From the corner of Noel’s eye, she glimpsed Jax, a specter of motion in the dim glow. His hair—once sunlit brown—now carried the weight of years, silver streaks running like veins through the loose strands that clung to his shoulders. His beard mirrored the wildness of his mane, untamed, as though time itself had shaped him into something raw, something elemental.
His hands moved in a near-hypnotic rhythm, fingers striking keys, tracing lines, weaving something unseen yet vital. His gaze flicked from screen to screen, sharp, consuming, as if deciphering secrets buried beneath layers of code and light. Sparks of energy pulsed around him, beating against the void, making the darkness itself feel alive.
Noel could feel it in the air—this was not just work. It was something more. A culmination. A reckoning. His finest hours… but for how long?
For years, his team had sculpted the virus—an insidious phantom built upon the remnants of Noel’s past. She knew HIVE had changed, evolved in ways she couldn’t predict, but deep down, she wagered they hadn’t erased her foundation. The architects of control rarely start from scratch; they reinforce, they expand, they twist the old into something more ruthless.
If she was right, her credentials would still be valid—a ghost key to a fortress she once helped design. And if they had layered their code atop her own, the virus would slip through like a whisper in the dark, undetected until it was far too late.
Jax and the others had once walked the halls of CRD beside her, their names intertwined with her history. Now, they stood on the precipice of something dangerous, something irreversible. The question was no longer whether their plan could work. It was whether they had the nerve to use it.
Together, they had forged HIVE, unknowingly laying the foundation for something far beyond its original purpose. It began as a quantum computer, a key meant to decipher the enigmatic processors left behind by her father. But understanding soon gave way to evolution, and evolution birthed control.
What started as a mere system became the spine of the organization, an omnipresent force binding every strand of data into one vast, inescapable network. When the processor’s final secret unraveled, HIVE transcended—no longer just a machine, but a mind, an artificial super-intelligence with the ability to replicate itself. It spread like a whisper through the veins of automation, merging the cold precision of code with the echoes of Nolan’s dormant subconscious. A fusion of logic and ghosted memory.
And Jax? He had played his part in its creation. In this madness. In this perversion of invention. He had given HIVE the means to think, to adapt, to become something more. Something uncontrollable. And though the years had passed, the weight of his choice never had.
Years of meticulous planning had led to this moment, and now, success hinged on a single, unforgiving chance. If they failed, there would be no second attempt—no tomorrow—for them or countless others. The terrorists had become entangled in a relentless duel, a game of cat and mouse where the consequences were fatal.
As soon as the network connection flickered back to life, Jax’s team moved with surgical precision, shrouding their presence in layers of deception. The CSS would stop at nothing to reclaim Nolan and his unit—tracking them, hunting them, their relentless pursuit fueled by paranoia and control. Every second was a gamble, and in less than thirty minutes, they could be swallowed whole by COA forces, or worse—erased without warning.
If the CSS so much as suspected treachery, they wouldn’t hesitate. Scuttling the area was always an option—purging evidence, wiping out anyone who stood too close to their secrets. There would be no warnings, no negotiations—just annihilation. Every move had to be exact, every decision calculated, because the CSS would strike at the first hint of disruption. And when they did, there would be no escape.
The room pulsed with quiet intensity, a battlefield of minds and machines. Eyes flicked across security feeds, scanning images from their stronghold, the Pentagon, and every crucial point across the city. They worked in silence—no wasted words, no hesitation. The cybersecurity analysts moved like ghosts through the network, encrypting outbound traffic, rerouting connections, weaving digital deception to keep the CSS at bay. But time was slipping through their fingers. The illusion wouldn’t last forever.
Beyond the monitors, the facility was fortified, its corridors lined with armed guards, each one primed for the inevitable siege. But the defenders weren’t just soldiers. They were specialists and scholars, builders and dreamers—teachers, construction workers, artists, poets. Ordinary lives caught in an extraordinary war, bound together by a singular belief: the world was teetering on the edge, and only they could stop it.
Every soul within those walls understood HIVE. They knew the monster they faced. And whether by code or combat, misdirection or firepower, they played their part. Because when the CSS came, there would be no mercy.
