CHAPTER I: THE VERDICT OF SILENCE

The old fluorescent lights in the Strategic Intelligence Directorate (DIS) base, Fort Rourke, flickered relentlessly, creating a throbbing headache and the perfect bad interrogation scene. The handcuffs clamped onto my wrists were cold and sharp, digging into my skin. The heavy boots of the Military Police (MPs) scraped against the concrete floor, dragging me down the cold corridor. Though far away, I could still smell the dampness, the Javel bleach, and a trace of the dry dust from the location where I had landed my high-speed aircraft—my modified F-22 raptor—less than an hour ago.

I had ignored every command, every warning to stand down.

“You don’t get to decide when a mission is over, Captain,” the lead officer growled, his voice laced with sanctioned contempt. He shoved me forward, my shoulder hitting the cold tiled wall. “You’ve embarrassed the entire chain of command. You are charged with insubordination and endangering classified personnel.”

I didn’t answer.

If I opened my mouth, everything would collapse. The words that spilled out wouldn’t be excuses, but the truth. And that truth, like a lightning strike, would burn this entire underground base to the ground. The truth involved names, ranks, and deals buried beneath political sludge for decades.

They threw me into holding cell B4, a small, windowless steel box deep in the basement.

Creek.

The heavy steel door slammed shut. The clatter of the bolt and the echoing click of the lock sounded like a final judgment. A death sentence for a pilot’s career.

I was not a criminal. I was the one who had just saved two Special Forces squads from being burned alive in a pre-set strategic trap.

“You are reckless, Captain,” a sharp, arrogant voice cut through.

Major Vance, the officer overseeing the holding area, was glaring at me through the bars. His square face was flushed with anger and a hint of satisfaction.

“You endangered Target X classified assets,” he snapped. “You disobeyed a direct order from General Davies. You’ll be lucky if you only lose your wings. With this charge, you’ll lose your pension too.”

I stared back—my jaw clenched, but my eyes steady and cold.

Let them talk. Let them speculate about the crazy motive, pilot arrogance, or the Rambo complex they wanted to label me with. My reasons were not for them.

Two MPs stepped closer, their expressions more aggressive after Vance’s goading. One reached out, intending to grab my arm to force me upright, following the unspoken interrogation protocol.

It was then— my flight suit sleeve slid up.

Just an inch.

Enough for the fluorescent light to skim over it, catching a flash of reflection.

A tattoo. Not a standard military insignia. But a symbol deeply etched into the skin, hidden just beneath the wrist crease, extending slightly upwards.

It was a stylized Phoenix, rising from a geometrically perfect flame. The flame wasn’t red or orange, but cobalt blue, the color of electricity and profound mystery.

The room froze.

The aggression in the MPs’ eyes vanished.

“Hey—what is that?” one MP asked, his voice cracking with an unexplainable awe.

CHAPTER II: THE GENERAL’S ROAR

Before anyone could think, before anyone could breathe, the heavy steel door at the end of the hallway burst open with a force like a detonation.

General Silas Harding, a four-star General and the Corps Commander for the entire Pacific region, stormed in. He was a Pentagon legend, a man known for his lethal composure. But now, that composure had shattered.

His eyes wildly scanned the holding area, searching. They locked onto me.

The color instantly drained from General Harding’s face. The weight of fear—not political fear, but pure, primal terror—descended.

“Oh God…” he whispered, rushing toward the cell. “Get those cuffs off her. NOW!”

The MPs and Major Vance stumbled back in absolute shock. Vance, still trying to retain his authority, stuttered: “S-Sir? She disobeyed, she endangered Target X—”

“SHE HAS EVERY RIGHT TO DO THAT!” the General roared, his voice shaking the concrete. He pointed directly at the fading tattoo on my wrist. “Do you understand who she is? Do you have any idea what that mark means?”

The MPs scrambled to unlock the handcuffs, nearly tripping over their own feet in their haste.

General Harding stood right in front of the bars, staring at me—his voice suddenly low, reverent… and utterly terrified.

He didn’t salute me in the usual military protocol.

He bowed his head deeply.

I flexed my free hands, feeling the blood rush back. I tugged my sleeve down, concealing the Blue Phoenix.

Some secrets are not meant for the gaze of the regular military.

“Get everyone out,” the General commanded. His tone was no longer a request, but a command sharper than any blade.

The cell block cleared in seconds—the frantic pounding of boots receding, leaving only the two of us in the heavy, echoing silence.

When the last door slammed shut, General Harding finally met my eyes.

