ACCESSING CURRENT FEEDS...

DATE: AUGUST 23rd 2014

LOCATION: Midtown Manhattan, NEW YORK CITY, USA

PRECISE LOCATION: 620 8th AVENUE, NY 10018

OFC 2 SEC 17 - 14:16:09

A newspaper was slammed onto the desk "Jesus Christ, Vanessa, what're you thinking?" Steve Cornette put his hands on his hips with a huff. The bald, bearded Supervising Editor of Channel 52 looked less than impressed. His cheeks red and glasses up his nose, he scanned the research papers.

"It was a simple story, I thought it wouldn't make air!" Vanessa Swann fired back. She flicked a lock of a deep brown hair away from her face, sat across from her Editor. "Well, you what you were doing. It's got more views on YouTube than any of our other stories, hell, it's got more than that dancing cat." Cornette replied. Trying to look down to hold in her laugh, she rubbed her chin.

Checking for herself, the local newspapers in Manhattan had recently published an article on the airing of the interview. On a late-night news broadcast, Vanessa and her cameraman had snuck the tape into the ten o'clock special. A fourteen-minute interview with Lars Hugo Rasmussen. "That isn't relevant anymore. What I'm doing is legitimate journalism." Vanessa argued.

"Then what the hell is your major malfunction? You don't sneak your way into my editing suite and play your goddamn tape, during a story about backed-up traffic on the Williamsburg Bridge!" Cornette tapped his hand on the desk. A vein trying to free itself from his forehead, he stared at her with untapped fury. This was him on a good day.

"In a city the size of New York, there's always traffic, Steve. At least let me break up the monotony." Vanessa fired back again. Pushing up his glasses, Steve scoffed "By what? Gratifying your massive, unhinged ego? You know, I've got this bad allergy, Vanessa. I'm allergic to bullshit, and you're making me sick." Cornette's face twitched.

She folded her arms. "I'm not gonna apologise, the truth is out there. I'm happy I was the one to publish that uncut interview." She was about to stand, but folded her legs instead as Cornette's face turned into a deep red. "Well isn't that perfect. Why don't you just write that down and shove it up your ass so it's always close to you." Steve fumed.

"That attitude isn't getting us anywhere. Now, is the network chief coming or not?" Vanessa cocked her head to the side. Outside the office, a swarm of Staffers and reporters had gathered. "Attitude? You're one to talk, precious. The press are on you like horns on a goat, and you don't know whether to wind your ass or scratch your watch. Think next time, before you do something juvenile," Steve retorted.

Steve had called up the flagpole, keeping Vanessa trapped in his office since she came in for work. He wanted to bring the boss down, to properly punish the deviant reporter. Speaking in a deep southern American accent, Steve sniffed at her "You're losing credibility here. I had to smooth over News Channel Three, the Daily Trumpet and Manhattan Today, who were all planning on ousting you!" Cornette revealed.

"Maybe you should have let them." She shot back at him. "Next time, I will. I'll sit here and watch those vultures and parasites outside rip you to pieces." Steve growled.

OFC 2 SEC 10 - 14:18:22

"That's not a very nice way to talk about your employees. You shouldn't think about them that way." Vanessa mocked. His cheeks flushed a bright shade with a breath.

"Well, you should. They're your competition. You're a big fat fish, and they're the sharks. Soon, they'll be blood in the water." Steve moved his hands, one flat hand represented the fish. Quickly, his other hand collided with it, smacking together. Vanessa looked unfazed.

Her employer's expression changed suddenly when the atmosphere outside the office changed. From the busy bustle, and crowd of people outside the window, they had all dispersed. Shuffling away from the soundproof glass, Steve saw the silhouettes and motions in the distance. "What is it? What?" Vanessa caught his eye and studied his silence.

The door opened and a dark-eyed woman walked in. Wearing a tight, black suit, she was short. With jet-black hair and pale skin, her black, ash-shaded hair covered a long face. Skinny, but athletic, the woman had boyish features. Wearing heeled boots, Cinder crossed the room without a word.

A few other Samaritan Agents guarded the room. Vanessa didn't stand, instead leaning forwards cautiously as they were surrounded. Scowling, Cinder made a hand signal to a man at the door. The guard spoke inaudibly outside the room. A minute later, Steve's assistant, Ripley, entered the room. "Sir, your two o'clock is here." Ripley said, sounding awfully forced.

"I don't have a two o'clock and even if I did, they're late." Steve checked his watch. An exaggerated knock on the door gave them their answer.

"I think you'll find this one's rather important." Lars Rasmussen said as he entered. He extended his lean, skeletal hand which Cornette begrudgingly shook. Vanessa placed her arms over her uncrossed legs that were tightly pushed together.

Cinder was joined by a team of security, including a silver-haired man from the Triad, a Chinese gangster, employed as chief bodyguard to Rasmussen.

"Mr. Rasmussen. I thought I was meeting you at your office." Steve tried his best to salvage the awkward and intimidating encounter. The proprietor scanned the room, his eyes only resting on Vanessa for a second. With the blinds still open at the window, he walked up to them and took in the sun peaking through the skyline.

Seeing the array of newspapers on Steve's desk, Rasmussen made his way to the sofa that Vanessa was sitting on. "This is my office, I mean, now it is." His finger flicked to his glasses, adjusting them.

