Rain dripped through cracks in the church ceiling, tapping against the old stone floor in slow, rhythmic beats. The storm outside had quieted, but the storm inside hadn't.
Frank stood under the broken stained-glass window, gun raised, finger firm on the trigger. His eyes were locked on Zoey — steady, cold, unblinking.
Zoey's breath hitched. Her pulse flickered under the faint blue glow on her wrist — that same light Frank had seen when he caught her sleeve earlier.
"Frank," she said softly, "you need to put the gun down."
He didn't. His voice was calm, but his tone carried that razor's edge he only used when he'd already made up his mind.
"Since when do you have a military-grade implant, Zoey?"
"I—I don't know!" she stammered. "I swear I didn't—"
"Stop lying." His voice echoed through the hollow church, sharp and final. "You're not a civilian. You're not even just a cop anymore. That thing on your wrist — it's transmitting."
Her eyes widened. "Transmitting? To who?"
"That's what I'm about to find out."
He holstered the gun but kept his hand close, pulling a portable field scanner from his tactical belt. It was small, scratched, but reliable — an old detective's best friend. He powered it on, a faint green beam sweeping over Zoey's wrist.
The screen blinked once, then scrolled with static and data spikes.Finally, it displayed:
Device detected: Neural Relay Type 3B. Signal origin — Citadel-Core.
Frank's expression hardened. "Neural relay. Military tech."
Zoey's voice trembled. "What does that mean?"
"It means," Frank said slowly, "someone's been using you as a tracking node."
She stepped back, shaking her head. "No… no, that's not possible. I've never—"
"You've been sending them our location since day one," he interrupted, tone flat. "Every call, every move — you've been the signal."
Zoey's throat tightened. "Frank, I didn't know! I swear I didn't know!"
He stared at her for a long moment. Then, slowly, he lowered the gun.
His jaw flexed. "If you were lying, you'd already be dead."
Zoey let out a shaky breath, clutching her wrist. "Then what do we do?"
Frank turned away, mind racing. "We find out who put it there… and why."
The Decoded Message
Frank dug through his vest pocket, pulling out a small chip drive — Colonel Ricky's last recorded message. He inserted it into his wrist communicator, replaying the static-filled audio.
Ricky's voice came through — faint, broken by interference.
"Miller… if you're hearing this… Red Coat… not what it seems… Citadel… has failsafe…"
Static swallowed the rest.
Zoey leaned closer. "Can you clean that up?"
Frank frowned, fingers flying over the decryptor keys. "Maybe. Ricky wasn't the type to send empty words. He hid something."
After a few tense minutes, he found it — a hidden timestamp buried in the background frequency. He extracted it and decrypted it manually.
Lines of text appeared:ECHO BASE – SECTOR 4. FILE: CONTROL CODE.
Frank's eyes narrowed. "Echo Base. I thought that place was shut down after the rebellion."
Zoey tilted her head. "You think Ricky was still using it?"
He nodded slowly. "Ricky always had backup plans. Dead drops. Shadow routes. If he left something there, it's important."
The last decoded line flickered on the screen:
"Project Red Coat's failsafe is human. The control signal starts at The Citadel… but ends inside you."
Zoey stared at the words, a chill running through her. "Inside me?"
Frank looked up, face unreadable. "Looks like you're more than just a tracker."
Journey to Echo Base
They left the church before dawn, the sky bruised purple and gray. The streets of Northvale were nearly empty — only stray dogs and flickering streetlights marking the way.
Frank drove the stolen Jeep silently, eyes fixed on the road ahead. Zoey sat beside him, hands clasped tight.
Finally, she broke the silence. "So… this Echo Base, what is it exactly?"
"Old operations center," Frank said. "Ricky used it during the blackout years. It's where they tested black-box surveillance prototypes. No power, no grid connection — invisible to the system."
Zoey nodded slowly. "Good place to hide something."
"Or someone," Frank muttered.
For a few minutes, they just listened to the rain tapping the windshield. Then Zoey spoke again, softly.
"Do you think I'm dangerous, Frank?"
He didn't answer right away. His jaw tightened slightly. "I think you've been used. But dangerous?" He looked at her then, briefly. "That depends on what you do next."
She looked out the window, voice barely a whisper. "I didn't sign up for this."
Frank gave a faint, humorless chuckle. "None of us did. The system chooses. We just follow until we're too deep to climb out."
The words hung heavy between them.
As they neared Sector 4, Frank slowed the car. The industrial ridge loomed ahead, fog rolling over rusted metal and cracked concrete.
He parked behind an old freight container. "We walk from here."
They moved in silence through the mist. The air smelled of oil and rain-soaked steel. Frank's scanner beeped softly — a heat signature just ahead.
