>LINK: STRONG
Echo answers finally. “I don’t know. It was scheduled to arrive…” A pause follows, tapping faintly on her end.
“Today, around two. But I haven’t checked the spot yet. I’ve been working on that civilian contact list you asked for. You said it was a priority earlier.”
Kane grits his teeth. “This involves outside movement. It takes precedence.”
“Listen, I—”
“Lucky for you, I’m in the area,” he interrupts her mid-protest. “I’ll handle what you can’t. Like everything else.”
Patrol will have to wait. Like Rafael.
By the time Kane reaches Main Street, he’s already angling toward a warehouse wedged between the former post office and a shuttered HOV station.
Inside is just as rotten as he remembers, with cracked concrete, exposed wiring, and a buckling printing press half-buried beneath decades-old paper.
At the end of the hall, an old elevator sits dead. But with the tap of his wristlink, red indicator lights above flick on, metal doors grinding open. He steps inside and taps a code into the antique access panel.
The second floor greets him with broken office furniture and dusty cubicles, relics from before the corps.
His overlay paints a different picture.
>HEAT SIG: 25 BODIES
Viper, no doubt, padded the place with extra muscle. Why can’t he ever simply follow orders?
Rolling his eyes, Kane opens a concealed panel beside the elevator and presses his palm to the controls, this time from this century.
Light washes over the room.
Cracked tile smooths into composite flooring. Reinforced steel slides into place along the walls, storage racks emerging from concealment. At the center, a terminal glows below ten holo displays streaming live cargo logs and inventory queues.
Standard layout for their hold. Designed by him personally.
Then he sees them.
A ring of enforcers encircle the room. Some are familiar; others are completely new. None offer a salute or even a nod.
Kane counts over fifteen. This goes beyond added security.
“What’s going on here?”
No one answers. A few shift their stance, shoulders squaring. At a glance from the highest-ranking member, their weapons rise in unison.
Kane doesn’t flinch. “Lower your weapons.”
They don’t move.
His fingers curl into a fist. “I’m talking to you. Where’s your squad leader?”
“Here,” calls a familiar voice.
Viper steps through the parted line of enforcers, rifle in hand, barrel leveled at Kane’s chest.
He clenches his jaw. “What is this?”
“It’s called a tactical reassessment.” Viper shares a look with his team. “Your leadership is a liability, one we’re no longer willing to risk.”