The rhythmic tapping of my fingers on the keyboard was the only sound filling the dim glow of my room. Screens bathed the room in blue light, lines of code and encrypted files dancing across them. I leaned closer as a new ping broke the silence. Incoming transmission.
"UPDATE: PRIORITY ALPHA. Target last sighted, Warehouse District, Brooklyn. Surveillance required. Do not engage unless compromised. Target is to be located alive. Coordinates attached."
My jaw clenched. A rogue agent. Alive. That was new. I'd spent most of my adult life eliminating threats, not tailing them.
I copied the coordinates and switched screens to pull CCTV footage from the city's network. Static. Then a few blank streets. And then, movement. A shadow slipped into frame. Hooded. Broad. Wearing all black with a face cap pulled low. I enhanced the image. Still too blurry, too far... but something about that silhouette stopped me.
Something felt familiar.
I forced the thought away. No time for ghosts.
I grabbed my gear, silent boots, lightweight armor, my matte-black sidearm, and my drone. Hoodie up, identity masked, slipping through the back door, I stepped into the night.
The warehouse was just as the reports said, abandoned and grimy, crouched at the edge of the Brooklyn waterfront like a relic of a forgotten time. Broken windows. Rust bleeding through steel. I crouched behind a shipping container, activating the drone with a soft hum.
It lifted quietly into the air, scanning windows and gaps. Inside, I caught heat signatures, two, maybe more. I frowned. Just as I started to focus in, the feed glitched.
"No, no, no…" I hissed. Signal interference.
They knew.
They knew I was here.
I didn't retreat.
I slipped through a side entrance. Dust and mildew choked the air. My steps were silent. My pulse steady.
Then I felt it.
A shift.
A creak.
Snap.
"Sh*t—"
An explosion rocked the floor beneath me. Gunfire shattered the quiet. I dove behind crates, sidearm already drawn. I returned fire, two shots. One hit. Leg.
These weren't amateurs.
This was a setup.
I bolted, climbing the crates, gripping the rusted beam, pushing through smoke and chaos. A second explosion blew out the hallway. Heat kissed my back as I dove through a skylight, crashing onto a gravel rooftop.
Pain radiated through my left shoulder. I was bleeding.
But I was alive.
Breathing hard, I pressed my earpiece. "Firefox to control. Location compromised. Target's trap. Barely escaped. Pulling back."
The line hissed.
"Copy that, Firefox. Return and debrief."
I moved quickly, ducking into alleys and shadows, letting the city cover me like a blanket. But even with the adrenaline fading, one thought burned hotter than the wound in my shoulder:
That figure in the footage…
I knew them.
I didn't know how.
But I felt it.
The heat in my chest wasn't fear, it was something else.
Recognition.
Hope is not who I think it is?