The hum of the rideshare van filled the silence as Reed, Carter, and Kranch sat in tense quiet, their thoughts as heavy as the Vienna skyline slipping past the windows. Protocol dictated that they keep their cards close, stick to their roles, and avoid unnecessary communication. PPI thrived on isolation—operatives compartmentalized, missions fragmented. Trust wasn’t just discouraged; it was dangerous.
Reed’s gaze settled on the glowing screen of his computer as he logged into Pro4uM.com. The interface was sterile and efficient, every icon and message a cog in the invisible machinery driving PPI’s operations. He entered the codes he’d obtained from Box Gallery, each keystroke deliberate. His assignment details appeared, unchanged: photograph Secretary Kessler, maintain cover, await the delivery of special codes for the Secretary, and above all, avoid complications.
Beside him, Carter’s fingers danced over his own screen, his brow furrowing as he scrolled through his directives. On the surface, everything looked routine, but something gnawed at him, a feeling Reed could sense but didn’t comment on. Kranch sat in the far corner, reviewing his orders. Each man worked in silence, connected by the invisible thread of protocol yet divided by the barriers PPI had carefully constructed.
Suddenly Carter’s screen pinged—a notification. He frowned, tilting the device closer. A cryptic update glowed against the dim light: “Realign objectives to accommodate operational flexibility.” The phrasing was vague, open-ended in a way that sent a ripple of unease down his spine. PPI’s instructions were rarely this ambiguous.
“What in the world does that mean?” Carter muttered under his breath, forgetting himself for a moment.
Reed glanced up sharply, catching the words. “Something wrong?”
Carter hesitated. Protocol said to keep quiet. Sharing updates, especially out of turn, was a breach that could cost more than just trust—it could trigger consequences from above. But the weight of the message made him decide otherwise. He turned the screen toward Reed and Kranch. “I just got this,” he said. “Tell me that doesn’t feel off.”
Reed leaned closer, his expression darkening as he read the words. Kranch followed suit, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Realign objectives?” Kranch repeated. “That’s... not exactly standard.”
“No, it’s not,” Reed said quietly. His mind churned, dissecting the words. PPI didn’t make allowances for ‘flexibility.’ Every step, every move, was calculated. This update wasn’t just odd—it was unsettling. It hinted at something shifting in the shadows, something even they weren’t meant to understand.
Carter leaned back, his voice quieter now. “I don’t like it. It feels like... a setup.”
Reed exchanged a glance with Kranch. The unspoken tension between them cracked slightly as they recognized a shared doubt. Carter breaking protocol to share the message wasn’t just a risk; it was a step toward something unexpected—trust.
“We need to figure out what this means,” Reed said. His voice was steady, but the edge in his tone betrayed the storm building beneath. “Because if PPI’s changing the rules, it’s not in our favor.”
Reed waited until Carter and Kranch were fully engrossed in their Pro4uM tasks, the soft glow of their screens casting faint shadows over their focused faces. Quietly, he retrieved the Lyt Meeter, keeping his movements slow and deliberate. He didn’t need their questions right now—not yet.
The cryptic update Carter had received earlier, “Realigning objectives to accommodate operational flexibility,”gnawed at the back of Reed’s mind. After he keyed the phrase into the device with steady fingers, he could feal the vibration of its processor. For a long moment, the Lyt Meeter seemed to hesitate, as if weighing the information. Then it flashed a response, its simplicity more chilling than Reed had anticipated:
“Speak directly with Marty Grimes.”
Reed’s grip on the device tightened as the directive sank in. Marty Grimes. Who is Marty Grimes? It was a name that hadn’t surfaced in his assignments before—at least not in a way that mattered. He slipped the Lyt Meeter back into his bag, masking any sign of the unease twisting in his chest.
“Hey,” Reed said casually, leaning back in his seat. “You ever hear of Marty Grimes?”