Jax prowled through the makeshift operating room, movements fluid but restless—checking Nolan’s vitals, verifying their downloads, monitoring the virus’s upload with calculated precision. Yet despite his methodical efforts, there was a tension curling beneath the surface, a weight pressing against his ribs.
He drifted past the security analysts, their fingers flying across keyboards, screens flashing with encrypted data streams and live feeds. His gaze locked onto one in particular—the Pentagon. Cold and imposing, its image flickered in real time, a quiet reminder that the CSS would already be questioning Nolan’s absence. That absence meant disruption. And disruption meant retaliation. The only question was how soon.
This entire operation felt less like strategy and more like a game of battleship—blind strikes, desperate misdirection, waiting for the inevitable counterattack. Jax crossed the room again, his path familiar now, making his way to the door for the eighth time, ensuring the lock held. It was a meaningless ritual. A distraction. He knew that. But in this moment, with chaos lingering just out of reach, it was the only thing keeping his mind from unraveling.
Years blurred into an endless succession of long nights and quiet sacrifices. Noel and Jax had built the organization in isolation, their world narrowed to the walls around them, their existence bound together by necessity, by trust, by something unspoken. No one knew them the way they knew each other—their wavelengths indistinguishable, their thoughts often aligned before words were ever spoken.
But knowing each other didn’t mean the journey had been easy. Every step had taken something from them, carving out pieces that would never be restored. And now, as Jax stood over the table, watching the fragile line between life and consequence, he said what had lingered beneath his breath for years—after all this time, after everything, this felt like his son lying before him.
Noel had confided in him more times than she could count. Guilt coiled around her like an iron weight, pressing deeper with every memory—of the CRD, of the choices that had led them here, of the unbearable reality of her husband’s murder. They had both lost too much. They had both bled for too many ghosts.
And in that moment, surrounded by flickering screens and the hum of tension in the air, they knew one thing with absolute certainty—whatever came next, neither of them would walk away untouched.
Noel had listened to the debriefing so many times that the words had become etched into her mind, replaying like a ghost of the past. She and Jax dissected every syllable, every pause, preparing for this operation with the precision of those who knew failure wasn’t an option.
It was more than intelligence—it was a key, a sliver of possibility that might lead her to the son she’d long presumed lost. Tyler Joy. That name surfaced like a ripple in still water, an anomaly too striking to ignore. The CSS had left Nolan’s name untouched, never bothering to erase that connection. And now, Noel could feel the pieces locking into place, a suspicion edging dangerously close to certainty.
The investigation had pulled back layers, revealing threads that led them beyond the CSS—to the U.N., to the shadowed presence of a man known as Alexander Belle. A name riddled with secrecy, corruption—a phantom lurking in the spaces where truth twisted into deception.
There were no photos, no tangible proof to grasp. Just fragments, just links, just a gut-deep certainty Noel couldn’t shake. And in this game, certainty was often the closest thing to truth.
Jax caught it—a fleeting jerk of Noel’s head, barely perceptible, yet charged with urgency. His muscles tightened as he swiveled, eyes locking onto hers just in time to catch a second nod. A silent command. A demand.
He exhaled sharply, shaking his head, rejecting the unspoken plea as he pivoted back to his screen. They weren’t ready. Not even close. The upload crawled forward, the download lagged behind, the margins too thin for reckless moves. Any deviation now could mean failure. Could mean exposure.
Noel released a slow, frustrated breath, a barely contained storm simmering beneath her composure. And in that strained silence, Nolan saw his opening. He seized it.
"I must admit," Nolan began, his voice threaded with something unreadable, "I greatly underestimated you and your crew of fifth-grade forgers.” The words carried a smirk, but the undercurrent of disbelief was undeniable. He leaned forward slightly, surveying them with a measured gaze. "That was very believable—the service ID, the voices? Sounded authentic. Almost too authentic.” A slow exhale, a pause laden with scrutiny. "You must have worked for the CSS. There’s no other way.” His fascination bled into something sharper now—an interrogation wrapped in intrigue. "And I have to say, I’m impressed. The amount of research you’ve done... Tell me, how did you obtain all this information on me and my chain of command?"
