Chapter 37: Ice and Lies

Orkhon Valley, Mongolia – Abandoned Research Facility – 1:42 A.M.

Snow seeped into her boots as Nora pressed herself against the frozen metal wall, her breath fogging the air. The echo of footsteps was deliberate—measured, like a predator savoring the hunt.

She glanced at the biometric pod. The words still pulsed on the screen:

"Activate Protocol Y3?"

Her mother's twisted legacy had left her a vault of biological secrets, and now someone—or something—was guarding it.

A figure emerged from the shadows—tall, lean, masked in an arctic-grey exosuit with faint blue lighting along the seams. Its breathing was mechanical. Silent.

The assassin moved with inhuman grace, scanning the pod, then Nora.

She didn't hesitate.

A flashbang rolled from her sleeve and burst in a thunderclap of light. She lunged, rolled under a row of desks, and fired her electro-dagger straight at its knee.

It deflected with one arm, but staggered.

"Who sent you?" Nora demanded, circling.

A voice buzzed from its mask. "Protocol Y3 cannot be stopped."

"Watch me," she spat.

They clashed—steel and shock, precision and rage. Nora dodged a swipe that would've cracked bone and drove her blade into a seam near the neck. Sparks flew. The suit glitched.

The assassin recoiled, struck a wall, and vanished into the side corridor.

She didn't chase.

Instead, she slammed her palm onto the biometric panel. "Activate it. Now."

The pod hissed. Inside, the form of a woman materialized—her face older than Nora remembered but undeniably her mother.

Frozen in cryo-stasis.

Nora fell to her knees.

"You never told me... you made yourself a weapon."

United Nations HQ, Geneva – Subterranean Briefing Chamber – 3:11 P.M.

Damien stood beneath the emblem of world peace, surrounded by flags that once meant something. Noelle Graves, in a crisp grey suit, sat at the head of the table, flanked by top intelligence directors from five continents.

"Mr. King," she began. "This meeting was not scheduled."

"That's because global war isn't polite," Damien replied, throwing down the drive from Raheem.

Footage burst to life—covert arms shipments, intercepted communications, and Gray's involvement in biochemical development.

Gasps echoed. Then silence.

Noelle didn't flinch. "You're meddling in systems older than your bloodline."

"Then maybe it's time we bury those systems," Damien said coolly. "Starting with Archer Grey. And the Syndicate."

Her lip curled. "You're a relic, Damien. Your empire is dying."

Damien stepped forward, his voice a low thunder. "So is your illusion of peace."

He walked out, leaving shockwaves behind him.

Zurich – Blackridge Syndicate Safehouse – 9:04 P.M.

Archer Grey watched the live feed from Mongolia.

The assassin had failed.

But Nora had triggered Protocol Y3.

He smiled darkly. "Good. Let the past wake up and consume them all."

He turned to the boardroom, where twelve shadows sat—figures of wealth, politics, tech, and war.

"The pieces are falling," Archer said. "Tavara is just the start."

A woman in a red veil leaned forward. "And Damien?"

"Let him come," Archer said coldly. "He's playing checkers in a game of kings."