Oslo, Norway
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The city was draped in a gray haze as Mathis sat in his car, eyes fixed on the antique shop at the end of a narrow alley. Despite hours without sleep, he remained vigilant, periodically checking his phone for updates. Cold air seeped through the car windows, carrying the faint scent of rain. The streets were empty, eerily quiet, as if the city itself held its breath.
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Suddenly, gunshots rang out, shattering the stillness. Mathis bolted upright, grabbing his weapon as he slipped out of the car. He moved swiftly to the corner of a nearby building, his pulse quickening. From there, he assessed the situation. Amid the chaos, he spotted a shattered store window and two people crumpled on the ground.
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Without hesitation, he sprinted toward the fallen. The pavement gleamed with fresh blood. Kneeling beside them, Mathis checked for pulses—both were unresponsive. The chill of the Oslo morning clung to him, but he pushed the dread away. He had been watching this shop for days. Something was about to break, and now, it had.
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His eyes snapped back to the antique shop. Whatever had gone down, the answers were inside.
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Bursting through the door, his voice cut through the tension, "Anyone need help?"
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Behind the counter, the man Mathis had been surveilling lay wounded but alive. His eyes, wide with pain, locked onto Mathis. "Nine days," the man rasped, barely clinging to consciousness. "Nine days..." And with that, he fell silent.
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The distant wail of sirens grew louder. Mathis quickly pocketed his phone, dialing a number. "Shots fired, multiple casualties. I need immediate assistance—police are en route."
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The front door burst open, and a young officer entered, gun raised. "Police! Hands up!"
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Mathis slowly raised his hands, his ID in one, moving deliberately. "I'm with military intelligence," he said, his voice firm but calm. The officer relaxed slightly but remained on edge.
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"Secure the area," Mathis ordered, rising to his feet. "This is now a national security matter."
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The officer hesitated but obeyed, stepping outside to call in reinforcements. Alone again, Mathis turned back to the shop, the old man's cryptic words echoing in his head. Nine days.
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"What happens in nine days?" he muttered, rifling through shelves and drawers, searching for any clue to the man's final message. But nothing stood out.
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He paused, his mind racing. Why had this man been so important? The name Shadow Front flickered in his thoughts—a global organization tied to political upheavals and intelligence leaks. They had been quiet for months, but this felt like their work. Whatever was happening in nine days, it was bigger than a botched hit.
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A stern voice broke the silence behind him. "Who the hell are you?"
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Mathis turned to face a police chief, his expression unreadable. "This is classified," Mathis replied coolly. "Your team needs to back off. My people will handle this."
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Before the chief could argue, Mathis's phone buzzed. He answered curtly, "Yes?"
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"Briefing. Immediately at mansion 1," a voice commanded. Without another word, Mathis slipped past the stunned police chief and headed to his car. The streets of Oslo seemed darker now. Whatever was coming in nine days, it was already too close.
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After navigating through Oslo's streets, Mathis found himself just outside the city, where the urban landscape gradually gave way to countryside estates. Several houses dotted the area, but none stood out quite like the large mansion looming ahead. Its towering columns and pristine stone facade gleamed in the fading afternoon light, exuding an air of old-world grandeur. Manicured lawns stretched before it, with carefully trimmed hedges lining a cobblestone driveway, while a fountain gurgled gently in the center.
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As Mathis approached the gate, a subtle sense of unease crept in. His eyes flicked over the mansion's high windows, searching for signs of movement. Who was watching from behind those glass panes? Despite the serene exterior, his instincts warned him something wasn't quite right.
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The guard at the gate wore a stoic expression, his movements precise and deliberate as he scanned Mathis's ID. The briefest flicker of recognition passed through the guard's eyes before the gate creaked open, and he was waved through without a word.
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After parking the car, Mathis stepped out and made his way to the mansion's main entrance, an imposing set of double doors that swung open as he approached. Inside, the elegance of the place hit him immediately—high ceilings, gleaming marble floors, and crystal chandeliers. Before he could take in more, a man stepped forward with a polite but firm apology.
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"Standard procedure, sir. I'll need to check for weapons."
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Mathis nodded, the professionalism familiar. He opened his jacket without protest, allowing the man to retrieve his sidearm before being led through the grand hallways.
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Finally, a door was opened, revealing an elegant sitting room. Two large sofas faced a crackling fireplace, the warmth immediately enveloping the room. The scent of leather and aged wood filled the air, a subtle contrast to the chill outside. As Mathis took a seat, his eyes scanned the room—a place of wealth and power, meticulously maintained. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, and the curtains swayed gently in the faint breeze from an open window.
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He leaned back, his senses heightened as he waited. At that moment, a large door creaked open, and the admiral walked in. Mathis immediately stood.
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"Sir, I've never been here before—nice house," Mathis said, trying to sound respectful. But the admiral's irritated expression crushed any hope of casual conversation.
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"Agent 13," the admiral snapped, his tone sharp. "You need to put this private vendetta of yours to rest. It's been six months since Argentina. All leads have gone cold. Leave this alone. Is that understood?"
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Mathis blinked, surprised by the sudden reprimand, but his frustration quickly rose. He clenched his fists at his sides. "With respect, sir, we still haven't found the mole. We still haven't identified the leader. The man I was monitoring said something would happen in nine days—"
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"No, Agent 13." The admiral's voice was firm, unyielding. "Eva was the mole. We both know that. The case is closed, and nothing has happened since your last mission. You're chasing ghosts."
