The ocean was calm. A vast sweep of silver-blue stretching into the horizon, the waves so steady it almost looked like glass. And there, rising out of the middle of it like some monolith of another age, was the citadel of G.H.O.S.T. HQ.
The tower was impossible to miss — a silver spearhead built from three triangular spires fused at the base, stretching a thousand feet into the sky and plunging just as deep into the ocean floor. It wasn't just a building; it was a fortress, a city, a statement to the world. Normally, it gleamed in the sunlight, the open-air decks lined with ships, agents drilling on the training levels, helipads humming with transport craft.
But today, it screamed.
The alarms wailed across every floor, a red siren-light casting jagged shadows over steel walls. Five hundred stories of ordered chaos had fractured into hell. Scientists in lab coats shoved past armed guards. Analysts clutching data pads ran into each other in corridors. Elevators overflowed with agents piling in and out. The usually regimented machine of G.H.O.S.T. looked like it was unraveling at the seams.
Hunter arrived in the middle of it, his team flanking him, boots clicking against polished steel. They'd flown straight back from Belarus after wrapping an op — a foiled explosion, a terrorist in cuffs — only to be recalled before the smoke had even cleared. That wasn't standard. Nothing about today was standard.
Waiting for them in the hangar was Thomas Payne, ex-covert ops turned training overseer. Tall, broad-shouldered, the man looked like he'd been carved out of the same steel that lined the HQ walls, but his smile was easy. Always was.
"Sir," Hunter said, dapping him up. "What's going on?"
Payne's smile slowly descended from his eyes. "This is the first time in history we've had a three crisis alert. That's why the whole tower looks like there's been a fire."
"Three?" Hunter's brows furrowed.
"Yeah. You lot better hurry up and get to that conference."
Hunter could read people, and Payne was usually steady as stone. But there was a coldness in his eyes now, something that made Hunter's stomach drop. Whatever this was, it wasn't a routine crisis.
Thomas gave the team a quick run down before sending them on their way.
.....
They loaded into the nearest elevator, a sleek silver box that began its quiet descent toward the control levels. The silence was thick. Even the hum of the machinery sounded anxious.
"...So we all die soon, huh?" Kane finally muttered, his voice low and gravelly, but with that sharp humor he never seemed to shake.
The man was massive — brown skin inked with tattoos crawling up his neck, thick beard framing a face that had seen more fights than most soldiers would in ten lifetimes. He had no powers, no gifts, no bloodline blessing. But he didn't need them. Kane had built his legend on grit, steel, and weapons mastery that turned him into a nightmare on the field. In G.H.O.S.T., Kane wasn't just muscle — he was their breaker, the one they sent in when a siege had to be ended, when a fortified stronghold needed its doors kicked down. His reputation among the lower ranks was almost mythic: "If Kane's on your mission, pray for the enemy's sake."
Shayna — Frost — snorted, tucking a strand of silver hair behind her ear as her blue eyes cut toward him. "My question is how. What could possibly be that bad?"
Her gauntlets, carved of living ice, shimmered faintly at her sides even though the fight wasn't here yet. Petite frame or not, everyone on the team knew better than to underestimate her. She was G.H.O.S.T.'s shield and spear in one, the one they trusted to hold a collapsing perimeter or carve a hole through enemy lines when no one else could. In ops reports, agents called her the "Frozen Wall." Quiet, unshakable, deadly.
Ravager leaned against the wall, arms crossed tight, jaw clenched. "Probably the same thing that could take down the Original Elites."
Her voice was sharp, almost bitter, but Hunter knew it came from somewhere deeper. Toya Sakusi had been a criminal once — nineteen, reckless, cursed with claws, fangs, and spines that could tear through anything. She'd met Grim in battle back then. He'd beaten her, spared her, and changed her life. She'd been clawing her way toward redemption ever since. Within G.H.O.S.T., she was their wild card, the one they unleashed only when every other option had failed. Both rank and files whispered about her curse, some feared her more than the enemies they fought. But when the mission called for something inhuman, Ravager answered.
Oliver chuckled dryly, arms folded. His quiver was slung across his back, bow collapsed at his hip. "Or maybe whatever could kill Maven."
Hunter glanced at him. Oliver Midas — Ace's apprentice, assassin turned strategist, the man who could phase arrows through time and space. He was precise, calculating, sharper than most men twice his age. In the field, he was G.H.O.S.T.'s surgical strike, the one who hit targets no one else could even see. And inside HQ, he was their tactician — the voice in the ear that turned chaos into clean execution. He could've led the team if he wanted. He didn't.
That left leadership to Hunter. Always to Hunter.
The orphan turned assassin. The former Shadow Elite. The man who carried the bruised body of his commander through the gates of never ending Void troopers after vanishing for a week in enemy territory, leaving 2,000 deaths in his wake. Stories still whispered about that day, though no one but Grim and Atlas knew the truth. Now, Hunter was the spearhead of the New Elites, the one every agent in the tower watched when he walked past. The New Elites were forged in the creation of the agency, hand picked by Grim before his disappearance to lead the hold down the biggest threats in the world. To the council, he was the next Director in waiting. To his team, he was the one they followed into hell without question.
