Ghost Signal

Day 9 – Floor 3

The apartment was quiet, but Michael's mind wasn't.

He sat cross-legged on the floor, his fingers sliding through floating system windows that projected skill trees, class branches, and encrypted nodes tied to the Origin Protocol. It was an overwhelming lattice of options—Swordsman stances woven with Pulse Caster trajectories, Nullmage displacements paired with raw Combat User buffs—but Michael wasn't really looking at any of it.

His eyes were blank, his mind stuck on what he saw in Ghost Node One.

A replica—a figure draped in a long black coat, cape flaring as if caught in an invisible current. A sleek black mask wrapped its face, glowing neon-blue eyes piercing from within.

It had looked like him. Moved like him. Fought like him.

Was that the system's way of mirroring me? Or… is that me?

He remembered the cold way it stared. Not as an enemy, but something worse—an inevitability.

Michael's fists clenched.

There were six more Ghost Nodes. Six more layers to this Origin Protocol that was rewriting him from the inside out. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep himself separate from whatever that masked thing was.

But he was going to finish all of them.

He had to.

With a short sigh, he stood up, stretched his arms, and swiped away the HUD. Just as he turned to leave the room, a soft chime rang out.

[ Party Invite – From: Flash ]

Michael tapped the blue accept button.

"Hello," he said through the party chat, voice flat but steady.

Flash's voice crackled through. "Michael—get to the Citadel. Now. We've got a lead on the Reaper Squad."

Michael stopped mid-step. His heart twisted, the weight of Micha's final moments hitting him all over again.

"…This better be good."

He didn't wait for a reply. He sprinted down the stairs, threw open the outer door, and bolted into the city streets of Floor 3's central zone.

⸻

The Citadel District was always alive, no matter the hour.

Vendors lined the marble walkways, selling crafted armor and digital pets. Musicians strummed pulse guitars near fountains that sprayed blue light instead of water. Couples sat on benches, chatting or laughing. Kids—actual kids, stuck in here just like the adults—ran between buildings chasing system-spawned birds.

All of them—every last one of them—had accepted it.

This was their life now.

Not a game. Not a nightmare.

Just… existence.

Michael weaved through the crowd like a ghost. His hood was up, his face shadowed, but no one noticed. Or maybe they didn't care. Everyone had their own ghosts to carry.

But Michael's was heavier.

Michael arrived at its northern gate just before noon, his cloak damp from the Hollow's cool mist. He passed through the wide archway, past guards in makeshift armor, into the main plaza where hundreds of players lingered—trading, chatting, sparring. It was a controlled kind of chaos. Life in limbo.

But Michael wasn't here for any of that.

He spotted Flash near one of the side ramps leading to the war wing—leaning against a crystal-paneled wall, arms folded, his Katana beneath his jacket.

Flash looked up the moment he sensed him.

"You came fast," he said.

"You said Reaper Squad." Michael's voice was even, but his eyes told a different story—something simmering underneath.

Flash nodded. "Yeah. Not just a name-drop. We got a trail."

Michael stepped closer. "Where?"

Flash gestured with his chin, leading them toward one of the Citadel's lower chambers. As they walked through the corridors—where torchlight met artificial code flickers—Michael took in the other players passing by. Some laughed. Others bartered. A few just sat staring at the walls.

This was their life now. They weren't escaping tomorrow. Or next week. And every person here knew it, even if no one said it aloud.

Inside the chamber, Flash pulled up a projection on his HUD and flicked it toward Michael. A 3D map rotated between them—an outpost outside Duskrun Hollow, buried deep in a red zone.

"How did you get this?" Michael asked.

"Dungeons have weird rewards." Flash replied.

"Wait, this was a dungeon reward. Weird. So what did you find?"

"Rex's scouts found strange movement here. Four players with masked tags, no guild affiliation, moving like ghosts. Matching behavior we've seen before."

Michael's eyes narrowed. "They hiding their tags?"

"Yeah," Flash said. "Same trick the Reapers used in the ambush. That's why you didn't know that guys name was Ivan, it's like a display"

Michael went silent.

Flash hesitated—then lowered his voice. "I know what that day did to you, Michael. What it did to Micha. I haven't forgotten. I never will."

Michael's jaw tightened.

"I'm not here to grieve," he said. "I'm here to find them. All of them. And slaughter every last one."

Flash gives Michael a look "Your getting scary."

A beat of silence passed between them—unspoken pain hanging in the air like dust.

Flash finally nodded. "But hey I guess we're on the same page."

Michael turned toward the map again. The outpost flickered, highlighted in red.

"We move tonight," he said. "Track them. Confirm. If it's them…"

"We strike," Flash finished.

Michael didn't respond. He just stared at the glowing map, fists clenched at his sides. The mask. The blade. The scream.

The memory.

Later That Night — Duskrun Perimeter, Just Outside the Citadel Walls

The world beyond the Citadel was silent, save for the distant howl of some creature dragging its pain across the night. The sky hung low—swirling with dark clouds streaked in violet code glitches, like the system itself was sick of pretending this place was normal.

Michael stood just beyond the perimeter wards, where torchlight gave way to haze. He adjusted the strap of his cloak, tightened the sheathe on his back, and pulled up his HUD. The outpost was marked again, blinking red like a warning, or a promise.

Flash emerged from the brush behind him, his footfalls light but deliberate. He had changed into darker gear—short-bladed katana slung across his back, a pale scarf tucked into his collar.

"No Rex?" Michael asked.

"Already briefed him," Flash said. "He's keeping Begi's front secure in case this goes sideways. And Asura's keeping eyes out in the town. She still doesn't know everything… but she suspects."

Michael said nothing. He stared out into the Hollow's edge, where fog curled around the crooked trees like claws.

"You sure this is the right place?" he asked.

"I'm sure this is the only place they'd risk showing up," Flash said. "Too far for randoms. Too close for comfort."

Michael nodded once. His grip tightened on the hilt at his side.

Flash glanced at him. "You good?"

"No."

A beat passed. The wind picked up, whispering through the trees.

Flash didn't push further. He just sighed. "Alright. Then let's move."

The two stepped past the last ward stone, the Citadel falling behind them. It wasn't a long journey—just deep enough into the zone that map tracking became unreliable. Michael could feel it. The shift. Like stepping into a different kind of dream.

Or nightmare.

They approached a rise overlooking the marked coordinates. Below—half-buried in the fog—was a derelict outpost. Stone walls cracked, signal torches long extinguished, gates slightly ajar.

Then movement.

Three shadows gliding between broken walls. They moved like no ordinary players. Smooth. Silent. Efficient.

Michael's pulse kicked.

Flash whispered, "Tags are masked. No ping. But it's them."

Michael lowered into a crouch behind a jagged rock, eyes fixed. "A different crew?"

"Could be," Flash said. "One of them match."

Michael's breath came slow. Focused. Inside, something old stirred again. Rage wrapped in memory. Grief disguised as purpose.

"I want the leader," he said quietly.

"Obviously," Flash replied.

A sudden chime—barely audible. A system prompt.

>> ORIGIN PROTOCOL: GHOST NODE SCAN AVAILABLE.

Michael blinked. A flicker of the black-masked version of himself flashed across the HUD—just for a second.

He didn't hesitate.

>> SCAN: ENGAGE.

A pulse spread silently from his body, invisible to the untrained eye, but illuminating everything in ghostlight on his display. One of the masked figures below jolted slightly.

Michael narrowed his eyes.

"That one," he said. "He felt it."

Flash nodded. "Then let's introduce ourselves."