The editor-in-chief of The Sentinel newspaper was examining the print proof on his desk one last time. The headline was striking:
"SUSPICIOUS TRANSFER FROM KARLAC-LINKED FOUNDATION TO OFFSHORE COMPANY"
The subheading was even sharper: "Payment from Aurora Foundation for 'consultancy' in Cayman Islands raises questions."
The editor walked over to Elara's office. "Where did this information come from? Is the source reliable?"
Elara looked up from her computer screen. Her face showed both excitement and caution. "The source is unknown. An anonymous email last night. But the documents are real. Bank records, transfer details... They all look original. The wives of two Karlac executives are the founders of this foundation. This can't be a coincidence."
"Risky," murmured the editor. "Karlac's lawyers will ruin us."
"What if it's true?" Elara objected. "It's just a small transfer, yes. But it could be the tip of the iceberg. We have to publish."
---
At the same time, chaos reigned on the top management floor of Karlac Holding. The Chairman of the Board was waving a printed copy of The Sentinel, his face red with anger.
"What is this?" he roared, his voice rattling the windows. "Who approved that ridiculous transfer from Aurora? How do we clean this stain?"
One of his advisors, sweating, said, "The news hasn't been officially published yet, only a print proof was leaked. But... we can't find the source. It's too clean."
"Clean?" shouted the Chairman. "They've come after us! This is a message! Who? Our rivals? Or... that 'problem'?"
The others in the room fell silent. No one wanted to speak openly about "that problem." The Crimson Charter and its operations... a necessary evil for Karlac, but it was starting to spiral out of control.
"Call the lawyers!" the Chairman ordered. "Threaten The Sentinel, suppress the story! And... get in touch with 'them.' Tell them to clean up this mess."
---
In the operations center, the masked man watched the developments on his screens. One screen showed the moment The Sentinel's story was published, another showed the live panic at Karlac Holding. There was not a hint of panic in his metallic voice.
"Interesting," he murmured. "Shade is more creative than I expected. Instead of a direct attack, he's distracting my financiers. Trying to weaken me."
An assistant approached. "Karlac is calling. They're furious. They want us to clean it up."
"Karlac's anger doesn't concern me," replied the masked man, cold and emotionless. "They are just money. We are after a legacy." His eyes shifted to the live feed from the hidden camera outside Shade's office. Shade was sitting at his desk, seemingly waiting.
"Shade has given us a puzzle," he continued. "Instead of solving it, we will give him a more complex one."
He turned to the console and entered a series of commands. "Relocate Dr. Kael. Move him to... a more visible place. Somewhere Shade's team can easily find him. But first, we'll have him do one last job."
"What do you want him to do?" asked the assistant.
The masked man spoke while looking at Shade's image: "He's looking for someone like himself. So, let's give him a reflection of himself. Dr. Kael will deliver a package to Shade's office. Inside... will be a copy of Shade's own 'Active Surveillance' file. But this time, we'll add a note."
"What will it say?"
The masked man answered with a faint smile from behind the mask: "'Your turn.'"
The assistant turned to carry out the order immediately.
The masked man continued to watch Shade's image. "You placed a new piece on the chessboard, Detective. But I didn't just place a piece; I changed the entire board itself. Let's see how you counter this move."
On the screens, two different storms were raging simultaneously in two different worlds: one in the world of media and finance, the other in the silent war of shadows. And in the middle, two strategists waited for each other's next move.
---
The masked man waited for his assistant to leave the room. Once complete silence fell, he dialed a pre-set, encrypted line from his console. The number belonged to someone who handled the city's dirty work, specializing in leaking information or silencing people. The line opened; no sound came from the other end. This was the protocol.
"It's me," said the masked man, his voice further alienated by electronic distortion. "You will find the source of the story in The Sentinel. Who reached the journalist Elara, when, and how? Scan the email servers, the offices, her home. The trail is very fresh. Catch it before it fades."
From the phone came no words, just a light, meaningful breath. They had an understanding.
"The reward will be as generous as usual," added the masked man. "But so will the penalty. Find the source of this leak. And when you find it... clean it."
Without any farewell or confirmation, he hung up. He had full confidence they would do the job. Now, a war had been opened on two fronts simultaneously: one in the media world under bright lights, the other in the city's darkest, grimiest alleys. And on both fronts, the single stone Shade had thrown had triggered a much larger avalanche.
---
Meanwhile, at headquarters,
The blue light of the technical research room illuminated Sierra's tired but alert face. She watched the data packets flowing across three monitors simultaneously, searching for the source of that stubborn delay and the "noise" in the system. Then, she noticed something.
"This can't be..." she murmured, her eyes glued to the screen.
In one data stream, she had caught an almost invisible "probe" packet injected into their own systems. This wasn't just passive slowing. This was an active attempt at eavesdropping or data theft. She traced its path to a proxy server used by criminal tech operators, a trail that was nearly impossible to follow.
Just then, a warning window suddenly popped up on the screen. A highly sophisticated Brute-Force attack on the external firewall had been detected. Target: The Sentinel newspaper's servers.
"My God," Sierra whispered. "They're trying to trace Logan."
She had only a second to act. Either protect Logan, or continue monitoring without revealing her own presence.
She made her decision. Her fingers stormed across the keyboard. She created a fake "wall" to protect her own systems and focused her main attention on protecting The Sentinel's servers. She tried to track the attacker's IP, but it too evaporated and disappeared after a while. It was a professional job.
Then, a second warning. This time, a brief but intense access attempt on the office building's external security camera recordings. Someone was physically observing the office.
Sierra immediately opened the live feed from the corridor camera outside Shade's office. It was empty. But something... there was a slight shift in the camera angle, as if someone had minutely changed its physical position.
