GOLDEN PALM

Chapter 2 — “The Mayford Protocol”

The storm hadn’t stopped. It just changed rhythm, lighter, colder, sharper. Nicholas moved through Orivale’s back alleys like a ghost.

His boots made no sound against wet concrete. The city at midnight was a mosaic of noise, sirens in the distance, metal shutters slamming, muffled laughter from a bar.

He turned a corner and found the 24-Hour Diner, its flickering neon sign bleeding pink over the wet street.

Inside, a handful of night regulars, truckers, insomniacs, and one woman with a laptop who hadn’t blinked in ten minutes.

Nicholas slid into a booth. The waitress, thin, exhausted, kind eyes, poured coffee without asking. “You look like hell, Nick.”

“You should see the other guy.”

She smirked, left him alone. He stared at the coffee. The phone buzzed again. Unknown Number.

He answered, voice low. “Talk.”

“You didn’t forget how to pick up fast,” the voice said, female this time. Smooth, confident, edged with danger.

“Then again, you were trained not to.”

Nicholas’s grip tightened on the cup. “Who is this?”

“Name’s Elara Voss. We used to work the same side. At least before you went dark.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re two years too late.”

“Not if the Protocol’s been triggered. HYDRA-13 wasn’t supposed to exist anymore.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Then why did you get the call?”

Nicholas said nothing. The silence stretched until the hum of the diner’s neon light filled it. “Where did you get this number, Elara?”

“You’re asking the wrong question.”

“Try me.”

“Who gave them yours?”

Nicholas’s eyes lifted, scanning the diner through the window’s reflection. Two men in dark jackets had stopped across the street, pretending to smoke. One adjusted something under his coat.

“You brought them here?” he asked quietly.

“No,” she said. “But they were bound to find you the moment the Protocol went live. You know what that means, Nicholas.”

“Yeah,” he said, standing. “It means they’re already dead.”

He left cash on the counter, stepped out into the rain. The two men across the street turned, surprised. “Evening,” Nicholas said. “Long night?”

They didn’t answer. One reached inside his jacket. Nicholas moved first. A single stride, hand snapping the man’s wrist sideways, bone cracked.

The second drew a pistol; Nicholas ducked, slammed his elbow into the man’s ribs, and twisted his arm until the gun dropped into his own hand.

He aimed, smooth, precise, calm. “Who sent you?”

“YoU, you think we talk?” the man spat, blood mixing with rain. “You just did.”

Nicholas fired, one shot into the asphalt beside the man’s boot. The noise echoed like thunder. “Next one’s an artery.”

“C-Commander Voss!” the man blurted. “We were ordered to”

A whisper, the click of a rifle. Nicholas spun. A red dot blinked on the man’s forehead. A moment later, it bloomed red for real. He dropped instantly. The other froze.

Nicholas’s head snapped up, scanning rooftops. Nothing but darkness. “Sniper,” he muttered. “Tight group. Military precision.”

The second man tried to run. Nicholas caught him by the collar. “You’ve got three seconds before whoever that is finds you, too. Talk.”

“I don’t, I swear, they said to observe you, not engage”

The man’s head exploded before he could finish. Nicholas’s jaw clenched. He didn’t flinch at the blood, just turned slowly, searching the skyline.

A faint shimmer, movement on the rooftop opposite. He raised the stolen pistol, fired twice, two clean shots. The shimmer vanished.

He exhaled. Rain fell harder. Sirens began to rise in the distance. He ducked into an alley, discarded the weapon, and pulled his hood up. His phone buzzed again, same number.

“You’re sloppy tonight,” Elara’s voice said.

“You used me as bait.”

“I needed proof they were hunting you again.”

“And now?”

“Now you run.”

Nicholas smirked faintly. “You know me better than that.”

“You don’t get it, Nick. HYDRA-13 wasn’t decommissioned, it was sold.”

He stopped walking. “Sold? To who?”

“Not who. What.”

The line crackled, static swallowing her voice. Then another sound came through, faint, rhythmic beeping. Nicholas frowned. “Elara?”

No answer. Just the beeping, faster now. His eyes widened. “You planted”

The explosion hit from three blocks away. The diner disintegrated in fire and glass. He watched, silent, the orange glow reflected in his eyes.

“You never learn, Elara,” he murmured. “But I will.”

Behind him, headlights flared. A black SUV stopped at the alley’s mouth. A man stepped out, broad shoulders, military posture, umbrella in one hand, something else in the other: a small metal badge with the Mayford crest burned into it. “Mr. Mayford,” the man said calmly. “It’s time you came home.”

Nicholas’s fingers twitched, halfway between a fist and a draw. “Home’s gone,” he said.

The man smiled faintly. “Then we’ll rebuild it. Together.”

Lightning split the sky, and in that flash, Nicholas saw the reflection of a sniper scope glinting just above the SUV. He dove sideways as the shot rang out.

The screen of his phone shattered, the last message still glowing faintly before the rain washed it away: “HYDRA-13: Stage One Complete.”