The rain had eased into a fine mist, coating the neon streets in a glossy sheen.
From their vantage point in the abandoned substation, Irfan Shah and Aina Farisha watched the city churn restlessly through cracked windows.
Time was slipping away.
Irfan zipped up his weathered jacket, hiding the signal jammer wired into his belt.
Aina adjusted the small communicator in her ear, scanning the empty alleyways below.
"Ready?" she asked without turning.
Irfan checked the portable drive hidden inside a reinforced pouch on his side.
He nodded.
"Let's move."
⸻
Their first stop was in an industrial quarter near the old shipping yards—an area abandoned by corporations, now a playground for smugglers, hackers, and the desperate.
It was dangerous.
It was exactly where they needed to be.
The meeting place was an old cargo container, painted black and wedged between derelict warehouses.
A flickering red light above the door confirmed they were at the right place.
Aina knocked three times—short, long, short.
The signal.
A few seconds later, a slit opened in the container door, revealing a sharp pair of eyes behind a steel mask.
"Password?" the voice demanded.
Irfan stepped forward.
"Neon falls in silent skies," he recited.
The slit snapped shut.
A metallic grinding noise followed, and the heavy door creaked open.
Inside, the container had been converted into a makeshift operations den.
Tables lined with hacking gear, weapon schematics, and encrypted terminals hummed softly under dim blue lights.
At the center sat a woman in her late twenties, her dark hair pulled into a tight braid, arms folded across a tactical vest.
"Long time, Irfan," she said, voice dry. "Thought you went legit."
Irfan managed a tight smile.
"Guess fate had other plans, Reza."
Aina stood silently beside him, assessing the room.
There were two others—silent, armed, faces obscured. Watching.
Trust was a rare currency here.
Irfan pulled the encrypted drive from his pouch and placed it on the table.
"I need help. Resources. Safe lines to move data. And maybe… a little firepower."
Reza leaned forward, tapping the drive with one gloved finger.
"PHALANX?" she guessed.
Irfan nodded.
Reza whistled lowly.
"You're either very brave, or very stupid. Probably both."
She motioned to one of her lieutenants, who plugged the drive into a secure terminal.
Encrypted data streams danced across the screens.
Her sharp gaze flicked back to Irfan.
"You know what you're pulling, right? This isn't just poking a hornet's nest. You're trying to burn down the whole hive."
"They're planning worse," Aina said quietly, speaking for the first time. "They're building a system to control human minds."
Silence blanketed the room.
For a long moment, only the faint hum of machinery filled the air.
Reza leaned back in her chair, expression unreadable.
Then she smiled—a slow, dangerous smile.
"Alright, Shah. I'm in."
She tapped her wrist communicator.
"Prep the data exfiltration network. Mobilize contingency units. And wake up 'Ghost'."
Her lieutenants moved without question.
Reza turned back to Irfan.
"You've started a war you can't fight alone."
She extended a gloved hand.
"But now, you're not alone anymore."
Irfan shook her hand firmly.
In that moment, beneath the fractured neon lights and dripping pipes, something shifted.
An alliance forged not by trust, but by shared necessity.
A storm was gathering over Kuala Lumpur.
And Irfan Shah intended to be at its eye.