“We thought your unit was terminated,” he murmured, the tension showing starkly on the veins in his neck. “The Phoenix Protocol was… deactivated ten years ago. Deemed too dangerous.”

I smiled, devoid of kindness. My physical exhaustion had been replaced by a cold surge of absolute authority.

“It is too dangerous, General. That’s the point.”

He swallowed hard. What he remembered—what they had tried to bury from military history—was true:

We, the Phoenix operatives, were not ordinary pilots. We were the Ultimate Control System—the final insurance policy the world prayed would never be needed. Every Phoenix operative carried a confirming mark: Command authority leaps straight to the top of the chain of command. No oversight. No contradictions. We were the last line before extinction.

CHAPTER III: THE TRUTH FROM THE SKY

“You diverted your mission,” General Harding said, his voice steadier now, but still laced with cautious respect. “You flew into a restricted zone and jeopardized the Target X operation. Why?”

I stepped closer to the bars, picking up my flight helmet that the MPs had dropped.

“Target X was a decoy. The two Special Forces squads trapped in that canyon weren’t there by accident. They were sent there to be wiped out by a simulated airstrike. Someone high up wanted them dead… and wanted me to be blamed when my F-22 ‘accidentally’ fired on them.”

General Harding stiffened. He was a veteran, but his face still paled as the underlying truth registered.

“Which squads?”

“Whisper and Hydra. They were tracking a compromised supply line. They were off the books and listed as assumed MIA.”

General Harding clenched his fists. Recognition flashed. Then deep horror.

“The infiltration has already begun,” he whispered, turning his back to me, as if talking to himself. “We thought we had more time.”

“Time is up, General,” I said. “I saw what they were planning. I stopped the first move by intervening. But the next one?”

I leaned in, my voice razor-thin.

“It’s happening inside this base, Fort Rourke, right now.”

He didn’t doubt me. The Phoenix Protocol was never wrong about an extinction-level threat.

“What do you require?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

I tapped the steel bars, no longer a prisoner.

“Clear my arrest record. Major Vance and the MPs are to be immediately transferred to an Arctic outpost. Reinstate my F-22 and fully arm it. And most importantly: Grant me full, unrestricted Omega-One level command intelligence access.”

He straightened up, snapping back into command mode.

“It will be done in under thirty minutes.”

CHAPTER IV: THE GENERAL AND THE FEAR

Exactly 28 minutes later, I stood in General Harding’s Supreme Intelligence Office. Everything had been swiftly arranged. Major Vance was en route to Greenland. My F-22 had been fueled and armed.

I was still in my dirty flight suit, my hair disheveled from the detention, but now I wielded absolute authority.

General Harding locked the office door and sat down, his aging face showing deep exhaustion.

“Tell me, Captain,” he said, almost pleading. “How did you know about Whisper and Hydra? That information was encrypted even to me.”

“We are trained to see through the encryption layers,” I replied. “The Phoenix Protocol isn’t just about command authority. It’s about Ultimate Reality Analysis. I see the logical flaws in every operation. Your Target X airstrike had an 83% chance of success—but a 100% chance of a ‘tragic accident’ involving those two off-book squads. I changed the probability.”

General Harding shook his head, a mixture of awe and terror. “An accident… I approved that airstrike.”

“And the perpetrator calculated that, General. He knew you would approve. He knows your every move.”

“Who?”

“That is what we have to find out. The infiltrator manipulated the supply chain, the MIA records, and the airstrike orders. He must be very close to the center.”

I opened General Harding’s touch screen interface, entering an access code he didn’t even know existed. The entire Omega-One intelligence network flared up.

“We have a critical problem, General. The infiltrator’s goal isn’t to cause chaos. The goal is the Chimera Quantum Encryption Chip—the chip we are testing here at Fort Rourke.”

General Harding went pale. “Impossible! The Chimera chip is protected by five layers of security and cannot be removed.”

“It doesn’t need to be removed,” I said. “The infiltrator only needs a backdoor to activate it. The Chimera chip is designed to create a selective Electromagnetic Pulse (EMP), neutralizing all enemy communication and weaponry. But if it’s reverse-activated, it will neutralize all of our systems—in 30 seconds.”

The General nearly collapsed. “That is extinction.”

“Precisely. That is why the Phoenix Protocol was established. We must find the infiltrator and prevent the Chimera activation. Now.”

CHAPTER V: THE HUNT AT THE CORE

I began the data analysis. I wasn’t looking for inconsistencies, but for perfection. The infiltrator was someone who made no mistakes, someone who knew the system inside out.

