2026-08-04 11:38:27
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CHAPTER 143: The Final Stage
The roar of dozens of armored SWAT vehicles sliced through the silence of the Eastern Sector Port. Red and blue strobe lights swept across the rusted container walls, casting long, dancing shadows amid the pattering rain.Special Agent Arthur Cross stepped out of his command SUV, wearing an Interpol ballistic vest. Behind him, three tactical squads consisting of thirty fully armed personnel fanned out, surrounding a giant old harbor warehouse that served as the focal point of Kael Thorne's radio signal tracking."Seal all exits. No one enters or leaves without my permission," Cross commanded firmly. He cocked his assault rifle and gave a hand signal. "Breach."BAM! CRACK!The warehouse's double iron doors were kicked inward using a hydraulic battering ram.The SWAT team surged inside, dispersing in a disciplined fan formation. Flashlight-mounted rifle barrels swept every dark, dust-and-medicine-scented corner of the room."Area secure. Clear!" the first SWAT squad leader reported.Cro
chapter 142: Meeting in the Midst of the Fog
Thick fog rolled slowly over the Old Steel Bridge crossing the Saint-Bastian River, swallowing the blinking, yellowish street lamps. The night air felt bitterly cold and damp, creating a chilling atmosphere in an area long abandoned by the townspeople. In the middle of that bridge, Special Agent Arthur Cross stood silently. The neat, suit-clad man held no weapon in his hands. His analytical eyes surveyed every movement of the shadows through the fog. Two hours ago, he had received a high-level encrypted message on his Interpol headquarters laptop. A calibration message that could only be sent by a top-tier hacker, asking him to come alone to this bridge if he wanted to obtain "answers" about the Ghost. The sound of heavy, dragging footsteps slowly broke the silence of the fog. Tap... sreek... tap. From behind the white curtain of the fog emerged the figure of a man in a dull leather jacket. His step was slightly limp, his right hand hidden inside his pocket, while his stern fac
CHAPTER 141: The Hourglass of the God
The silence inside the underground library felt heavier than the concrete slab above them.The giant monitor in front of Elias displayed the results of the emergency medical scan Sloane had just performed. On that screen, the brain scan image showed a glowing red area around the base of his skull, right where the Lazarus chip was embedded. That red area represented the biological brain cells undergoing the early stages of necrosis due to circuit heat.The medical prediction counter in the corner of the screen clinically calculated the remaining lifespan of Elias's brain: ESTIMATED TOTAL DAMAGE: 11 MONTHS, 14 DAYS.Less than a year.Sloane stood in front of the desk, her face tightening. The former paramedic slammed a stack of medical books next to her, sending them crashing to the floor. "I will find a way out. There has to be a way to install micro-cooling on that chip. Or we hack an international hospital server to look for nanotech that can coat your brain!"Kael Thorne sat on the
CHAPTER 140: Warning Without a Voice
A light drizzle dampened the fourteenth-floor window glass of an upscale apartment in the Central Sector.This apartment was an official Interpol safe house. Outside the heavy oak door in the hallway, two heavily armed special agents stood guard in silence. Not even a fly could enter without permission.Inside the sterile, sparsely furnished living room, Special Agent Arthur Cross sat before a glass desk. He had just brewed a cup of black coffee without sugar. Scattered around his laptop were blueprints of the Vancroft Tower, autopsy reports of the Praetorian corpses, and a thick file containing Kael Thorne's life history.Cross removed his glasses, massaging the bridge of his exhausted nose. The man had not slept for two days. His analytical brain continued to spin, trying to decode the anomaly behind his fugitive's attack pattern."Neurological weapons..." Cross muttered to himself, sipping his coffee slowly. He re-read the forensic report. "But why is the casualty radius always lim
CHAPTER 139: Echoes of Justice from the Past
Acid rain poured over Saint-Bastian once more, leaving corrosive streaks across the glass windows of the newly rebuilt Central Police Headquarters. The scent of fresh paint and wet cement hung heavy in the air, trying to mask the lingering stench of Captain Briggs's corruption.Inside the sterile, brightly lit main interrogation room, a man stood motionless before a transparent glass board.He wore a sharply pressed dark gray suit without a single wrinkle. His posture was upright, his face clear of mafia scars, and his eyes radiated pure analytical sharpness. He was not a local cop. The silver badge bearing a globe emblem on his collar proved his authority.Special Agent Arthur Cross. Interpol Transnational Crime Division.Cross was an anomaly in this city. He drank no cheap whiskey, accepted no brown envelopes, and harbored no moral blind spots. He had been sent directly from headquarters in Lyon to dissect a city that had just lost three global syndicates in a single night.Cross at
CHAPTER 138: An Espresso at the Edge of the World
Six Months After the Fall of the Triumvirat.An unfamiliar peace filled the air in the room. The scent of old paper mixed with the rich aroma of freshly brewed espresso filled a massive underground library.This place was originally a colonial-era vault in Sector One that the townspeople had long forgotten. Now, it had been completely remodeled into an elegant, permanent safe house. The walls were lined with four-meter-high teak bookshelves filled with thousands of ancient books and medical literature. Warm yellow lamps hung neatly from the carved ceiling, and the room's temperature was maintained by a silent, state-of-the-art ventilation system.There was no longer the smell of blood, panicked sweat, or corrosive acid.In the corner, Kael Thorne sat comfortably on a brown leather sofa. The former detective wore a neat cotton shirt with his sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He was busy cleaning his personal revolver with a soft cotton cloth. His right hand still twitched occasionally,
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