Chapter 1: Zero Hour
Chapter 1: Zero Hour
The first signs of the blackout weren’t obvious. At first, it was just a momentary flicker—blips in the financial markets, delays in encrypted messages, power fluctuations in seemingly unrelated locations. It wasn’t until every secure line went dark and the world’s intelligence networks realized they had lost control that the full scale of the attack became clear.
Jasper Hawke had seen his fair share of global crises, but nothing like this. Sitting in a dimly lit safe house in Berlin, he watched the encrypted laptop screen flash red as one communication channel after another collapsed. The last message that had made it through before the blackout was simple, but chilling.
“Directive in motion. Confirm status. 00:00 hours.”
Then—silence.
Hawke exhaled slowly, his sharp eyes scanning the screen, mind racing. He didn’t believe in coincidences. This wasn’t just a cyber attack; this was an act of war.
His instincts told him two things: someone had just crippled the world’s intelligence grid, and whoever was behind it knew exactly what they were doing.
And now, it was up to him to stop them.
Hawke shut the laptop with a quiet click and leaned back in his chair. The safe house—a nondescript apartment in Berlin’s Kreuzberg district—was quiet, save for the distant hum of street traffic. It wasn’t his first time here. The place had been used before, mostly as a dead drop site or a temporary base for undercover agents passing through.
Tonight, it was his war room.
He reached for his phone, a secure satellite model with its own independent network. Or at least, it was supposed to be. When he pressed the call button, the line stayed dead.
That confirmed it.
Whoever had launched this attack hadn’t just targeted government institutions. They’d taken out encrypted networks, independent satellites, and even black-market communication channels. The entire global intelligence community had been blinded in one swift move.
That was when Hawke heard it—a faint shuffle outside the door.
Years of experience kicked in. He was off his chair in a second, moving silently across the room. His Glock was already in his hand, safety off, barrel aimed toward the door.
Another noise. A floorboard creaking.
They were coming.
Hawke pressed himself against the wall, listening. There was no knock. No warning. Just the unmistakable sound of a lock being picked.
Someone had found him.
And they weren’t here for a friendly chat.
The lock clicked open. The door inched forward.
Hawke moved fast.
He grabbed the edge of the door and yanked it open, pulling the intruder inside. Before the man could react, Hawke drove his elbow into the side of his head, sending him stumbling backward.
A second attacker was right behind him. This one was faster. He lunged, swinging a knife in a tight arc. Hawke ducked, grabbing the man’s wrist and twisting hard. The blade clattered to the floor. A split second later, Hawke slammed his knee into the attacker’s ribs and sent him crashing into the coffee table.
The first man—recovering from the blow—reached for a gun. Hawke didn’t give him the chance. A single shot from his Glock dropped him instantly.
The second man groaned on the floor, dazed but alive. Hawke crouched beside him, grabbing a fistful of his collar.
“Who sent you?”
The man spat blood onto the floor. “You’re already too late.”
Hawke pressed the barrel of his gun against the man’s temple. “Try again.”
The attacker chuckled, his lips curling into a grin. “It’s already begun.”
Then, before Hawke could react, the man bit down—hard.
A sickening crunch. His body convulsed. Hawke swore and yanked him back, but it was too late. Cyanide capsule.
The man was dead in seconds.
Hawke let out a slow breath, adrenaline still surging through his veins. He searched both bodies, finding no IDs, no distinguishing marks. Just ghosts, sent to kill him before he could dig any deeper.
He glanced at the laptop on the table. The Blackout Directive had begun.
And if someone was willing to kill to keep him out of it…
That meant he was on the right trail.
