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Chapter 8 - Conspiracy

"Isule, I need your help with algebra," Malcolm whispered urgently, his eyes darting around the crowded hallway.

Isule raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "What's really going on, man?" he asked, his voice low.

Malcolm took a deep breath, his eyes searching Isule's face. "Look, it's not just algebra," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's about that new strain of weed everyone's talking about."

Isule's eyes narrowed. "The one that's been messing people up?" he asked, his voice tight with concern.

Malcolm nodded. "Yeah, it's not just weed," he said, his voice dropping even lower. "Some of the guys who've tried it are in the hospital, and I heard it might not be just a bad batch. It's something else entirely."

Isule felt his stomach twist. He had always been careful with his product, ensuring it was the best and safest on the market. The thought of some amateur undercutting him with something dangerous was infuriating. "Who's slinging this shit?"

Malcolm's eyes darted around again before he leaned in closer. "Marcus," he murmured. "The new kid. He's got a contact that's been giving him some weird stuff."

Isule felt a cold rage build within him. If Marcus was cutting into his business and endangering their school, there would be consequences. "Take me to him," he said, his voice hard as stone.

Malcolm nodded, and together they slipped out of the school, the heavy weight of their mission pressing down on them. The old soccer field was a desolate place, the perfect spot for a clandestine meeting. The sun had begun its descent, casting long shadows across the overgrown grass.

Isule's Lamborghini purred to a stop at the edge of the field. Malcolm gave a nod toward the figure leaning against the rusty fence. "That's him," he murmured.

Marcus looked up as they approached, his eyes wide with fear. Isule stepped out of the car, his posture radiating power and menace. "What's the word, Marcus?" he said, his voice cool and casual.

Marcus swallowed hard, his eyes darting from Isule to Malcolm and back again. "Look, man, I don't know what you're talking about," he said, his voice shaking.

Isule's smile was cold, his eyes like chips of ice. "Cut the crap," he said, his voice low and deadly. "We know you're pushing a new product. We want to know where it's coming from."

Marcus's eyes darted around, searching for an escape that wasn't there. "I-I don't know," he stuttered. "I'm just the middle man."

Isule stepped closer, his shadow looming over the smaller boy. "Who's your supplier?" he demanded, his voice a low growl.

Marcus looked like he was about to crack. "The Phantom," he whispered. "But I swear, I don't know anything else."

Isule's eyes narrowed. "The Phantom?" he repeated. It was a name he hadn't heard before, but it had a familiar ring to it—like a rumor that had been floating around the school for a while, just out of earshot. "Where can we find him?"

Marcus's shoulders slumped in defeat. "I don't know where he is," he said, his voice barely audible. "But I know where he lives."

Isule nodded, his mind racing. He needed to get to the Phantom before the situation spiraled even further out of control. "Take us there," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Marcus swallowed hard and gave them directions to a run-down apartment complex on the outskirts of town. The drive was tense, the silence in the car thick with unspoken fear and accusations. Isule knew he had to tread carefully—Marcus was on the edge, and one wrong move could send him running straight to the authorities.

As they pulled into the complex, Marcus reached for the mask Isule had given him. "What's with this?" he asked, his voice shaking slightly.

Isule's eyes remained on the road ahead, his expression unreadable. "It's a little something I picked up," he said casually. "Nano-technology. It'll keep us both safe."

Marcus looked at the sleek, black mask in his hand, the material feeling cold and alien against his skin. "How does it work?" he asked, his curiosity piqued despite the fear gnawing at his insides.

"Just put it on," Isule said, his eyes never leaving the road ahead. "It'll do the rest."

Marcus nodded, his hands trembling as he placed the mask over his face. The material felt alive, molding to the contours of his face as if it were a second skin. The world around him shifted, the edges of his vision blurring as the mask's advanced technology went to work, disguising his features. Isule watched in the rearview mirror as Marcus's face changed, morphing into a perfect replica of someone else. It was eerie, but also incredibly fascinating.

"Now, remember," Isule said, his voice firm. "You're with me, and you're going to do exactly what I say."

Malcolm nodded, his heart racing as he pulled the mask over his face. The cold material clung to his skin, and he could feel the nanobots swarming over him, rearranging his features into an unfamiliar visage. "What if something goes wrong?"

Isule's eyes never left the road ahead, his expression unreadable through his own mask. "Then we deal with it," he said, his voice firm. "But we're not going in blind. We need to know what we're walking into."

