2026-07-06 14:56:18Chapter 3: The Wrong Door Knocked
Mr. Henderson stared at the burnt modem in Linus Floyd’s hand for a few seconds, then shifted his gaze into Room 302, which was dimly lit. Linus had deliberately shut down most of his main monitors and left only one old laptop running, displaying a blank blue screen, as if the device had just died from an electrical short.
“So, you expect me to believe that tonight’s internet data spike was caused by your modem exploding, Young Man?” Mr. Henderson asked, his voice slow but pressing.
“I don’t care whether you believe me or not, Sir,” Linus shot back, stepping forward until he was almost in the doorway. “All I know is I was in the middle of an international online tournament when the power in this room cut out and this five-hundred-dollar modem started smoking. If the wiring in this old building fried my other computers, I’m suing your law firm for damages.”
Linus’s anger looked completely genuine, and it made Mr. Henderson take half a step back. The lawyer knew Linus Floyd was registered in the building as an eccentric freelance programmer, and this kind of attitude was exactly what people like him were known for.
“Save the complaints for tomorrow morning, Linus. Our technician is downstairs fixing the main circuit,” Mr. Henderson said, waving a hand as if he’d lost interest in inspecting Room 302 further.
The old man then turned and looked down the hall toward the door of Room 303. That room belonged to Harlan Montgomery, a former government official with serious influence and zero tolerance for anyone disturbing his private space — including the law firm hiding him.
“If the kid’s modem is fried, then your explanation for Room 303 makes more sense, Colter,” Mr. Henderson said as he walked slowly toward Room 303’s door. “Let’s see if Mr. Montgomery is really downloading important files, or if you’re just making up stories to cover for him.”
Colter followed behind Mr. Henderson, trying to steady his breathing. On one hand, he was relieved that Room 302 had passed inspection. On the other, dragging Harlan Montgomery into this lie was extremely dangerous. Harlan wasn’t someone you could work with as easily as Linus or Ines.
Mr. Henderson stopped in front of the thick mahogany door marked 303. Unlike the other doors, this one had an extra digital lock installed by Harlan himself. The lawyer lifted his silver cane and knocked three times — hard and authoritative.
Silence filled the corridor for almost a full minute. No footsteps. No sign of life from inside Room 303. Mr. Henderson frowned and was about to knock again, harder, when a small click came from the electronic lock.
The door opened slowly, revealing Harlan Montgomery standing in a neatly pressed, dark-blue velvet robe. The middle-aged man had gray hair combed straight back and sharp little eyes watching from behind gold-rimmed monocle glasses.
“Henderson,” Harlan’s voice was deep, gravelly, and carried the authority of someone who once ran a state institution. “I don’t recall having a meeting with you tonight. And as I recall, the sanctuary agreement I signed with your firm states that I have full privacy rights in this room without interruption.”
Mr. Henderson immediately lowered his cane and bowed his head slightly — a respect he hadn’t shown to either Colter or Linus. “My apologies for disturbing your rest, Mr. Montgomery. We’re only tracking a major internet data anomaly on this floor, and our amateur manager here said you were conducting important downloads from overseas.”
Harlan’s gaze moved from Mr. Henderson to Colter, who was standing a few steps back. Those old eyes assessed Colter with a coldness that made him feel like his entire mind was being read. Colter knew this was the deciding moment. If Harlan denied it, Henderson would know Colter had been lying all night.
“Colter is correct,” Harlan finally said, turning back to Mr. Henderson. “I asked the boy to boost the network speed to my room this afternoon. I’m transferring some personal financial files from a Swiss account before the government freezes them completely tomorrow morning. Is my private business interfering with your office, Henderson?”
“Not at all, Mr. Montgomery. We just want to make sure no outside party is trying to breach your network,” Mr. Henderson replied quickly, sounding a little nervous about offending such an important client.
“If there’s nothing else, leave my floor,” Harlan said, preparing to close the door again. “And Henderson, tell your technician downstairs not to make noise that could disturb my sleep, or I’ll consider moving all of my assets to your competitor’s firm next week.”
The door to Room 303 closed with a firm click, leaving Mr. Henderson standing in the hallway with an uncomfortable expression.
Colter let out a long breath he’d been holding. He didn’t know why Harlan Montgomery chose to cover for him with a lie, but he was certain there was no such thing as a free lunch from a cunning ex-politician like Harlan. The old man would demand a very expensive repayment later.
Mr. Henderson straightened the collar of his gray suit, then turned back to Colter with a cold look. “You’re lucky tonight, Colter. Your lie about the power surge almost made me waste my time. But don’t think this inspection is over.”
A phone in Mr. Henderson’s jacket pocket buzzed. The old man pulled it out, read the incoming text for a few seconds, and his expression turned dead serious. He looked straight at Colter, suspicion flaring in his eyes again.
“My technicians downstairs just finished scanning the circuits in the main server room,” Mr. Henderson said as he slipped the phone back into his pocket. “They found no cables damaged by a lightning strike, like you claimed. But they did find something else in the garbage disposal room.”
Colter’s heart felt like it stopped at the lawyer’s last sentence.
“There’s a pool of fresh red liquid leaking from under the incinerator door,” Mr. Henderson continued, stepping closer until there were only inches between them. “And my technicians heard it themselves — that crusher is running right now, grinding up something very large inside.”
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CHAPTER 53: The Hunt in the Smoke Fog
CHAPTER 53: The Hunt in the Smoke FogThe central district’s four-way intersection had turned into a circle of hell on earth. Thick black smoke from the burning remains of The Iron Vanguard’s armored vehicles rolled with the night wind, blanketing asphalt wet with blood and diesel. Bursts of automatic gunfire chased each other nonstop, punctuated by the hysterical screams of Purge militiamen who kept pushing forward through the rain of heavy-caliber bullets from the remnants of mechanized tactical vehicles.In the middle of the chaos that blinded the eyes and deafened the ears, Colter Burke moved like a shadowy silhouette slipping behind the walls of destroyed shop houses. His black cloak lined with kevlar armor blended perfectly with the dense carbon aerosol fog. Every step was measured, avoiding the reach of tank spotlights and random molotovs exploding around him.Dut-dut-dut! Three Iron Vanguard operators separated from the main line were lying prone behind a concrete road barri
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