00:12... 00:11... 00:10
Emily Bruce stared at the red countdown blinking across the studio monitors. Her newsroom—once full of caffeine, sarcasm, and control—was now pure silence.
Behind the glass, her producer was a blur of motion, slamming buttons, shouting into headsets that weren't working.
The numbers ticked down like falling knives.
00:03... 00:02... 00:01
The screens went black.
And then the hijack began.
A burst of static. The speakers cracked. The cameras, still rolling, picked up every moment.
"This is only the beginning. The networks you trust are ours now. Your safety is a lie. Your truth is what we decide."
And then it appeared.
The Glitch Wolf.
A jagged, pixelated wolf head snarling across every screen—its jaw frozen mid-snap, glitching at the edges, eyes pulsing with distorted static. It flickered like a virus infecting reality.
The mark of Black Wraith.
Emily's breath caught. Something about that symbol felt deliberate. Too bold. Too theatrical.
Too familiar?
But from where?
Meanwhile – Tower Maintenance Corridor
Veltrix slid along the catwalk above the studio floor, moving like a ghost through shadows and cable bundles. The moment the hijack started, he rerouted straight for the tower's pulse relay system.
He reached a locked fuse panel, popped it open, and pulled out a pulse-line tool—finger-length, sharp, and glowing faintly blue.
"Siena," he whispered. "Routing a kill-switch signal into the AV core. I can override Wrenz's stream."
"You've got fifteen seconds before emergency ops go full lockdown. If you're still in there—"
"Then get ready to rescue a very handsome man in cuffs."
He clipped the line into place. Sparks danced. His HUD blinked rapidly:
Pulse Sync: ACTIVE
Hijack Feed: JAMMED
Emergency Protocol: OVERRIDE IN PROGRESS
Studio 4B
Emily flinched as the power surged—and then, everything blinked back.
The cameras. The lights. The prompters.
Gone was the Glitch Wolf.
Gone was the voice.
Just... her reflection in the lens, looking ten years older than she had seconds ago.
"Apologies for that interruption," she said calmly, voice like silk over steel. "We appear to have experienced a brief technical interference. We'll continue our live coverage in just a moment."
She didn't believe her own words.
Something about this wasn't "technical."
Something about this was targeted.
And Ryan? Where was he?
West Stairwell – Seconds Later
Veltrix moved swiftly down two staircases, his steps light and calculated. He wasn't just running—he was gliding, trained, precise. Not a single wasted motion.
He adjusted his hoodie, flipped it up, and slipped into the hallway unnoticed.
Security teams were now swarming the building. Chaos was beginning to unfold—but Ryan Bruce was already a shadow slipping past it all.
A guard brushed past him. "Hey... you look familiar."
Veltrix didn't stop. Just muttered, "Probably from the bake sale," and kept walking.
[TO BE CONTINUED...]