The Bag That Could End the World
“We’re running out of time,” whispered a voice in her hidden earpiece—a technology that wasn’t supposed to exist for another decade.
“Don’t you think I know that?” she muttered under her breath, lips barely moving. It was Damon, her handler and the only thread tethering her sanity. Six months ago, Myra had been a journalist, celebrated for her fearless exposés on corporate corruption. Then she’d stumbled upon a secret so damning that she’d gone from writer to operative in weeks.
In the bag swayed a sliver of artificial intelligence—one so advanced it could decrypt any system, manipulate global economies, and worse, predict wars before they happened. “Project Oracle” they called it, housed in a slick, silver drive no bigger than her palm. Damon worked for a rogue syndicate desperate to hack it before the megacorp TransCore unleashed it. But as Myra approached the lobby of the Titan Building, she couldn’t shake the feeling they weren’t the only ones hunting her tonight.
The Green Ghost Emerges
A low murmur of voices filled the gilded atrium of the Titan Building. Myra was a vision among the tired suits and corporate puppets. A flash of green, tailored and purposeful, slipping into the elevator unnoticed. She caught her reflection in the mirrored doors, and for a flicker of a second, she didn’t recognize herself. This wasn’t her—an urban ghost moving with practised precision and laced with paranoia.
“Fifth floor, east wing,” Damon instructed. “You’ll find their core systems behind a secured door. Two guards on rotation. Get in, upload the Trojan, and get out.”
“That’s the deal, isn’t it?” she replied dryly. But a noise broke the rhythm of the elevator’s ascent—a soft hitch, almost imperceptible. Myra’s pulse quickened. Slipping her hand into her coat pocket, she gripped the concealed taser stick. A second too late.
The elevator rattled to a stop, emergency lights piercing the dim. Then came the clatter of boots landing on the roof.
Trust, Shattered Beneath Neon Light
The fight was brutal and strangely silent. A figure dropped through the squared hatch above her, a sleek masked operative clad in black tactical gear. Myra struck first, swinging the taser like a whip, but the soldier blocked it deftly. They circled each other in the confined, humming elevator until Myra’s foot caught her attacker’s shin, sending them crashing into the metal paneling. Her sunglasses flew off, hazel eyes glaring into the impassive lens of her attacker.
With one swift move, they disarmed her, pressing a retractable blade against her neck. A single word cut through the tense air, spoken through a voice modulator. “Don’t.”
Then, recognition dawned. The eyes behind the mask—though partially hidden—were eerily familiar. Damon. Betrayal tightened Myra’s chest, the weight of the realization slamming into her as forcefully as any weapon. “You—” “I told you we were running out of time,” Damon hissed. “You’re too valuable to let them take it.”
With a sudden burst of defiance, Myra shoved the bag into his chest and kicked him backward. The elevator doors slid open at that instant, and she bolted, every part of her body screaming—but not from exhaustion. From the sharp, searing betrayal that still clung to the air like static electricity.
The Last Glimpse
She didn’t stop running until she reached the crowded streets. Blinding neon advertisements and laughter masked the chaos in her mind. She clutched her coat tightly, the fabric that once symbolized sleek control now a flimsy barrier against the storm inside her. All she had left now were questions without answers. Why had Damon betrayed her? Why had she been chosen for this mad game to begin with?
Her destination uncertain, Myra disappeared into an alleyway, her shadow swallowed by the city. Maybe some truths weren’t meant to be uncovered. Maybe elegance mattered little in a world drenched in ruin.
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