Isabella had kissed his forehead before bed last night. Her small hands patted his cheek and she whispered, "Don't have scary dreams, brother." Now Kasper crouched in rusted shadows, watching armed men patrol between shipping containers, and wondered if his sister would recognize the man he was becoming.
The warehouse reeked of machine oil and saltwater rot. Steam pipes hissed overhead like mechanical serpents, their brass fittings green with Caribbean humidity. Art deco reliefs decorated the loading bay doors, geometric patterns now chipped and stained with decades of dock work. This had been beautiful once, back when New Karenan architects believed the future would be clean and golden.
Twenty-four hours since Zariff had brokered this alliance. Twenty-four hours since Kasper had agreed to hunt instead of hide. His expensive suit clung to his back, soaked through with nervous sweat that had nothing to do with the tropical heat.
"Count them again," Zariff's voice crackled through the brass earpiece tucked behind his ear. Even through static, the Obsidian Syndicate coordinator sounded like he was ordering morning coffee. "We need exact numbers for extraction planning."
Kasper closed his eyes, letting his Costa del Sol modifications filter sounds through the industrial noise. Footsteps on wet concrete. Breathing patterns. The distinct click of safety catches being checked and rechecked.
"Eighteen on patrol. Maybe six more inside." He opened his eyes, watching a Santos Negros soldier light a cigarette with hands that trembled just enough to betray fear. "These aren't enhanced veterans, Zariff. They're just scared kids with military hardware."
"Good. Scared means predictable. I've got their patrol routes mapped from satellite feeds. They're rotating every twelve minutes, clockwise pattern."
Three blocks away, Kasper knew Marco Moretti was positioned with his sniper rifle, expensive Italian leather shoes probably getting soaked on some rain-slicked rooftop. The family prince had volunteered for this madness, though Kasper understood why. Marco had seen Isabella's drawings taped to the kitchen refrigerator, heard her laugh during the family meeting. Some people couldn't stomach watching children get threatened by bureaucrats in expensive suits. Marco's own nephew had been eight when the Torrino family wars started. He knew what fear looked like in small faces.
Maybe this was Marco's chance to do something right for once.
Through his scope, Kasper imagined Marco was getting the same view he'd memorized for the past hour. Steam rose from nearby processing plants, creating pockets of cover between art deco smokestacks that reached toward storm clouds like chrome prayers. The whole industrial district felt like a monument to some future that had never quite arrived.
Vincenzo's voice joined the radio chatter from his command post at the main docks. "Hayes arrived twenty minutes ago. Black sedan with diplomatic plates. My boys saw him go inside with two briefcases and what looked like surveillance equipment."
Hayes. The Association bureaucrat who had sat in Kasper's living room three days ago, sipping his mother Carmen's coffee while casually discussing how accidents could happen to little girls who asked too many questions about their father's past.
Kasper's augmented reflexes had wanted to snap the man's neck right there in the family kitchen. The only thing that stopped him was Isabella's laughter floating down from upstairs, innocent and trusting and completely unaware that monsters wore government credentials.
"Remember," Zariff's voice carried the kind of authority that came from running shadow operations across three continents, "we need Hayes breathing. Dead bureaucrats can't tell us who else knows about your family's location. I've got exit routes planned, but we need intelligence first."
"I know."
But Kasper's modified nervous system was already calculating elimination techniques. How much pressure to apply to a windpipe. Which vertebrae to target for instant incapacitation. The mathematics of violence came automatically now, like muscle memory or heartbeat.
Inside the warehouse, Hayes checked his gold pocket watch for the third time in five minutes. A gift from his own daughter for Father's Day. The irony of using family leverage against another father wasn't lost on him, but fifteen years in government service had taught him that irony was just another tool.
The Santos Negros leader, a scarred man called Machado, was counting Association money with the deliberate care of someone who had learned not to trust gifts from government agencies.
"Your enhanced freak is becoming expensive, Señor Hayes." Machado's gold dental work caught the harsh electric lighting that New Karenan docks had installed to replace the old gas lamps. Progress had a way of making everything uglier. "Three safe houses burned. Seven of my boys dead. The others are starting to ask if this contract is worth the body count."
Hayes smiled with the practiced patience of a man who had spent fifteen years explaining policy to people who killed for weekly wages. "Enhanced veterans require specialized handling, Machado. That's precisely why the Association pays premium rates for your services."
"And if this Kasper proves too much trouble?"
"Then we implement Protocol Seven."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Machado's expression shifted as he recognized terminology that meant civilian elimination. Family elimination.
"You're certain this will motivate him?"
