The seconds dragged on like hours. On Daniel's screen, the "Gargoyle" drone icon approached the train. He could see the thermal image of the car, the heat from the device, the movement of people at the windows. His finger hovered over a virtual button.
"Impact in ten seconds," Daniel announced, his voice barely above a whisper, but amplified to everyone in the conference.
The officers' faces were tense. Some closed their eyes, unable to watch.
"Nine... eight... seven..." the silent countdown echoed in Daniel's mind.
"Six... five... four..." The drone icon lined up perfectly.
"Three... two... one..." Daniel activated the missile.
A small explosion momentarily dimmed the screen. A flash of light. The train's center car disintegrated into a contained ball of fire, the muffled sound reaching the microphones. The smoke quickly dissipated, and the train, now with a gap in its center, continued onward, the remaining cars intact, slowly coming to a stop as the emergency brakes automatically applied. The artifact's graphic on Daniel's system faded to a small, dissipating blue speck.
A collective sigh of relief, mixed with horror, echoed through the conference.
"First target neutralized," Daniel announced, his voice as impassive as before. "The train is stopped. Emergency crews can board. The impact was surgical."
The Pentagon General opened his eyes, his face tired, but hissteel eyesshowed a deep and terrible gratitude. "Good heavens, Ghost... you did it."
There was no time for celebration. Daniel's other screen showed the kinetic missile approaching the Chicago stadium.
"Kinetic warhead en route. Impact in seven seconds," Daniel stated.
Faces at the conference contorted again in renewed tension. The distant sound of the stadium crowd could be heard through one of the open microphones, a joyful clamor that was about to be interrupted by an unthinkable but contained horror.
"Six... five... four..." Daniel calculated the trajectory, adjusting it millimetrically, ensuring that the impact would be at the most isolated point, at the epicenter of the artifact.
"Three... two... one..." Daniel activated the warhead.
A flash blinded the screen, followed by a sonic boom that shook the floor of Daniel's office slightly. A cloud of dust and debris rose from the center of the stadium, but the main structure remained standing. The graphic of the artifact in Chicago faded to a small, dissipating blue speck.
"Second target neutralized," Daniel announced, his voice still impassive. "Casualties are contained within the impact zone. Estimated at one hundred to one hundred and twenty victims. The stadium's structure is unstable, but there is no risk of total collapse. There was no mass radioactive release."
The relief at the conference was overwhelming. The officers took a deep breath, some wiping away tears, others mumbling words of gratitude. They had made impossible decisions, and Daniel had executed them with a coolness and precision that bordered on the supernatural.
"Now," Daniel continued, his voice cutting through the relief, thehoney brown eyesfixed on the world map, which pulsed with the remaining twenty-four red dots. "We have twenty-four remaining targets. And a global terrorist network to dismantle. This was just the beginning."
In the imposingmansionIn Dubai, the steady hum of Daniel's servers filled the air, a melody of computing power. The glass walls of his office shimmered with thousands of lines of data, satellite images and world maps pulsing with energy, each red dot a life hanging by a thread. Henry, beside Daniel, continued to work with almost feverish agility, his fingers flying over the holographic keyboard. Sweat beaded on Henry's forehead, but his eyes were fixed on Daniel, absorbing every word, every movement.
The conference screens showed the tense faces of American leaders. TheDirector VanceThe FBI, the Attorney General, the Secretary of Homeland Security, and the Pentagon's Commanding General all seemed overwhelmed by the magnitude of recent events. Vance's desk was even more chaotic, with papers scattered and piled high, pens rolling around, a half-empty coffee cup teetering precariously. The air was thick with stale coffee smoke and the metallic smell of acute tension. On the other side of the screen, the Attorney General massaged her temples, her eyes puffy and red.
Daniel, his expression unwavering like a marble statue, hishoney brown eyesfixed on the screen where the Secretary of Energy's face was visible, abruptly cut off the discussion about the deactivated devices. He sensed the hesitation, the bureaucracy, the inherent slowness of the system, and knew there was no more time for beating around the bush.
"Secretary," Daniel's voice echoed, sharp, icy, but with an intensity that silenced the other conference participants. "I can't talk to you now. The others will stay, but you must speak with the President. Only he can give me the authority I need. And I'm going to tell you something about myself that you don't know, because there's no time for secrets now."
A tense silence fell over the conference. The Secretary of Energy, who was about to interject with a technical question, froze, hiswide eyesin surprise. The others looked at Daniel in confusion, anticipating a revelation that might be a ploy or a sign of weakness. No one, until then, had even dared to question the "Ghost's" past.
Daniel looked away from the screens for a brief second, staring at the empty space in front of him, as if reliving distant scenes etched in his memory. Henry, who was watching Daniel with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity, saw a subtle change in his boss's face. The mask of control softened for a split second, revealing an old wound.
"I was born an orphan in the United States of America," Daniel began, his voice lower, but still carrying a cold force that held everyone's attention. "I was tortured in an orphanage until I was ten. Physical abuse, violence I don't even want to mention. But never molested. I guarantee that." He paused, and the sound of the serversmansionseemed louder. No one at the conference dared breathe. The faces on the screen were frozen, absorbing every word, shocked by the rawness of the confession. TheDirector Vancelooked dazed, hisblue eyesfixed on Daniel.
