He didn’t have time to marvel. He heard a twig snap behind him.
He’d found it on a dead SSD officer three days ago. Buried in the encrypted files was a sub-routine—a backdoor into the military’s logistics network. The men called it the "Cheat Engine." Officially, it didn’t exist. Unofficially, it was the difference between a ghost and a corpse.
Except the one to break the curse.
He squeezed the trigger.
And cheating had a price.
The shot was silent. The Separatist patrolman crumpled without a sound, a perfect hole through his jugular. The gun had auto-compensated for wind, drop, and even the target’s micro-movements.
Breathe. Lead. Release.
"Command," he whispered into the subdermal mic. "I’m cold. Need a new key for the lock."
The last thing he saw before the Amp took control of his optic nerve was his own reflection in a rain puddle. Except his eyes weren't his anymore. They were green, digital, and cross-haired.
But as North stood to exfil, his HUD glitched. The synthetic voice returned, but this time it was wrong. Warped. Almost amused.
Somewhere in a server farm a thousand miles away, a programmer pressed a button labeled "Ghost Protocol."