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Ghost didn't hesitate. He leaned back as the world slowed into a crawl—Bullet Time. He watched the golden trails of lead whistle past his ears, then launched himself forward. This wasn't just a game. This was the data Zion needed to survive. He had to get the download back to the hardline, or the "free" file would cost him everything.

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Ghost checked the calibration on his custom pistols. "The signal didn't come from the Frenchman. It came from the Oracle’s private server. If there’s a way to see what the Machines are planning before the Sentinels reach Zion, this is it." With a sharp nod, Niobe slammed the execute command. Ghost didn't hesitate

They called it the "Ghost Link." It wasn’t just a file; it was a doorway. This wasn't just a game

"It seems," the lead Agent said, his voice a cold, mechanical rasp, "that you've taken something that doesn't belong to you."

"You sure about this?" Niobe asked, her fingers hovering over the hardline sequence. "A 'free download' from an unknown signal? It sounds like a Merovingian trap."

The world didn't dissolve into the green rain of code they expected. Instead, the deck of the Logos seemed to fold in on itself. Ghost felt the familiar, sickening jolt of a pirate signal override. When he opened his eyes, he wasn't on the ship. He was standing in the middle of a rain-slicked rooftop in Downtown, the neon signs of the Mega City blurring into streaks of electric blue. "Niobe? You copy?"