THE SOVEREIGN SYSTEM CHOSE ME

Chapter 1: The Man Who Died Twice

The truck rolled steadily down the highway, its old engine growling beneath the floor of the cabin as Ethan Brown kept both hands on the steering wheel.

It was well past nine at night.

Most of the city was becoming quiet because it was getting late. Shops were closing one after another. Most office buildings were dark, with only a few lights still on. There were also fewer cars on the highway, so Ethan did not have to keep pressing the brakes.

The streetlights shone through the windshield as Ethan drove. Their warm, golden light passed over the inside of the car again and again.

Ethan was too tired to pay much attention to them. His back hurt from sitting in the driver's seat for most of the day. His shoulders were stiff, and his eyes felt sore after looking at the road for so many hours.

He had started working before the sun came up that morning. Since then, he had been driving around the city, delivering equipment to several technology companies and other business partners. Now, he was making his last delivery of the day, but it had already taken much longer than he expected.

His phone buzzed against the dashboard, the sudden vibration cutting through the quiet hum of the engine. Ethan glanced down and saw his sister’s name glowing on the screen.

For a moment, he considered letting it ring, but something about the timing made him uneasy. He reached over and tapped the speaker button, keeping his eyes on the road as he settled the phone back on the dashboard.

“Hey,” he said casually. “What’s up?”

“Ethan.” His sister’s voice came through the speakers, tight and unusually quiet. “Are you busy?”

“I’m driving, but I can talk,” he replied, frowning slightly as he already heard something wrong in her voice. “What happened?”

She didn’t answer immediately.

The silence lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough to make Ethan’s stomach tighten. He knew his sister well. Over the years, he had learned that she rarely went quiet unless she was scared, upset, or trying to find the courage to say something terrible.

His eyes remained fixed on the road as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “How’s Mum doing?” he asked before she could speak.

There was another pause, and this one was longer.

“The doctor called,” she finally said, and Ethan heard the tremble in her voice. “He said Mum needs surgery.”

Ethan’s brow furrowed. “Surgery?”

“Yes.” His sister took a shaky breath. “He wants it done within two weeks.”

Ethan’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned pale. “Two weeks?” he repeated, his voice suddenly quieter.

“He said we can’t wait much longer,” she replied, her voice cracking as she tried to hold herself together. “If we leave it for too long, it could reach a point where the normal treatment won’t be enough anymore.”

Ethan's grip on the steering wheel became so tight that his knuckles began to whiten.

His mother had been suffering from a severe heart condition for almost a year. The doctors had managed it with medication for as long as they could, but her condition had continued to deteriorate. Her heart was becoming too weak, and according to the latest tests, the damaged valve was no longer responding well enough to medication.

She needed a valve replacement surgery, and she needed it soon.

“How much?” Ethan asked at last, his voice barely above a whisper.

“What?” Sarah asked, sounding confused.

“How much did the doctor say the surgery would cost?” Ethan repeated, his eyes still fixed on the road.

Sarah hesitated.

Ethan waited, his fingers slowly tightening around the steering wheel. “Sarah,” he called again, this time with a quiet urgency in his voice.

“About twelve thousand dollars,” she finally said.

Ethan’s breathing stopped for a moment.

He stared straight ahead, convinced he had heard her wrong. “How much?”

“Twelve thousand dollars,” Sarah repeated, and the sadness in her voice made the number feel even heavier.

Ethan’s lips parted slightly as the amount hit him hard.

Twelve thousand dollars.

The figure seemed almost unreal.

He earned roughly eight hundred dollars a month from his delivery job. Even if his company somehow agreed to give him an advance, it would barely cover a small part of the surgery. And that was assuming they would even approve it.

His monthly salary was already stretched to its limit. Rent came first. Then food and transportation. His mother needed medication every month, and the hospital bills had been piling up for almost a year. There were also his sister’s school expenses and other small costs that never seemed to stop appearing.

By the end of most months, there was barely enough money left to buy food.

Now he needed twelve thousand dollars, and he needed it in two weeks.

