2025-05-20 07:52:32Eliot stood on the sidewalk, the Bregali’s polished body shining behind him like a promise. He stared down the street toward his apartment building—the same building where the walls peeled like old paint, where rats scurried at night, and where the neighbors argued like clockwork every morning.
He couldn’t bring that car there. No. That place didn’t match who he was anymore—or what he was becoming. He slipped his phone from his pocket and whispered, “System, I need a house.” The screen lit up immediately. [“Searching real estate agents in your area…”] Then: [ “Contacting Mr. Emmanuel G. Wilkins. Reputation: Trusted. Experience: 20+ years. Connection: Relevant.”] Before Eliot could ask what "relevant" meant, a new text dropped onto his screen with a location pin and time. The office smelled of polished wood and expensive air freshener. Eliot stepped inside, a little unsure, eyes adjusting to the soft lighting. A receptionist glanced up, smiled widely. “Mr. Eliot Reyes?” she asked. He nodded. “He’s been expecting you. Right this way.” She led him to a glass-walled office with shelves full of shiny property magazines and plaques. The man behind the desk stood up with a warm grin as Eliot stepped in. “Ah, Mr. Reyes. Come in, come in!” Eliot blinked. That face. He knew that face. A little older, grey hair streaking the temples, but the sharp nose and tired eyes were unmistakable. “Marcus’s… father?” Eliot said without thinking. The man paused mid-step, then laughed. “You’ve got a good memory.” He extended his hand. “Emmanuel Wilkins. But I suppose you already know that.” Eliot shook his hand, unsure how to feel. “Have a seat,” Emmanuel said, pulling out a chair. “Would you like some coffee? Not that corner-shop kind.” Eliot hesitated, then nodded. “Sure.” Minutes later, a steaming cup was placed in front of him. One sip—and his eyes widened. It was smooth, warm, sweet, and almost… silky? “This is coffee?” he asked, half-joking. Emmanuel chuckled. “Told you. Real things are different.” For the next hour, they looked through houses—photos, videos, virtual tours. Eliot wasn’t looking for something huge or flashy. He wanted quiet. Comfort. Maybe a view. And when he pointed to one—a two-story house with wide windows and a garden that looked like peace itself—Emmanuel smiled. “Good choice. New area, good security. Perfect for someone like you.” “I’ll take it,” Eliot said. “Just like that?” Emmanuel raised a brow. Eliot pulled out his phone, tapped his screen twice. “Transaction complete,” the system pinged. Moments later, Emmanuel's office printer came to life—papers sliding out neatly. “You’re something else,” the man muttered. He handed Eliot the keys and the documents with a proud smile. But just as Eliot was about to leave, Emmanuel paused. “You know, my son’s getting married in a few weeks.” Eliot blinked. “Marcus?” “Yes.” Emmanuel reached into a drawer and pulled out a white and gold card. “Would mean a lot if you came. You’ve got that… presence. And, well, people want to see successful faces these days.” Eliot accepted the card, unsure what to say. Meanwhile… Marcus stood across the street from Lana’s place, holding the wedding card in his sweaty palm. He had rehearsed the words over and over, but none of them felt right. Lana opened the door, surprised to see him. “Marcus?” He held up the card. “Hey… I came to give you this.” She took it slowly, reading the gold letters. Her face froze. “You’re getting married?” He ran a hand through his hair. “It’s not what you think.” “Then what is it?” she snapped, stepping outside. “What happened to us?” “It’s my dad, Lana. He arranged it. Said it’s time I ‘grew up’ and married someone from his business circle. The girl’s dad and mine go way back—” “So you’re just… doing it?” “It’s complicated.” “No, it’s not.” Her voice cracked. “We were together. I trusted you. I defended you in public. And now you hand me a wedding invite like this?” “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said softly. “But you are.” Her eyes were wet now. “You used me. Now you’re throwing me away like I meant nothing.” “That’s not true.” Marcus stepped closer. “I love you. I still do.” “Then don’t marry her.” He opened his mouth… but no words came out. “I thought Eliot was being bitter,” she whispered. “But he was right. You’re weak. You don’t fight for what matters.” “Lana, please—” She stepped back. “No. Go. Go marry your father’s business deal.” She turned, slammed the door behind her. Marcus stood there, numb, the card still warm from her fingers. Back at Eliot’s new house, he walked through the living room slowly, brushing his fingers over the smooth counter, the soft curtains, the clean tile. He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the golden card Emmanuel had handed him. He knew drama was coming. But he also knew one thing for sure. He wasn’t the same boy who ate cold noodles in a cramped apartment. And whatever this system was… it hadn’t just changed his life. It had changed him.