"Drone," he whispered.
A small recon drone hovered above, its red eye scanning the area. Frank waited, timing its rotation, then raised his silenced pistol and fired once. The drone dropped with a metallic hiss.
He smirked faintly. "They don't stop sending ghosts, do they?"
Zoey's lips curved into a half-smile. "Guess they didn't get the memo that we're still alive."
Echo Base
They reached Echo Base by dusk — a derelict warehouse half-swallowed by weeds and broken glass. Frank forced the rusted door open, flashlight slicing through the dark.
The air inside smelled of mildew and dust. Old computer terminals lined the wall, some cracked, others blinking faintly.
"This place gives me the creeps," Zoey murmured.
Frank smiled faintly. "That's how you know we're in the right spot."
They split up — Frank checking the upper floor, Zoey scanning the terminals below.
"Got something," she called after a few minutes.
Frank joined her. On one terminal screen was a folder labeled:CONTROL CODE: Z-PRIME.
Frank inserted a decrypt key. The screen flashed, then displayed lines of classified data. Diagrams. Human silhouettes. Biometric overlays.
Zoey leaned closer. "These are implants."
"More than that," Frank said, voice tight. "They're bio-links."
The file description read:
Purpose: Stabilization of reanimated operatives through neural synchronization with designated anchor subjects.Designations: F.M. – Subject 002 / Z.P. – Anchor Link.Protocol: If anchor terminates, operative failsafe activates.
Zoey's blood ran cold. "Wait. That means—"
"If you die," Frank finished quietly, "so do I."
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Zoey's voice cracked. "So I was never your partner. I was your leash."
Frank shook his head slowly. "No. You were my reason to stay human."
She stared at him, eyes wet. "That's not fair."
"Nothing about this is fair," he replied.
She sat down on a crate, burying her face in her hands. "All this time I thought I was trying to prove myself. Turns out I was just part of their design."
Frank crouched beside her. "You were part of their plan. But you can still change the ending."
Before she could respond, the lights flickered.
The Attack
A loud metallic thud echoed from outside. Then another.
Frank snapped to alert. "They found us."
Zoey grabbed her pistol. "How?"
"Doesn't matter. Move!"
The first shot shattered a window. A Vertex strike team poured in — dark suits, silent masks, weapons drawn.
Frank fired first, clean and precise, dropping two. Zoey dove behind the console, returning fire. The warehouse erupted in chaos — gunfire, sparks, shouting.
"Back exit!" Frank shouted.
Zoey nodded, clutching her shoulder as a bullet grazed her arm. Blood seeped through her sleeve.
Frank covered her, shooting out the lights, plunging the place into darkness. The strobe of muzzle flashes was the only illumination.
They sprinted through the lower tunnel as bullets ricocheted off the concrete. Frank tossed a grenade behind them — the explosion roared, collapsing the passage.
The shockwave knocked Zoey off balance, but Frank caught her arm. "Keep moving!"
They burst through the sewer grate into the rain-soaked street outside, gasping for breath.
Zoey slumped against a wall, clutching her shoulder. "You okay?" Frank asked.
"I've been better," she muttered, forcing a weak smile.
Frank knelt, inspecting the wound. "It's clean. Through the flesh. You'll live."
The Realization
He tied her arm with a strip of fabric, tightening it carefully. As he worked, he noticed the pulsing light on her wrist had dimmed — its rhythm slowing.
"Frank," Zoey whispered, dizzy, "what's happening to it?"
He frowned. "It's syncing with your vitals. When you bleed, it reacts. That means Cole can monitor it in real time."
Her eyes fluttered. "So he can see us right now?"
He hesitated, then nodded. "Not just see. If he can reach you… he can reach me."
She gritted her teeth. "Then cut it out."
Frank froze, staring at her.
"You heard me," Zoey said, voice steady despite the pain. "Cut it out before it kills us both."
Frank looked at her wrist — the faint blue pulse glowing like a heartbeat under skin. His hand tightened around his knife handle.
"If I cut it out, you could die."
Zoey's lips trembled, but her eyes didn't waver. "If you don't, we both die. I'd rather have a choice."
Lightning flashed above, illuminating their faces — blood, sweat, rain, and exhaustion.
Frank took a deep breath, the knife trembling slightly in his grip. "Zoey…"
She looked straight at him. "Do it."
He stared into her eyes — saw the fear, the trust, the defiance — and then lowered the blade to her wrist.
His voice broke the silence, low and cracked. "If you make it through this… you'll hate me for it."
Zoey gave a faint, shaky smile. "Already do."
The rain poured harder. Frank pressed the blade down.
The world went white.
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