Carter’s head snapped up first, his brow furrowed. “Grimes? Yeah, the name’s familiar. Saw it in a couple of reports. He’s not high-level, though. Why?”
“Humor me,” Reed replied, shrugging. “Check him out on Pro4uM.”
Carter’s fingers danced over his keyboard, Kranch leaning in slightly as the search yielded a single post by Marty Grimes: “Posing the ‘Chubby’ Senior.”
Carter read aloud, his voice tinged with confusion. “Remember, as a photographer, your job is to make your subject look the best they can look!”
Reed froze, the words triggering an alarm in his mind. Chubby Senior. That was the code. His memory snapped into sharp focus. He recalled the moment vividly—on the ride from Box Gallery to Lenscape Photography Rentals, he had typed the code, S3P16C105B, into the Lyt Meeter. That was when he saw the phrase for the first time: “Sawyer must die. PPI will be clean. Operatives in place. Plans in motion. Kessler is the disguise. P4M code: ‘Chubby Senior.’”The seemingly innocent title on Pro4uM hadn’t been advice—it was a veiled directive, buried in plain sight.
“‘Chubby Senior,’” he muttered. “Could be code for something bloated—overextended.”
“PPI itself?” Kranch suggested, his voice low and skeptical.
“Possibly,” Reed said, his thoughts racing. “‘Make your subject look the best they can look’... It’s about appearances. Misdirection. Hiding flaws.”
“Fabricating reality,” Carter added grimly, sitting back.
Kranch’s frown deepened. “So, Grimes is posting this, why? To warn someone? To reinforce protocol?”
“Or to give instructions,” Reed said, his voice hardening. He tapped the edge of his seat, piecing the clues together. “If this is code, it’s about keeping PPI’s facade intact—ensuring no one sees the cracks.”
Carter shook his head. “Still doesn’t explain why Grimes is in play. He’s not high-ranking. At least, not enough to be running a show this big.”
“Maybe he’s another fall guy,” Kranch offered, his tone edged with cynicism. “Someone Barry’s using to take the heat, like they’re trying to do with you.”
Or worse.” Reed said, leaning forward. “What if Grimes is Barry’s right hand—the one doing the dirty work and covering his tracks?
Reed’s eyes flicked between Carter and Kranch, gauging their reactions. Both men looked uneasy, their earlier focus now replaced with wariness.
“We need to know more,” Reed said finally, his voice steady. “If Grimes is connected to this—if he’s posting coded messages like this—he’s a thread we can’t ignore. We dig into his connections, his role in Barry’s plans, and figure out how to use it against him. So, for now, we just gather intel. Watch his posts. See if the name comes up again.”
The van fell into a heavy silence, the city lights of Vienna flickering outside as they neared the hotel. In the quiet, Reed’s thoughts churned, the name Marty Grimes echoing like a distant drumbeat. He didn’t know who this man was yet, but he could be the key to unraveling Barry Cox’s plan.
But if he wasn’t careful, he might also be the key to their downfall as well.
Reed let his expression go thoughtful. “Doesn’t Marty Grimes put on some kind of photography convention? Seems like I remember going to one of those events he organizes.”
Carter nodded quickly, snapping his fingers. “Yeah, SYNC! Synchronized Network of Creative Photographers. It’s a big deal—tons of professionals, workshops, gear expos, the works.”
Kranch tilted his head, intrigued. “What’s the angle here? Just another front for PPI?”
“Possibly,” Reed replied, his tone sharpening. “But if Grimes is involved and SYNC’s tied to PPI, it could be more than that. A convention that big, packed with professionals from all over? And let’s not forget how much Barry loves basking in the photography world’s spotlight.”
Carter brought his arms together in front of him, frowning. “Okay, but how’s that useful to us?”
Reed’s smirk was subtle but calculating. “Think about it—a massive event with Grimes at the center. If there’s a thread worth pulling, SYNC could lead us to it. We’d have access to people and intel that’s usually out of reach. And it just might be the kind of event that could lure Barry out of the shadows. The question is, when’s the next one?”