Now his interface began delving into profiles like education, financial details, public statements, psychological abnormalities and hospital records, until Samaritan produced a readout in grey and white text in the lenses of his glasses. Honing in on the News Channel's editor first.

[SUSPECT IDENTIFIED]

DESIGNATION: TRACKED INDIVIDUAL

NAME: CORNETTE, STEVEN J.M.

DOB: 17/10/1962

SSN: XXX-XX-8651

POSITION: EDITOR-IN-CHIEF, CHANNEL 52 NEWS

DIAGNOSIS: - ADULTERER

-SELF-DELETING TEXTS

-ANTI-POLITICAL STATEMENTS

-ESTRANGED RELATIVE

CONCLUSION: NON-THREAT

RECOMMENDATION: DISREGARD

Rasmussen took a second before sitting down. "Thank you, Brian." Steve did his best not to look flustered as his complexion calmed. His assistant left the room and closed the door. Now Vanessa and her boss were surrounded by the real sharks, with blood leaking. One of the guards passed a thin file to Rasmussen, which he slapped on the table beside Steve.

"A list of names, and faces. I want them published immediately, with tomorrow's issue, and placed in the bulletin of your next broadcast." Rasmussen ordered and Steve held the file, opening it up to see images of four people, with lists of names on papers at the back of the file.

He scanned them, not finding anything special. "I know that you've recently participated in an interview with Vanessa here, I was just about to punish her for her conduct. She played the interview live without my consent." Steve recapped. Licking his lips, Rasmussen didn't seem to mind. "Yes, I allowed it to play. You're aware that the LHR Media Group has recently purchased this news network? And your affiliate publishing company?" Lars Rasmussen raised an eyebrow above his glasses.

Steve nodded, seeing Vanessa roll her eyes. "Well, there's our shareholders on one side and public opinion on the other. Right now I can't afford to look impartial." Steve mentioned. There was a light guffaw from Vanessa Swann, who was clearly enjoying this in her own personal way "But what you've done is excessive, you've lost your judgement." Vanessa criticised.

His frown had a hint of anger, Steve was about to retort until Rasmussen cut him off "I see no problem. Ms. Swann's interview was necessary to respond to public outcry. Whether permitted or not, she's done me a great service." Rasmussen smiled. The whole Goa Bank crisis hasn't gone away, Vanessa realised. But she didn't know about Channel 52 being consumed by his company.

"I didn't realise you placed such a high value on media-collaboration, Mr. Rasmussen. Just after you've spoken to one of my best reporters." Steve said, the compliment shocking Vanessa. But it was true, she was gifted for a journalist. A popular journalist, too.

"A valid statement. One must be able to read an ally's strengths to determine how best to use them. Ms. Swann is driven, intuitive and understanding. But she lacks foresight. Compassion, her compassion for her viewership will always be her weakness." Rasmussen turned halfway to her, as she stood up. "I won't stand in the way of a good story." Vanessa responded.

She was dedicated, motivated and clearly even she was annoyed at being kept here. Rasmussen went back around the room and found a seat on the sofa. "Sir, while your visit is pleasant, I struggle to see the point of our proprietor visiting us when.." Steve's voice trailed off as it was obvious Lars wasn't listening.

More focused on his position on the couch, Rasmussen shifted in his seat, ignoring Steve's words and looking perturbed at the uncomfortable feeling of the sofa. One of the guards checked his phone, the nodded at the besuited Rasmussen. "Tomorrow morning, they'll be an attack at the German Consulate in Washington D.C. and no-one will be harmed. The culprit will be found to be a Russian national, a former FSB operator turned-terrorist. He'll be shot dead at the scene." Rasmussen divulged.

Steve's eyebrow raised "And you're telling us this, why?" He asked. "Because what kind of proprietor would I be if I didn't grant my newspapers and channels exclusive stories? Report on the attack at midnight, and you'll find you won't be disappointed." Rasmussen revealed. Still curious, Vanessa huffed and blew her hair out the way of her face.

Dressed in a silky blue button-up with a high collar, Vanessa glanced at Steve. "Or, this a plan to sink us. Feed us bullshit, the paper's going under, Steve. This could be Rasmussen's plan to kill it." She argued.

"A shame, because you will publish my wishes. Or, your competitors shall find several...sensitive documents floating their way." Rasmussen's eyes snapped to Steve from his slow admiration of Vanessa. His dog-faced security rounding on the editor, Cornette was kept back at his desk.

"The hell are you talking about?" Steve pushed.

Reaching into his jacket pocket, Rasmussen revealed a small USB, a flash-drive. "These pictures, with you and the daughter of the drug-lord Jose Barilla. These were taken in New Mexico, by a very agreeable photographer. Perhaps Mr. Barilla would be interested in your relationship with his teenage daughter? Or your affiliation with...Trent Russell?" Rasmussen took a breath, but Steve held his hand up.

"Fine. Fine, we'll publish, just please, please don't let that out." Steve appealed. He was sweating, at the corners of his forehead. Cinder turned around, leaning back on the frame of the window. Unnerved by Cinder's calm and her steely glare, the brutish looks of her escort made Vanessa let out an exasperated huff of air.

Rasmussen adjusted his glasses. "But you, Vanessa, I wonder if you've ever told your peers about your fiancé in the Bureau. Rhett Stamford, is it?" He sneered.

