Concrete Veins

Chapter 5: Ghost Frequencies

10:58 PM – Safehouse Interior, Guerra’s Junkyard, East End Sector

Dorian sat in silence, elbows on the table, eyes locked on a half-unfolded map strewn with red ink marks, jagged circles, and half-erased notes. The flickering overhead light buzzed like a persistent gnat. It was too quiet. The kind of quiet that made old soldiers itch.

Malik had finally fallen asleep, breathing easier now. Jay was in the next room, fiddling with something that made periodic buzzing noises and at least one loud bang that set off the toaster.

Dorian stared at the words scrawled across the map’s edge: Legacy Protocol – Site Echo. The name echoed in his head.

He remembered it too well.

A scrapped mission from years ago. Supposedly targeting a rogue chem lab in Romania. But when they’d reached the site, it was abandoned. Files wiped. Gear gone. Only a half-burned schematic on the wall labeled “Echo Directive” and a storage tank that was still warm to the touch.

That was when things started unraveling.

He didn’t know it then, but that op was where Malik was marked.

The pieces were falling into place now—and they didn’t fit anything clean.

Jay walked in carrying a tablet and two mugs—one labeled “World’s Okayest Hacker,” the other chipped and steaming.

“Coffee,” he said. “Because tea is for the emotionally stable.”

Dorian accepted the mug and sipped. Bitter. Strong. Just like his current mood.

Jay flopped into the chair opposite him and slid the tablet across the table. “I found something. It’s not much, but it’s weird.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow.

“After you spotted that silhouette in the alley, I started scanning local radio and satellite frequencies. Just on a hunch. Figured if someone’s watching us, they might be pinging for surveillance drones.”

Dorian leaned forward. “And?”

Jay tapped the screen. A graph lit up—spikes of data pulses, clustered irregularly.

“I picked up a transmission at 3.2 GHz. Normally, that’s reserved for deep communications—military-grade. But this? It’s dirty. Chopped. Like it’s glitching.”

“Encrypted?”

Jay grinned. “Tried to be. I unpacked part of the signal. And guess what I found?”

“What?”

“Biofeedback. Heart rate. Cortisol levels. Neural scan signatures.”

Dorian frowned. “From who?”

Jay pointed to the screen. “That’s the thing. It doesn’t match Malik’s markers. But it’s similar. Same serum coding. Same residual compound trace.”

Another test subject.

“Where’s it coming from?” Dorian asked.

“Dockside District. West hangars.”

Dorian’s jaw tensed. That was Ghost Unit territory once—before it was scrubbed clean by the agency and handed over to privatized security. Now it was a concrete graveyard full of chain fences and memories that smelled like blood.

“You think they’re keeping someone there?” he asked.

“Or someone’s trying to escape,” Jay said. “Could be a signal flare. Low-tech SOS.”

Dorian looked toward the back room, where Malik was still sleeping.

They were running out of time.

“They’re using them like lab rats,” Dorian muttered. “Testing how far the compound can push a body before it breaks.”

Jay nodded grimly. “That would explain the biosignatures fluctuating like a bad EKG. Whoever’s sending this? They’re in pain.”

Dorian stood. “We’re going tonight.”

Jay raised both hands. “Whoa, I said it was weird—not that we should immediately break into a highly guarded blacksite while your brother is basically on life support.”

“I’m not leaving someone to die. Not again.”

Jay groaned. “Every time you say that, I lose five years off my life.”

Dorian grabbed his duffel, checking the gear—sidearms, a stun baton, smoke grenades, a makeshift jammer Jay had thrown together using parts from a broken blender.

Jay hesitated, then sighed and grabbed his coat. “Fine. I’m coming. Someone’s gotta be around to film your dramatic one-liners.”

Just before they stepped out, Malik stirred.

“D…” he rasped.

Dorian knelt beside him. “I’ll be back.”

“Don’t go alone,” Malik muttered. “They’re… they’re stronger now.”

“What do you mean?”

Malik’s eyes fluttered. “They tried… to make me into one of them. But I fought it. The others… some of them didn’t.”

Dorian felt ice in his spine.

“You’re saying they turned?”

Malik nodded weakly. “They liked it. The power. The clarity. It changes your mind, not just your body.”

Jay paled behind him. “Oh cool, super soldiers and brainwashed psychos. Great. This keeps getting better.”

Dorian gripped Malik’s shoulder. “Rest. We’ll bring whoever’s out there back—if we can.”

Malik’s voice was almost a whisper. “If they let you.”

12:04 AM – Dockside District, West Hangar 17

The wind howled down the empty loading docks, carrying the stench of salt, oil, and old ghosts. Hangar 17 loomed like a tombstone at the edge of the water. Faint orange lights glowed in the cracks between the reinforced panels.

Jay and Dorian crouched behind a row of decaying shipping containers.

“I hacked the utility grid,” Jay whispered. “They’re running double power through a buried conduit under the hangar. Which means something inside needs juice. Big juice.”

Dorian narrowed his eyes. “Vaulted room?”

“Could be. Or maybe it’s… I don’t know, a vending machine with a god complex.”

Dorian didn’t smile.

Jay handed him a small device. “EMP burst. Short range. Should take out electronics for fifteen seconds in a thirty-foot radius. After that, we’re blind.”

“Perfect,” Dorian said. “On my signal.”

They moved fast.

Dorian breached the side entrance, neutralizing the first guard with a chokehold. Jay disabled the security panel with a grin and two wires. Inside, the air was thick—humid, humming. They slipped down a service hallway, following the pulsing data signal Jay tracked from the tablet.

Then they reached it.

A room sealed behind biometric locks and a half-inch thick pressure door.

Jay mouthed, “Ten seconds,” and got to work.

The lock hissed open.

And there she was.

A girl—maybe twenty. Shaved head. Lean muscle. Eyes bloodshot and glowing faint blue under the overhead light. She was hooked to a machine by cables in her spine and wrists. Her mouth was taped shut, but her eyes—her eyes screamed.

Dorian moved fast. Cut the cables. Disconnected the drip feed. Her body convulsed once, then went limp.

Jay blinked. “She’s… she’s a kid.”

Dorian lifted her in his arms. “She’s not a weapon. Not to them. Not to us.”

They turned to leave—

—but the lights died.

Total blackout.

Jay froze. “Did you use the EMP?!”

Dorian hissed, “No.”

Then a low rumble echoed through the floor.

Footsteps.

Not one.

Not two.

Dozens.

And a voice from the intercom above.

“Leaving so soon, Cross?”

Voss.

Of course.

The girl stirred in Dorian’s arms and whispered, “Too late… They’re awake now.”