"Maine, did you take too many goddamn drugs?!"
Doom stormed forward, not even pretending to hide his fury. He didn't greet Maine, didn't shake hands, didn't ask questions—he came straight in, voice raised, veins bulging. The factory-turned-base of the Whirlpool Gang echoed with his wrath.
"What the hell do you think this is? You waltz into our turf like you're some kind of messiah and then have the balls to give us orders?"
His voice cut through the thick air, heavy with oil and sweat.
"We've already figured out the shady sh*t your crew pulled with Militech! Don't pretend you're clean, Maine. That aerostat that vanished last week? The one loaded with classified tech? Yeah. That was you, wasn't it? Your whole crew ghosted right after that—trying to pin it on us!"
Everyone in the room expected Maine to panic. After all, the heat from Militech was no joke. Their drones were in the skies, their bots on the ground. Anyone caught tampering with their property was practically signing a death sentence.
But Maine?
He didn't flinch. He didn't even blink.
"Oh... yeah, we did it," Maine said casually, his voice like gravel. "But get it straight—it wasn't stealing. It was robbing. There's a difference."
The room froze.
For a few long seconds, no one moved. Doom's jaw dropped halfway open, and the rest of the gang exchanged wide-eyed looks.
Is this guy out of his damn mind?
He came here alone, into enemy territory, and admitted to robbing Militech—with pride.
"Maine, are you out of your f***ing mind?!"
Doom was already in his face, practically spitting fire.
"You robbed a Militech aerostat and left our people to clean up the mess! They picked up Whirlpool Gang's trail because of you! Do you have any idea what that means?! Royce—our boss—is in Militech custody because of this! We don't even know if he's still alive!"
At that, Maine's brow lifted slightly. For the first time, he showed a flicker of interest.
"Oh… Royce? That psycho got bagged?" he said with a smirk. "Perfect."
Doom's eyes went wide with disbelief. "Perfect?!"
"Yeah. I was wondering how I'd get you lot to listen," Maine continued smoothly. "Royce would've been a pain in my ass. Good thing he's out of the picture. Saves me the trouble of dealing with his tantrums."
Then, Maine took a step forward. He raised his voice—not in anger, but in command.
"Listen up. Starting today, the Whirlpool Gang is under the jurisdiction of the David Team. You're not operating independently anymore."
He reached up, removed his tinted smart-lenses, and stared directly into the stunned crowd.
"So… who's in favor, and who's against?"
Silence.
Utter, absolute silence.
It was as if the entire room stopped breathing. Doom, still in front of him, was so stunned he didn't even know whether to laugh or scream.
Was this guy for real?
Maine had completely lost it.
Finally, someone cracked.
"Haha—hahahaha!!"
A burst of laughter shattered the silence. Then more followed. Soon, the whole room was laughing hysterically.
"What a lunatic!"
"This guy's seriously fried his brain!"
"Maine, you're high as hell! What fantasy world are you living in?!"
"Haha! Thinks he's got cyber-royalty rights or something!"
The gang's laughter echoed off the walls, bordering on cruel. But Maine remained still, unfazed, almost bored.
Doom wiped a tear from his eye as he caught his breath, then growled, "Alright, Maine. You've had your fun. But I'll make it real simple for you now."
He raised two fingers.
"You've got two choices."
"One—pay double compensation for all the damage you've done. Every dead man, every wrecked drone, every Militech tail we've had to shake."
"Or two…"
He stepped even closer, drawing a smart pistol from his hip holster and pressing it to Maine's chest.
"…you leave your body here today."
Maine exhaled slowly. His voice dropped, low and dark.
"It seems you still don't understand the situation."
He shook his head and calmly slipped his smart-lenses into his pocket.
"I'll give you one last chance."
"Surrender… or be annihilated."
Doom didn't hesitate. He snapped the gun up, aiming for Maine's face.
"F** you.* I'm not wasting another second on this junkie lunatic—"
He never finished the sentence.
Kakakaka—!!
A metallic grinding whine erupted from behind Maine's ear. A small cybernetic slot opened along his spine.
Then it began.
Shhrrkkk!
Nanoscale armor poured over his body like liquid chrome, encasing him from head to toe within seconds. The dull factory lighting reflected off his plating with a sinister sheen.
One of the younger gang members whispered, "S-Source gear?!"
Doom's eyes widened in shock. "You… You upgraded to that…?"
[Source Plan: Annihilation]—activated.
The armor bristled with micro-fiber musculature, a high-density alloy exoskeleton forming plates across Maine's limbs and chest. An ominous red glow pulsed through its veins. This wasn't just Militech gear—it was a prototype from the black labs, something that shouldn't even exist outside their vaults.
"Wha—What the hell kind of monster are you?" Doom muttered.
Maine looked him in the eyes, his voice distorted by the helmet's vocoder.
"The kind you should've surrendered to."
With a blinding burst of speed, he moved.
One second Doom was standing, the next he was flying backward, crashing into the far wall with a bone-cracking impact.
BANG!
His pistol went off, firing uselessly into the air.
Before the rest of the gang could even react, Maine was already moving again—smooth, calculated, lethal. He dashed forward and swept another gang member's legs out, grabbed him mid-fall, and slammed him into a stack of crates.
Crack!
"You want war?" Maine growled. "Here's your f***ing war."
Bullets flew. The Whirlpool Gang opened fire, but their shots ricocheted harmlessly off his plating. Smoke and sparks exploded in the air, but Maine pressed on.
He reached for the cannon mounted on his shoulder and activated its internal rail system. The weapon roared to life, releasing a kinetic blast that tore through the nearest barricade—and the three men hiding behind it.
BOOM!
Chunks of metal and flesh flew in every direction. The screams that followed were enough to silence even the most defiant voices in the room.
Blood sprayed against the concrete walls. The factory lights flickered under the sheer pressure of the shockwaves.
It wasn't a fight.
It was a massacre.
Within minutes, the once-proud Whirlpool Gang base was reduced to a war zone. Crates burned. Bodies lay twisted. Drones that had tried to flee short-circuited mid-air.
Maine stood in the center, the red glow of his armor flickering with each pulse of energy. Around him, what was left of the gang was either unconscious, dead, or too terrified to move.
He raised his arm, deactivating the railgun with a metallic hiss.
Finally, he spoke.
"Whirlpool is under David's control now."
He looked down at Doom, coughing up blood against the wall.
"Your boss was a liability. You were a loudmouth. I'm offering you all a better future—or a faster end. Your call."
Doom didn't speak. He just coughed—spat blood—and passed out.
Maine turned and began walking away. With each step, the armor slowly retracted, folding back into his spine with precise mechanical rhythm.
Behind him, the base smoldered in silence.
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