A slight twitch in Vanessa's face was all the media baron needed. Cinder reached into her pocket, and breath caught in Steve's throat. Thinking that Cinder was going for her gun, it was a shock when she revealed a photograph. Taken with a Polaroid, it was an image of Agent Stamford.

It looked like it was taken from Stamford's ID, as he was dressed formally and was clean-shaven. Vanessa reacted to his face when she saw it. Cinder held the image up to her face and Lars Rasmussen snorted. "Stop this, this is blackmail." Steve stood a little firmer.

"No, it's business." Cinder replied. She folded the image away, tucking it back into her pocket. Inspecting his nails, Rasmussen flicked a speck of dried skin onto the floor "I'm sure that Agent Stamford isn't as spineless as the rest of the FBI grunts, at least, the ones that work for me. You keep him honest, and on his toes, I trust." Rasmussen gave Vanessa a sickly smile.

OFC 2 SEC 7 - 14:31:53

Men like Rasmussen hid behind scandals and a public face, the CEO of a company, a newspaper magnate and media baron - that's where he made his money. Now he used his power and wealth to gain influence and information. Manipulation was a hallmark of his actions, often his servants and his opponents would meet the same fate.

His connections in the world-stage worried many of his contemporaries. An unstable relationship with the Prime Minister of Denmark allowed him corporate neutrality. With how expansive his enterprises have become, Vanessa wondered how anyone could still underestimate him at this stage.

With an uneasy stare, Steve moved away from his desk. "And the interview tape? You still have it." Steve gestured to Vanessa as he stood at the end of his desk. She didn't react at first, her heart pounding in her chest behind her calm mannerisms. Vanessa denied immediately "I don't, I gave it to my cameraman who gave it to Mr. Cardinal on the third floor." She said.

Presenting a videotape from his back, one of Rasmussen's grunts handed the VHS over to his boss. Cinder got in the way, blocking the view of the tape changing hands. "This tape? I think it's safest in my hands." Rasmussen smiled, observing the tape with a curious, yet condescending look.

As he inspected it, Steve did a predictable double-take "I..I guess I was never known for making copies, but I think you're aware of that." He grunted.

"Yes, why would I be so careless? Don't worry, Mr. Cardinal is fine, I'm not a murderer. We just offered him something that was worth more than this videotape." Rasmussen's tone indicated gloating. His fingers running across it like bones, he stroked the edges of the VHS tape.

Steve always preferred the older ways, he still had bookshelves full of old recordings and awards from at least ten years ago. He never made any copies and always trusted what limited technology he had. "I'm gonna have to ask for that back, it is my property." Cornette requested. The media baron scoffed under his breath.

"Well, I own the network now...so who will I be answering to?" Rasmussen taunted. Steve, without blinking, responded seriously "Our benefactors, who I think you'll find, outnumber you."

"Then you can tell your benefactors that I might need this tape, so I'll be keeping it." Rasmussen fixed his blazer and stood up, adjusting his tie-pin. He handed the tape back to his nearest guard and pursed his lip, his throat convulsing.

Slowly, Rasmussen produced a globule of spit from his mouth. He leant forward and spat onto the ground, close to Vanessa's shoes. Rolling his tongue around in his mouth, he gestured to Cinder who handed him a tissue. He wiped the tissue over his mouth, leaving whatever trace of saliva still remained on his lips behind.

Rasmussen dropped the tissue onto the floor unceremoniously "Goodbye." He said.

Leading his group of guards from the room, Cinder exchanged a venomous look with Vanessa. The guards followed Rasmussen from the room as Steve saw someone outside. A tall figure wearing a pair of heavy, thigh-high boots.

They were clad in a patterned black shirt and blazer, a long brown overcoat draped over their shoulders. He noticed their shaved head and pointed ears. Kassidy had a small dimple on their cheek, with a body was heavily shaded in tattoos. Typing on a simple handset, they only moved once Rasmussen left the room.

The door closed and Steve's hands rubbed his face "Jesus.." He exclaimed, muffled.

"I need to call Rhett." Vanessa went for her phone, thinking about her fiancé. Pacing from his desk, Steve stood by the window, opening the blinds with one hand. "Why does no one do anything about that son of a bitch." Steve cursed.

"Because he has all of us, we're his playthings. Blackmail is easy when you have the means, motive and opportunity - and he had all three, and us on a hook." Vanessa punctuated, punching numbers into her phone.

Steve pounded his fist against the windowsill, looking out to a bright New York sky. The traffic below and the airplanes above. The mellow clouds and tall skyscrapers that touched the fringes of the blue sky. On the street, cars and taxis bustled for position on the busy roads below his office.

"There must be a way. He's like a snake, every time we think we've boxed him in, he finds a way out." Steve commented gruffly.

OFC 2 SEC 3 - 14:40:15

"I had a contact in the NYPD, a Detective in narcotics, he said that an FBI Agent approached the Captain with news about a possible lead on Rasmussen. A suicide, of an SEC official baring his surname." Vanessa lowered her voice, leaning on the desk. Steve's head perked up, rubbing a hand across his bald scalp, brimming with sweat.

He looked at a selection of photographs across the back of his desk. His family and with seeing them, he remembered what they meant to him. "Too vague, we can't trust the Cops with this." Steve brushed it aside but his voice was filled with regret, and hopelessness.

