2026-08-21 20:33:30The world tilted, a cacophony of ringing glass and scorched air. Wei Xian’s shoulder slammed into Gabriel’s chest, the momentum carrying them both through the doorway and onto the hard tile of the apartment floor.
"Stay down!" Wei Xian hissed, his fingers digging into the fabric of Gabriel’s shirt.
Gabriel didn’t panic. He moved with the fluid grace of a man who lived in the line of fire, pinning Wei Xian’s wrists to the floor in a split second. "The hell was that, Tan? Who’s targeting you?"
Wei Xian looked toward the shattered hallway window. There was no second blast. No sound of boots on the stairs. The "laser sight" was gone—or maybe it had never been there. The Mark VII hummed a low, discordant note in his skull.
[THREAT ANALYSIS: ENVIRONMENTAL ANOMALY. NEURAL FEEDBACK MIMICKING COMBAT STIMULI.]
Wei Xian closed his eyes, his breath coming in ragged hitches. "False alarm. It was… a transformer. The power box outside must have blown."
Gabriel didn’t let go. He stared down at Wei Xian, his face inches away. "A transformer? You tackled a Major over a blown fuse? You’re shaking like a leaf, Wei Xian. Look at me."
"I’m fine, Gabe. Just jumpy. It’s the heat."
"Don't give me that 'heat' rubbish," Gabriel snapped, finally releasing Wei Xian’s wrists and standing up. He wiped a smudge of soot from his sleeve, his eyes scanning the cramped, messy apartment. "I’ve seen men with PTSD react like that, but you? You were the steadiest guy in the unit. Now you’re resigning overnight and doing what? Hanging out in Geylang with loan sharks?"
Wei Xian sat up, rubbing his wrists. "You’ve been tracking my bank account? Isn't that a bit outside your jurisdiction?"
"When a former Commando suddenly receives five million dollars in untraceable transfers while simultaneously sending encrypted files to MINDEF about a virus that doesn't exist, it becomes my jurisdiction," Gabriel said, his voice dropping to a dangerous level. "What are you selling, Wei Xian? Who are you working for?"
"I'm not selling anything," Wei Xian said, standing up and heading to the kitchen to splash water on his face. "I hit it big on a biotech short. Pure luck. And the files? Maybe I just had a weird dream and wanted to share."
"A weird dream?" Gabriel followed him, leaning against the counter. "The genetic sequence you sent matches the structure of a weaponized filovirus. It’s too specific to be a dream. It looks like a blueprint."
Wei Xian grabbed a towel, his back to the Major. "Maybe I’m just a genius, then."
"Or maybe you stole it," Gabriel countered. "Is that why you’re building a war chest? Five million is a lot of money for a 'disgruntled veteran' to be sitting on. You planning to leave the country?"
Wei Xian turned around, forcing a dry, bitter laugh. "Leave? And miss the show? Gabe, look at this place. Does it look like I’m a high-level corporate spy? I’m losing my mind. That’s the truth."
Gabriel stepped closer, his gaze softening just a fraction, though the suspicion remained. "If you're sick, come to the base. We have doctors. We can help."
"The doctors won't find anything," Wei Xian said, his voice low. "Because it hasn't happened yet."
"What hasn't happened?"
Wei Xian stepped into Gabriel’s space, his heart hammering against his ribs. He could smell the familiar scent of Gabriel’s cologne—sandalwood and starch. A memory flickered in his mind, unbidden and sharp: the two of them, years ago, in a muddy trench during an exercise, sharing a single canteen and a look that said more than any words could.
"You remember the training in Brunei?" Wei Xian asked suddenly. "When the lights went out and we thought the camp was being overrun?"
Gabriel blinked, the intensity of the question catching him off guard. "Yeah. You almost broke my nose because you thought I was an insurgent."
"I wasn't scared then," Wei Xian whispered, reaching out to steady himself against Gabriel’s arm. "But I’m terrified now. You need to listen to me. The 'Urban Resilience' thing? It’s not enough. You need to stockpile antivirals. Not for a flu. For something that eats the brain."