Malcolm's hand hovered over the glove compartment, his heart pounding. He had never been in a situation like this before, and the weight of the Glock in his hand was both reassuring and terrifying. He had seen Isule handle tough situations before, but this was different—this was personal.

With shaking hands, he cocked the gun, the metallic click echoing through the confined space of the car. Marcus's eyes went wide with fear, and Malcolm couldn't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction at the power he now held over his former rival. "This is for your own good," he murmured, his voice steady despite his racing thoughts.

They arrived at the apartment complex, a grim reminder of the stark contrast between their school's opulence and the stark reality of the world just outside its gates. The Phantom's building loomed before them, a foreboding presence that seemed to suck the light from the surrounding area.

Isule parked the car in the shadows, the engine purring quietly. "Remember, keep your cool," he warned Marcus, his eyes cold and unwavering. "We go in, get the info, and get out."

Malcolm followed closely, his eyes never leaving Isule's back. He was torn between his fear and his loyalty to his friend. Isule had always been the leader, the one with the plan, the one who knew what to do in a crisis. But now, as they approached the Phantom's lair, Malcolm couldn't help but wonder if Marcus had led them all into a trap.

The apartment building was a labyrinth of shadowy corridors and stale air. The flickering lights above cast eerie patterns on the cracked linoleum floor, and the walls were plastered with faded posters of forgotten celebrities. They moved quickly, their footsteps echoing in the silence. Marcus's breath was ragged, and Malcolm could feel his own heart racing in his chest.

They reached the Phantom's apartment, a nondescript door at the end of a narrow hallway. Isule turned to them, his eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and caution. "Remember, no funny business," he whispered, and Malcolm nodded, his grip tightening on the gun.

Marcus knocked, his knuckles white with tension. They heard the sound of shuffling inside, and the door cracked open. A pair of eyes peered out, wary and suspicious. Isule stepped forward, his masked face a picture of calm. "We need to talk," he said, his voice firm.

"What do you want?" she snarled, her voice shaking with fear and defiance.

Isule pushed past her, his eyes scanning the room. "Where is it?"

The Phantom stumbled back, her eyes wide. "What are you talking about?"

Isule's voice was cold and unyielding. "The new strain," he said, his eyes sweeping the room. "Where is it?"

The Phantom's eyes darted around the room before settling on a duffel bag in the corner. She lunged for it, but Isule was faster, grabbing her wrist and twisting it behind her back. She yelped in pain. Marcus watched in horror as the situation spiraled out of control. This wasn't what he had signed up for—he just wanted to make some extra cash, not get tangled up in a world of violence and danger.

"Tell me where it is, and maybe I'll let you walk out of here," Isule said, his grip unrelenting.

The Phantom gritted her teeth, her eyes flashing with defiance. "You're not going to find it," she spat. "I've hidden it well."

Isule's smile was cold and calculated. "We'll see about that," he said, his voice a low growl. He shoved her towards the duffel bag, and Marcus felt his stomach twist as he watched her fall to her knees, her eyes never leaving Isule's face.

Malcolm's mind raced as he took in the chaos unfolding before him. He had never seen Isule like this—so cold, so ruthless. The man he thought he knew was gone, replaced by someone he didn't recognize. "Isule, please," Malcolm began, his voice shaking. "We don't have to do this."

Isule's eyes narrowed, and he turned to Malcolm. "You think you're better than me?" he asked, his voice like a whip crack. "You think you can sit there and judge me?"

Malcolm felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead. He had never seen Isule like this before—the man he had looked up to, the one who had always had his back, was now a monster before his eyes. "No," he said, his voice trembling. "I just don't want anyone to get hurt."

Isule's grip on the Phantom's wrist tightened. "You're too soft, Malcolm," he said, his voice like a whip. "This is the real world. People get hurt."

The Phantom's eyes met Marcus's, and he saw the fear in them. He knew he had to do something, had to stop this before it went too far. He took a deep breath. "Isule," he said, his voice firm. "We're not like this. We don't hurt people."

Isule's gaze was cold and unwavering. "You're either with me, or you're against me," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Choose."

Malcolm felt like he was drowning. He had always been loyal to Isule, but this...this was too much. He looked at Marcus, his eyes pleading for understanding. "Isule, please," he began.

But The Hand's grip on the Phantom's arm didn't loosen. "Do it," he said, his voice cold and unyielding.