Airport Traffic is Murder this Time of Day

Oracle’s Response: “Ghost Signal”

Barbara’s screens lit up like a Christmas tree, multiple data streams flashing in rapid succession—GCPD emergency chatter, airport security feeds, private network pings from Crows Security. It all pointed to the same conclusion: Orime wasn’t exaggerating. This was an orchestrated, high-impact attack.

Her fingers flew over the keyboard, isolating the last transmission before the call dropped. The explosion wasn’t just concussive; it had scrambled signals. Someone wanted this broadcast to be silenced, severed before it reached too many ears.

“Orime, do you read?” Oracle’s voice was steady, controlled, but clipped with urgency. No response.

She rerouted through FAA satellite logs, scanning for heat signatures and structural damage reports in real-time. The explosion had gutted half of Terminal C, fire suppression kicking in across multiple concourses. No major airline had reported a hijacking, meaning this wasn’t about taking hostages. This was an execution—precision strikes with high-value targets in mind.

“Alright, you son of a bitch…” she muttered under her breath, pulling up thermal tracking from before the blast. There—five separate ignition points. This wasn’t a lone lunatic with an RPG. This was a planned, multi-angle assault.

She patched into Crows Security’s live frequency. “Kate, you’ve got multiple shooters working in coordination. I’m sending you approximate vantage points based on heat signatures—whoever set this up knew exactly where to aim for maximum collateral.”

Another keystroke, and she pushed an encrypted signal toward Wayne Enterprises’ private satellite feed, overriding commercial airspace restrictions. The moment the fireball faded, she began scanning for survivors.

“Orime, if you can still hear me—ping me. Anything. A pulse, a static burst, just let me know you’re alive.”

Nothing.

Barbara clenched her jaw, fingers tightening against the desk.

“Then I’ll find you myself.”

The hunt was on.