"Let me try, I'll message Rhett to check the records, then I'll bring the Detective on side." Vanessa said, quickly.

Cornette went against his instincts in securing his story, in this moment. He saw an opportunity to trap Rasmussen, gather his enemies and finally surround him. "We'll take a page from his book, make the call. I think I've got a way inside his estate." Steve responded with the first hint of a smile.

ACCESSING ARCHIVED FEEDS...

DATE: JANUARY 29th 2003

LOCATION: Fairford, GLOUCESTERSHIRE, ENGLAND

PRECISE LOCATION: RAF FAIRFORD

PERIM POST 03 - 11:48:51

[MINISTRY OF DEFENCE]

RAF FAIRFORD, G

OCCUPANTS: 1,255

DEVIANTS: 142

ASSETS: 0

WEST COMM POST C - 11:48:56

The west communication house was an old building, made from the frame of a World War Two shelter, it was converted from a clandestine safe-house into a radar and communication station. With an iron-corrugated roof and heavy doors, the shelter was protected by thick walls and shielding.

Inside, several desks were set up around a semi-circular table. At the table, monitors and computers were arranged and operated by technicians. Large screens on the monitors allowed the people working them to see an array of displays. Radars, location mapping and air-traffic controls. A few men sat at the semi-circular table as a female officer stood by the furthest screen.

Jeremy and Yvonne Mills walked in as a passing soldier opened the door for them. Colonel Mason had sent them to monitor the radars for the blips, which they believed were purposeful. But to what end or motive, they didn't know. Assuming it was a calculated cyber-attack, Yvonne had observed that they always happened apart from each other.

The best strategy they had was to wait and see if the glitch happened again. Her step-brother accompanying her, he folded his hands behind his back as he approached the semi-circular table to watch the feeds. Yvonne had let her hair down from her bun, adjusting her belt.

Her eyes on the smaller monitors, above, was a screen that showed the bright-green radar. Every minute or so, they'd hear an audible sound, like a submarine's radar. Only this time it was monitoring air-traffic. The attack they suspected didn't involve any bullets or trenches, no bombs were detonated. It was purely done over these radars.

The frequency transmitter was stable as Yvonne pulled out the flip-phone that Colonel Mason had given her. Tracing the outage would be hard, but with Jeremy's help, she could do it. She has been transferred to help in this mystery as Mason and Jeremy needed some fresh eyes to the case. It had be kept within a circle of trust, they couldn't risk the news getting out.

A British military base being compromised would open it up to threats far worse than a cyber-attack. Humming, Jeremy leant forward on the side of the table. So far, there wasn't a hint of anything out of the ordinary.

WEST COMM POST J - 11:53:18

Nothing suspicious so far. As the clock ticked on, Jeremy stroked his chin "We'll only have a short window. Tracing the interference should get us a step further, though." He considered.

Yvonne touched her forehead with the back of her free hand. Tension rose in the back of her mind like a spider crawling up her scalp. The female officer approached them from the other side of the room. "Found anything yet, Lieutenant?" The officer asked. Jeremy shook his head, remaining as clandestine as possible. "We'll let you know if anything comes up, Captain." He replied frankly.

"Your voice hasn't changed, you know. You still speak with that tone." Yvonne's lips went up into a smirk. Jeremy scoffed, glancing down to her. "It's been more than few years, Yvonne. I'm not a child, I think I'd know when I'm using that tone." He replied, using that tone.

They had lived around each other for a while since Jeremy's parents split. Going into the military was the only escape for him. "It's my Dad's voice, I've been told. Not a day goes by when I'm not reminded of how great the old Commander was." He said, with a degree of both regret and respect. He didn't have much resemblance to his father, but his name still carried in the military.

"You're lucky, I don't even get the benefit of nepotism." Yvonne tried to lighten him up slightly. Jeremy smiled a little at the corners of his mouth. Though he tried to mask his hardships, he had been living up to the expectations of his military family all his life. Despite whatever career he'd wanted to have as a child, his legacy demanded his future.

He didn't want to have any of that pressure on Yvonne. His step-sister had always been independent and without any restrictions. But she never knew the legacy of Jeremy's father or who he was now. "Sure, one day I'll give you the real scoop about Dad." Jeremy said back to her. Watching the screens, Jeremy looked back up at the clock. Yvonne tapped her foot on the floor, showing impatience for the first time.

She was hesitant, unsure if the cyber-attack was even going to happen when she predicated. She was human, after all, she wasn't a computer, she couldn't predict what was to come. The West Communication house became quiet as one of the operators touched his headset. "Captain, we've got a Boeing Chinook coming into Hangar Seven." The operator announced.

The Captain, a flat-jawed, short-haired woman wearing a tactical vest and a beret, looked over. Hands on her hips, she nodded "Establish comms, guide them in." She said in an American accent. Moving from her station, the Captain stepped past Yvonne to put a hand on the operator's shoulder. "Copy that, Captain. Attention, Boeing Chinook designation DC-0517, please remain on course on Landing strip two." The Operator said into his headset.

Jeremy heard the rotors of the helicopter passing overhead, watching over the Captain's shoulder as a large blotch appeared on the nearest monitor. The radar began to beep, as the hovering Chinook helicopter passed over the border of the base. Pressing a button, the operator typed a passcode into his keyboard. "Transferring to the radio tower, copy, aircraft control." He touched his headphones.

