April 23, 2021. 12:33. Vancouver. 7 days left till Italy.
Shock and Azure are insane.
While the rest of us slept, those two stayed up all night—wired on coffee, neon gummies, and sheer spite.
If it weren't for my silenced notifications, I would've been bombarded at 6 a.m. by Shock's sleep-deprived rambling in the group chat.
With a brutal combination of packet tracing, route injection, and bouncing queries off spoofed district-level relay points, Shock had to apparently tunnel deep into old CCTV archives, because using just regular security feeds wasn't enough to find her target. It even took Azure multiple attempts at hotwiring a secondary rig to manually stabilize memory allocation mid-scan.
The craziest part? They actually succeeded.
Having a hacker from the mafia has its perks.
Around 10 a.m. was when Shock sent multiple messages into our chat, practically screaming in all caps that she finally broke through and dropping the address in our group chat.
We had a hit.
He apparently operated out of a house in Burnaby.
From there, Mister pulled the rest. Within the hour, we had the property records, a name, and his day-to-day schedule: Elias Komosad, an engineer with Militech's Vancouver branch. Between Shock's black-hat work and Mister's backchannel ties, we'd dug up everything worth knowing—at least about the owner of the place he kept returning to.
Might be his, might not be. Either way, it was a solid lead.
What followed was a long discussion in the thread—some of it productive, most of it slightly unhinged. Do we ignore this? Do we delay? With Italy in less than seven days now and Benny's VIP party breathing down our necks, we're already tight on time.
But the consensus? Trench coat man was too important to ignore.
Now we're planning a pseudo-crackdown.
Well… we're trying to.
Because the group chat is basically on fire with excitement, memes, and general mayhem.
Mister is the first to try and restore order. "Shock and Azure, you two need to rest. You've been up all night."
"Yeah, seriously!" Tetra chimes in. "You guys did good. But get some sleep before you start hallucinating and coding the meaning of life."
Azure replies, "Tbh I might actually take a nap."
"WAIT BUTTTTT I WANNA SEE THE HOUSEEEE!!!" Shock practically howls in the chat. "Like cmonnnn I'll be SAFE I've got the whole gang w meee!!! Also I literally have to know what the inside looks like. I NEED to know if he's creepy or just tragic."
I tap out a reply, amusement curling at the edges of my mouth. "You're insane. Like… actually actually insane."
Remi adds on to my message. "TBF she does want Blake to send her to pound town sooo… maybe this checks out."
Shock fires back. "SHUT UPPPPPP omg remi pls WHY WOULD U SAY THAT RN I HATE YOU I'M LOGGING OFF I'M TAKING MY MONITOR AND THROWING IT INTO THE SEA!!!"
Azure sends a single skull emoji.
Tetra instantly replies, "LOL."
"Choom, be fr I speak only facts," Remi insists. "Blake got that HIM energy and u know it."
Shock sends multiple crying emojis. "REMI, I HOPE UR KEYBOARD STOPS WORKING. I HOPE ALL UR TEXTS GET AUTOCORRECTED TO 'duck' FOREVER."
I chuckle as I type. "Guys c'mon, let's not pretend this is new. Shock's been like this since day one."
At this point, Shock is typing in all caps more than lower case.
"U GUYS R BULLIES!!!! THIS IS CYBERBULLYING. A HATECRIME. SLUTSHAMING BUT FOR MY BRAINCELLS!!!"
"U don't have braincells…" Azure responds immediately after her.
"GIRLLLLLLLLLLLLL WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY"
"Man I love this chat." Remi sends a thumbs up. "We r locked in when it matters and locked out when it doesn't."
Tetra slides in again. "I don't even know what's going on right now HAHAHAHA"
Finally, Mister drops a message that cuts through the noise. "Enough. I have an update."
Everyone stops typing.
"Michelangelo has a request," Mister continues. "He's asking for us to scope the house later tonight—not now. He has a maintenance appointment at Arasaka Vancouver HQ and won't be free until after 21:00. He'd prefer for us to wait until then. And I agree. The timing works better. Fewer witnesses roaming the streets."
"Yeah, that makes sense." Tetra types. "We should have a place and time to meet up then."
At this point the chat slows down, with only Azure being the one to text into it.
