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?"
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Ghost and Niobe sat in the dim light of the Logos, the ship’s systems humming a low, steady rhythm. The construct was ready. For months, rumors had swirled through the Zion underground about a digital fragment—a piece of the Matrix itself that had been "freed" from the Source. The world didn't dissolve into the green rain
Suddenly, the heavy thud of combat boots echoed against the metal grating. Three men in identical charcoal suits stepped out of the shadows, their sunglasses reflecting the flickering lightning. Agents. When he opened his eyes, he wasn't on the ship