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Ray Kross Presents: The Dark Protocol

Ray Kross Presents: The Dark Protocol

Di: Serialized dark fiction and audio dramas from the mind of Ray Kross.
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Some signals were never meant to be decrypted. The Dark Protocol delivers full-length independent novels serialized chapter-by-chapter. This feed serves as the master archive for Ray Kross’s speculative fiction, tracking a descent into psychological suspense and dark fantasy.

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  • Episode 4: Centrellus, Chapters 8-9

    Episode 4: Centrellus, Chapters 8-9
    Aug 7 2026
    Chapter 8: The DepartureOneIn the few hours of true sleep she had managed, Hannah’s dreams had been nothing but a replay of sensation from her visit to David—the rough texture of his hands, the solid weight of him, the intoxicating way he had looked at her, the whispered promise of me and you. She had fallen asleep knowing in her heart that she had done the right thing. She knew it from the moment he had opened the door and she crossed the threshold into his room to kiss him. When she eventually gave him one last kiss good night, leaving wasn’t easy, but it was essential. Carter was a small town, and the motel an even smaller section of Carter. But upon returning to her room, exhaustion captured her and dragged her down into sleep.The knock didn’t start as a sound. It started as a vibration in the floorboards, a tremor that traveled up the bed frame and into her bones. Then it resolved into a sharp, percussive bang-bang-bang against the flimsy motel door, tearing through the fragile peace like a gunshot.Her eyes flew open. The room was still dark, the pre-dawn light a weak gray smear at the edges of the blinds. For one disoriented second, she thought it was David. That he needed to see her again. She smiled at the idea.Then a voice, sharp and imperious, sliced through the wood. “Hannah. Open up. Now.”Edgar.The warmth vanished, sucked out of the room by a sudden, arctic vacuum. The pleasant ache in her muscles turned to a cold dread. Her heart, so full and quiet moments before, began to slam against her ribs. She fumbled for the bedside lamp, her fingers clumsy with sleep and shock. The light that bloomed was harsh, clinical, exposing the rumpled sheets, her engagement ring sitting alone on the night stand.“Hannah!” The knock came again, harder this time, the door rattling in its frame.She scrambled out of bed, her bare feet hitting the cold linoleum. She grabbed her robe, tying it with shaking hands as she moved to the door. She didn’t open it. He knew.It was impossible, but somehow, Edgar knew that Hannah had cheated on him with David only a few hours ago.You’re being paranoid, she told herself. Edgar had no way of knowing such a thing. Right?She pressed her forehead against the cool wood, then with a sigh, undid the security chain and opened it.Edgar stood there, his face tight, his eyes darting nervously around the deserted motel parking lot. The faint, metallic tang of dew hung in the cool morning air. “We need to leave. Now,” he said, his voice a low, urgent rasp.Hannah blinked, her mouth dry. “What? Where?”“No time to explain. Just pack a bag. Everything you need. Now.” His hand hovered near her arm, a silent prod.The urgency in his voice sent a jolt of adrenaline through her. She could hear the distant rumble of a delivery truck on the highway—a sound that usually lulled her back to sleep—now a sharp, unsettling intrusion. Her breath hitched. “But… my dad, David…”S**t. Did she just say David? But Edgar didn’t notice.“No time,” Edgar repeated, his gaze fixed on something beyond her shoulder. “We’re already pushing it.” He turned slightly, the faint rustle of his jacket cutting through the stillness. “Grab what you can, and let’s go. You can call your Dad from the car.”Hannah’s mind raced, a whirlwind of unanswered questions and a growing sense of dread. The air felt charged, thick with an unspoken threat. She grabbed her backpack, the worn canvas rough against her fingers, and a light jacket. As she stepped out of the room, she followed Edgar to the car, the gravel crunching under her feet.As they pulled onto the highway, the rising sun cast long, distorted shadows across the empty landscape. Hannah stared out the window, her gaze fixed on the receding motel. The sense of unease settled deep in her stomach, a cold, hard knot. She didn’t turn to Edgar, instead focusing on the blurry landscape. Why was he so nervous? What was he hiding? She resolved to discover the truth, no matter the cost.TwoThree hours after Edgar had briskly ushered Hannah from the motel, David woke. Unaware of what occurred while he slept, he stretched. A low groan of contentment escaped his lips, the lingering scent of Hannah clinging to the rough motel sheets. The night before replayed in his mind, a vivid tapestry of sensations: Hannah’s soft touch, the warmth of her kiss, the way her eyes, a deep, shimmering blue, had met his with such tender intensity.The memory of their kiss sent a pleasant shiver down his spine, the phantom feeling of her lips still tingling against his. The air had been thick with unspoken emotions, the only sound the soft rustle of the thin motel curtains and their hushed whispers. He could almost feel the delicate pressure of her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, the soft, floral scent of her hair filling his senses. The way she had whispered his name, a breathy, almost reverent sound, echoed in his ears. The softness of her skin ...
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    1 ora e 20 min
  • Episode 3: Centrellus, Chapters 6-7

