One week before the Blackridge Incident
A private satellite conference room beneath the Dolomites, its polished steel walls humming with encryption protocols, flickered to life with twelve isolated faces. They did not share a single timezone, let alone a homeland, but they shared a mission. On every screen, a symbol glowed faintly—twelve points around a ring, the emblem of Project O.Y.A.
Agent December leaned forward, his silver hair falling in sleek strands around his sharp face.
"We move on January 5th. Operation Helix."
Agent March narrowed his eyes, his voice clipped and British. "So we're igniting a geopolitical powder keg as a diversion?"
Agent December didn't flinch. "Yes."
A beat. Then Agent September—a tall, broad-shouldered man with cold gray eyes and a voice like gravel soaked in oil—tapped a command into his tablet. A live projection flickered across their shared screen: aerial photos, thermal scans, satellite pings.
"Blackridge Containment Facility," he said. "Hidden under the Russian Arctic. Not listed on any official records. They use the terrain to make escape impossible. Subterranean structure. Three levels. Two dozen guards aboveground. Rotational security below. No trial, no visitation, no records. They call it a ghost facility."
Click. The next slide.
"Prisoners include political dissidents, journalists, and... civilians."
Another click. A woman's profile lit up the screen.
"Anne Ryker," Agent September continued. "CEO of HelixCross Logistics. Captured two days ago. Officially declared missing. She became suspicious of Russia's covert ordering of large quantities of chemical compounds through dummy subsidiaries in her supply chain. She started asking questions. Then she vanished."
Agent April's brows furrowed. She studied the woman's face: high cheekbones, dark hair, clear gaze. So alike. Like looking in a mirror, if that mirror were dusted with pain.
Agent December turned toward her. "You'll take her place."
April didn't blink. "After the rescue?"
December nodded. "We extract her. The world believes she survived torture and captivity. She'll be taken to a hospital in Novosibirsk under an alias for debrief and recovery. Meanwhile, you'll fly into Geneva as the face of Anne Ryker, freshly returned from hell. We'll manage the switch."
April said nothing for a moment. "Why?"
Agent September answered. "Because you are our key to exposing them."
Click.
The next slide was a dossier stained with redacted ink and death certificates. Photographs of car crashes. Building fires. Suicides.
"The Black List," he said. "Russia's off-book kill team. Specialists in disinformation, assassinations masked as accidents. They handle anyone who comes too close to secrets not meant for daylight."
Another click. The next photo showed a scorched truck on a snowy road, a charred body barely recognizable.
"She was next," September said. "But we intercepted it."
Agent December took over. "April, your mission is to step into her skin, gather intel on the Black List from inside HelixCross, and leak what you find. Make them panic. Make them move. The moment they strike, we have them."
April's voice was soft but lethal. "You want them to come for me."
September nodded. "We want them to think they're coming for Anne Ryker."
Agent June, silent until now, raised an eyebrow. "And if she breaks under pressure in recovery?"
"We've sedated key memories," said August. "When she wakes, she'll believe she was tortured for months. She won't remember anything after her abduction. That buys us time."
Agent April opened the mission packet December had just uploaded. Photos, identification cards, vocal pattern drills. She read every word. "So I become her... to expose them."
"Precisely," December confirmed. "Operation Helix begins with the Blackridge raid. It ends with the Black List buried."
Agent February chuckled darkly. "Big play. World will be watching."
"That's the point," said December.
Agent April closed the file. Her dark eyes flared. "Then let's give them a show."