fence. The lockpick glinted briefly before he twisted it open. Inside, the corridor was silent — too silent. Each flicker of light made him think of those words that had haunted him since the Tokyo incident:
> "The Archivist sees everything."
He reached the elevator shaft, pried it open, and dropped down two levels using a magnetic grip line. When the line hissed to a stop, he landed lightly on steel flooring.
A red biometric scanner guarded the next door. Ethan removed a small circular pad from his wrist gauntlet and pressed it against the scanner. Blue lines rippled across the door before the device beeped.
"Security bypassed," Raven said. "Nice work, Cipher."
"Thanks. Keep me covered on the network."
The door slid open, revealing the core of the Wraith Archives — hundreds of cylindrical servers spinning under blue light, each storing petabytes of encrypted data. It was a cathedral of silence, humming with forbidden knowledge.
Ethan connected his tablet to the nearest terminal. Green code streamed across the screen.
"Uploading the virus," he murmured.
The program was designed by Sophia — his mother's last digital blueprint, recovered from her personal drive years after her death. The irony wasn't lost on him: her creation was now being used to dismantle the same kind of empire that had taken her away.
As the upload reached 40%, Ethan felt it — a prickle on the back of his neck. Someone was watching.
He froze.
"Raven, do you see anyone on heat sensors?"
Static. Then— "Wait… negative. But your signal's fluctuating. Something's jamming us."
A faint click echoed behind him. He turned— just in time to see a silhouette step from the shadows.
The figure wore a long trench coat, with a mask shaped like a cracked mirror. When the voice spoke, it was distorted — calm, almost amused.
"Cipher. The Ghost of Tokyo."
Ethan's pulse quickened.
"Who are you?"
"I am the reflection you never questioned." The masked figure tilted its head. "You're digging too deep, Ethan Hunter. The Archivist does not forgive curiosity."
Ethan reached for his pistol, but before he could draw, the lights cut off. Total darkness.
The servers flickered, rebooting with crimson lights. On the main screen, a single phrase appeared — a message signed with the Archivist's emblem:
> "Truth is the most lethal virus."
Then the masked man lunged.
Ethan ducked under the strike and countered with a sweep, knocking the attacker into a console. Sparks burst into the air. The mask cracked slightly, revealing a glimpse of a young man's eye — sharp, focused, but almost sorrowful.
He recognized that look.
"You're one of them… the Digital Saints," Ethan breathed.
The man smirked beneath the fractured mask. "Not one of them. The first."
Their fight turned brutal. Each blow echoed through the chamber like thunder. Ethan was faster, but the masked figure fought with precision — every move calculated.
Ethan caught a punch and slammed the man's arm against a steel pipe. The mask fell off, clattering to the ground.
The sight froze Ethan.
"Lucas?"
The man grimaced — the same Lucas who had trained with him years ago under the Division. The same Lucas who had supposedly died during the Lisbon blackout.
"I told you," Lucas rasped, blood trailing from his lip. "The Archivist gives second chances… if you kneel."
Ethan's mind raced. His friend — his brother-in-arms — now a pawn of the very network they swore to destroy.
"You betrayed everything we fought for," Ethan said.
Lucas' eyes burned with pain. "No, Ethan. I saw the truth. The Division lied to us. They created the Archivist."
The virus upload reached 100%. The servers began to overload, alarms blaring across the facility.
Raven's voice broke through the static. "Cipher! Get out, now! The Archives are collapsing!"
Ethan grabbed Lucas by the collar. "Tell me what you mean!"
Lucas only smiled weakly. "You'll see it yourself… in Geneva."
Then, before Ethan could react, Lucas hit a detonator on his wrist. The explosion ripped through the chamber, throwing Ethan backward.
When he woke up, everything was fire and smoke. The servers were gone — destroyed — but his wrist device still blinked with one line of code recovered before the blast:
> PROJECT: SAINT. LOCATION: GENEVA.
Ethan staggered out through the rubble, coughing. The Berlin night greeted him again — cold, merciless.
Raven's voice came through faintly. "Ethan… are you alive?"
"Barely." He limped toward a half-collapsed doorway. "We lost Berlin. But I found something worse."
"What did you see?"
Ethan stared at the cracked reflection of himself in a shattered window — the same face that had once believed revenge was simple.
"I saw the future," he whispered. "And it's wearing my friend's face."
The comms went silent. Only the rain spoke now, whispering down on the ruins of the Wraith Archives — washing away the blood, but not the ghosts.