Chapter 4
The Ghost's Calling Card
The world spun around him as the sharp pain in his neck burned like wildfire. His vision blurred, and his limbs grew heavy as if he were sinking into the floor itself. His breath was shallow, labored, and he felt the unmistakable sensation of the poison working its way through his veins. His body tried to fight back, but it was useless. The darkness that had claimed him was too strong. His hands shook as he reached for his neck, desperately trying to find the source of the pain, but the world faded away before he could do anything more.
When he awoke, it was to the harsh sensation of cold concrete beneath him and a bitter metallic taste in his mouth. His body was stiff, his muscles sore, and the poison's remnants still lingered in his bloodstream, dulling his senses. His head throbbed painfully, and as he struggled to sit up, his vision blurred once again.
But this time, he didn't fall unconscious.
He forced himself to rise, his hands shaking as he used a nearby crate for support. His mind was foggy, still trying to catch up to his body's movement. He had to focus, had to survive. The warehouse was eerily quiet now. The masked operatives were gone, their bodies strewn across the floor where the fight had taken place. A few of the attackers had managed to escape, but their movements hadn't been quick enough to prevent his retaliation.
His fingers brushed against the cold, splintered wood of the desk, still holding onto the last piece of paper—the one with the name "K" scrawled across the bottom. But there was something else now, a change in the atmosphere. A subtle shift. Something—someone—was watching him.
The man stumbled toward the desk, ignoring the lingering dizziness in his head. He needed to find answers. He needed to know what all of this meant, what the fight had been about, why he was being hunted.
He looked down at the desk once more, scanning the cluttered mess of papers. Something about the disarray caught his attention—a small, folded envelope that had been tucked under a pile of documents. The seal was unusual, dark and jagged, like a symbol he couldn't quite place. It was black wax, the emblem of an eagle with a twisted, broken wing. He ran his fingers over the wax, feeling a chill seep into his bones. Something in the pit of his stomach told him this was no ordinary message. This was a message meant for someone like him.
His pulse quickened as he slid his fingers under the flap and opened the envelope. Inside, there was another sheet of paper, this one more professionally written, with neat, calculated handwriting. The letter read:
"The Phantom Agent is dead. Long live the Phantom Agent. But not this one. Not the one they know. You've just begun your journey, and the game is far from over. Find me, and I will explain. But first, survive. Time is running out, and there are more who will come for you. If you can stay alive long enough to figure this out, I will show you the truth. - V"
The man's heart skipped a beat as he read the letter again. "The Phantom Agent is dead." The words seemed to echo in his mind, as if they were the final nails in a coffin. He wasn't just a target; he was someone who had been erased, someone who was no longer part of whatever twisted narrative had been written for him.
But there was something else buried in the message—an opportunity. V. Whoever this person was, they knew more about him than anyone else. They knew what had happened to him, why he had been erased, and why there were people out to get him. This wasn't just about survival anymore. It was about finding the truth. Finding out who he was.
The words "find me" burned in his mind. They were a challenge. A riddle.
He crumpled the letter in his hand, his eyes scanning the darkened room for anything else that could lead him closer to this elusive figure, V. His fingers brushed over the table once again, and something sharp pricked his skin—a thin piece of metal, wedged in the corner of one of the papers. He grabbed it, inspecting it more closely. It was a small metallic card, with the same jagged symbol of the eagle engraved on it. This was no ordinary card. This was a calling card, a message.
He felt the weight of it in his palm, his mind racing. V wanted him to survive, but they also wanted him to follow the trail. To walk into the darkness and find the answers before it was too late.
But could he trust V? Could he trust anyone at this point?
As the thought lingered, a sudden noise broke through the silence—the screech of tires, the faint sound of an engine revving in the distance. Footsteps. Heavy, purposeful. They were coming. His eyes widened in realization. Someone was here. They had tracked him.
The man didn't waste time. He moved fast, his mind already calculating the best course of action. He grabbed the metal card, shoving it into his jacket pocket. The urgency to escape was palpable, but there was no easy way out of this warehouse. He needed a plan.
His fingers moved quickly, pulling open a drawer at the desk. Inside, there were maps—old, worn, and marked with symbols and coordinates. He rifled through them, his heart racing as he scanned the unfamiliar locations. These were likely the next destinations in the game V had set for him. But time was against him.
The footsteps outside grew closer, and suddenly, the door to the warehouse creaked open. The man froze, crouching low behind a large stack of crates. His breathing slowed as he reached for the weapon at his side, gripping it tightly. He had no idea who was coming for him this time, but the instinct to fight—or flee—came naturally. He didn't have much of a choice.
Two figures entered the warehouse. Their silhouettes were barely visible against the dim light, but he could tell they were armed. Their footsteps were deliberate, methodical. They weren't rushing. They were searching for something. Or someone.
One of them spoke, their voice cold and detached.
"Did you find him?"
"We missed him. He was here, but not anymore. He's gone."
"Damn it. He's faster than we thought. We need to move. He won't get away this time."
The voices echoed through the room, and the man held his breath, trying to keep still. Whoever these people were, they knew what they were doing. They were looking for him, and they wouldn't stop until they found him.
His muscles tensed as the figures drew closer. The moment they passed him, he would have to act—quick, efficient, and without hesitation.
The seconds felt like hours.
Then, as if on cue, one of the operatives stepped closer, his boots grinding against the concrete floor. The man reacted without thinking. He grabbed the nearest object—an old pipe—swinging it with precision. The force of the blow caught the operative in the side, sending him sprawling to the floor.
The second figure reacted immediately, pulling a weapon from his side and aiming it at the man. But the Phantom Agent was already in motion. He rolled out of the way, ducking low and using the crates for cover. His pulse raced as the adrenaline kicked in. He couldn't let them get a clear shot.
The exchange was brief, a whirlwind of movement and tension. The man's reflexes took over, his body reacting as if the moves had been choreographed a thousand times. Within seconds, both operatives were down, unconscious on the floor. But the sound of their radios crackling reminded him that he didn't have long. The warehouse wasn't as isolated as it seemed.
He grabbed the weapons, checking each one for any useful tools or information. But it was the radio that caught his attention. He turned it on, listening closely as a voice crackled through the speaker.
"Target has been sighted. All units converge at location."
The message was clear. They were closing in on him. More would be coming.
He knew he had to move quickly. There was only one way out. The door. And he wasn't going to wait around to be cornered.
As he slipped out into the night, the weight of the metal card in his pocket burned like a warning. He was far from safe. The Phantom Agent's name had just become more than a moniker. It had become a target, and he was the one being hunted.
But V had promised answers. And the game wasn't over yet.