“Brother?”

He did not respond.

“Brother, are you there?” Sarah asked again, her voice rising with concern.

Ethan blinked and finally realized that he had been driving almost on instinct. “I’m here,” he answered, forcing his voice to sound steady.

“You went quiet,” Sarah said softly.

“I’m just thinking,” he replied, trying to sound calm even though his mind was in chaos.

“About the money?”

“Yeah.” Ethan rubbed his forehead with one hand before returning it to the steering wheel. “I’m thinking about how I’m going to get it.”

Sarah let out a long, tired sigh. “There is no way we can raise twelve thousand dollars in two weeks.”

“I know,” Ethan replied quietly.

“I mean it, Ethan,” she said, her tone sounding like she had given up already. “There is no way.”

“I know, Sarah,” he replied, his voice becoming firmer, though his chest felt painfully tight. “But we have to find a way.”

Sarah went quiet.

Ethan could almost picture her sitting on the old sofa at home, staring at the hospital papers in her lap and trying not to cry.

Then, after several seconds, she spoke again.

“What about your wife?”

Ethan's eyebrows drew together. “What about her?” he asked, his tone immediately becoming guarded.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean,” Sarah said, frustration creeping into her voice. “Emily’s family is rich.”

Ethan said nothing.

Sarah continued, sounding almost desperate now. “Your wife is the daughter of the Fergusons. Do you know how much money that family has? They could pay twelve thousand dollars without thinking twice.”

Ethan's jaw tightened. “So?”

“So ask them for help,” Sarah said, her voice carrying a mixture of frustration and hope. “What else are you supposed to do?”

Ethan kept his eyes on the road. “No.”

Sarah immediately frowned on the other end of the call. “Why not?”

Ethan did not answer.

There were some things Sarah did not understand because he had never told her. His mother did not know either, because as far as his family was concerned, Ethan was a lucky man.

Three years earlier, he had married Emily Ferguson, the daughter of one of the most powerful families in the city. From the outside, it looked like Ethan had somehow won the greatest prize in life.

People had called him lucky. Some had even envied him. And for a while, Ethan had believed they were right.

Emily had loved him once. She had loved him before they were married, back when Ethan had almost nothing. She had held his hand when other people looked down on him. She had encouraged him when he was struggling to build a future for himself. When he had told her that he could not offer her a luxurious life, she had smiled and told him that money was not what mattered to her.

She had believed in him. Or at least, he had believed that she did.

But three years could change a person, and Emily had changed.

The woman who had once waited eagerly for his calls slowly became distant. Her smiles became rare. Her conversations became shorter. The warmth in her eyes disappeared little by little until Ethan could no longer remember the last time she had looked at him the way she used to.

Then it became more obvious when she began making it clear that she regretted marrying him.

Her family was no different.

The Fergusons had never truly accepted Ethan. In the beginning, they had tolerated him because Emily had chosen him. They had smiled in public and pretended everything was fine because they did not want to embarrass their daughter.

But after the wedding, that thin layer of politeness slowly disappeared.

Ethan remembered the first family dinner when her father had openly mocked his job. He remembered sitting there with his hands beneath the table, silently enduring every word because he refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing him lose his temper.

Being their son-in-law sounded impressive when people heard about it. In reality, it meant almost nothing.

The Fergusons had never given him money, and Ethan had never asked them for any. He had always wanted to prove that he could take care of himself. He did not want anyone accusing him of marrying Emily for her family's wealth. He wanted to build his own life and earn his own respect.

But things had not gone the way he had planned.

Now his mother was sick. She needed an operation. And the only people Ethan knew who could easily pay for it were the same people who had spent years making him feel like he did not belong.

“Ethan,” Sarah said gently, pulling him back into the conversation. “I know you don’t like asking them for anything, but this is Mum we’re talking about.”

Ethan's grip tightened around the steering wheel. “I know.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Sarah asked, her voice trembling with emotion. “I know it might be a bit embarrassing to ask your in-laws for money, but you can deal with the embarrassment later. Right now, Mum needs that surgery.”