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Let the Hunt Begin
The factory looked smaller from a distance.But up close, it was a monolith.Its walls loomed high, weathered by time, streaked with rust and soot. The chain-link fence that once surrounded it had long since collapsed in places, and what remained stood like the ribs of a long-dead beast. Nature had tried reclaiming it—vines curled along cracks in the concrete, and weeds sprouted defiantly from the pavement. Yet there was something about the place that felt untouched, like time itself had chosen to avoid it.Aria stopped just before the gate.Her fingers brushed the metal, cold and rough under her skin. She looked through the rusted frame, past the cracked asphalt lot, to the building that had once held her captive. The weight of memories tightened around her chest, but she stood tall.Eliot came up beside her. “Still want to do this?”She didn’t hesitate. “I have to.”Max let out a soft whine and nosed Aria’s hand. She bent down, fingers curling into his fur for strength.Then, withou
Aria's Fight Back
Aria stood in front of the bathroom mirror, fingers trembling as she tried to fasten the button on the borrowed shirt Eliot had given her. The fabric felt too clean, too whole, too much like it belonged to someone else. Her face stared back at her—tired, bruised, and older than she remembered. But her eyes… her eyes were steady.She took a deep breath, but it caught in her throat. Her mind pulled her back, unwillingly, to the past.“You think you're something now?”His voice was sharp, cruel.SLAP.Her cheek had burned for hours after that one.“You wear what I tell you to. You speak when I allow it. Do you hear me?”She had nodded. Not because she agreed, but because saying no had consequences.She remembered the cracked plates, the way her body had flinched every time his boots hit the wooden floor. The insults. The silence. The way he stared at her like she was an object—just another asset he had purchased and owned.A small sound escaped her lips. It wasn’t a sob. It was something
Echoes in The Code
Rain tapped lightly against the windows now, soft and steady like a ticking clock. Eliot sat at the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the wrist device that refused to speak. Max lay at his feet, ears perked, his body still as stone.Aria had fallen asleep again, wrapped in a blanket he’d tucked around her an hour ago. Her breathing had finally evened out, though her hand still twitched now and then, like it remembered pain.The phone rang.He picked it up on the first buzz.“Renna?”“I found something,” she said, and her voice sounded off—uneasy. “Eliot, this isn’t just about a collapsed factory or a rich investor with ties to Sentinel.”His stomach sank. “Go on.”“I kept digging into the shell company—Kelmere Holdings. You were right. They own the textile factory where Aria’s parents worked. But I traced the financials and found odd shipments listed under a fake division. The records are scrubbed clean, but I caught a few logs from two years ago.”“What kind of sh
Doubts on The System
Eliot stood by the window, arms folded as he watched the quiet street outside. Morning light filtered through the blinds, painting pale stripes across his face. Aria was still asleep on the couch, her breaths even, one hand curled under her chin, as if bracing against something even in dreams.Max lay close to her, unmoving but watchful.Eliot tapped the interface on his wrist—faint flicker, no response. Just as before. The silence unnerved him more than any words could have. He turned away, walked into the kitchen, and reached for his phone.“Renna,” he said the moment she picked up.“Took you long enough,” her voice was laced with concern and curiosity. “You disappeared last night. I saw your location flicker out around Westfield.”“I found her,” Eliot said flatly.There was a pause. Then, “The girl?”“Yes. She’s safe. But it’s worse than I thought.” He gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, grounding himself. “I need a deep dive. The textile factory her parents worked at. Every d
The Truth Behind Aria’s Miserable life.
The door clicked shut behind them. Eliot led Aria into the house without a word. Max trailed them, tail low, sensing the storm in the silence.Inside, the living room felt too quiet. The walls were lined with old books and monitors, but for once, Eliot didn’t head to the desk. He walked into the kitchen, poured a glass of water, and handed it to her.Aria sat on the edge of the couch, knees pressed together, hands trembling slightly as she took the glass. She didn’t drink. Just stared at the water, like it held all the answers she’d never found.Eliot stood across from her, arms folded, watching the flicker of pain in her expression. The bruise on her cheek was darker now in the warm light. He wanted to ask a thousand questions, but only one slipped out first.“How… how did this happen?” he asked quietly. “The sister told me you were adopted.”Aria blinked slowly. A tear slipped down her cheek, landing in the glass she still held.“I was,” she said, her voice rough. “Adopted by a kind
The Face Behind The Door
Eliot sat on the edge of his bed, the file still clutched in his hands. His eyes were fixed on the name—Aria Cross—and the address beneath it. It should’ve felt like progress, but instead, it felt like standing at the edge of a cliff.He picked up his phone and dialed."Renna," he said when the call connected.“Boss?” she answered, sounding half-asleep. “It’s 2 a.m.”“I need a favor. A big one.”Renna groaned. “Bigger than helping you ghost-hack that cartel leader’s safe files last year?”“Bigger,” he said. “I need you to find someone. Aria Cross. I have an old address—67 Maple Hollow Lane in Greenridge Township—but the people there said she moved.”Renna’s tone shifted immediately. “Got it. Give me fifteen.”The call ended. Eliot stood, heart pounding. He paced the room while Max curled up in the corner, eyes following him silently.Fourteen minutes later, his phone buzzed.“I got something,” Renna said. “Her name pops up in a community registry, rural area not far from Greenridge. P
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