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TARGET DOSSIER – SUNSHINE FARMS OPS
CODE NAME: MirrorGod
CLASSIFICATION: Tier-One Elimination
REQUESTED BY: Amara
DELIVERY DATE: Open window – Preferably within the next 7–10 days
ASSIGNED TO: Winchester/Novak Team
PROFILE
The subject is male, early 40s, Caucasian, 6'1", frequently seen in tailored designer suits and tinted glasses. Public identity: tech innovator and CEO of HaloVision Inc., a global leader in home surveillance and AI-driven ‘safety’ systems.
Unofficially, Nick ‘Lucifer’ Morningstar runs one of the most expansive civilian blackmail networks in the private sector. Through HaloVision’s smart home devices and city-licensed camera infrastructure, he collects, stores, and weaponizes confidential footage—often selling it to political operatives, corporate enemies, and private buyers.
His newest development, Project: MirrorGod, is an AI suite capable of reconstructing lost or erased law enforcement files using predictive pattern mapping. If activated, it could reinstate every name Amara had scrubbed from federal systems—including Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak.
The subject is considered highly intelligent, egocentric, and socially disarming. Publicly charismatic, privately obsessive. Has a documented pattern of recruiting ‘unique individuals’ for experiments or digital loyalty tests, with heavy psychological manipulation.
KNOWN ASSOCIATES
- Personal AI assistant (‘EVA’), embedded in all his systems. Acts as gatekeeper to his penthouse and server access.
-Three private guards, one on rotation at all times. Two are former MI6. Armed, but not alert—tech-dependent.
- Frequent companion: unnamed omega assistant, possibly under coercion. Monitored but not confirmed threat.
- Occasional visitors include investors, influencers, and government contractors—most meetings are silent-masked and recorded.
ROUTINE PATTERNS
(Compiled via Charlie + city surveillance intercepts)
- Lives in a triple-locked penthouse at the top of The Halo, a high-rise smart tower in Midtown Manhattan.
- Rarely leaves the building unless for events. Fully dependent on his tech.
- Attends a private rooftop symposium every other Thursday—an invite-only ‘Innovation Salon’ featuring AI demos and philosophical debates. Next event: three days out.
- Between 1 AM and 3 AM nightly, he isolates himself in the ‘Temple Room,’ a soundproof meditation pod with a biometric door and no camera access. Duration: exactly 93 minutes.
PENTHOUSE DETAILS
- Full smart lockdown—elevator, biometric scanner, voiceprint activation. All tied to ‘EVA.’
- Central core server housed in a climate-sealed lab behind his bedroom suite. Accessible only during EVA downtime (every Sunday at 4 AM for maintenance).
- Panic room behind the home theater, rigged to lock from the inside and alert his offshore data vaults if opened.
- Vault of physical backups rumored to be located beneath the server room, accessible via descending platform.
WEAKNESSES
- Narcissistic—records all his personal conversations for ‘posterity.’ Often leaves audio open, assuming no one dares listen.
- Overtrusts EVA and personal algorithms—rarely notices human inconsistencies.
- Keeps physical drives of ‘legacy threats’ in a fireproof safe for leverage. This may include copies of the Winchester/Novak FBI files.
- Obsessed with controlling his own narrative—may respond to public embarrassment more aggressively than a personal threat.
CLIENT NOTES
Amara flagged this as ‘urgent’ after Charlie discovered encrypted files labeled:
- Asset: Winchester (Omega - Most Wanted List - Serial Killer)
- Asset: Novak (Alpha - Most Wanted List - Serial Killer)
The client believes these files were compiled before the full wipe and represent a catastrophic liability.
Quote from client:
“If he flips the switch, we’re all back on their radar. Kill him, burn the backups, and make sure EVA never says our names again.”
RECOMMENDATIONS
Option 1: Infiltration via Innovation Salon posing as security or surprise speakers. Requires clean clearance codes (see Charlie).
Option 2: Extraction hit during Sunday night EVA reboot window. Silent, surgical. Delete files and disappear.
Option 3: Stage digital breach to trigger evacuation protocol and intercept during controlled chaos. (Charlie can assist.)