"...Actually, I think some of us should go earlier."
What..?
I blink, the tone shifts in an instant, and I stare at my phone. A long pause follows before anyone replies.
Remi goes first. "Huh?"
Then Tetra. "Wait, why?"
Azure starts laying it out. "Hear me out. Michelangelo's been helpful. I'll admit it. But we all know what he is. Arasaka. That's never going to change. If we wait for him, IF we go in with him, whatever we find there is gonna end up in corpo hands."
Another pause. We wait for Azure to send her next message.
"He's not malicious about it—but it's protocol. It's baked into his wiring. U think if we find a drive, or a body, or anything with real weight, they won't swoop in with a clean-up crew and delete the evidence?"
Mister cuts in. "Azure, we're being paid to investigate the cyberpsychosis virus, not play vigilante. Whether Arasaka wipes whatever we find isn't our concern—our job is to follow the contract."
"KK Look, I get it. It's super out of the way and ofc risky. But it's even riskier to go in blind and let Arasaka put a lid on everything. We've all seen this before. U think they won't redact the second we find smth juicy? If there's anything in that house worth hiding… Michelangelo will make sure it's buried. And what happens if they want no witnesses? Even if that's not what he wants to do, he'll have no choice."
"Man…" Tetra types, trailing off. "You sound so paranoid."
"It IS paranoid. But am I wrong?" Azure questions.
"Hold up… shiiiit she's got a point." Remi adds his own thoughts. "Big guy's still a cog in the machine. HAH pun intended, baby."
I snort and roll my eyes, ignoring Remi's joke, and respond to Azure. "Wait... so you're really suggesting that we sneak into the place before the guy who's literally part of the plan?"
"Doesn't have to be all of us," she clarifies. "Just some of us to get eyes inside before Arasaka decides what we're allowed to see."
Even if I'm not there to hear him, Tetra's response screams uncertainty. "This feels risky… like… we just built trust with him." And I can't even blame him, this is extremely suspicious.
"While I can see the logic, I want to remind everyone this could fracture the team," Mister warns. "If we're not transparent about this, we risk everything we've built—and I'm not interested in being part of that."
And of course, Shock comes in with her 'take'. Well, more like stating she's down for whatever screws us—or more accurately her—over the least.
"Okayyyyy so like… as the Local Chaos Entity^TM… I see both sides."
"One side is like YEAH DON'T TRUST RICH GUYS. The other is like HEY MAYBE DON'T START A CIVIL WAR WITH UR OWN TEAM."
"So I'm just here, vibing in the middle, waiting for our trip to Italy. IF I get stabbed, I'll pick whoever heals me faster." She finishes her statement with an emoji with a halo.
"Democracy at its finest babyyyy." Remi declares.
"You're unbelievable." I send a facepalm emoji. "You're literally just cooking popcorn right now."
"I KNOWWWW RIGHTTTT?" Shock sends immediately, spamming the chat with multiple heart, nail polish, and brain emojis.
I take a moment to think, lowering my phone and staring up at the ceiling.
Part of me is against backing up this idea.
This is just asking for trouble.
Corporations can be extreme, sure—but companies like Arasaka are on a different tier.
Even when they're neck-deep in scandals, their products are still in everyone's homes, offices, and pockets. They've embedded themselves so deeply into daily life that "cutting them off" isn't just unlikely—it's impossible without decapitating the company entirely at the top. Even then, their network of subsidiaries, shell corporations, and loyal clients would keep the machine running until someone repaired the damage.
To make it even worse, their PR teams are untouchable. Everyone knows Arasaka's dirty, but nothing ever sticks—rumours get buried or spun before they hit the public. Scandal turns to background noise fast when their name's stamped on everything you own. There's just no evidence.
And that's just one corporation. If they think we've found something worth hiding, they won't just make it disappear—they'll decide whether we disappear with it.
I shelve those thoughts for later and return to the conversation at hand.
"Azure might be right… There's no way the corpos will just let us walk away without a gun to our heads. Maybe literally."
Then comes Mister, the warning voice again. "I still think this is a genuinely bad idea. However, I know I can't stop any of you. If anyone does go early, don't tell me. I can't be liable. If this gets messy, I'll need to be able to deny my end of things and play dumb."
