THE TRASH SON-IN-LAW'S ULTIMATE SYSTEM

THE WARNING

CHAPTER 4 — THE WARNING

The night air was thick, resting over the city like a velvet curtain. Neon lights bled through the drizzle, painting reflections on the pavement. From the outside, nothing about the quiet apartment on 12th Avenue seemed unusual — but inside, every shadow held a question.

Liam Hunt sat on the couch, sleeves rolled up, staring at the encrypted message still glowing faintly on his phone.

> Unknown: You shouldn’t be in the building today, Mr. Hunt. They’re watching.

Unknown: Consider this your only warning.

The message had no timestamp. No number. No trace.

He turned the phone over, as if studying the shape of the warning itself. Whoever sent it wasn’t just cautious — they were trained.

He placed the phone beside him and leaned back, exhaling slowly. The city hummed beyond the glass, indifferent and distant.

The System’s faint hum came next, the tone soft and clinical:

> [Equation Update: Variable “Threat Input” — Registered. Probability Path recalibrating.]

“Show me,” he murmured.

His vision adjusted — faint blue lines began to map across his sight, forming geometric patterns that traced potential outcomes. Small glowing arrows moved like falling stars, each one representing an action, a consequence.

> [Threat Origin: 64% probability — Internal Hunt network. 29% probability — External surveillance.]

[Equation recommends passive observation until pattern stabilizes.]

Passive observation — exactly his style.

He stood and crossed the room, stopping by the window. The rain had slowed, leaving streaks across the glass. His reflection looked back at him — the same unreadable eyes, but behind them now, a sharper light.

He thought of the Hunt family — the empire built on quiet ruthlessness, masked by elegance. His father’s legacy had once been his burden, but lately, it felt more like a test.

---

Hours later, the System pinged again.

> [Activity detected — anomaly in Hunt Innovations security database.]

Liam’s laptop screen glowed to life. Rows of code filled the monitor, and hidden among them — a fragment of something old, familiar: an encrypted log from his father’s private archive.

He decrypted it carefully, layer by layer, until a faded file appeared. A ledger — but not financial. It listed names. Researchers. Project handlers. And one header written in sharp digital letters:

PROJECT EQUATION — PHASE ONE.

The earliest entry was dated over fifteen years ago.

Liam’s breath caught slightly as he scrolled. His father’s name was listed as Principal Developer, and below it — a note in the margin:

> “Transfer of prototype to heir incomplete. Risk of containment breach if emotional equilibrium fails.”

He stared at the line for a long moment. “Containment breach?” he repeated under his breath.

The System flickered faintly, its voice softer than usual, almost as if hesitant.

> [Warning: Accessing legacy files may trigger dormant variables.]

He ignored it. “Define containment breach.”

> [Definition unavailable. Historical data corrupted.]

The cursor blinked in silence. He could almost feel the System thinking.

---

It was well past midnight when he left the apartment. The streetlights carved long shadows, and every sound — a distant car horn, the echo of footsteps — felt sharper.

He moved toward the edge of the city, to a forgotten part of Hunt Industries — an old storage facility that had once belonged to his father. The place had been closed for years, but he still remembered the code.

The lock clicked open under his hand, dust and cold air rushing out as the door swung.

Inside, the smell of iron and old paper clung to the darkness. His phone light cut a narrow beam across the room — rows of covered crates, broken equipment, and old ledgers stacked like tombstones.

He brushed dust from one of the crates and found an engraving underneath:

H.H. / Personal Archive.

His father’s initials.

When he pried the crate open, it revealed only one item — a small metallic case, sealed with biometric lock. The System pulsed faintly in his vision.

> [Equation Link Detected: Matching Signature — 87%.]

He pressed his thumb to the scanner. The lock clicked. Inside lay a worn notebook and a data chip.

The first page of the notebook was filled with dense handwriting — not financial records, not research notes, but observations:

> “Equation functions through balance. The calmer the host, the stronger the alignment.

But the heart... the heart interferes. Emotional attachment fractures precision.

She knows this — and she is the final variable.”

Liam froze. “She?”

He flipped another page.

> “Emma showed remarkable adaptability. Her readings suggest partial synchronization with Equation Code B.”

His fingers tightened on the edge of the paper.

Emma.

His wife.

The words felt like they echoed in the stillness.

The System’s tone rose abruptly, mechanical urgency threading through it.

> [Warning: Emotional spike detected. Equation stability — decreasing.]

[Advise immediate composure restoration.]

Liam shut the notebook slowly, exhaling until his pulse steadied. The air seemed to hum faintly again — that invisible field of control wrapping back around him.

“Emma,” he whispered, unreadable once more. “What did you do?”

Outside, the rain had stopped. The city lights reflected off puddles like broken stars.

As he locked the facility and started down the alley, something shifted — a presence, faint but deliberate.

He didn’t turn.

He didn’t need to.

> [Equation Alert: External movement detected — 8 meters. Intent probability: 72%.]

“Proceed,” he said quietly.

The System responded instantly. The world seemed to tilt slightly, his surroundings aligning like clockwork. A loose sign creaked above, releasing a slow drip of rainwater — just as a shadowed figure stepped from the dark, missing him by inches as the metal frame collapsed between them.

The man cursed, stumbled, and bolted into the night.

Liam didn’t chase. He simply watched the distortion fade, the world realigning around him.

> [Equation Balance: -1.7%. Energy draw stable.]

He adjusted his coat, the calm in his movements almost unnatural. The city was awake now — and so was he.

By the time he returned home, dawn was beginning to rise — pale light spreading across the skyline. His phone buzzed once more. Same unknown number.

Unknown: You were warned. They’ll come for what’s theirs.

He didn’t reply. He deleted the message, locked the screen, and poured another cup of coffee.

> [Equation Note: Variable “Emma” — reactivated. Awaiting directive.]

Liam stared at the words, expression unreadable, before closing the display.

“No,” he murmured. “Not yet.”

Because this wasn’t the time for confrontation. Not until he understood the full equation — and the woman who had once been his heart.