2025-06-13 19:57:37It took far longer than Michael had expected to track Victor down. With the clock ticking toward ten, he had started combing through the known criminal hotspots in the area, hoping to catch even a glimpse of his cousin.
Just as he was beginning to think the search would turn up nothing, he spotted it parked around the corner of a rusted-out warehouse at the edge of an abandoned harbor. That limousine. His pulse quickened. The harbor had been on his mental list from the start, but he'd avoided it for a reason. The area was known territory for one of the city’s most violent gangs. Going in there without a plan or backup was basically asking for trouble. But the moment he saw that car, his caution gave way to adrenaline. Michael slowed down and stuck to the shadows as he approached the massive warehouse. Light spilled from the inside, a clear sign that something was happening. He pressed his back to the corrugated steel wall and slipped through one of the side entrances, staying low and silent. Inside, the air smelled like dust and oil. Crates were stacked high, forming narrow corridors that gave him just enough cover. He moved carefully, slipping between the cargo, eyes scanning for any sign of movement. Then he heard the voices. Sharp, familiar, and close. Creeping forward, Michael reached the main floor of the warehouse and crouched behind a tall stack of crates. There they were. Victor stood at the center of it all, flanked by his massive bodyguard. Surrounding them were several men dressed in red and black, the unmistakable uniform of the gang that ran this part of the city. One of the gang members stepped forward, carrying a sleek black suitcase. Michael narrowed his eyes. The moment he saw Victor’s expression change—first eager, then hungry—he knew he was in the right place at the right time. 'Looks like I made it just in time.' He slipped into a darker corner where he had a clear view and pulled out his recorder. With a flick of his thumb, the red light blinked on and the device started capturing everything. Victor stepped forward, but the gang leader raised a hand to stop him. “Not so fast,” the man said, grinning crookedly. “Let’s see the cash first.” Victor froze, then quickly masked his eagerness with a smirk. He turned to his bodyguard, who stepped forward and unzipped a black duffel bag, pulling out a heavy bundle. Victor grabbed it and tossed it onto the concrete at the gangster’s feet. “There. Happy now?” The gang leader—Don, judging by how the others addressed him—snorted and tossed the suitcase high into the air. Victor scrambled, barely catching it before it crashed to the ground. “What the hell is wrong with you, Don?!” he snapped, clutching the case like it was something precious. Don just laughed, waving him off like a mosquito. “Relax, rich boy. You’ll live.” He crouched beside the duffel bag and opened it. A slow whistle escaped his lips as he saw the neatly stacked bills. “Two hundred thousand dollars in cold hard cash,” he said, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. His grin widened as he glanced back at his crew. “Man, you trust-fund brats have no idea how easy you’ve got it.” Michael leaned out a little more, trying to get a cleaner angle with the camera. His heart was pounding, not just from the tension of being caught, but from the numbers. Two hundred thousand in cash. For what? What could possibly be in that suitcase? Whatever it is... it’s something big. He adjusted the angle again, not noticing the faint blinking red light of the camera still visible from his position. Suddenly, Don’s gaze snapped to the crates. The man did not say a word. He just stared for a second—then his eyes locked directly onto Michael. The grin vanished from his face. The mood in the warehouse shifted instantly. Weapons were drawn in seconds, and Michael realized far too late what had given him away. The blinking light. “Shit—” he breathed, diving backward just as the first bullets shredded through the crates around him. Splinters flew like shrapnel as he hit the ground and rolled behind cover. “Don’t you idiots dare shoot the merchandise!” Don roared. He zipped the bag shut and hurled it to one of his men. “You, take that cash to the safehouse. The rest of you, come with me!” He grabbed a pistol from the man beside him and shoved him out of the way, eyes blazing with fury. “We’ve got a rat to hunt.”