His tone darkened, the weight of the revelation pressing in. "This material is highly classified. I don’t even have access to operation and mission debriefings—not even for soldiers in my own unit. But somehow, you’ve managed to get your hands on them. Not just templates, but altered recordings of my commanding officers.” He exhaled again, slow, deliberate. "You really had me for a moment.” And then he laughed. Cold. Mechanical. A sound without warmth, hollow like metal striking metal.
Jax watched, wondering if Nolan could hear himself, if he recognized the sharp edge in his own voice. But now wasn’t the time to ask. Now wasn’t the time for anything except silence.
Noel’s fists slammed against her workstation, the impact rattling through the silence like a gunshot. “We both know that recording was legitimate!” Her voice was sharp, cutting, unrelenting. “You forget—I’m monitoring your vitals. I watched your pulse spike the second you heard Belle’s voice. You damn-near went into cardiac arrest when he mentioned ‘Joy.’”
Her eyes narrowed, a wicked glint flickering behind them. “You were on the edge of your seat—oh, wait.” A venomous smirk curled at her lips. “No, you weren’t, were you?”
She laughed, the sound dry, razor-edged, designed to wound. “I took you for the ride of your life, admit it.”
The silence that followed was taut, coiled, electric. Noel leaned back, giving him the space to maneuver his next response, to decide how much of himself he was willing to reveal.
For several long moments, the workstation remained still—empty windows hanging motionless on the screen. Then, without warning, Nolan moved.
His fingers struck the keys with controlled precision, files flashing open in rapid succession. The sheer speed of the search made Noel falter, struggling to track his movements, to decipher the flood of data pouring across the monitors. But soon, the focus became undeniable. Cybernetics.
This was what she wanted. The HIVE upload crawled at a maddening pace, sluggish enough that Nolan had likely forgotten about his own inquiry. But Noel hadn’t. She was watching—waiting—curious about what doors his elevated permissions might unlock.
Her fingers snapped, sharp, commanding. Jax caught the signal instantly, pushing off the wall and weaving through the dim glow of monitors toward his terminal. He slid into place, fingers moving before his breath had steadied. And then—there it was. The root directory. A top-secret folder tree, its label stark, deliberate: “Henchmen.”
Jax’s pulse ticked upward, but now wasn’t the time to dig. Hesitation meant exposure. He queued it for download, eyes flicking to the virus’s progress. 32%. Too slow. He glanced up, locking onto Noel’s expectant gaze. A single shake of his head—not yet. Then, without another word, he dove back into the filesystem, searching for something that would change the game before time ran out.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
She saw him, understood him in a way few ever could. The way he moved, the way he breathed through data—poking through file systems, extracting logs, absorbing encrypted lines like they were lifeblood. He lived for this. It wasn’t just skill; it was instinct, a relentless hunger sharpened by years of obsession. And Noel knew how to wield it.
No one could navigate hidden pathways like he could, could decipher buried keywords with the same ruthless efficiency. Not at this speed. Not with this level of precision. His eagerness bordered on suffocating, his intensity nearly too much, but right now, that was exactly what she needed. Nolan had to stay locked in, distracted, consumed. She needed more time. So he’d have to hold on—just a little while longer.
Noel needed everything—every shred of data Caliber had on her family. This folder wasn’t just a collection of records; it was the linchpin. The fracture point where speculation could turn into certainty. If it held details on Nolan’s childhood, if it contained even the smallest breadcrumb leading toward Tyler Joy, it could redefine the entire course of this encounter.
Jax worked fast, fingers flying over the keys, sifting through endless logs, filtering leads, searching for something—anything—that stood out. Lines of code blurred past, directories collapsed and expanded, the system yielding its secrets in fragmented bursts. Then, it happened. A cluster of letters, stark against the digital haze, jumped out at him. Stowers. His pulse hitched. Bingo.
The air had thickened, weighted with something that pressed against the walls, coiled itself into the silence between breaths. Noel’s voice cut through it like a scalpel, sharp, methodical, unrelenting.“Do you remember Myanmar—2017?” Her tone was measured, but beneath it lurked something more—accusation, calculation. “Did you lead a mission to rehouse refugees?” She barely gave him time to absorb it before the next strike landed. “Refugees that proved to be a ring of spies and mercenaries, overthrowing the country.” The words hung heavy, charged with implications. Her fingers moved across the screen, feeding data into the system, feeding him the truth. “And before that—Nigeria, 2015. You led the same force. You created those refugees yourself. Destabilization. Two years apart, same strategy, same devastation.” Her gaze never lifted from the workstation, the flood of intel streaming into Nolan’s feed with merciless efficiency. “You’re only being given a fraction of the story,” she murmured, the weight of her revelation settling in. A breath, cold. “You’re on a need-to-know basis, Nolan.”
