Nighttime.
In a suburban warehouse owned by the Monahan Corporation's bionic equipment factory, a teenager sat shivering on a burlap sack, his terrified eyes locked onto the four burly men standing before him.
The men wore tight tank tops that revealed arms covered in hideous tattoos. They stared down at him, their four pairs of eyes glinting with a malicious, mocking amusement.
Carter Lyndon couldn't help but shudder. But the moment he remembered the tracker on his body, a surge of confidence bolstered his courage. He stiffened his neck and demanded, "Do you know who I am? You dare kidnap me? What do you want?"