Kranch pulled out his phone and scrolled quickly. “Looks like it’s just over a month away. Big conference center in Las Vegas.”
“Perfect,” Reed muttered. “Let’s keep this in our back pocket. If this thing ties back to Barry or PPI’s inner circle, it could be the crack we need to blow this whole thing open.”
Reed pressed forward, his voice dropping as the van jolted over uneven pavement. “We’ve got a serious problem,” he said, holding their attention. “Kessler’s movements—his locations, his vulnerabilities—are being mapped out in real time on Pro4uM. It’s all there for anyone who knows where to look. Every PPI operative, anyone familiar with Pro4uM, PPI, or Kessler’s connection to it, has access to this data. This isn’t just intel—it’s a roadmap for anyone looking to take him down.”
Kranch frowned. “What’s PPI’s angle? Decoy or…?”
Reed nodded grimly. “Collateral damage is my guess. Kessler’s a high-profile target. If he gets taken out, it’ll send shockwaves, and PPI can sweep in and clean up however they see fit—reputation intact, no questions asked.”
Carter exhaled sharply. “So they’re willing to sacrifice a Secretary to cover their tracks? That’s cold, even for them.”
“It gets worse.” Reed’s tone darkened. “The coded message I’m supposed to deliver to Kessler—it’ll be sent to me seconds before I photograph him. I won’t even have time to process what it says before I’m supposed to hand it off.”
Kranch cursed under his breath. “That’s not a setup. That’s a death warrant—for him or you.”
Reed straightened, his expression hard. “That’s why we can’t let it play out. Kessler’s safety has to be priority one. If we lose him, we lose any chance of exposing the Architect.”
Carter leaned back, his brow furrowed. “Alright, so how do we protect him without tipping off every PPI operative in the room?”
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Reed gestured to the pile of equipment stacked beside them. “We use this. Cameras, lighting rigs, audio setups—they’re not just for the shoot anymore. Every piece will be wired to record interactions, capture conversations, and monitor Kessler’s surroundings. If anything goes sideways, we’ll have it on tape.”
Kranch rubbed his chin, his military background clicking into gear. “Alright. So, we split responsibilities—divide the room and cover every angle.”
“Exactly,” Reed said, his voice steady as he looked between the two men. “Here’s how we do this. I’ll handle Kessler directly. My job is to keep him calm and cooperative—gain his trust so he doesn’t suspect anything is wrong. At the same time, I’ll be coordinating the setup for all the covert recordings. Cameras, lighting rigs, audio mics—they’ll all be wired to capture every detail. If anything slips through the cracks, the gear won’t miss it.”
He shifted his focus to Carter. “Carter, you’re the eyes in the room. Your job is to watch the players—every PPI operative, every hotel staffer, and every so-called security guard. Document anything suspicious. If someone looks out of place, acts jittery, or moves toward Kessler, you’ll be our first line of defense.”
Carter nodded, his expression sharpening as the weight of his role settled in. “Got it. I’ll work the edges, blend in, and keep tabs on anyone who looks like a threat. To PPI, it’ll still look like I’m keeping you under surveillance.”
Reed turned to Kranch, who sat silently but alert, waiting for his orders. “Kranch, you’re on shadow duty. Stay glued to Kessler. If someone gets too close, you intercept them. If you sense a threat, you neutralize it—quietly and fast. Your only priority is his physical safety. If anything feels off, you call it immediately. Since I’ll be sticking close to Kessler, PPI will assume you’re shadowing me.”
Kranch cracked his knuckles as he gave a short nod. “Understood. I’ll keep him breathing.”
Reed leaned back, his eyes flicking between them. “Let’s get one thing straight: this isn’t about PPI protocols anymore. We’re not following their playbook. From this point forward, we’re working as a team—no divisions, no secrets. The goal is simple—keep Kessler alive and expose Barry Cox. If we get one shot at taking down the Architect, we make it count.”