Gabriel looked down at Wei Xian’s hand on his arm, then back up at his eyes. For a second, the cold professionalism wavered. He reached up, his thumb brushing against Wei Xian’s jawline, a gesture of intimacy that felt like a ghost from a different life.
"Wei Xian… you’re burning up," Gabriel said softly. "You’re not making sense. If you’ve gotten yourself into something deep with the triads or some foreign intel, tell me. I can protect you."
"I don't need protection," Wei Xian said, pulling away, the sudden coldness of the room hitting him. "I need you to do your job. Prepare the city. Because in thirty days, you’re going to be the one deciding who lives and who dies, and I don't want that blood on your hands."
Gabriel’s expression hardened again, the brief moment of connection severed. "I can’t act on the ramblings of a man who looks like he’s having a breakdown. I came here to give you a chance to clear your name. But you’re just digging a deeper hole."
"Then let me dig," Wei Xian said, walking to the door and holding it open. "I’m tired, Major. Unless you’re here to handcuff me, get out."
Gabriel stared at him for a long beat, his jaw clenched. "This isn't over. I’m putting a flag on your name. You try to move that money, or you try to leave the island, and you’ll find out how 'resilient' I can be."
"Good. Stay alert," Wei Xian said, his voice devoid of emotion. "You'll need it."
Gabriel walked past him, his shoulder brushing Wei Xian’s. He didn't look back as he headed down the hallway.
Wei Xian watched him go, leaning against the doorframe until the sound of Gabriel’s boots faded. He felt a sharp prickle at the back of his neck—the neural link was settling, the phantom explosion fully suppressed.
"I’m sorry, Gabe," he muttered to the empty hall. "But you wouldn't believe me even if I showed you the scars."
He walked back into his kitchen and looked out the window. Down below, Gabriel’s black SUV was pulling away. He watched as Gabriel paused by Wei Xian's old, beat-up sedan for a second before getting into his own vehicle.
Wei Xian frowned. He checked his phone. The balance was still there. The plan was moving.
He didn't notice the tiny, pebble-sized device magnetically attached to the inner rim of his car’s rear wheel—a state-of-the-art GPS tracker, its red light blinking once every ten seconds, slaving itself to a secure terminal in Major Gabriel Koh's dashboard.
Wei Xian's phone vibrated. A new message from an unknown number.
‘The warehouse was just the start. If you want the real equipment, meet me at the docks. Midnight. Bring the rest of the cash.’
Wei Xian looked at the message, then back at the retreating SUV. He had 716 hours left.
The first infection wasn't supposed to happen for weeks, but as he looked at the horizon, he saw a dark plume of smoke rising from the direction of the shipping ports.
The timeline was shifting. He was no longer ahead of the curve. He was being hunted by the past and the future at the same time.
