EPISODE 2

The base was on fire.

Jace sprinted through the chaos, his rifle raised, his eyes scanning the smoke-filled horizon. The mortars had stopped, but the damage was done. Fuel trucks burned. Soldiers screamed. Somewhere in the distance, the wail of sirens cut through the air like a knife.

He found Marcus near the motor pool, blood streaming from a gash on his forehead.

"Status!" Jace shouted.

"Three mortars," Marcus replied, his voice tight with pain. "They came from the east ridge. Viktor's already moving to intercept."

"Alone?"

"He doesn't wait for backup."

Jace cursed under his breath. Viktor was the best soldier he'd ever commanded, but the man had a death wish. He always had.

"Get to your bird," Jace said. "If they push us, we're going to need air support."

Marcus hesitated. "What about you?"

"I'll be fine. Go."

Marcus ran.

---

The east ridge was a nightmare of smoke and fire.

Viktor moved through the rocks like a predator, his knife in his hand, his body low to the ground. The mortars had stopped, but the enemy was still out there. He could feel them. He could taste them.

He found the first one crouched behind a boulder, his rifle aimed at the base below.

Viktor killed him silently—a blade across the throat, a body lowered to the ground without a sound.

The second one went down with a bullet to the base of the skull.

But the third one saw him.

The man turned, his rifle rising, his finger tightening on the trigger.

Viktor moved.

He closed the distance in three steps, grabbed the man's rifle, and twisted it out of his hands. Then he drove his knife into the man's chest, once, twice, three times.

The man fell.

Viktor stood over him, panting.

He looked down at his hands. They were covered in blood.

Always blood, he thought. Always blood.

He moved on.

---

In the command tent, General Sarah Hayes was watching the chaos unfold.

She'd been on the phone when the mortars hit—a call from Washington that she'd been expecting for days. The voice on the other end was cold, clinical, and utterly without mercy.

"General Hayes," the voice said. "I trust you've been following the news."

"I've been following everything," Hayes replied. "What do you want?"

"The soldier. Holloway. He's becoming a problem."

"He's always been a problem."

"Then you know what needs to be done."

Hayes felt her stomach tighten. "I'm not going to kill him."

"I'm not asking you to kill him. I'm asking you to let him go."

"Let him go where?"

"To his fate. The Council has already decided. He's going to take the fall for the massacre."

Hayes closed her eyes. She'd known this was coming. She'd known it for weeks.

But knowing doesn't make it easier.

"Holloway is innocent," she said. "You know that."

"Innocence doesn't matter. What matters is that the world believes him guilty. And the world is very, very gullible."

The line went dead.

Hayes stared at the phone.

You can't escape them, a voice whispered. You can never escape them.

She picked up her phone. She dialed a number she'd never called.

"Jace," she said into the void. "We need to talk."

---

Amara was in the motor pool, her laptop balanced on her knees, her fingers flying across the keyboard.

She'd tracked the mortars back to the east ridge, then back to a satellite phone, then back to a server in Eastern Europe. The trail was getting warmer.

Just one more layer, she thought. Just one more.

She typed a command. The screen blinked.

And then—

Access denied.

Amara stared at the screen.

Access denied.

She typed another command. Another. Another.

Access denied.

She slammed her fist on the keyboard. "No!"

"Problem?" a voice asked.

She looked up. It was Jace.

"Someone locked me out," she said. "They knew I was coming."

Jace's face hardened. "The Council?"

"Who else?"

He nodded slowly. "Then we find another way in."

"What if there's no other way?"

Jace looked at her. "There's always another way. You just have to find it."

---

Marcus was in the hospital tent, checking on the wounded soldiers.

Three had been injured in the attack—two with minor wounds, one with a shattered leg. The medics were working on them, their hands steady despite the chaos.

Marcus moved between the beds, offering words of comfort where he could. He was good at that. Better than Jace, who was better at fighting than healing.

"You okay?" he asked the soldier with the shattered leg.

The soldier laughed—a hollow, broken sound. "Define okay."

"You're alive. That's a start."

"Alive and missing a leg. What's the point?"

Marcus looked at him. "The point is that you're still breathing. The point is that you still have a reason to fight."

