The conference room was cold, lit only by the glow of a wide digital display. The air smelled faintly of coffee and tension. At the head of the table sat General Arturo Villareal, his uniform crisp, his stare colder than the air conditioning. Around him were men in suits, two colonels, and a woman in a gray business dress whose expression never changed.
On the screen, red alerts scrolled endlessly:
DATA BREACH DETECTED – SECTOR MAKATI NODE
UNAUTHORIZED EXTRACTION CONFIRMED
CONTAINMENT FAILURE
Villareal's jaw tightened. "How much?"
The technician standing at the console swallowed hard. "Two hundred and fifty-six gigabytes of classified data, sir. Including Phase 2 files… and fragments of Phase 3."
The room went silent. Even the hum of the air conditioning felt heavier.
The woman finally spoke, her voice calm, surgical. "If those files leak, Haraya is compromised. Years of planning. Billions of pesos in contracts. And every name on our lists—exposed."
One of the colonels slammed his fist against the table. "How the hell did a hacker get past military-grade defenses? You said Bathala was impenetrable."
The technician stammered, "Bathala is secure. The breach happened through Delgado's corporate node. It was a weak link in the chain. But the intruder was skilled—very skilled. He knew exactly where to look."
Villareal leaned back, folding his hands. "Then this isn't a random intrusion. Someone targeted Haraya. Someone who understands what we're building."
The woman in gray nodded. "Then it's safe to assume this… individual knows enough to hurt us."
"Or destroy us," Villareal added.
The colonel across the table shifted uncomfortably. "Sir, do we know who it is?"
The technician hesitated, then pressed a button. The screen changed. Grainy CCTV footage appeared—smoke filling a stairwell, blurred silhouettes of guards collapsing, a hooded figure vaulting two stories down. The resolution sharpened briefly, showing the side of a young man's face before he vanished into the night.
"This is all we have," the technician admitted. "No name. No biometric data. But whoever he is, he's trained. Not just in hacking—he fought his way out."
Villareal's eyes narrowed. He thought of the activists who had poked at Haraya before, the journalists who had sniffed too close. Most were silenced easily. This one was different. This one slipped the knife and stabbed back.
The woman's voice broke the silence again. "We need to respond. Swiftly. Before he decides to leak what he has."
Villareal stood, his presence filling the room. "Mobilize a task force. Black ops only. No uniforms, no paper trails. I want him found and erased."
He turned to the woman. "Activate the contractors."
Her lips curved ever so slightly. "The Shadows?"
"Yes," Villareal said. "If this ghost thinks he can challenge us, let's show him how we deal with ghosts."
On the screen, the hooded silhouette froze mid-leap, blurred by smoke and chaos. Villareal stared at it for a long time, his voice low.
"No one steals from me. And no one survives Haraya."