The vast expanse of the Bolivian desert shimmered under the relentless sun, heatwaves rising from the ground like invisible flames. A large lizard clambered over the baked rocks, completely indifferent to the tense atmosphere just outside the hotel. Perched on the edge of the desert, *La Perla de las Dunas* stood like a strange oasis—its sleek, hydrogen-powered structure a stark contrast to the barren surroundings.
On a large balcony overlooking the landscape, General Medrano lounged in his chair, his eyes narrowed against the glaring sun. Beside him sat Colonel Carlos, the chief of the Bolivian police, flanked by two stone-faced bodyguards.
Medrano turned to Carlos, impatience flickering across his face. "Did you find them?"
The Colonel shook his head, his jaw tightening. "None. I couldn't find Mathis or the girl, Camille, anywhere."
Medrano's frown deepened, his hands gripping the arms of the chair. Before he could respond, a strange, low sound echoed from deep within the hotel. Medrano stiffened, his eyes darting toward the noise.
Carlos smirked, waving it off. "It's just the fuel cells. The whole compound runs on them. A pain in the ass, really."
Medrano's eyes scanned the strange, futuristic structure of the hotel, his unease growing. "Sounds highly unstable," he muttered.
But his patience was running thin, and his gaze hardened as he looked back at Carlos. "Find them quickly. I'm not paying you for nothing."
Carlos nodded curtly. As if on cue, the hotel's receptionist appeared on the balcony, her posture formal and polite. "I was told you needed something, General. How can I help you?"
Medrano smiled, the kind of smile that didn't reach his eyes. "What a lovely question. How about a drink, for now?"
The receptionist tilted her head. "What would you like?"
"A beer," Medrano said, his tone light but laced with tension.
She turned to Carlos. "And for you, sir?"
Carlos waved her off with a dismissive hand. "Nothing. Go away."
As she left, Medrano and Carlos exchanged glances—an unspoken understanding, dark and knowing. The Colonel chuckled, his smile widening. The atmosphere on the balcony was thick with anticipation, an uneasy calm before the storm.
A few hundred yards away, squatting behind a large boulder, Camille surveyed the balcony through a pair of binoculars. Her black tactical suit clung to her frame, the padding on her knees and elbows offering both protection and ease of movement. Her thigh holster felt secure against her leg, and she could feel the weight of her Widow's Bites on her wrists, their soft blue glow barely visible in the bright sunlight.
She pulled out her pistol, checking it with steady hands, but the tension in her chest was undeniable. She had never killed anyone before.
Behind her, Kage crouched low, his voice a calm whisper in the desert silence. "Have you ever killed someone?"
Camille remained silent, her jaw tight, her hands tightening around the grip of her pistol.
Kage didn't need her to answer. He could see it in her face. "Your training will tell you that when the adrenaline kicks in, you need to compensate," he continued, his voice firm but steady. "But part of you isn't going to believe the training, because this kill is personal."
Camille took a slow, deliberate breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle on her shoulders. This was more than a mission. This was revenge—for everything Medrano had done, for everyone he had hurt. Her pulse quickened, but she forced herself to focus.
While Kage taps the Arashikage symbol on his biceps, as his armor materializes around him piece by piece, each component clicking into place with a satisfying mechanical sound. The full-body armor that takes the form of a close-fitting, black-white-blue suit. The suit appears to be constructed from a techno-organic material, offering complete protection across his entire body.
The suit is primarily black and white with striking blue accents. The base of the suit is black, covering the chest plate, shoulders, arms, legs, and boots. White sections prominently appear on the chest plate, likely offering enhanced protection or containing technological functions. Vivid blue accents energize the design. These include the core within the chest plate, stripes running down the arms and legs, accents on the gloves and boots, and likely the visor of the helmet
"You only need one shot," Kage reminded her, his gaze unwavering. "Make it count."
Camille looked at the nano tech armour is slight awe, but nodded to Kage.
Back on the balcony, Medrano and Carlos leaned back in their chairs, seemingly at ease, though the tension in their eyes said otherwise. They knew something was coming, but they had no idea how close the threat was.
Suddenly, Lieutenant Orso rushed onto the balcony, his footsteps urgent. "He's here."
Carlos grinned, his teeth gleaming under the harsh sunlight. Medrano stood from his chair, brushing the dust from his uniform. The Colonel followed suit, their confidence growing with each passing second.
Carlos clapped Medrano on the back, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Ha llegado tu hora," he said.
Medrano smirked, his posture shifting with anticipation. "Vamos."
Together, they left the balcony, moving deeper into the hotel, unaware that their time was running out.