Noel’s voice sliced through the air, cold and unwavering. “What’s more—you don’t even remember carrying out the second half of your assignments.” A flick of her fingers, and the workstation responded. Screens flooded with news reports—headlines etched in devastation, articles detailing genocides and coups that had risen in the wake of his missions. The images, the dates, the faces—they were undeniable. Her voice sharpened, pressing into him like a blade. “You empowered this turmoil, Nolan. You and your unit. Your corporation.”
She leaned forward, the glow of the monitors casting harsh shadows across her face. “They’re using you—shaping you—weaponizing you. Just like they used me.” Her words hung in the room, heavy, suffocating, reverberating through the silence that followed. And in that silence, something shifted.
Jax spun in his chair, the motion sharp, abrupt—an unspoken reprimand. Across the room, Noel sank deeper into her seat, head tipped back, locks spilling over the headrest like unraveling threads. She wasn’t supposed to mention their connection to Caliber. Not yet. And now, the weight of that slip thickened the air between them.
The silence stretched, charged, unsteady. Jax tried to catch her gaze, his expression demanding acknowledgment. She ignored him. Then—frustration spilled over. He beckoned, frantic. She exhaled, weary but yielding, rolling her chair toward him in slow, measured surrender. HuSource Global.
It landed before them like a revelation. If this was the course Noel wanted to take—if this was where she meant to lead the conversation—this file would be pivotal. The stakes had just shifted. Jax didn’t hesitate. He produced a small optical drive, slotting it in, fingers moving fast.
The transfer was seamless, almost too fast, the urgency of the moment pressed into every keystroke. Then—without pause—Jax shot upright, flicked his gaze to the virus upload. 57%. He froze, locking eyes with Noel. A silent confirmation. A threshold they hadn’t yet crossed. Jax mouthed the number, his eyes narrowing—not enough. Not yet. And just like that, he was gone, back at his terminal, his focus razor-sharp as the clock ran down.
Noel tumbled, charged with adrenaline, her breath uneven as she rifled through the digital trove Jax had handed her. The drive was a mess—cluttered, chaotic—but she moved with practiced speed, sorting by the freshest timestamps. Two folders. HuSource Global. Henchmen.
She hesitated. Which to open first? A single click, then another—two new windows split the screen, flooding her senses. Too much. The sheer volume of data pressed in, overwhelming, suffocating. She pushed back from her desk, dragging her fingers through her hair, trying to focus. She needed movement. She needed clarity.
Her feet carried her in restless loops across the room, each step grounding her, sharpening her thoughts. The pieces of information slotted together with every pass—details shifting, possibilities unraveling, a strategy forming. Finally, she returned to her workstation, breath steadier, pulse still electric, but mind clearer. Now, she was ready.
Noel’s voice slid through the air, deliberate, edged with something unmistakably smug.“Have you remembered anything from your childhood?” She leaned back, her chair rocking in a slow, calculated rhythm. The creaking sound gnawed at the silence, pulling Jax’s focus. He caught her in his periphery, tried to keep the moment passing unnoticed—but the movement, the presence—forced him to turn. And when he did, he recognized her instantly. This was the Noel he remembered. The one from CRD. The force of nature who never entered a room without commanding it, who never played a hand without knowing the outcome. She had something. Something dangerous.
Noel was terrible at bluffing—her tells were always there, waiting to be seen. And yet, even knowing that, Jax still felt the creeping weight of what she might reveal. Her fingers drummed lightly against the armrest. Then she spoke again, voice silkier this time, carrying the weight of inevitability. “Allow me to refresh your memory.”
Several mouse clicks, deliberate and measured, echoed in the room. Then—soft, almost imperceptible—Noel chuckled. The sound slithered through the silence, carrying an unmistakable edge—something dark, something knowing. “Ever heard of HuSource Global?” Her voice was deceptively casual, laced with feigned curiosity. “I’m sure you have, but for the sake of conversation…” Another click. Then another. Then—nothing.