ATTACHED:
- Building floor plans (public & restricted levels)
- Facial scan masks and alternate identities
- File map of known HaloVision AI nodes
- Guard schedules + Nick’s security override codes
- Potential breach tools + synthetic thumbprint kits (ask Charlie)
*****
Dean stares down the dossier with intensity, flipping the same page over and over—Nick’s profile photo—then lets it fall onto the counter with a sigh. At first, he’d laughed for a good five minutes over the guy’s self-adopted nickname, but after reading everything over, this wasn’t amusing. Not at all.
“He’s not just watching people,” Dean says. “He’s collecting them. All their data, locations, everything. Amara’s right, he’s gonna be a problem.”
Cas stands at the window, arms folded, profile sharp against the glass. “And he has our files.”
Dean doesn’t answer right away. Just reaches up to rub the side of his neck. “He had them,” he corrects. “Charlie says it’s a backup. An old one.”
“Old’s enough.” Cas turns, sapphire gaze dark. “It means he thought we were worth keeping tabs on, it’s the why that concerns me.”
Dean huffs, running a hand through his hair. “He flips one switch, and we’re right back in the goddamn headlines. We can’t let him do that to Claire and Jack…”
Cas shakes his head adamantly, insisting through clenched teeth, “He wouldn’t dare.”
Dean meets his eyes. “You sure?”
Cas’s voice is low, deadly. “I’ll burn the servers myself.”
“I mean, or we could just burn him?” Dean playfully offers. Maybe not so playful.
Cas snorts but doesn’t respond beyond a glint in his azure eyes. A promise.
They don’t speak after that. Dean gathers the pages and slides them back into the folder. Cas sits beside him, quiet but his scent hums with rage.
They don’t need to say it aloud: this one’s personal.
______________________________________
Agent Harvelle sits with one boot propped on the corner of her desk, eyes narrowed at the report in front of her. It came in half an hour ago, routed through four departments, and stamped with two levels of clearance higher than hers. That alone made her suspicious.
Across from her, Henriksen hasn’t moved in ten minutes. The alpha’s still reading the same summary, jaw clenched tight.
“This is bullshit,” Ellen mutters, tossing the papers onto the table between them. “This guy’s just trying to get attention. No way in hell he knows anything real.”
Henriksen says nothing, but his fingers tighten slightly around the edge of the report.
Subject: Morningstar, Nicholas. Alias: Lucifer. CEO of HaloVision Inc.
Claims to have information regarding: lost case files, missing fugitives, and internal corruption.
Proposes exchange. Terms: undisclosed.
“Undisclosed,” Ellen scoffs. “Gimme a break. Translation: he wants leverage. Publicity. A slap on the wrist so he can go back to selling whatever the hell he sells.”
Henriksen exhales slowly. “Still. Why now? Why them?”
The beta shifts in her chair. “Could be a coincidence. Could be he caught wind we were sniffing around again. Could be he’s got nothing and just wants to screw with us.”
“But if he does have something—”
“Then he’ll dangle it until we’re too far in to pull out.”
Henriksen finally looks up, eyes sharp. “You think it’s bait?”
Ellen doesn’t answer right away. She leans forward and taps the screen to bring up Morningstar’s file again. The photo is sleek and polished—smirking, stylish, smug. “I think if he really had what he claims, he wouldn’t be calling us. He’d be selling it to someone much higher up the food chain.”
Henriksen sits back in his chair, silent.
Ellen watches him. “You wanna call him.”
“I want to know why he suddenly cares.” Vic sighs, leaning forward and resting his face in his hands.
“Well,” she says, standing. “Let’s give it 24 hours. If he reaches out again, we’ll think about it. Until then, he can keep his secrets.”
She pauses in the doorway.
“But if it’s them—Winchester and Novak—we’d be back in business.”
Henriksen doesn’t look up. He just nods once. “Yeah…”
With all the skepticism afforded to anyone with any experience dealing with the men.
Maybe’s won’t get them anywhere closer to finding their former fugitives and the insider who erased them from existence.