Ghost Tracer Romane & Geschichten

Ciara would be staying back. "Is he…dead?" The announcer asked in awe, just as Ghost got to the door. He turned, to get a good look. The Asian fighter was lying lifeless, foaming from his mouth. The place was in chaos. Ghost turned around and left the building. Just then, he got a message from Scar. He took out his phone and checked it out. *mission accomplished.*

It wasn’t like he was going to be stepping into any big role right away like me. His old man goes by “Ghost” and I hope he’ll be like him. Ghost is kind of Grouch’s right hand. While I’m the enforcer, the one with the most flies, Ghost is usually the one who gets the guys that come into the basement. You’ll never see him coming until he’s putting zip ties on your wrists and a bag over your head. He’s a huge dude but he’s light footed and sneaky. Professional stalker is the term I use.

An untraceable phantom known only as Ghost. Every target assigned to Ghost had ended up dead with a single, surgical puncture to the heart. No alarms tripped. No forensic evidence left behind. A true myth. Five years ago, the underworld partner I had been trading logistics networks with was murdered overnight, and rumors whispered that Ghost had been the weapon. Then, the assassin vanished completely from the grid, leaving the name to gather dust in the archives of the syndicate wars. I opened my eyes, my gaze shifting to the rear-view mirror.

"It’s not just tracking us. It’s inviting us in to see the end." Julian looked at the vehicle, then at the glowing horizon of the city. He felt the weight of the obsidian USB drive in his pocket—the seed of the ghost. "Then let’s not keep it waiting. We have two hours before the final data release goes global. If we’re going to kill a ghost, we have to do it in the dark."

"Silas is on that ship. And the Sovereign's Ghost is not a cruise liner. It is a completely weaponized stealth fortress." Zara reached into her crimson pantsuit and pulled out her encrypted, gold plated smartphone. She rapidly typed in an absolute, overriding analog sequence. "Darius used a federal ping to locate the ship's physical coordinates," Zara executed perfectly. "But he completely forgot that my mother designed the hull. I am initiating the Ghost Protocol." She tapped the screen.

Then the rider lifted both hands. Not in surrender. With caution. Like someone approaching a wounded animal. Their voice came out distorted through a modulator. “Ghost,” they said softly. Everything inside me stilled. Only three people ever called me that. One was dead—Saint. One should’ve been dead—Shade. And the third… The third was an ally long buried in the dark. A ghost from my old life. The rider reached up and slowly—very slowly—removed their helmet. My breath caught.

"They aren't frozen soldiers. They’re data-ghosts with physical weight." One of the ghosts stepped out of the light. It moved with a terrifying, unnatural speed, its hand extending into a jagged blade of hard-light. It didn't scream. It just hissed—the sound of a thousand deleted files. Kaelor didn't hesitate. He dived under the ghost’s strike, his knife finding the creature’s throat. There was no blood. Just a spray of blue sparks and the smell of burning plastic. The ghost didn't die; it just flickered, its wound knitting back together instantly.

Ghost moved quickly, eyes locked on me like I was the problem. I backed away, heart still pounding. My throat still burned from the note. But I didn’t look away. He was awake. Angry. Alive. We stared at each other. Both of us were trembling for different reasons. “Call Pietro,” he said suddenly. Ghost turned. “What?” “I want to know what he has found digging up everything on that cemetery. I want names. Records. Visitors. Hell, even from the past year.” Ghost paused. “Yes, Boss?”