January 6, 2026 – The Alchemist's FacilityTime: 04:00
As the anesthetic seeped into my veins, the mechanical sounds of the professional team around me were etched into the depths of my mind. The Alchemist, Elias Thorne, was the mastermind behind this operation. Beside him, Dr. Aris, who was redrawing my face with millimeter precision, and Bug, the Interpol fugitive who was completely erasing the identity traces from my fingertips in the digital realm, were like priests in this dark ritual.
"We're erasing Michael Hale completely," said Elias, throwing my passport onto the table. "But not just you. Your brother and the detective too..."
Elias placed two new Canadian passports on the table. Natalia Reyes would now be Elena Cruz. Elara Hale would be Sofia Cruz. The Alchemist had wiped not only their faces but also their digital pasts. A "ghost life" awaited them in a quiet Toronto neighborhood, one Interpol or Asher Burke could never reach. The red notices had been erased in a fake database crash. They were free now, but the price of that freedom was my absence.
"Are they leaving?" I whispered, just before my consciousness faded.
"They've already left, Michael," said Elias. "There's not a single person left in this world who knows you."
As darkness swallowed me, the last thing I felt wasn't the cold scalpel piercing my face, but the searing hatred I felt for my uncle Thomas.
6 MONTHS LATER
July 15, 2026 – New York / BrooklynTime: 10:00 PM
Even I struggled to recognize the man reflected in the window of the penthouse apartment overlooking Brooklyn's foggy harbor. Six months... In that time, not only had my face changed; every cell of my soul had been recoded.
Michael Hale was no more. That honest psychologist, that guilt-ridden child, had died in the highway explosion. The man before me had a more defined jawline, eyes as cold as a cobra's, and every movement as calculated as a predator's.
Elias Thorne approached me with a whiskey glass in hand. "Are you ready, Julian Vargas?"
I liked the authoritative, South American-sounding tone of my name. Vargas... Not a name that would resonate among Chicago's elite, but one that would echo in the world's underground arenas.
"Vargas," I murmured. My voice sounded deeper and more threatening, thanks to the Alchemist's surgeons' small touch on my vocal cords. "What's the status of Asher Burke's shipments at the port?"
"He's got Chicago in his pocket, but he doesn't know you've infiltrated New York," Ivy said, emerging from the smoke. Ivy had changed too; the obsessive desire in her eyes, combined with Julian Vargas's new and dangerous masculinity, had turned into an uncontrollable passion. "Tomorrow night, Asher's big 'collection' from Europe will arrive at New York Harbor."
Ivy moved closer to me, placing her hand on the 9mm in my hand. "I missed you, Michael... sorry, Julian."
"Miss you, Ivy," I said, pushing her away from me roughly. "Missing someone is weakness. We only have one job now."
I took out the old, burnt police badge that belonged to my father from my pocket. The badge still bore Chicago's blood and sweat. I placed it on the table. I no longer needed this badge.
"Asher Burke—Thomas Hale—thinks he controls everything," I said, looking out the window at the glittering but dirty lights of New York. "He killed my father twice. He turned my life into a masterpiece of lies."
I narrowed my eyes. "Now, the Architect of Lies will meet the Scythe of Truth, Thomas. But the real nightmare is just beginning."