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Mathis clenched his jaw, the urge to argue rising. Eva couldn't have been the only one. The entire operation had collapsed too cleanly—too quickly. Bram's death still weighed on him like a stone in his chest. He couldn't let this go. But before he could speak, the admiral continued.
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"Mathis, I like you. I've always respected you. But enough is enough. I have a new assignment, and it's important. Is that understood?"
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Mathis swallowed his anger, nodding stiffly. "Yes, sir. What's the mission?"
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The admiral sat down and slid a thick folder across the table. Mathis picked it up and began to thumb through it, feeling the familiar weight of classified documents. As he scanned the pages, the admiral's voice cut through his thoughts.
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"What you're looking at is a new drone developed here in Norway. It's the size of a small phone—nearly silent. Its defense mechanism is lethal: seven precise shots, and it carries a rocket capable of devastating a large area. It's been stolen. We tracked it to Sweden and Germany, but the trail has gone cold. Your mission is to follow up."
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Mathis paused, the implications sinking in. He studied the drone's sleek design in the photos, its capabilities sending a chill down his spine. This wasn't just any drone—it was a weapon of terrifying precision, one that could easily fall into the wrong hands.
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"And you believe it's still there? In Germany?" Mathis asked, his voice steady but wary.
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"That's where we lost the trail. But new intel suggests it's on the market, possibly in Italy. If it falls into the wrong hands, the consequences could be catastrophic."
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Mathis absorbed the information, but his mind kept drifting back to the man's words—nine days. Could this stolen drone be connected? Was the Shadow Front involved? It was hard to believe it was a coincidence, especially with everything at stake. But the admiral wasn't going to let him chase that lead—not now.
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"Understood, sir," Mathis said, his voice tight. He tucked the folder under his arm. But as he stood, his mind was already racing with thoughts of how to pursue both missions. The admiral might want him to bury the past, but Mathis wasn't done. Not yet. The Shadow Front, the mole—he'd finish this, one way or another.
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As the admiral dismissed him, Mathis left the room, his steps brisk. The cold air outside the mansion hit his face, sharp and bracing, but it did nothing to quell the storm in his mind.
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Nine days. He wouldn't let this slip away—not like Argentina. Not again.
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Back in his car, Mathis flipped open the file once more, scanning the details of the drone and the intel trail that led to Germany and possibly Italy. There were names of operatives, surveillance photos, but nothing concrete. He needed more than what the admiral had given him. The trail had gone cold—that much was true. But Mathis knew someone who might have the means to warm it up.
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She had deep contacts in Germany and Italy. She'd been working as an intelligence liaison and had a reputation for gathering information others couldn't. The last time they worked together, they had nearly been killed in a gunfight in Argentina, but she still trusted him. At least, he hoped she did.
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Pulling out his phone, Mathis dialed Bree's number and listened to the steady ring.
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A cool, familiar voice answered. "I'm guessing this isn't a social call, Mathis."
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"Bree, I need intel on a missing drone. Norwegian tech. Might be floating around Germany or Italy."
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There was a pause on the other end. "You're in luck. I've been hearing whispers about some new tech on the black market. I'll dig into it, but it'll take a day or two."
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"I don't have that much time," Mathis said urgently. "Nine days—something big is coming, and I think it's tied to this."
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"Mathis," she sighed, "I hope you're not chasing ghosts again."
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"Just get me the intel," he said, sharper than intended. "This is bigger than just a stolen drone."
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He hung up, running a hand through his hair. Time was running out. His next step was clear: follow up on the truck explosion, which might provide additional clues. Bree's assistance would be invaluable, but Mathis had to move quickly.
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Driving back through the narrow streets of Oslo, Mathis felt the weight of his mission pressing down on him. The city's lights blurred as he navigated toward Brillo's workshop. Brillo was known for his gadgets and had previously outfitted Mathis with equipment that had saved his life more than once.
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When Mathis arrived at the workshop, the small building was dimly lit but bustling with activity. Inside, the walls were lined with high-tech gadgets and military equipment. Brillo, a burly man with an ever-present smirk, was tinkering with a device at his workbench.
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"Mathis!" Brillo greeted, wiping his hands on a rag. "What's got you running around like a madman?"
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"I need some new tools," Mathis said, approaching the workbench. "Got a mission involving a stolen drone and some high-stakes tracking. And I need to follow up on an exploded truck."
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Brillo's eyes gleamed with interest. "A drone, huh? Sounds like you're going to need more than just the basics."
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Brillo began assembling a set of gadgets—compact surveillance devices, encrypted communication tools, and a few other high-tech items Mathis couldn't immediately identify. "These should help you with tracking and securing information. They're top of the line. If you need anything else, just let me know."
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Mathis accepted the tools with a nod of thanks. "I appreciate it. I'll need every advantage I can get. Bree's working on tracking the drone, but the truck explosion might be related. I need to piece everything together quickly."
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As Mathis prepared to leave, Brillo clapped him on the back. "Be careful out there. And if you need any upgrades or repairs, you know where to find me."
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Mathis headed back to his car, feeling slightly more prepared but still anxious about the ticking clock. He needed to get to Germany and Italy, find the stolen drone, and uncover the connection between the explosion and the Shadow Front.
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As he drove through Oslo's streets, his mind raced with the tasks ahead. The nine-day deadline loomed large, and he knew that every second counted. He had to be methodical, precise, and relentless.
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Mathis's phone buzzed with a new message from Bree. She had already started digging and would update him soon. That was one piece of the puzzle falling into place. He just had to ensure the rest followed suit.
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With renewed determination, Mathis continued through the darkening streets of Oslo, ready to face whatever lay ahead.
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