"I lived on the streets until I was seventeen," Daniel continued, his voice regaining its steely tone, as if he were building armor around himself. "I grew up eating library books. Studying. Analyzing. Doing what I do best: seeing the lines that no one sees or doesn't want to see." He made a vague gesture with his hand, as if he were tracing those invisible lines in the air.mansion. "Sorry to be so cold. But that's how I grew up."
Henry, listening, felt a lump in his throat. He'd known Daniel for years, but he'd never known the depth of those scars. The revelation was a glimpse into the forge where the "Ghost" had been forged. Henry's eyes watered slightly, but he quickly composed himself, knowing he couldn't show weakness at this critical moment.
Daniel turned his gaze to the Secretary of Energy, hishoney brown eyesnow piercing. "I have no name. They never gave me one. They called me 'Twelve' at the orphanage. And they didn't even give me a birth certificate or a date when I arrived to say that was my birthday." The coldness in his voice contrasted with the brutal vulnerability of his words.
"I am protecting the American nation," Daniel continued, and his voice rose, echoing through the silent halls of themansionand through the conference's digital channels. It wasn't a speech, but a statement of purpose, born of deep pain and unshakable conviction. "Not for you, Secretaries, or Generals. But for the innocent people. For the children who were orphaned. For the 9/11 firefighters who gave their lives. For the soldiers who aren't called heroes, but rest in a green pasture with a white cross."
The Pentagon General, who had listened in silence, nodded slowly. Hissteel eyes, who had seen countless battlefields and military cemeteries, shone with a dark understanding. He knew exactly what Daniel meant. Honor belonged not to the living who gave orders, but to the dead who carried them out.
"You know what I mean," Daniel said, looking directly at the General on the screen. "What I'm doing is no honor. Do you think I'm made of ice? I have a family. And maybe children. And I want them to see a world without this. Without war orphans with dead eyes. Or a son who sees his soldier father in the coffin and asks his mother, 'Where's Daddy?' Not just soldiers, but firefighters, police officers, and first responders."
The force of Daniel's voice was overwhelming, charged with pent-up emotion that had finally found an outlet. He wasn't asking for sympathy; he was forcing them to face the brutal reality of their decisions and the human toll of war. The attorney general, who had her face in her hands, lifted her head, herteary eyesstaring at Daniel with a new understanding. TheDirector Vanceswallowed dryly, hisblue eyesfixed on the man who, for all his power and calculated coldness, was driven by a pain and a passion they could barely conceive.
"So, Secretary," Daniel finished, his voice returning to a commanding tone, each word a whip, "get your ass out of that chair and turn on the link to the bunker the President is in. I need to talk to him. Now."
The Secretary of Energy, stunned and embarrassed, could barely stammer out a response. He rose from his swivel chair in an awkward rush, tripping over his own feet. Hiswide eyesThey stared at the wall clock, the urgency of Daniel's words etched in their minds. He picked up the encrypted phone with trembling hands, his fingers barely able to dial the security numbers. The sound of his chair hitting the floor echoed down the line, but no one seemed to notice.
In the presidential bunker, the President of the United States sat in an austere situation room with reinforced concrete walls and giant screens displaying maps and military data. He stood next to his chief of staff and vice president, both with grave expressions. The atmosphere was tense, charged with worry. The president, a man in his sixties with graying hair and deep lines of fatigue on his face, rubbed his temple as he listened to hushed reports from his aides. The coffee mug on his desk was untouched.
Suddenly, the secure communications terminal in the center of the desk blinked, indicating a high-priority call from the Secretary of Energy. The President raised an eyebrow, confused by the urgency. "What's so important, Secretary? I thought the priorities were in Chicago and New York."
The Energy Secretary's voice, when he finally connected, was breathless and hurried, almost incoherent. "Mr. President! It's Ghost! He... he insists on speaking directly to you. He has... critical information, and the authority he needs... he says only you can give it."
The President frowned. "Ghost? He has my direct number, Secretary. Why the intermediary?"
"He... he wanted me to call you, Mr. President. He... he made me understand the urgency in a... very peculiar way," the Secretary stammered, his voice still hoarse with shock and humiliation.
The President looked at his chief of staff, who shrugged, equally puzzled. "Plug it in, Secretary. Put it on the main screen."
Within seconds, the giant screen in the presidential bunker lit up with Daniel's image. He was in his office onmansionin Dubai, the cold light of the holographic screens bathing his face. His expression was serious, unwavering, without a hint of reverence or nervousness before the most powerful man in the world. Thehoney brown eyesof Daniel found thetired eyesof the President.
"Mr. President," Daniel began without preamble, his voice clear and straightforward. "My name, as far as the orphanage where I grew up, was Twelve. I have no record, no date of birth. I was a ghost on the streets of America until I was seventeen. I grew up reading and teaching myself. I am not a government agent. I have no loyalty to bureaucracies. But I am loyal to the idea of a future for American children." He wasted no time on empty formalities.