Ethan stared at the road, his expression hardening.

Sarah was right. She was completely right.

If the money were for him, Ethan would have accepted almost anything. He could work until his body gave out. He could skip meals. He could sleep in his truck if he had to.

But this was his mother.

The woman who had sacrificed everything for him and Sarah.

The woman who had gone without food so her children could eat.

The woman who had worked herself to exhaustion when they were younger just to make sure they had a roof over their heads.

He could not sit back and watch her suffer because his pride prevented him from asking for help.

But asking the Fergusons was not as simple as Sarah made it sound.

Ethan could already imagine standing in front of them. He could imagine the looks on their faces when he asked for money. He could hear their questions.

Why should we pay for your mother's surgery?

Can't you take care of your own family?

Didn't you marry Emily because you wanted access to our money?

“Ethan,” Sarah said softly, “please. Just ask them.”

Hearing Sarah plead for him to ask his in-laws for help broke something in him, but he couldn’t afford to tell her the truth. 

“Sarah,” Ethan finally spoke, his voice sounding calm. “I can’t ask the Fergusons for help, and there is a big reason for that.”

“And what could be the reason?” Sarah asked, her voice filled with curiosity and a little bit of confusion.

“They’re going through some financial trouble,” Ethan replied, keeping his eyes on the road as he carefully controlled his voice.

“Financial trouble?” Sarah asked, her tone shifting from curiosity to surprise. “You mean the Fergusons are having financial problems?”

“Yes, they are,” Ethan replied without hesitation. “There was a major loss in the family business a few weeks ago. Things are apparently worse than they look, so it wouldn’t be right for me to call them asking for money now. Not when they already have enough problems of their own.”

“But...” Sarah began, clearly unconvinced.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ethan interrupted gently, forcing a small smile even though she could not see it. “I’ll figure something out. I’ll sort it somehow.”

The lie came out smoothly.

Too smoothly.

For a moment, Ethan almost wished he could believe it himself.

But the moment the words left his mouth, they left a bitter taste behind.

He would sort it.

How?

He had two weeks to find twelve thousand dollars. There were no more loans he could take, no valuable possessions he could sell, and no friends wealthy enough to solve the problem. The one family that could easily afford the surgery was the same family that could barely stand the sight of him.

“Just promise me you’ll tell me if you need help,” Sarah said after a moment, her voice softer now.

“I promise,” Ethan replied, his voice gentle but distracted. “Take care of Mum. I’ll handle the rest.”

“You always say that,” Sarah murmured, worry hiding beneath the words.

Ethan smiled as he glanced unconsciously at the side mirror. That was when he noticed a black van approaching, and it was approaching too fast.

His brows drew together as he watched it close the distance. The vehicle came up behind him, then suddenly swerved into the opposite lane before cutting sharply across the road.

Ethan's instincts took over, and without thinking twice, he slammed his foot onto the brake. The truck lurched violently, tires screaming against the asphalt as he fought to keep control. His seat belt dug into his chest, and the crates behind him shifted with a heavy metallic crash.

The truck finally stopped.

Ethan gripped the steering wheel with both hands, his heart pounding wildly.

“What the hell?” he muttered as he lifted his head and looked through the windshield.

The black van had stopped several meters ahead of him. Its side doors flew open, and men began pouring out. Not two. Not three. At least a dozen. Every one of them wore black clothing and a dark mask that concealed most of their faces. Several carried rifles, while others held handguns already raised and ready.

Ethan's breathing became shallow.

These men were not moving like ordinary thieves. They moved quickly and with purpose, spreading across the road as though they had rehearsed the entire operation.

One man took position near the front of the van. Another moved toward the driver's side. The rest immediately positioned themselves behind the truck.

Ethan stared at them in disbelief.

This was not a random robbery. They had come for him. Or, more precisely, they had come for what he was carrying.

“Ethan?” Sarah's voice suddenly crackled from the phone.

He had forgotten the call was still connected.

