INN – EXECUTIVE LEVEL – NIGHT
The executive level of the INN is never quiet.
Even at night, even behind biometric locks and soundproof glass, the place hums with restrained urgency—servers whispering beneath the floors, encrypted screens breathing soft blue light, and people trained to never panic walking quickly enough to suggest otherwise.
Tonight, that tension is sharper.
DIRECTOR CHARLES LIVINGSTON stands at the head of the executive briefing chamber, hands resting on the polished black table. His posture is firm, his expression unreadable—but the air around him feels compressed, as if the room itself knows something is wrong.
The doors slide open.
Three figures enter.
No announcements.
No ceremonial delay.
The OVERSIGHT COMMITTEE ADVANCE TEAM has arrived,Early.
That alone is a violation of expectation—and expectation is everything at this level.
Charles straightens slightly, masking the jolt of irritation and concern beneath professional composure.
They don't sit.
One of them, a woman in a slate-gray suit with a government insignia pinned subtly near her collar, steps closer. Her voice is quiet, controlled, and devastatingly precise.
[OVERSIGHT OFFICIAL]:Director Livingston. This is an informal notice.
Charles nods once.
[CHARLES LIVINGSTON]:In my experience, those are usually the most serious.
She doesn't smile.
[OVERSIGHT OFFICIAL]:You're aware the Neuro-Link program has been flagged for historical review.
[CHARLES LIVINGSTON]:Yes. We anticipated the committee tomorrow.
She tilts her head—almost apologetic.
[OVERSIGHT OFFICIAL]:The timeline has changed.
The words hang.
Then she delivers the real blow.
[OVERSIGHT OFFICIAL]:If any evidence confirms that the Neuro-Link involved unauthorized human experimentation, criminal liability will follow. Not institutional. Personal.
A pause.
Not long.
But long enough.
Charles doesn't react outwardly. Years of command have taught him how to absorb impact without showing damage. Still, something tightens behind his eyes.
[CHARLES LIVINGSTON]:I assume this includes legacy operations.
[OVERSIGHT OFFICIAL]:It includes everything. Living records. Buried records. Deleted ones.
She steps back.
[OVERSIGHT OFFICIAL]:This conversation never happened.
The team turns and exits as efficiently as they entered, leaving behind silence thick enough to bruise.
Only one person remainsseated at the table.
SUSAN THOMAS.
She looks up at Charles—not with concern, not with fear, but with calm analytical focus. The kind that steadies a room without demanding attention.
[SUSAN THOMAS]:That went better than expected.
Charles exhales slowly through his nose.
[CHARLES LIVINGSTON]:You and I have very different definitions of "better."
Susan stands, gathering her tablet.
[SUSAN THOMAS]:They didn't suspend operations. They didn't freeze assets. And they didn't request immediate arrests.
She meets his eyes.
[SUSAN THOMAS]:That means they're still observing. Not attacking.
Charles studies her.
[CHARLES LIVINGSTON]:You're very confident.
Susan allows herself the faintest smile.
[SUSAN THOMAS]:Confidence is a function of preparation.
She moves toward the door, then stops.
[SUSAN THOMAS]:Director, if someone were manipulating outcomes inside the INN, they'd do it quietly. Not to destroy the system—only to guide it where they want it to go.
She leaves.
The door seals shut behind her.
Charles remains standing, alone now, staring at the empty space where the Oversight team stood moments earlier.
For the first time, a troubling thought solidifies:
This doesn't feel like sabotage.
It feels like direction.
---
HYDRA BLACK FACILITY – UNKNOWN LOCATION
Nowhere near New Atlantis.
Nowhere officially mapped.
A facility buried beneath layers of reinforced alloy and synthetic rock, lit by sterile white light that never flickers.
This place is quieter than INN.
Not because it's safer.
Because it doesn't need to pretend.
A steel door slides open with a hydraulic hiss.
Inside the cell—
AGENT PAUL LOPEZ.
Suspended in a vertical containment frame, restraints locking his wrists, ankles, and spine into place. Thin conduits trace along the sides of his neck, pulsing faintly with energy far more advanced than anything publicly acknowledged by the INN.
His eyes flutter.
He's alive.
Conscious.
And very much imprisoned.
A voice speaks from beyond the glass—calm, observant.
[UNKNOWN VOICE]:Your agency builds impressive cages.
Another voice answers.
[SECOND VOICE]:Yes. But ours think.
The lights subtly adjust around Lopez, responding to his neural activity in real time.
Hydra didn't just capture him.
They upgraded him.
---
INN HQ – MAIN OPERATIONS FLOOR – NIGHT
The calm doesn't last.
A young agent—barely settled into the weight of his badge—bursts through the executive corridor at a near run.
AGENT TONY, twenty-five, new recruit, pale with urgency.
[AGENT TONY] :Director Livingston!
Heads turn.
Agents pause mid-stride.
Charles steps out from the executive wing just as Tony reaches him, breath uneven.
[AGENT TONY]:Sir, Agent Marco Lopez,he's been kidnapped.
The room freezes.
Shock ripples outward like a silent detonation.
AGENT LARA STORM stiffens, eyes narrowing.
DR. ROMER drops the datapad in his hands.
DR. SUSAN THOMAS doesn't react outwardly—but her fingers stop moving.
And then—
JAXON STEEL steps forward sharply.
[JAXON STEEL]:What do you mean kidnapped?
Tony swallows.
[AGENT TONY]:No response to comms. Apartment breached. No official arrest record. No emergency signal.
Jaxon's jaw tightens, muscles in his neck coiling.
[JAXON STEEL]:Who did this?
Anger bleeds into his voice now—raw, unfiltered.
[JAXON STEEL]:Say the name.
Nearby, AGENT PAUL stands rigid, fists clenched.
Charles raises a hand.
[CHARLES LIVINGSTON]:Control.
Then, to Tony—
[CHARLES LIVINGSTON]:Pull all CCTV footage from the last twenty-four hours. Surrounding streets. Transit nodes. Civilian cams. Everything.
The operations floor erupts into motion.
Screens light up.
Timelines unfold.
Minutes stretch.
Then—
A sequence freezes.
Figures in shadow.
Movement patterns too precise.
Weapons too clean.
Someone zooms in.
The insignia flashes for half a second.
Enough.
HYDRA.
A murmur ripples across the room.
Jaxon's hands shake with restrained fury.
[JAXON STEEL]:I'm going after them.
[CHARLES LIVINGSTON]:No.
Jaxon whirls on him.
[JAXON STEEL]:They took my friend.
[CHARLES LIVINGSTON]:And that's exactly why you're not going alone. You don't get to turn this into a revenge mission.
Jaxon steps closer, eyes burning.
[JAXON STEEL]:With respect, sir—
[CHARLES LIVINGSTON]:With authority, you will stand down.
The room holds its breath.
Then—
Every monitor flickers.
Static crackles.
A new signal forces its way into the INN control grid.
Encrypted.
Hostile.
Intentional.
A symbol resolves on-screen.
HYDRA.
A distorted voice fills the room—smooth, composed, unmistakably in control.
[HYDRA LEADER] (voice on screen):
Good evening, International Intellectual Network.
Jaxon stares at the screen.
Charles doesn't blink.
[ HYDRA LEADER ] :We have something that belongs to you.
And you have something we need.
The transmission cuts.
Silence slams back into the room.
No one speaks.
Because everyone understands the same thing at once:
This is no longer an investigation.
It's a negotiation.
And Hydra just made the first move.
---
TO BE CONTINUED..