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Chapter 124: The Ledger’s Next Page
The morning sun cut sharp, golden lines across the mahogany desk, turning the dust motes dancing in the air into suspended embers. Mdm. Lim sat motionless, her posture as rigid as the structure supporting them. She dipped her brush into the fresh charcoal ink, the smell of it—earthy, biting, and permanent—filling the cramped office. With a steady hand, she wrote the date at the top margin of the ledger. The ink soaked into the recycled paper, a black stroke marking the beginning of a cycle, a promise of order in a world that favored chaos.Scratch. Scratch. Thump.Gabriel stepped into the doorway, his silhouette blocking the glare from the veranda. He held a grease-stained tally sheet in his hand, his knuckles white from the strain of gripping it."The weights are in," Gabriel said, his voice raspy from the salt air. "The mackerel crates from Vance’s latest run were consistent. Fifty-two ki
Chapter 123: The Horizon Check II
"The silence is the most dangerous part of the dry season," Mdm. Lim murmured, her gaze fixed on the darkening stretch of the Jurong channel. She didn't wait for a response, her fingers tracing the worn wood of the railing, testing the grain for signs of rot—a lifelong habit of a woman who measured the world in structural integrity.Gabriel looked at her, noting the way the fading light deepened the lines around her eyes. She looked tired, not just from the day's labor, but from the cumulative weight of keeping this fragile cluster of stilts above the rising, hungry tide. "It’s not just the silence, Mdm. Lim. It’s what’s hiding in it.""Exactly," she replied, a sharp edge to her voice. "We’ve had the northerners, we’ve had the gear failure, and we’ve had the cistern crisis. We’re overdue for something truly catastrophic. The sea rarely lets us enjoy a week of smooth winch operatio
Chapter 122: The Evening Heat
The sun dipped below the flat horizon, painting the oily surface of the Jurong channel in dull shades of copper and violet. The heat, which had been a hammer blow against the back of the neck for the better part of fourteen hours, began to lose its sharp, predatory edge, settling into a thick, humid stillness. It was the hour of the cooling breeze, though "cool" was a relative term in the stilt-settlement; it merely meant the air was no longer actively blistering the skin.Gabriel leaned against the cedar railing—the one Wei Xian had reinforced with cross-bracing and salvaged drift-bolts just three days ago. He felt it hold steady under his weight, a solid, unyielding contrast to the constant, shifting instability of the life they led. Below him, the tide was licking at the barnacle-crusted piles, the sound rhythmic and hypnotic."You’re thinking too loud, Gabriel," a voice drifted from the shadows of the walkway.
Chapter 121: The Repair of the Crane
The iron-on-iron shriek that had haunted the Jurong dockside for three weeks finally died, replaced by a low, rhythmic hum. Kai gripped the hand-winch, feeling the cold, smooth tension of the gear train as it transferred his physical effort into the heavy lift. The improvement was intoxicating. Where once the crane had stuttered and groaned, threatening to fracture its own mounting bolts, it now swung with a precision that bordered on grace."Ease it," Wei Xian called out from the veranda, his voice cutting through the humid air. He was hunched over a steaming mug of tea, his eyes narrowed as he assessed the movement of the loading arm. "If you snap that cable, you’re the one who has to splice it in the salt-spray. Keep the torque steady."Kai didn’t look back. He leaned into the winch, his biceps burning as he guided the heavy, salt-encrusted crate of dried mackerel upward. It hung for a moment, suspended over the
Chapter 120: The Ledger of Grace
The scratch of Mdm. Lim’s charcoal brush against the rough, recycled paper was the only sound in the office. It was a rhythmic, scratching pulse, like the steady beat of a heart, punctuating the stillness of the afternoon. Outside the thin, salt-worn walls of the command hut, the stilt-settlement hummed with the mundane, desperate industry of survival. The wind had begun to howl, a dry, abrasive gust that rattled the loose corrugated tin sheets overhead, carrying the scent of parched earth and distant, decaying mangroves.Mdm. Lim did not look up when the door creaked open. She didn't need to. The pattern of the footsteps—heavy, deliberate, yet hesitant—told her exactly who it was."The cistern is finished," Gabriel said, his voice gravelly from a day of breathing in the damp, claustrophobic air of the underground tank. He leaned against the doorframe, his clothes stiff with dried mud and the white, chalky residue of hy
Chapter 119: The Deep Cistern Repair
Gabriel leaned his weight against the iron-shod handle of the sounding line, watching the grease-marked cord slip slowly down into the dark throat of the primary concrete cistern. The damp air rising from the subterranean chamber smelled of wet limestone, stagnant runoff, and the faint, mineral bitterness of ancient dregs. Beside him, Kai wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of a soot-dusted forearm, his eyes fixed on the descending cord."How deep is the drop this week, Gabriel?" Kai asked, his voice echoing slightly against the low, curved concrete ceiling of the access hatch. "Is the silt line climbing faster than Mdm. Lim calculated in the evening audit?""Two inches lower than Tuesday," Gabriel replied, his tone flat as he pinched the wet cord between his calloused fingers to mark the exact water level. "If we don't clear the intake pipe before the wind shifts fully to the south, the whole distribution manifold is g
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