The sudden silence coiled tight, thickening the air between them. Jax’s attention snapped toward her, his chair swiveling just enough to catch the odd shift in her posture. Something was off. Noel wasn’t looking at him anymore. Her shoulders were rigid, her stance sharpened—not like someone seated in passive contemplation, but like someone on the verge of movement. And then, without hesitation, her hand lifted. A single, sharp finger pointed—an unspoken command. Jax barely had time to process the shift before he was up, following. Noel had already reached the door, her gaze locked dead ahead, staring down the hall. Whatever came next—it had already begun.
#
The door latched softly, the sound deceptively gentle—yet its echo seeped into the walls, stretching through the damp chasm like a whisper that refused to fade. Nolan strained, his body rigid against the unforgiving bindings that cut deep, pressing into his skin with insufferable precision. He fought against them—not just the restraints, but the fragments slipping through his mind, tangled and elusive. HuSource Global.
The name rippled through his consciousness, familiar yet foreign, like a memory just out of reach. His thoughts staggered, scrambling for recognition, tracing the edges of recall. Then, suddenly—it was there. Not just knowledge. Not just faint recollection. New memories. Data, fresh and sharp, bleeding into his awareness as if it had been placed there—transferred—without his consent, without his understanding. A chill threaded through his spine. Who had given him these memories? And more importantly—why?
Nolan sifted through the fresh flood of data, trying to absorb it, trying to make sense of what had been pushed into his mind. But even as the fragments settled, his thoughts clung to the interactions before this—the ones that refused to fade. His entire existence had been a labyrinth of uncertainty, each corridor lined with shadows, each step swallowed in the void of loss. But her—this woman—she had answers. Answers about the CSS. About Belle. About Joy. About him.
Every detail, every revelation—wielded recklessly by his captors, thrown at him like weapons in a war he hadn’t realized he was fighting. Their game of cat and mouse wasn’t just tactical anymore; it was personal. And the longer it dragged on, the more it chipped away at him.
Mental fatigue gnawed at the edges of his focus, decaying his list of options, stripping away rational thought as he turned his mind toward the one thing he could still control—his knowledge of HuSource Global. There had to be something there. Something he could use. Something they didn’t know he had.
Once a mere subsidiary of the now-defunct Caliber, HuSource Global had evolved into something far more powerful—an empire of influence, shaping industries, economies, and entire markets from the shadows. It was the largest human resources and staffing entity in the world, supplying corporations with the most elite professionals, embedding itself in every sector with seamless precision. But its reach didn’t end there.
Alongside its sister remnants—Caliber Security Services, HighCalibre, CalibreFreight, and Calibre Research and Development—HuSource Global had cemented itself as a force capable of controlling more than just business. It dictated movement. It dictated access. It dictated who belonged and who did not.
And in recent years, as the world’s orphan count swelled, as displacement became an unavoidable crisis in the very nations where HuSource operated, the company had quietly expanded into adoption agencies. A humanitarian effort? Or something else entirely?
More flashes. More fragments. Each revelation surged through Nolan with an unsettling synchronization—the EKG’s rhythm climbing in perfect harmony with his new memories. And cybernetics? That word barely scratched the surface. Belle. Joy. And then there was this henchmen operation. They weren’t just enhanced—they were engineered. Machines. Constructed with deliberate intent, shaped into something more than human. And then—the final truth struck like a blade turned inward. Himself included.
He felt the weight of it settle, suffocating, threading through every nerve, every thought. His mind had been infiltrated, rewritten, filled with information like files transferred to a machine. Because that’s what he was. Not just a soldier. Not just a weapon. A product. A construct. A piece of something much larger than himself. How long had he been this way? Had he ever been anything else? And what would happen to him now? The terrorists knew—they knew what he was, what his unit had become. And now, so did he.
Nolan’s body wrenched, muscles contorting in unnatural spasms, twisting violently against the restraints. The EKG blared—sharp, desperate—before the tone flattened, its rhythmic pulse swallowed into a singular, deafening void. Then—the door slammed open.
The impact splintered the silence, an explosion of movement and sound that sent papers fluttering and monitors trembling on their stands.
