The whiskey burns on the way down, and Alex squints, baring his teeth. That good kind of burn. He turns to the woman on his left at the bar. The music in the club pulses—bass booming like heartbeats. Laser lights and spotlights slash through the haze. A massive chandelier dangles from the ceiling's midpoint, casting fractured light across the crowd. Above, people dance and drink, blacklights washing the scene in glowing greens, purples, and oranges. A few stumble into the railing, spilling drinks onto the crowd below.
"You don't look like you're from here," Alex says to her.
She narrows her eyes. "Then you shouldn't judge me by how I look. I was born and raised in Pierview. Been coming here for years. I've met a dozen guys like you—the quiet ones at the bar who think they know everything. The jacket says ex-military, and that low fade screams it. You're either stationed here in town or you served and got out. How'm I doing so far?"
She sips her drink through a straw, smirking, eyebrows raised. Her bracelets clink as she moves. Hair tied high in a ponytail. Dress covered everything but her arms, feet, and a cutout between her breasts. Light makeup. She smelled like amber and vanilla, with hints of jasmine and sandalwood.
"Well," Alex says, "since you asked—you're doing… terribly."
She gives him a puzzled look. "Do explain."
"I'm currently serving, but I'm not housed on base. I work independently. Not your standard military."
She snorts, shoving his shoulder. She barely moves him. He sits like a statue.
"So, Special Forces? Some kind of private task force? Right, sure." She drinks again.
"I know it's hard to believe. That's why I can tell you—without jeopardizing anything."
"And what is your mission?" she asks, leaning in. "I have to know now."
"Pfft. Like it'd be that easy." He downs another shot of whiskey. No reaction this time. After the first burn, the rest slides down smooth.
"How can I get you to trust me enough to tell me?" she asks.
He answers with a question: "Why so curious all of a sudden?"
She shrugs and sets her empty glass on the bar. Tilts her head, smiling with purple-stained teeth. "Maybe I just want to know who you are. What's your name?"
He grins. "You first."
She shakes her head slightly. "Mine's Annie," she says.
He nods. "Annie. I like it. I'm Alex."
He raises two shot glasses, offering her one. "You like whiskey?"
She shakes her head hard, hair whipping around.
"Humor me, then."
She sighs and takes the glass. "Salud," she says.
They both take the shot. Alex, again, doesn't flinch. Annie gags and coughs, then grabs her soda for relief. Alex laughs. She glares.
"What are you doing after this?" she asks.
He shrugs. "Didn't have much of a plan. Drink, maybe dance. Head home."
She grins, trailing a finger along the back of his hand. "Then let's dance. Since it's already on your mind."
He downs the last shot and stands from his stool, extending a hand. She takes it, and he leads her to the floor—a sea of bodies moving in rhythm. The bass pounds through his chest.
At first, they dance apart, a bit of space between them. But it closes. Her arms loop around his neck. They step together. His hands rest at her waist. She leans in and kisses his neck, then turns in front of him, bending slightly, brushing against him. His hands slide from her waist to her hips and back again—a test. She doesn't seem to mind. He grabs again, this time not letting go. She rises, wraps her arms around his neck, turns to face him.
Then she steps away, beckoning him with a single curled finger. He follows.
They climb to the upper level, passing a couple locked in a clumsy kiss on the stairs. Looked like they just learned how.
Upstairs, the hallway glows purple and green. Walls are reflective bronze. The color scheme doesn't match—orange and green, weirdly—but it works. They reach a door labeled Escape the Day and slip inside.
She closes the door behind her, hands staying behind her back. He sits on the half-circle couch, watching. Her arms move—like she's fiddling with something. He tenses. He's been lied to before. Pretty lips have a history.
She brings her hands forward, and her dress falls slowly to the floor. She steps out of it, eyes burning with passion. He eases, lets his guard down.
She walks to him, barefoot now, pulling the tie from her hair. It falls past her shoulders. She fluffs it with her hands, padding it for show. He watches her, one arm stretched across the back of the couch.
She straddles him, sweeping her hair to one side, inching toward his lips. He moves in to kiss her.
But from the corner of his eye, he sees the door crack open.
Three men step in. Big. Armed with knives and knuckle dusters. They aren't here to party.
Annie sighs and stands. "You couldn't wait ten more minutes?" she says, pulling her dress back up.
"I didn't want him going out dreaming," one of them says. "I want him to know exactly what's happening."
Alex shrugs, glancing at them like they're just part of the décor. "What is happening? A reunion?"
He hasn't moved an inch. Not nervous. Not even curious. Annie notices—and starts to worry.
Red and black gear. Subtle. Not hired thugs. Shroud soldiers.
"Can I take a guess?" Alex asks, eyes locked on the man in the middle as he takes a step forward.
"You get one guess," he says. "Right or wrong, you'll still find out."
