The Ghosts in Plain Sight

The war hadn’t ended—it had just gotten smarter.

General Rhys Draven stood at the edge of the command platform overlooking the southeastern quadrant of Fort Arken. The wind tugged at the collar of his uniform, but he didn’t flinch. He hadn’t flinched in years. Below him, soldiers moved like a well-oiled machine: loading transports, checking weapons, filing in and out of briefing domes. Efficient. Predictable.

Just the way he liked it.

"We have a problem," came a voice at his shoulder. It belonged to General Dax Calder, leaning against the railing with that same crooked smile he wore even in warzones. His eyes glinted with mischief, but Rhys knew better. Dax only joked when things were about to explode—sometimes literally.

"Someone tried to breach our eastern data line again. Second attempt this week," Dax continued. "Whoever it is, they’re getting better."

"Contain it," Rhys said, turning his gaze forward. "I want a trace. I want a name."

"You won’t get one," said another voice behind them—softer, thoughtful. General Soren Vale stepped into view, dark coat buttoned to the collar, a data slate in his hand. "Because whoever’s doing this... isn’t trying to be seen. They’re already inside."

Rhys narrowed his eyes. "Explain."

"The data breaches aren’t breaches. They’re corrections. Clean-up jobs. Whoever it is, they’re patching our blind spots before we notice them."

Dax whistled low. "A ghost with a conscience. That’s new."

"I don’t believe in ghosts," Rhys said.

He would soon.

Across the base, in a building marked only as Civilian Logistics Support, Calla Virell sipped stale coffee and studied a wall of screens. She wore a plain uniform. No rank insignia. No medals. Just a name tag: VIRELL.

Behind her, Tess Elowen stretched across two chairs, typing with one hand and eating a protein bar with the other.

"You know they almost caught me rerouting that patrol drone," Tess said casually. "Thorne's guys are getting too damn good."

"Then stop getting fancy," Calla replied without looking away from the screen. She tapped a key. A red alert vanished from one quadrant, replaced by calm green. "Our job isn't to play games. We're here to keep them alive. Quietly."

"Quiet's not in my vocabulary," Tess muttered.

A door hissed open. Nova Kessryn walked in, bruised knuckles, and a fresh scar on her temple.

"Interrogation team was dirty. I handled it," Nova said, tossing a bloodied glove into the trash.

Calla didn’t blink. "Clean exit?"

"Of course."

Mira Dalen and Rhea Solene followed. Rhea said nothing, setting down a sealed case of surveillance chips. Mira gave Calla a quick nod.

"We’ve confirmed our targets. All five generals are in active danger. And none of them know it."

Calla leaned back in her chair. Her face was unreadable.

"Good. That means we're doing it right."

Later that night, General Thorne Aleron sat in a steel chair inside the officers’ gym, wrapping his wrists in silence. His breath was steady. His mind wasn’t.

Someone had cut power to the vehicle bay two nights ago. Power that, if left unchecked, would have triggered a fuel ignition. It had been fixed before anyone noticed. Silently. Efficiently. No record.

It bothered him more than any enemy threat.

In the north wing, General Kael Morven paced a dim hallway near the base's secure archive. A shadow moved out of sight the second he turned.

"Show yourself," he ordered.

Silence.

He pulled his weapon.

Nothing.

They were watching. Protecting. Intervening. Saving their lives, one secret at a time.

And the generals were starting to notice.

Back in the ops room, Calla stood alone. Her team had dispersed to different sectors for the night. She turned off the lights. The glow of the monitors faded to black.

She stared at her reflection in the glass. Not the uniform. Not the blank stare. But the shadow beneath it all.

"They can never know who we are," she whispered.

But they would. Soon

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