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Chapter One Hundred and Three — What Was Taken
Michael reached the street at full speed and then stopped so abruptly that the asphalt cracked beneath his boots.The mansion was still standing, but only in the most technical sense of the word. Smoke drifted from shattered windows and scorched balconies, rolling upward in thick, uneven plumes that carried the sharp smell of ozone and burned insulation. The front gate had been torn apart, the reinforced alloy warped and melted inward as though it had been forced open by something that did not recognize resistance as a concept. The security perimeter that should have been alive with motion, drones, and targeting lights was completely dead.For a fraction of a second, Michael stood there and took it in, his mind struggling to reconcile the image in front of him with the place he had personally overseen, reinforced, and secured.He crossed the grounds in a blur, boots crunching over shattered stone and scorched grass. The first guard he found was s
Chapter One Hundred and Two — Storm at the Gate
The first sign that something was wrong was the silence.Captain Harrow had been on rotation long enough to recognize the rhythm of the mansion’s security systems. There was always a background hum to it, a layered presence of sensors, drones, perimeter scanners, and automated turrets talking to each other in tight, constant loops. Even when nothing happened, the estate felt alive. That hum vanished in a single instant, as if someone had reached out and switched the world off.Harrow barely had time to frown before the night exploded into white.A blinding flash tore across the front lawn, sharp enough to burn through his vision even through polarized lenses. The air cracked with thunder that felt too close, too intimate, and every display on his wrist, his visor, and the command tablet at his side went dead at once. He staggered, ears ringing, heart hammering, as the power grid feeding the outer defenses collapsed in a cascading failure.
Chapter One Hundred and One — The Future
Earlier that evening:The Gaines estate sat on a high ridge overlooking the Western industrial stretch of Whitewood City, far enough removed from the noise and grime that it could pretend the lower sectors did not exist. The interior reflected the same philosophy: clean lines, polished stone, restrained luxury meant to signal status without excess. Ian Gaines stood near the wide window at the far end of the study, his back to the room, pale arcs of electricity rolling lazily across his fingers as he stared out at the distant lights of the city.Orell Gaines watched his son from behind the desk, hands folded together, his expression a mixture of pride and tension. “You should not look at this as a burden,” Orell said, breaking the silence. “The Ordo Supremus does not extend this kind of trust lightly.”Ian let out a quiet, humorless breath. “That’s exactly the problem.”Orell frowned. “What do you mean?”Ian turned slightly, enough fo
Chapter One Hundred — Fear
Michael did not return to his mansion after the fight at the docks. He went straight to one of the secure L.A. relay points built into the lower levels of the Southern Sector, a place that existed for situations where distance and delay could not be afforded. His clothes were still torn and dusted with frost residue, his body aching in the dull, familiar way that came after pushing himself too hard, but he ignored all of it as the encrypted channel opened and Commander Cane’s face appeared on the screen.Cane took one look at him and frowned. “Michael, what on earth happened to you?”“I ran into someone down at the docks,” Michael replied. “I had no idea who he was, but he seemed to know me and he was very insistent on trying to take my head off.”“Was it someone from the Ordo Supremus?” Cane asked with a dark tone. “They've been strangely silent since Rose's death after all.”Michael shook his head lightly in the negative. “Not this time. The pow
Chapter Ninety Nine — The Herald
Michael did not rush the counterattack the moment he realized he could finally see what Igor was doing. He let the Yin Eye remain active on its own, the rest of his System abilities humming quietly in the background, and used a few seconds to confirm what his instincts were already telling him. The distortions were not random bursts of power thrown without a pattern. They were precise, layered, and timed, each Ruinwave forming along the same structural seams in space. Igor could bend those seams, but he could not invent new ones. That limitation mattered.He exhaled slowly and shifted his stance, grounding himself before activating Burst again, not at full output, but at a controlled level that enhanced his speed and striking power without overwhelming his balance. The moment Igor attacked, Michael moved, not reacting to the wave itself but to the tension that preceded it. His body slipped forward and to the side, skirting the edge of the distortion as it tore thr
Chapter Ninety Eight — Surprise
The air twisted again, pressure building from all sides, and Michael braced himself as the warehouse seemed to fold inward around them. He dug deep into Burst, pushing his body harder than he ever had before, and leaned into the oncoming force rather than away from it. His boots scraped across the floor, ice cracking beneath them, as he forced himself forward one step at a time.Another wave tore through the space between them, the invisible distortion bending the warehouse floor upward and slamming down with crushing force, but Michael slid out of its path at the last second, his shoulder brushing the concrete pillar instead of shattering against it. He landed hard, boots scraping, breath ragged, but he stayed upright. Igor clicked his tongue in mild annoyance and straightened, rolling his shoulders as if preparing to put real effort into the fight.“You really have the tenacity of a cockroach , don't you?” Igor said, his voice carrying clearly through the wa
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