Hayes pulled out a brass tablet, its screen displaying surveillance footage that made Kasper's blood freeze even from ninety meters away. Carmen in her kitchen, humming while she prepared dinner. Isabella in the workshop, tinkering with clockwork mechanisms her great-grandfather had taught her to repair. Camila at her typewriter, working on another article about dock worker conditions.
His family. Completely unaware they were being watched.
"Family loyalty is the most reliable psychological leverage for enhanced veteran management," Hayes explained with academic detachment. "Apply sufficient pressure to the correct emotional triggers, and even the legendary Void Killer becomes remarkably compliant."
Through the warehouse's ventilation system, Kasper's enhanced hearing caught every word. Protocol Seven. Family elimination. The phrases hit like ice water in his veins, washing away any pretense that this was just about him.
They weren't just hunting him anymore. They were planning to murder everyone he loved.
"Zariff," he whispered into his throat mic, surprised by how steady his own voice sounded. "They're not negotiating. They're planning to kill my family regardless."
Three blocks away, Marco's enhanced vision caught the subtle shift in Kasper's posture through his rifle scope. The enhanced veteran had gone completely still in the way that meant his combat systems were coming online.
"What did you hear?" Marco asked, though he was already calculating extraction routes if this went sideways.
"Hayes is showing them surveillance footage. They're discussing timeline for Protocol Seven." Kasper's voice carried no emotion whatsoever, which somehow made it infinitely more dangerous. "Family elimination."
Zariff's channel crackled with controlled urgency. "Kasper, we maintain operational discipline. I've got Association response teams monitored, but we need Hayes alive for intelligence. Your family needs information, not a pile of corpses that can't answer questions."
"Plans change."
"This one doesn't." Zariff's tone carried the kind of authority that had coordinated Obsidian Syndicate operations from Port Royal to Nassau. "I've been where you are right now. Rage makes you sloppy. Sloppy gets families killed."
Kasper thought about Isabella's drawings taped to the kitchen refrigerator. Stick figures of the family holding hands under a smiling sun. In every single picture, Papa stood between his girls and anything that might hurt them.
"How long until they move on my family?"
"Hayes is reviewing timeline now. Maybe hours. Maybe less."
The warehouse skylight was thirty feet above the main floor. Kasper had been planning to wait for a cleaner opportunity, but clean opportunities were luxuries he could no longer afford.
Sirens wailed in the distance, barely audible but getting closer. Someone had called in gunshots from another district. The kind of massacre he was about to orchestrate wouldn't stay quiet long. Steam from nearby plants carried the metallic scent of blood through ventilation systems. Someone would notice soon.
"Zariff, I'm going in."
"Wait. Let me give you tactical advantage first." Keys clicked through the radio as Zariff accessed security systems. "I'm in their surveillance network. Hayes has a panic button, brass device in his left jacket pocket. Don't let him reach it. Also, Machado's got a concealed shotgun under his desk, right side."
Kasper smiled grimly. "Anything else?"
"Backup generators are in the northeast corner. Kill the power and their comms go down for ninety seconds before emergency kicks in. Use that window."
He dropped through the glass like judgment falling from heaven.
No enhanced veteran had ever been designed for urban combat in civilian spaces, but Costa del Sol had been thorough in its modifications. Kasper's augmented reflexes turned gravity into tactical advantage, steel support beams into cover, industrial machinery into improvised weapons.
The first Santos Negros soldier died before sound could travel from broken glass to human ears. Enhanced strength applied to cervical vertebrae with surgical precision. The body crumpled behind shipping containers, invisible to patrol routes Kasper had spent three hours memorizing.
"First target down," Zariff's voice guided him through the tactical network. "Patrol rotation in eight minutes. You've got time."
The second soldier turned at precisely the wrong moment. Enhanced reaction time made human reflexes seem geological. Kasper's hand covered mouth and nose while modified fingers found pressure points that shut down consciousness without permanent damage. Mostly.
Each elimination felt like a small death of the man he had been trying to become. Carmen's son. Isabella's father. The quiet dock worker who fixed mechanical things and never talked about the war.
But that man's family was about to die unless the Void Killer handled this situation.
"Power junction ahead, twenty meters," Zariff coordinated through his earpiece. "Take it out now, while you're still undetected."
Kasper moved like death given purpose, enhanced strength ripping electrical panels apart with precision that plunged half the warehouse into darkness. Emergency lighting kicked on, but the harsh fluorescents cast geometric shadows that turned the industrial space into a nightmare maze.
Inside the main office, Machado paused mid-sentence. "Carlos should have checked in by now."
Hayes looked up from his tablet, bureaucratic instincts recognizing when situations required immediate extraction protocols. "How many guards did you post?"