Camille exhaled slowly as she lined up her shot, the cool metal of the Widow's Bites humming on her wrists. This wasn't just another mission. This was the beginning of the end for General Medrano.
Inside the dimly lit *La Perla de las Dunas* hotel garage, Medrano's soldiers stood on high alert, patrolling the perimeter of the underground structure. Greene's car rolled in smoothly, its sleek black body standing out against the industrial, gray walls. As the vehicle came to a stop, Greene emerged, followed by his ever-present right-hand man, Elvis, and a driver carrying two large silver suitcases.
In the hotel's circular dining area, General Medrano sat at the head of a large table, flanked by the Colonel and his bodyguards. The tension in the room was palpable as the two men awaited Greene's arrival. Moments later, Greene, with his usual casual air, descended the stairs, an apple in hand, chewing leisurely as if they were meeting for a casual lunch, not for the finalization of a deal that would decide the fate of a nation's future.
Medrano leaned forward slightly, his voice booming across the dining space. "Es la hora," he announced, signaling the moment they had all been waiting for.
Greene stood opposite the General, grinning as he took another bite of his apple. He was in complete control, and everyone in the room knew it. The Colonel's eyes flicked to the silver suitcases that Greene's driver had placed on the table. Greene, still chewing, finally spoke up. "In euros, as requested," he said coolly. "But for now, only half, since you didn't bring me Shadow nor his companions."
The Colonel's face briefly tightened in irritation as the driver opened one of the cases, revealing neat stacks of crisp euro notes. His disappointment at receiving only half of the promised sum was thinly veiled, but he maintained his composure. "I will bring them in," he said, his voice firm, trying to hide the undercurrent of tension. "Also, the dollar isn't what it once was. The cost of war."
The Colonel snapped the suitcase shut and stood from the table, turning his attention to Medrano with a mockingly ceremonious tone. "Presidente," he said, acknowledging the General's ambitions before swiftly leaving the room with the suitcase.
As the Colonel disappeared, Medrano's focus shifted back to Greene, his patience thinning. "And mine?" he asked, his tone filled with expectation.
Greene, still lounging in his seat, his apple almost finished, gave a casual smile. "Right after you sign over my land."
The hotel receptionist arrived at that moment with a beer, but Medrano, already distracted, waved her off. "Take it to my suite, please," he ordered.
Once she was gone, Elvis laid out a stack of papers—land agreements—on the table, sliding them along with a pen across to Medrano. The General's lips curved into a self-satisfied smile as he picked up the pen. "My first official act," he murmured to himself as he signed the papers, feeling the weight of his new position settling over him.
Greene, his eyes gleaming, slid another document across the table immediately after. "And this, if you would," he said with a smile that barely concealed his underlying menace.
Medrano paused, confused. He glanced down at the new papers, his brow furrowing. "This?" he asked, his voice carrying a note of suspicion.
Greene's smile broadened as he leaned back in his chair, relishing the moment. "As of this moment, my organization owns more than 60% of Bolivia's water supply. So, this contract states that your new government will use us as your utilities provider."
Medrano's expression darkened as he skimmed the contract. His fingers gripped the paper tightly, his anger rising. "This is double what we are paying now," he spat out, his eyes flashing with fury.
Greene's face remained composed, though the smugness in his voice was impossible to miss. "Well, then don't sign it," he said lightly. "But you should know something about me and the people I work with. We deal with the left or the right, with dictators or liberators. If the current president had been more agreeable, I wouldn't be talking to you."
He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a deadly tone. "So, if you decide not to sign, you will wake up with your balls in your mouth and your willing replacement standing over you. If you doubt that, then shoot me, take that money, and have a good night's sleep."
The room went cold. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. Lieutenant Orso's hand instinctively moved toward his sidearm, but Medrano raised a hand to stop him. His gaze locked with Greene's, the unspoken threat hanging heavily between them.
Medrano hesitated for just a moment longer before he reluctantly picked up the pen. With a scowl, he signed the paper, knowing he had little choice. He was playing a dangerous game, and for now, Greene held all the cards.
Once the papers were signed, Greene's driver set down another silver suitcase. Medrano, still seething with barely contained rage, opened the case, confirming the money inside. His face tightened further, and without a word, he snapped the case shut and pushed it toward Lt. Orso.
Without so much as a glance back at Greene, Medrano stormed out of the dining area, his footsteps echoing loudly as he disappeared into the corridor.
Greene, still sitting, tossed the apple core aside and chuckled quietly to himself. The first part of the plan was complete. Now, all that was left was to deal with the few remaining obstacles in his path.