SSS-Class Profession: The Path to Mastery-Chapter 191: Into the Belly of the Ghost

The wind whispered through the trees, brushing against the scaffolding like a warning. I waited until it passed, then crept forward inch by inch, my breath slow and measured. The facility gates stood cracked, not open, not closed, just enough to slip through sideways. Every movement I made was deliberate. The gravel beneath my boots, the brush of my coat against wire mesh, the breath I held just long enough to keep the mic clear of my tension.

No sudden sounds. No flashes of light. No errors.

Because they were watching.

They couldn’t see the video feed, I was smarter than to show my face or give away location, but the government, the Ministry, literally any person with an internet connection and itchy fingers was undoubtedly listening to the audio feed. My voice was enough. My presence? A trigger. I just didn’t know what kind of weapon it would set off.

The lens beneath my coat recorded everything. The audio, clearer than most security comms, broadcasted out like a heartbeat.

"Now guys," I’d said before stepping inside. "Aren’t you all curious of what’s happening inside?"

I navigated through the first hallway. It was unfinished concrete still drying in some places, wires exposed. Despite the construction site disguise, the security felt military. Cameras tucked inside fake floodlights. Laser motion lines masked by dust. Every inch of the perimeter could kill a curious bird without anyone knowing it existed.

I kept to the walls. Body low, fingers ready to flick my emergency jammer should anything feel off. The timer from the event quest hovered in my periphery.

[Timer: 44:12:07]

Still too much left to do.

I passed an old monitor screen, flickering between camera feeds. No login required. Either someone forgot... or someone wanted me to see. I didn’t linger.

Instead, I kept moving, slipping down into a maintenance stairwell. It was cold here, the kind of cold not born from temperature, but from absence. No noise, no bugs, no ambient static. Just cement and steel and the kind of artificial silence that screams into your bones.

A whisper of thought interrupted my focus.

To Elliot and Anika.

They were back in the city. Tucked away in a rental unit under a dummy name. One Elliot had picked, bless him. Johnny man and team. No questions asked. I’d wanted to argue about the naming convention, but that was pointless. We’d agreed they weren’t part of the rescue. Especially not if someone used the activation phrase: Cain sees Abel.

Just thinking about it made my grip tighten.

At least Anthony was in place. Somewhere outside the fence. Watching. Ready to step in if I sent the signal.

But for now, I was alone.

@lostinrhythm: is that... static? Wait did he go inside?

@signalphantom: YO HE’S REALLY IN THERE

@voice4truth: Sounded like metal... is he sneaking past something?

@fragmentx: Dude this is real spy thriller material

I turned a corner. There, behind the next junction—

A whisper.

Low. Guttural. Repeating like a mantra.

"Masked Syndicate... Masked Syndicate..."

I froze.

Then another voice joined it.

"Reynard Vale... Reynard Vale..."

And then—

They charged.

Three of them, pale-skinned, wired at the temples, red streaks under their eyes like they hadn’t slept in years. Cain Protocol. Their bodies moved unnaturally, their muscles twitching like marionettes on a broken string. They weren’t armed. They didn’t need to be.

I ducked beneath the first strike, twisting my body around the second. My elbow slammed into one’s jaw, the crack echoing down the hallway. The camera shook on my coat. The stream picked up everything.

@lambofnull: WHAT WAS THAT NOISE

@synthetix: did someone just say "Reynard Vale"???

@rebootedmedia: THAT’S THE GUY FROM THE INTERVIEW WITH CAMILLE

@veilmelt: BRO IS IN THE LIONS’ DEN

One of them grabbed my shoulder. His fingers were cold through the fabric. I twisted, broke the hold, and used his momentum to flip him hard onto the floor. Another came at me from behind—I let myself fall backward and kicked upward, sending him sprawling into the wall.

The third was smarter. Faster.

He dodged the first jab. Slipped past the second. His hand went straight for my neck.

Reflex Calibration (Lv. 4) triggered.

I locked eyes with him, as I dodged and punched into the ground using Hook hoping he would fall to the ground.

For half a second—he did.

Then something inside him twitched, and he screamed.

"REYNARD! REYNARD VALE—!"

I slammed my knee into his gut, once, twice. He folded, gagged, collapsed.

The hallway went still.

My breath ragged, blood warm down my side where one of them had sliced me with something—probably a piece of embedded glass in their own palm.

@nox_feed: I think he’s bleeding, you hear the breathing?

@catspynetwork: is he fighting gov experiments LIVE?? freēnovelkiss.com

@siren_tap: THIS is why we follow the Masked Syndicate

@midnightbreather: guys he’s gonna die if he doesn’t run

My pocket buzzed.

Three messages.

Camille: "You’re bleeding. I can hear it. Bring Anthony in."

Sienna: "This was supposed to be a stealth mission. Come back."

Alexis: "You should have sat down 40 minutes ago. Bring. Help."

I didn’t reply. Not because I didn’t care.

But because if I stopped to answer them, I might lose what little momentum I had left.

I stepped over the unconscious subjects. I couldn’t kill them. I wouldn’t. Despite everything, they weren’t the enemy—they were victims.

But it didn’t make them any less dangerous.

I moved deeper into the belly of the ghost. Past the temporary lights. Past security doors left unlocked. Past cracks in the walls where whispers of conversations seemed to cling like mold.

This place wasn’t finished. But it was active. Power flowed through the walls. Heat throbbed beneath the floors. I saw footprints, military boots, technician treads, light prints from lab shoes.

Every part of this place screamed something is alive here.

And that’s when I heard it.

A voice.

Distant.

Familiar.

"Mr. Jester?"

I froze.

Turned my head slightly.

It repeated.

"Mr. Jester...?"

My heart didn’t race. It halted.

I took a step toward the sound.

Again, it came—just a little clearer, just a little more real.

"Mr. Jester... is that you?"

Evelyn.

My hand went to my coat. Activated the tracker.

Anthony would see it.

But I didn’t wait.

I started running.

Through corridor after corridor. Past signs that said Authorized Personnel Only. Through dust and light and old paint smells.

Her voice was closer now.

And behind every breath I took, one thought pulsed like a beacon:

She’s alive.

The source of this c𝐨ntent is freewe(b)nov𝒆l