The tension in the van was thick, the air heavy with unspoken fears. But each man carried a spark of determination, a shared understanding that this mission was about more than survival—it was about taking control of a game they’d been forced to play.
Reed broke the silence. “Remember, we protect Kessler above all else. Losing him would be catastrophic—not just for this mission, but for everything we’re trying to expose. Agreed?”
Carter and Kranch exchanged a glance before nodding in unison. “Agreed,” they said.
Reed’s voice softened, though his resolve didn’t waver. “Good. Let’s move fast, stay sharp, and stay one step ahead of PPI. The second we get complacent, they’ll bury us.”
The three men sat in silence for a moment, the sound of the van’s engine filling the void. Each of them was lost in their own thoughts, bracing for what lay ahead.
The stakes had never been higher, but for the first time, they weren’t operating in the dark. With their roles defined and their alliance solidified, they were no longer pawns—they were players, ready to flip the board.
Carter’s laptop pinged with a sharp, familiar sound, drawing the attention of everyone in the van. Reed and Kranch exchanged a quick glance, both recognizing the unmistakable chime of a private message on Pro4uM.com. Carter furrowed his brow, clicking to open the notification.
“What is it?” Reed asked, his voice low but tense.
Carter’s lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at the screen. “It’s… odd,” he muttered. “The message is from ‘unknown.’” He glanced up, his unease plain. “No one uses aliases on Pro4uM. Everyone uses their real names—it’s protocol.”
“What does it say?” Kranch pressed.
Carter hesitated, then read the message aloud. “‘New Objective: Monitor Marty Grimes.’” He sat back, the weight of the words settling over him. “Well,” he added dryly, “I guess we don’t have to wonder what ‘Realign objectives to accommodate operational flexibility’ means anymore.”
Reed’s mind was already racing, the implications spinning out like threads in a web. “They’re shifting focus,” he said, almost to himself. “Why Marty Grimes? What’s his role in all this?”
Carter leaned forward, his tone sharper now. “My original orders were to monitor you, Reed. That’s what they wanted—keep an eye on you for any ‘suspicious behavior.’ Now they’re throwing Grimes into the mix? Feels like they’re scrambling.”
“They are,” Kranch interjected, pulling out his phone. “This isn’t just a coincidence. If Grimes is their new target, there’s something they’re not telling us. Let’s dig.” His fingers moved quickly across the screen as he searched for intel on Marty Grimes.
Except for the sound of the van’s engine minutes passed in tense silence. Finally, Kranch let out a low whistle, his eyes fixed on the screen. “Got something,” he said, his voice grim. “Grimes isn’t high-level—barely a blip on their radar until now. But here’s the kicker: they’re positioning him as the scapegoat.”
Reed’s brow furrowed. “Scapegoat? How do you know?”
Kranch didn’t look up, his expression hardening as he scrolled through Pro4uM. “There’s a post today by Barry. He titled it ‘Pet Photography – Goats.’ Seems harmless, but…” Kranch clicked into the post, reading aloud with deliberate care. “‘Had a buddy ask me to photograph his goat, thought I’d share some tips. Funny name for a goat, though—Darty.’”
Carter leaned forward, confusion evident. “Darty? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Kranch’s jaw clenched as he turned the screen toward them. “Look at the timestamp. It went live this morning, right after Carter got his objective realignment update. And we all know Barry doesn’t post anything without a reason.”
Reed’s eyes sharpened as he pieced it together. “Darty… it’s an anagram for Marty. He’s not even trying to hide it. That’s his way of marking Grimes—he’s the fall guy, plain and simple.”
“And the goat reference?” Carter asked, still trying to wrap his head around it.
Reed’s tone turned grim. “A goat isn’t just a cute animal. In Barry’s world, it’s a ‘scapegoat.’ He’s signaling that if anything blows up, the blame lands squarely on Grimes.
