The black van cut through the streets of Brinlake like a phantom,no logos,no plates,no questions.The city outside was still half–asleep,bathed in orange streetlamp glow and flickering neon signs,but inside the van, adrenaline was spiking like an electrical storm.
Ethan stared at the hard drive in his hands like it might start talking.
"I want this cracked wide open," he said, his voice cold, focused.
Liam glanced at him through the rearview mirror. "It's encrypted. Military grade. Maybe even custom-built. But I'll get in."
"How long?" Harper asked.
Liam gave a small, bitter laugh. "Depends on how many devils are guarding it."
Harper looked back at Ethan. "What you saw,your photo, your apartment feed,it wasn't random. That house was a shrine. Someone's keeping tabs on you, and not just you."
Ethan nodded. "There were others. Their faces were marked,most of them. I think it's a list. A hit list."
Maxwell, sitting across from him, leaned forward. "And they labeled you as 'Active.' That means they haven't made their move yet."
"Or," Ethan said, "they already have. And I'm just the last to realize."
The van turned off the main road and entered a narrow industrial area. Tall buildings loomed on either side,abandoned warehouses, storage units, gutted offices. It looked like the kind of place Brinlake had long since forgotten.
Liam pulled into a garage with a steel roller door. As it closed behind them, the fluorescent lights above flickered to life, casting long shadows on the concrete floor.
"This is one of our safehouses," Harper said. "You're off the grid now."
The moment they stopped, Liam opened a side compartment and wheeled out a field server. He connected the hard drive and began typing, fingers flying across the keyboard.
"Give me an hour," he muttered.
Ethan nodded and turned to Harper. "I need to know who's running this. Who's pulling strings. And why me?"
Harper leaned against the wall. "You've been inside every corner of Brinlake. Every neighborhood. Every building with a drop slot or a backdoor. You've mapped the city in a way no satellite or blueprint ever could."
"I was just delivering packages," Ethan said.
Harper's eyes locked with his. "And they were watching every stop."
There was silence for a moment. Then Maxwell asked, "What about the name on the package.Alastair Crane?"
Liam didn't look up. "Already on it. Cross-referencing that name against Brinlake records. It's not common. Could be an alias."
Ethan pulled out his phone, checking the time. It had been just under four hours since he delivered the unmarked package. Four hours since everything flipped.
His inbox had over thirty missed calls,all spam. Or what looked like spam.
"Hold on," he said. "Something's off."
He scrolled through one number that had called him seven times in a row. It wasn't saved, but he noticed something strange. The area code didn't exist.
"Liam," he said, holding up the phone. "You seen this code before?"
Liam squinted. "That's not a code. That's a cipher. Reverse it."
Ethan typed it backwards. Then something clicked.
It spelled: C-A-L-I-G-O.
"Caligo," Harper said. "Latin. Means mist… or shadow."
"Is that the name of the group?" Ethan asked.
Maxwell pulled out a tablet and tapped into a secured database. "Caligo's been a ghost rumor in underground networks for years. No photos. No confirmed members. Just whispers. A syndicate that erases people,digitally, physically. Like they never existed."
"And now they're after me," Ethan muttered.
"You're not alone," Harper said quietly. "Caligo doesn't just erase people,they reassign them. Bend them. Use them. Some victims vanish. Others become operatives without even realizing it."
Ethan sat down slowly, the weight of everything pressing into his chest. "You think I'm being turned into one of them?"
"I think they've already started."
Liam's voice broke the tension. "I'm in."
They all gathered around the monitor as Liam decrypted the first folder on the hard drive. A grid of video thumbnails appeared,hundreds of them. Each labeled with a code and a name.
"Jesus," Harper whispered. "That's surveillance footage. Dozens of addresses."
Maxwell tapped on one.
A video opened. Grainy night-vision feed from inside a bedroom. A man sleeping. The timestamp was two days old. At the bottom of the screen: SUBJECT: R. AINSLEY | STATUS: DEACTIVATED.
They watched as a figure entered the room—silent, masked, efficient. A syringe. A whisper. The man in the bed never stirred.
Then the figure turned toward the camera, knowing it was there.
It was Ethan.
Or someone who looked exactly like him.
Harper stepped back. "No. That's not possible."
Ethan felt the blood drain from his face. "That's not me."
Liam clicked on the metadata. "Deepfake tech. High-level. Someone's using your face."
Maxwell stared at the screen. "Or they're conditioning you. Uploading memories. Creating an alibi,so if anyone asks, they show this footage, and you disappear into their story."
Ethan stepped away from the monitor, fists clenched. "I need to know everything. Every address. Every name. We're not running anymore,we're hunting."
Harper gave a grim nod. "Then we strike first."
Ethan looked out the small garage window at the city skyline. Brinlake looked peaceful from here. But he knew better now.
This wasn't just his story anymore.
It was a war.
And it had already begun.