Classified Project

Despite Jay's mental preparations for the potential severity of the mysterious adversaries he might face, the sight of a missile furiously streaking toward the Daily Planet's window in broad daylight left him reassessing the enemy's audacity to new heights. The brash daytime assault was shamelessly brazen. 

It struck Jay that perhaps bringing the unmarked USB to the Daily Planet ranked only slightly better than taking it home in terms of bad ideas. Huntress would undoubtedly scold him for this later, but that was a concern for another time. His immediate focus needed to be on survival.

Recovering from his initial shock, Jay had less than a second to act as the missile shattered the windowpane and roared into the room, trailing fire. His eyes contracted sharply as he leaped up, catching the warhead with a single palm in a split-second reflex.

The supersonic missile came to an abrupt halt, its tail engine sputtering flames in a futile attempt to advance. Papers flew off desks, swirling in the heated gust, blanketing the room in a mock blizzard. The missile, stubborn as a trapped beast, strained against the immobilizing grip of Jay, whose fingers distorted its metal shell.

The standstill lasted a tense dozen seconds before the projectile's thrusters spent their last. The force in Jay's palm waned, the tail flames died down, and the missile went limp—deflated like a punctured ball.

Just as Jay began to exhale, he sensed the ongoing threat. The missile's casing still hummed with an unfelt radiation, poised like a dam on the brink of burst. With no time to ponder, he became a blur, rocketing out the shattered window and into the sky, hurling the missile as far as his strength allowed. It arced high, vanishing into the blue, before exploding in a brilliant display high above, the thunderous boom reaching Jay moments later.

Floating aloft, Jay wiped his brow—a gesture more of relief than actual sweat. The missile wasn't the danger; the absurdity of the situation was. His heartbeat hammered in his ears, a reminder of the ludicrous reality: someone had just fired a missile into his office!

It took Jay ten seconds to cool his overheated mind, which he deemed quite efficient for a first-timer. Back inside, he yanked the USB from the aged desktop. Its blinking light ceased—potentially the beacon that had called the missile to its window. Now, the drive's contents seemed even more cryptic, worth the great lengths someone had gone to retrieve it.

Turning his focus to General Simon Gilson, Jay hoped he held answers.

Finding Gilson would require expertise—and that meant calling in a professional.

"Gilson? That the name?" Huntress began her search at her terminal in the base, already pulling up his details. "Got him. Retired military, aged fifty-seven. Sending his info to your phone now."

"Thanks," Jay said. "You're a lifesaver."

"What's he got that's worth your attention?" Huntress inquired.

"Just a lead I'm following," Jay replied. "I'll keep you posted."

Hanging up, Huntress suspected Jay had stumbled upon something extraordinary. She turned back to her screen, resuming her interrupted investigation.

Sdeprjet.

As Huntress probed deeper into the network, using Wayne Enterprises as a starting point, a barrage of digital locks requiring high-level clearance sprung up. It took hours to bypass the myriad of tangled security protocols before the project interface appeared.

Her instincts told her she was on the right track. Double-clicking the project file, a glaring red alert demanding a password loomed on her screen. The warning was stark: "Top Secret! Access requires level-one authorization!"

Prudence suggested she stop, but curiosity urged her to breach the forbidden. She connected a portable hacking device, a one-of-a-kind creation by a world-class hacker friend, capable of breaching most firewalls within a minute.

The progress bar crawled, an indicator of a formidable digital adversary. After nearly two minutes, success seemed within reach. Huntress held her breath, eager for the breakthrough, but it never came. The progress bar vanished, replaced by a new warning: "Unauthorized sensitive operation detected! Data has been uploaded—please remain in position!"

Cursing under her breath, Huntress powered down the system and bolted. She chose the stairs over the elevator—less chance of being trapped. Her caution paid off when two armed agents charged in, guns blazing.

Huntress, swift and lethal, incapacitated both with ease—one left with a shattered leg, the other tumbling down the stairs.

"Sorry, guys," she panted. "Nothing personal."

At the base's exit, she collided unexpectedly with Victor Sage, the impeccably dressed, red-haired, high-ranking official. His approachability couldn't mask the gravity of his station.

"Looking rushed, Huntress," Victor commented, patting her shoulder. "Where to in such a hurry?"

Huntress raised her head to meet his gaze. "Just following up on an old lead."

Her heartbeat remained steady, betraying no signs of her internal panic. Victor seemed to accept her explanation, praising her diligence before his tone dipped to a menacing whisper, suggesting she might be overly capable, perhaps to a fault.

Reaffirming her loyalty, Huntress disentangled from the unsettling exchange and broke into a sprint down the stairwell. Seven floors separated her from freedom, and every step was a calculated risk.

She ran, armed agents in hot pursuit, bullets ricocheting off metal and concrete. This wasn't just another day at the office—it was a fight for her life, a race against a sinister truth clawing its way out of the shadows.