He slides a long knife from its sheath. The others slip on knuckle dusters.
"Whoa. Okay, hold on."
Alex stands and shakes out his arms. He stretches, popping his neck and back, twisting to loosen up. A few hops in place, some high knees, then wide arm swings. Finally, he plants his feet, fists up, bouncing lightly on his toes—ready.
"Alright. Now go."
Annie grabs her heels and bolts for the door. One of the men throws a diaphragm punch into her gut. She doubles over, gasping, and he shoves her down. Her head cracks against the edge of the glass-and-wood table. She's out cold.
"The General sends his regards, High Binder," says the man in the middle. "He wanted me to give you a choice—come back and be reinstated. Real purpose. Real direction. But I'd rather make you pay for what you did to Nikolai."
He lowers his stance, ready to strike. The other two mirror his move.
Alex doesn't flinch.
"I've got a message of my own for the General and Nikolai. You can deliver it for me."
He spits—hard—right into the middle man's face.
Enraged, the man charges for a tackle.
Too slow.
Alex steps aside like smoke slipping through fingers. The brute hits the couch with a muted thud thanks to the cushions.
"Big, clunky, and clumsy. Try not telegraphing so—"
He ducks—fast. A right hook whooshes past, barely missing his head. Alex catches the attacker's wrist, twists until something cracks, then grabs the collarbone and yanks. The man crashes to the floor.
The third man lunges in. Alex takes a hit to the mouth—his lip splits. Another punch slams his nose, drawing blood. He winces, then counters with a high head kick. Crack. The man stumbles, dazed.
No time. The big one's charging again. Alex shifts left and explodes—driving a knee into the brute's chin while bringing an elbow down on the back of his head. Crunch. The massive body drops with a boom that rattles the floor.
Two left.
One writhing on the ground, cradling a shattered collarbone.
One still standing, dazed but recovering.
Alex grabs the blade from the downed giant and turns.
Crack.
A fist smashes into his temple. He drops to one knee.
Another knee slams into the side of his head.
Two hands grab his skull and slam it into the wall.
Ringing. Fog.
He falls back, landing hard.
A boot snaps into his jaw and flattens him.
The standing man helps his wounded comrade up.
"I don't want you to die quick," he says. "Not after what you did."
Alex groans, rubbing his temple with two fingers.
"You mean what I've done," he says, voice low. "Like breaking Nikolai's legs before shoving a hot iron down his throat."
He spits on the man still groaning on the ground.
That one—Isaac—grabs a glass from the table and hurls it at Alex's face. Alex tilts his head just in time. It shatters behind him.
"I heard Nikolai lived through it. What's his voice sound like now? I bet it hurts to breathe. Every breath, a reminder of the innocent girl he ruined. Every time he wheels himself around, maybe he thinks of what he took from her."
Isaac stares at his comrade—who's burning holes in Alex with his glare.
"Gage's out. I can't fight. I'm leaving," Isaac mutters.
He turns—
But is grabbed from behind by the neck.
"I kill cowards, Isaac."
Crack.Crush.
Isaac's body drops like a sack.
Alex stands, neck popping as he stretches again.
"So we've got Isaac, Gage, and…?"
The remaining man turns.
"Payton."
Alex smirks.
"Alright, Payton. Let's see how long you last one-on-one."
He lunges forward, fast.
A left hook slams into Payton's ribs. Alex feels it reverberate through bone.
Payton swings—a haymaker. It clips Alex's chin. He stumbles, then springs back with a jab—missed—followed by a right cross. Crack. That one lands. Payton's jaw gives slightly.
The man drops low and sweeps Alex's legs.
Alex crashes down.
Payton mounts him.
Fists rain down.
Alex tries to shield himself as the storm comes in.
He holds most of them off, but a few still make it through his guard. A punch connects—he spits blood onto the ground and grabs Payton's arm. Shifting his weight, he pulls his leg free and wraps his arm around Payton's waist, changing position. Alex gets behind him and locks in a rear naked choke. Payton winces, throwing desperate punches that can't reach Alex's head. Alex squeezes, applying full pressure. Just before Payton blacks out, he releases the hold.
Alex stands, grabs the knife from the floor, and wipes his bloody mouth and nose. He positions himself just in front of Payton.
"I have questions. You have answers," he says.
Payton coughs and holds his throat, shaking his head. "I only know my orders—and my boss."
Alex kneels, pressing the tip of the knife into the side of Payton's neck.
"What are your orders? And who's your fucking boss?" he demands. "Tell me."
He pushes the blade in just a bit more. Payton's hands go up in submission.
"Okay, alright," he says quickly. "Varikk himself set this up. Elias had surveillance on you, and T figured out your schedule. Knew you'd be here, so he called me and my guys." He glances at the lifeless bodies on the floor. "We used Annie to pull you away from the crowd."
