20

The FBI's Los Angeles Field Office conference center was sleek and sterile—glass walls, neutral tones, and agents in suits that didn't wrinkle. This wasn't the LAPD's chaotic bullpen. This was federal ground. Higher clearance. Bigger stakes.

Lieutenant Soto led the LAPD's Major Crimes team through the security checkpoint. Behind him came Oz and Daphne, carrying folders and equipment, and Morgan Gillory, absorbing every detail with quiet intensity.

Inside the room, the hum of tactical conversations filled the air. A large screen displayed maps of Los Angeles, flagged with markers in red. Photos of the three victims stared back from the monitor—Congresswoman Divine Foster, tech CEO Miles Verdin, and Federal Judge Lowell Marks. All murdered. All in the last three weeks.

Soto's eyes found a familiar face across the room.

Adam Karadec stood near one of the command tables, already locked in conversation with a man in a tailored dark gray suit who greeted the LAPD team with an easy grin.

"Been a while, huh?" Ronnie said, clapping Karadec's back.

Karadec allowed a small smirk. "Ronnie. Didn't expect we'd see each other's face again in a federal facility."

"I clean up nice," Ronnie said, then turned to the crowd. "FBI Special Agent Ronnie Oliver now, but yeah, some of you might remember me as Detective Ronnie Oliver, Major Crimes. LAPD born and bred. They pulled me into the Bureau few years ago. We're grateful for LAPD's cooperation on this joint task force. And we're gonna need all hands on deck."

Lieutenant Soto gave a small nod. "This isn't just another case. It's national security now. Whatever's happening with these hits, someone's covering their tracks, and they've got federal-level clearance to do it."

Ronnie gestured toward the screen. "Three victims. All high-profile. All tied to a government surveillance AI known as 'Protocol.' Classified, experimental, and very controversial. And now... very dangerous."

The agents and detectives absorbed the info with varying levels of skepticism and intrigue.

A few moments later, as the room broke into smaller task groups, Ronnie stepped aside with Karadec near a side desk.

"So," Ronnie started, casually leaning against the edge, "how have you been? Last I heard, you were still burying your head in paperwork to avoid human contact."

Karadec snorted. "Still am. You?"

"I've been good. A few black ops, a few near-death experiences, the usual."

They shared a quiet laugh.

Ronnie then added, almost offhandedly, "By the way, Liana won't be part of this op. She's back in Quantico. Got reassigned to Cybercrimes Division a few weeks ago. Word is, she needed the break."

Karadec blinked. "Liana?"

Ronnie raised an eyebrow. "Wow. You really forgot about her?"

Karadec gave a half-smile, a little sheepish. "Not exactly forgot. We exchanged a few messages, talked on the phone a couple times.

"But it fizzled out?" Ronnie asked, tilting his head.

"Things at LAPD got intense fast, and I didn't really have the time to... start anything serious," Karadec shrugged lightly, his tone casual but honest.

Ronnie gave a knowing smirk. "Yeah. I figured."

Karadec didn't reply. They moved on.

Soon after, Karadec walked over to where Morgan stood, examining one of the digital case boards that had been wheeled into place.

"You alright?" he asked.

She looked up. "I'm fine. Just... absorbing."

"This is a big case," he said. "High-profile. Federal. Dangerous."

"Yeah," she admitted. "Feels like we're walking into something rigged."

"You are," he said. "But you're also the smartest person in this room. And I trust you."

Morgan glanced at him, surprised. "That's so sentimental of you."

"I mean it."

"Thanks, Karadec," she said.

Behind them, Oz and Daphne had already joined the Bureau's analysts at the back of the room. Soto stood at the edge of the conference table, going over strategic entry points on a shared monitor.

Ronnie stepped to the front again and clapped his hands. "Alright, everyone—eyes up."

He clicked a remote, shifting the screen to a digital map of Los Angeles. Dots lit up across different neighborhoods.

"Here's what we've got," Ronnie began.

"Three targets. Three different locations. One MO—clean hits, no witnesses, no evidence, and absolutely no digital footprint. That's not just professional. That's surgical." He paced slowly. "Each of the victims had some connection to Protocol. It's a highly classified AI surveillance program developed post-Patriot Act. Think citywide data tracking, predictive monitoring, facial recognition, all rolled into one ghost of a system. It's not supposed to exist."

Morgan frowned. "And yet three people tied to it are dead."

"Exactly."

Soto stepped in. "This is where LAPD and FBI combine efforts. Our resources, their intel. We don't know who's doing the killing, but we know someone is trying to silence anyone connected to Protocol."

Ronnie clicked to the next screen. A picture of Maya Deen appeared.

"This is our potential fourth target," he said. "Maya Deen. Former NSA systems analyst. Went dark two days ago. Last seen boarding a train in Pasadena. We think she knew she was next."

Karadec stepped forward. "She's the key?"

"She helped design part of the AI's architecture," Ronnie said. "If anyone knows what's buried in that code, it's her."

Morgan glanced at the photo. "And if she's dead?"

"Then we're playing catch-up," Ronnie said grimly. "And we're already behind."

The room settled into a heavy silence.

Ronnie straightened. "We divide into three teams. Field work goes to LAPD. Lieutenant Soto, Detectives Karadec, Ozdil, and Forrester, along with Consultant Gillory, will lead. FBI will handle cyber and surveillance. Everyone else, stay flexible. We'll need clean communication, quick response, and no leaks."

Soto nodded in agreement. "Let's get to work."

The room buzzed again—papers shuffling, agents and detectives pairing off, theories forming like storm clouds in motion.

But Morgan remained still for a second longer, her gaze flicking back to the digital map.

'Protocol.'

She wasn't just walking into a crime scene this time. She was walking into a war zone made of secrets and shadows.

And she had no intention of losing.