From the outside, the Helix Tier-2 logistics node looked like any other medtech relay center. Clean. Forgettable. No logos, no guards. Just a long, flat structure with seamless grey paneling and a biometric gate.
Inside, it was a different story.
I stepped through the access chamber as Kade Rowan. A contractor, neural tracker, cleared under Operation D7.
A soft chime registered my chip.
> "Welcome, Operator K. Rowan."
The voice was synthetic. Genderless. Helix liked it that way, no accents, no warmth. Just function. The corridor beyond was lined with embedded lights that shifted with motion. Surveillance drones hung silently in the corners like sleeping spiders.
I kept my pace steady, my posture relaxed.
There were no windows.
Just the hum of power beneath the floor.
The system guided me to a debriefing cell, plain white walls, one table, four chairs. Three other freelancers were already seated. One had a mechanical jaw. Another wore optic replacements tinted blood-red. No one spoke.
A terminal screen flickered on.
> "Welcome, Task Group Seven. You have been activated for Subject Alpha recovery."
The voice. Specter.
Still faceless. Still just a ghost on the wire.
Images flashed across the screen, heat scans, map overlays, timestamp logs.
Then came the first photo.
A ruined interior: scorched electronics, shattered panels.
My safehouse. Before the wipe.
I kept still.
Next image: a half-obscured heat signature. A man walking past a reflective wall, his face caught in a moment of glitch.
Mine.
Not full resolution. Not clear enough for ID.
But close.
I could feel one of the other contractors glance my way. I didn't move.
Then the third image.
Her.
Lyra. Standing near a transit terminal, alone. Her eyes were glassy. Her mouth slack. Like she didn't know where she was, or who.
The scan flagged her with a red distortion field.
> "Emotional bleed detected," Specter explained. "This secondary anomaly remains unstable. Subject Beta's containment is non-essential, but observation protocols remain active."
I leaned forward, just enough.
> "How long ago was this?"
> "Sixteen hours."
Another voice chimed in, one of the hunters, the one with the red optics.
> "So they're not static. Both Alpha and Beta are mobile, possibly in sync."
Specter replied, "Or possibly decoy trails generated by residual bleed."
I cleared my throat.
> "Could be both. If the subjects are still resonating, we won't need hard contact. Just another bleed."
Specter paused.
> "Agreed. Which is why we're initiating Phase 2."
The table shifted. A small emitter rose from its center. Light flickered as a three dimensional terrain map formed: Sector 12, Lower Grid.
A sprawl of underground rail lines, old sewers, and long abandoned maintenance hubs.
> "We've triangulated the next probable neural emission event. This time, we'll pin it live."
A set of node beacons appeared on the hologram, tracking towers, drones, and ground operatives.
> "Rowan. You'll join the primary ground team."
> "Understood."
I scanned the grid.
It was a trap.
Not for Subject Alpha.
But for whoever believed Subject Alpha was still just a signature.
Me.
Specter continued, "You'll be equipped with a sync coil and standard dampener. Target should not be approached directly. If seen, tag and mark. Await recovery team."
"Copy that," said the woman with the mechanical jaw.
I nodded again. Silent.
Eventually, the screen faded. Specter signed off.
We were dismissed.
---
They gave us four hours to prepare.
I used one.
Then slipped away to the terminal room.
The system had full pulse access, real time feeds from every deployed beacon, every tracking satellite, every relay in the grid.
And one little blind spot I inserted.
Just a splinter in the code.
Enough for me.
I rerouted the predictive algorithm Specter had deployed, shifted the next resonance flare away from the truth. Instead of Sector 4, it would direct the team to the Edge District, where nothing lived but old comms junkyards and retired shuttle wrecks.
The bait would work.
Lyra wouldn't be touched.
Not tonight.
As I uploaded the adjustment, a flicker ran across the screen.
A shape.
Not code.
A child's silhouette, just for a frame.
Then gone.
I froze.
But there was nothing left. No logs. No trace.
Just my reflection in the black glass.
I shut the terminal down and returned to my room.
The dampener helmet they gave me sat on the desk. Still powered off.
I picked it up.
The weight felt wrong.
Like I wasn't the one hunting anymore.
I strapped it on anyway.
And waited.