Alex looks at her—still unconscious, but her chest is rising and falling. Alive, at least.
"I gotta give you credit," Alex says. "You put in the work and almost succeeded."
He places his hand on the other side of Payton's head, the knife still poised.
"So, Varikk and his little posse. Thanks for the tip. I'm guessing they'll be at home?"
Payton shrugs, eyes darting between the knife and Alex's glare. "I could help you get there, I—"
The blade slides through, cutting him off mid-sentence. A choking gasp escapes as Payton struggles for air. He flails, but Alex pins him to the ground by the shoulders. He writhes and kicks before going still, his last breath leaving his lungs.
Alex pulls the knife free in a wet gush, blood pooling beneath them.
"I don't work well with others," he mutters, turning toward Annie.
She's starting to wake. Her eyes open slowly, then widen at the scene around her. She screams and scrambles away, landing against the couch. Her face turns pale when she sees Alex.
"They made me do it!" she cries. "They said if I didn't, they'd kill my daughter—my baby!" She sobs, hands raised, begging. "Please don't kill me! She needs me!"
Alex takes a step closer.
"What's her name?" he asks calmly.
He kneels beside Payton, unbuckling the knife sheath from his waist and securing it to his own. The blade slides into place with a faint metallic whisper.
"H-Her… it's Karleen… her name's Karleen… a-are you gonna kill me?" she asks, trembling.
He shakes his head. "I don't do that. Where are they holding her? Do you know?"
She pauses, thinking, then shakes her head. "They never told me. I didn't hear anything about where she is. But I know they've got her—she was with my sister, and they picked her up from there."
Alex nods and heads for the door. His hand is on the knob when she calls out.
"Wait!"
He turns back.
"Can I come with you? If I stay here, I'll get hemmed up by the pigs, and I need to find my girl!"
He sighs. This decision could get her killed. But leaving her here would mean cops, questions, maybe jail—and no chance of finding Karleen. The room feels heavy with blood and consequence. Annie stands, pulling her dress straps back onto her shoulders. She slips her heels on and ties her hair into a ponytail again.
He watches her. A moment ago, she would've been a distraction—fun, temporary. Now, he's not so sure. But there's no time to dwell. A little girl is out there, scared and alone, in the hands of men who won't hesitate to hurt her.
"Okay," he says. "You stay close. Do what I say, when I say it. We'll find Karleen."
Tears fill her eyes. She rushes toward him, nearly tripping over one of the bodies, and throws her arms around him. He stiffens at first, but then slowly brings a hand to her back and rubs gently. She sobs into his chest.
"Thank you," she whispers over and over.
He wraps his other arm around her. "It's alright. We'll find her."
She releases him and wipes her eyes.
"I'm sorry—"
He cuts her off. "Nothing to be sorry for. Come on."
He steps into the hallway. She follows, stepping over a corpse on the way out. Together, they descend the stairs and exit the club.
"We'll take my car," he says, walking into the parking lot. They move in silence until he spots it.
"There she is." He gestures with open arms. "Behold—the mighty Kestrel Vanta X4. She is my steed."
Annie's jaw drops.
Smooth, predatory lines in matte obsidian black. Minimalist panel gaps. No chrome. Aerodynamic vents tucked beneath angular plating. Razor-thin adaptive LED strips for headlights.
He opens the driver's door and pops the hood.
"Wait for it," he says.
He hits the inner latch and lifts the hood, revealing a Roush-Veltrix 4.1L twin-turbocharged V8 engine.
"You got any wrench monkey in you, Annie?" he asks.
She nods, smiling. "I've been wondering if these really existed. I heard when The Shroud first started becoming… well, what they are now, they had a few of these Vantas. How the hell did you get an X4?"
He grins. "How do you think I got away at all? To this day, I still outrun them in this baby."
She walks along the side, running her hand down the sleek body.
"Can I drive?" she asks.
"Fuck no."
He slams the hood shut and gets in. She climbs into the passenger seat, taking in the smell of the interior—a clean scent with a hint of cedarwood.
Everything inside screams militarized luxury. Functional. Sharp. There's a custom heads-up display with night vision overlay, encrypted uplinks, a manual gear shifter, and a modified biometric glovebox with a hidden lockbox for a pistol.
She shakes her head. "You're insane if you've got one of these."
"Or incredibly talented at grand theft," he says, grinning.
He fires up the engine. It roars to life, and flames shoot from the rear exhaust.
"We should find your sister. Maybe she knows something we don't," he says.
Annie nods. "I haven't seen her since... She lives in Achre Point, past Ted's Auto. I'll guide you."
"Oh, no need," he says. "I know how to get around."
He slams the gas pedal. Tires scream against the asphalt, clouds of smoke billowing behind them. A white fog surrounds the car before they tear off toward Achre Point.