The Return Of the God Of War

THE FIRST BLOW

Rain fell in cold sheets against Ares’s black hoodie as he and Mira reached the outskirts of the city. Streetlamps glowed through sheets of water, turning puddles into mirrors of orange fire. An old train yard stretched before them, rusted tracks like iron veins disappearing into darkness. This was the place Finch’s contact - someone known only as Cass - would meet the drive and start tearing Hale’s empire open.

They stood under a broken loading dock awning. Water dripped from corrugated metal in a slow, steady rhythm. Ares closed his eyes and breathed deep, tasting the city’s damp breath. His sister’s photo sat in his pocket, weighty and quiet - a reminder of why he couldn’t hesitate.

Mira tapped his arm. “Cass is late.” Her voice was low and urgent, but steady. She scanned the yard, Glock at the ready. “We need eyes.”

Ares scanned too - shadows slivered between freight cars, the hiss of distant trains. “We’ll use the covers,” he murmured. “You take the left crawl‑space under the platform. I’ll go right.”

Mira glanced at him. “You sure?” Deeper than just caution lived in that question. He nodded.

She slid into the crawl‑space. Ares moved along the platform’s edge, body coiled and silent. He reached a rusting beam where he perched like a prowling shadow, waiting.

Wind rattled the train yard fences as a battered van squeaked to a stop at the far end. Mira stepped out first, hands tucked loosely at her sides. She waved to the van, then crouched when a tall man in a soaked trench coat climbed out. He held something small and metal - like a promise.

Ares recognized Cass’s silhouette before the man spoke. “Got it.” His voice was calm, controlled, no fear of rain or gunfire. “This is the start.”

Mira emerged. Ares dropped down to meet them. They gathered under the dock awning. Cass didn’t introduce himself - wouldn’t. Too dangerous. He handed over a small USB drive. “Encrypted, segmented, backed up across five ghost servers. You’ll get what you need.”

Ares took it, his gloved fingers brushing Cass’s. “What about tails?”

Cass’s jaw hardened. “Got a cleanup crew sweeping the city. Once this goes live, they’ll erase it all. Nothing back to you, or to me.”

Mira nodded. “Good.” Her voice tightened. She looked into Cass’s eyes. “You want proof it got out?”

Cass reached into a pocket and pulled out a burner phone. On the screen was a countdown: 27:00. “Twenty‑seven minutes to live.” He tossed the phone to Ares.

Ares caught it without breaking eye contact. “Live broadcast?”

Cass shrugged. “Anonymized stream - no faces, no names, raw data. If Hale moves, we stop it with proof. If he doesn’t, people see a trail of bodies, money - and his name all over it.”

Ares pocketed both drive and phone. Rain soaked through his hood, ran down his neck. He felt the cold seep into his bones, but adrenaline warmed him from inside. “We stay until it finishes.”

Mira turned toward the tracks. “They’ll come looking.” She sounded bored - like this was the easiest fight yet. But her eyes revealed something else: excitement. She pulled him close, voice low. “We hit first. Hard.”

Ares nodded. He looked at Cass, then at Mira. “We need to bait them.” He slipped the phone back in Cass’s hand. “They’ll pull bodies off these tracks. They’ll want to clean this before broadcast.”

Cass cracked a grin. “They always do.”

Mira tapped Ares’s shoulder. “Two ways in. You take the north entrance - old signal tower. I’ll take south - loader hatch. We converge in twenty minutes. Cass stays here with comms.”

Ares turned to Cass. “You got sight on the broadcast? We need live confirmation.” Cass nodded, eyes serious in the rainlight.

“Alright.” Ares slipped back under the platform crawl‑space. Mira darted through the loader hatch. Cass melted back into darkness beside the van, phone in hand.

Ares moved soundlessly through wet ballast, armor quiet in the gloom. Heartbeat thudded steady: thump‑thump‑thump - a heartbeat that had once trembled in fear but now held iron in its bones. He reached the old signal tower stairs, slick with rain. He climbed. Above, he found rusted windows overlooking the yard. He poked his head out.

Rain and darkness made shapes dance across the yard. Armed figures - Hale’s enforcement - patrolled near the fence, flashlights flicking. Ares slid down to floor level, pulling a blow‑torch pistol from under his jacket. One shot to a light box, watch it blow. Give Mira signal.

He lit a match. Sparks glowed. He fired. Metal hissed and light winked out. Flashlights swung his way. Ares dropped into the darkness.

South side, Mira stalked around stacked pallets. She triggered her own shot, popping lights by the loader hatch. Alarms screeched. Guards rushed in from the fence. She melted into shadows, Glock ready, eyes hunting silhouettes.

In Cass’s station, the burner phone screen glowed. 25:47. He keyed comms. “They’ve triggered - guards are moving in.”

Ares’s voice came through static. “On us, north. Watch your south flank.”

Cass replied calmly. “Broadcast still active.”

From the loader side, Mira’s suppressed pistol barked twice. Two guards hit the ground. She moved fast - ignored the bullets that chewed wood overhead. She climbed the loader ramp, slid into platform crawl‑space.

Ares darted across tracks, slipped inside the platform from his side. They met with barely a nod. No time to talk.

Guards poured into the yard - flashlights swinging in the rain. Ares and Mira moved to meet them. He cracked a guard’s wrist with the butt of his pistol. She kicked a second guard’s knee out. They were a hurricane of silent violence, bodies hitting damp gravel.

Cass watched from his spot - alert, counting down 25:12 - broadcast rolling.

Lightning cracked. Mira ducked a swing, elbow to a jaw. Ares grabbed a guard’s shotgun, fired a warning shot that sent men scrambling. They moved like storm spirits, silent and swift.

They reached the yard’s center, gasping but eyes sharp. Guards hesitated. Ares called into comms. “Cass - broadcast done?”

Cass’s voice crackled. “Twenty‑four minutes. It’s out. People are watching.”

Mira’s grin cut through rain. “Then let’s leave them ghosts in the fog.”

They slipped toward the fence’s break. Ares paused - looked at Mira. Rain and gun‑smoke clung to her hair. He said softly: “First blow landed.”

She nodded, voice fierce: “Now we chase the cut.” She led the way, boots disappearing into darkness as guards screamed in confusion.

Cass exhaled hard, voice soft over static: “It’s live. You did it.”

Ares’s breathing slowed to calm fire beneath control. He spoke quietly: “We start again in an hour. We hit harder.”

Cass clicked off. Rain filled the silence. Then, just before dawn, they vanished - ghosts once more - leaving a yard full of noise and proof of war.