Hunter tightened his jaw as the elevator descended. Payne hadn't needed to say it — he could already feel it in his gut. This wasn't going to be like Belarus. This wasn't even going to be like the Age of the Void.
This was worse.
....
The elevator doors parted with a hydraulic sigh, and Hunter's team stepped into the cavernous Control Chamber of G.H.O.S.T.
The chamber was designed like a war council from another age, its centerpiece the infamous Round Table — a circle of alloy and glass humming with embedded code and projection nodes. Around it sat the organization's highest council members, their presence pressing like the weight of the sea above the citadel. Holographic feeds of the world's unrest lined the walls, flickering red.
But two seats remained glaringly empty. The ones reserved for Atlas and Grim.
It was enough to sour the air.
Grim — their esteemed Director, the shadow every agent still measured themselves against. The one who had seen the Age of Void through to the end. His absence was always unsettling, but now it felt like a hollow wound at the head of the table.
And Atlas — the Vanguard of G.H.O.S.T., commander of the cosmic frontiers, an original Elite. His presence usually steadied the room like bedrock. Without him, the table felt exposed, unstable.
The void of those missing chairs made the team's entry louder than their boots on the steel floor.
Hunter led his squad to their seats, his black suit gleaming with the skull insignia across his chest. Kane leaned back, folding tattooed arms across his broad frame. Frost adjusted her ice-threaded gauntlets with calm precision. Ravager's claws twitched against her chair, her curse always straining. Oliver "Ace" Midas sat cool, eyes already scanning every council member like marks on a board.
The air shifted as Klaus Borin rose.
If Grim had been the iron will and Atlas the unshakable shield, Klaus was the spine of the bureaucracy that held the organization together.
Kaus didn't wear the sleek combat suits of the Elites or the tailored uniforms of the councilors. His coat was old-world wool, dark and heavy, hiding the scars beneath. His left eye was clouded, the faint trace of a burn scar crawling down his jawline.
A former high-ranking field agent, he had survived campaigns that killed entire units, only to step into politics when age and scars finally pushed him from the field. He didn't think of himself as a figurehead. Every rumor said Klaus had once torn through a battalion single-handed, carrying three wounded men on his back — and then sentenced half a senate to prison with a single speech in the same month.
When he spoke, people listened. Even when they hated what he had to say.
"Good evening, Ghosts. Or rather, a bad one." His voice carried, low and rough, like gravel grinding on steel. "Tonight we face news unlike any this organization has ever seen."
A flick of his wrist brought up the first hologram: Maven battling Stalax across a ruined city.
"As you all must have heard, Maven accomplished another mission," Klaus continued. "But Malcolm Bridger now carries a bounty in the billions. Through our sources we've confirmed the whispers of a rising enemy. They call themselves the Vaknar. Or Vakna. Meaning... to awaken."
The globe projection widened, revealing red infestations spreading across governments, financial systems, shadow economies.
"They have infiltrated countries, assassinated leaders, crippled infrastructures. And now..." His expression hardened. "They've struck us directly."
The next slide flashed: the G.H.O.S.T. Space Hub, burning and broken, spiraling into orbital wreckage.
Whispers cracked around the table like lightning. Kane growled under his breath, "Figures."
"Gods help us," muttered Director Valencia, one of the political overseers. "That station cost—"
"Shut your mouth," snapped Councilor D'Saul, a warhawk whose voice was all gravel. "The cost isn't steel. It's Atlas."
Klaus nodded once. "Correct. The Vaknar clashed with Atlas. It was more of a loss for them than us — three thousand soldiers killed, three empowered lieutenants captured, now en route to Griever's Prison. But understand this—" He leaned forward, his scarred hand pressing flat on the table. "Atlas barely walked away."
The silence was suffocating.
For the first time, Hunter saw genuine fear flicker across faces that were supposed to be unshakable. If Atlas — the indomitable shield — had nearly fallen, what chance did the rest of them stand?
"And as if that weren't enough," Klaus continued, "we've confirmed a leak. Information stolen by Shane Toribio."
Hunter's jaw locked. Every muscle screamed to slam a fist through the table. His first time meeting the twerp he was forced to teach him a lesson about his unruly methods on missions. Shane and Hunter never got along before he disappeared from G.H.O.S.T., Hunter partially assumed it was because of the attention the entitled brat wasn't receiving from the highers.
Klaus continued. "And as you all know, Shane is Ace's nephew. That makes his retrieval a priority. Alive. Not dead."
Murmurs spread again, louder this time.
"That's suicide."
"He betrayed us, he dies."
"Politics. Always politics."
Klaus slammed the table with a single strike. The hologram stuttered. Silence returned.