Shock jumps in almost too quickly. "TBF mister, it's a little hard to delete chat logs on a server owned by Kang-Tao, y'know… likeeeee I'm pretty sure the servers already got a backup of my hot takes." She sends a frowning emoji. "If we're being real, the only people who know about this convo r underpaid data miners with NDAs."
"Damn," Tetra's message lands like a sigh. "So what now?"
"I'm going," Remi replies without hesitation. "Fuck it."
I raise an eyebrow, my professionalism slipping for a moment in sheer disbelief. "Wtf… why? What could you possibly want out of this?"
"Idk."
I can't believe this guy.
"You… don't… know…?"
"I guess vibes or drama or forbidden knowledge." He doesn't even pretend to rationalize it. "Or some shit like that. I want you to come."
"???"
"Choom pull up."
"????????"
"C'moooon." He's pleading now?
"Okay… explain why you want ME to go with you?"
"Ur basically the stereotypical sexy spy character or smth like that. Femme fatale or wtv the French call it. So if things go south u can shoot guns or smth idk."
"Okay first of all… thanks(?) secondly… HELL NO. Are you out of your MIND???"
"Bro u literally owe me for covering u at Blake's gauntlet."
"That was ONE time." I snap back, heat rising in my chest. "AND I got dragged in because of YOU."
"Nuh uh. U signed up for it urself. Don't force me to make a diss track abt u." He follows it with a wilted rose and a broken heart emoji.
"You… piece of shit."
"ANYWAYS I WAS A HERO. Return the favour. Plus… if we find smth cool, I'll cut u in." He finishes the text with a smug emoji.
"Some type of hero you are."
"Never said I was a good one."
I can't deny it—the curiosity tugs at me. And I've never been the type to say no to free stuff, legal or otherwise.
"Motherfucker… fine." I sigh, my shoulders sag, and I cave in, but not entirely happily. "But I swear… if this turns into some weird field trip…"
"Okay now that you guys finished arguing… I'm going too." Azure says.
Shock jumps in next. "Okayyy but if y'all r going then I'm definitely going. I'm not missing out if trench coat guy turns out to be living in a haunted data vault or something."
"Wait wait wait." Tetra's messages come in quick. "Everyone's going? I don't know… this still feels like a bad idea."
Shock's reply is immediate. "Half the crew's in already, Tetra. R u really okay with missing out wtv trench coat guy's hiding?"
"Okay but… if this goes bad..."
"It won't!! We've got recon, muscle, and tech!!! Literallllyyy covered from every angle."
Mister chimes in. "Not every angle."
"Okay fineeee most angles." Shock adds a heart emoji. "But stilllll we'll be fine!!!"
"I dunno…" Tetra hesitates. "Still sounds risky."
"Fineee suit urself. But just so u know, I'm not telling anyone what we find. Keeping it hush and all that~ andddd I'm locking that vault. Foreverrrr."
"C'mon, don't do that."
I can't believe this. She's actually baiting him.
"Okay then come!!!" Shock counters. "It's literally the only way u will get the full story."
A pause. Then, Tetra sends one final message. "...Okay, fine."
"YESSS. FOMO WINS YET AGAIN!!"
And then, all eyes—metaphorically—turn toward Mister.
"This is a terrible idea," he writes. "Curiosity killed the cat."
But even he's hesitating.
"... But if every single one of you is charging in half-cocked without coordination, someone's going to end up in a body bag. And I'm not letting that happen."
The entire chat goes silent, watching for Mister's response. At this point, he's not just warning us—he's convincing himself too. I break into a laugh of resignation and then groan. How did we even get to this point?
"Technically, Michelangelo's not even considered to be fully on the team. And if every member of the actual team is going, then it's not backstabbing. It's just... tactical initiative."
"I can make up an excuse later," he concludes. "Maybe something about early movement recon, or threat assessment."
I stare at the screen in utter shock. Great, we're lying to a cyberninja.
"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSS." Shock once again, types in all caps. "BRB PREPARING MY STUFF!!"
As soon as Shock finishes celebrating, Azure drops her last set of messages. "KK looks like things have been settled. Let's meet up somewhere nearby before we do this." She drops an address. "7 pm. Here. Don't be late."
