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DATE:15th of June, the 70th year after the Coronation
LOCATION: Concord Metropolis
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While I was making some scrambled eggs I got some very bad news from Alice. It seems like her parents also heard about our relationship. They wanted to meet me and invited both of us for a dinner next week.
Oh well, I suppose it was inevitable.
This past week Emily has been analyzing the location Biz provided. It does seem like an unsuspecting place, the Donn's specialty, but I also can't fully trust him. For all I know it could be a trap.
I didn't have any nightmares in a while. I wonder if what She said is true, that she will finally face me the next time we meet.
I... Didn't start to "feel" after that incident. The most I can say is that it was a temporary thing.
Emily doesn't seem to be affected by what happened there either, but I can't be sure until I see her in person. She has been writing me affectionately, something I found very strange. I do remember her saying she loves me, but I thought of that more so a programming error than real feelings.
I do suppose in my mind she becomes a real person... But I still don't get how that works. She is an AI, stuck inside my phone...
Yesterday I went to Professor Mundi and he finally managed to transplant her chip, or more so the whole area it fuzed with into a begger phone. He made it by hand, titanium case, bulletproof glass, many Chips inside to enhance her computing power... I would call it overkill, but there was no reason to decline.
He seems awfully sad for her condition. I suppose that he recognized her superiority over his own worker drones. I didn't think Mundi had such humility in him.
I also properly confronted him about his name.
___
I tracked down Mundi in his usual spot in the lab—a sterile, cavernous space filled with the faint hum of machines, the glow of monitors, and the relentless clicking of gears. He was bent over a complex mechanism, his face partially obscured by the thick, transparent shield of his hazmat suit. I stood silently for a moment, then cleared my throat.
He glanced up, his expression unreadable. "Ah, you again. I suppose you didn't come here to discuss experimental nanites."
"No," I said flatly. "I came to talk about your connections with the Balmundi Syndicate."
Mundi's eyes narrowed. He straightened, the faintest tremor running through him, but he held his composure. "I've told you before—I have no part in that organization."
I folded my arms, not buying his response. "Really? Then how come your name keeps surfacing whenever Balmundi operations come up? You're more than just 'close to the family,' Mundi. You're practically born from them."
There was a heavy silence between us, the hum of machines now seeming to amplify the tension. He finally sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly as he spoke, his voice tinged with resignation. "Fine. You want the truth? My grandfather was indeed part of the Balmundi ruling clan. But that was his life—not mine."
"Convenient story," I replied, unmoved. "And your parents? They must've been tangled in the Syndicate too, right?"
His face hardened. "No. My father… well, he was different. Not interested in the family's business. When I was a teenager, he was taken hostage by a rival gang—one of the many endless battles between clans in Ventia. And my mother… she couldn't stand the life anymore. She took me and fled to Concord. That was her way of protecting us."
I watched him closely, searching his face for any hint of deceit, but he seemed sincere. His hands, gloved and steady, flexed against the workbench as if clinging to a lifeline. "So, you're telling me that's it? That you just… left that life behind?"
He gave a bitter chuckle. "Left behind? If only it were that simple. There are things you don't shake off, things that follow you. The name alone is enough to put a target on your back, and I bear more than just the name." He hesitated, glancing away. "I have this… mark. A rugged tattoo. Part of the family rite, back when I was too young to even understand what it meant."
I took a step forward, arms still crossed. "Show me."
He shook his head, his gaze icy. "I can't. The suit stays on, for your protection as much as mine. Let's just say it's there, etched in ink and history. But that doesn't make me one of them."
"Maybe not now," I conceded, "but the ties are there, Mundi. You might say you've left that life behind, but can you really be so sure it's not still pulling the strings?"
He didn't answer, but I saw something in his eyes shift, a flicker of vulnerability before he looked away and returned to his work. "Believe what you want," he said quietly. "My past is just that—a past. I'm here because I'm trying to build something new. Not because of who my family was."
I held his gaze for a moment longer, sensing he had no more to offer. Finally, I turned and walked out, the weight of his words echoing in my mind.
