_Terry_

Tobias Anderson was supposed to be a ghost. New name. New life. No questions.  
  
But when his past claws back with a threat he can’t ignore, Tobias is forced to infiltrate Aegis Academy, the world’s most elite training ground for metahumans.  
  
His mission? Infiltrate. Pass the trials. Don’t get caught.  
Simple—until the simulations turn deadly, alliances blur, and his teammates start bleeding.  
  
Now Tobias is surrounded by monsters in training, power-hungry rivals, and a system designed to break anyone who doesn’t follow the rules. Worse? He has a lot to hide.  
  
But secrets burn. Loyalties bend.   
And when sparks ignite—will Tobias protect the system or burn it down with him?  
  
Tobias has scars.  The academy has phases.
And not everyone makes it past Phase Two.

Project Babel

Night in Stockholm was a performance. Soft lights, clean streets, controlled silence. Even the air felt filtered. Like the city wanted to convince you everything was fine.

I stood on the roof of a parking tower across from an old nightclub now converted into a front for one of the last independent rings left in the eastern sector. My contact said the place was a hub for intel trafficking—metahuman blackmail, Aegis personnel lists, even fake Guardian tags. Old-school crime pretending it was still dangerous.

My helmet sat on the ledge next to me. The wind dragged a loose newspaper across the concrete behind me. I didn't turn.

Third floor light just went out. Two minutes ahead of predicted timing.

Either they were calling it a night early—

I tapped my comm once. No sound. No reply. Just confirmation.

The Healer had cleared me. I was back on the board. Lynx wanted results. Quietly, of course.

Underground consolidation wasn't flashy work. No explosions. No monologues. Just ghosts erasing shadows.

For a second, I let my thoughts drift.

I hadn't checked in. Didn't have access to the Aegis trials. Not even Lynx could breach those systems.

Was he playing soldier, or had he started becoming one?

I turned from the ledge, picked up my helmet, and slid it on. The world went silent in a heartbeat.

Infiltration was almost insulting.

I blinked twice and reappeared in the club's sublevel, bypassing the biometric scans and motion-triggered locks. Anchor beacons made even layered encryption irrelevant. A flicker of space, and I was inside.

Two guards stood near the elevator. One blinked. The other reached for his weapon.

Two pulse shots. Center mass. Clean.

I moved through the hallways like a shadow on fire. One blink. Two rooms. Five more guards. All down before a heartbeat finished.

The boss was waiting for me in a corner office—well-dressed, late forties, worn eyes, desk full of antique pistols and untouched whiskey.

He stood as I entered. He glanced at the pool of blood at my feet.

"Who the hell are you supposed to be?"

"I'm not here for introductions," I said. "You work for us now."

His eyebrows twitched. "Us? Who is 'us'?"

"You're not allowed to ask questions."

He scoffed. "So I'm supposed to obey a ghost in a suit without a name or a reason?"

It hit the desk with a quiet thud, followed by the dull clink of a whiskey glass tipping over.

I looked around at the silent office. The crimson splash across the wall. The empty eyes.

The Quiet War