I hit the ground before he even finished accusing me.
Greg Masterson never saw it coming.
One second, he was in my face, shouting about stolen valor, waving his phone like a weapon—
The next, his wrist was locked, his balance gone, and his camera skidding across the floor.
“Don’t move,” I said quietly.
The bar went silent.
Too silent.
I released him just as the sirens started outside.
Right on time.
My name is Riley Gallagher.
But the world used to know me as Samantha Collins.
And according to official records… I died overseas.
“Hands behind your back!” an officer shouted.
I complied instantly.
No hesitation.
No resistance.
That part mattered.
Greg sat up, laughing through the pain. “Got you. I knew it. Fake SEAL. This is going viral.”
I met his eyes.
“You really have no idea, do you?”
He frowned.
Good.
The cuffs snapped shut.
Cold. Familiar.
They walked me out past a crowd already forming, phones up, capturing every angle.
Perfect.
Exactly what I needed.
Until something shifted.
Greg wasn’t looking at the cameras anymore.
He was watching me.
Carefully.
Analyzing.
That wasn’t a troll.
That was someone verifying something.
And suddenly, the entire setup felt… off.
Inside the cruiser, I flexed my wrist slightly.
The device was in place.
Transfer complete.
So why did it feel like I was the one being played?
At the station, everything moved too smoothly.
Too coordinated.
Processing.
No delays.
No confusion.
Almost like they’d been waiting.
They sat me down in interrogation.
Lights overhead. Camera blinking red.
“State your name,” the officer said.
I held his gaze.
“Riley Gallagher.”
Typing.
Pause.
Then—
“What the hell?”
He turned the screen toward himself, face draining.
“That’s classified—”
The door slammed open.
Two suits walked in like they owned the building.
One flashed credentials too fast to read.
“Step outside.”
“This is my case—”
“Not anymore.”
The officer stepped back.
Smart choice.
The man turned to me slowly.
Eyes sharp.
Calculating.
“Didn’t expect to find a ghost tonight,” he said.
I leaned back slightly.
“Then you’re not looking in the right places.”
He stared at me for a long moment.
Then said something that changed everything:
“We know what you planted on him.”
My pulse didn’t move.
But inside—
Everything shifted.
Because if they knew that—
Then this wasn’t my operation anymore.
It was theirs.
And I had just walked straight into it.
Part 2
I didn’t ask questions.
Not yet.
Because in my world, the moment you start asking the wrong ones… you don’t get answers—you get buried.
The taller agent closed the interrogation room door behind him, muting the station noise instantly.
“No cameras,” he said calmly.
The red light blinked off.
That alone told me everything.
This wasn’t official.
Or at least—not in any way that would ever be written down.
“Name,” I said.
He smirked slightly. “You first.”
I leaned back in the chair, cuffs still on. “You already know it.”
A pause.
Then he nodded. “Samantha Collins. Valkyrie protocol.”
So they did know.
That narrowed things down.
“Then you also know I don’t answer to you,” I replied.
“Not anymore,” he said quietly.
That caught my attention.
The second agent stepped forward, placing a tablet on the table.
He tapped the screen.
Greg Masterson’s face appeared.
Multiple angles.
Multiple locations.
Surveillance-level footage.
“This isn’t a YouTube troll,” he said. “This is a broker.”
“I know,” I replied.
“Do you?” he asked. “Because you just walked into a live operation targeting him.”
I felt it then.
The shift.
This wasn’t coincidence.
“Whose operation?” I asked.
Silence.
Then—
“Ours.”
Something didn’t add up.
“Agency?” I pressed.
The first agent leaned closer. “The kind that doesn’t get named.”
Right.
That kind.
I glanced at the tablet again. “Then why let him run?”
“Because he leads us to buyers.”
“And how many operatives get exposed while you wait?” I snapped.
He didn’t answer.
That was answer enough.
I leaned forward slightly, lowering my voice.
“I already have his data.”
That got their attention.
“Impossible,” the second agent said.
I smiled faintly.
“Check his phone.”
They did.
Thirty seconds later—
Their expressions changed.
Shock.
Then something else.
Concern.
“What did you pull?” the first agent asked.
