The interior of the private terminal was a tomb of glass and chrome, vibrating with the dying hum of a billion-dollar empire. The power had been cut, leaving the space illuminated only by the rhythmic, red strobes of the emergency backup lights.Marcus and Clara sat on the cold floor, stripped of their finery, surrounded by the very men they had spent their lives stepping over. Iron Mike stood behind them, his steel hand resting heavily on Marcus’s shoulder—a weight that represented ten years of stolen life."You like to play with chemistry, don't you, Marcus?" I asked. I held a small, pressurized vial—the same sleek, terrifying design the Cleaners had used on me at the harbor."You called this 'Oblivion.' You said it breaks down the proteins of the soul. You wanted me to be unidentifiable. To be nothing but a memory that everyone would want to forget.""Julian, please," Clara sobbed. She was clutching Marcus’s arm, her fur coat now stained with grease and rain, her makeup running in

The air in the Iron Market shifted. It wasn't just the ozone or the metallic dust anymore; it was a localized pressure, a densification of the atmosphere that signaled the approach of a high-tier digital presence. My HUD didn't just flicker—it screamed.[WARNING: PROXIMITY ALERT][HOSTILE SYSTEM DETECTED: THE REAPER][SYNCING... UNKNOWN ARCHITECTURE DETECTED]"You need to move, Julian," the woman—The Phoenix—hissed, her hand already white-knuckled on the hilt of her katana. "The Reaper isn't a mercenary. He’s a prototype. The Morettis poured half their construction budget into a black-site lab to create a counter-measure for your father’s Vault. He doesn't just kill; he deletes.""Let him try," I said. My internal temperature spiked as the System shifted from "Data Extraction" to "High-Intensity Combat." The violet glow of my watch deepened into a bruised, lethal purple.From the rafters above, a silhouette descended. It didn't fall; it glided on magnetic stabilizers. He landed silent