____
So that was a bust. I wonder how deep the Syndicate's influence goes. They wouldn't just leave one of their "royals" alone.
The professor could be selling them his weaponry, but I can't be sure.
The administration's attack dogs seem to work for the Donn if Barryvard is with him.
Mundi wouldn't just help the Donn.... Or would he?
About the old days, I did think about taking the revolver, it would be useful to fight the Donn, but sadly it is stashed in my safehouse in Ventia and I can't leave while technically being a dead man.
The Donn would certainly hear if William Carter Jr. Suddenly came back to life.
I thought this day would be another one used only for slouching, but Emily informs me I got sent an email about being deployed to a week long mission. I would appreciate if Superior Woman would at least call if she wanted to enslave me like this, but whatever. I was impressed Emily could read my emails like that, but considering what she did until now, this was more of a game for her.
Anyhow, the mission was to infiltrate a casino, specifically the VIP section. The combine gang were doing an undercover dealing, but I wasn't told of what. Probably technology. An associate of Secundo Manus was also going to be there so this confirmed it.
Alice didn't really want to separate from me, more so because 'she couldn't cook for her own life' and she finally 'had meals other than junk food and take-out', but I was sure she only joked....
You can't actually live off junk food right?
And she is so slim, what are heroes made out of?
As I arrived at the Vince Casino complex, its lights blazed against the dusk like a star that refused to dim. Silvian Morris had spared no expense, that much was clear—the sprawling complex was half hotel, half playground for the elite, and the other half a fortress meant to keep outsiders in awe. The front was lined with glossy palm trees that arched dramatically against the polished glass façade, reflecting Concord's neon skyline.
I stepped out of the car I was provided and glanced around, getting my bearings. A valet appeared, almost gliding in his precision, and I handed over my keys with a quick nod. The air was thick with the scent of hibiscus and chlorine from the pools somewhere beyond the front gates, which felt almost out of place in a structure built to exude nothing but wealth and power.
The casino lobby was a world all its own, with high ceilings that soared, crystal chandeliers glittering like frozen fireworks, and marble floors polished to a glassy perfection. I could see myself in the floor as I walked—a sharp, tailored suit, a black tie, and a face that, by most appearances, blended seamlessly into a crowd. Not familiar enough to raise any eyebrows.
My assignment was simple for the first few days: observe, blend in, and confirm the identities and routines of the Combine gang's agents and Secundo Manus's contacts.
I made my way toward the casino floor, my eyes scanning for details without moving too obviously. The crowd was a mix of the wealthy, the restless, and the dangerously bored. Platinum cufflinks, diamond-studded watches, and the dull glow of too many cocktails glistened in every corner. Groups of high-stakes players crowded the tables, the quiet sound of cards flipping over and the roulette ball spinning making a constant backdrop of tension and anticipation.
The place was crawling with security, almost invisible if you didn't know how to look for them—subtle earpieces, occasional hand signals, and those scrutinizing gazes that never quite settled on anyone for too long.
I kept my face neutral, making my way toward the resort's bar. Part of me would've preferred having Alice here, but we couldn't risk her being recognized by any of the regulars or contacts she'd worked with in Concord. She was known here; I wasn't. Just another face in the crowd.
At the bar, I ordered a whiskey and surveyed the room from a distance. I noticed a few key players already—regulars who knew the dealers by name, men who looked a little too familiar with the place's ins and outs. My role was to shadow them from afar, build the mental map of players, routines, and possible entry points. Four days of reconnaissance would be enough to memorize most of it.
As I sipped my drink, a flicker of movement from the elevator bank caught my eye—two men in gray suits, each with a briefcase, escorted by someone I recognized from the dossiers as a mid-level Combine associate. They slipped quietly into the elevator, doors closing with a polished, silent click. Just the first step in a long game, but I noted it all.
Silvian Morris's Vince Casino had secrets stashed behind every suite, every turn of the roulette wheel. And I had a week to find them all.