"Aight bet." Remi sends a saluting emoji. "Choomers, assemble."
"Well… I guess I'll see you all later." Tetra logs off as well.
Mister sends a simple thumbs up into the chat.
I shake my head, thumbing my last response. "Alright… I'll gear up too."
After sending my message, I lock my phone and chuck it to the side. I lean back into my couch, exhaling through my nose.
This isn't even anywhere close to my usual kind of job. I went from helping Wissen out to somehow getting wrapped up in gang politics and international affairs.And I only have myself to blame.
I rack my head, recalling how my success—assassination and modeling contracts—would've only been possible thanks to Wissen setting me up for life. Well, I guess I can't really complain. Still… tracing cyberpsychos, chasing ghosts, and prepping for some high-stakes pseudo-raid with a group chat full of memes and snark wasn't exactly part of my plans.
My eyes drift across the room, landing on the door to my armoury.
Armour-plated mesh underlay again? Maybe. Silenced weapons? Obviously. Infiltration tools? Probably for the best. Shit, what about lenses or motion tracking?
What the hell are we even expecting to find?
I sit for a little while longer, caught between my thoughts and the silence of my apartment.
Out of habit, I pull my phone out, thumb hovering over Wissen's contact. A flicker of temptation builds. He'd know what to say—he always had a calm word, a smart read, a solid backup plan.
But… he's probably with his kids.
So instead, I scroll down my contact list and tap a different name.
Mom.
The phone rings once. Then twice.
"Hi, baby!" comes the warm, familiar voice on the other end. "I was just thinking about you."
My lips curve into a gentle smile.
"Hey, Ma. You got a minute?"
"For you? Always. What's going on?"
I pause, unsure where to even start. Unlike Wissen, who knows both sides of my life, I can't bring myself to involve my mom in any of this.
So I keep it vague.
"I just… got a big gig coming up, and a lot of things are happening at once. I'm kinda overwhelmed."
"A big gig?" My mom's voice lights up with excitement. "Is it the one in Italy?"
I rub the bridge of my nose. "Yeah… yeah, that's the one."
"Oooh, that's amazing! I'm so proud of you, sweetie. Italy! Wowwww! Was this the Jinguji shoot?"
I smile. Of course, she remembered.
"Sort of. I'm going a little early though—take in the culture, you know?"
"Well, that's smart! I used to do that too. You'll love Italy. Europe's stunning. Ah, but don't forget to enjoy things while you're there."
She pauses, her voice dropping into something firmer.
"You've been ignoring my warnings… haven't you?"
I groan, leaning forward, elbows on my knees. And here comes the nagging. My gaze fixes on the carpet. "Yes, Ma… I just have a few things to wrap up here first. I promise I'll take things slower when it's all over."
There's a pause on the line, then her voice softens.
"You better, Gina. If you need to slow down, just do it."
I swallow hard.
"Oh, and… did you wanna come by?" my mom offers. "We could hang out. Order from that place you like, rewatch something dumb. Just us."
I glance at the clock on the wall.
15:42.
My eyes drift past it—to the window overlooking downtown.
The sky is smeared with heavy clouds, the sun cutting through in fractured streaks of orange. Far below, traffic hums and neon ads blink against the sides of glass towers.
The city never stops, does it?Not for anyone.
"Gina? Still there?" My mom's voice pulls me back.
I blink. "Y-Yeah. Sorry. I'm here."
"You okay?"
"I'm good. Just... busy right now. I'll make it up to you when I get back from Italy."
"Hmm… I'll be holding you to that."
"I know."
"You're a tough girl, Gina. You'll get through it. You always do."
"I love you, Ma."
"Love you too, sweetie."
The line clicks dead.
I sit there in the quiet, leaning back into the couch. My eyes wander. I don't feel like watching anything. No games. No snacks or drinks. Not even a workout.
My nerves buzz under the surface. Nothing feels right to shake it off.
I glance at the photo shelf—three frames in particular.
One of me as a kid on my mom's lap, smiling at something off-camera.
Another with all three of us—adolescent me, Mom, and Dad—outside a cabin in Whistler, winter coats puffed up with snow. I stare at the photo, at my parents.
They look so proud. So present.
My gaze lingers on my younger self. Beaming, wide-eyed, untouched by the weight I carry now.
