The hospital reeked of bleach and secrets.
Hale stood in the hallway, watching the nurse give a slow, deliberate nod. "Room 314," she whispered. "But… he doesn't have much time."
Alan Drexler was a ghost in a hospital gown — sunken eyes, skeletal frame, arms bruised with IV marks and restraint burns. Machines hissed softly beside his bed, doing more work than his organs. But when Hale stepped into the room, Drexler's eyes opened.
Recognition flickered. Then fear.
"You shouldn't be here," Drexler croaked.
"You called me," Hale said quietly. "Or someone using your voice did."
Drexler wheezed out a broken laugh. "Not me. Them. They want you close. They think you're… ready."
"Ready for what?"
Drexler's hand twitched, reaching shakily under the pillow. Hale moved fast — not to disarm, but to help.
The dying man pulled out a battered recorder — analog, ancient. He held it out like it weighed a thousand pounds.
"I left pieces," Drexler whispered. "Couldn't send them all. Couldn't trust anyone."
Hale took the recorder, fingers brushing against Drexler's cold, damp skin.
"They called it Marionette because it's not mind control," Drexler said. "It's identity rewriting. Burn the past. Inject a script. Replace memories. A clean slate that obeys."
Hale stiffened. "They tried it on me."
"They succeeded," Drexler said, eyes glistening. "You think you're chasing them. But what if you're just running their program?"
Silence.
Only the machines dared speak.
Drexler coughed, then gasped for breath. "There's a facility. Upstate. Disavowed. Off-books. They call it Black Hollow. That's where they trained the prototypes. You want answers? Go there."
His eyes unfocused.
Hale leaned closer. "What's in Black Hollow?"
But Drexler was gone.
Just like that.
Three hours later, Red sat across from Hale in the motel room, listening to the final tape on the recorder.
Drexler's voice: terrified, trembling.
"There were twelve subjects. Ten died. One disappeared. One survived… and was released into the field. They called him 'Ghost.' That's your trigger name, Hale. You're not on the board. You are the board."
The audio crackled. Then silence.
Red looked up, shaken. "They programmed you?"
"I don't remember any of it," Hale said.
"Maybe that's the point."
He stood slowly. The world tilted slightly, like the ground beneath him had been pulled.
"Black Hollow," he muttered. "That's where it ends."
Red stared at him. "That's where it starts."