Sitting at the table near the Combine men, I quickly reminded myself that this was a game of patience, not skill. Card counting and bluffing were skills I never truly mastered; I'd been trained for many things, but gambling wasn't one of them. Stoicism could get me through plenty of situations, but poker was a different beast. So I focused on keeping my profile low and watching the men from the corner of my eye, observing their habits more than my own cards.
The three men spoke in rough accents from Salvian, a desert dialect that carried a certain harshness, though none of them looked like they had spent much time under the sun. Their skin was pale, almost contrasting with the language that belonged to a place of relentless heat and light. Two of the men flanked a mid-level gangster I recognized from Combine files. He had the restless energy of someone who couldn't stay still, fingers tapping the table, gaze flicking to his tokens every few seconds.
They were using the casino's tokens, but the scene had a peculiar twist. Every time the Combine man pushed himself too far and lost a hand, he'd lean back, frustrated, his expression a forced coolness that barely hid his irritation. And as soon as his tokens dwindled, one of his sidekicks would open a briefcase with quiet precision, lifting another neat stack of tokens and sliding it across without a word. The stack would settle in front of him, and he'd play again, inevitably going all-in once more.
I couldn't help but wonder what they were really trading here, beneath the pretense of this constant game. Tokens weren't the only currency at play—there was too much intention behind each move, each expression the Combine man let slip. He wasn't here for the thrill of a win; he was here for something deeper, something with the weight of intent behind it.
Every so often, he would glance around, almost instinctively looking for something or someone. I made sure to keep my attention split just enough to avoid his gaze—enough that I could take in his habits without raising suspicion.
I'd have four days of this, watching from the periphery, piecing together each layer of his game. For now, I focused on playing poorly enough to pass as just another gambler while picking up on the patterns and rhythms that would guide their moves. They weren't here to win or lose; they were here for a show. And I was going to make sure I saw every act.
Sighing from how bored I was, I thought about checking out the room they got me.
The casino suite was as ostentatious as I'd expected, drenched in deep reds and gilded trims, a twisted luxury that felt both suffocating and seductive. The bed was scattered with rose petals, their scent thick in the air—a romantic gesture meant for a different audience. And there, posed among them, was a figure that made me stiffen, though not from desire.
Sophie. Or as I used to call her, the Changeling.
She sat with a coy, calculated expression, draped in delicate black lingerie, her skin gleaming against the crimson bedspread. She was playing the seductress, the way she always did, banking on beauty and mystery. But I knew her too well. Underneath that flawless exterior, she was as corrupt as the grime she worked in, and for all her finesse, I found the sight sickening.
"How'd you get in here?" I asked, voice flat. I wasn't going to indulge her theatrics.
Her smile spread, slow and taunting. "I followed you, love. And a little smooth-talking at the reception was all it took. Told them I was your lover—convenient, don't you think?" She glanced around, assessing the room with a casual arrogance. "Though, really, I didn't have a choice. This place is tight about their ID policy."
It irked me how easily she could lie her way in, how natural it was for her to manipulate anyone in her path. If security was this lax, she might've slipped in some other lowlife, and the last thing I needed was her bringing her own baggage into this mission.
"Get out," I muttered, eyes narrowing. I was ready to reach for my phone and get her dragged out, but the thought halted when I remembered her knack for deception—and her uncanny ability to blend in, to become invisible when needed. She wasn't the best companion, but she had her uses, especially on something this convoluted.
"You think I'm thrilled to bunk with you?" she scoffed, feigning indignation. But her gaze held something else, a trace of vulnerability that felt out of place. She leaned back, crossing her arms. "I'll stay out of your hair, but trust me, I'm as invested in taking down these people as you are."
Her motivations were murky, twisted up with her own grudges and rivalries. But I knew one thing—if anyone could worm their way into the secrets of this casino or get information from Secundo Manus's contacts without leaving a trace, it was her.
"Fine. But you don't speak to anyone. And keep your 'methods' to yourself," I said, voice hard.
She gave a mocking salute, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Wouldn't dream of it."
