Chapter 5 Ghost servers and brown glass

Chapter 5

Ghost Servers and Broken Glass

The echo of breaking glass still clung to the apartment walls like a nervous breath held too long. Isabella pressed herself against the floor, shards biting into her skin. The manifesto was warm against her chest-either from adrenaline or destiny, she didn't know.

The street below was empty when she peeked. No taillights. No figure in the alley. Just the ghost of danger.

She tapped frantically at her laptop. The encrypted chat had gone silent. The last message blinked like a curse:

"Do NOT trust anyone. Even me."

The map spread across her floor showed coordinates near the Sierra Madre. She knew that terrain. But she also knew her father's handwriting in the margins. "Project Pith – contain at all costs."

Her phone buzzed again.

Unknown contact: "Find the Satisfier."

Another message: "He's your only shot at the truth."

She had heard the name before.

Lopez. Hernandez Lopez.

A tabloid rogue. A whisper among old journalists. A man who pulled secrets from the grave-and never cared who was buried with them.

Isabella stood, brushing glass from her arms.

If she was going to find Damian, she needed Lopez.

Even if it meant stepping into the chaos he left behind.

The Man Who Chased Secrets

In the humming heart of downtown Mexico City, where street vendors hawked tacos beside software moguls and operatives played at being businessmen, a legend walked in worn leather boots and a cracked Canon DSLR camera.

Hernandez Lopez-nicknamed "The Satisfier" by both his lovers and the people he exposed-smoked clove cigarettes, drank bitter coffee, and carried three things: a press badge no longer valid, a memory like a steel trap, and a soul laced with fire.

Lopez is charismatic, intelligent, and fiercely loyal. He possesses a calm demeanor under pressure, with sharp instincts and strategic thinking. Emotionally complex, he hides vulnerability behind confidence. A natural leader, he commands respect but struggles with trust. His charm and mystery often conceal deeper motives and unresolved personal conflicts.

He wasn't born into poverty. He chose it-some said as penance, others as protest.

To Isabella, he was a myth.

Until she saw him.

The Encounter

She found him at a coffee stall on Reforma Avenue, flirting shamelessly with a waitress who slapped his shoulder but kept leaning closer.

"I'm looking for Hernandez Lopez," Isabella said, stepping into his shadow.

He turned slowly, lifted his sunglasses. His smile was crooked. His eyes-unreadable. "Depends. You selling secrets or buying?"

"I'm here about Damian," she said quietly.

The smile vanished.

"Follow me."

The Hideaway

Lopez's apartment was a tangle of wires, exposed film, half-drunk mezcal bottles, and ink-smeared walls. Surveillance photos lined a corkboard. Red thread linked faces and dates and crimes.

Isabella caught her father's face near the center. Younger. Smiling. Dangerous.

"You knew him," she said.

Lopez nodded, not looking at her. "And he knew me. Which is why you're here."

He poured two shots. She refused hers.

"What do you know about Pith?" she asked.

His laugh was dry. "What everyone knows-enough to stay quiet."

"I don't have that luxury," Isabella said.

He regarded her for a long beat. "Your father was no hero. But he died trying to clean up a mess even he didn't understand."

She held out the manifesto. He took it, brows furrowing.

Then: "We need to move."

"Why?"

"Because the second you walked in, you pinged six servers. They'll be here in minutes."

The Escape

They ran down rusted fire escapes and into a waiting taxi whose driver had no face worth remembering. Lopez worked his burner phones like a pianist, routing calls through ghost lines and false servers.

By the time they reached a safe house in the hills outside Toluca, the sun was gone, and the cold mountain air carried a sharp bite.

Lopez turned to Isabella. "You want the truth?"

She nodded.

"Then you have to accept something first-Damian didn't vanish. He left."

"What?"

"He left you. Left me. Left all of us. For something deeper. Something he couldn't risk sharing."

"And Pith?"

Lopez handed her a small file. "They were part of it. Maybe still are."

She opened the folder.

Inside: A photo of Damian, alive, with two men in military-grade armor. One bore a scar on his neck-the same man from her broken window.

"You want to find him?" Lopez asked.

"I need to," she whispered.

"Then we burn every lie along the way. And you need to understand-this won't end with truth. It ends with who survives it."

By the third night in the Toluca safehouse, the tension between Isabella and Lopez had become something more volatile than distrust-something like recognition.

They were both products of betrayal.

Lopez was rough around the edges, but she couldn't ignore how his presence calmed her nerves. He made jokes in the face of death, but his eyes never stopped scanning, calculating. And when he read her father's manifesto aloud, he did so with reverence. Not for the man-but for the ghost of the cause.

But the biggest crack came on the fourth day, when a coded message reached them from an anonymous source:

"The one-eyed man is alive. In Veracruz. Not alone."

Lopez froze.

Isabella asked, "You know who that is?"

"Kelvin," Lopez said. "They used to call him 'The Reaper.' He was part of a deep Pith unit. Rogue now. That means Damian's still in play. But bait."

"But why?" she asked.

Lopez didn't answer. Just stared at the manifesto. "Because the truth's too dangerous to die with him. And someone wants to make sure it does."

Later that night, Isabella caught Lopez burning pages-her father's notes. He looked up, guilt flashing through his expression.

"He asked me to do this," he muttered. "If he didn't return."

"You had contact with him?" she asked, stunned.

Lopez hesitated.

"Briefly. But enough to know... he didn't want you involved."

The silence that followed was heavy.

So she whispered: "Too late."

Outside, a wolf howled from the mountains.

Inside, trust died a little.