Maverick Igi __hot__ Page

The voice on the other end was cold, clipped, and belonged to his handler, a ghost named Nair. “Maverick, we have a Code Ashoka. A splinter cell of the Serpent’s Hand has seized the International Genetics Institute in Geneva. They’ve locked down the cryo-vault containing the Alpha Strain.”

Outside, the rain had stopped. Maverick sat on the steps of the IGI, barefoot, lab coat tied around his waist, sipping a cold cup of coffee someone had handed him. Nair’s voice crackled in his earpiece. maverick igi

“One hundred and twelve civilians. Eight security personnel, KIA. Their leader is a ghost from your past. Code name: Fenris.” The voice on the other end was cold,

Maverick climbed the maintenance gantry to the overhead walkways, looking down into the cryo-vault’s viewing gallery. Fenris stood in the center, tall, shaven-headed, with a mechanical arm that glinted with chrome and malice. He held a dead-man’s switch. Around him, fifteen heavily armed mercenaries. The hostages were huddled against the far wall—scientists, janitors, a group of children on a school tour. They’ve locked down the cryo-vault containing the Alpha

Maverick’s jaw tightened. Fenris. He’d trained with him. Laughed with him. Then watched him burn a safe house in Prague with three fellow agents inside. Fenris didn't do hostage negotiations. He did theater. Geneva was a silver scar in the pre-dawn rain. Maverick didn’t use the front entrance. He went in through the sub-level helium recycling vents—a route only someone who had studied the IGI’s architectural schematics for six months in a safe house outside Vladivostok would know.