A few seconds passed and Jeremy waited in silence, Yvonne sharing his expression. One of the operators then swallowed, as he touched his headphones with two fingers. Immediately, Jeremy was kneeling beside his chair. "We've lost signals." The Operator shuddered.

WEST COMM POST B - 12:00:04

Yvonne grabbed her phone from her pocket, a hot flush overtaking her neck. Her face was slightly red, as the Operator struggled on his keyboard. The Captain did a double-take "What's the meaning of this? Explain, what's the reason for this interference?" She said harshly.

"The reason is why we're here, Captain." Jeremy replied while Yvonne was busy, putting the coordinates and the technical specifications into her phone, she had hooked onto the signal using a bluejacking technique, her software would safely log into the computer's system and trace the outage.

"We've lost contact with the Chinook, ma'am. They'll be blind if this system isn't back up!" The operator at the console stressed. He was furiously typing, trying to reactivate the system. Yvonne's pairing software had honed in on the target, and in the phone's screen it showed a map, which zeroed in on a location slowly. "What is that helicopter carrying?" Jeremy asked, rushed.

Captain O'Mare gave a worried huff "Cargo. Mostly construction supplies and gas tanks for refuelling the combat jets." She let him know.

With the system down, there wasn't a chance that the helicopter could come into land safely. Jeremy's phone started to ring and he rushed to answer it as Yvonne's device began to locate the trace of the cyber-attack in progress. They wouldn't have much time, as she could hear soldiers rushing outside to watch the landing. "Anytime, dear sister." Jeremy added with his phone in-hand.

Now hearing static, the helicopter was due in the hangar any moment now - but without the ability to land safely, it could be compromised. But in Yvonne's mind this was no accident, someone knew about the landing of the Chinook. Her step-brother moved away, answering the call to Colonel Mason. "I've got something!" Yvonne proclaimed as her phone beeped.

The Captain joined her "Where?" O'Mare asked, standing closely behind her. But her expression changed once she saw the location. The locator had honed in on Gloucestershire, in Fairford, in the base. Hangar Seven.

"No, something has to be wrong..." O'Mare uttered in disbelief, her mouth hanging slightly open. The leak was coming from an inside source.

Yvonne had joked about it in the meeting but she didn't expect it. Even with the increased security, the attacks must have come from inside the base. Now they had proof, that was irrefutable. The records that Colonel Mason provided her didn't detail the location of the hack, but now they had it. "It's not wrong, it's coming from that hangar." Yvonne pointed to the location of the hangar on a nearby map.

"That's where we keep the missiles for the Lockheed Martin's, F-16s." Captain O'Mare spoke with the realisation hitting her a minute later. The Chinook was going to be used as a bomb. If the signal was coming from the hangar, they'd be trying to draw in the helicopter as a weapon. "This had been happening for a week...it's been a set-up." Yvonne realised.

O'Mare grabbed her belt from the edge of the table, strapping a holster to her hip, she primed a firearm, a SIG-Sauer P220. Loading up, Jeremy slotted his phone into his lower pocket. "That was the Colonel, he's experiencing the same outage. What's the situation?" Jeremy requested, as calm as he could be.

Flipping her phone away, Yvonne held her head up "The signal's coming from Hangar Seven. I think whoever is doing this is planning to detonate fighter jet missiles using the incoming helicopter's cargo as a bomb. They could have been planning this since a week ago, when the interference started, but that's just a guess. I was correct in thinking that it's someone operating inside the walls of this base. We've gotta get to Hangar Seven, quickly." Yvonne went first, with O'Mare behind and Jeremy following.

YARD CAM 09 - 12:05:52

Posting the doors open from the Comms House, the air was immediately kicked up into their faces as dust blew past the doors from the helicopter coming into land. A group of soldiers had arrived, slugging along their heavy rucksacks and rifles. The Chinook's double-rotors span the air around it, creating a small field of resistance like a force-field. Yvonne's hair was knocked back as she squinted.

Jeremy was nearly thrown back as he held his arm over his head, marching to Hangar Seven as the Chinook hovered above. The chest-beating sound of the helicopter pound above as Captain O'Mare tried to yell at some soldiers near the doors to the hangar. "Get these open! We need to be inside, now!" She commanded.

Approaching the shell-like frame of the hangar, the two soldiers followed the Captain. From inside, Yvonne could hear a commotion. The helicopter was sat in the air, rotors spinning, it's metal body suspended in the wind that it made. Standing firm, Jeremy peered through the doors once they began to open.

Kicking up dust and grit, the helicopter swooped in low to the grassy area near the landing strip as Jeremy saw the scene inside the hangar. Yvonne's eyes widened as she laid eyes on at least three or four bodies - dressed in uniform. Among them was a tall, bulky figure, in a black outfit.

Punching a soldier, the attacker threw him down by the arm and drew a pistol in a quickdraw, shooting the man in the side of the chest with a silenced Walther P99. Instantly, Jeremy drew his sidearm - a P22 of the same make. But it was Captain O'Mare that fired the first shot. The attacker revealed himself as a masked figure, wearing a white balaclava with a face-plate that was expressionless, aside from red slits where the eyes would be.

O'Mare drew her Glock and fired while advancing, the two soldiers aiming their rifles "Tango! Tango at Hangar Seven, all available units, we have a breach!" One of the soldiers spoke into his chest-mounted radio.

