That night, Caleb Vaughn sat alone in his old office.
The fluorescent lights hummed faintly overhead. The room hadn't changed much in five years—dusty manila folders stacked on one side, world maps on the wall, and the cold metal desk where he once filed reports about missions the world would never know.
He leaned back in the chair, trying to find comfort in the quiet.
From the next cubicle over, a familiar voice broke the silence—curious, sharp, a bit too eager.
"Hey... you hear about the shooting this morning?"
Caleb turned his head slightly. It was Cooper—young, bright-eyed, only two years in, and always talking more than he should.
"Agent Blake. Shot the division chief in the middle of briefing. Then turned the gun on himself. But right before he did it... he said someone's name. And rumor is—"
"My name," Caleb said flatly.
Cooper froze. The air around them thickened. Caleb stared at him for a moment, then turned back to the blank monitor in front of him.
A buzz.
His phone lit up.
D. SANDWELL – DIRECTOR
Caleb answered.
"Office. Now."
The director's office sat at the top floor of the old wing. Quiet. Shadowed. The windows frosted over with the chill of midnight protocol.
Caleb entered without knocking.
Sandwell stood with his back to the door, facing a massive screen that displayed a world map peppered with glowing red points.
"Sit down."
Caleb sat, eyes shifting to the desk where an iPad awaited him.
"That's your team," Sandwell said without turning around.
Caleb swiped the screen.
Five faces. Some he recognized in name only. Others he'd never seen before.
JESSE LORNE (29)
Tactical analyst. A genius with pattern recognition, capable of recalling thousands of faces and movement trails. But emotionally tone-deaf—cannot read human expressions to save his life.
TYLER REEVE (25)
Undercover expert. Dangerous. Unpredictable. His real identity is unknown—even to the CIA. Some say even he doesn't know anymore.
MINA ASHFORD (25)
Psychologist and memory interrogator. Can reconstruct a subject's mind using deep neuro-hypnosis and tech-assisted recall. She doesn't break people—she disassembles them.
AYLA RIVERA (24)
Nano-tech and neural sensor prodigy. Developed a combat-ready, mind-reading earpiece at twenty-two. The quietest one in the room—and probably the smartest.
Sandwell finally spoke again, his voice low and steady.
"We believe someone is reviving Project Palimpsest, Caleb. And there's a chance... one or more of them were part of it. Without knowing it."
Caleb stared at the iPad. Long and hard.
"You want me to lead this team?"
"You're not just leading them," Sandwell said, turning at last. His eyes were sharp, cold. "You're watching them. And if necessary… you're stopping them. Because we don't know who's still human—and who's already been rewritten."
Silence stretched between them like a loaded chamber.
Caleb turned off the iPad. His gaze was colder than steel.
"If they break, I'll be the glue."
"And if they're dangerous?"
Caleb stood.
"Then I'll be the hammer."
That morning, Tyler Reeve walked into CIA Headquarters without a care in the world.
He chewed a neon blue bubble gum lazily, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his black jeans. His red thick t-shirt, worn-out sneakers, and black cap turned backward made him look more like a skater than a federal agent. No badge, no briefcase. Just Tyler being Tyler.
The security guards didn't stop him anymore—they'd given up trying.
He took the elevator up to the operations floor, slouching as he walked into Chief Frank Hensley's office without knocking.
"You look like you just woke up in a dumpster," Hensley growled, already red in the face.
"Sit down."
Tyler sat with a dramatic sigh, propping his feet up on the desk.
"Nice to see you too, boss."
Hensley slammed a folder in front of him.
"You tampered with internal CIA logs. Accessed level-6 protocols. And—God help me—you ordered a cheeseburger using an off-grid darknet node during a black ops mission!"
Tyler shrugged, blowing a bubble.
"It was a double bacon burger. Fuel for the mission, you know?"
Just as Hensley opened his mouth to yell again, his phone rang. The caller ID read:
D. Sandwell – DIRECTOR.
He picked up.
"Sandwell."
"Send Reeve to the 9th floor briefing room. Effective immediately. He's being assigned to Helix."
Hensley blinked. "You can't be serious. This guy?"
"Now, Frank."
Click.
Hensley slowly lowered the phone and stared at Tyler like he was a bomb with no timer.
"Get out. Ninth floor. Don't screw this up."
Tyler stood, stretching.
"So I'm the chosen chaos, huh? Noted."
He walked out whistling, bubble gum popping behind him like gunfire.
Elsewhere in the building, three agents had already arrived.
Mina Ashford was seated near the end of the long black conference table, reviewing psychological profiles on her sleek tablet. Dressed in a dark blazer, her hair tied back neatly, she scribbled notes in silence. Her focus was razor-sharp.
Ayla Rivera sat across the table in a large hoodie, legs tucked under her chair, head tilted as she reassembled a tiny neural sensor in her hand. Her headphones hung around her neck, a steady hum of lo-fi beats barely audible. Her eyes flicked to the others occasionally—observing, calculating.
Jesse Lorne said nothing. He was laser-focused on a holographic interface, analyzing patterns of data streams. His face unreadable, his movements eerily precise. He never looked up.
The room was quiet, but not awkward—it felt more like three silent programs loading, waiting for activation.
Then the door opened.
Tyler Reeve swaggered in, tossing a gum wrapper into the trash with flawless aim.
"Yo. This the official meeting for misfits and near-psychopaths?"
Jesse glanced at him once, then returned to his data.
Mina didn't flinch.
Ayla raised an eyebrow.
"Your hat's backwards."
"I know. So's my life," Tyler said, grinning as he kicked his feet up on the table.
Outside the briefing room, footsteps approached. Heavy. Measured.
Caleb Vaughn entered, his presence immediately changing the room's energy. The chatter—or what little there was—died instantly.
He looked at each face one by one. These were not normal agents. They were fractures. Unstable, brilliant, dangerous.
A mismatched team.
One mission.
And a lie buried in each of their minds.
Helix had been activated.