Bryce was a man of his word. The moment he left Onyx Medical, a silent command formed in his mind. His B-Wax translated the thought into a compressed data packet and shot it across the secure network to Raymond Law: "Prepare for an operation. No one else. Meet me at Park's abode." An identical packet was dispatched to Park himself.
He drove straight to Park's residence. Raymond was already there, a testament to his efficiency.
Bryce entered with a nod, bypassing greetings and concerned inquiries about his well-being with a wave of his hand.
"What's the operation?" Park asked, not looking up as he applied a cooling gel to the bulged, articulated machine sheathing his arm from elbow to fingertips. The man was the tall, composed Prime Minister of the Five Eyes, and his gear reflected his role—a full-body bulletproof suit, integrated thrusters on his back, and gliding boots. Raymond, ever the weapons master, was a walking armory, his tactical vest bristling with concealed hardware.
"The three of us are going to arrest The General," Bryce stated, his voice flat and final.
Simultaneously, a soft, internal ping resonated in their skulls. Bryce had pushed a data bundle to their B-Waxes: a photo of the General's signature carved into the quantum laptop, an audio file of Elara confirming his control of the dark web, and the video clip of Marshal Daemion's corpse from Meera's livestream.
"The charges are suspected mass murder, armed robbery, and illegal trading. That's the evidence. General Aries gave me his location. Let's move."
Few Minutes later their rover screeched to a halt outside a fortified barracks in the Yellow Zone. Thirty militants stood guard, weapons ready.
"Stand downI" Bryce's voice boomed as he stepped out. "This is an order from the Overseer of the Caliphates!"
The response was a storm of gunfire.
Bryce's hands came up, the flesh shimmering and transforming into polished steel. He didn't flinch. The nanites generated a precise, high-intensity magnetic vortex. The air crackled with blue energy. The hail of bullets curved violently into the vortex, orbiting around his palms.
With a twist of his wrist, the cloud of bullets reversed course, mirroring his motion. Militants dove for cover as their own ammunition drove through their ranks. Bryce drew two Kinetic Side Arms from his jacket and finished the survivors with cold precision.
"Any further resistance is a capital offense," he growled.
As if on cue, Park and Raymond drove through the gate, their vehicle immediately engulfed in a maelstrom of fire from hidden positions throughout the barracks. It was a guerrilla fight; the attackers were invisible, using the terrain to their advantage. Bullets shredded the rover's tires, grounding it.
Bryce strode into the empty killing field. Explosions bloomed around him, the concussive force washing harmlessly over his metallic form. But the thick, acrid smoke blinded his enhanced sight.
"Bryce, go! We'll handle this!" Raymond shouted over the comms.
Bryce obeyed, becoming a blur that shot toward the rear of the complex. One building dominated the others—three times its neighbors' size. And there, flanked by nine Marshals, stood The General.
"I've been expecting you."
"You are under arrest for suspected mass murder, armed robbery, and illegal trading," Bryce declared, his form already shifting, the steel sheen spreading across his body.
"I am guilty of running the dark web. I am not a mass murderer. You, however, have killed nearly a hundred people in the last day. Until you answer for your crimes, I will not answer for my commerce." The General's eyes flickered towards the barracks walls, where countless CCTV cameras blinked with a steady, recording red light. Bryce, focused on his target, paid them no mind.
"It is either you come with me, or you die here."
"Then I won't be blamed if I kill you while defending myself." The General's body began to change. His nine Marshals followed suit, their transformations grotesque and crude compared to Bryce's seamless metamorphosis. Glowing blue circuits, rough and external, fused onto their skin like scar tissue. Their eyes became pits of absolute black.
"So," Bryce mused, the circuits on his neck and face bulging with rising anger. "My product is still being peddled on your black market." This was a perversion, a smuggled, inferior blueprint. The insult fueled his fury.
"I invented this. I know every flaw. That knowledge will be your doom." He launched himself over their heads, crashing through the roof of the large building and down to the floor below.
"Fine! Let's play the same game!"The General roared, his voice echoing in the cavernous space.
Bryce waited in the shadows. Let them come. In here, no solar energy can reach them. Their clumsy systems will drain their glucose reserves, weakening them by the second.
The nine Marshals poured in, fanning out to encircle him. The General stepped into the center of the ring.
"They say you are the strongest being on Mars," the General said, his voice echoing in the dim light. "Stronger than lifetime warriors. But people exaggerate what they worship. I do not underestimate my enemies, Bryce. I make preparations. And they are one of them." He gestured to his men.
"Why?" Bryce asked, settling into a combat stance. "Your duty is to protect. Why slaughter them?"
The General glanced around the empty warehouse.
"No cameras," one of the Marshals confirmed.
"What cameras?" Bryce asked, his senses stretching to find the trap.
"You forget, Bryce. Humans are survivors. We do what we must to endure. And we the Militants don't serve everyone… only those who can afford our service." The General's hands flashed forward, launching spheres of crackling energy that wove into a net of lightning around Bryce.
The bolts passed through his steel form like radiation, harmless to the metal but devastating to the nanites within. Notifications flickered at the edge of Bryce's vision, a cold, numerical reckoning: -0.0245 HDC. -0.03 HDC.
With a surge of will, Bryce concentrated his nanites into his legs. He became a blur, a streak of motion that reappeared instantly behind The General. The sound of the impact was a sickening crunch of a fist meeting the base of the skull.
The General's body seized, his form flickering uncontrollably between human and Homo Deus as the nanite cluster in his neural board short-circuited. "Fol…low… the… timing…" he stammered, before his form stabilized and he collapsed, fully human, onto the concrete.
"Just one strike," Bryce chuckled, the sound cold and empty.
The nine Marshals, their pitch-black eyes fixed on him, charged as one.