In the heart of London – Surveillance at a glance…

Emma and Jake knew the five-hour window was their only shot. The Curator was anchored near Heathrow, likely in one of the vast, anonymous data storage facilities that lined the airport perimeter—perfectly secure and offering instant global connectivity. This was a direct, lethal trap; they were walking into a contract hit, with The Curator waiting for them.

Stealth and Deception: The Heathrow Approach

Their strategy was predicated on exploiting The Curator’s overconfidence and reliance on technology. She would anticipate a frontal, heavily armed MI5 assault. They opted for a two-person, highly unconventional insertion.

The Cover: They used a borrowed helicopter, disguising themselves as private security specialists conducting a routine night audit of high-value cargo—a common sight near Heathrow. This allowed them to breach the outer security perimeter of the industrial park without triggering an immediate alarm.

The Target Building: Jake used the intermittent “ghost node” anchor point data to pinpoint the facility: an enormous, windowless warehouse belonging to a company called Archon Global Data Services.

“This building is designed to survive a bomb,” Emma observed, looking up at the reinforced concrete structure. “She’s not just storing data; she’s fortifying it.”

The Insertion: They landed the helicopter on a remote section of the roof. Emma, leveraging her experience with ancient structures, utilised the building’s maintenance conduits—a weakness The Curator likely overlooked, assuming her digital defences were sufficient. Jake, meanwhile, prepared his specialised digital cloaking device.

“She’ll be watching every camera and sensor,” Jake whispered, adjusting a small device on his wrist. “I’m deploying a persistent digital ghost image of ourselves—a loop of our entry into the facility’s lobby ten minutes ago. She’ll be focused on the wrong location while we’re on the third floor.”

The Curator’s Lair: The Digital Minefield

They descended through a ventilation shaft into the facility’s internal service corridors. The atmosphere inside was sterile and cold, filled with the constant, high-pitched hum of cooling servers.

The Curator’s lair was the central security hub on the third floor. As they moved toward the hub, the first wave of defences hit.

The Automated Interceptors: Motion sensors didn’t just trigger alarms; they activated small, high-velocity drone interceptors armed with incapacitating agents, buzzing through the narrow corridors. Emma engaged them with non-lethal kinetic rounds, neutralising the immediate threat while Jake simultaneously attacked the network controlling their flight paths.

“She’s using an old SVR protocol to control the drones, probably sold to her by Thorne,” Jake grunted, fingers flying across his interface. “But she modified it. It’s smart, Emma—it learns our movement patterns.”

The Final Door: They reached the security hub, sealed behind a titanium door. The door was not only locked but rigged with a thermal detonation charge designed to destroy the servers inside if unauthorised access was attempted.

“This is the last line,” Emma said, bracing for impact.

“She wants the data destroyed, not captured,” Jake confirmed, looking at the elaborate locking mechanism. “I can’t override the bomb protocol from outside. We have to make her think we failed.”

The Deception: A Calculated Surrender

Emma contacted The Curator using a secure, disposable channel, knowing she was listening.

“The drones are down, The Curator. We’re outside the hub. We know you have the Alchemist’s files, and we know you put a hit out on us,” Emma said, projecting confidence despite the pounding in her chest.

A calm, synthesised voice responded almost instantly through the hub’s external speaker: “Congratulations, MI5. You’ve reached the final door. I am closing my current transaction now. Any further action will result in the immediate and permanent destruction of all data.”

Jake then executed their most daring gamble. He deployed a specific, crippling digital virus he’d designed years ago—one that didn’t crash a system, but made it glitch. He focused the glitch only on The Curator’s highly sensitive, live transaction ledger.

Inside the hub, The Curator, a young woman with intense concentration, watched her screen freeze for a fraction of a second. Her live, multi-million-pound deal—her revenue stream—had been interrupted.

Emma’s Cue: “You have a system failure, Curator. Your deal is crashing. We can stop the breach, but you have to open the door now.”

The thought of losing her fortune was more terrifying to The Curator than capture. She realised her security was flawed. Her system rebooted, showing the interrupted transaction. She had to prioritise her business.

“Open,” The Curator commanded, her voice filled with frustrated rage.

The Arrest and The Final Ghost

The titanium door hissed open. The room was cold, lit only by the blue glow of monitors. The Curator was seated at a console, surrounded by a dozen screens, one hand hovering over a large, red panic button.

“You prioritise money over safety,” Emma observed, levelling her weapon. “That’s why you lost.”

“And you risk everything for loyalty,” The Curator sneered. “A weakness.”

Before Emma could move, the final trap was sprung. Not a bomb, but a physical diversion. A loud, high-frequency sonic burst erupted from the ceiling speakers, momentarily disorienting Emma.

The Curator, using the sonic distraction, leapt toward a hidden emergency exit behind the server rack.

Jake, recovering quickly, didn’t chase the exit. He sprinted to the central console and slammed a specialised magnetic pulse device onto the main server. The screens went dark.

“The network is down! She’s running on battery backup!” Jake shouted.

Emma, recovering her balance, pursued The Curator through the emergency exit, which led to a precarious, external maintenance ladder descending the side of the warehouse.

The Curator, scrambling down the ladder in the heavy fog, stopped abruptly. Emma had already secured the base. Trapped between the heights and Emma, The Curator pulled out a thin, curved knife—not a weapon, but a tool of last resort.

“I will disappear again!” The Curator swore, slashing the knife wildly.

“Not this time,” Emma said, sidestepping the attack with fluid ease, using The Curator’s exposed momentum to slam her against the ladder. The young woman went limp, neutralised.

As the tactical response team secured the captive and the servers, Emma looked at Jake, who was pulling the critical data drives from the disabled system. They had neutralised the digital black market queen and secured the entire archive of The Alchemist’s successor.

“The Soft Strike threat is finally over,” Jake said, exhaustion etching lines around his eyes.

“For now,” Emma replied, looking toward the dark, fog-shrouded airport. “But London will always need a security audit.” React hit, with themselves as the targets.