“Ethan, what’s happening?” she asked, her voice becoming alarmed when he failed to answer.

Ethan's eyes remained fixed on the men outside as he reached for the phone with a trembling hand. “I’ll call you back,” he said quickly, his heart already beating fast.

“Brother, wait. What’s going on?”

“I said I’ll call you back.”

He ended the call before she could ask another question and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat.

The truck was loaded with high-end technology worth millions of dollars. That was exactly why the company had chosen an ordinary delivery truck instead of something that would attract attention. No flashy markings. No security convoy. No armed guards.

The entire idea was to make the shipment look unimportant.

But the men outside knew exactly what was inside. That meant someone had told them.

Ethan's eyes darted toward the side mirror.

Another black van was approaching from behind.

His stomach dropped.

“No.”

The second van swung across the road and stopped directly behind him.

The highway was blocked.

Front and back.

Ethan's hands tightened around the steering wheel as he suddenly understood what was happening.

They had trapped him.

He shifted the truck into reverse and pressed down on the accelerator. The engine roared as the truck moved backward, but before he could gain enough speed, the men behind the van raised their weapons.

A burst of gunfire cracked through the air.

Ethan instinctively ducked.

The sound was deafening inside the cab.

He froze for half a second before realizing the bullets had struck the truck's rear panel.

“They're shooting at me,” he whispered, his voice shaking with disbelief.

Another shot rang out.

Ethan immediately released the accelerator and stopped as he realized was nowhere to go.

The men surrounding him began advancing.

One of them raised his rifle and pointed it directly at the windshield.

“Turn the engine off!” he shouted.

Ethan's breathing became faster. He looked at the road ahead, then at the men behind him.

There were too many.

Even if he somehow managed to drive through one group, the others would open fire.

He slowly removed his hands from the steering wheel and raised them where they could see them.

“Okay,” he called out, his voice unsteady. “Okay. I’m getting out.”

“Stop wasting time and get the fuck out of the truck!” another man roared, his gun aimed directly at Ethan's chest.

Ethan swallowed hard as he slowly reached for the door handle. His fingers trembled as he opened the door.

“Keep your hands where I can see them!” the man shouted.

“I am,” Ethan replied quickly, lifting both hands again. “I’m not doing anything.”

Before Ethan could step down, a masked man grabbed the front of his shirt and violently yanked him from the cab.

“Get out!”

Ethan stumbled forward, his shoes slipping against the asphalt, and he fell hard onto his shoulder.

Pain shot through his arm, and he barely had time to recover before another man grabbed the back of his jacket and dragged him away from the truck.

“On the ground!”

“I’m not resisting!” Ethan shouted, raising his hands.

A boot slammed into his back.

Ethan crashed onto his stomach, grunting as the impact knocked the breath out of him. Before he could push himself up, a cold piece of metal pressed firmly against the back of his head.

“On your knees,” the man above him ordered, his voice flat and merciless.

Ethan slowly pushed himself upright. His knees scraped against the rough asphalt as he knelt, both hands raised above his shoulders, his heart hammering so hard that he could hear his own pulse.

“Please,” he said carefully, trying to keep his voice steady. “Take the truck. Take whatever you want. I won’t cause any trouble.”

The man behind him gave a cold laugh. “You don't get to decide what we take.”

Ethan's face tightened. “What do you mean?”

The gun pressed harder against his head. “You'll find out soon enough,” he replied, his voice filled with nothing but threat.

A voice suddenly shouted from beside the truck.

“Start unloading!”

Several men immediately moved toward the container. The rear doors were thrown open, revealing rows of sealed crates stacked tightly inside.

Ethan watched helplessly as the masked men began removing them, each one carried toward the waiting vans with frightening efficiency.

Ethan's eyes followed the crates as they disappeared into the vehicles, his mind racing with several questions.

How had they known the shipment was coming?

How had they known the route?

How had they known this particular truck was carrying the technology?

Someone must have given them information. And whoever had done it had known enough to make sure Ethan would have no chance of escaping.