Beyond the Ordinary

Chapter 6 – Ghost Protocol

The hum of the jet engines droned beneath the rain-soaked night as the unmarked aircraft lifted off from the Arlington airstrip. Inside, only two passengers sat in the dim light, Gordon Anderson, pale and silent, and Agent Marcus Hale, bruised but alert, his hand resting on a sidearm that hadn’t left his reach since the safehouse.

The city lights of Washington bled away beneath them like dying embers. “Destination: Zurich,” Hale said quietly, glancing over the navigation monitor. “Private terminal. No customs, no trail.”

Gordon stared through the small window, the clouds swallowing the view. “You think she was telling the truth? About there being more of me?”

Hale shrugged. “In my line of work, if someone says ‘there’s only one,’ it’s a lie half the time.”

Gordon exhaled, tension cutting through his chest. “If they made others, they didn’t survive. I would’ve known.”

“Maybe,” Hale said. “Or maybe they made sure you wouldn’t.”

The words lingered. For the first time, Gordon realized how quiet the plane was. Too quiet. No attendant. No co-pilot chatter. Only the steady rhythm of the engines and his own pulse pounding in his ears.

He looked up. “Marcus… where’s the crew?”

Hale frowned. “What?”

Gordon stood, moving toward the cockpit. The cabin door was ajar, swaying slightly. “Stay back,” Hale warned, rising too late.

Gordon pushed the door open, and froze. The cockpit was empty. No pilots. No flight crew. Just the autopilot indicator flashing amber, and a faint, rhythmic tick-tick-tick coming from beneath the control panel.

His blood ran cold. “Marcus.”

Hale stepped in, gun drawn. “What is it?”

The ticking grew louder. A small red diode blinked near the floor. “Bomb,” Gordon breathed.

“Get back!” Hale dove forward, ripping open the panel. A bundle of wires, pulsing like veins, glowed beneath the console.

“Can you disarm it?” Gordon asked.

“Not with a doctorate in medicine watching over my shoulder,” Hale snapped.

“Then move aside.”

Hale blinked. “You’re not serious.”

“I can feel the current,” Gordon said. “It’s biological, organic tech, like the hybrid. They tied it into the plane’s navigation feed.”

“Feel the current?” Hale said, half in disbelief, half in fear.

Gordon ignored him. He crouched, pressing his palm to the wiring. His fingers trembled as that familiar pulse of blue began to spread through the circuits, tracing the pattern of the explosive’s power source.

The lights flickered. The hum of the engines faltered for half a second. Then silence. The diode went dark. Gordon sagged back, breath shaking. “It’s dead.”

Hale stared at him. “You just shorted a bomb with your hands.”

Gordon’s voice was faint. “And lost another day of my life doing it.”

Hale knelt beside him. “We’re not out of the woods yet. If the crew’s gone, someone else is flying this thing remotely.”

He was right. The autopilot suddenly shifted course, the screen flashing red: New Coordinates Locked — Classified Route.

Gordon looked at the console. “They’re redirecting us.”

“To where?”

The flight path blinked across the digital map, a location deep in the Swiss Alps. The coordinates were familiar.

“Zurich lab,” Gordon whispered.

“Then we let them take us,” Hale said grimly.

“What?”

“Think about it, they want you alive. They’ll bring us straight to whoever’s running Lazarus.”

Gordon hesitated. “That’s suicide.”

“Maybe,” Hale said, sliding a magazine into his pistol. “But it’s also the fastest way to get answers.”

He turned to Gordon. “You’re the miracle worker. I’m the trigger man. Between us, maybe we make it out breathing.”

Three hours later.

The plane descended through thick mountain fog, landing on an isolated airstrip carved into the side of a glacier. Searchlights cut through the mist.

Black-clad operatives waited in formation, weapons slung but not aimed. Gordon’s pulse quickened. “They know we’re here.”

“Good,” Hale said. “Saves me the trouble of knocking.”

The hatch opened. Cold wind rushed in, biting and sharp. Two men in tactical suits approached the steps.

“Dr. Anderson,” one said, his accent crisp and measured. “You’ll come with us.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then we take what’s left.”

Hale’s pistol was already up. “Not happening.”

A faint hum answered him, the sound of targeting systems locking on from the shadows. “Stand down,” Gordon whispered. “We can’t fight them all.”

They were escorted through an underground tunnel lined with biometric scanners and armored glass, into a sprawling complex buried within the mountain. The air smelled of antiseptic and ozone, and memory.

Gordon knew this place. The shape of the hallways. The hum in the walls. His chest tightened. “I’ve been here before.”

A woman’s voice echoed ahead. “Of course you have.”

They stepped into a chamber glowing with cold blue light, containment tanks stretching into the darkness. Inside each, shapes floated in luminescent fluid: human figures, motionless, preserved.

At the far end of the room stood the woman from the hacked video feed, elegant, calm, eyes burning with purpose. “Welcome home, Gordon,” she said. “It’s been a long time.”

Hale raised his weapon. “You’re the one who’s been hunting us.”

She smiled faintly. “Not hunting. Calling. You were never meant to run, Agent Hale. You were meant to deliver him.”

Gordon turned to Hale sharply. “What is she talking about?”

Hale froze, jaw tightening. The woman stepped closer. “He doesn’t know? How disappointing.”

Gordon’s stomach dropped. “Marcus”

Hale finally spoke, voice low. “I was assigned to monitor you, Gordon. Before the accident. Before the miracle. But things changed when they tried to kill you. I didn’t sign up for execution.”

“So what am I to you now?”

Hale met his eyes. “A chance to fix what I helped create.”

The woman’s expression darkened. “Too late for redemption.”

She raised her hand, and every containment tank around them flickered to life. The bodies inside began to move. Eyes opened, glowing the same blue as Gordon’s. “Meet your predecessors,” she said softly. “They’ve been waiting.”

Hale took a step back, gun trembling. “Jesus Christ…”

Gordon’s heart hammered. The air pulsed with energy, the hum rising to a deafening pitch.

“Why are you doing this?” he shouted.

The woman smiled. “Because humanity doesn’t need saving. It needs replacing.”

As the tanks shattered and the figures stepped out, the lights cut to black, and the sound of Gordon’s heartbeat filled the silence. The resurrection had begun.