The roar of the submarine's engines was a deep counterpoint to the thrumming in Jäger's ears as he stood on the deck, dripping seawater onto the cold steel. Aaron Keener, a legend from a life Jäger thought had been buried, watched him with an unreadable gaze. Keener's presence here, now, was a shockwave through the very fabric of Jäger's new reality.
"Keener," Jäger finally managed, the name feeling foreign on his tongue. "How…?"
Keener's lips quirked, a ghost of the sardonic smile Jäger remembered. "A long story. One for later. Right now, what concerns me is what you just ran from. Those weren't just Black Tusk, Jäger. You tangled with The Cleaners."
Jäger frowned. The Cleaners were a faction from the old days, fanatics with flamethrowers in a ruined New York, not high-tech underwater assassins. "These were different," he stated, the image of the stylized bird sigil flashing in his mind. "They had advanced subs, energy weapons, SHD counter-tech. And they knew my name."
Keener nodded, his expression grim. "They've evolved. The Cleaner ideology always attracted a certain kind of zealot, but after the first collapse, some of their higher-ups, the ones with true resources, went deeper underground. They started... acquiring. Both tech and personnel. They call themselves 'The Watchers' now. And yes, they hunt agents. Always have. They see us as the ultimate purveyors of chaos, the virus that never truly dies."
He gestured to the open hatch. "Get below. You look like hell, and we have a lot to discuss."
The Unveiling
Below deck, the submarine was a stark, functional blend of military and bespoke tech. It was clear Keener hadn't been idle. He had built his own shadow.
"No, I didn't save The Viper," Keener said, his voice low, as Jäger pulled off his helmet and peeled away the top layer of his suit. "Rex did. A useful asset, that one. And yes, she told him you were alive. Rex, in turn, told me."
Jäger paused. "Rex? Who is Rex to The Viper?"
"An old contact. Loyal. And currently, just like me, operating completely off-grid. He's good. He knows The Viper is a hot commodity for several factions, so he's keeping her close, learning what he can." Keener poured two mugs of steaming, bitter coffee. "She's a survivor. And useful for connecting dots."
"And you just happened to be here?" Jäger pressed, suspicion lacing his tone.
Keener's gaze was sharp. "I've been tracking The Watchers for months. Their movements suggested a major acquisition was imminent. When I saw the thermal spike from the Leviathan Project—a facility I've had eyes on for a while—I moved. Lucky for you, I was faster than them." He took a sip of his coffee. "Now, your turn. Last I heard, you were a ghost declared dead by every government on Earth. What are you doing dressed like a Saudi oil sheikh and taking orders from... a 'Syndicate'?"
Jäger recounted the truth, the harrowing global hunt, the Lionshead Syndicate's intervention, their offer of sanctuary, and the new, morally ambiguous missions. He spoke of Merlin, Galahad, and Percival, of the blending of SHD tech with Syndicate methods.
Keener listened, his expression unchanging, a deep frown etched on his face. When Jäger finished, a long silence hung in the air, broken only by the hum of the submarine.
"So," Keener finally said, his voice flat, "you traded one cage for another. You think they 'saved' you? They acquired you, Jäger. They acquired the last fragments of the Division's core. Your SHD tech, your training, your unbreakable loyalty to a cause. They're just different masters. And they're not telling you everything."
"They got us out," Jäger countered, a defensive edge to his voice. "They gave us a new purpose. The alternative was eradication."
Keener leaned forward, his eyes boring into Jäger's. "The alternative was your eradication. But what about Kelso?"
The name hit Jäger harder than any bullet. He stiffened, every muscle tensing. "What about her?"
"She never believed you were dead, Jäger. Not really. She tore the world apart looking for you. The official story crippled her. She's been building her own network, her own ghost army, fueled by nothing but loyalty and a desperate hope." Keener paused, letting the words sink in. "Rex is one of her deepest assets. He saves Viper, Viper tells Rex she saw you, Rex tells me, and now I'm here. Because I knew if Kelso found out the way Viper did, without context, without a plan, she'd do something catastrophic. Something that would expose her, expose all of us, for a hopeless reunion."
Jäger felt a wave of conflicting emotions—grief, guilt, a fierce, protective anger. Kelso. His partner. His anchor. All this time, she'd been suffering, searching. And Rex, a part of her network, had saved The Viper. The web was far more intricate than the Syndicate's neat intel had ever suggested.
"She doesn't know I'm alive," Jäger stated, the words a question.
Keener shook his head. "Not from me. Not directly. She suspects. She searches. But knowing for sure… that's a different kind of burden. And right now, it's a dangerous one."
He gestured to the sonar display, showing the two remaining Watcher submersibles, still circling, still hunting. "The Watchers are a growing threat. They believe they are cleansing the world by removing what they see as its infection: any remnant of the Division. And now they know you're not just alive, but part of a new, unknown player. They will come for you, Jäger. Relentlessly."
Keener's expression turned into a grim mask, a shadow of the old Keener, but with a new, weary resolve. "I'm offering you a third option, Jäger. Leave the Syndicate. Leave the ghosts of the past. Join me. We fight The Watchers, yes. But we also operate outside anyone's control. We build our own purpose. And when the time is right, we tell Kelso. On our terms."
The choice was stark. The Syndicate, a gilded cage providing security at the cost of true knowledge. Or Keener, a devil he knew, offering freedom, truth, and a direct path to the enemies who now hunted him, and perhaps, eventually, to Kelso. But at what cost? Keener had always played his own game.
Jäger looked at the coffee, then at the man across from him. The silence of the submarine stretched, filled with the weight of impossible decisions. The ghost in the machine was no longer just a phantom. He was a pawn, caught between invisible powers, and the game had just become infinitely more complicated.