This mission was already complicated, and now I had to deal with her shadows trailing behind me. But if her skills could help me pull off this infiltration, then for now, she'd stay.
Sophie's gaze lingered on me, a mix of amusement and disdain that she didn't bother to hide. "So, they actually trusted you to slip between the cracks of this trade?" Her eyebrow arched, her voice dripping with mock surprise. "Didn't peg you for the charismatic type who'd fool SuperiorWoman. Who did you bribe for the honor?"
I didn't react, keeping my expression cold, though inside, I was grinding my teeth. Her insults were like poison, designed to seep under the skin, to peel away at composure. I'd seen her do it to targets before—and this time, she was aiming straight for me.
"How do you even know about the trade?" I asked, forcing my tone to stay steady.
Her lips curled up, a challenge glinting in her eye. "Ah, now that's a story," she purred, leaning forward slightly, as if preparing to share a tantalizing secret. "But if you want to hear it…you'll have to give me a kiss."
The words were bait, and she knew it. My patience snapped. In one fluid motion, I pulled out the small, discreet Beretta I'd kept hidden—insurance in case things went south. The pistol's weight was a familiar comfort in my hand as I leveled it at her. I could see the faint shift in her expression, the flash of alarm that she quickly smothered under her usual facade of bravado.
She tilted her chin up, a ghost of a smirk still on her face, though her fingers twitched in her lap. "What, too afraid of a little kiss?" she taunted, her voice a touch shakier than before.
I didn't lower the gun. "Last time we met, you lied and nearly got me killed," I said, my voice low. "I told you I won't accept this nonsense."
She laughed softly, though the sound was hollow. "Fine," she muttered, shifting her weight back, hands raised in mock surrender. "So maybe you're not as predictable as I thought."
But I didn't let my guard down. I'd played her games before, and I knew she was a snake through and through.
Sophie leaned back on the bed, watching me with that familiar, infuriating smirk. "I snuck around," she said, almost casually. I couldn't tell if she was implying she'd somehow managed to infiltrate the hero HQ or if she had been wandering elsewhere. She didn't have connections in the underworld anymore—at least not after the Donn wiped out her entire family and left her running for her life.
I narrowed my eyes. "Cover yourself," I muttered, heading towards the bathroom.
She snickered, teasing, "Getting ready for me, are we?"
Ignoring her, I shut the bathroom door, letting the sound of running water drown out her taunts. When I finally came back out, she had sprawled herself over the bed, still exuding that cocky, undeterred air. I approached my side of the bed, making it clear that her games had no effect on me.
"I'll kill you if you so much as touch me in my sleep," I warned, throwing her a final, icy glance.
Her eyebrows lifted in surprise, and I saw a flicker of something else in her expression. She was genuinely taken aback that I would allow myself to show this level of vulnerability around her. I knew what she was thinking—that with one move, she could end me, and no one would ever question it. This was her chance to goad me, to push until she found a crack in my composure.
But when her taunting words met silence, a look of frustration took over her smirk, and she reluctantly settled down beside me, eventually falling quiet.
I didn't relax completely. I knew what this night represented—for both of us. She was hanging on to the last thread of her vendetta, and I was testing whether her loyalty to the Donn had truly shattered. If she dared anything, it would prove she was still tied to him. But if she stayed still, it would mean her words about revenge held weight.
The entire night passed, tense but still. She didn't make a single move, and though I couldn't tell if she truly slept, she was motionless. When morning light filtered through, I finally let myself rise and headed to the bathroom, stretching as I glanced at the mirror.
My reflection showed a red lipstick mark stamped on my cheek.
Disgust churned in my stomach, and I fought the urge to wretch, forcing myself to keep my face neutral. A voice drifted from behind me, light and mocking. "Oh, come on. I'm not that disgusting."
My glare cut to her through the mirror, cold and wordless. Her smirk faltered just slightly, as if she'd expected me to laugh it off. But I wasn't in the mood for her games. Not this time.
"Uhhh... Touching is done with your hands, right? So lips aren't..." She didn't dare to finish that sentence.-*____