    Episode 3: Centrellus, Chapters 6-7
    Jul 23 2026
    Chapter 6: Seeds of DoubtOneThe fluorescent lights of David’s motel room hummed with a monotonous drone, casting a sterile glow on the worn furniture. Outside, the night was quiet—the only sound the occasional rumble of a passing truck on I-80.David sat hunched over his laptop, his brow furrowed in concentration. He had been at it for hours, searching for any information he could find about Edgar Johnson and Raisa Quinn. But the more he searched, the more elusive they seemed to become.He started with Johnson Renewable Energy, typing the company name into Google. A website appeared, but it was disappointingly generic. Stock photos of wind turbines and solar panels filled the screen, accompanied by vague platitudes about sustainability and environmental responsibility. There was no mention of specific projects, no names of key personnel beyond Edgar and Raisa, and no contact information beyond a generic email address.He clicked on the “About Us” page, hoping to find some more concrete details. But the text was filled with corporate jargon and meaningless buzzwords. It was designed to impress without actually saying anything.Frustrated, David turned to a different approach. He searched for news articles about Johnson Renewable Energy, hoping to find some independent verification of their existence. He found a few press releases announcing partnerships with local communities and celebrating the groundbreaking of new projects. But the articles were short and superficial, lacking any real substance.He then tried searching for information about Edgar Johnson himself. He found a few mentions of Edgar’s involvement in various charitable events and social gatherings, but nothing that shed any light on his background or his business dealings. He searched for Edgar’s birth records, his social media profiles, his professional affiliations but found nothing. It was as if Edgar Johnson had simply materialized out of thin air.The same was true for Raisa Quinn. He couldn’t find any trace of her online no birth records, no social media presence, no professional affiliations. It was as if she, too, hadn’t yet been born. A sense of unease washed over David. He knew that it was possible for people to maintain a low profile online, but this was something different. It was as if Edgar and Raisa were actively trying to conceal their identities, as if they had something to hide.He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his tired eyes. The fluorescent lights seemed to buzz even louder, amplifying the sense of isolation and paranoia that was creeping into his mind. He didn’t know what Edgar and Raisa were hiding, but he knew that he was determined to find out.TwoInside the sleek Maserati, the hum of the engine was steady but muted, a contradiction to the charged silence that had settled between Edgar and Hannah. Edgar’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles paling as his grip grew firm. His tailored suit, immaculate as ever, seemed at odds with the rustic scenery rolling past them fields of tall grass swaying gently in the breeze and old barns weathered gray by time. Next to him, Hannah sat motionless, her face turned toward the passenger window. Her gaze followed the golden light spilling over the countryside, but her thoughts were somewhere else entirely.“How was work today?” Edgar asked finally, his voice measured and deliberately casual. He didn’t look at her, choosing to keep his eyes fixed firmly on the road.Hannah blinked, startled from her reverie. “Same as always,” she replied, her tone distant. “A few guests checked in. Nothing too exciting.”Edgar nodded, a noncommittal sound rumbling in his throat as he let her words hang in the air. The only other noise was the faint whir of the tires against the pavement and the occasional rustling of leaves as the wind swept through the trees. He waited a beat longer before speaking again.“And David?” he asked, his tone light but pointed. “How’s he settling in?”Hanna’s gaze shifted reluctantly from the passing landscape to Edgar. The muscles in her shoulders tensed. “He’s doing well,” she said, a touch of warmth creeping into her voice despite herself. “Helping out around the motel, making progress with his physical therapy. Everyone’s glad to have him around.”“That’s good to hear,” Edgar replied, the corners of his mouth lifting into an expression that didn’t quite qualify as a smile. “But don’t you think it’s a bit... odd? Him just showing up out of nowhere, needing a place to stay?”Hannah’s brow furrowed, her own grip tightening around the strap of her purse. “He had an accident, Edgar,” she said, her voice sharpening. “He didn’t have much choice.”“True, true,” Edgar conceded, but there was a hint of skepticism threading through his words. “But it’s almost too convenient, don’t you think? A former hockey player someone with his kind of background just happens to crash near ...
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    1 ora e 9 min
  • Episode 2: Centrellus, Chapters 3-5

