Blood on the Asphalt biker
now, we would be back in their hands two perfected weapons in a lab, stripped of the only thing that made us real: our choice.
"The back door, Dax!" I looked at the wreckage of the drone. It was still there, a glitching pile of carbon fiber. "When I hit the overload, I didn't just fry the drone. I fried the connection to the server. If we can reach the center of the 'glitch,' we can crash the entire system from the inside."
"And go where?" Dax asked, his eyes wide.
"To the dark-web servers," I said. "The only place they can't track us. We don't wake up in Zurich. We upload ourselves into the network. We become the real Ghosts."
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