There was only one person on Fort Rourke with enough authority and cover to do this: Colonel Eva Rostova, the head of the network security division. She was universally beloved, flawless in her record, and famous as the ultimate security guardian.

“Rostova,” I said, pointing to her file. “She was present in every transaction. She was the first to report Target X as secure. She is your best friend, General.”

General Harding stared at Rostova’s file, loyalty battling pure terror. “It can’t be Eva. She saved my life in Sarajevo!”

“That is the perfect cover, General. Remember: The Phoenix Protocol does not trust emotion. Look for perfection.”

I found it. Rostova had added a tiny protocol to the fifth security layer of Chimera—an “emergency key” to prevent technical glitches. That key was set to activate at 03:00 hours—only 15 minutes away.

“Where is she?”

“She is in Data Center Alpha, underground. She said it was for a routine security upgrade oversight.”

“That’s where the Chimera is housed,” I stated. “We have to go there immediately.”

CHAPTER VI: THE BLUE FLAME OF CHOICE

General Harding and I raced down to the basement, where Data Center Alpha was located.

We found Colonel Rostova, calm and unafraid, standing before the Chimera, a massive machine emitting a faint blue light. She was plugging a device into a service port.

“Eva! Stop!” General Harding roared.

Rostova turned, her smile cold and triumphant.

“It’s too late, Silas,” she said. “I’ve initiated the sequence. This world is too weak. We need a clean slate.”

“You will kill millions!” General Harding pleaded.

“No. I will save them from their own stupidity. And I will never be discovered.”

General Harding drew his sidearm. But Rostova was faster. She pulled a small pistol from her waist and fired a single shot, hitting General Harding in the leg.

“I expected resistance from Silas, but not from you, Captain,” Rostova looked at me. “I thought Target X had eliminated you.”

I didn’t move. “I canceled Target X. That’s why I’m here.”

“The Phoenix Protocol,” Rostova scoffed. “A dusty old legend.”

“This legend is current,” I said.

I knew I couldn’t shoot her. Any vibration could interrupt the device and activate Chimera instantly.

I did the only thing the Phoenix Protocol allowed. I lunged at her.

The fight was swift, brutal, in the flickering blue light of Chimera. Rostova was a skilled operative, but she hadn’t accounted for an opponent trained to fight without emotion, without limits.

I dodged a critical strike and locked her wrist. I used my momentum to push her away from the device, but Rostova clung on.

Only 3 minutes remained.

“You cannot stop me!” Rostova yelled.

I didn’t answer. I looked straight into her eyes, and instead of physical resistance, I used Ultimate Reality Analysis.

“You can’t save the world by destroying it, Rostova. Whose orders are you following? Helix, isn’t it? The one behind Target X?”

Rostova flinched. That was all I needed. Helix—the name we had been hunting throughout the Phoenix Protocol’s existence.

I put all my strength into Rostova’s wrist, forcing her to release the device.

Snap!

The device fell to the floor, separating. The connection was lost.

Immediately, the blue light of Chimera turned to a steady green. The threat was contained.

EPILOGUE: THE ULTIMATE TRUTH

General Harding, wounded in the leg, dragged himself toward me.

“We did it,” he gasped.

I shook my head. “Not yet, General. We just won a small battle. Rostova is a senior operative, but she is only the implementer. Helix is still out there.”

I looked down at Rostova, who lay on the floor, exhausted and defeated. “Who brought you in? Who is Helix?”

Rostova just laughed maniacally. “You will never find him. He is everywhere.”

I knew she was right. Helix was an ideology, an infiltrating network.

I turned back to General Harding. “The key lies with Helix. We need to start over.”

I turned and walked out of Data Center Alpha, leaving General Harding and Rostova to the medical and security teams.

As I walked through the corridors, I felt the fearful respect in the eyes of the guards and other agents. They knew who I was. They had seen the tattoo.

I touched my wrist, feeling the Phoenix mark.

We are the Phoenix Protocol. Our mission never ends.

I walked out of Fort Rourke, heading straight for my ready F-22.

I looked back at General Harding one last time. He had finally understood the ultimate truth:

The truth is not in the dossiers. It is in the action. And only the Phoenix has the authority to change the rules.

My mission was reinstated, but it was no longer a routine flight. It was a hunt. The hunt for Helix.

I climbed into the cockpit. Grasping the controls.

Mission: Hunt Helix.

Protocol: Phoenix.

No permission required.

Takeoff.