Thorne's True Colors

The comms channel crackled, a symphony of static that mirrored the disquiet settling in Bodyguard's gut. Director Thorne’s face, usually a mask of practiced calm, flickered on the main screen, his brow furrowed with an engineered concern. “Bodyguard, I’m afraid I have… disquieting news. The intel we’ve been operating on… it seems it was incomplete. Perhaps even misleading.”

Bodyguard grunted, the sound a low rumble in the confines of his cockpit. Misleading. Thorne always had a way with words, a silken veneer over whatever ugly truth he was trying to cloak. “Misleading how, Director? Did the Lurker suddenly develop a fondness for tea parties?”

Thorne offered a tight smile, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. “More… fundamental than that. The Network, Bodyguard. Your target, the entity you’ve been pursuing… it’s not acting alone. It’s a tool.”