She was sure now. This wasn't just a data war. This was a siege, both digital and physical.
She immediately sent an emergency message to Shade: "Our systems are actively targeted. Physical observation likely. The Sentinel under attack. Digital traces professional."
After sending the message, she took a deep breath. She could no longer remain on the defensive. She placed her own prepared, non-traceable "tracker" into the proxy server the attacker had used. If they connected again, she might catch them, even if just for a second.
As the young woman's fingers danced on the keyboard, beads of sweat began to form on her forehead. The wave of attack was much stronger and more organized than she had expected. It was as if they were attacking from multiple points in a coordinated manner.
"No, no, no..." she murmured, as another warning window appeared on the screen.
The Sentinel's firewall had been breached. The attackers had infiltrated the newspaper's email servers. In a final effort, Sierra activated her own tracker, but the attacker's IP appeared for only a moment before disappearing via a "black hole" server. The trail instantly evaporated.
"They're too good," she whispered, helplessly. "Too... professional."
Just then, another alert sounded from her own systems. This one was more serious. Someone had accessed the office building's security records and deleted about ten minutes of footage. The deleted time frame coincided exactly with when Logan had left the office.
Sierra quickly checked the cameras outside the office. There was a glitch, a jump in the footage. Someone had been there physically and cleaned their tracks.
She sent a second message to Shade, her voice trembling this time: "Defense failed. The Sentinel servers compromised. Physical security records deleted. No exit record for Logan. I'm sorry."
She sent the message and leaned back. Her eyes fixed on the red warning signs on the monitors, symbolizing defeat. For the first time, she fully felt they were facing such a powerful and invisible enemy. They weren't just a criminal organization. They were like a cyber army.
A cold silence filled the room. All Sierra could hear was her own rapid heartbeat and the desperate hum of the computer fans.
---
Sierra stared at the red warning signs on the monitors. With a gnawing premonition, she immediately called Harvenn. As soon as the line connected, she blurted out:
"Harvenn! I couldn't stop the cyber attack. The Sentinel's servers have been compromised, and Logan's exit from our office security records has been deleted." The panic in her voice barely concealed her professional tone. "They were trying to trace Logan... and I think they succeeded. I think something's going to happen to him."
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone. Then Harvenn's voice, icy and sharp, was heard: "Calm down, Sierra. Send me Logan's last known location and the vehicle tracking system he's using right now. I'm starting to try and reach him. You, check the office security camera records from around the time of that deleted segment. They aren't invisible, they're just trying to hide their tracks."
Acting on Harvenn's instruction, Sierra immediately sprang into action. While her trembling fingers transferred the data, she also began scanning traffic cameras and street security footage around the office. Around the estimated time Logan left the office, she noticed a suspicious black van parked briefly one street over. Its license plate wasn't clear, but the model resembled the one seen on the camera near the KempaTek warehouse and Mark Varga's house.
"Harvenn," she called out again, her voice more controlled this time but filled with urgency. "There's a suspicious vehicle on the street cameras. It was there when Logan left the office. The plate isn't readable, but the model is the same."
"Understood," Harvenn replied. Her voice suggested she was both talking on the phone and typing something else simultaneously. "Logan's phone isn't answering. You gather all the footage you can find. I'm mobilizing Chane and the security team."
Sierra whispered, "Please, time is short," unable to completely hide the fear inside her.
"I know," said Harvenn, her voice soft for the first time but extremely determined. "We'll find him, Sierra. No one touches a member of my team."
The line went dead. Sierra continued scanning the footage on the screens, her insides trembling with the thought that every second could cost Logan his life. This had become much more personal than just a case.
---
Logan, unaware of what was happening inside the Shadow Bureau, was yawning slightly at the wheel, weary from a long and unproductive workday. He didn't even know if his leak to The Sentinel had been successful. He was driving down an ordinary, dimly lit street; it was the shortest route home. Then, something sudden happened.
A license-plateless black van cut him off abruptly, forcing him to stop. His instincts kicked in immediately. The weariness vanished, replaced by full alarm. He swerved sharply, trying to skim past the van, but he was too late.
Three masked men sprang from the van simultaneously. Their movements were quick and trained, but so were Logan's. He opened the car door before it had fully stopped and threw himself into the street. He ducked and shoved the first attacker into the path of the others, creating a moment of confusion.
"Harvenn, do you copy?" he shouted, activating the hidden microphone on his arm. "I'm under attack! 42nd Street, license-plate-less black van!"
No response came. The communication was dead.
The second attacker charged at him with a baton. Logan caught the baton with a defensive move, twisted the man's wrist, and delivered a sharp kick to his knee. The man groaned and collapsed to the ground.
But the third man was faster than he expected. As Logan turned towards him, a small, light spray device flashed in the man's hand. Logan raised his arm to protect his face, but it was too late.
A sharp, painful liquid splashed onto his face and windpipe. He immediately started coughing, his eyes burning. But beyond the physical pain, a strange sensation began to envelop him. His mind was fogging, the feeling in his legs diminishing. His body felt alien, control slipping from his grasp.
"Don't worry, Detective," the attacker snarled, his voice muffled by the mask. "It's just a little... invitation. We're going to test our project's effectiveness."
Logan was on his knees on the pavement, struggling to breathe. His hands were trembling, his muscles betraying him. He could hear distant police sirens, but the sounds seemed to come through water, distant and muffled.
The attackers ran back towards the van. As Logan collapsed onto the sidewalk, his last thought was: This... isn't Thiocurat. It's different...
His vision went dark. He was conscious, but his body was completely paralyzed. He could hear the outside world, but couldn't react. What had they given him?