2025-08-18 23:25:18
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Public Leak Night
DEVON’S POV0800 GMT hits like a digital avalanche.Seventeen news outlets, six languages, four time zones—the upload bars on my screens complete simultaneously, and six terabytes of classified material flood the global information network like water through a broken dam.“Files are live,” I announce, though my voice sounds steadier than my hands feel. “Multi-path dissemination complete.”Maya leans over my shoulder, watching the real-time distribution tracking. “How long until…”The first notification pops up before she finishes the question. Guardian headline banner: ALIEN CONTACT COVER-UP: SECRET HYBRID PROGRAM EXPOSED.Then Washington Post: CORPORATE HUMAN EXPERIMENTATION REVEALED.Der Spiegel: REGIERUNG VERTUSCHUNG AUSSERIRDISCHER KONTAKT.“Jesus,” Kira breathes. “It’s actually happening.”I switch to social media monitoring. Twitter trending algorithms explode across my secondary screen. #AlienHybrids. #CorporateConspiracy. #HumanExperimentation. The hashtags spread like wildfir
The Prism of Voices
EZREN’S POV“No.”Kira’s voice cuts the safehouse air sharp as broken glass. “We just buried Miguel in an alley because of the connection. And now you want him to dive deeper?”Aveline doesn’t flinch. She never does. “Low-amplitude probe. Controlled parameters. Fifteen minutes max.”“You’re talking about using him as bait.”“I’m not talking about bait. I’m talking about intelligence gathering.” Aveline tightens the last clamp on the monitoring rig she’s been building for the past hour, fingers steady like a surgeon’s.“That badge Sora pulled? Ark-Live isn’t random corporate fluff. The designation matches communication structures inside the collective.”I watch them argue from the isolation chamber, fractal patterns dancing at the edges of my vision. The suppression equipment hums like angry wasps, but it can’t drown out the whispers anymore.Soon, the voices say. Phase transition imminent.“What structures?” Devon asks, eyes flicking between a dozen traffic-analysis feeds.“Coordinati
Hive Hunt
SORA’S POVThe alley tastes like rust and rain the moment they come for us.“Package secure,” Miguel breathes over comms, his voice fogging in the pre-dawn chill. He sounds steady, but I catch the tremor he can’t hide. “Kid’s got the files.”Through my scope, I find the courier. Nineteen at most. His hands shake so badly that he can barely hold the drive. He clutches it like maybe it’ll buy him a future.“Movement, north side.” My crosshairs snag the first shadow sliding down a fire escape. Fluid. Silent. Too clean. “Miguel. Abort. Now.”“What? I don’t see…”The alley bursts white-green. The flash blinds me for half a second, but Miguel doesn’t get that luxury. His jacket opens like a red flower.“Miguel!” The courier spins toward the gunshot, files scattering from his jacket. “What the hell…”Something punches through his spine. He pitches forward, lands face-first in a puddle that reflects the streetlight like a broken mirror.“Contact north, contact north!” I shift my rifle, findin
The Point of No Return
ZARA’S POVThe encrypted channel crackles awake at 2:47 a.m., broken static fizzing in my ear. I lean closer to the mic.“Still breathing down there, or should I start shopping for funeral flowers?”Devon’s reply comes tight, the kind of voice you use when you’re counting heartbeats.“Drone’s still circling. What about you?”I’m perched three stories up in a gutted office building, watching Blackthorn’s toy hover over their hiding spot like a mechanical vulture. My fingers dance across three separate keyboards—one for each identity I’m wearing tonight.“Status is we’re about to burn this whole thing wide open.” I switch to a different encryption key, routing through servers in six countries. “Hope you’re sitting down, because I’ve got a plan that’s either brilliant or suicidal.”“Those aren’t mutually exclusive with you,” Kira’s voice joins the channel.“Flattered.” I pull up the files we’ve been sitting on—terabytes of documentation, video evidence, and enough smoking guns to arm a s
Signal in the Dark
DEVON’S POVThe safe house smells like coffee and nerves ground fine.Three levels down, past a rusted gate and through a maintenance tunnel that hasn’t seen a commuter train in twenty years.No map lists this place. No records. It’s a hole in the world carved by people who know sometimes survival means vanishing completely.“Welcome to the mesh,” Maya says, keying in the final lock.She’s lean, all elbows and scars, with eyes that measure and cut. “Population: fourteen. Heat level: moderate. House rules—no phones, no wireless, no signals. You light up the grid, you don’t stay.”I take in the main room. Divided by scavenged panels and blankets, people hunched over makeshift stations, soldering circuits, grinding gun parts, stitching documents that look damn near official.They glance up, wary but not curious. Survivors don’t waste curiosity.“How long has this been running?” Kira asks, trying for conversational, though her fingers never stray far from Ezren’s arm.“Two years,” says So
Whispers on the Roof
EZREN’S POVGravel crunches under my boots as I shove through the rooftop hatch.The night air cuts sharply in my lungs, better than the recycled antiseptic stench clinging to the clinic below.Four stories down, Devon barks orders into his terminal, plotting escape routes with the precision of someone who doesn’t believe in luck.Kira moves like a storm contained in flesh, cramming vials and gauze into her pack like every second matters.I wanted distance from all of it. I wanted air that didn’t taste like fear.The city spreads out below, lights flickering like neural pathways, traffic flowing like blood through arteries. In the distance, one of the landing pods sits in Central Park, surrounded by crowds and camera crews.Beautiful, isn’t it? The collective’s voice emerges from the back of my mind, gentle as a lullaby. Your species, seen from above. Such potential. Such waste.My throat tightens. “What do you want from me?”What we want from all who can think. Unity. The end of isol
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