Worthy? Of what? How could he be worthy when he had just failed so spectacularly? But the proof was right there, glowing green on his screen.And how could he be deemed worthy by a man who had been declared unworthy and was even suspended for life by the iron street hierarchy.“Found worthy of what?” Nolan asked, the words tumbling out before he could think, his voice still hoarse with awe and a sudden, growing sense of wonder.Nolan's voice was a dry, raw rasp. He had just seen something impossible, something that shattered every rule he thought he knew about money and markets. The glowing green numbers, $100,000 profit, still burned into his eyes. It was like a dream, but far too real. He felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving him breathless, his mind was blank except for that incredible, impossible sum."Worthy?" Nolan repeated, the single word was a question, a plea, and a disbelief all at once. His eyes, wide and fixed on Mael Vox, searched for answers, fo

Nolan’s voice, usually steady, wavered as he asked, “How can I become a part of this Phantom Syndicate community?” The words hung in the air, it was a bridge between his old life and a dizzying, dangerous new one. He felt a mix of fear and exhilarating hope. Mael Vox’s smile widened, there was a genuine warmth in his eyes that was both comforting and unsettling given the man’s earlier revelations.“I knew you would see it, Nolan,” Mael Vox said, his voice was a low, resonant hum. “I saw the fire in you, the hunger for something more than the crumbs Iron Street offers.” He extended a hand, not for a handshake, but an invitation. “Tonight, you will take the first step. Be ready by midnight. A car will pick you up. Come alone.”The city lights, usually a comforting glow, seemed distant and indifferent as Nolan paced his apartment. Midnight. The word echoed in his mind, carrying the weight of a secret meeting, a clandestine initiation. He looked at his phone, the vibrant green numbers

Mael Vox’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of genuine surprise crossed his face. The other men, standing silently nearby, shifted their weight, their unreadable faces turning towards the unexpected confrontation. Mael Vox had clearly expected Nolan to simply follow, to be swept up in the grand display. But Nolan was not just any Iron Street apprentice or newbie. He was a survivor, a fighter, and he knew how to play hardball. The helicopter's blades whirred above them, creating a private, intense world of sound and wind for their standoff.A slow smile, different from the earlier one, began to spread across Mael Vox's face. This smile held a hint of admiration, even respect. He hadn't expected this challenge from Nolan, but he clearly appreciated it. It showed true grit.“Ah, Nolan,” Mael Vox said, his voice was calm, yet powerful, cutting through the noise. He leaned in slightly, his eyes holding Nolan’s own. “A fair question. A very fair question. I like that you ask it. It sho

His hand instinctively went to his jacket pocket, feeling the phone he had just slipped back inside. He had just sent the message, activated the GPS. His lifeline. His proof. The idea of handing it over, of severing that last connection, was physically painful. He hesitated, his fingers tightening around the fabric of his pocket, with his knuckles turning white.“My phone?” he managed, his voice was barely audible above the engine, a flicker of suspicion was returning to his eyes. “Why?”The woman's hand remained extended, unwavering. Her brow furrowed slightly, a subtle hint of confusion crossing her otherwise impassive features. She glanced at Mael Vox, and a silent question passed between them. The look in her eyes seemed to say, Why is he questioning this? This is standard procedure.Mael Vox, sensing Nolan’s sudden resistance, stepped closer, his hand came to rest lightly on Nolan’s shoulder again. His voice, though still calm, carried an undertone of reassuring authority.

A chill ran down Nolan’s spine, but it wasn't just the cold night air. It was the icy grip of disillusionment. He had expected the dramatic reveal, the curtain pulled back to show a world of hidden power and cutting-edge technology.Instead, he was standing in front of a rundown building that seemed to mock his expectations. The silence that followed his outburst was heavy and thick with unspoken meaning. The other occupants of the helicopter, now fully unbuckled, stood like statues, their eyes were still fixed on him. They were Mael Vox’s people, he assumed, and their collective stillness only amplified Nolan's sense of being an outsider, a disruption in their orderly world.Mael Vox’s expression remained unreadable, his face was a mask of calm. He didn’t react to Nolan’s rising frustration, didn't flinch at the accusation in his voice. Instead, he simply looked at the warehouse, a faint, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. It was a smile that seemed to hold a secre