Reed leaned back. “But I think he’s setting Grimes up so that we are all looking the wrong way while Barry orchestrates the real play. And if this goes sideways, Grimes, Kessler, and probably us are expendable.”
Reed’s face hardened as he tapped the side of the van. “Oh Barry, you are good—” He cut himself off, a sharp grin forming. “But you slipped. This post connects the dots. We’ve got proof of his plan, and now, we have leverage.”
Kranch sat back, his expression dark but resolute. “We need to move carefully. Barry will come down hard if he even suspects we’re onto him. If the mission fails, Grimes takes the fall. PPI gets to keep its hands clean, Barry included.”
Reed nodded, gripping the edge of his seat. “Then we use this. Let’s make him think his plan is working—until we can turn it against him.”
Reed’s computer pinged. He recognized the sound instantly—the photo files were now digitized and ready for a search. It was now time to take a step toward building trust.
“I was able to take a plane to Vienna,” Reed began. “Had at least an hour’s jump on y’all. So, I went to Box Galleries, found a bunch of files, and copied them. It’s in my computer now—digitized, searchable.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. Then, with a faint grin, he asked, “What do you think, boys? Should we search ‘Marty Grimes’?”
Kranch leaned forward. “Grimes? Alright, let’s see what your fancy setup digs up. If this guy’s the thread, maybe it’s time we start pulling.”
Carter grinned, the tension easing slightly. “Finally, some action. Let’s see if Grimes is the golden ticket or a dead end. Either way, I’m betting this search gets interesting.”
Reed’s fingers flew over the keyboard, the search processing with quiet precision. The results populated in seconds, and his eyes locked onto a file labeled “Directive: Grimes Liability.” He opened it, his breath catching as the words glared back at him:
"If operation fails, assign full liability to M. Grimes. Sawyer classified expendable. Kessler marked as acceptable collateral. Authorized: B. Cox."
Reed leaned back, a sharp grin forming. “Got ya, Barry!” he muttered under his breath. Then, louder, to Kranch and Carter, he said, “Boys, we’ve got him. This is the proof we need to set the trap. Grimes is the scapegoat, and Barry’s the one pulling the strings. And now we can prove it.”
The weight of the revelation settled over the van. They had what they needed to start dismantling the Architect’s operation—piece by calculated piece.
Carter’s face hardened, his earlier unease morphing into anger. “So that’s the play. If something goes wrong, they burn Grimes and move on. It’s classic Barry—stay in the shadows, let someone else take the fall.”
Reed’s voice was sharp with conviction. “Then we stop it. If we take down Barry, we don’t just save Grimes—we expose the entire PPI underbelly. Every secret, every operation. It all unravels.”
Kranch nodded, his expression resolute. “But we have to be smart about it. If Barry catches wind of what we’re doing, he’ll bury us all before we get close.”
Reed’s gaze swept over the group, his tone steady but fierce. “So we don’t give him the chance. This photo shoot isn’t just a job—it’s our battlefield. We’ll use it to gather more intel, bait Barry into exposing himself, and plant evidence that ties him to this entire operation.”
Carter twitched in his seat. “You know they’ll be watching, right? Not just Barry—PPI as a whole. If we slip, even once, they’ll know we’re not following protocol.”
Reed nodded. “That’s the risk we take. But this is our best shot. Everything about this shoot—the cameras, the setups, even our proximity to Kessler—gives us a chance to flip the script.”
Kranch’s jaw tightened and clenched, his expression hardening. “Understood. But what about the bait? How do we draw Barry out without him realizing it’s a trap?”
Reed was gripping the edge of his seat in the van as he glanced between Kranch and Carter. “Alright,” he began, his tone steady but weighted. “Have either of you ever heard of a Light Meters—spelled L-Y-T M-E-E-T-E-R?”