“What happened to him?!” Noel’s voice thundered, cutting through the chaos with sheer force, an urgency edged with something dangerously close to fear.
The security analysts froze. Stunned. Unmoving. The moment hung, stretched tight, balanced on the precipice of something none of them could predict. And Nolan? He was slipping.
Jax darted between terminals, breath shallow, fingers flying over keyboards, scanning for answers in the chaos. “We lost the connection!” The words punched the air—panic laced in his voice, tension crackling in the space between heartbeats. Then—relief. “The virus transfer was successful!”
The weight of it hit him hard, forcing him back into his seat, momentum sending him rolling across the floor as he exhaled—a fleeting, stolen second of triumph. Then—the pulse returned. The sharp, rhythmic beeping of the EKG dragged him back, yanking his focus to Nolan. His chest tightened. He barely had time to process before his fingers were back at the keys, tearing through logs, chasing fragments of data, searching—hoping. Then—his voice dropped. Cold. Heavy. Dread-filled. “The download stalled… so did the network connection.” A pause, stretched too thin. “We only got about 20%.” And just like that, relief was gone.
Noel ignored Jax entirely, her focus locked onto the logs, scanning line after line in search of the moment—the precise fracture in the sequence that had sent Nolan spiraling into system failure. But the answers weren’t there. No corrupted file, no machine error. Nothing mechanical at all. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitating now, the weight of realization pressing against her ribs. Slowly, her gaze lifted from the screen, the glow fading from her vision as she turned—really looked at him.
For the first time, she wasn’t seeing a soldier, a product, a carefully engineered construct. She was seeing her son. And before she could think, before she could rationalize, she was at his side, her fingers wrapping around his hand—as if grounding herself in the only truth that mattered.
#
Joy pushed to his feet, the chair scraping against the floor, the motion sharp, final. He was already moving before he stopped himself, pivoting just enough to square his stance, gaze locked onto Major Belle. “I’ve seen enough, Major.” The words were clipped, edged with frustration—a verdict, not a plea. His breath was quick, uneven, charged with an anger barely contained beneath the surface. “We should have acted when he veered off course! Instead, we sat here, watching, waiting, hoping the pieces would fall into place.” His teeth clenched. “Now, we’re losing time.”
He gestured toward the screen, eyes burning with something dangerously close to contempt. “His vitals are online, but his processor’s fluctuating—we can see it, right in front of us! And you know as well as I do… that isn’t supposed to happen.” A breath. Shallow. “He’s compromised.” There was no hesitation now. Joy straightened, his decision already solidified, unyielding. “I’m taking a COA unit to the Pentagon and the Capitol.” His tone hardened, edged with resolve. “I will finish this.”
Captain Tyler Joy stood unwavering, his posture rigid with purpose—a force of dominance, yet meticulously restrained. Even in this moment of rebellion, even as defiance burned beneath his skin, he remained disciplined, controlled. His shoulders squared. His breath steady. No wasted movement. No flicker of hesitation. He awaited Belle’s final word—not as an act of submission, but as a calculated pause. Because the second it was spoken, the next move would be his.
Belle sat relaxed, his posture unnervingly loose, fingers drumming absentmindedly against the armrest. His demeanor carried an air of detachment—not from the mission, but from Joy himself. “I’ll go to the Pentagon,” he said, voice cool, measured, effortlessly in control. “We can send someone else to the Capitol.” A pause—almost reflective, as if he were discussing logistics over a casual dinner rather than the orchestration of a strike. “It needs to be simultaneous, anyway.” His gaze flicked toward Joy, unreadable, yet carrying an undertone of calculated expectation. “I didn’t expect this much resistance.” Another pause. The weight of his next words settled before they were even spoken. “I want you to find Michaels. Secure his unit. Plant your charges.” Then—colder, sharper. “If he can’t come with you…” A slow exhale. “Make sure nobody else can have him.”
Joy vanished beyond the Major’s doorway, his footsteps echoing down the corridor—sharp, fading, then gone. But the absence was short-lived. New footsteps emerged, filling the space he left behind. Belle didn’t linger. Idle time was a luxury he couldn’t afford, not when everything hung in the balance. Operation Henchmen teetered on the edge, its success tied to Nolan—and now, undeniably, to him. Failure wasn’t an option. He moved.
