The message arrived at 02:17 a.m., wrapped in a layer of encryption Jason Kade hadn't seen in years.
UNKNOWN SENDER.
SUBJECT: CRIMSON PROTOCOL.
Jason stared at his phone in the dark, the glow painting sharp lines across the ceiling of his small apartment. He hadn't slept properly in weeks. Old habits—built in the intelligence world—never really left. You learned to wake before danger announced itself.
He didn't open the message immediately.
People who survived his line of work learned one rule early: curiosity killed faster than bullets.
Still, the name dragged him back like a hook in flesh.
Crimson Protocol.
Jason sat up slowly, bare feet touching the cold floor. Rain tapped against the window, steady and patient, like the city itself was listening. He checked the locks—twice—then opened the message.
No text.
Just a file.
And a symbol.
A stylized wolf's head, fractured by digital static.
Jason exhaled through his nose. "Ghost Wolf," he muttered.
The hacker had been a rumor for years. A myth passed between analysts and cyber divisions whenever systems failed without explanation. No face. No location. Just devastation and silence.
Jason tapped the file.
The screen exploded into classified schematics, satellite trajectories, authorization codes—information buried so deep it shouldn't exist outside a sealed vault. His pulse quickened as he scrolled.
This wasn't a leak.
This was a detonation.
At the top of the document, stamped in bold red letters, were words Jason hoped he would never see again:
PROJECT: CRIMSON PROTOCOL
STATUS: ACTIVE — UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS DETECTED
Jason's jaw tightened.
He had spent six years trying to forget that name.
The apartment lights flickered.
Jason froze.
Then his phone vibrated violently in his hand.
A second message appeared.
YOU WERE NEVER MEANT TO SURVIVE THIS, KADE.
The phone went dead.
Every instinct screamed.
Jason moved fast—grabbing his jacket, his go-bag from beneath the bed. The emergency radio crackled to life just as he slung it over his shoulder.
"…breaking news… massive classified document leak… defense officials refusing to comment…"
Jason cursed under his breath.
So Ghost Wolf hadn't just sent it to him.
He'd sent it to the world.
---
Across the city, screens lit up in apartments, newsrooms, and military command centers.
Panic spread faster than truth ever could.
Anchors struggled to explain diagrams they didn't understand. Analysts argued on live television. Governments issued denials that rang hollow before they finished speaking.
A secret weapon project.
A satellite-controlled drone system.
City-level destructive capability.
Crimson Protocol.
Jason stepped into the stairwell as his phone buzzed back to life—this time with an incoming call.
RESTRICTED LINE.
He hesitated only a second before answering.
"Jason Kade," he said flatly.
"Still alive. That's good," a familiar voice replied.
Director Alan Graves.
Jason stopped mid-step. "You have some nerve calling me."
"You received the files," Graves said. Not a question.
"I received a death sentence."
Graves sighed. "You always were dramatic."
Jason laughed once, sharp and humorless. "You told me Crimson Protocol was shut down. You told me it was dismantled."
"I told you what you needed to hear."
The stairwell lights flickered again.
Jason resumed moving. "Then you should also know someone just framed me for treason."
Silence crackled on the line.
"What do you mean, framed?" Graves asked carefully.
Jason reached the ground floor and pushed into the alley behind his building. Rain soaked his hair instantly.
"You leaked my clearance signature," Jason said. "Authorization codes tied to my old access profile. Ghost Wolf wants the world to believe I did this."
Another pause—longer this time.
"Jason," Graves said slowly, "you need to turn yourself in."
Jason stopped walking.
"Say that again."
"This situation is unstable," Graves continued. "The optics are bad. You disappearing will only confirm suspicions."
Jason clenched his fist. "You want me as a scapegoat."
"We want control."
Jason ended the call.
A black SUV rolled past the mouth of the alley and slowed.
Jason didn't wait to see if it stopped.
He ran.
---
He moved through the city like a shadow, slipping through crowds and side streets, using instincts sharpened by years of running toward danger instead of away from it. Sirens wailed in the distance. Helicopters thudded overhead.
They were mobilizing fast.
Too fast.
By the time Jason ducked into an underground transit station, his face was already on public broadcasts. FORMER INTELLIGENCE OFFICER WANTED FOR QUESTIONING.
Questioning, his past had taught him, often meant something else entirely.
Jason boarded a nearly empty train and sat near the back, hood pulled low. His mind raced.
Crimson Protocol wasn't just a weapon.
It was a failsafe.
A last-resort system designed to end wars by threatening annihilation. Satellites linked to autonomous drones—no human oversight once activated.
Jason had helped authorize early testing.
And he had walked away when he realized where it was headed.
The train screeched to a stop.
A woman stepped into the carriage.
Jason felt it before he saw her.
Awareness prickled along his spine.
She didn't look dangerous—dark hair pulled back, plain jacket, eyes scanning too casually. But when her gaze flicked to him, it lingered half a second too long.
Their eyes met.
Recognition flashed in hers.
Jason stood.
So did she.
He moved first—shoving past passengers as the train doors slid open. He bolted onto the platform, heart hammering. Footsteps followed.
"Jason!" the woman called. "Stop!"
He didn't.
He burst up the stairs, out into the rain again, lungs burning. The city blurred as he cut through traffic and crowds.
A hand grabbed his arm.
Jason twisted, breaking free, pinning the woman against a wall before she could react. He kept his voice low.
"Who sent you?"
"Not who you think," she said breathlessly. "I helped build it."
Jason froze.
"Build what?"
Her eyes hardened. "Crimson Protocol."
The name hit him harder than any blow.
"Then you're already dead," he said.
"Not yet," she replied. "But if Ghost Wolf finishes what it started, we all will be."
Sirens wailed closer now.
She leaned in, voice urgent. "My name is Zara Lin. And Jason—Ghost Wolf isn't human."
Jason released her slowly.
"What are you saying?" he asked.
Before she could answer, a gunshot cracked through the rain—sharp and unmistakable.
Both of them ducked.
Jason looked back up.
Zara was already running.
And somewhere above the city, unseen satellites silently adjusted their orbits.
The hunt had begun.