"You think I care about politics right now?" His voice cut through them. "This is survival. Atlas's orders are clear. Until Grim or he returns, Shane lives. That is not up for debate."
His team's collective gaze slid toward Hunter. Hunter's eyes narrowed, but he remained silent.
Then the final slide. The cube. Floating, bloodstained, contained in glass.
"At 20:35 hours, this artifact manifested in our R&D labs. What I will show you was recorded upon contact."
The feed began: scientists approaching. A glow. Then chaos.
The hologram cut to warzones — Kraven's fall, agents slaughtered, Elites gutted, cities burning. Each flicker of the footage grew more unbearable.
And then Maven appeared.
Older. Armored cracked, blood painting his jaw. His voice rattled through the static.
"I—if I got the trajectory right... we failed the universe." Blood spilled from his lips. "I didn't see it. I didn't see the outcomes. The Vaknar... we're not making it if we don't kill Shane Toribio."
Gasps broke the silence.
"We tried the proper way," Maven went on, his tone raw. "Subdue him. Imprison him. It didn't work. Malcolm Bridger is step one. All this purple smoke choking the air?" He groaned, clutching his ribs. "It's all connected. The Void isn't their goal. Shane doesn't care for the Void. He cares for Silas—"
The wall behind him exploded. Static.
Maven dragged himself up, voice a ragged scream.
"I'm entrusting all of you... everything you believed is a lie. Grim isn't—"
Another blast cut him off. His bodycam tilted, alarms shrieking.
"Frack—okay... Toya... I love—"
The feed died.
The silence in the chamber was absolute.
Hunter's chest burned, his fists trembling beneath the table. His brother. His best friend. Reduced to a dying man's plea.
Beside him, Toya's arms folded across her chest, head dipped low, hiding the flush staining her face. She said nothing. But Hunter caught it. He always did.
So Maven and Toya... in the future, huh.
The stillness stretched until it became unbearable.
Klaus finally spoke.
"With this footage," he said, voice grave, "we declare Code Cosmos."
The words hit like a death sentence.
There were only three codes of absolute severity: Dragon, Demon, and Cosmos. Demon had nearly ended the world during the Age of Void. Cosmos was worse. An extinction event.
"Effective immediately, all missions are suspended except Dragon-tier. T'or L'un will serve as recall beacon. The Elites will join Atlas in locating the Vaknar's base of operations. The Shadow Elites will rally with Maven to protect Malcolm Bridger. And until further orders..." Klaus's eyes bored into Hunter, into Ace, into the entire table. "...Shane Toribio is not to be killed."
The table dimmed to black.
"Dismissed."
Hunter didn't rise immediately. The weight of Grim's absence, Atlas's near-loss, and Maven's dying words pressed into him like iron shackles. For once, the leader of the Elites didn't know what to make of it all.
The Round Table chamber emptied under a heavy silence. The image of Maven bleeding out, his broken confession, and that one word — Silas — clung to everyone's thoughts like smoke.
Hunter rose at last. "Elites, with me."
The elevator ride up was suffocating. Engines thrummed through the tower, alarms blared faintly from distant floors, but not one of them spoke. The weight of orders — protect Shane, track the Vaknar, wait for Atlas and Grim — sat heavy on their shoulders.
Kane finally broke the silence, arms folded over his chest. "Tell me I'm not the only one who thinks this is insanity. Malcolm Bridger gets billions on his head, future Maven practically begs us to kill Shane, and our orders are 'bring him in alive'? Sounds like a whole lotta whack to me."
Frost shook her head, her voice cool. "We don't make that call. Atlas and the highers do. Until then, Shane lives."
Kane scowled. "And if Atlas doesn't come back?"
Ravager's claws flexed slightly, the sound of metal scraping against itself filling the cramped space. "Then we deal with it our way."
Hunter cut through the rising tension with a single line:
"Enough. We don't argue mission orders. We execute them."
The elevator doors parted, revealing the massive hangar. Chaos reigned — squads of agents hustled across the steel deck, transports launching into the stormy night, comm channels alive with overlapping orders. The scent of fuel and ozone filled the air.
Hunter's team stood at the edge, the stormlight flashing across their armor, their insignias glowing faintly. Each of them was strong enough to lead, but they turned to him, waiting.
Hunter's gaze swept over them, steady and sharp. "Listen up. Code Cosmos means no hesitation. Maven's warning doesn't change that. Atlas is out there fighting, Grim is out there, and until the council tells us otherwise, we play our part. No matter the cost."
Kane grunted but said nothing more. Frost gave a small nod. Ace adjusted the grip on his bow. Toya remained silent, arms crossed, her face unreadable — but Hunter caught that flicker in her eyes again, haunted by Maven's last words.
Engines roared to life as the Elites boarded their craft. The ramp sealed shut, the ship lifting from the hangar floor into the churning storm outside.
Hunter's eyes gazed at the sunset ahead of them.
A new era was upon them all.