Location: The Penthouse Suite, "The Serpentine" Nightclub.
The connection cut out with a sharp screech of static.
Darius King placed his comms unit gently on the marble coffee table. He didn't throw it. He didn't slam his fist. He simply set it down, aligning it perfectly with the edge of the coaster, right next to his glass of 50-year-old whiskey.
The room was silent. The bass from the club downstairs thumped rhythmically against the floorboards—a heartbeat for the criminal underworld of Sector 9.
"Mr. King?"
The voice belonged to his secretary, a nervous man named Finch who clutched a datapad like a shield against the tension in the room. "Did... did Mr. Kain report in? Is the target neutralized?"
Darius picked up his whiskey. He swirled the amber liquid, watching the light catch the heavy crystal.
"Mr. Kain," Darius said smoothly, "has been neutralized."
Finch paled, his grip on the datapad tightening until his knuckles turned white. "Kain? The Dentist? But... the target is a Scavenger. An F-Rank. How could a Scavenger kill a C-Rank Assassin?"
"He isn't an F-Rank anymore, Finch. Update the dossier."
Darius stood up, the silk of his robe rustling as he walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. The neon-soaked sprawl of the city lay beneath him, bleeding color into the rain.
"He called himself a 'debt collector'," Darius mused, his reflection ghosting in the glass. "He mocked me. In my own city."
Darius raised his hand. A faint, green mist began to curl around his fingers. It was subtle, smelling of bitter almonds and rot. [Class: Poison Mage]. Darius didn't blow things up; he made them wither. But today, poison felt too slow.
"Korg," Darius said, not turning around.
The heavy oak doors creaked open. Korg stepped in, looking smaller than usual, his arm in a sling. He kept his head down, terrified of the man at the window.
"Boss?"
"You were right," Darius said. "He is a monster. And now, the boy knows who sent the butcher. He is coming for me, Korg. What do you think happens when a wild animal tastes blood?"
"We... we should lock down the club," Korg stammered. "Double the guards."
"No," Darius sneered. "We do not hide. Hiding makes us look weak. If the other gangs smell fear, the Vipers are finished. We respond with overwhelming force."
Darius walked back to the table and pressed a red button on his console.
"Activate the Fangs."
Finch gasped. "Sir? The Fangs cost fifty thousand credits just to deploy. Sending a paramilitary squad into a residential sector... the Association will notice."
"Let them notice," Darius snapped. "Ren Walker declared war. I am responding with a nuke."
Three minutes later, the private elevator at the back of the suite slid open.
The air in the room changed instantly. The expensive scent of whiskey was overpowered by the smell of gun oil, hydraulic fluid, and charred ozone.
Four figures walked in. They moved with a synchronized, predatory grace that made Korg step back into the shadows. They wore matching matte-black tactical armor, the Viper insignia painted on their chest plates in dull green.
The leader, a woman with a cybernetic eye that glowed a soft red, stepped forward. She carried a weapon that looked less like a rifle and more like a cannon—a Mana-Railgun strapped to her back.
"Commander King," Valery rasped, her voice like grinding stones. "You rang?"
"Target acquired, Valery," Darius said, projecting a hologram of Ren's old ID photo above the table. "Ren Walker. Status: Awakened Variant. Threat Level: High C-Rank. Possibly Low B-Rank."
Valery squinted at the image, her cyber-eye whirring as it recorded the data. "A Variant? In the slums?"
"He has regeneration," Darius explained. "High physical density. He caught a bullet with his hand."
A deep, rumbling laugh came from the massive figure standing behind Valery. This was Brick. He was seven feet tall, encased in bulky E-Rank Power Armor that hissed with every movement. He wasn't carrying a gun; he was resting a pneumatic sledgehammer on his shoulder as if it were a toothpick.
"Caught a bullet?" Brick scoffed, his voice amplified by his helmet. "Cute. Let's see him catch five tons of hydraulic pressure. I'll turn him into paste, Boss."
"Do not underestimate him," Darius warned. He turned his gaze to the third member—a twitchy man whose armor was scorched black at the wrists. "Scorch. He heals fast. Physical trauma might not be enough."
Scorch giggled, rubbing his scarred fingers together. Sparks danced between his knuckles. "Flesh can't regenerate if it's ash, sir. I'll cook him from the inside out."
"Good," Darius said. He glanced at the fourth member—Ghost. The assassin stood silently in the corner, his stealth suit shimmering like oil on water, blending him into the wallpaper. He simply nodded, spinning a serrated dagger dripping with neurotoxin.
"I want his head on a spike outside this building," Darius continued. He paused, a cruel smile touching his lips. "But he is slippery. So, we need bait."
Darius swiped on the hologram. The image changed to a grainy photo of a girl in a wheelchair.
[Target: Maya Walker]
"This is his sister," Darius said softly. "She lives in Block 14. Valery, take the team. Secure the girl. Burn the building if you have to, but keep her alive."
"And the boy?" Valery asked, checking the charge on her railgun.
"The boy will come to us," Darius said, taking a sip of his whiskey. "And when he does, he will find Brick's hammer and Scorch's fire waiting for him."
Valery nodded sharply. "Brick, take point. Scorch, prep incendiaries. Ghost, perimeter check. We move in five."
They turned and marched out, the elevator swallowing them into the darkness.
Darius watched them go. He felt a thrill he hadn't felt in years. Business had been boring lately. Numbers, spreadsheets, bribes.
This? This was war.
"Finch," Darius said.
"Y-yes, sir?"
"Clear my schedule for tomorrow. And tell the chef to prepare something rare."
Darius looked out the window at the rain-slicked city.
"I think we're going to have a guest for dinner."