Ghost Fleet の小説・ストーリー

"I understand. Good luck, mysterious man." I pushed open the door and stepped out into the cool evening air. In the distance, a train whistle blew as it headed out into the vast, empty desert. My satellite phone rang. It was my handler. "Ghost, got a new job. Eastern Europe. An arms dealer. S-class difficulty." "The price?" "Twenty million. US." I started the engine, feeling the deep rumble. "I'll take it." I ended the call and hit the gas. The truck shot forward into the twilight like an arrow.

Aria stayed frozen by the window long after the car disappeared, her new expensive heels lying forgotten on the floor. Ghost wasn’t just watching her online anymore. He was here. In her city. In her life. And she had no idea how deep his eyes had already gone.

Ghost’s fingers flew across the keyboard, screens reflecting off his glasses in rapid flashes of blue and white. Every camera feed in the city was up. Every traffic cam. Every toll booth. Every intersection. And none of it was enough. “She’s in a black sedan,” Ghost muttered. “Tinted windows. No plates. They knew what they were doing.” I paced behind him, chest tight, hands shaking. I couldn’t sit. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

Men got out, secured the area with military precision. I didn't wait for permission. Just opened my door and ran. Ghost met me at the front entrance. Six-foot-four of solid muscle and calm competence. He had been special forces before going private, and it showed in the way he moved he was always aware, always ready. "He's in the living room," Ghost said quietly. "Playing that dinosaur game you got him. I told him we might be taking a trip, but he doesn't know anything else." "Thank you." I gripped his arm. "For everything."

77 in cash. The ghost story doesn't end. It just multiplies.

he murmurs, “if you ever get tired of the silent brooding type, there are more fun options out there.” “Is that so?” I reply, my voice light. “Absolutely.” Before I can throw a retort back at him, someone slides into the space between us with the kind of smooth, quiet force that only comes from someone used to being obeyed. Ghost doesn’t say anything at first. He just plants himself squarely in front of Hectic, shoulders loose but energy sharp. Hectic blinks. “Well, hello—” “I’d move back a bit if I were you,” Ghost says, his voice low, steady, and far too calm to be casual.

Then the rider lifted both hands. Not in surrender. With caution. Like someone approaching a wounded animal. Their voice came out distorted through a modulator. “Ghost,” they said softly. Everything inside me stilled. Only three people ever called me that. One was dead—Saint. One should’ve been dead—Shade. And the third… The third was an ally long buried in the dark. A ghost from my old life. The rider reached up and slowly—very slowly—removed their helmet. My breath caught.

“Because if it fails…” “Everyone loses,” Puc finished. He turned back to his team. “Final sweep.” The ghosts moved faster now, diving into Veil-lanes, skimming the edges of reality, testing every approach vector. One ghost paused, head tilting. “Something’s wrong,” it said. Althea’s eyes snapped open. “What kind of wrong?” “Not hostile,” the ghost replied. “Just… crowded.” Puc frowned. “Explain.” “Veil traffic,” the ghost said. “Farther out. Small groups. Seven at a time.”