MIKE
“Guys!” Elena called as she waved us over from the corner of the room where our tech was rigged to an isolated terminal. The screen glowed dimly, casting sharp shadows across her face as she pulled up a live map cluttered with red pins and encrypted paths.
We circled around her.
"I've traced a few possible discreet flight paths and ground routes Leon could've taken to enter Italy without Siren knowing," Elena said, her voice cool but focused.
"This one here--" she tapped the monitor, "is most likely. Low activity. Underground entry. Used only by state-authorized covert ops."
“Leon’s no idiot,” Alfred muttered. “He’s not gonna walk straight into Siren’s territory without a plan.”
"Exactly," I said, narrowing my eyes at the screen.
Patrick stepped closer. "Are we thinking he's there on Agency orders… or did he go rogue?"
I crossed my arms. "That’s what we need to find out. Because if he’s acting alone, that means he’s got an agenda"
Elena zoomed in on the central region of the map, highlighting a small industrial town nestled in the hills outside Naples.
"This spot here—abandoned vineyard estate. Surrounded by miles of silent terrain. If Leon wanted a meeting with Samuel Meier, this is the perfect spot for it."
"We need to know Leon’s objective. Is he trading intel? Recruiting Samuel? Or worse…" I paused. "…is he switching sides?"
The room fell quiet.
I stepped out into the hallway as I dialed the number only a few of us had—Director Leo.
The phone rang once. Twice.
Then a click.
“Agent Mike.” His voice was sharp, clipped.
I didn’t hesitate. “Is Agent Leon’s travel to Italy sanctioned? Did the Agency send him?”
Silence.
A long beat of static stretched between us before the director spoke again—this time slower, heavier.
“…What did you say?”
“Agengt Leon. He’s heading to Italy,” I said, glancing back toward the closed door behind me.
Director Leo’s reaction wasn’t immediate. But when it came, it was thunderous—even in a whisper.
“There’s no such operation.” His voice dropped, ice-cold. “No orders were issued for any international movement from Agent Leon. Especially not to Italy.”
My pulse ticked up.
“Are you saying he went rogue?”
But instead of answering, I heard movement—papers rustling, a slammed drawer, a muffled command to someone on the director’s end of the line. Then he returned.
“I need to verify this right now.” His tone was sharper now, panicked beneath layers of practiced control.
“If this is true, Mike—this could jeopardize national security.”
“Why?” I asked, before I could stop myself. “What could Leon possibly do that would—”
“Don’t push, Agent,” Director Leo snapped. “Just keep me updated. I’ll contact you once I confirm something.”
He hung up.
I stood there for a moment, staring at the silent phone in my hand.
Why did the director sound so rattled? What was he afraid Leon would do?
I took a deep breath, slid the phone back into my pocket, and turned toward the door.
I pushed open the door and stepped back into the room. The atmosphere had shifted. Tense. Uneasy. Alfred was pacing like a caged wolf, muttering under his breath.
“It doesn’t make sense…” he repeated, fingers tugging at his hair, eyes darting between the map and the photographs still pinned across the wall.
Patrick narrowed his eyes, stepping in front of him.
“What doesn’t?” he asked, voice low but firm.
Alfred stopped, his eyes burning with something deeper—something like betrayal.
He looked at all of us.
“What if…” he began, hesitating. “What if Agent Leon and Siren were working together from the beginning?”
A heavy silence filled the room.
Alfred turned to face us fully.
“I saw them—both of them—on the day of President Ford’s abduction.” His words sliced through the air like a blade. “It wasn’t just Siren’s people. It was Leon. He’s the one who took President Ford.”
Patrick blinked, stunned.
“What…?” His face paled slightly, processing.
“You’re saying it was Leon who took the president? Why the hell would he do that?”
Alfred exhaled sharply.
“That’s the part that doesn’t make sense. Unless” he paused, voice tightening, “they’re not enemies. They’ve never been enemies. Maybe this whole thing has been a setup from the start. The betrayals, the leaked intel, the operations gone south…” He looked at the rest of us, then added coldly, “It all points to one thing: someone’s playing both sides.”
“No,” I said sharply, louder than I intended.
The others turned to me.
I took a breath, then repeated, calmer this time.
“No. Not a chance. Leon and Siren working together? That doesn’t track.”
Alfred raised a brow.
“You saw them at the same scene, Mike. That has to mean something.”
“I know what I saw,” I said. “And I know what I felt.”
I paced once, then faced them again.
“I’ve had too many encounters with Leon—interrogations, brushes, off-the-record moments. The way he reacts when Siren’s name is brought up…” I shook my head. “It’s not familiarity. It’s fear. Obsession. Not partnership.”
Patrick looked skeptical. “Still, it doesn’t mean—”
“But it does,” I cut in. “Trust me, I studied people before I ever held a gun. I can read a reaction. And Leon’s tells are real. He doesn’t know what Siren’s next move is. That’s what eats him alive. He’s not working with her.”
Then, without meaning to, my eyes drifted to the side—towards the window, towards the weight of silence—and I whispered, barely audible, only for myself to hear:
“It’s Agent Rock… the one who’s playing both sides.”
No one caught it.
Just as Patrick was pulling up the satellite footage on the screen, my phone buzzed sharply in my pocket.
Unknown line.
I hesitated.
Then answered.
“Agent Mike.”
Director Leo’s voice came through, clipped and cold.
