The roar of the helicopter blades whipped the cold morning air into a frenzy, but the silence between Chano and the General was even louder. Valderama stood there, a king without a throne, clutching a high-tech submachine gun like a security blanket.
"No one leaves!" Valderama's scream was barely audible over the rotors. "I am the one who writes the code for this country! I built this!"
"You didn't build a country, Ricardo," Chano said, stepping into the wash of the blades. "You built a cage. And you forgot that I'm the one who knows how to pick the locks."
The Firmware Fail
The General's finger white-knuckled the trigger. He squeezed.
Click.
He squeezed again, faster, his face contorting into a mask of frantic confusion. Click. Click. Click.
"Phenphen?" Chano asked, his voice steady.
"Master, the General's weapon uses an electronic firing pin—part of that 'Smart-Gun' initiative he pushed last year," Elijah's voice crackled, sounding smug. "I hijacked the firmware two minutes ago. Right now, that gun has the same killing power as a stapler."
Valderama stared at the weapon in his hands, then threw it at Chano in a fit of impotent rage. Before he could reach for his sidearm, Marco was a blur, tackling the General to the concrete and pinning his arms with a joint lock that made the older man howl.
Chano knelt down, the wind tugging at his wine-stained barong. He held up a small, silver flash drive.
"Five years ago, you thought you deleted us in Singapore," Chano whispered, his eyes cold as the steel of the helicopter. "But data is hard to kill. Everything you've stolen, every life you've extinguished... it's all in the hands of the International Court now. You aren't a General anymore. You're just another entry in the 'Recycle Bin'."
"Who are you?!" Valderama spat, blood and gravel on his tongue.
"I'm just a technician from San Pedro," Chano replied. "And you're officially beyond repair."
The New Protocol
As the first light of dawn broke over Manila Bay, the sound of sirens began to drown out the city's hum. NBI teams swarmed the hotel, taking the "elites" away in plastic zip-ties. The Ghost Ledger had done its job—the rot was being purged, one name at a time.
Down by the Maybach, the team looked like they'd been through a war. Philip was gingerly touching a bruise on his cheek, though he was still grinning, clutching a bag of stolen hotel pastries. Marco was cleaning his glasses, the same calm operative he'd always been.
Bella looked at Chano. The "humble technician" was gone, replaced by something much more formidable. "Is it over, Chano? Are you going back to the shop to fix Nikki's tablet?"
Chano looked at the horizon. He thought of the quiet life in San Pedro, the smell of Aling Nena's bibingka, and the peace he'd almost found. Then he felt his phone vibrate.
A single notification popped up on a black screen. A stylized 'L' pulsing in neon green.
[THE WORLD IS DARKER THAN YOU THINK, BIG BROTHER. SEE YOU IN THE SHADOWS.]
Chano tapped his comms. "Elijah."
"Yes, Master?"
"Update my status. I'm no longer retired. Run a trace on that 'L' signature. Use the 'Sovereign' search parameters."
A small, dangerous smile played on Chano's lips. He looked at Marco and Philip, then back at Bella.
"The shop is closed for a while," Chano said, his voice dropping into that familiar, authoritative rhythm. "We have a virus to catch. And this time... I'm going to make sure it's permanent."