    Episode 2: Centrellus, Chapters 3-5
    Jul 9 2026
    Centrellus Chapter 3: Reconciliation and ComplicationsOneThe midday sun beat down on David as he limped back to his room at the McClure Motel, the crutches digging into his armpits, the sweat plastering his shirt to his back. Dr. Evans had really put him through the wringer today, pushing him harder than ever before. His leg throbbed with a dull, insistent ache, and every step was a reminder of how far he still had to go.He unlocked the door to his room and stepped inside, grateful for the cool, dim quiet. He tossed his crutches onto the bed and collapsed into the worn armchair, letting out a groan of relief. He glanced around the room, his gaze landing on his phone, lying forgotten on the bedside table. He must have left it behind this morning in his rush to get to PT.He picked up the phone and checked for messages. A few texts from Carrie, teasing him about his “grumpy PT face,” and a missed call from his mom. His heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t talked to her in weeks…no, months. Guilt gnawed at him, a familiar ache that was more painful than his leg.The missed call triggered a flood of memories, a rush of images and emotions that overwhelmed him. He was instantly transported back five years, to the day his world had shattered.TwoFive Years EarlierThe phone rang in the middle of the night, its shrill tone slicing through the darkness. David, jolted awake, stumbled out of bed and grabbed the receiver. His mom was already speaking—even before David could say hello—her voice choked with tears.“David, it’s Dad,” she sobbed. “He... he’s gone.”The words hit him like a physical blow, knocking the air out of his lungs. He stood there, frozen, the phone clutched in his hand, the room spinning around him. “What? What happened?” he finally managed to croak.“He... he had a heart attack,” his mom said, her voice trembling. “He didn’t make it.”David’s world went black. His dad—his hero, his best friend—was gone. Just like that. He sank to the floor, the phone slipping from his grasp, tears streaming down his face.The next few days were a blur of grief and shock. The funeral, the endless stream of visitors, the well-meaning condolences that did nothing to ease the pain. He felt numb, disconnected from everything, like he was watching his own life unfold from a distance.One evening, after everyone had left, he found his mom sitting alone in the living room, staring blankly at the wall. He sat down beside her, and she reached out and took his hand, her grip surprisingly strong.“He loved you so much, David,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “He was so proud of you.”David choked back a sob. “I miss him so much, Mom,” he whispered.His mom pulled him close, wrapping her arms around him, holding him tight. “I know, honey,” she said, stroking his hair. “I miss him too. But we’ll get through this. We have to. We have each other.”He buried his face in her shoulder, letting the tears flow freely, finding solace in her strength, in her unwavering love. In that moment, she was his rock, his anchor, the only thing holding him together. She smelled of lavender and something else...strength.Six months laterThe smell was whiskey.David stood in the same living room, the silence now a cold, heavy thing. His mother was holding a bottle—his father’s favorite bourbon, half-empty. Her eyes were red, but not from crying. From anger.“He wouldn’t listen,” she said, her voice flat and brittle. “The doctors told him. His blood pressure was a ticking bomb. They told him to stop. I told him to stop. Every day. He looked at me and said, ‘A man needs one thing he controls.’” She shook the bottle. “This was what he controlled.”David felt a hot spike of defense shoot through his grief. “Don’t,” he said, his voice low.“Don’t what? Don’t say it? He chose this, David. He chose the bottle over us.”“He was sick! It wasn’t a choice!” The words erupted from him, ugly and raw. He saw his father’s smile, his laugh, not the shaking hands or the flushed face.His mother stared at him, the bottle dangling from her fingers. The warmth she had shown him after the funeral was gone, burned away by months of solitary grief. “It was a choice every single God damned day! And you’re making the same God damned choice!”The accusation hung in the air, a poison cloud. David was twenty-seven—his own drinking already a comfortable habit, a friend after a game. He felt his face flush with a mix of shame and fury. “That’s not true!”“It was my job to save your father!” she shouted, the sound tearing through the quiet house. “And I failed! And now you’re…” She stopped, her breath coming in ragged pulls. She looked at him, not as her son, but as a reflection of the man she’d lost. “You’re walking the same path. I can see it. And it kills me.”He turned away from her, from the bottle, from the accusation in her eyes. “I’m not him...
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    1 ora e 25 min
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