“Get to the Agency Headquarters. Now.”
And just like that—he hung up.
No explanation. No tone. No room for questions.
I stared at the phone for a second longer than I should’ve, hearing only the empty buzz of the disconnected line.
Patrick noticed. “What’s going on?”
I shook my head slowly, narrowing my eyes. “Director just called. Told me to go to HQ.”
“That’s odd,” Patrick muttered, already rising to his feet.
“Too sudden,” I replied under my breath.
I grabbed my jacket and turned toward Alfred and Elena.
“I’m heading back with Patrick. If something goes wrong—”
“You’ll call,” Elena said, standing up beside Alfred, who crossed his arms.
AI HEADQUARTERS
Patrick and I exited the room quickly, the silence of our hideout replaced by the quiet tension between us in the car. The engine started. Patrick gripped the wheel. I watched the streets blur past.
Patrick peeled off toward the Agents' lounge without a word, giving me just a nod as we split. I watched him go for a beat—then turned right, toward Director Leo’s office. The double doors loomed like they were holding something back. I steadied my breath.
Then knocked.
“Come in.”
Director Leo’s voice was calm… too calm.
I pushed the door open.
He was sitting behind his desk. But what caught my attention was the two figures standing across the table from him. Both men turned their heads toward me in eerie sync, like shadows shifting under a dim light.
Strangers.
Director Leo gestured to the empty seat across from him.
“Agent Mike.”
Director Leo stood, his chair creaking slightly behind him as he pushed it back. The air in the room shifted with his motion—something heavy, something inevitable.
Without a word, he walked over to us, a thin folder in his hand.
He handed it to me.
I took it slowly, brows furrowing. The weight of the folder wasn’t in its pages—it was in its implications.
“A mission?” I asked, flipping it open cautiously. “Now?”
Director Leo didn’t answer with words. Instead, he reached for the remote on his desk and clicked a button.
The large monitor behind him hummed to life.
Three faces filled the screen in a split layout—each one grim, composed, powerful.
Top-left: FBI President Giovanni, eyes sharp and calculating, the kind of man who could see through your file before you spoke a word.
Top-right: CIA Director Danny Wayne, wearing a stern frown, hands clasped on his desk. The man who knew every hidden lever of the world and wasn’t afraid to pull them.
Bottom-center: General George Martin, face like carved stone, medals glinting faintly on his chest. The military’s iron fist.
The three most powerful men in the country's intelligence, law, and defense. Together on one screen.
Immediately, we stood straight and saluted—myself, and the two unknown operatives flanking me.
“At ease,” Giovanni said coolly.
CIA Director Wayne nodded. “Agent Mike, you’ve been in the middle of a storm. We’ve read your unofficial logs, heard the whispers. And we believe you’ve stumbled on something—something we can no longer ignore.”
I swallowed hard, unsure whether to feel honored or alarmed.
General Martin leaned forward.
“Agent Leon’s unauthorized movements in Italy have triggered red flags—not just for us, but for NATO. Italy’s intelligence coordination has gone dark in specific sectors. We suspect infiltration, or worse…”
Giovanni added,
“We’ve authorized a joint operation, off the books. That file you’re holding? It’s not just a mission brief. It’s an invitation to uncover the truth, and possibly prevent a geopolitical catastrophe.”
My eyes darted to the folder again.
And in that moment, something clicked.
The room had gone impossibly still. Not even the hum of the air conditioning dared intrude as FBI President Giovanni leaned forward on the screen, his voice slow, deliberate—cold as stone.
“Italy is beyond our protective measures,” he said, his gaze pinning each of us like targets. “We cannot guarantee your safety, agents.”
The words settled in the pit of my stomach like ice.
“We cannot provide any information. Nothing can be sent, not even encrypted pings. Siren’s system is embedded so deeply in the Italian networks that even a single byte of agency trace will be detected—and you will be found.”
He paused, letting that sink in.
“While you're in Italy, you are not agents. You are tourists. Private citizens. You are not affiliated with Alpha. Not with the CIA. Not with the FBI. You do not exist.”
I glanced at the two operatives beside me—both silent, stone-faced. But I could see the tension in their jaws. One gulped subtly. Even I couldn’t hide the slight hitch in my breath.
“You are authorized to do whatever it takes for the sake of the mission,” Giovanni continued. “And lastly—if you are compromised, if you are captured… no one will come for you.”
He didn’t sugarcoat it.
“You will die, and it will be as if you never lived.”
There was a long, deafening pause. I could hear the faint thump of my own heartbeat against my ribs.
Then, in perfect unison, like an instinct drilled into our bones, the three of us replied:
“Yes, sir.”
No hesitation. No second-guessing. We knew what we were stepping into.
And still—we stepped.
The door shut behind us with a heavy thud
Director Leo had already ordered clearance for us to access Sub-Level Nine—an off-record logistics wing reserved for deep-cover missions. When the elevator doors opened, the lights flickered on in response to our movement, revealing a long corridor lined with sealed lockers, wardrobe containers, passports, weapons, and tech kits disguised in everything from camera cases to shaving kits.
We entered the prep room without a word. Each of us knew what needed to be done.
“Separate flights. Separate cities,” I said, moving to the far end of the table where files were already laid out—false identities, financial accounts, burner phones. “If we land together, Siren’s net will pick us up before we even leave the airport.”
We exchanged one last glance before we walked in different directions.