"Twenty-four. All professionals."
"Call them in. Now."
But Kasper was already moving through warehouse shadows like death given form and purpose. Enhanced hearing catalogued heartbeats, breathing patterns, weapon positions. Modified vision turned industrial darkness into tactical advantage. Augmented reflexes made twenty-four armed men feel less like meaningful threat and more like personal insult.
"Third target approaching your position," Zariff's voice guided him with real-time intelligence. "Weapon drawn, but he's looking the wrong direction."
The third soldier never heard his approach. Neck snapped while reaching for his radio.
Fourth and fifth soldiers: eliminated using a collision with shipping equipment that Kasper orchestrated with the precision of a clockmaker. Enhanced strength turned industrial machinery into bone-crushing tools that painted concrete walls with blood and screaming that echoed off art deco ceiling fixtures.
"Group of six moving to investigate the noise," Zariff warned. "Southeast corner, coming around the blue containers."
Marco watched through security monitors he had hacked from his rooftop position, his family's minor augmentations letting him track multiple camera feeds simultaneously. What he saw made his throat go dry.
This wasn't combat. This was systematic extermination performed by someone who had been trained to kill enhanced opponents and was now applying those skills to normal humans.
"Jesus Christ," he whispered into his throat mic. "Kasper, you're not fighting them. You're hunting them."
"They threatened Isabella." Kasper's voice came between sounds of violence that spoke to capabilities no civilian should possess. "They showed Hayes footage of her in her bedroom. They don't get to walk away from that."
Sixth through tenth soldiers: group elimination using the warehouse's industrial winch system as an improvised area-denial weapon. Enhanced strength turned machinery designed for loading cargo into tools for loading body bags.
"Patrol leader's trying to call for backup," Zariff's voice cut through the tactical channel with professional efficiency. "I've jammed their external communications, but local radios still work. Move faster."
"Then I'll make sure he stays alive long enough to talk."
Eleventh through fifteenth soldiers: eliminated using the loading dock's crane system as an oversized club. Modified reflexes turned construction equipment into precision instruments of professional violence that would have made his Costa del Sol instructors proud.
And that thought made Kasper pause for just a moment, crouched behind a shipping container with blood on his hands and the taste of adrenaline sharp in his mouth. His instructors would be proud. He was performing exactly as designed.
Isabella wouldn't recognize this version of her father.
"Last group retreating to the office," Zariff coordinated. "Machado's reaching for that shotgun I mentioned. Hayes is going for his panic button."
Machado grabbed his radio with hands that shook like earthquake aftershocks. "All units, fall back to secondary extraction point. We have enhanced military intruder. Repeat, enhanced military."
Static answered. Then screaming. Then silence broken only by steam pipes and emergency lighting casting geometric shadows across what had become a killing ground.
Hayes reached for his jacket pocket, fingers closing around brass panic device that would summon Association backup teams within minutes.
"I wouldn't," Kasper's voice came from directly behind him.
Hayes froze, bureaucratic survival instincts calculating exactly how this enhanced veteran had moved across thirty feet of open space without making sound.
"How many enhanced veterans have you actually encountered in active combat situations, Machado?" Hayes asked, still not turning around.
"I fought in the Border Wars. Seen plenty of enhanced soldiers."
"Combat veterans, yes. But Kasper de la Fuente isn't just a combat veteran." Hayes checked escape routes with the practiced eye of someone who had learned to recognize when policy implementation became survival situations. "He's a Costa del Sol graduate. There's a fundamental difference."
Sixteenth through twentieth soldiers: eliminated using a combination of enhanced reflexes, improvised weapons, and tactical positioning that turned their own crossfire into an elimination tool. Kasper moved through gunfire like it was weather, modified perception calculating bullet trajectories faster than conscious thought could process.
The warehouse fell silent except for steam pipes hissing and emergency lighting casting horror-movie shadows across industrial space that had been transformed into an abattoir.
Marco's throat mic crackled with professional admiration mixed with genuine terror. "Kasper, you've eliminated the entire security detail."
"Not all of them."
The sirens were closer now, maybe six blocks away. Police response time in the dock district averaged twelve minutes. They had maybe three minutes before this became an international incident.
"Zariff, how much time do we have?"
"Association monitoring teams just went active. You've got maybe two minutes before this place is crawling with enhanced response units."
Through reinforced office windows, Hayes and Machado watched death approach wearing an expensive suit and enhanced veteran modifications. Kasper moved with relaxed precision that suggested the previous slaughter had been warm-up exercise rather than challenging combat engagement.
"Back exit," Hayes decided with the kind of calm that came from years of contingency planning. "Now."
They ran.