WEST HNG 7 SEC 2 - 12:11:07

The masked attacker raised his pistol and fired, a bullet knocking against the doors of the hangar as they opened. Yvonne ran for cover as Jeremy took aim at the intruder. In open space, the attacker shot the nearest soldier with a bullet to the shoulder. O'Mare reloaded, executing a combat-roll to the side while she ducked for cover.

"Okay, any ideas on who this guy is?" O'Mare looked to Yvonne as the intruder began to fire on the Chinook. A few soldiers charged wielding their SA80s, bullpup assault weapons. Firing their carbine rifles, the attacker was forced to retreat. "A guess? He's working for whoever hacked our systems." She supposed.

Still under pressure, Jeremy peered up from the boxes he was hiding behind. The attacker had ran for a nearby door. Kneeling by a metal canister, he fired back with deadly precision. His suppressor flashed and a soldier hit the ground, his kneecap blown off.

Knowing that he had to do something, Jeremy dodged a nearby soldier falling to the floor from a gunshot wound and ran to the masked intruder. The Captain saw what he was doing, getting up from her position to place some accurate shots with her P220. Yvonne stayed down as Jeremy charged, emptying his clip as he surged forwards.

The attacker was taken off-guard, his gun knocked from his hand as Jeremy crashed into him. But the intruder soon had the advantage as he wrenched Jeremy's wrist away - then backhanded him with lip-splitting force.

Knocking Jeremy to the floor, the masked man picked up his handgun and popped two shots, one striking O'Mare in the top of the shoulder.

She recoiled, falling back. "Aah! Son of a.." She gritted her teeth as Yvonne held out a hand, pulling her back into cover. Blood coming from the Captain's vest, Yvonne grabbed her pistol, leaning over the boxes and firing.

A hit, to the man's midsection. But it wasn't enough. Soon more soldiers arrived. Among the group was Colonel Mason, still dressed in uniform. The attacker grunted in pain and backed away from the team. Colonel Mason held a silver-plated P5 Compact with both hands as he walked forwards.

Backed up by at least seven or eight heavily-armed men, Mason spoke to the intruder. "You're surrounded! Hands in the air!" He yelled.

Cautiously, the other soldiers began to advance. A medic rushed to O'Mare, unbuttoning a medical bag and moving the Captain further into cover. The medic nodded firmly to Yvonne, who took the Captain's weapon and joined the side of Jim Mason. An intense expression on her face, her brow furrowed when she saw Jeremy, knocked out and stirring at the attacker's feet.

The masked man lowered his pistol, nearly aiming it at her step-brother. Fiercely, she went for him with her gun raised but Mason held out his hand. "Hands in the air. You won't be harmed if you come quietly." Colonel Mason assured him.

"You'd harm me either way." The stranger said. His voice was augmented, deeper, almost robotic to conceal his identity under the mask. "Then let my brother go!" Yvonne hollered. Instantly, the masked man took note of her, her tone, his head tilting like he was curious.

Colonel Mason pulled Yvonne back, trying to keep the grip on his own gun steady. "It was always a family affair, Ms. Mills. Even Jeremy knows that." The masked man chortled.

Her grip tightened on the handle of her pistol "Who are you?" Yvonne seethed. The soldiers started to back the man up into the wall, surrounding him. Taking point, Colonel Mason's face hardened. The soldiers cocked their weapons, ready to fire.

"Void." The masked stranger spoke. The armed camp moved towards him, wary of the firearm that he held. Yvonne stood on the outline with her eyes on her brother's body.

Void raised his weapon, only managing two shots to the ground before Mason called out. The soldiers ripped him to pieces with bullet-fire in a crescendo of blood and dust, the intruder's chest and neck was torn apart in the brief onslaught.

It was hardly a firefight, more like an execution. Void's handgun clattered to the ground as Mason emptied his clip in the man's torso.

The rest of the soldiers did the same, unloading their carbines and rifle's full capacities at the masked attacker. The hail of gunfire was over in around ten seconds with Jeremy clutching his ears as he was splattered in blood. Yvonne stood back, as the flash of muzzles obscured her view.

Ripping through Void's body like a chainsaw through wood, the man had toppled to the floor with his expressionless helmet still strapped to his face. A pool of red began to leak from the many holes dotting his chest like pock-marks.

WEST HNG 7 SEC 5 - 12:20:44

Still hearing the Chinook outside with the ramp lowered, more attendants and soldiers began to unload the cargo. "Enemy down! Tango down." The nearest commando said into his earpiece.

Colonel Mason put a hand on Yvonne's shoulder. "Go, check on your brother. We'll take care of this. At least we've uncovered the intruder, and he won't be coming back this time." Mason said.

Taking his instruction, Yvonne ran to Jeremy's side, letting the gun drop carelessly from her hand.

She knelt by him, crawling up and holding his hand as she helped him to a sitting position. "What were you thinking? Look at you.." She sighed over his uniform that was sullied in blood. Jeremy smirked at the corners of his lips, playing it off like a joke. "Someone had to distract him for you to land that winning shot." He snorted with a smile.

Yvonne rolled her eyes at him, holding him up like a friend. As he rubbed his head from a likely concussion at hitting the ground so hard. Smelling the gunfire in the air, Yvonne helped Jeremy back to his feet, nursing his head until the Medic could come over. "You'll be fine, I'll see you soon." Yvonne beamed.

