The beeping is getting faster. Mavis stands in the center of his destroyed penthouse, surrounded by bodies and blinking red lights. The shaped charges pulse in rhythm, the countdown stands at Thirty seconds. The elevator doors have already closed. The woman from Mandy's team is gone, the wounded operative has dragged himself through the service entrance leaving a trail of blood behind. Mavis is alone, his mind races through options. The stairwell is too far.The elevator won't come back in time, running won't save him. The System calculates survival probabilities in cold blue numbers: [Escape via stairwell: 12% survival rate.] [Remain in location: 0% survival rate.] [Alternative route detected...] Mavis's eyes snap to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Reinforced glass, designed to withstand hurricanes, but shaped charges placed correctly could blow them outward, and if he times it right... [Twenty seconds.] He makes a move. The woman's body lies near the elevator, two neat holes

Mandy Moore PovThe office is silent except for the soft hum of air conditioning.Mandy Moore stands at the floor-to-ceiling windows of her corner office, forty stories above New Harbor's waterfront. The harbor spreads below like a sheet of dark glass, reflecting the city lights in fractured patterns. Morning sun bleeds orange and gold across the horizon, painting the water in colors that will disappear within the hour.She holds a crystal tumbler of sparkling water, ice cubes clinking softly as she shifts her weight. Her reflection stares back from the window—sharp features, high cheekbones, dark hair pulled into a severe bun that doesn't allow a single strand out of place. Her designer suit is charcoal gray, tailored perfectly to her frame.On the television mounted to the wall behind her desk, news footage plays on mute. Phoenix Tower burning, flames pouring from the top floor, emergency vehicles swarming like insects. The banner scrolling across the bottom reads: "MYSTERY EXPLOSIO

The SUV has the smell of cigarettes.Mavis sits in the back seat, wedged between two of Vik'ki's soldiers. Both men are built like refrigerators, shoulders so broad they press against him from either side. The lieutenant rides shotgun, occasionally glancing back through the rearview mirror with that same easy grin.Nobody speaks.The city slides past the tinted windows in streaks of neon and shadow. They leave the motel district behind, heading west toward the docks. The buildings grow older, more industrial. Warehouses with broken windows. Chain-link fences topped with razor wire. This is Vik'ki's territory, where legitimate business fears to tread.Mavis keeps his breathing steady, his hands resting casually on his thighs. The System hums quietly in his mind, tracking the route, calculating escape probabilities that keep dropping with every mile.[Survival Rate if Hostile: 23%.][Recommendation: Assess situation before engaging.]Twenty minutes later, they pull up to Pier 47.The wa

The warehouse smells like motor oil and old concrete.Mavis arrives exactly on time, parking his sedan in the shadows between two shipping containers. The sun has fully risen now, morning light slanting through gaps in the corrugated metal walls. Vik'ki's guards are visible everywhere on catwalks, behind crates, standing near the entrance with rifles held casually.They don't stop him this time. Just nod as he passes.Inside, Vik'ki sits at the same desk on the elevated platform, but he's not alone. Three men stand around him, all wearing the kind of tactical gear that suggests they're more than simple street muscle. Maps are spread across the desk surface, marked with red circles and connecting lines.Vik'ki looks up as Mavis approaches. "You're punctual. I like that.""You said it was urgent." Mavis climbs the platform, his eyes scanning the maps. They show New Harbor and the surrounding areas, with concentrations of marks in the financial district, the docks, and several warehouse