Both men exchanged puzzled looks, shaking their heads. “Sounds like something out of a cheap photography gimmick ad.” Carter responed.
Reed exhaled deeply, his confidence bolstered by their genuine confusion. He reached into his bag and carefully pulled out the Lyt Meeter, holding it in his hand as if it carried the weight of a loaded gun. “This,” he said, his voice low, “is our key. Our edge. And maybe—just maybe—our way to control Barry Cox without him even realizing it.”
Kranch’s eyes narrowed as he studied the device. “That little thing? What is it, exactly?”
Reed began to explain, turning the device in his hand to show them its sleek, run-of-the-mill design. “On the surface, it’s disguised as a light meter, something every professional photographer would carry. But beneath the casing? It’s a code generator, hardwired into Pro4uM’s most secure channels. I’ve been using it to decrypt messages, including Carter’s ‘realign objectives’ update. But it’s more than that.”
Reed tapped the device lightly. “It doesn’t just receive information. It can manipulate what gets sent through PPI’s system. Think of it as a Trojan horse—we can feed Barry’s network only what we want them to see.”
Carter let out a low whistle. “You’re saying we can use it to… what? Rewrite PPI’s orders?”
“Not quite,” Reed replied. “Barry’s too smart to fall for outright changes to his commands. But we can use the Lyt Meeter to subtly adjust the narrative—redirect his focus, plant seeds of doubt. We don’t need to control him outright. We just need to make him believe that he’s still the one pulling the strings.”
Kranch his skepticism giving way to cautious interest asked. “And how does this help us bait him into the open?”
“That’s the beauty of it,” Reed said, his voice sharpening with determination. “Barry thrives on control to keep himself untouchable. He orchestrates everything, down to the smallest detail. So, we give him something to ‘fix.’ Something he thinks he can manipulate—like Marty Grimes.”
Carter frowned, leaning forward. “Grimes? How?”
Reed says with confidence, “The evidence is clear: Grimes is the perfect scapegoat. Barry’s setting him up to take the fall for whatever happens to Kessler. With the Lyt Meeter, we can make sure Barry believes Grimes is following orders—right up until the moment we turn the tables on him. Let Barry think he’s got full control of the operation. And when the time’s right, we’ll have everything we need to take him down—evidence, witnesses, and the one thing he can’t manipulate: the truth.”
As the van approached the hotel, the grandeur of Vienna’s cityscape gave way to the sleek, modern facade of the building. Reed’s eyes swept the scene instinctively, cataloging every detail. Consciously—a black SUV idling near the curb, its tinted windows concealing whoever was inside. A subtle turn of his head revealed two figures, just near enough to watch the hotel entrance with unnerving focus.
Reed thought to himself, They’re already here. PPI’s shadow loomed large, its operatives blending into the bustling scene like predators waiting to strike.
Reed turned towards the driver, his voice calm but laced with urgency. “Change of plans. “These two need to grab some supplies from a grocery store a couple of blocks over. Drop me off first.”
The driver glanced back in the mirror, but Reed’s tone left no room for questions. “Got it,” the man said with a shrug, pulling to the curb near the hotel.
Reed kept his gaze forward, his voice low but steady, speaking to his allies. “Stick to protocol. Get dropped at the grocery store and come back separately. Staggered arrivals keeps us clean. We need to appear we are playing by their rules.”
Carter nodded, agreeing. “Last thing we need is to raise flags.”
The bellman greeted him with a polished yet somewhat artificial smile. After he handed over all the camera gear from Lenscapes the automatic doors swept open. Cool air brushed his face as a man near the concierge desk fidgeted, adjusting his tie twice in thirty seconds. Reed’s instincts prickled.
This hotel wasn’t a safe haven. It was a stage, and everyone had a role to play.
As the van eased into traffic behind him Reed didn’t glance back. His focus was forward—on Kessler, the mission, and dismantling the machine PPI had spent years building.