"What reason?"

Marcus thought about his family. Sarah. Tommy. Lily. The reason he kept going, no matter what.

"Your family," he said. "Your friends. The people who need you."

The soldier looked at him. Then he nodded.

"Thanks, Sarge."

Marcus squeezed his shoulder. "You'll be okay. I promise."

---

Viktor was still on the ridge.

He'd killed six men so far. Six enemies. Six bodies.

But he knew there were more.

He moved through the rocks like a ghost, his knife in his hand, his eyes scanning the darkness. The sun was beginning to rise, painting the desert in shades of orange and red.

Beautiful, he thought. And deadly.

He found the seventh man crouched behind a boulder, his rifle aimed at the base below.

Viktor killed him silently—a blade across the throat, a body lowered to the ground without a sound.

The eighth man was smarter. He heard Viktor coming and turned, his rifle rising.

But Viktor was faster.

He closed the distance in two steps, grabbed the man's rifle, and twisted it out of his hands. Then he drove his knife into the man's chest, once, twice, three times.

The man fell.

Viktor stood over him, panting.

Eight men, he thought. Eight enemies. Eight bodies.

He looked down at his hands. They were covered in blood.

Always blood, he thought. Always blood.

He heard a sound behind him.

He turned.

A man was standing in the shadows—a man he didn't recognize. He was tall, lean, and dressed in black tactical gear. His face was hidden behind a mask.

"Who are you?" Viktor asked.

The man pulled off his mask.

"Dmitri," Viktor whispered.

His brother.

---

In Eastern Europe, Frank "Fixer" Moretti was making a decision.

He'd been watching the news—the attacks, the accusations, the lies. He knew what was coming. He'd seen it before.

The system is breaking, he thought. The system is finally breaking.

He thought about Jace. About the man who'd saved his life. About the man who was now being hunted by the entire world.

He needs me, Fixer thought. He needs all of us.

He picked up his phone. He dialed a number he'd never called.

"Jace," he said into the void. "I'm coming for you."

---

In Switzerland, Dr. Elias Vance was playing chess with himself.

The game was a standoff—two equal forces, perfectly balanced, neither able to gain the advantage.

Just like the world.

Elias moved his knight. He moved his bishop. He watched the pieces fall into place.

He'd been hiding here for three years. Running for three years. Planning for three years.

I'm going to find Holloway, he thought. I'm going to help him tear down the system that destroyed our lives.

He picked up his phone. He dialed a number he'd never called.

"Jace," he said into the void. "I'm coming for you."

---

Back at FOB Phoenix, the day was just beginning.

The sun had risen over the desert, painting the base in shades of gold and amber. The fires were out. The wounded were healing. The dead were being mourned.

But Jace knew it wasn't over.

It was just the beginning.

He stood on the perimeter, looking out at the desert. The stars were fading, replaced by the pale blue of the morning sky.

Marcus joined him.

"Long night," Marcus said.

"Long year," Jace replied.

Marcus nodded. "You ever think about getting out?"

"Every day. But then I remember why I'm here."

"Why's that?"

Jace turned to him. "Because someone has to fight the monsters."

Marcus looked at him. "You think we can win?"

"I think we have to try."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only answer I've got."

Marcus nodded slowly. "Fair enough."

They stood in silence, watching the sunrise.

---

In the command tent, General Hayes was making a call.

She'd dialed the number twenty times. Each time, she'd hung up before it connected.

But this time, she didn't hang up.

"Sterling," she said. "We need to talk."

---

In the Russian prison, Viktor was being transferred.

The guards had come for him at midnight, their faces hard, their hands rough. They'd dragged him out of his cell and thrown him into the back of a van.

But Viktor wasn't afraid.

He knew what was coming.

And he was ready.

---

In Eastern Europe, Fixer was packing his bags.

He'd gathered everything he needed—weapons, ammunition, supplies. He was ready to move.

Jace needs me, he thought. And I'm going to be there for him.

He walked out of his workshop and into the night.

---

In the Swiss chalet, Elias was leaving.

He'd packed his bags, his weapons, his supplies. He was ready to move.

The Council is coming, he thought. And I'm going to be ready for them.