2026-01-27 18:20:55POV: Ethan Cole
The stolen sedan fishtailed through empty streets, and I white-knuckled the steering wheel like it was Daniel’s throat I was strangling.
Three in the morning meant the city was mostly dead, just scattered homeless people and the occasional taxi. Good, less witnesses. The sirens I'd heard when I crashed through the barrier had faded somewhere behind me, but that didn't mean I was safe.
The system's navigation glowed in my peripheral vision, guiding me through back alleys and industrial zones I'd never known existed. Every pothole and speed bump I ran into sent fresh agony through my ribs, and the pain suppressant skill was working overtime just to keep me conscious. I checked the rearview mirror for the hundredth time. Nothing.
But Daniel was smart, and rich, and paranoid. He'd have people everywhere, watching me. Right?
[PROBABILITY ASSESSMENT: DANIEL CROSS'S RESOURCES CURRENTLY FOCUSED ON HOSPITAL. LIKELIHOOD OF ROAD SURVEILLANCE: 12%]
Twelve percent. I'd take those odds.
The safe house was in a neighborhood gentrification had completely forgotten about. Abandoned factories lined the streets, windows smashed, graffiti covering almost every available surface. Homeless encampments clustered around burning barrels, and I could smell garbage everywhere. Good.
I parked two blocks away and killed the engine. Getting out of the car was its own special kind of hell. My legs didn't want to hold me, my ribs were screaming, and my broken arm was aching despite being wrapped in a makeshift sling I'd fashioned from the stolen scrubs. I leaned against the car for a second, waiting for the dizziness to pass.
Two blocks. I could do two blocks.
It took fifteen minutes.
Fifteen agonizing, shuffling, pathetic minutes where I had to stop three times to catch my breath and convince myself not to just lay down on the sidewalk and die. But I made it, and the safe house door looked exactly like the system said it would, unmarked steel set into brick, totally nondescript.
I touched the handle, and something glowed green in my vision like some kind of biometric scanner, and the lock clicked open. I stumbled inside and the door swung shut behind me, sealing me in darkness. It smelled like dust and concrete. Before I could move, the lights flickered on automatically.
The space was bigger than I'd expected, and way better equipped. A bed sat against one wall, basic kitchenette with a mini-fridge that was actually running. Computer workstation with three monitors that were definitely not standard issue. And a weapons locker that made my eyebrows shoot up.
What the hell kind of safe house was this?
[MISSION ONE: SURVIVE - COMPLETE] [CALCULATING REWARDS...]
The notification filled my vision, and I collapsed into the desk chair before my legs gave out completely.
[REWARD 1: $50,000 DEPOSITED - CRYPTOCURRENCY ACCOUNT ACCESSIBLE VIA WORKSTATION] [REWARD 2: SKILL UPGRADE - INTERMEDIATE PAIN SUPPRESSION ACTIVATED] [REWARD 3: EVIDENCE FILE DOWNLOADED - DANIEL CROSS EMBEZZLEMENT RECORDS]
The pain suppressant kicked in harder, and suddenly I could breathe without feeling like someone was stabbing me in the chest. I pulled up the computer, and the files were already there waiting for me.
Eight months of financial records, transaction logs, bank statements, shell companies and offshore accounts. Daniel had been stealing from Cole Industries, from me, for eight goddamn months.
Over three million dollars. And I didn’t know.
My hands shook as I scrolled through the evidence, and I couldn't tell if it was exhaustion or rage making them tremble. Probably both.
Every transaction had a digital fingerprint. And the dates... fuck, the dates lined up perfectly with business trips Daniel had volunteered to arrange for me. Conferences I didn't need to attend. Meetings with investors who turned out to be wastes of time. He'd been sending me away so he could steal from the company we'd built together.
The betrayal was methodical. This wasn't some spontaneous opportunity when I got hurt. He had been planning this for at least a year, maybe even longer. And I had been foolishly trusting him. Fucking idiot.
I pulled up the timeline, cross-referencing dates with my memories, and my stomach turned. A year ago, Daniel had suggested I take Emma on that vacation to the Maldives. Two weeks away from the office, completely off the grid. He'd handled everything while I was gone, and I'd come back relaxed and grateful and completely fucking oblivious.
He'd stolen half a million during those two weeks.
Six months ago, the "critical investor meeting" in Singapore that only I could attend. Another week away. Another $800,000 gone.
The pattern was there, obvious now that I was looking for it. Daniel had been using me, using my trust, using everything we'd built together to line his own pockets. And I'd never suspected a thing.
The car accident wasn't spontaneous. It was the endgame. The final move in a long con to take everything I'd ever cared about.
I leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling, and tried to process the scope of the betrayal. My best friend, my brother. The guy I'd have trusted with my life. He'd tried to kill me for money.
Dawn was breaking through the grimy warehouse windows, painting everything in shades of gray that matched my mood perfectly. I pulled up the file dated the night of my accident, expecting it to be the last entry. And it was.
The embezzlement records stopped that night, which made sense. Daniel thought I was dead or too broken to ever be a threat. Mission accomplished. Game over.
But there was something else buried in the metadata. A communication log.
I clicked it open, and my blood went cold.
Messages between Daniel and someone at City General Hospital. The hospital where my mother was in a coma. They were discussing some medication adjustments and life support calibration. Maintaining her in a vegetative state that was "medically puzzling" to her doctors.
My hands started shaking again, but this time it was pure rage. Mom's accident had happened two weeks before mine. A car accident, they'd said. Just like mine. Just like the coincidence I'd never questioned because I'd been too busy being a good son, visiting her every day, praying she'd wake up.
[PROBABILITY ANALYSIS: BOTH ACCIDENTS ORCHESTRATED BY DANIEL CROSS - 97%]
Ninety-seven percent. Mom wasn't in a coma because of bad luck or fate or random chance. Daniel had put her there.
He'd hurt my mother. The kindest, gentlest person I'd ever known, as insurance. He used her as leverage to make sure I'd cooperate when he made his move. And when I'd signed those divorce papers in the hospital, he'd probably laughed about how well his plan had worked.
Heat flooded my chest immediately. My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached. The safe house suddenly felt too small, like the walls were closing in and I couldn't get enough air.
[MISSION TWO AVAILABLE] [ACCEPT? Y/N]
I didn't need to read the details. I selected yes with shaking hands and made a promise to myself, to my unconscious mother three floors up in that hospital, to the ghost of who I used to be before Daniel destroyed everything.
I wouldn't just destroy Daniel Cross financially and professionally. I'd make him suffer in ways he couldn't even imagine yet.
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