Then my eyes shift to the last photo. A picture of just me and my dad—at my high school graduation—with him holding my diploma like it was a trophy.
He's still smiling. Still holding on. Even now.
…
April 23, 2021. 19:33. Burnaby. 7 days left till Italy.
The evening air in Burnaby is damp, carrying the faint tang of rain and the murmur of distant traffic.
Surprisingly, everyone arrived on time. Probably because of how serious this is. Azure and Shock led a quick recap and debrief for the group.
The target is a weathered two-storey detached home, an older build retrofitted with smart locks and cameras at every entry point and key interior areas—at least from what Shock has seen. A detached garage sits at the back, separated by a small yard. No perimeter turrets or automated defenses, which we suspect is to keep a low profile in an otherwise quiet neighbourhood. According to Mister's connections, there may also be a basement level beneath the property.
Compared to the last few days, I've gone lower-profile than my usual full kit.
I'm still in black, but I've traded my crop-top-and-armoured-vest combo for a sleek techwear jacket with matte, water-resistant panels and a short mandarin collar, zipped halfway. Underneath is a fitted charcoal mesh underlay. Reinforced stretch cargo pants taper into high-ankle combat sneakers with carbon-toe plating, light enough to sprint in yet sturdy enough to kick through a door if needed. The jacket sleeves have slits for concealed holster access, and the lining hides a quick-fold balaclava and disposable mask. My hair is braided tight, nothing for anyone to grab.
Under the style, I'm fully loaded. A Militech M-76E polymer-frame pistol rides under my arm, while a compact Bulldog SMG rests in my sling bag as backup. A collapsible EMP baton sits in my side pocket. It won't stop someone like Michelangelo, but it'll slow down augmented users. I've also packed shock patches, a lock cracker, a fibre-optic cam, and a small jammer into one pouch. The rest of my pockets are crammed with tools I can pull in an emergency.
As for the others—besides Shock and Azure, who have their own specialties—it's clear I'm the most equipped. Remi's coming in with just a rifle and pistol. Tetra has a few sidearms strapped to a belt and a leather-reinforced jacket. Mister is, as always, a mystery. He's in his usual full leather outfit and helmet, and I'm sure there's more under that jacket—but he's never shown us, and he's never had to.
By the time we arrive, the neighbourhood is already quiet. As the minutes pass, it somehow grows even quieter. No one wanders the streets—no kids playing, no teens slouched on the curb, no adults out for a stroll. Even the wildlife seems absent; there's not a single bird in sight.
This isn't exactly a lively area.
The houses are old but well-kept, lawns damp and hedges neatly trimmed. Windows sit in shadow, curtains drawn. On any other day, the stillness might be peaceful—but here and now, it feels like the whole street is holding its breath, waiting for what's about to come.
I hang a step behind the others, scanning rooftops, parked cars, and dark windows. The streetlights leave enough gaps for someone to watch unseen. There's no silhouettes yet, but I keep my jacket loose in case I need to draw fast.
We eventually reach the target and stop at an alley that runs alongside it.
The others wait for me to catch up. I take a slow look around, then at the house itself. When I finally nod, signaling all clear, I motion for us to stick to the fence.
Remi opens his mouth to say something but is cut off by a sharp nudge from Azure. Tetra moves first, followed by Shock, and we keep tight to the fence until we reach the backyard entrance. I pause, checking for traps or defenses, but find nothing.
We slip toward the gate. A smart lock gleams under the dim light, and several cameras track the area. I signal Shock. Within seconds, the lock clicks, and we slip into the backyard.
The detached garage sits off to one side, paint peeling, the door half-shut like it was left that way in a hurry.
Remi, curious as ever, drifts toward it without a word, already breaking formation. I roll my eyes. And there he goes. I'm tempted to yank him back, but hold off—trusting Shock to have disabled any electronic security, or at least warn us if something's still active.
Azure catches my annoyance and smirks, trailing after Remi. Thank God.
The rest of us head for the house. Halfway to the back door, I stop, straining to catch any other sound—but the blaring TV smothers everything. I can't make out a damn thing. I fight the urge to click my tongue.
I glance at Shock. She tilts her head, listening, then gives a small nod, confirming what we'd already suspected from earlier intel.
