Baltic Sea – Forty-eight hours later.
The ferry had docked in Kiel under a curtain of cold fog. Silas disembarked with forged credentials and a hooded jacket, blending with the travelers heading inland. His destination: Berlin. His mission: find the Directive's control core and destroy it before it rewrote the world.
He'd barely slept in two days. Every hour, new false reports appeared on the agency's network — Agent Silas Ward confirmed dead, Agent Silas Ward under investigation for treason, Agent Silas Ward sighted collaborating with hostile foreign units.
Three conflicting truths.
One man erased three different ways.
He smirked bitterly as he boarded the overnight train. They're already testing the system.
He sat in the rear cabin, eyes half-closed, watching his reflection in the window as the landscape blurred past. The rhythmic clatter of the tracks faded into background noise, giving his mind space to wander — and that's when the whispers began.
Soft. Familiar.
His mother's voice.
> "Silas… they're coming."
He snapped his eyes open. The cabin was empty. Only the sound of wheels on rails. But deep down, he felt something tighten — not fear exactly, but awareness.
The Signal Ghost wasn't just rewriting data anymore. It was reaching minds.
He rubbed his temple, grounding himself.
Focus. Breathe.
Berlin was six hours away.
---
Berlin – 06:03 hours
The city was a different kind of chaos — silent efficiency overlaid with paranoia. Drones hovered at intersections. Billboards displayed government slogans that flickered once in a while, like corrupted code.
TRUTH IS ORDER.
ORDER IS TRUST.
THE DIRECTIVE PROTECTS YOU.
Silas walked through Alexanderplatz, eyes scanning. His contact was supposed to meet him at a café near the memorial — an old journalist who'd been leaking fragments about "The Black Echo," an offshoot of the Directive's core network.
He found the café. Ordered coffee. Waited.
Ten minutes passed.
Then twenty.
At exactly 06:45, a woman in a trench coat sat opposite him, setting down a worn leather satchel.
"You're early," she said. Her accent was German, voice calm but guarded.
Silas nodded. "You're Lene Becker?"
"Depends who's asking."
He showed her Roarke's glass chip — half-hidden in his palm.
Her expression shifted instantly. "Then you're him."
Lene glanced around. "You shouldn't be here. Berlin's on full surveillance lockdown. The Directive activated Phase Two last night."
"What's Phase Two?" Silas asked.
She opened her satchel and slid over a small projector. It flickered to life, showing a rotating sphere of red nodes — an artificial brain of light and code.
"This," she said. "They call it The Black Echo. It's the Directive's autonomous expansion algorithm. It doesn't just rewrite public data — it predicts and alters human reaction to it. Every decision you make, every thought pattern online, is being shaped before you even have it."
Silas leaned forward, jaw tight. "Then it's not just about truth. It's about control."
"Exactly." Lene's hands trembled slightly. "They're preparing the final update. When it goes live, the world won't question anything again. No wars. No protests. Just obedience."
Silas's voice was low. "Who built it?"
Her eyes darkened. "You won't believe me."
"Try me."
She hesitated. "Dr. Roarke wasn't working alone. There was another scientist — your father."
The words hit him like a punch. "That's not possible. My father died when I was twelve."
She shook her head. "No. He disappeared. The car explosion wasn't an accident—it was extraction. He was taken to a Directive facility. They needed someone with perfect recall to stabilize the core's data map."
Silas's pulse thundered in his ears. "My memory."
"Yes," she said. "It's genetic. You and your father share the same cognitive structure. That's why they're after you. You're the failsafe key."
He leaned back, stunned. For years, he'd carried his perfect memory like both a gift and a curse. Now it felt like a target carved into his DNA.
Before he could reply, the café lights flickered.
Lene froze. "They found us."
Silas's eyes darted to the street. Two black SUVs were pulling up. Men in gray coats fanned out, earpieces glowing faintly blue.
"Out the back," he said.
They ran through the kitchen, knocking over trays and shouting cooks. Bullets shattered glass behind them. Silas shoved open the rear door and ducked into the narrow alley.
"Keep moving!" he shouted.
They sprinted through a maze of wet cobblestones and market stalls. One of the agents appeared on the roof above, aiming a rail pistol. Silas yanked Lene down just as the shot vaporized a section of the wall.
He fired back, clipped the man in the shoulder. The agent toppled into a trash chute, disappearing with a thud.
"Where's your car?"
"Two blocks east!"
They reached a parking garage, panting. Lene jumped into a matte-gray Audi, Silas taking shotgun. As soon as they hit the ramp, another vehicle blocked the exit.
"Hold tight," he said.
He floored it.
The car slammed through the barrier, metal shrieking, sparks flying. They burst into open traffic, weaving between cars. Drones zipped overhead, scanning plates.
"EMP pulse!" Silas yelled.
Lene tossed him a small device. He twisted the dial and threw it out the window. It detonated midair, blue pulse rippling across the sky. Drones fell like rain.
But the SUVs kept coming.
"Bridge ahead!" Lene shouted.
"Then we fly."
He unbuckled, climbed halfway out the window, and fired his last clip at the lead vehicle's tires. It swerved, crashed into the guardrail, and exploded into a ball of flame.
They crossed the bridge and disappeared into the industrial sector.
Only when silence returned did Silas finally breathe again.
Lene pulled into an abandoned factory lot, killing the engine.
She looked at him, eyes sharp. "You still want to find your father?"
He nodded.
"Then you'll need to go underground. There's a place called The Null Sector. It's where the Directive hides everything that shouldn't exist — including the people it can't erase."
She handed him a black access card with a faint barcode.
"Once you're inside," she said, "don't trust anyone. Not even me."
Silas pocketed the card. "I stopped trusting people a long time ago."
Lene's lips curved in a faint smile. "Good. You'll survive longer that way."
He stepped out of the car, the cold air biting his skin. The dawn was breaking over Berlin — pale light washing across glass towers and propaganda banners.
He looked down at his reflection in a puddle. For a moment, his face flickered — replaced by his father's.
And somewhere, deep within the city, the Signal Ghost pulsed again.