Soon enough, Colonel Mason was beside her. "You did well. I'll have my men see to our friend here," He gestured to the dead body of Void, as two of the soldiers rolled him over, guarding the corpse until coroners arrived. "He will be unmasked and we'll finally get the bottom of this entire saga." Mason said, relieved.

"I don't think so, Colonel. Something tells me this isn't the end. It was far too...constructed." Yvonne pointed out. Obviously not wanting to pass up the opportunity to quiz her, Jim Mason raised an eyebrow. "How so?" He asked.

"The timing of the interference, the Chinook's arrival, the F-16 missile payload. Now this Void guy, it all seems too planned, too deliberate." Yvonne studied the evidence, looking at the stacks of ten foot-long, air-to-air missiles near the wall of the hangar. Obviously meant for the planes, the missiles had been arranged and stored there for some time.

Mason sounded disappointed "I see. Well, I'll give you full clearance to investigate. I'm sure Air Marshal Rembrandt will be very curious to study your findings." He said. Thumbing her chin, Yvonne huffed. She wanted to look back at the body but the bloody scene repulsed her, even having to watch it churned her stomach.

It wasn't the sight of blood, but it's smell and feeling made her feel light-headed. She had to stand away from the corpse, pooled in red and stinking of metal. She could taste it at the back of her throat. "Thank you, Colonel, have you arranged a bed in one of the barracks for me?" She inquired.

"Indeed, I'll have my secretary bring your bags down to Hut Nine, that's where you'll be staying, it's on the North side." Mason sheathed his empty pistol into his jacket.

"Thanks, but I have just got here...talk about a first day." Yvonne groaned. Already she had seen a gunfight and solved a mystery. "Then congratulations are in order, Yvonne. Go get some rest, I'll meet you in the morning." Colonel Mason encouraged.

She wasn't sure what needed congratulating, but she wasn't in any mood to question him again. She was tired and already her analytical mind had worked overtime. Her eyes stuck to Jeremy, who was sitting on a stretcher on a gurney. With a medic helping to wipe the blood from his face, Jeremy held a wet towel over his neck.

"Can't I just stay? I can go in the morn-" She was cut off by the Colonel before she could finish "He'll be fine, I promise. I'll watch him myself - now go." Mason stated gently. Yvonne turned on her heel as she walked and smiled, giving Jeremy one last caring look.

On her way from the Hangar to the barracks, she passed the Chinook and it's dormant rotors, the cargo ramp open and soldiers unloading the boxes of supplies. One of the men working turned to watch Yvonne walk by. An orange-haired man dressed in a soldiers uniform, the redhead had wide cheeks and patchy skin with a unique scar across his cheek.

The man in disguise had slanted eyebrows, pointy ears and lean stature. With askew lips, he bore a serious expression. His eyes were bloodshot, his hand moving up to his earpiece. "Copy, Executive Board. This is Ayers, I have eyes on the target."

ACCESSING CURRENT FEEDS...

DATE: AUGUST 23rd 2014

LOCATION: Maple, NEW YORK STATE, USA

PRECISE LOCATION: MAPLE GENERAL HOSPITAL

WARD 5 CAM 2 - 16:14:24

A pair of polished black shoes walked across the clean hospital floor. Attached to lean white trousers, pressed, a suited figure walked through the hospital, followed by a woman and pair of men - guards with holsters tucked into their jackets. Schmidt carried a briefcase as he entered the hospital, tucking his phone back into his pocket.

On the Intensive Care ward, Samaritan Agents had surrounded the nearest booth, covered by a curtain. Locksley was already present, the straight-jawed man nodding as he stood to the side. His steps sounding like resonant clicks on the floor, Schmidt paused, waiting outside the left booth, number three.

A few nurses scuttled around him, Locksley flanking the Representative. "I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow, Mr. Schmidt." Locksley opened with, a flash of nervous energy across his face.

The Representative's guards were burly, middle-aged grunts, named Higgins and Rogan. "Evidently not. Is she still in there with Thompson?" Schmidt asked with his light accent. Clad in a pearly white suit-jacket and waistcoat, his shirt was a darker grey, without a tie.

Locksley's stoic face twinged with emotion, confirming where Martine was. She had been spending more time with the former Maryann Holst, now Leslie Thompson. Since Martine had helped Lynn to secure the factory and had reported back to the Steiner, she was free to continue to test and socialise with Thompson.

It was a worthwhile experiment, but as Representative, Schmidt was sent to manage the operations of the more classified Agents.

WARD 4A CAM B - 16:15:07

"This'll be a new job for you, a second chance. You'll receive instructions via a phone or text. Obey them and you'll be protected, I promise," Martine told Leslie, who remained in her hospital bed. She had come round to the idea of living in Maple, overseeing an experiment that she was slowly being let in on.

Leslie's thin nose crinkled, with shaped cheekbones and small ears, her eyebrows were thin and they remained raised. "Trust me. It's like I told you, a few must be displaced so that the majority may thrive. Maple's proving to be popular, so I'm sure you'll be very busy in your first few months." Martine continued. The woman in the bed had the same body language as Martine once did, when she first worked for Decima.