Kasper let them reach the loading dock before enhanced speed closed the distance in heartbeats. Machado turned with pistol raised, gold teeth snarling defiance that lasted exactly as long as it took augmented reflexes to disarm him and apply a submission hold that shut down resistance without causing death.
Hayes kept running until an enhanced veteran hand grabbed his shoulder with grip pressure that could crush bones but instead simply terminated forward momentum with mechanical precision.
"Agent Hayes." Kasper's conversational tone somehow made the surrounding violence feel more terrifying than screaming rage would have. "We need to discuss your surveillance footage."
Hayes turned slowly, expensive government suit wrinkled with stress sweat and sudden comprehension of why enhanced veterans were discussed in Policy Division meetings with the kind of respect usually reserved for natural disasters.
"Kasper de la Fuente. Should have anticipated this outcome."
"You put cameras in my daughter's bedroom."
"I made you a business proposition."
Enhanced reflexes grabbed Hayes by the throat with pressure that demonstrated exactly how little effort would be required to end his bureaucratic career permanently. "Next time you want to negotiate, try scheduling an appointment instead of threatening eight-year-old girls."
"How much of our conversation did you overhear?"
"Enough." Kasper released Hayes, who stumbled backward against shipping containers while calculating whether Association backup would arrive before this enhanced veteran decided talking was insufficient response to threats against civilian family members.
Zariff emerged from shadows with three Obsidian Syndicate operatives who had been securing the perimeter. "Effective work, Kasper. Although perhaps slightly excessive for an intelligence gathering operation."
"They earned it."
Marco appeared from his observation post, expensive Italian suit torn from crawling through industrial spaces but eyes bright with the kind of adrenaline that came from witnessing enhanced veteran capabilities applied at full capacity. For the first time in years, he felt like he'd done something that mattered. Something his nephew would be proud of.
"What happens now?" Marco asked, surveying warehouse space that resembled a slaughterhouse more than a detention facility.
Hayes smiled with bureaucratic patience that suggested he had been anticipating this exact scenario. "Now you discover that Santos Negros was merely a subcontractor. And that I represent middle management in an organization you cannot fight using enhanced veteran capabilities and crime family connections."
"We'll see about that," Kasper replied with the kind of confidence that came from years of solving problems through applied violence.
"The Bounty Hunter Association possesses institutional backing, international jurisdiction, and enhanced veteran elimination protocols that make your Costa del Sol training look like preparatory coursework." Hayes straightened his tie with careful precision while standing in a warehouse full of corpses. "You've achieved tactical victory here, Mr. de la Fuente. But you cannot win the strategic war."
"Watch me."
Hayes laughed with genuine amusement that carried undertones of fear and professional respect. "Yes, I will be watching. And when you finally comprehend what you're actually fighting, remember that I attempted to offer reasonable terms."
"What terms?"
"The kind that keep your family breathing and provide you with opportunities for normal civilian life." Hayes checked his pocket watch with ingrained habit that suggested he had extraction procedures scheduled. "But first, you're going to listen to what the Association truly wants. And why enhanced veterans like you inevitably end up working for us."
Through warehouse windows, New Karenan city lights twinkled with innocent beauty across the Caribbean darkness. Art deco spires reached toward storm clouds like chrome fingers, beautiful and fragile and completely unaware of the violence being negotiated in their shadows.
The sirens were only two blocks away now. Rotating red and blue lights painted the industrial district in patriotic colors that felt mockingly cheerful.
"Zariff, we need to move," Kasper said, keeping his enhanced reflexes ready but not wanting to kill Hayes before getting answers.
"Extraction route is clear, but those aren't police sirens," Zariff's voice carried new tension. "I'm reading Association identification signatures. Someone called in enhanced veteran response."
Kasper looked at Marco, at Zariff, at the captured bureaucrat who had threatened everything he loved, and realized this was just the beginning. The real war hadn't started yet.
But it would. And when it did, Isabella's drawings would either still be hanging on the kitchen refrigerator, or they would be evidence in a case file marked "Family Elimination: Protocol Seven."
"Talk fast," he said simply. "We've got company coming."
Hayes smiled like a shark who had just realized the hook worked in both directions. He checked his watch one more time, counting down to something none of them understood yet.
"Let's discuss why your mother Carmen has been asking questions about her late father's war record, Mr. de la Fuente. Your grandfather's classified involvement in Project Meridian makes for fascinating reading. The Association has been watching the de la Fuente family for three generations."
The sirens stopped. Red and blue lights still painted the warehouse walls, but no more sound. That wasn't how police response worked.
"Your backup?" Kasper asked.
Hayes's smile widened. "No, Mr. de la Fuente. Yours."