---
The safehouse felt smaller with every passing second.
Sol's breath steadied as he absorbed the data streaming into his ACE System. DreamCorp was spreading their net, sweeping the ruins with ruthless efficiency, their comms buzzing with orders. The Vultures lurked just outside their detection range, waiting for an opportunity. And the unknown third faction—the silent watchers—remained perched above it all, spectating. Calculating.
They were all here for him.
Sol exhaled through his nose. Let's make them fight over me first.
His fingers danced across his interface, sending precise commands to his remaining spiders. He adjusted their routes, deploying two toward the DreamCorp squads while a third scurried unseen toward the Vultures' hiding spot. His objective was clear—lead DreamCorp right into the Vultures' lap.
A few keystrokes, a subtle adjustment of audio transmissions, and Sol's voice crackled through DreamCorp's open comms—digitally distorted to match their encryption, playing back one of their own team's voices.
"Possible heat signature, south quadrant. Might be our target."
A slight pause.
"Affirmative. Moving in."
Sol smirked as he watched DreamCorp's lead team subtly shift their search direction—straight toward Serik's men.
But that wasn't enough. He needed the confrontation to be instant. Unavoidable.
He triggered the second phase of his plan. The spider near the Vultures' hiding spot had reached its target—one of Serik's more impatient men. Sol activated the bot's sound mimicry module, crafting a synthetic whisper just loud enough for the thug to hear.
"They found him."
The man stiffened immediately, turning to his squad.
"Shit," he muttered. "DreamCorp's onto him!"
Serik's voice came through the Vultures' private comms. "Stay put. We move when we're sure."
But uncertainty was a powerful tool, and Sol knew how to wield it.
Another whisper, this time from a different spider near the edge of their camp.
"Move now, or he's gone."
The thug clenched his fists. "Boss, we can't sit on our asses!"
Serik hesitated.
And that was all it took.
DreamCorp's troops turned a corner, stepping directly into the Vultures' line of sight. A half-second of mutual recognition—then the barrel of a rifle twitched.
The silence shattered in an instant.
Gunfire erupted, flashing lights cutting through the darkness as both sides unloaded on each other. Plasma bolts seared against ruined metal, the air charged with the sharp scent of ozone and burning debris. Orders were screamed, positions were taken, and the ground itself shook as a DreamCorp mech stomped forward, its automated targeting system locking onto multiple Vulture enforcers.
And just like that, they were fighting his battle for him.
Now for the bigger issue—the unknown faction watching from above.
---
The Strix Marauders.
They hadn't taken any action yet, which meant they were either waiting for an opening or simply observing. That made them dangerous. Unpredictable. Sol couldn't afford to let them remain in the shadows.
He needed to make them move.
He sent a command to one of his remaining spiders—the one that had been slowly making its way toward the rooftops where the third party was stationed. It climbed the building's exterior, tiny limbs digging into rusted metal until it reached a vantage point above them.
The figures barely moved. Their postures were disciplined, honed. They weren't gangsters. They weren't corporate drones, either.
Sol narrowed his eyes. So who the hell are you?
His fingers tightened over his interface as he activated his next trick—an Amp Blast.
The spider dropped a small, circular device onto the rooftop and scurried away just in time. A sharp pulse of electromagnetic waves erupted outward, disrupting unshielded electronics and scrambling HUDs.
More importantly—it was loud.
Not just in noise, but in signal output.
Sol smirked. DreamCorp's high-grade sensors would definitely pick up the anomaly.
He shifted his attention back to DreamCorp's encrypted comms, anticipating their response.
"Sir, an unknown EMP signature just spiked in the west quadrant."
"That's not our doing. Who the hell is interfering?"
Sol's smirk widened. There we go.
The Strix Marauders were officially exposed.
Now the question was—what would they do about it?
---
Strix Marauders' Rooftop Perch
Jex cursed under his breath, tapping the side of his helmet as static crackled through his HUD. "What the hell was that?"
Valka remained motionless, her gloved fingers drumming against the stock of her rifle. "A directed EMP. Precision-made."
Jex exhaled sharply, adjusting his sights. "You're telling me the kid figured us out?"
Valka's lips curled into a smirk. "He didn't just figure us out. He called us out."
Jex huffed. "Cocky little bastard."
Valka didn't respond immediately. Instead, she analyzed the situation—DreamCorp and the Vultures were fully engaged in their skirmish, chaos unfolding exactly as someone wanted it to. And now, the third piece—them—had been forced into the light.
She tapped into her visor, enhancing the flickering cityscape below. The EMP had disabled their scanning equipment, but one spider drone remained operational near their perimeter.
It scuttled along the rooftop, optics flickering as it adjusted its view.
Valka took a calculated step forward and knelt, meeting the spider's gaze with her own.
A tense pause.
Then she smiled.
"Nice try, kid," she murmured, barely above a whisper.
And then—without hesitation—she crushed the spider under her boot.
The feed cut out.
Jex let out a sharp laugh. "That's one way to send a message."
Valka exhaled. "Keep watching. Let's see what he does next."
---
Sol yanked back from his interface as static flooded his vision.
They saw me.
He had expected the unknown faction to react—but not like that. The way that woman had stared into the drone's optics, the way she knew exactly who she was dealing with…
It sent a chill through him.
He clenched his jaw, forcibly steadying his nerves. He was still in control.
DreamCorp and the Vultures were tearing each other apart. That bought him time. But the Marauders?
They weren't fooled. They weren't like the others.
His fingers hovered over his interface. He needed to rethink his approach. They weren't going to come to him—he had to control the battlefield.
The safest option? Evade. Slip out while they were all distracted.
The riskiest? Bait them.
He exhaled sharply, gripping his bag strap. If he was going to make a move, it had to be now.
Before they recovered. Before they regrouped.
The city was a battlefield, and Sol was done playing defense.