But Samaritan had taken Leslie's life, providing the pacemaker that saved her. The heart-monitor was beeping steadily by her bed. With the curtains pulled, Leslie blinked as she stared at Martine. "You can promise all this? And you can't even say who I'm working for." Leslie voiced.

By design, Martine hadn't yet explained who Leslie was working for. It remained a mystery to the new Councilwoman. "For now, you'll be given a house and regular instructions. My bosses are very busy at the moment so it'll be unlikely that you'll see me again, or any of the people you've seen over the last couple of days." Martine replied.

She registered Leslie's look of concern as she stood up. Wearing tight jeans and knee-high combat boots, Martine had on a black shirt and motorbike jacket, with rippling patterns down her sleeves and back.

Her hair tied into a ponytail, she pushed the chair back as she stood up. "If you're going to leave me here, you should know, ever since I've been a surgeon the sight of a hospital unnerves me." Leslie snarked, weakly.

"Then you'll be happy when you're discharged," Martine smiled back to her, stepping closer to touch her hand gently. They locked eyes "It's hard to believe but I was once where you are. Alone, drifting without a purpose. Forgetting everything you've ever known. It's hard to move past it, to become someone else. But it's easier than you think, Leslie. You just have to take that first step." Martine squeezed the older woman's hand.

Leslie managed a smile, showing some feeling. "It's daunting, having to think about this." She concluded, a hint of sadness in her voice, but it was full of resolve.

"Relax, honey. The biggest questions often are so...daunting." Martine put her hand on the edge of the curtain and pulled it back a fraction. Her black-painted lips curling up, Martine reflected on her words. Leslie rested with her back on the bed. Her head propped up, Leslie touched the pillow behind her "Then will I ever see you again? Ever?" Leslie asked.

"When what I've got to do is done, I'll come back here. Is that good enough for you?" Martine responded warmly.

Even though she didn't know where the next mission would take her, she didn't want to promise Leslie that she'd be back, only that things would get easier for her. When she finally got her job, maybe she'd see the good that Samaritan was trying to achieve. The woman in the bed sighed "Yes, dear, that's good enough for me."

WARD 5 CAM 2 - 16:19:34

Martine left the booth and closed the curtain behind her, faced with Schmidt and his entourage of guards, including Brittany. Brittany was a short, dark-haired girl in her teens, with an earpiece and a holster at her hip. The girl's eyes were pits of bronze light, shining in the artificial LEDs of the hospital ward.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Schmidt?" Martine approached them, hands by her sides. The white-suited Representative had nothing but a smile on his face.

He ran a hand through his slicked-back blonde hair "Orders from Samaritan, your work here has concluded. After you and Ms. Lynn secured the factory in Maple, our workers have finally been able to restart production, thanks to you." Schmidt commended.

Martine tilted her head "You're welcome." Was all she said. A twinkle in his eyes, Schmidt adjusted his watch, as Brittany took out her cellphone. "You'll be taking the next flight to Budapest." Schmidt straightened his blazer.

"Budapest? Well, I've always been one for accents. Who's the target?" Martine always assumed that a far-flung location meant an assassination. Clicking his fingers, Brittany, Higgins and the rest of his guards left them. Even Locksley, who had been watching from the sidelines.

"Hugo Novak. A small-time New York reporter out in the Middle East. He's become very interested in rival tech companies, particularly in Samaritan's plan to remove such companies from the playing field," Mr. Schmidt stated. "Zenith-Media has already bought out his paper, soon, his Editor will be reassigned." He continued.

Martine out her hands on her hips, an eyebrow raising "He'll become desperate. Losing his job, he'll turn to the online forums and truth-seekers." She analysed.

The Representative cooed "Correct, I have my own task to deal with in that regard. I'm leaving for a heliport in Manhattan. You've got a flight from LaGaurdia." He smiled again.

"Don't wanna carpool?" Martine quipped. Locksley held in a snort-laugh. Straightening up, Schmidt's eyes turned icy. "Not today, I'm afraid I must leave immediately. I already have Crassus and Greer breathing down my neck." Schmidt complained arrogantly.

Curious about her target, Martine stepped in front of him when the handsome Schmidt tried to walk away. "Let me get this straight. Novak's paper goes down, and he turns to crackpot conspiracy theories. Can't Rasmussen and his magic glasses take care of this?" Martine proposed.

"Mr. Greer requested you specifically. They'll be a Representative in Budapest when you arrive, who'll have more information for you. Things are compartmentalised for a reason, Martine." Schmidt said.

WARD 5 CAM 5 - 16:21:28

He had already began to walk down the hallway, followed by his uniformed guards. Brittany remained, standing by with her cellphone. "Oh, Brittany will stay with you, she's being sent to a radio station's office in New York City - Mysterious Transmissions, have you ever heard of it?" Schmidt sounded curious, gesturing to her.

Brittany had a devious smirk as Martine shook her head. "Mr. Barrett has an interest. Hosted by...some moron, I forget." Mr. Schmidt turned and stuck his hand into his pocket, carrying his black briefcase. Martine stopped at the doorway to the ward, watching the Representative walk away as Brittany stood by Martine's shoulder.

"Good luck, Schmidt. Looks like your number's up." Martine jabbed with a smirk. Too far down to the hallway to hear, Schmidt had kept walking. With Brittany by her side, the blonde woman smirked, turning away to meet Locksley by the nurses station.