He's home.
Tetra's already got his hand on a weapon, itching to move, but Mister's arm shoots out, holding him in place. He shakes his head.
Everyone except me and Shock retreats a few steps, keeping low.
I crouch by the door, examining the handle, and notice a deadbolt. Shock steps up beside me, hand out, fingers tapping her temple. Ah, digital security. I wait, scanning the yard's corners while she works. The faint flicker and hum from inside feels louder the longer I'm still. Finally, she nods.
My turn.
The lock resists under my tools, but after a few precise twists, it clicks open.
I slip in first, unslinging my SMG and letting it settle into my hands. I pause, letting my eyes adjust before checking every angle and corner.
As soon as I enter, stale air hits me. It's lived-in but poorly ventilated. Papers, mugs, and clothes clutter the kitchen counters. Pizza boxes slump against the fridge, tangled wires snake across the floor, and a gutted laptop sits abandoned in the sink. Open toolkits, stained coffee mugs, and half-dismantled electronics bury the counter space. The air carries the faint tang of solder, grease, and week-old takeout. Down the hall, the TV's warped audio drifts, bouncing off old drywall.
This place is a damn mess.
I move across the kitchen tile in measured steps, weight shifted to kill any sound. I don't touch a thing, hugging the edges until I reach a corner that opens into a narrow hallway.
Clear so far. I signal the rest of the team forward.
They join me, filtering in one by one.
Then I spot it—several crates stacked along the hallway, each stamped with Militech serial codes. From upstairs comes the faint buzz of a drone drifting down the stairwell.
I gesture to Shock, pointing up. She nods and gets to work, eyes already lit.
Meanwhile, I head for the living room instead with Tetra and Mister. Weapon raised, I slice corners in clean arcs, sweeping until my sightline's clear. No basement door in sight—not yet anyway.
The TV's glow spills over a couch strewn with wires and parts.
Where is he?
On the screen, a video plays of Gestalt delivering a calm and PR-polished interview about the latest cyberpsycho incident. The anchor cuts in, pressing him on how confident he feels about gearing up for a prime minister run.
Then I hear it. A voice from above. Conversing in a language I don't recognize, the syllables sharp and rhythmic. My gut tells me it's Middle Eastern, though I'm no linguist.
I keep my SMG snug against my shoulder, ears straining as I cover the staircase. Whoever's up there could come down at any moment. With a sharp tilt of my head, I send Tetra and Mister to clear the side rooms. They return one by one, confirming the first floor is safe.
It's just the noise upstairs.
Shock appears in my periphery, giving me a quick thumbs-up. She then mouths an update. "Multiple drones. He's alone upstairs."
Hmm, I got an idea. I pull in a slow breath, eyes sweeping the room.
Leaning just enough to catch her eye, I whisper, "Shock—see if you can hack anything up there. At least give me a look at the room." She nods once.
I point at Mister, then back toward the door we came through. He gets it, easing away from the stairs to cover our exit.
Next, I jab a finger at Tetra, then toward the living room windows. I pinch the air with finger and thumb, miming the blinds.
He frowns, head tilting in confusion.
"So no one sees what's about to happen," I murmur, barely above a breath. "Do it for all the windows."
Tetra's eyes flicker with understanding. He nods and moves off silently through the first floor, closing the blinds of each window.
Shock's voice is barely a whisper in my ear. "Three Militech drones, multiple cameras, and motion alarms. Elias is the only one up there. Right side of the room once you're at the top of the stairs. He's on a call with someone."
I glance at her. "Where to?"
"I can't track it. All I know is that it's not local." She tilts her head, eyes flashing violet. "For sure international. Also, two hover drones and one land model." She smirks. "I can shut them down, though."
"Do it," I murmur. "But on my signal."
Shock exhales slowly, fingers twitching in a pattern only she knows. The lights in her optics shimmer, then settle into a soft pulse. "Ready."
Tetra reappears, giving me a quick nod. I motion him over with two fingers, and he moves to my side.
I point up the stairs. He nods, adjusting his grip as I transition to my sidearm.
We climb, slow and silent, stopping just shy of the landing while Shock holds her position at the bottom. Above, Elias's voice carries over the hum of the drones, both cutting through the warped TV audio.
