The Silent Trace

CHAPTER SIX~DOUBLE CROSS

(After the fall, London under siege, new players emerge)

Rain lashed the Thames like broken glass. Ethan’s body surfaced near a moored tugboat, lungs screaming. He clawed his way up the slick ladder and collapsed on the deck, coughing water and blood. The city lights shimmered above, distorted, unreal.

Isla wasn’t there.

He staggered upright, scanning the black current. A faint light bobbed downstream, a buoy, or maybe her flashlight. He dove in again, every muscle burning, chasing that glimmer through the dark.

But when he reached it, all he found was her badge.

{The Shadow Operative}

Hours later, Ethan broke into a derelict flat in Camden. He stripped off his soaked clothes and stared into the cracked mirror.

Bruises, cuts, eyes like hollow glass.

And beneath it all, a faint pulse of light under his left collarbone.

He pressed it.

A holographic code flickered across his reflection: UNIT: VALE-01 ACTIVE / SYNC LOST / RETRIEVE CORE DATA

He froze.

They hadn’t just copied his DNA. They’d networked him.

His comm buzzed once encrypted frequency, one he hadn’t used in years.

Unknown Voice: “You survived. That’s… inconvenient.”

Ethan: “Who is this?”

Voice: “Someone who wants Roth erased. Meet me at the Old Vic Theatre. Midnight. Bring the badge.”

The line went dead.

{The Old Vic}

The theatre was abandoned, scaffolding draped like cobwebs. London slept beyond its walls, unaware of the war simmering in its veins. Ethan entered through a side door, pistol ready.

A single figure stood center stage, backlit by the ghost light.

“Hello, Ethan,” she said.

It was Isla.

She looked untouched, dry clothes, no wounds, calm as a photograph.

“I watched you drown,” he said.

“Then maybe you watched the wrong one.”

He aimed his gun. “Clone?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She stepped closer, eyes sharp. “You broke into MI5. You found Echelon II. That was the point. Roth wanted you to.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s running a simulation, seeing which version of you reaches him first. You’re not just his experiment, Ethan. You’re his weapon.”

Ethan’s hand trembled. “You’re lying.”

She tossed him a drive, the one he lost in the archive. “That contains the original trigger file. Open it, and you’ll see what you are.”

Before he could speak, the stage doors burst open. Black-clad soldiers flooded in.

“MI5 Tactical! Drop your weapon!”

Isla smiled faintly. “Too late.”

Smoke grenades erupted. She vanished into the haze as bullets tore through the stage.

Ethan rolled behind the curtain, firing blind, adrenaline spiking. A round grazed his shoulder. Another hit the scaffolding, showering sparks.

He bolted toward the fire exit and crashed into the alley beyond.

The sound of sirens echoed across the night.

{The Chase}

He ducked into an underground station. Lights flickered. Footsteps thundered behind him, agents shouting, boots on tile.

He jumped the barrier, sprinted down the empty platform, and leapt onto the tracks just as a train screamed into view.

He pressed flat against the wall. Heat and air tore past him.

When the train was gone, so were his pursuers.

He climbed into a maintenance tunnel, breath ragged, the drive clutched in his hand.

{The Revelation}

In the dark, Ethan connected the drive to his wrist comm. The screen filled with data, neural maps, chemical markers, timestamps.

Then a single video file opened:

A sterile lab. Roth at the console.

“Subject Vale-01 showing stable integration. Memory fragments reinserted successfully. Emotional response: intact. Recommend release into population to observe behavioral variance.”

The camera turned,showing Ethan himself, unconscious on the table.

Roth’s voice continued: “If he ever discovers this recording, initiate Phase Two.”

The feed ended.

Ethan sat in the dark, shaking.

{Phase Two}.

He looked down. The implant under his collarbone pulsed faster, syncing to an invisible rhythm.

A voice echoed from deeper in the tunnel,soft, almost kind.

“Phase Two initiated.”

From the shadows stepped another figure.

Same face. Same eyes.

Ethan’s clone, expression blank, a pistol steady in his hand.

“Don’t move,” the copy said. “You’re the control subject. I’m the evolution.”

Ethan’s finger tightened on his own trigger.

Two identical men, one heartbeat apart.

Then the lights cut out.