“Everything,” I said. “Contacts. Transfers. Dead drops.”
He shook his head slowly. “No… you don’t understand.”
“Then explain.”
He turned the tablet toward me again.
One file was highlighted.
Encrypted.
Tagged.
ECHO-9
My blood ran cold.
That wasn’t just any file.
That was internal.
Deep internal.
“Where did he get that?” I whispered.
“That’s what we were hoping you’d tell us,” the agent said.
And just like that—
Everything flipped.
Greg Masterson wasn’t just selling information.
He had access to something he should never have touched.
Something tied directly to my program.
To Valkyrie.
To missions that officially never happened.
I sat back slowly.
“This isn’t about him,” I said.
“No,” the agent replied. “It’s about who’s feeding him.”
And that’s when it hit me.
The real target…
Was inside.
Before I could speak—
Gunshots erupted outside the station.
Shouting.
Glass shattering.
The agents drew instantly.
“Stay down!”
Too late.
The door exploded inward.
And suddenly—
The hunters weren’t the ones in control anymore.
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Part 3
The first agent went down before he could even fire.
Clean shot.
Center mass.
Professional.
I dropped low, dragging the chair with me as bullets tore through the interrogation room.
This wasn’t a rescue.
It was a cleanup.
“Keys!” I snapped.
The second agent slid them across the floor before returning fire.
I unlocked the cuffs in seconds.
Muscle memory.
Ranger instincts.
Survive first. Understand later.
I grabbed the fallen agent’s weapon and moved.
Low. Fast. Controlled.
The hallway was chaos.
Officers scrambling. Civilians screaming.
But the shooters?
They moved with precision.
Clearing rooms.
Advancing.
They weren’t here for everyone.
They were here for something specific.
Or someone.
Me.
I slipped into cover behind a desk, tracking movement.
Three hostiles.
Then four.
Coordinated.
Military-grade.
This wasn’t some random hit squad.
This was sanctioned.
Or stolen.
Either way—
Someone inside had pulled the trigger on me.
I flanked left, took one down.
Another turned—
Too slow.
Two more shots.
Silence.
Temporary.
The second agent staggered into view, bleeding but alive.
“Garage,” he said. “We need to move.”
We did.
Fast.
We pushed through the chaos, down the stairwell, into the underground garage.
A black SUV waited.
Engine running.
Doors open.
Trap.
“Wait,” I said.
Too late.
The driver stepped out.
Hands raised.
Familiar face.
Greg Masterson.
Alive.
Unharmed.
And smiling.
“Surprise,” he said.
The agent raised his weapon. “On the ground!”
Greg laughed. “You still don’t get it.”
I stepped forward slowly.
“No,” I said. “I do.”
He tilted his head.
“Enlighten me.”
“You’re not the broker,” I said.
A pause.
Then—
A grin.
“Finally.”
Everything clicked into place.
“You’re the pipeline,” I continued. “The access point. The leak.”
“Close,” he said. “I’m the test.”
The agent frowned. “Test?”
Greg’s smile widened.
“To see how deep the rot goes.”
Silence hit like a shockwave.
“No,” I said quietly. “That’s not how this works.”
“It is now,” Greg replied. “Because the people you trust? The ones running your operations?”
He leaned in slightly.
“They’re the ones buying.”
That was the twist.
Not foreign enemies.
Not outside threats.
Internal.
Systemic.
Rot from the top down.
The agent lowered his weapon slightly.
Just enough.
That was the mistake.
Gunshot.
Greg moved faster than expected.
The agent dropped.
I fired—
But Greg was already moving.
Into the SUV.
Engine roaring.
I chased—
Too late.
He sped out of the garage.
Gone.
I stood there, breathing hard.
Gun still raised.
But it was over.
For now.
Weeks later, the fallout hit.
Quietly.
Internally.
People disappeared from positions.
Investigations opened.
Files buried.
Others… erased.
Officially, nothing happened.
Unofficially—
Everything changed.
As for me?
I stayed dead.
Because ghosts don’t get targeted.
They don’t get tracked.
And they don’t get compromised.
But they do watch.
And I’m still watching.
Because Greg was right about one thing—
The real war isn’t out there.
It’s inside.
And it’s far from over.
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