Thickcup strode across the metal grating and dropped heavily into his executive leather chair. He hit the primary audio button on the central console with a stiff finger. "Report," Thickcup barked, his voice deep, laced with authority. He was a man accustomed to having his orders executed instantly. Static hissed from the built-in desk speaker, followed by the heavy, ragged breathing of his chief logistics commander, Colonel Cloud. "General," Cloud whispered through the speaker. His voice shook so badly it sounded like he was freezing to death in a blizzard. "General, you need to look at the central procurement dashboard right now." Thickcup frowned, leaning forward until his face was inches from the main monitor. His gnarled fingers flew across the keyboard, punching commands to access the Department of Defense master supply ledger. "Stop panicking, Cloud, a

The heavy doors of the Deputy Minister's private office clicked shut with a final, heavy sound that echoed through the quiet room like a dropped hammer. General Thickcup stood alone in the center of the spacious room. Deputy Minister Curtis had already slipped out through a side exit, leaving the disgraced veteran standing in front of a terminal built into the corner bookcase. Thickcup breathed hard through his nose, his chest rising and falling beneath his gold-trimmed dress uniform. His hands shook slightly, not from fear, but from a blinding, uncontained fury that burned hotter than a blast furnace. "Cowards," Thickcup muttered to the empty room, his voice a low, gravelly growl. "They think a few armed boys in the hallway can lock me out of the machine I built with my own hands." He marched over to the secure terminal. The computer screen was blank, glowing with a soft, neutra

Every single call met the same fate. Some numbers rang out into empty voicemail boxes that were already full and unable to accept new messages. Other friends answered briefly, only to hang up the moment they heard his voice, terrified that associating with a ruined Morgan would bring the wrath of RET Ventures down upon their own heads. Paranoid shadows stretched long and dark across the wet pavement under the blinking overhead streetlamps. Every pedestrian walking past him on the sidewalk pulled their coats tight, hurried their steps, and refused to make eye contact. The city of high finance and luxury galas that had once bowed and scraped before him now treated him like a dangerous carrier of a plague. Sean kept walking blindly through the freezing rain until he reached the bright lights of the Onyx Club, the most exclusive private social sanctuary in the financial district.

The cold rain poured down without mercy, drumming a steady, heavy sound against the dark asphalt of the downtown avenue. Rossman Audrey pulled the thick wool collar of her black trench coat high around her neck, lowering her head as she navigated the deserted sidewalk. The streetlights blinked against the wet pavement. She walked with quick strides toward her secret safe house tucked away in a quiet alley off the main commercial district. Every step she took felt heavy, not just from the damp chill in the air, but from a strange, persistent prickling sensation at the back of her neck. It was the weird feeling of being watched. Audrey paused near the corner of a brick building, pretending to adjust the zipper of her leather boots while her eyes darted quickly to the left and right. Through the sheets of falling rain, fifty feet behind her, a tall, commanding s

The heavy iron vault doors of the underground armory groaned as they swung open, releasing a thick wave of stale air mixed with the sharp scent of gun oil and cold steel. General Thickcup was at the center of the concrete room, his heavy combat boots planted firmly on the floor. He wore his full dress uniform with all his military medals pinned proudly across his chest, though his medals could no longer hide the deep exhaustion lining his wrinkled face. His gray hair stood up in wild tufts, and his eyes burned with the frantic energy of a trapped animal. Around him, twelve of his most trusted private mercenaries moved in absolute silence. They were veterans of foreign conflicts, men he had personally recruited and paid millions of dollars to protect his private estate from any external threat. Right now, those men were staring down at the concrete tables pile