I glance back and give a thumbs-up. Shock nods—then the buzz cuts out, and Elias goes silent.
He's noticed.
I give Tetra one last glance. Now.
We swing around the corner.
He's exactly what we expected—just a young guy with sharp, pale features and cropped brown hair. His eyes go wide, confusion burning into anger, a pistol hanging loose in his right hand, phone clutched in his left.
He draws breath to shout but I'm already moving.
I break cover in a fluid step, closing the gap before he can bring the weapon up. My hand slams his wrist sideways, pistol clattering against the wall. A knee drives into his gut. His breath catches with a harsh grunt. He thrashes, elbows swinging wild, but I've already hooked my arm around his neck, driving him to the floor.
The struggle's brief—over in seconds—and the phone skitters away across the floor.
I drive my knee into his back, pinning him down. His breathing is harsh against the floor. My other hand drives the muzzle of my pistol into his ribs.
"Shut the fuck up and listen," I hiss, low and steady. "Or I'll put one in you, right now."
He freezes.
Behind me, Tetra snatches up Elias' phone. The caller ID is nothing but shifting glyphs, buried under a wall of scrambled text. Before he can say a word, the call drops and the screen goes black. He frowns, sets it on the nearest crate, and moves on.
My attention then moves to the rest of the room. It's larger than it should be. Half-finished attic space, thick beams overhead, insulation showing in places. But the floor is covered in Militech hardware: drone shells, spare rotors, ammo canisters, data cores, power cells, even a half-built exosuit frame leaning against the far wall. Tools and diagnostic rigs lie in messy clusters around open crates stamped with fresh Militech serials.
There's no way this is standard-issue home storage. Even top engineers don't get this much without audits and security escorts.
I glance at Elias, still pinned. "Why the hell do you have all this?"
He doesn't answer.
"Fine." I lift my head toward the stairs and call out, "Mister! Upstairs!"
A few moments pass before Mister walks up the stairs, glancing between me and Elias.
"What's going on?"
I open my mouth, ready to tell him to take over, but he takes in the scene for a split second—helmet tilting in a way that says he's already figured it out.
"I see. I'll take it from here," he says without hesitation. "Thank you."
Tetra is already rummaging through the mess on the counter, coming back with a handful of plastic ties and a coil of rope. He kneels, working the restraints over Elias's wrists and ankles with brisk efficiency. The knot work is ugly but effective.
Elias's eyes dart between the three of us, still trying to catch up to how fast this just happened.
Mister plants one boot on the back of Elias's calf and grinds down—not enough to break anything, but enough to make nerves flare. A strangled gasp rips out of Elias, his tied hands twitching against the floor as the pressure pins him in place. Damn…
"Elias Komosad. Right?" Mister doesn't raise his voice. "Militech engineering division?"
"…Yeah," Elias mutters.
"Good." Mister eases off just enough to let him breathe, but doesn't move his boot. "Then let's skip to the part where you explain why your house looks like a Militech depot."
"I—" Elias exhales, shoulders twitching. "I took them. Supplies. Tools. They… help with my own projects."
Mister tilts his head, silent for a beat too long, as if weighing every word. "Help with what, exactly?"
"Upgrades. Repairs. Side jobs." Elias swallows, voice thinning. "Nothing that hurts anyone."
Mister doesn't answer. His boot stays planted, the pressure constant. He lets the silence stretch until it's almost unbearable, then slowly twists his heel—a wordless reminder of who's in control.
When he finally speaks, his tone is almost casual. "Who were you talking to upstairs?"
Elias hesitates—just long enough for me to grind the muzzle harder into his ribs. He flinches.
"We heard it," Mister presses. "The language wasn't English."
"I… can't say."
"You can," I cut in, "or we can start counting rounds until you do. Your choice."
Before Elias can answer, Shock's voice cuts in from the other room. "Um… guys… you might wanna look at this." It's light—almost sing-song—but there's an edge underneath it.
"What?" I call back.
"You need to see this." Her voice is tight with disbelief, like she's still processing what she found.
Elias's breathing quickens—fast, shallow—but he stays silent.
"The hell is it?" I push off Elias and look back at Shock.
Her eyes are wide.
"I found the basement."